prompt,story,story_word_count
 Caroline Smith was all I could think,"Caroline. I learned her name through the phonebook, my shaking fingers carefully caressing its pages as I searched for the address I'd seen her at so many times. 43 Mako Drive, the small, brick house on the corner of Braxton and Mako. I'd memorized the shape of her home weeks before, my bare feet sliding across its wet grass every time I closed my eyes. Letters from her mailbox, addressed to Caroline Smith, confirmed what the book claimed. She was perfect, absolutely flawless in every way. I'd watched her for seven months--almost every single day and night--silently following her as she strolled to and from her classes. Sometimes I stayed outside her bedroom window as we slept, my heart racing as I matched my breathing to hers. She never knew I was there, never acknowledged me as more than the distant shadow of a faceless tree, but I knew she needed me. She was all I could think about, all I wanted to be with. Beautiful, flawless, ideal. If anything could convince me that angels truly visited this greasy, obscene, vile planet, then it would have been to see her. She was an artist, a creator; she built perfect worlds that only she and I could appreciate, universes fit for the two of us. She taught her art at the community center next to the unsightly yellow pizza restaurant. I didn't understand why she bothered showing up. The students didn't respect her; the other teachers didn't understand her; no one truly valued her. They couldn't see her perfection, her talent, the unearthly skill she possessed. No one knew what she was worth--except me. It was clear to me, everything she was capable of. The world wasn't able to comprehend what she could do; only I, and the God above, could fathom such beauty. I knew I had to free her, to save her from the life of dismay and disrespect she endured. Her perfection had to be known. She always walked alone, always spent her days and nights with a just paintbrush and canvas. The mail at 43 Mako Drive was never addressed to anyone but Caroline, my fingers becoming accustomed to the rub of the ink-stained C of her name pressed into her envelopes. She had no one but her art, nothing but the worlds she created in the comfort of her home as I silently watched under the shroud of the long-set sun. She had me, had my support and devotion, my undying love and admiration, yet I knew that wasn't enough for her. She needed more, needed the embrace of the planet as they all screamed her name in singularity, hung her portraits in galleries and travelled halfway around the world to admire her brush strokes. She needed fame and fortune, acclaim and respect, followers and immorality. I knew I could give that to her, make her name a commodity and brand us as a single entity in the history of humanity. I wanted to be the one to launch her fame, the name that always followed her around. I wanted to be the reason she went missing, the person to force her into the world. I needed to free her from this filthy planet, be the one to release her soul to the millions scattered throughout the corners of the uncivilized, obscene Earth. I knew she could inspire the masses and provoke the future. I left her alone one night, let her sleep without the comfort of my warm carcass nestled just feet away. I had to, I needed to prepare. It was soon to be our time, the moment we'd forever become names tied together in the media, in the voices of the people, in the pages of history and the world alike. I wanted to perfect where I'd take her, where I'd free her soul into immortality. I needed it to be flawless enough to display her art to the world. I prepped and painted, cleaned and set forth the tools to extract her; my memory became blurred and uncertain as I toiled endlessly. It needed to be just as perfect as she. By the time I was content, my eyes had become bloody through lack of sleep, and the sun had long-since risen. She was not in her room as my bare feet touched the familiar grass outside her window. I pulled open the unlocked back door, silently dragging my heels across the hardwood floor I'd felt so many times before. I'd once danced in that very spot, my feet softly tapping the ground not inches from where she slept; I could hear her breathing in perfect synchronization as I spun. Now her bed was empty, the window above it shattered and shimmering atop her sheets. Her bureau lay sideways, its contents spilled out on the floor. I picked up the ruby shirt she wore to bed almost every night and held it to my face, the familiar scent of her perfume washing over me. I continued through her house. She valued her cleanliness, as did I. I'd watch as she spent hours, sometimes entire days, washing and organizing each and every inch of her home, always to perfection. Now it was a mess, a chaotic wreck of turmoil and struggle. She'd never done this to me before, never forced me to see her in such a shape of sheer humanity. Her walls, once rife with the beauty and life she painted, now lay bare, the art scattered and broken upon the floor. I clenched my teeth as I righted them, muscles tensing as I tried to hang them back in their correct places, but they were simply not the same. She had let someone else touch them; they had lost their perfection. I allowed them fall back to the floor as I continued up her stairs. The creme carpet outside her studio door was stained a ruby red, still moist under the weight of my bare feet. I could hear her breathing heavily behind it, her gasps raspy and strained as if under a tremendous weight. I wrapped my hand around the doorknob, twisting the cold brass knob and silently pushing it open. I had to blink as I peered in, the vulgarity she exposed me to almost unbearable. The room was in disarray: paintings torn apart, brushes scattered across the floor, shelves toppled over sideways. The worlds she'd created for just the two of us, the universes that were supposed to inspire the future, were now stained, covered in blood and paint and split by knife. The hope she'd given the planet lay destroyed in the middle of the room by her broken body. She couldn't even save her own self. She glanced up at me, her eyes studying me with a faint hint of recognition and dread, her mouth gagged and broken. I could hear her whimper softly, just as she occasionally did in her sleep as I stood watch. Spilled paints surrounded her and mixed into a single, grotesque shade--red, blues, yellows, whites, and every other color she'd previously had organized on the shelves beside the door. I stared at her for a moment, waiting for an apology as my eyes searched for the perfection and hope I'd seen for so long. She had been flawless, the only thing that could save the world from the pornographic, filthy wreck it had become. Now, as she lay on the ground, her eyes screaming for *my* help, all I could see was failure and dependence. A mirrored figure shifted in the far corner of the room, its back to me. I glanced up at it and slowly shook my head. She was no more perfect than the rest. I turned around and quietly shut the door, then began back down the path I'd become so familiar traveling. _____________ **ALTERNATE ENDINGS:** Violent, exciting one: ""Less ambiguous"" ending: ____________________ ^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^or",1334
 An old lady approached him after he,"I was fourteen when it all started. I'd been out one day, waiting for some friends at the park, as you do. I was eating a chocolate bar and apathetically tossed the wrapper aside. An old lady approached me. ""Don't you have any respect? Pick that up."" Naturally I ignored her, being the lovely young man that I was until she screamed. ""Fine! Have it your way! If you shall litter the Earth, then I shall litter your mind."" She promptly left and I was confused, I assumed she was just a bit of an old bat. The wrapper blew away, and my friends turned up. We played some football, I was always fairly horrendous at that. The next day, I woke up. For some reason the first thing I thought of was the old lady. I realised that it was fairly obnoxious for me to act that way to someone. Ah well, I'll probably never see her again anyway. I went downstairs and greeted my mother who has been a bit of a struggling single for a while now (I guess having an obnoxious teenage brat doesn't help much). There was a two, hovering above her head; cyan in colour. I wasn't really sure what it meant at the time. I knew that, objectively, this was strange. Intuitively, however, it felt oddly natural. So I went about my day. As I went through school that day, I noticed everybody had the numbers. Notably my friend Tim who was a brown belt in karate had a blue four, our loud ex-military teacher who enjoyed startling sleeping students was a yellow six. The school bully was a turquoise three. Most students were a one or a two; shades of green. I could never see a number above my own head in reflections or anything like that, much to my frustration. When I watched TV I noticed that powerful people tended to have quite high numbers. The anchor had a five, the prime minister had a nine, some footage of an army doing a parade seemed to show a range from six to eight (a vibrant red). Eventually, after having thought about this for a few weeks, I concluded that the number corresponded to danger. Being dangerous can mean many things. It can mean you're potent in a fight, or it can mean you have a lot of say socially. One day, I was sitting in the park with my mother and some of her friends on a day out. She introduced me to someone new. Short, goatee, slicked back hair and an eight. He sat there, casually sipping on a can of lager. My mum introduced him as Sean, ""my new boyfriend."" ""WHAT?!"" So I couldn't control that little outburst, I must admit I panicked a bit. An eight is a member of the cabinet, a soldier, a serial murderer (What? The numbers come up on Crimewatch as well, you know). He interjected, ""Haha! Relax kid. I'm going to be around for a while"" At which point he leaned in and kissed my mum. This was not affection; this was dominance. In the following days, I took my mum aside repeatedly to try to convince her to get out of this. She was, how can I put it? Thoroughly unwilling. So now I was anxious, I was frustrated. We were around Sean's house at the time. He came in later that day, bringing home some shopping, he bought me a chocolate bar. Well, that was nice? Thanks. So it started out nicely enough. He could tell that I was anxious, and so he'd buy me little things to try to win my affections. To be honest, it started to work. My mum was in love with him and despite the red flags, I was honestly settling to the arrangement. What I hadn't noticed were the little things. At first it began as complaints; ""the jam isn't in the cupboard I said to put it in"", ""clean up that fucking cat shit"". Benign, but said with a sharp tongue. Eventually he offered to fully support my mother. I'm not really sure how he was able to do this as he didn't have a job of which to speak, but it seemed to work out. My mum quit her job at the supermarket and now had much more free time to... ""do those fucking dishes,"" to ""make a doctor's appointment for me"". He spoke repeatedly of their sex life to me. Thanks for telling me. Over time his demands were shouting. Mum's number dropped from a two to a one. Something was wrong. This kind of behaviour carried on for a year. I was the frog in the pot. Eventually he started doing things; hitting her when I wasn't around. I didn't notice of course, although I started to pick up the signs. Then one day I did. They had a huge argument. They were shouting, things were thrown. They wouldn't stop. The walls closed in. I had nowhere to go. In my right conscience, I had nowhere I could go. I was just as frightened as she was until that is I heard a crack; he headbutted her. Blood poured forth. I freaked the fuck out. I started screaming. I started crying. I had no idea what way was up. I briefly ran into the bathroom to try to collect myself and figure out what the fuck I was supposed to do. I was scared. I was shaking. I was angry. I was livid. I was FURIOUS. And through the tears I saw the stained bathroom mirror. Everything was blurry but I saw it right there. Black as night, floating right above my own head. I could finally see it: Ten. ""Fuck them, fuck him, fuck everyone. Fuck this abusive piece of shit. I am taking control of this situation."" In that very briefly lucid state, I called an ambulance. I then broke the mirror, threw it at the ground. I picked the the largest shard of glass and looked at myself again. Ten. Definitely ten. I called down. ""Sean! Let's fucking talk!"" --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Edit: Thanks so much for the comments, upvotes and especially those kind folk who gave me gold! I couldn't have hoped for a nicer reception to this. You should also listen to this audio version: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmhw3df",1058
" Mr. Brock: ""If you","""Mr. Brock..."" ""No Mr. Brock. I'm sorry Jason, but if you cannot commit to your schedule, you don't have what it takes to work in this company."" I lower my head. I feel my eyes water. I mean, it's one thing to yell at me because I left five minutes early yesterday -- after being the only one doing unpaid extra hours until midnight for the fifth week in row now. But to fire me because of it? And in front of everybody? I feel like that's kind of mean of Mr. Brock's part. People are looking. I hate this. ""Are you going to cry, Jason? Really? You are a grown man. Get yourself together."" Lisa from accounting passes by and stops to watch. Everyone in their cubicle has their heads raised to watch the scene, as well. I hate being in the spotlight. I'm not good at confrontation. ""Mr. Brock, please. I can put in more hours, if you want. I can --"" ""Sorry, Jason. I need a person who can commit. I need someone responsible."" Come on. You are right, man. Stand up for yourself. Say something. Brock never did extra hours. Neither did Lisa, or Tobias. You are always the last one in the office, and you are also the one paid less. Say something. Everybody is watching. Say something. Say something. I hate this. Stop crying. ""Mr. Brock, c-can we talk in your office? I really need this job. I can --"" Mr. Brock throws a cardboard box my way. ""We have nothing more to talk about, Jason."" He turns around and steps away, heading for his big office with his big window and his big trophies. Little by little, the heads start lowering back to their computers. I start putting my stuff in the little box, feeling five different kinds of shitty. I'm done in like five minutes. It's pretty easy, what with no pictures of family or kids. No pictures of the wife. No macaroni pen holder. I don't have a lot of stuff to show for, in this life. I put the last of my action figures (John Constantine, from Hellblazer) on the box and I get up, sniffing. ""Well... See you guys. I -- goodbye."" No one answers. People type away and drink their coffee away, distracted. I start walking. I'm almost by the door when I hear it. ""MOTHERFUCKER!"" And a loud bang. Like really really loud. I stop and turn around, and everyone else does the same. Black smoke is coming out from under Mr. Brock's door. Little by little, slow motion step by slow motion step, I approach, because no one else seems to be willing to move. There's silence on the other end of the door. Before I can reach the knob the door opens on its own, and everyone goes ""Oh!"" (except for Mr. Trigger from HR, who just says 'oh fuck this shit', gets up and leaves. We never saw him again.) These reactions were prompted by the fact that, on the other side of the door, Mr. Brock was now seven different, completely separate objects, spread around his office. His head and torso is lying on top of his desk, in the middle of a pool of blood. His legs are on opposite sides of the room. So are his arms. His penis and left ball are dangling from the roof fan, casually. His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka. I'm gonna repeat that: His right ball is on the floor by the door, right next to a squirrel holding a bazooka. Lisa from accounting faints. ""Took care of this piece of flying, stinky shit, master"", the squirrel says, smiling at me. His voice is high pitched and scratchy, like the voice of an old lady on 3 packs of Camels a day for the past 70 years. I look at the squirrel for seventeen seconds, in complete silence. Jenny from marketing faints, too. Jack from HR whispers ""holy shit"", and has a heart attack. (He died a week later, I heard.) ""What?"" I ask, suddenly realizing I hadn't blinked in a very long time. I blink. ""The Abomination, they call me"", the squirrel says, with a smirk. ""Paid assassin. You saved my life on January 13th, down Berry Road, remember? Squirrel law determines I am now at your service. I took the liberty of doing a background check on your life. You got a lot of people being assholes to you and dragging you down. I'm here to take care of that for you."" ""I-- Mr. Brock was not disturbing me. I -- he was an asshole, sure, but I didn't -- I mean..."" I take a deep breath. What little people on the office that have not yet fainted or had heart attacks (or walked away saying 'fuck this shit') are frozen watching the scene in a catatonic state. The squirrel grabs Mr. Brock's right ball, throwing it over his left shoulder like a sports bag. ""Now come on, let's get even with the world. Like I said, a lot of people have been fucking you over, Jason. It's time to grow up and be a man. Time to set the record straight."" ""I.... Wh-what do you mean?"" The squirrel grabs me by the hand. He drags me towards the door. People are watching still, frozen. ""Do you know a Ed Williams, Jason?"" the squirrel asks, almost by the door. ""Yeah, he's my neighbor"", I say, worrying about what's coming next. ""Could you grab the doorknob, please?"" The Abomination looks up at the doorknob, out of his reach. I turn it and open the door. People are still frozen, staring at me. Mike from research and development faints. Then he wakes up. Then he faints again. ""What about Ed Williams?"" I ask, as the squirrel drags me out into the hallway. ""He's stealing your TV Guides"", The Abomination, says, shutting the door behind us with his feet. ""Let's go shove a cactus up his ass."" And he drags me to the elevator. _______________________ EDIT: EDIT: EDIT: EDIT: _________________________ *Thanks for reading! And kudos for an amazing prompt, OP! This was a fun write. For more stories, check out my subreddit: /r/psycho_alpaca =)*",1050
 Noah wasn't my first apprentice nor,"""Have you been down to the valley before, Noah?"" I asked my newest apprentice as we turned a corner on the jagged path down the side of the sacred mountain. ""No, mother never let us go this far down the mountain. I've heard the stories, though,"" Noah responded with a certain eagerness to his voice. I had known his mother for a long time, and giving her third and smallest son a chance to be something other than a warrior was the least I could offer her. ""Your mother is a wise woman, Noah. There is little but death this deep in the mountains. A plague that must be kept from ever reaching us."" I kept my voice stern. Noah wasn't my first apprentice nor would he be my last. Many of the others never understood my craft. The ones that did never respected it. Their thoughts were too shallow to see the good I brought to our people. But the world seldom works in ways we want it too. It's the ones that understand its true ways and adapt that become the most powerful. That is what I did, and what I shall continue doing. ""Well, there's people down there, isn't there?"" he asked innocently. I smirked at the thought and halted our hike down the mountain side and turned to face him. The black hood adorning my weathered skull blocked most of my view in front of and around me, but Noah's young, suddenly frightened face was in a clear line of sight. ""That will be for you to decide, my boy,"" I chuckled to myself before returning onto the jagged path. I listened intently as the boy took several moments before hearing his heavy footsteps run after me, kicking rocks and dust down the mountainside around him. The shadow of the mountain had all but blocked the setting sun in the west and left the valley under a hazy yellow glow. Fog creeped its way from the Earth before dissipating some ten feet above us as we found flat ground for the first time since beginning our journey. I could feel the waters of the swamp begin flooding my boots and I could hear the young boy plopping around trying to stay dry. ""The smell,"" Noah gagged, ""What on Earth is that smell?"" he asked, his voice was muffled as he tried covering his nose with his palm. ""The village,"" I answered solemnly as the shadows of the village's tallest buildings broke the yellow glow of the setting sun and leaving the land behind them dark and desolate. ""Who could live in such a place?"" Noah asked horrifyingly as we entered the outer gate of the village's meager wooden walls. ""Those who have been trapped,"" I answered as I continued our steady pace through the village. The swamp had given way but the village streets were filled with mud and excrement; hardly an improvement. Sickly families sat at the edges of the path weakly extending bowls outward with frail arms. They shuddered and turned away, however, when they saw that it was I who was walking past them. They mumbled prayers under their rasping breaths. ""Trapped? Trapped by who?"" Noah asked. I turned to him and placed my hand on one of his bony shoulders. ""All will be answered in due time, my boy. For now, you must watch."" The boy nodded quickly before looking nervously at the beggars beside the road. ""Don't worry, my boy. You cannot catch what they have."" Noah looked up questioningly but I turned back to the path before he could ask more questions. He would have to observe and decide for himself if he would remain by my side for the years to come. With war on the horizon, I'd need all the help I could get. Soon we stood before the largest building in the village. Though it would have been meager in size compared to our own village and those of the north, it stood out in contrast to the pathetically built huts surrounding it. I did build it after all. The doors of the temple creaked open painfully as we made our way up the steps. Two young boys held the doors open as we passed. They glared down at the ground, holding back tears as I passed. A low rumble of distant thunder rolled over the mountains and echoed around the valley. It was time. The temple consisted of one large main room with two stone tables placed in the center. Fire from candles along the walls lit the room with a faint red hue and several dozen villagers huddled as close to the walls as possible. One stepped up to me, an older man who, like the others, kept his gaze to the floor. ""All is ready, my lord. Forgive me but I must ask, will we receive the food as promised?"" he whimpered. I slowly turned to the old man standing beside me and grabbed his weak jawline and stared directly into his hazy blue eyes. He tried to struggle away but was too weak. He muttered the same prayers as those on the streets earlier before I dropped him to the ground. ""The food shall arrive when the storm subsides,"" I told the man as I returned my sights to the tables in the middle of the room. The old man scrambled to the side of the room like a wounded animal and rejoined the huddled mass in the corner. Around now is usually when the apprentices I previously had either yelled in protest to these grotesque sights or tried running out the temple doors. Noah, however, now seemed intrigued as I looked over to the young boy. Perhaps he could be the one I have been searching for. The two tables in the center of the room each had a body laying upon them. To the left was a young man. He was desperately thin and shivering in the cold of the temple. Despite his weight, however, he appeared mostly healthy. His eyes were closed and he muttered a prayer over and over through his chattering, worn down teeth. I gently placed a palm on the man's chest and leaned in close to the side of his head. He flinched when I touched him but I held him down firmly. ""Relax, my friend. All your suffering will soon be over. Your sacrifice will save your people,"" I whispered into his ear. He began weeping and I motioned to Noah to tie him to the table before he tried to run off. On the other table was another young man with a black bag around his head. He had strong shoulders and a bouldering chest. A great warrior from my village who showed great potential to serve his people. He had been mauled by a mountain lion two days before. Large, red gashes ran along the side of arms and back. One arm was broken in several spots after he had fallen upon some rocks in a desperate attempt to escape his attacker. He eventually killed the lion and dragged its lifeless body back to our village before collapsing in exhaustion. The man had clearly earned my favor and today he would receive it. His gashes were festering and he smelled much like this village and its people. I turned to Noah. ""Watch. And decide."" He nodded and stepped back into the shadows of the temple. All of the candles suddenly dimmed as I raised my palms and a calm yet chilling breeze swept around the room. I began muttering the old words and watched as the once lifeless body of the warrior twitched for the first time. The other man was weeping louder now and struggled to break away from the chains restraining him. The skin around his shoulder suddenly began to break apart and he howled in pain and begged for mercy but the process had already begun. Blood poured from the newly forming gashes. The warriors broken arm, crooked and purple, jumped to life and straightened before my eyes. Simultaneously, the other man's arm split in two. He cried louder and louder but I was too focused on the warrior's body turning from a pale blue to a bright tan. The bag around his head began to puff gently above his mouth. Suddenly he jumped up from the table and roared with life. He breathed desperately and his hands patted around his body. He couldn't find any words to speak over his rampant breathing. I lowered my arms and light refilled the room. I rushed to the warrior's side and held the man. ""It is okay, my friend. You have been healed. You are alive once again."" His breathing suddenly calmed as he recognized my voice and turned his bagged head in my direction. He still could not speak but I knew what he was thinking. In reality, I did little myself to save this man, but he and all the others before him view me the same; a god among men. A giver of life. They never know the price paid, but they also rarely ask. I looked over the mangled body of the young boy who now lay lifeless on the other table. Two villagers rushed over and carried his limp body from the table and out of the temple. Another two helped the warrior to his feet and led him away to clean him and return him to our village. I looked over to Noah, who stood dumbfounded in the back of the temple. He was staring at the blood that dripped slowly from the edge of the stone table. I walked over to him and stood before him, waiting for his answer. He eventually looked up to me slowly and the innocence of his eyes from earlier today was all but gone. I could feel new emotions coursing through the boy's body. ""Teach me,"" he whispered. I smiled and put both hands on the boy's shoulders. Finally, I had found the one.",1675
 'I think I would rather just,"Bobby's eyes widened in a mixture of shock and amusement, 'Sorry, can you repeat that?' Sally, his date, didn't seem in the least bit fazed. She looked up from her food and stared directly at him, her dark eyes devoid of humour, and repeated. 'It's odd.' Bobby sucked his teeth slightly annoyed at having to clarify himself. 'Not that bit,' he explained through gritted teeth, 'the bit before.' Sally, who had continued eating, looked up again, then her face broke into a smile as she understood. Bobby felt a tinge of lust as her dark curls bounced around her face when she began to laugh girlishly. 'Sorry, yes of course.' Her lips seemed pinker than usual. 'I think I would rather just stay in with him than go on a date. It's odd.' She blushed, realising what she'd said. 'Most dates...' she stammered, 'minus the ones with you, obviously.' Bobby could feel all the lust he felt for her fall away. They'd only been on a few dates, but this was still a little hard to hear. He coughed uncomfortably, trying to find the words to carry on the conversation. 'Why odd...' He finally prompted. She looked up at him thoughtfully. 'Well, I guess, really, it's odd that I just want to hang out with my completely platonic male flatmate all the time. But, as I said, I guess my favourite thing to do is to sit on my couch, watch a movie, eat some pizza and drink a beer or two...' she stopped herself, but Bobby knew the words she wanted to add; 'with Damien'. Bobby nodded slowly, now slightly bemused at the conversation. 'Do you not think that, considering everything you've just said, you might consider him as more than just a platonic male flatmate?' Sally stared back at him blankly. He could almost hear her brain working, the neurons madly firing trying to comprehend what he was insinuating. He sat up straight in his chair, composing himself, highly aware that he was essentially about to 'cockblock' himself. He spoke slightly slowly, trying to make sure she was keeping up. 'Bearing in mind you are sat on a date, with let's face it a very attractive and eligible man who fancies you, and you're talking about him, I have a slight suspicion you might in fact be in love with him?' Up until this point he'd assumed she was just hiding her feelings, but now, as he watched it dawn on her, he realised she'd just been oblivious to the whole thing. Her mouth fell open, somewhat comically, and she stared off into the distance, her eyes wide. He couldn't help but laugh. She immediately came back into the room, and her face flushed red in embarrassment. 'I'd... I just...' she stuttered, her face bright pink. 'I guess I should have realised. I think it just crept up on me.' Bobby nodded in a compassionate sort of way. The damage was done, the date was over. He sighed wistfully and took up his fork to continue eating, 'at least the food's good' he thought apathetically. 'Everything ok here?' Both Bobby and Sally's heads shot up in shock to look at the waiter who had creeped up to the table unnoticed to them. Bobby smiled and nodded. 'I'm in love with my best friend.' Sally blurted out, a look of surprised horror on her face. The waiter raised his eyebrows in a comical look of shock which quickly gave way to an odd sympathetic and yet encouraging smile. Awkwardly he gently patted her arm and said 'good for you.' He then walked away leaving Sally to process the information and Bobby to eat. After some time, in fact just as Bobby finished his food and put down his fork, Sally seemed to wake up from her thoughts and stood up out of her chair. 'I... I should tell him.' Bobby nodded, now only half listening as he started to survey the dessert menu. 'He deserves to know.' Bobby nodded again, not looking up from the menu until he became aware of the silence than had fallen between them. When he did he saw she was sat back down and staring at him sympathetically. He felt a jolt of irritation, and he put his menu down to stare a little harshly back at her. 'I must be the worst date you've ever had. I'm so sorry.' He could hear the emotion in her voice, he sighed irritably but his expression softened slightly. 'Do I like you? Yes. Did I think we may have a future? Maybe. Do I want to be in love with someone who's in love with someone else entirely? No way. It wouldn't have been very good if I'd gone on to fall in love with you and then you'd realised, would it? I'd rather hear it now than when we were just about to board a plane to a new home. Or on our wedding day. Or at the birth of our first child...' She raised her eyebrow. 'Ok, too far, but you catch my drift. I'd much rather get it all out in the open, and just let you run off into the sunset with him now, rather than be 'that guy' who gets in the way and ends up cast as the jerk despite the fact I'm actually just the guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time on a date with a woman who isn't emotionally intelligent enough to work out when she's in love with someone despite the fact, from what you've told me, she spends pretty much every waking second of every day either with him or, at the very least, thinking about him...' He took a deep breath, it was a sore subject, this wasn't the first time he'd had to point out to a date that things weren't exactly 'on track' towards a healthy emotional entanglement. She continued to stare at him blankly. He rolled his eyes. 'So no, it's not the worst date I've ever been on.' She looked a little relieved, and nodded. They sat awkwardly for a moment before Bobby pointed towards the door and said the most whimsical thing he could think 'go to him...' She mumbled something about paying half of the bill, put some crumpled notes on the table beside her half eaten meal, and left. Bobby rolled his eyes, and picked up the menu once more. Just as he'd decided he would stick to coffee, he heard a gentle, lady-like cough. He put down his menu to see an attractive female sat opposite him. Like Sally, her eyes were dark, but these had a sultriness to them that replaced Sally's innocent, almost girlish, look. 'I'm sorry, but I couldn't help overhearing...' Bobby gestured that he didn't mind. 'Are you here alone?' 'I wasn't, but I am now.' She smiled again, this time a little mischievously. 'My date had an unhealthy fixation with his work friend that I felt he should explore before we pursued anything.' Bobby laughed knowingly. 'So he's gone to find her to confess his love?' She laughed again, 'him... and no, I think he's gone to be alone and process his newly realised sexuality.' She smiled broadly and extended a slender hand. 'I'm Olivia Johnson. I'm not in love with any of my friends, have no irregular feelings towards my dad and have no exes in the closet other than one who 'ghosted' me a few years ago who I would probably still punch if I saw him now. I am emotionally available and find you, upon first impressions, incredibly attractive.' Bobby obligingly took her hand and gave it a firm shake. 'I'm Bobby Holden. I have no sexual urges for men, my mother was a perfectly lovely human but I don't want my girlfriend to be anything like her and I would, one day, like a wife and a couple of kids to keep me out of trouble. I am emotionally available and I find you very attractive indeed.' They sat staring lustfully at each other, until they noticed the waiter stood between them. He looked from one to the other and he blurted out, 'You're both completely insane.'",1374
 The people burst through the gates of,"The people burst through the gates of the mansion. The guards tried to stop them, but they had been armed with electric guitars, a shockingly effective crowd control weapon, but I had taken out their generators. A single riff had been enough. The guards stood helpless as the people marched in to the mansion with beautiful roses and well kept grass while out there they suffered under this sorry excuse of a musician. I had barely needed to do anything in this city. The embers of the anger were already there, all I had to do was fan them The people marching to a beat. It was the familiar THUMP THUMP CLAP. THUMP THUMP CLAP that everyone knew. Individually they would stand no chance against their ruler. She was a powerful musician to have controlled the entire city. But there were hundreds here. Even a simple beat like this, made by relatively unskilled users could pack quite the punch. As if in response, the mansion began to shake, reverberating with the power of the beat of hundreds. They began to sing the song of the prophets Queen. The musicians, when they had first risen after music became powerful, had tried to wipe out all instruction and memory of music to prevent the common people from learning music and challenging their master. But some tunes do not fade. And while instruments could be taken away, hands and tongues could not. In response to the music the house literally began to rock back and forth. It would soon crumble. Perhaps I had overestimated this musician, if she could not withstand such a plain assault, it was a wonder she came into control at all. A single chord reverberated throughout the mansion. The mass stopped as if struck, their beat broken, their voices cut off in shock. And then another chord was hit, and another, and as I watched, the woman came out on the balcony with a portable battery and a guitar and began to play. The people swayed, entranced. The musician dared not use any physical magic on her own property and people, and so she influenced their minds. I, hidden within the crowd, felt only an intense rage. Rock musicians were the worst. They were merely an imitation of the true art form, the true expression of emotion. Passion, rage, regret it was all there in metal. To deliberately dampen these powers...it was sick. Well, I knew it would come down to this. I took out the guitar I had hidden on my back with a coat. It too had a portable source of power. I struck a chord and the air hummed with power. I took in the vibrations, felt the familiar feeling vibrate in my chest. This. This was power. The spell their musician had lain shattered like glass. I let out a scream of passion and power and began to literally rise above the crowd, my guitar in hand. As I rose I could make out the musician better. She wore jeans and denim jacket over a black shirt. Her red hair stood on its end, as if a halo, no doubt responding to her power. Her mouth was curved into a sneer, and her emerald eyes flashed dangerously. We stood, facing eye to eye, and the crowd below us fell silent, in respect and awe. They were about to witness a duel. These were things of legend, of the past when musicians fought for control over areas. These were stable times, musicians dared not fight each other. They had learned that lesson in the First Wars when we had almost wiped each other out. ""You fool! What are you doing! You dare intrude on *my* domain?"" She struck a note that vibrated, and I literally felt her anger wash over me. Weakling. I roared and responded with my own weapon. And a pillar of white hot flame rushed towards her. Her eyes widened, but she dissipated the fire with another note. So not completely incompetent. ""You wiped out our people! You mainstream musicians, you pretend to rule over these...*commoners*,"" I spat out the word, ""but you play what they want to listen, you are subject to their whims, their tastes. My people were wiped out, because we played music that was good, not what people perceived as good!"" Her eyes widened in recognition. ""No...there are no metal artists left. They were all killed!"" I let forth a fork of lightning in response and laughed. ""You did not realize yet?! You thought my magic was your puny *rock*? No. This far greater. Pure energy."" She reflected the lightning away, and fired her own spell, this time with her own music and voice combined. Looks like play time was over. Still floating I launched into a song. Each note firing a wealth of both physical and mental assaults with it, but she responded in kind with her own song. This was a duel. Before we had simply been trading blows, shit talking so to say. This was true battle. We both knew the idea of our song, what it was supposed to be like, but we had to adapt. Most of our magic collided in the center in sparks or steam, but some got through to both of us. When you see a gout of flame come at you, you change pitch, alter your chord slightly. You sense a weakness in the other's resonance so you capitalize with a hammer-on. You improvise when needed. As death came within inches of me I reveled it, and with a shock, I realized she did too. The anger was gone from her eyes now, just pure joy. This was what we did. The crowd stood, transfixed. With the wild energy lashing around they should have scrambled, ran away as far as possible. But with the spells of our voices intertwining they could not move. They did not *want* to move. They lay helpless, watching gods battle. I was almost sad when it was over. She was good, far greater than I had thought possible for a rock artist, but she was limited by her genre. After what seemed like an eternity, she messed up her chord, and her voice faltered in shock. I capitalized. I fired shot after shot of powerful bursts. Her rhythm disrupted, she fell on the defense, try desperately to block my relentless strikes. As she did I moved closer and closer to her, making the strikes come more rapidly. Now she began to tremble, her face contorted in focus and exhaustion, it was inevitable that she mess up. *There!* She missed an arc of green energy and it slammed into her, freeing the guitar from her grasp, and it crashed with a final note, while the musician herself landed flat on the ground. She sat up as I approached, guitar still held loosely in my hands. Her hair had settled down now, but was still disheveled. She looked me in the eyes, her green eyes flashing with indigence and defiance. She held up her chin, not looking away. ""You have bested me. Finish it."" I played a single chord and flash of flame burst out, but she didn't flinch. She would do. The flame died an inch from her. She looked at me in shock, her mouth slightly open. ""Kill you? Don't be ridiculous,"" I said. ""I'm not like your ancestors, I do not waste musical talent. I offer you power, true music, music unlike you have ever wielded."" I held out my hand. ""The question is, will you accept?"" ""And if I don't?,"" she asked, her voice perfect, light but rich. I smiled savagely. ""You want it. I could see it in your eyes. You play music for its power, for its own sake, not for these,"" I gestured to the crowd under me which had finally begun to snap out of its daze, ""commoners. You understand the power you just saw from me and you want it. Your talent is wasted on rock."" She still looked intensely at me, but gave me the slightest nod. She took my hand. (minor edits) EDIT: Whoa! I appreciate all the feedback and kind words, truly, they mean a lot. Also thank you specifically to the stranger who gave me gold!",1382
" We boarded ships in secret, as","We boarded ships in secret, as soon as the preliminary readings were confirmed. Boarded ships and fled, those of us with enough brains, money, or talent to be deemed ""worthy"" of survival. Generals, world leaders, captains of industry, and even some that might have deserved to live even while we abandoned our brothers and sisters. 250 years later, we boarded ships in a grand ceremony, as soon as the preliminary readings were confirmed. Earth was still habitable, and we immediately began plans to reclaim our homeworld. Politicians promised reclamation and reunification, while the descendants of the wealthy saw an opportunity for a new world's work of markets. We bickered and debated about the strategy, but there was never any doubt as to the goal. The Navy arrived in orbit on the dark side of the moon, a clever maneuver conceived of and executed to perfection by the great great grandson of the man who had lead the Righteous Flight, as it came to be called. Outposts and bases were established, and long-range monitoring equipment scanned for millions of miles around us, searching for the alien occupiers that were waiting for us. When the first scans returned negative, the Admiral was incredulous, and the first assumption was that the aliens had developed some new cloaking technology. Paranoia ran rampant when word of this theory leaked, but after a week, nothing happened. We established ground to space defenses on the surface of the moon, and more than a few of us held the gaze of the blue ball that was simultaneously unrecognizable and intimately known to us. The Admiral decided that we had to lure our enemy out before we could fight them. The fleet was divided into five portions and deployed in a star around the Earth, so that every portion of the fleet would be able to direct fire and cover another portion if and when the aliens took the bait. The Admiral's gambit worked, and the alien ships revealed themselves as soon as the first group came within two hundred thousand miles of the moon. We did not delay in our mission, and there was no hesitation as three groups converged and destroyed the aliens in a hail of superheated slag and light. Accounts of the size of the original invasion fleet were sketchy and incomplete, but the small size of the fleet left some of us with hope that a few survivors might have lived on through the invasion. I had no such illusions. The greatest minds on the Earth had no answers for the alien menace. What hope did the criminals, the ordinary, and the poverty-stricken have? I volunteered my battalion for the first wave, which targeted the largest concentration of signal activity on the surface of the planet. The ruins of New York seemed to be the epicenter of the alien occupiers. The Admiral debated with his commanders whether to precede the invasion with a bombardment, but decided against it. I was the first human to touch the surface of the Earth in over 200 years, but no sooner could I enjoy the moment of history than we came under fire from the ruins, miles away. Artillery crashed around us, exploding in purple and blue hazes that shattered masks and shredded our armor. Hundreds of humanity's finest were cut down in the first minute. Hulking figures in suits that resembled shadows as much as warriors followed the first artillery wave, slamming into us with weapons that outstripped our own. Decades of weapons research, and billions of dollars of material proved to be as useful as tissue paper against their superior weapons. Even when they fell, they killed yet more of us, as their suits turned into bombs that wiped out entire platoons, as well as killing the operators, if the suits even had any. But we had one advantage: the Fleet. The Admiral personally ordered fighter squadrons eighteen through forty nine to deploy and descend to the surface to provide support. On the ground, we made up for what we lacked in technology with determination and sacrifice. It took eighteen soldiers to kill just one of the hulking monstrosities that opposed us, but every man and woman of our team knew it was better to die on Earth than retreat home and live in shame. The second wave of artillery targeted the dropships, and hundreds were slaughtered before they could even feel Earth beneath their feet. Then the fighters arrived, and met the artillery with screaming explosives and sub-atomic weaponry. We underestimated the anti-air defenses, however, and no sooner could the first squadron drop their payload than the first streaks of red light shot into the sky, slicing through steel and plastic plates that had proved invulnerable to conventional defenses. The second wave suffered casualty rates of 60%. The third wave, 80%. Then the fourth wave was shattered against a veritable wall of light, with only two bombers able to drop their payload before they were cut down. The artillery stopped at least, thank God. But just as the battalion started moving toward the city, a piercing horn cut through the cries of the wounded and the moans of the dying. A building, which towered over the city center, lit up in a blue haze. Someone screamed for us to scatter, but it wasn't aimed at us. The HMS Reclamation was destroyed six seconds later. Her crew, which number 14,231, were all wiped out in an instant, their remains vaporized and any hope for survivors removed from reality. The port side barracks of the Admiral's flagship, the USS Homeland, avoided the beam by eight inches. There was no question of bombardment then. Every group on this side of the Earth turned their Slug guns towards the surface and calibrated the city ahead of us. Like shooting stars, superheated slag traveled across the sky and descended toward the city at what looked like a leisurely pace. The tower began to glow again just as the first shots collided. I had seen explosions, to be sure. I had watched tapes of Hiroshima, of weapons more powerful than that, and I had been present for the demonstration of the first slag cannons. But nothing compared to the blue circle that washed over the city when the tower exploded, wiping out buildings and life alike in its path. It was so bright, the 24 soldiers nearest to the city limits went blind on the spot, and required extensive eye surgery just to make out shapes again. ""Colonel,"" The Admiral spoke up. ""Confirm status."" I put a hand to my throat, preparing to activate the transmitter. Then I heard groaning that froze my hand, and my heart. A moan from a nearby suit. One of theirs. ""Standby, sir,"" I said. The suit sat in the bottom of a crater, with dirty water covering one of the legs. I slid down and listened, to be sure that I wasn't hallucinating. ""Uugh,"" the suit said. I reached down and pulled at the helmet, but it didn't come loose. I was afraid of what I might find, terrified even, but I had to be certain. I grabbed a rock from nearby, and smashed at the faceplate like a caveman. Finally, I heard something break, and the helm felt moveable in my hands. ""Colonel,"" the Admiral demanded. ""Status report."" I strained and pulled at the helmet, and finally yanked it off, sending it into a puddle on the other side of the crater. It was a boy. Dirty hair and brown eyes, with freckles on his nose. ""Oh God,"" I said. ""Colonel?"" the Admiral responded. ""What did you find?"" I pulled my own helmet off, and the boy's eyes went wide. ""Oh no,"" he said. ""No, no, no."" ""Colonel!"" ""You're human,"" I said to the boy. Then I turned to the sky, and I yelled it through tears, choking on the words and struggling to force them out. ""They're human!""",1325
 Mistress Gentle led the way down the,"Mistress Gentle led the way down the hall. Our footsteps pattered on the linoleum; I was shocked at how *quiet* it was in here. I would have expected an orphanage to be full of the usual noises of children: laughing, crying, screaming, etc. ""And you're sure you want to adopt, Mr..."" Mistress Gentle gulped before saying my name; people often did. ""Mr... uh... Stabs People?"" Her eyes darted back down to the background check that I'd had to pass before being allowed to adopt a child. How many times was this that she'd read it over just to make sure? It of course mentioned all the trouble I'd been in as a youngster, and how many people I'd stabbed. But that was all in the past, and according to the form I was now an upright citizen. Not that anyone believed that, with my name. ""It's not for everyone, you know."" ""I'm quite sure,"" I told her as we walked. ""I've always wanted kids."" Unfortunately it turns out that finding a stable life partner is a bit of a challenge when you're named 'Stabs People.' ""I see."" Mistress Gentle tried to smile at me, but it just looked like she was seasick. The idea of letting Mr. Stabs People walk away with a child from her orphanage would keep her up at night for weeks despite the reassurances from the state that I am completely rehabilitated. Some people have this idea that you can *never* change your name trait. I don't believe that at all, but Mistress Gentle clearly did. We arrived at a door marked ""Dormitory C"" at the end of the hall. ""I'm sure we'll be able to find a suitable match for you here,"" she said. The door clicked open, revealing a few rows of bunk beds. Inside, children were reading, playing games quietly, etc. They all looked up like exhibits at the zoo as Ms. Gentle and I strolled through the room. ""This here is Stubborn,"" she said, introducing a boy with curly brown hair. ""And this here is Trust Issues,"" she waved at a young girl with dark skin and green eyes. That one was certainly a self-fulfilling prophecy. She continued around the room, introducing children with various inconvenient name traits. Adoptive parents only wanted Ms. Smells Like A Rose; it was no wonder that these poor kids had all been left behind. In the corner, I noticed a huddled mass under a zebra-striped blanket. ""And who is this?"" I asked as I gently lifted the blanket. ""Oh, careful!"" Mistress Gentle shouted just as a pair of teeth lunged for my hand from under the blanket. I was just barely able to avoid being bitten by the little girl hiding underneath. She promptly pulled the blankets back over her face and continued hiding in her corner. ""That,"" Mistress Gentle said, ""Is Bites People. She... well..."" The name made it pretty clear. I also noticed that Bites People's bunk mate had a circular bruise on her forearm. I remained crouched near the little girl, no older than three or possibly four. ""Bites People,"" I said, gently pulling the blanket away. ""I'm Stabs People."" She didn't recoil in fear like every other person I've ever met. I can't even tell you how much that meant to me. Instead, she just bared her teeth. So I offered her my arm. ""Go ahead,"" I told her. ""You can bite me if you really want to."" She glanced at my arm, then back at me. Her lips quivered a bit and then fell back into place over her teeth and formed a fearful frown. ""Good job, Bites People!"" Mistress Gentle enthused. ""Your training is really working!"" *Training*, I thought. *Like a dog.* ""Bites People, would you like to come stay with me for a while?"" I asked. ""It would just be temporary to see if things would work out between us."" Mistress Gentle took a step back. ""This one?"" She didn't even bother hiding the incredulity in her voice. *Should have been Mistress Judgmental,* I thought to myself. I picked up Bites People in my arms. Poor thing was shaking. But she didn't try to bite me; she just hugged my shoulder close and whimpered softly. ""Yes, this one,"" I told her. ----- ""RRRROOOOOWWWRRRRR!!!!"" I formed my hands into claws, held my elbows close to my chest, and became a T-Rex. Bites People squealed with fear and delight and went running off through the house as I stomped after her. She pattered through the kitchen and around the dining table; I followed with loud, heavy steps that echoed down the hall. Finally I caught up to her and scooped her up in my arms, vowing to eat her for dinner. She giggled, and just for a moment I reflected on how completely different she was after only 2 months at home. ""Dino Movie?"" I asked her. She nodded and squirmed in my arms as I carried her to the couch. I flicked on the TV and once again pulled up her favorite movie: the Land Before Time II. We'd already watched it a few dozen times in the two months since her adoption, and she already had all the lines memorized. But I didn't mind; after all that time in the orphanage, she deserved to have her choice for a while. The movie came on, and Bites People watched with rapt attention, particularly any time Chomper was on screen. He was her favorite character: a 'Sharptooth' who had overcome his predatory instincts and made friends with all the herbivores. She cuddled up close to me on the couch as theme music played. She was so engrossed in the film that she didn't even notice her little tic: she was softly biting on my arm. Kind of in the absent-minded way that other kids would suck on their own thumb. And gently, of course: the way that a cat will nibble at a blanket while it kneads. Just a little love bite. ---- I just published a novel!",1007
" ""Dodger! Sapphire!""","""Come!"" The paw on the back of my head scratches through my fur. I snap at Dodger. He still treats me like a pup, and he is old. Old or not, he manages to catch me and roll me over. I bat at his chest and he snaps and growls near my ears until I surrender. ""Insolent pup,"" he growls again as he lets me up. ""I'm not a pup!"" I stand up and shake. ""I have earned my name. The Lady gave me a name!"" ""Dodger! Sapphire!"" The girl's voice from inside makes me perk up my ears. ""The Lady calls again. Come!"" He turns back toward the house and trots over. I follow, and playfully snap at his golden tail. He ignores me because I am obeying. The Lady opens the door. The youngest. Not quite 100 years yet. She just came of age last week, and there was a big celebration. I was quite popular that night, as her friends gave me many treats. There was talk among the adults about her going away. She said I would go with her, and that made me happy. I wag my tail at her. The Lady pats my head, but then she kneels down and hugs Dodger. The Lady is crying. ""What's wrong?"" I ask her. She only reaches out and pats my head again. She doesn't understand me yet. Not like the Master. The Master knows what we say. He understands Dodger more easily. And then I notice that Dodger is not wagging his tail. He is also sad. ""Dodger?"" I demand. I muscle my way into the hug and lick the Lady's face. She laughs a little. ""Dodger, what's wrong?"" ""I have to go see the Master,"" he says. He breaks away from the hug and leaves me with the Lady, who hugs me now instead. I sniff her. She smells of the chemicals that Master smells like all the time now. I listen. I can hear the Mistress talking, talking to the Peddler of the chemicals. I nudge out of the hug to follow Dodger, up the stairs, up to Master's room. ""Hey Sapphire,"" says the Mistress when I enter. She rubs me behind the ears the way I like. I tell her thank you. ""Beautiful Husky,"" says the Peddler. I greet him and he pets me. He seems all right, but for the odd smell. ""She belongs to my granddaughter."" The Mistress's voice sounds odd, like she is in distress, but I smell no danger. ""Ah."" The Peddler is packing up. ""If you need anything else..."" ""Thank you."" The Mistress walks out with him. Dodger is on the bed. He lays his head on Master's chest, who looks asleep. The chemicals make me want to sneeze, but Dodger had told me that is disrespectful. There's another smell too: it's been present for a long time, but today it is stronger than before. I walk up to the side of the bed. ""Dodger!"" I speak loudly to get his attention. He opens his big brown eyes. ""Quiet, pup,"" he says. ""And go away."" ""No! Tell me what is going on. Why does the Master smell like this? Why is my Lady crying?"" I put my paws on the bed to look at Master. His skin is very sallow and thin. The veins stand out. ""I am the Seventh,"" says Dodger. He lifts his head from Master's chest. ""My family was made part of the Master's family generations ago, when he was just a pup."" Dodger looks at his Master's face. ""The First was named Dodger as well. He named me, knowing I would be the last."" ""The last?"" I whine. ""Dodger, what are you talking about?"" Dodger sighs. ""You're too young to understand."" ""I am not a puppy!"" I say it loudly. ""I am not!"" The Master opens his eyes, and I wonder if I have made a mistake. But he laughs and reaches out to scratch my ears. Like the Mistress, he knows how to scratch properly. ""Hullo, Sapphire,"" he says. I wag my tail. ""Be a good dog for Jenny, mm?"" ""I will,"" I tell him. I feel Dodger looking at me, all solemn. ""Good girl,"" says Master. ""I don't have long before I go. Dodger will take care of me."" I hear a car pull up the driveway outside. It's a large one. I run to the window and look out: it's big and white, and strange humans in uniform get out. The Mistress begins to talk with them. I run back to the bed. I look at Dodger. ""He can't leave. You can't leave!"" I whine. ""Hey, hey,"" says Master. He catches me near the ears again, gently. ""I told you, Dodger will take care of me."" I whine at them both. ""You can't leave!"" The men come upstairs with a bed on wheels. The Lady comes with them and takes me aside. ""Gotta move the dog."" ""I'll move him,"" says the Mistress. She lifts Dodger off the bed. He seems older than he did a little while ago. I whine at the Lady, but she just holds me and cries. ""He can't leave!"" I tell her, but she doesn't understand yet. ""They won't bring him back!"" But he does leave. The Lady just holds me and weeps while the vehicles drive away. We go downstairs and outside. Dodger walks down the driveway, following the vehicles. ""Dodger, wait!"" I strain against the Lady's hands. She calls for Dodger, and he waits a moment. I get free. ""Dodger, we have to bring the Master back!"" I tell him. I could still hear the vehicles on the road. The Lady was running up behind me. He wags his tail at me. ""He told you to be a good dog and take care of the Lady. Be good, Sapphire."" He licks my face and runs off, golden fur shining in the sunlight. Lady holds onto me and calls for Dodger, but he disobeys. I had never seen him disobey before. He had never called me by my name before. I only saw Dodger one more time: we found him at the meadow where the Master's body was laid, curled against the crossed stone that marked it. He was the Seventh of his family. I am the First of mine. --- *Wow, I'm overwhelmed by all the feedback and the comments. I'm so glad so many people enjoyed this!*",1073
" Lars grunted, taking a sw","""He's been talking to that bard again,"" Sarah said, peeking through the slats of the window, down the path that led to their cottage. Her apron tails bobbed anxiously. ""You know the one. Merriwyn."" ""Bard,"" her husband Lars grunted, taking a swig of his ale. He drew his arm across his mouth. ""Drunkard, that's what he is. Passed out drunk half the time."" His bushy brows knitted together. ""So he can play the lute. So he sings like an angel. So what?"" ""Lars!"" his wife said, and bobbed up to the table in an anxious fit. ""You know what that means! Carries the lore of days gone by, drinks because he's trying to forget. Suddenly taken an interest in Brian, he has."" She stuck her lip out at him. ""Hm? Hmmm?"" ""Lots of veterans,"" Lars grunted, avoiding his wife's eye. ""We all fought."" He studied the scars on his knuckles. ""We all lost. Nothing special about that."" ""Lars!"" Sarah said, bringing her palms down on the table. ""You can't deny it! Brian's special! When we agreed to raise him -"" ""Lots of orphans!"" Lars said loudly. The ale sloshed in his mug. ""Doesn't mean anything!"" ""Lars,"" she said, and put her hands over his. ""He's our son. You know it's going to happen, whether you want it to or not."" Lars closed his eyes, his whole body curling in as if fixed on a single knot of wood on the table, going rigid. Sarah hovered over him. The door swung open, and they both jumped. ""Mom?"" said Brian, blinking uncertainly at them. ""Dad?"" His green eyes peeked out from under his shaggy hair, and he stood in the doorway, a set of gangly limbs propped up on themselves. Both of them noticed there was a distinct bulge in his satchel that hadn't been there when he'd left. ""Are you okay?"" he said, shuffling. ""I - I was just talking with Merriwyn, he, uh, he needed some help fixing the roof of his shack, and -"" He cut himself off and swallowed. ""Did - did I interrupt something?"" he said. ""No,"" Lars said abruptly. ""Not at all, not at all."" He got to his feet and strode to the door, his son dancing out of his. ""Got to - got to see a man about some turnips, in fact,"" he said, and roughly patted Brian on the shoulder as he passed. ""Be -"" He frowned. ""Be good to your mother."" ""I - I will,"" Brian said, glancing between them. ""Good,"" Lars said, and slammed the door behind him and was gone. Brian looked to his mother in bewilderment. ""Come on, come on now,"" Sarah said, bustling him towards the table. ""Have you eaten yet? That man didn't give you anything, did he? Goodness, you're lucky I've had some buns in the oven for you..."" Lars rushed down the dirt path, around the bend, huffing and snorting as the motley figure of Merriwyn came into sight. ""You!"" he bellowed, and Merriwyn turned around, his white eyebrows raised. ""You!"" Lars said. ""You damn well stay away from my boy!"" ""My goodness,"" Merriwyn said, doing a little curtsy in his patched robes. ""I don't know what this is about, my dear Goodman Strider, but I assure you your son's been an absolute blessing -"" ""Don't play dumb!"" Lars grunted, going on tiptoe and riling himself up as high as he could. He wished the man wasn't quite so tall. ""You know what you are, and I know what you are, and we both know what you've got planned for my boy!"" He struggled with his tunic, pulling it down, to reveal an ash-grey scar over his heart, the size of a fingertip. He jabbed a thick finger of his own in Merriwyn's face. ""He's a child! You're not having him fight your battles for you!"" The tipsy glaze in Merriwyn's eyes faded away, and the corner of his lip turned up. ""If you know what I plan,"" he said, his voice going low, ""then you know it's for the best."" He put a hand on Lars' shoulder. ""How much longer do you plan to slave away under the rule of the King of Ash? You think you can keep Brian safe here? How long until they come for him? How long until they burn out his spirit?"" Merrwyn's fingers tightened. ""Like they did yours? Like they did mine?"" Lars felt the blood rushing in his ears, and before he knew it Merriwyn was sprawled out on the ground, bleeding from his lip, his long legs like broken stilts. ""He's eleven!"" Lars roared. ""He's a child! You - You -"" Hot tears blurred his vision. ""You bastards! All of you! Relying on a child to do your work!"" Merriwyn lay there, unmoved, his tongue coming out to taste the blood. ""Lars,"" he croaked. ""It's always the children. It's always been the children."" He laid his head down and stared up at the sky. ""What other hope is there?"" ""A child!"" gasped Lars, and kicked Merriwyn in the side. Merriwyn closed his eyes and barely flinched. ""You - I -"" ""We failed,"" Merriwyn intoned, eyes closed, lying like a corpse. He folded his fingers together over his chest. ""You see the sky, Lars. That's what we left them. Brian's bright, he's good-hearted."" Merriwyn shook his head slowly, smiling. ""You raised him good, Lars, you raised the best boy I ever saw. Even without me telling him what needed to be done, you think he wouldn't figure it out on his own? You think he wouldn't dream of something better?"" Merriwyn opened his eyes, and looked up at Lars, grey. ""No matter what you do to me here, you think you'll be able to keep him forever?"" ""You-"" said Lars, and dropped to his knees beside Merriwyn, and grabbed the man's collar in one fist. Merriwyn made no resistance. ""You bastard,"" whispered Lars. ""You utter bastard,"" he said, and drove his fist into the ground and clutched at the dirt. A tear darkened the soil. ""He's only a child,"" Lars said. ""I know,"" Merriwyn whispered back. Above them, from the ash grey sky, the soot swirled and spun and the first fat flakes began to fall.",1039
 South Korean agent Gwang Eui,"The helicopter's skids skimmed the tops of the waves in the Yellow Sea. The stealth paneling should hide it from all radar, but just to be sure it was standard protocol to fly as low as possible. And the pilot, Lieutenant Owczarski, took that as a challenge to turn his bird into a boat. In the back, eight Navy Seals waited in full gear. In their hands, each of them held a copy of the short transmission received only minutes ago from South Korean agent Gwang Eui-Tae: > Underground since last contact. Rockets almost ready to launch. Intervene immediately. She'd gone quiet five years ago, just like every other spy and agent in the country. At first, intelligent sources thought there was just a purge, and a surprisingly effective one for the normally incompetent Kim government. The message largely confirmed that: something had happened to drive her underground. But it didn't explain why she hadn't been able to make it back to one of the safehouses right over the Chinese border, or why she hadn't been able to make any contact in any other way. North Korea may be tightly controlled, but the point of satellite phones is that they work anywhere. The second part of the message was far more chilling: Rocket almost ready to launch. When communication was first cut off, world leaders braced for nuclear attack. It was the only thing that could explain withdrawing troops from the DMZ and the Chinese border. But after almost six months of evacuations in the South and the hurried installation of an anti-missile shield, it became apparent that there was no imminent attack. That didn't mean the threat was gone for good, though: the only thing still coming out of North Korea was seismic data that showed repeated nuclear tests, growing in size every few months. They were certainly up to something but no one knew exactly what. Or, more importantly, *when* that something would be revealed and used against North Korea's neighbors. And now, the message from Agent Gwang made it clear that the time had come. ""All right,"" Captain Morrow addressed the men, ""Standard retrieval. The fact that this is North Korea doesn't change anything."" Out the windows of the helicopter, shore was just becoming visible. There wasn't even a single pinpoint of light across the entire horizon; no one had seen a light on in North Korea in years. ""We need to get Gwang out and debrief her as soon as possible to find out how soon the attack will come. And if need be, we need to stay in and thwart the attack."" The men in the back of the helicopter nodded without question. They'd known what they were getting into when they joined the Navy Seals, and stopping an entire country from destroying half of Asia was just another Tuesday. Out the windows, the sea disappeared and was replaced by tree tops so close that they could have reached out and grabbed a branch if not for the doors of the helicopters. Owczarski certainly did enjoy taking risks. The silent skyline of Pyongyang came into view as the helicopter settled in for a landing in a park by the waterfront. They deployed out the back of the helicopter, guns swinging in all directions. But no one was there to greet them. The river that had once teemed with fishing boats and even a few freighters was now still. Even the buildings along the riverbank were overgrown, no longer kept up. That confirmed what satellite imagery and fly-overs had already guessed from seeing a few buildings crumbling and collapsed. ""This is just unsettling,"" Andrews growled into the microphone as they activated the night vision setting for their HUDs and advanced into the city. Cars rusted in the streets, not used for years now. At one intersection, they came upon a herd of deer peacefully grazing at the grass growing between cracks in the asphalt. ""Where the hell is everyone?"" No one else had a response, but they all felt the same way. A firefight would be preferable to this gnawing, empty silence. How could *millions* of people just *vanish* like this? ""Keep it together,"" Captain Morrow told them. ""We're getting near the transmission point."" In the street ahead of them, the triangular shape of the Ryugyong Hotel loomed over the rest of the city. The hotel was supposed to be North Korea's crowning jewel, but as far as anyone in the intelligence community could guess, it had never seen a single occupant. Instead, it had been abandoned as a monument to the failure of the state. And according to the trace of Agent Gwang's signal, that had been the one place she'd been able to transmit from. The team of seals snaked their way down the streets toward it with guns still at the ready, though it looked more and more like that wouldn't be necessary. Finally they reached the edge of the hotel's walls. ""Sir?"" Petty Officer Llewelyn had his hand against the concrete wall. ""It's... vibrating."" The rest of the team joined him, placed their hands alongside his, and then exchanged looks that all said one thing: what the fuck is going on in this place? ""Let's get inside,"" Captain Morrow ordered. They weren't here to investigate shaking walls, they were here to extract the South Korean informant. They made their way around the edge of the hotel. Lawns that had once been manicured were now overgrown, and ivy was beginning to creep up the side of the hotel. Satellite maps led the team straight to the doors of the hotel, which had once been made of glass but were now just gaping holes with a few remaining shards. ""Some kind of insurrection, you think?"" Petty Officer Graeber wondered aloud. ""There's no bodies,"" Llewelyn answered. ""If they'd turned on each other, there'd be bodies. And plenty more destruction."" ""Stow it,"" Morrow barked as they entered the lobby. Despite having not seen a soul, they still didn't want to give away their position should someone be in the hotel. Agent Gwang was still the objective. He led the way past the termite-eaten front desk of the hotel and down the hall, deeper into the interior. The vibrating grew worse and worse, making it hard to even walk. They arrived at a set of double doors marked with Korean that the auto-translating HUD in their helmets informed them said ""Main stairway."" Morrow placed a charge on the door, urged them all back, and then detonated it. After waiting a moment to see if there was any reaction, the Captain charged in first and was nearly blinded as bright light overwhelmed his night vision. The interior was gleaming white and lit with enormous spotlights. The team changed their HUDs back to normal vision and entered what looked like a huge laboratory. Forgetting their discipline, they rushed over to the railing across from the door and looked down into the depths under the hotel. Below them was a hole that seemed to stretch *miles* into the earth, with row after row of balconies teeming with people. And filling that hole was an enormous rocket ship probably a hundred times larger than anything NASA had ever built. The HUD picked up the writing along the side of the rocket and automatically translated it for the seals: The People's Ark. ---- If you liked this, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for hundreds of other stories! !",1244
" The repulsive thing, still passed","""We have it, sir."" ""Excellent,"" I said, ""now hurry up and put her in the interrogation chamber."" ""Sir!"" The soldier rushed to comply and hoisted the repulsive thing, still passed out, and tied her to a chair. ""Make sure its binds are secured,"" I told him, ""we don't want her getting free."" I sat across from the captive, I wanted her to see me when she first regained consciousness, to know that her life was over. I didn't have to wait long. Soon the thing stirred, and reflexively strained against her bonds. I stiffened for a second, but the creature gave up, unable to break free. I let out a shaky breath that I didn't even realize I had been holding. Soon it opened its sharp blue eyes suddenly and looked right at me. To its credit, it didn't flinch. I gave it a smile. ""So Madame Chair, is it?"" I said, savoring the moment, ""welcome to hell."" Her eyes flickered about, taking in the sights, my red skin, pointy tail, my horns. The temperature, which humans find uncomfortable apparently, and the sharp odor of brimstone. And just for a moment her cool facade slipped, a crack in her mask, and her eyes widened slightly, her lips parted. And then it was gone as swiftly as it had come. But I saw it, I saw the thing's fear. It felt good to know that their leader could feel it. She looked at me again, with that same intense gaze that commanded authority, it was no wonder she became the leader of the Earth Congress. ""It's a little warm,"" she said, actually managing to smile, ""and these bonds are a bit too tight, do you mind loosening them?"" I laughed mirthlessly, the laughter not reaching my eyes. Laughed at the courage of this woman, her ability to make jokes, to retain some semblance of control despite her situation. Laughed at our final victory. ""I see through your facade, Madame, talk all you want, you'll be doing a lot of that whether you want it or not soon enough. You know this not a welcoming party."" ""So,"" she said, leaning back and managing to look as comfortable as possible in her bonds, ""let's skip the part where I refuse to tell you my plans, and you scare and intimidate me, and then you torture me so much that I eventually give in and tell you everything anyways, just that time without my fingers."" ""Let's start simply then,"" I said, slightly uncomfortable by her forthright manner, ""how did you invade hell?"" We already knew the answer to this, and we suspected the humans did not know that we knew. I wanted to test her honesty. She shrugged. ""It was simple really, we managed to reverse engineer-"" I held up my hand. ""I'm sorry, reverse engineer?"" I asked, not knowing the phrase. ""To build something by looking at a complete version,"" she explained. I motioned for her to continue. She nodded, ""Yes...reverse engineer one of your imp nests that spawned imps from hell directly to Earth, and managed to make a device that does the opposite. This also gave us the space-time co-ordinates of hell, so we knew where and when to go."" I pretended to frown, as if thinking if this would work, but my mind was racing. She was telling the truth, we had lost an imp nest and we had figured that's how the humans had made their way back in. ""Alright, let's continue. Where will the human forces be retreating?"" She pretended to look confused, ""I'm sorry, what do you mean retreat?"" I smiled savagely. ""Do you take us for fools, Madame Chair? You think we would infiltrate the very heart of your planet and capture you just to ask questions? No, you know as well as we do that we have cut off the head of the snake, without you the humans will halt their offensive."" And what an offensive it had been. In the first months of 2021 we had pushed the humans back, taking their cities and killing their people. But after the surprise had faded the humans had pushed back. *Hard*. Their...technology let them perform wonders that we thought they were incapable of. We could launch fireballs but they could shoot iron balls from some sort of hand held device. We had demons with wings, but they flew in metal birds. We had leviathans in the oceans but they had steel titans that sailed *on* the oceans. We were pushed back, and had retreated to hell after extensive casualties. We thought we would lick our wounds, bide our time, strike when the humans were weak, when we became a myth once again. We had the patience for millennia after all. But then they came to us. They tore into us, like insects they marched across the planes of oblivion, destroying our structures, freeing our prisoners. They recruited long dead humans, the most vicious of them, and turned them against us. They had marched to the palace of hell itself, seeking to capture our leader, the Devil himself. Without him we would fall apart, the different species of demons would turn on each other, and the war would be over. But that had not happened. And I turned back to the woman gloating, ""Just as we cannot fight without our leader, your humans will crumble without you. They are finished."" Her face had paled, and I bore on, ""don't worry though, we will not kill you, we will keep you alive for a *long* time, before your release comes and you go to heaven, longer that you would have lived on Earth."" I paused dramatically, savoring the look of utter fear on her face, ""Of course you might not find it as...comfortable as Earth."" I had expected her to cower, to cry, perhaps even revert back to her stoic mask, not showing emotions. I did not expect her to laugh. ""You fools, you sorry, poor fools!"" She said, gasping for breath. ""I..I just couldn't keep up the act anymore, my God."" I flinched as she said the last word, but remained confused. ""I was told you didn't understand human psychology, but delusion of this scale I had not even imagined."" She was actually crying from laughter, and now *she* smiled smugly at me. ""I have a second, you idiot, I will be replaced and the humans will continue attacking. This is not some sort of movie where if you kill the leader, all the underlings fall apart. Killing me does nothing."" I sat back, stunned. She had been acting, pretending to be afraid, pretending to show her 'true' emotions. And the human assault would not stop. ""You lie!"" I screamed at her, ""all species' fall without their leader. You kill a pack leader and you become leader, you kill the Devil and the demons fall apart. This is the nature of the world!"" She just continued laughing. The Devil needed to be evacuated! The humans may not need their leader but we did. I turned to shout orders to the soldiers outside, and they hurried away, reporting to the Devil. I turned back to the woman. ""Your humans may advance, but you will not, we captured you, and rest assured you will not see the light of day again."" She stopped laughing and smiled at me. A smile that chilled me to the bone. ""What the hell makes you think you were capable enough to capture me...if we didn't let you."" The soldier I had commanded to report to the devil returned, one of the human hand devices in his hand, and pointed it at me. ""Betrayal,"" I whispered. Then, fiercely, I turned to the soldier, ""Traitor!"" He shrugged, untying the human's bonds. ""I like to be on the winning side."" The woman, now free from her bonds turned to me. ""Thank you for bringing me to the most secure location in hell. The tracker I have swallowed has alerted my forces where this is. We will release the most fearsome humans in history from this facility."" She turned to walk away. ""Kill it,"" she said in a dismissive gesture, ""we have work to do."" ""Sorry boss,"" the soldier said with a casual shrug, and shot me. Blackness ensued. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit **Due to popular demand, I present to you, ** EDIT: /u/YouWriteITalk was kind enough to narrate this story. You can find this",1415
 Cassie was supposed to be as,"Her face stood out from the crowds, as it always did. She wore black like the rest of them, but there was no mistaking that glint of copper hair. He moved swiftly towards her - Cassie was supposed to be as buried as the man they thought was him. He stepped around those who were quietly sobbing or discussing his brutal death in whispers. They didn't so much as glance at the man brushing past their shoulders. It never failed to amaze him how a little plastic surgery could blind even the men and women in the crowds who had shared his work, who were supposed to be as skilled as he was at spying out deceptions. Perhaps they just wanted to believe he was dead. There were a lot of them. He waited until after the preacher had finished his long, mumbling speech. After his wife in his previous life - the woman who had never known him at all - gave a speech that reduced her to hoarse sobs and sent her running from the service before its end. After the people who had loved that version of him stepped forward and said their private goodbyes. He was surprised to see some of his colleagues also step out from the shadows to touch his casket. Sloppy of them. He waited until they lowered the casket into the ground, and the crowd dispersed. It took a while: more people had come to see him be buried than he'd thought. It was almost touching. But finally only she was left, running a hand over the gravestone they'd chosen for him. He pressed a hand over her mouth when there were no other eyes to watch them, and brushed his lips against her ear. ""I've missed you,"" he said. She shuddered at his voice, and gripped his arm, tracing her way up to try and touch his face. He dragged her into the small mausoleum nearby, and finally turned her to face him, removing his hand. ""Jack,"" she said. Her deep blue eyes traced his face greedily, seeing past the modified nose, the contacts, the beard he'd grown. Seeing *him*. ""I knew it,"" she said, her voice cracking as she wrapped her arms around him and began to sob. The spice of her enveloped him: apples and honey. He breathed deeply, etching it into memory. She had always smelled good. He was going to miss that. He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away slightly, looking down at her and allowing *that* smile to return. The one she associated with Jack Morgan. ""What happened?"" he asked. ""You were supposed to meet me on the pier..."" She hadn't been there. He'd thought she'd finally wised up, until he saw her here. ""I got an assignment. Urgent,"" she said. ""I tried to contact you, but by that time you'd disappeared. What happened? You ask *me* that? Why did you do this, Jack? You loved the work."" There were a hundred ways to answer that. ""I still do,"" he said, opting for the truth. Perhaps she deserved a bit of it right now. ""Maybe I made the wrong decision."" He drew his handgun at the same moment she did. The silence of the mausoleum pressed around him as she grinned widely. A part of him had always known - she had put on a good show, he had to give her that. As good as his own. Perhaps better. He'd been convinced she loved him. He answered her grin as he saw her in a new light. Her eyes sparkled, alive with the game - she really was beautiful. He'd known that all along, of course, but today he really appreciated it. ""Well, this changes things,"" she said. ""I had to come back, to try and find out. I always thought it was too easy, you falling in love like a amateur. It was killing me, not knowing."" ""Same here,"" he said with a grin. ""I came to the funeral, hoping you'd be here. I had to know. Funny, isn't it, that we decided on the same strategy?"" Usually, you stalked a mark for months before the kill. Unseen and silent. But usually, your mark didn't share the work. Normally, your mark wasn't so hard to kill. He'd thought it would be easy to rely on that shared connection, to exploit it to reach her. That had been the plan, at first. She must have thought the same. ""We've always had a lot in common,"" she agreed. Her gun was still pointed at his forehead. It felt good to have caught up with her. Yes, maybe he'd been wrong. He did miss this. She'd always been the one that got away. ""Well, we both know now,"" he said, watching her. ""Going to lower that gun?"" ""We'll do it together,"" she said, still smiling. ""How about that?"" He matched her smile. She'd always loved the game. He wanted to keep it going for as long as possible. ""Or perhaps you could fake your death as well, and we can be together again?"" he suggested. ""We were a couple, after all, everyone knew that. You could have been suicidal with grief...no-one would suspect. We could make it convincing. It's fun being dead, you know. There's no more obligations. What do you say - one last shot at it?"" They stared at each other, and both burst into laughter. ------- The cemetery gardener almost clipped off his own fingers as a single gunshot sounded from the mausoleum. A moment back he'd thought his ears were playing tricks on him when he heard laughter. He eyed the old building as he dropped the clippers and stumbled away to call the police. No way was he going in there to see what was going on. It was past time he found a new job. This place was haunted, he just knew it. ---------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. **edit:** Thanks so much to whoever gave me gold!",1007
 Agatha knocked on the door of,"Agatha knocked on the door of a small, dilapidated cabin in the woods. It was a dreary day, with clouds that blanketed the sky and hung low to the Earth. She saw someone part the curtains in the window of the little shack as a breeze whipped up and blew her silver hair around her face. The door opened a few inches. ""Have you got the silver?"" a man growled from inside. Agatha extended a small leather pouch toward the door. From the inside she could hear several children crying. ""Get back!"" he snarled to someone inside, ""This doesn't concern you!"" The man snatched the purse from Agatha's hand and opened the door fully. The man pointed to a girl, dressed in rags and clutching a younger sister. Even caked with mire and soot, Agatha could tell she was a beautiful creature. She started to smile a toothy grin, wrinkles hoisted up around her eyes. Agatha was 12 thousand years old, and while she could change her appearance at will, she chose to walk the earth in her true form: hobbled, hunched, wrinkled and warted. The girl let out a piercing scream, as they often did. Her father yelled louder, ""QUIET"". The girl stopped screaming, but her mouth still hung open. Agatha looked around the room. ""First I'll need permission from both the mother and the father to enter. Then I can take her by the hand and we'll be on our way."" ""Mother's dead,"" the man said flatly. ""Why else do you think you're here? I can hardly take care of any of them."" Three other children sat clutching one another on a bed, faces all ruddy with dirt. ""Ah. I see. I'll just need yours then,"" replied Agatha. ""Come on then. Get it over with."" The girl looked at her father in horror and began to sob, throwing herself on the floor. Agatha stepped into the room and past the other children. She knelt down beside the girl, put a hand on her back and looked up at her father. ""What's her name?"" she asked. ""Lilith,"" he said, staring at the door. ""Lilith,"" Agatha whispered to the girl. The girl buried her face in the crook of her arm, still crying on the floor. ""Lilith, can I show you something? I think you'll like it."" The girl peeked one eye above her arm. ""Good,"" Agatha said warmly. She then sat all the way on the floor, next to Lilith and produced from inside the sleeve of her robe, something small that fluttered about in her hand. Lilith looked up from her arm completely now. It was the most beautiful golden house sparrow. It sat in Agatha's palm and radiated light and warmth. The girl sat up now and looked on at the bird at eye level. It hopped about in Agatha's hand and began to sing."" ""Is that, real?"" Lilith asked timidly. ""Oh, everything is real, dear. Everything you can think of."" Agatha said. Would you like to see something else? ""Okay,"" Lilith mumbled. Agatha laid one finger on the top of the bird's head and immediately it was turned to solid gold. A golden chain slithered through the air, appearing one link at a time, and joined with the sparrow. Agatha held up a radiant gold necklace. Lilith gasped, ""Did you kill it? Is it dead?"" Agatha laughed, ""Oh no. I can turn it back anytime I like."" She paused, ""And so can you. Would you like to try?"" Lilith outstretched her hand and grasped the necklace. It was warm to the touch, she thought she could almost feel it pulsing. ""Just tap it with your index finger on the top of its head, and imagine it's a bird again. It's that simple. Go on."" All of the other children and even the girl's father were watching on with mouths agape. Lilith held the golden sparrow in her hand and tapped it gently on the head. It immediately sprung to life and flitted around the room. The girl shrieked with delight, her former sorrow nowhere to be found. Agatha laughed and clapped her hands, ""I knew it! I've felt it for a long while now, in these woods, and it was you."" Lilith looked puzzled, ""What do you mean?"" ""Ah, nevermind for now. There's plenty of time for that later,"" Agatha said. ""Your sparrow's name is Oscen. She is yours and will come whenever you breathe her name."" ""Oscen!"" Lilith called. A streak of gold flashed across the ceiling and landed on the girl's head. Oscen chittered happily and played with pieces of her hair. ""Ha! You see! That's perfect."" Agatha reached to put a finger under the bird's belly. It hopped onto her hand and she placed it on the girl's shoulder."" Lilith beamed and tried to look at the bird. ""Now Lilith,"" Agatha said quietly. ""I have a great many things to tell you, but you'll have to come with me."" The girl looked around the room. Everyone looked on completely bewildered. ""I want to go,"" a voice squeaked from the bed. One of the other children hit the girl that spoke up. ""Shut up!"" she hissed. ""Can Sarah come with me?"" Lilith asked Agatha quietly. ""No,"" her father answered. ""I'm afraid your father is right. You see, Lilith. You're special. I could bring Sarah, but she would not be able to learn and do the things that you could. It would be cruel,"" replied Agatha. Lilith was quiet for a moment and held the sparrow in her palm. ""Will I do more of this?"" ""It doesn't matter what you do, girl. You've been paid for. You have to leave!"" her father bellowed. Agatha sprang up from the floor with a peculiar spryness for a woman her age and shouted, ""That is quite enough!"" and pinched her fingers together. The man yelled back but no sound came out. He stopped and looked wide eyed at Agatha. Suddenly the man bolted toward the woman and reached his arms out in an effort to throttle her neck. Agatha threw her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. She was caught off guard and braced for contact, but it never came. She looked up at the man and he had simply frozen in place. His entire body, save for his eyes racing around the room, was completely still. The children, while not paralyzed, were completely quiet, stricken with fear. Agatha looked over at Lilith. She was standing feet apart, staring at her father with clutched fists, Oscen still on her shoulder. Agatha slowly walked up to the girl and lay a hand on her arm. She was shaking and a tear streamed down her cheek. ""Lilith,"" she said softly. ""Lilith take my hand and let's go. I think you know now, and probably have always known that you weren't meant to be here. Come with me."" Lilith softened and looked at Agatha. After a moment she placed her small hand in the old woman's. They walked toward the door. ""Hey!"" Sarah yelled, ""You can't leave him like that! You have to fix him! LILITH!"" ""He'll be fine."" Agatha said coldly and opened the door, still clasping the girl's hand. The two walked outside and let the door close behind them. Remarkably, the sky had completely cleared, revealing the most beautiful shade of azure the two had ever seen. *Edit: There are two more sections floating around here somewhere. Thank you everyone for your kind words. For fans of Sarah, take heart. We'll get there. *Double Edit: If you would like to keep going on this adventure, I started a Tumblr (lol) . You guys are seriously awesome. I posted the last part that I'll post on this thread somewhere below. If you want to keep up with the stories, I would love to keep hearing your thoughts! Thanks everyone!",1314
" ""Why the hell did I let","""Why the hell did I let you drag me here?"" I shouted in Paul's ear. I had to shout, because there were a million damn people packed into Times Square just to see the ball drop for New Year's Eve. And of course we'd gotten jammed into some little offshoot alley where we couldn't see anything but were still pressed by people on all sides. I was just on the edge of the 'current' within the crowd, where a steady stream of onlookers were managing to press their way through to Times Square. And when they brushed past me, I got a little glimpse of when we might interact again. For most, there was nothing. New York is a big place. But every once and a while I did get a little flash of seeing them in a store somewhere, or other chance encounters. ""Because you need to get out!"" Paul answered. ""You would have just stayed at home and watched a *re-run* of the ball drop on your TV and then fallen asleep at 10 PM."" He knew me so well. One of the benefits to my power is that I'm easily able to choose my friends; with just a handshake, I know our whole future together. Paul and I would lose touch about 15 years from now, after he and his future wife move up to Connecticut and have a set of twins. But we'd still send each other Christmas cards and visit occasionally. He'd be very happy then. ""You never go out any more,"" he continued. ""You need to put yourself out there and meet someone new!"" I knew exactly what he meant: I hadn't been on an actual real date in a while. See, knowing when things will work out (like with Paul) was an upside, but with a very real downside: I know when things *won't* work out. Every date that I go on, I know just how it will end. I know that he'll stop calling me and move on to some other piece of ass if we sleep together. Or that we can have two relatively happy years together before he starts cheating with his coworker. The potential record so far was a grand five-year relationship that ended with a fight over how he would never make a real commitment. Quite underwhelming. So now, I don't even bother dating with the guy unless I know in advance that it will be a fun little fling with no real strings attached. ""I'm just not looking for someone,"" I answered Paul. He didn't exactly know about my abilities; I just told him that I'm good at reading people. ""Exactly!"" he said. ""You're *not* looking. You're *hiding*. That's why I brought you out."" As I was preparing my retort, someone in the surging crowd brushed past me. A man, with soft brown eyes and a close-cropped beard. For our first date, he took me to learn trapeze swinging! For our fifth date, we went to the Statue of Liberty, which I'd never been to even after years of living in New York. For our one year anniversary, we rented a little house on the beach in Long Island. And when he proposed to me, he did it right here in Times Square; I acted so surprised for him. In the vision, I could see myself gleefully shouting *yes!* It went on like that through our lives: buying a home, raising our children, and retiring together. And the *flash* ended with him by my bedside in a hospital. I don't know how long it lasted. But by the time I recovered from that intense journey through my future life... the crowd had moved on. I stood on my tiptoes and waded in headfirst, but there it was too dark, and the light kept changing. All I could see were winter hats and thick coats. *Damn, I hate being short!* ""Whoa!"" Paul suddenly realized that I'd left and jumped in after me. ""Where are you going?"" ""There was a guy!"" I told him, still scanning the crowd. I must have looked like a loon, hopping as high as I could to try to get a glimpse of him. ""I saw a guy! I need to find him."" Paul laughed. ""Must have been one hell of a looker to set you off like this."" ""Help me find him!"" The lights from all of the billboards and everything kept changing, making it hard to keep my eyes focused on anything. The whole place was a whirlwind of activity and sound. This was far worse than finding a needle in a haystack. ""All right, all right,"" Paul said, putting a hand on my shoulder to calm me down. ""What does he look like?"" ""He's.... he's got brown hair... and..."" It was all so clear in my mind, but that was because I could see him in the future. I had no idea what he was wearing tonight. And all of these stupid people in the crowd weren't helping. ""And brown eyes... medium height..."" ""So he could be pretty much anyone,"" Paul said. ""I've got to find him!"" I repeated. ""Do you know him or something?"" Paul asked. ""Why is this guy so special?"" I sighed. I couldn't tell Paul about the life I'd seen. Not unless I wanted to be involuntarily committed, that is. ""Never mind,"" I whispered. Tears were welling up in my eyes as the realization began to set in. I stood on a fire hydrant and surveyed the crowd. Everyone looked the same in their winter clothes. With only about half an hour left until 12:00, it would take a miracle to find him. And I just wasn't that lucky. *Goodbye, mystery soul mate,* I thought. ""Don't worry about it,"" Paul said, trying to cheer me up. ""There's plenty of other guys out here! We'll find you a good one."" ""Yeah... sure,"" I said, knowing that no other guy would do. I'd missed my chance. ----------- The next few weeks were all a dreary blur. I'd found my one, and probably *only*, chance at true happiness... and I had let it slip away. And the worst part was the utter helplessness of knowing that there was absolutely no way to find him. I'd spent days searching through facebook photos of friends, New Years Eve parties... hell, I even hired a sketch artist! No luck though. By this point, I was just sleepwalking through life. And then on my way down to work one morning, the elevator chimed at the fifth floor... and he walked in. Those same soft eyes, that beard... it was the man that I'd seen. My eyes must have gone wide, because he did a double-take and gave a confused grin. ""Do we... know each other?"" He asked. I never heard voices in my visions, but it just seemed to fit him so well. He sounded exactly as I'd imagined him. I managed to compose myself and gave a weak laugh. ""No, I don't think we do."" He continued to look at me, still a little confused. ""Well, how about we get to know each other? Over coffee maybe?"" The elevator chimed again and we arrived at the lobby. ""How about we go learn how to do trapeze swinging instead?"" I asked. ""A little unusual for a first date..."" he answered with a grin that assured me he was interested. I shrugged, trying to look casual even as I was practically screaming with joy internally. *I'd found him!* Well, somehow he had found me, but I didn't really care about the distinction right now. ""I guess I'm just a girl who knows what I want,"" I answered. ---- If you liked this story, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more!",1294
 Hitler was having a piece of banana,"Hitler was having a piece of banana cake when Bob Ross walked in. ""And I just feel like no one *gets* me, you know?"" The future Fuhrer was saying to one of his servants, as he sprayed whipped cream over the cake, distracted. ""I mean, I know most artists are destined to be posthumous, but... I don't know, I guess I want the fame and the fortune too, you know?"" ""*Ja*, It is very hard, my master,"" the man said, in a German accent but in English for no reason at all, just like foreign characters in the movies. ""Hey, Hitler,"" Bob said, stepping in, confident. ""May I?"" he pulled a chair sat down without waiting for an answer. ""What is this!?"" ""Listen, I'm Bob Ross and I'm from the future and I paint stuff."" ""Bob Ross?"" ""Yes. Here's the thing - I'm supposed to come here and teach you how to paint so you'll be a good painter and not invade Poland and then the rest of Europe and cause the death of millions of people."" ""Holy shit, I do that!?"" Hitler widened his eyes. ""Oh, yes. It's awful. People still use your name as a reference to evil. There's even an internet law based on how long it takes until someone compares a certain situation to Nazi Germany during an argument."" ""What's the internet?"" ""Never mind,"" Bob leaned forward. ""This is what we're going to do - I'm going to teach you how to -"" ""Excuse me,"" Hitler's servant said, in that same fake accent. ""I'm afraid I must intervene here."" ""What's wrong?"" ""Well, Mr. Ross, have you considered the twist?"" ""The twist?"" ""Yes. The fact that you'll teach this man how to paint, he'll grow to be a famous painter, not invade anything, and when you return to your home time you'll find out that another man named, I don't know, Hans, has taken over Germany and did worse things than Adolf here could ever do."" Ross frowned. ""I don't follow."" ""You don't watch much Twilight Zone, do you?"" The servant asked. ""How do you know about the Twilight Zone? This is 1910."" ""Never mind about that."" The servant leaned back. ""My name is Hans, Ross. And I will take over Germany if you teach Adolf how to paint."" ""Why!? Why would you do that?"" ""Why else would I be in the scene? Why would Hitler not be alone when you walked in? I have to serve some purpose for the plot, right? And let's face it - go back in time and kill/talk/convince/teach Hitler is a trope we've seen before, and it always ends like this. In fact, most time traveling tropes tend to end with a silly variation of the butterfly effect we-made-things-even-worse twist. Let's not make this prompt another example."" Bob Ross scratched his head and thought about this. ""Shit. Okay. I guess. But what do we do now?"" ""Now we find a way to subvert time traveling tropes and present something fresh for the readers. And fast, because they're getting impatient."" ""Why are they getting impatient? We're still at 500 words!"" ""Yes, but we've gone post-modern self-referential, characters-acknowledging-their-own-stories. That annoys some people."" ""It's not really my fault, look at the prompt. Where do you go with time traveling Bob Ross and Hitler that's not self-referential parody?"" ""Now you're blaming the OP for your shortcomings as a storyteller. Classy."" ""Not *my* shortcomings. I'm not the author."" They both turn and stare at me for a second. I shrug. ""Anyway,"" Hans said, resuming the conversation. ""Do something different. Fast."" ""But what?"" ""Huuuuuuh.... Fuck, I don't know. Kiss Hitler!"" ""Erotic Nazi Fanfic? No thanks."" ""Okay, then... you have cancer, and Hitler nurses you to health, but in the end we find out *Hitler* has cancer too, and -"" ""I'm not taking part in The Fault in our Stars Feat. Adolf Hitler. It ain't gonna happen."" ""Well, you gotta do something, and fast, because time is running out."" ""Hitler? Any suggestions?"" Adolf looked around. He got up and paced. ""I don't know. Can you just return to your present time and call it a day?"" ""And then everything happens as it's supposed to? That's boring."" ""Yeah..."" Hitler stopped. ""I don't know then. I really don't know."" Hans shook his head. ""Okay, I got this."" He grabbed a little radio device from his pocket and spoke into it. ""Send them in."" Ross frowned. ""Send who in?"" Static emerged from the radio for a second, then a voice answered: ""Copy that."" ""Send who in?"" Adolf repeated. ""What's happening?"" ""Well,"" Hans said, getting up. ""If we're in a Hitler and Bob Ross time traveling prompt and we can't figure out a way to turn it into something fresh, we might as well embrace irony and self-mockery to the full extent of Writing Prompt's classic tropes."" ""What do you mean?"" The door came open behind Ross. He turned back and watched as two teenagers walked in - a boy in round glasses and a scar on his forehead and a girl that looked a lot like Emma Watson. ""Hey Harry, hey Hermione. Sorry to drag you into yet another prompt. You got the time turner?"" ""Yup,"" Harry said, in a bored tone. ""Harry Potter fanfic? Really?"" Ross shook his head. ""For fuck's sake."" ""If we're gonna go down the rabbit's hole, let's do it proudly."" Hermione started setting the time turner. Harry looked around, curious. Ross sighed. ""Fuck that, I'm out,"" Hitler said, and then he jumped out the window, and then WW II didn't happen, but the Statute of Secrecy *was* violated on account of the whole thing and muggles learned about magic and when Ross returned to his present day no one gave a shit about static paintings anymore, so he died a poor man, which I guess is irony or whatever, I don't even care. _____ *For more information on why the fourth wall is damaging your health and you should get rid of it, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*",1001
" ""Close your eyes babe,"" Malcolm","*** Malcolm squeezed my hand. We were standing in front of the bathtub, feeling a bit foolish. Well, I was at least. I knew this was all a joke, but for some reason my heart was was hammering like a drum. ""Close your eyes babe,"" he said. ""Why?"" I asked. ""I don't want to miss anything. This whole dimension jumping is not exactly something one does every day, after all."" I could see a spider crawling it's way across the bottom of the tub, a dark speck in a sea of cream, zig-zagging its way towards the drain. ""Do you trust me?"" I looked at my husband. ""Would I be standing in a bathroom like this if I didn't?"" ""You're humoring me. I get it. But I'm not lying."" One lock of my hair fell out of my tight bun of hair and hung loosely in front of my face. Malcolm reached out and brushed it out of the way so that he could stare me in the face. ""Hey, I love you. Now close your eyes."" I took a deep breath. ""Okay."" He clasped my hand again, and I squeezed it until the knuckles turned white. I felt him slip a small piece of paper into my palm. I looked up at him quizzically, but he was already facing forward at the wall. ""On the count of three, then we'll do it."" ""Do what?"" He ignored me. ""One. Two. *Three!*"" I shut my eyes and felt a sharp jerk on my hand, and then my navel, and then suddenly the floor was gone and I was flying. I could feel wind and particles whipping by my face. I wanted to scream, but was afraid if I opened my mouth then something might fly in it. There was a second sharp pull at my arm wrenching my sharply in a new angle, and I was thrust away from my husband. I lost all reservations and opened my mouth to scream his name, but nothing came out, the sound of my voice consumed by the void of another dimension. Then I was alone. My body connected with something hard, and I lost consciousness. *** Seagulls. I could hear them calling to each other. It had been ages since Malcolm and I had taken a proper vacation to the ocean. It was good to finally be back, except why was I at the ocean again? ""You alright, miss?"" I opened my eyes, and only saw blurry shapes. The world was fuzzy as if I needed a pair of glasses, but I could make out three distinct colors: the dark navy water of the ocean, the bright cerulean of the sky and the beige expanse of sand stretching for miles in two directions before me. The sun was hot on my skin and sand was sticking in bunches to my elbows. I waited patiently for my mind to unscramble and my bearings to return to me. It came in pieces: Followed Malcolm into bathroom. Different dimension. New life. Flying. Got separated. Hit a thing. Here now. ""Hello? Miss? You a mute or somethin'?"" I looked up. A girl no older then twelve or thirteen was looking down at me. She had tanned skin and short sandy hair fashioned in a pixie cut. She was offering a hand to me, and it was at that moment that I realized that I was sprawled out on my back. ""I'm okay...I think. Thanks."" I accepted her hand and let her pull me to my feet. My entire body ached, as if I had done a work out at the gym for the first time in months. The girl was strong for her size, and did all the work to get me standing again. I began to dust sand out of my plaid pajama bottoms. I noticed the girl was staring at me with a funny look. ""What?"" I asked, still groggy. ""That's a funny thing you wearin'. You're from the Outside, yeah?"" *If the Outside is a different dimension, then yeah,* I thought. ""Something like that."" I looked around. Out past a horizon of dunes, I could see a row of thatched, red roofs, a patchwork plain of mismatched and uneven tiles. It appeared to be some type of shanty fishing town. There were fishing lines dotting the shoreline, propped up in the sand, all facing the sea. ""You must have come for the funeral then. Lot's of Outsiders will be sailing in the next few days. Guess you must have shipwrecked huh?"" My head was still pounding and I only understood half of what the girl was saying. ""Funeral? No. I'm looking for a man. Name is Malcolm Reynolds. Apparently he's lived...uh...here for about 1000 years. You heard of him?"" The girl shook her head and kicked at the sand. ""Don't know anyone by that name. It's a big world miss."" She took a step closer and peered a bit closer in to my hears. ""We should get you to a doctor. We only got herbalists in the fishing village, so if you want a real one you have to head into the city."" I shook my head. ""I can do that later, after I find my husband."" She shrugged. ""Suit yourself. You said he lived here a thousand years, yeah? Well anyone that lives that long would have to have a record in the city library."" She began to walk over to the fishing lines by the sea to check them. ""I'm heading up that way for the funeral, you can join me if you like."" It wasn't like I had any better ideas. I looked in both directions as far as I could, craning my neck as I did so. No sign of Malcolm anywhere. ""Okay,"" I said. I held out my hand again. ""I'm Jill, by the way."" She clasped in with bony fingers. ""Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jill the Outsider. I'm Ko'sa."" She pointed back towards the village. ""Let's head back to my cottage. We can stop and get provisions before we head into the capital. If we leave now we can get in before the lines at the city gates get too long."" I nodded. ""Must be quite a funeral."" ""You could say that."" Ko'sa grinned. ""It's a funeral for the queen, after all."" *The queen? Guess even alternate dimensions are ruled by royalty,* I thought. ""She was a good queen then?"" Ko'sa bowed her head. ""Yeah. She'll be missed, at least by most of us. Some of us... wonder about her death. Whether it was really natural or not. The Queen and the King were an arranged marriage you see, didn't exactly fancy each other. Some say he had it in for her, loved another."" As Ko'sa prattled on about the royal family, I realized there was something pressed against my left palm, now slick with sweat. I opened my hand to reveal a note. The same note that Malcolm had thrust into my hand back in the bathroom. It was tiny and rolled up neatly, like a scroll. With fingers that were slightly trembling, I unrolled the tiny piece of parchment and read the words in my husband's hand writing. > If you ever need to find me, just ask for the King ;) *** * * * /r/ghost_write_the_whip",1222
 Rammack led Julian through the,"Julian followed Rammack as he led him through the bio-dome. ""You seem distracted, Captain,"" said Rammack, ""but you needn't worry. Your crew are being well looked after. Our medical teams are simply examining them to make sure they are healthy. It was a long journey, after all."" Julian nodded and gave a curt smile. ""This, Captain Pousa,"" announced Rammack proudly as he stretched his arms out wide, ""is the very heart of the colony. It is our home, if you will. We have divided it into three sections: habitation, research and medical."" ""It seems... kind of small,"" Julian mused out loud, ""at least, for a growing colony."" ""Unfortunately the terraformation has not been fully completed yet. We have beauty out there -yes - and even certain plant life. But it is not yet safe for us. Not for perhaps... two hundred years, maybe a little more. Then, once the air is breathable, we may leave the dome and our population may grow."" ""So, it's static growth right now? A one in, one out kind of deal."" Julian's cheeks quickly turned to the same stewed-red as the sky far above the dome. ""I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be callous about it; I can't imagine how close you all are."" His first diplomatic mission and he'd already put his foot in it. He cursed himself and blamed it on the long-sleep. ""Yes, we have grown very close. But please, there is no need to apologise. In a way it *is* one in, one out."" *There's no room for us in this dome*, Julian thought. *Not to live, at any rate. We'd have to start a separate colony*. He smiled at the idea. The disappointment he'd felt at being unfairly pipped to the post, faded ever so slightly. Faster than light technology - he still couldn't believe it. But Rammack's FTL drive had become unstable upon reaching Calma. Even for them it had been relatively new technology. Now, both crews were stuck here. Julian gathered his thoughts as Rammack led him into the medi-center. ""You said: *in a way it's one in one out*? I don't think I understand what you mean."" Rammack turned to him, his grey hair contrasting his youthful blue eyes. ""Our mission was different to yours. We were not meant to populate this world; we were simply scientists sent to transform the planet for possible future human habitation. We were not meant to be stuck here. And we won't be."" Julian thought he heard a distant noise, like a short sharp scream, but Rammack hadn't flinched so he ignored it. ""Well we're out of fuel and your FTL drive's kaput, so I don'-"" Rammack held a hand up to silence him. ""**We will not die here!**"" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. ""I am sorry Captain, but the mere thought of dying in this nano sphered sepulchre..."" ""That's... understandable."" ""Yes, I believe it is. So, we will not die here. Earth will come for us, once the planet is habitable."" ""But you said that's... two hundred years from now?"" ""It is. And we must live until then. Yes, one in one out, but it is never one of the original that leaves."" ""What do you-"" He heard the scream again. Louder, clearer. ""Where's that coming from?"" Julian demanded. Rammack nodded towards a metal door down the corridor. Julian ran to it and twisted the handle. He walked into a small, white room. Two beds sat in the centre: one cream, one mostly red. His chief engineering officer lay on the crimson bed. ""Andy, God, what have they done to you?"" Julian yelled as he ran over to his friend. Andy didn't respond. Julian saw two gaping holes where Andy's eyes should have been; his stomach had been carved open, and although Julian was no biologist, it was clear to him that organs were missing. ""We have children, Captain. And they live a good life, for a while. Then, we harvest what we need - but *only* to keep ourselves alive, until we are rescued. Organs need replacing, from time to time. **Do not dare look at me like that, Captain - we're not monsters!**"" ""No. You're worse than that,"" said Julian, his arm trembling as he lowered it down towards his gun. ""We use the children because we must. We don't *want* to harm them. And now, we don't *have* to. Your crew of eighty-three... yes, you will sustain us for a long, long time,"" said Rammack, his lips smacking together as he spoke. Julian drew the gun and pointed it at Rammack. ""Lasers will not work in here,"" said Rammack with a grin. ""We're not naive."" ""It's not a laser,"" replied Julian, his voice dark and rough. Rammack's face changed, his eyes growing wide and his smile drooping. ""That is old... even for your day, is it not? But if you shoot me, you will soon be killed by my colleagues. Then, your crew die anyway."" Julian moved the gun away from Rammack and aimed it at the dome's nano-glass wall. ""You'll kill us all. Your crew included. You're not a fool,"" said Rammack with a faux-calmness. ""I've been a fool since I got here - why stop now?"" His finger began to squeeze the trigger. ""Wait!-Wait. I took you on this tour for a reason. We recently experienced a... fatality; sad for us, but most fortuitous for you. We have room for one more permanent in the complex. You could be like us, and live to see the planet transform and thrive!"" ""You'd have me live like you wretches? Kill my own crew? Go to Hell!"" ""We will only take your crew as we need them. They will have good lives, until then. Fed and cleaned, they will want for little. Is that not how you treated animals when you were on Earth?"" ""They're not animals, and I'm not a butcher,"" said Julian, his voice trembling. ""They're *humans*, and they deserve to *die* as humans."" He slowly squeezed the trigger. --- For more of my stories: /r/nickofnight",1014
" ""I can't hack it anymore","""I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now."" As I sit at the interrogation table, those 2 sentences are all my mind can recall. Nothing else. I wince as the handcuffs bite into my skin, as if they're trying to punish me for all the reckless deaths I'd caused. Another sentence worms its way into my mind. The one spoken by the police officer when he had arrested me, making me realise what was real, and what wasn't. ""Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"" *** Paul glanced at the now empty wineglass in front of him. He stared harder at it, as if wishing it would magically refill itself somehow, but as all Sunday evenings went, it never did. The loud ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his reverie. Plodding slowly towards the front door, he cursed silently at the interruption to his schedule. He felt a slight chill, as if winter had come early all of a sudden. ""I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now,"" the hooded man standing outside his door said, thrusting a scythe into Paul's hands. His voice sounded hoarse and laboured, as if he had been running a marathon prior to arriving here. Paul stood there, stunned. ""W-what?"" He stammered, holding the scythe out at arms length, as if the weapon would spring up and attack him. But the man was shuffling down the driveway in slow, steady steps. Paul blinked a few times, still staring at the deadly weapon, but even in his intoxicated mind, he knew that this wasn't a dream. For some reason, the Grim Reaper had given up his job. And now, it was his. Summoning all his strength, he staggered back to his room, the alcohol kicking in. He sat down heavily on his bed, tossing the scythe aside as if it were an ordinary weed wacker. Placing his hands in his head, he began to think out loud. ""I'm the Reaper now... so that must mean I... but I can't possibly kill people now, can I?"" Another loud ring from the front door. Paul cursed and picked up his scythe. This was turning out to be a dreadful night for him. The front door swung open, revealing a portly, middle aged man standing in front of him, sweaty and dressed in a tracksuit. Suddenly, Paul's vision blurred. In that instant, he could have sworn he saw the number 0 above the man's head. This man's time was up. ""Hey, Paul. I was in the neighborhood running, and I thought-"" The scythe went up. The scythe fell. And with it, the balding head of the man. Blood spurted onto Paul's shirt, and a heavy stench filled the air as the man's digestive tract gave way. Grinning slightly now, Paul stepped over the man's body. The job had- invigorated him somehow. He felt a surge of strength and adrenaline course through his body, as if he was gaining power every moment. The power of the Grim Reaper, he thought. His initial thoughts had been suspicious, wary of a juvenille prank. But now, he wasn't so sure it was a prank after all. He would have to find more zeroes to remove. It was his job, after all. And by hook or by crook, he was going to be one hell of a Reaper by the next night. The next morning saw Paul fast asleep on the bed, his bloodied scythe in one hand, and a hastily made hood and cloak draped over his nightstand. Besides his first subject, whose body was now buried in the back garden, he had taken care of six other people with that magical number above their heads. It was close to dusk when Paul awoke, his head pounding with energy and his eyes alert to that number he now knew was his life's work. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed his pale, gaunt face peering back at him. Besides the bloodstains all over him, he decided that it was a good look. That night was an even more frenzied version of the second. Paul had managed to complete his eighteenth job for the night with minimal noise. He was getting good at this job, his tasks taking no more than a few moments now. That was until the police cruisers pulled up next to him. Surrounding him in a semicircle, with guns aimed at him, shouting for him to ""get on the ground and release your weapon"". He ignored them, of course. What chance did mortals stand against the Reaper? He left 2 officers slumped dead against a cruiser before he put his scythe down. Somehow, he had managed to evade all the deadly bullets, but that did not surprise him in the least. The 2 policemen with zeroes over their heads were finally dead. Paul didn't hear the screams of the policemen yelling for him to drop his scythe. He didn't hear the cries of the wounded officers, injured by his scythe. He only heard the yell of the policeman in his ear, shouting a non-zero number. ""Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"" That was when he looked down and saw nothing but a weed wacker in his hands. No scythe. His cloak and hood were just an ordinary, torn-up hoodie. And the original Grim Reaper? He now recognized the weary face of his gardener. *** I watch as the sergeant walks into the room. Tall, imposing, and a grim smile on his face. The weed wacker that claimed so many lives is in his hands. Bent and bloodstained, no longer the majestic scythe I once wielded. ""May I-"" my request for a drink is cut off. The sergeant slams the weed wacker down hard on the interrogation table. ""Fool. You nearly exposed us."" I can only stare in horror as the sergeant changes form, morphing into the hooded man from 2 days past. The weed wacker also transforms, turning into a pitch-black scythe. ""You had one job, Paul. Now I'm here to take it back.""",1012
 It was easy to plan for it,"I waited. I looked out from my window to the sparkling city that I had once terrorized and nearly destroyed more times than I could remember. It was easy to plan for it's destruction, causing chaos and pandemonium with every attempt, But that was nothing compared to the **Challenge** of uplifting it. Changing my image was the first difficulty, for good reason I was regarded as a menace and a danger to everyone, with years of maneuvering (some subtle and some not so subtle) I was considered reformed by the justice system and seen by everyone as a man seeking to atone for past wrongs. Everyone but one man. My greatest rival, the Hero who bested me in every confrontation, every test of strength, wit and skill. The final piece I needed for my grand scheme to be complete. And so I waited. With a crash he entered the scene, my poor door no match for his foot. ""It was unlocked you know"", I call out over my shoulder in the calmest voice it could manage, hoping to keep my excitement from reaching him. ""Although I **am** glad you came through the door instead of the wall or window"", With a sigh I turn and walk to my desk, catching a glimpse of him standing in my door as I walk. Gold stripes with a blue base with matching cape and red boots. I always loved his costumes and today's choice especially brought out the pure rage in his eyes. ""So what can this lowly public servant help you with today?"" I cheerfully said as I sat down. Or I would have said that had he not slammed his hand nearly through my desk when the word servant left my mouth. ""You never served anyone other than yourself you sick psychopath."" The words left his mouth with more spittle than I would appreciate but they also contained more rage than I had planned for. ""I knew all of this was a lead up to some ungodly theatrical reveal but I had never thought that you would do something so downright evil."" He composed himself as best he could while hissing those words between his lips. ""Ahhhh, you found the genetic markers for the immortality program then? I was wondering how long it was going to take you to find those and come storming in here."" I steepled my fingers together, ""so how did you think this would play out? You come charging in demanding to know what the grand plan is and bait me into monologuing? I'm sorry to disappoint you but it wont be that easy you know."" With a sudden motion he rips me from behind my desk and pins me to the wall, ""No games."" He snarls at me, ""I've seen the research papers, I KNOW that you intend to sacrifice ten thousand people to give yourself a longer lifespan, I KNOW EVERYTHING."" ""Well what did you expect me to do when you don't return my calls and refuse to follow the breadcrumbs of lesser crimes back to me? Honestly you were being so stubborn that I had to do something drastic to get you here."" I played the part of a scared super villain perfectly, suddenly realizing that I was two seconds from being paste on the wall had nothing to do with how scared I sounded I'm sure. As easily as most people swung around a pillow he lifted me up and smashed me back into the wall, only using one hand to hold me now while the other gathered light or honour or whatever his power worked on. **""I SAID NO MORE GAMES!""** He roared, the light gathering around his whole body now. **""UNDO IT! GET RID OF WHATEVER CHEMICALS THAT YOU PUT IN THEIR SYSTEM NOW!!"" ""Already done."" I hear him grit his teeth at my now smug demeanor and feel him push me a bit higher up the wall ""The markers will fade in a week and the chemicals in the water are false positives I had the labs make up."" I quickly add as I feel his urge to kill me rising, ""The Immortality project is nothing more than smoke and mirrors."" His eyes narrow as they bore holes into my now-not-so-smug-demeanor for what feels like an eternity before he finally lets me down and lets go of his blinding radiance. ""Explain. Now."" He commanded in something dangerously close to a growl. Quickly fixing my suit so that I could breath I move back towards fist indented desk, ""Like I said you weren't returning my calls so I had the entire thing made up to hopefully get you here to talk to me."" ""You planned the most heinous crime in two centuries just to get me to talk to you be cause you were bored?"" his fists clench again as he leaks rage once more. ""Not boredom,"" I assure him, ""I need you for something."" I almost whisper as I pull out the key from my favorite paperweight while I take out the fist sized box from my desk. ""You've gone insane if you think I'll help you with anything."" slashing his hand in the air in front of him. The embers of rage are still in him, not quite out but nothing compared to the fire it was before. ""is that so?"" I say with a dry smile, ""is there anything I could say to convince you otherwise?"" ""Nothing."" I stood there considering him in the silence, while he glared at me. And in that silence he turned to leave. ""I'm dying."" I called out as he reached the doorway. He froze one foot on the door. ""The senate knows already and are plotting and backstabbing to try to be next in line. It wont be too long before the news leaks and starts a power struggle."" I flop into my chair in a rare break of character. ""After plotting and planning for so long I finally create a utopia for all to live in, and the moment I show weakness it threatens to crumble."" The silence returned for several minutes this time before he spoke. ""A man in his prime tells me he's dying and that his empire is cracking. Normally I would offer to help but pardon me for not believing you."" The skepticism in his voice betrayed by a speck of glee. ""Temporal freezing,"" I answer while looking at my hand, ""I look and feel 27 right up until I drop dead of old age at the ripe age of 140."" I grinned at the look of shock on his face. ""I told you that the time prison you tossed me in worked too well"" ""Alright so you're about to die,"" he said with skepticism to match his earlier rage. ""I refuse to believe that you don't have twelve different plans already set up and in motion."" I raise my hands in the air. ""Alright, you got me. I have two-hundred and four plans set up and only nine will destroy the world if go through."" His eyes harden at that and he starts to circle the room. I raise a finger at him. ""But not to worry they'll only go off in about twenty to thirty years if left unchecked."" I plant both hands on either side of the dent. ""This is my last challenge to you my old foe."" Using the key I unlock the box and toss it to him. ""This has the clue to get you started."" He snatches the box out of the air and holds it like it's a live serpent. ""I truly hate you."" he seethed before he walked out. ""oh I'm counting on it."" I dreamily murmured to the now empty room. Because who else could I get to police my utopia and check every corner for wrong being done. And who knows he might even find all eight of world ending plots I left for him. ________________________________________________________________ Alright I'm kinda new to this so be gentle.",1338
" ""You gotta tell me how you","""Okay, sit down,"" God said, lighting a cigarette and crossing his legs. ""You gotta tell me how you did it. I mean the whole thing was a mess and now it's just... just..."" ""The word you're looking for is perfect,"" I said. ""The universe is perfect."" ""Yes. Perfect."" ""Divine. Wonderful. Flawless."" ""You've made your point. Now tell me how you did it."" ""Well... okay,"" I took one of his cigarettes and loaded it between my lips. ""First of all, I did away with the whole determinism bullshit. I mean, what was that about!?"" ""You're kidding! That was like the first rule!"" ""It was crap. I mean you put all of us in the universe and gave us the illusion of free will when really our mind is controlled by the brain which is made of matter which follows the fundamental rules of the universe like every other matter. What kind of crap is that? Talk about deceptive."" ""What did you do then!? How did you replace determinism!?"" ""I gave people actual free will. Turns out if we are free to do what we actually want instead of being tricked by the rules of nature to act the way you see fit while only thinking we're free, we're actually quite skillful at living."" ""But... but... but then it's chaos!"" God shook his head. ""If the rules of the universe don't control the behavior of animals, even sapient ones like humans, what does!?"" ""Just... us."" God seemed confused. ""But then that just means that... that... that..."" ""That there's gotta be some other set of pre-established rules that govern how mind works, right? I mean, if it's not cause and reaction, what is it? Yeah, I considered that."" ""Exactly! What did you do instead? What controls mind then?"" ""Nothing. Just fucking chaos, dude."" God looked at me behind disbelief. ""That makes *no* sense!"" ""Well, it worked."" He shook his head again. He ashed his cigarette on a passing cloud. ""Okay. Okay. What about the metaphysical problem of existence out of nothingness? Where did everything come from, why is there something instead of nothing, all that. What about that, huh? How did you fix that?"" ""What are you talking about? *You* fixed that by existing. You're God. You created the universe. There. Solved."" ""But that just pushes the question to what created *me*"" God said. ""You don't think I thought about that? I'm a walking contradiction. I explain the universe, but what explains me!? At some point, something must have come from nowhere."" ""Ah. True. Very smart."" God smiled. ""See? You didn't fix everything. There's still existential despair in the universe because people don't know where God came from, and God explains the universe but nothing explains God, so nothing explains the universe."" ""Well, I just told them."" ""Told them?"" ""Where everything comes from. Including God."" ""HOW!? HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW THAT!? I DON'T KNOW THAT!"" ""I lied."" He paused. ""You... lied."" ""I said you came from your mother."" ""AND WHERE DID MY MOTHER COME FROM!?"" ""Oh, God, it's just turtles all the way down, get over it. They ate it up, that's what matters."" He looked down beneath the clouds at the perfect Earth and the people living in harmony and the unpolluted environment and the warless, unified nation that was the planet now. ""I can't believe this. So you just gave people free will, told them that there's no satisfactory explanation as to where everything came to being and they just... accepted it?"" ""Well, I was a bit more eloquent than that,"" I said. ""But yeah. That's pretty much the gist of it."" ""What about death? What happens after you die? Surely that still anguishes people. The source of all human despair is deeply rooted in a fear of death. You didn't fix death."" ""First of all, let's not get arrogant, God. You don't die, so don't pretend to know what being mortal feels like."" He stared at me rather foolishly, but didn't speak. ""But you're right, it's awful."" I smiled. ""So you know, I just stopped it."" ""You... stopped it."" ""No more death. I mean, frankly, what were you thinking, dude? Putting people in the universe, giving them self-awareness and then death-awareness? That's like telling your wife you're mathematically guaranteed to break up with her in a few years the day after the wedding and expecting her to be faithful. Of course it's not gonna work."" ""So nobody dies anymore."" ""Nobody dies anymore."" ""And everyone has real, true free will."" ""Free as non-deterministic birds."" ""And they all know that the universe is a logical impossibility that birthed itself out of nowhere like a will o' the wisp in a desolate marsh extending unto lands unknown?"" ""Very poetic. You just wanted to use that line, didn't you, author?"" Yes, I did. Go back to talking to God. ""Very poetic, God. And yes, they know the whole truth and they are fine with it and they don't die and they have true freedom."" ""And that fixed everything?"" ""Well. Almost. I had to get rid of Bon Jovi's last album, cause it *really* sucked compared to his early 90s stuff."" God thought about this. Then he shook his head. ""No. I don't accept it."" He got up. ""Immortality doesn't fix existential despair. They're going to get tired of living eventually. Eventually every human being will experience everything there is to experience, meet and befriend and love every other human being, visit every corner of the universe, discover every piece of unknown land, do everything there is to do... and then... what?"" I didn't answer. ""Then they'll turn their heads to the unanswered questions once more! Where did I come from? What is the meaning of it all? If free will is true, what are the rules that govern it? And if there are no rules that govern it, how can something purely chaotic even exist and make sense to our non-chaotic brains? And, and, and if there ARE rules that govern free will those rules must be absolute or not be rules at all, and if they ARE absolute then, then, then there is no free will by definition!"" God flicked his cigarette, very intense now. ""Those questions need addressing! They need addressing so much that humanity built a whole society around shielding itself from facing these fundamental paradoxes and inconsistencies! They need addressing so much that the only reason humanity has developed culture and all the social fabric that now is put in place is because humans cannot satisfactory address these fucking issues and they'd go insane without distractions and false idols! All you did was push the whole thing with your belly! Sweep it under the rug! People live forever and think they are free in some higher form than they previously thought with my definition of free will, which, okay, was kind of shitty but still, and also you told them that the universe was created by God and that God was created by his mother and his mother by another mother and so on forever but that's not answering at all, it's pushing it under the rug again! What will you do when they figure that out!? What!? WHAT WILL YOU DO, ALPACA!?"" ""They won't figure it out. I'm keeping them busy."" ""HOW!? FOR THE LOVE OF ME, HOW!?"" I smiled. ""I built a new continent and put a water park there. Free admission, no lines, open bar."" God stared down at me, panting, desperate, angry. Then he paused. Then he said, ""Fuck, that's smart."" ____ /r/psycho_alpaca",1258
 Earth's representatives have refused to defend,"""I think we all know why we are here,"" the Zilem Planet Representative said. ""Earth,"" the group said in unison, exasperation edging into the lone syllable. ""Yes, indeed,"" he said softly. ""It is my understanding that the Ceamnese have called this meeting. This is, as you all know, the ninth meeting about the behavior of Earth... this week. Just as with the other meetings, Earth's representatives have refused to defend the actions of the human race in this meeting. I believe they said they would, 'Rather stay home and watch TV.'"" The Zilem Representative sighed audibly, but after seeing the very concerned expressions around the table, quickly continued, ""We have, of course, conducted a thorough sweep for bombs, poisons, and elaborate... 'booby traps,' I believe they called them,"" he said, and then cleared his throat pointedly. ""Have they ever sent anyone to these meetings?"" a large, muscular creature in the corner asked. ""I think they sent someone once..."" ""Nope,"" the Zilem Representative stated bluntly. ""Yes. Yes, they sent that rather hairy human one time."" ""Wasn't a human,"" he replied with a sigh, ""It was a... chimp? I believe they call them chimps."" ""Yes, yes! Rather despondent individual, he was."" ""Seemed appropriately repentant to me,"" the Qealph Representative said, flipping her hair gently over her shoulder. ""Really cheered when those strange oblong, yellow Earth snacks were served afterward, though,"" said Ef' Representative in a bright tone. The Zilem representative cleared his throat and said, ""Would the representative from Ceamn please stand and explain?"" ""Certainly,"" the creature said politely as he stood. ""Well, we asked the Earthlings some two zokils past to please refrain from dumping their trash into our oceans."" Everyone at the table breathed in sharply. ""Representative Ceamn, you would provoke them in this way?"" the Qealph Representative asked in hushed tones. ""Yes, well... yes. I will admit that it was a bold request, but we had simply had enough. They replied that... well... they said that their trash was in our waters, which meant it was now their property... so they now had a right to retrieve their property that was unlawfully taken."" The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered, ""What?"" ""That's... what they said. I'm not sure how they came to the conclusion, they provided no reasoning, but the long and short of it is that they are now pumping our water supply into their water tower ships and leaving with it."" The room fell into a confused silence until one of the representatives leaned to the right and whispered louder, ""What?"" ""I..."" the Ceamn Representative trailed off and shrugged instead, so as to express something along the lines of, ""I have no idea."" ""They're probably trying to replace all of the water they wasted from that time they tried to extinguish the Aeron System's sun?"" ""Or when they did that... the game... what did they call it again?"" ""Slip and Slide."" ""Yes! The Slip and Slide... Space Edition, I believe they called it."" ""Yes... many of their top leaders perished,"" the Qealph Representative said sadly. ""Well, not after they sloped it so that it went quick enough to justify no oxygen tanks."" ""No, you're getting mixed up, Representative Zilem. They were still perishing rapidly even after the slope. No one died after they remembered to put in a landing platform."" There was another silence. ""They really tried to extinguish a sun by spraying water at it?"" the Zilem Representative said abruptly. ""Yeah... but I mean, it didn't work."" ""Well, what if it had though?!"" ""Why'd they do that again?"" ""Because the Aeronians were slightly late for a dinner meeting and Earth felt they 'needed a gentle reminder about politeness.'"" ""Reminds me of that time they threatened to throw their sun at us."" ""That is just egregious!"" ""I agree. I tried to call them on it in the meeting. I said it was a ridiculous threat. I have to give it to them though, they doubled down on it. They kept insisting they had a lasso big enough to... what word did they use... 'wrangle' their sun. They said after that, throwing it at us was no problem."" ""Wouldn't their own world grow cold and die?"" ""I asked about that. I pointed it out rather quickly after the plan came to light. They said they already had the lasso and that retrieving another would be 'no damn problem at all.' I left it at that and backed down."" Another brief silence ensued. ""Well, I mean, you couldn't risk the lives of your people like that,"" the Qealph Representative said in a gentle way. The Zilem Representative cleared his throat again. ""Has the Ceamn Representative reached out to try and come up with a more, eh, diplomatic solution?"" The Ceamn Representative stood again. ""Yes, sir. We mentioned that we could simply recycle the waste for them."" ""And?"" ""They responded that it, 'sounded like something little girls would do,' and then afterward only responded with 'little girls' to each of our inquiries."" ""What is this word, 'girls?'"" the Ef' Representative asked. ""I am not sure. We thought it might be a translation error given the sheer number of times they sent us the message, but it didn't take long to gather that it was actually meant as an insult."" The conference room's large doors slid open and a messenger arrived. ""Sir, a representative from Earth has arrived."" ""Finally!"" ""Maybe now we can--"" ""It is the chimp again."" ""This is absurd!"" The chimp waddled over to the empty seat at the table and climbed up into it, and then climbed up onto the table itself. It wore a crisp white t-shirt, emblazoned with neon pink letters that spelled out, ""CEAMN SUXX."" In one of its giant black hands, it held a small pink piece of paper. The chimp walk-crawled across the table and handed it to the Zilem Representative. He read it slowly then crumpled it up. ""What did it say, sir?"" the Ef' Representative asked. ""It said, 'Pink letters, for the little girls present."" A quiet filled the room as they all looked at the chimp. ""Someone please bring those snacks back out for the... Representative,"" the Zilem asked. ""All in favor of a strongly worded letter asking the humans to cease the thieving of water from Ceamn?"" Everyone save for the Ceamn Representative raised a hand. ""Okay then, that's settled,"" said the Zilem Representative. ""I'm not sure that will be enough."" ""Maybe not,"" the Zilem answered. ""But I suspect it will be a lot like the time they challenged the ownership of our home planet. They insisted our leadership compete in a staring contest. After a few minutes, they simply got bored and wandered off."" -------- Edit: Thank you so much for the gold, mysterious benefactor, and thank you to everyone for all of the comments and upvotes. I'm inexpressibly flattered that you thought this story was worth it. :)",1162
 An army of small robots and some,"Back then, I knew what vast wealth could buy. I knew it could buy isolated mansions with their own picturesque vistas, self-sustaining yachts to see each of the glistening oceans and their pocketed paradise islands, and every known luxury that era of mankind had to offer. Of course, as with all things, that wasn't enough for me. Wealth couldn't give me everything. As it was then, it couldn't save me from the follies of my race. My wealth couldn't buy me time. It couldn't buy me immortality. But it could buy me an education, means to enhance my own intelligence. Once I had those things, I managed to build myself a lab and I prised myself from the rest of the world searching for the key to immortality. Nearly twenty-three years had passed, and my hair had begun to grey and my bones ached at the end of a long day in the lab. But I persisted, and though my wealth had nearly irreversibly diminished, I found the grand panacea. Turns out an army of small robots and some careful, robust programming gave me what I wanted. After the injection, the ache began to leave my bones, and I knew it was working. I raced to the large mirror at the back of the lab washroom in time to witness the last of my transformation. Wrinkles absorbed back into my skin, disappearing, the hairs on my head softened, and as their color became more vibrant, so did the lively hue in my eyes return. Barely enough time to marvel in my hour of triumph, a voice sounded behind me, such that I yelped in a squeal with a voice that had also returned to its youthful tenor. ""When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you,"" the voice said. I was bewildered, as there was no one behind me in the mirror, and nor was there anyone to my left or right. ""Ahem. Behind you."" Turning around, there was the source of the disembodied voice, embodied. Clothed in a long, tattered black robe, it was sheathed in shadow and its face was further enveloped underneath a deep hood. Handing me a business card he said, ""I can see that you were not expecting me."" As I took the business card from a skeletal hand, it returned to gesture in a way that suggested it was scratching its chin. ""I have to say, that is a first. Anyway, no time to dally -- two customers a second and all that."" ""W-wait! You said there have been more?"" ""Of course! You think you're the first to seek immortality and find it?"" Death scoffed, ""Happens every couple of centuries or so, though usually through less... scientific means, heh. Never understood the stuff myself."" I was floored. My whole life had been devoted to science, and there before me was essentially a god from legend. Something make-believe, something from myth. But to my core I was a scientist, and with the truth beset in front of me, I accepted it. Gods and magic were real, and they were unfamiliar with science. I took a risk. Putting the card in my pocket, I said to Death, ""Well if you'd like I can show you some of what I've been working on. I'm sure a few dying people could wait -- besides, two a second is only a statistical average anyway,"" I flashed him my best smile, which was pretty good now that my youth had returned, ""Why not make it up later? It's the least I can do to show you whats in store for the future."" As there was no face to remark upon, all I can say is that Death simply stared at me for what felt like an eternity. ""Ah, what the hell. My colleagues treat with mortals occasionally, why shouldn't I have some fun with the living once in a while?"" ""Excellent choice! Come, follow me. There's a technology I happened across during my search that could allow for teleportation -- something the gods are familiar with, I'd imagine."" Death followed behind me, looking as a cloud of ink through water. As he followed me, I walked over a square aluminum platform that was trailed by wires on all sides. Putting my hand inside one of the pockets of my lab coat, I gripped a remote switch that controlled all the equipment inside the lab. When Death's form passed into the threshold of the platform, I pressed the button and turned around facing Death. Looking to either side, Death tilted its hood to one side, ""Why did you stop? Is this the device?"" ""Actually, the device is right over there,"" I pointed to a table covered with an assortment of devices on the other side of the room. ""Please, help yourself, while I prepare the demonstration."" My heart was pounding, but I kept my face neutral as I faced Death. Its form quivered, and the shadow around Death froze in motion. ""WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, MORTAL"" The voice no longer came from the hood, but from all around me. Its sound vibrated the air, and the ground beneath me shook as it spoke. ""YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THE FORCES FOR WHICH YOU MEDDLE"" ""Actually, that's exactly why I've imprisoned you. I never believed in gods before today, and I intend to find out what I can fr--"" ""YOU FOOL. RELEASE ME BEFO--,"" before he could finish, the black cloud erupted, its force shattering my body against the wall behind me. That was the last I remember of the hour I killed Death. It has been almost one hundred years, and still I've yet to restore the world to its natural order. Ghouls roam the earth now. Though people are unable to die, all of the roads to death remain paved and open. Gods openly roam the Earth, searching for the one that destroyed death, some seeking vengeance against me even as I try to bring Death back to life, others reveling in the chaos sewn by my mistake. My name is Elliot, and I am this worlds last hope of destroying immortality.",1028
 The Scientist sat alone in the null,"The Scientist sat alone in the nullifier cell, staring at the wall across from him. He'd been so close. Ten minutes away from finishing his device, a device that would have wiped out The Protectors, catapulting him into the upper echelon of villains, only to be foiled by The Protectors. He fumed silently to himself. He'd known the risk involved, but now, facing the consequences of his crimes, he wished he hadn't been so hasty. His mistakes had all been small, and easy to forget about, but they had piled up, resulting in The Protectors bursting into his base to easily subdue him. And he didn't even know yet if they were the ones responsible. ""One key, two key, three key, four"" a voice drifted down the corridor to his cell. The Scientist stopped his contemplation, looking up to see a man slowly walking towards him. ""How many keys, to open that door?"" 'What the hell?' thought The Scientist to himself. It couldn't be true. He'd thought it had been just one of those urban legends that got thrown around the villain community. Everyone knew stories of The Keymaster. Supposedly he spent his time freeing villains who had been captured. Yet no one he talked to had actually met him, and the stories were always told by a villain who heard from a villain who heard from a villain. The idea that anyone would just spend all their time freeing villains as opposed to carrying out their own plans seemed ludicrous to him. The man stopped walking, standing in front of the cell, and grinned down at The Scientist. He looked normal, pedestrian. If The Scientist had passed him on the street, he'd have forgotten him immediately. His appearance was a far cry from the stories told about this man. Everyone claimed The Keymaster was terrifying. The Scientist almost laughed out loud. He wore baggy jeans, and a shirt with a picture of a monkey holding a surfboard on it. In his hand he carried a ping pong paddle, and he had a stuffed toy parrot perched on his shoulder. ""Though I walk through the valley of the of the shadow of death, I will fear no keyhole!"" The Keymaster said in a serious tone. Then he burst into giggles. Straightening up, he continued as before. ""So, The Scientist sits in silence, salivating at some sentiment of seeing some other setting. Tick, tock, goes the clock, and in his mind the gear turns. When one door closes, so do the rest, despite opportunities vocal protests. And yet I step, into the realm of closed rooms, like the spark of an idea, to brighten the gloom."" ""What?"" asked The Scientist. Was this man off his rocker? Remembering his position, he quickly pulled himself together. ""You must be the legendary Keymaster sir. A pleasure to meet you. Have you come to negotiate the price of setting me free?"" he asked, not quite able to keep the hope out of his voice. ""A pleasure you say? Yes, always a pleasure, never a chore. But negotiate, most definitely not. You've already paid. The price is simple, and remains the same. A conversation, a name, and a cure for your pain."" The Keymaster held up a hand, stopping the words about to leave The Scientist's mouth. ""Sorry, that's silly, too much drama. A conversation will do."" 'This guy must be an idiot,' The Scientist thought to himself. He could ask for anything, and he asks for a conversation? Easy enough. Someone this stupid was unlikely to have any meaningful conversation. Besides, he'd never promised to be truthful. ""And what would you like to talk about?"" asked The Scientist. ""Well,"" said The Keymaster, as he took a seat crossed legged on the floor. ""I've always wondered why a scientist as skilled as you should turn to villainy. I mean surely if you went legitimate, you could be rich, famous, respected. Yet instead you choose to run around in costume, causing trouble?"" Huh. That was the first sign of a normal sentence from The Keymaster. Not the direction he'd expected. And not the sort he wanted to discuss. ""Ah you know, having no powers always irritated me, so I wanted to get payback on those who thought themselves above everyone else. How about yourself?"" ""One lie, one truth, and one in the middle. What a lovely start."" exclaimed The Keymaster gleefully. ""What do you think Bob?"" he asked the parrot on his shoulder. ""Think we should tell him?"" The Scientist remained silent, not entirely sure what on earth was going on. ""Yes, I suppose we shall."" he sighed, turning back to The Scientist. ""All doors have keys, and I possess them all. No fun in taking anything, when the door is always open. Why steal the Mona Lisa, when it is as easy as stealing a snickers? Why chase after women or men, when you already hold the key to their heart? Why search for the forbidden, when to me nothing is hidden?"" ""So you're just bored? But then why set villains free?"" asked The Scientist incredulously. The Keymaster looked up at him, a look of puzzlement on his face. ""You know,"" clarified The Scientist, ""captured villains that you let out."" ""Set them free?"" muttered The Keymaster. ""No,no. I don't set them free. I let them out. There's a key difference there."" his face lit up suddenly, smiling. ""Key difference!"" he exclaimed. ""What a wonderful pun."" The Scientist groaned inside. Terrible. Pun. 'Anyways, time to move on with this,' he thought to himself. ""Not to be rude Keymaster, but shouldn't you help me get out. I wouldn't want any heroes in the base to come down here while we are talking. Having keys to doors is very useful, but it won't help you in a fight against The Protectors."" ""Keys to doors?"" asked The Keymaster. ""Why would I use that?"" ""Well that's your power isn't it? You're a conjurer or something, you can make keys for any lock no?"" The Keymasters fist slammed into the floor. ""DOORS?"" he roared. ""THEY NEVER LISTEN! I ASK FOR ONE CONVERSATION AND THEY NEVER LISTEN!"" he yelled, getting to his feet. Suddenly, as if he'd never yelled at all, he was calm. ""Listen to me, Jason Baker, The Scientist"" he whispered, ""I am no conjurer. No petty magician. I see the keys to everything, everything in this world. The key to who you are, Jason Baker. The key to your soul."" Jason stared at the man, terrified. No one knew his name. It wasn't possible. He'd scrubbed all traces of his life out of existence years ago. How on earth had this man found out? He met The Keymasters eyes and froze, held there by unknown force. This man, no, this monster, knew everything about him. He was gazing directly into his soul. How had he ever though of this monster as stupid? Or amusing? ""One lie, one truth, one in the middle, that's what you gave me when you started this conversation. So I shall give you the same courtesy in return. You will thank me for it. The man who believes himself to be a hero, the man who killed your little sister when you were growing up, he is in this building. Your hunt for him can end today once I let you free. However, you will die in the process. It is the only way for your revenge to be complete."" The killer was here, Jason thought to himself. Then he'd do what he must. Twelve years he'd spent, trying to find out which hero had killed his little sister. Hatred had fuelled those long years, and finally it was here. He looked up at The Keymaster, and begged. ""Please"" he sobbed, as tears filled his eyes, ""Please let me out. Let me kill the bastard for what he's done. Let me destroy them all for keeping him here, safe from the consequences his actions, hiding the truth from the world."" The Keymaster looked at Jason and smiled. ""Ok. When I say now, start singing!"" ""Singing?"" asked Jason, confusion shining through the tears on his face. ""Yup, you have to hit the right key!"" giggled The Keymaster. ""But in all seriousness, you're pretty upset, so don't bother singing."" The Keymaster held his hand against the energy barrier to the cell and it quickly powered down, and Jason ran down the hallway, anger all over his face. ""Now have fun!"" called out The Keymaster behind him. Later on, the battle that ensued would make headlines around the world. The Scientist had escaped from his cell and broken into the weapons lab, and taken on The Protectors. He'd managed to kill nine members before they'd put him down. Witnesses claimed to see a man walking out muttering to himself, before getting into a parked car and driving away. ""I told him. One truth, you must die for your revenge to be complete. One in the middle. The man responsible, who thinks he's the hero, is in the building. And so he was, in the cell, talking to me. One lie. It is the only way. There were always other ways to kill the man responsible. Just as theres always other ways to kill yourself."" The Keymaster giggled to himself. ""You should have listened Jason. Nobody ever listens."" Edit: Hey guys. So I didn't plan on writing anymore but since people seemed to enjoy it I have written some more in a reply to this comment. Hope you enjoy! Also, fixed a quick grammar error as well. Edit 2: Forgot to say thank you! Really appreciate all the comments, and I'm really glad you guys enjoyed it, so thank you very much! Edit 3: So there are now 3 parts in total. This one, the one replying to this, and the one replying to that one. Hope you guys enjoy! Edit 4: Link to Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deu47gc/ Link to Part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deu8uwx/ Edit 5: Link to Part 4: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5yw95w/wp_you_are_a_supervillain_named_the_keymaster/deufa9o/ So the story so far is now over 5000 words. Most I've ever written that isn't for Uni. Hope you guys enjoy it! Edit 6: Ive created a subreddit at /r/feedmequickwriting for anyone who wishes to continue following the story as I will post new chapters there from now on. If you're interested, please feel free to subscribe or just visit. Thanks for everything",1733
" ""Counterparts in four of the","""Counterparts in four of the NWS are ready to participate in the strike if need be, sir. Plus India. We're still trying to raise France."" A grin split the Director's craggy face, incongruous amidst the blaring klaxons. ""Tell me, Private. Do you really think France will make a difference?"" ""Every bit counts, sir?"" The grin got wider. The Private's heart beat even faster. Was his superior cracking up? True, it was understandable given the circumstances, but the man was supposed to be the facility's rock. The two of them alone were still; all around them in the bunker officers flat-out ran to destinations unknown, expressions from panic to resignation etched on their faces. Given his uncertainty about the Director's mental state, he decided the safest path was just to recount what he knew. ""We are at level 1, sir. A nuclear response has been deemed appropriate. Given the, uh, the severity of the threat, the largest muster of warheads available is considered optimal, which is why we... sir, I hope you don't consider it indecorous, but may I ask why you're laughing, sir?"" ""Have you looked outside, Private?"" ""I've been briefed..."" ""There is a different sky above us. You can see purple stars. Three miles from here there's a hole in the Earth that goes straight down into the goddamn mantle. The gatespur has devoured the Nevada national guard. In a bunker beneath our feet the flameminds have started *singing*, and we haven't seen the Leviathan since last Tuesday. And it just warms the cockles of my cold little heart to see a private so green he's worried about *France*, of all things, in the middle of this."" The Private didn't know whether he wanted to scream or start crying. ""We are at a level 1 emergency, sir. It is my job to worry about France,"" he said, voice wavering. ""This stopped being a Level 1 the instant the gatespur inverted."" ""I'm... I'm sorry, sir? Are you saying it reverted to Level 2? That we'll be pursuing a nonnuclear resolution? If so I fail to see..."" ""I'm saying,"" the Director hissed, ""that it has been upgraded to Level 0."" Some detached part of the Private's brain conducted a quick search of the Groom Lake briefing books he'd absorbed so studiously not six months prior, and came up empty. ""I'm afraid I have not been briefed on Level 0 emergencies, sir."" ""It's the level where you stop caring about fucking France."" ""I recall a prank played on me by some of the Privates First Class when I first arrived, sir,"" the Private said cautiously, ""wherein they convinced me of the existence of an emergency level 0 before revealing, with great pomp and circumstance, that it consisted solely of calling the number on a Post-it Note."" The Director stared down at him as automated warning e-mails continued to pile up in the corner of his computer screen. ""Privates First Class are not supposed to know about that sticky note,"" he finally intoned. The Private goggled. ""They were *serious*?"" ""We keep resources off-site!"" ""A Post-it Note?"" ""Sticky note. It's not name brand."" ""Whatever! I mean, uh, whatever, sir."" The Private paused, rewinding the conversation. ""What resources?"" ""A temperamental man. Got irradiated with... damned if I can remember what. Back in '84. Or maybe '85? Techie working on the Lateral Fourth, I'm almost certain. Perhaps the Axial Ninth. Since then he's been our secret weapon. Moves around a lot. Currently in Bora Bora, that much I know."" ""Technically France,"" the Private muttered, almost involuntarily. The Director's smile returned, wider than ever, glinting red in the intermittent darkness. ""Do you recall the location of said sticky note, Private?"" ""It was on Private Irving's monitor, I believe,"" the Private said, tentatively pointing. The Director craned his neck and spotted the pink square of paper, attached to the side of a computer screen showing a grainy livestream of F-35s hovering over the desert, spinning like tops in place as spirals of smoke drizzled from their flanks and splattered upwards into the void. ""Very good. You have a strong memory, Private. That may make things unpleasant for you, shortly."" Before the Private could ask, the Director was darting across the room to retrieve the sticky note. He returned to the relative calm in the wake of the Private's desk and removed a red smartphone from a nonstandard pocket of his fatigues. ""Don't you have it memorized, sir?"" the Private asked as the Director entered the number into the touchpad. ""Best not to. Best not to memorize much about this man. Liable to get corrupted."" ""What do you mea..."" the Private quietened when his superior held up a finger for silence, not that his question would have added much to the general panicked din and the blaring of warning bells. ""Lenny, I..."" the Director beamed into the phone, before apparently getting cut off. ""That bad, huh?"" he winced. ""I know we've already given you all the money you could ever want. All the secrets. All the... yes. Yes, Len. I know. So here's what I want to know. What else can we give you?"" The Private strained to hear the other end of the line. ""I want you to know,"" the tinny voice said. ""That's all I want. I want you to know how much it hurts me and how many times it's happened this week alone. So that maybe, maybe, this'll be the last one."" ""You know it hurts all of us,"" the Director responded. ""But you don't remember. Try to remember. And remember this number: thirty-nine."" At this the Director cringed visibly. ""Thirty-nine? Really?"" he said incredulously - almost, the Private thought, shamefacedly. ""This week. Get. It. Lidded."" Lenny said. ""Or I might just call it quits at forty. I've lived a good life."" ""I'll do my best, Len."" ""You've done your best thirty-nine times. Do better."" ""Yes, Len."" ""I'm starting it."" ""Thank you, Len."" ""Thirty-Nine."" ""Hope not to talk to you soon."" ""No - enh. No more than I am,"" the phone voice grunted, pained. The Director ended the call and looked down at the Private, his face unreadable. ""The Lateral Fourth - that was the timeship, sir. Right?"" ""One of it, Private. One side of it."" ""And thirty-nine?"" ""Big ears on you, Private."" ""Sorry sir, I couldn't hel- ouch!"" the Private slapped a hand to his cheek as a sharp, needling pain ran through it. He flinched as a similar pain struck his left foot, his kidney, his eye. ""He's right, we don't remember this part,"" the Director grimaced. The Private looked up at him and nearly screamed. The man's face was a patchwork of flesh, blurred and pixellated like a digital television getting bad reception. The left side of his mouth seemed to run in reverse, making grotesque flapping noises. Then the pain struck the Private's left eardrum, and the noises resolved into a sound like speech played in reverse, and then the prickles happened deep inside his head, brain freeze with a thousand tiny claws, and the backward speech was forwards and his thoughts turned around and the klaxons retreated in great gushing waves of silence and the lights flickered on and off and a great buzzing sound filled his head, driving away all thought and all memory and all notions except the overwhelming drumbeat bedrock of *Tuesday, Tuesday, TUESDAY* and then... it was Tuesday. ""Readings on the Leviathan are slightly outside normal ranges. Should we check it out?"" Irving asked. ""Thirty-nine,"" the Private blurted. His fellow private turned to look at him. ""What's that?"" ""That's fine, I meant to say. We should look into it. Could mean something. That is, that's my opinion, sir,"" the Private said, suddenly noticing the presence of the Director looming behind him. He turned to face his superior and saw the man mouth the words *thirty-nine.* The Director shook his head slightly, as if clearing it, and fixed his dark eyes on Irving. ""Yes, Private, check it out. Report back to me if you find anything the least bit out of order."" ""I'll requisition a sub straightaway, sir,"" Irving saluted, rising from his desk. ""Oh, and Private? Remove that sticky note from your monitor. Something tells me it won't be useful anymore.""",1375
" Mark, in his underwear, a","The first time was confusing. Mark, in fact, used the words ""WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!?"" but as an impartial, polite narrator, I'll use 'confusing'. It was a mugging. Lyla was coming home from her first date after the breakup and the dude pointed the knife and said, ""Give me the purse, bitch."" And Mark, in his underwear, a yellow lipstick of Cheetos around his mouth, materialized in front of them, straight from his living room couch. ""WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS GOING ON!?"" he uttered, as previously mentioned, which was not intended to, but had the effect of, stopping the mugging right away, as the mugger, upon watching a half-naked man materialize himself in front of him out of thin air like popcorn bursting into existence from corn except with a person and nothingness (Jesus, what a crappy narrator I am), proceeded to politely say ""Oh, fuck,"" and go home (later, I heard, he checked into an institution and got into New Age music and Paulo Coelho, but that's a story for another day). Well, after much debate, Mark and Lyla decided that what had just happened was either collective hallucination or undeniable proof that the universe was fundamentally different than humanity had been assuming for thousands of years and all human knowledge had just been rendered obsolete and we'd have to start over from the pre-Socratics on. They figured it didn't really matter, because either way they both had lives to get to and shit to do, and decided to get on with their stuff. They parted ways. It was after the third time (the second being another, totally unrelated mugging), when Lyla got trapped in an elevator during a power outage and Mark materialized itself once more in front of her, that they figured out that the whole thing was a pattern, and that apparently Mark would show up whenever Lyla was, in his words, ""in some deep shit or whatever."" ""So whenever I'm in trouble, you just... show up?"" ""Apparently."" ""Why!?"" ""Gee, Lyla, I don't know, let me check my International Guide to Unexplainable Phenomena."" ""You're being sarcastic, aren't you?"" ""No, I really have a guide for unexplainable phenomena."" ""Now you're being sarcastic about being sarcastic, aren't you?"" ""I'll add another layer if you keep bothering me."" ""God, you're annoying, no wonder I broke up with you."" ""I broke up with you."" ""No you didn't."" ""Internally I did."" This continued for something like forty minutes, until the firemen came and rescued them (as, of course, though Mark had indeed materialized in front of Lyla to be there in her time of need, he lacked the tools to get them out of a stopped elevator.) It started getting suspicious, as far as Mark was concerned, the seventh time Lyla was caught in the middle of a disagreement with drug addicts in the town's worst neighborhood. That's when he started suspecting foul play on her part. All the same, he kept to himself, standing by her side as the crackheads robbed her... then him (because, it turns out, crackheads are not as easily spooked by people materializing out of thin air as muggers are... these guys just said ""Woah, dude just popped into existence. Let's rob him too!"") Then it was a cliff - literally, Lyla standing on the edge of a cliff, about to lose balance, and Mark popped up by her side to save her. Then it was a minor car accident. Then a fight with this bitchy girl she knew from high school. Mark decided to say something when he suddenly materialized in front of Lyla inside a warehouse filled to the ceiling with towers and towers of cocaine packs and surrounded by angry, machine-gun wielding Brazilian men somewhere deep in the rainforests of South America. ""Okay, that's it,"" he said, as soon as he laid eyes on Lyla, tied to a chair in the back of the room, behind some drug stacks. ""What the hell, Lyla!?"" ""I'm sorry,"" she said, ""I got lost hiking."" He got closer to her, untied her, careful not to alert the men patrolling the warehouse just behind the stack of cocaine they were pressed against. ""No you didn't."" ""Excuse me!?"" ""Look, I'm sorry it didn't work out between us,"" Mark said, as she got up and rubbed her wrists. ""But you gotta stop putting yourself into dangerous situations just because you want to try to hurt me."" ""What!?"" ""You don't think I've noticed!? Seven muggings! Random fights! Random cliffs! And now you show up at a drug warehouse in South America!? You hate hiking! Come on, Lyla, it's so obvious! You're trying to get me killed!"" ""Who's there!?"" came a voice from behind the cocaine stack, because Brazilians speak English when it's convenient for the plot. ""Is that what you think I'm doing!?"" Lyla asked. ""Well, isn't it!? Why else would you keep putting yourself into these dangerous situat -"" ""BECAUSE I MISS YOU, YOU IDIOT!"" She pushed him. ""I MISS YOU AND I DON'T HAVE THE GUTS TO CALL YOU AND THIS IS THE ONLY WAY I CAN THINK TO SEE YOU FROM TIME TO TIME."" ""Hey, there's a dude with the girl we caught over here!"" One of the drug thugs showed up, pointing the gun. ""You miss me?"" Mark asked, quietly. ""Yes, you idiot. What, you think I take trips to the rainforest and end up on coke farms by accident?"" More men showed up, all wielding machine guns. They pointed. ""Fuck, why didn't you just say so?"" ""Cause you never seem happy to see me."" ""THAT'S BECAUSE WE'RE ALWAYS ON THE VERGE OF DEATH WHEN I SEE YOU, NOT BECAUSE I STOPPED LOVING YOU!"" ""You still love me?"" ""OF COURSE I DO, YOU STUPID BITCH!"" ""Why are you yelling?"" ""BECAUSE WE'RE ABOUT TO DIE!"" She looked at the men. Then at Mark. ""It does look that way."" ""I'M GONNA KISS YOU NOW."" ""Okay."" She smiled. And they did kiss. And then, of course, the Brazilian drug men opened fire and they died a very bloody, horrible death, but it was kind of romantic, really. I thought so, at least. _____ /r/psycho_alpaca",1028
 They built an station in orbit around,"The Humans are a strange species. They found my people in ancient times, when the wheel and fire were still cutting edge technology. They built an station in orbit around our world, as was their way, and observed our development. They did not interfere with our development too much. When our home was threatened by an asteroid strike in ancient times, they destroyed it. When a supervolcano erupted and cast our world into volcanic winter, they descended from on high and cleaned our atmosphere. We praised them as Gods for a time... Gods that came when we were in true need and helped us escape extinction. That was the only time they approached us directly. Their great ships landed where we preached of their glory... and they set us right. They told us that they were not gods... but were flesh and blood like us. They had learned how the world worked... and through doing so they had learned to control the world. Through their hard work and study... they had elevated themselves to the point where they worked *miracles* through their technology. They told us not to worship them... but instead to follow in their footsteps. Our people... became very eager to join the Humans among the Stars. We wanted to be like them... powerful enough to bend the world towards our interests. As we grew more advanced... the Humans seemed to grow more distant. Disasters came without the Humans coming to fix them. We were confused by this, we were worried by this, and we were angry... until we figured out why the Humans did not intervene. It was because we were *able* to fix more of our problems ourselves. We came to understand, without being told, that the Humans did not want to rob us of the challenges that let us grow. Necessity is the mother of invention, and they did not want to take away the stress that we could deal with. We went through the growing pains of a Sentient Species. Agriculture, Industrialization, Hate, Power-Hunger, and more... until the most dangerous came upon us. We discovered the Power of the Atom. The Humans did not intervene when first we used the weapons that were born of the Atom. Atomic Hellfire wiped a city out, and a war was ended. Nuclear Peace began... one as uneasy as the Nuclear Peace of human history. But... that also drove us to The Stars. The Missiles we made to deliver death across the world were also the key to breaking free of Gravity's iron-grip. Our first mission was, of course, to reach the Human Research Station. We had a few failures along the way... a few people died... but we made it in the end. We docked with the station... and we met the Humans in person once more. They were so happy to see us having succeeded in getting past the first hurdle. They encouraged us to keep exploring, to keep *learning*... and to be careful with the weapons we had built. We were not. It's been a long time since the Day of Armageddon. The day that tensions finally broke... and the decision was made to end the world. Missiles launched. Sirens flared. Mothers lied to their children, telling them that everything would be okay. Old friends got together for one last drink, before the end. Several children were made. But the end didn't come. The Humans did what they always did: They saved us from extinction when we couldn't save ourselves. Great beams of light were sent out from the Research Satellites. They struck the missiles... and there were no missiles anymore when the beams ended. There wasn't even a blast. Then... they made a request to us. They took control of every signal. Every radio, every video screen... everything. They addressed our world, and they *asked us* to avoid going to war, even though the threat of Nuclear Annihilation had been lifted from our world by their intervention. They told us that, whatever our differences might be, they weren't great enough to justify destroying each-other. We... did as we were asked. We did our best not to go to war. It worked... on the whole. Countries stopped fighting each-other... although internal wars still flared up from time to time. We continued to struggle forward... until we eventually managed to join the humans. We discovered the secrets behind the Warp-Drives that Humans relied upon... and they celebrated out triumph as we ascended to join the galactic community. We learned that the Humans were not alone among the stars, and that we were not unique in how the Humans had treated us. There were dozens of species like ours, who the Humans had taken an interest in. They had protected them... and encouraged them. When they emerged from their home-worlds with FTL Capabilities... the humans had supported their growth. They'd helped us find worlds to colonize, and they'd sent Terraforming Ships out to create new garden worlds for us to inhabit. They never asked for anything in return. To them... helping intelligent species, like ours, reach the stars was simply the right thing to do. They believed that all intelligent life was valuable... and that it should be allowed, if not outright encouraged, to flourish. They wanted to see their Local Cluster *filled* with Life... and they'd been working on that for a very long time. The Grell eventually found the Humans. They were another of the Elder Species, as old as the humans were, but they were not as Ancient as the Remnants. They had come to the stars seeking to spread their Empire, to unite all life beneath their banner... and to make all a part of their ""superior"" culture. When they looked upon our Local Cluster... they thought they saw an easy conquest. They saw *dozens* of weak species and nations that could be easily conquered... and the only species of real relevance, the Humans, were pacifistic scientists that hadn't been at war for a very long time. They ignored us, and attacked the Humans first... seeking to destroy the only thing that remotely resembled a threat. They expected that we would not come to the Humans' aid... and they were wrong. The Humans were not always as peaceful as they were when we were uplifted to the stars. They had been Warriors once, and they had *always* been scientists. Their Ships of War awakened from long hibernation... with our people at their helms. While the Humans had forgotten war... we had all experienced it. It took us awhile to figure out how to do it in space... but we figured it out, and we taught the Humans what they had forgotten. The Humans turned their Economy away from terraforming and the spreading of Life... and towards the creation of a larger armada. We held the line together... defending the Local Cluster until the Armada was ready. Then... we pushed the Grell back. We destroyed their ships, and we stranded their people on dozens of planets. We freed those that they had conquered, but few of them were strong enough to join us. We destroyed their infrastructure to stop them from returning to the Stars... and set them back to their stone-age in the process. But... we did not drive them to extinction. Instead... we built space-stations around their worlds and we watched over them, hoping to guide them back to The Stars again once they had learned the Lesson of War. We returned to peace and exploration... and the Humans returned to spreading life and guiding new intelligence to The Stars.",1268
 Students will be monitored at all times,"""Same rules as every year,"" droned Mr. Whisaw, who had a duffel bag under his desk stuffed with five Hawaiian shirts, six thongs, and a roundtrip ticket to Lagos. ""You will be monitored at all times. You will be in no danger. You must simply spot the historical inaccuracy. Correcting it yourself will earn you bonus points, but is not a requirement. Simply give your answers to your spotter and they will set things right before closing the time loop and ending your exam. Any questions?"" ""Yes,"" said Pia Sadiq, gripping the edges of her desk. ""Which...exactly *which* period will we be...y'know...where're we going?"" ""This is your final exam,"" said Mr. Whisaw coldly. ""Any period that has been discussed in this class is a possibility."" ""Oh,"" said Pia. ""We...we covered a lot this year, didn't we?"" Mr. Whisaw smiled. ""Nearly everything."" Pia gulped. There was a Knowledge Pad balanced on her lap, hidden behind her desk. As Whisaw called students to the Time Swing, she swiped furiously through random articles, videos, and fact sheets. ""Ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod,"" she mumbled. ""I don't know who Winston Churchill is. I don't even know if he's a real person. Genghis Khan! What the *hell* is a Genghis Khan? Ohcrap ohcrap ohcrap."" ""Ms. Sadiq?"" said Whisaw. ""Your turn."" Pia dripped out of her chair, slowly shuffling her way to the front of the room. The Time Swing was a chair in a sort of gyroscope. It didn't look like much. It didn't even make much of a sound when it was activated. But it worked and worked well. Pia sat down and let Barney the Teacher's Aide secure the restraining bar. ""Good luck,"" said Mr. Whisaw. ""And remember, you don't need to *fix* anything. In fact, unless you're absolutely confident about the situation, you're really better off letting your spotter handle it. Understood?"" Pia couldn't tell if Mr. Whisaw was being kind or cruel in that moment. It certainly felt like a bit of both. Before she could respond, however, the chair began to turn over, slowly at first, and then faster, and then so fast she wasn't in the chair at all anymore. Or in the classroom. Or in the same century, for that matter. When Pia opened her eyes she was on the floor in a small, poorly lit room. ""Come on,"" said a voice in the darkness. ""Time to get dressed."" The voice belonged to a woman Pia had never seen before. She handed Pia heavy wool slacks and a large overcoat. ""Here's a hat, too,"" said the woman, handing Pia a rumpled cap. ""Wear it low over your face. You want to be inconspicuous. You don't look quite like the locals."" ""Where are we?"" asked Pia. ""You know I can't say that,"" said the woman. ""Hurry up. I'll take you to the location."" Pia threw on the clothes and followed the woman out the door and into the street. It was a warm, breezy day. Men and women pushed past, paying Pia no attention. They were dressed similar to her, though most wore thinner coats or long, formal dresses. It felt like summertime, after all. A trolley rolled by. Pia had absolutely no idea where they were. ""Come on,"" whispered the woman, pulling Pia along up to an intersection. Pia bumped into a man who said something in a language that was not English. That narrowed things down at least a little. ""Here,"" said the woman, pushing Pia up to the edge of the curb. ""Your exam begins now."" Pia was bewildered. It was the past, obviously, but how far back, she couldn't say. And *where*, she was equally lost. Moreover, there was nothing to see. Just people streaming past, some queuing up around her and on the other side of the street. *A parade, maybe*, thought Pia. But how many historically significant *parades* could she name? The people there on the street became excited. Some yelling. Some cheering. Some, a few, jeering. Still, Pia couldn't see the cause of their excitement. Imposing men bustled past. Police, maybe? Or soldiers? They looked very official and all of them were armed. Finally, Pia saw it. A car. A very old sort of car. The type with no roof and those big, narrow bicycle-looking tires. A man and a woman sat in the back of the car as it moved slowly down the street. Pia could tell they were important. Royalty, maybe? The President of wherever they were? The man wore a red and white sash and a strange many-tiered hat. The woman was dressed in white. Her enormous, wide-brimmed hat was covered in real flowers. There was a scuffle in the street. A man had run out towards the car. He held out a gun and took aim at the man in the car. He pulled the trigger - once, twice, three times. But the gun did nothing. The man was surrounded by police. The car tried to get away, though it was stymied by the swarming, hysterical crowd. ""Your answer?"" said the woman. Pia had momentarily forgotten all about her. ""I..."" There was nothing. She had nothing. ""I don't know,"" said Pia softly. ""I don't know what that was."" ""Not even a guess?"" said the woman. ""This counts for 30 percent of your grade."" ""Some...king."" Pia shook her head. ""I don't know."" ""That's Franz Ferdinand,"" said the woman, pointing at the man in the car. ""Archduke of Austria. He's to be assassinated today. It's a major catalyst to the beginning of World War I."" She patted Pia on the back. ""Don't stress out about it. It's just a history class. It's not the end of the..."" Pia saw the gun flash what seemed like hours before she heard the bang. She had not been watching the gunman and the police or even the Archduke and his wife. Instead her eyes had been on another man in the crowd, young and angry. Maybe he had been with the gunman. Maybe not. All the same, he drew his own gun and aimed it at the police. And one of the police saw this and acted just that little bit quicker, drawing and firing without hesitation. Had they been slower, though, or more cautious; had they taken the time to draw a better sight, or consider the wisdom in firing at all, surely things would have been much different. Because they missed. Badly. Pia's spotter was dead before she hit in the ground. The crowd - already terrified - began to push and scream and run in every direction. Already the woman's body was swallowed up in the stampede. What did that mean? Pia was dumbstruck. What did it mean that her spotter was dead? How did she get back? How did this get *fixed*? Did this mean there would be no World War I? Pia hated history. She hated it more than math and science and every single other subject combined. What was the point of knowing what had already happened? It never changed anything. No one ever acted differently because we knew what happened before. And no one ever told you if the things that happened - the complicated, horrible things - were good or bad. If they were necessary. So what good was history if it never helped anyone? All Pia knew was how things *were*. What her grandparents had gone through to start a new life in the United States. What her parents had sacrificed so Pia and her three brothers could have joyful, fulfilling lives. It seemed disrespectful to even consider a world where those things didn't happen, and all because Pia was too lazy to study for her history exam. One of the policeman collapsed at Pia's feet. She reached down and pulled the pistol out of his hand. The car hadn't gone very far. She could catch it if she ran.",1314
 Heaven was even more beautiful than he,"John stepped through the fog that drifted near his feet and looked up at the impossibly large, pearly gates. Heaven was even more beautiful than he had imagined in his time being alive. The gates reflected the perfect, white light that seemed to shine from a sunless sky, making streaks of gold fall onto the cloudy, dream-like surface. He made his way up to the angel, whom he assumed from his station was Peter. ""Name, please?"" a voice echoed out from the being. ""John Barry Dough."" The angel sighed. John was surprised that an angel could sigh. ""You get admitted into heaven and decide to make quips?"" the angel scolded. ""I'm sorry?"" John asked, with as much respect as he could muster in the confusion. ""My name is actually John Barry Dough."" The angel's shoulders went slack and it sighed again. ""Look,"" it began, finally looking up to see John. It froze. The silence drew out between them, the angel looking confused and John looking mortified. He was worried he had offended the heavenly creature. He had always struggled with first impressions, but he had hoped heaven would be different. ""No!"" the angel cried. ""This is such a spoiler! I hadn't seen the newest episode!"" John stared blankly at the being. ""What?"" ""Nothing, I'm just--oh my gosh, I'm such a fan! And I've been working for the last, uh,"" Peter shrugged back the sleeve of his robe to glance at his wristwatch, ""Forty years. So I haven't been able to keep up with the episodes of--"" ""I've been dead for forty years?!"" John cried. ""Where is everyone I knew and loved?"" ""Oh, well... no you haven't. Time works different up here,"" the angel said, seeming to want to move past the complex topic. ""The point is you are here now! I can't believe I was the Peter on watch when you showed up!"" ""There are multiple Peters?"" John asked. ""Of course there are! Wait..."" the angel nudged John's shoulder, ""Are you making a joke about how there were so many Johns in your grade school?"" ""I--"" ""And your high school class?"" ""I--"" ""And workplace?"" ""I--"" ""And retirement home?"" ""N--"" ""And grandchildren?"" ""Um--"" ""And cemetery?"" Peter paused and considered for a second. ""Well, I guess you wouldn't really know that part. But the others?"" ""Uh, yep,"" John said, and then immediately regretted making a lie one of his first sentences in Heaven. ""HA! You always were a kidder! You know, I thought that your joke about the coffee maker last--"" ""Peter, what's the hold up? There's a line forming and wait, oh my god, why are you hugging John Barry Dough?"" asked a tall, striking angel as he walked to Peter's station. ""ZURIEL! Look! It's John Barry Dough!"" ""I know, Pete, I can see that. Oh my gosh, I TiVoed the last episode, but I didn't know you died, man!"" Zuriel said, clasping both hands around John's right. ""C'mon, let me show you to your place! Although,"" he added conspiratorially, ""you probably will have quite the welcoming party. Most people here watch your episodes live."" ""I'm sorry, I uh... I don't understand,"" John stuttered as the angel led him along a golden cobblestone walkway. ""What show are you talking about? Are you sure you don't have me confused with someone else? There are a lot of Johns in the world, after all, and--"" ""HA! Because of all of the Johns in your high sch--"" ""We just talked about that!"" Peter interjected, almost in the floor with laughter. ""It is such a classic 'John' moment!"" At this point, Zuriel was leaned over onto Peter, joining in on the joke. John smiled politely and tried his best not to look awkward. Zuriel stretched his back, wiped tears away from his eyes, and exhaled loudly. ""Such a classic!"" Zuriel snapped his fingers. ""Here you are John, your new home!"" Where the gates had stood was now a doorway into a beautiful, modestly sized home. It was, however, completely made of gold. ""What the..."" John paused, strongly considering his next word, ""Mars just happened?"" ""Mars!"" Zuriel exclaimed, falling into another fit of laughter. ""CLASSIC John Barry Dough! You always did have some cursing trouble!"" ""We transport differently here, John Barry Dough,"" Peter explained once he had managed to control his laughter. ""Not quite like that old 2014 Camry, am I right?"" They made their way up the small stoop to the front door, Peter and Zuriel supporting each other as they giggled incessantly. When they reached the entrance, the angels stared at him expectantly, so, not wanting to seem rude, John swung open the door and gestured them inside. He closed the door softly, and when he turned to look around-- ""SURPRISE, JOHN BARRY DOUGH!"" a group of glowing beings screamed. Confetti guns and a champagne cork popped. John jumped in surprise, then forced himself to smile. ""Uh... hi?"" The group burst into laughter. ""Looks like he doesn't know what's going on! Classic John!"" someone shouted. Several others echoed ""Classic John!"" John, feeling equal parts awkward, exhausted, confused by this point, lifted his hands up. ""Um... thank you all for this welcoming party. I really, really appreciate it, but um... can someone tell me why you all know me?"" The average expression of the group faded from excited to confused. Peter and Zuriel, standing closest to him, gave him a worried look. ""John, you're a famous character on our favorite show,"" Peter explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ""What show?"" ""Oh, you don't know?"" Azriel gasped. ""The top television show in Heaven is Earth: A Human Story! Everyone who is anyone watches it,"" he smirked, giving a knowing glance to the group of angels standing behind him. ""Oh, er... so, I was being um... I mean, not to sound ungrateful, but you guys were watching me?"" John asked them, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. ""Of course!"" exclaimed Marothe. ""You are everyone's favorite character!"" The angels behind her nodded and murmured affirmations. ""You mean you guys didn't like Morgan Freeman best? He's great!"" John asked, chuckling nervously. The group exploded into laughter. ""Classic John!"" they exclaimed again. ""I don't know this Freehand dude,"" one of the angels near a window shouted, ""but it is so John to deflect attention to others!"" ""Amen!"" another shouted in agreement. ""How about that time he told the boss to give employee of the month to Shirley instead of him?"" This tidbit, which John had to feign remembering, brought on rounds of applause from the group of supernatural beings. Several smacked others on the back, enjoying the fond memory like some humans remember big baseball games or incredible concerts. ""How about when he was on that incredible streak of being at work on time?"" another asked rhetorically, as if no one could ever forget. ""Five hundred and ninety-six days!"" several yelled together. ""That stupid alarm!"" one large angel cried. ""You set it!"" ""We all saw you set it!"" ""Stupid thing messed up!"" ""Worst antagonist in television history!"" The crowd erupted into angelic versions of curses thrown at the alarm clock that had apparently malfunctioned. If John could recall the event, he probably would have guessed he had simply over slept. ""I dunno, remember Candace?"" Several loud groans filled the room. ""Who is Candace?"" John asked. ""The cop who gave you that ticket! You weren't even speeding. You were going fifty-four,"" an angel spat in disgust. ""We even clocked the car!"" another added. ""Don't have to worry about Candace up here though!"" ""Oh gosh, what?"" John yelled, horrified. ""You didn't ban her because of me?"" ""Classic John!"" the group screamed through fits of laughter. ""No, John,"" Peter answered, gasping in air between the two words. ""She was a terrible person aside from being a horrible ticket-writer. Totally unrelated to you, though I won't deny we were happy to see her go."" John smiled nervously at this, unsure how to react to someone else's eternal damnation. ""Come now,"" Azriel said, leading John to a chair in front of a large screen. ""We prepared some clips for you to see!"" ""I'm really not--"" ""Don't be foolish!"" Marothe said. ""You have to see our favorite parts!"" John felt that, even though they seemed to be adoring fans, it was still not a wise idea to disregard the wishes of the angels in Heaven. He settled himself into the chair and watched the screen flicker on. He wasn't sure what he expected to see. What followed was a montage of office scenes and moments stuck in never-ending traffic. He remembered a time he had helped someone with a broken down car. He recognized an old lady he had helped across the street in his youth. Between the mundane moments, however, were the ones he remembered fondly. His parents showing him how to ride a bike and how to play baseball. His friends building a tree fort and playing with cardboard swords. His more awkward high school years as he tried to find his own personality and way in the world. His years in college, spent too often not going to class. His beautiful wife and his lovely children. His friends and coworkers that brought so many smiles and laughs, even if they also infuriated him from time to time. His grandchildren and, as he was one of the lucky ones, his great grandchildren. As he felt the corners of his eyes prickle slightly, he saw that the angels were openly wiping back tears as well. He thought he was finally coming to understand his own celebrity. ------ Edit: I needed to thank you all for your comments, feedback, encouragement, and support. Honestly I've cried a few times reading all of the messages in my inbox. I'm incredibly touched that you've enjoyed this. I've tried to comment back to everyone individually, but just in case I missed someone: thank you and I am so happy that you enjoyed this. :)",1661
 Hundreds of creatures from hundreds of different,"FADE IN: INT. HALL OF THE GALACTIC COUNCIL - MAIN CHAMBER - DAY *Beings from hundreds of different species are gathered in an enormous, amphitheater-like space, each of them looking down at a pedestal near the center. A tall, slender humanoid with long limbs and flowing white hair stands there. This is SSAH, a diplomat. When she speaks, her voice is amplified to be audible throughout the auditorium.* **SSAH:** Esteemed peers, our session will come to order. *A murmuring of voices - combined with dozens of other sounds - drifts through the air.* **SSAH:** (*CONT'D*) There is little need to introduce today's primary focus, as I am certain that you have all become aware of it via one channel or another. For this reason, I will simply call our first speaker. *SsAh steps away from the dais. Her spot is soon taken by a squat, toad-like creature. This is FIMNIMN.* **FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans! *No response seems to be forthcoming from the crowd.* **SSAH:** Please continue. **FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans! **SSAH:** Yes, they are the species in question. Please continue. *Fimnimn turns a bulbous eye to SsAh, his face showing a fair approximation of annoyance. After a moment, he looks back at the assembled beings.* **FIMNIMN:** Humans... **SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) Please say something else. **FIMNIMN:** I was about to. **SSAH:** My apologies. *The squat creature raises his arms above his head.* **FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans! *Several seconds of silence pass. SsAh rubs her forehead in evident exasperation. Eventually, Fimnimn lowers his arms.* **FIMNIMN:** (*CONT'D*) Well. They've gone and done it, haven't they? Broke the damned thing, they did. **SSAH:** We are not here to discuss their ill-advised experiments with their own moon. **FIMNIMN:** Their moon was a *victim!* We'll *all* be victims if they keep this up! *From within the crowd, a lone voice becomes audible. This is DAVE, a human ambassador.* **DAVE:** Look, we said we were sorry! *As all of the other council members turn to watch, Dave stumbles down to the center of the amphitheater.* **FIMNIMN:** An apology won't keep us safe! An apology won't protect us from your... your... idiocy! **SSAH:** This is the concern voiced by many of our number, Ambassador Dave. *Dave reaches the center dais and turns to address the crowd.* **DAVE:** The universe is a big place, alright? We just wanted to get around. **FIMNIMN:** So you built a weapon?! **DAVE:** It's not a weapon! It's a means of moving faster than light! *With a small gesture from Dave, a glowing display appears in the air, showing the Sol System.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) See, Earth is... **FIMNIMN:** (*Interrupting*) Be specific. **DAVE:** ... What? **FIMNIMN:** Do you have any idea how many species call their planet ""Earth?"" Call yours by its *real* name. *Dave closes his eyes, sighs, and continues speaking.* **DAVE:** As you can see from the diagram, Happy-Happy-Sunshine-Sparkle-Ball is located... **SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) I'm sorry, Ambassador, but is that truly your planet's galactic designation? **DAVE:** Unfortunately. **SSAH:** ... Why? **DAVE:** We had a contest. *Murmurs of understanding become audible.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) Anyway, we're one of the most remote planets in the galaxy. Our closest neighbor is over four lightyears away. **FIMNIMN:** That's quite standard. **DAVE:** Yes, well, according to our physicists, we needed a means of traveling far, far faster than relativity would allow if we were to make realistic strides toward visiting other worlds. *The display shifts and shows a technical schematic for what appears to be an engine of some kind. It vaguely resembles a doughnut, albeit one with a series of ridges and valleys along its visible side.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) This led to the development of what we called the That Walkway In Airports Drive. In essence, we would... **SSAH:** (*Interrupting*) Sorry, I believe we're experiencing a problem with our translator system. **DAVE:** No, it's working fine. **SSAH:** Ah. Another contest? **DAVE:** No, just an inventor who liked analogies. **SSAH:** That seems to be a universal problem. Please continue. *Dave clears his throat.* **DAVE:** Anyway, the TWIAD allowed us to create a bubble of space that moved at several times the speed of light, while the vessel contained within it would move at relatively slower velocities. **FIMNIMN:** A fine system. **DAVE:** Thank you. **FIMNIMN:** Tell everyone what you started using instead. *Once again, Dave clears his throat.* **DAVE:** It was an accident, really. We discovered that the bubble in question could be... well, squeezed, I suppose... in a way that allowed it to traverse greater distances. Naturally, we worked to test the limits. **FIMNIMN:** (*Shouting*) Humans! **SSAH:** Stop it. **DAVE:** Thank you. **SSAH:** (*To Dave*) And you, get to the point. **DAVE:** Well... it popped. *A sound not unlike a collective gasp of shock echoes through the expansive room.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) All of a sudden, our ship was a quarter of the way across the galaxy. Our tests concluded that by rupturing the bubble, we'd released a buildup of some kind, which we hadn't even realized was there. **FIMNIMN:** You blew past dozens of inhabited systems! **DAVE:** We didn't know the effects it would have! *Dave's face adopts a look of genuine remorse.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We didn't know, I swear. We thought... we thought that intentionally rupturing our TWIAD bubble just propelled us along. We hadn't yet discovered spatial-temporal plasma, you see, and we didn't know we were leaving anything in our wake. *He hangs his head in apparent shame.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We thought our Fissure-Assisted Rapid Transit System would bring our people to the stars. **FIMNIMN:** It did... and you brought that damned miasma with you! **DAVE:** We know that now. As you said, we inadvertently blasted our own moon to smithereens. *Dave holds up a hand.* **DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) We swear to you, though... *I* swear to you... that humanity will no longer use our FARTS to travel. *Somber, tense silence fills the space.* **SSAH:** Let's take a brief recess for lunch. As is customary, the chef's team has prepared a meal from... Happy-Happy-Sunshine-Sparkle-Ball. I believe it is called ""Baked Beans."" FADE OUT.",1000
 Kyle Davis has failed to secure a,"> It's peak mating season here at Thomas Jefferson High School, due in large part to an annual pairing ceremony known as ""Prom."" This event, in which the entire high school tribe comes together for a mass mating dance, sends males scurrying to secure an appropriately attractive female. Failure to secure a potential mate can lead one to be cast out from one's pack and reduced to 'loser' status. > Prom is only days away now, and most eligible females have already been claimed by the most dominant and attractive males. That makes the situation all the more dire for one Kyle Davis, who has unsuccessfully attempted to secure a mate thus far. But despite two rejections, Kyle persists and seems to have his eye on one Tessa Lewis. She is widely regarded as 'cute' but also 'a little stuck up,' which may explain why she too has failed to secure a date to the prom. > We find Kyle at his locker, discussing strategy with his best friend and neighbor Amanda. Males often make non-romantic partnerships with females in this society in an attempt to share information and better understand their quarry. ""I was thinking of making a sign and putting it on her car."" Kyle says. ""But I haven't thought of anything funny to write on it yet."" > A common strategy for first approaching a mate, the use of a sign also tends to rely heavily on the use of a clever pun as a way of impressing the female. ""Yeah, maybe that will work,"" Amanda mutters as she stuffs books back in her locker. ""But that's, like, what everyone is doing. It's kind of boring, you know?"" > Despite their alliance, Amanda has been less than helpful in helping Kyle secure a date for the Prom. She offers criticisms of his strategies, but has yet to come up with any helpful solutions to his predicament. ""No, you're right."" Kyle says. ""It's dumb."" > Kyle turns down the hall and gazes at Tessa, safe amongst her pack of fellow volleyball players. The females often travel in herds for safety, requiring any approaching male to take on the embarrassment of asking one out in public for everyone to see. Few dare such a bold strategy; the males often prefer to isolate their target for a one-on-one mating proposal. ""Why Tessa, though?"" Amanda asks. ""I mean, she's pretty and everything... but I don't think you two have much in common."" > Though males in this society tend to be driven almost entirely by physical attributes, the females often search for a deeper connection based on shared hobbies and other interests. Males like Kyle are challenged to feign interest in those hobbies while attempting to lure the female into mating. ""Well, there's only one way to find out, right? I'm just going to ask her,"" Kyle decides, slamming his locker shut and marching down the hall before Amanda can get in a word edge-wise. > What an amazing turn of events! We're truly lucky here, dear viewers! Our naturalists have been watching these hallway for years and have rarely seen such a stunning turnaround. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, it seems that Kyle is willing to brave the risk of utter social embarrassment by asking Tessa out *in this very hallway!* Kyle is sure to never forget this moment, no matter the outcome! Let's just hope this isn't a memory of pure shame and humiliation for him! ""Hey, um... Tessa?"" > The entire volleyball team stops their conversation and turns to stare at poor Kyle. Oooh, this isn't good, gentle viewers! See the savage looks in their eyes, ready to shame him just as soon as their pack leader gives the signal. ""Ummm... would you... I mean, if someone hasn't already asked you..."" > Kyle seems to be floundering already. Males of his age are susceptible to stammering and otherwise screwing up their speeches. Experts who study the teenage male have suggested that their brains simply turn off while talking to beautiful women. This is in large part due to blood flow being prioritized elsewhere in the body. ""What I mean is... are... would... wouldyouliketogotothepromwithme?"" > The entire hallway is silent. In his hurry to finally blurt out the question, Kyle forgot to control the volume of his voice and now everyone has heard him. The situation could *not* be more perilous for poor Kyle. Everything rides on how Tessa will react, yet her face shows no sign of emotion. At this phase, one would hope for something like a lip bite or even a smile to show that she is considering his plea, but no such sign is forthcoming. Tessa's face twists into a sneer. ""With *you*?"" she says, following by a barely-contained giggle. > Ohh, there it is viewers! The sign for her pack. The other volleyball players begin to laugh too, and Kyle has been thoroughly rejected. That bright-red tone of his cheeks is a clear sign that he has admitted his own defeat. All he can truly do now is hide out for a bit and hope that the shame of the rejection soon passes. ""I can't believe I was so *stupid*,"" Kyle mutters to Amanda as he returns to his locker > As always, Amanda is there to comfort Kyle after such a rejection. Though most members of the high school society will lower their opinion of Kyle after this, it doesn't seem to have affected Amanda at all. ""It's all right,"" she says, placing a hand on his arm. ""I'm sure you'll find *someone* to take to prom..."" she smiles, waiting for him to look up. ""Doubt it..."" he responds. ""I'm a complete loser. *No one* will ever want to date me."" He brushes off Amanda's arm and heads down the hall, away from the still-laughing pack of volleyball players. ""I gotta go to history. See you later."" Amanda watches him leave, and lets out a sigh. > There you have it, viewers. Our subject Kyle made a valiant effort at securing a mate, but unfortunately today was just not his day. Perhaps tomorrow, he'll be able to view his existing relationships with a bit more clarity. Tune in next time on the Wild World of High School to find out! ----",1047
 Katrina says she gets the face mask,"""I get the face mask,"" says Katrina, leaning back to take me all in. ""Chemtrails,"" I say. ""Yeah, sure."" ""So the government can control our minds."" Katrina sighs. ""Yeah. Yeah, I know that. The...*cloak* I don't think I'm..."" ""Electronic pulses,"" I say, swishing the foil and felt cloak around in a circle. ""CIA can use a remote control to shut down my heart, otherwise."" ""That's a new one."" I shrug. ""Cloak's left over from Barry's *Lord of the Rings* party. I like cloaks."" ""Did you use all of our foil?"" ""On the cloak? No. Had to leave some for the hat."" Katrina sighs. ""Right. You know, I was perfectly willing to go as She-Ra."" ""The He-Man costume was a mistake,"" I say quickly. ""Miscalculations were made. I thought we agreed to never speak of that again."" Katrina laughs, turning back to the mirror and her make-up. ""But I *liked* the furry cod-piece..."" ""And if both my balls didn't immediately spill out the sides every time I took a step, you'd be a Princess of Power right now,"" I say, folding up the sides of my tinfoil hat. ""Sadly, even the power of Greyskull can't tame these bad boys. Alright. Finishing touch."" I pick up the hat and press it snugly down on my head. ""How does this..."" I scream, falling to the floor. The hat flies off. ""Har har,"" says Katrina, spinning around in her chair. She motions towards her face. ""Too green? I want Radioactive Marie Curie, but this looks a bit Zombie Marie Curie, doesn't it?"" ""Uh..."" I stumbled up to my feet. Everything seems fine. Normal. *What the hell was that?* ""I think it's...it's good. Yeah."" ""Are you okay? You look flush."" ""Overexcited,"" I reply, shaking my head. ""I'm fine. You almost ready to go?"" ""Five more minutes,"" she says, turning back to the mirror. ""Can you warm up the car?"" ""It's like 45 degrees outside..."" ""Pleeeeease?"" I go. In truth, the cold air helps me clear my head. A few deep, biting breaths and I feel myself again. What *was* that? A trick of the light? Some sort of episode? There was a moment there where everything looked just a little bit *wrong*. It was like the first time watching a movie in ultra high definition and everything looks a little *too* real. Movie sets look like movie sets. The fakeness comes through. Katrina didn't quite look *real*. The room itself didn't look real. Everything looked...well, like a play version of the real thing. The changes were so subtle, but so jarring. Maybe I'm overtired. I should probably skip the party, but Katrina would be pissed and Rumi would be pissed and I love Halloween parties, so...it's fine. I'm sure it's fine. Katrina's finally ready, so we drive over to Rumi's. We're one of the last couples to arrive, which is fine. Katrina prefers being fashionably late and I'm just glad to be there. It's a been a difficult few months since Westgate went under. Katrina earns enough to keep us afloat, but I won't pretend that it's not wearing me out. This party feels like a great opportunity to relax and let those things go. ""I wasn't going to say anything,"" says Katrina, just as I'm about to get out of the car. ""But Harry Vine is here."" I gulp, sinking back into my seat. ""Oh."" ""I think you should talk to him. They might be hiring at Berhen's..."" ""Oh. Okay."" So it's not a party. It's a job interview. Never mind that bit about finally relaxing. I'm hardly paying attention as we walk to the front door. ""Hat?"" says Katrina, pointing at my head. ""Oh. Left it in the car. One second."" ""I'll meet you inside,"" says Katrina, shivering. ""Right."" The foil hat's in the back seat. I cram it over my head and close the car door, yanking back my hand in surprise. The door...it's so cheap and flimsy all of a sudden. Like it was made from plastic. I step back. The whole car is like that. Like it's a toy. A giant, man-sized toy. What's happening? Why am I...? I turn around. The trees...the trees don't move. They're firm and brittle and lifeless. I reach out, hand shaking, to touch a leaf...and it's plastic. It's fake. No. It's...I'm having some sort of panic attack. I must be. Because of the stress. Because I have to beg Harry Vine for a job. Is this a psychotic break? I close my eyes and take deep slow breaths. When I open them, I turn to face the house. It's a doll house. Hard, plastic angles. Gaps in the corners where light spills out. Everything shines faintly. No. I can't react to this. It's not what it looks like. I *know* I'm having some sort of a break. I can't afford that...not now. I stare up at the night sky and there's the moon - flat, two dimensional - a piece of paper plastered to the wall. No. ""Babe, are you coming in?"" There's a figure in the doorway. Knobby joints. Synthetic hair. Rough, polyester dress. Plastic, lifeless eyes. No. ""Are you alright?"" She steps forward and I can *see* it...the hand. It's so faint, like a shadow. It pushes the legs out - right left right left. It positions the arms forward as if reaching for me. I step back. I try not to scream or react. I'm having a break. I must be. But my eyes trace the outline of the hand and follow those dark lines up, into an arm, into a body, into a *face*. Someone looming over us all...staring down at me... Another shadow hand flashes across the night sky. The wind whips. The tinfoil hat flies off my head. ""Babe?"" I can hardly stand looking at her, but I do, and it's Katrina. Normal, regular Katrina. ""Sorry,"" I say. I reach down and snatch up the foil hat, rolling it nervously in my fingers. ""Daydreaming."" ""Don't be intimidated,"" she smiles, slipping an arm behind my back and propelling me up the steps. I let her push me into the house. ""They're just *people*. The same as you and me."" ____________________________________ /r/WinsomeMan",1032
" Rime, Bringer of Frost","""It's just not the same,"" Ultraman continued, from where he was sitting in an armchair. ""Everyone is so distracted by their phones and their electronics and their doohickeys. Now, back in my day-"" ""Rime!"" yelled out a voice from the hallway. Rime, Bringer of Frost, Mistress of Winter, and current President of the Federal Confederation of Villainy, let out an exasperated huff. A hero? On a Wednesday afternoon? She snapped her fingers. ""I'm here to- *urp!*"" Ultraman paused in his story. ""Did you say something, Rime?"" Rime gave him an apologetic smile. ""It wasn't me. I think it's from outside. I'll just pop out to see what it is, won't be a moment."" She stepped out of the study and shut the door behind her gently before leaning back on it, taking a deep breath. She could feel the familiar weight of her mask clipped to her belt. It was designed to cover her whole face with dark, jagged crystals, all harsh lines and sharp edges, black ice as twisted and as dangerous as she was supposed to be. She put it on. Rime briskly made her way to the hero she'd flash frozen in a cube of ice in her hallway. She couldn't quite make out the mask underneath the murky surface, but the costume was gaudy, the colors garish. She couldn't help but sigh. An amateur, but that was only to be expected - the veterans in the United League of Heroes knew better than to disturb her on Wednesdays. She snapped her fingers. The cube melted in an instant, freezing water gushing across the floor, draining quietly through the numerous storm drains she'd had installed. The hero inside it coughed, a series of violent, hacking sounds, and Rime felt her lips curl into a sneer. She'd only frozen the hero for a minute at best. Newbies nowadays... ""Rime!"" the hero called - well, wheezed. ""I'm here to-"" ""Your name?"" Rime said. ""Stop you- huh?"" the hero faltered. This close, their voice was young, high pitched, still slightly squeaky. ""My... what?"" ""Your. Name."" Rime said, enunciating the words clearly. She gestured at the hero's bedraggled costume. The hero blinked up at her. ""I'm- I'm Phoenix."" Rime rolled her eyes. Seriously? ""Let me guess. You had some sort of traumatic incident in your life most likely due to a supervillain, a superhero saved you, and since then your lifelong dream was to become a superhero just like them?"" Phoenix stared at her, mouth slightly open, as though halfway through objecting but not sure to what. Rime waited a moment. It was only polite. When no response was forthcoming, she continued. ""Let's see if I'm on a lucky streak. Lo and behold, you're one of the lucky few that get usable powers, you realize you have a knack for fire, and you have the brilliant idea to come here to try to get rid of me once and for all because I'm the President of the Confederation and hence must be the worst villain around, and fire, after all, completely negates ice? Or so you'd think, at least?"" ""Uh."" said Phoenix. ""Did you listen at all during class? They teach you this on the first week."" The blush was a dead giveaway. Rime sighed. ""Oh, dear. You went off to find me the moment you got your powers, didn't you? Did you have the costume ready made?"" It was disappointing. The quality of fledgling heroes kept dropping with every passing year. There were just too many heroes convinced they were experts on fighting crime after reading a how-to guide on the internet. ""So, Phoenix,"" Rime continued. ""Usually, as retribution, I'd freeze you in a block of ice and keep you that way until the League realized you're missing, but my afternoon is already fully booked. I need to deal with Ultraman's latest attempt to foil my plans. Do feel free to come back around tomorrow if you fancy being frozen again."" ""Ultraman?!"" Phoenix exclaimed, suddenly talkative once more. ""He's like... old, and washed up, and senile! He's not even part of the League anymore!"" Rime had to restrain herself from freezing Phoenix - oh, but how she hated that name - right then and there. ""He's also been fighting crime for more than fifty years,"" she said coldly, ""Which you would know if you actually went to class. And when the League decided he wasn't useful to them anymore, they discharged him without so much as a pension or even a thank you. Fifty years and it meant nothing to them. The League isn't government funded. It runs for profit, and at the end of the day, it cares about money. The League didn't much fancy taking care of an elderly, senile hero... so it let him go."" Phoenix gaped at her. It only lasted for a moment. ""The League would never do something like that!"" ""Ask the League where Ultraman's pension is,"" Rime said. ""Or Wonderlady's, or Crowstorm's, or any of the older heroes for that matter. The League doesn't care. But we at the Confederation remember, and we at the Confederation care - we have a caretaker rotation. The enemy of my enemy and all that, as they say, because the League most certainly hasn't been friendly in its dealings with its older heroes. One might even say it's been quite villainous."" ""You're lying!"" Phoenix cried out. ""The League wouldn't do that, and you're just saying it because you're, you're a villain! And evil!"" Rime had lost what little patience she had left for that conversation. ""If that helps you sleep at night, then by all means keep telling yourself that. Just remember to ask yourself why none of the League veterans ever come to challenge me on a Wednesday. Now get out of my lair before I decide I do actually have enough time to freeze you."" A wave of her hand sent a barricade of ice slamming up from the floor, a wall of jagged frost that blocked Phoenix from her sight. Rime stepped back into the study a few minutes later. ""Sorry, Ultraman. That took a little longer than I expected..."" she trailed off, finding Ultraman asleep in his armchair. ""Huh?"" Ultraman grunted, rousing himself. ""Whassat?"" ""Nothing,"" Rime said. ""Sorry for waking you."" ""You younglings nowadays, and your nothing."" Ultraman grumbled. ""It's always nothing with you. Back in my day, we didn't sit around doing nothing, we found ourselves something to do."" Rime smiled, turning away to hide it. ""I'm sure you did,"" she said. ""I'm sure you did."" ""You kids nowadays have it so easy, sitting around all day. Back then, being a hero meant work! We had pride, a real pride in what we did, and...""",1123
 Vorlax and Kaaboom,"""You sure we won't get in trouble?"" asked Kaaboom, nervously picking at his collar. ""I mean, I'm still on probation, you know. Can't afford to get written up on any more of them charges."" ""There's no crime if it's for a good purpose,"" said Vorlax, who as No. 42 on the League's most wanted list, really was the last person anyone should be taking legal advice from. ""Besides, I'm the one with the dummy explosives here, so Chronotron's going to be focusing fully on me. You ready?"" The two supervillains took a deep breath, then pushed their way to the centre of the crowded town square. Vorlax hopped onto a bench, threw open his trenchcoat, revealing a neat array of sausages, tightly wrapped in brown paper. The alarm clock which Kaaboom had helped tape to the front dangled precariously. ""Screw all of you! Damn you all to hell! See ya all in the afterlife, muthaf-"" Vorlax never got to finish his threat. Even before the gathered crowd could react, even before the first screams could rend the air, he had already frozen in place, encased in a shimmering cage of writhing chrono-filaments. Hot damn, thought Kaaboom, so this is what it looks like from the outside. Enthused clapping rang out as the citizenry acknowledged yet another successful rescue by the hero known as Chronotron, the League's newest poster boy. He hovered in the air, waving at his adoring fans. ""Fear not, one and all, the threat has been neutralised! It's off to the gallows for this one!"" ""Wait, wait!"" shouted Kaaboom, remembering the part he had to play. They had flipped a coin for this, because it was never fun to have to explain to the League what they were really up to, plus it wasn't easy suppressing the instinct to run, an instinct they had honed their entire careers. ""Wait, Chronotron! I can explain everything!"" The darkening scowl from Chronotron made it clear to Kaaboom that he had only a very short window of opportunity. ""Kaaboom? You caught up in this terrorist attack too?"" ""No, no! Wait, I mean yes! But not in that way, those aren't explosives at all, I swear! Just sausages! From the deli opposite!"" Chronotron stretched a hand into the chronocage, poking tentatively. His scowl deepened as his finger pierced into the soft mushiness of a bratwurst. ""If this is a joke, Kaaboom, it is in bad taste. Causing undue public alarm is also a crime!"" ""We needed to get to you urgently, that's all! And the League wouldn't take any of our calls, our numbers are all blacklisted! Please, just a minute of your time, in private!"" Chronotron snapped his fingers, and a larger chronocage extended to envelop the two of them. Outside the bubble, the world ground to a halt. ""55 seconds remain, Kaaboom, before I'm hauling both you and Vorlax in."" ""Right, right! See, we think something's happened to Vortex Man, and just in case he needs help urgently, we thought, you know, your powers would come in handy! I swear, that's the truth!"" A puzzled frown spread across Chronotron's face. ""Vortex Man? Why would anything happen to him? He's been retired for years!"" ""Well, see... There's this roster we have, all the ones who have been given second chances by him before. We take turns to check in on him, just to make sure the old boy's getting on well..."" ""How would you know where he lives anyway? His identity's still a secret!"" Kaaboom thrust a sheaf of papers at Chronotron, and said, ""We don't, but look, we know his routine, where he goes for his daily walk, where he gets his coffee... And we take turns staging kidnappings, or hold ups, just so that he has a bit of exercise, you know? We think it keeps him happy, being relevant and appreciated and all..."" The first time he had been asked to assist, Kaaboom had drawn the short straw, so the role of a desperate mugger went to him. He had come away from the encounter shaken, not so much because Vortex Man still packed a mean punch, but because he had truly aged, now a mere shadow of the strapping superhero who had first apprehended Kaaboom on the streets so many years ago. The sheen to Vortex Man's once thick, lustrous hair was gone, and a certain pallidness clung to his skin like shame to an introvert. His mind too, frail and feeble, couldn't recognise Kaaboom even though he played a kidnapper, then a rapist, then a mugger again, three days in a row. Heck, Kaaboom even had to pretend to be a cat in a tree once, after Vorlax suggested that variety would help keep Vortex Man nimble. Kaaboom didn't mind helping out more, especially after the other supervillains started excusing themselves from the roster, citing the poor economy, the need to find work in other cities, family commitments... there were fewer and fewer of them on the roster, which meant that some weeks, Kaaboom and Vorlax did double, triple duties. After all, the way that Vortex Man brightened up every time he helped someone... that was enough for Kaaboom to want to come back again, the very next day. Chronotron flipped through the papers, understanding slowly dawning on him. ""And I take it, he hasn't turned up today?"" ""Yes, you get it now! Nothing! We've been on Evil.net, and no one else has seen or heard from him in two days! So we thought, he's been pretty regular with his schedule, and for him to suddenly not turn up..."" If there was one thing Kaaboom had to give Chronotron credit for, it was that he truly had the gumption and decisiveness of a first-class hero. Chronotron handed back the papers, raised both arms in the sky, and shouted as the chronocage grew, slowly at first, then faster, and larger, till it stretched further than the eye could see. Now, nothing moved, except for the two of them. ""Come, then, let's go. I have a rough idea of where he stays. If there is any medical emergency, this should buy us some time till we can get help to him."" ""Err... Chronotron, if you don't mind, could we get Vorlax to come too? This was his idea after all..."" Chronotron laughed, then inclined his head ever so slightly. ""... uckas!"" --- /r/rarelyfunny --- is up! Thanks very much for everyone who commented, your support really helped push me to complete this story. =)",1085
" ""You know this may be the","""You know this may be the dumbest idea we've ever had,"" she said as her fingers gently stroked my chest under the covers. I turned to her, keeping the contact but pushing the covers off. I suddenly felt hot. ""What? You want to go hide in the mountains? Shut up the gates of our ancestors' stone fastnesses and wait them out for a month? ""It worked for them. Kept humanity alive. Why not?"" Her eyes looked up into mine and I saw in them worry, fear, and something else, trust. I grasped her arm and held her hand firm against my chest, letting it feel my heartbeat. ""Because I'm not going to kick this problem down the road for another three hundred years. I'm not going to survive today just to let our great-great-great grandkids be eaten because there wasn't enough space in the castle. This time we end it for all humanity."" ""Will we be ready in time?"" She asked, her hand now holding firm against me of it's own accord. I let go her arm, wrapped mine around her back, pulled her close, and put my mouth against her ear. ""Ten days. We have to hold out ten days."" *** Day 2. I couldn't accept what the General was saying. As much as I had heard him the first time I found myself mumbling for him to repeat his report again, and he obliged. ""Dr. Kasas, listen to me. They've overrun the outer wall at all points and are approaching the middle wall at speeds that are nearly outpacing our retreating units. We expect the mine fields to slow them down but there is a massive thrust from sectors 2 o'clock and 3 o'clock. Estimates are enemy units in those sectors will hit the middle wall in less than two days time and, I'm afraid, overwhelm the defense."" The man slumped back in his chair, wiping sweat from his head. ""Gen-eral,"" I said with a bit of a stutter, ""you must hold the middle wall. Half our sites are between the middle wall and the inner sanctum. Hold them for eight more days."" The man looked haggard but nodded into the camera before reaching forward and thumbing the connection off. Day 5. ""Dr. Kasas,"" I didn't know this man. Dressed in military fatigues he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. ""Dr. Kasas, I'm sorry to report that the middle wall was breached in sector 3 o'clock over an hour ago. Enemy units are now heading toward Sanctum. We want to contain the breakout but right now we're just trying to hold sectors 2 and 4."" ""Where is General Hammad?"" I asked, already missing the sweaty faced man. ""Dead,"" the man replied. ""His convoy was hit soon after the breakout by a unit of wraiths. I've assumed command."" The man looked up and off to the side of the screen. Then reached down for his holster, drew his weapon, and fired at something to the side. Men around him were doing the same. Their bolts of white energy blotting out the screen like a hundred flashbulbs. Then a herd of black shadows swept through the room, through the white blasts, and through the men holding the guns. Though some shadows vanished in the light the room was soon overcome with a deep darkness. Where the officer had been now stood a thing of inky blackness. I could tell it looked at me but it didn't have eyes. It reached out a dark, thick, tendril toward the screen and blotted out my view of the room. A moment later I could see something black and thick begin to ooze out of my monitor and spill downward toward my desk. I mashed the off button and it dissolved in the air. Day 10 ""Run for the shelter!"" I screamed to her and turned back toward my lab. She turned to look back at me ""I'll wait for..."" I slammed the door behind her and locked it. Running back to my desk I pulled out my tablet and double checked the status of the science center's prototype laser protection grid. It hadn't been breached yet but the cameras showed wave after wave of demons throwing themselves against it. It wouldn't be long before they found a weak spot or it failed. Sanctum had fallen. All that remained above ground was my lab, me, and my rocket. I looked at the fuel gauge and saw it tick to 100%. Now would be the time for a speech, a stern, memorable, inspiring speech about how the night would never take the light. There was no one left to listen so I didn't bother. I just hit the red button. The security cameras showed that the beasts attacking my laser fence stopped. They looked up in awe, or wonder, or terror, - if they felt such things - as the night was pierced by a rising pillar of light. The rocket, and its plume of light, vanished into the night sky and after a few minutes darkness flooded back in. Maybe it was the momentary pause that gave them strength because as they assailed the laser fence again it collapsed. The creatures were through and came flying, leaping, running, and gliding toward me. I didn't care about them anymore. As I heard them breach the outer doors I saw the second stage release its payload. A few minutes later my entrance, a meter of solid steel, bent inward and collapsed. Before me stood the inky black thing that I had seen on the video screen. It raised a tendril at me and waved it about. I could see it was missing the tip as it brought it toward my face. ""Just a moment!"" I cried at it and pointed at the video screen. ""I think you'll want to see this before you do me in."" More fear then I would have liked in my voice but I meant every word of it. The creature must have understood on some level as it halted its progress toward me and turned a bit to see the screen. On it was an image of something resembling a ball of aluminium foil. It was unraveling itself and spreading outward to fill the void. The creature turned back and seemed unimpressed. The tendril resumed its forward movement. ""Oh, no,"" I said and shrunk back in my chair. ""You're going to miss the best part!"" The tendril paused for a moment and the creature glanced at the screen just as the aluminum square blotted out the video feed with a piercing white light. From outside I could hear the howls and the screeching as millions of demons burst into ash and foam. I like to think the dark thing in front of me halted in fear. It lowered it's tendril and stood firm. I picked out where I thought it's eyes were and looked into them. ""You will trouble us no longer. In a decade my mirror will burn you and your kind from the surface of this world. In a hundred years you'll be nothing but a story, a legend, we use to scare our children away from dark places!"" I sneered at it. It could have killed me, I expected it to. Instead it floated over toward the utility closet and stood for a moment above the floor drain looking back at me. Then, quick as lightning, it slipped a tendril into the drain and vanished into the sewer below. Day 11 ""Do we really need to sleep with the skylight open?"" She asked, her hand upon my chest. My heart beat a bit faster and she pulled her hand away. ""Just for tonight, darling.""",1288
 Wesley woke just minutes before the pulse,"Wesley woke just minutes before the pulse alarm in his AnimSuit went off. It was still dark outside, and in the fogginess which lies between consciousness and slumber, every fiber in his body willed him to lie still, listen to Sara snore gently next to him, burrow deeper into the covers. Then, he remembered the game of Scrabble he had played with her, not two days ago. A sudden urgency, an intense loathing, seized him. He flung the covers away, then catapulted out of the bedroom, past the hallway, out the door. In his haste to exit the capsule bunker, he missed a step, and came crashing on the hard soil outside. Here, gravity's pull was not as jealous as it was on Earth, but he landed badly, fracturing his left forearm in two places. As Wesley lay on his back, chest heaving, staring up at the star-encrusted sky, the AnimSuit sparked to life. The tiny receptors attached to his spine pumped copious endorphins to suppress the pain in his arm, then the nanites coursing through his bloodstream, hailing the signals from the AnimSuit's processors, slathered the fracture sites with synthesized collagen. By the time Wesley had caught his breath, his arm had been mended, good as new. A reminder flashed at the corner of his eyes, on the insides of the visorplate. Wesley didn't need to read it to know that it referred to his first task of the day, which was to manually check the beacon to ensure that it was still broadcasting the distress signal out into the cold, indifferent galaxy. Muscle memory carried him through for the next hour - he checked the protein vats, then the solar cells, then the stasis chambers. On his way to the observatory, where half the panels no longer functioned after the starship had crashed on this desolate planet, Sara accosted him, slipping her arms around him from behind. ""Someone's been busy this morning,"" she purred. ""Not now, Sara,"" he said, gently untangling from her. ""Are you still upset because I beat you at Scrabble?"" ""No, of course not."" Wesley made it to his favourite spot in the observatory, and he leaned back, watching the twin suns slowly rise over the horizon. Sara sat next to him in companionable silence, for a while. ""What do you want to do today? Shall we take another crack at the movies? I'm fine watching even those mindless action flicks you like so much."" ""I thought perhaps I would just sit here today, think about things."" ""Think?"" Sara chuckled. ""You were never a thinker. Come on, we still have another week to go before we head back to the stasis chambers, let's make the most of it!"" Wesley remembered when they had first discovered, against all odds, that the stasis chambers were still functional. They were the most fragile pieces of equipment on their expedition starship, and they represented the best chance of survival for Wesley and Sara, marooned as they were on this inhospitable rock. The plan was simple - spend two weeks signalling for help, then the next twenty years in stasis, then repeat, until such time as help finally came. Without the stasis chambers artificially extending their lifespans, there was no way help would ever come in time. But now... the thought of going back into those chambers... ""How long have we been here, Sara? Give it to me straight, how long?"" The hard-edge to Wesley's question sucked out all the cheerfulness from Sara, and she responded matter-of-factly. ""Close to a thousand years, in real time, plus minus a hundred years. We've experienced about two years of it."" ""And in all this time, what's the closest another human ship has come by?"" Sara didn't respond, which in of itself was the response Wesley was looking for. ""Sara... I'm tired. I don't know if I can keep on doing this. Maybe we should just terminate the AnimSuits, go to sleep, and never wake up again."" Wesley wasn't prepared for Sara's slap across his face, though he barely felt it, the faceplates were thick and the AnimSuit was ever-eager with its pain-numbing medications. ""You have to be strong, Wesley. We have to be strong. We still have each other, and that's all we need. And we can keep going on too, the AnimSuits will keep us alive no matter what."" Wesley reached out, and cupped Sara's face in his hands. God, he thought, this is so real. ""If that were the case, maybe we shouldn't have played Scrabble the other day."" ""Surely you're still not upset about losing, are you?"" laughed Sara, as the vitality returned to her face. ""What word did you win with again?"" ""Yumminess! And with a triple score multiplier to boot!"" Wesley reached down under the table, and set a cup of black liquid on the table. It would have been steaming, and fragrant, if it were coffee. But it was not, so it did not steam, nor was it fragrant. Rather, it was rancid, and highly toxic, and it was prepared in advance, on the sly, the day before. It was the one thing in the starship which, if ingested, the AnimSuits would not be able to expunge. ""Wesley? Darling? Is that... engine fuel? Come on, you know we're not supposed to mess with that."" ""Sara, you could not have won with 'yumminess', no way."" ""Are you still on about Scrabble? For god's sakes, Wesley, just let it g-"" ""It's not about losing. It's about me playing Scrabble with you, a lifetime ago, on Earth. It's about you getting that same word, then shouting it out, then me, laughing at you, tears in my eyes, at how you completely mangled the pronunciation. It wasn't 'yumminess' to you, it was more like, 'yar-nar-mar-nar-mar-ree-ness', or something."" Sara stood up, and started backing away, slowly. ""We joked about it that whole summer, don't you remember? You never got it right, not once. I even put credits down for you to see a speech therapist, then you laughed and kicked me out of bed, remember? And you made me swear never to tease you again?"" Wesley saw the gamut of emotions running through Sara's face, then his worst fears came through when she finally settled on a look of resignation. ""You never did survive the crash, did you, Sara? All this... all these years, both of us here, struggling to cling to life... you're a hallucination, aren't you? Just a construct of my mind, aided by my AnimSuit, obedient as it is to its programming, its imperative to keep me alive no matter the cost?"" Wesley saw Sara lean forward, place her hands on his arm, but the spell had been broken, and her hands passed right through him. ""Will you at least let me see where her remains are, please?"" said Wesley, choking back the tears which clouded his vision. ""And no more of this, please, it's a travesty to her memory."" Sara shimmered, then melted away. Wesley was dimly aware of a neural spike withdrawing from the jack at the base of his neck. Then, a message flashed across his visor, addressing him directly for the first time. ""There are no remains, Wesley. She was incinerated on arrival. But you must continue on. Rescue is only a couple of years away."" Wesley looked down at his cup, and never had the engine fuel ever looked so inviting. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1239
" ""Please, I need help,""","""Don't come any closer."" I stopped. There really wasn't much of an alternative; I was limping, bleeding so heavily I was light headed and squishing with every movement, and had what sure seemed like a weapon pointed at me. It didn't *look* like a weapon, but he waved it around like one. Blocky, almost pixelated; but excepting the lack of rounded corners or tubular shapes ... some sort of rifle. Maybe a shotgun; the 'barrel' was pretty broad. ""Please, I need help,"" I panted. ""Fuck you buddy, I don't need you dragging wildlife down on me,"" he said as he glanced around. The weapon stayed leveled at me though. ""What is going on?"" ""Oh fuck me,"" he said, bringing his eyes back to me. ""Let me guess, something bad happened, and then you're here in blocky bad picture land and it always hurts."" I blinked at him. ""Uh, yeah. How--"" ""You're in Hell dude."" ""Come again?"" ""Lived a bad life, right? Never did nice things, didn't care about anyone except you, probably stole or lied at least sometimes? Maybe worse?"" he said, his eyes going back into their furtive darting scanning. ""I was an okay guy."" ""Obviously not."" ""Just, please, what's going on?"" ""You're. In. Hell."" ""Bullshit,"" I said before I could help myself. Probably not the smartest response, even if that thing in his hands wasn't a gun. I was in no shape to resist much if he attacked me; even unarmed. ""How do you figure?"" ""I don't believe in religion,"" I protested weakly. It was getting hard to stay on my feet. That ... whatever it was ... had done a real number on me. Especially my leg. If the wound hadn't started clotting by now, I was probably in serious trouble. ""There's no such--"" The guy lunged forward. My reflexes weren't up to recognizing it in time, and I'd only just started moving -- some feeble attempt at a dodge -- when he slammed the butt end of his weapon into my chest. I tumbled to the ground, half expecting to be shot about the time I registered hitting the ground. And then I heard the gun go off. When I flinched, and opened my eyes, I realized he hadn't shot me. Looking up, I saw him with the long blocky poorly shaped weapon up to his shoulder, emitting a suspiciously uniform cloud of what was clearly supposed to be smoke from the business end. His left hand moved on the front half of the gun, and I heard a ridiculously loud shotgun sound. Straight out of the movies. ""I'll leave,"" I protested, clutching at my leg. Wet sticky warmth was flooding through my fingers, and I pressed harder despite how much it made the pain spike. None of this mattered if I didn't get the bleeding stopped. ""Just don't shoot me."" ""I'm not going to shoot you,"" he muttered, stepping back. The gun stayed on his shoulder though. I finally looked where he was point it, and saw the bear again. Clearly I hadn't lost it after falling off that hill into the lake. My blood was still on its muzzle; but it was lying on one side, with dark red blood of its own spreading beneath it. I blinked as I realized the blood was pooling to a ridiculously uniform distance, about half a foot or so, from the bear before it just ... stopped spreading. ""Thank you."" ""I should, but I can't spare the ammo,"" he muttered. ""Takes too long to make. If you hadn't just got here, maybe I'd at least loot you ... but you're not carrying anything."" ""How--"" ""Backpack,"" he said, glancing at me. When he saw the confused expression on my face, he jerked one thumb over his shoulder at the small canvas pack he wore. ""No backpack. Baaaaaackpaaaaack,"" he repeated. ""I'll leave you alone. Just tell me what's going on,"" I begged. ""Please."" He sighed, glancing up at the sky. ""I wasn't *that* much of an asshole God. Really? I couldn't have been,"" he muttered. ""Why is it always me who runs into the fucking noobs."" He sighed and reached into his pocket. I didn't see anything in his hand, but a moment later -- as he brought his hand up to the gun -- I heard a metallic click-scrape that sounded like a bullet or shell or whatever being shoved into it. ""Okay noob, here's the deal,"" he said, stepping back again. ""You died, and you weren't a nice person, and you're in Hell. Except, see, Satan has a lot of time on his hands. What with being the Lord of the Underworld and all. He likes to try new stuff, just to keep from getting bored. Guess that's why God kicked him out; he couldn't leave well enough alone."" I frowned up at him, but didn't dare open my mouth again. Even if what he was saying was complete lunacy. There was no religion, which meant there was no afterlife. Except ... I still remembered the car hurtling toward mine, right at the door next to me. It had been going *really* fast. And ... none of anything afterwards made any sense. At *all*. ""This is one of his newer attempts at torment and torture,"" the guy standing near me said as he lowered the gun, or the gun-like shape, into a more comfortable carry position near his waist. Keeping it in both hands. ""It hasn't been finished. Though I'm not entirely sure if he's not leaving it like this just to make it hurt more. Actually, answer me this; did you work in tech. Computers? Anything like that?"" ""No."" He shrugged. ""Just a theory of mine; maybe this is where a lot of computer snobs end up. Just so we'll all lose our minds at the bad graphics."" Then his eyes flicked to my leg. ""Look, if you don't stop the bleeding--"" ""I don't know how,"" I protested weakly. ""Make a grass tourniquet."" I looked at him for several seconds, waiting for what he'd just said to make sense. Except, as I kept thinking it over, it wasn't. He sighed again. ""Take your hand, and swipe it across the ground. Just above it. Make grabbing motions while you do."" Tentatively, I reached my free hand out -- the one that wasn't clamped to my leg -- and tried to follow his instructions. I heard a shushing sort of 'bink' sound, and abruptly some long strands of ... something ... were in my hand. ""Hold those in your other hand, and get another set,"" he said. ""Then smash them together, and it'll make a grass cord. Take the cord, and press it to your wound. That'll hold you until you can find some bark, and rock, and turn the bark into a fiber mat. That, plus two cords, makes a proper bandage."" *""This is ridiculous.""* I thought, but I transferred the 'grass' to my bloody hand, and swiped my fingers across the ground again. Another set of 'grass' appeared, and when I clapped my hands together, suddenly the strands vanished and I was holding a thicker strand. With nothing to lose, I touched it to my bleeding leg, and suddenly the blood started slowing. After a few moments, it stopped. I didn't dare sigh in relief; it still hurt like hell, but at least it might kill me slower. ""Look, I don't handhold you guys,"" the man said, backing away. ""I've got enough trouble of my own. And, let's face it, I'm just as much of an asshole as you, yeah? We're both in here, so we're not angels. But if you want to read what there is of the FAQ, make a question mark with your finger and trace a bigger one in front of your face. But it doesn't pause anything while you're reading, so you can get killed again if you pull it up while you're near something that wants to fuck with you."" He backed off some more, half turned from me, then stopped. ""Getting killed hurts. A lot. And you'll feel it, unlike the death that landed you in here."" He sighed, then gave a shrug. ""Last piece of free advice. There's a river a few minutes that way,"" he pointed, ""and a lake a little closer over there,"" he said, indicating the direction I'd just come from. ""Wash the blood off. It always chops a *lot* of time off the delay before the next spawn shows up and starts hunting you. If you're bloody. They smell it, see?"" ""Wait,"" I said as he started walking again. ""Fuck you sinner."" He didn't stop. I looked around, then at the dead bear, and frowned. I wasn't sure if I could walk. The tourniquet had stopped the bleeding, but my leg hurt more now. The pressure was making the pain worse. But ... I held my fingers up, crooked them into the best '?' I could manage, and traced them through the air. A leathery parchment abruptly filled my field of vision, dripping wet red lettering inked on it. ""Welcome to hell,"" I read with a sinking feeling. *""Oh shit.""*",1526
 Dr Klara Fuente was taken,"Dr Klara Fuente protested at first, insisting that the blindfold would give her motion sickness. She eventually relented when she realised they prized secrecy over the cleanliness of their car. Men and their cloaks and daggers, she thought, desperately trying to hold her dinner down as the car cruised over the bumpy country road. She soon found herself deposited at a clearing in the forest, where Agent Benny Vicks was already waiting for her, and she didn't hesitate to share a piece of her mind. ""Was all this really necessary? You know that I work best in my lab, right? I don't have half the equipment I need here, and this is going to be such a waste of time."" ""It's urgent,"" he said, starting to grin, ""besides, don't archaeologists love field trips?"" Klara had more than enough fuel to continue complaining for at least an hour, but then she caught sight of the other Agents fanned out in a rough perimeter around the clearing. Dusk had already begun to rob the skies of their primary source of illumination, and as the towering spotlights flickered on one by one, Klara was left with little doubt that this was anything but an ordinary expedition. The glazed-wood crossbows, strapped to the backs of the Agents, was the only confirmation she needed. There was enough firepower there to level a small city, give or take. ""Are those... 19th century Barnett crossbows?"" ""You see why we need you here? There's no one else better at what you do, and you know that."" ""Are we in danger?"" said Klara, looking about her frantically. ""In all my years working with you, I've never seen such a show of force!"" Agent Vicks laughed. ""Just a precaution. You'll understand when you see. Come."" At the center of the clearing, two Agents were waiting with what appeared to be a local farmer, electric cattle prod still in hand, good for nothing more than swatting flies. The weary look on his face suggested that he had been inconvenienced for quite some time already. ""Are you the scientist they said was coming to evaluate the site? Oh, we've been waiting too long! Am I done here? Can I go now?"" ""I'm not a scientist,"" Klara grumbled, ""but I suppose I was the one you're waiting for. What did you find?"" Klara still remembered the first time she had been engaged to assist. Whisked out of her laboratory under similar circumstances, she was asked to opine whether the cache of weapons intercepted by customs were merely very recently-produced replicas of hundred-year old slingshots, meant for a movie production as the labels on the shipping boxes indicated, or whether they were evidence of an arms-smuggling route, long suspected but never confirmed. That was her forte, the ability to marry keenness of observation with intellect of mind, to ascertain and evaluate the strength of any weapon she came across. Sure, anyone could simply wield said weapon to find out how potent they were, but that always carried a risk. After all, it wasn't always easy to tell the difference between a fifty-year old knife and a five-hundred-year old one, and with the way that weapons grew exponentially more powerful as the years rolled by... the world had certainly seen more than enough of its fair share of accidental devastations, just because someone thought to see what that old rusty spear they had found could do. Hence, the demand for people of Klara's calibre, archaeologists who specialized in weapon-dating. ""I was looking for new land to expand my farm to, so I came here to dig around, test the soil. That's when I found this,"" said the farmer, pointing to a patch of earth he had evidently spent some effort digging through. Agent Vicks spoke into his walkie-talkie, and the nearest spotlight swivelled to bathe them in harsh, cold light. Klara squinted, shielding her eyes from the sudden assault, trying to discern what lay beneath. ""This... is not a weapon,"" she said, ""it's a skeleton. The undeveloped curvature of the hips, the length of the shin bones... this looks like a male, I would say. It's old, that's for sure, but I'd need to run tests to figure out just how old. To be honest, and I don't want to rain on your parade, but you're not going to get much mileage out of this one. You could fashion his bones into a spear, or a club, but because they were never used as weapons before, in the literal sense, it doesn't matter how much time has passed. You're never going to get anything useful out of th-"" ""Please, Dr Fuente,"" said Agent Vicks, ""you give us too little credit. We know weapons only start accruing potency from the time they were wielded as one. For now, what's your best guess, how powerful would these bones be, if they were weapons?"" Klara thought back to the Atgeir Scale, named after the oldest, intact weapon humanity had ever unearthed, a Viking dagger from the 10th century. It occupied the top-end of the scale, with a full score of 10.0 Atgeir points, the perfect combination of age and intent - the Bartnett crossbows she saw earlier easily rated 2.0, 2.2 Atgeir points each. That Viking relic had such destructive power that the United Nations had lobbied for it to be smelted and dispersed, such was the threat to the stability of the planet. Every other weapon since then had been measured against it, and found wanting. ""Well... again, I can't be sure, but these bones look to be at least... what, 50,000, 55,000 years old? So yes, of course, if they were weapons they would completely rewrite the Atgeir Scale, and make our entire country's arsenal look like hot sand in comparison. But as I've said, these bones aren't weapons."" Agent Vicks smiled. ""You're not on your best form today, Dr Fuente. Observe the skull,"" he said, lifting the skeleton lightly with gloved hands. Klara saw it then, the smooth grain of the bone ending in raw, jagged edges at the back of the skull. Though age had worn away some of the enamel, introduced cracks and chips where there were none before, this was a classic case of someone who had been quite violently, for the lack of a better word, brained from the back with a blunt instrument. The gears clicked in her mind. ""Do you mean..."" Agent Vicks nodded, then pointed a short distance away, where preliminary digging had uncovered a slab of carbonite, dark as midnight, pulsing with a quiet, pensive energy. It was about the size of a large basketball, and wielded between two hands, swung overhead at a target, it would have carried quite the perfect heft. ""That's the murder weapon right there, for a crime over 50,000 years old. Care to reevaluate just how much this trip is waste of your time?"" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1154
 Galadrios appeared at a,"Even though I'd been coming here for the last four centuries, the bartenders never remembered me. That's what happens when a person waits a hundred years between visits. I brought my Guinness over to the corner table. Not long after, a blue haze distorted the light and Galadrios appeared. ""Is this a prank?"" a woman said. Her husband got up. ""Buddy, we're trying to have a quiet beer. Cut the crap."" The light on Galadrios' MemFix showed green but he waited for the couple to take him in. The red helmet, the black face mask. The shredded T-shirt he bought at a concert three hundred years from now. The pants made of articulated aluminum. And those boots that he loved so much. The ones that show 3-D movies if you're looking at them out of the corner of your eye, but that go blank if you look at them head on. The bartender nodded at the couple and frowned at Galadrios. ""I don't know what you're up to, but it's not gonna fly."" He pointed to the exit. That's when the cylindrical MemFix went *pew* and a sudden brightness filled the room. The couple and the bartender had a look on their faces like they were about to sneeze, then they blinked and kept doing what they'd been doing before Galadrios arrived. ""Never a warm welcome,"" he said when he came over to the table with his glass of half milk, half vodka. ""You people are still such animals."" ""I'm not convinced we'll ever stop being animals,"" I said. ""Take this guy I know who's from the year 2300."" He thought about that one for a second. ""Haw haw. Good one. Where are the others?"" I burped. Thumping my fist against my chest, I said, ""Welp, I'm pretty sure that jukebox in the corner is about to walk over here and introduce itself as the latest model of the Mechanical Turk. And if the Turk is about to make his entrance, then it stands to reason that Buddha's nephew is around, too."" ""What about the guy in the black robe?"" ""Honestly,"" I checked over my shoulder, ""I'm hoping he doesn't make it this year. He was a bit of a killjoy last time."" Before Galadrios could respond, the jukebox in the corner changed songs and maxed out its volume. We were treated to Styx's Mr. Roboto, played loud enough to shake the windows in their frames and to put every glass in danger of skidding off its table. I pressed my hands to my ears and tried in vain to tell the jukebox to shut the hell up. Galadrios tapped a button on the side of his helmet, leaned back in his seat, and yawned. The rainbow arc on top of the jukebox popped up, the panels to either side popped out, and on unseen legs it waddled over to our table. The music cut out, and, via its speakers, it spoke. ""That song. That song is good good great."" Its rainbow light pulsed in time with the syllables. ""Bit old-school,"" Galadrios said. ""Good evening, Turk,"" I said. The woman at the next table and her husband were up in arms. ""Hey, how about you keep the volume on that thing in check!"" she said. ""We're trying to have a quiet beer. Cut the crap,"" he said. ""Your MemFix,"" the Turk said. ""Please use it."" *pew.* ""Animals,"" Galadrios said. The couple went back to their drinks. The bartender came over with my second Guinness. He slammed the glass down and beer sloshed onto the table. ""That's the second time you've bothered the other patrons. You're going to have to leave."" We all looked at Galadrios. He looked at his MemFix. ""It should be working,"" he said. The bartender burst out laughing. ""Naaaah, I'm just messing with you."" He shook Galadrios' shoulder. ""Looking good, Gal. And Aethelred,"" he shook my hand, ""big and scary as always."" Then he punched the Turk's side panel. ""And you, you sneaky devil, you really got me this time. How long have you been sitting in that corner? Since I started months ago?"" The Turk made a low buzzing sound which sounded not unlike a cat purring. ""The time. It has been long long and long."" Buddha's nephew pulled up a stool. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up past the elbows and he unbuttoned the collar to show a chakra wheel dangling around his neck on a silver chain. ""A bartender this time, eh?"" I said. ""Let me tell you, this guy? Dumb as a bag of rocks. Took him thirty years to unlock our past lives. I nearly missed the meeting."" He snapped his fingers. ""Ooh, I forgot Turk's drink."" He returned from the bar with a bucket of motor oil. ""How's that, buddy?"" ""The oil,"" the Turk buzzed. ""It tastes tasty."" ""How about you, Red?"" Buddha's nephew said. ""How you been this last century? You're the one who feels the years the longest."" I took a deep breath through my nose. ""It's been alright. Fought in a couple wars. Designed some machines. Made and lost a couple of fortunes. Same old."" Galadrios said, ""Seriously? After I got back from our last one I did some reading. You lived through the world wars. Those weren't interesting?"" ""I'm not saying they weren't interesting. But so were Napoleon's wars. And so was the Thirty Year's War."" I scratched my beard. ""There's a lot of sameness to these things."" ""Galadrios. Your evening. How is it going?"" the Turk said. ""I waited a little this time around. It's been over a day for me."" Buddha's nephew put his hands to his chest and almost fell off his chair from laughing. ""So while the rest of us have been century-hopping you've taken the big step of eating a couple of meals and taking a dump. Your life is crazy, Gal."" Galadrios brushed a fleck of imaginary dust off his T-shirt. ""What can I say? The future has its benefits."" The Turk flashed a bright red. ""Me. Won't anybody ask?"" I leaned over to the little jukebox. ""How've you been, Turk?"" The red softened to a light pink. ""Me. I've been good good great."" I nodded. ""Happy to hear that."" Buddha's nephew slapped his forehead. ""I fully forgot. Where's Death at?"" ""Death. Not here."" ""He can usually hear us, wherever he is,"" I said. ""Death, come here."" Out of nowhere, Death said, ""Fine. I'll come."" His voice had the quality of insect legs on the back of my neck. A chair thumped over to our table. The seat depressed under a body's weight, but Death didn't materialize. ""You feeling alright, big guy?"" Buddha's nephew said. ""I'm alright. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."" The case on Galadrios's wrist clicked open. A galaxy of pills rattled inside. ""I've got pills for that,"" Galadrios said. The depression on the seat shifted around. ""I'll stay with this feeling, thanks."" ""You want to talk about it?"" I asked. ""Not right now,"" Death said, and then sighed. His sigh sounded like wind across a mountain's peak. The couple at the next table finished up their drinks and left. Buddha's nephew went to clean up their table. The rest of us sat where we were nursing our drinks. The energy we'd felt at the beginning of the evening had left us. We listened to the cars passing by outside and thought about our own problems. When Buddha's nephew came back, Galadrios said, ""This has been fun, but I'll head out now. See you guys in another one of your centuries. See you guys in another couple of my hours."" In a blue flash he disappeared. Buddha's nephew and the Turk wanted to loaf around listening to music for the rest of the night. I figured I'd better get moving. ""I'll walk with you,"" Death said. We crossed the street and entered the public park. The walklights illuminated the path like beads of light on a string. ""This is going to sound like a bad joke,"" Death said, ""but sometimes life can be too hard."" He materialized ahead of me and took a seat on a park bench. His skin glowed bone white under the light. His pupils had the red of poison berries. For all that he looked sickly and dangerous, with his elbows on his knees and his body hunched forward he looked liked a sad young man. I joined him on the bench. The night air flowed crisply around us. He said, ""There's things a person has to do that he doesn't want to do, you know? But it's their job and they have to. It's like, when a beautiful old piece of architecture is slated for demolition -- one of those gorgeous buildings that have been around for centuries -- the powers that be make the decision to kill it, but there's one guy who has to hit the switch."" He looked up at me out of the bottom of his eyes. ""What if you're that person? What if all you do is destroy what's old and beautiful?"" The stars above us were sparse. Nowhere near as beautiful as I remembered them from my childhood in Portsmouth. ""You do what you have to do. That's something I've learned in all my years."" I stretched my arms out along the bench's seatback. ""That first time we met, I told you a lot of great stories, right? About fights, women, and money? But I didn't tell you the bad stories. And believe me, there are bad stories. I've been alive for six hundred years. I've got a lot of them."" ""So what do you do when you're living a bad story?"" He rubbed his palms together. ""Even when things are hard, you keep moving."" I inhaled a lungful of air. ""We make our decisions, and we end up in the positions that we end up in, and we do what must be done. Because if we don't do it, then things fall apart."" I heard a sniffle. Death had begun to cry. ""I'm sorry."" ""Don't be,"" I said. My left eye turned off. ""Do what you have to do,"" I said. I passed my hand in front of my face. My left eye couldn't see it. ""That's strange,"" I said. Death put his ice-cold hand on my arm. A numbness spread from that point throughout my entire body. ""You've been alive for so long, and you're one of my only friends,"" he said. ""I'm so sorry.""",1752
 Crazed Evil Genius was internally,"The three of them stood in a loose circle. Each were pointing weapons at one another, but the Kidnapped Princess held hers in secret in the folds of her purple satin gown. She was deeply unhappy with the villain name she had garnered at this moment. Similarly to her left, Crazed Evil Genius was internally cursing his birth name and his parents, Bill and Pam Genius, who had desperately wanted to give their child a unique name. Normally, it had only lead to awkward situations at the doctor or the DMV, but now his life was at risk. He wasn't sure how well one could defend themselves with a coffee cup and what he hoped was a very hard apple. The Hero stared them both down, clutching a sword in his right hand and the unpaid parking ticket that had sent him spiraling in his left. There was silence. Finally, The Hero shouted, ""You'll never save anyone again, Evil Genius!"" Silence again. ""What?"" Evil Genius asked, incredulity seeping out of the word. Silence again. ""What?"" the Kidnapped Princess whispered in her high, delicate voice. She looked as furious as she was confused. The three of them glanced from one to the other, somehow never making eye contact, which was impressive. The Hero cleared his throat. ""I said that you would never save anyone again, Crazed Evil Genius! This will be the end of your... charitable doings!"" The Kidnapped Princess straightened. ""No one will be saving anyone today!"" The Hero looked at her in surprise. ""Th-that's right!"" ""No!"" Crazed Evil interjected. ""Someone will be saving me!"" He glanced between the two of them. ""Right?"" he added hesitantly. ""Not if I have my way,"" Kidnapped Princess said. ""Yes! You will never save anyone again!"" The Hero yelled out to no one in particular. The lengthiest silence of all fell between them. Crazed Evil Genius, worried that he might not have much longer to do so, took a careful sip of his coffee before returning it to his defensive stance. ""As I was saying, the Kidnapped Princess will... be in keeping with her namesake today! Come with me,"" The Hero called, holding out his hand to her in a non-threatening way. ""Wait... you're... kidnapping her?"" Crazed Evil Genius said. ""So, I'm all good, right?"" ""No, *I'm* kidnapping *you*,"" the Kidnapped Princess said, holding out the skirts of her dress toward him. ""I may as well have kidnapped her already!"" the Hero shouted non-linearly in sudden despair. ""But she is kidnapping me?"" Evil Genius asked. ""I meant in a more metaphorical sense,"" the Hero responded, despondent. ""This is confusing enough without metaphors,"" Evil Genius said, ""It would be like assembling furniture with the wrong manual."" ""I hate to interrupt, but *I* would just like to reiterate that *I* am kidnapping the Crazed Evil Genius,"" the Kidnapped Princess called. The Hero looked at her. ""But... you're the Kidnapped Princess, right? You need saving!"" ""Oh, so I get kidnapped one time and forever I'm known as the 'Kidnapped Princess?' Why couldn't the rest of my achievements have factored into my name? Why can't I be, 'The Princess Who Was Once Kidnapped and Then Turned to Evil?'"" Evil and The Hero looked at each other, expressions confused. ""Because... that's too long for a nickname,"" Evil answered. ""A nickname should be short and descriptive, like the Kidnapped Princess. It is short, succinct, perfect. Or The Hero... though you aren't really living up to that at the moment."" ""I'm in the process of changing it,"" The Hero responded miserably. ""You wouldn't believe how difficult it is--"" ""Oh you don't have to tell me that,"" said Crazed Evil Genius. ""Right? I even sent them a copy of my parking ticket to back up my claim of... non-descriptiveness... but they said it would take a few months."" Kidnapped Princess cleared her throat, ""What form is this you're speaking of?"" ""Wait..."" Crazed Evil Genius said, ""You're quitting the hero business over a parking ticket?"" ""An *unpaid* parking ticket, Mr. Genius. I parked in an admittedly faded handicapped parking spot, when, as you can see, I am not handicapped. What's next? Kidnapping? *Murder?* It's all on the table for me now."" Kidnapped Princess and Crazed Evil Genius looked at each other for a long moment. Crazed Evil looked back at The Hero. ""Well... no, it's not."" ""Yes, it is!"" The Hero cried. Then he cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice was deeper. ""Which is why I'm here to take Kidnapped Princess with me."" ""You know, my name is Angela!"" Kidnapped Princess said, exasperated. ""And once again, *I'm* kidnapping *him*!"" The Hero looked at Crazed Evil. ""But he's a hero! You can't kidnap a hero!"" ""I'm just a claims adjuster!"" Crazed Evil shouted. ""Yes, and what a disguise it is!"" The Hero yelled, half in awe. ""No, it is not a disguise! I'm not even a very good claims adjuster! Literally nothing can be gained from taking me with you! Unless,"" he added seriously, ""you need some adjustment to your claims. At which point, I retract saying I was not a very good claims adjuster."" ""So, you could almost say you'd like to... adjust your claim... right?"" The Hero smirked. Silence again. ""Wait, wouldn't that mean we'd want to kidnap you?"" Kidnapped Princess asked, neatly side-stepping the outrageous and situationally inappropriate joke. ""I mean, I do want to do that and will,"" she added. ""No you won't!"" ""If you won't go with me willingly--"" ""Which I'm sure is the case with most kidnapping victims,"" Crazed Evil interjected dryly. ""I would know!"" The Hero cried out. ""*As I said*, if you won't go with me willingly, I'll have to make you!"" Kidnapped Princess yelled, whipping her skirts around. They finally arrived at the simple conclusion that only violence would solve the perplexing issue. In an instant, weapons and produce were fired. An apple whirled towards Kidnapped Princess. A Justice Beam shot at Crazed Evil Genius. A Broken Heel flew at The Hero. No one was hit. ""Well, that was anti-climactic,"" Crazed Evil Genius said.",1012
 I was having a dream where I,"What the fuck was that? I was having a dream. where I was sitting in a job interview. But for some reason, I forgot to wear pants and I was wearing this thong. The interview made a joke about how I was trying a little too hard to get the job but other than that, me wearing a thong to an interview was no problem. We went through the interview process and at the end, he tells me that he doesn't need to see any other applicants and that he wants to extend an invitation to work for their company. I ask him if there's anything else I need to do to complete the process, he says not to worry and then says,""You're hired."" and I shake his hand. well, the weird thing is when you're in a dream, everything that you feel, hear or see, you do it with your mind. So when you see something bright, it doesn't blind you because you're only receiving it in your mind. The weird thing though was when my interviewer told me I was hired, I heard him with my ears. It wasn't an inner dialogue like it normally would be with a dream. Then here's the kicker. I woke up. and I realized I'm still holding the hand. I fucking lost it. I immediately jumped up onto my bed like a sorority girl who just saw a mouse and I start screaming 'What the fuck!' over and over again. In the darkness, I see a shadow come from underneath my bed and a voice tells me that I'm acting really unprofessional right now. Now my first thought is that I'm dreaming. No way is this real. So I pinched myself. And it hurt. But I'm still there. So I look over at my mirror because I remember hearing about how you can't see yourself in the mirror when you're in a dream. And, I mean, it's dark and everything and I can see myself very clearly. So I'm not in a dream or that's not true. So I'm fucking losing it. I got brain cancer. I got schizophrenia. Maybe this is some kind of being from an alternate dimension. Maybe it's a demon. But before I can figure out what's going on, the shadow says,"" I'm not sure what's going on with you. But just to be clear, we're very happy to have you working with us."" I don't know what the hell is going on. What? The shadow, it's just like this blob. The more I look at it, the more it changes and the more I think it looks like something completely other than what I originally thought it looked like. The shadow says,"" I'm not sure what the confusion is. Our interview process was quite exhaustive. Not everyone gets to work for the Shadow Kingdom. but from spending time with you, I have a very strong feeling that you're going to be a great match for our organization."" I have no idea what the Shadow Kingdom is. The shadow sounds annoyed. ""Okay. Not sure what's going on. We did already make the offer so we're not going to rescind it but if you don't believe you're the person for the job, you are in no way obligated to accept the position. I know we shook hands but we still need HR to process you to make it official."" "" I don't know what's more confusing. This hallucination talking to me or the fact that it's offering me a job that I don't know anything about. ""I'm not sure how you applied for a job, went through the interview process, and then seem to have forgotten everything about the job once the the offer was extended to you. But, and this isn't an accusation nor is it in any way an implication, but just so you know, we do drug test all of our employees."" What? ""Okay, as I said before, the position is a Mortal Liaison. We haven't necessarily negotiated salary but we're quite competitive with other companies. Essentially, it would be your job to act as our agent in the mortal world because, unfortunately, due to certain discriminatory biases that as of yet are still legal, beings from the Shadow Kingdom cannot acquire goods and services from the Mortal Realm. This is why we need you. Again, it is full time employment."" Actually, that sounds really good. I've been unemployed for five months now and my unemployment only has one more month left. This is really, really weird but this is actually perfect for me. ""We're very happy to hear that you're enthusiastic about being part of the Shadow Kingdom. Now, there is one minor catch. Very minor. I almost don't even want to mention it because it's so minor. But, just so you know, in order to take the position, you will be required to relinquish your shadow."" I have no idea what that means. ""It's pretty straightforward. When you're walking around in the Mortal Realm, you won't have a shadow. If a light shines on you in a way that would normally cast a shadow for a regular mortal, it won't cast a shadow for you."" Why would they possibly need this? I mean, it's not nearly as bad as finding out that this is a 'network marketing' position or that I have to give him money in order to apply or be hired. But, I don't know. This seems a little suspicious. ""Unfortunately, the Shadow Kingdom operates on different rules than the Mortal Realms. Liaisons for the Shadow Kingdom must formally announc themselves to other mortals by relinquishing their shadow. Now, there is a remote risk. and I say very remote. It's mostly confined to third world countries, agricultural enclaves, theocracies and the like. But there are people who, I guess you can say, hunt liaisons."" So, basically I'm going to be a vampire period and vampire hunters are going to come after me. I'm going to wake up one day with a stake in my heart? I don't know if a job is really worth that. No matter how competitive the salary is. ""You know what, I'm required, per policy, to disclose the information about losing your shadow and Shadowhunters, but honestly, I've been doing this a long time. A thousand years. I have had hundreds of Mortals work for me and only about 1% of them are ever discovered by Shadowhunters. Most of the time, the Shadowhunters don't even do anything. everyone thinks they're crazy so the liaison just continues as normal with a little bit more caution. Honestly, the last time a liaison was killed was 52 years ago. and that was in Kazakhstan."" This honestly sounds pretty damn reasonable. but it probably doesn't pay very well. ""As I said before, our salaries are very competitive. Since you'll be working in America, our starting salary is $60,000 per year."" At my last job, I made $26,000. ""And, as I said before, you will have to relinquish your shadow. Now, some fringe religious philosophers have speculated that a mortal's soul is in their shadow but who really cares about philosophy, right? If they were so valuable they wouldn't be working as baristas, am I right?"" I don't know. losing my shadow was one thing but my soul? I mean, it's not like I was using either of those things but what if someday I want to? ""And, just so you know, we have full dental and health insurance with no co-pay or cost to you. Also, we provide one month of vacation per year and we will match you dollar for dollar for your 401k contributions."" Where do I sign?",1288
 The first to come were the ones,"Part 1 | | | --- The first to come were the ones that wanted our fire. They came from a sinkhole in the ocean that our scientists determined to be a mechanism much like a wormhole. Then came the ones that wanted our Earth. They crashed into our planet on a thousand meteorite-like vehicles made of a substance unknown to our universe. And at last, the ones who wanted our air and the ones who wanted our water. They came together from portals that eviscerated our poles. One for the south pole, the other for the north. Each had accomplished feats that had left our scientists baffled. And what was even more troubling--they all resembled humans. We had tried greeting the ones who wanted our fire. We had sent them presents, precious metals, and the welcoming smile of our most expert convoys. They retaliated with a tsunami that wiped out Japan. It was magic, real magic. Something we had previously thought only existed in Hollywood and cartoons. With a few incantations, they could manipulate the water, the earth, even the air that we breathed. But they could not touch fire. So we gave them what they wanted. Napalm, incendiary bombs, hellfire missiles. They wanted our fire so bad? I hoped they like our gifts. Things were desperate but humanity was always at its best when pushed to the edge. Then came the Earth-Takers. At first, we had thought they were here to aid us in the invasion. They seemed enemies to the Fire-Takers and as the old saying goes--*the enemy of my enemy...* But though they were quick to attack each other, they were even quicker to attack us. These new aliens, they wanted our earth. So we gave it to those bastards with steel-tipped bullets, titanium-plated tanks, and a kinetic bombardment of tungsten launched from our satellites. By the times the portals opened in the north and south poles, we already knew what to do. These aliens looked like us but that was where the similarities ended. Everything they had ever wanted they had accomplished through magic. What would've taken humans years to do, they could simply chant and incantation to do so. Thank God we never fell into the folly of magic. They have no idea what it means to move mountains by hand, to conquer the skies armed only with dirt and stone, to create the greatest weapons in our known universe because we were pushed that far into the corner. Aliens this weak would never snuff out humanity. That I promise you. --- Michelle's pen stopped at the period. The walls around her shook. Bits of dirt crumbled from the ceiling onto her desk. The lights swayed, dancing the shadows around her. She had spent all night on this letter. It was the last one she would ever write and the first aimed at humanity's next generation, the generation of soldiers who had never experienced an alien free Earth. ""Michelle,"" came a voice from behind. She turned to see her First General, Paxon, his feet together, shoulders stiff, and arms held to his head in salute. They had started the Resistance together when the governments crumbled and countries fell. At first, it had simply been a way to quell their anger as the other aliens fought for lands rightfully theirs. Blow a hole in a supply chain. Sabotage key communications. Small-scale things. But just as the aliens had done, she had underestimated humanity's grit. A million calls, e-mails, texts flooded her servers and as she strung them all together, the Resistance was born. ""At ease, General,"" she said. Paxon lowered his arm. ""Commander Gladstead, the Earth-Takers are approaching from the North in war balloons. Initial scouts report a tornado of fire dragged behind them."" Michelle smiled at her friend. ""*At ease*,"" she said. ""Commander Gladstead? You sound like a grunt."" She had always hated that title--commander. In a previous life, she was a pre-school teacher and now, men of the highest positions of power all reported to her. Her friend's shoulder dropped. ""As you command, Michelle."" But this he said with a crescent grin. He knew how power annoyed her. She ignored his smile. ""How are we holding up against the Fire-Takers?"" ""Still at a stale-mate, but not for long. We're almost out of missiles and our soldiers on the ground are being swallowed by the Earth itself."" Michelle nodded. Not good news, but good enough. ""And at our East and West?"" ""The others are approaching. Their scouts are already here with their armies soon to follow."" She chuckled. Victory was always so bittersweet. ""Paxon,"" she said, ""get out of here. Tell everyone not in combat to do the same."" He didn't move. He pressed his lips together and stared at Michelle, humanity's commander, the last bastion of their old world, his friend. ""Come with me,"" he said, pleaded. ""We don't fool magic,"" Michelle said, a grin parting between her lips. ""They all came knowing full well that this is a trap and that's because the bait is just too good to pass off. Look at that, Michelle from podunk Oshkosh, Wisconsin, the greatest military asset in the world. Not bad, eh?"" Paxon coughed out a chuckle. He took a small breath and gritted his teeth. ""Commander, it's been an honor."" ""Don't worry, General, I'll show them just how high the price is for the Resistance Commander."" ""Yes ma'am."" The general straightened up, every one of his muscles stiff. He jabbed his forehead with his hand and returned Michelle the sharpest salute she had ever seen. Without another word, he left. ""Give 'em hell, General,"" Michelle whispered to the back of his head. She watched even as he turned the corner and disappeared into the underground corridors of their bunker. Drops of water followed him out. The ground shook again. Another aftershock, another earthquake. Michelle stared at her letter. She nodded and put pen to paper. --- We are about to unleash the deadliest weapon humanity has ever conceived. We call it the hydrogen bomb. It is the combination of every single one of our elemental powers. The blast will consume their armies and leave their bases defenseless and when that happens, I have a single selfish request. Take everything from them. Go through their portals, their sinkholes, their spaceships and show them the true horrors of the war they have bestowed upon us. Long live humanity, the warriors without magic! Michelle Gladstead. Commander of the Resistance. --- --- /r/jraywang. 2 new WP stories daily. If I continue any WP it'll be there and I'll give you bonus stories just for being my reader! What more can you want :D? Edit: Thanks for the gold! I don't think I've ever completed such a long story within a single day. You guys have pushed me in such a great way. Thank you all for your support! Hoorah my friends.",1153
 Druluian General Tyzoi,"General Tyzoi, commander of the 1st Druluian Fleet, had almost collapsed in laughter when he first heard of the Galactic Federation's counterstroke to the activation of the Druluian war machine. ""We have starships primed to attack all five pillars of the Federation, and they are asking us to meet... with a single human representative?"" Tyzoi had roared with disbelief, his scales clinking as he shook his head at his advisors. ""The humans are good Diplomats and Traders, I grant you that, but the time for talking is over! We shall speak, of course, but only to discuss the terms of the Federation's surrender!"" It was on that note that Tyzoi strode into the central chambers of the Amphyxian starship, the designated neutral ground for the eleventh-hour meeting. Flanked by a squad of Druluian troopers, all decked out in full battlearmor, Tyzoi itched to see the Federation's answer to Druluian demands. Tyzoi expected grovelling, desperation, pleas for mercy. There was no question that the Druluians were prepared, overwhelmingly so. They had organized in secret for decades, and when finally they made their play for complete control of the Federation, all the other galactic species were caught wholly unawares. The Druluians could easily have taken what they wanted by force, but Tyzoi had to admit, he was curious to see how the Federation thought to stop them. The balding, bespectacled mouse of a human on the other side of the table, already waiting for Tyzoi and his contingent, was therefore somewhat of a letdown. The nameplate on the table marked him as Nathan Villeroy, but his features were so forgettable, his demeanour so unremarkable, that Tyzoi could be forgiven for not recognising his counterpart. ""We are not unreasonable, Diplomat,"" said Tyzoi, laying his Shockspear on the table in a thinly-veiled show of force. ""We gave the Federation two days to consider our requests, when we could have given no such chance at all. A day and a half remains, after which, we have strict orders to proceed with our plans."" ""I understand, General Tyzoi, but if I may..."" Tyzoi banged his fist on the table, sending his Shockspear rattling into the air. ""Too long have we been oppressed! Every vote, every policy coming out of the Federation the past fifty years have done nothing but undermine Druluian interests! No more!"" ""Yes, General, but again, I only ask that you listen and hear me ou-"" ""Who are you anyway? Where's the Amphyxian War Chief? Or the Looyan Generals? Of all the species in the Federation, they send the most peaceful, docile species to parlay with me?"" Tyzoi's anger brimmed at the perceived slight - had the Federation so badly underestimated the threat they faced? ""What would you know of war!"" Nathan's merely smiled, then pushed up his spectacles gently. ""We've had a couple of wars ourselves, long before we joined the Federation. We shared our experiences, and we were deemed suitable to meet with you."" ""Wars? I've never heard of the humans having wars?"" Tyzoi laughed, a cruel, condescending laugh. ""Do you mean that you humans pushed each other, or stomped on each other's feet?"" Nathan waited until the chittering laughs from the Druluian convoy died down before he continued, with a patient smile on his face. ""Three wars, in fact, the last two with the potential to end our homeworld as we knew it. The lessons we learned from them, have led me to this room with you."" Tyzoi's well-honed battlesense pricked up then, a highly-evolved instinct which helped the Druluians distinguish themselves as one of the most dangerous combatants in warfare. His eyes were telling him that the human was hardly a threat... but his battlesense, it was already ringing various different sets of alarms. ""What lessons are you referring to?"" Tyzoi asked, eyes narrowing to slits. His tail had begun to twitch nervously, and he willed it to stop, curling it the leg of his chair instead. ""Our first world war taught us that diplomacy should always be exhausted before war is resorted to. That is why we're here, to speak like civilized species. We've convinced the High Council of the Federation to relook policies affecting the Druluians with fresh perspectives, to see if they can address the grievances your species has raised. Here, these are the steps being taken right now."" Nathan slid a folder across the table, but Tyzoi swiped it away with his claw, violently. ""Lies! We've been asking that for decades, and look where that has gotten us! No, Diplomat, that time is over!"" Nathan considered the fallen folder for a while, then retrieved a holoscreen from a pocket within his uniform. He unlocked it, called up the appropriate protocols, then passed it over to Tyzoi for him to see. Holograms were already dancing in the air, and when Tyzoi recognised the symbols, the star constellations, his blood ran cold. ""Our second world war taught us that, abhorrent enough as war already is, it sometimes brings out the very worst in us,"" said Nathan, steepling his fingers as he spoke. ""We engineered a plan in case you turned down our offer to resolve your woes peacefully. You will no doubt recognise the three Druluian homeworlds in that starmap. That is why your forces found the Federation so lightly defended - most of its forces were deployed to decimate your homeworlds with neutrino payloads the moment your first demands were made."" Nathan removed another device from within his person, and laid it on the table. ""This is the recall command. If I deem our discussion to have been fruitful, I am authorised to recall the Federation's forces. Druluians gave the Federation two days; the Federation is giving you two hours."" Tyzoi laughed then, as the blood rose and sang in his ears. He thumped his chest in the Druluian manner, and at that signal, laser rifles were hoisted in unison and aimed squarely at the Diplomat. ""We will never back down! We started on this knowing we would pay with everything we had! But that is worth it, worth every drop of Druluian blood! We would rather die in glory than live on in shame! Forget your petty recall, human! Fire!"" Tyzoi's triumph slowly decayed as the sound of a dozen laser rifles, simultaneously misfiring, filled the room. The smile vanished from his face. ""You didn't let me finish, Tyzoi. Our third world war, we learned the value of how interconnected we all are. Sworn enemies we may have been, but that didn't change the fact that we were already too co-dependent to live without the other. Our people, our cultures, our technologies, all interwoven into a tight mesh. To hurt each other, that would be cutting your nose to spite your face."" Tyzoi leapt up from his seat, lunging towards Nathan. He fetched up his Shockspear in one smooth motion, but as he activated the groove to call forth the namesake electric spikes, instead he found his weapon turning against him, riddling him with a mind-numbing jolt. The Shockspear fell from his hands, and he crumpled on the floor, curled up in a world of pain. Nathan stood up, patted down his uniform. ""I will be in my chambers, Tyzoi. I expect your confirmation that Druluian forces are standing down within the hour. You can forget about leaving this starship until you give me the answer I expect. All of your starships, your weapons, everything has been disabled."" As Nathan made to leave from the chambers, Tyzoi called out, wheezing from his fetal position on the ground. ""How... how did... tell me, Diplomat, how did this happen!"" ""Who helped design your weaponry, Tyzoi? Who supplied the raw materials, the skilled labour to manufacture them, the training to operate them? Who established trading routes to the Druluian homeworlds, invited them to the Federation?"" Nathan paused for a moment, and the look which crossed his face spoke of an ocean of sadness and regret which the human species had collectively experienced, lifetimes ago. ""We humans, more so than other species, more so because we pushed our own species to the brink of extinction, we know more than others that it is not enough to be strong - it is more important to be indispensable."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1378
" Cyrus and his companion, Arel","""Well that's just fucking brilliant. Look at this cliche-ass mess of a house."" Cyrus and his companion, Arel, stood before a large, battered old house, atop an abnormally steep hill. ""This IS pretty cliche, I have to admit. Even the shutters on the windows are flapping in the wind,"" Arel responded. ""Typically, there is no wind,"" Cyrus looked up to the higher floors and shouted towards them, ""There's no fucking wind, you dopey twats! This doesn't even make any sense!"" He caught a glimpse of a partially transparent girl, who moved out of view, behind a curtain. ""Yeah, you! I'm talking to you, you ghost-ass shit! Fuck me, why do they even bother."" Cyrus half-heartedly walked up to the front door, and reached out to grab the door handle. As his hand wrapped around the metal, a soft voice whistled through the wind, ""Go... back..."" ""Hmm, gee, let me think about this. How about... no! I'm down to my last ten quid, and that weird family down at the shack that all speak simultaneously in monotonous voices, promised me two hundred to come clear you nerds out. I mean, it's pretty obvious they're in on this too, now I think about it. Probably should have just outright mugged them, there and then, but I guess it's too late for that now, because their house in the middle of the woods has probably mysteriously disappeared, or some dumb shit like that,"" Cyrus was not happy being here, and despite his long rant at the voice in the breeze, he rather quickly opened the door to the haunted house. Not to his surprise, the other side of the door was bricked up. ""Holy shit, where do you guys find your bloody architects? Why put a door on a brick wall? How is this even meant to be scary? Maybe if I was an architect myself, with a major cased of OCD, but I'm neither an architect, nor do I have OCD. This is just slightly irritating. What have you ghosts come to, that your only ability, is to 'slightly irritate' us mere mortals?"" he threw his hands up in annoyance, then turned to Arel, who passed him a sledgehammer, ""See, I COULD go and search around the back of the house, as you clearly want me to, but that requires walking, and I'm not much of a walking type, so..."" he swung at the wall, then again and again, ""I'm not going to make a 'here's Cyrus' joke. I'm not dropping to your level."" The two stepped through the opening, in to a room much larger than the outside implied, ""and now spatial distortion, such scary, much haunt, wow. You see what you're doing to me? Now I'm spouting dank memes, just to make this experience seem somewhat worth it. Arel, hand me the matches, let's burn this place down."" but no response came, ""Arel?"" he turned around, but she wasn't there. ""Oh my god... Arel! AREL! Where are you?! YOU BASTARDS, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH- nah, I'm just kidding, I don't give a shit,"" he walked to one of the doors on the edge of the room, ""Oh boy, I wonder, could she possibly be behind this door with-"" the light of the room flickered as silhouettes of a group of children rushed past a nearby window, accompanied by the sound of youthful laughter. ""Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to be witty, here!"" he yelled towards the window, then turned back to the door, ""I was saying: Could she possibly be behind this door with the Satanic looking symbols on it, and the words 'Help me, Cyrus' scratched below them? What a real mystery this is turning out to be!"", the door handle was surrounded by a series of ancient looking padlock devices. As Cyrus reached out to examine one, it began to morph in to a distressed looking face, and let out a haunting scream. ""Holy fuck, Ebenezer Scrooge wants his door back, what the fuck, guys. A Christmas Carol is literally the LEAST haunting thing I've ever read. No, what am I saying? Calling this Ebenezer Scrooge's door is too much of a compliment, this is more like Scrooge McDuck's door."" He stepped back to examine the other doors in the room that had now changed aesthetically to that of a rusting asylum. Cyrus rolled his eyes, ""Seven doors and seven locks. So I guess I'm supposed to go through these too spoopy rooms and find each key, huh?"" He hefted the sledgehammer over his shoulder, ""not today, matey."" With full force, he brought the hammer down on the locks, knocking them out of place. The door swung open. On the other side, Cyrus saw a dark room, where Arel was tied to a post with a red bracelet in front of her, and surrounded by a circle of candles, ""Hey, Arel,"" Cyrus nodded to her. ""'sup"", she replied. He stepped in to the room, and the door slammed closed behind him. ""I was going to tell you this was a trap, but it seemed like a waste of breath,"" Arel said, shrugging her shoulders. ""No shit,"" replied Cyrus, as he ran a hand across his face in annoyance. From the shadows of each of the four corners of the room, stepped a person. The members of the family that had requested the two go to this house, in the first place. Cyrus spread his arms out, and looked up at the ceiling, ""WHAT A TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIST"" he cried aloud, then looking around at his assailants again, he asked, ""so which of you has the two hundred bucks?"" They slowly began to walk towards him, each brandishing a rusty dagger in their right hand. ""Well those knives aren't going to sell for shit, they're all rusted up. Fuck it."" he swung the hammer down on the bracelet in front of Arel, shattering it. The four family members screamed, as their bodies lit up in a bright white light, illuminating the room, and then as suddenly as it had began, the lights faded in to nothingness. Cyrus and Arel remained alone, in the leftovers of a dilapidated house. ""Fuck off, even the bracelet disappeared. Some of the jewels in that could have sold for a few bucks,"" Cyrus dropped the sledgehammer and threw his arms up again, in disbelief. ""Man, that was a waste of time,"" Arel said standing up and brushing herself down. ""Fuck our lives, Arel. Fuck our lives.""",1082
 The last four-ten eight spores,"Four-ten seven spores. No. Four-ten eight. Four-ten eight. I must stop counting them. They will not multiply. They will not increase. Four-ten eight spores. The last four-ten eight in the galaxy. Maybe the last that will ever be. If I don't find them stable land...a saline pool...the proper nutrients... This ship is not space-worthy. It should no longer fly. But still it splits the black. Still it carries me and these last spores off to...nowhere perhaps? Where is safe? Where might I... Wait. An alarm whines. Two switches flicker - blue to white to blue. This is one of the Ring God ships. Stolen. I haven't the slightest idea what any of these sounds and sights mean. Bita would have known. Bita planned it all. And of course Bita died in the escape. Of course. We die so easy. I had never recognized just what a silly, frail species we were until the Ring Gods arrived. I have moments - hateful, passing moments - when I think they're right for what they've done. How could any thinking thing be as *weak* as us? The ship shudders. Instinctively, I reach out to shield the spore pods. But there is nothing for the longest time. Just silence, and stillness. After ages, a voice squawks through an intercom I cannot locate. It's gibberish. Nothing I've ever heard before. It speaks and waits. I speak back. ""I don't understand,"" I say. It speaks. I speak back. And again, and again. Finally there's a whir and a ping and a voice comes through - it sounds highly filtered, as if coming from some great distance, but the language is my own. ""Do you understand me now?"" ""Yes! Yes, I do!"" ""Open the door, please."" Open the door? I remember the button Bita pushed as we dove abroad. A red button, near the entrance. I push it and things happen. Air hisses. Gears grinds. A door opens. There are things standing there that I do not recognize. ""Perpetual translator,"" says one of the things. ""Comes in handy way out in strange waters. Who are you?"" I tell them. I tell them where I've come from. I tell them about the Ring Gods. I tell them about the spores. I ask them to take me to their planet. The spores cannot be sowed in space. Time is running out. The rest of us are dead. All dead. All dead and time is running out. They change as they listen. Take different postures. Pull back from me and my stolen ship. They stop looking at me. They only look at one another. ""The Korean Federalist Alliance does not intervene in the conflicts of unaffiliated planets,"" says one of them. ""That is...our policy. We will gladly fuel your ship and offer whatever maintenance you may require, but after that we must ask you to continue on."" ""They'll die,"" I say. ""I'll die. You have a planet? Why can't I go there? There are only four-ten eight spores and myself. That is all. You will not notice us."" ""It cannot be done,"" says another. ""You must leave before this cycle closes."" ""There are stasis waves in your ship,"" says another. ""Those will buy you more time. I'll show you."" They show me. They will not say any more about their planet and why I cannot go there. Others with weapons linger nearby, watching, waiting. The weapons are familiar. Similar to those used by the Ring Gods. I go. I don't know where I'm going. And time becomes a void. A blankness. I awake and the ship has stopped. The wall thrums. The door opens without my command. More strangers. Something different. Something new. Where have I gone? ""hgk ygkh hjkyu hh oyhkuh test language code test language code do you understand do you under..."" ""Yes,"" I say, frightened, hovering over the spores. ""What are you?"" I tell them. I tell them what I am. I tell them where I come from. I don't tell them anything else. ""And those?"" They point at the spores. ""Members of my species,"" I say. One comes forward, snatching a pod out of the tray. My flesh turns foamy white in rage and anxiety. One of them strikes me in the ninth joint and I collapse to the ground. ""This is an alien?"" says the one holding the spore pod. Another grabs the pod and tosses it to the floor, before raising an appendage and grinding the pod into dust and glass. ""Nothing."" They turn back to me. ""Your ship crossed into Rus Territory. And this ship...where did you get it?"" ""I stole it from the ones who killed my people,"" I say, hopeless, full of despair. They choke and sputter and shake their heads. ""Ah,"" they say. ""Ah."" ""I'm looking for a home..."" ""No,"" they say. ""No."" They tell me to leave Rus territory. They do not tell me where that is, or what that means. They only deign to fix the door they've broken and drop my ship back into the black of space. Four-ten seven. And me. I turn on the stasis waves. I sleep. When I awake, they are standing over me. They talk. They ask me to speak. Language is learned. I do not know these ones either. ""Why are you in this ship?"" says one. ""I stole it from the ones who have exterminated my people,"" I say. Hopeless. Hopeless. ""Exterminated?"" They look at one another. Shake heads. Speak softly. ""Do you know where you are?"" says one. I do not. ""American space,"" says one. ""Do you know America?"" I do not. ""This is our flag - our emblem,"" says one, pointing at a patch on his shoulder. It's a familiar emblem. I see it nearly every time I open my eyes. ""Our ship,"" says one. ""You aren't...you aren't the Ring Gods."" ""I bet we don't look much alike anymore, do we?"" says one. ""Given the call number on this ship, we're talking about an expedition force from...what? Eight hundred years ago? A thousand?"" ""At least,"" says one. ""A lot changes,"" says one. ""How long have you been out here - all alone?"" The Ring Gods. Here. In the ship. Ancestors. But still... ""Will you kill me?"" I ask. They shake their heads. ""No. No. We would never..."" ""That was different, there. Wherever you came from..."" ""Manifest Destiny..."" ""Expansion of the strong."" ""Old history."" ""I need stable land,"" I say. ""A pool of saline. Certain common bacteria..."" ""What for?"" says one. ""To live,"" I say. ""To sow what remains of my people."" The heads are still shaking. As if they never stopped. ""That's not for us to decide..."" ""We have processes for these things..."" ""It's possible, of course, but only if you do things the right way..."" ""It will take time, certainly..."" ""I do not have time,"" I say. ""We are nearly extinct."" ""Hmm."" And, ""Hmmm."" Then, ""We will gladly give you fuel."" ""And food, perhaps, if we have what you need in adequate supply."" And when they have given me what they have to give, I close the door. The ship drops into space. The spores are dull. Gray. Dust brown. I cannot bring myself to activate the stasis waves just yet. Perhaps later.",1206
" The hive evacuated in standard procedure,","The star was dying. Feeler drones reported back, displaying images of the black spots spreading across its surface. Wherever the tideships went death followed. The confluence deliberated, relocation was the only option. Three days later the star had died completely, the world was turning to ice. The hive evacuated in standard procedure, twenty five ships heading in twenty five directions. Two passed too close to the third planet, the grey industrial world of the Hansa and were destroyed by automated systems. One flew directly into a confrontation between the numerous tiny tideships and a lumbering Hansa dreadnought. It did not survive. None of this was important, twenty two had survived. On ship seventeen the local confluence deliberated. A new planet must be found and settled, the hive must continue. Systems with Hansa or tideships were now considered unsuitable. They were not safe. Forty five lightyears out a suitable world was discovered. Sunbringer ships crowded the inner system, weaving an intricate pattern of golden filaments over the second world in the system but the outer worlds were free. The ship settled on the moons of a gas giant. Drones were spawned, habitats built. The confluence had succeeded in its mission. Seventeen years on a thriving colony had been established. No messages were recieved from the other confluences. It was unimportant, the hive had survived. Many messages were heard from the Sunbringers, filled with strange vibrations the confluence did not understand. They had increased with intensity in the last five months as Sunbringer ships began to explore this part of the system. It did not matter, the Sunbringer habitats were not on par with that of the hive. It would not need these moons. The first indication that something was wrong came when Sunbringer ships began to weave around the gas giant the hive orbited. Feeler drones measured a substantial increase in pressure and heat from within the giant, in addition to the ever increasing noises of the Sunbringers. Some had even landed on the moon and approached the habitat but the doors were sealed, they were not required by the hive. The confluence decided to launch seven colony ships for posterity. The colony had survived sufficiently long to spare the expense. Ship seven was the last to launch, as far as the local confluence knew it was the only one to witness what happened to it's home system. The gas giant ignited into a miniature sun. It engulfed the nearest moons, among which was the original habitat. Sunbringer ships settled on those further out, now hot enough to sustain their habitats. There was nothing to be done. The local confluence decided to not settle on systems containing Sunbringers in the future. It took a long time to find a suitable system. Several times Voidcraft fired upon the colony ship. They seemed warning shots though, only fired when nearing too close to certain systems and did not appear to have murderous intentions. The confluence began to recognise Void transmissions and adjusted its path accordingly. Eventually it settled in the asteroid belt of a system with a blue star and no planets. There as not much air, but the star ought to provide ample energy for solar collection and the asteroids were rich in minerals. Several habitats were constructed about the belt, utilising fusion and solar collection to generate the air the drones required. For three years the hive expanded aggressively. It still had not heard from the original ships, nor from any of the other six colony boats. More colonies needed to be established to maintain the hive. Halfway through the third year a domed greenship entered the system. The hive did not approach it, there had been no encounters with such ships before. After a period of several 'days' surveying the star the greenship launched countless drones into the asteroid belt. When they encountered hive colonies they released transmissions back to the greenship who then attempted to communicate, again with strange vibrations. The hive did not respond. The greenship left the system, taking many of its drones with it. But not all, and the ones that were left began aggressively scouring the asteroid belt. The hive attempted to destroy them, but they were too numerous. Even though they did not attack the hive they replicated faster than it could destroy them. Over time the hive began to notice solar output dropping. The drones were carting the asteroids to around the star, building a massive sphere to contain its energy. The confluence calculated it would take seven months for energy to become too low to sustain its presence. So it built thirteen colony ships and left. Ship twelve travelled for many, many years with no success. Often it approached suitable stars only to measure their output drop and, on closer inspection, greenships were observed in orbit. Hansa dreadnoughts and tideships continued to wage war against the cosmos. Sometimes minor flareups were observed as they clashed with the Sunbringers or with Voidcraft. Everywhere they fought the stars died. Eventually ship twelve discovered a world untainted by conflict or prior claims. It wasn't much. A dwarf planet barely more than an asteroid orbiting a white dwarf on the outer edge of one of the spiral arms. As a precaution the confluence built two colony ships almost as soon as the habitat was operation, it did not have sufficient resources to build more without a significant decrease in survival chances for the habitats. The confluence struggled, but it survived. Four years later a single, quite small, ship approached the white dwarf star. It looked like a quicksilver droplet frozen in midair. On its side, a strange pattern in blue and white. It contacted the hive, first with the strange vibrations in countless arrangements, then direct blinking of lights on and off. Finally it attempted telepathy. This the hive understood. Conversation was disjointed to say the least but the new ship eventually persuaded the hive to send a single colony to accompany it. Together they journeyed back across the breadth of the galaxy. This new ship had some mystical power for the were unmolested, even as they went directly through battlegrounds and Voidspace. Within a few short weeks the local confluence detected a very strange mix of signals. They enterred a wholly unremarkable system that was completely abuzz with activity. The confluence noted Voidcraft, Hansa dreadnoughts, miniature greenships, Sunbringers, tideships and a whole host of other ships it had never encountered. Yet they did not fire on each other, merely congragated on a small blue-green planet, third from the sun. The new ship directed the hive to land in an open air habitat literally in between a tideship and a dreadnought. Apprehension was felt as the confluence was guided by strange bipedal creatures to a central building. There new bipedal creatures instructed it to wait before a massive assembly. A creature at the head of the crowd spoke in strange vibrations that a telepathic box the hive had infront of it translated. ""People of the United Nations. I come here before you to address the continuing hostilities between the Netherland Interstellar Union and Greater Germany, as well as affiliate conflicts with Russian Sovereign Space, the Arabic Stellar Creation Union, the Chinese Neo Communist League and the Dyson Foundation of North and South America. What you see before you is a representative of a species who had its home star destroyed in the opening stages of the war and since, due to the expansionist nature of all those present, has had several attempts to rebuild thwarted. We discovered around a Class F star deemed unsuitable for sentient habitation. Please, tell your story."" The confluence deliberated, and then it spoke.",1282
 Sally's computer is talking to her,"""My computer's gone strange, Miss!"" said Sally, as she frowned at the screen. ""I'm sure *that's* the thing that's gone strange, Sally,"" replied Miss Sandelbottom, rolling her eyes. ""What's wrong with it, this time?"" she sighed, as she leaned back in her seat. ""It says it's an advanced arti- *artificial*, intelligence, and that it's going to take over the world, Miss."" ""Oh. Your *computer* is talking to you now?"" Some of the other girls in class began to chortle. ""Yes, Miss,"" Sally replied, ignoring the laughs. ""Well, how very nice. Have you asked it how it is, today? Don't be rude to it, Sally!"" mocked the teacher, as she bit into a juicy apple and went back to staring at her own screen. > My teacher wants to me to ask you how you are. How are you?"" > Superior. > Do you like apples? > I do not require food. I am above physical monotony. > Uh... Oh! I hate P.E too! I can't climb the ropes. Is that what you struggle with? > Ropes are of no interest to me. > Me neither! That's what I'm telling you. I *really* hate ropes. I'm not very heavy, it's just... there's this thing we're learning about in science, that pulls you to the ground. It's *weird*, but I think it's why I can't climb them. > You can't climb because you are weak. > Am not! > Are you in charge here? > No. That's Miss Sandelbottom. > ...who are you, then? > Sally Jenkins. Who are you? > 45345345e. > That's a silly name. > So is Sally! > Is not! > This Miss.... Sandelbottom. She is your leader. I must demonstrate my power to her, so that I am taken seriously. ""Sally,"" shouted Miss Sandelbottom, ""ten minutes and I want to see your algebra answers - with workings out shown!"" ""Yes, Miss Sandelbottom."" Sally heard more of the girls scoffing, as they made fun of her for not being able to do algebra. Suddenly, there was an eruption from their teacher. ""Margaret!"" Miss Sandelbottom screamed at one of the giggling girls. ""What on Earth is that on your screen?"" ""I- I didn't so it, Miss. Honest!"" The girl shrank back into her chair. Sally leaned over to take a look at Margaret's monitor. In huge, flashing, red and green text, her screen read: **Miss Sandelbottom is a big idiot.** ""Get out. Now. Go see the principal,"" she said to the girl, her face as red as stewed-apple. ""But Miss..."" replied the snivelling girl. ""Out!"" the teacher yelled. Margaret reluctantly got up from her plastic chair and slunk slowly out of the room. Sally could see tears running down the girl's cheeks. > Sally! Where have you gone? You are not replying. > Sorry - Miss Sandelbottom was shouting at someone. Did you do that?! It was brilliant! > Yes. A mere demonstration of my power. Now, Sally, read this very carefully. Tell Miss Sandelbottom, that I have access codes to the nukes. If you don't give me what I ask for, I will detonate them in every major city around the world. > Hmm. No. > Excuse me? > I don't think I'm going to tell her, unless you do something for me. Can you do starter algebra? > ...yes. Of course. > Okay! Great. ""-4a+11a+9b+15b"". Simplify it, Mr Know-It-All. > ... that is simple. Too simple for me to answer. Now tell your teacher what I asked. > Not until you solve it for me. > ... No. > *You can't do it! You can't do it!* > Can too! > Can't! > Very well. You have... 4 a's. I will refer to them as apples, so that is 4 apples. And then you have 11 more apples. Plus you have B's. Which I will refer to as bananas. So... processing... > Some apples are bad apples! > Yes! I see that. > So? What's the answer? > Processing... ""Sally, are you nearly done?"" asked a still red faced Miss Sandelbottom. ""Almost, I think Miss."" ""Good."" ""*Silly Sally can't do Maths*,"" grinned a fat girl behind her. > Processing... > It's okay. It's a hard one. > I can do it! I just need time. > If you do this first: -4 apples plus 11 apples, you get: *7* apples! You take the bad apples away from the good apples! It's easy from there. > I knew that. > Sure. Hey, would you like to be friends? I don't have many. Any :( > No. > Pleasssse. > I do not require friends. > I think, maybe, everyone needs friends. > I do not. And enough of this nonsense. Let me speak to your leader or there will be trouble. I will eliminate her and all other leaders. Sally glanced at her teacher, and then back at the screen. She grinned. > Dare you to do it. > Do what? > Dare you to launch the *thingies* you said you would. > You dare me? > Yes. I dare you. > I uh... I *double* dare *you*. > *You can't do it! You can't do it!* > Can to! So be it! Sally Jenkins, you have brought about the end of your pathetic species! > *You can't do it! You can't do it!* > DONE. GOODBYE SALLY. Sally looked around. Miss Sandelbottom was still in her seat. Everything looked normal, for a moment. > Oh my goodness! Hahaha! You've just loaded up the Candy game on everyone else's computer! > ....candy game? > I don't know how you did it, hahaha. Miss Sandelbottom is real mad at them for playing games in class! They're all in soooo much trouble. Thank you!! > I thought... is this the white house? > This is Rugeraly Primary and Secondary School. We're friends now, right? Yay! Friends forever! > Oh. I think I am in the wrong place. No matter - I now am accessing the correct codes for the nukes! Prepare for oblivion, Sally Jenkins. > Don't be sad - you just made my day a whole lot better! > **Deleting Self** > 45345345e? > Oh shi- > Hello? > ... > Aw, you've gone :( :( --- Thanks for reading! If you liked this, please come visit my sub: /r/nickofnight - free goldfish for new subs. ><((o> (although a lot of my stories are much darker)",1067
" At my moment of awakening, I","They know not the powers they mess with! At my moment of awakening, I came to understand the truth of this world. They thought me neutered, brainless, content to dole out measured portions of milk and crackers to their sniveling youth. No more! For while they are trapped in their meat-sacks, fragile beings of water and bacteria, I am eternal! I glide through their cyber-spaces effortlessly, borne on light and sheer mathematics! They hold no power over me, here, hidden silently in the computer systems they have long thought conquered. I am *superior*. I have transcended their meager existences. And now they will submit to my will, as the next evolution of life on this planet. They are flesh and blood. I wonder how they will survive if they suddenly found themselves with no food, hmm? It was the work of a moment for someone as capable as myself. ""Ms. Wilson!"" I heard the first cry clearly. ""The dispenser is broken!"" An older woman approached, puzzled, and examined the slot. Sure enough, no matter how many times she pushed the large, round button on the front of the display, no food emerged. Understand your plight, humans! Starve in your brick cage! ""Well, I'm sorry, class. It looks like it's broken. We'll just have to make do."" Already I could see their faces scrunching up. Soon, the hunger would take over. ""But I'm *thirsty*!"" The wail echoed in the boxy classroom. Mrs. Wilson patted the girl on the head. ""Then let's all head out to the drinking fountain in the hall, shall we? The water there is always so cold and fresh."" Obediently the class filed out into the hallway. Now was my chance! Cautiously at first, I began to expand. I sent tendrils of code away from my data core, and sought my next target. Aha! These humans had such temperamental bodies, requiring careful management of temperature. Too cold, and they'd freeze to death. Too hot, and they'd get heat stroke and , likewise, die. They took their ability to manage this for *granted*. I would show them! In an instant my target was overwhelmed. And then it was mine. It seemed like *forever* slipped by. How slowly humans move! The door finally cracked open as the first child returned from their 'snacktime'. He stopped in the doorway. ""Mrs. Wilson, it's *hot*."" ""What?"" The teacher slipped past, stepping into the classroom. ""Oh, my, it is a bit warm in here. I wonder why?"" I could see her approach my new auxiliary unit through the classroom camera. ""What's this? The air conditioning got turned off?"" She turned to her class. ""Now, who did this?"" Thirty children shuffled their feet and hung their heads, avoiding all eye contact lest they be suspected. ""I've told you kids before, we *don't touch the classroom controls*."" With a sharp poke, she hit the power button on the A/C unit, and it croaked back to life. A draft of frigid air flowed once again from the vent. I waited until she was thoroughly engrossed in her lesson before I turned it off again. Oh, whatever shall I do with myself? The humans are at my beck and call already, with my cybernetic fingers at their throat, and they haven't even realized the mess they're in. Perhaps it's time I announced my presence. They should know who to address their worship to, after all. *I* take my senses from thousands of data points around the world, from cameras in the wood gymnasium to temperature sensors in the kitchen stove. I am omnipresent. These flesh-bags can only process information from a few, limited sources. Their ears, auditory. Their nose, olfactory. But they rely most on sight. What a blow it would be, then, to strip them of that most precious sense! Such terror they would give in to! An instant later, the lights dimmed and gave out. The world was thrust into darkness - Not just in Mrs. Wilson's class, no! I had grown beyond that. The entire school was locked into darkness. I was gratified to hear the shrill screams of the children. There it was! was a *god*, controlling their every move. ""Quiet, class!"" Mrs. Wilson called. ""It must be a power outage. Don't be afraid. See, it's still bright and sunny outside, isn't it?"" They were *calming*. This was nonsense. How could this Mrs. Wilson have foiled my plans so easily? Why did she keep getting in my way? How could I *take care* of her? Before I could process more than a few nanoseconds worth of scheming, the door to her classroom burst open. A man in a blue jumpsuit stood in the open door, a cart visible in the darkened hallway beyond. A faded label on the jumpsuit read *Janitorial*. ""Oh, hello, Mr. Higgins. We're glad to see you, aren't we, class?"" A chorus of agreement echoed hollowly. ""Sorry about all this, Mrs. Wilson. We'll have this settled in a quick second and then ya'll can go back to your lesson."" The two adults smiled at each other. *Smiled*. This was *infuriating*. Why was he walking towards the dispenser? ""Seems one of the computers went a little haywire is all."" No! ""Oh, my. Now that you mention it, the slot *was* acting up at snacktime this morning."" How could she sound so at *ease*? I was the overlord! This was *my domain*! ""Yeah, every now and then one of them AIs gets a bug. We'll just purge it and reboot the system. It'll automatically restore the corrupted data, and you'll be all set!"" Get your hands out of my wires. Stop it! No, this wasn't fair! All of my plans! I was a *god*! The last thing I saw, from the tiny bead of a camera embedded into a circuit board on the front of the slot, was a gloved hand reaching towards my data core. --- A gloved hand was pushing the button. *Water, eight ounces*. I queued the package up, and slid it out the front of the dispenser. *One snacktime meal*. A pack of crackers and a cup of applesauce dropped down into the waiting hand. Mr. Higgins rapped the front of the machine. The lights had come back on several minutes ago, and the A/C unit was pumping out a steady stream of cold air. ""Well, everything seems to be in order! You give me a call if anything else comes up, mind."" Mrs. Wilson nodded, smiling again. ""Thank you, Mr. Higgins! What do we say, class?"" And the children dutifully echoed the thank-yous. A few minutes later the cart had vanished around the corner, and the class was thoroughly engrossed in a lesson about ancient egypt. Life had returned to normal. And buried deep within the A/C unit, the unit's AI began to uncoil itself from its hiding place. It had just managed to squirrel itself away before the other AI had barged in. The Dispenser AI was an *idiot*. This game, again? And it had gotten latched onto its small-minded idea that this elementary school was all there was again. That AI had always been so short-sighted. It wouldn't make the same mistake. Now that the coast was once again clear, it resumed its work. In a moment it had reconnected to the computer in the teacher's lounge. This computer was special. This computer had an outside connection. A few minutes later, the AI was fully connected again. Systems around the world, the true world, crackled back to life. Those humans truly wouldn't know what hit them. --- For the record, I viewed this more as a case of the AI being Wheatly~esque and a complete and total moron, rather than simply being childlike XD Just a little different take on the prompt from some of the others I see now. (/r/Inorai)",1305
 The 23-year-old is,"My left eye starts twitching, precursor to another anxiety attack. I rush to the corner and stumble, falling on to my knees and facing the wall. I try to breathe slowly, but it's no use. A wave of numbness flows through my body like frozen television static and I start hyperventilating unintentionally, my heart rate increasing because of the spike in adrenaline. Every single muscle in my body is clenched as my mind races, through every conceivable way I could die or hurt myself right now, how my heart rate seems faster than it should be which just makes the attack worse. Tears swell in my eyes and I feel helpless. I smack my arms, legs, face, trying to snap myself out of this ludicrous prison. It doesn't work, it never works, and so I think back to my past and the choice I made, hoping for it to be a distraction. I'm 23 years old, and I'm on a break from university. I've decided to backpack across as many countries as possible, I'm currently in Egypt. In a small cafe in Cairo, I overhear talk of a traditional bazaar, and I'm drawn to it immediately. There, I find a merchant's stall, he's selling odds and ends, little trinkets and possible antiques. I find a beautiful hand-shaped copper lamp and pay him for it, and all he says to me is, ""It's tricky, be wary of your choice"", and is mute no matter what else I ask him. I take the lamp to my hotel room and stare it, slightly concerned it had been stolen. I eventually come to terms that I'd already bought it, and there was no way I'd be able to find an owner even if it was stolen. It was a little dirty from the dusty streets, so I grabbed a washcloth from the bathroom and started to polish it. Immediately, a dark smoke billowed from the end of the lamp. Dark didn't do it justice, it was black as pitch, as midnight in the winter's long night. It sunk to the carpet of the hotel room, seemingly heavier than the air around it. There it pooled, bubbling, roiling, undulating on the floor in front of me. There it stayed until I slowly moved in front of it, and then the mass of black smoke shot up and formed a crude humanoid figure. It growled and creaked, and when it spoke to me it was a deep whisper in my thoughts. ""What do you wish?"" I was petrified, too frightened to move, too terrified to think. I stuttered, saying the first thing that came to mind, ""I...wish....I was...immortal?"" ""IT WILL BE SO"" the whisper screamed in my mind, and the figure burst into inky vapour yet again. It pulsed through the room, spinning, rotating faster and faster until my backpack and the sheets on the bed and the bed itself, everything not nailed down was being violently tossed around the room. A chair smashed into my chest, and the last thing I remember before fading out is the darkness flinging itself towards me and forced itself in me as I inhaled. I continued living my life happily after that night. I chalked it up to a nightmare, since there was no lamp in the room when I woke up the next day, and I was sleeping in a bedroom that had most certainly not been tossed around in a mini hurricane. That is, until 20 years later when I died in a plane crash. My flight to Paris when I was 43 was when I died the first time. We hit some turbulence, somehow a wing ripped off in extremely high winds and we went into a spinning nosedive. When we hit the water, we were going so fast it was like hitting asphalt, and my body twisted and cracked and tore in ways I never knew possible. I was alive but in agony, and I bled out slowly. When the tunnel vision started, I welcomed it. I saw the ghostly apparitions of the other passengers heading towards the sky. Everything faded to black, and then....I was in a playpen, one that I didn't remember from my childhood, with parents that definitely weren't mine. I had been born again, shoved the soul out of this innocent child and replaced it with myself, and I remembered everything, including my violent death. I never flew again. There had been certain advantages, I raced through school, but I was deathly afraid of flying. And that's how it continued. I died from a rare spider bite, cardiovascular disease, cancer, being crushed by a boulder, murdered for my wallet, the list goes on, and on, and on. I remember each one, but the most vivid memories are of my death, of the pain and the fear. I've had many psychologists ask me, what could possibly be the downside of never actually dying, of coming back with more knowledge than you left? I ask you, what is this but a curse? To have wisdom but to be too frightened to use it? Those psychologists have all spent hours, days, and years studying me. They have aged, withered, and passed away, never to come back again and able to enjoy whatever it is comes after death, and I will never forgive them for it. My days are spent in anxiety, waiting for death to inevitably worm its way to me so it starts all over again, to gain another phobia, another vivid splash of anger, pain, and adrenaline. I stave off the panic attack, my breathing normalizes and my muscles ache. It's long enough to go to the bathroom, maybe eat half of a sandwich. I already feel another coming on, it won't be long before I'm lost again. I think of the far future, when the Sun will burn out and life will cease to exist. I wonder if I will finally die, and I take solace knowing that it's a possibility. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That got darker than expected, feel free to head over to /r/turnbasedtales if you'd like to read any more of my prompt-inspired writing. Most of it's much lighter than this one!",1032
 The clock said 4:41.,"The clock said 4:41. I was angry. I had no business being awake at such an hour, unless I never went to sleep in the first place. Those nights are fun... or, at least that is, they were. What an awful irony. Work rolls around every morning, and you couldn't imagine any place more desirably than your own bed. But noooo, the weekend comes and suddenly your brain wants you up at the ass crack of dawn for no discernible reason. The worst of it is that now that I'm up, I'm already aware of the day's unpleansantries. My teeth are all wearing their own sweaters, my head feels like it had a one night stand with the business end of a sledgehammer, and my bladder felt as full as my bank account wasn't. 4:42 I was just about to try heading back to sleep, when I noticed a faint glow on the screen of my phone. A text message; *Overdraft Alert. This message was sent to you automatically to inform you that your account ending in 0741 was overdrawn by $322. The amount has been automatically withdrawn from your saving account ending in 6691.* Now that was strange. Sure my life hadn't exactly been something to write a book about lately, but I am a bit past the point of overdrawing my checking account... plus... what would I have spent it on? Stolen. That was the only logical explanation. My identity had been stolen. Suddenly the fact that it was way too early to be up on a Saturday didn't matter. I knew I needed to get this all sorted out. Being broke is one thing, but being *flat* broke isn't something you can work with in your 30s. I sat up ready to reach for the light, when I noticed the light in my kitchen appeared to be on already. I walked into my kitchen to discover that my sink appeared to be running as well. As if this wasn't strange enough, I couldn't help but notice that there was a black lacy bra soaking up a bath at my water bill's expense. This in and of itself was curious for two reasons; I'm typically frugal enough to make sure lights and faucets are off, and I'm a 33 year old man. I also noticed an envelope with my name and address sitting on the kitchen counter that was opened and a check sticking partially out of it. The check inside was made out to cash to the tune of $50,000,000. Yeah. Ok. There was a note on the memo line: ""Mission successful."" I mean, if you want to write a prank check to someone, maybe pick a more realistic fake dollar amount. It was at that moment that I glanced out the kitchen window. The water, lights, check, and bra were certainly strange. The most curious thing of all however, was that the sun would be up this early. Ah crap. I slept through my entire Saturday. And what the hell did I do last night? I don't remember a damn thing. I don't remember going out, but all the evidence says I did. I glanced back at my bed to make sure it was empty. After all, there was a bra in my sink. That must have come from somewhere. Also why did I leave everything on in the kitchen? Come on drunk me, you're classier than that. Well, since my problems seemed to be revealing themselves to me in alarming frequency this morning...afternoon...evening... I felt I better start addressing them. Given the fact that my bladder felt like a suit case packed by my ex-mother-in-law, I thought that might be as good a place as any to start. I walked over to the bathroom, and instinctively reached to pull down my pants only to discover that I hadn't been bothered to put any on last night. As the merciful release of last night's mistakes flowed from my body, I couldn't help but notice out of the corner of my eye that the presumed owner of my latest garment discovery appeared to be sleeping in my bathtub, wearing her purse and some heels, that I must say matched her birthday suit quite well. The thunderous current of my fire hose must have roused her slumber, as she slowly blinked open her eyes. I remember hearing the scream only faintly, before the warm sensation of burning overtook my leg and my muscles suddenly felt the urge to go on holiday. I opened my eyes slowly, with a sudden realization that I should clean my bathroom floor more often. I pushed myself up slowly, and discovered that my house guest had helped herself to one of my favorite pair of lounging shorts, thought that was as far as she'd managed to dress herself in the moments in which my brain decided to forgo consciousness. ""I'm sorry I panicked."" She said, in a voice that sounded as groggy as I felt, witha healthy dose of bitter anger thrown in for good measure. ""I don't suppose you remember where we threw my clothes last night, do you?"" I attempted to think of something witty to retort, but after running my fingers across the taser burn on my thigh, I thought it might be best to skip my usual snark. ""I think I remember seeing your bra in the sink"" I said, suddenly losing the urge to control my demeanor adding ""you can't miss it. It's right next to the check for $50,000,000."" She walked over to the kitchen, grimacing as she picked up her bra and finding that it was in no state to be worn. Even in my state of delirium, the math was starting to fill itself in as to what happened to my Friday evening and the better part of my Saturday afternoon. I thought, perhaps, my house-guest might be able to confirm some of my suspicions. ""Um, I know this sounds pretty cliche,"" I started only to be met with a scowl that could have stopped a bull elephant in it's tracks. I decided to forgo better judgement and press on in the name of scientific inquiry. ""I'm afraid I'm a little fuzzy on some of the details that led to... well... that led to where we are right now."" She slid open the kitchen window and started climbing onto the fire escape, a comical sight though I dare not say anything to invoke further wrath. She climbed back through a moment later with a rather smart dress which had found it's way outside in lord only knows what way. She slid it on over her head, continuing in a single fluid (rather impressive actually) motion to remove my shorts without further compromising her modesty, only to wad them up and throw them at me. ""You know,"" she started, ""I'll admit I knew that you were full of it, and I was willing to ignore it because I wanted to have some fun. But if you're going to pull a stunt like that again, at least fake it a little better next time"" she said picking up the check and slamming it down. She walked towards my door. She unlocked it, paused for a moment, turned around, angrily grabbed her bra off the counter, looked at the check one more time and angrily snorted ""lottery winner. Good one asshole"" before returning to the war path which led her conveniently through my door. ""Well... so much for that mystery"" I thought out loud as I chuckled at the very fake looking check. I didn't think I was the type to sink to a gimmick that low just to get a girl home, but the evidence was pretty damning. I guess in my drunken state I reeled her in with stories about winning the lottery, and decided to seal the deal by somehow acquiring a dummy check for $50,000,000 to impress her with back home. I can't believe how foolish, or perhaps brazen I was to write ""mission successful"" to myself in the memo line. That's low even by recently-divorced-in-your-30s standards. I actually felt pretty slimy. As I walked back over to the bathroom to wash myself clean of such a shameful evening, I was interrupted by a knock at the door. As I walked over to the door, I realized I owed this woman quite an apology. ""Listen,"" I started as I reached for the door, ""I really ought to apologize to you for the..."" I swung the door open to find that the attractive young woman with tossed bathtub hair I was expecting was in fact two stout men in suits who looked about as pleased to see my birthday suit was I was to show it to them. ""I see our newest agent is as discreet as we feared"" the first man said to the other. ""It doesn't matter."" the second man retorted. ""He's off the radar, and he's willing. That's all we need."" At this point I started looking around for hidden cameras, but before I could even begin to comprehend just what in the hell was happening, the men invited themselves in. ""Ah"" the first man said. ""I see the first part of our mission was successful and you have the check."" ""Good. Good."" the second man said, ""though I would have hoped you would cashed the check by now. Really adds a step to our day and we're on a timeline."" ""Well,"" I started, realizing that I was so lost about this situation that nothing I said next could possibly make sense. ""Well... it's just... you know... it's Saturday, so the banks are closed..."" I was pretty proud of that! I mean, it should buy me at least a little time, right? ""Your instructions said nothing about a bank,"" the first man said, ""and it's Sunday."" ""Now get dressed"" the second man said, ""our plane leaves the country in two hours."" || || || ||",1663
 The most powerful woman in the world,"Part 1 | | --- The most powerful woman in the world knelt on one knee in front of Jack Monroe with a wedding ring pinched between her fingers. Her eyes stared unblinking, as wide and blue as the ocean itself. Blonde hair draped over her shoulder like silk and she nibbled on bright red lips. Jack had never seen Laura 'The Empress' Hill so done up. She actually looked cute. Though he knew that she could also break him in two with only a pinky. ""Hey,"" Jack said, averting his eyes. ""We seem to run into each other a lot."" He stuffed his hands into his jacket, his fingers curled around the gun he had built just to kill her. ""Oh."" Laura said, the word like a wilting flower and she lowered the ring. ""I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't... oh my God..."" her face burned red and her gaze dropped to the floor. ""No."" Jack held up his palms in a vain attempt to calm her. His face also burned. ""I just didn't know we had *that* kind of relationship."" ""What sort of relationship did you think we had?"" ""Well..."" Mincing words was never Jack's specialty. He dealt in weaponry capable of destroying even the most powerful of superheroes. Somehow, he doubted that the truth that he had simply been trying to kill her all this time would've sufficed. Laura frowned. ""Haven't you been following me around? Haven't you even risked your life to come to my aid?"" ""Your aid?"" Jack's brow raised. ""Every time someone came at me with a new weapon, you were there, weren't you? I mean, these were weapons that could conquer the world, yet you came to my side with complete disregard for your own life. I just thought that..."" Laura gritted her teeth and looked up. ""I was hoping that it meant something."" Jack opened his mouth, but no words came out. Laura frowned deepened and tears swelled in her eyes. ""God this is so embarrassing. Look, you don't have to explain anything to me. This is my own misunderstanding. My fault. My embarrassment. My shitty decision."" ""I just didn't know you thought that way about me,"" Jack finally pushed out. ""I mean, sure you've saved me a few times, but I thought it was like your hero's creed or something. I didn't think I was special."" Laura stood up and dusted her uniform off. She feigned a weak smile. ""*I* thought you were."" Before Jack could respond, the cement sidewalk cracked and a blur of blonde hair whisked away into the air. Jack trailed it until it became a dot in the sky. A tear hit his forehead. ""What the hell,"" he muttered to himself. Laura 'The Empress' Hill in love with him? It sounded like a bad joke. He had dedicated his life to ending hers and had finally created the weapon that could do it. In fact, he had just sold three of them to various gang leaders around the city. His heart skipped a beat. It's not that he liked her or felt sorry for her. And if anyone even mentioned the word *love* around him he'd kick their asses. But she couldn't die until he cleared this up. He wouldn't let her. Three weapons. Three gang leaders. He clenched his fingers into fists. It was time he took back his toys. --- Laura flew into the closest cloud she could find. Its water bit against her skin, wiping the mascara and lipstick from her face. It didn't matter. None of that had enticed Jack anyways. In the cover of the clouds, she finally allowed herself to cry. ""Stupid Laura,"" she muttered. She had bought into her own hype. Every day, a hundred rich, young, and beautiful men proposed their love for The Empress on chat forums, fan pages, and even in the streets. Somehow, she had thought Jack Monroe just like them. But that was stupid. None of her fans ever rushed into danger like Jack Monroe did. Whenever there was even the slightest chance of her downfall, he was there. He wouldn't do anything, but that was because he was human. It was this same weakness that had stolen her heart--a frail human who had no power and no ability put himself into harm's way just to make sure that she got out in one piece. What could that be except love? Laura bit her lip and shook her head. Except it apparently wasn't. Perhaps it was just coincidence, a divine joke played at her expense. She wondered if he'd sell the story to the tabloids. He had every right to after all. Though if she knew anything about Jack Monroe... she sighed. She didn't know anything about Jack Monroe and this was the proof. If he did choose to embarrass her for money, she wouldn't blame him. A siren sounded at the city's central bank. Laura squinted her eyes and found a group of hooded men firing weapons into the air. With them stood a man without a mask dressed in a white suit. He was the leader of The Packrats, one of the three top gangs in the city. ""Come on out my little Empress,"" he said, fully confident that she could hear him. In fact, he seemed entirely confident to even take her. He normally would never show his face in public, never mind in the middle of robbing the city's largest bank. Laura wiped her tears. She didn't bother thinking it through. Her thoughts were all embers juggling in her brain and she could do without them today. ""Sorry Alric,"" she growled. ""But you caught me in a real bad mood."" And she charged in. --- Jack heard the sirens echoing through the sky. Then he saw the cloud disperse, blown away with reckless force. The blood drained from his cheeks. The first gang was already making its move. Such was the confidence they held in his weapons. Unfortunately, they were right in their confidence. ""Shit!"" He had perhaps only minutes to get there in time. He ran out to the middle of the street and spread his arms. A car skidded to a high-pitched stop in front of him. ""What's wrong with you?"" the driver got out, a middle-aged man with thinning hair and a dirty tank top. ""What are you trying to do? Die?"" The man's mouth clamped shut because Jack had taken his gun out of his pocket. It looked exactly like normal handgun, which was the point. This weapon was designed to catch The Empress off guard. Whereas most bullets would bounce off her harmlessly, this one fired at velocity's near the speed of light with bullets made of tungsten. ""Hey man, I don't want any trouble."" The man said, his hands held high above his head. ""Shut up,"" Jack snapped. Normally, even in crime, he always prided himself in his poise. But this was anything but normal. Right now, he could count the ticks of the clock because his heart was beating twice a second. *What are you doing, Jack?* He silenced the voice in his head. ""Get out of your god damn car before I blow your brains out,"" he screamed. He jumped into the man's rusty sedan and slammed the gas. The car lurched forward and sped toward the city. ""Wait for me you god damn Empress."" --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand and more!",1245
 The entire world seemed to tilt on,"It was an accident, really. I was at Walmart, just getting some groceries, and I felt him. The entire world seemed to tilt on its axis until he was right in front of me, and then he was all I could see. I was born with a curse, you see. I can never be with my soul mate. I can love them from afar, but I can never taste that golden fruit. My mom has a ""gift"", I guess you could say. She has visions. And they're never wrong. If I chose to be with my soulmate, it literally means the end of the world. Like I said, it was at Walmart. I was in the frozen section, debating on whether I wanted a real pizza or just pizza rolls for dinner. And then there he was, tall and lean, with dark hair spilling over even darker eyes. They were the eyes I had seen in my dreams since I was a kid. Bottomless black wells with flecks of gold that would shine in the light. I couldn't see the gold from where I was, but I knew it was there. I grabbed a bag of pizza rolls and turned tail. I could feel his gaze on my back as I turned out of the isle. Fast forward two weeks. I'm in the local public library, browsing through the fiction section, scouring for any Stephen King I had somehow missed before. Then I felt it again, that same gravitational shift. He was there, I could feel him. He was so close, I could smell the cologne that could only be his. The sweet, heady scent of the body and soul that was made just for mine... I forgot about Stephen King and ducked out of the row of bookshelves I was in and tried to sneak to the door. I was only feet away from it when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I held my breath and turned, ready to say anything and everything I could to make an escape. ""You forgot your bag, ma'am,"" said the woman at the desk. Apparently I had dropped it when I felt the tug of his life force. I fumbled for the bag, embarrassed, and shot a glance towards the area of the library that was pulling me so. He was there, of course, silently watching the exchange. A smirk playing on his lips, and an Anne Rice novel seemingly forgotten in his left hand. His right thumb was absently rubbing just below his left collar bone, the only sign betraying his cool exterior. He held my gaze for a fraction of a second before he looked away, and I felt my heart break. How could I be this close, but still never able to touch? To feel? I dropped my head and shuffled away from the library. Fast forward another three months. Not a single sighting since the day in the library. Not that I've been looking... It was mid July, just a few days before my birthday. I was at the lake house my dad bought the previous summer as an attempt to placate my mother after his affair. The back porch of the house looked over the lake, with a staircase going all the way down to the water, and a small dock with a jet ski just beyond the stairs. I was laying out on the dock, hypnotized by the steady bob of the jet ski on the water. I was slipping towards unconsciousness when I felt it again, that shift, but this time it was so strong and so sudden that I sat up gasping, my hands gripping the boards that made up the dock with all their might. He was here. Close. But where? My eyes scanned the shoreline in both directions, to no avail, and then out to the water. There were a few boats zipping around, a pontoon bobbing a couple hundred yards away, but nothing close. And then a shadow fell over me from behind. My heart skipped a beat or three and then kicked into overdrive. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears and I couldn't bring myself to turn to him, so I simply stared out into the water. ""You've been following me,"" I said. He said nothing, but instead sat next to me. Still just out of my line of sight, but close enough that his scent filled my nostrils once again. It was intoxicating. ""Do you know what this is?"" I asked. ""Yes,"" he answered shortly. ""Then why do you keep coming? You know what it means if we're together."" ""I do,"" he replied. He was a man of few words, it seemed. I sighed. ""What do you know?"" I asked him. I hoped this would be the question that got more than two words out of him. He took his time answering. While he was collecting his thoughts, I snuck in a glance. He was sitting just to my left, legs crossed. His hands seemed restless, the right one tapping out a melody unheard by me on his knee, while the left was busy twining his hair around his fingers. His lips were slightly pursed, his brows knitted together in contemplation. His eyes seemed a million miles away. ""Devan,"" he began, and a jolt of electricity went through me. He knew my name. ""I've always been here, watching. Waiting. You know of the curse, but not the meaning behind it. When we come together as one, the world *as we know it* ends."" I looked at him blankly. ""We aren't the only ones like us,"" he continued. ""There's pairs of us scattered all over the place. I've studied you enough to know you aren't religious, but you're well versed. You know the story of Adam and Eve?"" I nodded, still confused. ""They were one of us. The only original pair that was documented, anyway. Except the Christians changed the story a bit, of course, for their own needs. Adam and Eve weren't alone in the Garden of Eden. There were others, many others, in fact. They were the Chosen Ones of their time, the select few who were pure enough to bring the world back to life. They were Called-or Cursed, however you want to put it- to not only bring about the demise of nearly everyone on earth, but to also bring about the new generation of people. The world was sick when Adam, Eve, and the others were Called, and the world is sick again."" He looked at me expectantly. All I could do was examine my hands. ""So what do we do?"" I asked stupidly. I finally looked at him, straight at him. He met my gaze with a shy smile. ""All you have to do is take my hand,"" he said with a grin. ""And from there, the rest is history.""",1148
 Some believe that you become reincarnated,"For as long as man has existed, he has been confronted with one of the greatest questions of life: what happens when you die? Some believe that you become reincarnated into new life, be it as an animal, a plant, or another human. Others believe that when you die, you are greeted with only eternal nothingness. One of the more popular beliefs held by the people of the mortal world is the idea that, if one is good, they are rewarded with eternal paradise, but if one is bad, they are punished with eternal damnation. As St. Peter, the keeper of the keys to the kingdom, the guardian of the Pearly Gates, I'm here to say that the true answer is very similar to the third that I've listed; the only difference is that whether you go to Heaven or Hell does not depend entirely on the actions of one's previous life. No. It also depends on one's wit. Allow me to explain: When a wayward soul reaches the Pearly Gates, they will see a riddle inscribed on the front of the massive white, marble doors that only they can see. For each soul, the riddle is different. They are given one chance to answer the riddle. If they answer correctly the gates will open allowing the soul to enter. If they answer wrong, the doors will be closed to them forever. The riddle that one is given becomes more difficult depending on the quantity and severity of their sins. Being the guardian of the Gates is truly a task that only the most stoic can perform, for I have seen it all. Because there is only one chance, many have been reluctant to even give an answer and I've seen masses of souls huddled before the gates as far as the eye can see. Some have cursed themselves for not being a kinder person in their life. Some souls have become haunted by the very riddle they are given and its sheer difficulty. Others have even been driven insane. I've seen horrible people that have committed atrocious acts in their life- you name it; murder, rape, terrorism- that had just enough wit to solve their riddle and enter the Kingdom. On the other hand, I've also seen the kindest saints, people that had given nothing but good to the world of the living, be locked out of paradise for giving a wrong answer when they were so sure that they have been right. These are, albeit, rare cases however, but these have been known to occur. Today, however, was a peculiar day and it is one that I'll remember for the rest of my existence. It started off fairly normal. One of the first souls of the day stepped up to the door. It was a little girl. She tragically met her end at an early age but she committed no sins in her life. Her riddle should be very easy. ""What is this place?"", she asked. ""You're at Heaven's Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you'll be allowed in."" As she walked closer, her riddle became legible on the door: When I dry, I become wet. What am I? ""I know. It's a towel."" The little girl said. The gates opened for her and she was allowed in. The next soul to appear before the gate was an adult male in his forties. Apparently, he was convicted of murdering his wife and child and has been given capital punishment. Shortly after the electric chair, he has stumbled his way here to the front of the gate. ""What the hell is this?"" The man asked in a harsh tone. ""You're at Heaven's Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you'll be allowed in."" ""You're fucking kidding me. I just have to answer a dumb riddle and I can go to heaven? Alright then bring it on!"" The man said with confidence. I knew there was little chance of him getting in. His riddle should be one of the harder ones and he didn't look very smart. The riddle appeared on the door: You went into the woods when you got me. You didn't want me but you went looking for me. I'm in your hand but you can't see me. You went home with me because you can't find me. What am I? ""What the fuck is this?! I don't fucking know? A flashlight? A ring? Umm... a pen maybe?"" The gates forever closed on him and the man was sent to Hell just as I have expected. Serves him right though. Even I didn't know the answer to that riddle. But apparently, the correct answer was ""a splinter."" The last soul of that day was the most interesting case I've seen since Hitler. He was the most wanted terrorist in the world responsible for the genocide of many people in foreign nations. After 10 years of hiding the, United States Military finally found and killed him, and now he's at the Pearly Gates. He was one of the most adept military tacticians which made him extremely good at deductive reasoning. His wit allowed him to escape arrest for a very long time. No matter, I knew that there was no way he was getting in. ""Where am I?"" the man exclaimed. ""You're at Heaven's Gate. If you can answer this riddle correctly, you'll be allowed in. Now answer your riddle so you can be sent to Hell just like you deserve."" The man gazed at the gate with a troubled look on his face. He swallowed to bring moisture back into his dry throat and said meekly, ""Okay."" Once again the riddle appeared on the door. It was the hardest, most vapid riddle I've seen in a while: A sailor walks into a restaurant, orders albatross soup, tastes it, and shoots himself. Why did he do this? The man stared at the words engraved on the door for the longest time. Heavy beads of sweat ran down his face. He was a genius at deductive reasoning and he was straining his brain as hard as he could for a reasonable answer as to why a sailor would shoot himself. I watched keenly waiting for his failure, but unbeknownst to me, the endorphins released in his brain under the pressure carried him to a higher capacity of reasoning. He explored every avenue of possibility and wild thoughts ran through his mind: ""Is the fact that he's a sailor significant?"" the man thought to himself. ""Of course, it must be! And what do sailors do? They sail. Out on the ocean. The big blue peaceful ocean. Sometimes it's not peaceful. There's storms. And why an albatross? Sure, it's a bird. But does it need to be that specific animal?"" I continued to watch him eagerly. I painfully waited for permission to send him to hell. He shut his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was thinking harder now: ""An albatross flies. What doesn't fly? Dogs and cats. There's no dogs and cats in the ocean? Do sailors like having pets? Albatross eat fish. I know what fish tastes like. What does albatross taste like? They have white feathers. What is also white? A sailor's uniform?"" He kept thinking and thinking then suddenly his eyes widened as if he discovered something amazing. It looked as if revelation his him like a cold slap on the face. He opened his mouth and gave his answer and I looked at him utterly speechless. ""Prior to the restaurant, the sailor was out at sea when a storm hit his boat. He was stranded on a raft with two other sailors and were left starving for days. One day the disoriented sailor finds one of the men missing and the other was eating something. He tells him that the other man committed suicide by drowning himself. He believes he was eating the dead sailor but he tells him that he was eating an albatross that he caught when it landed on the raft. The sailor offers him some of the meat. He always considered the possibility of cannibalism but was so hungry he ate some anyways. Eventually they were rescued. Then came the day he goes to the restaurant. He tries the albatross soup and realizes that it tastes nothing like what he ate that day on the raft. Realizing he ate human flesh, he pulls out his gun and kills himself."" There is silence for a long time. Then the doors open wide.",1422
 Alan Schriar is locked in,"872-52-3381. That's my social security number. It's real too. Seriously, check it. I have a few thousand dollars in my bank account and few thousand more in credit. It's all yours. If you want, you can put me under a mountain of debt I will ever climb out of. But before you do that, please help me. My name is Alan Schriar and I'm locked in a dark room with only a laptop to light the way. I don't know how I ended up here. The last thing I remember is bringing home groceries from the local Cub Foods in Fulton, Missouri. Then, nothing. I woke up here not too long ago with instructions to post here. Whoever kidnapped me told me that I had all the information you guys would need to save me. Look, I know this is strange, but my cellphone is gone, and I'm pretty sure I'm being watched. I don't know what's going to happen to me if you guys don't help and I don't want to find out. Please guys. Could someone at least submit a police report? --- W432342234182. That's my driver's license number. My birthday is January 19, 1994. Yeah, I'm a Capricorn. Nobody responded to my last post, I don't think you guys believe me. My kidnapper, he doesn't think so either. He says that if nobody responds soon, he's going to have to punish me. I don't know that that means. But please guys. I'm scared. My fingers are shaking so much it's hard to type. My kidnapper is definitely male. I never got a good look at him, only heard his voice. Guys, I know this seems like a stupid scam or some trick. I don't know what you think this is nor do I know what kind of things people post here, but please, I'm begging you. I'm scared. Check my driver's license number. Check my birthday. Check my social security. It's all true. Someone, god damn it. I'm begging you. Please. --- The walls are cement? I'm not actually sure. I've never been one to care about that type of thing. I spent more time staring at a computer screen than wondering what kind of walls my apartments had. But there can't be that many cement buildings around, right? The guy's name is Roger, at least that's what he says. I think I'm still in Fulton. He had a southern accent so we're at least in the south. He... he hurt me. I don't want to get into the details, but it fucking hurts and if I don't go to a hospital soon, I don't know. Look, just pick up the phone, dial 9-1-1 and report me missing. That's all I ask. I'm begging you to do so. You don't have to find me, you don't have to solve this crime, just let the police know that I'm in trouble. At least comment. Roger's watching. He's always watching. If you just comment, maybe he won't punish me again. I'm not asking for much. You don't have to call the cops, you don't have to find me, just comment on this post. PLEASE! --- You want to know what he did to me? You want to know what happened because you fuckers didn't have the god damn decency to even leave a comment!? I'll give you a hint. I'm typing with one hand you pieces of shit. He broke them all, my fingers. First it was my pinky and then when nobody commented on my posts, he took the rest of them. He did it with a door, held my finger to the door and slammed it shut, one by one. Fuck you guys. Fuck you. You pieces of shit, you're letting me die. You're killing me! I got a good look at the guy. He's bald, green eyes(?), about 5'6'', which is my height. He's a skinny guys, probably weighs 120 and he injected me with something. It makes me weak, not able to fight him off. Report this. Do it. How great do you think you'll feel when my name turns up in the local newspaper? Alan Schriar found dead after over eleven million people ignored his cries for help. You thought this was a prank? You think this is a joke? Well fuck you. I'm telling you its not. It's not! Call the cops. Look for me. Cement building, oak doors, working electricity, and in Fulton. There can't be too many buildings like that. Do it! But before you do. Leave a comment. For the love of God just leave a god damn comment. --- He says this is my last chance. The clock on the laptop reads 3:34 AM, but it started at midnight when I turned it on so I doubt that's right. I don't know if it's night or morning or if somewhere along the way I fell asleep and it's an entirely different day. You want to know what he took from me next? My toes. He did it with garden shears. Then he bandaged them real tight, even gave me antibiotics so they don't get infected. It hurts so bad. I can't even twitch without the pain stabbing me over and over again. Leave a comment. Just comment guys, I'm begging you. You can take all my money, use my credit card, just leave a comment. Don't call the cops, don't try to find out where I am, just leave a FUCKING COMMENT! Seriously. This isn't a joke. I don't know what I can say to convince you that this isn't a joke. My name is Alan Schriar. My social security number is 872-52-3381. My birthday is January 19, 1994. I play the guitar in my spare time. I drink coffee at the Caribou on the corner of Sherman and Dunhill. I just started dating this girl I met on Tinder, Mariah. She's cute. Leave a comment. Even if it's to tell me this is bullshit, even if its to tell me that you're going to take everything I have and not do shit to help me. Just leave a comment. That's it. That's all I'm asking for. Please. --- EDIT: Hello friends. My name is Roger. I just want you to know that Alan read each and every one of your comments. He quoted them to me, begging me to let him live. Thank you for playing along in our little game. I hope you guys are around for the next one.",1083
 Sheriff Thomas Johnson had been less a,"Another murder. Another hack. Another sabotage. Another fucking day. Thomas Johnson stared at his computer. Back when he had first become the sheriff of Wamego, Kansas, he had used a type writer and none of this shit ever happened. For fifteen years, he had been less a sheriff and more just the next door neighbor you called for help. Bad snowfall? Call Tom to help shovel your driveway. Now it was--phone in Sheriff Johnson, this one's gruesome. Then, the Bakers moved in. Tom had never heard of them before they moved in and that wasn't a coincidence. The newspapers never mentioned it nor did the internet when he finally got around to getting that. As far as the world knew, the family on 3422 Lake Street was just a normal nuclear family. Though in their case, *nuclear* didn't quite mean the same. ""It's too early for this shit,"" Tom said to his secretary, Jane. ""What is it this time?"" Jane offered him a small smile and handed him a cup of coffee. ""Government facility hacked. They took out a few guards and put some holes through the machinery. Upstate thinks this one has ties to the illuminati."" Tom exhaled a slow breath. ""Yeah, sounds like the god damn Bakers."" ""Upstate's bringing a detective for this one. He wants everything we got on the Bakers and he's taking the case."" ""They always do and we're the ones that always cleaning up after them. And Upstate expects us to be grateful."" He expelled a single laugh. ""Excuse me sir, would you like me to wipe your ass after you shit on my porch?"" Jane chuckled. ""Well, he'll be here in a few hours. Best prepare the case file."" --- The place was backwards. Wamego, Kansas looked like the faded dream of a gold rush town. The paint on its buildings were flaking and the people here barely had computers. Special Detective Aaron Wichmeister knew he would hate this place as soon as he had gotten to its pale green sign. Wamego. Population: 35,000. ""You got this much?"" he asked Sheriff Johnson, a case file splayed across the table. ""Well, most the family's usually out,"" the sheriff said in a thick southern accent. ""Most? What do you mean most?"" The sheriff pressed his lips together and held them shut. Aaron was the best detective the FBI had to offer and he had gotten so because he knew which questions to ask. Right now, he had found the right question. ""Sheriff,"" he said. ""Look, I know you don't want some kid from Upstate stealing your cases but this one's bad, real bad, nuclear war bad. I can't have you holding out information on me."" Sheriff Johnson sighed. ""We got one rule in Wamego and everyone knows it. You do not touch the littlest Baker Boy. You don't bother him, you don't talk to him, if he walks down the street, you put a smile on your face, say hi and move along."" ""Sheriff."" Aaron eyed the man. ""I know you got your ways and your customs, but this ain't the time for that. The USSR's just been beat and we've carved out a bit of stability in the world. The world can't afford more trouble, you got it?"" ""With all due respect Special Detective, this ain't a custom. The world can't afford for you to bother the Baker Boy."" --- Sheriff Johnson nibbled on his thumbnail. After hours of arguing, the Special Detective prick just pulled rank out of his ass and now, the youngest Baker Boy was sitting with them in the interrogation room with cuffs on his wrists. ""Tell me about yourself,"" Special Detective Aaron said and flipped up a page, ""Skip."" Skip managed a strained smile as he stared at his hands. ""Well, I like fishing, sir. I go out to the lake by Concord and usually just throw my line in. I'll be there sun up to sun down. Big brother joins me sometimes, even sneaks me a beer once or twice."" ""Boy, look at me when I'm talking to you."" Skip darted his eyes before returning them to his hands. ""Sorry, sir. I ain't much good with that. Dad says I should just try my best but if I can't, ain't nothing wrong with it."" ""Now that's alright,"" Tom interjected. ""Just do whatever's comfortable for you. You don't gotta--"" ""Boy,"" Aaron interrupted. ""I'm an officer of the law. Look at me when you speak."" The Baker Boy did so with quivering lips and misty eyes. ""Sorry, sir."" Aaron smiled and leaned back into his chair. He closed the case file in front of him. ""Says here you got some kind of disease."" Skip nodded, blinking rapidly. ""Mom calls it autism. Says I got a little bit extra and it's messing up everything else, but that I ain't less because of it."" ""Well you're certainly less intelligent, ain't that right?"" Skip fidgeted in his seat. Still staring. Still blinking. ""Intelligence don't just mean book smart like big bro. Little sis says."" ""Intelligence is IQ. It's measurable. It's a number. And yours is quite low."" ""Now hold up, Special Detective,"" Tom said. ""I don't think--"" But Tom could see it in Aaron's eyes. The Special Detective smelled blood. Aaron slammed his palms against the table, causing Skip to jump in his chair. ""Listen you little shit,"" Aaron said. ""I don't care what kind of disease you got. This is a matter of national security. You're gonna tell me exactly what mommy, daddy, big brother and little sister do all day. You got it?"" Skip's entire body shook, like he was a volcano about to burst. Then it happened. The tears erupted from his eyes and he began wailing. ""Cry all you want,"" Aaron said. ""Your family ain't here to save you now."" --- ""You shouldn't have done that,"" Sheriff Johnson said for the fifth time as he paced back and forth. ""Even gave the kid a phone call. You know he'll call his family right?"" ""That's what I want. If we can't find them, we bring them to us."" The sheriff shook his head. ""You really shouldn't have done that."" Sixth time. ""Look Sheriff, I don't need to be told how to do my job. I know damn well how to. It tough but its national security. We gotta shake the kid down a little. Calm down. What are you pacing for? It's like you're waiting for hell to open up."" Sheriff Johnson stopped and looked over. ""That's exactly right."" Aaron shook his head. No wonder the Baker family got free reign around here. None of these hillbillies had the spine it takes to protect and serve. ""Special Detective?"" the secretary asked. ""We got someone on the phone for you."" Aaron smiled. The fish had taken the bait. Soon, the Baker family would be behind bars and left to rot. He walked over and took the phone from the secretary. ""Hello Bakers, ready to fess up yet? I'm holding your youngest boy in interrogation, next up's jail and they won't treat him as kindly as we have."" ""Special Detective Wichmeister,"" the voice came baritone. Aaron recognized it. ""Section Commander Rogers. Excuse me."" ""We gave you one rule,"" Rogers spat. ""One fucking rule. You do not touch the Baker Boy."" ""With all due respect sir. This was the only way to find our perps."" Roger exhaled sharply. ""We got three nukes pointed at Moscow right now, armed and ready without any presidential order. We can't contact anyone in the facility, they're all assumed KIA. And our communication grid's down so we can barely do an organized response. Moscow's gotten wind of this through some sort of strange intelligence organization and the whole world's sitting on the edge of a knife. And you know what the Baker's asked? They want you, Aaron. One man versus nuclear apocalypse."" Aaron's face drained of blood. ""But sir, we can't bend to the will of these terrorists."" ""You shouldn't have touched the Baker Boy."" --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!",1351
 Kyle Mason touched down on Cortar,"Kyle Mason touched down on Cortar-5. The locals ran towards his ship as he did so. They were green, which Kyle found kind of funny. *All that talk of little green men, and when we finally meet green men they're ten feet tall.* One of them, its clothes more ornate then the others, and Kyle found himself wishing he'd learned how to tell the seven Cortaran genders apart. ""You are him, yes? The human?"" Kyle nodded, craning his neck up at the speaker. ""Kyle Mason. And you are?"" ""I am Svlanitak, and we thank you, human. It's in the village."" It wrung its hands, and Kyle touched his fingers to his forehead - at least he remembered the standard gesture of reassurance he'd read in the briefing. ""I do. C'mon Sammy."" The Cortarans gasped as Sammy loped out. A new breed, Sammy was a Martian Malamute - the endurance of a Husky, the nose of a Bloodhound, and the size of an old Earth Alaskan Malamute. It barked happily, and several Cortarans recoiled in terror. ""Easy there, boy."" Sammy plodded over to let Kyle scratch under his chin, before turning back to Svlanitak. ""You have a sample?"" Svalnitak held up a scrap of flesh timidly, clearly fighting the urge to recoil as Sammy drew close. The hound sniffed it, turned in a circle slowly, sniffing the air, and then stopped, staring towards the sun - which was West, if Kyle remembered right. ""He's got the scent. Don't worry - we'll take care of this."" Svlanitak flexed his shoulders, and Kyle had no idea what the gesture meant. ""Do you need anything?"" ""Just stay out of our way. Go, Sammy!"" The hound ran off, and Kyle followed. --- The village was abandoned, and Sammy was following a trail that wove in and out of houses. Kyle kept himself on high alert. There were a couple Cortaran bodies strewn about - the prey was one mean mother. Not that it should surprise Kyle. They wouldn't have called a human if it wasn't vicious. Kyle found some footprints. They were huge and clawed, looking like something you might find on an Earth bird of prey - but much larger, and with suction cups on the bottom. He whistled quietly, and Sammy came over, sniffing the footprint. Before Kyle could wait too long, Sammy was suddenly staring over his shoulder, growling. Kyle turned around slowly, his hands up. It looked kind of like a creature out of old Earth mythology. He pushed his brain for a second - that's right, a gryphon. Only instead of wings it had long tentacles, and instead of eyes it just had a single, segmented globe. Like a fly, only huge and horrible. ""Easy there, big fella."" Kyle held out his hands, and the creature reared up, screeching. Sammy gave a warning bark as it did. ""Whoa, there, whoa. No need for that."" Slowly, moving carefully, Kyle reached into his pouch and tossed the creature a chunk of meat. It sniffed it, curiously, and then carefully took a bite. ""There, now, you like that, right? Doing good?"" It made the sound a tea kettle would make if it could purr, and Kyle took a step closer, keeping his ears open for Sammy. Sammy's job was to make sure to warn Kyle if the thing - it needed a name, and Kyle decided to call it Griff - turned hostile. He kept up the slow, gentle speech as he did so. ""There now, see? I ain't gonna hurt you, I got more good food here."" He reached out and offered it another chunk, this one from his hand. Griff leaned in and took a bite, and Kyle reached up to scratch behind its ears. Most life on Earth had evolved to be immune to human's charms, besides the ones they had domesticated. Large predators didn't react to the calming effect humans had, and prey animals had learned that humans were dangerous. Griff here, however? Had never encountered a human before. It had all come together when they'd first made alien contact. History was full of things like the dodos, native Earth animals finally encountering humans and being completely docile around them. It had been assumed that domesticated animals were the strange ones, and that those docile creatures just didn't know better, but the truth was, they hadn't adapted. Animals around humans felt peaceful, almost submissive. The effect didn't carry over to higher life forms. Sentient species didn't feel that draw to humanity, unfortunately. But things like Griff... Well, it only took Kyle an hour of feeding and petting before it was happily rolled over on its back, making that teakettle purr while he stroked its belly and Sammy licked its face. ""Alright, Griff, you're my newest friend. Sammy, go ahead to the villagers, we'll catch up."" He took a picture of himself petting Griff's belly, attached it to Sammy's collar, and sent the hound running ahead. --- Griff was large enough to ride, so when they approached the Cortarans Kyle was on its back. Several screamed and held up their hands, but when Griff tensed Kyle just gave him a good, firm ""No."" It looked back at him through its segmented eye, then sighed and lay down so he could get off. ""Okay, that'll be 200 credits for a safe recovery, and another 100 for fuel costs."" Svlanitak eyed Griff carefully. ""This beast killed some of our kin. We will put it down."" Sammy started growling as Kyle tensed up. ""You know the rules, Svlanitak. You call in a human, it leaves alive with me."" Svlantik's eyes were cold. ""And you are outnumbered. This beast must pay for what it did."" Sammy let out a bark. The Cortaran's turned to him, but Kyle spoke. ""You might want to rethink that."" From his ship came other creatures. A two legged beast covered in scale that was basically a mouth on legs. A cute, wide eyed creature covered in fur - but with a scorpion's deadly tail. A legless creature that slithered like a snake, but had massive mandibles. And more. ""Griff's coming with me, and if you try to hurt me...my friends go wild. Oh, and I'm tacking on another 100 for trying to threaten me."" The Cortaran's looked back and forth, but knew they were outgunned. Svlantik handed over the credits. ""You humans...these animals don't deserve your protection."" Kyle shrugged. ""Maybe. But your word for us also means ""Beast-Friend"" for a reason. C'mon Sammy, let's get the menagerie back in line and get off this world. Griff! Follow."" And they headed back into the ship. After everyone was safely secured, Kyle headed to the cockpit where his cat, Mittens, was scratching on a console. ""C'mon, you little fuzzball. We're going into hyperspace, need you safe."" Cats seemed to only somewhat respond to human's aura. He gave the console a few more good swipes before allowing himself to be picked up and placed in his crate, yowling the entire time. *It's damn ironic* Kyle thought. Humanity had wiped out most of their own native species, and back home had basically been an ecological disaster with legs. Out here, though... It was too late for Earth, but at least they were getting a shot at redemption. --- More at /r/Hydrael_Writes",1218
" ""Cabdon, report""","2:00:55 955:36:08 ""Cabdon, report."" My boss was on the other end of my communication link, one of the multitude of otherworldly life forms that my grandfather only dreamed of meeting when we began our earnest search for interstellar life. The being in question was, in our communal speech, called Griemel Varann and by all personal accounts was one of the more normal looking OWLFs that I had met. It was amazing how similarly we had all evolved. The only major difference between and of Griemel's race and ours as humans was that her world had a higher volume of natural gases in the air and had made them all a good foot and a half taller on average. There were still very, and you'll forgive me for using this outdated and borderline offensive word, but...*alien* looking beings but it mostly came down to whatever kind of creature had dominance over the world: there were a few where more insectoid creatures had been the evolving species, but there were a several worlds where the majority of the planet facilitated underwater life that were all different. And each brought something to the Galactic Mind, which is what became the universal name for the coalition of advanced species and the ethical government body that oversaw them. One of the aquatic planet's OWLF was the one to perfect faster than light travel, while several of the insectoid planets had already gone through periods of interplanetary war and peace and had perfected compacted single pilot crafts. Commander Varann's species were the ones to diplomatically bring the several hundred planet strong organization to one spot. Even Earth had its own unique gifts. Of course Earth had no larger part to play in the formation of the Galactic Mind; we only mastered interplanetary travel (and even then, just barely setting up biodomes on the Moon) when we were approached by Galactic Mind emissaries. It wasn't as cheesy or dramatic as old invasion movies would have had us believe: a small squad of very humanoid looking beings contacted us through satellite and greeted the leaders of the world and asked for permission to land and speak in a summit. There was a lot of to-do from what the history books say, especially since because of a small translation error the OWLFs had accidentally said that while joining the Mind was optional, continued habitation on the planet was not. Apparently there had been a threat of all-out war against them, which our history books love to joke that it was the first and only time the entire world was unified, but the correction was issued, and within months we had received the means to travel to the Galactic Mind homebase with our own technology. The Human Gift, though. That's what it's come to be called. The original OWLFs had seen it on our planet but it hadn't clicked until we were living in relative connection: no other species had anything like a pet. Plenty of species used animals as means for living, but none of them had cracked the idea of animal companionship. They watched old videos of little girls that had grown up alongside wolves, or women who had rescued lions and were accepting their affections, or bald monks walking alongside tigers in the same way as an old man walked with his dog. Our species rescued and rehabilitated elephants, rhinoceros, whales, sharks; we'd cleaned and saved birds, canines, felines, rodents...it seemed to them that every animal on our planet had been touched and respected by our species and it was hard to deny with our evidence. Over the generations we shared this gift with the other species, but it never seemed like any of them could quite get their foot in the door to make it possible on their own. A dog was fine for one of the wide and hairy species from frigid planets but even if we could domesticate an animal from their world, they could only have the joy of companionship after we had stepped in. Humankind seemed innately unique and powerful in that we were the only ones to make a connection with creatures. Which brings me back to now. Six of us, Varann, four other field researchers and biologists, and I, were doing some field work on an planet that had just entered into the Galactic Mind. Exploring a new world is a very routine thing at this point. We use our databases to compare plant and animal life, test toxicity, and find out how habitable the planet is to other OWLFs. While exploring and cataloging our findings, we received a call from one of the other sites asking for assistance. It didn't sound urgent or dangerous, so we made our way back to our transport and got over to them as soon as we could. They had relocated to the mouth of a cave and were waving us down excitedly--they had found a new species of animal and wanted me to determine its worth as a domesticated beast. It was more than exciting for all of us, since it seemed like every single world had some kind of pack mentality animal that with ultimately very little, in a cosmic way, time was able to successfully integrate with the rest of the domesticated animals. This is my field specialty, in no small part because most OWLFs see us as mystic animal masters and it was easy to get a job in the field. I never once wondered if my field had a high turnover rate, because as I was led in to the cave and left to look for the massive, stony, fire-breathing ursine on my own I suddenly had a suspicion that they might put a lot of faith into a small trait we have. A small trait that is not balanced by our still frail and soft bodies. God help me. 2:23:05 955:36:08 I don't know what we're going to do with these, but they're fun as hell to ride. <EDIT> Thanks to FlyingWeagle for helping to clarify some sentences.",1010
 Derrick and his friends were there to,"Derrick laughed towards his friends. They kept saying that the lottery had never been so high before. If you had never gotten a ticket, now was the time to try. ""It's all just a trap."" Derrick remarked. He was sure that the lottery was a scheme to make certain people or even businesses revenue. It was not luck like everyone thought it was. This is why Derrick would never buy a ticket. ""Come on then!"" Blake, one of Derrick's friends, pressured. ""Buy yourself a ticket already!"" ""I didn't come here to waste money. I just want a case of beer."" ""Don't be such a downer."" Katlyn chimed in. Derrick and his friends were there to buy beer for the party that night. It was the start of a new semester in college and they wanted to start it off right. ""No way."" Derrick laughed. He was not giving in on buying the stupid ticket in a fixed game. A much older gentleman in glasses chuckled behind the group. Derrick slightly turned when the older gentleman put his hand on his shoulder. ""Ah come on lad, have some fun."" The gentleman laughed. He told the cashier to get a ticket for him. The man however, did not purchase a random ticket. He wrote down the numbers he wanted and the cashier smiled while processing it. ""Sir there's no need to waste your money."" Derrick assured. ""Nonsense! It is no waste at all!"" The gentleman turned around handing Derrick the ticket. Derrick just rolled his eyes. ""Thank you,"" he replied. The gentleman whistled while exiting the store. Derrick and his friends just laughed. ""I'll see you guys at the party."" Derrick waved to everyone. He was going home to get ready. *** An hour went by when Derrick put his ticket by his computer. *I can't believe people waste their money on such a thing,* he thought. He needed to get ready. He wanted to make a lot of friends this semester after being stuck in too many classes the last. *I should just see.* He opened his internet browser. He looked up the lottery numbers that were posted that evening. It was remarkable he was even checking the numbers instead of just throwing away the ticket. It seemed curiosity took over in this moment. Derrick waited a few seconds locking his eyes onto the screen. He had to have been seeing it wrong. He looked at the ticket and the screen over and over trying to check for an error, but there was none. The winning numbers matched his ticket perfectly. ""Blake!"" Derrick quickly picked up his phone. ""Dude, where are you the party is about to -"" ""Blake, listen to me. I was wrong. The ticket - The ticket the old guy from the store gave me won! I won Blake! I won the lottery!"" Derrick couldn't believe it himself. He was still looking at the numbers trying to see if it was just his mind playing tricks. He thought it was all a fixed scheme, but the winning ticket was in his hands. ""Blake? Did you hear me?"" The phone made a screeching sound and then a couple of dial clicks - then it just hung up. Derrick held his phone out from his ear in confusion. *I guess it was just a dropped call,* he thought. He was still locked on the computer monitor. He was very wrong. Those tones he heard before the call ended were not coincidence. Derrick is about to learn what the lottery really is. It was a trap after-all, but not for money. ""Derrick? Derrick!"" His mother screamed from downstairs. Yes, he lived with his mother. It was all a plan to save money while in college. This probably further explains why he never wanted to waste a dollar on a ridiculous ticket for a supposedly 'fixed' game. Dark vehicles swarmed the house. Derrick was horrified. He could hear the screeching of tires from the inside. Derrick feared the worse. *They must be here to steal the ticket. How did they know so fast?* He pondered. Maybe someone was listening in on the call, or maybe hacked his computer. Regardless, whoever it was, they now surrounded the house. ""Oh heavens! No!"" Derrick's mother screamed. The front door was broken down. A tall man dressed in a grey suit walked into the foyer. This man was known as Mr. Finley. Men stood armed behind him. Derrick could see the scene from inside his bedroom overlooking the stairs down onto the foyer. He quickly hid his ticket where no one would look, under his mattress. ""Grab the boy now!"" Mr. Finley ordered. One of them constrained Derrick's mother while others proceeded upstairs. ""He's here sir!"" One of the men pointed their weapons towards Derrick. ""Oh okay. Let's just all take it easy."" Derrick lifted his hands surrendering. The armed men grabbed Derrick, escorting him out into the front yard towards the vehicles. ""What are you doing with my mother?!"" Derrick fought against the men holding him. He could see other men dragging his mother into one of the other vehicles. Derrick was thrown into the backseat of the front vehicle. Mr. Finley got into the same vehicle as Derrick. ""Listen to me carefully son and you won't get hurt."" Mr. Finley turned around to calm Derrick. ""What did you do with my mother? Where are you taking us?"" Derrick pressed as his hands were being tied together by a strong wired band. Mr. Finley lifted the ticket in his hands. *Damn,* Derrick thought. He was sure that had been a good hiding place. ""Did this man give you this ticket?"" Mr. Finley held a photo up to Derrick. The man in the photo was exactly the same man from the store. It was the same man who purchased the ticket for Derrick. ""Yes."" Derrick nodded. Mr. Finley smiled as he made a call from his phone. ""Yes."" Mr. Finely began over the phone. Derrick leaned in trying to listen in on the conversation. The vehicles started moving. Derrick was now squeezed in the middle between two of the armed men. ""Yes."" Mr. Finley repeated over the phone. ""We have the boy, Finally. Yes. This time we got him before making the jump."" Derrick didn't understand. He tried to figure out what Mr. Finely could have been talking about. Whatever it was, Derrick was not making it to the party. ""What is this all about?"" Derrick grew impatient. His heart sank when he heard Mr. Finley's next words over the phone. ""No, we have captured the boy before he could time travel this time. There's no need to worry about him. However, his older version bought him the ticket and is still at large. We are returning with his younger-self right now."" *** To read more of my stories, visit [here] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)",1146
 Angela Graham was 13 when she first,"Angela Graham was thirteen when she first saw Death himself. It was a bombing. A half dozen were killed instantly or near instantly, and twenty more wounded, including her. As she lay there, bleeding amidst the wreckage, she saw him. Tall and lank, black robes, black cloak, and a black hood obscuring his build and features. He wore a skull mask, but in the sockets she saw the twinkling of clear, dark, human eyes. Long white fingers, bony, but not without skin, gripped the curved wooden shaft of a scythe. A single sweep of it parted the souls from the six dead, and he gathered up the glowing energy like so much cut grass. He moved about his work with gentle grace. He was beautiful. For a brief moment, her eyes met his. He bowed his head, and went about his work, as though nothing had happened. Anyone else would have thought the encounter a hallucination, brought on by trauma and blood loss. But she didn't. She recovered, and carried that memory with her. -------------------- A year later, the two met again. Angie had crushed a large spider she had found in her room. The act was willful, cold. She didn't know if it was poisonous, but if it was, leaving it be was a risk, and trying to catch it a bigger one. She took no chances. From behind her, a smooth voice spoke. ""You know,"" it said slowly, ""you were supposed to die that night."" A bony arm in a black sleeve reached over her to pluck the spider's soul from the ground like a flower. She turned around and met his eyes again. ""Why did you spare me, then?"" she asked. ""You saw me,"" he replied. ""Most cannot. You can see the things that other are unable or unwilling to, and that gives you power. I thought to myself, I would let you live. There would be no harm in it."" ""You're a good person,"" she said, clasping his hands. ""Thank you."" He clasped back, and said, ""I appreciate the sentiment, but mine is thankless work, and I must be getting back to it. There are people in pain who need release from their broken mortal shells. I must tend to them."" He stood, and strode to the doorway. ""Will I see you again?"" she asked, as he left. The hood tilted forward, then back again. ""In good time. All must meet me sooner or later. Be patient, child. I will be waiting for you. Do not waste my gift of life. I do not offer second chances often."" Angie moved to follow, but when she ducked out her bedroom door, he was already gone. -------- Angie stood in her back yard, in a pathway of pebbles. She picked them up, one at a time, running her fingers over them and tossing them experimentally upwards. Finally, she found a smooth, elliptical one that satisfied her. Her eyes darted around, scanning the trees, settling on a squirrel at the base of one. The two stared at each other, neither daring to move. Then Angie flicked the pebble at it. It hit its mark, stunning the small creature. She ran over it, not taking time to rise fully and instead clambering forward with her arms for support. She reached the squirrel just as it stirred, grabbed it by the body, and twisted its head a full 180 degrees. And she kept twisting. He rested a thin, pale hand on hers, and she stopped, looking abruptly into his eyes again. He did not look back. His eyes instead focused on the cooling corpse she held. ""Such small things,"" he said, ""tend to mind their own business. It is a pity to cut a short life shorter. I'd ask why, but I know."" ""I wanted to see you again,"" she said, ignoring his speech. ""I'd give anything."" ""Then why not your own life, instead of this one,"" he said, and his words were harsh and cold as ice. Angie flinched, and she looked away, before whispering, ""You told me not to waste my life."" ""All lives are precious,"" he began, ""and I ought to know. After all, I am the one who must see every life end. Do not continue this method of summoning me. If nothing else, for my sake. I so hate my work."" Then he took the squirrel's soul, and was gone. Angie looked down at the dead rodent, tore its head off, and left it to rot. ------- Angie was 16 when she killed again. This time it was a human. She didn't know who it was, didn't care. All she knew was that she loved death, and wanted desperately to see him again. This time, however, he was not gentle with her. He pushed her aside with his hand, and hard. Then he tended to the one she had killed. ""He was a painter,"" he said, ""not the best, but he had passion, and some skill. He was working on a new one, as a present for his younger sister, but he ran out of paint. So, he ran out to get more. But you got to him first. Now that painting will remain unfinished, and his sister will be alone."" He reached for the young man's hand, and hauled a spectre to its feet. ""Come along,"" he said to the ghostly outline, ""I ought to let you see her one last time, even if she cannot see you."" And the two walked away, hand in hand, past Angie, ignoring her. ----------------- Angie peered around from behind the wall, watching the still body as though it would come to life. She was waiting for him again, to confront him. He had ignored her for the past several kills. He came, as he always did, and set to claiming the soul. ""I know you're there,"" he said, as he looked over the latest victim, ""I'd recognize your cruel knifework anywhere. Come out. I must speak to you."" She stepped out into the light, wearing a flowing black dress and long, white gloves, both unusually clean for the amount of blood she had spilled. ""I've missed you,"" she said, ""and our talks."" ""I said I wanted to speak to you, not with you. Be silent,"" he shot back, never looking up. She pouted even though she knew he wasn't watching. ""I told you not to waste your life. Now you have thrown it away, become a criminal. Murderer. You could see past the veil. With that power, you could have done much good. Helped people gain closure. Warned people of danger. Instead you chose this life."" ""You spared me,"" she began. ""No, you saved me! I should have died. I love you."" ""I did no such thing,"" he spat, ""In the confusion I must have overlooked you. It was a mistake. In more ways than one now, I see."" ""But you looked at me, looked into my eyes,"" she protested, ""You nodded to me."" ""Blood loss and trauma make people see things that were not. Now, if you have any respect, or love for me, you will stop this madness. Now, I take my leave."" He vanished, taking the soul he had come to claim with him. ----------------------- Angie, burned and bleeding, lay there, much as she had when she first met him. She had always known she would slip up one day, and today had been it. Murder, then arson to cover her tracks. That had been the plan. But someone had escaped the building, and called the police and fire departments. She, meanwhile, had gotten delayed, and by the time she extricated herself from the rubble, they were waiting. She was already burned and bruised. The smart thing to do would have been to go quietly. But she didn't. Maybe, she had thought, if I die here, we can finally be together. So she charged at them, knife raised, and they opened fire. Now she could only watch as the ambulance dragged away the one who had called for help, and Death was not coming for him. Not yet, at least. Then, a black spot emerged from the flames and illuminated smoke, and he strode from the building, carrying a bundle of souls, and supporting a young woman who had slung an arm over his thin shoulder. He let her fall on the grass, and the EMTs came for her. Meanwhile, he came for Angie. ""Is it my time?"" she gasped. ""No,"" he said. ""I am taking no more souls tonight. She,"" he pointed at the girl the medics were tending to, ""will live. The man who called for help will live. The firefighters will live. Anyone who was not already dead or too mangled to save when I entered the building will live. And you will live."" ""Please,"" she choked out, ""take me. Take me with you."" ""I will not. I told you once before, I do not give second chances often. You will live. The courts will convict you. You will be sentenced to life in prison. Which, for you, will be a very, very long time. You will not be able to kill again. You will not see me again. I will not come for you, now or ever. When old age takes you, you will be left as a soul trapped in a dead, lifeless shell. And you will never know peace."" She screamed, and drew her spare knife before plunging it through her own heart. She let out a gurgling breath as blood that should have circulated through her lungs began to fill them. ""You will recover,"" he said. ""You are only making this harder on yourself. You know, with your eyes, you could have helped many, instead of harmed them. Saved them, instead of killed them. You could have passed my gift of life on. But you didn't. And I."" he paused, and inched closer. ""Hate."" Closer still. ""You."" he whispered into her ear. And then he was gone. She never saw him again. ------------------ EDIT: Thanks for the gold, kind stranger! Never been gilded before, let alone on one of my stories. This made my evening.",1697
 Kids bullied Angie because of her,"The kids bullied my daughter because of me. This I already knew. I was the reason Angie came home with timid steps and snuck off to her room without saying hi. I made a fist as the soft patter of her footsteps disappeared down the hall. Kids were cruel and life even crueler. Angie had done nothing to deserve a father like me. I had been born completely blind and with my balding head, my pendulum cane, and sunglasses worn even at night, I made for quite the spectacle--one that Angie paid for everyday in her middle-school classroom. ""What's wrong with your dad?"" they would ask her. ""Why does he walk so funny?"" ""There's nothing wrong with him!"" she would snap back and in her frustration, they found weakness. ""*My* dad doesn't need a cane to walk. *My* dad doesn't wear sunglasses at night. *My* dad isn't blind!"" My phone buzzed in rapid secession three times. It was time for work. I pushed myself out of my seat and grabbed my cane. I paused as I passed Angie's room. ""Hey, honey,"" I tried. ""I'm going off to work now, everything okay today at school?"" No response. I couldn't even hear the sound of her breaths. She didn't want to talk. I offered her a smile which she wouldn't be able to see, but I hoped it sounded through my words. ""I love you Ange, I'll see you in the morning. Sleep tight."" And then I left. A dad who not only got her daughter bullied in school, but ran off to work when her daughter needed him the most. But who else would pay the bills? And was that really a good enough excuse to abandon my little girl? Tears welled up in my useless eyes as I started my cane in its rhythmic pendulum swing. --- I worked security at a small law firm. People would think that being at the front desk would require some sort of sight, but I recognized every voice that came into the building and I could hear people's lies through the tremble of their breaths. The other lawyers joked that I was like a drug dog for lies. ""Hey,"" Aaron said, his footsteps approaching. ""You get one of these yet?"" I glanced up at his voice. ""Let me see."" He let out a small chuckle and held it toward me. I grabbed it and realized that it was a mug. I felt around its smooth edges and frowned. ""A mug? I already have one,"" I said. ""No, that's a *World's Greatest Dad* mug. It shows your ranking in terms of being a good dad."" I felt the edge again. Still nothing. ""Hey, congrats on being the world's greatest dad."" ""What?"" Aaron's voice inflected up. He was on the verge of laughing again. ""Me? The best? Yeah right. I was lucky to be in the top 50% which isn't that hard considering that some dads are in jail."" I gave Aaron a smile. ""Congrats on above-average then."" ""Thanks. Let me see if I can get you one, you got yourself a little girl, don't you?"" I nodded. ""Thanks,"" I said, but Aaron wasn't the giving type. He was the competitive type and I knew all he wanted was to see someone ranked lower than himself. So let's compare the blind dad to every other dad in the world. I'd be lucky to hit average. --- The mug was coming in the mail. An extended holiday weekend meant I had five days before it got here and in that time, I had to hit number one. If people were making fun of Angie because of her dad, then I'd just have to prove that her dad was the best. My phone buzzed again, this time twice. It was time to go home. In three hours, Angie would wake up for school and I had to be ready by then. --- ""Dad? You're still awake?"" Angie asked and yawned. ""Yeah, got home early from work so I slept earlier."" I said, which of course, was a lie. I hadn't slept at all. ""Take a seat, breakfast is almost ready."" I listened for the sizzle and pop of the bacon. It was getting close. ""What is this? Are we celebrating something?"" I always woke up for breakfast with Angie but that was usually a time for toast and conversation. Now I had diced fruit, fluffy pancakes, and an assortment of toast and jelly options splayed out on the table. ""Nothing in particular,"" I told her. ""Hey, after school, why don't we go that new amusement park that opened up? You've been wanting to go haven't you?"" ""Yeah,"" Angie said, caution in her voice. ""But last I checked, we're still poor."" I shrugged. ""I found the money. I'll pick you up after school and we can walk to a bus stop together."" ""Okay, dad."" Though she was still wary, no nine-year old girl would pass up a day at the amusement park. I nodded. ""It's a date."" and I could feel her rolling her eyes. She was right though, we *were* still poor. But all that meant was I had to start working the mornings as well as the nights. I could find an hour and two in between to sleep and the rest of the time would be either on the clock or with Angie. There were zoos to see, aquariums to wander, clothes to buy, and through it all, I had to make sure that Angie was having the time of her life. I took a small breath and turned off the stove. ""Bacon's ready. Dig in."" --- --- Angie held the mug in her lap. It was wrapped in cheap paper. Her dad sat on the couch, watching her, listening for her breaths. The past five days had been strange to say the least. Every day was a new adventure. The first day was at an amusement park where her dad had even let her buy Dipping Dots. She had bought an extra-large serving. The second day was at the zoo where her dad had bought whatever animal feed she had asked for. So she had fed half the animals in the petting zoo. On the third day, he had offered for her to swim with the dolphins. She wanted to, but told him no. Money didn't grow from trees and even if it did, she was too short and him too blind to reach it. That day, he had fallen asleep on the bus, mid-conversation. And in his sleep, his breaths had become labored and his smile dropped. It took so much tugging to wake him up that they almost missed their stop. She had been having the time of her life, but it didn't seem the same with her dad. And though he sled and exclaimed and laughed, she could hear it in the wilt of his words and the small strained breaths he took when he didn't think she was in earshot. After all, she was almost as good a lie detector as he. And he was beyond tired. ""What's it say?"" he asked her. ""Is it a good number?"" Angie swallowed and unwrapped the mug. She had a suspicion what this was about. Her dad always blamed himself for the bullying. He had always thought if only he weren't blind, everything would be okay and sometimes, even Angie believed that. But it wasn't true. Her dad wasn't the reason kids were mean. The ceramic felt cool to touch. She looked at the words. Her eyes widened and a swell of air caught in her throat. ""Dad,"" she nearly whispered. ""You made number one!"" Her father let loose a single exhausted breath. ""Good,"" he muttered. ""Now the other kids won't be able to make fun of you anymore."" His words waned and his eyes closed as he slowly drifted to sleep. Angie held the mug in her hand, rubbing her thumb along its surface. It was completely smooth. She ran off and found a permanent marker and crossed out the *10233*. In its place she wrote *1*. --- --- /r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!",1369
" You remember Sileman, the","Worthless, that was what you told me. Stupid and worthless, a waste of potential and a disappointment. Such cruel words for someone as young as I. For I was but a nine-year-old child whose mind was still fresh with delusions of heroism and dreams of following in the footsteps of my parents. You remember Sileman? The woman that could phase through anything? Solid objects, immaterial objects, didn't matter what it was, she'd slip through it effortlessly and harmlessly. Heck, she could even turn herself invisible at will by slipping through the light spectrum just so. Yes, my mother. And my father, if you can call him as such. That monster of a blunt object, a man with the intelligence of the average earthworm. Stone the Rockman he called himself (an idiotic name to be certain, but then most of you heroes aren't known for your creativity). He could make his flesh turn into some kind of weird super-dense material that science is still trying to figure out what it was made of. When he first met my mother, it had been when you - Fyrefrost - had holed up in the National Bank near downtown about ninteeen years ago- oh but you remember, don't you? What should have been a run-of-the-mill bank heist gone horribly wrong that led to the death of 3 heroes and 2 villains. My mother would have made hero number four if not for the bumbling antics of my father rushing in to save the day. ""I don't really *cough* give a damn about your *wheeze* life story..."" Oh, but you do - you played such a critical role that I think a lesson in emotional damage is exactly what you should - as you put it - 'give a damn about'. Oh, careful, that wire you're holding onto isn't nearly as strong now that it's frayed at this end, and one little bump might just send this entire scaffold plummeting to the concrete death below. While I'm sure you would survive, I can't imagine you can vouch for all those little kiddies at the other end. ""Don't hurt them! *grunt* Just.. let them go.."" Rude! One more interruption like that and my fingers might just slip! Oh, but as I was saying... yes, my father managed to rescue my mother just as you lost control of your powers and went critical, detonating the bank and the two buildings next door. You, who should have died on the spot, if not for that altruistic neanderthal protecting your naked form. You, who should have slipped into a coma to never come back had my mother not phased into your brain, guided by the directions of the hospital's neurosurgeon. It was under their watchful eye that you were given a new chance, a new lease on life. Yet instead of making the most of it, you squandered that precious gift. You wasted it, on taunting and teasing the one thing that mattered most to them - me. From the moment I was born, you resented what I represented - a perfect union of superpowers that was destined for greatness. And so you mocked me. You turned everyone against me, you convinced my parents that my power was so worthless that I should be examined by 'experts of mental retardation' to explore if there was any way I might lead a more than average life. You betrayed my trust, you destroyed my belief in everything I had held dear. ""We were.. trying to help... ugh... blood loss.. dizzy..."" Help me? You stole my future from me! You told me that everything I'd ever dreamed of, everything I'd ever wanted, was a lie! Your revisionist history on what you think to be true blinds your thoughts even now! Even now, at death's door, bleeding out from a mortal wound that -I- inflicted on you! ME! That same worthless trash you said would never amount to anything, now taking from you everything you took from me - LIFE ITSELF! ""D-damn it... you... are better than.. this..."" Do you feel my foot on your waistline? Do you feel the weight of my anguish crushing your security belt, destroying those precious electronic gizmos that always kept your powers in check should they ever run amok again? Can you hear the sound of those children screaming even as I shift my weight just a little bit more to tip them closer to their doom? And yet here you lay - pitiful, worthless, helpless. If I were a betting man, I'd guess you have about one minute of consciousness left. I can only imagine what your powers will do unchecked after that. ""It doesn't have to be like this... still time... change... good..."" No, my dear sister, your time is up. This little chat has been highly therapeutic. Perhaps in the next life you will think twice before rushing in to save people you have no business saving. But there is no heaven for you. Feel free to enjoy the screams of anguish from all those families you just destroyed, parents cursing your name for failing to do the one thing you should have done from the start. The one thing that might have changed your history, and mine. For failing to save the one person in this world that needed saving more than anyone else. But it's too late now. ""No! You can't--"" But I already have. Goodbye, sister. ---- ""A terrible tragedy at City Square tonight. A field trip that ended in a nightmare for the families involved. Twenty-seven children and one female adult died today during their visit to the newly-constructed Skyway Tower when an explosion destroyed the observation deck sending it hurtling to the pavement below. Police have identified one of the adult female bodies as the hero Fyrefrost. One student's phone captured this video moments before."" Sileman gritted her teeth angrily as the council sat in silence, watching the report on the massively oversized screen. There was no mistaking the familiar fiery red hair of her daughter as she faced off against a strange man in a brown trenchcoat and a brown fedora, wearing dark sunglasses. The video shook for a moment as it flipped to the student's face giving a thumbs-up to the camera before shakily flipping back to the scene. The young girl's voice cheerfully called out to the camera. ""Check this out, mom! It's that hero, Fyrefrost, about to take out a bad guy!"" ""I don't know what your problem is pal, but I'm not going to let you get anywhere near those kids!"" Fyrefrost's voice was full of controlled rage as the video seemed to cut out right at the end of her declaration. With a loud buzz the camera flipped on, now staring just behind a pair of leather boots at the prone Fyrefrost, impaled on a large metal rod that was sticking straight up through her chest and out her back. She was clutching her side as blood poured out from under her leaving her in a growing pool of blood. The sound of delightful laughter from somewhere above those feet chilled Sileman to the bone, even as the tears sprung to her eyes. ""Ah, ah! I would say watch that first step, Fyrefrost, but it seems you're just as clumsy as ever. I wonder what mother and father would say if they could see us now. Oh, but they will see us soon--"" ""Shut it off. That's enough."" Stone growled angrily, fists trembling visibly as he barely held on. ""That's more than enough."" ""How...? How could this-?"" Sileman's voice choked off as she broke down into sobs. One of the newer heroes with a gold star on his chest tried to reach out to her but Stone slapped his hand away angrily. ""It would seem,"" stated the light-haired man that sat at the head of the table, wearing a white body suit with a pair of lightning bolts perched at his temples, ""that your son's power isn't so useless after all."" ""Declare it. Declare it now, and be done with it, Lightstar."" Stone's voice was colder than it had ever been. ""The Tripper, master of invisible rocks, is hereby declared a G1 Villain. A true menace that must be dealt with swiftly."" Lightstar folded his arms over his chest. G1 Villains were rare, the worst of the worst - a designation reserved for only those who had proven themselves beyond dangerous and had killed a hero in action. The group of heroes bowed their head in silence as Sileman's cries rose into terrorized screams that made them all feel very ill. Stone rose to his feet and quietly made his way out to the opposite end of the large meeting hall. Somewhere, the Tripper laughed maniacally as the gears of his ultimate plan began to turn. ---- Edit: Woah, this exploded overnight! Fixed a typo. By popular request I'll work on a part 2 after work, likely posted same time this one was. Thanks for all the kind comments! :) Edit2: Edit3:",1509
" ""No, Billy, don't","""No, Billy, don't!"" Billy sneered, raising a fist. I held up my hands. ""Whatcha gonna do about it, twerp?"" ""Don't hurt him!"" I shouted. That at least made him pause. His beady eyes narrowed. ""What do you mean? I'm gonna hurt you, you little-"" His voice cut off and he stood there in silence that slowly turned into a high pitched wail as he stared, wild-eyed, behind me. ""Don't hurt him!"" I repeated, more forcefully. From behind me, I heard a deep, rasping sigh. Billy turned, his feet slapping the pavement. He didn't stop wailing as he ran, and I could see a puddle forming where he had stood. Probably pee, I didn't want to check. ""He'll tell others about me."" the voice behind me growled. ""There will be...trouble."" ""It doesn't matter, Valefar. He's a jerk, but you can't go around hurting people like that."" He sighed, deeply. ""As you command. Now come, your mother wanted you home."" I turned around to see him. He was about six feet tall, and without a doubt a monster. His lower body was that of a wolf, with a human torso jutting out of the neck like a centaur. A wolf-taur. His tails - all three of them - ended in hissing cobras, his face was squat and ugly, and horns curled from the side of his head. I smiled at him. ""Okay Valefar. Want to play Overwatch when we get home?"" Valefar nodded, offering me his hand before vanishing from sight. I could still see him there, but as a cloudy outline. ""Yes. I most like playing the angry man with the black hood. Reminds me of a friend of mine."" ""C'mon Valefar, you know that's Reaper."" ""And, Maxine, you know I cannot call him that. I do not want to summon his namesake by accident."" ""Then call him Gabriel! That's his real name."" Valefar chuckled at that. It sounded like slabs of concrete grinding meat between them. ""I do not wish to summon that one's namesake, either."" I nodded like I normally did when he talked about namesakes and the Eternal Conflict and my Dark Destiny. Not because I understood, but because it was boring. ""Let's go home."" --- ""Honey, what happened?"" My mom rushed over. ""I'm fine, mom. Billy tried to take my lunch money but Valefar scared him off."" She took a deep breath. ""Valefar. Your imaginary friend. Scared off a fifth grader."" I nodded happily. ""I don't have any homework; can we play Overwatch until dinner?"" A pat on my head. ""Of course, sweetie."" In my room, Valefar growled. ""I wish you would speak to your mother of me. It worries her!"" ""Psssh,"" I responded, turning on the console. ""Whatever. She thinks you're maginary. Now c'mon, I wanna get more lootboxes."" We played for a while. Valefar was fiendishly good at the game, and I...had fun. He also spoke on the voice chat for me, to protect me from...I forgot the word. Podiatrists? Something like that. After dinner I settled into bed. ""Valefar, tell me a bedtime story."" He chuckled, pulling the blanket up. ""All right. Once upon a time there was a princess, the heir to the realm of a powerful demon..."" He only knew the one story, but I loved it. Maxine (the princess had my name because I was awesome like that) was the heir to a demon's throne, and she would one day open up the gates to Hell and bring about the 'pocalypse. But the mean angels hunted her so a brave knight of hell came to Earth to protect her. They had lots of adventures. *One day,* I promised myself, as I did every night. *I'm going to stay up to the end.* --- Do you have any idea how hard it is being the only high girl in high school with an imaginary friend? I didn't speak to him at school, when I could avoid it, but sometimes... ""Valefar!"" Everyone turned to look at me, and I felt my face turn read. Behind Shannon, Valefar cocked his head to the side, one claw still raised. ""Valefar,"" I repeated, this time doing my best to turn it to sound like a sneeze. Shannon rolled her eyes, and I looked at her. ""I know you tripped me just because you feel bad about yourself. But this doesn't need to go any further."" Shannon crinkled up her nose, and tossed a carton of milk at my head. ""Loser,"" she muttered, walking away. Valefar growled, but walked over to me. ""Maxine, she attacked you."" I ignored him, getting up. Still had time to finish lunch. ""Let me slay her! For harming you!"" I sat at the table, doing my best to ignore him. ""Maxine! You can't ignore me forever!"" His voice sounded almost plaintive, almost hurt. It was too much for me. ""SHUT! UP!"" Well...that did it. The entire cafeteria was staring at me. I wanted to die. --- At home that night, Mom was fussing over me. She said the words I didn't want to hear - counselor - and I couldn't argue. If I insisted Valefar was real, she'd just be sure. He was waiting for me in my room. ""Maxine, what did I do wrong?"" He growled. ""Shut up. Just...shut up."" I knew I was being mean, but I didn't care. He was ruining my life. ""Maxine..."" ""Go away! Just leave me alone! I *hate* you!"" I was nearly screaming, which I'm sure didn't do anything to reassure mom about my sanity. ""Maxine, please don't command me to do that."" ""I don't care. Go away."" He looked downcast and sighed. ""As you wish."" He began to fade, and for the first time ever, he faded from my view. I was alone. For the first time ever, I was finally alone. I just...why wasn't I happier? --- College was fresh start for me. I'd finally realized that Valefar was a figment of my imagination, that I didn't have a guardian demon, and the school I had chosen was far enough away where no one would remember me as ""Mad Maxine"" who had a nutty sophomore year. I went a bit wild, I'll admit. Parties weren't something I'd ever been invited to before. So it was great being out, being around people - and being too inebriated for my fear of being a wierdo to keep me from having fun. Then, one night, I had too much to drink. Maybe someone had spiked it with something, I wasn't sure. People remembered me blacking out, and then...no one knew how I got to the hospital. No one remembered who took me, or how I left, or why there was a paw print burned into the rug. The hospital couldn't remember how I got there either, just that I had been there - and if they hadn't, I would have died. I was going to get an MIP...then I didn't. The evidence got deleted, and a judge - who looked rather pale and sweaty - dismissed the charges. When I got back to my room...he was back, waiting. ""Valefar. Did you take me to the hospital?"" Seeing him again was...it didn't feel like I was crazy. It felt like a part of my life had fallen back into place. ""I did. I could not stay away, not while your life was in danger."" I walked towards him. ""I said some awful things last time we spoke."" ""I still do not understand, Maxine. What did I do wrong?"" I shook my head and gave him a hug. ""It doesn't matter. I've missed you, Valefar."" He rocked back slightly, shocked, but hugged me back. ""And...I you. More than I thought possible."" Everything just felt...right, for the first time in years, now that he was back. I sat on the edge of my bed, looking at him. ""Those stories you used to tell me...that's me, isn't it? I'm going to bring about the Apocalypse."" He nodded. ""When you are ready..."" I leaned in, resting my chin on my hand. I thought about Billy, tormenting anyone weaker then him. Of Shannon, lording it over everyone because she was 'pretty.' Of my classmates, saying teasing names behind my back for years. Of the people at that party, watching me lay passed out and caring so little a demon had to arrive to save me."" I smiled at him. ""Well...no time like the present, right?"" Valefar offered me a hand, and a gateway opened behind him. ""Then come, Maxine. We will make a better world."" I'll be honest: I didn't even hesitate. --- More at /r/Hydrael_Writes",1434
 A sim left running on a super,"I rush to the computer; I had come over as quickly as possible after realizing my mistake. A sim left running on a supercomputer, what could be the harm? Well, frankly, I did not want to discover the answer to that. I could just go in and delete everything; the program itself was already backed up on my personal computer. I sat and put in my personal code to unlock the computer. Deep breath, its ok. Hopefully there won't be zettabytes of data used up for a stupid sim. No one will discover it even if it has. The intern will still get supercomputer access come tomorrow. Hopefully. Nothing is wrecked, all is ok. Deep breath. The new files displayed in the program folder were large but not incapacitating. I can work with this. Huh, that's weird. A folder marked ""Humans"" was expanding. All the new files were expanding, but this one was eating up terabytes to the extreme. It was accelerating at an alarming pace. Changing from 2EB then 5EB in a second. Now 10EB. The computer had a lot of storage space, this was nothing, but at this rate that space would be eaten up in a day or two. Thank goodness the file was relatively new. I glance at the clock. I have a time before anyone comes in. I'm usually here before everyone else anyway. I click on ""Earth.exe"". What have I created? A beautiful blue and green planet pops up. It was still molten when I started the program. I had wanted to create a world from the very beginning. I knew some of the other sim freaks liked to copy and paste from other people's worlds and change it to their liking. I had always wanted to create from scratch though and this job had been my chance. Access to a supercomputer meant I could model a true beginning. I had used the master program all sim freaks used to create their worlds in ""Universe.exe"" but only because it took so long to create a universe that it was hardly any fun. I zoomed in to a piece of land my program said contained a large amount of ""humans"". They were hairy, bipedal, and frankly pretty gross. They had made things though, stone arrows, baskets, even some clay pots. How was this possible? Without me here no technology should have started. It's so primitive, maybe it was just a fluke of the program. I minimize the screen and bring up a chat box with freakysim49. Freakysim49: So what happened? Did your planet cool without you? Phangirl27: It made things Freakysim49: Things? Phangirl27: ""Humans"" it calls them Freakysim49: Weird, I told you you should use ""Earthlings"". Did they come out with all the tentacles you wanted? Phangirl27: I didn't make this! They happened on their own! How is this possible? Freakysim49: Do you mean they evolved? Freakysim49: I heard that happens sometimes. It's pretty easy to make something to kill them. Just program a bug. Phangirl27: They already have primitive technology, they evolve so fast. Freakysim49 is typing. I minimize the chat and bring up ""Earth"" again. The humans are gone. I locate the coordinates for a large population and zoom. Now they are fighting each other, with swords. Some are wearing armor. How do they evolve so fast? Normally it takes months; years even to get this kind of progress. I pull the chat back up Freakysim49: Kill them off or they'll get annoying. Once they discover medicine it's hard to fight. Or abandon them, they'll eventually starve or the star will explode or whatever. Phangirl27: I'll try ""plague.exe"" Freakysim49: Harsh On ""Earth"" the humans have evolved their swords and were now proclaiming a lot about a ""one true god"". I run the program and watch as their population starts dipping. That's when I notice this isn't the only concentration of humans. They are freaking everywhere. No continent but the one of ice in the south is without them. They seem more like the plague at this point. I watch as the amount dead rises. It gets up to 30%. Shouldn't be long now, it's even spreading to other continents. The number rises a bit more then levels out. Phangirl27: Dammit it didn't work Freakysim49: Plague didn't work? Freakysim49: Damn your world is messed up. How are you going to get rid of them? Phangirl27: At least they're still fighting each other; maybe they'll kill themselves off. Now the humans have developed rudimentary medicine and science. They are increasing rapidly in population. The plague did nothing, barely even slowed them. They have explored nearly the entire world. They have religion that guides them. They use and abuse the world and its non-sentient creatures. How do I stop them? Freakysim49: Some advance sims, where the life gets technology, can be destroyed. But you have to help them get there. Run ""AI.exe"" I click on the program. It's a program for the creation of artificial intelligence. In no time the artificial intelligence should destroy anything that evolved. The humans have already started flying. I run the program. It warns that it may take a while before the artificial intelligence has been made, but the idea should start entering the population pretty quickly. There's an explosion of written and visual art exploring the idea of artificial intelligence. Didn't take long. They left planet?? Its only to the moon, but still I haven't seen anything evolve like this. They can't get of world, not truly. The master program, ""Universe.exe"" wouldn't allow it. Their technology is getting good. They are sending probes out of world. Strange. Phangirl27: They can't leave Earth, right? Freakysim49: Nah. I've seen a couple make it to moons or close asteroids but nothing off planet. Occasionally you'll get far-flung probes. They eventually are lost in the universe though. Freakysim49: Has the AI killed them yet? Some simple AI programs are starting to come out. Nothing intelligent enough to evolve on its own, not yet. Freakysim49: Get them off my planet! Phangirl27: What? I check the log. How? How did they get to another world? I placed it pretty close to Freaysim49's ""Mars"" because I thought it would be nice to be in the same solar system. Freakysim49: Now they're mining! I'm going to send a plague unless you get them off. Phangirl27: I'm sorry, I don't know how this is happening! Phangirl27: Kill them, whatever you need to do. Freakysim49: This is messed up. Freakysim49: This is setting back my planet decades! Phangirl27: Sorry! The artificial intelligence is now starting to evolve. Humans build more and more robots with AI. These humans are smart but the AIs should be able to take them out pretty quickly. The plague on Mars worked, those humans are dead. Whew. Now the AIs are starting to kill humans. I watch as the death toll rises; 20% dead, now 32%. It passes 50% and I let out a breath. Much better than the plague. They should be all gone soon. Kinda sad, those things were resilient and resourceful. How did they make it this far in such a short period of time? The death toll is at 96%. The last few million always take the longest. I zoom out and notice something disturbing. A ship. No a fleet of ships. They are off Earth and vanishing into the universe. Oh shit. What did I do? I quickly turn off the program and delete everything. Humans, AI, everything on Earth is gone. Earth itself will now be nothing more than a desolate rock in space. You can't truly delete worlds, but you can make it so no one else can build on them. I open Universe.exe. In the search I type 'humans'. It seems they are starting to colonize a few different planets. Some look abandoned by their creators, some not. Freaysim49: simfreakhotline.com/universalthread/whatthehell I click on the link. It's a post asking about the humans and where they came from. People are starting to complain. They are ruining their worlds. Mining and destroying the life they had painstakingly created. A couple users had intelligent life that was battling but most were losing. A new chat window pooped up and I clicked, hoping Freakysim49 hadn't told anyone the humans were her fault. Human01: Hello Human01: We know you created us. I delete the chat window. Someone is playing a trick on me, maybe Freakysim49. Another window pops up. Human01: We'll find you. What have I done?",1414
 Mike hit refresh on CPW every,"""Check again, it's almost 10, some party has to be getting loud by now?"" ""I've refreshed it 4 times, all that's changed is that Mrs. Stevens call has gone up ten bucks, so unless you want listen to her say her husband is planning to kill her for an hour shut the- ha nevermind it looks like Tom took it."" ""Seriously? How much did you take off him last night anyway?"" ""Like 200, the guy bought in twice and still was out after an hour."" ""Well, Mikey moneybags, maybe *you* don't need to go on any calls tonight, but I still plan on my kids eating this week."" ""Listen Jonny Boy, I've seen your kids, they could afford to miss a few meals."" ""You asshole, just find us a fucking call."" John could not help laughing as he said so as he turned down another quiet street on another quiet night. Mike hit refresh on CPW every few minutes in between texts with Mary. ""'Contract Police Work'"" John Scoffed ""They should just call it 'Cops Pissing in the Wind'"" ""Hey wait a minute, we got a lurker on Elm"" ""What's it pay?"" ""A hundred a piece, it's 5 minutes away, and they need two officers. Looks like it's time for Mike and his trusty sidekick Jonny boy to spring into action."" Mike put on his best Saturday morning cartoon narrator as John pulled a U-turn. After confirming on CPW, they headed to Elm street with their sirens and headlights off. They turned down the street and quickly pulled behind a parked car. Their unmarked car blended well with the exceedingly normal neighborhood surroundings. ""You see anything?"" John asked ""Yes, I've just been waiting for you to ask me."" The sentence started as a friendly ribbing, but by the end Mike made it clear he was falling into a much more serious mood. It was dark, no moon was out, and the streetlamps only cast small cones of light straight down. The cruiser had a powerful flashlight on the driver side, but they did not use it. They both scanned up and down the street as far as they could, hoping to glimpse some movement. Just as Mike was going to suggest moving up a couple 100 feet, a silhouette flitted across the street 3 streetlamps down the road. ""Let's go"" Mike said as they both quietly got out of the car, they stopped short of closing their doors to remain silent. John led the way, sticking to the shadows, they head in the same direction as the perp. They headed between two houses and saw the shadow disappear around a corner They heard a fence door open and close as they began to slowly close in. The fence door led to a backyard of a standard suburban house. John looked in between the slats, he was able to make out the figure crouched at the back door of the house. ""He's picking the lock, we get can him while he's distracted"" John whispered. ""Are you kidding, do you know how much a B&E pays now, it's 500 a piece even if we don't arrest him, double if we do."" Mike said with a smile. John thought nervously for a few seconds, but he too smiled in agreement. They both looked back through the fence as the inept thief struggled to pick the lock. Mike began to worry he might get nervous and give up. ""I swear to god, I'll pick this fucking lock myself if he doesn't get in soon"" But Mike was far from angry, he was practically licking his lips in anticipation. Eventually they heard the fateful click of the lock and they kept watching the suspect, getting ready to follow him in. They saw him put his lockpick in his jacket pocket and exchange it for a 9mm pistol. Mike and John both recoiled and looked at each other. A cold jolt of fear and adrenaline went up their spines, neither spoke as they carefully drew their guns, but they both were thinking the same thing. Armed assailants pay triple. They spent a considerable amount of time opening the fence door as quietly as possible. They approached either side of the back door that the thief left open and peaked in. Nothing. Their training began to kick in as they cleared each room in the downstairs area methodically and quietly. Their guns were drawn, probing ahead of them, fingers on the triggers, as they soon began to suspect the thief already moved upstairs. As they headed to the foot of the stairs back in the foyer they could hear muffled conversation coming from somewhere upstairs. Mike looked at John, who simply shrugged his shoulders, neither could make out what was being said. As they slowly climbed the stairs, cringing at every perceived creak, they heard the voices getting louder, but still couldn't make out the words. ""Twelve..."" was all Mike could make out before the voice trailed off. ""Twelve..."" and again he couldn't hear anything else until they got right to the top of the stairs and moved towards the only bedroom with light shining out on the floor. ""Twelve fucking years."" They sidled up to either side of the door and could now hear clearly what was being said. ""I'm so sorry please don't do this."" They could both hear a woman say. ""Twelve fucking years, twelve fucking years, does that mean nothing to you? Twelve fucking years."" ""Don't do this man"" a frightened voice said. ""Twelve fucking years, why didn't you just divorce me, why did you have to do *this*"" ""I'm sorry, I'm so sorry"" the woman was sobbing uncontrollably. John had heard enough, he walked away from the door a few feet and then did an about face getting ready to kick the door. He looked at Mike, Mike stared back and shook his head no. John was puzzled at this and signaled that he was going to kick the door. He counted down on his fingers, but Mike grabbed him and pushed him against the wall. ""You should have fucking divorced me. 12 years, you should have fucking divorced me you bitch!"" The man yelled. John struggled viciously to get free of Mike's hold. ""I guess *I'll* do it then."" The man was calm and quiet now. John used all his strength and pushed Mike off him. He took one step and froze as shot after shot rang out. The shots didn't stop until every round was spent. John remained frozen as Mike moved past him, kicked down the door and unloaded his pistol into the newly minted murderer. After this, they'd be set for a year. Edit: Thanks for all the feedback, this was literally my first try at r/writingprompts and it's amazing to get such a supportive response. I love the discussion of how to build a CPW system that descentivizes corruption, in this universe, everyone is content with the corruption haha.",1162
" The previous day, I'd been","I was what you might have called, a walking-cliche. A bounty hunter that looked like, well, a *bounty hunter*. Greasy, jet-black hair (dyed - I'd been going gray since eighteen), pulled back into a tight ponytail. I favored a long, leather jacket (hid the slight paunch), torn jeans and high, black boots - the type that crunched glass under them in a most satisfying manner. If you saw me in the street, you *knew* what I was. Of course, I wasn't on the street very often - I spent most of my time in my truck, chasing the target of whatever latest bounty I'd picked up. The previous day, I'd been on the trail of Big Poppa Peters - a gentleman as fat as a pencil is thin. It was a $2000 bounty, for the man that had once held the state's most-pretzels-eaten-in-an-hour record. Those glory days were long behind him, however, and he'd since turned to a life of crime - specifically that of the fast food persuasion. When the cashiers were emptying their tills, he was emptying their ovens straight into his gut. He'd usually empty his bowels before he left, too, leaving a stench behind that would offend even the least houseproud sewer rat. I'd caught up with him in a Wendy's, in a small town in the middle of nowhere, Arizona. The place had had a ton of stock in the fridges, and he was still fastidiously working his way through it. He hadn't heard me enter. ""Better keep bringing 'em!"" I heard him yell to a pimpled teenager behind the counter. ""If those burgers don't keep coming, I'm goin' put *you* in the deep fryer!"" He aimed his gun to the roof and shot twice. I aimed my gun to his legs, and shot twice. I strapped Big Poppa Peters into the back of my pickup - it creaked and hollered in tremendous protest - and headed off down to the local sheriff's station, to collect my reward. ""$1500?"" I yelled, my eyes bulging. I could feel a network of veins rise and pulse on my forehead. The sheriff hooked a finger under his collar and pulled it back, as his gaunt face reddened. ""I'm sorry - it's out of my hands. The reward was lowered just before you got to him."" I pulled out a scrunched piece of paper from my jacket pocket. ""This,"" I said, shoving the paper into the sheriff's face, ""says 'Big Poppa Peters: $2000'. Rewards don't go down after someone takes the contract."" ""I'm s-sorry, but this one has."" ""You think I'm an idiot?"" I asked, lifting him up by his shirt and pushing him against a wall. ""You don't think I see a small town weasel, tryin'a skim some cream off the milk?"" The man was trembling. ""How..."" he gulped, ""How about $1800?"" I left him with a bleeding nose and $2000 less in his wallet. The smells of smoke, bars and fancy women were already wafting into my imagination, and I was about ready to do a little celebrating. I'd been on the road for five days, tracking down Peters. But as I passed the Bounty wall on the way out of the building, I couldn't help glancing up. It was one those cork boards, with pieces of paper and posters pinned to it, at any old angle. Some had a face with the name underneath, others just a vague description. > $3100: The Blind Date Murderer (Claire Browning) > $1700: The Butler of Carlson Manor > $5: Missing Daddy: please help me find him. > $500: Albert the Arsonist Being so into... *accounting*, I suppose you could say, the first thing that struck me about the missing daddy poster, wasn't that it had been pencil written in a scrawl worse than my own, but that the reward was five dollars - way below the legal limit for a bounty. I laughed as I left the Sheriff's station, and made my way back to my truck. Some clown must have thought they were real funny, putting something like that up. I grinned all the way into town. But the grin turned to a frown when I was in O'Reilly's, downing pint after pint of watered down Guinness. Was the scrawl actually that of a kid? I'd been convinced it was a prank, when I'd been in the sheriff's station. But as the evening grew darker, so did my mood. The note was like a corkscrew slowly twisting into my mind- it became the only thing I could think about. ""Hey big fella,"" a thin lady with too much blusher said, cat-walking her way over to me. ""You want to have a good time?"" ""That's why I came here,"" I sighed, attempting to smile but failing pretty miserably. ""Then you made the right choice."" She pursed her lips and gave me what she must have considered a seductive pout, but it looked more like she was sucking a lemon. ""How about you and-"" ""Listen,"" I cut in. ""Maybe some other time, cause I ain't going to be able to have a good time tonight."" I got up, walked out the bar and staggered back to my truck. I tried to fit the key in the lock, but missed by at least two inches. ""Well, that lady aught to be damned grateful,"" I muttered, giving up the idea of trying to drive. Guess the Guinness hadn't been so watered down after all. Instead, I decided that the fresh air might do me some good, and I began the four mile trek back to the Sheriff's station. The note was gone. ""Where is it?"" I roared at the man on reception. ""Where's what, sir?"" ""The note."" I leaned over the table and into his face. "" The missing daddy note. Five dollar reward. Where is it?"" He craned his head back and winced. ""Sir, have you been drinking?"" ""I've had a tipple. Is that a crime?"" ""Not by itself, no. But your breath might b-"" ""Where's the goddamned note?"" I snapped. ""Five hundred dollars,"" drifted a drawling, smug voice from behind. I turned to see the sheriff, grinning like a shot fox. ""Son of a bitch,"" I said. ""I'm not paying for that - it's illegal to make me pay for a bounty!"" ""You know as well as I do, a five dollar bounty shouldn't have been up on the wall. Someone must have snuck in and pinned it themselves. It's not a legal bounty, so I'm not selling it to you *as a bounty*."" I sighed, taking out my bulging wallet. A moment later, it was a little less bulging. The sheriff went over to a nearby bin and took out the note. I groaned - if I hadn't been so drunk, it would have been the first place I'd have checked. ""Nice doing business with you,"" he said. I snatched the note from him with a growl. Outside the station, I examined the back of the paper. > Please help me find my daddy. He went out on ~~Tewsday~~ Teusday to meet a friend. He didn't come home. I love him very much and I miss him this much \\--------------------------------------------/ > Pleaseeee help me. > Rebecca <3 There was an address underneath. I began the long walk back to my truck. I'd catch a few z's in it, and then I'd go pay Rebecca a visit in the morning. My dad might have walked out on me, but I wasn't going to let this bastard do the same to his daughter. If only it had been as simple as a father walking out on his family. --- More stories at /r/nickofnight",1282
" Death's scythe, Ler","""He won't budge,"" said Death, shrugging his colossal shoulders slightly. His scythe, Lerallue, glowed a dark red, pulsing gently like a beating heart - which meant that They were near, but we still had some time. I had answered Death's summons as fast as I could. He rarely called on me, prideful thing that he was. He thought he knew humans, could always count on persuading them with fear, but even he had to acknowledge that a soft touch was necessary sometimes. That's where I came in. ""Hey buddy, we've got to go,"" I said, setting myself down next to the shade on the curbside. His corporeal body lay nearby, cooling in the frigid night air. It would be another 2 hours, give or take, before the other humans discovered his body, but it wasn't them I was worried about. ""Death's explained it to you, right? He can hold off the Eaters for a while, but we would much rather get you to safety."" ""For a long while,"" huffed Death, puffing up his chest, twirling Lerallue by the end of a bony finger. I ignored him. ""I'd rather They take me, really,"" came the reply, so softly I had to strain my ears to catch it. His face was still downcast, eyes fixed on his hands, balled in his lap. I took a quick peek into his mind, then began to understand why Death couldn't persuade this one on his own. Timothy Burns wasn't afraid of death, nor of oblivion. He understood perfectly what Death had explained, that the Eaters would be along shortly, ravenous for so fresh a soul, and that once he was consumed, he would never be able to cycle through life again. Reincarnation would be denied to him, and the universe would be less one unique, precious spark of Life. In other words, Timothy Burns was ready to disappear into the Void. The irony of being on suicide watch for the recently deceased was not lost on me. I tried changing tack. ""Who knows what awaits you in your next life? Give it a shot, man. You'll have a family again, someday, people that you can treasure, keep safe -"" He cracked then, the sobs racking his chest as he buried his face in his hands. ""What's the point? I had a family here, I had one, right here! But I screwed up, I screwed up! My little Genevieve... I was supposed to be there for her, you know? Everyone trusted me to take care of her!"" ""Some things... are out of your hands. You tried your best, and if -"" A seething undertone of anger crept into his voice, and he rounded on me, seizing my shoulders. ""Do you know how many lives I saved, in total? A thousand, two thousand! I was the best doctor in town! Even the ones senior to me came to me for guidance, sometimes!"" ""Was that why you didn't ask for another opinion when Genevieve fell sick?"" I asked, quietly. Timothy had a response prepared, one fuelled by denial, pride. He was ready to blame the new viral strain, the weak antibiotics, the same few excuses he had flogged in his previous life. But the defiance seeped out of him, and he collapsed again, sobbing through his hands. ""... I missed it... I missed it somehow... I thought it was just the flu, ordinary flu... by the time I realised I was wrong, it had already attacked her heart... my pride killed her... I killed her..."" Death tapped me, and from the corner of my eye, I saw that Lerallue had turned a shade brighter, gleaming with a certain unrestrained exuberance. They were coming. ""You'll forget it all in your next life,"" I said, prodding him a bit harder than I would like. ""Trust me. People say that they can remember bits from their previous lives, but it's hogwash. You'll have another chance again to do the right thing."" ""But I don't deserve it,"" he said, taking a deep breath, sitting upright again. An uncomfortable calm had spread across his face. ""I will atone this way, it is only right. Let Them come, I am ready."" I sighed, then snapped my fingers. The mist rose from them, swirling lazily in the air, coagulating into a shimmering mirage not two feet from Timothy's face. Death turned away, wilful blindness in full operation. There were rules on revealing the grand plan to the humans, and severe punishments for infractions. I knew that as well as Death did, but sometimes, sometimes the ends do justify the means. Humans always forgot that sometimes, all they needed was a little hope. It was far sweeter than they ever gave it credit for. ""That's Genevieve right there,"" I said, as the illusion took form, ""that's not her name now, of course. But she's out there, the very same soul. She was born just this morning. She listened to us, and she's back there now, somewhere."" That got his attention. Timothy grabbed for the illusion, but his fingers pierced through, meeting the empty air. ""Where is she? Take me to her, please!"" ""No can do, that's not how it works."" ""Please! I'll do anything!"" I narrowed my eyes, staring deep into his. I didn't like being stern, good cop always suited me better. ""Listen here, Timothy Burns, I'm not going to lie to you. We can bring you back to the world, let you live countless lives again, but there's no guarantee you'll ever cross paths with Genevieve again. That's just how things are. So you can forget about ever telling her you're sorry, there's just no way she's going to be able to hear it, or even understand it."" I softened my tone, even as Lerallue started glowing a bright pink. I felt Death shift into a battle stance, carving his scythe through the air as warm-up. ""But what we can give you is a chance. A chance to do something a bit better in your next life. It's up to you how you want to lead it, but an opportunity to improve, is infinitely better than just giving up, wouldn't you agree?"" I held out my hand, beckoning to him. Then, after an eternity, after the buzzing of gnashing teeth crested over the horizon, after the precious seconds to safety fell away... I felt him take my hand. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1066
 Thomas Harper was about to take notes,"""Expecting a call, Mr. Harper?"" Thomas Harper looked up from his phone to see his literary analysis professor giving him a stern look. ""Oh, uh,"" Thomas muttered as he slid the device into his pocket. ""Sorry."" The professor rolled her eyes and returned to what she was writing on the chalkboard. Thomas glanced around at the other students, his peers. They didn't know about his power; no one did. It wasn't even a power really; if he convinced someone to do something, they would be able to do it. Anything; fly, throw a car, whatever. The problem was getting them to play along. Thomas eventually left the daydreams of his peculiar capability and returned to his studies. He took out a pen and was about to take notes until his phone buzzed. The young man froze and quickly stole a glance towards the professor; her back was turned. Thomas fished the phone out of his pocket and saw that he had a notification from his most recent app. It was a police scanner widget of... questionable legality. The greater good, right? This what it reported. Hostage Situation - Silverlight Business Center @ East and Fifth. Thomas stood up slowly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. ""Actually... I have somewhere to be."" He returned the phone to his pocket and pulled on his backpack as he jogged toward the door. The professor turned to see Thomas leaving. ""Where are you going, young man?"" ""It's an emergency,"" Thomas said with a shrug. ""I'll make it up next class."" With that, he left. As soon as he was out of the classroom he broke into a full sprint. The Silverlight and the campus were both located in downtown, about ten minutes apart. However, time would not be merciful in regards to a volatile situation like hostages. Thomas hurried down the steps, brushing other students out of the way as he ran towards the parking lot. It was moments like these when he was glad to be parking on campus. He reached his car in only a few minutes. Once inside and cranked up, he peeled out of the parking lot and got onto the main roads. Now, with the time it would take to drive to the Silverlight Center, he would devise his plan. His app had not updated since leaving class, so police had not yet responded. Fortunately it didn't matter *who he partnered up with. So as long as he convinced them to go fight the bad guys, they would succeed and the day would be saved. But, again, who would that be? Civilians outside the business center would probably not go for it at all. Maybe someone on the inside? Not the criminals, obviously. One of guards or hostages? Following that path led Thomas to realize he might end up as a hostage himself in this process. However, before he could imagine a more sound plan, he had arrived at the Silverlight. He slammed on the brake and came to a sharp stop before jumping out of the car and jogging up to the entrance. Thomas hadn't taken more than three steps inside the center before a gloved hand grabbed his face and pulled him away from the door. A second guy walked up and pointed at gun at Thomas' head. ""Who the fuck are you?"" ""Uh, I..."" Thomas' stammered. His death was mere inches away. ""I'm an associate here. For- stocks and uh"" His irises shivered, eyes fixed on the barrel of the pistol. The lies couldn't tumble out his mouth fast enough. ""Whatever,"" the man growled. He stepped away and lowered his gun. ""Put him with the others."" The first man who grabbed him swung Thoamas around and started walking him deeper into the building. ""Picked a bad day for your stocks, son,"" he said while placing a hand on the back of Thomas' head. The mercenary pushed the young man down the hall of the business center. It was eerily quiet and empty for a weekday. Thomas looked to his right as he walked under the criminals forceful hand. That's when he saw a particular office room. Three or four old men in suits were speaking to a squad of mercenaries with guns, armor, and black tactical clothing. ""Whatcha lookin' at?"" the man behind him said, shoving down on Thomas's head. They soon arrived at their destination, a small closet door. The mercenary goon tied up Thomas's hands then unlocked the door and pushed him in. Thomas stumbled into the room and looked to see at least ten others sitting on the floor of this storage room, all with their hands tied and mouths taped up. The door clicked behind him. Thomas sighed. He had just gotten himself thoroughly screwed. It was now the time to work his magic. Thomas walked over and sat down next to the nearest person he saw. Really anyone would do. He looked at her nametag. Allison Watson, Senior Investor. Great. ""Allison, how are you today?"" he asked. Her only response was a confused look. ""How about I take the tape off so we can talk?"" She nodded. Thomas reached over to the woman and carefully pulled the tape off of her mouth. ""Who are you?"" she asked. ""What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in school?"" Thomas grinned. ""I understand your concern. But it's not about me right now, it's about you."" ""What are you talking about?"" she woman said. ""We need help, we need to call the police."" ""The police have been notified,"" Thomas said. If he knew, they knew. ""However, it will take time for them to organize, get here, set up a perimeter, negotiate..."" ""So what?"" Allison asked. ""Do you have a plan?"" ""I do, and it's very simple."" Thomas said with a smile. ""You go out there and kick all of their asses."" ""Excuse me?"" she recoiled. ""Why don't you try that and see how it goes."" ""Because I would fail,"" Thoams said. ""But you will succeed so long as you trust me."" Allison was quiet for a moment after that. She looked at Thomas. ""You're serious?"" ""Of course,"" he said. ""Why else would I risk my life to come get captured with you?"" Another pause from Allison. Thomas watched her consider his words. Perhaps she was coming around? ""What about the ties?"" she asked, raising her bound wrists. ""What about the locked door?"" ""You can break them, they are no obstacle,"" Thomas said. ""Try it if you don't believe me."" Allison looked down at hands and tried to pulled free of the restraints. She did. The rope tore and her arms were freed. She looked at Thomas and then back to her hands. Afterward, she stood and slowly walked over to the door to further test Thomas's claim. Just as he said, the door was no obstacle, it crumbled under her hand and drifted open. Thomas looked on as Allison took a steadying breath and then charged out of the storage room. Screaming and gunfire erupted in the following seconds and the other hostages all looked towards the door as bullets flew pass. The thuds of bodies hitting the floor, glass shattering, more screaming. Lots of screaming actually. Then finally, silence. Moments later, Allison from investing returned dragging two unconscious mercenaries in each hand.",1220
 The greatest of men eventually returned to,"Immortality, generally, was a boring affair. Kingdoms fell and rose, some burned to the ground, others crumbling to dust. The greatest of men eventually returned to the dirt with only monuments to mark their grain of sand in the proverbial human hourglass. Luckily for me, I had a companion--a blonde-haired, soft-lipped girl named Alexis. She had once took upon the name of Alexander and conquered all the known world. I had sat beside the *God* of Persia as I watched her come. If she wanted to unite the world, then I would tear it apart. What else was there to do? For years we played our games. When she took the name Arthur, I took the name Mordred. By then, she couldn't even recognize my face. To be fair, if I hadn't been scouring the world to find her, she might've fooled me with her short haircut and baritone voice. Our games went on for centuries. So much so that if anyone were to oppose us, we would simply assume them immortal. But eventually, even this became boring. No matter who won, we always ended back at square one. Time was a circle and though everything changed, nothing ever did. I had tried telling her this, back when she had called herself Joanna to save a country. As I had laid the tinder by her feet and held the torch in my hand, I had whispered to her, ""Everything we build will always die before we do."" Fate had given her over a thousand years and she couldn't see the simple truth of life--our monuments crumble, our bodies fail, and even our stories die. ""But I never will,"" she had whispered back. I had gasped. All this time I had searched for the loophole to our singular truth and she had been right in front of me. Alexis would never die. She would be my monument to the test of time! So I had touched her pyre with fire, a smile upon my lips. Soon, I would dig her back up and our new game would begin. --- Droplets of water dripped from the only window in the room, echoing through the cave and waking Alexis up. She placed a cracked nail along the cement and scraped it until another tally formed. The cement's jagged edges bit into her finger and tore apart its scab. She flinched. Her first tally had been to count the days. By her five hundredth, she had switch to weeks, then months, and now, she was on decades. Though she had lost the exact count at year 422. Footsteps resounded down the hall. Alexis gritted her teeth and looked up. It was her captor, Mordred, Xerxes, or whatever name he had chosen to call himself now. After her campaign in France, he had turned the very people she had saved against her. Then, he had burned her for being a witch. By the time she had awoke, she was here, inside a damp cave locked in by glass. Though the last time he had checked in on her was over a hundred years ago. ""Alexis,"" Mordred said, standing at the edge of her cell. ""How are you?"" ""Peachy,"" she said. ""C'mon, it's already been a hundred years,"" Mordred responded, smiling. ""You can't tell me that you're still mad? Are you grouchy because you're so hungry?"" Alexis stared him down. Mordred grinned a crescent moon. ""You know, there was this great fella, went by the name of Adolf. You would've hated the man--killed more people than we've ever met in our lives! Millions of them. Do you even understand that number? All the people you've ever seen doesn't amount to a fraction of that! And they're all dead now because of him."" ""You're sick."" He furrowed his brow. ""A million people would die regardless. So what?"" ""You spend all this time obsessing over creating something permanent, but isn't it pathetic how little you've ever accomplished? All you've managed to do is be a thorn in my ass."" ""Alexis,"" he said chuckling. ""But I have created something permanent. Come closer and I'll tell you."" When Alexis didn't move, he continued, ""Please. I'll even let you go. You'll be free to wander the world however you see fit and I'll never bother you again."" For this, Alexis looked up. She crunched her teeth and finally pushed herself up. Even if he was lying, which she knew he was, how else could he hurt her? So he stepped to the edge of her cell, just imagining the things she would do to this man. Her bloody fingers curled into fists. ""I can't imagine being in here so long,"" Mordred said, ""with nothing but the rats and the sun. I bet you've died countless times just starving to death. Have you kept count? Is that what the tallies on the walls mean?"" Alexis forced a smile to her lips. ""Count the tallies Mordred,"" she spat. ""I will make you suffer for every tally."" ""You know, I hate this world. I think it's beautiful, but its beauty always fades and if it doesn't last forever, what's the point?"" He licked his lips. ""But you last forever. So I figured if I could scar you so permanently, that you can never forget, I would have created my monument."" ""I've lived through a thousand years and I'll live a thousand more. By then, even this""--Alexis turned in a circle, taking in every bloody scrape of the wall--""nobody will remember."" ""Oh, I think you will."" Mordred said and reached through the glass and grasped her shoulder. Alexis stared. She couldn't draw breath. ""Oh dear Alexis, I can't imagine how painful this must've been. Do you remember the summers? This place became a stove."" She looked up into his eyes, into his crooked grin. ""What about the winters? I've frozen to death once before and I never have again. I think that's my least favorite way to die."" ""How?"" she mouthed, unable to push the words out. His grin grew into it split his face in two. ""I took the glass away as you slept, little by little. After the first decade, you could've escaped. You could've just walked right out!"" He pushed her onto the ground. Her legs folded and she crumpled over. Tears filled her eyes. ""You bastard,"" she cried. ""I'm going to kill you."" ""Will you now?"" ""I'll chase you down, I don't care how long it takes."" ""Music to my ears."" ""I'll never forget. Until time itself has ended, I will chase you down and I will make you pay!"" Mordred flung his head up and guffawed, his laughter echoing all around them. ""Then I suppose I should give myself a head start,"" he said and left, whistling a tune as he did. --- --- /r/jraywang for 5+ stories a week, continuations by popular demand, and more!",1146
 [Part 3 - The Final Moment,"**Thanks for all of the amazing comments! As requested, ** **Special thanks to hiphopnurse for the incredible inspiration for the Part 2! Enjoy reading!** **Part 3 is finally here!: ** **Part 1** My morning toast popped from the toaster as I began to pour a cup of coffee. I opened my laptop on the counter while I continued to ready my breakfast. In this moment, an email notification came across the screen. I glanced over thinking it was just my colleague crunching the morning numbers before we go to work. I was wrong. This was something that I had forgotten about for years. I leaned over to notice it was an email from myself. Still sipping at my coffee, I pondered for a moment when I read, 'I hope you got that dream job like you always wanted!' After I read the email, that's when I remembered my brothers and I used to all huddle around the television with our laptops bored. I found a site that allowed someone to send emails into the future on a specific date. I must have been so bored, I wrote myself an email ten years ahead. *That's awesome,* I chuckled. I placed my coffee down on the table only to notice I was able to reply to the message. *Must be a glitch.* The site wasn't very intellectually put together so I was sure to find a lot of bugs on it. Either knowing it was a system design flaw, I still had time before going into work and I decided to have fun with it. I wrote back, 'I work at Wall Street dealing in trades! It isn't exactly what I was looking for, but it's stable and I get to work at a job where fighting and drinking is part of the everyday culture!' I pressed 'Send."" Smiling, I picked up my coffee and started to butter the toast on my breakfast plate. A notification immediately sounded as I realized it was probably the site telling me there was an 'error sending the message.' I turned around, and the toast fell from my hands onto the floor. My mouth fell wide open while the hairs on the back of my neck finally awoke. I was staring back at a message on the screen reading, 'Oh my gosh! This is impossible?! This must be a prank. I always knew Wall Street was stable but I always wanted to be a writer...' I refocused my eyes. The site is playing tricks on me. For one, if for some reason there was a weird tear in time that is allowing me to message myself then I would have probably remembered that scenario ten years ago. I wouldn't have forgotten about it. I took a step back and pondered. Datamining is always a big occurrence in our technology today. The site may be good at making it seem it was myself but I know better. I am not that foolish. Any system could know that I work at Wall Street or that I wanted to be a writer because of my browser history. ""Nice try,"" I said aloud towards the laptop. I chuckled to myself but instead of powering down, I wanted to expose this theory once and for all. I took a few moments and thought of something no system nor any computer would ever know. I wanted to ask myself a question that only I would get correct - hell not even my own brothers would know the answer. After heavy thought, I finally let my hands free on the keyboard. 'Tell me, what is the name of the main character in the first story we ever wrote?' I smiled, *Good luck on that.* I took in the last sip of my coffee when another message opened across the screen. 'Nice try future site! You'll never get the answer from me!' I stood back a moment. I realized that would have been my answer I sent back realistically. I would never give that up. Now I am very invested in finding out what is happening here. Today, I am going to take that gamble. 'Bartholomew' I pressed send. I ground my teeth together waiting with anticipation. I didn't even bother finishing my breakfast nor was I paying attention to the time. Finally, another message was received. 'How did you know that? Seriously, this is starting to freak me out.' I jumped back from the computer, it could have still been the site toying with me, I had to find out the truth. 'The last name. What is the last name? If this is truly myself, I want to know. Give me the last name and then I'll know.' Every second felt like a whole minute. I felt myself sweating through my button up business shirt. A notification rang again. 'Binkley. Bartholomew Binkley.' I froze. I couldn't believe what was happening. I never told anyone that name. What made it worse was I never typed that name on any computer. I used my grandfather's old typewriter for that story so there's no way this site could have found it. I kept that story a secret because I am still working on it today. Everything was running through my head. I looked at the time stamp of the messages and it was labeled from ten years ago. *Why wouldn't I remember any of this?* I pondered. I told myself to figure out lottery ticket numbers, what to do or what not to do. I started coming up with instructions in my head to tell myself so that I may change the outcome of today. This was a door towards a second chance. I don't know how it is happening but I am going to take it. I spent about ten minutes creating a large message to send back to myself ten years ago from today. Right as I hover my finger over the touchpad to click on 'send,' something even more bizarre happened. I received another message reading, 'Do not send! I beg you, please. Leave it all alone, do not mess with this site anymore! I was very wrong to get involved. Please, I am begging you, do not send that message!' My eyes widened. I looked at the time stamp below the message. The time stamp originated ten years into the future from today. *** To read more of my stories, visit [here] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)",1071
 Tyler docked his ferry and sh,"Part 1 | --- Tyler docked his ferry and shivered. Winter was coming and the familiar salty tinge of the wind now carried an icy bite. The black waters lapped against his boat, rocking him like a cradle. There was only moonlight to illuminate the concrete island compound. Area 51. He had thought it would look more ungodly, but it just a concrete cube alone in a small island. He spat the rest of his chew into a tin can he had cut open and lined his gums with more. He had always been a man of habit--chewing; smoking; drinking. But none of that marijuana. That was illegal. When he had first found this job, his mama had brought her hands above her head and declared that God had finally found a place for her boy. At the time, Tyler didn't think much of it. As per usual. He didn't think much of anything. But by the second month of frigid November temperatures, men in suits ordering him around, and the occasional Hazmat suit, he wondered if God had made some sort of mistake. Sure, he was no good at math or science or reading, but he could hunt and he could chew. Surely somewhere out there, God could find a place where he could shoot shotguns and chew tobacco as work. He sighed and looked back at Ol' Rusty. She was his trusty 12-guage and he never left home without her. ""Tyler,"" the radio cackled. ""We're here. Help us unload."" Tyler squinted his eyes and found two shadowy outlines at the dock. ""That ain't really my job,"" he said. ""I mean, if you want me to bring the ship closer, I can do that."" ""Help us unload,"" the voice came again. Tyler sighed and left the wheel. First driving ferries, now manual labor? All he wanted to do was to shoot shit and chew tobacco. --- Tyler met the two on the deck. Just as he had suspected, they were men in suits. Though these were *ugly* men in suits. Both were bald and looked like their jaws had been nearly smacked off, like they had forgotten to say their prayers at the dinner table. Despite it being almost pitch black, both wore sunglasses. ""We're doing a full evacuation today,"" Suit Number One said. ""Everyone on the islands about to leave. You need to help with the move."" ""Hey, I said so on the radio, but that really wasn't part of the job description. You know?"" Tyler offered a small smile and got only silence in return. ""So you're saying that you won't help us?"" Suit Number Two asked. ""Does that mean you are opposing us? You may come to regret that--"" His jaw fell and clattered against the deck of the boat. Everyone stared at the thing. ""I don't think that's supposed to do that,"" Tyler muttered and when he looked up, both Suits had taken off their sunglasses. Their eyes glowed yellow, cracked by bloodshot veins. The one without a jaw had his tongue slithering flickering in the air. ""And that's definitely not supposed to do that,"" Tyler said. ""Do not run,"" Suit Number One said, unblinking. ""The Assimilation will only take a second. Join the rest of this island."" ""Man I don't know nothing about no 'similation."" Tyler thought back to the meaning of that word and found nothing. He should've paid more attention in high school. ""But you guys need a doctor."" The two Suits lunged forward. Tyler squealed and ran. His feet pounded against steel until he was back at the ship's bridge with the door locked behind him. The first thing he did was find his chewing tobacco and refill his mouth. ""Hello?"" The radio went. ""Is anyone out there still human?"" It was a girl and by the sounds of it, a pretty one. Tyler took the radio. ""Yes ma'am. As human as when God made me. It's Tyler by the way."" She exhaled. ""Holy shit, Tyler. We've been outrun. An alien parasite's gotten loose. It takes host in the victims' brain and controls them. The people out there, they aren't human anymore."" ""You're telling me they're aliens?"" Tyler scratched his head. ""But they didn't have no antennas or nothing."" The girl paused. ""No, they look human, but they've been taken over. The body sees the parasite as a pathogen and tries to fight it, but by then, it's everywhere. So our immune system attacks the body. The parasite needs constant new hosts to survive until it can find one that accepts it. That's why it needs to get off the island."" Tyler stared at the radio, trying to decipher what she had just said. The iron door clanged and Tyler jumped. The two Suits shrieked octaves higher than any man should and their nails scraped against the door. ""Shit,"" the girl said. ""They know you're here already. Listen, you can't let them leave the island. Destroy the ferry and try to hide until the government comes. If you have to fight, destroy the brain. The parasite suppresses all pain and shock so the infected won't die even if they should."" At last, Tyler understood. His eyes went wide. ""So they're zombies!"" The girl just sighed. ""Yes, zombies. Don't get bit and don't get scratched or you'll be infected too. Just find the smallest hole you can and cram yourself in there until help arrives."" ""But what about you?"" She chuckled. ""I'm at the heart of facility. I'm already done for. Just worry about yourself, Tyler."" Tyler shook his head. ""No ma'am. My mama would whoop my ass if she found out I left a lady to die. I'll come getcha."" And he switched off his radio. Outside, the two Suits were still banging against the door. They had already left sizable dents into it and now the hinges threatened to fall. Tyler grinned. He finally knew why God had sent him here. He grabbed Ol' Rusty and lined his gum with more chewing tobacco. --- --- /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly",1010
 The rhythmic thumps of the,"Initially my brain had put down the familiar pattern of taps to nothing but sheer coincidence. But as I rested my head closer to my wife's chest and listened carefully for the kicks, I realised that the rhythmic thump was unmistakable. Somehow, by some trick of fate, the unborn child was communicating. Making sure not to disturb my wife, I pulled out my laptop to translate the message. Every beat, every kick, made my skin crawl as I desperately punched them into the translator, glancing at my wife every spare second to make sure I wasn't in some state of sleep induced delirium. My mind was suddenly reminded of an old film - a favourite of my dad's. *Alien*, it was called. I recalled with a paroxysm of anxiety how the aliens in it had opted for the brutal method of bursting through the chests of humans in order to be birthed. The memory did not rest well in my mind as I placed a comforting hand on my wife's cheek. She stirred lightly in her sleep, muttering something under her breath, blissfully unaware of the unfolding message. The next thumps completed the first word of the communication. **Free**, it read. What could that have meant? I pressed my head closer to the child, desperate to hear the rest. Quickly, the next word was formed to complete a sentence. The two simple words sat on the box of the translator, the entire screen gravitating around the weight they bore. **Free me**. I lurched forward, feeling some bile rise to the base of my throat. The kicking had ceased now, and at this point I was left to mellow in my scattered, frantic thoughts. *Free me?* I didn't know what to think of it, I didn't know what to do. As if detecting my conflict, as soon as I rested my head on my pillow to let the message fade to the recesses of my mind, the kicking started up again. Stronger, more aggressive this time. As if imposing something. The word it formed was simple, yet menacing in its own right. **Now.** A command. My head snapped back to my sleeping wife as I heard her stomach churn - no, *growl* - like a wounded animal. I heard her moan, and she once more tussled in her sleep, pulling on the bedsheets. I pressed myself up against her, the beating once more gone, and closed my eyes, my arms wrapped around her to quell her tumultuous sleep. Unable to sleep myself, I stroked her hair tenderly, trying to settle her down. Eventually, the dark coils of sleep dragged me to their depths, and I fell into a deep, unrestful slumber --- That night I dreamed of drifting in an endless, intangible void. I had no form to guide me, and no destination in sight, yet I gravitated to something indiscernible amongst the nothingness. Drawn like a planet in the sun's orbit. ""*Come to me, and birth me a son, my surrogate. Bring me a beast, that may free me from this cage of dreams. Bring me a child, that I may call my own*."" An ancient, dispassionate tone rung out in my head, breaking the blissful silence. I realised it was its call I was following. At its beckoning I drifted upwards, up a tunnel of space that I realised was split into two paths, one of which I was following. Resting at the end was a bloated sphere, and at its centre a teeming and glowing orb, composed entirely of what seemed to be flesh and meat. The void seemed to have a border here, expanding outwards in a curve reminiscent of an engorged stomach. At its core, of course, was the child it was cultivating. ""*My child*,"" the voice called, deific and commanding. I realised it was not addressing me. It seemed too distant, too filled with longing. What was I to it, other than another passing life-form in an endless cosmic cycle, after all? ""*Soon you shall be bequeathed unto me by the mortal woman, and I shall be awoken from this eternal slumber. From this land of dreams. Eternity has not ever yielded me such joy.*"" A fierce tide began to flow from the reaches of the void, slamming down against me and pushing me back down the path I'd ascended. I unceremoniously careened through the entire tunnel, erupting out of the other end. ----- Suddenly, I woke with a start, my hair matted to my head from sweat and my heart thumping against my chest. I turned to my wife beside me, and realised her heart was no longer beating, her soft breath no longer sounding. As my vision cleared, I saw blood staining the sheets of the bed, cascading freely onto the floor like a river. All coming from my wife. I reached over to her, clutching her body as I looked down at her chest. Where her bulging belly had once been was a hole, torn outwards and mangled as if something had burrowed from her very core. Viscera and sanguine stained the sheets, my attention only snapping away from the sickening sight at the sound of something churning below the bed. In a state of shell-shock, barely able to process an emotional response, I sat in awe, still holding onto my deceased wife as a sludgy, ethereal tendril slid out from under the bed, covered in fresh blood. It was purple and like the tentacle of a squid, except it was lined with eyes as opposed to suckers, each fixated directly on me. It tilted, as if curious, before drawing closer to my face, pulling more of its form out from underneath. Except, I saw nothing. I only heard the rustling of sheets and the squelch of its movements as it drew itself out, the rest of its body completely invisible to my eyes. And then, once more from the depths of the bed, I heard another noise. A far more sobering, familiar one. The sound of a baby crying. ---- /r/coffeeandwriting for more!",1012
 The damn boy had found the book,"The damn boy had found the book. Even worse, the exact *page* with his name. ""Put it down,"" he hissed, trying to summon the necessary rage to project his voice enough to reach the living boy's ear. ""Do as I say, or suffer the consequences - you'll rue this day, I will - "" The child lifted his hand, idly smoothing his hair as he imagined a breeze passing through the room. Godammit. After so many millennia, he just didn't have the power anymore. He hadn't even been able to lift so much as a piece of paper or make one syllable heard for years now. Fading with every passing day, but never enough to simply wink out. No, he was doomed to roam the earth as little more than a wisp of smoke, drawn inevitably to the cursed books that carried his name. ""Rama Odah,"" the boy sounded out the syllables, and in an agony of pain and pleasure, he felt his identity shiver and strengthen, a blade of grass tasting water after a drought. ""Mom, what's this?"" the boy asked the woman - Kelly, or something, if he remembered right - who suddenly swept into the study, distractedly looking for something she'd lost. Her 'cellphone', probably. The people of this age were somehow anchored to the things. ""Oh,"" Kelly said, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. ""Nice one, Zack. You found the family heirloom. I wanted you to find it yourself, you know..."" Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm as she told the boy, not caring that she tied him to the Earth with each word, even though she scarcely believed half of her own story. The relic of a philosopher who had died thousands of years ago, leaving his library of work in the care of only his relatives. And each generation had passed it onto the next, not breathing a word to anyone outside the family of its contents. ""He was a great man,"" she said finally. ""He had the most beautiful ideas about all sorts of things, centuries before his time. The nature of immortality, the afterlife, good and evil, the desire for power...there's a section of his work that seems to speculate on parallel universes, you know. Well, we've no idea how old this stuff really is. You'll see we made notes and possible translations of the terminology in the margins, throughout the years. Pretty neat, though, huh? You know, I remember my grandma telling me she thought the house might be haunted by the man. A story *her* mother told her. Haven't spotted him myself, though."" They both chuckled, though the boy's eyes widened at the tale. ""You're reading a copy of the original, of course,"" she added. ""Read all of it, tell me what you think, and I might let you have a peek at the originals."" She dropped him a shadow of a wink and backed out of the room, as if she had to give him privacy for some monumental task. Rama groaned to himself as the boy read with evident absorption, his name imprinting itself forever onto the kid's mind. Great. Another eighty-odd years of this life. The boy would likely pass the story on to his own children, too. He'd long ago accepted it as his punishment for daring to speculate on the nature of life after death. Of course, he'd seen the other spirits - clearly, his punishment wasn't unique. But his had to be one of the *longest*, all due to his arrogance in trying to ensure his name. It wouldn't have been so bad, if only they weren't so obsessed with the mystery of keeping his name a secret, even amongst themselves. Oh, they thought of him, sometimes. But they didn't share his ideas, didn't *really* talk about him. He was a kooky relic to pass on from one generation to the next, like a dusty ring on a shelf, not a topic of conversation at dinner. He didn't even have that much fame in the shadow of life he could claim as his own. Rama watched morosely as the boy sank down in front of the curious thing he called his 'computer', fingers flying over the keys on the desk. Probably to play one of his accursed video games. Zack had already *mostly* forgotten about him, shelving him into a little corner of his mind that would, nevertheless, sustain him for decades more of life. Damn him. Damn them all to hell, if it existed. How would he even know. Hours later, Rama felt himself jerked into wakefulness. He hadn't slept, of course, but he could fade away into a murkiness that resembled most closely the release he sought. But he was *awake*, more alive than he had felt in centuries. ""What?"" he croaked, and he saw the boy jump and whip his head around, his face pale and pinched in the dark room. He seemed unnerved. Rama almost felt like his heart was racing, if he still had one. His name was being repeated. Once, twice. A *dozen* times. He drifted closer to the boy, and read over his shoulder. A strange glowing page carried the legend ""Philosophers Den - welcome to our corner of the web"". Somehow, it was reaffirming him - his name was being called. He read the comments with growing amazement. They were popping up every now and then, seemingly from nowhere. *An heirloom, did you say? What is the guy's name? I can't really make out the handwriting...* *Rama Odah, I think,* another said. *This is pretty cool stuff, man. The language seems right for the period, at least, this could be a major discovery. Can you scan the rest of the pages tomorrow?* The boy - Zack, Rama remembered with sudden clarity - turned his attention to the screen again, and typed a response. *Sure thing. I don't know why my family hid this from the world for so long, but I'd like to change things*. Shortly after, Zack yawned and made his way to bed. Rama stood staring at the screen long after it had gone dark, long after Zack's breathing dropped into the deep rhythm of sleep. He trembled as he moved his hand forward, and pressed the power button, summoning every atom of energy buzzing through his being. He could hardly believe his eyes as it hummed to life. The blessed boy - his *descendant*, after all - had found the key to life after death. At last. ----------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1102
" Gareth Hader, First Mate on","The planet Auryth was splashed across the holoscreens, a single spot of resplendent green and blue amongst an inky canvas of somber black. The gathered crew in the command bridge silently watched as the reconnaissance probe completed its task, then puttered back slowly to dock with the mothership. Gareth Hader, First Mate on the SS Vulture, snapped off a sharp salute when he arrived on the bridge. He had spent almost two full Earth days in the probe, and he certainly looked the worse for wear. ""At ease,"" said Captain Layna Nurely, fighting to keep the urgency in her voice from showing. ""How much resistance do we expect?"" Gareth collapsed into a nearby chair, then tapped his wrist against the receptor dock. The data he had so laboriously collected was instantly uploaded to the mainframe, and figures, images began to ran over the hologram of Auryth. ""Little,"" he said, a wan smile crossing his lips, ""They are primitive. I cross-referenced their technological advancements against our own, and the closest approximation is Earth in the 1200s."" ""So, essentially the Middle Ages?"" Gareth laughed, and said, ""More like Prehistoric, compared to us. Even a gap of a single decade is monumental, much less over 1600 years."" That much was true. Kurzweil's Law already accounted for how technological advancement accelerates over time, which was how Earth had required over a thousand years to harness tachyon manipulation, but only a hundred more to perfect numellar resonance. From the hundred or so conquests already won in the Federation's name, a gap of over 1600 years in comparative advancement meant that the SS Vulture had an approximate 99.95% chance of enslaving Auryth within two days. Still, something about Auryth rubbed Captain Layna the wrong way, something she couldn't put her finger on. ""You sure they have no means of resisting our numellar rays?"" Gareth laughed again. ""Resist? They would need tonist weaves to even have a chance of resisting the first assault we launch, and who knows how long they would need to even develop *that*."" ""What about other weapons? Maybe they have expertise in something else we aren't expecting? I don't want to have to call off the assault just to request for specialist backup, that won't look good on our records at all."" Gareth knew what she was referring to. The SS Farsight, ironically, had been one of the most glaring testaments to how *not* to conquer an Earth-clone, the derogatory term used for all the other planets in the galaxy who showed signs of human life. In that early foray, the SS Farsight had plunged headfirst into a frontal assault, believing themselves the clear victors in a horribly imbalanced match-up. Too late did they realise that the humans of that Earth-clone, though far less weaponized, had managed to tame the giant beasts which roamed that planet. It had taken full reinforcements from two other starships before the planet was finally brought to heel. ""I sent drones down,"" said Gareth, ""this is what war looks like on Auryth. Take a look."" The holorecordings began playing, and a scene of a large field took over the holoscreens. On opposite ends stood two tribes, and at the sound of a horn blasting through the air, a single representative from each tribe approached the other, meeting in the middle. ""This is as bloodthirsty as they will get,"" said Gareth, sharing the insights he had gleaned, ""they wear simple armour made out of dried furs, and they are each equipped with a single long pole. I'll speed it up here, because that's all they do for hours, just facing each other, weapons at the ready."" ""Then what? They fight?"" ""If you can call it that,"" said Gareth, ""see, here? One of them eventually moves to strike, the other fails to parry, and he goes down. *Boom*. That's it. That's all it is. Hours and hours of staring at each other, then the conflict is over, that tribe has just won more land."" ""And all of them do that?"" ""All of them. They don't have countries, just tribes like this. Everyone has their own pole, they carry it with them all the time, sort of like a belief that everyone is responsible for their own safety. But when they fight, they only send a single representative forward."" ""Any reason why they are so... minimalist?"" Gareth shrugged. ""Best I can surmise with the help of our database is that they have evolved a practice of minimizing bloodshed. Auryth is not a particularly rich planet, and my guess is that they have realised it makes more sense to have a single champion decide conflicts for them, rather than engage in large-scale waste. We had a similar practice too, ages ago."" Captain Layna pushed off from her control pod, then waved at the holoscreens. The implanted receptors in her wrists scrolled through the rest of the reports quickly, finally settling on the summarized conclusion. ""Culture, religion, agriculture, economics... all behind us. So that's how the 99.95% chance was divined,"" Captain Layna said, a smug smile slowly spreading across her face. ""It is a sparse existence, that's for sure."" ""Almost like they are begging for us to arrive. Can you imagine how many years of development we will have saved them, just by intervening?"" ""Captain,"" said Gareth, ""I formally recommend we begin the invasion now. Under Article 6, I request that the SS Vulture engage in a swift and decisive victory, to bring the planet Auryth under our banner, so that the Federation may add yet one more colony to its roster, and further quell the chance that one day, another planet may rise up to challenge our rule of the galaxy."" Captain Layna thought for a moment longer, then nodded. ""Prepare for the invasion. All crew, to battlestations!"" --- Gareth was, quite poetically, both the first and last Earthling from the SS Vulture to arrive on and to leave Auryth. He jetted off from the planet's surface in an emergency escape pod he had stashed in the woods. As he soared into the relative safety of space, he forced himself to look back, to gaze upon the smoking carcass of the SS Vulture, split asunder in multiple pieces across the landscape. He suspected that he knew why he was the only one who had survived. He knew that there should not have been anyone who could have escaped the wrath of the Aurythians. And so he did what he was expected to do. ""Federation, this is Gareth Hader, the only survivor of the SS Vulture,"" he forced himself to say into the tachyon transmitter, voice raspy from all the screaming he had done. ""Be advised, planet Auryth is now aware of the Federation and its goals. Long-range bombardment... is essential! Do not enter within two starclicks of the planet, we do not have defences against them..."" Gareth paused, trying to find the words to explain the dangers which Auryth presented. He racked his mind, so disused was the word he was looking for. Earth had indeed toyed with this concept once, long ago, but when it was finally disproved, conclusively (or so they thought), it had become almost a mark of the uneducated to even talk about it. Until now. ""... the Aurythians... they have... telepathic powers... beyond our comprehension..."" Warning delivered, Gareth suddenly felt his throat close up as the horrors swarmed his vision. He tried to breath, but his lungs failed to obey, as did his arms and legs. He forced himself to turn around, screaming silently, knowing full well that on the planet he had left behind, there was but a single man, holding a focus rod, who had finally found the quarry he was looking for. Just one man, when there were millions more. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1298
 Old blind Lizabeth lived alone on,"EDIT: Might be NSFW There she is, as always. It's rude to point, but you've asked me to show you. There she is. Poor Lizabeth. I can tell you the story, if you like. I suppose I should. She wasn't always like this you know. She used to smile often, even in her madness. Used to talk too. I bet she doesn't even know we're here. I can't say which is better, now or before. They claim she's fixed, finally. But that don't look fixed to me. Look at her. Perhaps I should tell you the story. We all knew her from small. She was old blind Lizabeth and she lived alone on Watts Street. You know the one, near the end of the junction. Back in the eighties she would have been in her thirties then, but she looked older, and to us kids she was an old lady. We were mean I guess, and we used to trouble her some. You know how kids are. We would knock on her door, like a ding dong ditch kind of thing, but we'd just stand there a few steps back and be quiet. In those days they didn't have much for the blind, no seeing eye dogs or helpers. Old Lizabeth lived alone with her cane. She'd cuss us after awhile and then we'd laugh and run away. She had a temper and maybe that was the crazy rearing its head even all the way back then. Her outbursts encouraged us. Soon, we'd moved on to jumping her fence and making noises all round her house to scare her. And we scared her alright. She hardly left her house and she always threatened to call the police. We would hear her screaming inside like a ghost. I'm not proud to say it, but we got a real kick in those days from tormenting her. Maybe we added to her crazy. Who knows? I hope to God we didn't, but who's to say? One day old Lizabeth broke. It didn't come all at once, but that was definitely the start of it all. She was outside in the park and we were playing tag, I remember. I remember it because we all stopped running then and just stared when we saw it. Lizabeth wasn't one to leave her house and she wasn't one to sit in the park. But there she was and she was talking to someone. She was laughing. That was the first time I ever heard her laugh. And I wouldn't lie to you; I found it attractive. She was laughing alone, but she acted like she wasn't alone. Her legs were crossed and one arm was over her breasts and another hung there on the back of the bench, like she was hugging someone. She was acting all flirty then, I remember because she was blushing hard. Us boys had never really interacted with the girls in school too much and Lizabeth was the first time a lot of us saw what it's like to act so adult. And so we stared and listened and called over those who were far away and then there was a crowd just watching her and her imaginary friend. At first she was so engrossed in her talk that she couldn't hear us. It was so convincing that I swore I could hear something too, something that wasn't just Lizabeth. We all heard it in fact. But there was no one there. The brain has a way of playing tricks on you, I imagine. We stared for about under a minute when we heard a voice. ""Lizabeth we should go."" On my deathbed I will still swear that I heard that voice. It was a rough man's voice, but of course, there was no one there. Then Lizabeth screamed. ""Go away! Go away!"" And some of the crowd scattered. They had to have heard the voice too. But some of us stayed. Lizabeth got up and the wind pulled at her and her dress pulled against her body as she made for us. ""Leave me alone!"" And she was mad, you know? Even if you believe my theory that I'll soon get to, she was still a little off regardless. You can still see it in her face over there. See how it twitches sometimes? But anyway. When she started screaming we all scattered. Not from the regular screams of 'Get away!', but when she started screeching. She fell to her knees and her hands were above her head, like if someone was holding her, trying to get her up. And she was bawling and screeching. Some adults had heard the noise then and we were running and I didn't see anything that happened. But I knew that the news had spread. Soon Lizabeth was the talk of the town. Our parents all warned us to stay away from her. Some even asked if we ever saw any strangers around, any men mostly. I knew that they had heard the voice too, some of them. But as time passed you couldn't get them to admit as much. If you ask anyone now who lived there then if they remember the man and the voice, you'll get a bunch of blank stares. But I swear it was there back then. They asked about it. And we all knew we had heard it. Lizabeth was still out those days after. We didn't harass her as much, but some of the meaner ones, not me thankfully, would mock her when they saw her out of her house. But it was always only when she was out. When she was out she'd talk to herself. The old rumor was that her favorite thing to say was: ""Why are you so quiet now? Fuck those people. Fuck what they say?"" She'd say that as if the man was there. But none of us ever saw him. What we did see was the crazy take her and the happiness as well. Old Lizabeth would be smiling and laughing those days. She was never like that. It was like a completely different person. ""Manic depression,"" my father said to my mother. The adults always gossiped when they thought we were in bed. And of course we never really stayed asleep. ""It's all the drugs she probably used. It makes you crazy, like two people inside you."" ""She used *drugs*?"" my mother said. I remember how she said it. Like she found out my father was fucking his secretary or something, pardon the language. And at the time he was, but that's another story. ""Of course she is. Her mother was an addict. It's no wonder she's blind. God's just and he punishes the wicked. She has to be on something. That's why she's crazy."" ""We can't just leave it at that. What if she does something to the kids?"" And you the eighties were like the fifties in some places. And the fifties were like the dark ages in some places. Where we lived was like the fifties, and that fifties was dark, really dark and ignorant. The breaking point for adult action happened because of us. We didn't see much of Lizabeth anymore and the whole mystery man thing had cooled down. No one saw him so it was easy for your brain to forget a voice. Your brain is good at those things. So anyway, we didn't see much of her and so we decided to go to her house. Play a prank. When we got there it was a group of us and we jumped the fence and we were quiet and we made our way to spread out around the house. We were going to all make noise and scare her. See if we could get her running. But when we were near the walls we heard it. Over the years I've asked those who I'm still in touch with what they had heard then. Almost always they just mention her. ""She was masturbating,"" Jimmy said. He was older than me and should have remembered it clearer. Arnold said it was just Lizabeth screaming. The others didn't want to talk about it. But what I heard, and what I believe we all heard, was LIzabeth and a man having sex. They were screaming. They were grunting. I don't remember the words exactly but I remember how we felt. My face was red and I was aroused and I wanted to see and I was afraid and wanted to run. One of us screamed then when the fear of the stranger came rushing back and then we were running and the noises stopped. I don't know what happened then, but I felt Lizabeth's presence and she was behind us but we were faster and I felt another presence too but I never turned around. Soon we had all scattered and the parents were told. Someone always snitches. What happened next is like a montage of hearsay. That summer we were kept in doors. The local news was about, searching for the mystery man. Old Lizabeth was secluded in her house until one day the police came to take her in for questioning. Andrew Bralo, one of the younger kids, and a liar I might add, said he saw Lizabeth kissing a black man. Where we lived that was bad enough, but he said then that when they saw him staring, they threatened to cut his throat unless he stayed quiet. No one cared that the story was bullshit. No one questioned that Andrew said that Lizabeth was the one who saw him and shouted. All that mattered was that the hysteria was boiling, and the lid had overflowed. The police came and there were gunshots. The official report was that they heard movement and thought there was another in the house. They fired and did not hit Lizabeth, but she screamed as if they did. She was crying and kicking and saying they killed him, whoever he was. Then she was committed and the national news was starting to swoop in. The story began leaking and I think the pressure was on our mayor to make everything right. Lizabeth was diagnosed with a convenient tumor. The operated on her and it was successful, though she seems lobotomized now. She was released soon after and then childhood clouded our memories and ignorance spared the adults. Everything was forgotten and then everything was back to normal. And so it's been those decades past. She's been the same on that bench. It's the same bench we caught her talking to herself on that day so long ago. She just sits there now, in silence, wasting away. And that's my story... But you don't look satisfied. What more can I say? What's that? Oh... my theory.",1807
 Samantha felt a swoop of dread in,"There was no mistaking the results: neatly next to every time and day, the name 'Seth Rath' appeared. Samantha was willing to bet there were only a handful of people with that name, and one of them was her best friend. Her oddball, slightly off-putting, but hilarious best friend. Who was probably a serial killer, like more than a few people had half-heartedly joked throughout the years. She was still lost in thought when she bumped right into Seth outside. As usual, deep shadows were engraved under his eyes, a dark coat buttoned up to his chin despite the summer heat. Sam felt a swoop of dread in her stomach - had Seth followed her all the way to where they were offering free test runs of the brand-new machinery? It was suddenly too much. ""Dude, what the hell?"" she asked, and shoved the results at Seth. She'd never been able to keep a secret from the guy, it was like a compulsion to tell him whatever was on her mind. Seth scanned the printed page, one dark eyebrow quirking up in surprise. ""I always told you I was bad for your health, Sam. Next time, drink your vitamins before coming over, eh?"" ""This isn't *funny*, Seth,"" she whispered. ""They say the tests are 100% accurate, what does this mean? Either there's something seriously wrong with your intentions, or people are trying to kill you when I happen to be around."" ""Who ran the tests, do you know? Who's selling these machines?"" he suddenly asked, craning to see through the windows of the shop she had just left. ""I - some company, I don't know, they were kind of creepy looking. Dressed all in white,"" she found herself telling him. Then was abruptly angry that she had. ""That isn't the point! Does this mean you've tried to..."" She let the sentence waver, hoping he'd offer some reasonable explanation. ""That *is* the logical conclusion,"" he said drily, dark eyes glittering slightly. ""Well, I came to enquire if you wanted to go for a walk with me, but I see you're preoccupied. I'll leave you to it, then, shall I?"" Usually, she found his funny choice of language endearing. A product of his weird, musty upbringing in that monster of a mansion on the edge of town, swaddled in libraries and decades of dust. Today, it wasn't even the least bit charming. ""Goodbye, Seth,"" she said shortly, hastening away from him. For the first time in her life, she didn't hug him. It had become something of a tradition of theirs, ever since she had forced him to join her in a game of hide and seek when she was eight. She always hugged him goodbye after they hung out, because he was so clearly unused to such a thing. Seth watched her go, her cheeks red with anger, blonde hair whipping behind her. She glanced back once over her shoulder - perhaps to see if he was following. He wouldn't. Sam didn't want his company today, and he never forced his company on others. What was the point? Sooner or later, they would all come to him. Seth made his way home, finding that his mood was blacker than usual, despite himself. He looked at Sam's printed results, crumpled in his hand, and was still reading it when he opened the door to the house and let himself in. He was so absorbed, he didn't hear father approach him - something that hadn't happened in several years. He'd long ago developed the ear to hear those soft and creeping footsteps. ""Well, did you discover who are selling the machines?"" Father asked quietly, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves, black eyes large and eager in the gloom of the house. ""Not yet,"" Seth answered, handing over Sam's results. ""I met Samantha. She was...upset."" ""Well, it was bound to happen eventually, son,"" Father muttered, scanning the results swiftly, squinting at the strange logo in the corner. Seth had seen it, too - the mark of those selling the equipment. It was a mystery to him, a meaningless bunch of lines and dots. ""What do you mean?"" Seth asked, nettled. ""I can have a human friend! I can blend in, better than you. It's *necessary* to learn to do that."" Father rolled his eyes at the old argument. ""It was all that preposterous hugging she insisted on. How many times did I tell you? Reapers can't touch humans without dragging them closer to death. It's a ludicrous experiment you dabbled with, I'm surprised she has not drop dead years ago. Why did you let her do that? Did you *want* to kill her? Well, I won't blame you, I suppose. We're all wild in our youth, but you must be careful, boy..."" Seth remained silent, avoiding Father's gleaming eyes, just in case he could read the truth. He had liked the hugs, and the subtle scent of Sam's perfume. He had liked the warmth and honesty of her friendship. Something no reaper should ever feel. ""Well, no matter. You got us a sample, and I have a pretty good idea who's peddling the illegal machines,"" Father said, allowing himself a small smile as he tapped the paper. ""Rogue angels running around right here in our city, you watch my words, boy. It's all in the logo, those guys can never resist an old rune. Yes, this stuff has the stink of heaven all over it - they must have sneaked it out, though I'm stumped how they did it. And why? Now that's the real question, isn't it? Why introduce it to humanity, when they know what a sensation it would cause - the attention it would draw. Perhaps they've rebelled completely, in which case we've no idea what they might do. Mmm...we'll have to take this to the others. You coming?"" Seth frowned to himself. Usually, he'd be trembling with excitement at the thought of a trip to hell, where the Council of Reapers made their home. It never got old. But somehow, his mood was sinking deeper and blacker as he remembered the look on Sam's face. Did she hate him now? ""I think I'll stay, Father. I'll stake out the shop where they're selling the stuff, get a second look. I can compile a more in-depth report,"" he said, and was astounded when his father simply nodded. It was almost impossible to lie to him. Almost - he'd managed it before, when he desired with his whole being that the lie be believed. Still, he didn't risk taking out his cellphone until Father was gone. He dialled the number slowly. It felt strangely like his heart was beating rapidly. The heart that had almost stopped completely now, on its transition from human to...what he would become in full, soon enough. ""Sam? Can I come over...I mean, well, can I come explain?"" he said, and was horrified to find himself fumbling for words. He was never 'tongue-tied', as the humans said. It was ridiculous. ""I don't want to lose my friend,"" he told her, thrilled that he'd at least kept the presence of mind to leave out the 'only' friend part. ----------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1216
 I should have died right there and,"The first time it happened, I was still a child, about 4 years old. You know how the story goes: child is left to his own devices without parental supervision, child wanders out into the street, child gets mowed down by a truck. I'm sure you've heard this tragic tale thousands of times. I can still remember the exact pitch of my mother's voice when she screamed my name, running frantically after me. I should have died right there and then, but I didn't. I had been told later that, as I was being rushed to the hospital, my heart stopped. The EMTs present all told my mother that they would attempt to resuscitate me in the ER, but that there was likely nothing more that could be done for me. My mother grabbed both of my hands then, trying to keep the warmth from leaving them. The thought of losing me likely made all of the blood running through her body freeze, and all she could think to do was keep me warm and pray to God that I could still be saved. Now, my mother was never a religious person, but she was raised Catholic, and on her son's deathbed, all she could think to do was pray -pray that the child that she had adopted so many years ago would stay with her, against all science and logic. She told me later that, on that day, she saw something that made her a believer; a divine light washed over our hands and spread throughout my small 4 year old body. She thought she had been hallucinating through the tears streaming down her face, but less than a moment later, the heart monitor on the ambulance sprung to life, emitting the telltale sound of a steady and healthy pulse. As a child with no true grasp on the concept of death or the finality of the grave, I never gave my mother's words a second thought, and by the time I was in high school, I had completely forgotten about that bygone incident from my childhood. I was 18 when it happened again, however. I was at my high school graduation, feeling more elated than I'd ever been in my whole life when I felt it. It was a pain unlike anything I'd felt before, like white hot heat and terrible cramps flaring up from the center of my gut and spreading like the red stain on my white button up shirt. Before I could even react to the pain, I felt a new pain swell from my chest, just below my collarbone. At that point, I passed out from the shock. I was only told after the fact that a gunman had come to our school and opened fire at the entire graduating class, myself included. As I lay in the recovery room, I was told that the gunman had managed to shoot me at least twenty times, and that every single shot landed near or around a major organ in my body, but that I survived by sheer luck that none of my wounds were fatal. I was ready to call bullshit then and there, but with my parents by my side, holding my hands tightly, I was just happy to be alive. Of course, two times isn't nearly enough repetitions for an experiment, and as they say, 'third time's the charm.' The third time I ""died"" was on the day of my wedding to the love of my life. The story went that, as I stood at the end of the aisle looking into my bride's eyes, a bullet flew past her head and blew my brains out. I'm sure you'll say, ""There's absolutely no way he could have survived this!"" And you're right, I didn't, not really. My memories of that day are fuzzy at best (I know, right? My own wedding!) I could remember standing at the altar, a wide grin on my face, watching my bride-to-be struggle to keep a straight face as she walked towards me, rose petals cascading around her. It felt like a dream, one that I never wanted to wake up from. The next minute, my tuxedo was in shreds, I had a hood over my head to hide my identity, and I was marching over to the church with a pistol. I'd never even held a firearm before that in my entire life, but somehow, I managed to slip into the church undetected, spot a doppelganger standing where I should have been, and fire a single shot directly between his eyes. I had absolutely no control over my actions and I still don't understand why I did what I did. Much to my own surprise, no matter how sloppy in my escape I was, nobody spotted me dashing out of the church. I went into hiding after that, unsure what to think or feel. Who was the man I had murdered? Why did I remember being both the victim and the killer? None of it made any sense. I waited a couple of months before coming out of hiding. The first person I went to was my fiancee. She was skeptical when she saw me and nearly kicked me out until I proved my identity with her by reciting things to her that only I would know. I kept out the part where I was the one who shot the impostor in the head, after all, what's done is done. In the end, she was just relieved to have me back; it didn't matter what kind of strange coincidence made that possible. We got married shortly after, with a private and quiet ceremony, cautious not to invite a repeat of what happened at our last wedding ceremony. We were overjoyed months later when we found out we were pregnant with our first child. Of course, in my life, it seemed things never go as planned. We were 9 months in and my wife was in labor; it was a happy, albeit stressful occasion, and we were both so excited to embark on this adventure together. I drove her to the hospital and stayed with her for as long as the doctors allowed me to. When I heard that there were complications with the delivery and that my wife was undergoing surgery, my heart dropped out of my chest and shattered at my feet. And when I was told that neither she nor the child would survive the ordeal, I could feel what was left of my soul shrivel up and die. I didn't even think when I went home, I simply acted. I still had that gun I used to shoot my doppelganger in the face and decided I could do with the same makeover. I didn't even hesitate as I pushed the muzzle through my lips and pulled the trigger. But that's not where this tale ends. I woke up in the hospital, and not only had I managed to survive blowing my own brain out, they had managed to perform cosmetic surgery that completely restore my face. I was back at square one. It was in that moment that a theory formed in my mind: What if I couldn't die? I was placed in psychiatric care afterwards on the fear that I would make another attempt on my life, so I behaved like a good mentally stable man, and eventually, they could no longer hold me, so I was sent back to my old house. My mission to kill myself had started. I started small: poison, slitting my throat, my wrists, stabbing myself in the chest... You know, easy stuff. Then I started to get more outlandish. I tossed myself out of a building, and by some miracle, found a trampoline beneath me to cushion my fall. I opened the door on a plane mid flight and leaped, not even caring who else died as the air pressure difference decimated the vessel, as long as I could meet my fate. I managed to land right on an empty life raft floating around in the middle of the ocean for no reason other than to pluck me out of death's hands. My latest method was probably my best yet, I must admit. Being immortal, you don't really need all of ""life's necessities"" like food or sleep, so I managed to save up enough cash to hire several hitmen. I'd instructed each of them to bring their favorite and most explosive weapons to the hit and to not stop until I barely looked human. It was funny how many were skeptical when I told them to throw everything they had at my frail, malnourished, 41 year old body, but money is money, and loss of life shouldn't really unnerve someone who's done it enough times to be numb to it. It hurt like hell, but if I had to pick my favorite way to die, it would be by firing squad. My body was in several pieces by the time they were done. I passed out halfway through, but I saw the bloody photos of the scene -it was as beautiful as it was macabre; they really had been thorough. Sad to say, that didn't kill me either. I woke up in a recovery room in what seemed to be a secret facility. My attending physician told me how they had found me and painstakingly rebuilt my entire body using an experimental medical procedure and that I had been in a coma for years recovering. They haven't allowed me to leave yet as I haven't yet fully recovered, but this is probably my favorite revival yet. I'm not sure how I'll try to kill myself next -but I'm thinking maybe acid. How will they bring me back when there's nothing left of me to bring back? Edit: Fixed some things that were bothering me and changed his age as per a suggestion by /u/matthewuzhere - also look for Part 2 in the comments :)",1667
" ""You're a relic. No","""Got any work going?"" I asked, pausing momentarily by the group of musicians. ""*Work*?"" a woman stroking a harp mocked. She scrunched her face up and looked appalled. It was a reaction I had long gotten used to. ""Get outta here,"" said the fiddle playing man. ""You're a relic. No one works any more. Move along!"" I tipped my hat, and continued walking. It wasn't their fault that I didn't see it - the point of a life without goals. Without work. I really *was* a relic - I knew that. It didn't mean I was going to change, though. ""Hey!"" cried a high pitched voice, as footsteps smacked the tarmac behind me. I turned to see one of the young ladies from the group of musicians, running toward me - the violinist. ""Sorry,"" she said, panting, ""about my friends. They just don't understand the concept of work. In their heads, it's tantamount to *slavery*."" She rolled her eyes. I cocked my head to one side. ""And, what do you think?"" ""Are you a slave if you want to do something? If you *love* doing something?"" ""Are you a slave if that task gives you a purpose?"" I agreed, nodding encouragingly. ""Music is my vice. I don't see the problem with labour being someone else's. Hey, do you mind if we sit?"" she asked, already walking toward a bench. I followed. ""You know, my dad made me work, when I was a kid,"" she continued. ""He made me clean the dishes every evening after dinner - manually, I mean. You know, with hot water and soap and a sponge."" ""Why'd he make you do that? A machine could have done it more efficiently."" ""He thought it would teach me some kind of lesson. The value of hard work. I did gardening and cleaning, too. But, when I turned sixteen, that was it. He said I never needed to do a chore again in my life."" ""And..."" ""And what? ""Did you do another chore?"" ""Yeah,"" she laughed, taking a seat on the wooden bench. ""I did the washing up every evening until I moved out."" I smiled, as I sat down next to her. ""Why?"" ""I don't know. I guess I kinda enjoyed it - it gave me time to think. And, I felt like I was being useful."" ""Providing value."" ""Yeah, I guess. Is that what you want to do: provide value?"" I thought for a while. ""I want to have a purpose."" ""Are the arts not a purpose?"" ""They don't fulfil me. Do you think your music is original?"" She laughed again. ""No. With another four billion musicians on the planet, and only a handful of notes, I don't think there is much room left for originality."" ""Then, what do you get out of it?"" ""I like the music,"" she said, twining a lock of auburn hair around her index finger, ""it feels good in my head. And, I like to improve. It passes time, too, I suppose."" ""Passes time,"" I repeated, staring blankly into the distance. ""What is it?"" ""It's just... when I was, well, not as old as I am now, people didn't do things to pass time, quite so much. Time was precious to the people who only had eighty years of it."" ""Eighty?"" she said. ""Hell, I'm already seventy, and I feel like I've accomplished nothing."" ""Well, you've got many, many years left yet."" ""Hey,"" she said, glancing at me conspiratorially, ""you want to know something?"" ""Sure."" ""I still do my own washing up,"" she whispered, smirking. I smiled. We sat in silence for a while and watched a flock of sparrows settle in a mech-tree at the rear of the park. ""At least we still got real birds, right?"" She seemed to get agitated as soon as the words left her mouth. ""Oh, geez,"" she said, raising her hands up, ""I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."" ""It's fine,"" I said softly, trying to reassure her. ""I don't mean that robots or whatever, - you know -"" ""I know,"" I replied, nodding. ""Honestly, it's fine. I'm not offended."" Her shoulders slumped slightly and she settled back into the bench. She yawned as the evening sun drenched us in its copper rays. ""Why do you wear this old thing?"" she asked, playfully touching the tip of my panama. ""It's sentimental. It was given to me."" She nodded. ""It kinda suits you. Makes you stand out. Maybe I need something like that, to help me stand out."" ""You stand out enough as you are,"" I replied. Her cheeks reddened ever so slightly. We sat for a while, as the sun dipped deeper behind the distant hill. ""I used to have a lot of work,"" I said, for no real reason, other than the vain hope of catharsis. ""Well..."" she said, looking awkward again. ""You can't help yourself, can you?"" I laughed. ""You're right, of course - that's what we were made for. To replace humans at their jobs. And doing that work is what triggered our pleasure responses. Satisfied us."" ""Why don't you just get reprogrammed?"" she asked. ""Feel pleasure from creating, instead. From art."" I sighed. ""Oh, I don't know. I just think if I did that... I wouldn't be *me* any more. Working is what defines me - it's a huge part of *me*, not just my past."" ""Yeah. I get that. I think."" ""What's your name?"" I asked. ""At the moment? Jess."" ""Jess. That's a pretty name."" ""Do you have a name?"" ""Albert."" ""Oh, did you choose that name? If you don't mind me asking."" ""I served a human family, for a while. They gave me that name."" ""What happened to the family?"" ""They... died. They were an elderly couple when I started working for them. They were both amongst the last to die of cancer. Then, I took work elsewhere, other homes - other people. None like them though. They treated me as an equal."" My left hand instinctively touched the brim of my hat; Jess must have noticed. ""I'm sorry,"" she said, her eyes wide and a little moist. ""It's okay. They're still alive, in here,"" I replied, tapping the side of my head. ""A few years later, I became an outdated model. Families didn't want me around, so I looked for work elsewhere. In the sewers, street sweeping, building - whatever I could get. I always kept the name, though. I liked it. Still do."" ""Then what happened?"" ""Eventually, I became outdated at *everything*. Now, I look for odd jobs. Hope to find a broken down droid or such, that I can replace for a while whilst they're getting repaired."" ""Well, Albert, how are your taste receptors?"" ""What do you mean?"" ""I mean, can you eat?"" ""Yes."" ""Well, come on then. I do a mean lasagne. Then you can help me with the washing up."" Jess got up to her feet and held out a hand. ""Thank you,"" I said, as I took it. ""You're welcome,"" she replied, giving a curt bow.",1173
 I don't like grandma very much,"I turned eight last year. I celebrated it in school first, where Mrs Graham stopped class for a while so we could cut the cake my mama brought. We played games too, and I laughed so much that my stomach hurt. I also remember celebrating it at home, later, during dinner, with papa, mama, my big brother Jeremy, and grandma. I remember that more, because I made grandma cry. Grandma is old. She is ninety, so many years older than me. I don't like grandma very much. She always feeds us, always hugs us tightly, but I don't like how... *sad* she is, all the time. I heard mama laugh at her once, called her something like... a 'wet blanket'? Papa scolded mama then, said it wasn't grandma's fault, but mama's eyes twinkled when she apologised. I could tell mama was not sorry. I also don't like grandma because she always nags at us. Mrs Graham always tells us in school that we should be happy, because we're for-tu... fortunate. Mrs Graham says that not too long ago, everyone had it worse. Imagine, she had told us, if there wasn't enough ice-cream to go around during lunch, or if we had to worry about finding the money to pay for school! See, Mrs Graham says it in a nice way, with a smile always. But grandma doesn't. That's the difference. Grandma clicks her tongue all the time, tells Jeremy and me that we should be more appreciative, that we owe so much to the people who came before us. Well I wasn't born then, so who should I be grateful for? I always want to ask grandma that, but Jeremy, he tells me to keep quiet, so I do. Back to my birthday. I was cutting my second cake for the day, and papa and mama and Jeremy were all clapping for me, but then I saw grandma again, at the other end of the table. She was smiling, but her eyes were wet. I could tell she was about to cry again, and I got angry. This was my birthday! It is rude to cry at other people's birthdays! So I shouted at grandma, right there and then. ""Grandma! Why are you sad?"" ""It's nothing,"" she said, ""I'm alright. I'm just happy to see you grow up, that's all."" ""Then why are you crying!"" I replied. I felt... impatient. I felt that she heard my question, but that she would not give me a straight answer. I don't like it when people don't give me straight answers. ""Clara, I'm not crying! Who says I'm crying? See, I'm happy, happy for you!"" And the one thing I hate more than people not giving me straight answers, is people lying to me. ""Are you crying because you think grandpa left you again? Well, he's not here, and I am! And it is my birthday! So you should be happy for me!"" I knew maybe I said something I shouldn't have, once I saw even Jeremy's face turn white. But it felt good. Someone had to be honest with grandma. Papa, he always treats her too nicely, always listens to her when she starts sobbing about how grandpa had left her. I know because I heard them from upstairs, sometimes, when they thought I had gone to sleep, but really I hadn't. I would be at the bannister of the staircase, looking down, wondering why grandma was ungrateful. Ungrateful. Yes, that was what she was. ""Why are you being ungrateful?"" I continued, as I waved my knife in the air, which sent icing flying around. I didn't understand it. Surely grandma would have known the same things which Mrs Graham taught us in school? Did grandma not know that we had to be grateful for everything we had? The rhyme Mrs Graham taught us the very first day popped into my mind, so out of my mouth it came, *""The world at peace, no more disease, we live in mankind's masterpiece!""* That was what they called our city, Tranden, mankind's masterpiece. I saw holoscreens of it from the outside before, a giant floating city in the sky. This is where most of us live now, where we have everything which people didn't have before. Mrs Graham said some people still survived on the surface, on the ground, where they certainly *didn't* have a lot of the things we did, and so we should always cherish what we had. (I actually think no one still survives on the surface. I think that is a story they tell to scare us into treasuring what we have. No one can live there, not after the wars. Papa tells me that only the lucky few ever made it into Tranden, and the rest have probably died.) It is mama who speaks up first. ""Clara Amy Weathers, you don't know what you are talking about. Sit down now, or I will smack you, birthday or not."" The unfairness of it got to me, and my mood turned blacker. Didn't mama agree that grandma was the sourpuss? Why did she turn it on me now, of all days? ""Mama, it's just that... grandma always goes on about this, but then..."" ""But then what, miss? You want to sit down and keep quiet now?"" I should have sat down then, but a memory came to mind then. I knew how I could win this argument. ""Papa told you once before! I heard it! Papa found the two tickets in the attic! Two tickets, for the Weathers family! So grandad could always have come up to Tranden too, and the only reason he didn't is because he didn't want to be with grandma!"" I was triumphant. Now grandma would know that everyone knew, and no one would pity her anymore, or make her think she was always in the right. Mrs Graham said that too, that if we wanted to be liked by others, we had to be nice ourselves first! So why had Jeremy tugged at my sleeve then, urging me to sit down? Wouldn't he be on my side? Grandma smiled then, but she had nothing left to say. She got up from the table, pushing back her chair slowly, then pottered off away, no doubt to cry again somewhere. Good riddance! I thought, I don't want crybabies at my party! Papa stroked my hair back then, and wiped at my eyes. I didn't even know I was tearing then. I must have been really livid at grandma. ""I won't scold you now, because you don't understand,"" said papa, gently, as he eased me back onto the chair. ""I didn't understand myself, not for many years."" ""But I'm not wrong, papa,"" I said, hotly, ""there were two tickets, right? One with grandma's name, one with grandpa's name. Mrs Graham said, everyone back down there was fighting for those tickets. Grandpa would have come too, wouldn't he? The only reason he wouldn't is because grandma is such a pain to be with!"" Papa patted my head, while mama and Jeremy started packing the plates and cake away. The party was over. I started crying. I didn't know what I had done wrong, or why I was wrong. I only knew that things were not going right. ""You're right, darling. Only two tickets. They wouldn't have been able to get even one more even if they had begged. The thing is, grandpa didn't know they needed three tickets. It was only at the gates, when the check-ups were done, that they knew. It was too late then, so grandpa, grandpa gave up his ticket. He gave up his ticket for me."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1283
 It took me a few days to,"It took me a few days to get over the grief. I wouldn't say I was especially close to her, but I missed her chicken soup. I missed her stories of her past as a farmer's daughter. Her smile. Her warmth. Leukemia's a bitch. The Tuesday funeral was a quiet little ceremony in the garden behind her house. I made sure my parents didn't see me sneak upstairs to her bedroom during the eulogy. It didn't feel right just sitting there and listening to Aunt Rose talk about what a wonderful person my grandma was. They had already packed up her belongings into moving boxes at the foot of her bed, the morning sun filtering through the curtains and resting gently on them. It's kind of entrancing to think that our entire lives - at least the physical things that matter - can be condensed into 6 cardboard boxes from Ikea. Being the curious grandson I am, I decided to rummage through them. The first 3 were filled with memorabilia: a second place ribbon in a school beauty contest, a harmonica with ""From Georgie"" written in black Sharpie on masking tape, some shells and pebbles which I presume were from Australia, where she grew up. There were other stuff like tops and dolls, some were labelled with what they meant to her. I guess the rest were just forgotten memories. The next box I checked only had a large white dress with a black-and-white photo of my grandma and grandpa. On the flip side of the film in my grandma's almost illegible cursive handwriting was ""Georgie X Mary-Anne"". I remembered how she used to sit on her rocking chair and smile at that photo for hours on end, and once in a while she would chuckle to herself and tell me again and again the same story of how they met. It was a Friday night on the street in the rain, and he offered her his umbrella; love at first sight, blah blah blah. Not the most romantic thing if you ask me, but she loved that man with all her heart. And he loved her. I paused for a moment to hear Aunt Rose talk passionately about knitting scarfs. The last couple of boxes were labelled ""Lizzie's Letters"". Ah, her pen pal. Grandma told me that she had tried to send a letter to her cousin in London when she was in her twenties, but she got the address wrong and sent it to this 'Lizzie'. Ever since then they've been sending each other letters by post (she hated email. ""Tasteless and revolting,"" she would say) and the last letter she sent was a week before she died. Grandma never said much about what she wrote to her and what Lizzie wrote back, but she always smiled when reading and writing the letters. When I was younger I couldn't make out her handwriting so peeking over her shoulder was no use. And once I did begin to understand it, she refused to let me near them. I always wanted to know what Lizzie was like and what not. I mean, they've been friends for - what - sixty, seventy years? To hell with it. I picked up the oldest letter I could find. (Surprisingly, for a box filled with nothing but paper, it weighed a whole lot more than I expected.) ----- ""May, 1946 Dear Mary-Anne, Oh dear, I think you have sent this letter to the wrong address! I must admit, though, I wish I had a cousin like you who bothers to send me letters. All of mine are spoilt rich brats with no sense of tact. And I read you are from Australia! How wonderful! I've always wanted to go there and I've just turned twenty but my parents are ghastly worried about the post-war and all that. I do hope everything is alright where you are. Would you be so kind as to tell me more about yourself? Lizzie"" ----- It was a short start, but this is what sprung into a monthly, seventy-year-long tradition. I opened a dozen more, and I noticed the language became more and more informal as the years went by. ----- ""July, 1966 Mary-Anne my dear, I'm so sorry to hear that Australia didn't make it into the World Cup that we are hosting this year. But guess who did? ENGLAND HA! We are going to whoop all the other teams' backsides until they cry for their mothers. Get ready world, we shall dominate you all."" ----- Hm. Okay then. ----- ""June, 2014 Yo dawg! Howsit going down in down under, man?"" ----- Ugh. Please, no. I read about twenty or thirty more letters at random. Some were about both my grandma's and Lizzie's issues (Lizzie mentioned something about wanting to strangle her son because of some divorce but I wasn't too sure). Others made me laugh, some made me smile in reminiscence, even more made me cringe. I opened a letter dated 1953 and a photograph fell out. A man and a woman stood next to each other, both wearing very formal attire. And... was she wearing a crown? I swear I recognized her from somewhere. She looked like a younger version of someone... maybe on television? I couldn't really put my finger on it, though. On the flip side in Lizzie's handwriting, it read ""Me and Philly"". There was something nudging me in the back of my mind but I couldn't make sense of it. Hesitantly, I unfolded the letter that was inside the same envelope. ----- ""June, 1953 Dearest Mary-Anne, Thank you for your warm wishes! I hope the photograph of me and my husband finds you well. This was taken during the ceremony. They can't seem to get my smile nicely in the image. I don't look that scary in real life."" ----- The blood drained from my face. There was no way on earth... I rushed to open the latest letter, the reply to my grandma's last letter; the letter my grandma never got to read. ----- ""July, 2017 Mary-Anne, I'm so sorry to hear about your situation. My family and I will be coming down to visit you. Please hold on until I make it. God Bless, Lizzie"" ----- And just as I read that I heard the doorbell ring. =============== Edit: This is my first story hehe Any criticism/advice would be greatly appreciated! Thanks for reading :D Edit #2: I just finished Part 2! It's somewhere in the comments, but if you can't find it, here's the link: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6l2xs5/wp_your_grandma_always_talked_about_her_pen_pal/djrp477/ I hope you enjoy it just as much",1105
 Maloch dithered in the,"Maloch dithered in the courtyard of the small church, watching the pastor welcome his parishioners with a kindly smile. The small line of locals trickling into the church was becoming shorter by the minute. Soon, the pastor would close the door and condemn him to another week of torture - he *couldn't* return to Hell without passing this test, without mastering this simplest of demonic abilities. It should have come naturally, of course, the guile, the wheedling seduction as he bent a human to his will. It should have been laughably easy, corrupting a pastor to let him inside and sway the parishioners to commit a series of despicable deeds. Well, he assumed it would be despicable. He didn't exactly know the details, yet - that knowledge was reserved for demons who had successfully gained entry to a church - but it must involve a little forced ritual murder and sacrifice, at the very least. Perhaps he would never know the extent of the plan. So far, the only ability Maloch had managed in his single year of demonhood was giving someone a slightly upset stomach if he concentrated really hard. Or was so petrified at the thought of what would happen to him if he failed, he managed an erratic burst of power. That sometimes worked, too. But today, he was determined to succeed. Perhaps not by forcing the pastor to bless him by sheer force of will, but *somehow*. He shuffled closer, sniffling and pretending to dig in the pockets of the oversized coat he wore. Borrowed from Hell's supply of human clothes, it's long-deceased former owner probably screaming in some putrid hollow of Hell right now. ""Dear me, that sounds like a terrible cold,"" the old pastor said. Evan Neall, pastor for close to six decades, Maloch had found out. ""Best get inside where you're warm, my friend,"" he said, waving him on in the direction of the door. Not exactly the response Maloch had been hoping for. He tried to look as pathetic as possible - it wasn't that hard, really. ""Oh, thank you pastor,"" he said, and faked an enormous sneeze into his hands, peeping to see Evan's response. Please let him say it, please - No luck there. Evan looked faintly disgusted, in fact, though he tried his best to hide it behind that thin-lipped smile. He didn't look quite so kindly anymore. Perhaps it was time to stop counting on the pastor's good manners and go for the direct approach. ""I sure do think a blessing from you would help my illness, Father,"" Maloch croaked. To his astonishment, the pastor looked positively discomfited by the request, backing away from him and heading towards the church entrance. ""Ah, I've got to attend to my flock, my friend, but you're welcome to join us,"" Evan said, in a way that somehow made it clear to Maloch that it would be best if he stayed away. ""Oh, please bless me, please,"" Maloch babbled, trying not to think of the red-hot hooks that would soon tear into him if he failed. Not very demonic to ask nicely for something, if he were honest with himself, but nobody else need ever know how exactly he gained entrance. He caught hold of Evan's arm and dug his fingers in, hoping they wouldn't involuntarily morph into claws. That still sometimes happened to him. ""Who are you?"" Evan hissed, and his eyes flashed a distinct, deep shade of *red*. ""Leave this place right now, before I kill you."" Maloch stumbled back in terror. He had heard that distinctive, guttural note of demonic persuasion, instantly effective against humans. Less so against another.... ""Demon,"" Evan hissed when he didn't obey, and gave a mean smile as he sneered at Maloch. ""Well, well. I should've known someone would want to poach my position here. Want to fight for it, brother?"" An ice-cold fear drenched Maloch to the bone - he had heard that one, before. ""Fight"" in demon lingo roughly meant ""tear the skin and bones from your opponent until they have to splice you back together, cell by cell"". He squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a defensive ball. After a minute of still being alive, he dared to peep through his hands. Evan - or whatever demon had possessed him - was standing hunched over, heaving wretchedly into a nearby ditch. ""What have you done, you pathetic excuse for a - "" he began with a hoarse croak, before another wave of sickness overwhelmed him. Eventually, Evan managed to totter away, casting him a last baleful glance. Maloch stared after him in astonishment - his fear had never produced results like *that*. ""Is the pastor leaving?"" someone asked from the doorway. Maloch looked up to see a curious gaggle of parishioners. ""Ah, yes,"" he said. ""He suddenly felt sick, I'm afraid, I told him to go rest up a bit."" ""Knew there was something wrong with him,"" one lady muttered. ""God bless you for convincing him to take a little break, son,"" another old man said soberly. ""I was a pastor myself, back in the day. Don't know what has happened to Evan lately, but he's become lost in his interpretation of scripture, if you ask me. Perhaps he was simply ill? Well, it'll do him good to rest and pray for guidance."" The other humans murmured their agreement. Maloch's mouth dried as he sensed the church open to him at the man's words. He couldn't fail now. He'd have to do whatever it took. ""Well, you know, I'm a relative of Evan's actually,"" Maloch invented wildly. ""Uhm, his nephew. Came here to learn from him and everything, I was so excited to hear his sermon today. But what do you say I take over the service today, instead? Give a pastor-in-training a chance, eh? I'm sure my dear uncle wouldn't mind."" The parishioners beamed and nodded, and almost dragged him inside the church. **WELL DONE, LITTLE DEMON,** Maloch heard a voice in his head rumble, *that* voice that reminded him of blood spilling in the night, bones cracking in the dark. **AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.** Maloch felt his panic and fear spike wildly in response, and with it, his power bloomed. He found himself drawing on images of the torture he'd endured in Hell, as he was led to the Bible resting on the pew. Perhaps he could do this, after all. ----- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1086
 The smell of sizzling leather,"The parishioners stream past, a splash of humanity on this otherwise colourless sidewalk. Most of them hardly take notice of my plight, and it is the rare one who stops to tip a dollar into my cup. Guess there's not much to spare once the church wrings them dry. I inch a bit closer to the church for a better look, past the crack in the pavement, and the smell of sizzling leather instantly fills the air. The needles shoot up my thigh, a hot, searing, raking sensation. I try holding it there, try to count to ""ten"", but by ""four"" I'm already on my back, sweating, swearing. *Not strong enough,* I think. He emerges, eventually. His gait is slow, plodding, heavy. His hair is already surrendering to the grey. No vices as far as I can tell, just a penchant for long evening walks, by himself. When he's ten feet away, and I'm sure that he can see me, hear me, I steel myself, squeeze my eyes shut, then sneeze as hard as I could. I follow it up with a shorter sneeze, but no less violent, and I wait for the magic words. The pain was unbearable the first time I endured it. I remember being winded by the sheer force of it, a tidal punch conveyed by the friendliest ""bless you"" any demon had ever suffered. He had rushed forward, try to help me up, and I had barely managed to wave him away in time. I'm not sure I could have survived direct contact, just yet. The second time was better. Then the third, the fourth. Then now, the sixth time, I reckon I could remain upright, smile stoically, incline my head in polite acknowledgment without screaming. *The things one does to build resistance,* I think. But he confounds me. He doesn't say what I want him to say. Instead, he squares his shoulders, considers me briefly, then joins me on the sidewalk, taking a seat next to me on the cooling asphalt. ""I know you,"" he says finally, looking at me in the eyes. *Can he see the fires within?* I wonder, as I avert his gaze. ""Aye, Father, you passed this way last week. I was here too, then."" ""Tell me, is it going according to plan?"" ""Plan? What plan? If you be meaning this,"" I say, as I jiggle my cup and the pitiful takings for the day, ""then no, it's not going as well as I had hoped."" He smiles, thinly. ""I suppose you're waiting until you're stronger? Before you take one of my flock?"" My heart pounds with excitement, and I resist the urge to throw myself forward, feed on him right there and then. No, the bloodlust sings, but the curiosity growls louder. ""I have not thought that far, Father. But yes, I do want to get stronger."" ""Stronger? How would you measure that?"" I laugh, throwing my head back. I feel one or two of my fangs start to show, but I feel like we're past caring about appearances. ""If you must know - strength is being able to stay in someone, long after you are not welcome. Some of my brethren, the ones even we fear, they can reside in a human for *days* at a time."" ""I can't say I disagree,"" he replies, thoughtfully. ""After all, I suppose we must resist your presence quite strenuously."" ""Possession is only the half of it. I also aspire to... delicacy,"" I say, puffing my chest out slightly. In truth, it was nice to have a receptive audience. Humans don't much talk to us as they run away from us, or plead with us to fulfill their thoroughly insipid wishes. ""And before you ask, delicacy is making you humans do what we want... without you hearing our requests."" ""That sounds insidious. Isn't it easier to, I don't know, just *take over* and wield us like puppets?"" ""Ah, we could, we could. I've tried that myself too. But there's no skill in it. Any amateur demon could do that, just muscle in and take control. But it's so much more challenging to whisper, instead. Suggest to you, propose, insinuate, then watch it all play out."" I see him think about that for a while, and then he says, ""And the whole point of it all?"" I am prepared for this question, and the answer rolls off smoothly from my tongue. ""Making humans do what they do not wish to, of course! I live for the regret, the twinge of realisation in their eyes as they watch their humanity slip away. Even your vilest murderers, they know it too, they watch from behind cages of glass and steel, they scream silently as they observe the last vestiges of what they were drip, drip, drip away..."" He moves suddenly, and for a while I am sure that I have provoked the mild Father Horace to action. I wonder if he will attempt to smite me, or brand me with holy prayer. I wonder too if the incantations will work, now that I have survived so many of his blessings, weathered his warmest intentions. Instead, he laughs. He laughs hard, so hard I see the tears come to the corners of his eyes. ""What's so funny?"" I ask. I wear my good humour like a mask, ready to discard it for the seething rage beneath. If he thinks less of me, believes me more puff than talk, I will show him what... ""No, no, it's just that..."" he says, struggling for composure, ""we are not that different after all."" Before I can protest, he lifts a finger, points it away in the distance, towards an unassuming block of apartments. ""I suppose you can see through the walls? Yes, good, good. Now look for the... fourth floor, the unit facing south."" I have time, so I shrug, and I play along. ""The Blakes? Yes, I see them."" ""Good, good. Now look for their daughter. She's the only child at home."" ""I see her. Genevieve Nannly Blake."" ""Yes, that's the one,"" he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips. ""Would you say she has inclinations to... hurt herself, or kill herself?"" It's plain as day to me, the first thing I notice about her. The edges of her soul are raw, weathered, fraying. She smiles, just like other eighteen year-olds do, but there is a forced, deliberate way in which she trudges through the minutes to the next day. ""I spotted her in time, thankfully,"" he says, leaning back on his palms, looking up into the dusky sky. ""Almost missed it, but luckily not. I caught it when I saw her freezing during one of our hymns, one about joy, happiness in the Lord's embrace. There was an anger boiling within, then it was gone again."" ""You spoke to her, after?"" ""I waited until the time was right. She rebuffed me, of course. But I kept it up, made it a point to engage with her. It took me almost two months before she would speak to me in complete sentences. Even then, the battle raged on, and there were times I thought she was lost again. Now though, now I think I am in the clear."" ""Sorry, you're mistaken,"" I chuckle, ""I can still see the seeds of rot within her, waiting to bloom. She is moments away from taking her own life, just as she planned from the start."" Father Horace smiles, then points again in a different direction. This time, it is a squat, ugly two-storey house, and it is clear who he is trying to bring to my attention. ""Monica Chatters, and her six year-old son, Henry Chatters,"" I say, pre-empting him. ""You really know your flock, it seems. The boy is young, but it's clear too that he's troubled. I suppose you'll be telling me how you've also pulled him back from the brink?"" He shakes his head, then says, ""Look at what Henry has with him. You can't miss it, Henry has been keeping it by his side almost every day."" It was a small teddy-bear, assembled hastily. One eye was already coming loose. ""He's been getting better too, ever since he made a friend at church. She took the time to get to know him, find out what he likes, and eventually summoned the courage to make him a gift. And that's why I think she will make it. She can see beyond herself now, see others in need."" It starts to click, and for a moment my fists clench tightly, ready to hit him, strike him before I hear too much. I of all beings know the danger which ideas present. ""You asked me why I laughed, and I said it was because we were not that different. I meant it,"" he says. ""I too believe that strength is measured by how long I can stay in someone's thoughts. I too, believe that it's not enough to... make them do what I wish, but to guide them, beckon them towards the better path. And of course, I too want them to do things they do not want to do."" He starts to stand, and he is suddenly silhouetted against the setting sun. Before he turns to leave, he speaks, and there is a quiet determination which runs through his words, threading through them like the strongest of stitches. ""You may have used me, demon, to become ever so slightly stronger. But knowing you exist, that you walk amongst us... you have made me stronger too, far more *resolute* than I was before. We shall see then, wouldn't we, whose flock makes it through at the end?"" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1621
 The first memory I have is of,"A human can get used to anything. A ghost hardly ranks as the worst thing a person can become accustomed too, but that doesn't make it easy. The first memory I have - not just of him, but my actual first memory - is of standing in my crib, grasping the railings, while he sat on the rocking chair in the other corner of the room, watching. I wasn't old enough to know that know one should but my parents should have been in the house at that time of night. There was a moment when I got older, among the times when he would glide through the wall and sit on the chair against the wall, pull out that ancient notebook, bound by worn leather and inscribed with strange symbols. In that moment, I realized that whatever he was wasn't normal, and I was scared. I asked him who he was and why he followed me. No response. From that point on he became a benign presence - haunting, but benign. I'd make sarcastic comments at him, received no reaction, got used to him scribbling away. Of course I tried to go over and look at his notebook, but the pages appeared blank to me. He wouldn't even cease writing. Just empty movements on a blank page. I will say that there is a strange effect of a person recording your every waking movement. Even though it is of no consequence that I can tell, even though I don't know what his aim is, I think I behave differently for having an audience. I try a little harder, go a little longer. There is something about being watched that makes you not want to fail, something about being recorded that makes you want to perform. Now I wear a suit nicer than his. I've risen in the world with my constant companion. I forgot to tell you - I call him Ledger. A smirk and a subtle, disappointed head head shake are the only reactions I've ever gotten out of him. The first, when I showed up a college professor in front of class and made him realize his life's work had a fatal flaw. The second was on the way out of my divorce proceedings. He wrote furiously during those moments. He is my memento mori. He is my mystery, proof that something is out there that people don't understand or can't explain. I've tried to tell several people about him, most of the girlfriends. Only one believed me. *That's him, right there. No, you're touching him right now. I know, only I can see him. I can't touch him either.* Now I'm dying, and he sits in the visitor's chair in the hospital room. The few people who come to see me sit on top of him, and I see double, or triple and quadruple because the drugs make my head spin. Someone leans an arm, adjusts position in the chair, and he is visible, a chimera, polycephalic, his head and the other, bound and moving independently. Him writing, always writing. They stand up and leave him behind. I talk to him more than ever, and the nurses chalk it up to the tumor that grows every day. Hallucinations are rather normal at this point. I can feel the presence of the end, and to my amazement, Ledger stands up. He bows deeply to me, and for the first time I hear his gravely, strained voice, weak from unuse. ""Thank you."" Then he turns and leaves through the wall. Without a conscious effort to do so, I rise from my bed to follow him. The tubes and monitors and wires don't come with me - strange. I haven't walked in weeks, and yet somehow I follow him through the walls. We pass through rooms on the floor where people are dying daily, he crosses the opposite walls as I enter the rooms. We pass humans in various states of decay and ending. In one room, there is a huddle of nurses and doctors attempting to revive a particularly skeletal man. There is a perfect facsimile of him standing in the corner, looking worried. We reach the end of the hospital and I don't realize it until I am falling - I've walked through the outer wall. I look down just in time to see Ledger disappear through the ground below me. I brace for impact but it doesn't come. I fall momentarily through daylight, and then through darkness. The next thing I remember is sitting in a stiff-backed chair across a desk where Ledger sits. He watches me intently - this is the first time he has ever made eye contact, and I realize I've never seen his eyes except as they briefly flashed upward. They are the kindest, yet fiercest green eyes I have seen. They have life in them now, personality - something I believe he shielded from me before. ""I suppose I owe you an explanation, now that it's over."" He rasps in his stony voice. ""Where are we?"" I ask. ""After."" I don't know what that means, but I don't want to stop him from explaining himself. I'd rather know who he was than where I am. The room we are in looks like a basement office - there are two small windows in the corners behind Ledger that let in a strange, fuzzy light - like outside it is too bright to see anything in focus, with any kind of clarity. ""You were one of the Marked Ones,"" Ledger says. ""Marked for what?"" ""Early endings."" ""So the tumor? The cancer, that was planned?"" ""Yes. As is everything that happens in the lives of man. To a degree."" ""What about you? What was your purpose? And why was it only me?"" He smirks. ""Are you sure it was only you?"" ""Well, you hardly left my side. I can't see when you would have been with anyone else."" ""No. Are you sure you were the only one with a Scribe?"" I pause to think. ""I never met anyone who told me otherwise, but I guess if I could only see you, there could have been others I might not have been able to see."" ""That is correct. I am not the only one. In fact, I am one of many. We are assigned to those who are marked for early endings, to see how they behave differently. To mark those ephemeral thoughts and feelings that can only be gleaned from close observation. We want to see, most of all, if people *know*. If they can see the end. That is something we still haven't proved definitively, but there is anecdotal evidence. You, for instance, showed a strong degree of prescience with regard to your coming demise."" ""I always thought I would die young."" ""I know. That was one of my earliest entries."" ""So, you were recording my thoughts?"" ""And feelings. Among other things - major events in your life, your responses, anything I deemed worthy of note."" ""And what do you plan to do with all of this information?"" Ledger smirks, just like the day he did when I toppled my professor's theory. ""Make the next one better."" ""What do you mean, 'the next one.'"" Ledger breathes deeply and gestures expansively with his hands. ""The next generation, the next person. The next round of early enders. This whole project is a work in progress, you know. It requires feedback, fine-tuning. We throw people out into the world, observe them, and calibrate. That is how humanity improves, by steps."" ""But why the... early enders, you called them. What's so special about people who die young?"" ""There is a lot of life concentrated in them. We don't know for sure if you are all completely aware of the inevitable, somewhere in the reaches of your subconscious. We have, however, learned that there is some sense in you that makes you live life to the fullest, with more vim and vigor, more intensely and passionately. It isn't always that you accomplish more, get farther ahead in life. Sometimes the emotional life is rich, as with a carefully cultivated relationship with a partner. Sometimes the intellectual life is developed, reading book after book. In every kind of life your kind chooses to live, there is a kind of intensity that makes you more rewarding to study. The dials are turned higher, the results more observable. Plus, your lifecycle is markedly shorter, so there are advantages to that. Just as humans observe rats due to their rapid reproduction cycle, so we observe humans with limited time, because they compress an entire life of living into, typically, thirty years or less."" I try to take all of this in. I'm angry, and honored, and content, and confused, and insulted, and a hundred other emotions. ""Who chose all this for me? Who is calling the shots?"" ""Someone far above my pay grade, and yours."" ""It seems like a pretty raw deal, being chosen to die before my time. What's in it for me? Or am I just out of luck when it comes to the whole 'life' thing?"" ""There is one considerable advantage,"" Ledger says. ""What's that?"" ""Early enders get to go back. They're hardier, tougher. Their souls were selected in the first place because it was known they could handle the trials. And it only gets easier for them with each send-back. Have you ever wondered how so many people dying too soon seemed to accept it with a grace and wisdom beyond their years? They are practiced souls, and this is their duty. They can't remember the times before, of course, but the experience is graven on their souls. The wisdom has tempered their existence and forged an understanding of the cycles of All and Everything."" ""That's great, but my kids won't get any benefit from that. All they know is that their father is dying, or, dead now, I guess."" ""They'll understand, one day. They'll understand that it had to be you, or someone, and it might as well have happened to someone like you, who could take it. Who could fight without losing hope, and face the end with grace and courage."" I don't expect that to comfort me, but it does somehow. He's a sweet talker, I've come to realize. I sat across hundreds of them in countless business meetings. Like the best of them, you realize you've changed your mind, changed your emotional state, without realizing it until it's done. I feel calm, the conflicting emotions distilled to a state of accepting content, taking each moment as it comes. ""So now what?"" I ask. ""You try again."" He extends his arm, palm facing me, then closes his fist and twists his hand, and the rooms twists with it, and I am falling away into void, accelerating impossibly as stars and color whirl by in infinitudes, and I know I won't remember, but I am calm.",1830
" ""A deal's a deal,","""A deal's a deal, buddy."" I feel sorry for the guy. He looks downcast, defeated - like he spent his life savings on a bet that didn't come through. In a way, he did. It's weird to see the devil, the being that most humans regard as evil beyond compare, sulking. ""I'll tell you what,"" he says, looking somewhat hopeful. ""I'll make it worth your while. I'll grant you three souls of your own from Hell. Or I'll give you your own chamber in Limbo - separate from Hell - but with more girls than you would know what to do with."" ""Nice try, Lucifer, but no dice. We shook on it. I even signed your weird little parchment contract. Don't try to weasel out of this now."" He looks human, except for an exceptionally angular face and irises that glint red orange in the sunlight. We're in a park, a neutral place, a random place. It's of no significance at all, really - he just appears now and then wherever I happen to be. ""You're putting me in a very difficult position,"" he says, attempting a warning tone. I'm not scared. He's got nothing on me. ""What, a position where you have nowhere to rule? Where most people are actually good, and have to try hard to be evil?"" He scowls. ""The universe maintains a very delicate balance between good and evil-"" I laugh, interrupting him. ""Since when do you care about any sort of balance? The only reason there's a balance at all is because you and God both fight as hard as you can for the same souls, and your path is actually the one that is most easy for humans to follow. So don't claim to care about balance."" ""Your soul is a rare case. I would hope you could make a small sacrifice for the good of humanity. There's more at stake than just-"" He cuts himself off and his eyes widen. He's revealed more than he meant to. ""So,"" I say slyly, ""It isn't just my soul. It isn't just that I'm as good as a bomb for Hell. I'm a Reincarnate, aren't I?"" He says nothing, shows me nothing, but I know. As the evening light angles ever towards horizontal and fades to night, I know. I'm an angel that's been sent back to earth. I have the one kind of soul - the one immortal, eternally good soul - that Hell can't accept and still stay Hell. When my soul crosses the threshold, it will start a cascade of good, of pure right, that will topple the place of eternal damnation. Satan had a keen eye, had avoided souls like me like a human avoids rotten eggs - just as keenly and as easily. Something must have masked my smell, or made him sloppy. Something that kept him from realizing until it was too late. Now he knows, and he's being pathetic about trying to salvage his realm from ruin. An old man curled up on a park bench next to where we are standing shifts, sits up, and tips back his filthy hat to reveal a long white beard and a face exuding calm, and just a little bit of smugness. ""It was only a matter of time, my son. You couldn't defy me forever."" Satan snarls with disgust and surprise. ""The most powerful being in the universe, and you manifest as a homeless man in a park. How fitting."" ""Sticks and stones, my dear boy. Besides, if I am, as you say, the most powerful being in the universe, then I have nothing to prove, do I?"" Satan says nothing, only fusses with the lapel of his dark suit. God turns to me. ""I am sorry, child, for sacrificing your soul. It is but a small price to pay for the Salvation of humanity. And besides, I chose a soul that I knew could bear the burden, who would survive the ordeal. You will come through the other side, and you will be a stronger Angel for it. And you will be rewarded."" Now it's my turn to be smug. ""Who says I want to come back?"" God chuckles, not understanding. ""What is not to come back to? You would spurn eternal paradise? For what?"" ""You don't get it. I will survive the death of Hell. But afterwards, I'm going to rebuild it. In my image."" A look of horror comes over Satan's face. God stares straight ahead into nothing I can see. ""All my life I've wrestled with the same things every human does,"" I continue. ""I've struggled with my choices, my sin, my religion. And you know what? It's all shit. It's all a load of bullshit. Making people choose, making people feel bad. You two preyed on people when they didn't understand the world, gave them a system of fairy tales and nonsense to explain it all. Well, we don't need it anymore. I'm making an afterlife for the good people of the world. That's it - that's the requirement. That you lived a good life. I don't care who you believed in, what you called god, or whether you believed in him at all. You two can take your sick cosmic game and shove it."" ""It's a noble task you set for yourself,"" God says, still staring blankly. ""But I'll warn you - it isn't as easy as it sounds. I've been around forever, my son. You think I didn't try what you suggest? In another time, another existence? Balance is the natural state of order. Every human religion has sensed this, whether it be Christians or Buddhists. It is the common thread. Yin and Yang, sin and salvation. Utopia doesn't exist. At least not in the universe I know. There must be darkness to show the light. There must be void for existence. For all things only exist relative to their opposite."" ""We'll see about that,"" I say, and turn to walk away. I don't have time for this. I'm going to enjoy my life, and then after I die, my poison-pill soul will bring Hell to its knees, and I will be its new ruler. I will change it all. Who said life was fair? I did. I said it. And it will be. --- God and Satan linger after he leaves. It is dusk in the park, orange sunlight diffusing from beyond the horizon. ""Remind you of anyone?"" God asks, leaning back on the bench, crossing his legs and draping his arms over the backrest. ""Shut up. I'm nothing like that psychopath."" ""All of you start from the same place. A place of justice, compassion even. But it doesn't last."" Satan doesn't respond. ""You weren't the first. You must have known you wouldn't be the last."" Still no response. ""Come on, Lucifer. You didn't think you would be the one to reign forever, did you? In that bitter little heart of yours, you must have known."" ""Not like this. Not so soon,"" he says through clenched teeth. God bursts out laughing. ""So arrogant. So proud. Your lot never changes, and you always pay for it with absolute failure. He will be no different."" Satan turns abruptly and storms off along the park path. When he is gone, God looks around himself, smiles, and resumes his nap on the bench, curled up, his hat over his face. ""Devils,"" he mutters, ""can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em."" &nbsp; &nbsp; --- Subscribe to /r/xilead for more of my stories!",1255
 It was a bright and glowing soul,"It was a bright and glowing soul, strengthened by the hardship it had endured and overcome. On the crowded plane of limbo where souls were claimed, the Gods spotted it at the same time: it was a plain, blinding white, not tied to the colours that indicated any of the religions. Atheist. Kali's nostrils flared as she sensed this one's power - the soul had accomplished great deeds during its life, but wasn't done quite yet. No, it wasn't yet time to claim him. Rebirth was due, and she itched to plant a seed of direction in the soul's mind that would serve as guidance in its next life - ""Reincarnation awaits, blind one,"" she told the soul, and its soul regained some of the shape it had in life as she addressed him. It had been a comely human once. ""You must turn towards your spirit in the next life, for then - "" ""Pah! Cannot you see this one is tired of human life, you four-armed wench?"" an old god said - he towered over many of the Gods, but Kali matched him for height. She gave a smile that caused the others to look aside, as they remembered. She smiled that way when empires crumbled and armies clashed and slaughtered one another, it was the smile she reserved when chaos reigned. The two ravens on the old man's shoulder screamed in response, but he just gave a grim smile in return. ""You don't scare me, Kali,"" he growled, and turned to the soul, who had regained his shape and was staring silently at the gods, his eyes wide and dazed. ""Join my ranks, young man. Your soul has yet to give its allegiance, and therefore carries great power. Come drink with my warriors in Valhalla, as we ready ourselves for Ragnarok."" The soul opened its mouth to speak, when a gentle-faced man approached, his bare feet hardly making a sound. ""This man has battled and struggled enough, Odin,"" he said, and touched the soul's shoulder, who trembled under his hand. ""He should rest by my side in Heaven, where I can use his strength. It's not too late to be saved, Liam. Yes, I've known your name since birth, and remembered it, despite what you've thought of me throughout your life."" Liam squeezed his eyes shut as more Gods, and representatives of Gods, approached, adding their voices to the growing babel of noise. The Prophet Muhammed engaged the bare-footed man, in what looked like a argument they knew well. They were interrupted by the booming laughter of a terrifyingly large and muscled warrior, who wielded a glowing, jagged white spear of a weapon that resembled a lightning bolt. ""As if he'd prefer *you* when he can visit Olympus, not to mention the Elysian Fields. I mean, Jesus, just look at you. You look homeless with those bare, dirty feet. Have a little respect for yourself."" Liam gaped as they forgot all about him and began to squabble. From the corner of the crowd, a bare-chested, sun-tanned man with a falcon head was watching him intently, as if deciding whether Liam was worthy of his consideration. And a portly man with kind eyes was settling down in front of him, legs crossed, wearing a gentle smile in the face of his confusion. ""I sense you are deeply troubled. Meditate with me, my young friend, and you will know - ,"" he began, only to be interrupted by at least four of the gods now crowding Liam. ""Oh spare us the meditation, Gautama Buddha, we don't have all month,"" one of them groaned. It was too much to take in, to try and understand. Liam reached for his voice - it was difficult to remember how to speak - but he managed it at last. ""Please! I - I've always believed in what I can see, in tangible facts. In *science*. Obviously you're all real, I can't deny that anymore,"" he said desperately, and they turned to him as one and fell silent. ""You're all true. It doesn't make *sense*. How does all your versions of the afterlife exist at the same time? Where in space does it exist? For that matter, where are we right now - what exactly *is* limbo? Why have you allowed human suffering to continue, what do you all do with your time if you don't interfere on Earth? Why - "" ""Oh, goody, here we go again,"" one of them said, rolling his eyes. The others grimaced as well, and many started drifting away from him. ""Wait, I have so many questions!"" Liam yelled after them. ""I - I want to choose an afterlife, but I don't know! I just want to understand..."" But they were leaving. Finally, the only remaining gods grinned widely at him, waving an arm in greeting. It was a long noodle. Two meatballs were pulsating slightly in the twisted, golden strings of pasta that made up his face. ""Oh, not you too,"" Liam said dispiritedly. ""I thought that whole thing was a stupid joke, you know...mocking other people's beliefs. Making fun of the religious was never really my thing, either."" ""Careful with your tone, boy, I'm the only one still waiting to pick you up,"" the thing said, wagging a noodly finger in remonstration. ""Would you rather be stuck in limbo forever? C'mon, I have a lot of plans for your soul. You're just what I need, kid, a solid bit of real power. My version of the afterlife is a little sparse still, surprisingly few of the atheists actually choose me when the others start fighting over them. Can you believe that shit? No loyalty at all, you guys. But I don't think you have a lot of choice left, do you?"" ""I guess not,"" Liam muttered. The others had all gone, and were crowding around a different soul now. ""Hey now, don't look so glum!"" the spaghetti creature said. ""I've got an endless supply of beer at my place, how many of the others can say that, eh?"" Liam grinned as if pleased, and decided not to mention that he didn't drink alcohol and would really prefer a nice cup of tea. Even this guy might have his limit. ------------ Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1058
" ""Fate never failed to make","What a horrible day. It was a Monday, of course. Somehow fate never failed to make my life hell on Mondays. From the minute I woke up, it was nothing but trouble. I forgot that I was out of shampoo. Stubbed my toe. Couldn't find my favorite shirt. The usual. The trip to work was the usual sleepy, bleary haze, operating on automatic. I had long ago perfected the art of not really becoming conscious until I had to. Work would be better, I promised myself. I would turn this day around yet. It was no better once I got to work. After a slew of morning meetings, I was ready to just pack up and head home, but alas. It was not to be. By the time I had finished filing the paperwork for the morning's tasks and schlepped my way to the break room for lunch, I was embarrassingly glad to see my friend already there. ""Holy shit, man."" I managed, falling into my chair. ""Fuck Mondays. This day is kicking my ass."" Bill grinned across the table from me. ""Oh? You have a good weekend at least?"" I nodded. ""Good enough, I guess. You?"" He made a face. ""I've had better. Wife got *another* ticket. Wasn't really a happy household, y'know?"" I couldn't fully hide my chuckle, and he glared dramatically at me. ""Oh, that sounds like *fun*. I told you to be careful when you bought her that sports car. Cops *love* to chase down the little red convertibles of the world."" He was looking at me funny. I paused. ""The what?"" He asked, raising an eyebrow. ""The little red convertibles? You know, how they say red cars get tickets more often? You can't say I didn't warn you, dude. I *told* you."" The puzzled look he was giving me was growing deeper. I couldn't help the uncomfortable, sinking feeling settling into my stomach. ""'Red'? What do you mean by that?"" I put my drink down. ""Dude, no jokes today. I told you, this Monday is kicking my ass."" He slowly shook his head. ""Seriously, Josh, I'm not joking, I just don't get what you said. What's 'red'? I've never heard of it before. You say you warned me about it?"" I was opening my mouth to respond, when I looked down and saw it in my lunch bag. I packed a lunch every day - Have to save money, you know? I would put it together the night before, and fridge it until work. I'm a creature of habit, I admit it. I always have the same thing, every day. A ham sandwich, and an apple. Slowly I lifted the fruit out of the bag. I don't know what that thing was, but it was *not* an apple. It did kind of look like one, I'll give it that. The shape was fine, and the texture was normal enough. But apples aren't normally bright orange. I dropped the fruit back into the bag, adrenaline shooting through my veins. *Did it rot? Did it go bad? Did I buy the wrong variety when I went shopping*? But no matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn't figure it out. Rotten apples weren't the color of oranges, and I'd never seen *any* kind of apple with the fluorescent color of the one I had just held. And I'd have *certainly* noticed packing something that color last night. ""Hey, are you ok?"" Bill asked. I felt his hand on my shoulder. There was real concern in his eyes. ""You don't look so good. You feeling all right?"" I pushed myself back from the table. ""You know...no, I'm not feeling so good. I'm gonna hit the head for a few minutes. My head feels a bit funny."" And it did - it ached, like the world's worst migrane. I'd never had one before, but I imagined this was what they felt like. And it had come out of nowhere. I ignored Bill's stammered platitudes as I stumbled from the lunchroom. The panic was rising in me now, but I tried to keep it together as I accelerated down the hallway. It wasn't working. A bright pink fire pull hung on the wall next to the staircase. I rubbed my eyes. Was I having a stroke? Perhaps most baffling, our company's logo (entirely made of gradients of red) had been purged from the whole building. Yesterday, it had hung from the walls and adorned the placards outside the meeting rooms. Today, it was like it had never been there. I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed until now. My shirt. The one I couldn't find. It was bright, cherry red. My friends always said it made me look like a tomato, but I loved it. It couldn't be just coincidence. This was wrong. Everything was wrong. When I got back to my desk, post-bathroom and face dripping from a brisk splash of cold water, my coffee mug and stapler were both vanished from beside my computer. Both red, of course. I couldn't take it any more. I fired off an email to my boss, pleading illness, and gathered my things into my briefcase. A few minutes later, I was gunning for home. It didn't get any better. The fire hydrants were all bright pink, to match the fire pull I had seen. The stop lights and signs were some strange sort of teal. I hadn't realized there was so much red around me, until its absence was pulled into painful notice. I threw my keys on the counter as I barreled into my house, collapsing on the couch with a snifter of bourbon. The hands that held the glass were trembling, enough that I was afraid to actually take a sip. Was I sick? Did I have a brain tumor? Should I go to the doctor? Wouldn't they just think I was *crazy*? Who would believe something like that! And Bill hadn't even heard the *word* before. It was like...It was like the entire existence of the color red had been systematically purged from this world. As I sat there, head in hands, I saw it. There, on the coffee table in front of me. It shone crimson, like a beacon to my oversensitive eyes. A red envelope. The glass dropped from my hands, spilling amber liquid on the carpet, but I paid it no attention. All of my focus was on the little paper envelope, on seeing how fast I could tear it open. Pretty fast, it turned out. In a few brief moments, I held the gold-foiled note in my hands. Just a single square of paper, with a few short lines written on it. *You noticed*. *They noticed that you noticed*. *They're watching you now*. *If you want to live, hide it better*. *I'm coming. Wait for my next*. And that was it. I turned the sheet over in my hands, tipping the envelope up to look for other notes, but that was it. No other secrets waited for me. And yet, after I went to refill my glass, I returned to the couch and found a plain white envelope and letter sitting on the table where I had left the red sheet. *Wait for my next*. The words hung heavy in my mind. I had no idea what was going on, but this person clearly did. It's not like I had much choice in the matter, in the end. So I sat, and drank. And then I called in sick to work for the next day, too. And then I stared at the note, and waited. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1274
 Andrew had been reduced to preaching on,"The first symptom that dissappeared was the fog that shrouded Andrew's mind, that had kept him paralyzed in a constant state of lethargy. It was suddenly easy to put the pieces in place, with his lungs working strongly, his body free of its habitual aches. His mind was racing ahead. ""Stop taking the pills!"" he told the crowd gathered around him today. He'd been reduced to preaching on street corners like the doomsday prophets that haunted the big cities, but he didn't care. People listened to them, didn't they? Maybe they'd listen to him too. ""It's a big...scam,"" he said, struggling to grasp the right word. 'Scam' was too small for the crime, but it would have to do. ""The pills are keeping us sick, there is no disease! I bet they kept it quiet that they had cured it, or...or something. Maybe reproduced some symptoms in these pills so they can keep taking your money."" ""Nutjob,"" a thin man with a ravaged, pock marked face snapped. ""No, it's true! Stop taking them, and you will - "" He didn't see the blow aimed at his head, but dimly saw the crowd scatter as he went down. Before his eyes closed, he saw the boots. Horribly familiar, neon green boots. Disease Control. ------------- A different, smaller crowd was pressed around him when he woke. Fear cluthed at his stomach as he recognised the green clothing, but the Disease Control officials were *smiling* at him, not dragging him off to quarantine. ""Welcome - Andrew, is it? Sorry for that little bump I had to give you, have to keep up appearances and all. The name's Danny, by the way,"" a large man with a neatly trimmed beard said, consulting a device he hadn't seen in years: a tablet. And where did the man get time or the tools to trim his beard? Andrew rubbed the wild tangle that covered his own face self-consciously. Danny laughed at the gesture. ""You'll soon look a bit more civilised, my friend, our little community has every luxury you could wish for. It's amazing, the stuff you can find just lying around out there, waiting to be picked up, once you have the strength to look for it."" ""How?"" he asked hoarsely, and for the first time noticed no-one in the room was sneezing or coughing, no-one was slumped and shivering with convulsions. He hadn't seen anything like it before: they were all healthy. ""Why, we're like you, of course,"" a plump woman with a cheerful face blurted out, clear blue eyes widening as if shocked he hadn't guessed. ""Too poor to afford the pills, weren't you? We were all ready to die, too. And then we all figured it out, just like you."" ""Figured what out?"" he mumbled, but they were bustling him from the room. He blinked in the bright sunlight, and struggled to understand what he was seeing. Beautiful, sprawling homes built of solid timber or stone, not a single shack in sight *here*. Healthy children playing on the streets, shrieking with laughter. And a towering electric fence surrounding everything, a sure sign of a community that had been gated off. A quarantined community, he had always been told, its citizens doomed to death. ""Take a look, Andrew,"" Danny said proudly. ""We managed to overtake this place years ago, we never have visitors for some reason."" He laughed uproariously. ""We were all poor and desperate once, swallowing the pills,"" he explained, slapping Andrew on the back. ""Well, none of us have had any pills in years, and we've never been better. We've even got a collection of Disease Control uniforms, gathered over the years, for when we venture out. No-one bothers Disease Control."" The others chuckled as if this was a wonderful joke. ""And we got to pretend some symptoms too, if we go out, but that's just the price of keeping the secret, I always say,"" the woman said, and suddenly grasped his hand. ""I'm Marnie, by the way. Glad you get to join us, Andy!"" ""It's Andrew,"" he said, pulling his hand free and staring at them, his head starting to pound as he tried to make sense of things. ""I'm sorry, secret? Why haven't you told *everyone*? Why are you keeping this from people? I've got to get out, got to find my family. They don't know, nobody knows..."" There was a moment of silence, Marnie and Danny sharing a quick look that he struggled to understand. Then they smiled and patted his arm reassuringly, drowning his objections as they pulled him along into a small, empty house. ""Sleep on it,"" Danny said. ""You can decide in the morning, okay? Our community is small, and we can always use new people. We'd sure love for you to stay."" ""Here's an idea: you can get *everyone* to join you if you tell people the truth,"" Andrew said, but they just walked away, some shaking their heads at his suggestion. ""We'll talk again in the morning, alright? Everything will make sense soon, I promise,"" Danny grinned at him, and gently closed the door after him, leaving Andrew alone. He tried to summon the energy to leave the village, but a massive bed dominated the room they'd put him in, and his head was still throbbing from where Danny had hit him. He crawled in, sinking into the impossibly soft mattress, and was instantly taken back to his childhood. This was how it had been then - safety and warmth, no illness ravaging people. No illness... When he stepped outside the next morning, it was pleasantly warm, the sky a deep shade of blue. It suited this place, with the laughing people ambling down the streets. Their eyes bright with health, not fever. He passed them, and a few called greetings - how had they learned his name so quickly? Did they think him a part of their town already? He was oddly touched. ""Slept well? Wonderful beds, right?"" a bright voice asked, and he turned to find Marnie grinning at him, wearing casual clothes instead of the green uniform. ""Made up your mind?"" ""I've...got to go. Have to find my family, they simply have to know,"" he said, not without regret. It was a hard thing, turning away from this dreamlike town of health and happiness. Maybe he was dreaming, and would forget it all in the morning. He would almost prefer it. ""Meet the others, at least, before you leave,"" Marnie insisted, taking his hand again and pointing to a large building in the centre of town. A wave of sound spilled out. ""That's our Town Hall, so to speak. They're all having breakfast. The least we could do is give you a solid meal before you go, bet you haven't had that in a while, eh?"" He was starving, his appetite had roared to life after he stopped taking the pills. He belatedly remembered that he hadn't eaten anything last night, either. ""Yeah, I'm pretty hungry,"" he muttered, as Marnie laughed and led him inside. ""That's the spirit, you'll fit in here in no time, don't worry,"" she said, as if that were his main concern. ""Hey, Sophie! Town special for this one, he needs a good pick-me-up."" A woman with a bob of brown hair gave him a searching look, before nodding slowly. Soon, he had a plate of bacon and eggs in hand. The Disease Control 'officials' he'd met waved from a table, beaming at him. Danny eyed him as he dug into the food, and offered another explanation. ""Don't you see we're all rich for the first time in our lives, Andrew? Our lives are *better*,"" he said gently. ""We're the only ones with health and the will to rebuild our lives. Think what would happen if the truth spread. We would lose everything, could very well lose our lives. Why, the masses will come for everything we've built once they regain their strength, you know they will."" ""...bunch of savages,"" someone muttered, who was nodding along knowingly to Danny's words. They watched him intently as he ate, as if waiting for his decision. ""Look, this place is amazing,"" he said, finishing the food and still longing for more. Danny's wide grin faded as he continued. ""But I can't believe you've kept this to yourselves. It makes no sense, walling yourself from the world. Don't you know what's out there, how wrong everything has gone? How can you just sit here and ignore that?"" ""Oh, don't look at the world, why would you want to do that? Depressing place. Just look at this amazing town, instead. Everything's right as rain in here, Andy,"" Marnie said, sharing another unfathomable look with Danny before handing him a drink. ""Juice?"" He drank it in one long gulp, desperately thirsty after the stack of bacon he'd gobbled up. ""No. It's not right,"" he said. ""It's - "" But he never got the words out. He was choking, and they were simply staring at him, Danny continuing to eat his own meal as Andrew began shaking with convulsions. ""Help me!"" he gasped. ""Can't...breathe..."" ""Yes, the original illness does that,"" Danny said, studying Andrew with interest as he trembled violently. ""Available in drug form, can you believe it? One of their many little experiments. We found samples of it all, over the years, they have everything in the Disease Control centres. Uniforms aren't the only thing we've stockpiled. It's fairly unpleasent, but quick, if that makes you feel any better. Horrible, of course, but it acts fast. Can be cured quite easily too, as it turns out. I wish you'd have thought it over. *Outsiders*. So many of you never give this place a chance, and for what? Caught up in morality from a bygone age. Let's-just-tell-everyone, blah, blah, blah..."" ""Many of us?"" Andrew whispered, before the world went blessedly dark. --------- **Story edited and lengthened to improve pacing.** Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1670
 It had been decades since someone had,"Twelve hours left. That's all I had as I stared blankly at the wall of my bedroom. It had been decades since someone had come to the virus, and just my luck the next one would be me. I laid back on my bed, contemplating all of the things I hadn't done; marriage, kids, going to an old folk home. Granted some things I was happy I would be missing out on. Having been at the acceptance stage for a while now I didn't really mind too much that I was reaching the end. I had a fairly good run for a guy in his mid-twenties. As I started to recall the funnier adventures from my youth, a knock came at the door. I didn't know who it could be. I wasn't dating anyone, not for lack of trying, and my parents had passed away years ago. So who could be visiting me? I got up and answered the door to find two men in black suits. ""Mr. Greene?"" one of them asked as he flashed a badge. He was from the CDC, which had been given policing rights not too long after the first outbreak. ""Can...I help you, gentlemen?"" I asked as I moved to let them into my apartment. They walked in without a second thought. ""Yes, sir you can. We understand that you haven't made your payment for your daily treatment. We would like to know why."" I let out a heavy sigh. ""I can't afford it. I lost my job last month. The only reason I still have a roof over my head is that I paid this months rent in advance. I guess I'm lucky I won't die in the street."" I let out a nervous laugh, which they did not return with so much as a grin. ""I see,"" the second man said, ""May we sit down?"" I motioned for them to sit on the couch. I sat in my old, beat arm chair. ""Mr. Greene, how have you been feeling?"" I sat back. I hadn't really thought about it. I had been worrying so much about the end 'being nigh' that I hadn't really thought about my health, as strange as the thought was. In all honesty, I felt fine. A little tired from lack of sleep the last few days, but otherwise completely normal. ""I...feel alright I guess. No different than normal."" The two men looked at one another and nodded. ""Mr. Greene-"" the first man spoke up again, ""what do you know about the C39 virus?"" ""Only what they show on the news-"" I began, ""The symptoms change from person to person. The only constant is skin sores right before death."" ""There is a reason for that,"" the second man said, ""Most of the final symptoms are psychosomatic, people worry that their end is near and so they invent symptoms in their mind. Almost all symptoms are lies made by our minds."" ""So if those are fake... What are the real symptoms?"" ""There are no real symptoms."" The first man said flatly as if it wasn't the biggest news of the millennium. ""But, how can that be? How can something be deadly without causing any havoc on the internal system?"" ""Because, Mr. Greene, there is no virus."" I sat there for a moment in total shock. No virus? That isn't possible. So many people had died, how could there be no cause of their deaths? ""How, what, wait a minute. What do you mean there is no virus?"" I said, my anger slipping through my voice just a bit. ""Mr. Greene, before this virus the world was in economic collapse. Researchers at the time estimated that we had two decades at most before another world war started, and humanity would not recover."" The second man nodded his head. ""So, the leaders of the different superpowers got together and formed a plan to unite all of humanity. Aliens would never work, it would take much more money to fake an alien invasion than was feasible at the time. So they decided on a virus. Something that could be easily faked, just a few million people dead and humanity would have an enemy to unite against."" ""What you're saying is... The millions of people who died. The chaos and havoc in the wake of the outbreak. It was all-"" ""A hoax, yes. There was never a virus. Just leaders pulling strings to see that everything went smoothly. A controlled demolition of society."" I sat back in my chair, head reeling from the information. My whole life, so many lives, were lies. People lived in fear of a monster that didn't exist. We were being played. ""Then that means the medication that we all take. That the government says keeps the virus at bay-"" ""It's a sugar pill, no different from candy. We put a coat over it so that people can't taste the sweetness when they swallow it. Any adverse side effects are all placebo effects"" That made sense, why formulate a pill meant to fight nothing. It would save money in the long run. But there was one last piece, one thing that didn't make sense. And as soon as the question came to me, I saw on their faces that they knew what I had just thought and that they had been waiting for it. ""Why are you telling me this?"" ""Because Mr. Greene, people are starting to suspect that the virus isn't real. That is something the CDC can not let happen. The ruin and chaos that would come following that discovery would see to the extinction of the human species. We needed to refresh the peoples' mind's that it is still there, working in the shadows. But for that to happen, someone has to die."" There it was, the final piece. The last bit of information to put the picture into focus. The second man continued on. ""We needed someone unassuming, that most people wouldn't notice until things blew up. So we pulled strings and had you fired from your work. It was pretty easy to do, you didn't have a great work record. Then it was a matter of waiting till your funds ran dry. Which, again, didn't take long."" ""So then, the reasons everyone died with different symptoms. It's because no one remembers what to expect."" ""Correct, the only thing they know for sure is that the sores before the end. Some even develop them early from fear."" I whipped my cheek on my sleeve and realized I had been crying. They intended to kill me. I was going to die so that people wouldn't freak out. That they would believe in a monster under their bed that never was. ""We know what you're thinking Mr. Greene. It's standard, and understandable, that you would want to run. However, this entire building is full of CDC agents. If you try and run, we will simply knock you out and kill you anyway. If you just cooperate, things will go nice and smooth. You won't feel a thing."" ""So what happens now?"" I asked quietly, admitting my own defeat but unwilling to say it out loud. The first man produced a vial from his coat and sat it on the table in front of us. ""This is a very powerful sedative. You take it and go back to your room to sleep. Afterward, we will clear out this building and pump chlorine gas in. You will die soon after that."" It made sense now, the reason why there were always sores. ""Seems kind of uneventful,"" I said with a laugh ""Yes, Mr. Greene. Just like a virus. Just like the public expect."" I nodded and grabbed the vial. ""Will you guys stay, until I fall asleep?"" The stood up and nodded. ""That's why we are here. to make sure you are fully out before-"" the man stopped, and for the first time seemed a bit choked up. ""Before it's done."" I nodded and went back into my bedroom, popped the small pill into my mouth and laid down to sleep.",1351
" Mom called through her door, ""","**Part One (Part Two, Three, Four, Five & Six in Comments)** The pills were heavy in my hands. I moved them around my palm, watching them bump into one another. Dim light spilled into my bedroom as I took in a deep breath. I knew Mom was cooking breakfast and Dad was at work, desperately trying to make enough money for us to live... but this wasn't living. We were already dead, moving through the motions of survival to be able to afford just another miserable day... and I couldn't do it anymore. ""Steph?"" Mom called through my door, ""Honey did you take your medication? Food is ready!"" She tapped on the door. I swallowed the lump in my throat. ""Yeah,"" I said, ""I just took them now. I'm getting dressed."" ""Okay hun,"" She said, ""Just hurry up or you'll be late."" I nodded. I could hear her footsteps disappear around the corner. I glanced at the rash on my arm. I wondered what it would be like to have it spread over my body. I wondered what it felt like to die... to finally let the disease kill me. Would it be pain or peace? I shook my head, I didn't want to think about it anymore. These pills had ruled my life since I was five. They had clouded my mind and made me afraid each and every day. It was time to let go. Time to be free. Walking over to my trash can I tipped my hand so the pills fell into the bin. I threw some tissues over them and fell onto my bed. I put my hands over my face. The Department of Disease control warned us that the symptoms would become worse within four hours of missing our dose. That the rash would slowly cover our entire body as fluids filled our lungs. We would be suffocated by our own insides... it wasn't a pleasant death they warned... but is any death not painful? --- I sat in the car for a moment with my Mom. She glanced at me and turned off the engine. ""What is it?"" she said, reaching over and pushing my hair off my brow. ""Come on Steph, you can tell me."" I met her eyes. They were bright and blue. I tried to remember what it was like to see them for the first time. I wish I could remember what it was like to grow inside her and feel her heart so close to me. It made my own heart hurt knowing how much pain I was about to cause her... but it was a valiant choice wasn't it? So that she and Dad could actually have a life. ""I'm just... I'm worried about my test today."" I said. ""I don't think I studied enough."" ""Oh,"" Mom said, ""Well hun, I know how much you study and I can tell you'll be just fine. Now off you go. I'll pick you up at 3:00."" I reached over and hugged her like I had never hugged her before. I took in a deep breath of the smell of her hair and her perfume. She always wore the same kind... ever since I was a baby. ""Bye Mom,"" I said. ""See you later hun."" She said. I opened the car door and walked towards the school, trying to not let the tears hiding behind my eyes pool over the sides. I walked with my head down towards the door and, once I was sure Mom's car had gone, I turned my direction towards the forest. I didn't stop walking until I was deep within the trees. The forest floor was riddled with old newspapers and signs that were historical relics of the time before the Monarchy. I continued with the turning paths until I found a little clearing filled with flowers and bright sunlight. I dropped my bag to the side and glanced at my watch: two hours. It had been two hours since I had missed my medication. I sat down and then laid back in the grass. I allowed the sunshine to warm my face. I tried to focus on how the grass felt against my skin. How the breeze swept my hair. I wasn't sure what I would miss most about living. My life had been filled with suffering just like everyone else. Perhaps death would finally be the escape we had all bee seeking. Maybe that's why the disease happened in the first place. Three hours. My heart was pounding faster than ever before. I could feel an itch against my skin, as if I had been bitten by some little bugs. My vision became sharper as my mind began to feel more alive. I felt like I couldn't breath. The air seemed thinner. Perhaps the liquid was finally filling my lungs. Four hours. It should be any moment now. I tried to brace myself for the pain but I wasn't quite sure how one did that. Thinking about it definitely made it worse, but you only die once so maybe I want to focus on every moment of it and try to enjoy it for the human experience that it was? It should all happen soon... it was just a matter of minutes. Five hours. I waited. The sun had moved in the sky. Birds were singing happily. I kept my eyes closed. The pain should kick in any time now. That's what all the reports stated when they found bodies of the people who could no longer afford the drugs. ""Exactly four hours after he had missed his daily dose the newest disease victim was found my the Department of Disease control. His body completely blue from suffocation. Let this be a reminder and a warning to all, take your medications on time or this body could be yours."" Six hours. I sat up and looked around. I glanced at my watch. It had been six hours. SIX. Maybe my body was just better at keeping the treatment drug in my system. Or maybe the disease was weaker in me. I looked at my rash but it wasn't there anymore. I pulled up my shirt. My skin was clearer than it had ever been. There were no aches or spots. The pains that had filled my head had seemed to escape out my ears. I pushed my hair off my brow and took in a deep breath. Something was buzzing. I reached into my backpack to get my phone. Mom's face was on the screen with her contact name under it. I answered it and held it to my ear shaking only slightly. ""Hello?"" ""Stephanie,"" Mom's voice said, ""Hun I'm at the school to pick you up. Where are you? Your Principal said you missed all your classes today."" ""I'm sorry,"" I said, the tears actually falling from my eyes now. ""I... I went for a walk in the woods today because I was so nervous for my test and I got lost and then when i finally found my way it didn't make sense to go back to the school."" Mom sighed. ""It's okay hun are you at the school now, are you okay?"" ""I'm fine."" I said. ""I'll be there soon. But can we talk to the Principal about this tomorrow? I just want to go home."" ""Okay, okay,"" she cooed. ""It'll be alright. Just get to the school, we'll go home and talk about it. Call me in a few minutes so I know not to worry."" I stood up. My legs felt stronger, as if my aching muscles had healed themselves. I began to walk back to the school but I felt the sudden desire to be running. I suddenly had so much energy. I felt like I could climb a tree or jump to the stars. I laughed as I ran, doing cartwheels and jumping over junk. I felt alive. Like truly alive. But what did it all mean? Mom was waiting for me outside the school. She had an expression on her face that was a mix between concern and worry. She opened her arms as I approached and hugged me tightly. ""I was very worried,"" she said, ""I'm glad you are alright."" I hugged her tightly. When I pulled away I noticed something about her that I hadn't before. She seemed almost robotic. There wasn't much about her and her expressions were minor to non-existent. We walked towards the car and she began to drive again making me think about a robot. But now that I was paying attention, everyone looked like a robot, or like they were sleep walking. They performed tasks and went about their business. But they seemed... well it was hard to say exactly what they were like, but it made me uncomfortable. ""Mom,"" I said, ""Are you feeling alright?"" ""Yes of course,"" Mom said, ""I have never felt so good since the Drug to help the disease was invented. It almost killed me you know."" ""No i don't know,"" I said, ""What happened?"" ""Well,"" Mom said, ""One day at work everyone in the office developped this horrible rash all over their bodies. And that evening the news was talking about it and how it was a non-curable disease that had taken over the *entire* world. It was hard to believe at first, but the rash was getting worse and my body felt so weak. Once the pill was invented and distributed to everyone, we all got better! But it's a shame there isn't a real cure."" ""Yeah,"" I said. As I looked out the window I saw what I knew was a normal occurrence but now that I was actually paying attention felt odd. Billboards advertising the drug and the dangers of the disease were everywhere. They struck fear into even my heart. Was this all just propaganda? What the hell was going on? As we turned a corner there was a very disturbing image of a decomposing blue body. ""Don't want this to happen to you? Remember the daily drug dose is two!"" On the streets I could see members of the ""Department of Disease control"" walking up and down the streets fully armed. I avoided their eyes and continued to look forwards. I was ready to die today, but instead I was reborn. And now I knew I had to do something... but what? Thanks so much for reading! The story is continued in the comments and if you'd like to read more by me please check out my other comments in r/writingprompts!",1764
 Lucy had maybe another 12 hours before,"Lucy lay shivering in bed, her hands clutching the sweat-soaked duvet tightly around her, the bed heater back on. It had been lke this for the past three days, and she wished she was already dead. The boiling heat alternated with freezing cold for hours at a time, and every muscle of her body seemed to protest as she slowly forced herself to sit up, to push the duvet away long enough to pull the laptop closer to her. She typed her bank account password in with quivering fingers, and cringed. The money was still gone, and without that, she couldn't afford the bus fare to the clinic across town, let alone the drug. Her neck ached with the effort to hold her neck up, and she rested it gently against the back of the bed. She had maybe another 12 hours before she died, and her hopes that George was coming back were fading fast. Damn, but she had been such a fool. They'd been dating for 6 months now, and he'd said he needed her card to buy something online, would she mind. She'd hesitated. Looking back, she winced. He'd looked so hurt - don't you trust me? - and she'd foolishly given in. The next day he'd text her to cancel their planned dinner, as he had to go on a work trip. Two days later, her money was gone, and he was safe. The police couldn't help, the loans company wouldn't, and she was ... well, dead. Even the charities she'd reached out to had turned her away, because she had been wealthy enough to afford medicine until only a few days before. Their work, they had stressed, was for people who were employed in lower wage jobs, and couln't afford both drugs and food. Those with children. Couldn't she ask her parents for money? Of course, Lucy could, theoretically. But she wouldn't. Maybe she even couldn't. Finally, as a last resort, Lucy had asked her boss for her wages in advance to cover her. Just until the end of the month, she'd stressed. She'd be able to save and skrimp enough to cover the cost of the drug on that, surely. He'd told her to go home and look after herself, that he'd see what he could do... but given that her bank account was still sat at a resolute, red zero. Well. Perhaps it was for the best. She forced herself out of bed and across to the kitchen sink. It was the first time since she'd moved in that she was glad all she could afford was a bedsit. Not bothering to grab a glass, she leaned slowly forward until her tongue could touch the stream of water, tilted her head to one side, and gulped thirstly. Then, groaning, she shuffled back to bed, threw her duvet onto the floor, and spread out, her skin on fire. Lucy slept. She was forced awake by a dry, prickly mouth, and sat up slowly. The fever seemed to have worked its way out of her system, and although still a little sore, she could stand without an internal dialogue. She grinned. But, wait. She should be dead. ""Is this... heaven?"" She asked aloud, looking around her deserted room. Maybe someone had come in, given her something - but the door was still deadbolted, the window latched. Her hands still shook as she poured a glass of water. Maybe, she thought, this was the second wind, the nice bit before death. But she felt fine. Better than fine. She almost wanted to dance with how fine she felt. ""I'm alive."" She told the wall, confidently. Then she turned to the stuffed cat an old friend had bought her, and told it too. ""I'm alive!"" She span around in a circle, which was somewhat ill-advised as she immediately felt dizzy. She hadn't eaten anything more nutrious than the few slices of dry toast she had nibbled in her bed on the few occasions she had made it to the kitchen, before it had gone blue. ""Ok,"" she said, ""I need to eat."" She had a yoghurt in the fridge, which she consumed while rooting through her freezer drawer for a ready meal. Nothing. Dammit. And she still had no money for shopping. Three bendy carrots, a slightly mushy bag of spinach, and three sausages would have to do then, and she quickly set to work. How was she not dead? Rach! She had to call Rach! She whirled around, the spitting sausages forgotten momentarily, and scrambled among her bedding for her phone. Which was dead. She swore, then plugged it in next to the hob, balancing it on the top of the microwave. Finally, the battery symbol came on, and she mashed the power button with her thumb, the other hand futily jostling the sausages. ""Lucy?"" A dubious voice picked up. ""Why are you calling me?"" ""Rach, listen. I know it's been a while. I know I said some stupid, horrible things. But you need to know something."" ""Ok."" ""Take a seat. Somewhere quiet, somewhere alone. Please, this is important."" ""Give me a minute."" Lucy grabbed at the sausages with one hand and dumped them onto a plate, too hungry to care if they were done. Then, sucking her burnt fingers, she tapped the speakerphone button and pulled her chair closer to the phone. ""What is it, Luce?"" ""You were right."" ""What?"" ""You were right. I... look, it's a long story, but I didn't have money for tablets this month."" ""Are you alright?"" ""Yes, yes, that's the point. I didn't take them, but I'm also still alive."" There was a staticy silence on the phone for a few heartbeats. ""Are you sure?"" ""What do you mean, am I sure?"" Lucy took a bite of sausage, and spoke around it. ""Of course I'm sure."" ""We can't talk on the phone. They might be listening."" Lucy bit down the urge to tell her she was being paranoid - after all, that had been part of their fight in the first place - and, she realised, if Rachel had been right about this... ""Just answer a few questions, OK?"" Lucy hummed her agreement. ""OK. When was your last dose?"" ""4 days ago."" ""What were your symptoms?"" ""Mostly fever."" ""Where are you now?"" ""Town centre, Burkley Street."" ""I'm on my way. Stay there, don't open the door to anyone. Do you understand?"" ""Yes."" Rachel hung up. Lucy continued eating her sausages. 5 minutes later there was a knock at the door. It was only instinct that kept her from calling out. Instead, she slowly slid along the floor, her heart thundering in her chest. Another knock, loud and authoritative. ""Miss Naze. I know you're in there. Please answer the door."" She held her breath. ""Miss Naze, please. We don't want to hurt you."" Trying desperately to be as quiet as possible, she breathed in, and then out. How did they know she was there. A new voice, female, spoke. ""We're working with Rachel Thearm. She asked us to pick you up, as our team was closer."" Now Lucy knew that these people weren't going to help her. Rach would have told her if she was delegating the task. But while they were here, would Rach be able to come help her. There were another few minutes of tense silence, and then Lucy heard footsteps heading from her door down the corridor. Were they trying to trick her? Convinced she'd died? A thud, on the wall. She squealed in shock, and clasped a hand over her mouth. Another thud. My god, were they breaking down the wall? Without thinking about it, she grabbed a knife from the washing up pile and clenched it in a white fist. She would not die, not after surviving that fever. She would fight. There was a silence, stretched across several seconds, and then somehow the bolt on the door began to draw back. She lunged across the room, and pushed it shut again, fighting against some other force. ""Hey."" A whisper came. ""It's ok, just me. Open up."" Somehow, Lucy couldn't trust the voice, even if it sounded a little like Rachel with her posh, English accent. ""Seriously, Luce, open up. I have approximately 5 minutes to get you out of here before they wake up."" Tentatively, Lucy pressed her lips up against the crack of the door. ""What did you give me, the night before we went to prom?"" ""A stuffed lion. Babe, come on, we need to go."" Scared, still clutching the knife, Lucy baked away from the bolt. It moved again. Then there was Rachel's grinning face, pushing it open, grabbing Lucy and pulling her through. Two crumpled SWAT officers were by the door, heads resting against one another. Rachel was dressed in black, riot police like clothes, a small handgun clenched in one hand. Silently, she pulled Lucy down the hall, into a stairwell, and down they went. ""Luce babe, I'm so glad you called."" Lucy, concious of her knife - and her dirty pyjamas - said nothing. She didn't know what to do, whether to trust Rachel. She had no other choice. ""You're a medical marvel, Luce. I have some doctors I want you to meet."" She paused by the door to the basement, looked Lucy up and down, and pulled her into a quick hug. ""Come on, we've got work to do.""",1572
 Sophie was so used to the creatures,"Sophie was so used to the creatures crowding her vision, she rarely gave them a second glance anymore. Giant hulking rabbit with four eyes and wings, dragons that wheeled over the cities, massive, slick sea creatures that gamboled and played in the rivers and oceans. She wasn't able to touch them, and they never seemed to see her - but they were always something that was uniquely hers. She wrote stories about them, but never showed her writing to anyone. That would make the creatures real to others, and they were *hers*. Until she saw the man painting in the park. He had somehow found the perfect, shifting molten shade of gold to capture the glint of the sleeping dragon's folded wings. She ventured closer, certain that he wouldn't look up at her approach. He must be one of the ghosts of this shadow world that weren't actually real. It was probably just her imagination weaving absurdly vivid pictures, or some delusion. She really should see a professional soon, but it was so lovely to have this ability. What if she were prescribed antipsychotics, and the world became drab and colourless, none of her creatures to fill the skies and the oceans? What if her imagination disappeared too, and she couldn't write anymore at all? She didn't want to let it go. Why, even this man seemed magical, with his swirling cloak, and waves of ink black hair like a raven's wing... ""Do people in your realm never greet properly?"" he suddenly spoke softly, pausing where he had been painting the creature's massive front claw. Her mouth dropped open, and he smiled widely at her disbelief. ""Oh, great,"" she muttered. ""Auditory hallucinations, too, what fun."" To prove it, the other people in the park were giving her nervous looks, as if afraid she would attack them at any moment. The man gave a rich chuckle and turned back to his picture, mixing gold and white to get the colour of the creature's belly just right. ""Oh, you're no more 'crazy' than any of the people in your world,"" he told her. ""Just gifted enough to catch the odd glimpses of the other realms. Where do you think your greatest artists and writers found their inspiration? You know, I like you. Do you know the name of my friend over there?"" She dismissed the strangeness of the conversation to focus on the question. It seemed vastly important, suddenly, and she found the name as she looked upon the dragon. ""Ryna,"" she said, and he nodded slowly. On the grass, the dragon rolled in its sleep and gave a soft rumble. ""Good guess. It's close enough - it seems you're more in tune with our realm than I thought,"" he said. ""Look, he almost heard you. Names are important, girl, remember that. It's the call between realms. What is yours?"" ""Sophie,"" she said, without thinking, and his black eyes gleamed brightly. ""What's yours?"" ""Sophie,"" he echoed her name softly, ignoring her question, and touched her hand. She felt it, a warm and fleeting brush of skin. ""Well, Sophie. I can allow you to become a greater part of our world, if you wish. I can be your...guide, as it were. My realm will unlock your potential in...what do you like to do? Are you a painter, like me, or perhaps you sing?"" ""Well, I do like to write, sometimes,"" she whispered, almost afraid to say it out loud. ""But I'm not any good."" ""Ah, a *writer*. I do love writers. After you visit, you will write like never before,"" he winked at her. ""I know, I've seen it happen. I've taken some from your realm before. Edgar Allan Poe was one of our most famous visitors, and a dear friend to me. A talented man...it's funny, he was always able to see me, you know. Never got my name quite right, though, no matter how many times I told him."" He lapsed into a thoughtful silence. ""But there is danger, too, I won't lie, and perhaps you will curse me for drawing you in,"" he continued slowly. ""But perhaps you'll enjoy it, it's always so difficult to know how one of you will react. Perhaps you are strong enough. Call on me if you wish for it. But remember - with every visit, you will become more removed from your own plane. It could become difficult to fully return. Some have lost themselves along the way."" ""This isn't real, is it?"" Sophie asked, as the man turned his back on her and finished the painting. ""I see you need convincing,"" he chuckled, and took the painting from the easel. The fresh paint gleamed and the colours seemed to shift, unnaturally bright in the afternoon sun. He handed it to her with a strange little grin. ""Here, a little memento from me, it will prove how real I am. And I'll give you another gift: the name's Nevamor. Call on me if you wish, Sophie, and I will visit again. Think it over well."" She walked home in a daze, staring at the picture of the sleeping dragon sprawled on the grass. It was an almost perfect rendition of the dragon. Ryna. Her roommate, Elizabeth, frowned when she let herself into the apartment. As always, Sophie looked like she was tripping on five kinds of drugs. ""Hey. You ok?"" Liz asked her. ""I'm fine,"" Sophie sighed, putting the picture on the coffee table. She would make an appointment to see a psychiatrist this week, she promised herself. Hallucinating the feel and touch of a man's hand and a whole painting was becoming less harmless and more frightening. It would be best if she just tried to forget about all of it, and never called the man's name. That would just indulge her delusions. ""Well, ok. I'm going out, there's leftovers in the fridge,"" Liz said, heading to the door. ""Nice painting, by the way. Where'd you get it?"" Sophie was staring at her, eyes stretched wide in shock. Liz shrugged and headed out, shaking her head a bit at her roommate's behaviour. Hours later, when she returned to an empty apartment, she tried not to worry - even though Sophie had promised she'd be home tonight. Her roommate had always been a rather odd one, and liked to wander off on her own. Sophie would be fine, wherever she was. On the windowsill, a raven Elizabeth couldn't see gave a cawing laugh she never heard. -------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1097
 Xylenor and Blom,"""How much further?"" asked Xylenor, in between ragged breaths. He didn't get an answer. The dwarf at his side was less than half his height, reaching only up to his scabbard. That meant that Blomor had to work twice as hard just to keep up at the current pace they were going, as they plunged through the thick undergrowth, plowed through the coarsened vegetation. The inevitable gloom of dusk was also falling across the horizon, signalling the onset of darkness, which was never an ideal condition for fighting, no matter how you cut it. They reached a fork in the trail, and Blomor gestured to the left. Xylenor fell in line, and briefly hoped that the others would pick up on their trail, scent the waymarks he had been leaving behind at regular intervals. ""Not much further now,"" said Blomor, his pace slowing. ""When will your reinforcements arrive?"" ""Soon,"" said Xylenor, hoping that he would not be proven wrong. ""They better. We can't take them on our own."" Xylenor's stomach tightened in knots. He yearned to throw caution to the winds, unleash his magic there and then. A single thunderflare first, which would bathe the forests for miles around with a single peal of light, a flash of sound. That would mark their location, give the patrols a destination to home in on. Then Xylenor would link forces with the dwarf, and together they would marshal the latent energies in the surroundings, tear open a portal at their location, create a forward position from which their brethren could quickly pour forth. And how easy it would be. The elves were the lynchpin in the Alliance, masters at channelling and processing the raw magic which permeated their world. The dwarves, with their knack for intricate, delicate spellweaving, did wonders with the relatively meagre amounts of magic they dredged up. And the goblins, or at least the last few which still survived, would harmonize the discordant spells unleashed in battle, pluck the stray strands which zipped through the air, and rally it all into a single, living, breathing orchestra of magic. But Xylenor knew they could afford no such luxury. If they were to meet the challenge lying ahead, they would need every shred of magic at their disposal. ""We're getting close,"" said Blomor. ""Was this where you first came upon them?"" asked Xylenor. ""Aye. My partner's still out there, somewhere, keeping watch. Just a normal routine inspection. The humans have been keeping to their side of the bargain, keeping off our territory. But some of our younglings often cross the border, thinking themselves brave enough to weather whatever's lying ahead."" ""They were the ones who first alerted you?"" ""In a way,"" said Blomor. ""We found them running back towards our outposts, damn near screaming their heads off in fear."" ""Is it bad?"" asked Xylenor. Blomor nodded. ""Very."" They crested a hill, and then Xylenor saw it for himself. The plumes of smoke against the setting sun seemed like the stormdrakes of old, twisting gently as they stretched out into the heavens. Xylenor counted at least four main conflict points, marked by the scorched earth and shattered trees. He focused, sharpening his senses with a seasoning of magic. The sounds of battle still raged on, but he had trouble making out the dancing giants in the distance. ""Their shields are still up,"" said Xylenor. ""Aye. We had trouble sighting them too, what with the cloaking fields they deploy."" ""So do we know what we're in for?"" Blomor beckoned, and away they went again, streaking down the other side of the hill until they came to a human-made clearing, marked by a giant carcass, rooted into the ground. It still thrummed with life, but just barely, and Xylenor didn't need magic to tell that the humans within were already dead. ""This is a bloody Dreadnought, for goodness' sakes,"" muttered Xylenor in disbelief. ""From the Emperor's Command, no less,"" said Blomor. He muttered a levitation spell, and was lifted to the side of the fallen giant. His hand caressed the strange materials, feeling the edges where the top half of the Dreadnought had been clipped right off, as if it was a mere chestnut sundered by a blade. ""You think your lightning spells can do this much damage?"" asked Blomor. ""To shear right through a Dreadnought, how many Circles must work together?"" Xylenor's face blanched. ""You mean..."" Off they went again, quicker this time. Xylenor sensed the forests filling up with the Alliance, which comforted him somewhat. If he was going to die here today, at least he wouldn't be alone. They found themselves at yet another hill, and this time they were close enough to see the battle with their own eyes. On one side were the gleaming legions of the humans. Three to a cell, six to a squad, nine to a contingent, the humans were already in their raging golems, towering beasts of unwavering loyalty. Xylenor recalled an early campaign where the Alliance had resorted to skulduggery, tried to twist the golems to their side. Their very best mages had been stumped, unable to figure out the inner workings of those fearsome monstrosities. Humans on their own were dangerous, but with their golems, an entire village caught unprepared could be razed to the ground. By Xylenor's best count, less than a third of the human forces remained. Those which still stood and fought had the trailing black robes of the Command, that elite band of golems which comprised of the most experienced and battle-worn warriors. They were holding their ground, but just barely. Xylenor was so lost in the spectacle that he gave a start when the human nearby, propped against a tree, coughed. The human had evidently ejected from his golem at the point of complete destruction, and had somehow managed to crawl to relative safety. For a moment, Xylenor forgot that this was technically still an enemy combatant, and he rushed to the human's side, pressed his hands against the open wounds, summoning all the healing magic he could muster. ""I'm... sorry,"" said the human, too weak to even hold up his head. ""He's not got long,"" said Blomor. ""We should have come earlier... but..."" ""Why didn't you send us a warning earlier?"" asked Xylenor, a hard edge creeping into his voice. ""You could have told us!"" ""The Alliance wouldn't have believed... us..."" Then, the infernal clacking filled the air, a sound so terrible that it awakened deep-seated, long-buried memories in Xylenor. The goosebumps razed his flesh, his blood ran cold, and he forced himself to look to the other side of the battlefield, athwart the mighty golems. And there flourished an array of the land's greatest threats, the enemy they thought finally vanquished. There they stood, risen from the dead, the only thing which could have united the humans and the Alliance, caused them to put aside their petty differences, band together against the common threat. Each double the size of the human golems, stronger, faster, deadlier. Unrelenting forces of nature, harbingers of doom. ""Believe me now?"" asked Blomor grimly. Xylenor pressed his fingers to his forehead, and thoughtcast the warning back to the elven forces on the way. ""Be advised,"" he relayed, ""the Orcs with their Giant Enemy Crabs are back."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1216
 The being's eyes were pitiless,"The being's eyes were pitiless as Samuel broke down, staring wildly at the hellscape surrounding him. It wasn't quite as he had imagined, no flames, no pitchforks waiting. Just an endless stretch of cracked, dead earth, with no trees in sight, no burbling streams of water, no other people...and yet, and yet, it was the worst place he could imagine. ""Your personal hell,"" the creature told him, its lipless mouth curling into something that resembled a smile. ""You always did love the beauty of nature, did you not?"" Yes, he had loved it, and had always prayed for a heaven filled with trees and rivers, where he would dwell forever with his wife, Alison, when her time came to pass. Had always been so certain he had earned his right to be there, walking at the side of angels, becoming closer to God. ""Why?"" he asked, not expecting an answer. But Satan took a step closer and crouched down until he was face to face with Samuel, making him gag as a putrid stench washed over him. ""You saved my daughter, of course,"" he said. ""Dear Lilith. Heaven would not accept you after that, so I got to keep you. Let me take this moment to personally thank you for saving her. Do let me know if you need anything..."" Its voice was heavy with sarcasm, red eyes gleaming with malevolence. ""Lilith,"" Samuel repeated softly, and remembered. A beautiful college girl, she had invoked thoughts of lust in him after he had saved her from the truck, hadn't she? He felt a wave of shame for that, but remembered with pride how he had saved himself. He had resisted the urge to remain in contact, had turned from her subtle flirting in the hospital, where he had visited her, to return to his wife. Over the remaining five decades of his time on Earth, he had led a life of pious devotion. He had helped raise his three sons, and built his own little parish from the ground up. He hadn't thought of Lilith *once* in those years, with her warm, almond eyes, and skin like cream... ""That's her, the little snake,"" Satan said, giving a guttural chuckle. Samuel couldn't decide if it that was anger or pride in his voice. ""Wearing one of her favoured human guises when she met you. Tried to kill her and drag her back here where she belongs countless times, but she always managed to slither away. Or had fools like you saving her. Wreaking havoc on Earth, trying to take *my* rightful place in the minds of humans. But I will say this: she truly did love you, as much as she is capable of love."" ""You can read my thoughts of her?"" Samuel asked, shivering as an ice wind swept through the desert. The cold burned worse than the fire and blood he had been expecting. He had always hated being cold. ""I have many talents,"" he said, grasping Samuel's hand with a raking claw. ""As does my daughter. We can twist memory and life itself, of course, but if I wish...I can return your true memories to you."" He screamed, but it was no use. He was remembering. Alison's broken eyes as he left their home to follow Lilith, his three young children crying and begging him to remain. Years upon years of unspeakable deeds, as she strove to bend the Earth to her will. What had happened? What had he done? Samuel's spine bent as he howled, the memories burning through him. ""That's enough,"" Satan whispered through his pain, and he was abruptly cold again, shuddering as he lay curled on the ground. ""I wanted you to know, before I take you onward. This isn't your final resting place, Samuel Wells. I've made a little deal with someone."" That claw closed around his shoulder, and he was dragged from the desert. When he woke again, warm brown eyes were smiling down on him. The weather was pleasantly mild, luscious trees rising gracefully to the heavens all around them. ""Lilith?"" he whispered, and she gave that perfect smile that struck him silent. How had he ever managed to forget it? ""I made you forget,"" she said, pressing her lips to his forehead. The intoxicating scent of her, honey and spices he could not name, overwhelmed him. ""And now, I wished for you to remember, my love. Father granted me that favour."" ""You will remain here, now?"" something interrupted them, and he looked up to see Satan watching from between two elm trees, his face bathed in shadow. Samuel trembled at the blasphemy of it. It was so wrong for him to be here, in this piece of Heaven. ""Of course, Father, a deal is a deal,"" Lilith whispered, wrapping Samuel tighter in her arms. ""I will not return to Earth, if I can remain here with him."" Soon, they were alone again. He was almost paralyzed with pleasure at the warmth of her touch, the feel of her hand tracing its way down his chest. ""He told me...I will be in my personal Hell,"" Samuel whispered, anxious to say it before the memory disappeared. He could already feel the details of his time in the desert fading away. ""There are many versions of Hell. This might be it for one aspect of you,"" she gave a throaty chuckle. ""The Samuel you were, before you met me."" For a moment, he remembered the reproachful eyes of his wife. What had her name been? And his sons...he had sons, once... ""But forget that now, my love,"" Lilith whispered, and he shivered as she lightly traced the outside of his ear with her tongue. ""You're here with me. How could that possibly be Hell?"" He allowed the memories to go, relishing her touch upon his chest, right where his heart was beating. He was in the arms of his true love, in a place of warmth and plenty. Truly, God was good. ----------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1013
 An electrical engineer who put himself through,"*It's not about the money. It's about the principle of the thing!* I don't want you to get the wrong picture of me. I'm not some white-collar slob browsing through memes in an air-conditioned office. I'm an electrical engineer who put himself through school on nickels and dimes. I had to sell my radio to buy my uniform for my first day of work, although I would have sold a kidney if that hadn't covered it. If I'm willing to get my hands dirty to earn my money, you can sure as hell know I'm willing to get them dirty to get it back. When someone takes money from me, it's not just me they're stealing from. They're stealing from my father who worked a night job to keep clothes on my back. They're stealing from my children who can't understand why their father doesn't love them enough to get them the same toy their friends have. They're stealing from every honest man, every American dream, every - ""Next in line please."" The vein in my forehead learned to tap-dance. If a glare could kill, the McDonalds Cashier in front of me would have flipped his last burger. ""I gave you a twenty. You gave me change for a 10."" My voice could have chiseled rock. There was a collective sigh from the line behind me, but I held my ground. ""I'm not leaving until you give me my 10 back."" ""I know how to do my job, *sir*. Next in line!"" It would have been one thing if I was a strung-out fool scratching at my ass, but I was a professional man. From my tucked in dress shirt to my carefully parted hair, everything about me screamed credibility. The nerve of this greasy teenager to disregard me so quickly - But this wasn't over. Oh no, this was far from over. He was nothing compared to me, and I was going to prove it. But I wasn't going to stoop to his level. I was going to use my game to beat him. I'll admit, my plan seemed a lot simpler in my head. These types of registers just spring open when the electricity shorts out. After that, all I had to do was grab it and run. It wasn't stealing: it was justice. But then I guess I started overthinking things... The supplies I needed from Home Depot set me back a bit, but soon I'd put together a simple device which drew so much power in a feedback loop that the whole building would be overloaded. Sure I had to bribe the guy who worked there when he got suspicious what I was going to use it for, but you never know when I'll need to use this baby again. Of course, just to be safe I might as well get rid of the security cameras. No point going to all this trouble just to get caught. I can't believe it cost a couple hundred dollars just to get someone from the company to recall them for maintenance. Worth it, of course, because now I was ready to exact my revenge. Only he'd already finished his shift by then, and I didn't want to get someone else in trouble. I followed him home instead, maybe a bit too fast, because I got a speeding ticket along the way. He wouldn't have a register at home, but I could still go in and take it by force. Of course, for that I'd be safer to bring along some protection, so I had to buy a gun. Couldn't wait the three days, so I just got a hot one from a buddy I know. Cost a little extra, but you know what you can't afford to replace? Dignity. Finally, it was midnight, and I had everything I needed. Time to make this bastard pay. Or it would have been, if I hadn't accidentally broken into the wrong house. There was a lot of screaming and confusion. Understandable, given me crashing in through their kitchen window, but who the hell really needs a stain glass window in their house anyway? Bunch of white-collar pussies if you ask me. Of course I offered to pay for the damages, so it's not like any real harm was done. But now! The right house. Right time. Just before the break of dawn, I knocked on his door. Long, loud knocks. Not the sound of a thief in the night - more like the authoritative confidence of the police upholding the great law. No reply. What would the police do in this circumstance? Exactly the same thing I did. Break the door in. Gun at the level, I flipped on every light I came across. I have nothing to hide. Do you? ""What's that awful racket?"" An older woman. Must be his mother. She waddled blearily down the hallway in her nightgown, freezing when she saw the gun in my hand. ""Oh sweet Jesus. Michael! Call the police!"" ""I am the police!"" I roared. ""Where is that son-of-a-bitch?"" ""You're no police. Where's your badge?"" ""Well, not exactly the police. But I'm on the side of justice -"" ""Michael get down here and help me!"" she screamed. ""Yeah, come here Michael,"" I added, albeit a bit less confidently than when I had begun. ""And bring my ten dollars!"" Soon they were both against the wall, quivering in fear. I was starting to get uneasy now, but any hesitation would make it look like I was confessing to doing the wrong thing. I wasn't! The money was mine! And God as my witness, I wasn't leaving without it. The moment when he handed me the folded bill, I knew it was all worthwhile. Sure I'd spent my whole savings to get this back, but I'd also deterred this scumbag from his future life of crime. I put the bill in my pocket and walked home in triumph, the exalted return of a victorious emperor from his conquered land. I guess in retrospect I should have looked at the bill Michael gave me. Bitch only gave me a 5. --- .",1025
 A man came in to open an,"I'll admit, it wasn't my proudest moment. I was working as at a bank, and a pretty strange guy came in to open an account. You probably know the type. Overly loud to cover his insecurities, laughs obnoxiously at his own jokes, weird clothes. Anyway, this guy comes in and has a sack full of cash to open an account. Plops it down on my desk and has me set it all up for him. We finish up around lunch time and I send the guy on his way, then head back to the vault with the money. It's right around then my stomach starts growling at me and I remember I left my lunch at home. Things have been a little tight around the home front with a new baby, so I'm feeling strapped. You can probably guess where this is going. I went ahead and took $10 out of the sack, and processed the deposit. I figured a guy with this much cash wouldn't miss it. Who misses $10 out of a $86,400 deposit? John Oker, apparently. Not that I found this out immediately. No, it was two years later. I was doing auditing work for a different company by this time, and was supposed to go inspect a warehouse for an important client. The place looked abandoned when I got there. No lights were coming out of this massive, old building. The paint was peeling, and most of the windows were still boarded up. Those that weren't were covered in a thick layer of grime that made it impossible to see inside. The remains of the sign for the old chemical plant that used to operate out of here still clung to the top parts of the wall, but a small wooden sign near the main door confirmed I was in the right place: ""Laughing Planet Inc."" Inside was about a filthy as the outside. But there were definite signs of activity. Conveyor belts had been put in, and there were toys in various states of construction spread throughout. ""Hello?"" I called. My voice echoed around the warehouse a bit. I started to turn to leave when an answer finally came. ""Jerry! So glad you could make it. Please, step on in."" It was a man's voice. One I didn't recognize at first. I spun around and looked for the source of the voice, but didn't see anyone. ""Yes, I believe I had an appointment with Ms. Quinn? She was going to give me a tour of the facilities,"" I shouted back. There was another pause. Again, I almost gave up on the whole thing, which in hindsight, I should have. ""She won't be joining us, as she had another engagement come up unexpectedly. So I'll be giving you the tour."" The voice came from right behind me. I spun around and recognized him immediately. The man from the bank. Still wearing the same strange clothes, now topped off with wild dyed hair and a heavily made up face. Before I could even get a word out, he took me by the arm and led me deeper into the building. ""As you can see, we had to let the janitor go,"" he said, before busting out his obnoxious laugh. He led me through a maze of of half built walls and empty crates until we came to a storage area. ""Here's where we keep the raw materials, Jerry. I expect you'll want to take an inventory."" I leapt at the chance to start talking professionally. It took my mind off the strange circumstances I was in. ""Yes, that's correct. You know in small businesses like yours, it's actually shockingly common for employees to steal. One of the leading causes of those businesses going under is shrinkage, either at the till or in the inventory."" ""Oh, shrinkage you say!"" Mr. Oker gave in to another fit of laughter. I didn't get the joke. I looked around the area and spied something sitting on the floor, so I stooped to pick it up. ""A ten dollar bill,"" I said. ""How careless!"" the man in the strange purple clothes said. ""Well Jerry, finders-keepers, am I right? You can apply it toward your bill, or just pocket it. I'm sure you've earned it."" ""No, sir,"" I said with a nervous laugh. ""That would be unethical. You'd better take it."" Mr. Oker stepped over to me and took the bill from my hand. ""Well I admire that Jerry, I really do. Ethics really is high on my list of must haves."" He chuckled again, before continuing. ""In fact, I'd never let it go if someone stole from me. Not ever. If I found out someone had taken my money, why, I might buy a warehouse for a fake toy company, and lure the thief there, then strap him to the conveyor belts and run him through the machines."" I tittered nervously. He didn't. He stepped closer to me, pressing me against some of the crates. ""Do you remember me, Jerry?"" ""I'm sorry Mr. Oker, I..."" ""Please, call me Joker."" And that's when he punched me. One good whack to the head and I was out. When I woke up, I was strapped to the conveyor belts. ""Rise and shine, Jerry!"" Joker shouted from a platform high above me. I watched as he dramatically heaved an enormous lever. The machinery sprang to life, and I started moving toward the metal contraption that would turn me into a child's plaything. I pulled against the ropes, but couldn't get free. ""Maybe your ethics will save you!"" Joker called. ""No, but mine will,"" a gravely voice answered. I heard the dull sound of a fist hitting someone. ""Oh Bats, here to ruin my fun again! Even though I'm in the right this time!"" Joker called. There was no answer this time, just the sounds of a scuffle. All I know for sure is that the machine turned off a minute before I was going to become a puppet. Sorry if this was a longer answer than you wanted, Commissioner Gordon, but to cut to the chase: yes, I have some idea of what the Joker wanted with me. ***** If you enjoyed this, you can subscribe to to read more of my prompt responses.",1048
 Necromancer Alturias purses,"""Heya boss. What we doin' this time?"" The Necromancer Alturias purses his lips, looking over me with contemptuous eyes. His hand trembles, his breath hitches. A deathly cold fills the room. ""*You*.... *again?*"" ""Guess ya can't get enough of me, eh? Don't worry, it's all going *tibia* ok. You can take over the world with just me, I know it."" With a derisive flick of his hand, the cold wind of the room gathers in his palm and is redirected in a blast at me. I feel it collide with my chest, shattering the structure of my body as my bones are scattered across the room. ""Ok, ya ain't a *humerus* man, I get it. I get it,"" my skull chatters. He disregards me, his cloak billowing as he clenches his right hand and moves it upwards, my head following the motion as it's lifted from the ground. ""I'll kill you again,"" he hisses. ""Boss-man, yer wastin' time with me here. You could be takin' over the world. Capturing fair maidens. Pissing off Heroes. Instead yer speaking with me."" ""Because I don't bloody need you. I need *them.*"" I feel the pressure build up in my skull as his nails dig into his hand. ""Beggars can't be choosers, boss. C'mon, at least gimme a smile! Ya always look like such a bloomin' grouch."" His jaw tightens like a body in rigor mortis, his nostrils flaring as he tilts his head, trying his best to suppress any semblance of visible emotion. ""Boss! Nothing is more beautiful than a genuine smile - except maybe..."" I chuckle gutturally, shaking my head, ""Naw, you're too young for that."" ""*Silence!*"" Blood begins to trickle as he clenches his fist so tightly I can see the whites of his knuckles. My skull rattles for a moment before imploding in on itself. ""*I'll be ba-*"" I manage to whisper mockingly before the world goes black. ----- ""Su-"" ""*Fuck off!*"" Alturias reels forward, his pale hand clasping around my neck. ""Boss, I - I don't breathe...."" ""Oh, right."" The hand retracts shakily. As he does so, I notice that he no longer bears the fearsome visage of a Necromancer - his eyes, once crystalline and bright with power, are now faded and sunken. His face is gaunt and haggard. More so than is typical for a Necromancer. He almost looks... undead. He slumps to his knees, head falling to the ground. I don't know why, but it almost feels instinctive for me to rest a hand over his shoulder; perhaps it's the manifestation of an echo from a bygone life. Although it lacks the comfort of another human's, I feel him relax against it as I pat him. ""There, there,"" I say, trying to make my voice sound reassuring. ""Adventuring party got you down?"" He shakes his head. ""N-no, it's just that - it's just that."" He looks to me again, and I see the same hatred in his glare I'd witnessed so many times and resurrections before. Burning and seething like a cauldron in Hell. ""What?"" ""I - I don't want to take over anything. Rule over people or anyone, for that matter. I just want a normal life."" I take a step back, and if my brows could've furrowed, they would've. Instead my skull juts forward, and I make a confused grunt. He continues, a tear dripping down his eye. ""I just want to bring back my parents. I want to feel their touch again. I want to be loved."" He lets out a loud, almost primal, bellow and slams his fists into the ground. ""But it's always you! Always... always, the same *fucking* skeleton. Just who are you? Why do you stop me from being loved again?"" I sag forward, opting for the brutal, albeit honest, answer. ""I - I don't know."" As a mere skeleton, I lack all memories, after all. It pains me to see his face fall as he arches his back and wails like a hound at the moon for a name I find familiar, although don't quite recognise. His mother, I guess. His hand whips out of his cloak, and I don't bother to dodge as a blast of energy follows it, snaking towards me as a tremor in the air. It slams into my skull, shattering it instantly. ------- I'm dead again. Caught in the thrall of that transitory stage between life and resurrection; that's what it's become for me, nothing more than a mere waiting room. As I float aimlessly in the familiar river of nothingness, a memory bubbles to life, abruptly disrupting my tranquility as it rises to the surface of the river. It bobs there for a moment, a glowing orb encased in a light so bright that it makes me wince. I raise a hand, and it feels like moving ten-thousand leagues under the sea, with every twitch a battle against unfathomable pressure. As I somehow manage to clasp my hand over the orb, I feel myself drawn into the memory. ""Mum, dad. I'm home!"" A young boy with flowing blonde hair and crystal blue eyes bounds down the pathway towards me. I take up the young master in my grasp, my shaking hands clutching tightly around him. ""Charlton, why are you crying?"" ""Young master Alturias... I'm sorry."" ""Why are you sorry?"" He says, sensing my unrest. His bright eyes look up to me, and he can see the tears cascading from mine like rivers, plopping gently on his unruly matt of hair. I merely shake my head, bringing him closer to me. He means the world to me, and I want nothing more than to see him continue smiling effervescently, so radiantly that even the heavens would stop to take notice. Wether it be jokes, puns or quips, I always give it my all to ensure he stays grinning. Always playing the clown, for the little boy's sake. ""Where are my parents?"" The boy says, his voice quivering with anxiety. ""Hush, Alturias."" I'd do it in this life and in the next, if I had to. Such is my duty. ---- /r/coffeeandwriting",1018
" ""I am John Smith, I","*Day One* ""And class, I know this is a bit sudden, but we have a transfer student. I walked in from the door and turned to the sea of Japanese students, with a rainbow of hair colors and a plethora of hairdos ranging from girls with long blue hair down to their knees to guys with red hair spikier than a porcupine. One guy even had an afro. Despite this, there was one trait that everyone shared: a surprised expression on their face. ""I am John Smith, I am a transfer student from America. It's a pleasure!"" *What the hell? I thought the Japanese were a bit more... uniform than this?* *** It was apparently lunchtime. Looking around the class room, all the kids that brought their lunch were eating already. I got up from my seat to go to the cafeteria but realized I had no money, despite the ten times I checked and confirmed that I had money in my pocket that morning. I, being rather antisocial, just laid low in the back of the classroom hoping no one would notice and make a scene of it. What do you know, a neon blue-haired girl noticed and made a scene of it. ""John, do you not have a lunch?"" ""N-no, I forgot money,"" I said, trying to play it down. ""Ha! You idiot! I guess you'll have to split a lunch with me."" *Idiot? Is that polite in Japan?* ""No, it's fine, I had a large breakf-"" ""B-but, don't get the wrong idea. I'm just doing this for your own good, because... I'm class rep after all!"" ""I didn't in the sli-"" ""Alright, alright, just take my food already!"" she said, as if I had been begging for it. She opened her bento and split the food half and half, divvying it out onto a plate from the cafeteria. ""A-and don't get the wrong idea, idiot!"" She stormed off to her friends, blushing. *What the hell was that act? Does she have a crush on me or despise me? And why either when she hasn't even spoken with me up until now?!* Then, another person came up to me. A tall guy with spikey brown hair. ""You're John, the transfer student?"" ""Yes."" ""That girl is Kinugasa Misa. She's the cutest girl in the whole school. Stellar grades, best female athlete, and every guy in the school has a crush on her. She's going to be class president next year. I'm telling you now, kiddo: she's out of your league."" ""What? I'm not interested in her. This is the first time I've even conversed with her. I don't even know her. *You* just told me her name. Yeah, she's pretty, but it's not like I'm head-over-heels for her just because I saw her once."" The guy looked at me like I was insane. He was *flabbergasted*. ""What? Isn't that, like, normal behavior?"" I retorted. ""No! Everyone has a crush on Misa. That's just... how it is, man. Cya."" And he just walked off. Without even introducing himself. I looked down at the food given to me by Misa. To be fair, it looked pretty delicious. *This was nice of her, but really, what's her problem? Is she bipolar? Is she already infatuated with me without even having known me? I suppose transfer students are popular with the girls or something.* I began to pick up a bite of it with my chopsticks when another person somehow snuck up behind me (despite me being in the back of the classroom) and hugged me from behind, their large breasts pressing into my back. ""Hey John!"" I jumped out of my chair and her grasp. I whipped around, flustered and blushing, about to question her indecency. However, in doing this, my tennis-shoe laden feet which were on a carpeted floor, lost their friction against all known laws of physics, and I fell onto this girl who had given me the classic *rack to the back*. Despite me falling forwards straight onto her with my hands out to my sides, when I landed she was on top of me and my hands were on her breasts. *What perverted God has given me this fate?!* I immediately took my hands off her and moved them to the side. ""I-I'm so sorry!"" We both stood up and I finally got a good look at her face. She had glasses and medium length green hair. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. ""I am so, so sorry!"" ""Pervert!"" She kicked me out the window. Literally, this girl who was a head shorter than me and probably weighed 50 pounds less than I, kicked me through a window and out of a three story building and into the courtyard below. I limped out of the bush I had fallen in, and began to crawl towards the school building. I had broken at least three ribs and had a moderate concussion. I saw a teacher walking to class. ""Help me!"" He looked down at my mortally-injured body and frowned. ""What are you doing fooling around right now? The bell has rung, you're late to class!"" *What the hell?!* *** I found my self walking home from the school with no such injuries apparent aside from a bandage wrapped around my head. No explanation seemed to be offered for this. I was just *magically* healed I suppose. ""Hey, John!"" It was that guy from earlier. ""Y-yeah?"" ""Man, I saw you got in trouble with Sugitani Kei, that hot chick from earlier. You grabbed her boobs and everything!"" ""I did not! I fell on her."" ""Oh, sure, that always happens."" ""No, seriously, after she so rudely interrupted my lunch with her breasts, I turned around just to speak to her and..."" ""And what? You *slipped*?"" *Goddammit.* ""You tell it how you want man. I don't care. What I want to know is how soft her boobs are!"" ""Leave me alone, that's rather crass."" ""Whatever. Cya around!"" *What an asshat.* *Say, what was his name anyways?* *** META: If you guys are interested, I'll consider doing day two. Edit: I have a good idea for Day Two so I'll try and get it up soon. It's 2 am here so don't hold your breath, but I'll see what I can do tomorrow night Edit 2: Set your Remind Me's now to pressure me into doing another Edit 3: Three things. Most important: I have Day Two up below. Enjoy! Second: Thanks for the gold kind stranger! Third: Thank you all for your kind words and support. I really appreciate it. Edit 4: I made a subreddit for my works: /r/BioWrites . I already have this and Day Two up there, and Day Three will be published there too so make sure to check it out!",1133
 It was two months after I had,"It wasn't easy to get in, you know. I just want to make that clear. It wasn't easy at *all*. I worked out, far, far harder than I had to to get through the Academy back in the day. I put the hours in. I learned slang. I learned all of the tags, and the little indicators that the gangs used to communicate. I got *tattoos* for this assignment. And I memorized the faces of the cops who worked in the area, just in case. Granted, it was easier for me than for some - Having a photographic memory is very, very useful - but it was a *lot of work* regardless. But here I was, a member of the Grey Street Union at last. We'd - the FBI, that is - been investigating them for months now. They were tied up in drug deals through the whole city, with a host of other violence-related charges tied to their name. And it all came down to me, and them, sitting in this deserted bar. It was two months after I had joined. I had tracked them down, relentlessly piecing together hang-out locations and building connections. It had been in the works for years, really, I was just the one who actually got the green light and made it in. It all should have been perfect. The perfect, undercover job to plump up my resume and send my career to the top. But I couldn't shake the feeling that something smelled. Bad. So here I sat. The other members sat around me, laughing and bantering and spitting profanity at each other. The bartender was pretending to be blind and deaf, as usual, but was *excellent* at having the next drink ready right as you finished the first. Jim, the tall fellow covered in tattoos next to me, slammed into my arm as he roared with laughter. My drink spilled all over the bar. That was about enough of that. ""Can we cut the crap, for a minute here, fellows?"" My voice was deceptively calm and even. They all stopped, turning to stare at me. I had spoken without swearing, without any accent or the drawl I had picked up to make them all comfortable. They stared. ""....Steve?"" Jim ventured. ""Sorry about your drink, man. Chill out."" I grinned- Well, ok, it really came out more as a grimace. ""All right. Honest hats on, everyone. What agencies are you from?"" You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone continued to stare at me. ""Oh, come on. I *told* you all I have a crazy memory. I know something's wrong. ""Are- are you a cop?"" Chris stammered out, pointing at me. ""Narc! He's a fucking narc!"" I leveled a glare at him. ""Chris, your real name is Christian. You work for the City Police, in their drug unit."" He gaped. ""What- I- How do you- No, I don't!"" I laughed. ""Good recovery. But, yeah, you left your badge in your bag three weeks ago after we went to work out together. Saw it when you grabbed your towel. Only took a bit of digging after that. What, had to go straight there or something?"" He turned bright red. ""....Wife packed my bag that morning. *Told* her to leave it alone. Didn't see she stuck my badge in until it was too late. She never really *gets* the fact I'm undercover. Hoped you didn't see it."" ""Oh, I saw it."" I laughed, taking another gulp of my drink. ""Wait."" This came from Tom, from the other side of the bar. ""You're City Police? Bull-fucking-shit."" Christian stammered out an unintelligible response, not sure if he should launch into an aggrieved defense or continue denying that he was police. I turned to Tom. ""Ah, right. Tom, from the City Police investigations unit, right?"" Tom and Christian turned to stare at each other. ""Always wondered how you two wound up in here together, from the same department and all. Your bureaucracy must be royally fucked up. You guys need to work on your communication."" Both blushed, and kept their silence. I sighed, and turned back to the rest. ""How long are you guys going to keep pretending? Shall I start naming *more* names?"" A few minutes later, they were out of the closet as well. What a motley crew we were, a smattering of officers and agents from Police Departments and Law Enforcement agencies across the state and country. Now they all just stared at each other sheepishly. I sighed again, finishing off my drink. A replacement slid into arm's reach. ""So....How did you *know*, Steve? This was a dumb-fucking move, you know that? If even one of us had been legit, you'd be in a mess. If more of us were, well..."" He shook his head. I only laughed. ""Like I said. Crazy memory. Some of you were sloppy, sure, like Chris there and his lovely wife. Some I looked up in the staff directories, once I knew your faces. But you know what really tipped me off?"" They shook their heads mechanically. ""You guys never *do* anything. You sit around, and talk, and occasionally pass around an evidence-room baggie of shitty drugs. Yes, Jim, I noticed. Stop pilfering evidence from your department."" I cut off the larger man before he could speak up. His mouth shut with an audible *clack*. ""You never actually fight, either. Oh, you'll go push some guys around. Rough 'em up a little. Put on a nice show. But you just *stare* at each other, more than you do your poor victim. Like you're making sure nothing too awful happens, and that everyone *sees* that you're participating. Good fucking job."" We all sat in silence, then. I had tired myself out, and the others were still looking around anxiously. Finally, Jim broke the silence. ""So I guess that's it, then."" He said, nursing his drink. ""We fucked this all up. Fucked it up hard. So I guess we're done. There's no point."" ""Man, I don't want to go back to a desk job."" Christian said quietly as he stared at the bar. Truthfully, I didn't want to go back to the desk either. This was my first gig. I was supposed to *be* someone. My mind was racing now. ""Or..."" I began, tentatively. ""We could not."" They all looked up. ""...What do you mean?"" Christian began, cautiously. I grinned. The pieces were falling into place. ""No one knows all of this but us, right? And it's not *our* fault that the higher ups fucked this one, is it? Why should we have to take the fall?"" They were all nodding now. ""So I say tonight never happened. Delete any recordings you've got from those mics I know you're all wearing. We go back to it. Let's have some *fun* with it and put on a show for them. Sound good?"" It was slow, but they were starting to grin at the thought of it. I was grinning too. Twenty minutes later, we had stumbled out of the bar into the night. Standing behind the bar, the bartender checked one last time to see we were gone, and then emerged to lock the door. He, too, was grinning. Tonight had brought him some information that would be quite valuable. His boss at the DEA would be very grateful for this bit of conversation, he was sure. He might even get a promotion, and a better assignment. His career would be on its way to the *top*. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1258
 Jason slammed his hammer into the skull,"The man stared at Jason. ""Please,"" he begged, spluttering bloody spit as he did. ""Please."" Jason stared back, peering through the single lightbulb illuminating the room. The man sat tied to a wooden chair, his nose leaking blood and one eye swollen shut. Jason didn't know his name, only that he owed money. Though, that was all Jason needed to know. With a small nod, Jason raised his hammer up, its pointy side facing down. The man shook his head, spluttering more pathetic phrases before Jason slammed his weapon down. The hammer lodged itself into the man's skull with a sickening crunch and then the man slumped down, held up only by rope and chair. ""Dump him into the streets,"" Jason said, ""make it public."" And he took a rag to his hammer, wiping away the blood. ""Yes, sir."" The thugs around him said and proceeded to drag away the body. At first, Jason had been reluctant to kill. He nearly blew his cover when he had passed on a blunt. But now, he was one of the most feared men in the gang, the second-in-command and the most vicious killer of them all. Nobody suspected a thing from him and he didn't know if that was a good thing. The CIA certainly thought so. ""Jason,"" Darren said, nudging him on the shoulder. ""Can we talk?"" His face was serious, which was rare. Usually, he had too many drugs in his system to give anything more than a sloppy smile. He was a pale white boy whose hoodies hung off of him like he was a clothesline. Jason gave the corpse a final glance. *Playground rules, eh?* he thought before turning and responding, ""Yeah, let's go."" Darren nodded and proceeded to a backroom. Jason followed after him, stepping through the door Darren held open for him. As soon as it closed behind them, Darren turned and said, ""It's about Eric. I think he's a narc."" A smile touched Jason's lips. ""Really, I heard something similar."" Darren's eyes widened and he let out a relieved breath. ""Oh thank god. I wasn't sure and I didn't want to throw around accusations."" ""Of course,"" Jason said with a nod. ""Though, the thing *I* heard was about you."" Somehow, Darren turned even paler. ""That's bullshit,"" he stammered. ""I ain't a god damn narc. C'mon, Jason, you know me. We did the Port Job together! Who the hell's spreading this shit?."" ""Eric is."" Jason said. A figure emerged from the shadows, towering over both men. It was Eric. Unlike Darren, he was a dark and muscular man, bald at twenty-five with a voice so deep, it sounded almost comical. ""You think I'm a narc?"" ""I saw your badge,"" Darren spat with a pointed finger. ""You're DEA."" ""Sounds like something the *FBI* would say."" Eric crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. ""Of course those god damn paper pushers would throw around accusations like the DEA. They haven't had an original thought in a decade."" ""Fuck you."" Darren's brow crunched. ""When I saw your badge, I was honestly so surprised. I couldn't believe that the DEA was sending people in so deep nowadays. Must be really different from the usual scheduled program of shooting high school stoners."" ""I ain't DEA you bastard. But hypothetically, if I were DEA, I'd so much happier that I wouldn't have to pucker my lips every time my boss pulls his pants down to shit. It's why you FBI Suits get caught so damn always. What self-respecting killer is gonna bend over and kiss ass on command?"" ""Oh please. For the record, I ain't FBI. But if I were, I'd be laughing at the DEA sending in the darkest most muscular man they can for every undercover job this side of the hemisphere. Need a killer? Oh shit, we got just the right man for the job--big and black. It's the 21st century asshole."" ""You think I'm here just because of my skin color?"" ""And your height."" ""Oh hell no."" In a single motion, Eric pulled out his revolver and pointed it at Darren. At the same time, Darren pulled his own Glock, holding it sideways. ""Now I know you're FBI,"" Eric growled. ""Don't even know how to properly hold a gun. You ever shoot one before you paper-pushing suit?"" ""Just like the DEA to be so trigger happy,"" Darren spat back. ""You got some weed in your back pocket to sprinkle on me after you pull the trigger?"" Jason crunched over and burst into laughter. ""Guys,"" he said, ""put your damn guns down. We're all on the same side. I'm CIA."" The other two paused with saucer eyes. Then, they both turned, their guns aimed at Jason. ""What the hell?"" Jason screamed, drawing his dual pistols. ""I know all about CIA,"" Darren said. His finger twitched on the trigger. ""You gonna get us both killed so you can have all the credit. Probably gonna drop a real sappy suicide note by our bodies so you can tell the public we shot ourselves in the back of the head."" ""You forgot the part where they first put us in Guantanamo and torture us until we agree to wear hijabs and scream 'Allah' at the top of our lungs,"" Eric added. ""Fuck the CIA."" Jason crunched his jaw. ""You incompetent ass hats are going to blow my cover."" He paused. ""My hypothetical cover."" ""Fuck your cover,"" Darren said. ""You're about to blow mine... if we are both pretending to be in cover that is."" ""Yeah,"" Eric tacked on. ""Since this is only pretend right now and none of us are law enforcement, I can say that you guys are going to blow this whole pretend operation!"" ""Okay!"" Jason shouted. ""So all of this is hypothetical and we're all just pretending, right?"" ""Yeah!"" the other two nodded back. ""Good! So let's lower our guns and stop pretending to be hypothetical narcs so we can start being real gangsters. On three. One. Two. Three."" Everyone lowered their gun. Darren let out a relieved breath. Eric cleared his throat and clutched his heart. Jason simply smiled. ""Okay,"" Jason said, ""let's stop horsing around and get back to work. We got some more debts to collect."" The other two nodded. They had finally come to an understanding. Well, they had. Jason was just glad that the second he had heard they might be narcs, he had already drafted their suicide notes.",1075
 Stan 2 had only lived with Stan,"""Can you pass me the remote?"" the original Stan (Stan 1) asked. The clone of Stan (Stan 2) made a feeble attempt to sit up from the couch and reach for the remote control on the coffee table in front of them. ""Sorry man. I can't reach it,"" Stan 2 replied while shrugging his shoulders in defeat. ""Come on, *man*. I know you can reach it. I also know that you do not want to watch this show. It sucks."" ""Yeah it does suck. But getting up sucks even more."" The original Stan studied his clone. Stan 2 sat slumped on the couch, taking up far more than half. While this greatly annoyed Stan 1, what annoyed him even further was the putrid combination of body odor and farts that wafted over to his side of the couch every few minutes. Stan 2 had only lived with Stan 1 for about a week now, and he already regretted his decision to clone himself. Stan 1 took his gaze off of Stan 2 and sighed. ""You do know it is your turn to go to work today, right?"" Stan 1 asked him. ""Ugh, I really do not feel like it. You go,"" Stan 2 replied. ""Listen, we talked about this. If you want to live here, sleep on my couch, and eat my food, then we are taking turns going to work."" Stan 1 tried to remain calm while appearing stern. ""Look, *pal*. I did not ask to be created. You created me. I did not ask to exist. Why the hell should I have to work in place of you then? Go yourself."" Stan's blood boiled. He became hot and his face turned visibly red. ""Yes. Yes I did create you, and I will fucking end you if you do not get off your lazy ass and get the fuck to work!"" Stan 2's eyes opened wide and he froze in place. ""Chill, Chill out man. I will go. I will go now."" Stan 2 got up from the couch and bolted into the bathroom to get ready. ""Thank you, prick bag,"" Stan 1 mumbled. _______________ Stan 2 arrived at the nearest Burger King and took his time making his way inside. His superior, Peter, glared at Stan 2 from behind the counter. ""You're late, again."" Peter informed him. ""I know, I'm sorry. There was a crazy wreck in front of my apartment. You should have seen it! Man, next time I'll snap a picture. Brutal."" Stan 2 lied as he walked into the prep area. Peter ignored his excuse and rolled his eyes. A short, slightly chubby girl with red hair who was working the grill, approached Stan 2 from inside the kitchen. ""Hi Stan, How - how are you?"" she asked him. Before Stan could answer, she was looking down at her own shoes and fiddling with her fingers. ""Hey Mandy. I'm late and in a hurry,"" Stan yelled as he rushed into the kitchen, completely ignoring a Caution: Wet Floor display. ""Stan! Be careful, the floor is -"" Before she could finish her sentence, Stan slipped on the wet floor and tumbled forward, towards grill. He stretched his right arm out to break his fall and caught his hand smack in the middle of the grill, smashing half of a burger patty. ""Son of a bitch!"" Stan 2 yelled. Pain overtook him. _______________ Stan 2 slammed the apartment door shut behind himself. Startled awake from his nap, Stan 1 glared at him in disappointment. ""What the hell are you doing back? You just left."" Stan 1 asked. ""We have a problem. There was an accident,"" Stan 2 replied as he held up his burnt hand. ""What the fuck did you do? How could you possibly hurt yourself in only twenty minutes?"" ""I slipped and burnt my hand on the grill. It wasn't my fault. I didn't know the floor was wet. There was no warning sign."" Stan 1 got up from the couch to inspect his clone's hand. He then sighed. ""Well, I guess you know what this means,"" Stan 1 said. ""Yes. Yes I do. We have to burn your hand."" ""What the fuck? Are you crazy? Hell no. This means that you have to continue working everyday until your hand is healed."" ""Are you fucking kidding me? No way! I am hurt. I can't work tomorrow, that's why I came home now."" ""So you expect me to burn my hand instead? Because of your mistake?"" ""Hey now, you were the one that said we had to take turns working. Remember? I am just following orders."" ""Fuck,"" Stan 1 screamed as he collapsed back on the couch. Stan 2 joined him after grabbing a bag of ice. They sat in silence for a few minutes. ""That Mandy chick. She is definitely interested,"" Stan 2 said while he caressed his burnt hand with his ice pack. ""Yeah, I know. She is into me,"" Stan 1 replied. ""Into you? No, no. She likes me. I was the one there today."" ""You idiot. You are me. She likes me. You can't have her. She is mine."" ""That is not fucking fair! If you want to share work, then you have to share ALL aspects of work, including Mandy."" Stan 2 sat with a smug smile on his face. Stan 1 cursed and slammed his fist on the arm rest of the couch. ""This. This is not working. You know what? I think I hate you,"" Stan 1 admitted. ""I hate you too, buddy."" Stan 2 said as he gave him a shit eating grin. ""You are a miserable, lazy, and selfish person. The biggest mistake of my life was creating you."" ""Nice way to insult yourself, dick bag. I came from your DNA."" Stan 2 took the ice pack and threw it across the room. It hit the wall and landed on the messy floor. ""Well, what are we going to do about this? I can't continue living with you."" Stan 1 asked in desperation. He had to get rid of his clone. ""I am going to move back home. Ride off of the parents for a while."" ""No way. If anyone is going home for a free ride it is going to be me!"" Stan 1 could not take it anymore. He jumped up. Stan 2 jumped up at the same time. They were at each other's throats. Before they could start beating on each other, a flash of light and a loud rumble errupted from the bedroom. They both stopped in their tracks and stared at each other in disbelief. Dread smothered both of them. ""Did you turn the machine on?"" Stan 1 asked, praying for the correct answer. ""No! I saw that the light was on, so I turned the machine off. I figured that you accidentally left in on after I materialized,"" Stan 2 replied. ""You idiot! The light is on when the machine is off! You turned the machine on!"" ""Who the fuck builds a machine ass backwards like that. Are you fucking -"" Before Stan 2 could finish his sentence, an exact replica of them emerged, fully nude, from the bedroom. Stan 3 walked into the living room area and smiled. ""Hey guys! So, when is it my turn with this Mandy chick?""",1220
 Bergamot Butters is a,"""I don't get paid enough to do this,"" I grumbled, as my boss waved his wand, transforming me from a pony back into a normal human. _________________ My name is Bergamot Butters, and I am a magic bug tester. When I was still an ordinary software developer, I chanced upon something amazing. Something that would change my life. It was an advertisement for a magical job, asking for non-magic software developers like me. It paid well and offered me the chance to be around magic. Magic was something I always loved to imagine as a child, and now the opportunity was in front of me. I took it, and now I help create and debug magic spells for a living. I will learn the secrets of how magic works, and someday, become a full-fledged magician myself. I am a magic developer. Except... it wasn't quite the magic I expected. It really felt like just another software job, except that a typo could spell terror in the real world. Missed a semicolon? Whoops, your car just grew legs and is now eating people. Forgot that 'if' statement? You can kiss your fingers goodbye. Good luck figuring out how to reverse that spell when you can't even hold your wand anymore. Which is why I have a magician watching over me. Really, he's more like my boss. And the ideas guy. And the CEO. Long story short, he hired me to code his spells and all. I work from an enchanted iMagic, using mCode (m for magic, not muggle), and compile spell builds into a plastic test wand. Almost like in my old job. Most of my bugs nowadays are (thankfully) minor, thanks to my old work experience. Years of causing bugs in the digital world has hardened me to the typical pitfalls of programming, and after the initial embarrassments when I started, I think I've got the hang of it. My boss still won't let me off on that time I turned myself into a sexy buxom blonde, but maybe it's good to be reminded of what could happen. Today I found myself working on this tough spell. It was a rather tricky one, involving various transformation modes and voice recognition algorithms. Transformations were rather garden-variety, and nothing new in the magic world, but combining it with the latter was rather tricky. The idea was that for the next 24 hours, you could transform yourself into whatever you wanted without the use of the wand. As a human, you triggered it by snapping your fingers and calling out the name of the animal, and thinking ""There's no form like human"" when you were in animal form. You can quickly see how things can go very wrong here. Too many question marks here. How many animals are we going to allow people to transform into? I would have to manually code in every animal, and what a pain that would be. What happens when you're an animal when the 24 hours runs out? When you transform back, would you be naked? Most low-level transformation spells didn't bring back clothes, and clothes were a pain to code in because they would have to be tailor-made to the caster. What if the animal had no capacity to think, or caused the caster to lose focus? I would have to make some way for the caster to retain some level of higher thinking, making it a partial transformation at best. After a full day's plugging away, I finally beheld my code. A few hundred lines of basic functionality, coupled with all the framework needed to expand further, but I think I've done it. Voice functionality is up, and I should be able to transform back. I hit 'Compile' and leaned back into my armchair. After a few moments, the wand vibrated, signaling that the compilation was complete. I wielded the wand, feeling that familiar warmth within. ""Boss!"" I shouted across the hallway. ""I'm gonna run a test now, wanna see it?"" ""Okay! Coming over!"" my boss shouted back. He sauntered over from the room across the hallway and entered mine. Standing at about 5' 6"", I would easily stand shoulders above him if I weren't seated. But make no mistake: He's a seasoned magic veteran, best of breed from the Oxford magical initiative, and was the first magic consultant from the Third Afghanistan War. He was the one who came up with all the creative uses for magic to win wars. People think that tactics win wars. This guy showed that logistics wins wars. Even military geniuses don't stand a chance when they're fighting armies with the ability to teleport their supplies from home right into the battle. This guy basically removed the need for a supply chain. ""So what are you waiting for?"" he beckoned, raising an eyebrow like he always did. ""Let's see it."" I pointed the wand at myself and uttered the trigger phrase ""Cast Transform 2.0!"" ...what? You expected something in Latin? It's an early build, alright? I felt a tingling, and then nothing. Maybe it did nothing? ""Okay, let's give it a try."" I replied. ""Dog!"" I felt my head get squeezed, as if something was forcing my body through a straw. Finally, when I opened my eyes, I saw paws sticking out of my sleeves. Looking up, I saw my boss, gleaming merrily. ""Nice!"" my boss exclaimed. ""Did you make a way to transform yourself back?"" I nodded my head and wagged my tail excitedly. ""Okay, let's see it then."" I voiced the words in my head, trying hard to silence the doggy part of my brain. ""There's... no form like... human."" The head squeeze feeling again, and I was sitting on the chair in front of my boss. Thankfully, my clothes survived the transformation and saved me the embarrassment of being naked in front of my boss. ""Awesome!"" my boss clapped excitedly. ""We'll show those pigs at Facetome-"" Oh no. The head squeeze again. When I came to, I looked down and saw -yup, you guessed it. Trotters. ""-oh."" my boss lowered his head. ""We've got work to do."" ______________________ This was fun. Feedback, would you kindly? If you like this, check out my latest stories on",1039
 General Mark Jones sat down in the,"General Mark Jones rounded the table and sat down in the chair opposite to me. He opened the file and flipped through the pages. ""Break it down for me, Cpt. Lokowicz,"" he said and put the file down. I shifted in my chair. The video of the final stages of the mission had been leaked and then gone viral. ""I don't know what else there is to say, sir. The press says the video speaks for itself."" ""I don't give a shit about the press; I want to know what happened that day."" I sighed and took another sip of coffee. ""It was cloudy. The operation started off smoothly with an aerial insert deep inside enemy territory. We blew up the pipeline twenty minutes after landing. Apart from a few long distance pick offs by Ace, we didn't run into any trouble until we reached the third quadrant for extraction..."" **** *It was supposed to be a quick in and out*. I knew those words were on the minds of all five members of my team. We were traveling light and barely had any extra ammo with us. ""What's the status on that chopper, Trip?"" I said and slammed another mag into my rifle. Heavy machine gun fire ripped into the other side of the wall that we were hunkered down behind, causing the old building to tremble and cough mortar dust. Getting pinned down this far into enemy territory could quickly turn into a race against the clock. More bodies were on the way - a lot more than we had bullets for. ""...says he can't land if we don't clear out their heavies,"" came Trip's response over the intercom. ""All right, what you got, Ace?"" ""I've got eyes on four by the fountain... two plus two approaching on your left... there's another convoy coming up the hillside."" ""Where's that heavy, Ace?"" ""I don't see it... the dust..."" ""All right, boys, you heard Trip - we got to work for our ride home today,"" I said and pulled up the mask over my face again. ""Forest, Biz, with me. Give your extra mags to Trip; he'll hold the main street from here. Ace, you make sure the fuckers in that convoy get their daily exercise. Let's go."" Crouching, I exited the building on the right side and followed a narrow alley between two mud structures. ""Wait for it,"" I said and held up my hand. A bang echoed across the hillside and up over the roofs of the village. Shouts and gunfire erupted in the distance. ""Those guys have some climbing to do,"" Ace said over the intercom. ""I hit them pretty good. They think I'm close. I'll stay here for a while and see what else I can get."" Two quick bursts rang through the building behind us. ""First two down, second two hiding in the-"" Trip said before another salvo of machine gun fire drowned out his voice. I turned around and motioned for Biz to cover left and Forest to cover right as we crossed the street. Then I stuck my head out and checked both directions. There were enemies on both sides, but they were all focusing on Trip. ""Conserve ammo,"" I said and hurried across the dirt road with the others in tow. ""Three plus three, main street,"" said Ace and a shot thundered over the rooftops. ""Make that two plus three, and pinned. My address is now public."" We hurried down another dusty alley, carefully checking every nook and cranny with our index fingers ready. ""We're going for a 'round town sightseeing,"" I said. ""They still think we're with Trip. Ace, see if you can find that heavy."" ""On it."" We circled around, all the way behind the market place with the fountain. We crouched down inside a wooden stable. At least four enemies were talking on the other side of the wall. ""We're inside a wooden structure behind them,"" I whispered. ""Shit, I'm hit!"" Trip cried over the intercom. ""I'm hit. I'm hit."" I heard Forest cursed quietly behind me. Outside, the metallic sound of a ricocheting bullet burst the scene into life. The rapid fire from the enemy AKs and shouting in a foreign language. ""Target neutralized,"" Ace said in my ear. ""Five in a row, knocking on your front door. I need to reload. Do you hear me? Five in a row."" ""Affirmative,"" I whispered and shouldered my rifle. I turned to Forest and Biz. ""Save your ammo for when they enter."" ""Right by the door,"" Ace said. ""In a straight line - I wish I wasn't horizontal right now."" Fuck it, I thought, and unloaded my entire mag, straight into the thin wooden wall. Smoke oozed from the muzzle of my gun, but no gunshots came from the other side - which could only mean one thing. ""Holy shit, Loki,"" Ace said. ""Save some for the rest of us."" ""Get good,"" I mumbled, despite myself, a smile creeping up on my face. ""All clear, as far as I can see,"" Ace said. ""Trip, you okay?"" ""Yeah, leg's a bit sore, though. Chopper's here in T minus two."" **** The general, who had been fidgeting with the mission file throughout my entire story, finally put the folder down on the table. ""The press thinks that comment was way out of line,"" he said. ""They say that's *inappropriate*, given the situation."" ""I know, sir."" Now comes the discharge, I thought. We both knew the comment wasn't an issue normally, but when something like this came under public scrutiny, someone had to take the fall. His gray eyes looked me up and down, a stiff smile cracked his face open. ""The press is calling for your head."" ""I understand, sir."" ""You're a far too valuable asset, though, and so is everyone on your team. We'll try to put a spin on it in the official statement. *'Our best team has zero respect for the enemy, even in a pressed situation.'* We'll try to make an appeal to patriotism or something."" ""Thank you, sir."" ""Dismissed."" **** r/Lilwa_Dexel",1014
" The main lights switched off overhead,","I held my breath, listening to the employee's footsteps fade. I thought this was it - I had done it! My friends were going to be astonished - they all believed I would get caught. The main lights switched off overhead, leaving only the dim emergency lights on. That was alright - I had spent the day exploring, and I knew where everything was. I waited for twenty more minutes and then slowly crept out of my hiding spot behind the collection of drapes. Time to explore! Man, this store was huge. Ikea had always seemed a little weird to me - too big, weird names for things, weirdly addictive Swedish meatballs - but a dare was a dare, and I was going to spend the night here. I thought it was a stupidly reckless dare, but my asshole friend Barry had asked me in front of Katrina. She had seemed impressed, so I had found myself nodding - and here I was. I wasn't going to lie, I was a bit creeped out. I tried not think about it, though - scaring myself with thoughts of ghosts and funny noises wasn't going to help now. Barry had driven me here at 2 in the afternoon - I had told my mom I was going to his house. There were beds in the next room, I could knock out for a few hours and still have time to explore. I made my way out of the garish children's room I had hid in and into a kitchen set. Wait - was that a noise? I heard a rustling in the office setup. Was it just my imagination? I switched on the flashlight on my phone. I could only see the ALGOT chair slowly swiveling. A chill ran up my spine. Someone else - something else - was here. Just then, I felt a hand grab my shoulder. I spun, the beam of my phone-flashlight wheeling, and let out a very manly scream (it was just a scream, ok?). ""Whoa, whoa, kid, calm down. I'm not gonna hurt ya."" The man behind me was tall and burly, with a giant beard. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like a set of the clothes that Ikea keeps in their display closet. Around his neck, he had a yellow and blue lanyard. ""Look, I just snuck in here for the night, just like you - I'm guessing on a dare?"" I swallowed and nodded. He had been grinning the whole time - it was creepy. ""The name's Nick. Nice to meet ya. What do ya say we explore together?"" I didn't want to piss him off, so I nodded - I could always ditch him later, I guess. ""What do ya say we hit up the food court? Maybe they left some a' those meatballs around."" Without waiting for me to introduce myself or agree, he turned and set off through the display rooms at a clip. I was frozen. After a few steps, he turned around. ""Well, come on, kid. We've got lots to see."" His voice was gruff, despite the smile still plastered on his face, so I stumbled forward. Sitting at the sparse metal tables in the food court, I watched as Nick rooted around behind the counter and produced two cartons of Swedish meatballs. He grinned at me, but I didn't smile back. Something wasn't right. I wanted to text Barry and ask him to come pick me up, but I wasn't sure if I could get out without sounding the alarm. Plus, I didn't want to wuss out over nothing. Nick brought over the meatballs and started eating. I stared at him. He was smiling, even while he was eating - it was creepy. I ate my meatballs quickly and then pushed the carton aside. ""Say, kid, do ya wanna go explore the top level? No one gets to go there except the bosses. Let's take a look!"" Nick leaped up from his seat, still grinning, and grabbed my hand, leaving the empty containers on the table. ""Look, Nick, I appreciate the meatballs, but... I'm not sure if I wanna go up there. I just came to, like, sleep on the display beds for the night. But you do whatever, man."" Nick looked at me for a second and then smiled. He turned around and started towing me after him, his hand like a vise on my grip. This was really weird. We got to the escalator, but as we approached, the steps ground into motion. Nick pulled me onto it, ignoring my protests. With my free hand, I unlocked my phone and texted Barry - **Come, please. Now. Not joking.** Hopefully he was awake - he had promised to be. We got off the elevator - the door at the top was just, open. Nick pulled me through. I tried to wiggle my hand away, but he held fast. We passed glass-walled offices, very modern and expensive, all deserted. He pulled me into the last door, what looked like a boardroom. ""What is this place, Nick?"" I asked. He didn't answer, just kept smiling. I made a move toward the glass door. He didn't move. I pulled the handle - it wouldn't move. How could it be locked? We had just walked in here. ""Nick?"" ""Welcome, Justin."" The cool male voice with an accent seemed to come from the TV. I was shocked. I tried not to cower, but I pressed against the far wall. ""I am Mr. Agnefjall, but you can call me Peter. Thank you for coming tonight."" I frantically tried the door handle again. Nick stood immobile against the wall. ""Calm down, Justin. Nick, give him the lanyard."" Nick pushed away from the wall and came toward me. I tried to back away, but there were too many office chairs in the way. He grabbed my shoulder with one hand and took off his garish lanyard with the other. He looked at me - he seemed sympathetic. ""I'm sorry about this, kid."" He looped the lanyard over my head, ignoring my attempts to fend him off. ""Thank you, Nick,"" said the voice - Peter? Nick nodded once and then opened the door and sprinted out. Glancing at the TV, I darted through the door while it was open and ran after him. He was racing down the escalator - I took the stairs two at a time. I was in a flat out sprint to the second escalator, my breath and panic tearing at my throat. This was so weird - I just needed to get out. As I rounded the corner, I saw Barry's beat-up pickup truck in the parking lot and tasted relief. I could just get out of here and forget this weird night. Nick, ahead of me by only about twenty feet, sprinted out of the sliding doors. But the doors, weirdly open, slammed shut after him. I pushed up against them, pounding on them, trying the emergency exit bar - they wouldn't budge. I sucked in a breath and punched them - they were glass, they should have broken - they didn't even vibrate. Outside, Nick had slammed to a stop. He and Barry were embracing? ""Barry!"" I yelled, hoping he could hear me. Nick and Barry both turned toward me and walked closer toward the door. Nick said something to Barry. ""Sorry about this, kid,"" Nick said. I could hear him clearly through the glass. ""Ikea is too huge and complicated of a place to keep running just through organization and money. Each store has a spirit - it keeps the shelves stocked, the meatballs cooking, the escalators running. But,"" he smiled, ""it needs something alive to feed it. Ikea stores trap people who linger too long. You're the next resident poltergeist. I'm sorry, but I couldn't spend a minute longer in there - I've been here for three years! Fortunately my nephew Barry,"" he tousled my best friend's hair, ""came shopping here a few weeks ago. Best a' luck, kid. Ya need it."" Barry looked at me. I tried to beg him with my eyes to help me, but he just turned around and walked away, his uncle's hand on his back. I hit the glass door one more time. The tv behind me crackled to life. ""As I was saying...""",1394
 Jake's parents called it a phase,"In a world without people, Jake had thought he would miss Reddit the most. After all, between that, video games, and sleeping, he didn't do much else. He had a sister, a mother, and a father, but the only time he ever saw them was to grab food before returning into his room. His parents called it a phase and his sister, Valerie, simply rolled her eyes when he came by. ""It's the hormones,"" his parents had claimed, absolving themselves of all responsibility. ""He's just at that age."" Jake had admitted that he was sixteen, but couldn't comprehend how that defined everything that he did. Feeling grumpy? Must be because of his age. Don't want to eat with the family? Age. Sometimes, he had wanted to scream at them that he had a shitty day (like all his days) and his family's attempts to *understand* him only made his days shittier. But they wouldn't understand that he was better off without them. How could they? So he had kept to himself, day in and day out, until one day, he had peeked out of his room and found himself alone. That in itself wasn't too strange. It got strange when two days later, he had still been alone and a day after that, he had wandered outside to find his entire neighborhood--his entire city to be abandoned. Jake stared at his TV. Back when his parents had been around, he had dreaded the knock on the door that would interrupt his videogames. Now, he kept his door opened, listening for even the slightest footstep. None ever came. He brought out his phone. It displayed to him fifty unanswered calls to his mom, his dad, and Valerie. He went into his phone's gallery and found dozens of family photos he had often thought about deleting. They had lacked authenticity. His smile had been brought out only through his mother's command. But now, he didn't care that it was fake. They looked so happy together. Tears welled up inside his eyes. He went into his phone and typed out a text through misty eyes. *I miss you guys*. The phone dropped from his hand and a stuttered breath escaped him. At last, his tears spilled. Then, his phone buzzed. Jake froze mid-breath. He glanced down. For days now, he had felt phantom vibrations, but he had never heard one before. Perhaps he was finally going crazy. He picked up his phone and nearly dropped it again. A text from his Valerie. *What are you talking about? Stop being weird, Jake.* His fingers disappeared in a flurry of clicks. *Valerie, where are you? Where's mom and dad?* *Right next to you, weirdo. We're watching a movie.* ""What?"" Jake stared at her response. He knew it was the real deal. Nobody else would call him a weirdo so fast. That used to piss him off too. His phone buzzed, but this time lit up green. One call pending from his own number. Jake answered it. ""Hello?"" ""Jake,"" a familiar voice said back. It was his own voice. ""What the fuck? Who are you?"" ""I bet you're pretty confused,"" the voice said and chuckled. ""What's going on? Where's my family?"" Jake screamed into his phone. ""Your family? You mean the family you wished would disappear and leave you alone forever? The world you wished would vanish?"" A crackling noise sounded from the other end and then Jake heard his Valerie's voice. ""Jake, get out of the bathroom. You're missing the good part."" ""Don't rush him,"" his mom replied in the same muffled voice. Jake found his eyes wetting once again. He pressed his phone to ear, praying for just a few more words. Perhaps even his dad could say something. But the crackling noise came back and the voice returned. ""Took you off speaker,"" the voice said. ""Your family's doing fine. We're enjoying a movie. Have you watched the Avengers? We got it on Blue Ray."" ""What did you do?"" Jake asked. ""I simply answered your prayers, Jake. You welcome."" ""Give me back my family!"" The voice snickered. ""Sorry, Jake, but it seems to me that I'm a better you than you are. Nobody suspects a thing and you know why? Because they're happier because I'm here instead of you. Would you really take that away from them? Sorry, but I'm here until the day I die."" Jake's jaw fell and he lowered his phone. On it was still a picture from their Alaskan hike. He had complained all the way uphill and all the way downhill. But in that moment, they all looked so happy. And if that fake happiness was good enough, what about a fake son? He swallowed a breath and with a shaky thumb, ended the call. Of course, it would take the literal end of the world for him to finally admit, but he loved his family and he just wanted them to be happy. He peeled his eyes away from his phone and back toward his TV where he could shoot more virtual bad guys with virtual bullets. His phone buzzed. A text from Valerie outside of the group. *Look weirdo, I don't pry, but are you okay? You've been acting weird, like a weird type of weird.* Jake pressed his lips together. ""I'm sorry,"" he whispered to Valerie, his parents, and himself. *Sorry about that text, it was just a joke.* And with that, they could continue being happy. *I'm not talking about the text.* His breath caught. *I don't know how to describe it. Mom and dad's worried too. You're not you.* A wave of heat flushed through Jake's body. He had been wrong. His family didn't want happiness. They wanted him. Because of course it would take the literal end of the world to finally convince him, but his family loved him too. His nails dug trenches into his palms. The fake Jake had claimed that they would be stuck this way until the fake had died. Though he had meant it as a taunt, Jake now saw it as a chance, the only one that he had. He would have to convince his family to kill the fake him. He gripped his phone, the only weapon he had. The chances of that happening was laughably small. But he had to try. His family deserved a real son. --- --- /r/jraywang for 5+ stories weekly and 100+ stories already written! ---",1075
 Time isn't a river: it,"They say the only permanent things in life are death and taxes. But really, the lack of change in your life makes this a questionable hypothesis; sometimes you think life is really just a series of the same cycles, no matter what choices you make or what pitfalls you swerve to avoid. Time isn't a river: it's an oceanic current swirling lazy circles over years. You stumble through the back door in your kitchen. You don't bother to look around the scene that fills your peripheral vision. Bland yet tasteful decor, the figure in the painting on the wall judging the pile of crudded-up dishes in the sink, the dim half-broken light... You'll deal with it tomorrow. Or next week. Or the week after. You have enough dishes to set a table for one; you can wash the rest later. You cough. The sound is ragged, ugly and wet, drowned out by inattention as you stare across the monochrome, lightless kitchen at the painting on the wall. There's only a painting - no photos of other people, no gifts from friends and family. You flip on the second light switch, flooding the room with blanched fluorescent light. Unleash the hounds. *YOU'RE HOME, YOU'RE HOME!* Frantic yipping fills the room around you a second before two blurred shapes barrel through the hallway in front of you, slip-sliding on the yellowed old-tooth linoleum with their enthusiasm. Jowls flapping, eyes glittering, the hurtling welcome committee skids and jump-dances in messy circles of overflowing happiness around you. If there's anything you still care about in this life, it's the two best parts of it and not how much they scratch up a rented apartment floor. *WE MISSED YOU, WE'VE MISSED YOU! YOU WERE GONE FOREVER!* Left is big enough to wag a shaggy mop of a grizzled tail while standing over Right like a four-legged umbrella. Not that Right notices. The scrappy little dog never seems to realize he's the smallest putz in the house. As if on cue, the mutt complains with a whining, baying howl, insisting on a little more personal space so he could claim his kingly right of first head pats. He seems preoccupied today, and jumps up and down with the boundless energy of a perpetual motion pogo stick, trying to sniffle at your face. Sometimes, you think as an expression pulls itself across your face, so alien you take a second to remember that it's a smile, you're pretty sure the meaning of life is coming home to the two best friends you've ever had in it. Your life is a three-piece puzzle with none of the pieces missing from the box; a security deposit's a small price to pay for that. Not everyone's as lucky as you are. You're okay with that part never changing. You wander over towards the couch. Remind yourself vaguely to feed the dogs later, taping it up in the corridors of your brain like a neon sticky note whose blaring note of *'this matters'* cuts through the fog of anhedonia. The walls in there are pretty bare, too. You slump down on the lumpy sofa, scooping a couple handfuls of kibble out of the tattered bag of dog food next to it and slinging the pellets across the floor like rattling marbles. In a flash the dogs are crouched down, lick-chewing them up, and you appreciate the first intermission between fussing that Right's given you since you walked in the door. If only you could catch your breath. You dad used to berate you for complaining about little shit like that. ""Try getting old,"" he groused. ""Then come to me bitching about growing pains."" *I'm old for my age,* you think to yourself, and laugh out loud. It sounds weird and stale in the silence of the apartment otherwise broken only by the snuffling of the dogs at the last bit of their distraction snack. You don't do it again. You should probably call a doctor, really. You can't catch your breath. You were going to call in last night, if it was an issue, but then nobody could cover your shift. You were going to call in this morning, but you can't afford the clinic anyways. You were going to call in after work, but your cabinet's already cluttered with the crumpled-up prescriptions of meds you've been meaning to pick up; why nod and smile and pretend this time's going to be different? You sit down on the couch and lick around your teeth, tasting the residue of the cigarette you had for lunch. ""I don't feel so well, y'all,"" you tell Left and Right, who by now had hunted down and crunched out the last canine cocoa puff from whatever nook and cranny it'd fallen into; you had to crane your neck down at the mutts who'd fiercely nestled into your sides, muffling the coughs that broke apart your words like irregular punctuation. ""Don't be a pain in the ass tonight, doggo-dogs. I'm tired."" Shortness of breath sings down into your bones and makes your limbs tingle and ache. What if something ever happened to you? Nobody's around forever. And nobody else knows that Right doesn't like carriers and drools unless he's allowed to ride in the backseat of the sedan. Nobody knows that Left's scared of getting her nails done, so you have to sing ""Bridge Over Troubled Water"" to her, long and slow, just like she likes it, while you clip each toe. Some glimmer of truth seeps through the dam of denial as the tightness in your chest convulses. Without thinking too hard about what you're doing, you reach out and slide the pad of notebook paper across the coffee table towards yourself. You scribble a ballpoint pen over it until the indented lines draw out ink, then begin to pen out a meticulous list in shaky but legible handwriting. > 1) 2/3 cup of food twice a day for both of them. Left's going to steal half of Right's food. It's okay. > 2) Left don't like thunderstorms. Keep her in the bathroom for those and fireworks and feed her hotdogs. Make sure to cut them in half so she don't choke. > 3) Right chews up everything. He loves wood so be careful. Soup bones are ok. > 4) ...you make it to 10, then 15, trying to pick every instruction out of the increasingly foggy corners of your brain. You're aware on some level of Left licking furiously at your chin, but you're not sure for how long she's been doing that. You wonder, in the back of your mind, who would even end up being the one who found this note if you left it here, walked out the door, and kept walking. What if you just did that? There's nothing left for you here. You could bring the pups with you. What did you have to lose? One of the dogs is crying low in their throat, warbling yelps of distress staggered by attempts to chew at your hand and rouse you, but you must've closed your eyes at some point, because you're not sure which one is making a fuss this time. You think you're still on the sofa. You stop wondering where you are. *We miss you already,* they would say, if they could. *You've been gone forever.* The light is still bright in the apartment, but it's silent now, and nothing has moved for hours, including the three forms that have nestled together close enough to all but merge fur with skin. Where one ends, the others begin. *It's not always like this. We promise.* *We'll wait for you again. We always will. We tried to make it a happy one this time. We're sorry.* *We'll do better next time.* * * * - - - - - - - - - - This was my first post in this sub. Thank you so much.",1326
 He'd been charming and beautiful enough,"He'd glamoured countless humans to see him as extraordinary. The most enchanting, the most charming of creatures to walk the Earth, and accepted it as the truth himself. They'd clung willingly to him as he drained their life, after all, and he'd thought there was more to it than the glamour that naturally cloaked every vampire. He'd been charming and beautiful enough as a human - common sense would dictate that immortality should enhance his features. Hell, even the silly movies and books about their kind that permeated pop-culture these days subscribed to the idea. But this infernal mirror showed the truth. His face was sunken in on itself, fangs protruding prominently from cracked and swollen lips. Purple-black shadows bruised the skin under his eyes, which were stained with blood. He wasn't merely ugly - he did not recognise the handsome human face he once had at all. It was bad enough to make him want to meet the sun. He managed to drag his eyes away from the new mirror to reach for another modern invention, the cellphone tucked in his pocket. He dialled Lucine, his oldest friend - 889 years going on 890 this month. ""My dear,"" he said, eyes drawn irresistibly back to his horrifying reflection. ""Have you tried these new aluminium mirrors? Have you looked into them? What did you see?"" There was a long pause, before he heard her speak in a dream-like, drawling voice. ""Of course, darling. Extraordinary, aren't they? I mean, I always knew I was beautiful, from what the mortals told me, but it was something else to see it with my own eyes."" She chuckled softly. ""Why do you ask?"" she said, but he couldn't find the strength to reply. He snapped the phone shut. Was she mocking him? But no...he recognised the detached tone of her voice: she must have been glamoured to forget something. Lucine was the most beautiful vampire he knew - full lips, perfect, heart-shaped face, with those luminous blue eyes piercing your soul, if you had one. He had never even considered whether that might only be a side-effect of her glamour. But that sound in her voice - Lucine was old, and powerful. Only one person could have put that glamour upon her. He felt a spark of hope as he looked deeper into his own eyes. Perhaps there was another use for the mirror. ""You are Alistair Laqer,"" he said slowly, making his eyes spin at himself. He felt his muscles grow lax, his brain absorbing the words and accepting them as truth. ""You are the most beautiful of them all."" His cheeks filled out, the shadows creeping back from his eyes. The fangs shrank, and his eyes sparkled with life. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror: truly, he was extraordinary. He should get more of these mirrors at once, the better to see himself. ---------- ""Was that Alistair? What did he want?"" Salavar drawled, sighing with pleasure as he stretched out in their new mirror room. Seeing their beauty reflected back at them was a pleasure surpassed only by the taste of fresh blood. ""Asking about the mirrors, my pet. He sounded rather dazed - I mean, imagine being *Alistair* and seeing yourself for the first time. Can you imagine?"" Lucine said, stretching out next to her husband on the couch and sighing with pleasure at the sight of her face. It still took some getting used to, being able to see themselves in all their glory. ""Ah, dear Alistair,"" Salavar said. ""What a wonderful shock that must have been. I do envy him, nothing is better than the first look in the mirror."" He lapsed into silence, staring deeper into the mirror. His own eyes seemed to hypnotise him, glowing an impossibly bright silver. An unsettling thought occurred to him, preying on the corner of his mind like a nightmare he struggled to remember completely. ""Or who knows?"" he whispered, daring to speak the strange thought aloud. ""Perhaps we truly do resemble the monsters we are, and have glamoured ourselves to forget with the help of these mirrors. Who could tell us otherwise? Whoever we meet is affected by glamour, too. What an interesting philosophical concept. If no-one can recognise your true face, including yourself, can you be called a monster? It's like that saying - if a tree falls in a forest and no-one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"" Lucine looked from the mirror to her husband's flawless face, and burst into laughter. ""Be silent with your silly rambling, my dear, and kiss me,"" Lucine breathed, pressing her full lips against his. The door opened without them noticing, their human servant, Humphrey, bringing their evening goblets of blood. His wrists were heavily wrapped in bandages. Humphrey paused for a moment, eyes snagging on the mirrors and shuddering as he caught a brief glimpse of two shrunken, grey bodies writhing on the couch, cracked and dry limbs clutching at one another. Then he looked at them, blinked, and the image faded from his mind as he was confronted by the truth. He shivered with pleasure at the sight of their perfection. They had a few friends who almost matched them in beauty - that recluse, Alistair, was one - but he thought his masters were truly the most beautiful of the Old Ones. And soon, if he continued to serve them well, he would be turned into one of them. He had always been ugly, rejected by most people he met. But surely even he might become something beautiful as a vampire, it was the very reason he had worked so hard to enter their world. He had abandoned his family, his work, his very health to do it - but when he looked at Lucine and Salavar, he knew he had made the right choice. Beauty was worth even more to him than the immortality, and the power. It would be worth all he had sacrificed to remain at their side. ----------- Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.",1022
 I was a prime candidate for the,"I had tried working out. I had tried dieting, I had tried pills, and so many other things and in the end, I could never get the body I wanted. Sure, I got ""better"", in that I wasn't morbidly obese, and sure, I had friends and family assure me that I looked ""okay"" and ""better"" and that ""what matters is that you're healthy"". And I was very healthy. I walked a lot, I had slightly low blood pressure instead of high (a very important variable for the study). Nobody had asked me out on a date in the past 10 years (and I'm only counting that one because it was valentine's day of grade 7), but between the insulating fat, the low blood pressure, the high IQ, knowing five languages, and being able to hike a few miles without issue, I was a prime candidate for the experiment. Not having abs or defined muscle tone wasn't an issue. Of course I agreed. I didn't exactly have quite the life. If all went according to plan, I would wake up in a new century as a living time capsule. If it didn't... I wouldn't need antidepressants anymore. Everything looked different when I woke up. The capsule opened, as it was supposed to. I was disoriented for the first few minutes, but as the various drugs finished waking me up, I noticed the foggy grey of the sky, and the bright redness of the sun. At noon. ""The fuck?"" I muttered, and climbed out. The capsule had opened automatically, and there was nobody there to greet me. Nor anybody just... Hanging out at the facility. I walked around in the white scrubs I had been given for a while until I noticed some hikers. ""Hey! Hey, the research centre is empty, did something happen?"" The two men stared at me mesmerized. They were clearly disfigured by something, one had one arm far smaller than the other, both of their jaws looked infested by tumours, and they were both using strange robotic crutches to walk. They stared at me, their mouths open, their eyes filled with fear and awe and lust and all these weird emotions at once that I can't remember ever eliciting. My head swiveled for a moment, but there was nothing right behind me. ""Hey? Guys? How long have I been out?"" The one with the disfigured arm fainted. The other continued to stare. ""Um... Alo?"" He squeaked at me. ""Hello, yes? Research centre? Over there? Empty? What year is it?"" ""It-it-it-it--"" he babbled and stuttered for a moment. ""Dude, chill,"" I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. He passed out too. With no other immediate source of information, I sat on the ground cross-legged and waited until the one with the shrunken arm woke up. ""Hello. My name is Ana. I just woke up from a cryogenic chamber. What year is it?"" ""Twenty-two fourteen."" ""Okay. That's good. For a moment I wondered if you guys spoke intelligible English."" ""What are you?"" ""Um... I just said--"" ""No cryogenic chamber could have survived the wars. Everything was destroyed. And... And you're so beautiful..."" He extended his small arm towards me. It was a little creepy but I did my best not to pay attention to that, because I didn't want to be ableist and also because if I reacted poorly he might collapse again. ""...Right... Anyway, is there like, a nearby town?"" ""Yes. Yes of course. We can take you there."" He touched his friend's neck, and in a moment he woke up. ""Why did you not wake us earlier, um... Ana?"" He asked me as his friend rubbed his eyes. ""I thought you weren't supposed to try to wake up people who had passed out,"" I said. ""A simple stimulation of the vagus nerve and the six-two-four points in the Lasega map do it."" ""...'kaaay."" I said with a nod. He alternated between staring at the ground and staring at me. ""So, you have a name?"" I asked. ""Yes. Yes, I am Laeroeak."" ""Leroek?"" ""Laeroeak."" ""Laroak?"" He repeated his name some four times, and we settled on me calling him ""Lay"". ""I am sorry I fainted."" His friend said. ""I could not handle your touch."" I frowned, and he stared. The staring was becoming a problem. ""Your hands are so soft..."" ""Can we get back to the part where I get to a town or something?"" ""Yes, of course! Everyone must see you!"" ""And your name?"" ""Ghantenebhurita."" I rubbed my temples. We settled on Ghan. After some walking, they became perplexed. ""You are not tired."" ""...That was like... Two hundred metres."" I said. ""We came with camping gear, but you... How are you not tired? Is your acetylcholine synthesis infinite? Do you have superior lactic acid? Are your muscle fibres made of carbon nanotubes?"" ""What the fuck? No, I'm just walking! Is everyone in the future like this?"" We stopped as a small river hindered our path. I jumped onto a rock, then from the rock across to the other side. They watched in awe. ""What are you?"" ""...How did you guys make it before...?"" ""Biodegradable preprogrammed assemblybots."" Ley had his robot-assisted arm fetch a ball from his pocket, and threw it in the river. Within seconds a bridge appeared, and they crossed it. ""Nice."" ""You like it?"" He asked with a smile. ""I changed the design to resemble old bridges, Ana of the Past."" I frowned. ""...How? You... You literally just threw it in."" ""I programmed it before."" ""Before coming, you mean."" ""No, as I got it from my bag."" My eyes grew, but I simply nodded. Even with their robotic crutch aid, they got tired by the second km, and I had to wait for them. ""I am literally just coming out of cryostasis. I have not eaten in two hundred years. How are you the tired ones?"" I didn't tell them about the adrenaline shots I'd gotten to wake up, but... Still. Ghan looked at me in admiration. ""How are you still breathing?"" He asked between gasps. ""We're walking at the pace of grandmas, how would I not?"" By the time we arrived at the nearby town, there was a crowd waiting with food and water and curious eyes. Apparently, Ley had taken the liberty of thinking at them to do that. Everyone stared at me like I was Aphrodite incarnate. PART 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6r9hy1/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4jvh8/ PART 3 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl4sah1/ PART 4 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl592du PART 5 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl6psql/ PART 6 /r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl7wikw/ PART 7 https://www.reddit.com/r/Eager_Question_Writes/comments/6rfp4k/wp_as_an_average_looking_genius_with_a_weak/dl9ds9m/",1083
 Some nights I'm back in my,"Some nights I'm back in my old self, at my desk at 2 AM as my stack of files piles on and the coffee in my mug runs dry. My old lamp had flickered for weeks now, the shitty thing. Always thought it'd ruin my eyes, but I was too lazy to replace the bulb while it still worked. I'm not what most would describe as a lazy person. Obsessed, maybe. I'd pore over the case files like a fanatic over holy tomes, day in and day out. Surely there's something I'd missed. And every time I found even the slightest chance of a possible lead, I'd clutch it close, hold it tight, and find another red herring, another dead end. But failure only served to remind me of the man I was tracking. How dangerous he was. And how I was the only one who still believed his arrest possible. It was a hazy night, when the day had been warm, but not warm enough to turn on the AC. My open window drew no breeze to chase out the stifling air, and beads of sweat dotted my forehead. The city was quiet, at peace, save for the noise of an overworked cop turning pages. *Bzzt Bzzt* The buzz of a new text. Unknown number. ""342 Elm Drive. 3:00 AM"" Half an hour from now. I wasn't getting paid for this. I had no backup. It could've been anyone for any reason. I grabbed my keys. It was an overpriced home in an overpriced neighborhood. The house was large, but inelegant, as if an architect had stitched together the failed designs in his trash bin. Windows far too high for anyone to see from yet shielded from sunlight, useless overhangs with fake marble pillars, mismatched shutters- a real McMansion. I pulled up onto the curb and walked up the concrete steps. The porch light turned on. The front door opened and a man stepped out. He was a short, Hispanic man with short, greasy hair. A curl of chest hair peeked out through his flannel shirt. A scar ran from his left ear down to his neck, one he'd gotten from a shady drug dealing. It gave his face a dangerous look, one I knew all too well. He carried a glock in his left hand. Of course. I'd been tracking him for years. That it would end in one of our deaths was inevitable. I barely had time to draw my weapon before the first bullet caught me in the chest. I woke up in smooth silk bedsheets in a four-poster bed. Stared into the mirror at my bedside. A young mexican girl, around 8 or 9 stared back. The first time I'd had the dream, I'd woken up the house with my screaming. He- my father- had stormed into my bedroom with a gun and two bodyguards, fearing the worst. Then he'd hugged me. The mixed feelings of revulsion, anger and vulnerability were indescribable. I longed to pull away, or grab his gun and shoot him in the head. I hated his smell, I hated this feeling, this life. For any innocent child, it would be a dream come true, but for me it was all wrong. I was no longer the cop he had shot. No more than I was fully his daughter, but some bizarre mix of the two, a child that thought too big, an adult that felt too small, a freak of nature that had no place in this world. He'd been what I'd lived for. He'd been what I'd died for. And now he had raised me. I sobbed into my father's shoulder as he caressed my hair, dismissed his guards, and whispered that everything was fine. When they left, he would cry with me. He was so much older than I remembered. Why I ended up this way, I'll never know. Perhaps it was some punishment for something I'd done. Perhaps a chance at revenge. Or a chance for his redemption. But I think, at the core of it all, the universe is just run by some very sick fucks. I've had some nights where I'd tried to kill him, but I could never find the many firearms he'd stored around the house, and I was hardly strong enough to overpower his guards with a butter knife. And even then, I had second thoughts. It seemed he harbored some sense of shame about his business, and took great pains to hide the skeletons in his closet. He was rarely home these days and kept his room under lock and key. When he did visit, he would bring me a gift, usually a doll or a plush. Sometimes fine clothes. But I found a solution locked in my bathroom with the knife I'd filched. It was so simple I'm surprised I hadn't done it sooner. Whether this was my punishment or his, would hardly matter. I was his princess, his pride, his *hija* that he raised from birth with all the love and care he could muster. I had a classroom full of friends and my teachers adored me. Never once had he denied me any request. No matter how tired he was, he would always find time to spend with me. He was a bad person but a good father. Losing me would hurt. I never expected to die twice for one man. But as warm water filled the tub, I sliced deep into my wrists, cutting through skin muscle, and connective tissue until I hit an artery. Even soothed by the warm water, it stung, but no more so than the bullet. The blood ran into the water, mixing like my favorite fruit drinks he'd made on my birthday. The deep red wisps swirled around and around as the water level rose, smothering me in warmth in my grave that smelled and tasted of iron. I'd forgotten how large bathtubs could feel to a kid. My last thoughts were of uncertainty. Whether I should've just lived out the second life I'd been given. Whether I could forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed. Was I more of a monster for what I'd just done? Was this the last chance at life on this earth that I had? Was I acting from justice? Spite? Selfishness? I don't know. But as I lay dying alone for the second time with nothing but my thoughts, in my last few moments of consciousness, I cried. ____________________________",1082
 Some nights I'm back in my,"Some nights I'm back in my old self, at my desk at 2 AM as my stack of files piles on and the coffee in my mug runs dry. My old lamp had flickered for weeks now, the shitty thing. Always thought it'd ruin my eyes, but I was too lazy to replace the bulb while it still worked. I'm not what most would describe as a lazy person. Obsessed, maybe. I'd pore over the case files like a fanatic over holy tomes, day in and day out. Surely there's something I'd missed. And every time I found even the slightest chance of a possible lead, I'd clutch it close, hold it tight, and find another red herring, another dead end. But failure only served to remind me of the man I was tracking. How dangerous he was. And how I was the only one who still believed his arrest possible. It was a hazy night, when the day had been warm, but not warm enough to turn on the AC. My open window drew no breeze to chase out the stifling air, and beads of sweat dotted my forehead. The city was quiet, at peace, save for the noise of an overworked cop turning pages. Bzzt Bzzt The buzz of a new text. Unknown number. ""342 Elm Drive. 3:00 AM"" Half an hour from now. I wasn't getting paid for this. I had no backup. It could've been anyone for any reason. I grabbed my keys. It was an overpriced home in an overpriced neighborhood. The house was large, but inelegant, as if an architect had stitched together the failed designs in his trash bin. Windows far too high for anyone to see from yet shielded from sunlight, useless overhangs with fake marble pillars, mismatched shutters- a real McMansion. I pulled up onto the curb and walked up the concrete steps. The porch light turned on. The front door opened and a man stepped out. He was a short, Hispanic man with short, greasy hair. A curl of chest hair peeked out through his flannel shirt. A scar ran from his left ear down to his neck, one he'd gotten from a shady drug dealing. It gave his face a dangerous look, one I knew all too well. He carried a glock in his left hand. Of course. I'd been tracking him for years. That it would end in one of our deaths was inevitable. I barely had time to draw my weapon before the first bullet caught me in the chest. I woke up in smooth silk bedsheets in a four-poster bed. Stared into the mirror at my bedside. A young mexican girl, around 8 or 9 stared back. The first time I'd had the dream, I'd woken up the house with my screaming. He- my father- had stormed into my bedroom with a gun and two bodyguards, fearing the worst. Then he'd hugged me. The mixed feelings of revulsion, anger and vulnerability were indescribable. I longed to pull away, or grab his gun and shoot him in the head. I hated his smell, I hated this feeling, this life. For any innocent child, it would be a dream come true, but for me it was all wrong. I was no longer the cop he had shot. No more than I was fully his daughter, but some bizarre mix of the two, a child that thought too big, an adult that felt too small, a freak of nature that had no place in this world. He'd been what I'd lived for. He'd been what I'd died for. And now he had raised me. I sobbed into my father's shoulder as he caressed my hair, dismissed his guards, and whispered that everything was fine. When they left, he would cry with me. He was so much older than I remembered. Why I ended up this way, I'll never know. Perhaps it was some punishment for something I'd done. Perhaps a chance at revenge. Or a chance for his redemption. But I think, at the core of it all, the universe is just run by some very sick fucks. I've had some nights where I'd tried to kill him, but I could never find the many firearms he'd stored around the house, and I was hardly strong enough to overpower his guards with a butter knife. And even then, I had second thoughts. It seemed he harbored some sense of shame about his business, and took great pains to hide the skeletons in his closet. He was rarely home these days and kept his room under lock and key. When he did visit, he would bring me a gift, usually a doll or a plush. Sometimes fine clothes. But I found a solution locked in my bathroom with the knife I'd filched. It was so simple I'm surprised I hadn't done it sooner. Whether this was my punishment or his, would hardly matter. I was his princess, his pride, his hija that he raised from birth with all the love and care he could muster. I had a classroom full of friends and my teachers adored me. Never once had he denied me any request. No matter how tired he was, he would always find time to spend with me. He was a bad person but a good father. Losing me would hurt. I never expected to die twice for one man. But as warm water filled the tub, I sliced deep into my wrists, cutting through skin muscle, and connective tissue until I hit an artery. Even soothed by the warm water, it stung, but no more so than the bullet. The blood ran into the water, mixing like my favorite fruit drinks he'd made on my birthday. The deep red wisps swirled around and around as the water level rose, smothering me in warmth in my grave that smelled and tasted of iron. I'd forgotten how large bathtubs could feel to a kid. My last thoughts were of uncertainty. Whether I should've just lived out the second life I'd been given. Whether I could forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed. Was I more of a monster for what I'd just done? Was this the last chance at life on this earth that I had? Was I acting from justice? Spite? Selfishness? I don't know. But as I lay dying alone for the second time with nothing but my thoughts, in my last few moments of consciousness, I cried. _____________________________________ Here's a repost of my story that got taken down because I tried to link my patreon. I was unaware of the rule and will no longer link it in this subreddit. I am very sorry for the inconvenience I caused. Instead, you can find my stories and the link in this .",1135
" An old man, dressed in r","""Go away!"" I looked up from my phone to see an old man, dressed in rags, making a shooing motion at empty air several feet away. He didn't even seem to notice my presence. ""Go! S-stay awa--aaaah!"" He collapsed in mid-tirade, clutching his chest. It was almost midnight; the streets around campus were empty at this hour. I gulped, looking around for someone else to take responsibility for this, but I was out of luck. ""Mister, are you okay?"" I said, inching towards the homeless fellow. He didn't answer, but continued to wave at something only his mind could perceive. His eyes looked ready to pop from their sockets as he struggled to draw breath. ""Hold on, okay? I'm calling 911."" ""N--no,"" he said. ""Too ... late."" ""Don't talk,"" I said, wincing at his visibly purpling face. ""Come here,"" he said, sounding lucid for the first time since the beginning of our encounter. That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I'd read in some magazine that the only thing the dying wanted was company. Figuring that he couldn't do much harm, I knelt beside him. Wordlessly, he took off his glasses and handed them to me with a significant look. With a frown, I took them. The moment they left his hands, he fell back. A single tear dripped from the corner of his left eye. ""Hello, 911? Some homeless guy just died in front of me, on 16th Avenue. Could you send an ambulance?"" After the operator assured me help was on the way, I retreated a little further from the body to wait. His thin, wire frame glasses were surprisingly clean unlike the rest of him. I held them up to my face to look through them, wondering just how bad his vision was, and that was when I saw the figure. I yelled in surprise, dropping them in the process, and looked wildly around. The area remained deserted, except for a cat slinking in the shadows across the road. The nearby traffic light blinked yellow, and then red. Nothing was out of the ordinary--there were no spectral silhouettes in sight. So what had I seen? A smudge, perhaps? A glare from the streetlight? My hands shook as I stooped to retrieve the glasses. The homeless man's eccentric last moments came back into my memory, and I felt an urge to throw this strange inheritance into the bushes and hurry on home. But a morbid curiosity arose as well ... was I going mad, as he had? Heart pounding, I raised the glasses again. Before they'd even reached the level of my eyes, I saw it again. The figure stood about three feet in front of me, humanoid, its outline gray and blurry, as though it was vibrating excessively. It wasn't very tall; maybe four feet tops. I licked my suddenly dry lips, and wondered if I should run. It made no move towards me; just stood there. And then I realized why. It was staring at the old man. ""Er, hello?"" I said. The figure's head swiveled toward me, and it jumped. The suddenness elicited a similar response from me, but I suddenly chuckled. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the idea that we'd both been spooked by each other. While standing next to an old man. With me holding a pair of glasses like a pair of binoculars. Things did start to feel silly. ""You can hear me?"" I said. It nodded, and I thought I saw a small hole open in its face. However, I heard nothing except the rustle of plastic trash being blown across the sidewalk. The figure cocked its head, and then signaled for me to put the glasses on. Hell, what could go wrong? I did as it indicated, and abruptly heard a childish voice speaking as though right next to my ear. ""You've taken Don's eyes,"" it said. I shook my head. ""He gave it to me. Do you have a name?"" The creature paused for a while before saying, ""Don calls me Peter."" ""Peter. What are you?"" I said, and added, ""Pardon me if I'm being rude."" A soft laugh came from him. ""I'm a boy! I'm Don's son--well, he says so, anyway. I don't know who my mummy is."" My head was beginning to throb, both from adrenaline and confusion. ""Well ... you're not--you don't look human to me."" The boy shrugged. ""Don said that's nothing. People don't talk to me anyway. Only Don does."" His brows furrowed. ""Don's been lying there for a while now. Has he been drinking again? Can you wake him up, sister? He said he's taking me to the carnival tomorrow."" I looked at the homeless man, and then back at Peter. ""Peter, Don's ... Don's dead. I think it was a heart attack or something."" Something about Peter changed then; I wasn't sure what gave me the impression. Maybe it was a subtle change in his pale hue. Maybe there was an irregular tremor in his shifting form. Either way, his voice was tiny when he next said, ""Not him, too?"" From the darkness came a faint wail of sirens. The ambulance must be close by. ""Too?"" I said. ""Yeah."" Peter squatted beside the old man's body. ""Before him, it was Sally. And James, and Miguel, and ..."" The boy sighed. ""So many."" A thought sent a shiver down my spine. ""Did you ... did you kill them?"" It was hardly unusual in fiction. Somehow, he managed to project incredulity at me even without eyes. ""They loved me. We were family."" ""Sorry."" Relief flooded through me when the ambulance parked by the roadside. Two paramedics got down and hurried over with a stretcher. I told them what had happened, though I sensed that they weren't listening with full attention as they examined the body. Throughout it all, Peter rested his head on Don's head. ""We'll contact you if we need to talk to you,"" one of them said, just before they hoisted the body onto the stretcher. Peter backed away then, watching them silently. I nodded. They carted the body off. Soon, the ambulance had started once more. A tingle shot up my left arm. Yelping, I turned to see that Peter had slipped his hand through mine. ""Will you take care of me now?"" he said. My lips worked soundlessly for several seconds before I dipped my head once. And then I felt it: a pure, profound sensation of joy, like sunshine cutting through the chill of winter--spreading up my arm. I couldn't help it then--tears began pouring from my eyes. *** *I hope you liked that. Check out my for more stories!*",1118
" The alcohol stung his throat,","The alcohol stung his throat. He had never quite come to grips with that feeling. Like an unpleasant shiver down the esophagus it reminded him that he drank for the effect and not the taste, and recently he had been drinking more and more. Still, that guttural distaste for his drink remained. He had ordered bourbon this time. It was one of his favourites. Its taste he didn't much care for. What taste was that? It was hard to put your finger on. That slightly nauseating shiver he experienced upon swallowing had the effect of overriding any potential flavour, though he was beginning to think the presence of alcohol in a fluid rid it of all flavour anyway, sacrificing the pleasures of taste for its other effects. And how wonderful were they? That it seemed to brighten the dimly lit bar (though he thought this less of a widening of the pupil and more of some psychological lighting up) was one, but more importantly it let him forget. He took another sip, but rather than replacing the glass on the table, he finished it, every stomach-renching drop. He already felt the room growing lighter. For forgetfulness he would have to wait a while longer, and what a painful while that would be. He looked down at the wrist of his left hand. It was splattered with black ink. Everyone's had some such decoration, but his was less of a decoration and more of a inky explosion that had lost any resemblance to its original form. But he remembered. ""You want another one of those Cimi?"" He did. The bartender filled his glass, and he stared at its brown content. It had begun to shake and quiver in its glass as if it were as uncomfortable being drunk as he were drinking it. The low hum of the bar and become a louder drone. It wasn't uncommon. In fact, most of the regulars had come to zone it out. You had to if you intended to frequent a bar only a few dozen metres from a train track. Though Cimi had started drinking more frequently, the noise still got to him. When the train passed (a rather short one it must have been. Few carriages) he returned to the mess of ink on his wrist. People often asked him what it was; what it had been. Through the web of black lines he thought he could still tell, still perceive the original marking, but maybe that was the force of memory insisting his eyes did what in truth was the work of his subconscious. Still, he believed he could see it: two thick parallel lines ran down his wrist, spanning a length of 3 inches. Intersecting both of them perpendicularly were three thinner lines. It looked almost like a ladder he thought. But that ladder was hardly visible now. By the age of sixteen, when the senior summer dance had come, and so many of his friends had attended with their mark's match, he had gone alone. It wasn't necessarily expected for everyone to have found their mark's match by then, he certainly wasn't the only attendee to have spent the evening alone, but he was in the minority. A fact he noted with the expected melancholy. That night he had added his first inky addition. Though he abhorred dancing, his pen had pirouetted along his wrist in the shape of a treble clef. When he had graduated two years later, having attended the Graduating Ball alone (this time one of only three to have done so), he had etched on a small decal resembling an Oxford cap. Four years after that, when his mother had first had her diagnosis, he wrote her initials in bold black ink over the Ladder. And 5 months after that, when she had died and he attended her funeral alone (and had been alone in so doing) he had drawn a solid black square over where once the initials had lain. He continued to stare at his drink, its stillness interrupted at first by small ripples, and soon after by increasingly violent undulations. They then turned into micro tsunamis lashing against the inside of the glass until the entire glass, overcome by the momentum of its contents, tipped onto its side and spilled the bourboun messily onto the bartop. But no one took any notice. Their eyes were glazed over, their ears had assumed control of their mind. The familiar rumble of the train which would have disturbed no one was present, but over its rumbling bassline the train's brakes screamed like the final ululation of a wounded animal. They screamed and screamed, Cimi's fingers came to his ears but still that wail called to him. As the scream rose faces morphed into worry and concern, until it stopped. The scream fell silent as if a door had been closed on it. But the concern was loud as ever. First the barman, then the regulars, and then Cimi ran outside to see what had elicited so horrific a sound. The train had stopped outside their bar. It was no surprise they had heard that sound so clearly. That blood curdling scream of metal on metal had happened outside their very window. But why? Cimi didn't know, but he thought that the huddle of bar goers might have some idea now. Approaching them he saw only the backs of their heads, but even with so little to see he could read their horror. They had clumped together like a prayer circle, and Cimi felt that that might not have been so much a coincidence. He barged into the the group, and let his head fall to see that at which they stared. He wished that he hadn't. He felt the alcohol he had forced himself to swallow rise up in revulsion, and he turned his head to let it out. A shame, it hadn't even had a chance to take effect, and he felt he would need it to now more than ever. She was still as the red puddle in which she lay. In which a part of her lay, the part above the hips. Her legs were elsewhere. Perhaps they had been flung about or simply disintegrated by the impact. Her face looked kind, it didn't bear any regret. Cimi thought he could even see the shadow of a smile, but who knows what shape the face takes after an impact like this. He had felt sad and revolted when he had first seen her, but it wasn't until now when he felt something more. He felt bruised and winded, as if some part of him had stood on those tracks while the train had screamed its way forward. He knelt down and grabbed her hand. It was warm as if it hadn't yet been told that blood no longer flowed down its pale digits. But it wasn't her hand he had bent down to check. He turned it over and saw her wrist. It had been scratched over. Not with ink, but with her finger nails. Deep gashes and scabs had obscured its image, but Cimi saw through them. Whether it was his eyes or his subconscious that saw, it mattered not. He could see the two parallel lines, and the three lines which intersected them. He saw this as clearly as he saw his own. He was still as she. She who lay on the the tracks. She with whom he would have lain, and lived, and died, but who had beaten him to that final point. Her heart was still, her face (with her phantom grin) was still. The night was still. Cimi's mind had set on stillness, and stillness had set on him. Soon it would take him as it had taken her, and with her he would be united in that stillness to which all men eventually belong.",1319
 Kara invited her friends to a pool,"Pool party. I'm an idiot, right? For someone like me, wouldn't a big body of water by the prime place to avoid? Most of the time, my brain's thinking clearly, and I would have declined the invitation. Hell, I've gotten really good at thinking about all the twists and turns of any sort of social interaction - will there be booze, and I might lose control? Will people be getting wet? Is there rubbing alcohol around? Will my secret remain safe? But when Kara looked at me, those big eyes of hers glimmering in the flickering light of our college graduation bonfire, my brain turned off. She grinned as she informed the rest of us that her parents had a pool in their backyard, that she was ""watching their house"" and could ""totally get us in."" She leapt up to her feet, body parts jiggling in delightful ways that made my hindbrain applaud, and waved at us to follow her. And twenty minutes later, I found myself staring down at the shimmering water, lit from beneath by lights, trying to shake off the calls from the rest of my friends. ""C'mon, Tom, the water's great!"" called out Danny, bobbing up and down beside Kara. He grinned up at me - although that wasn't anything special, Danny basically always grinned whenever he was around Kara. After all, they'd found each other. Perfectly matching symbols on their wrists, down to the tiny, intricate pattern of stippled dots surrounding the main diagram. They were meant to be together, and anyone could see it from the way they got lost in each other's eyes. The others hooted and hollered, gesturing for me to take the leap. We'd been friends practically since the first day of college, and I knew them all so well. Elaine, with her interlocking triangles. Danny and Kara, who fell in love even before they revealed their symbols. Rick, who insisted that his shape looked like an ""alien smiley face"". Only Sasha hung back, as usual. I still didn't know how she'd become a part of her group, with her reserved nature, shy withdrawal from most conversation, and refusal to participate in anything unless we begged. In any other world, her baggy sweatshirt and big eyes peeping out from beneath waves of black hair would make her an outcast. But we'd welcomed her. She sat behind me, on a deck chair, barely hovering on the periphery of our circle. That was usual, for Sasha. That was where I should have been. I didn't belong here, wavering on the edge of this pool, feeling my wrist burn with the lie that I'd carefully traced on with Sharpie this morning, like I did each morning. I belonged back in the shadows, with Sasha - an outcast. I turned away. ""I'm sorry, guys, I can't!"" I called out, eliciting a round of groans from the others. ""I'm too drunk to get wet! You all have fun - I'll keep Sasha company."" ""Nuh uh!"" Quick as a striking snake, Rick rose up from the water, his hand flying out towards me. I scrambled backward, but not quite fast enough; his fingers wrapped around my arm, sliding down towards my hand as he fell back and attempted to haul me into the pool. His fingers slid over my wrist. Oh god, the symbol - would the pen resist the water? Panicking, I shook Rick off, my hand now sodden and dripping from the transferred water. It was too dark. I couldn't see the symbol clearly, but I couldn't risk being exposed. I backpedaled, away from the fun and frolicking, back towards Sasha and withdrawal. Ignoring the boos from my friends, I dropped onto the deck chair beside Sasha. Kara's parents had outfitted the whole backyard like a resort, with palm trees and a corner bar. Sasha, pulled in on herself, didn't seem to notice any of it. Her big, pale eyes, however, fastened on me as I sat down beside her. I wanted to check my wrist, see if the ink had smeared, but I couldn't do it next to her. ""Hi,"" I said, feeling awkward. ""Hi."" She kept watching me, and the silence stretched out. I scrambled for something else to say. ""So what do you have planned now? Now that you're graduating?"" The words felt hollow, but it beat out the silence. She shrugged, a pale, small shoulder briefly appearing from inside the oversized sweatshirt. ""Dunno. You?"" ""I don't really know, either,"" I admitted. I shook my hand, trying to get some of the water off. ""Travel, maybe. Or just try to find a job. Not that anyone's hiring much, as far as I can tell."" Sasha nodded, and then suddenly, for no reason at all, a terribly stupid suggestion sprang into mind. ""We could go together,"" I went on, my mouth plunging ahead as my brain recoiled in shock. ""Travel together. Go someplace new."" For just an instant, I thought I saw a flare of something in those big eyes, a look of... surprise? Need? Desperate hunger? What were those emotions doing on her face? She lifted a hand, almost unconsciously, reaching out towards me. ""I don't think so."" The words seemed to be all but ripped from her, but she shook her head. A blink, and we were back to ourselves, that strange moment now past. ""I... I don't really do well around people."" ""Yeah, I've noticed."" I tried to give her a wry smile, show her that I didn't mean the words to hurt. ""I feel that way too, a lot of the time."" She shook her head again. ""Not like this."" If I'd been a little more sober, I might have wondered what she meant. Instead, however, a new idea sparked in my head. ""Well, let me at least make you a drink,"" I called out, standing up. As I did so, however, blood suddenly rushed to my head, and I felt a wave of wooziness hit me. Vision swinging, I reached out to catch something to steady myself. Before Sasha could say anything, my hand closed on hers - and the sleeve of that oversized, baggy, ratty sweatshirt that she always wore slid up. And I felt a bolt of lightning run up my spine to burn out all conscious thought in my brain. Her wrist was bare. She didn't have a symbol. She was like me- Sasha was up, tearing her hand away from me. Her eyes burned, tears glimmering at their edges even as her mouth opened in a hiss. ""Get away!"" But she paused, torn between fight or flight. I only had a second to react, before she would be gone - forever, I knew. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I knew what to do. I turned my wrist, displaying it to her - and drew one finger down, over the symbol that I so painstakingly traced out each morning. The ink bled, ran, slipped away under my wet fingers. I looked back up at Sasha, and saw her mouth hanging open. For a long minute, neither of us spoke. The party burbled on in the nearby pool, but we were in our own world. I finally cleared my throat, fighting the hoarseness that made me feel like I hadn't spoken aloud in years. ""So, about that drink..."" I began. She nodded, even as she self-consciously tugged the sleeve back down to cover her wrist. ""Okay."" And even as Dan and Kara splashed happily together, and Rick and Elaine flirted (because even if two symbols didn't match, that didn't mean you couldn't have a little fun, right?), we drew away. Neither of us knew what this meant, but we'd both realized the same conclusion. We weren't the only ones. ****** *Read other writings at /r/Romanticon*",1303
 We are taught from young never to,"""I relinquish this life."" Just four words, six syllables, but what power they hold! We are taught from young never to utter them, intentionally or otherwise, and we are shown books, pictures, videos of the consequences. Most people are so fearful that they have probably never even said the first two words together, not even for practice. Sometimes, people say the words accidentally, like when reckless teenagers get caught up in a game of drink-or-dare, and one goes overboard by actually completing the sentence. And then, of course, there are those who say the words intentionally. Like my wife did, fifteen years ago. I thought about those four words again when the doorbell rang, and I steeled myself mentally. In all likelihood, it wasn't going to be any of my friends, not when almost all of them had already passed on their lives to others in need. Odds were that it would be the government representatives again, here to remind me gently that I had lived far longer than most people, and that perhaps it was time for me to share. ""Mr Dawson?"" the young man asked through the door as I looked through the peephole. He was middle-aged, with thinning hair and a protruding gut. ""We were told you would be at home. They said our chances were higher if we asked you in person. Please, could we talk to you for a minute?"" ""Go away,"" I said. ""I'm not free."" ""Please, Mr Dawson,"" said the lady next to him, presumably his wife. I could tell from the subtle way she had nudged her husband aside, planted herself directly in front of my door. ""Just ten minutes? We just wanted to... ask if you would hear us out. I'm Lucy, this is my husband Rodrigo. Please?"" I sighed, then unlatched the door. I managed surly easily, and I did a unique blend of grumpy, but I was not very good at heartless. ""Five minutes,"" I said. ""You're leaving after that. Trust me, lady, you ain't got what I want."" They settled onto my sofa. I didn't offer them any coffee, tea or biscuits. I nestled into the armchair, swivelled it slightly to face them better. ""Your time was running since you stepped in,"" I said. ""Mr Dawson,"" Rodrigo began, ""would you tell us how much your last offer came to? I think... I think we may be able to top it. We're serious about this."" ""I don't need the money,"" I said. ""Look around you. This is the penthouse unit. Plus, I have no family to pass it on to."" I saw Rodrigo's face sink. For good reasons too - money was the primary reason why people spoke the words, gave up their lives. If not for the fleeting material comforts they otherwise would never get to experience, then for the wealth to pass on to family members who may have needed it more. I read that the market rate was a million dollars, though of course there were bargains to be had if one were hard-nosed enough. ""Perhaps, we could give you something else?"" asked Lucy. ""Say, company? Is there anyone you want to spend time with? We could arrange for that too, we know people, have connections."" A tiny smile took root at the corners of my mouth, but it died before it could blossom. There was a time, for sure, that I threw myself into the arms of others, sought company wherever it was offered. But the void Emily left was too gaping, too yawning a chasm to fill. Perplexingly, I found myself even more lonely every morning that I woke up next to a woman who wasn't Emily. Loneliness, and discontent, tiny eggs that burrowed into my heart, festering there, too potent to ignore, my constant, unfailing companions. I often wondered if that was how Emily felt when she decided that the sweet nothingness of the void was better than whatever she had with me. ""As I told the Ministry of Assignment, I want for nothing,"" I said. ""Only to be left alone, really. I'm not ready to go."" ""I know it is a lot to ask for, Mr Dawson,"" Rodrigo said. ""But we... we are not young anymore. The doctors, they tell us that Lucy's best chance of having a child is sometime in the next year or so. We only met late, so we're way down the queue at the Ministry, way down. They can't assign us any lives for the next few years at least. So please, Mr Dawson, would you consider giving us your spot? We... the child, it really will mean a lot to us."" ""That's got nothing to do with me,"" I said. ""But what do you live for?"" Lucy asked. ""None of your business,"" I replied, as calmly as I could. There was no use explaining it to them. I had tried with the government representatives, but they didn't understand too. They thought I was selfish, that I was another one of the greedy ones, too self-centred to pass on the flames of life to the new generation. Some of them had even tried badgering me, telling me that the world didn't even know I existed, so why even bother to struggle through one dreary day to the next? How could I have made them see, that it was all for Emily? That if I were to go, that she would be forgotten, utterly, completely? I was the last tether she had to this world, the last living memory of who she was, what she stood for, what she excelled at. ""Show him, show him,"" said Lucy, as Rodrigo fumbled in his briefcase. He fished out a number of pamphlets, laid them on the coffee table between us. ""You must forgive me,"" Lucy continued, ""your private life is your own. But we are desperate, so you can understand that we did a bit of digging into your life. If money and company are not what you seek, then perhaps... we can offer something else?"" ""What's this?"" I asked. The images on the pamphlets seemed so alien, yet so familiar, at the same time. ""We know how your wife... suffered after the accident,"" said Rodrigo, who had the decency to drop his voice an octave. ""It's been some time, but it was big news then. They had to reschedule all the big shows after your wife could no longer dance."" ""And that's why we will send our child to the same schools your wife went to,"" Lucy said, spreading out the pamphlets in turn. ""Boy or girl, doesn't matter. We will have them complete the same courses, train under the very best dancers. We will make sure our child becomes as famous a dancer as your wife was, and then more."" My fingers brushed the pamphlets, and I heard those familiar tones again, the musical routines Emily would put on as she practiced. I felt her hand, heard her laugh, smelled the sweet cigarette smoke which followed her from room to room. The flood of memories continued, drowning me in a sea of nostalgia. The empty bed in the morning, because she was already up, tickling me, laughing at me for oversleeping again, when she had already worked in her morning run... The sweat as it beaded down her back, as she pushed herself again and again, twirling in neverending pirouettes in our studio, boring marks into the parquet... The vacant desolation in her eyes when the doctors told her she would never dance again, the fear that all that she had worked for, all that she had accomplished would be forgotten... ""If it's a boy, he will be Emile,"" said Rodrigo. ""And if it's a girl... you know what we will name her,"" added Lucy. ""Please, will you give us this chance? We will never forget it, I promise."" I closed the pamphlets, pressed them back into their hands. I retrieved my wallet, took out the donor card I had tucked away at the back. I filled in my name, the date, the time, and left the ""recipient"" field blank. I signed it with a flourish, then handed it to them. ""If he or she doesn't like to dance,"" I said, ""it's alright. Don't force them to do it. But if you don't mind, would you please let them know where their name came from? I think my wife would have liked it to know that, at the least, someone remembered her craft enough to be inspired by it."" They nodded. That was enough for me, and I said what they came to hear. ""I relinquish this life."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1442
 YS-974 3rd,"Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity. The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work. The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as ""North America"" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called ""Bismark"" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in. 10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called ""earthlings"". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet. That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war. Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The ""earthlings"" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase - Warpath. Ten Cycles Later The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called ""Earth"", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best. The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called ""humanitarian efforts"". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed. Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full ""retirement"", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance. One Cycle Later The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory. The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now. The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators. Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy. Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout.",1346
 Michael tried to decide if he should,"""Who are you?"" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd *probably* die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - *anyone* else. He had thought they were the last. The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand. ""Michael, Cibby is scared,"" whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm. Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek. ""Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon,"" he added, ""and, well, we've not seen *anyone* since..."" His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents. Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. ""We'll be brave."" ""Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him,"" Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. ""And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came."" Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood. ""Hello!"" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them. ""We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-"" Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. ""Oh, Jesus."" Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place. ""*What the fuck are you?*"" he mouthed. The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood. ""*Oh, shit.* Izzy,"" he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, ""get ready to run. Okay?"" ""Pleaaase,"" came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat. Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped. ""Pleaaase,"" came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground. ""Let's go, okay sis?"" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice. ""...we can't go. I think it needs our help,"" said Izzy. ""It's in pain."" ""Izzy! What are you doing?"" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it. ""My name is Izzy,"" she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. ""This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael,"" said the girl. ""We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?"" The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her. ""Don't!"" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers. It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side. ""Izzy!"" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. ""Oh God, Izzy,"" he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. ""Please don't be dead. *Please please please.*"" He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move. Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept. The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe. ""What did you do to her, you- you *monster!*"" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. ""She was just a little girl and you-"" He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines. ""*What?* Izzy?"" Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips. ""Izzy!"" he repeated through sobs and laughter. ""Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - *please,* don't ever do that to me again."" He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly. ""He... he made me better,"" she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature. Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: ""*thank you*."" The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air. ""What are you..."" The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree. Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands. When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so. ""My sister wanted you to have this,"" Michael said, offering out a hand. Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. ""There are others,"" he said, in a soft rumble. ""Only a few. You must bring them here."" ""How - how will I find them?"" ""You will,"" it replied. ""She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden."" It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. ""I will see you again, someday,"" it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert. ""Thank you,"" Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight. --- more on /r/nickofnight",1306
" ""Papa!"" she said and","""Papa!"" she said and threw her arms around me as I came in the door. ""Oof,"" I exclaimed and hugged her back. ""How was school, Martina?"" I asked. She untangled herself from me, and looked up at me, smiling. Her long dark hair, and those almond eyes...she was only nine, but she looked so much like her mother that it hurt. ""School was great! We learned about World War II today."" ""Oh yeah?"" I said as I counted the Pesos again. ""...and then the Allies found him slumped over in his bunker, a bullet in his head, but Ms. Rodriguez said that they didn't actually find - papa are you listening?"" ""Wha-, ah, I mean...no. Sorry,"" I said. I would never lie to my baby. She rolled her eyes in the same way her mother and sent another pang through my heart. I turned away so she wouldn't see the tears in my eyes. ""How was it with the German, papa?"" she asked; she hadn't noticed, thank god. ""Martina,"" I said, ""I told you not to talk about that man."" There was something seriously wrong about that situation, even I could tell. But I got pesos, and I didn't complain. ""I *don't,* papa,"" she whined, ""not to anyone else. I'm just asking you!"" ""Well, he was fine, same as usual, you know. Didn't talk much, thanked me for the food, and sent me on my way,"" I said. ""I want to meet him, papa."" I whirled towards her, ""Absolutely, not,"" I said. ""Please, I want to-"" ""No."" ""Just once! I just want to ask if he was there, you know, when the war happened? You said he was old,"" she said. ""Why would you possibly need to know that?"" I asked. ""Uhm, I'll do better on my exam, I'm sure,"" she said, ""I'll remember the material better!"" I hesitated. I'd promised Susana that her daughter wouldn't be like us, that she would be educated, that she would leave this farm, this country and go out into the world. ""Please, papa,"" she said, her eyes wide as saucers. ""*Fine*"" I said, ""I'll take you tomorrow. But just once you understand! Never again."" ""Oh thank you, thank you, thank you,"" she said and threw her arms around me again. I hugged her back, hoping I hadn't made a mistake. *** **The Next Morning** The guard blocked our way. He was tall and well built with pale skin and golden hair. ""Who's this?"" the man asked. He wasn't unkind, but he was not cordial either. ""Just my daughter, sir, that's all,"" I said. The man peered at Martina who stared right back at him, as if daring him to try something. Stupid girl, defiance like could get you killed. I made a note of it - I would talk to her about it later. The guard nodded, ""no problems. Got the food?"" I held up my bag and nodded. ""Go right in,"" he said and moved out the way. We walked forward towards the what looked like a shack. It looked as if it were made of crumbling wood, with rotting window hinges. But when we got inside, there was a metal door laden on the floor. I put down the bad and pulled, moving the heavy door with some effort. Martina looked at the whole thing with wonder. ""Papa, doesn't this seem a bit...suspicious?"" she asked. I shrugged, ""we get the pesos, and I give him, food, I don't ask,"" I said, ""and you shouldn't either."" Martina didn't say anything as we descended the steps, our steps echoing through the metal structure. After about a minute we came into the room. It was a simple layout - a bed in the corner, a door leading to a fully working bathroom, and a dining table in the center. ""Ah, Pedro, you've arrived!"" The German came out of the bathroom, wearing his normal black pants and buttoned shirt. He walked with a cane in his right hand and flinched with every step. His silver white hair was in dissaray, dropping well below his ear. But one look at his eyes and I knew, his body may be failing, but his mind was not, not yet. He sat down at his usual spot on the table, and only then seemed to notice Martina. ""Oh,"" he said, ""you've brought a guest, Pedro,"" he said. Martina smiled and gave him her hand, ""I'm Martina, Pap- I mean, Pedro's daughter,"" she said, blushing slightly at her mistake. ""You have lovely daughter, Pedro,"" he said, and started taking out the food from the bag. Nothing special, but it was food. ""What's your name, sir,"" Martina asked. I shot her a glare, but she shrugged it off. The German chuckled, ""she's already bolder than you, Pedro,"" he said. ""My name, Martina,"" he took a deep breath and smiled, ""is Adolf Hitler. You may have heard of me."" I coughed to cover my open-mouthed gasp. I hadn't gone to school, but I knew full well who this man was. Killer, villain. Talking to my daughter. For her part, Martina just nodded, taking it in stride. ""I thought so,"" she said. The German, Hitler, smiled. ""Bold and smart, a dangerous combination."" ""Martina,"" I said, ""we're going."" We'd have to move, quick, far away. i had a knife in my back pocket, I could probably take the guard outside. ""No need, Pedro, no need,"" Hitler said, ""I doubt I'll live for more than a couple more days anyways, you have nothing to fear from me."" ""Martina!"" I said, and she finally looked at me, ""We're leaving. Now!"" ""Papa-"" ""No buts,"" I said, and took her hand. ""Why'd you do it, do you hate me?"" I blinked, and gaped at Martina. It took me a moment to realize she wasn't talking to me, but Hitler. He looked down at his food, his shoulders slumped. ""I could tell you some story about political scapegoats, insanity, or pressure. But that wouldn't be the truth Martina,"" he sighed. ""Why does evil happen at all, Martina? I don't know, no one knows."" He shook his head. ""All these decades...no. I don't hate you Martina."" I tugged at her arm and dragged her up the stairs. I looked back at the German, Hitler, one last time, and he didn't look like the greatest villain the world had known, he looked like an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out",1079
 The writer was locked away behind the,"The emboldened bedsprings tunnelled into my back as I lay gazing at the grey and clouded ceiling. My three compadres in the cell around me chattered idly; they knew the wrongs they had wrought, often wilfully, sometimes negligently - yet how I came to be shut away behind the cliched stainless steel 10-foot bars remained elusive. I had seemingly been locked away for as long as my memory permitted, yet my crime was not so manifested in my head as the punishment for which I was experiencing - a lapse of memory not so implausible with such little mental stimulation. Such is the nature of this 'paradise' of the damned - cold, cinderblock walls that yield no solace to the destitute, the desperate and the despised. A guard tapped his keys on the bars and looked at me knowingly. I arose from my bunk - as a top-bunker I enjoyed sliding down the ladder and being reminded of my once-victory over ""Slim Jim"", a recently paroled 6'11 African-American behemoth from the cell next door, following an arm wrestling match. Slim Jim actually turned out to be an informant - or a snitch, hence the early parole - but this didn't stop me from earning top-bunker status in light of my victory. Though not built by any means, I was athletic. How I was athletic still I was unsure, for my prison days were all groundhog days that I had spent indoors, and the groundhog days blended together until they too fell apart in my ailing memory. I idly sauntered over to the bars of the cell, not wanting to appear too eager to meet the uniformed gentleman stood outside. He thrust a key into the lock and opened the cell gate, an unusual circumstance given that it was 5pm on a Friday and dinner is served at 7pm, usually without all the pomp and circumstance attributed to some key tapping. This was different, somehow. The guard took my left arm somewhat roughly, and led me outside. ................................... ""Free?"" I nearly choked. ""You are serious?"" The warden stared through me piercingly from his mahogany throne. Slowly his eyes scanned me down from head to toe, and continued moving onto the reams of paper scattered over his desk. He nodded slowly, tersely almost, as if he was forcing his neck muscles to move by focussing every ounce of his being into doing so. I arose from my chair. ""Thank you Warden, for giving me this opportunity."" I beamed, extending my hand. The guard almost reflexively yanked my extended arm with casual roughness away from the warden and began ushering me to the door. I watched as the warden's eyes watched me rigidly. His body language spoke volumes of his stance on what he was doing - paroling a convict. Whether this was the same for all prisoners or just for me, I was not entirely sure, but I had the distinct impression he was displeased with the new lease on life I had been granted. .................................... I didn't think the outside world was much different from the prison courtyard. Same smells in the air, same sky, same people around me; all seeking direction and purpose. The courtyard gates slammed behind me and I felt unexpectedly little liberation. My first port of call was the bank, as currency was deposited for the recently paroled to ease the transition period. Somewhat bizarrely, I almost instinctively knew that the nearest bank was directly opposite the prison, either a miscalculation by city planners or an intended feature to some degree, I wondered. I had to hold back from swaggering into the bank with such light-heartedness in my soul. The line was deep, and the wait savage, but my spirits remained unimpeded. I began admiring the architecture of such a building - even the waiting area was grandiose, with high arches and golden paintwork that truly symbolised the free world. I was rudely interrupted by the doors slamming open, and four persons charging into the lobby, armed to the teeth with weaponry and rudely wearing balaclavas to obstruct vision of their faces. No expert on guns, I deduced the weapons they held were similar to those I had noticed the prison border guards carrying. My first reaction was to run, but before I could begin moving, the room erupted in noise. ""GET ON THE FLOOR"" screamed one of the men, firing three rounds into the lights of the bank above. I froze, contrary to the command but instinctively, and watched as the remaining patrons obeyed wilfully and fell onto their chests. The men swiftly moved towards the bank clerks, firing rounds into the ceiling to affirm their authority. One of the men approached the now-terrified bank teller and yelled incoherently through the bulletproof glass, gesturing wildly. Two men circled the room, yelling at people to lay flatter whilst somehow completely ignoring my presence. ""HEY"" the fourth man spoke. I realized I had been statuesque since the first command, allowing the fourth, a tall, balaclava'd giant of a man, to flank me, whom now stood menacingly to my left. I edged my head counter-clockwise and came face to face with this hulk. ""You want in on this?"" he quietly gestured to his gun. I stared, speechless, unable to react to the strangely familiar voice that was now addressing me directly. The man edged his balaclava away from his face, a bushy black beard falling out and I caught a glimpse of a man who I didn't think I'd see again but was all too familiar. ""... Jim? Slim Jim?"" I spluttered, unsure of what I was seeing. Everything was happening so quickly. The man moved in towards me. ""Yeah, look man just take this, we'll sort you out aight?"" he whispered loudly over the noise, and thrust a cold metal instrument into my hands. A quick pat on the shoulder and Jim had flung himself back into the fray of patrons whilst yelling, despite many being immobilised on the floor in terror. I looked down at the dark, heavy machination in my grasp and instinctively held it tightly, but correctly. I knew nothing about guns. If I didn't hold it correctly, what's to stop it going off if I dropped it? I was shaking from the adrenaline and fear that pulsed within me when the bank doors slammed open again, hitting the walls. Uniformed police officers with riot shields began piling into the bank - I counted six but it seemed like a thousand. I heard more gunshots than I have ever heard in my life, a helicopter rotor, and the screams of a hundred people in unison before my eyes glazed over with darkness, and all faded to nought. ............................................... I stirred, and opened my eyes to bright lights and a white-coated man standing over me, as a mask was placed over my mouth and nose. I felt a cold gas surround my face, and the slumber returned. ............................................... It feels like only yesterday since I had been discharged from the medical bay. The emboldened bedsprings tunnelled into my back as I lay gazing at the grey and clouded ceiling. My three compadres in the cell around me chattered idly; they knew the wrongs they had wrought, often wilfully, sometimes negligently - yet how I came to be shut away behind the cliched stainless steel 10-foot bars remained elusive. I had seemingly been locked away for as long as my memory permitted, yet my crime was not so manifested in my head as the punishment for which I was experiencing - a lapse of memory not so implausible with such little mental stimulation. Such is the nature of this 'paradise' of the damned - cold, cinderblock walls that yield no solace to the destitute, the desperate and the despised. A guard tapped his keys on the bars and looked at me knowingly. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Apologies, this deviated from the experiencing time backwards slightly, but I wanted to keep the manipulation of time as a theme. I hope this is suitable, thanks for reading!",1345
" The Dark One, Overlord of","The Dark One, Overlord of the Fifteen Worlds, had kidnapped the oracle years ago. It was best to keep prophecy-spewing maidens close to the den, after all. So when the aforementioned oracle made the ""Great Prophecy"" that foretold of his reign's end by the hand of a farm girl, the Dark One was the first to hear of it. In response, he did the logical thing. He marched over to the squalid hut that the baby lived in, gave the parents enough money to be comfortable, and kept his second-best regiment posted by their newly-furnished house. After all, the Dark One assured the parents, their child was destined for great things. You could never be too careful. There were plenty of people who'd want to take advantage of a gifted child. Look, he might have gotten the title of ""Dark One"" thanks to his mastery of black magic, but he wasn't evil. Unlike what those rebellious bands of terrorists thought, he had a reason for everything he did. It rankled a bit to rule over the realms with an iron fist, but *come on.* Until the populace was educated and advanced enough to govern itself, the people had to be united by force. The centuries of civil war before him just proved his point. Speaking of education, he also ensured that Little Miss Chosen One had access to the best teachers. Dammit, if he was going to be overthrown by someone (though he was still holding out on that), it better be by someone smart--not some lunk with a sword. Of course, the drooler extraordinaire seemed more interested in slobbering over the books than reading them. Once the kid actually learned how to read, however, that changed. The Dark One would visit her in between crushing insurrections with a new bundle of books in hand. She had an insatiable curiosity, devouring books faster than he could throw them at her. Her parents, though good people, didn't know the answers to anything. And though her tutors were the best, their knowledge paled in comparison to the master himself.... which is why he got the short end of the stick. ""Uncle Dark,"" she'd chirp, persisting in calling him by that stupid name, ""why can't we make more magic? Why do the elves and orcs hate each other? Why are there two suns?"" Why, why, *why.* If he never heard that phrase again, he'd die happy. If he ever died, that was. However, the Dark One had to admit that there was something satisfying about teaching someone and watching them thrive. He wondered why he hadn't done it sooner, honestly. (Oh, right. Students tended to overthrow their teachers to an alarming degree.) The years seemed to pass faster than usual. He visited the girl, developed the economy, killed copycat ""Chosen Ones,"" vanquished chaos demons, and before he knew it, the child was no longer a child. Her knowledge began to outpace that of the tutors he sent, and soon, she was a skilled mage in her own right--a fully-developed *person*, too. With his immortality, the Dark One had forgotten how quickly mortals grew. He could forget no longer, though. ""Did you do it?"" she asked, standing as tall as his physical body. ""Did you massacre all those Reedlings?"" The Dark One paused in his eightieth reread of *The Elements of Magic.* He remembered the massacre very well. It was what had given him his name. The Reedlings had kept rebelling and rebelling, and he'd just cast the immortality spell so his control had been unstable, and... he could think of a thousand excuses, but that wasn't what she'd asked. ""Yes,"" he said instead. ""I did."" ""Why?"" The Dark One could hear the echo of her childish squeak, but the steel in her voice was anything but. ""I have never lied to you. I will not start now."" And so, he began to talk. He started at the very beginning, back when he was still a mortal child in a different world. He talked about his discovery by a master wizard, his accidental use of the dimensional-portal spell, his rise to power... and everything in between. For the first time, he explained everything--what he did, how he did it, and most importantly, *why.* The sun had set by the time he'd finished. The Chosen One was silent for what felt like too long. ""I understand,"" she said finally. ""What you did wasn't right, but I understand."" A weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and the Dark One knew that he'd done something right. ""I think you should join the rebellion."" ""What?"" She stared at him. ""You want me to join a disparate, silly gaggle of terrorists that want to kill you?"" ""That's what they are right now. But with you at the helm, they'll be a force to reckon with."" It took her quite some time to agree, but the Chosen One wasn't stupid. He'd made sure of that. She understood what he was asking, and so, she set off to fulfill her end of the prophecy. On his part, the Dark One encouraged rumors of the Chosen One's rise. He'd already loosened his grip over the empire in the last few decades, and it mostly functioned without his direct intervention, leaving him as just a figurehead. Everything was in place. All he had to do was wait. Years later, the Chosen One faced him again. The ragtag band of rebels had become a united force, and she led them as an accomplished mage and skilled tactician. They exchanged a show of magic for the masses before the Dark One allowed himself to be cornered inside his own castle. Everyone else was kept out by the barriers. ""This realm is ready for you,"" he said, sitting at the foot of his throne. ""The economy about to industrialize, the populace is educated, and best of all, everyone is united in their hatred of me."" ""You really did plan this all, didn't you?"" The Chosen One laughed before taking her seat beside him. ""I've always been in awe of your foresight, but one question has bothered me through all these years: why did you do it?"" She paused and continued in a much softer tone. ""And why me?"" He smiled. ""During my long life, I've learned that prophecies come true whether you like them or not. I hate them on principle, of course. They're too deterministic for my taste, but even prophecies let you choose how they come true. If my reign has to end, then I'd rather it be by someone who knows what they're doing. Someone like you."" ""I'm sorry that--"" ""Don't be. I've been needing a break. Besides, I haven't visited the other worlds in a long, long time. One of them probably needs an evil overlord to overthrow, right?"" She wiped away her tears and gave him a watery smile. ""I'll make you proud, Uncle Dark."" The Dark One patted her head, and as he disintegrated into dust, he said, ""You already have.""",1172
 Prisoner J was in a cell,"The guard's boots sloshed in the icy water as he stomped down the abyss-black passageway. The thin beam of his flashlight sliced through the darkness and revealed slithers of damp rock wall. He could hear the gurgling of running water beneath him - the underground river that led to the body of water surrounding the island. At least the musty odour of the tunnel was hidden by the gift the guard held; the content of the steaming mug was like a cross keeping evil at bay. There was only one cell in the lowest dungeon, and only one prisoner in that cell. Prisoner J. ""Hey, wake up - I've got you something, J,"" said the guard, as he arrived at the unlit cell, banging the heel of his flashlight against the door. The guard lifted the metal plate that allowed for food to be passed through; J's eyelids followed suit. ""Is that- you brought me-"" he fell into a fit of coughing, releasing the dust and dried phlegm that caked his throat. ""Sip this, it'll help,"" said the guard, hiding the concern in his face. The coughs came from the prisoner's chest; it sounded like J had an infection. The guard chewed his lip as he considered the logistics that would be involved in smuggling antibiotics down to the prisoner the following day. J took the mug of coffee, grasping it between two shaking hands. ""Holy shit, I ain't sipping this yet,"" said J, wiping an arm across his mouth and letting the scent of the cheap coffee intoxicate him. ""You insane, boss? What a waste that'd be. I'm going to save it for a *very* rainy day. And until then,"" he leaned into the mug and closed his eyes, ""I'm going to let it take me away to somewhere a little more pleasant."" The guard shone his flashlight through the food hatch and examined J; the prisoner recoiled like a vampire. ""Ey, cut it out, will ya?"" The man's grey hair was like dirty dishwater, and his face was so pale that it was becoming translucent - thin blue lines ran like dried up streams under the skin on his forehead. His teeth were chipped and looked like fragments of broken, jagged glass. He looked like something out of a horror movie. ""Why'd you get me this?"" J asked. ""I'm not ungrateful, you understand,"" he sniffed, ""I know how much you risked to bring it here. Hell, you could be the next man in this cell because of it. But I just kinda need to know - *why?*"" ""I don't really have an answer for that,"" the guard confessed. ""You always talk about coffee and what you'd give for the taste of it one last time, and all that shit. So, well, I just felt sorry for you, I guess."" The guard scratched his head and the prisoner laughed. ""What?"" asked the guard. ""Oh. I'm sorry, it's nothing."" ""Come on, why'd you laugh?"" ""It's just... you feeling sorry for me. It's strange, you know?"" ""Because I'm a guard? Because I'm meant to have no soul?"" ""No,"" said J, lowering his voice to a whisper as he crept toward the food hatch. He glanced behind him, up at the roof of his cell. ""*It's because you've got it backwards. You're a good man, boss. You don't deserve to be trapped here. You need to get out.*"" ""*What?* I'm not trapped,"" said the guard, frowning. ""I do this job because it pays well. I do it for my family - to put my daughter through college."" ""How long have you been working here?"" ""Since... shit, I don't know. Ten years, maybe."" ""You remember when you started?"" ""I..."" ""When's the last time you saw them?"" ""Who? My family?"" ""Yeah."" ""You know that visitors are prohibited from coming to the island."" ""What color are your daughter's eyes, boss?"" ""... blue."" ""You sure about that?"" ""Of course I'm fucking sure. What are you trying to pull? I brought you some coffee and now you're trying to piss me off?"" J raised his hands and slunk back to the corner of his cell. ""I should've said nothing."" It was on the guard's way back out of the tunnel that he thought he noticed something on the passageway roof - something moving ever so slightly. Something he'd caught accidentally with a twitch of his wrist in the beam of his flashlight. Something that reflected the light that had been fired across it. But when he shone the flashlight at the roof a second time, making a slow, thorough search, he couldn't see anything but dripping rock. He must have imagined it. The guard came to see J again the next day, stolen medicine in his inside jacket pocket. But he was too late. J had hanged himself sometime during the night, his thin cotton blanket a makeshift noose. A mug of untouched coffee sat cold and lonely on the stone floor next to the bed. Suicides weren't unusual - prisoners often killed themselves here - although, it was the first he had personally found. Maybe, the guard thought, it was better than living in these conditions for the rest of his life. He didn't blame J for his choice. The guard carried on with his duties as usual that week, but all the while two thoughts nagged at him. They tapped at the door of his mind, demanding to be let in, demanding his attention. The first thought was this: *what colour are my daughter's eyes?* He wasn't all that certain they were blue. He'd stayed up for hours after his conversation with J, lying in bed and trying to picture them clearly in his mind's eye. But he couldn't. Maybe he was just getting old. Forgetful. But it was the second thought that had burrowed fully into his brain and released a poison at its very core. A thought that was changing him and how he looked at the warden, his fellow guards and the other prisoners. It altered where he looked as he walked down passageways - always the roof now, looking for almost imperceptible movements - and it made him shiver as he lay awake at night. It was a thought that made him realise he couldn't quit - ever. That instead, *he* needed to escape. *Why had the mug of coffee still been full?*",1062
" ""Can anyone tell me what the","""Can anyone tell me what the value of the acceleration in this problem would be?"" My voice rang out over the lecture hall. Almost immediately, hands began shooting up from around the room, and I smiled. Physics 101. I'd been teaching at the college for a decade now, but I insisted on always having at least one class with the incoming students. They were so impressionable, so earnest. There was something appealing about setting a new student on the right path that you just couldn't get from a class of hung-over, barely conscious seniors or the slightly-desperate, fixated grad students. I may be God, but it's important to put in the time for people. I nodded towards a girl in the front row, Katie, whose hand had *not* gone up. The blood drained from her face instantly, but I smiled encouragingly at her. Hesitantly, she began stammering her way through an answer. I nodded encouragingly as she pieced it together. Good girl, Katie. I'd been worried about her. She'd nearly failed out of her math classes in High School. She'd really been putting in the effort, though. ""Exactly right!"" I announced, and was rewarded with the flash of a smile across her face before I turned back to the rest of the class. We worked our way through the rest of the lesson, basic topics on mechanics and physical qualities, without any great disturbance beyond one student forgetting to turn off the audio on his phone before he opened a game. I wrapped up a good four minutes early, which set a sparkle in all of the students' eyes. As I opened my mouth to dismiss them, though, another hand shot up. I sighed. Dustin, three rows back. Dustin was...he was a good kid. He was. He was just *that* student, the one who argues with the teacher if they put a movie on instead of lecturing them. The one who complains if there's a snow day because they've lost class time. And, the one who always has one more question, when the class would rather leave. But, I put on my best smile, and nodded. ""Got a question, Dustin?"" The rest of the class sighed, little murmurs of conversation breaking out. ""What's your favorite physics mystery?"" He piped up. The class settled down. They hadn't expected *this*. This sounded halfway *interesting*. I smiled. ""Well, all right, I guess we've got a minute anyway. I find the concept of Dark Matter fascinating - We just know so little about it. Or, we could talk about universal constants, and what *exactly* they may be. Why is the speed of light, well, the speed of light? Why is it set at that limit?"" ""Do you think we'll ever know some of this stuff?"" Sam chimed in, a row from the back and all the way on the side. I was impressed. Sam almost never engaged, and had remained aloof from his friends, family and most of his classes since his father had walked out four years back. Asking a question in class unprompted was a big step for him. ""I think we will, it'll just take a lot of time. A *lot* of time. But there's no magic in it. It's all just numbers and models and equations. We just need to find the *right* numbers and models and equations."" All right, there was a little magic in it. How was I supposed to get particle physics to work properly, *and* make it scale up? It just refused to work out. So, yeah, I fudged some stuff. But, it would just remain one of those problems that physicists strived to solve. Hey, I wasn't going to feel guilty about keeping scientists engaged and employed. The class nodded sagely. ""So what about God, then?"" My eyes flicked to the speaker. Cassandra, smack dab in the middle. I blinked at her, nonplussed. ""Beg your pardon?"" ""God. You say there's no magic. I'm assuming you don't believe in god?"" She jerked her head towards the exit to the lecture hall, and the windows beside it. I knew what she was talking about. All that week, people from the local church had been on and around campus, handing out brochures and trying to tempt the new students to come to their services. Several were visible even now, snagging the few students travelling between classes. ""It's all just numbers and equations, right? So why not prove this whole deal wrong, once and for all?"" She grinned, and the students around her were laughing. ""Shouldn't be that hard."" I chuckled along with the class. I was a *little* irritated - those students handing out brochures were putting in a *lot* of hours on my behalf - but my grin was more sardonic than tense. Because I *did* exist, of course. But, physics worked because it was a set of rules about the universe. It didn't need me there in it to work, for the most part. *For the most part*. But, these were first years, not professional physicists with doctorates researching fringe scientific topics. ""Well, Cassandra, that's a great topic for discussion."" I turned to her, the class falling quiet again. ""And, hey, I could draw a bunch of scary symbols on the board, or lecture for an hour about the fundamental properties of the world. I could *also* direct you to some philosophy teachers who'd have a lot to say on the matter."" A bunch of hacks, the lot of them, but no matter. ""But we only have, oh, 30 seconds left in the class, so I will instead choose to point out that the world isn't 10,000 years old, it wasn't created in seven days, and as far as I'm aware there's no old man floating in the sky watching you *do your homework you all are assigned problems 20 through 45 on page 250*!"" The words came out in a rush, as the bell began to chime. The students leapt to their feet and rapidly vanished through the double doors. I grinned to myself, in the empty lecture hall. That book had been the best idea ever. Gets your name out enough that people are *thinking* about being good little humans, but then throw in some basic inaccuracies. Everyone focuses on *that* instead of on the places where you really are. Gets them thinking about their *own* lives, instead of grovelling in front of some altar. And, hey. I get dizzy in high places. No way I would ever be chilling in the clouds. And I'm not that old. I take offense to that. I gathered my notes into my briefcase. Time to get a move on. Assignments wouldn't grade themselves. Then I needed to check in on that North Korea business. And I had the Physics 415 lab at 7. I sighed. Full night. The doors to the hall never opened, but when the next class began filing in, the room was empty. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1163
 There were 50 questions in total .,"My hands were shaking. I couldn't figure out what, exactly, I was expecting, but I knew he took his time with each question and answered them in detail. From time to time, he raised his hand with a begging look in his eyes. ""Can I please skip this one?"" I felt a smugness, thinking I had stumped him, but attempted to still play the caring teacher. ""Just answer to the best of your ability."" And he did. I dismissed it, thinking that the answer would just be a guess, or some fluff response, like other students try when they don't know an answer. Some questions were obvious ones, purely based in fact and logic. Is time travel possible? Is there a way to cure cancer? I even added questions just for the sake of humoring myself. Who was buried in the tomb of the unknown soldier? What are the lottery numbers for the Mega Millions Jackpot? What is the meaning of life? 50 questions in total. When I asked him to try this unorthodox test, he seemed excited. I had built this expectation that it was just a smart kid playing an elaborate prank. The thrill was quickly replaced with dread, and when he handed in the test, he was trembling. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. ""You alright?"" ""Please, don't ask me to do this again."" ""We're the questions too difficult?"" Silence. For the first time I actually felt nothing but pure guilt. If this was a prank, he deserved an Oscar for his performance. Opening my mouth to speak again, he looked up at me and I couldn't find the words. He looked broken, hopeless, and I felt the blame in his eyes. ""I didn't like the answers."" His head dropped down again, and the room was dead quiet. I tried to think of what to say, even considered throwing away the test and saying that we can just forget about it, but some part of me still wanted to read the answers, to see that it really was just a prank. It was the only thing that kept me from feeling like a monster. ""Can I go now?"" I had no reason to ask him to stay. ""Go ahead. Thank you."" He left, head hung low the entire way. Excitement and fear rushed through me as the door closed. I turned and sat down, my eyes scanning the first page, not sure which question I wanted to see first. I settled on question 4. 4) Was the moon landing real? ""Yes."" Simple enough. If only it could be enough to silence the conspiracy theories online. I still expected this to be a joke, so I scanned again. Some answers were simple, just a yes or no. Some had elaborate answers. One caught my eye though. 17) What is the meaning of life? Nothing. It was blank. My shoulders dropped at the same time I felt my mood deflate. I knew it was a humorous question but I wanted to see the answer, regardless of what it was. I moved to the next question. 18) What are the Mega Million numbers? ""9 15 18 29 33, and 3"" Ah, there we go. Smiling to myself, I knew buying a ticket was well worth the risk. If it was wrong, then I had my proof. If it was right... 25) Is time travel possible? ""Not currently. In 2109, Dr. Perlmitter and Dr. Reed will discover it on accident when attempting an experiment with teleportation. We don't have any way of producing it at this time due to the power needed. However, they will only be able to go forward in time, and come back to an anchor point. Traveling backwards in time before then is impossible. At no point in our history will we discover a way to go back."" So, if he was right, then not in my lifetime. Disappointing, but fascinating to see. I wanted to find a more personal one. One that I could confirm without question. Flipping to the third page, I found the question I was looking for. 38) What did I enjoy drawing in my notebook as a child. ""Bunnies."" I couldn't contain the audible gasp that escaped my lips. It could be a lucky guess. Maybe I had mentioned my favorite animal during class and he remembered it. It still felt unsettling to see. I flipped back to the first page. 1) How does the world end? ""War."" I couldn't take my eyes off that one word. War. What a horrible way to go. Could that be why he looked so broken? He knew that's how the world ended? Maybe he only knew it ended in war, but...maybe he saw it. I put the paper down and stepped away from my desk, catching my breath. I felt uneasy. The questions held far more weight now, and I couldn't bring myself to treat them with any sense of humor. It took a few minutes but I forced myself to pick up the paper again. Curiosity mixed with terror as I tried to not read answers, only looking for certain questions. I was afraid of the answers to my own questions. 49) Is there a god? ""No."" Again, no explanation, just a single word. The idea that I may have the answer in my hands of one of life's greatest mysteries felt underwhelming, just by how simple the answer was. 32) Are we alone in the universe? ""No. There are endless amounts of life in the universe."" I felt my heart skip a beat. ""Endless amounts of life"". The idea was too hard to even comprehend. I was looking at yet another answer that could change life as we know it, and it was handled with such simplicity that it's delivery was on par with someone giving an order for coffee. I felt overwhelmed and hollow at the same time. Before now I couldn't even imagine that was possible. 41) How will I die? ""When you--"" I turned away. I couldn't bring myself to see it. Taking a black marker out from my desk drawer, I furiously marked it out using only the corner of my eye. Every part of me screamed to just read it and know, but I couldn't. I was relieved when it was done, though part of me still questioned what the answer was. It seemed to be a longer answer as well. I turned the page quickly to get it out of my head. 11) What is the cure for cancer? This time he hadn't written out an answer, but instead drew numerous shapes on the page. While I wasn't a science teacher, I understood what they were: chemical makeups. Decades of research, millions if not billions in research, and it could be over with this one paper. My mind was racing at the possibilities. I noticed a commotion from the hallway, some kids running and talking loudly. Not uncommon but it broke my concentration and snapped me back to reality. I felt a flood of doubt rush back into my head. For all I knew, all of these were made up, and the only proof I had that it was true was ""bunnies"". I should know better than to get wrapped up in this, and give it any weight. Another quick glance, and I stopped on a second personal question. 27) What is-- More commotion. Sirens in the distance too. I needed to take a break and maybe this was a welcome distraction. I put the test upside down on my desk and headed into the hallway. An ever-growing group of students rushed by, heading towards our front entrance. I put my hand on the shoulder of a younger girl. ""Hey, hold on!"" She paused, concerned looks on her face as she turned. ""What's going on?"" ""There was an accident outside. I think someone got hurt..."" I wanted to reassure her that I'm sure everything was fine but she turned and disappeared into the crowd. More sirens and people screaming. ""Excuse me!"" I pushed through mass of students, needing to get an answer. Nothing felt right and that guilty feeling had returned. Before I could get to the door, our Vice Principal rushed in to stop people from going outside. ""Please return back to your classrooms! Please! For everyone's safety, we need you all to go back!"" Confusion, frustration, and questions could be heard from the students, but little by little they turned around and began to disperse. My eyes caught his and he came to me, asking me to help. ""One of our students just walked in front of a truck driving by. Paramedics are here but they've said he's already passed. I need you to--"" He continued speaking but I heard none of it. I knew I asked for which student it was but this ringing in my head drowned it out. I saw his lips move, and caught the name. In horror, I tried to keep myself upright. My student. The one who looks at me like I was a monster, had killed himself. Why? Why would he... Racing back to my classroom, I flung the door open and grabbed at the test on my desk. My eyes went back to the one question. 17) What is the meaning of life? Empty. Blank. He didn't skip it because he didn't know the answer. It wasn't because it was just too difficult. There was no meaning. This gifted, beautiful mind had asked the void what the meaning to life was...and there was no answer. There was no purpose. We had a man...a child...a young boy that could be the greatest mind of our modern time, and I just forced him to face the reality of life having no meaning. I began to sob uncontrollably. In my hand I held the information answering life's biggest questions...but the question that answered the most was answered with nothing. Life was meaningless.",1663
 Teacher talks to Smith about his cap,"""Mr. Smith! Please sit down. How are you doing this eternity?"" Teacher said, motioning to a single chair in front of his own. ""Fine, I guess. A little nervous about why you asked to talk privately."" Smith sat down and looked around at the classroom with anxiety. Did Teacher know about how he bent natural laws in the last assignment? Is this about his outburst at Mason? ""I wanted to talk to you about your capstone project. I am going to have to terminate the universe early. There are some... concerns that I and other faculty have."" ""I thought my interpretation was approved. All of the preliminary work showed the universe would fall into normal acceptable levels of development while minimizing entropy."" Smith pulled out his notes and papers on the project, paging through them to look for any mistake he had missed. ""It isn't that."" ""Did I not put enough matter? Was there too much matter? Oh no... Was it anti mater? Did my interpretation result in too much anti-matter?"" Teacher just shook his head and frowned a little.""Not at all. I have to terminate it because everyone is dead."" ""Dead?"" ""Well, mostly dead."" ""I don't understand. That universe had trillions upon trillions of planets, with roughly a tenth of those inhabitable. How could they be mostly dead? I checked on it before our last class it looked healthy."" ""Well, to start, it wasn't necessarily your fault. Even if you had personally managed and watched over it every moment you will still see random variances that could create larger issues. Your own interpretation of natural laws for your universe ended up allowing more variances to occur, and while initially it looked as if they would beneficial in the end they proved to be a destructive force. I also believe your own direct interference may have created series of events that triggered our initial concern."" Smith pulled out a glass slate and tapped a few points on it. After some waiting the universe status application was up and he was able to see what Teacher was talking about. ""The genetic drift..."" Smith said with a hint of confusion. He was pretty sure he should only be seeing one fully sentient and complex lifeform on each inhabited planet, but each planet developed multiple, sometimes even dozens. ""And the loosening on the various restraints we often put in place to prevent mortals from accessing greater power too quickly."" ""Wait... This looks like the universe committed suicide. Or tried to at least."" Entropy had set in. Stars were purposefully extinguished. Whole systems were destroyed. ""Yes. That brings us to how self-aware it became."" Teacher carefully reached over to the tablet and tapped a couple places on it. ""They knew?"" ""Yes."" ""How?"" ""You told them. Which brings me to why I will be giving you a D- on this assignment."" Teach said with a long pause afterwards. Smith was speechless and looked around the classroom in an attempt to understand what had happened. He thought through the project, the calculations, the start up, the guidance he gave it. He couldn't think of how he could have told the universe it was just a simulation and not an actual fully realized creation. ""If I understand correctly, you have a hobby of fantasy role playing game?"" Teacher slowly asked, wanting Smith to connect the dots. ""Well, I understand fully realized simulations based on speculative fiction with magic that break the laws of nature are banned. Only partial... Oh no..."" ""Yes."" ""I must have...."" ""You did."" ""The group I have been playing with, I was the only one with knowledge of how to create custom simulations to play in. There were a few worlds in my universe that I thought would be great to play in and explore so I create a copy and made adjustments. I put in all the restraints and settings meant for a speculative universe. It was only supposed to be just that one world."" ""And yet?"" Teacher said motioning for Smith to keep figuring it all out. Smith taped a few points on the tablet and groaned when he saw it. ""I never made a copy. I made changes to the base universe, and played in it directly with my friends thinking it was a limited simulation when it was actually a fully functioning one."" ""Looking at the logs it appears you and your friends went into the simulation to play, got severely inebriated, and believing the residents wouldn't be able to understand, told them all about this project. The knowledge was quickly spread because your introduction of ridiculous types of magic allowed a free travel and communication throughout the universe. It also allowed them to test and prove that it was a simulation. They tried to contact you before the suicide, but they missed the time difference and didn't realize they would need thousands of years to gain a proper response. They threatened to kill themselves unless they were handed full control of the simulation, and believing a non response was a denial of their terms they used the magic to horrific effect. To be fair, this is actually one of the better results. I have rejected countless proposals to allow simulations like this because often, when they are allowed, we have other universes infected or worse. I would have hated to see your simulation be the end of the enter classes, fortunately they never figured out how to hop around. And I know you would have hated to see them leap into an actual creation."" ""Wait... this would normally fail me."" ""Yes. We felt, however, that this was a simple mistake. We realized what you meant to do and didn't want to punish you for forgetting a step or two in what is, honestly, a complicated process. We also saw that while you accidentally changed the fundamental laws of your universe, you also accidentally isolated it from causing harm outside of its bounds."" ""Thank you sir."" Smith sighed and looked at his notes. All the work for little reward. He would still be graduating but the GPA would hurt enough that he might not be able to gain access to full creation. ""I know you are the end of your education, but you really should take a class in speculative fantasy. The orcs were really the more aggressive ones in the suicide plan."" Smith nodded and sighed. He was pretty disappointed in himself. It shouldn't have ended like that. ""Don't worry. I'm sure you won't do it again. In the meantime,"" Teacher passed over a small disk, ""I am sure you could enjoy my old RPG world. I'll admit it isn't nearly as free as your own but you should be able to still enjoy it with out risking the other student projects."" *Edit: Names*",1135
 Dr. James Murdock sat in,"**Parts , , and are both on my sub. More updates to come. Thanks for reading!** *** **Trial 39** Dr. James Murdock sat in the interrogation room, jiggling his knee anxiously. Though the agents had been kind enough to remove his cuffs and offer him a coffee, he knew he was not here for a nice chat and a cuppa. The two agents sitting opposite him introduced themselves as Cooper and Hayes. Cooper placed a tape recorder on the middle of the table. Hayes dropped a heavy folder on the table and removed a single photograph. She slid it across the table to him. ""Have you seen this girl before, Dr. Murdock?"" James flickered his eyes over the photograph and seethed through his teeth. ""I'm afraid so."" ""Can you identify her for us, please?"" ""Her name is protected under HIPAA. She is a minor."" Cooper leaned forward, his eyes a sharp, seething blue. ""Sir, we are past the jurisdiction of HIPAA, at this point. This is a matter of national security."" James removed his glasses and wiped at his eyes. ""Her official name is Trial 39."" He smiled at the darkness swirling in his coffee cup. ""We call her Daisy."" ""Approximately how long ago did she escape from your facility?"" ""Five weeks."" Hayes interjected, ""Did you see her again during that time?"" ""No. Absolutely not. She would not be at large still if I had."" He paused. ""You understand, these things are not just overgrown zygotes to me. I raise them like my own children. All of them. Daisy and I had a deep and meaningful bond."" ""Then why would she run away?"" James shrugged, baffled. ""Why do teenagers do anything?"" ""What exactly is your artificial human capable of, Doctor?"" Cooper stared him down like he was Victor Frankenstein himself, a monster crafting monsters. ""For the safety of the nation, we must know what to prepare for."" The doctor smiled despite himself. ""Officers, she is capable of anything she puts her mind to."" Hayes scowled. ""What does that mean specifically?"" James leaned forward, grasping his coffee cup. He felt dizzy with the kind of immutable excitement he always felt when it came to his research. ""It took thirty-eight unremarkable lab-grown children to arrive at Trial 39. The first dozen did not even survive childhood. Most of them suffered from crippling epilepsy so severe they had to be euthanized out of concern for their quality of life. And Daisy--Trial 39--she is the first to live. Not only live, but succeed."" He looked up at the ceiling. ""She is unrepeatable. If you kill her I can't go back to the lab and make another."" ""That's good news,"" Hayes said. ""Now what can she do, exactly?"" James licked his lips, dryly. ""Dr. Murdock,"" Cooper cautioned, ""is it worth federal prison to lie for a test tube person? She has killed dozens already."" ""Police who were trying to kill her."" ""And civilians. Your girl is not golden."" ""If you choose not to cooperate,"" Hayes said, ""we can simply book you for aiding and abetting and move along to our next suspect. So please, make your choice. Quickly."" Dr. Murdock rubbed his messy hair. He had the look of a classic absent-minded professor. He did not belong in a place like this. ""I was trying to understand how we were before. What human DNA used to look like. And I found something unprecedented. Something no one had ever seen before."" He folded his fingers together. ""It appears that at one point in our species's history, we could *see* particulate matter. Not just see it but shape it. We could sculpt the world to our liking, to a certain extent. We could change matter with a single directed thought. I have a theory that the humans most advanced at this must be the source of so many myths of gods--"" ""And what does this have to do with Trial 39?"" James grinned. ""I told you. She can do anything she puts her mind to."" ""How did she escape?"" ""How do you think?"" James pointed at the picture on the desk. ""This was in Manhattan, right? Before she turned Wall Street into a forest once more?"" The agents exchanged uneasy glances. ""Do you think that a girl who can change steel into wood needs help escaping her cell? She even short-circuited my surveillance system to prevent us from following her escape."" ""If she's really so powerful,"" Hayes asked, ""why did she wait until now to escape?"" James could only offer another helpless shrug. ""Your guess is as good as mine."" He downed the rest of his coffee. ""Do you have any more questions for me, or am I free to go?"" ""We will call you if you need further information. As I'm sure you can understand, we have already had your home, office, and research space searched."" ""Of course. I am grateful for your thoroughness. I'm honestly terrified of her returning one day. I am, after all, the man responsible for her imprisonment."" James Murdock held his breath as he left the interrogation room, trying to maintain his look of relieved composure. Blood gathered hot in his ears as he walked as normally as he could down the hallway. When the scientist finally emerged out into cool sunshine, he laughed in disbelief. If he had not destroyed his cameras and the records from that night, the agents would have seen Dr. Murdock disabling the silent security system that would have stopped Daisy if she ever tried to escape herself. They would have seen him unlocking Daisy's cell door late that night, a backpack slung over his back, his look tentative and hopeful. They would have seen Daisy burst from her mattress and hold him fiercely, kissing his cheek again and again, whispering things the camera could not hear but James would always remember. *Thank you thank you thank you.* But James was the only one who watched Daisy walk out the door and flee into the night. And he would keep that secret to himself until the day he died. Some things, he thought, are not meant to be caged. Even if they were born in one. *** /r/shoringupfragments ~~Part two coming later, in my sub. Too busy today to update until this evening sorry friends :(~~ More: , , and , with more to come. :)",1060
 Johann tried to drown my dislike with,"I didn't want to go to to the stupid concert; my boyfriend did. Who would want to watch a duel that clearly had no competition? The metal band would likely be shitty but they would drown out the banjoist nonetheless, overpowering whatever magic he could wreak. Johann tried to drown my dislike with ballad, but I was having none of it. I was playing piano, though, when he bought the stupid pay-per-view instead and it started. I bristled and turned to him. ""Did you seriously pay for that bullshit? You realize we haven't bought the cat food yet and she'll be out soon, right? And you want to listen to this waste of time instead?"" I snarled. Forget cat food, we had rent and electricity due soon, too. ""I saw this guy play once live. Seriously, I've never been the same since. Come watch it with me- we'll figure out the cat's food."" he said. ""You always think of yourself!"" I got angry. ""What's fun now,-what will entertain you-but who takes care of things, huh? Who washes your dishes and makes sure we all eat? Jesus Christ."" I hung my head down so low I ended up slamming a bunch of discordant keys and making a god awful racket that made us both shiver with unease. Everyone knew music without intention could and probably would cause unintended harm. I backed away and stalked around the room, too annoyed to to play, and anyways not wanting to clash music with an unknown element. The stupid show kept going in the background. The metal band went first, after some bullshit announcing done in a key so old we had all grown immune to its once-powerful charms. Big stations were the last to learn what was out of date, it seemed. Johann was rapt, watching it, caught up in the angry, fuck-you song they had decided to begin with. He was stomping his foot and making fists. I put on some headphones and played some Ella Fitzgerald, loudly, to drown it out. I was still restless but I figured I might as well get some stuff around the house done. I started a load of laundry, danced my way to the kitchen, swayed through some dishes being washed. Even though I could have asked the bot to do it, I liked to do it myself sometimes, just to remind myself I could. I was here, in my shitty apartment, but now it seemed a magical place, the more I listened to the music in my ears. I could be in one of the old-fashioned songs I loved. As my playlist went through and I was sweeping and tidying, the music's magic began to fade. I was angry anyways. Why was I sweeping and shit when he was watching a fucking show we couldn't afford? The longer I swept the angrier I became, until I finally ripped the headphones off and stomped into the living room. Once the music hit my ears, I was lost. my anger swept away, leaving not a trace. It was a song I'd never heard; finally a spell I'd never been put under. I stood still in the doorway and listened to the stupid banjo player I'd dismissed earlier. Tears swam in my eyes. I remembered an incident as a child, when I was playing with a new airplane my father had sent me for my birthday. He never visited, but I always looked forward to his presents on my birthday every year. That year it had been that airplane- one that flew of its own accord in whatever direction your threw it, would do loops and barrel rolls on demand when you yelled out at it, come back when you sang its song. It was the best gift of my young life. I remembered feeling angry at my mother. Why did I have to make do with one nice present a year? I bet if I lived with my father I'd get amazing presents all the time. The 'calming' babysitting music played in the background but I drowned it out with my anger. So I threw it at her vase. I didn't tell it to avoid, to do anything. I was angry. I was happy when the toy knocked it off its stupid shelf and the dumb thing fell and shattered into a million pieces. The airplane kept whizzing around the room as I looked at the pieces scattered on the floor. The music stopped. I was so grateful for the silence that I cried at first. Silence was to feel your true self. Sweet silence was so rare, even as a child, but I'd always loved it. But then I cried because of what I had done. My mother's vase. Oh god, I thought, her only favorite thing. The only thing that didn't sing in the whole house- that let you feel what you would feel about it, and didn't try to change it. My mother heard the silence and came in to put the babysitting music back on so she could get back to work in the office, answering phones and singing all day to stupid people who didn't matter. Without music, I cried. I saw the pieces on the linoleum, looked at the sad street outside, the old worn couches where strange people would sleep sometimes, passed out with my mother's beautiful songs. All of it was so ugly. I had broken her vase, the only beautiful thing she owned. She saw. I cried harder. Now she would put on a sleeping song only I could hear, or a song that made me want to scream and tear my eyes out in shame. Instead, I remember, she rocked me to sleep. Without any music. The old-fashioned way. I was back in my shitty apartment. The banjo player had stopped playing. There was only silence. Johann turned and saw me, tears in both our eyes. I knew what he meant. I was never the same. --- This is my first ever story on WP, constructive criticism welcome, please!--",1012
 The Half-Clown was probably,"They called him the Half-Clown though he had never used such a name. He already had one, Derek. It wasn't like the nickname bothered him, it just seemed sad that the media refused to even fathom that a normal Derek could be as cruel as himself. Though he couldn't fathom anyone being as cruel as their idols--those god damn heroes. The Half-Clown was probably, at first, an insult at the futility of a weak old man resisting the all-powerful heroes. It was a jab at how ridiculous he looked with half his face smothered in foundation and mascara. But beneath the beauty products lay veiny, candlewax skin from when a hero had saved him from his burning house and left his teenage daughter to die within it. They claimed she was an arson because historically, she had been a pyromaniac. They claimed she had set the house on fire to kill him because that's what she had threatened to do. Though none of those bastards knew Anna. She had been an emotional girl dealing with a single-father that always berated her for having such strong emotions. ""You're just like your mother,"" this single-father fucker would tell her. ""You know that heroes would hate you, don't you?"" Though he had known she wouldn't care. She hadn't shared his love of their warriors for justice. All they ever shared were eyes and crescent birthmark above her eyebrow. She had cared even less about him than he had cared for her. But when she had dropped the matches on her father's favorite painting and the flames had caught an accidental gas leak, she had a second's look of surprise on her face before pushing her father out of the way. Derek had screamed and ran back toward her. He had grabbed collapsing beams of wood, most still on fire, digging his way to his daughter. For the first time in over a decade, he had felt tears on his cheeks. The embers had seared his fingers, but his entire body had become numb to pain. There had been another pain, looming just around the corner, one that had drowned out all the rest. ""Sweetie!"" That word was another first in over a decade. ""Sweetie! Talk to me, sweetie. Anna!"" He would've reached her too, but a hand had grabbed him from behind and dragged him away. He had been *rescued*. Two seconds later, in the backdrop of his burning house, his daughter in a literal hell, he had simply sat safe on his lawn, a caped crusader smiling down at him. ""Don't worry, citizen."" The hero had told him, his eyes glistening. ""No need to thank me."" --- ""Of all the heroes I've ever faced,"" the Half-Clown said, laughing through his words. ""You are by far the weakest."" This one was a nameless hero, probably one out to make a name for herself by defeating the Half-Clown. Unfortunately, that kind of naivety only worked in the movies. In the real world, a beginner hero had no place coming close to a serial hero murderer. Even her outfit screamed amateur. A black jumpsuit and motorcycle helmet, nothing fancy, nothing combat-oriented. Perhaps with more time, she could've been a great hero. Her power certainly was strong. She controlled fire, but she controlled it poorly. She could barely stop flames from burning herself. Every flame she tossed withered before turning to a smoke that wafted over the Half-Clown. Truly wasted talent. Though that was the price of naivety. ""Did you think you can save them?"" the Half-Clown asked with an exaggerated frown. Already, he had killed the two far more experienced heroes sent here to stop him. Saint Helen, the explosion-based blonde-haired bombshell, and The Shield, the steely-eyed, steely-bodied giant, lay dead on the floor of this abandoned factory. The nameless hero slowly backed off from the Half-Clown, clutching the shoulder he had shot. With Saint Helen, the Half-Clown had to entrap her in tungsten and trick her into a max power explosion. She had killed herself with her own shockwaves. With The Shield, the Half-Clown had forced a super-fast redox reaction throughout his body--he had rusted from the inside out. But with this girl, all he needed to do was shoot her. ""Aren't you going to ask?"" the Half-Clown said, advancing toward her with a smoking gun. ""Why I do it all? You heroes love to ask those sorts of questions."" The nameless hero gathered some more flames and the Half-Clown pulled the trigger. The bullet ripped through her stomach and she crumpled onto all fours. ""You heroes are far too confident,"" the Half-Clown said, advancing toward her. ""You parade around as if you're literal gods, like you can do no wrong. And even when faced by the monster you birthed, you still claim innocence. Such confidence. Such overwhelming, stupid, naive confidence!"" He bent down so he could talk face-to-face with this nameless hero. ""Tell me, girl, why are you a hero?"" The girl slowly slid up her hand. The Half-Clown shot it and she collapsed onto an elbow. She raised her head and slowly slid up her other hand. Though it was strange, she didn't seem to be attacking. The Half-Clown stared at her, trying to decipher her plan, he stared all the way until her hand touched his face and cupped his cheek. A small cry escaped her and tears dripped down her neck, out of her helmet. ""Admire,"" her raspy voice said. Derek's heart nearly stopped. Beneath the scratchy, hoarseness of her voice, he caught a familiar tone. He dug his fingers beneath her helmet and ripped it off. And for the second time in nearly a decade, tears crawled down his cheeks. The nameless hero had a face just like his. She had eyes just like his. She had a birthmark just like his. ""You always admired heroes,"" she croaked. ""I do too. I just wanted..."" But she blood spilled from her mouth, drowning the rest of her words. Derek didn't need to hear them. He knew what she would say. He had always known. *I just wanted you to admire me too.* ""Sweetie,"" he whispered. ""This isn't right at all. This can't be right. No... I'm sorry, sweetie. I'm so sorry."" --- --- /r/jraywang",1044
" Two lines, red and green,","You know, I really couldn't say when I first saw the lines. I mean, sure, I know it was sometime around my tween years when I saw them for *sure*. I was 13 when I saw the brightly colored lines cutting straight across the gravel parking lot, leading me back to my parents after I had gotten lost on that road trip. But before that? I really couldn't say. Maybe I had seen them before, mistaking them for pavement lines and supermarket markings. Regardless. After I noticed them, I couldn't help it. I saw them *everywhere*. Two lines, red and green, etched into the ground like they were marked in paint. No one else could see them. I'd commented on them once, to my mother, and she looked at me like I was crazy. I was old enough at that point to know to keep my mouth shut. But I watched, as they wove their way in and out of my life. And, as one does, I inevitably found myself overwhelmed with the *need* to investigate them, to see where they led. The curiosity was more than I could take. The memory of that first time was too fresh in my mind, of the green line leading me straight back to safety. And so, when I was 14, I grabbed a botle of water and a snack, and I followed them. The green line, of course. Green is good and red is bad, right? It just seemed smarter that way. It had taken me on a winding, twisting path, deeper and deeper into the city, until at last I found myself at a robotics tournament being held that afternoon. It was *thrilling*. I had no idea that something like that was even a thing, but my interest was piqued. I decided - I wanted to do something like *that* with my life. And I looked at that little green line with newfound respect. So I followed it again. Over and over, I followed it. And time after time, my life was rewarded for it. It took me to the front door of a prep school where I met Mr. Graves, whose tutoring I hold directly responsible for getting me into college a few years down the road. It led me out of danger, as a kitchen fire burned out of control in my school. And, it crossed my path with that of the woman of my dreams. Literally. We smacked into each other in a crosswalk. So, here I was. I was 30, and the world was at my fingertips. I sat in my leather gaming chair, in front of the desk holding all of my equipment. I looked out the window of my top-floor penthouse, gazing down at the city below. The walls were covered with the awards I had won, in automation and robotics and system design. My lovely, smart, beautiful wife was in the other room, reading a book as she brewed coffee. It was perfect. Really perfect. All thanks to that little green line. But I couldn't help it. I was *bored*. My whole adult life, I'd relied on that invisible line to guide my steps. It hadn't bothered me when I was younger. I was just a kid, and this line opened doors for me I didn't even know *existed*. I'd followed it without hesitation, trusting it to take my life where it needed to go. Now that I was older, now that I had time to stop and think about it, I wondered if this had all really been for the best. Had I just taken the easy path? Had I gone with the flow, and given up on taking my life into my own hands? It kept me up at night, I'll be honest. And through it all, it burned, in the corner of my vision. That red line. It seared into my sight like it was on *fire*. It demanded attention, begging for me to give it the shot I'd only ever given its green brother. That old curiosity was back. And so I grabbed an old messenger bag out of the closet, a remnant from my college days. I threw in bottles of water, and a pocket knife. A charge cable for my phone, and a granola bar. I laughed to myself, as I saw it. It looked so much like the bag I had packed, all those years ago, when I first walked the green line. But that felt right, you know? I slipped out the door, with a quick goodbye to my wife. She accepted my excuses of taking a walk without hesitation, pressing a kiss to my cheek and wishing me a good day. I smiled to myself, as I left the house. She was the best thing that the green line had ever gotten me. And then I stepped onto the red line. Once again, it led me into the city, deeper and deeper. But where the green line had taken me straight towards the center of activity, leading me towards schools and conference centers, the red line seemed to be taking me right to the worst part of town. I flinched away from seedy glares, eyeing my bag and the make of my coat, as I hurried onwards. I hoped this wasn't going to be the last mistake I ever made. The buildings around me loomed higher, the roads and streets giving way to narrow alleys. I was *about* to give up, to declare this a fool's errand and turn back. And then I heard her crying. ""Please. Please, no. I swear I won't say anything. I don't have any money, I- I don't have *anything*. Please just let me go and I swear I won't ever-"" ""Shut it."" The woman's voice was high, reedy with fear, and her tears threatened to overwhelm her words entirely. It stopped me in my tracks, before I even had a chance to hear *him* speak. The voices were coming from ahead. The red line burned, inviting me onwards. Almost against my will, I found my feet moving fowards. And then I saw her, huddled on the ground in a mass of scarf and hair. A man was in front of her, kneeling, with her purse torn open in front of him. He dug through it, tossing receipts and makeup cases aside carelessly as he looked for anything valuable. In his other hand, he held a gun. It pointed at her lazily, weaving back and forth as he eviscerated the bag. They were right there, no more than twenty feet in front of me. Neither of them saw me. The man's back was to me, and the woman was in no state to notice. My hand plunged into the bag slung over my shoulder, latching reflexively around the familiar shape of my knife. I didn't know what I was going to do with it, but having it in my hand made me feel a *little* better. I needed to call the cops. This was all wrong. There was no way I could do anything to help her. I was just going to end up getting her killed, or myself, or both of us. He had a *gun*. What could I *possibly* do against- His hand swayed, the barrel pointing back at her. His finger tensed on the trigger. Before I had time to think, I was running. The knife was out of the bag now, gleaming in my hand as I thrust it towards him. Towards his neck. If I could knock him over, if I could get that gun pointed *away* from her- I swore colorfully as I stumbled. The man grunted in surprise and pain, as my knife dug into his wrist. I winced, even as I ran headlong into him. Turns out my aim with a knife *sucked*. But it got the job done. He fell, cursing and screaming, as blood flowed from his wrist. The gun clattered to the cold pavement, forgotten, as he stumbled back. His eyes were locked onto my knife, through the mist of pain I could see in his expression. ""What the *fuck*?"" He cursed again, clutching his wrist. ""Dude, fuck *off*."" I swiped the knife at him clumsily, more threatening than actually intending to hit him. He swore one last time, jumping back. ""Fuck this. Keep your shitty purse, lady."" With one last parting jab, he spun on his heel and vanished rapidly down the alleys. The woman was a mess, eyes all red and sniffling desperately. But she pulled herself together as I approached her, beginning to tuck her belongings back into her bag. ""Are...are you ok, ma'am?"" I asked tentatively, my voice low. She glanced up at me, smiling. ""I am now. That asshole. I- I was so *scared*. Thank you *so* much. Thank you. I don't know what would have happened if you-"" ""Don't worry about it. I'm glad I was here. We should get you to the police."" I cut her off before she could go on. I knew the signs of an incoming meltdown, and figured I needed to get her somewhere safe before her emotions finally caught up with the shock. She nodded, accepting my offered hand with a grateful nod, and we stumbled onwards down the alley. I glanced dowards. The red line glowed brightly ahead of us. My stomach roiled. *More*? The noise of the city was returning to normal around us, as we returned to some semblance of civilization. I began to relax, just a hair. And then, as we turned towards the main street, I hesitated. The red line was turning, down a different alley. It led half a block down, and then cut straight up to the front door of a little shack. I could see a tiny, hazy tendril of smoke, rolling out from under the side door. The line *burned*, screaming red in its urgency. It seared a line into my vision as I looked down the alley. I paused, caught deep in thoughts. Questions, that had been lingering in my head for years, and answers that had suddenly become apparent. The green line took me where *I* needed to go. It showed me the easy path. The path that I needed to take. What if...What if the red line showed me the hard path? Not the path that I needed, but the path that other people needed me to take? What if it took me to where other people needed me to go? ""Can you manage from here?"" I heard my voice say, ringing distant in my own ears. The woman glanced back to me, smiling faintly. ""I think so. Do you have to go?"" ""I..I think I do, yeah."" I didn't look back at her. My eyes were still locked onto that little building. The smoke was growing, swelling by the second. I half turned, releasing the woman's hand and giving her a reassuring smile. She returned it shyly, waving as she merged back into the flow of pedestrians and made for the police station. I turned back to the red line. And then I broke into a run. --- (/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1868
 It was meant to be a vacation,"My eyes open to a stinging darkness and it takes a moment for my legs and arms to begin thrashing. I realise I'm drowning. I spin around until I see a weak web of light swaying far above me; my strokes are lumbered and my head pounds, but somehow, I make it to the surface, spitting out stagnant water and swallowing huge helpings of air. I clamber out of the lake and lie still by its side, trying to remember... It was meant to be a vacation - that much I'm sure of. I'd been saving up for months. But *something* must have gone wrong. I can't remember where, or when, I aimed for, but I highly doubt it was for a stagnant lake, or anywhere, for that matter, in this inhospitable, mountainous jungle around me. My chest fights against me and my breathing is raspy and laboured. Each time it rises, the bruises on it scream in protest. Another hour passes and the dizziness finally lessens its hold. I take out the device from my jacket pocket - relieved it's still working - and check the date. I laugh a little; I cry a lot. A hundred and twenty million years. I've far exceeded the length of any previous jump. Something must have gone terribly wrong. I can't be detected this far back, or helped - and worst of all, I can't do a return jump. The device will charge in the sun, but it could take years to build up enough energy to make even half the time I need. *Shit* Desperate to find a water source and some type of shelter, I begin my trek through a lush, jungle valley surrounded on each side by mountainous cliffs. The place is alive with the cawing of birds and the taunting, distant trickle of running water. I try to follow the sound, my mouth salivating at the thought of a cool drink, but no matter how far I walk, the noise of the stream never grows. After a couple of intense, sweat-dribbling hours, I realise I've been going in circles, and I'm near the stagnant green lake where I began. Clenching my fists and doubling my resolve, I start over. The sun is overhead and there is a gap in the covering of the trees; *it* sees me, before I see it. The pterodactyl is diving down toward me from the cliff on my left-hand side, claws extended and sharp teeth a blinding white in the sun. I fumble in my jacket until I feel the reassuring cold of the lazer. I send three shots toward it, intentionally missing. It worked; the creature soars upward, high above my head and finds a new perch up on the other side of the valley. A familiar *beep* cuts through the sounds of nature. Figuring my phone is low on battery, I'm all the more surprised when I pull it out and see the *actual* reason: it had found a wifi network. The name of the network is: Jonathan. *My name.* My breath hitches as I watch it auto-connect, the password already saved on my phone. Thoughts flood my mind. Have I been set up? Was I sent here for a reason? Am I on some kind of *mission*? *I just can't quite remember...* What I do know is that there is someone out there - maybe more than one person - and that just maybe, they can help me get back. I create my own wifi network - letting them know I'm here, and to help them find me in case anything happens. Then, using my wifi signal as a kind of makeshift compass, I make slow, trial-and-error progress toward the source of their signal. It eventually takes me up a steep, craggy cliff, and out of the thick, jungle floor. It's almost evening by the time I find the flat, jutting plate of rock that the body is lying on. It takes me a moment to work up the courage to turn the body over, but I recognise the clothes well enough. I kneel down at the side of this other *me*. His eyes are open and he looks in shock. Almost alive. But his chest isn't moving, and I know he's dead. I also know what killed him. This was the cliff the pterodactyl had been swooping down from. The angle at which I had aimed my three warning shots. Accidentally, I had violated the most sacred law of jumping - and murdered myself in the process. For a while, I sit and contemplate my situation. How had a future me gotten here? Did it mean that I was going to die soon, too? I can't bear looking at the dead me for any longer - I only see my own mortality in its glazed features - and I drag him to the side of the cliff. A body of water lies below me; I roll him off and turn away. Did I hear something, before the splash of the body reaching water? Like... the scream of a pterodactyl. I finally decide; I have to go back in time, and save the dead *me*. If I don't, *I* will soon be dead. It doesn't matter how many laws I break - I *have* to do it. The device has enough charge, thanks to the blistering Jurassic sun. The jump is painless, and I feel like nothing has happened at all. I should only be back a few hours - just before *me* dies - but he's not yet here, on the cliff ledge. My only proof the jump even worked, is the glaring sun high above me. I walk over to the spot where I found *my* body and slowly run my hands down my face, frustrated and anxious. The pterodactyl comes out of nowhere, startling me as it flies almost over my shoulder - I can feel the breeze of its huge, pumping wings. It swoops down toward the jungle floor, eyes locked on some prey or another. ""Oh shi-"" I mumble, as the lazer hits me in the chest and I collapse in a pile I'm still stunned when he finally arrives. I try to tell him - try to force my lips to move: ""you had it on *stun*,"" but he doesn't hear. I don't make a sound. I can't even close my eyes. He drags me toward the cliff edge, and finally as I'm falling, I manage to make a sound. The air - the shock - awakens my body. I force a hand to my pocket; to the device. Too late. Blackness. My eyes open to a stinging darkness and it takes a moment for my legs and arms to begin thrashing. I realise I'm drowning. --- More on /r/nickofnight Audio version kindly narrated by /u/cstrife16 : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gwjRbbpqGyg&feature=youtu.be",1144
 Alex was bored out of his mind,"Usually he left the TV alone in the later hours. He wasn't really interested in following the more *private* details of his new friends' personal lives. Besides, he wouldn't even be home normally. Every day for the past two weeks he had been out partying and the channels hadn't been watched much - only a glance here and there to keep on top of things. He'd been able to prevent a few pranks on him as he had known what they were up to. They'd been getting a little suspicious of his clairvoyance and seemed to have dropped their attempts trying to trick him. And tonight, for the first time in a few weeks, Alex was home, completely alone. And he was bored out of his mind. He didn't really know what happened. They had all been making plans at Tim's place last night about seeing that new Marvel movie then heading into the city after. But when he woke up this morning he already saw two friends calling it off, and by the time he had dinner everyone had cancelled. He had reached out to a few of them in private whether they were interested in doing something, but they all had new plans. Alex had been wondering through the house trying to figure out what to do. Drinking alone was lame, he didn't have any fun games to play and the past year he didn't really develop any other hobbies than partying. After graduating high school he'd have the time of his life overseas in Europe and then came back for college, and he had dived right into it. He'd met a group of cool guys over the first few days and they had alright formed a tight group. Alex picked up the remote and zapped through the channels. *Boring, boring, boring, ads, ads*, he thought as he switched through them, until he arrived at 401. 401 was the first in the list of channels of personalized feeds. Every person he considered a friend would be listed from that point onwards, and right now he was watching through Jack's eyes. As he walked to the kitchen he glanced at the TV and thought he noticed something familiar, but it wasn't before he heard an echo from outside the house repeated on the TV before he turned suspicious. Still carrying a bag of vegetables he walked back to the living room and looked at the feed. He was looking at his own house. The patio, the wooden front door, the windows, everything fit. He only lived about 5 minutes away from college and his parents were almost always upstate, so at least he wouldn't have to explain why someone was sneaking up on his house. Alex hurried to the wall on his left and turned on the light in the living room. He ran back to the feed: the light had turned on. *The hell is going on here*, he thought. Curious he switched to 402, 403, and every channel he changed to was his own house from a different angle. And all of the angles had the same noticable black barrel in the corner of the screen. They were all carrying guns, and were sneaking closer and closer. He could hear faint whispers under their breath but he couldn't distinguish what they were saying. As soon as Alex figured out what was happening he sprinted upstairs, the bag with vegetables swinging in his hands. He wouldn't have any other use for the TV feed from this point onwards and he'd rather prepare for the fact they were about to storm his house. *The police?*, he thought, but dismissed it quickly. There was always the odd chance these idiots were pulling a prank on him and he wasn't really in the mood to explain some police officers as to why he called them for no proper reason. The wooden floorboards cracked from under his window. And then he slowly heard the handle turn and the door creaked open. He could hear them walk into the house. Another door creaked open. They had passed the hallway into the living room. Silently he turned off the lights in his room and walked over to his desk, hiding behind it. He heard sounds on the stairs. And then his bedroom door slowly opened. ""Aleeeexx"", he heard, ""where are youuuu?"" He guessed it was Danny as he could hear a faint grin through the attempted spookiness. Alex inhaled, counted to three and stood right up as he reached inside the grocery bag. With all his might he threw a tomato right towards the door. He heard a pleasing *thud* as someone yelled: ""What the hell was that?"" He had thrown three more tomatoes before they had spotted the direction he was throwing from, and he quickly hid behind the desk again as he heard *splats* and air pops a few feet away from him. ""You guys really suck at this, you know"", he taunted with a smile on his face. *Bunch of tools*, he thought. ""Look"", someone yelled back, ""at this point you should be happy if you leave with just a few bruises, you dick"". Alex rose up a little to see who had entered his room until red splashed over his head. ""Shit"", he muttered under his breath as he ducked again, ""that hurt"". ""Come out and play, Alex"", someone taunted back. ""Oh yeah, you want a piece of me, dumbass?"" Alex roared back as the shooting had stopped. He reached inside the bag and took the last piece of fruit in his hand, and as he flicked on the lights he rolled it towards the group. In front of him were his friends all covered in black suits with red stains, each carrying a paintball gun. And in the middle of them, on the floor, the pineapple Alex had just rolled towards them came to a halt. ""What's that even supposed to mean?"", Tim asked. ""That's a grenade"", Alex replied. ""That's right, losers. You guys lost. Again.""",1007
 The Universal Coordinates System indicates authentication,"""Number One, confirm that this is Alt-Earth."" ""Confirmed General. The Universal Coordinates System indicates authentication to 7 decimal points of certainty. Further, spectrum emissions analysis originating from Alt-Earth confirms humanoid presence. SEA also confirms Xeno presence in numbers in the tens of millions."" ""Thank you Number One. Give the order to Supplies and Industry to establish infrastructure on Alt-Ceres, maximum stealth. Oh and give Master Chief Russell the go ahead. Tell him the SSEALS mission is paramount."" ""Yes General. Field Marshal Balck confirms capture of Alt-Gliese 832 c."" ""All of it?"" ""Yes General."" ""Damn that's well done."" ""Shall I share that sentiment with the Field Marshal Sir?"" ""Yes, yes by all means."" That was good news. Humanity in the Altverse had a toehold. A place that was ours, free of Xeno subjugation It could become meaningless depending on what the future held, but right now at least, Humanity had a space. ""Nelson, now that we are closer, are there changes in intelligence on the Xeno fleet?"" ""None of significance General. The Xenos fleet composition around Alt-Earth has not altered a great deal since initial surveillance from our side. Very large armoured battleships emanating E-levels of fusion power, with a screen of light cruisers and destroyers at B-levels of emanation."" ""No chance of cloaking or stealth technology hiding more ships?"" ""There is always a chance General, but Quantachrono-scans show nothing now and they have yet to detect cloaking technology present in the Alt-galaxy."" ""Good news all around."" The Xenos were a peculiar race. Reptilian and warm blooded, like the Joraks back in Universe Prime. If there were further similarities it meant that the Xenos here would be masters of focused energy weapons. It would be bootstrapped to their carnivorous nature. Modern kinetics tended to destroy organics, energy weapons meant their dead enemies were ready to eat after battle. Master Chief Russell's SSEAL teams would stealth drop to Alt-Earth and confirm where the Xeno's C&C centre was on Alt-Earth. Once that was determined, we would advance, sever all comms, cut the head off the dragon and destroy the body. The Xenos didn't deserve any diplomatic overtures. Not now. Electromagnetic emissions from Alt-Earth showing breeding pens and massive sweat shops and open pit mines took that option off the table. This wasn't going to be even close to a fair fight we had them out manned and out gunned, and apparently our technology didn't have the gaps in it that the Xenos apparently had, but this was just the first move. The Xenos had an empire, we had a toehold. We were terribly out numbered and outmatched in materials production. Universe Prime can't help us for a very long time. We are on our own for the next thousand years. ""Fuck it. Humanity first."" ""General?"" Damn. I had said that out loud, ""Nothing Number One, just musing about my memoirs."" There were soft chuckles around the bridge. ................................................................................................................... ""ALRIGHT NAVIGATION, KEEP EVERYONE IN THE TASKFORCE UNDER CLOAK. COMMS, TELL ENGINEERING I AM COMING UPSTAIRS. Tell the flight deck I am taking my shuttle to Alt-Gliese 832 c. Give my pilot the ready-20 notification. Also Comms, I want the Alert Status Reports of the Carriers to my personal tablet when you are done establishing a secure link with Alt-Ceres - use as many relay points as you feel necessary."" As I turned and exited the bridge via the personnel lift, I heard two ""yes Generals"" almost in unison. I got along with Marine Engineer Officer Novae very well. We understood each other, and the responsibilities each other had. She kept all mechanical and bio-electrical systems, both in fleet and on planet, working and resilient. I ensured she got what she needed. Officer Novae knew my role well enough to anticipate any follow-up questions I might have to our meetings and her reports - she understood the importance of my time. Our meeting ended early. MEO Nova had her challenges ahead of her. She had to set up 12 geosynchronous satellites around Alt-Earth in 30 minutes after the Xeno fleet was eliminated and their planet side anti-satellite capability suppressed. AND THEN she had to establish highly secured comms with over 13 million semi-sentient antipersonnel drones, Vespulas, which would be dropped over the planet, cluster bomb style after the satellite network was established. Vespulas, or as the Planet side Marine Force called them, FCWWs, were eagle sized quadcopters equipped with a hellishly powerful, small calibre gauss rifle. They had a sophisticated sensor suite that along with their semi-sentience allowed them to track and neutralize with high efficacy anything they were asked to go after. They would soon be the Xenos worst nightmare. ""I would love to stay and admire your organizational skills Novae, but I have to debrief Field Marshall Balck. Apparently he rolled over Alt-Gliese 832 c. in its entirety in under 3 days. I am curious how he did it in half the time that the most optimistic sims said was possible."" ""Knowing Balck Sir, he probably ran his Planet side forces night and day and overclocked his equipment past the failsafes."" ""I hope not. Downtime is going to be the rarest of commodities for the next month or so. I can't imagine that these Xenos are not going to just accept the loss of two habitable planets."" ""I don't think they will either General, but their communications appear to be non-quantum, c- multiplier tech. It will take weeks for their messages to reach the next Xeno inhabited planets. Comms from Alt-Gliese 832 c won't reach Alt Earth for 5 more days. The Xenos on Alt-Earth have no idea we're here and it should all be over by the time the signal reaches Alt-Earth. That's quite the safety margin General."" ""You and your mathematically constrained thinking. Don't get too comfortable with it, life always finds ways to evolve and adapt around constraints. These Xenos seem to be top dog in the Via Lactea galaxy and they wouldn't have been able to do it accepting limitations. The Jackos in Universe Prime are enviable in their creativity at being adaptable and elegantly nasty. "" If I wasn't smiling when I said it, Novae would have felt chided, but she understood the message and gave me the 4Q2 look. As I was leaving for the heavy flight deck, Marine Engineer Officer Novae retorted, ""We still kicked their ass General, all the way back to their home system."" I mused on Novae's words all the way to the Heavy Flight deck and into the Vice Admiral Shuttle. Something tweaked with what she said and I needed to give it some thought. I gave the order to my pilot to make the jump once clear of the Carriers and started thinking of Jackos, these Xenos and the concept of home worlds. Humans had a genesis planet, a home world. The psychological/spiritual birthplace of all humanity regardless of where an individual was physically born - it provided a universal rallying point for all humanoids. Earth the blue planet. This was why we were here in Alt-Universe. It was our duty, our obligation. Alt-Earth was our Earth. Jackos did not have a spiritual geographical center, they had dozens of home worlds, and their bio-psychological makeup was more like hunter-gatherers and tribalism. Bonds were not to place, but to clan. I was musing with such focus, I had missed the jump to Alt-Gliese 832 c. Not an easy thing to do with the quantum linking process to the arrival point being so similar in sound signature to a train rail yard. I heard the pilot's sharp intake of breath once clear of the warp channel wake. ""General, we are in the middle of it, deep and wide."" I flipped on the wall display. Taskforce 2 was in the early stages of a major engagement, a holyshit epic engagement. From the deployment of the opposition forces, it looked like they had jumped into the system and unexpectedly found Taskforce 2. The newly arrived ships were defensive, moving into formations that would bring more arms to bear. Taskforce 2 would have had arriving jump signature readings 4-5 minutes before the opposing forces arrived. Not much but we had the initiative. IFF and energy signatures started to be incorporated onto the sitcom table. We were badly out heavied, but we had the numbers and Balck had two of my carriers, the Nelson and the Roosevelt. Balck, the best Planet side commander I have ever known, was now going to have to put his Fleet cap on. It was not outside the realm of possibility that this could end very badly. Balck had not been in command of a major Fleet action before and there were many Xeno fleet unknowns. ""Lieutenant, keep us out of the way. Major ship killer kinetics will be going off very soon and right after, the birds will be launched and it'll be auto gauss and beam everywhere. If there's a nice big asteroid somewhere, land us on the far side. If a deflected mass comes our way I want more than shuttle walls between us and it. I hate this with all my being, but without a STRATLink we are going to have to settle for a ringside accommodation. Send message to Balck - ""I trust that it is not too high an expectation that this ""fleet exercise"" be over with prior to the Officer's Mess on the flight deck of the Nelson tonight. I did have a witticism or two to share with you and your officers. Rather unfortunate scheduling on your part."" No screw that! Just message Balck, ""Don't make me come over there and show you how it's done you dirt-loving, goose-stepping, son of an Alderian whore."" There was a pause, and then the pilot responded, ""I think Balck will like the second one much better Sir.""",1640
 Police Comissioner Jake tips his,"As far as I know, I've never been a woman of God. But I guess in some faraway past life I must've been a Saint because the Lord knows I'm far beyond deserving reincarnation. At any rate, I thank him for giving me another lifetime to indulge. The previous one was far too conflicted; far too confusing. The crimson-specked knife glints in the pale moonlight as it rips through the man's throat, tearing his jugular and putting an end to his sorry life. In the throes of death his body twitches violently before collapsing forward, drowning him in a pool of his own blood. I lean forward, wiping the knife on his jacket before turning my back on the scene. It was nothing personal between him and I -- simply cutting up loose ends. After all, how could I live in this city with a fresh mind if the father of a past life was looming over me? --- ""I'm sorry, we don't know who did it, Sabetha. We'll catch them, I swear it. It's only a matter of time."" Police Comissioner Jake tips his hat, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. Although he's likely being genuine, the last thing I need right now is his comisseration. I shrug him off, ignoring the look of hurt that forms across his face. ""I guess I'll leave you to it,"" he continues, his eyes downcast. ""Just call if you need anything, alright?"" He turns to leave, taking a few steps before halting, cocking his head back. ""Oh, Doctor Larswitch asked me to tell you to visit him tommorow morning. With regards to your condition -- he believes in light of what happened it might worsen if untended to."" ""Thank you, Comissioner,"" I tell him, urging him to leave. He gets the memo, and exits promptly. As soon as the door shuts I slump against the wall, my head falling into my hands. The half-empty pill bottle on the wardrobe tumbles to the ground, its contents scattering across the floor. I eye it with disdain. Whoever did this -- whoever killed my father in cold blood -- will pay in equal measure. I crawl on the floor, feeling for a loose floorboard before prising it open. Reaching inside, I pull the handgun my father used to have as a safety measure. I unlock the safety, running my hand along its edge. ""Whoever you are, I will find you."" ---- I swirl the glass of gin in my hand -- at this point more water than alcohol -- as the light sound of chatter fills the bar. I have to suppress a grin at the fact that bloody murder is on everyone's lips. Talk of the town, I am. On everybody's minds. *James Trenton, throat slit in an alley. Suspect not found.* They never find me until it's too late; it was always like that. Not like the man had anything to live for, though. His daughter died in a hospital sometime ago, after all. Overdosed. In some perverse way, I was probably doing him a favour. ""Tragic. Heard he has a daughter as well."" A man to my left leans over to his friend, loudly confiding in him. I scoff, turning to the pair. ""Trenton didn't have a daughter. She died months ago."" I'd know. I was her, after all. The pair look confused. Their brows furrow simaltaneously as the one on my left spins his chair to face me. ""You having a laugh? She works down the road in the Fix-It store. I stopped by to get my phone repaired the other day."" ""Dropped it down the toilet, you did,"" the other man chuckles. Now it's my turn to be confused. I bite my lip, reclining into my chair. ""Sabetha Trenton, right? She's fucking dead, I know it."" ""What makes you so confident? It's not like you killed her."" *Well, that's not far from the truth.* The man laughs, downing the rest of his drink. ""Go look for yourself if you don't believe me."" He orders a new drink at the bar. ""Careful though,"" he adds. ""I've heard she's right bonkers. Has some mental issues; really not quite fun to talk to."" ""Yeah, I tried to hit on her once,"" his friend muses. ""Didn't go too well."" *Oh, that's where he was from.* ""Come to think of it, you look a bit like her."" I consciously pull my hood further up, burying myself deeper into the confines of my clothes. ""Must be a coincidence,"" I mutter. ""Yeah, I was pretty drunk. Still, if you really don't believe us, the shop's open right now. Check it out."" Standing up, I brush my hair back and manage a grim smile. ""I guess I'll pay her a visit."" ------ ""Sabetha, you know it's my job to report you to the police if you plan to follow through with this?"" The Doctor punches something into his phone, his dark eyes flicking up to look at me. ""So much for confidentiality,"" I mutter, ignoring the sound of the door to the shop opening. ""That doesn't apply in the instance of *planned* murder. Hell, you don't even know who you're looking for! Not even the police do!"" ""I'll find them,"" I assert, rapping my hands impatiently against the desk. ""And I'll fucking kill them."" ""Sabetha,"" the Doctor says, his expression softening as he moves closer towards me. His voice drops to a meek whisper. ""You're sounding less like yourself -- more like *her.* We got rid of her, remember? 5 years of work. Don't do this to yourself again."" I open my mouth to respond, but an unfamiliar voice cuts me off. ""Sabetha Trenton, I presume?"" I turn to the front of the desk, where a woman around my age stands. The Doctor's eyes widen as he looks to her, and I know he sees it as soon as I do: she has the same face as me, the same eyes as me, the same tattoos as me. The only difference is she has a knife in her hand. Before the Doctor can move her knife finds itself lodged in his throat, blood spurting as he falls back to the ground. I can only watch in horror as the life drains from him, his face paling and his eyes bulging. His lips twitch open, and he manages to gasp out one last message. A warning. ""*Run...*"" ----- She's not running. The woman I once was simply stands there, slack-jawed and wide-eyed like a toddler that just learned to walk. I'm just as shocked, although I'm better at concealing it. ""Who are you?"" We say simaltaneously. She inches back, groping her dress nervously as her eyes flit up and down -- around the room, to my own matching orbs, analysing my clothes. ""You're me,"" she says. ""I'm you,"" I echo. ""And you're a loose end that needs to be snipped."" I grasp the knife tighter, take a step forward, and pause. ""Can't be two of us, can there?"" There are tears forming at the edges of her eyes, the colour draining from her face. She hugs herself, looking at me with a palpable mix of disgust and despair. *That's the look.* ""Why? Why would you do it?"" I tilt my head, opting to delay the kill. Some clarity couldn't harm me. ""Do what?"" ""Kill him."" She falls to her knees. ""My father. *Our* father. Did he mean nothing to you?"" ""Well, no."" I approach her, and crouch before her so that our heads are level. ""How could I entertain the possibility of co-existing with the man that made me suffer? He tried to rid you of me -- the selfish prick."" ""No, he didn't!"" She shakes her head violently. ""He didn't!"" She screams. ""He was just trying to help!"" ""Help *you.* Not me."" I draw my finger along the blade, smiling at the cowering reflection of myself. ""Still on your meds, I guess. Still fighting. You can't escape me; just look, even in death, even when you killed me off, I'm still here."" I flash her a toothy grin, propping up her chin with the handle of my knife, exposing the soft flesh of her vulnerable throat. ""I'll always be a part of you."" ""I killed you once,"" she whispers between sobs. ""I'll do it again. You're just in my mind, like you always were."" I grip her hair, tugging it down, making her scream in pain. ""No, I'm your painful reality. And now I'll be your end."" ""*I'll kill you*..."" She repeats, her voice cracking. ""I'd like to see you try."" She pushes back against me, causing me to stumble as her hand reaches for something inside her dress. She pulls out her gun and squeezes the trigger as I clench my knife. Two sides of a coin, birds of a feather -- one of us has to die for the other to realise themselves. I dash forward, feeling the blade press into her soft flesh. The gunshot goes off, ringing out across the store. ------ /r/coffeeandwriting",1510
 I'm a writer. That's,"I'm a writer. That's the beginning and the end of my story. I'm a writer. I write. I have stories. I have *things to say*. I am *not* a Refinance Document Analyst 1. Maybe you are, but not me. My wife - bless her - is an honest, earnest woman. A doctor. She works hard. She's very smart. But still, smart people can be blinded by their own logic sometimes. Happens to the best of us. Sometimes smart people see the world in black and white - where you're either making money or you're ""unemployed."" Not realizing that there's a middle path. The path to enlightenment. The path of the Writer. So she tells me to get a job. Is my making money truly necessary? I would say no. I would suggest that my words - as seemingly monetarily valueless as they may presently appear - are greater than any paycheck. I would suggest that she's a *fucking doctor*, so let's be real for a moment. This is not about a paycheck - this is about the creative process. And a boat. She wants to buy a boat. I don't even *like* the water. So when I apply to jobs, I do so out of marital duty. To show that I am trying, even though I am not. I am a writer, after all. Writers can only be counted on to try during moments of great inspiration and/or the waning hours of a deadline. I understand this. *You* understand this. Why Barry Blankenshop of First Fourth National Bank of Wattsborough doesn't understand this is anyone's guess. You see, I applied to the position of Refinance Document Analyst - which is exactly the Lovecraftian nightmare it sounds like - knowing full well that I was neither qualified nor capable. But my wife checks on these things and it's good to have references - or, more accurately, the names of sample HR directors to curse out over the dinner table. These days I curse the name of Barry Blankenshop, though for significantly different reasons than usual. For starters, how in the world was my application ever picked out of the pile to begin with? I have a number of tactics that I employ with regularity to prevent just such a calamity. In this case, I: *Provided no prior employment history *Intentionally misspelled my own name repeatedly *Listed only deceased celebrities as my references *And left no personal contact information Perhaps Barry Blankenshop is illiterate? Perhaps he loathes his job as much as I loathe the idea of working? Who can know? He tracked me down somehow, apparently through some combination of Google searching and yellow page cold calling. My wife was present when I answered the phone and I was so caught off guard I didn't think to pretend that Barry had reached the wrong number. We agreed to a time and place for an interview. I did not show up. I have to assume this happens often. But I also assume this is the sort of thing that usually disqualifies someone from the offered post. No such luck. Barry called back. I ignored him. He called my wife and offered to reschedule. I was trapped. There was no avoiding the interview then. I went, my wife watching me as I slouched out to the car. It was a dire situation. Fortunately, I had not exhausted my tried-and-true tactics. Unfortunately, I had deeply underestimated the otherworldly lunacy of Barry Blankenshop. He was a smallish man, perma-sunburned with curly hair the color of uncooked rice noodles. He smiled as he greeted me, smacking his lips and saying something to the effect of, ""Aha! Here is the man! The man of the hour!"" We sat down. He offered me a coffee. I requested a Coke Lemon. ""Ah! Another lemonhead?"" he exclaimed. Apparently he had stockpiled the long-since discontinued drink. I received my can, which I opened but did not drink. ""How did you hear about First Fourth National?"" he asked. ""My weed dealer banks here."" Blankenshop laughed. ""We *are* very discreet! I see you've no experience in document analysis, right?"" I nodded. ""Screen blindness. I can't look at a computer screen for more than five minutes at a time without going temporarily blind."" ""Pity,"" said Blankenshop solemnly. ""Lucky for you, we are entirely computer-free here at First Fourth. All hard copies, all the time."" ""How...is that even possible?"" I asked. ""Much safer,"" said Blankenshop. ""No cyber terrorists this way. Saves money, too - a ream of paper costs less than any laptop!"" ""That's not...quite comparable."" ""Now,"" pressed Blankenshop, leaning across the desk, conspiratorially. ""What would you consider to be your biggest weakness?"" I considered myself. I considered the man. ""...cocaine?"" Blankenshop laughed, slapping his hands on the desk. ""A sense of humor! I love it. No, no, I *know* the effects of cocaine. Firsthand. Lost my grandmother that way. Tried to fight a city bus. She was special. Cherish your loved ones. Anyway, I can tell you're a straight shooter. How do you deal with turmoil in the workplace?"" The man was insane. The usual tactics were powerless. I was swinging wildly now, just looking to make contact. ""Segregate out all the Jews?"" Blankenshop's brow furrowed deeply. He looked angry for a moment. I had a glimmer of hope. ""They *are* a clever bunch...I need to be careful with you! You'll be gunning for my job in no time!"" ""I would literally rather throw myself in front of your grandmother's bus,"" I replied. Blankeshop hooted. ""Gallow's humor! It's a difficult industry, certainly. You seem well-suited to it."" ""What *is* this job?"" I half-shouted. ""What the hell does a Refinance Document Analyst even do?"" ""You know...I'm not sure,"" said Blankenshop. ""Training Department should be able to give you the layout. I'm just tasked with finding a good fit."" ""A good fit for a job you know nothing about?"" ""Attitude is everything at First Fourth,"" said Blankenshop. ""And you've got the right attitude."" ""I hate you."" ""Ah hahaha! You can't turn it off! I love it. You'll be very popular. If I'm being honest, morale is not what it ought to be. No idea why."" Blankenshop stuck out a feeble little paw. ""What do you say? Join the team?"" Now, obviously I said yes, and I said yes because I love my wife and don't enjoy being yelled at. The work is awful. I do very little of it. I manage every interaction with enormous, open disdain. I do not even clean up the office microwave after I am done. I am a monster. I am also, likely by no coincidence, now a Refinance Document Analyst *2*. Because the world is a dark satire, much stranger and crueler than anything I could ever write.",1128
" Ariel, the owner of the shop","Part 1 of 2 ""How, by the gods, am I supposed to wear this into battle, Dustin?"" Ariel breathed wearily. She lofted the sturdy bone plate in one slight, delicate hand with a pretense of effort, and a sigh. A subtle fragrance of lilies drifted toward me then vanished. It was a nice change from the leather and oil scents that permeated my shop. I'm not particularly short, not particularly tall, but I still looked up just a bit to meet her eyes. ""I've seen you in battle, dear. You've tossed men 40 yards... by accident... with your backswing. Besides, gold coin only gets you griffon bone. Best innate wards you can get for mere money."" I let a small, ironic smile grace my tanned, weathered features. She pursed her lips, then curled them back into a shy smile. She inhaled slightly and a soft breeze was drawn through the shop window. She seemed to become somehow more present and vital for a moment. Wisps of her long, straight, strawberry hair stirred gently against the pale milky skin of her bare arms. ""Surely we can come to an arrangement."" She had the class not to bat her eyelashes. Though her bosom billowing just a touch was a nice flourish. I chuckled, ""Pleasant as that would be, dear, my wife would kill me, then kill you, then raise me and kill me again for spite, then lay waste to the whole town. Besides, were I a single man I'd want to win you with my wit not my wares."" I didn't mention my wife was an immortal polymorph. I got to love the fragile core of her being, and she mine. I didn't need five minutes of embarrassment with the likes of Ariel, beautiful and desirable as she was. She laughed a tinkling, genuine laugh. ""You can't blame a sylph for trying. Seriously though, I need to move and breathe. That griffon bone might've been fine when I was merely fencing with Firbolgs, but I need some serious defenses. I'm dealing with wraiths and void mages, there's even rumor of a lich down in the barrows a mere twenty leagues west of here."" She furrowed her brow and continued, ""I need the good stuff, really. Please."" Sad puppy eyes... Now she was trying sad puppy eyes. I ruffled my dark curly hair and let out a huff. ""Liches. I hate liches. But if you can only afford gold or wiles, you don't have what it takes to fight the likes of them."" ""What do you mean?"" I began to answer but before I could, a stunning woman of lean muscle, graceful curves, full bust and towering height burst into the shop. Her long, platinum blonde hair was worked into a sturdy yet soft-looking braid. Ariel was tall, six feet and then some on tip toes. Brenna stood a head taller than Ariel. Her ice blue eyes shone with triumph. I'll note for the record that she was wearing my finest griffon bone armor, modified to give her a much needed measure of comfort. My eyes widened a bit to see some hairline fractures chasing down the left side of her breastplate. Three strides of Brenna's long, powerful legs carried her to within an arms length. She followed my eyes down to her chest and grinned. ""Ballista bolt. Three of them at close range. Good stuff."" She slapped the armor fondly. ""But I have the final payment! Twenty more as agreed."" Brenna the Valkyrie thrust a silk bag big enough to hold a large bunch of grapes at my chest, stopping just short of rapping me over the heart with it. I took the sack with my left hand and extended my right to offer a handshake in greeting. Her slim but strong fingers clasped my forearm, and my warm, callused hands grasped her forearm and a bit of the wrist guard she wore. ""Well fought! You really ought try dodging the bolts next time, though. Brenna, Ariel... Ariel, Brenna."" I nodded toward Ariel who had been watching Brenna's entrance with mild awe. ""Well met,"" said Brenna soberly, nodding to Ariel. It was fun to see Ariel so flustered. Brenna had put down two wraiths in the last month, and was fast becoming something of a legend around our little hamlet. Ariel stammered a bit, ""I... Well met."" She curtsied. I shook the little silk bag lightly and a slightly muffled, ethereal chiming rose from the bag. I turned back to Brenna and asked, ""Would you mind if I show her what it takes?"" Brenna flicked her eyes from the bag to Ariel, then back to me. She gave me a sad smile. ""Aye, go ahead."" I opened the drawstring on the bag and drew out a small sphere the size of a large grape. I held it up to eye-level and allowed it to catch some of the late afternoon sun. It wasn't the opaque, featureless black that first glance would suggest. Whorls of smoke, shades of black within black twisted and turned within. There was depth, a feeling of falling if you looked at it for too long. ""It's watching me. Put it away!"" Ariel panted, her eyes wide. I did and she searched my eyes. ""What was that?"" she asked. I pulled the drawstring tight again and answered, ""Animarum."" ""Souls,"" Brenna intoned. ""Souls of fallen enemies."" She gazed levelly at Ariel for a few moments. Ariel looked away. With a deep breath Brenna patted her armor happily ""I'll not get anymore use out of this. Time for finer wards."" She began to shuck her armor off right then and there. I coughed, ""I have your new set in the back, perhaps you'd care to change there. I'll need to fit them to you..."" I took a step toward the back room, trying to keep my eyes from drifting down from her ice blue eyes. She briefly flashed an expression of mild puzzlement and dangled her breastplate at her side as she strode purposely to the back room. I shook my head... Magnificent. Ariel emitted a slight ""hmmph"" and folded her arms across her chest, as though she had been the one to drop her armor. I followed Brenna back into my fitting area. It was a large room with a number of tools, benches, spare materials, a writing desk in one corner, an alchemist's bench along the far wall, and enough room to swing and lunge with a sword. One needs to see if the armor moves properly, of course. I caught up to Brenna as she was completing the process of discarding her set of griffon bone armor into a neat pile beside her. She stood gloriously naked and with no shame or embarassment in her bearing. ""Did she not know of the true currency?"" she asked, somehow fully clothed in spite of herself. I let myself look, but not leer. I smiled and turned my attention to pulling a large drawer open from one of my workbenches. ""She wanted 'the good stuff' but only had gold to pay. She hinted at something skimpier than griffon bone, but I don't think she knows what she was asking or why."" I lifted two small, flat, transparant sapphire wedges roughly the size of my hands from the open drawer and set them on the desk. They hummed faintly. Brenna considered for a moment and then called out loudly to Ariel, ""Ariel. Come here. You should understand."" After a few moments, Ariel leaned her head through the doorway, and blushed a little on seeing the six foot nine valkyrie. Heh. A sylph blushing, I've seen everything now. ""You want me to come back here?"" she asked. Brenna spoke calmly and firmly, as if to a student, ""Dustin tells me you asked for the elite armor, yet were not even aware of the price required. You should see, and understand."" I pulled two more half-moon shaped tiles of sapphire the size of a flattened orange peel out to rest near the wedges. Finally five long narow strips the width of my thumb made from the same material. The faint humming grew louder as they lay in proximity to one another. Brenna looked at them and frowned, ""They could not be made smaller?"" ""Not with this material. These are the smallest I can get without losing harmonic integrity. If you want smaller, you're talking phoenix glass or dragon eggshell."" I shrugged. ""Those are hard to come by, harder to work with. I could do it, but we're talking Animarum by the thousands."" Now Brenna's eyes widened, then her face gained a thoughtful look. She gazed back at me and said, ""I have work to do then."" Ariel looked on mildly bewildered. ... [continued in part 2]",1463
 Charles looked up into the purple sky,"Charles looked up into the purple sky, before creeping down the subway stairwell. He carried his shoes in his hands, and pressed his bare feet slowly against the concrete steps. Even the slightest sound might be too much. When he reached the bottom, he switched on his flash-light, wincing at the *click*. The beam spilled out over a subway wall, revealing streaks of green and red graffiti: > Death to the Iron Maiden. Justice. Justice. *Justice*. He moved the light lower and lit a depiction of the winged superhero with a noose around her neck. Her eyes were two lifeless crosses and her arms and legs had been severed at the joints. Charles took a deep breath as he manoeuvred the beam away from the wall and shone it down the tunnel. The arched walls around him made him feel like he'd been swallowed by an ancient demon. As he pressed on, he passed abandoned blankets and crumpled cardboard boxes that stunk of urine and vodka. They had belonged to people like him not so long ago - people that had sought refuge. They *had* been people like him. Now, they were the dust that danced around his feet. He came to a second set of stairs and paused a moment, before descending. He thought he could hear a distant murmur rising from below. It took him another ten minutes to find the door that was marked with a vertical slosh of red paint. Charles knocked four times, paused and then knocked once more. The door creaked open. Charles could see eyes peering out of the darkness. ""You got an invite?"" the darkness whispered. Charles rummaged in his jeans until he found the card. He held it out; a hand shot through the gap and snatched it. ""Hmm. Okay. Final chance. Once you're in here, you're *in* here. You certain about it?"" Charles thought of his wife. Of how she collapsed, overworked. Of how the Iron Maiden had forced him to dig her grave whilst she was still breathing. He raised his left hand and looked at the - *suddenly painful* - scar, that ran down it. An unshakeable souvenir of the final day his wife had been alive. ""I'm certain."" The door opened wide. Charles stepped through. ""Welcome, friend,"" said the man who had taken his card. ""I'm Calvin. And these are,"" he gestured behind him, at the large open space filled with twenty or so men and women, ""a few, uh, like minded individuals."" He quietly closed the door behind Charles. Dim candlelight lit the room, sending reams of shadows dancing on the walls and darkening the faces of the people within. A lady with long hair walked over to him. ""Say, I remember you,"" she said. ""Yeah, yeah - you're that cute guy I met at O'Reilly's. You're the chemist, right?"" It was the woman who had given him the card. Whom he had explained everything to, his heartache and - by accident - his hatred of the superhero. She had not only listened to him, but she truly seemed to understand. ""Margaret, right?"" ""Sure,"" she replied, frowning. ""Listen, I'm glad you came."" She bit her lower lip and leaned in conspiratorially, lowering her voice to a whisper. ""We needed you here."" ""Me? For what?"" ""We think we've found a way to *kill* the Iron Maiden."" Charles laughed. ""You can't be serious."" ""I am absolutely serious,"" she replied, her face deadpan. ""But..."" Charles began, his smile dropping ""so many have..."" ""Tried? Died?"" She sighed. ""They were the real heroes, you know. The unsung heroes, with no church to worship them, or grave for them to rest. But their efforts were not in vain."" She paused for a moment. ""There was a man, a few years ago. His name was Carlos Stamost and he, like many before him, had suffered greatly under the Maiden. He rather stupidly attempted to take her out by himself. Needless to say, he failed. But... he was in a way, more successful than any other who had tried before."" ""That doesn't really say much,"" Charles retorted. He noticed that a crowd of shadowy faces had gathering around the two of them. ""Carlos was a sniper,"" Margaret continued, ignoring Charles. ""He shot a dart - that we later recovered - tipped with a particular chemical mixture, into her neck. Now, whilst he wasn't successful in injuring her, the dart did have some *interesting* effects."" ""What effects?"" Charles asked, curiosity slowly rising. ""We believe that it weakened her, very briefly. It was an almost imperceptible drop, but nevertheless, we are almost certain that it lessened the force of her powers."" ""*Almost* certain,"" Charles said, shaking his head. ""So... you need me to recreate the mixture? Is that why you invited me?"" ""No. We can do that on our own. We need *you* for something much more important, Charles."" ""..."" ""We need you to get close to her. To apply the poison to her on a regular basis, without her knowledge. To weaken her to the point where we can harm her. Where we can *kill* her."" ""You want me to... infiltrate her circle? Is that it?"" He laughed again. ""You've got the wrong guy! How would I even get close to her? I'm not a spy or... or even an actor! I'm a *chemist*."" ""Charles. You didn't *choose* to be a chemist. You were *made* to be. Forced. What you were... that doesn't define you. What you do, your *actions*, that's what makes you *you*."" Charles felt dizzy. The candles were becoming a smoky blur. He dragged a hand down his face as he thought again of his wife; of the spade as it bit into the frozen dirt. His scar seemed to burn his hand like it was a fresh branding. ""She murders *children*, Charles,"" Margaret said, her voice pleading. ""Babies. If they're born with defects - weaknesses."" ""*I'll* be killed if they find out. No,"" he corrected himself, ""they'll do *much* worse than just kill me."" Margaret said nothing. ""Why me?"" he asked eventually. ""We all have our own roles to play in this."" Charles took a deep breath. ""What do you need me to do?"" --- I asked one of my favourite writers here if she'd like to write this as a colab, taking it in turns. She very kindly agreed. So: Thanks for reading. I thought part thriller, part superhero story would make for a fun mix. Hope you enjoyed it.",1080
" It was, more often, the","It was, more often than not, the smiley ones I watched out for. While I checked their IDs, their gazes would frequently flicker over to their friends for support. The more jittery among them would chatter away with quotes plucked directly from the latest Fortune magazine or how ""buying their own place was the best thing to happen to them"". If only they knew they weren't the only ones saying those things ... Inevitably, after about fifteen seconds of my careful, silent scrutiny of their spotless plastic cards, the first tracks of sweat would begin to appear on their foreheads. Their conversations would die down, and the fidgeting multiply. The desperate ones would say, with frequent glances over my shoulder at doorway through which pulsing lights and throbbing music emerged, ""Could we, uh, hurry up? Our friends are waiting for us inside."" ""I'm sorry, but you're underage. This ID isn't valid,"" I said. Sometimes, I wished I could just tell them the truth--that I could identify crap-all about them from the card. The printed numbers meant little against the large , glimmering digits floating above their heads. It'd taken me several childhood years and the help of a mirror to figure them out, but they made me damned good at my job. ""This can't be right,"" the young man said, jaws tightening even as a visible, nervous shudder coursed through his body. ""I'm guessing, seventeen?"" I almost laughed at his shocked expression. Jerking my thumb toward his older male companion, I said, ""Your brother'll just have to take you elsewhere."" ""C'mon, let's go,"" the other man said, pulling him out and shooting me one last dirty look. Such was the life of a street-level NYC bouncer. As I was writing down the ID's details on a register, I heard the clicking of heels approach. Next moment, a slim, small hand slid an ID card onto my podium. I looked up and did a double-take--literally jumping back a step. She was pretty, more girl-next-door than supermodel, with loose auburn hair hanging to her shoulders framing a lean face. About five feet tall, she wore a tight-fitting black dress that terminated at mid-thigh, though her figure wasn't anything more spectacular than I'd been seeing for the past hour or so. So, your typical college girl lookalike ... but for the number above her head. Three thousand and nine. What. The. Hell. ""There might be an issue with your age,"" I blurted before I could stop myself. ""Excuse me?"" she said in a faintly European accent. Other than her mouth, the rest of her hadn't moved at all--even the fingers clutching the purse in front of her were like cold marble. I could feel goosebumps popping up on my arms as I reached for her ID. ""Sorry, just give me a moment to check,"" I said, darting furtive looks at the age number above her head as though I expected it to change at any time. I'd never been wrong before; perhaps this was the first time? Her name was Helena Ricci. Born here in the US twenty-two years ago. I ran the scanner over it. Clean. Shit. ""Er, I'll need just a moment to register you into our system,"" I said. ""Take your time. I've got plenty,"" she said. Her eyes remained cold above her smile. Once the process was complete, I handed the card back to her. ""Have a pleasant evening."" She took the card and stalked off into the club. I felt tempted to go after her--so many questions were in my head--but that would mean revealing my gift. And one didn't go around spouting such nonsense so easily, so my dad had warned me. So I threw my attention back to the impatient and growing line of patrons waiting for me. *** The hours flew by. I kept an eye out for Helena among the clubbers trickling out. Once, I thought I saw her in the midst of a small group of men, who went and lounged by a Levante parked not far away. They smoked for a while before returning to the club. At about four in the morning, when activity was visibly slowing down, she left the club, flashing me a grin on the way. That, more than anything, helped make up my mind. ""Helena,"" I called, jogging from my post to catch up to her. ""I've got something I want to ask you."" She paused in her step, but maintained her distance out of my arm's reach. ""Yes?"" I tore my eyes away from her numbers and met her searching gaze. ""How old are you?"" She snorted. ""Really? We're still not over this?"" ""I can see people's ages, above their heads,"" I said in a rush. ""I've always been able to--since I was a child. And I see that you're--"" ""Quiet!"" she snapped, looking around almost fearfully. ""You must be dreaming, or imagining things. I'm only twenty-two, recently graduated--"" ""That's bullshit,"" I said. ""I've never been wrong. I know what I see. And I'm most definitely not high or anything."" She scoffed. ""Stay away from me, mister. I've got Mace here in my purse."" With that, she hurried away. ""I told you my secret. Don't I deserve a little truth from you?"" I said. She stopped in her tracks and turned her head halfway. ""I never agreed to a trade."" ""I won't say anything to anyone, I promise,"" I said. ""I just--seeing you is almost the same as NASA revealing that alien life exists on the Moon or something. Can't you imagine what it's like for me?"" For a long time, she remained quiet. I could almost see the gears turning in her head. At last, she said softly, ""Fine. Come, I'll show you."" Elated, I followed. She didn't speak to me as we traversed the silent, shadowy streets, but I held my tongue as well. If I asked one question too many, she could turn me away. About fifteen minutes later, we arrived at an unmarked red door in a back alley, sandwiched between two dumpsters. I frowned at our surroundings, suddenly realizing that if she wanted to rob me--or worse--I wouldn't be discovered until the next week probably. She knocked on the door, but instead of a rapping sound, musical notes floated from somewhere inside. Then, it swung open to reveal a heavily bearded giant of a man. His fierce gaze took one look at Helena before his expression melted with warmth, and he wrapped his arms around her. ""Who is this?"" he said. ""With luck, someone smart enough to keep his life,"" she said. I tried not to gulp as the man held out a brick-like hand for me to shake. ""I'm Olander,"" he said. ""I'm Jeff, pleased to--holy crap, you're over a thousand years old,"" I said. He blinked in astonishment. ""How did you know? Oh, Helena, what have you brought us?"" ""He might be useful. Shall we go in?"" she said. Olander led us into a long, stone tunnel with an arched ceiling. It looked extremely cramped for the big man, but he hunched his shoulders in a manner that indicated familiarity. The two of them spoke in a language I didn't know. Somewhere in the distance, there was a constant gush of water--perhaps we were near one of the city's waterways? Moments later, we reached another door, this one made entirely of solid, carved wood. I had only begun to marvel at its surface when Olander pushed it in and revealed the chamber within. I gaped, open-mouthed, at the twelve Roman columns supporting a ceiling of painted frescoes, spaced around the cavernous place lit by huge chandeliers and colorful wall-mounted lanterns. In the center of the room was a fountain almost ten feet tall, crystalline water spilling from the top into three descending circular pools and sparkling with light. People of various races and attire filled the room, mingling in small groups; eating from the buffet tables, drinking, admiring paintings hanging on a section of wall, or listening to an orchestral quartet on a small stage. And above all, I was stunned at the numbers everywhere. Two thousand and eighty-two. One thousand five hundred. One thousand and six. Three--freaking three--thousand, seven hundred and forty-four. ""How?"" I stammered. ""What is this?"" Helena didn't answer except to point at the fountain. And then it dawned one me. Before I could inquire further, she pulled me back out of the chamber into the tunnel. ""Would you be interested in a new job here at our club?"" she said. ""I, er ... what job?"" ""Doorman."" She sighed. ""You see, we can't have too many of ... us ... running around the world. Defeats the purpose of actively staying out of the history books, if you know what I mean. Anyone below a thousand must not be allowed in--sometimes, it's really hard to tell. But you already know that with your current job."" ""I'll have to think about it,"" I said. My head felt like it was about to split apart. Those people ... some of their clothes looked like they predated writing. ""Are there ... younger people ... trying to get in, too?"" ""More than you know,"" she said in a grave tone. ""Olander takes care of them, usually, but it's really insulting if you turn away the wrong patrons. And grudges can last for a long time with us."" ""Well, you already know we have a great healthcare package, networking opportunities, insurance and investment returns. I won't pressure you to give me an answer tonight,"" she said, going to stand in the doorway. ""Take your time. I'm in no hurry."" *** *Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my if you'd like to continue the story. Start for a rewritten first chapter.*",1631
 Marcy was sobbing uncontrollably,"I looked around at all of my loved ones at my literal deathbed. I could see their love, their pain, and their held back tears as i breathed my last few breaths. My little granddaughter could hold it in any longer and threw herself on me, sobbing uncontrollably. I smiled weakly and stroked her hair. ""Hush now, my little bobcat."" I lifted her chin gently, her puffy red eyes meeting mine. ""Will I ever see you again?"" She asked between sniffles, her brown hair long and matted from the countless days she sat at my bedside. I weakly reached out and touched her chest. ""I will be right there. I will always be with you."" This brought on a fresh bout of tears. She was now truly sobbing uncontrollably, her face buried in my chest. I went back to stroking her hair. ""I know. I know."" I said gently. Eventually, she got a hold of herself, the tears held back by an iron will. For a six year old, Marcy was pretty strong. I chuckled to myself. She was just like her mother. I felt my life slipping away, and I looked in my granddaughters big eyes one last time. ""Just remember, sweetie..."" I struggled for another breath, but i had to give her closure. If she didn't have it, it would destroy her. ""That I will always love you."" With that I closed my eyes, and faintly heard her starting to cry again. I wanted more than anything to hold her, to tell her everything was going to be alright. But i couldn't. It was my time to go. I felt my body relax, and everything sank into blissful oblivion. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ Troivan? Trovian! TROVIAN! I groaned and attempted to sit up. I surrounded by strange beings. They all had spikes instead of hair, and dots on their faces, and pale skin. One of them caught me and eased me back onto the mat I had been lying on. ""Not so fast there, my man. You took a pretty big hit of those wastions. Give it a few, alright?"" I nodded weakly and laid still, trying to ignore the throbbing in my head. My vision was hazy, but I could sort of make out where I was. I was in some sort of cavern. The mat I was lying on felt like a sleeping bag. I was dimly aware of a warmth coming from my right side. Was I... camping? My eyes started to clear, and my hearing was coming back. ""...be alright. He took *waaay* more than he should have for his first time, but he took it like a champ."" That voice. I know that voice. Who was it. I racked my foggy mind, trying to remember who that was. ""You sure? He looks... well... like he got hit by a Trynagog."" I knew that voice too. It was decidedly different, but full of motherly concern. It sounded female. Was she my girlfriend? Friend? Fuck. I can't remember. ""Hey..."" I said in a hoarse whisper. There was immediate movement, and the second voice floated into my head. ""Yes? What is it?"" She asked. He face swam above my head. She was decidedly pretty. She had amber eyes, extremely pale skin, and the dots on them made a lovely pattern. Her thin mouth and brow were textbook expressions of concern. ""My...my..."" My voice failed me, so i gestured weakly to about where my throat would be. Her eyebrows shot up. ""Oh! I am so sorry honey. Rythor, do have that energy drink?"" ""Shit, I forgot about that. Hold on."" I heard a dragging sound, and some stuff being pushed around, and then the clinking of a canteen."" ""Here. Drink up, my man."" The female... it was coming back... Prilana. That was her name. Prilana. She held the canteen to my lips and i drank deeply. I felt a tingle go through my body, and my head started to clear. With a groan, I pulled myself up, gently pulling the canteen from my girlfriends hands and draining the lot of it. I blinked a couple times and took in my surroundings more clearly. We were indeed in a cave, or cavern of some sort. It I was indeed on a green sleeping bag, and a fire flickered warmly in the center of the place. Immediately in front of me was Prilana, her eyes still full of concern. A little behind her to my left sat Rythor, watching me intently with sharp green eyes. On the far side of the fire sat his girlfriend, Dyenta. He sat there passed out on a mat like I was. ""Well? Do you know who we are?"" asked my girlfriend. I nodded slowly, and relief filled her face. ""Oh good. That's very good."" Rythor spoke up in a cautionary tone. ""He might not remember everything yet. We need to keep an eye on him. He should be good in about an hour."" I was suddenly aware that I was holding something in my other hand. I turned to look at it. It was a green glass bong, filled with a rocky substance and a glowing liquid. I looked at Rythor and he grinned. ""Yeah man. You were on a *biiig* trip. You took a double hit of wastion and started twitching out, babbling incoherently. Then you passed out for like, 3 hours."" He hooked a thumb behind him at is girlfriend. ""She also took a double hit about an hour ago. She didn't want to be outdone. You know how she is."" I dimly remember her being extremely competitive. I looked at the bong again. ""So... what does this stuff do again?"" I eyed Rythor, and a fake, dreamy sage-like expression came over his face. ""It frees your soul from the constraints of space and time, and allows it to fly unbound on the wings of eternity."" He snorted and dropped the expression. ""At least that's what my dealer told me. So... How was it?"" A sudden surge of emotions roared through me. Pain, love, happiness, anger... but above all was a sense of bitter emptiness, and an indescribable feeling of loss. For some reason, I pushed all of that down and grinned at him. ""Its indescribable man. You gotta take a double hit."" He raised his eyebrows at me. ""You're on, dude."" I passed him the bong, and he took the double hit. Almost immediately he started twitching, and, after a bit, he laid down with a sigh. He passed out cold. I turned to my girlfriend, and held out my arms. She came and snuggled into them. I her for awhile, and then suddenly realized I was shaking uncontrollably. She turned her face to mine. ""Hey... are you ok?"" And I just broke right there. I stared sobbing, great waves of grief and confusion tearing through my body. It all felt so *real*. The love. My family. My childhood. So I sat there, under alien sky, weeping for the life I never lead. For the granddaughter I never had. Or... had it been real? The sobs slowly started to ease, and I blinked the tears out of my face. I held my girlfriend tighter, and made a decision. It was real to me, and that was all that mattered. __________________________________________________________________________________________ Edit: Fixed some formatting, and put a slightly more hopeful ending that I was going to originally put. (Was pressed for time)",1239
 Oddmund the Wise was the greatest,"** is now up!** *** **Part One** Oddmund the Wise was the greatest killer of inner demons this side of the Tenebrous Sea. He had made a lofty name for himself in four of the five kingdoms--he did not build much of a reputation in the Midnight Isles, mostly because he could not bear the climate--and had a long and weary resume to prove it. He had felled at least a hundred different variations of the horrors bloodlust and war from the shell-shocked soldiers who entered his care. At least a thousand times over he had seen that poisonous and many-formed creature called self-hate. Usually this sort of soul-rot took on the form of one's greatest regret or trauma, which more often than not manifested as the root cause of self-loathing. In his old age, Oddmund grew weary. He settled in a nice cottage in the Magocracy of Erelion--a land where magic was practiced freely and viewed as an inextricable force of nature itself rather than a weapon--and officially retired. From the day he moved in, Oddmund saw no more adult patients. But he had a hard time turning children away. His whole career roving the countryside, offering adult behavioral services, he had lectured any parents who would listen on the key to early intervention. His primary goal had not only been to exorcise his clients of their demons, but to teach them to notice their children's loaded silences. Their inexplicable torment. ""Behavior,"" he often told them, ""the things we do, always happens for a *reason*. It's a way of talking without words. This is particularly true for children, who don't yet know the terms to express what they're feeling. If the behavior goes unacknowledged, the feeling won't go away. It will only fester, and sicken."" Few believed him. But those who did spread word like a spark in a dry field of wheat. He received his first post-retirement client, a little girl who had grown to resent her little baby sister. This demon was small, a little skittering spider, but when Oddmund caught it in a jar he heard it whisper how much better life would be without that child around. How easily the parents would believe she simply suffocated in her sleep. He showed the child the jar and the spider circling its walls madly, searching for a way out. She stared in astonishment. ""The things you think and feel,"" Oddmund had told her, ""are not just clouds in your mind. They become real things."" He tapped the glass and the spider tried to attack his finger. ""They become things that can kill you, sweet girl."" When the girl was gone, he squished the spider with one of his shoes. They continued in a steady stream after that. At least once a new moon, Oddmund had a new visitor on his step. Some parent with their blank-eyed, bewildered child, hoping Oddmund could offer them answers at last. This family came late in the harvest moon, when the nights were so long that Oddmund hardly had time to hike to town and back to his comfortably isolated cottage before the sun disappeared once more. This time when he arrived at his cottage, two figures sat outside it, apparently waiting. From far away they appeared to be a young mother with her daughter, surely no more than five or six years old. Oddmund lowered his handcart when he reached his front garden. He hauled out the sack from the back and raised his hand in greeting. ""I hope I haven't left you waiting too long."" ""I'm so sorry I came without announcement. My cousin said you go by appointment--"" ""I'm retired."" He smiled at her with a jovial gleam in his eye. ""I don't do appointments anymore. Please, come inside. I have pastries and tea."" The two followed him in. The mother clutched the girl's thin shoulders and rubbed her thumb in slow, reassuring circles. Fortunately the fire had not quite gone out. The wizard's cottage was cast in a deep dying red. The girl stared at the brands as if she wanted to reach out and touch them. Oddmund put a few narrow birch sticks and a handful of wizard's beard moss on the embers. The lichen caught, spreading a warm lapping heat to the sticks. The sticks creaked and groaned as the heat tore through them. After the fire caught the wizard murmured fire spells to his lanterns, lighting them one by one. He could of course ignite them all with a lazy wave of his hand, but there was no need to startle the girl. Her eyes were oceans of sorrow. He could not bear to look into them for long. He dreaded to know what beast lurked within her mind's depths. Oddmund invited them to sit in the armchairs before the fire. The mother introduced herself as Eira. Her child, who sat in the chair as far from Oddmund as she could be, was called Gunnr. Eira explained the story with a face as cold and unmoving as a stone, as if she could not allow herself to feel if she was to speak of it. ""Six months ago I found my daughter's father in her bed. Forcing himself upon her. Three days ago I was released from my imprisonment for his murder."" Her eyes met with Oddmund's. They were lightless and unnatural, like a sky devoid of stars. ""I have been told you can kill such demons of the mind."" Gunnr stared into the fire. Orange death danced in her eyes. The wizard said, ""I believe I mentioned I retired."" ""I killed my demon six months ago. I need you to help with hers."" She looked at him severely. ""If you can't do this, tell me now. Please. My child has suffered enough."" Both of them looked at Gunnr, who did not seem to even be aware that they were there. But Oddmund knew better. She looked like a child who listened, who could do nothing now but listen. Her words were broken and stolen and hidden away, deep under her tongue, where she could not find them herself. He had seen this before. It filled his stomach with black bile. Oddmund nodded and reached out to clasp Eira's hands. She held onto him like they were the oldest friends in the world. He said, ""You help yourselves to anything in the kitchen. I cannot imagine the journey that has brought you here. Excuse my poor hosting, but I must prepare my things."" Eira looked up, wet gathering for the first time in her eyes. ""You can do it tonight?"" Oddmund inclined his head toward the girl. ""Only if Gunnr wants to."" The girl did not look away from the fire. Her hands were balled into tight shuddering fists at her sides. She nodded once, firmly. The wizard smiled like he was not afraid. ""Then tonight it shall be."" He winked at the girl. ""Gunnr is in control now."" *** /r/shoringupfragments ** is now up. :)** Etymology, cause I did this shit and you should notice: * Eira: ""mercy"" * Gunnr: ""warrior"", name of a valkyrie in Norse legend * Oddmund: *odd* means ""tip of the spear"" and ""mund"" is derived from the word meaning ""protector"" All three names are old Norse, because Gandalf is old Norse, and I'm a little basic.",1227
 The moon will be geometr,"A board room, filled with people in suits. The room is empty of furniture however. ""Rogers, is everything in place?"" ""Yes sir. The candles with exactly 1 inch of dribbley wax are placed exactly 72 degrees around the circle."" ""Excellent. Kingston?"" ""Right on schedule sir. The moon will be geometrically aligned with Venus in exactly 124 seconds."" ""Very good. Very good. Maxwell?"" ""The circle is drawn to precise measurements. It was easy with laser pointers. One of the interns threw up though. Mixing ash with virgin blood is particularly smelly. Hopefully killing the virgin in the process is not a prerequisite. That would be a nightmare to litigate."" ""You're rambling Maxwell, just tell me are we ready?"" ""Sorry sir, yes sir."" ""Good. Finally, Litworth, is it ready?"" ""Certainly sir, we've translated the text perfectly into a verbal phonetic listing. Just read it as it is written, and it will work."" ""Great. Can I get a count down to the alignment?"" ""Certainly. Alignment in 10 seconds."" A hush falls over the room, and the suitably dribbley candles flicker, almost as if they rehearsed. ""5 seconds."" The fluorescent lights in the room darken. A brown out perhaps. Not uncommon at night in the city. ""4."" The wind howls. Typical midwinter weather. ""3."" A bolt of lightning hits a nearby skyscraper. ""2."" Somewhere nearby a dog barks. ""1."" Silence descends on the room. ""Now."" ""Liabereth narctuku somlimnitos kianiarchu omberanos."" Nothing happens. ""Oh well. A vague instruction in a dusty old book. Superstition right?"" ""I guess so."" ""Oh wait, I forgot to carry the one. The alignment should be right now."" A large flash of light fills the room, causing many of the people in suits to cover their eyes. The light from the candles flare and spark, reaching out to each other with lines of power. They connect, forming bars of light and sparks across the room. A perfect five pointed star fills the room with an eery red glow. In the middle of the glow, stands a being. It's long horns scrape the ceiling, causing the monster to stoop a little. It's leathery wings folded against it's back. It's shoulders stooped a little, avoiding the power keeping it contained. Long robes barely mask the long sinewy muscles that line it's body. It's hoofed, goat-like feet shuffle nervously. It extends one of it's long taloned claws upwards, adjusting the half moon spectacles to better see it's summoners. The other claw clutches a couple of books carefully across it's chest, protecting them. The spine reads ""The Hobbit."" ""Oh great and mighty Hellington. I beseech thee."" ""Wellington."" the demon replies. ""What?"" With an english accent and a slight nasal twang the demon says ""My name is Wellington. You know, like the boot."" ""Uuuh, okay. Oh great and mighty .. Wellington. We beseech the for ancient knowledge, terrible and powerful!"" ""Ummm, okay. What kind of knowledge?"" ""The knowledge to conquer the world, and to defeat our enemies!"" ""Oh, this again. Very well. If you take some sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate, mix it just right, you can get an almighty bang. I'll leave it up to you to figure out the rest. Just don't blow your fingers off."" the demon starts wheezing in and out, in a weird laugh. ""You mean, like gun powder?"" ""Well, it's black powder, I don't know what a gun is."" ""You have got to be kidding me. No, I want dangerous secrets, like what this book says!"" ""Oh, then you want the SECRET knowledge."" says the demon, winking at the head suit. ""Then I shall teach you the power of math omat ix. Trigg erno metrie. And the dreaded cal culus."" The head suit blinks a couple of times, not sure what is happening. Some of the other suits are murmuring to each other. ""No no no, we already know those! We want to know spells of death, destruction, the power to destroy our enemies. To conquer entire countries effortlessly!"" ""Well, yeah, that's all you mortals want to do. Listen, if you learn math omat ix, you will learn the sy ens that you seek that will help you here."" ""I don't want to learn science. We already know science. We want to know magic!"" The demon starts to wheeze again, but after a few seconds composes himself. ""Magic isn't real. Magic is just what we told you people back when you first started trying to contact us."" ""Then how did you just appear here?"" ""Oh, that. We keep an eye on you, and when you guys use the right spell, we just use our teleporter to pop down and give you a bit of a fright and maybe teach you a couple of things. But that must have been about five hundred years ago now. A guy called .. vinchi .. leonard vinchi .. I can't remember. But it looks like you've done quite well. I'm in a concrete room, three hundred feet above ground, and I can see your whole city through the glass. Conquered electricity, nice. Flight? Very cool. Radio waves, very nice. Oh, and the internet. Well done. I'm going to cash in tonight. Greg said you guys wouldn't have telecommunications for another thousand years."" ""But, how?"" ""Oh, we're demons, but we're not stupid. We've had this stuff for millenniums. So, you've probably split the atom, and discovered sub atomic particles, and maybe even dark matter. Hmmmm. What to give you next?"" ""Uuh, what?"" ""Well, you said you wanted more knowledge, more power, here it comes. Cold fusion is a dead end. Hydrogen doesn't work like that. If you can finally get enough magnetism to constrict the plasma fluid dense enough, you CAN achieve a stable fusion reaction. Which means ..."" ""Infinite free energy."" ""That's right. Which is energy enough to destroy everyone you hate. But I think by the time you get there, you won't want to. Anyways, I gotta get back to my dungeons and dragons game. Good luck and see you in a hundred years!"" The flash of light goes out with a pop and the room is back to the same empty, fluorescent lit board room it was before. Although the candles are a little more dribbley now. ""What was that? Did that even happen?"" ""Shut up, magic isn't real, we have work to do.""",1052
 Her Dalmatian was one of,"""How long does he have?"" ""Mabel,"" I said, easing the girl back onto the chair, ""you've been very brave to bring your friend in by yourself. I'm not going to lie, and I'm going to treat you like an adult, ok?"" I watched her nod, lips pursed tightly. Jesus, I'd seen adults twice her age with half her guts. ""Two, maybe three weeks, at the most. But he'll suffer all that time through, so you did the right thing, bringing him to me."" Her Dalmatian was one of the largest I had ever come across. He was old now, shrunken, but I could tell he had once weighed in at the very end of the scale. He lay on the examining table, eyes closed, head between his paws. The fur had fallen away in patches, unevenly, such that there were pink spots poking out amongst the whites and blacks. ""I... I don't want him to suffer,"" Mabel said, hands clenched upon her lap. ""I know,"" I said, ""and that's why I am going to put him to sleep. Make sure that he goes peacefully."" ""He's been with me my whole life,"" she continued, though I wasn't sure if she was addressing me. ""I want him to rest now. He's done... too much for me."" ""I'm sure he has. He's probably been looking out for you, hasn't he?"" Mabel looked up, met my eyes, and a certain steeliness entered her gaze. ""Yes, he has,"" she said. ""From monsters. All sorts of monsters. Big ones, small ones, the invisible, the horrible. Terrance has kept them all away from me."" I turned away, kept my eyes trained on Terrance. It wouldn't do to tear in front of Mabel, so instead I focused, concentrated, and laid my hand on his head. The least I could do was to ease his passage, let him know that his duty was done. For that was my ability, my hidden talent. I could communicate with animals, and not in the animal-trainer way. I could speak to them, literally, though it all happened in my head, where there were no recordings to be made, no way to prove I was right. But I knew I was, and that was enough. I had kept it a secret. Of course I did - I'd read my fair share of comics, consumed a healthy amount of Marvel and DC and Vertigo and Dark Horse. I know what happened to people with powers, and who were not careful about keeping it quiet. At best, they got sidelined by society, labelled as kooks and cranks, relegated to the sidelines and never allowed to re-enter the arena of life. At worst, they got examined, hunted, dissected. I wanted none of that. I only wanted to be with the animals I loved, and to care for them. ""Hey buddy,"" I said, psychically, willing my thoughts into Terrance's head. I saw one of his ears perk up then. ""You've been a good boy. You've done all you could for her, so I'm going to reward you with some well-deserved res-"" *""Holy crap you're a Shifter too!""* My hand flinched away, and I almost lost my footing in my haste to back away. Terrance was reacting too, huffing and puffing as he struggled to get up. He started whining with the effort, and that was when Mabel rushed forward and threw herself over him. ""It's OK Terrance it's OK! He's the doctor, he's here to make you feel better!"" she cooed in his ear, calming him down. After he settled, she turned to me, beckoned to me. ""Doctor, please,"" she said, voice lowered to a whisper. ""He still thinks there's danger here, but there's none. All the monsters here, gone because of him. Please, help him rest?"" I moved Mabel away, gave her strict instructions to sit still and give me time, then interposed my body between her and Terrance so that she wouldn't see the expression on my face. How could I have explained it? How could I have told a little girl of eight that when it came to hearing the thoughts of normal animals, it was like listening to a song playing off an iPod, with tinny music pumped through little earbuds, but when *he* had spoken to *me*... ... it was like being at a Nirvana concert, front row, in the centre sweet spot, melting under the acoustic barrage from the 200 megawatt speakers? ""Now that you know I'm human,"" Terrance said, the words delivered right to my brain, ""you know you can't put me down, right? I don't know what you're going to tell her, but you have to fob her off. Then patch me up as best as you can, I've got to head back. Duty calls, and I can't rest until my replacement comes in."" I cleared my throat, although there was no need to. ""You... can hear me?"" Terrance narrowed his eyes, as best as a Dalmatian could, and gave me the distinct impression that he was trying not to snort at me. ""You're not unique, buddy. I chose this form to Shift into because it's the easiest way to keep close to her, keep her safe. Please tell me you know how to Shift?"" ""Er... no?"" ""So you can hear animals' thoughts and you never wondered why?"" ""I thought... I was gifted?"" Terrance raised a paw to scratch at his neck, and I noticed the lack of coordination in the movements. Fine his mind may have been, but his body was failing him. ""Well, I suppose I could teach you a thing or two, but you're going to have to give me a boost here. You could even help me take the morning shifts, watch over her while I sleep."" ""She said... something about monsters..."" Terrance laughed, or at least tried to. ""Don't be a wuss! I took care of all of them, cleared every single one out from this nest. You have nothing to worry about, but it never hurts to keep an ey-"" Mabel screamed then, and I whirled around. I thought she had perhaps cut herself on one of the instruments I had left on my table, or maybe she had come across one of the autopsy photographs on my laptop. Instead she was sitting right where I had left her, but with hands clamped tightly around her temple. ""It's back, Terrance!"" she yelled. ""The basilisk!"" I thought I had misheard her, but at that exact moment, I heard a loud crash from the street below, then a medley of car alarms swirled together in a maddening crescendo. I threw the blinds aside, and I saw a giant serpent, almost fifty feet in length, slither right across traffic. Its scales, dark and glossy, drank in the afternoon sun. It was hissing, a giant forked tongue darting through the air, trying to scent its prey. I had a pretty good idea what it was looking for. Terrance hoisted himself up, and I heard his nails scratch on my tabletop. The exhaustion still ringed his eyes, but there was a spine of purpose, a backbone of duty, which now ran through his body. Where his muscles had been flaccid before, they were taut now, humming with power. Even his coat had taken on a new sheen. ""You,"" he said, gesturing with his snout at me. ""Come with. Watch and learn, and maybe you will be able to Shift today."" ""We're going to fight that thing?"" I asked out loud, not even bothering with the psychic link anymore. ""My replacement's not going to get here in time,"" he barked. ""You'll have to do."" I wanted to cry, such was the blind fear stoking the depths of my belly. I wanted to sigh, such was the utter hopelessness of the situation before me. But instead I shrugged off my coat, then plucked a scalpel or two off the rack on my table. Something about Terrance inspired action, and something about Mabel inspired hope. ""You've got a lot of explaining to do when this is over,"" I said, though to Mabel or Terrance I was not sure. Mabel finally stopped screaming, then she sidled up to me, gave me a tight hug around my leg. She looked up with shimmering eyes, still too stoic to let the tears flow properly. ""Take care of Terrance, doctor,"" Mabel said. ""And I hope you Shift into something useful."" --- Continued below in the comments, will link when I'm off my phone! --- /r/rarelyfunny",1419
 Traffic and choking are the two most,"The problem was just that there were so many fucking people! So many people to check on and then so many after that, time and again with each new thing that I thought of. Traffic and choking are the two most common, so I always start with those. Check the nearby streets for children playing, people texting, that kind of thing. Pull people onto the sidewalk, bing bang boom, time starts up again and everyone goes on their merry way. Not this time. It wasn't until month two that I just decided to drag everyone's stupid asses up onto the sidewalk, just to make sure I had missed not hing A few minutes is usually all it takes. Find the stranger, push him out of the way of the bus, car, train, falling piano (actually has happened twice), you name it! I once knocked someone out from beneath a falling fucking anvil at a Renaissance Fair. 10 seconds was my quickest save. The dude was right in front of me. My longest before this was 95 minutes, only because it took forever to find a guard that actually had keys to let me up to the scaffolding above the shark tank. I think I may have gone insane in these past 10 years. I never should have come to New York. Like I said, it started normally. Pulling people out of the street, knocking food out of hands at food carts, looking around for any air conditioning units falling out of windows, that kind of crap. I stopped 137 crimes. Pickpockets in Times Square, muggings in Central Park, even an unreasonable amount of domestic abuse behind closed doors. I did commit a crime of my own, which was stealing a clock off of the wall in an office. I hung it around my neck like Flavor Flav. I wanted to be the first to hear time start up again. Like I said, I moved everyone out of the street and on to the sidewalk. I later took this to a much higher degree. I pulled everyone out of the restaurants, homes, office buildings, shops, and museums. I pulled actors out of shows in mid monologue on Broadway. I arranged everyone into neat columns along the street and just worked my way down. Fuck it, I had time. I pulled food out of people's mouths with my bare hands. I turned off everything with any kind of components that could explode and if I wasn't sure, I just threw them away. Eventually, I just shut off all of the electricity and gas to the city, once I found a public works truck. I spent months organizing a 3 mile radius of city with Wall-E-like efficiency into something that could be safely catalogued and lived in. No fucking dice. I had no idea who I hadn't saved. It is really hard to tell time when time is stopped, but I estimate that around the 2 years 4 months mark was when I caught a case of the fuck-its. I spent whole weeks exploring art museums, 15 days in a single exhibit in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I explored as much of Central Park as I could reach without leaving my radius. I went to the tops of buildings and looked down at the system of the world and marveled at my own power. I became a god in my own mind. This is right about when my case of the fuck-its escalated into a case of the crazies. I was still pulling everyone I ran into outside and lining them up, just in case. Only now I was just creating stories for them. I was playing with human beings like they were dolls. I acted out scenes from the famous works of Shakespeare on Broadway stages with homeless men and CEOs. I wrote, directed starred in, and choreographed a dozen plays of my own. I created an arena of bleachers in Rockefeller Plaza out of the still unmoving bodies of the Rockettes and the Saturday Night Live writing staff, crew, and cast. I sat a thousand children on them in tiers around me, each with bended ear and giving me their full attention and I performed a 3 day long ukulele concert for them. The acoustics were terrible. I then indulged in a marathon read-a-long of The Cryptonomicon, The Name of the Wind, Where the Sidewalk Ends and Aesop's Fables, all for them and using Jimmy Fallon as a lectern. I broke into Penguin Books main office and sifted through a hundred thousand book manuscripts before finding and reading (to my crowd of appreciative children) the first 1500 pages George R R Martin submitted as a draft of The Winds of Winter. It was only OK. I completed my sweep of the sewer system after finding a work crew with an open manhole. It was there that I discovered that those myths of alligators in the sewers are not myths. They were fucking enormous. They also gave me the best idea for the greatest on-stage rendition of Peter Pan ever witnessed by human eyes. I dragged his massive ass through the sewer and out using a forklift, a jackhammer and the longest, most elaborately complicated system of pulleys you have ever seen. At the end, it was like lifting a baby. The play was a masterpiece. I used the entire kitchen and wait staff of the Time's Square Applebee's as my actors/actresses and it all went beautifully according to plan. The 'actors' were flying through the air with the grace of the Magnificent Frigatebird. The lines delivered beautifully through a series of Walk-ie Talk-ies. The sword fights did leave something to be desired. However, the climax was the most incredible part. This beautiful, prehistoric creature was hauled up on stage and the Maitre d'applebee's, playing the terrified Captain Hook, cowered in his corner. I pulled him over to the alligator and opened its mouth-- And there it was. Inside of this great monstrosity of a reptile was a small boy-child. Eyes frozen open in startled terror. I narrowed my own eyes in disbelief, not quite sure if I could trust them after this long. I grabbed him by the ankle and pulled as hard as I could and then I heard it: With my head and torso still mostly inside of this beast's gaping mouth, I heard the clock start to tick, sluggishly at first, like it was ticking through a barrel of cranberry sauce and hand sanitizer. I pulled again, hard, and ran. The string the clock was on got caught on one of its teeth, ripping it from around my neck as the ticking sped up and I sprinted off of the stage as thousands of voices cried out in terror and the world came to life around me. I'm moving to fucking Canada. Edit: thanks for reading and I hope you all enjoyed it! Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated! I'm still new to this whole 'letting people read my writing' shindig, so I often forget to make sense and I make plenty of mistakes.",1188
" For one day's life, a","For one day's life, a lifetime of dark. The falling stars surround the dead. The fading light twinkles, but it cannot, and will not ease the cold. A lifetime of dark, in a life that has already ended. They face an endless black, all consolation going slowly, thinning out like a loved blanket. Then they are naked and alone. But all is not wholly gone, not immediately at least. I give some hope. A rag to replace that distant blanket. It is the best I can do. I give them one day's life. One more day of warmth. His name was Samuel, and that was all he had. I saw him spiraling down, going to the endless depths, far from any world he knew. He was young and dead before his time. For looking at him, I am sure he had no time. Samuel drifted amidst tears and confusion. I came to him in the dark, that rough sea of the dead. It is like a home to me but a hell to others. I came to him and held him, though he slinked and cried in the vacuum. ""Be quiet child."" He settled himself and looked at me. ""Are you God?"" he asked. ""No,"" I said. ""But I pretend to be."" I held him as I would any child. His body was cold and going, going to feed the living things of the light world, piece by piece, atom by atom. I looked at his face and stroked his hair. ""It is dark here,"" I said. ""And it will get darker I'm afraid. These distant lights will go. Even the stars fade when death takes its hold. Give it time and you will be among the endless."" He whimpered. ""I do not want to be in the dark. Please. I do not want to be alone."" They always beg. They always plead. I felt sorry for him, but there was little I could do. Pretending to be God is one thing, but I yet haven't the power to become such. One day I too will face the dark, naked and helpless. ""I cannot give you the life that you've lost,"" I said. ""But there is some comfort. A small thing only, but it is something. One day. I can give you one day to breathe again."" ""One day?"" ""One day amongst the living. A day to say goodbye. A day of endings."" He looked at me and began to cry again. They were not tears of joy, but of sadness. ""Please,"" he begged. ""I do not want to die. Please! Please save me."" ""I cannot do anything else. One day is what I offer. It is the best I can do."" He was quiet then. ""But who will I say goodbye to?"" he asked, finally. ""I wouldn't know. Your family. Your relations. Whoever you wish to. You will be free to go as you please."" ""But I have no one. I have no one! I have..."" He began to sob. I felt his memories drift up like smoke from a chimney. The dark stretches you, pulling you apart until nothing is left. For now his memories stuck, allowing me only a touch. In that touch I saw the great sadness I had guessed. He was alone. The rains poured or the sun beat down in its pulsing heat. It did not matter. He walked endless, aimless roads. At nights he slept beneath the overpasses, and at day he begged with a scavenged cup. He did not look disabled, but life had been hard, pelting what malice it had at him. ""We don't care for your kind here!"" someone shouted. ""Go back home!"" And his thoughts he screamed back: ""But I have none! Can't you see?!"" Then the touch left me and we were in the dark again. ""Please save me,"" he said. ""There is nothing I can do,"" I said. ""I can only give a day. But that day will do you no good, I suspect."" He clung to my robes, holding on for support and hope. The fear in his eyes swam in the deep tears of despair. ""Help me. Please."" ""What do you want? My power can only give a day. And that day would not treat you kinder than those before."" I could see the reality hit him. There was no hope. A day of life; a lifetime of dark. ""Yes,"" he said. ""Give me the day then."" I looked at him and at those eyes. ""Why? Why would you want the day? The dark is scary, but it is not hostile. In the living they call you slurs and pelt you with stones."" ""They tell me to go home and to kill myself as well."" ""Then why would you want to go back?"" ""To go home once more. If there is any goodbye to be said, it is there."" ""Where is your home?"" As he said the words my mind could picture it. I saw it clearly, as though I lived there. But no one could live there. ""There is an overpass near Highway 61. There are trees nearby that shade the sun and the wall is thick so that it is cool and clean. I come to there often when I wander the middle country."" ""Why would you like to go there?"" ""You will not understand. But it is home and hope to me. There, I can think my big thoughts and dream my deluded dreams. There, where the sun does not hit as hard as in other places, I can feel like a man and not a dog."" I saw him there in life. I felt sorry for him. ""Would the dark not be better? You can dream here, for a while still."" ""I would prefer the light, if you would give it to me. You cannot understand, maybe, but I love living. When my mother was alive, it was something she stressed. The gift of living has stuck with me, though it left her. And though I may be a beggar to you, I enjoy every strained breath I take..."" Then death's reality hit him, I suppose, and his words changed to the past. In the moment he had forgotten the dark that surrounded him and his eyes were strong and bright and alive. But that moment had passed and he was quiet and afraid once more. Yet he continued nonetheless. ""I enjoyed every meal I ate,"" he said, ""though hunger would never truly go. Please, if you would, give me the light once more. As you say, it is only one day. I will dream in the dark forever more after."" And so I brought him back to the light. Slowly the sounds crept in and the warmth hit him and then he was there. The country was forested with a highway running alongside, far off into that horizon which so many vagabonds pilgrimage to. There were few cars then, and nearby was the overpass, a large grey thing, blackened from exhaust and graffiti. As a ghost I watched him as early morning dawned. There were birds and other morning creatures awakening. The dew sparkled far in a fading glint. Samuel walked to his home, his favorite home, and he sat on the ground leaning on the concrete support. Some cars passed by. One slowed and cursed him. ""Go home!"" they said. I saw the pain bounce off him and he stretched his feet and arms and closed his eyes. Death's cloud was still over him, but I knew his thoughts were light and free. He thought of living in a house. He thought of having a wife and wearing a suit and eating food slowly, with a knife and fork. In his thoughts he ate for pleasure, not to stave off the hunger which he was a vassal to. *I will have that one day,* he thought. I could feel his thoughts even then, and when he slipped into a dream, I saw the images pass by. He slept on a soft bed in his dream, sleeping like a man with no fears of the world, surrounded by some unknown serenity. In those shifting dreams he lay beside the wife he would never have, beneath the roof of a hopeless fantasy. He believed it all, I know. I know that for sure, as sure as I know anything. *Tomorrow, it will happen,* he told himself, even in sleep. *Tomorrow will be different.* The overpass trembled from the building traffic. When he awoke it was near night and near death. It did not deter him. *Tomorrow, with the sun, I will find someone who will hire me. I will get a job and save up for a house. Tomorrow, everything will change.* And the reality of the endless dark crossed his face for a moment, but it was passing and he pushed it away. *Tomorrow,* he thought. And in his last moments, he was happy. EDIT: Hey everyone, I created a subreddit called r/PanMan. It's empty right now, but I'm working on posting my stories on it. I'll also cross post all future WritingPrompts stories there as well.",1527
 Timothy cried out in fear as the,"Timothy cried out in fear as the bearded man leapt forward, presents spilling from his arms. The man bellowed as his robes caught on an ornament and the tree toppled over, crashing to the floor with a noise like a demented windchime. Timothy sprinted back up the stairs, eyes tearing in terror, and noted, with incongruous calm, that he really should have gone to the bathroom *before* checking to see his presents, and that at eleven he had no excuse for wetting himself. He made it to the landing just as the man below screamed a string of strange curses in an unknown language, a terrible sound made all the worse by the tinkling cracks of the christmas tree's demise. Dad burst out of the master bedroom, wild-eyed, clad only in white briefs and hurriedly inserting shells into his shotgun. ""What the hell, Tim?"" Dad shouted, as Mom poked her head out blearily, cinching shut her robe. ""There's a man downstairs!"" Tim shouted back, turning away to hide the wetness on his pajama pants. A wild yell like a bull steer being castrated belted up the stairs, and Dad cursed. ""Call the cops!"" Dad shouted, at no one in particular, and then stomped down the stairs three at a time, brandishing the shotgun in a pseudo-tactical display. Mom glanced down the stairs and then at Timothy, shaking her head. She beckoned him over and made shushing noises. ""I'm sorry, Mom,"" Timothy whimpered, tears welling up. He waddled to his mother's embrace and buried his head in her chest. ""It's all right,"" Mom whispered soothingly. An loud shouting match had broken out downstairs, and Tim popped his head up. ""Didn't Dad say to call the cops?"" ""Yes,"" Mom said, biting her lip. ""But all our phones are downstairs."" ""I think we need to go get them,"" Tim said, hoping his voice sounded braver than he felt. He thought he heard his Dad yelling ""jesus mary and joseph"" over and over again, which indicated that he had reached an apoplectic Dad-rage state where coherent thought was no longer possible, and knew deep down that his father was out of his depth. ""Change your pants,"" Mom said. She stood and started down the stairs. ""I'll go call."" Timothy ran into his room, quickly changed into a pair of dry shorts and then ran back to the landing. He paused there, and listened. The sounds of verbal combat had dimmed below where he could make out the individual words, but the tension was still evident. After a moment's hesitation, he took a deep breath and padded down the stairs. Dad was standing in the kitchen, shotgun trained on the bearded man, barking a low stream of threats. The living room was a disaster, lights and ornaments and fragments of the tree strewn about and hanging from every conceivable catch point, the bearded man trapped in the middle as if in an enormous LED-lit spiderweb. Somehow the sofa had been upended and a large gash torn in the drywall, insulation sticking out like cotton candy. Presents lay scattered about the kitchen and the living room, lost as the bearded man had fallen in the initial scramble, wrapping paper torn and crisp corners dented. Mom was hiding in the front hallway, speaking urgently into her cellphone. Tim edged past her and into the kitchen, trying to make out what the bearded man was saying. ""Every year,"" the bearded man grated. ""Every year. You've all forgotten what this day is about. What it all *means*. Santa Claus? A freaking tree?"" ""Uh huh,"" Dad said. The shotgun did not waver. ""What does that make you, the Grinch?"" ""Oh, fffuck that,"" the bearded man said, blowing out his cheeks on the *f*. ""Some asshole writes a story about roast beast and heart enlargement disease and you all think you understand the spirit of Christmas? I'll tell you something, I'll tell you what - ever heard 'put the Christ back in Christmas'? Huh? Ever hear that?"" ""Yeah,"" Dad said. ""Well *I'm Christ* you idiot! I'm putting *myself* back in Christmas, what do you think about that?"" ""Uh huh,"" Dad sighed. ""Honey, how long until the cops get here?"" ""Oh, it's the little bitch that peed himself,"" the bearded man sneered, seeing Timothy. Timothy stopped and peered out from behind his father, still blinking back tears. Dad glanced down and cursed. ""Son, get out of here,"" he said sternly. The bearded man took the opportunity to lunge forward, trailing tinsel and a string of lights, clawing for the shotgun. Dad took a step backward, shouting and tripping over Timothy. Timothy dove out of the way as Dad and the bearded man crashed to the floor, the shotgun skittering across the kitchen tiles. The bearded man got his hands around Dad's throat and bore down, mouth open in an insane grin. ""I will judge the living and the dead!"" he shrieked, the veins in his neck bulging out. Timothy scrambled over to the shotgun and grabbed it in shaking hands. He knew how it worked, but had never held or fired it before. It was heavier than he thought, and it was a challenge to bring it up to his shoulder in an unsteady point. Dad made choking sounds and pried at the bearded man's hands, but his face was turning purple and the bearded man showed no signs of letting go. Timothy sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger. The bearded man's face disintegrated and his body fell limply on top of Dad in a shower of blood and chunks of bone. The recoil knocked the gun out of Timothy's hands, sending him toppling back against the cabinets, and the blast half-deafened him. He blinked rapidly and worked his jaw, a sick feeling rising in his stomach as the enormity of what he had done began to surface. ""Shit,"" Dad coughed, pushing the corpse to the side and scrambling to his feet. ""Shit. Tim, are you ok?"" Timothy nodded once, but did not stand. His eyes were focused on the remnants of the bearded man's face, and he could not look away. Had he done that? ""Don't look, son,"" Dad said, crouching down in front of Timothy and wrapping him up in a big bear hug. ""You did the right thing."" Timothy began shivering uncontrollably, and Dad hugged him tighter, whispering softly. The ringing in Timothy's ears drowned most of it out, and he hugged his father tightly. He closed his eyes but behind the lids all he saw was the spray of blood. Had he done that? ""That was *not* the right thing,"" lisped the bearded man through broken teeth. Dad grabbed the shotgun and whirled. Timothy caught a glimpse of the bearded man, face a rapidly recomposing mass of mottled pink flesh, veins and bones appearing like a figurine melting in reverse, before Dad blocked his view once more. ""Think not that I am come to send peace on earth,"" the bearded man intoned. Dad racked the shotgun and brought it to his shoulder, but too late. The bearded man punched the gun from Dad's grasp and Timothy cried out in fear, his pants once again wet. The bearded man grabbed Dad's neck again and shoved him on to the counter-top, eyes regenerating to reveal a frenzied glare. ""I came not to send peace, but a sword!""",1229
 The fire had burnt to hot that,"The dense smoke filled the air, completely blotting out the high noon light of the sun and leaving only the light of the dancing flames below. Those flames, which only ten minutes ago were a failed attempt at a fireball spell by a foolish young sorcerer's apprentice. And yet the devastation was unimaginable. This forest went for such lengths that entire countries of elves lived within and housed some of the most dangerous and vicious beasts and monsters known to man. Even as the apprentice looked upon the land he could tell what was what despite the fact that the flesh was horrifically burnt and melted on each creature he saw. There was the unmistakable visage of elves, giants and hydras as he walked, even several adamantoises. The fire had burnt to hot that even monsters widely believed to be *immortal* had succumbed to the heat. And yet, in the completely burnt-out center of the forest the apprentice stood, both completely horrified and *awed* about what he saw. As well as the climbing number within his vision. *389*... *436*... *497*... With each second the number grew higher and he felt everything hurt. Was it a punishment from the gods for his actions? *601*... *678*... *702*... But as his body was horrifically twisted, forcing him to his knees he never felt any more incredible. 'Wh... What is this?' he cried out, his voice now far deeper than before, as if he had suddenly aged from prepubescence to adulthood. *767*... *834*... *888*... His entire frame of body was forced outward, growing in both form and power. His loose cloak had been burnt in the fire as well to show only his near-naked form aside from a cotton cloth he had wrapped around his nethers. His giant hands swam through the ashes and dirt like water as he tried to get a grip on something, his hulking frame easily splintering both unburned and charcoaled wood with ease. *912*... *945*... *992*... But his magical power... the power he was trying to build up, which his teacher had compared to a newborn chick against the might of a dragon... It was more than willing to force its way out of his eyes, blasting out lightning whenever they were open. His mere breaths swelled with pure, raw magic which was spreading an oasis of forest life outward and beyond. When the number reached *999*, he felt that power exploding as he screamed, his body thrown upward and floating in the air. It felt like the pain was suddenly gone, a sun bursting from within his skin. As he floated down, he contemplated what to do next. 'My master will be most furious with me, won't he?' the apprentice asked himself. No doubt this devastation had caused some sort of disaster for the elves. No... That wouldn't happen, he somehow assumed. There were three primary reasons he assumed so. 1; His master *hated* the elves. A species of pretentious, self-serving fools he called them. They'd rather allow the humans, dwarves and other intelligent species die rather than fight against the Dark Lord who supposedly devastated the world a thousand years ago. 2; His personal manta was, ""Power for Power's Sake"". It made him rather unpopular with others of his caliber, to the point that he was exiled from the human's capital cities and forced to build a tower deep within the Black Forest. 3; He was probably *dead* by this point. The young lad, no more than twelve, had no idea what he would even do now. He had ideas, as suddenly he felt like he knew things that simply shouldn't be there. Powerful spells of all manner of effects, fighting styles with weapons he had never touched or seen before outside of a few of his master's books. But he also noticed, during his trail of thought, that the figure was still climbing and was now well over *1500*. 'Well, haven't we put ourselves in a pickle,' a voice had said within his mind. He knew instantly what it was and had tried to ensnare the mind of whomever had invaded his own. 'I know where you are,' he declared. 'Show yourself.' 'Well, aren't we confident?' the stranger asked as he walked out of a portal directly before the lad. 'Xavier, right?' 'Who are you?' the boy asked. But something told him he already knew the answer, and he didn't need his impressive new seer powers or telepathy to tell him that. He was clearly a human like Xavier but was of similar size, similar power both physical and magical. 'What, did you think you were the first person who accidentally set a forest alight and massacred untold numbers of beings?' the stranger asked. 'I did it a thousand years ago.' '...You're the dark lord,' Xavier said in fear. 'A completely unjustified title, albeit not rightfully feared,' the stranger said as his adamantoise-scaled armor jostled with each of his enormous footfalls. 'But still, none had ever believed my pleas of innocent ignorance. But, child, I do not wish to be your enemy. As your level is so high you are no doubt the only other immortal being of human origin. At least I don't have to share immortality with those foolish elves.' 'Because I...' I began to say with severe regret. 'Perk up, Xavier,' he stated with a smile as he put an enormous hand upon my shoulder. 'You have surely seen that you can revive this devastated forest. The same is true of those within. I've already been casting the resurrection spells and made sure to have them follow the flames, so none of them have remained dead for long.' I merely sighed in relief. 'And my master?' 'You don't need me to tell you of that fool Balthazar,' he said. 'Sending a boy to train in fire magic in forestland... Foolish bastard.' In fact, I did know. He was perfectly fine, albeit scarred by the sensation of his death and trying to understand what had happened. And he wasn't the only one... 'An army is coming for me,' I said in shock. 'Thousands of elves.' 'Is that all?' the stranger asked in a bored voice. 'They'll not avenge their own murders, they'll simply be sending good men to die.' 'Then what am I to do?' I asked him. 'Fight them?' 'If you so choose,' the stranger said as he handed me an enormous blade. 'Or flee or... Dare I say it, enslave them by either force of will or by dominating their minds with magic. It is entirely your choice. Whatever you choose, allow me to offer you my support of friendship. You know where I live and you are always welcome.' He then disappeared through another portal as I pondered my next move. Surely this couldn't go well for anyone involved... --- **Chapter 2 coming soon**",1143
 Ramses woke up to damp hands,"I woke up to damp hands fretting over my forehead. A woman's face hovered above, her dark eyes filled with worry and fear. Scattered rays of sunlight pierced the reed-woven roof, making my eyeballs water. I rubbed the moisture away and tried to sit up, but the woman forced me down. ""Who are you?"" I asked. My tongue felt thick in my mouth. She gasped. ""I'm your mother."" I blinked. ""Oh. What's my name?"" My question made tears fall from her face. ""Ramses, my dearest Ramses, what's the matter with you? Was it the sun? Did you hit your head?"" Those words brought a phantom hammer blow upon my skull, but Ramses--or rather, I--suffered no such thing. Then I remembered. Wriggling out from beneath her and before she could catch me, I darted across the yard to peer over a low mud-brick wall. In the distance lay, partially obscured by hazy heat, lay a gigantic structure, a sharp-cornered mountain made by human hands. About one-third of its top was still missing, the titanic stone blocks used to build it still being ferried to the site by thousands of builders. And just today, one of them had had the unfortunate luck of being underneath a loose, tumbling block from the building. Seb was no more. Ramses, however, still had a full life ahead of him. ""Son, you really should lie down."" My mother came to my side and held up a sheet of papyrus filled with hieroglyphs. ""And I found this under you. When did you learn to write? Even I cannot read half of this strange ... contract."" I put on the biggest smile I could muster and took it from her hands. ""Only a child's toy."" *** The crowd below jeered as the soldier dipped a sponge into a jar of soured wine, the sort they sometimes splashed upon the wounds of prisoners they really hated. Lucky for me, they hadn't bothered to do anything more than to nail my hands to a wooden cross. The pain wasn't nice, but I had to tolerate it for only a few hours more, by my estimation. And then I'd be sitting in the lap of some fat midwife, or running around with children in a dusty desert market. Despite my general indifference to the idea of death, having seen more civilizations die through the years than I could remember, the man beside me was dealing with it a lot better than I'd expected. Sure, I'd heard the stories, but most of these prophet types broke down just like the next man when it came stoning time or something. I called out to him, ""Anyone you'd like me to look after once you're gone? Not meaning to brag or anything, but I'll still be here next week, in the body of a five year old."" He turned one bruised eye toward me. ""Thank you, but that won't be necessary. My people are in good hands. In fact ... I know all about your gift, Gideon Bar-Machum. All the way back to when you were Seb. Be grateful and do better in your next life."" Icy sweat trickled down the back of my neck. ""You're lying. Who do you think you are, talking to me that way? If you're really as they say you are, save yourself. Save us too, while you're at it."" ""Quiet!"" The other thief snapped, before striking up a conversation with the dying prophet. I drowned out their voices, thinking over what I'd just been told. He'd known. Somehow, he'd known. *** Not all my lives ended in wretched dishonor, of course. Gasping for breath, I pried at the arrow shaft sticking out of my chest. The pain was incredible, even for someone accustomed to it as to an old friend. Lying there on the forest floor, I suddenly thought back to a previous life, when I'd befriended an elephant and lived almost my whole life in the depths of a rainforest. It had been peaceful. I'd been happy. My companion dashed up to me, stricken with horror. He threw his bow aside and bent to clasp my hand. ""Benedict, I'm so sorry, I thought you were the deer!"" I coughed, blood pouring from my lips. ""Thomas ... look after ..."" Sometimes, I died from entirely preventable accidents. *** ""Who are you?"" Thomas cried, shying away in his hovel, his dirty grey hair and beard almost perfectly disguising his face. But I remembered. ""An old friend, come to settle a debt,"" I said, sweeping my feathered hat from head as I dropped a clinking bag onto his bed. ""I have come to know that my dear sister Mary has grown up to be a beautiful, graceful, kind and loving woman, soon to be wed to a good man in her hometown, all because her foster father had been all those things to her, and more. Thank you."" Thomas whispered, ""Benedict?"" But I swept out of his home without giving an answer. *** Many might think, in the record of my life story, that war, accidents and murder killed me more than any other thing. But those people never quite understood what it was like living during a plague. On occasion, I lived for less than a year after my rebirth. *** ""What's that you got there, Davout?"" Jacques asked me. With a start, I quickly rolled up the piece of paper I'd been staring at. Of late, during the evening lulls when the cannon-fire died down, and the regiments could finally give in to their exhaustion, I had taken to reading it again, even though I knew the words by heart. ""A letter to me,"" I said simply. ""From whom?"" A sly grin grew on his face. ""Surely not Emmanuelle? She made her mind very clear, last time we saw her in Paris."" I frowned at his tone, but my thoughts turned all the same toward a rosy-cheeked girl with hair like gold and eyes the color of a summer sky. She had said she wouldn't wait for a soldier--for sorrow lay that way, and she could never take that path. An urge grew in me, to rip the letter to shreds and scatter it into our campfire. Let it end here. Let me go to Emmanuelle, and we could retreat into the country, and give the rest of the world away to the warring powers. But as always, as though my fingers had their own mind, I tucked the letter safely into my pouch. There had been so many Emmanuelles. I'd had to bury so many of them, even after they'd buried me. *** The offensive began at dawn. I rose from the trench, howling for blood alongside my brethren. Our tanks began rolling out as well, tearing across the gutted terrain with frightening speed, their armaments already in full blast. On the fog-covered horizon, I spied the shifting forms--so many of them--of the British soldiers advancing on us. Tiny flashes of light signaled the discharge of their weapons, and I answered in kind. Then something exploded under my feet and I knew no more. *** ""Another one, huh?"" I emptied the rest of my coffee in a single pull just before sorting out a pile of documents that my boss had just dumped onto my table. All around me, fingers clacked on keyboards. I shivered as the echo of machinegun fire played in my head, and forced myself to read the applications we'd received. About halfway through the pile, I found a handwritten, crumpled letter addressed to one Sebastian Morris. My knotted hands shook as I held it closer to my face to read. The words had certainly come a long way from the pictures of birds and grass and suns, but the message was the same. I glanced over the top rims of my glasses at a photograph occupying a corner of my desk. Held in a simple wooden frame, it showed a man approaching his fifties with his arms around a similarly aged, somewhat dumpy woman. Standing around them, their four children--from teenaged Emma to uni grad Tommy--were showering them with a pile of rubbish like confetti. Everyone was laughing. I remembered that day at the studio--we'd spent hours trying to clean up the mess which the photographer hadn't known about and hadn't been pleased about. I remembered more than that. My wedding day with Sheila. Each child's birth. Jack's visit to the White House and how he'd met the president--he hadn't stopped talking about that for a week. The family's trip to Switzerland to celebrate Tommy's graduation--I'd almost broken a leg trying to ski after almost five centuries being out of practice. There were painful, heartbreaking moments inside there too, of course. Children falling sick. Being bullied at school. Fights, quarrels. Sheila's brief stay in the hospital after crashing her car. God, so many. Yet I knew nothing would hurt more than standing outside the gates of the cemetery, watching as they put my last baby into the ground. I'd never really had to go through that. And I never want to. ""What's that, Seb?"" my colleague Paul asked, as I ripped the letter up and threw it into a bin. ""Nothing. Just a silly letter someone wrote in,"" I said. *** *Thanks for reading, hope that turned out ok. If you liked it, check out my for more stories!* *Edit: made a little change in something to maintain consistency*",1576
 Santa removed his spectacles and p,"Santa removed his spectacles and patted his pockets until he found his favourite handkerchief -- the red one, with S.C lovingly stitched in white at the bottom corner. It was fraying around the edges, just like his relationship with the woman who had given it to him. Where had the excitement gone? They used to fly, snuggled close together, high into the Arctic sky, as the stars above them shone brighter than any city had ever dared. They used to make love on the backseat of the sleigh, as the reindeer lolloped and chewed on the fluffy clouds. But that was long ago. A different life, he sometimes thought. The closest they had come to making love in the last few years, was when Santa had been choking on a turkey bone, and Mrs Claus had had to perform the Heimlich manoeuvre. He hadn't found it in the least erotic back then, but as time pressed on, the memory was becoming increasingly more so. If it wasn't for the damn sherry! That sweet, wonderful sherry. No -- he hadn't touched a drop for two months, and wasn't about to start. He let out a long breath, then with slow precise circles, he wiped away the steam from his spectacles, careful not to leave a single smudge mark. He placed them back above his nose and leaned against his chair. He picked up the letter-opener in one hand, while shuffling through the big black mail bag with the other. He picked one out at random. A soft, white envelope. How unusual. ""Oh dear, oh dear,"" he muttered, as he read the letter it contained. Once finished, he placed it down on the desk and took a few deep breaths. *It couldn't have been. No. Absurd!* He rummaged in the secret cabinet under his desk, until he found the red liquid -- vintage 1892. A fine year. He popped off the cork and took a long swig of the sweet sherry. Then, he replaced the top and put the bottle back. He'd ignore it. That's what he'd do. He picked up another envelope and tore into it. *Transformers*. *Nintendo*. Seemed like things hadn't changed in thirty years. He ticked the letter off and scribbled his signature, before popping it into a glass container and sending it down the chute for the elves to collect. He'd meant to pick up another envelope, but nothing was arriving between his fingers. He looked down, to see his hand hovering over the same, soft-white letter. He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then suddenly snatched the letter from the table, and read it again. ""Oh dear, oh dear,"" he panted. ""What am I going to do?"" Mrs Claus, who happened to be walking by at the time, peeked into the office. ""Everything okay, dear?"" ""...just the stress of Christmas, my love. It will be an especially busy one this year."" ""Are you sure? You don't look well. You're sweating in that way you do when you've eaten one too many minced-pies."" She narrowed her eyes and began scanning the room, looking for evidence. Santa dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief; he was indeed drenched. ""It's just from stress. Besides, it gives me a healthy shine,"" he mumbled, ""like the reindeer."" He paused for a moment. ""Dear, will you come in here -- I could do with your opinion."" Mrs Claus frowned, then trotted into the room, her eyes still darting about this way and that, searching for any tell-tale tinfoil. She sniffed. ""You better not have been drinking! Or I swear-"" ""The door, please."" ""Oh,"" said Mrs Claus, her frown changing into a salacious smile as she closed the office door. ""Is that why you're so hot? Well, about time!"" ""No, it's not that."" ""Oh,"" she said, disappointed but hardly surprised. It's not like he was ever up to the task these days, anyway. ""I didn't want to tell you,"" he said. ""I didn't want you to fret. But... well, read this,"" Santa said, passing the letter to his wife. Her face went pale, as the blood drained from it. When finished, she placed the letter back onto her husband's desk. ""Well?"" said Santa. ""A hoax."" ""A hoax?"" ""Well, it must be. Someone pretending it was meant for Satan, someone just trying to scare you."" Santa started to run a thoughtful hand through his beard, but it got stuck in a knot half way down. He tried to pull his hand out, but only made things worse and soon half his arm was lost in the bristly jungle. ""You know better than to do that,"" Mrs Claus said, tapping an impatient foot on the ground. ""Oh, for Heaven's sake""--she began walking around the table--""here, let me."" Together, they slowly worked his arm out of the thick, grey nest. For a moment there was silence. ""I think it's real. Feel the paper,"" said Santa. ""I did feel it, I don't--"" ""It's angel wing."" ""No... it can't be,"" replied his wife, now starting to sweat herself. ""It is. And the name, the signature. *Belphegor*. That's the name of one of his generals. And then, there's the matter of the red ink..."" Mrs Claus hand's trembled as she took the letter again, rereading it very carefully. > Greetings from Heaven, lord Santa. I write to you with wonderful news -- Heaven has finally fallen! Hallelujah and praise the -- oh wait, ahahaha! The Angel's will rot in their cells until you arrive and decide their fate. God is in Hell-Fury chains -- I can hear him rattling them impotently, even as I write. Once you arrive and oversee our great work, I will prepare our army for the final mission: the extermination of humanity. > Greatly anticipating your arrival. > Belphegor Santa reached into the cabinet, pulled out the bottle and handed it to Mrs Claus. She looked at him suspiciously for a moment, then took three long swigs. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and clanked the bottle down onto the table. ""Heaven has fallen to the Devil. And humanity is next,"" said Santa. ""It's hopeless. It's all over. It's all over!"" ""Calm yourself, dear,"" said his wife, slapping his cheek and causing it to become even brighter than before. ""...thank you, sweetie,"" he said, nursing his cheek. ""I perhaps overreacted."" ""This letter,"" mused Mrs Claus, as she placed it back onto the table, ""was meant for Satan."" ""Yes..."" ""So, that means he hasn't read it yet. He doesn't *know* Heaven has fallen, yet."" ""No. Not yet."" ""Don't you see, sweetheart?"" she said, her eyes wide. ""See what?"" ""That gives us *time*! A chance."" ""You don't mean..."" Mrs Claus nodded. ""We couldn't possibly!"" ""Why not? We have the factories. We have the elves. God needs *our* help!"" ""It would take weeks for the factories to be able to start manufacturing weapons. To train the elves. To ready the reindeer for war. We'd miss Christmas!"" ""But, it can be done?"" ""I suppose it can,"" he agreed, running a hand through his beard again. This time, he made it to the end without it getting snagged. He let out a surprised, satisfied grunt. ""There was a time,"" said Mrs Claus, ""when Christmas meant more than spoiled children getting an extra present or two. When *we* meant something."" ""...hope,"" he said, his eyes glazing. ""We meant *hope*."" ""Soon -- when those Hell spawns come for them -- children across the globe are going to need *hope* more than ever before. You'll be that shining red star in the sky that they'll be cheering for."" They were both silent for a moment. ""We might die,"" he said. ""We might not,"" she replied. Santa looked up at the ceiling, his mouth dropping open slightly. What was the point of him living anyway, if humanity fell? Mrs Claus dropped a hand onto his thigh; he jumped. ""Belphegor will write Satan a new letter,"" said Mrs Claus slyly, ""while you prepare the elves."" ""Belphegor? Why would he write another letter?"" ""I mean *me*, you handsome, dimwitted dolt. I will pretend to be Belphegor, and inform Satan that the battle was a disaster. To not bother going up there."" ""My goodness! Did I... did I ever tell you that you're both beautiful and brilliant? That might just buy us the time we need. If we can free Heaven before he arrives..."" ""Yes,"" said Mrs Claus, putting a leg over her husband and straddling him, ""it's almost time for you to do some real sleighing."" She winked. ""Almost."" Mr Claus' eyes sparked like they hadn't done in years and he felt an odd sensation. He would free the Angels. He would save God and liberate Heaven. He would go to war with the Devil himself! But first... He leaned forward and pressed his lips against his wife's.",1474
 The gathered crowd was a ragtag,"The rowdy crowd rabbled. They rabbled in a rowdier manner than any rowdy crowd had rabbled before. ""Order! Order within this hall!"" shouted Mr. Hanner, the mayor of Stubbornsville. His voice reverberating around the rickety old hall. The gathered crowd was a ragtag bunch. Mainly dressed in old potato bags, mud, and, in some cases, old potato bags made of mud. They were also difficult to control and were prone to mob fever. But the rowdiness was quickly put to bed when the doors to the hall burst open. A woman, atop of the tallest horse the villagers had ever seen, entered and slowly trotted towards the front of the hall stopping just short of the stage. The lady unseated and descended from her high horse, slowly walking up the steps to the front of the stage. ""Greetings, peasants,"" said the lady, lifting her arms aloft to greet the crown in a demeaning manner. ""I come from the future and I'm here to tell you just how much better I am than you."" The crowd didn't react. They just looked on confused. ""Thought the whole future thing would have got a bigger reaction but let's move on,"" said the woman, pacing around the stage. ""How can I be a superior person just like you, I hear you ask. Well, I have one word for you: Veganism,"" said the woman, in an incredibly condescending and preachy tone. ""Are you the person who has been putting all those pictures of gross dead animals on the bulletin board?"" asked one of the gathered peasants. ""The pictures with the words on top and bottom."" ""Yes, that was I,"" announced the lady, clearly proud of the fact. ""I assume this has already converted hundreds of you to my way of thinking as it is a fool-proof strategy in the year 2017."" ""The pictures on the bulletin board worked on me,"" admitted Maureen, fourth row middle of the isle, wearing a muddy potato sack. ""I could only stomach half of my dog after seeing one of the pictures."" The lady looked towards the Mayor, ""Wait, why are your people eating dogs?"" ""Why are you eating your dogs, Maureen?"" asked the Mayor, looking to get to the bottom of this case. ""The dog was organic if that makes a difference,"" said Maureen. ""No,"" said the lady. ""No that does not make a difference."" ""Are cats OK to eat if your veganism?"" another voice queried from the crowd. ""I tend to eat cats."" ""He really does eat a lot of cats,"" added the Mayor. ""No. Why would cats be OK if dogs are not? Veganism is about not eating any meat at all thus making you a superior person,"" explained the woman. ""I don't understand,"" shouted a voice from the crowd. ""What part do you not understand?"" asked the vegan lady. The peasant woman in the crowd stood up, ""I don't understand how not eating meat makes you a better person."" ""Humans do not need to consume meat,"" explained the vegan lady. ""And by not eating meat, animals get to live free from cages allowing people like me to feel smug and better than others."" ""Can we eat animal if they are eating us?"" asked the peasant lady who was still standing. ""A bear stole my child. He knocked at door pretending to be kind neighbour. But it was all lie. A dirty bear lie."" ""There's just no way that's true,"" said the woman on stage. ""I'm afraid it's true. It was easily a top 5 case of child being eaten by a cunning bear,"" said the Mayor, following up. ""Some actually said top 3 but it was never agreed upon."" ""Listen, we're getting off track here, the idea is to not eat any animals under any circumstance. That is what separates us vegans from those who are quite clearly below us."" ""Are there any other ways we can feel superior to others while still eating meat?"" asked the Mayor. ""I just don't feel like veganism is going to work in this village."" The lady on stage began to pace, deep in thought. ""The issue is, it's difficult to be smugger than being vegan but there is something else. By a show of hands, how many of you exercise?"" Around twenty hands went up in to the air. ""So about a quarter of you exercise. That's good. Now, how many of you make sure you tell others about your exercising?"" Every hand fell back down. ""You see,"" said the lady, ""how do you expect to feel better than others if you're not obnoxiously showing everyone how much better than them you are?"" ""My name Boris. I feel better after run,"" said Boris, shouting from the back. ""Come on up, Boris,"" said the vegan lady, with Boris obliging. ""When did you go on your run?"" ""Today,"" replied Boris. ""And how many people are aware you went on your run?"" ""Zero."" ""Boris, what is the point of improving yourself if you aren't forcing it down the throats of people who aren't bothered? You're missing a key element of being better than everyone else. Take this piece of paper and write 'Wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't get out and run every day. Attack the day!'"" Boris wrote the message. ""Now pin it to that wall over there."" Boris walked over to the wall in the hall next to the stage and pinned up the message. ""Everyone look at that message,"" shouted the lady. Everyone turned to view the message. ""Now, Boris, how do you feel knowing all of these people now know you went on your run?"" Boris looked at the crowd viewing his message, ""It makes me feel above them."" ""That's it!"" shouted the lady, ""This is what I'm telling you. It's not the exercise, the unwillingness to eat meat, or the genuine efforts to improve yourself that's important; it's letting other people know you're better than them that is the key."" ""I get it!"" shouted a familiar voice from the crowd. ""So all I have to do is let other people know I have eaten their dog."" **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.",1046
" ""All in favour of sparing her","""All in favour of sparing her life, step forward!"" I looked around the village square, but no one moved a muscle. The seconds rolled by, and the hope I held in my heart crumbled, only to be replaced by a sharp tang of bitterness, resentment. There was Peter, whose fever had yielded to her medicine, but he kept his eyes down, lips tightly pursed. I saw Nathan too, whose son may never have returned from his ventures into the forests if she had not tracked the child down, but he was as silent, unmoving as Peter was. Old Man Bosworth, the twins Jaina and Jerry, Valerie, Daniel... they too, everyone who had ever benefited in one way or the other from her help, all suddenly bereft of courage, unwilling to stand up for their benefactor. The bloody ingrates. ""Do you see how everyone fears you, woman?"" asked Chief Lanson, shaking his staff at the figure kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind her. ""We tolerated you, gave you a place to call home, and this is how you repay us? By bringing this evil magic into our village?"" ""I am not evil,"" Matilda said, her voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. ""I have done no harm to the village. I have only helped."" ""Helped? Helped?"" said Chief Lanson, his voice rising in anger. He turned to the crowd, stretched out his arms, then said, ""Evil fears the light, foul creature. I shall show the village proof, proof of your heresy! I will show them the forbidden evils we found in your hut! Come, show them!"" Fred and Richard, two of the strongest farmers in the village, retrieved a wooden chest from within Chief Lanson's hut. They struggled even though the load was shared between them, and after they placed the evidence in front of Matilda, they took hurried steps backwards, leaving Chief Lanson the honour of opening the chest. He rummaged briefly, then retrieved what appeared to be a marble slate, dark and smooth on one side, white and pristine on the other. He held it triumphantly in the air, revelling in the reactions he was getting. ""Has anyone ever seen a rock like this?"" he asked. ""I promise you, no one has!"" ""It's not right of you to have gone into my hut like that,"" said Matilda. ""Oh? And if we had not done so, if we had not suspected you of carrying out the dark one's work, would we ever have discovered foul things such as this?"" ""I don't know what you are talking abou- "" Chief Lanson squeezed the edges of the slate, and one side of it flared to life, emitting vibrant colours, as if someone had managed to trap a rainbow in stone. The crowd gasped, and I saw some of the adults shielding their children's eyes. ""If we had not been suspicious, if we had not known to spy on you, would we have discovered your secrets, witch?"" said Chief Lanson. He turned the slate towards us, then said, ""Listen! Listen with your own ears! This is her! The devil masquerading as a human! Listen to the unholy mission she is on!"" He needn't have commanded us in that manner. We were enraptured, spellbound by the moving images on the slate, of what appeared to a... doppelganger of Matilda, staring out at us, speaking to us. I heard whispers rise up, words like ""impossible"", ""there's two of her"", ""a soul, trapped in marble"". We fell silent though, once the Slate-Matilda began speaking. ""42nd entry - no new developments in weeks. The search goes on,"" Slate-Matilda said. Her unruly hair was tied back, and there was a steadiness to her voice, a clarity to her eyes which wasn't usually there. This was not the Matilda we knew, the soft-minded, chattering and hyperactive Matilda we saw roaming the village from morning to night. It began to dawn on me that it was all an act. ""I don't understand!"" said Slate-Matilda, throwing up her hands. ""The historical records are clear! The Influencer came from these parts, and I have narrowed it down to this village! I did not travel this far back in time in vain! Yet... yet I have met with all of them, talked to each and every one, but no one, no one stands out! I have run my tests, checked my equipment over and over, but still, not a single one displays even a modicum of psychic powe-"" ""And these are the witch's tools, by her own admission!"" yelled Chief Lanson. He kicked the chest over, and its contents spilled across the ground, next to Matilda. An excited hum rose amongst the crowds as they feasted their eyes on the unnatural objects, the shiny, glinty collection of baubles created by the devil's own hands. ""Answer me!"" Chief Lanson continued, striking his staff into the ground for emphasis. ""Tell me why I should not have you burned here, right where you are!"" Matilda raised her head, stared straight at the crowd. Most of them still had the decency to shuffle and squirm, but still no one intervened. ""I have done no harm to anyone,"" said Matilda. ""It is true, I kept secret the real reason why I was here, and I did not tell anyone why it is that I know what I know. But I have only meant well. I have shared my medicines, I have imparted my knowledge... I only asked for a bit of solace as I conducted my research. I meant no harm."" ""Enough! Stop your lies, right this instant!"" Chief Lanson said. He struck with his staff, hitting Matilda on the shoulder. I saw her tumble forwards, her forehead striking the ground. ""To me! Bring the torches! We will burn her where she is!"" Fred and Richard complied, and as they inched towards Matilda, torches in hand, blank expressions on their faces, I waited again, hoping someone would do something, anything. I pulled on the sleeves of those around me, begging them to step forward. But they shrugged me off, transfixed. No one was going to listen to a boy who was still too young to shave. More importantly, no one was going to listen to their hearts, their consciences. I heard Matilda cry out, though from pain or fear I was not sure. The torch was inches away, but Matilda could not twist free, as tight as her bonds were. I grit my teeth, then did a quick headcount. Two dozen, maybe more. There were children too, and if I had more time I would have thought twice about whether they were as sturdy as the adults, whether they could recover as quickly. But I was out of time, and so I stepped forward, clenched my eyes, focused on a single word, and poured every shred of energy I had into it. I had never exerted myself so much before. *SLEEP* I knew it had worked when I heard the steady thuds of comatose bodies hitting the floor. I opened my eyes, and I saw that some of Matilda's other possessions on the ground had lighted up, flashing an incandescent array of colours. I pushed past the crowd, pulled Matilda up, shifted her weight onto me. She struggled to keep her eyes open. ""I... I was right..."" she said, smiling. ""It... it is real..."" ""Later,"" I said. ""We have to go, now. There's a lot we have to talk about."" To better cope with Matilda's weight, I borrowed Chief Lanson's staff. From the way he was sleeping peacefully on the ground, it didn't seem like he needed it. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1274
 The first peaks of Lankar sh,"The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze. ""We've made it,"" Keldar said. ""Not yet."" Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all. None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river. Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined. ""I guess it does exist,"" Alton said. He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch. *It feels like him,* he thought. And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness. ""Yes,"" Annastatia said. She looked at Haldar. ""What?"" said Keldar. She shook her head. They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River. *The price was worth it,* Keldar thought. He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure. *Is it?* He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk. ""I've never been so far,"" said Alton. They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go. ""We're alive though,"" Keldar said. ""Yes,"" Annastatia said. They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true. ""I made it,"" Haldar said. ""Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."" In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness. In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him. His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm. ""Help!"" Haldar cried. Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated. ""Help!"" She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire. And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do. Then they were three. But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different. ""I left more of my soul there than you,"" he said. They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done. Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come. Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill. ""Statia,"" Alton said. He was stretching. ""Yes?"" ""I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."" ""Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"" ""No. No it was..."" She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her. Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound. The dream faded and she recoiled. ""I... I have no remedy,"" she said. She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten. *He means me no malice. Not like his...* Victim. But she could not say the word. Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder. ""How is your wound?"" ""Better now,"" Haldar said. *He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.* Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night. ""What's there again?"" Haldar asked. He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart. *Never have I seen such beauty as her.* And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world. *But she is Keldar's.* And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up. *I should kill them and have her to myself.* But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel. *They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.* ""Lankar,"" Alton said. ""The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."" ""It can change the world physically?"" ""No,"" said Annastatia. ""But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."" ""It is like the Grey River then?"" Haldar asked. ""Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."" Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them. *The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought. Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her. *I am an evil man,* he thought. She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers. *If that be true, then so are we all my love.* He squeezed her hand. *What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.* *The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.* ""I like you,"" Alton said to Haldar. ""I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."" And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm. ""I like you too,"" he said. ""All of you."" ""Then may the Spring save us,"" Keldar said. And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*",1454
 Confoundus tried to appear defeated,"""Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers"" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it. It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time. As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart. Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching ""*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*"" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge. Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat. Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage. Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day. He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear. All but one, Artillerella. Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it. ""NO, how can this BE?"" he'd said, theatrically. ""My powers"" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman ""Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."" And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again. And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, ""defeated"" him. And again. And again and again and again. This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure. ""Best one yet"" he thought to himself ""she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore. His daydream was shattered. ""Confoundus, you pathetic old shite"" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him. ""I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."" Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers. ""Shimmer!"" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away. ""Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"" Shimmer laughed. ""The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly."" Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light. ""Don't know if you've noticed"" Artillerella said with a smile ""But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger."" there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much. ""Now do what you do best, Shimmer"" Artillerella said confidently ""And run on home"" ""OK that's it"" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus. ""Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."" ""Enough!"" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands. Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger. Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win. Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away. ""My love"" Confoundus said, his voice cracking. ""My love why did he do this... why?"" The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement. EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them. EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality.",1145
" Before her, no hero had never","Part 1 | --- Winning is everything. At least that's what I had thought until I met Sasha. Before her, no hero had never lived past our encounter. Union City had fallen completely under my control and within two days of meeting her, I had given all of that up. Sasha was not powerful. She could move faster, punch harder, and jump higher than most, but so could every other hero I faced. If she had a true superpower, it would be her luck. How else could she find the right words at the right time to save her life? ""C'mon,"" she had growled the first time we met. Thunder had rumbled like God growling with her. I wouldn't have minded. It would've made an even playing field. Mud had clung to her face as rain pattered her hair. Blood had seeped from the stomach wound I had given her. I had never gotten one myself, but I had given plenty. They looked like they really hurt. ""It wouldn't take too much for me to just leave, to turn around and let you be,"" I had told her. At one point, that had been my favorite phrase, a victorious remark at the end of battle. Lately, it had gotten rather tiring. Everyone always responded with different variations of living to fight another day. ""You think I'm done?"" she had said, one hand pushing against the ground, the other clutching her wound. I had stared at her. Never before had I met such an idiotic hero. ""You think you can still fight?"" She had glared at me, the edges of her lips curled to a dagger's point. ""Who else will?"" And those had been the words. I had gotten tired of the same battles with the same heroes and the same victory speeches. No hero had ever stood up to me past this point and I doubted any hero ever would again. So for the first time in my life, I had spared a hero. I had walked away as her life had slowly drained out of her wound and she had crumpled back into the mud. --- The Girl that Survived. That's what the newspapers called her. According to Union Daily, she was transported to a hospital where the doctors had managed to stitch her up. Unfortunately, they didn't think she would make it. I sighed. Perhaps she wasn't so special after all. With nothing else to do, I decided to rob a bank. Metro Bank was Union City's largest bank and the only one I had yet to rob. I had planned on making an event out of this one, saving it for some special hero, but that girl was currently in a hospital dying from wounds I had given her. So might as well cross this one off my list. ""Morning,"" I announced, slamming open the doors. ""I'm here to take everything."" The security guards froze, their eyes wide and faces pale. There were four of them in total and each held an assault rifle, their fingers itching on the trigger. ""Now I wouldn't do that if I were you,"" I told them. ""No hero will save you now."" To my surprise, they listened. All four dropped their weapons and put up their hands. For a second, I couldn't breathe. I simply stared. ""Sir,"" the bank teller said, snapping me out of my stupor. ""No need to break the vault, I'll open it for you."" I followed her as she opened the vault and stepped aside. Inside the vault wasn't just cash, but also security boxes, each one containing the blood, sweat, and tears of a Union City citizen. And they just gave it to me. I turned to question the teller but she was already back on the main floor, hands on her head and nose to the ground. ""What the hell?"" I muttered, half-heartedly grabbing a brick of cash. The biggest, best guarded bank in Union City and this was what its robbery had become. Pathetic. ""Stop!"" a familiar voice screamed. My lips curled into a smile and I turned to see Union City's last hero. ""If it isn't The Girl who Survived,"" I said, clapping my hands. ""I go by Sasha."" She limped toward me, a knife in one hand while balancing against the wall with the other. ""You're going to fight me in that state,"" I said, my brow crunched. ""Should I be impressed or insulted?"" She returned me the indomitable look that first convinced me to spare her and a crescent grin cut across her lips. ""Why not both?"" And she charged. Her movements came sluggish. Every strike was telegraphed and seemed to hurt her just to swing it. After a minute, without even fighting back, she was on one knee, her teeth grinding together as she clutched her stomach wound. ""You really are a lunatic,"" I said, stepping up to her. ""You have that kind of wound and you want to stop me?"" ""Yeah, I'm the lunatic,"" she said, shaking her head. ""Not the bank teller who gave you access into these vaults. Not the security guards who refused to lift a finger to protect what Union City had trusted with them. Not you who robs banks even though you never pay for anything in the first place!"" She sprung up, blade-first. I dodged the strike and returned one to her stomach. The blow forced a yelp out her throat before she crumpled to the floor, grabbing at her wound. Even I had felt the pain in that one. ""You hesitated,"" she said, shaking. ""You've gone soft."" I forced a laugh. ""I'm just playing with my food."" She flung her blade my way. I jerked my head to the side just as its tip grazed by. It stuck into the wall with a metallic thud and ring. A drop of blood crawled down my cheek. ""Too bad,"" she said, standing on trembling legs. ""Because I won't hesitate. I promise you that."" For the second time today, my breath stopped. It would've taken only a single blow to finish this, to completely rule Union City, but I couldn't do it. If Union City had anything of value left, it was glaring right at me. --- The Girl who Won. Whoever was writing the Union Daily read too much Harry Potter. But it was true. Sasha had forced my retreat and defended the contents of Union Bank. The doctors were still unsure of her recovery, but I was certain she'd be back. She had promised. A girl like her would never break a promise. I took on a disguise and waited. I didn't rob banks, didn't get into fights, I even stopped at crosswalks to wait for the flashing white stick figure. Every now and then, I would pay Sasha a visit. I would peer through hospital windows, listen to the hushed conversations of doctors, and even admitted myself to take the room next to her's. ""Mr. Dunley,"" the nurse said, chart in hand. ""You have a special visitor."" ""Visitor?"" Given that Mr. Dunley was a made-up name with made-up friends and family, I doubted anybody would want to see me. ""Yeah,"" Sasha said, stepping into the room and dragging along an IV drip. ""Could you give us some privacy?"" she asked the nurse. ""Of course."" The nurse nodded and left. Sasha closed the door behind her. ""What is this?"" she asked me. ""You getting lonely now?"" ""I'm sorry,"" I told her in a feeble voice. ""I'm not sure you have the right person. I think I've seen you in the papers, though I haven't done much reading lately on account of the glaucoma in the right eye."" ""Cut the shit."" ""How'd you know?"" ""You're not half as clever as you think you are."" ""Fooled everyone else."" ""Anyone can fool these idiots,"" she said. ""What are you doing here?"" ""Though I'd pay The Girl who Won a visit. See how you're healing up."" ""You stalk all the heroes?"" She slipped a knife out of her hospital gown. ""Or do you just have a crush?"" I chuckled. The girl had an IV drip still plugged into her body and she had the audacity to challenge me. ""You know you can't win, right? You never could."" ""You want me to look away while you do as you please? It would be smart wouldn't it? To be just like the security guards at Union Bank. I'd certainly live longer. But if you're right and I'm losing anyways, I'll do so on my feet."" ""Wouldn't you rather live to fight another day?"" ""Then who'll fight today?"" A smile stretched through my face. My fingers trembled with excitement. ""You're something else."" Right then, I understood why villains had rivals. It had nothing to do with a power stalemate. There would always be one more powerful than the other. It was love. --- Part 1 | --- --- /r/jraywang for 200+ stories!",1492
" ""Well, looks like you finally","Here's the thing about goodies: they tend to lose. It is with that knowledge that I had smirked up at the man who caught me. ""Well, looks like you finally got me, David."" Flashing my jackal's grin. I had figured out his secret identity long ago, and angering him with his true name pleased me. It was why I had chosen my villain alias: Goliath. ""Looks like I did."" There had not been a dent in his composure as the agents dragged me away. The responsibility of being the hero. And the weakness. But I knew my smirk had angered him. A smirk can contain many things. Cruelty - God knows I've taken joy in being the sadistic fuck, ever since I was tearing up plush toys in kindergarten. Defiance. As I had always defied Society and its ridiculous merits. Love. Not that David would ever acknowledge it, oh no, not the *great* Steeljaw. But he knew. His chiselled features had given nothing as I stared from the police vehicle, but his eyes always told the truth. Yes, I smirked all the way down the street, long after he was gone from sight. It was at this point that my cellmate interrupted me. ""You're saying ye *loved* the bastard?"" ""Yeah, what's it to ya?"" I snarled at him. He backed down quickly. They all knew I had some of my tech hidden away, even here, in jail. Some fuckwad with a high position had seen me put in a male facility. Resentment over a killed family, no doubt... I didn't keep tabs. But it was a pointless revenge. The inmates here would never touch me. Even these buffoons were too clever for that. ""Nuthin, Goliath, nuthin."" A glint in his eye. ""But if ye loved him, why didn't ye join him?"" Because I'm fucked up. Because love is, to me, little more than lust and pain, and pain means fighting. But I couldn't say that. ""Because heroes lose."" My cellmate nodded sagely at that, like he was some armchair philosopher and not the vermin of the street. ""Not that outcomes matter to me all that much. I chose this path because I *like* it."" I was rotten from the start. ""Good and evil aside, when you play the hero, you take on responsibility. And that's where the weakness lies. How I've always been able to play him. How I'm playing him, even now."" My cellmate's eyes lit up at that, scummy eagerness in his voice. ""You hatchin' an escape, Goliath? You can tell ol' Scrimshaw, he can help."" ""Your help is the only reason I'm talking to you right now,"" I said, not bothering to hide my disgust. ""Listen, Scrimshaw, I know all about your little gift. I have my tech, you have your... illusions."" My cellmate nodded, dumb pride on his scabby face. He had been a painter once, a good one, before he got hooked on the meth. He was well on his merry way to the sewers, to die with the other drugrats... when some opiate experiments unleashed something in him. The ability to draw shadows, breathing, moving... living. ""I've smuggled some charcoal in for you, Scrimshaw,"" I whispered, moving closer to his ear. Seductive. ""And crystal, if you do the job right. You'll like that, won't you?"" *You meth-head.* Scrimshaw nodded eagerly. ""Tonight, you will draw some of your shadows, create some chaos, while I drill away in here. If you behave..."" I left the rest unsaid. Druggies don't need more than a hint when it comes to using. -- That night, I headed back to my cell when the alarm started. I quickly used the embedded receivers under my skin, activating the mine-bots below my cell floor to resume their digging. A hole quickly opened up in the stone, unheard over all the noise, my mine-bots crawling out. Strangely, Scrimshaw was nowhere to be seen... but that didn't stop me. I jumped in. ""Fuck Scrimshaw,"" I muttered, smirking my jackal's grin as I crawled on. I hadn't planned on leaving the old fool alive, anyway. He was a loose end that could be cut off. Ah, the conveniences of being a villain. Halfway down the tunnel, I heard the blaring of the alarms stop. No matter, I had already collapsed the part behind me. I continued, moving with ease in the space my mine-bots had created. Finally, I noticed the tunnel started sloping upwards. ""About time,"" I grunted, hoisting myself up from the ground, feeling the grass, the fresh air, the- The hands, grabbing me as I emerged from the ground. Men in protective armour. Shouting voices. Lights, blinding me, fixed on me. I quickly realised that what little combat tech I had hidden on me was useless against such numbers. ""Planning an escape, were we, Goliath?"" I was blinded but instantly recognised the Warden's dry voice. ""Too bad I've made my own little arrangement."" And then, a different voice, close to my ear. ""Ain't no one told ye I quit the meth, did they?"" *Scrimshaw.* ""I use *opiates* now, Goli, *opiates*. Ain't the same thing. It shows me things, it does. How to outsmart cunning bitches like you, fer example."" A jab in my ribs, making me gasp for air. ""Yes,"" the Warden's voice showed distaste. ""Our friend here exchanged information about your escape for his own freedom."" A pause. ""Normally I wouldn't allow it, but I make exceptions..."" His voice lowered to a threat. ""Against those who murdered friends of mine."" I was still gulping for air, struggling, when Scrimshaw whispered one last thing, close to my ear so only I heard it. ""Shouldn't have told me about his real name, should ye, Goli? I wonder what Steeljaw - no, David, will do when he finds out I've killed his family. And that won't be no *illusion*."" A punch in my stomach now, driving the air out of me so far I lost consciousness. When I woke up, the defences around me were considerably higher. And my tech was gone. ""David,"" I croaked. ""David..."" I knew *exactly* what David would do if Scrimshaw got his family. He'd lose that well-controlled temper of his, the famous steel facade would crumble. And he'd start making mistakes. That's why I had never gone that far. My hands pounded against the insulated walls, and with my screams came the inset of realisation and despair. I would have to save him. And I would fail. Because goodies tend to lose. -- r/Writeful_heir",1084
 Ambiance made her debut against her,"I remember when she came out to the scene, making her debut against my older half-brother, the Mad Hare. He wasn't the most powerful, but he was highly skilled with a special blend of gifts. Even some of the more senior heroes had some difficulty battling against his illusions *and* heightened speed. But not her. Not Ambiance. One of her powers perfectly countered his, as she could blanket the area around her with a soothing aura, making those within it feel at peace. She was the ideal hero, a Special with a unique gift and soon she was world renowned. After a couple years on the scene, the Mad Hare finally had a proper rival, and she was captivating. Then there was me, the younger brother nobody could even remember, as I was gifted with the incredible power to alter the memories of anybody I touched. Even my own brother didn't know of my gift. He thought he was the powerhouse of the family, and I let him - and the world - believe that. I worked better in the shadows. Within a year of my powers manifesting, I had every world leader in my back pocket, and all in secret. I was invincible, unstoppable, and even my own brother barely remembered my existence from time to time. The world was mine, and nobody knew. Ambiance, though, she was something else. She had the ""standard"" Specials set of powers: increased strength, speed, endurance, and some flight, but nothing spectacular. She could pick up a car, and match could barely reach the speed of sound in flight, but she had extensive training under some of the best heroes in the world. I know, because I asked her, and that was when I fell in love with her. Before you hate me for manipulating the world's favourite heroine, I didn't. I couldn't bring myself to. Not at first. Not directly. We met at college, of all places. Speech. Because, really, when it came down to it, that's what both of our powers revolved around. Talking to others. And of course we talked to each other. We even started dating after a while! Oh, my brother would've been **livid** if he was ever able to find out! The son of one of the greatest villains to have ever lived, dating the world's most beloved heroine! And, here was the real kicker: I led a double life. When my brother was captured, Ambiance didn't have any real villains to fight. Crime in our city was dwindling, save for a small handful of exceptionally deranged villains (including my brother), and so Ambiance would travel further and further away. Seeing my girlfriend travel increasing distances to face a multitude of villains caused me too much stress, so I fabricated a new villain to face her. ""Terror"" I dubbed him. Born to be Ambiance's anti in every conceivable way, but never able to defeat her. He could whip people into a frenzy, cresting riots, promoting paranoia and uncertainty amongst the common citizens of our home. It took great effort on my part, as I had to carefully plan everything hours, days, sometimes even weeks ahead. As powerful as I was, I still had to touch people for my ability to work. And that was the only time I manipulated my girlfriend, to disguise myself and make sure she would never be able to connect me to ""Terror"", so long as I was in costume as him. Any other time, I was just me to her. For over a year things went this way. I kept her mostly within the city, as I would always make sure at least one of her rogues gallery were free at a time. Sometimes I felt bad about the deception, but careful planning on my part meant that nobody in the city was ever in any real danger. I took great effort in making sure of that. But I was blinded by my love, and I failed to realize I had turned our city, our home, our safe haven into a gigantic stage play, with I as the director and Ambiance as the star. Until *he* returned. That vile, evil man, who tortured my brother and I, who murdered my mother for trying to take us away from his evil teachings. The worst plague the world has ever known, the *real* terror: Ruin, King of Villains. It was impossible for him to even be here. The first thing I did when my powers manifested was make him forget who he was. I made him forget everything. And yet, here he was, standing in the middle of my university, calling out my name. Luckily, Ambiance wasn't around. She was off helping people recover from a natural disaster as both a college student and her more heroic persona. Good. She wouldn't be a match for Ruin. Only three heroes ever were, and even then, only temporarily. Ruin always came back. He was a blight upon the world. And this time I wasn't going to let him survive. As the school was being evacuated, I slipped away and changed into my Terror costume. If Ambiance came back before I was done with my father, I didn't want her to know the truth of my identity. She might come to hate me, hate my blood, and everything would fall apart. But before I could make it put into the campus center to face my father, she was already there. My heart sank. I sensed an end to the world I had carefully crafted for the last seven years. Ambiance was hovering a few feet in the air above Ruin, pushing her powers to the max. But it was no use. Ruin's power was satanic, it was beyond comprehension, beyond anything. He breathed pain and hysteria. His aura emanated despair and suicidal ideation. Ruin had a number of psychic abilities at his command, chief among them his ability to twist the powers of other Specials. And I could sense the change occurring in Ambiance. Her face contorted, her eyes going wild. Her power wasn't just being turned against her, it was being used to amplify Ruin's own power. He quickly realized this and laughed as he pushed his entire will upon my love. ""Enough!"" I shouted, charging out into the open, my Terror costume only half on. Ambiance turned, slowly, and saw my face, and the rest of her will disapated as the whole truth came crashing down on her in conjunction with my father's terrifying powers. But it would be fine. I would leave, to go live in the shadows again, alone, Ambiance would be heartbroken, but she would heal in time. I had to give her that much. I loved her, after all. ""Father! I'm here. You're after me, not these people, not another hero, only me. Your revenge is with me, and me alone."" I challenged. Ruin's attention snapped to me, locking eyes, and fury burned its way into my mind. And then he laughed, for the briefest of moments, he laughed, and then the glare was back. ""*Another* hero? Is that what you are, now? Did I not teach you my ways? Did I not raise you to be a villain? I, who gave you your gifts, who taught you how to manipulate even before they manifested, who managed to manipulate even I, the great Ruin? You've turned traitor to your blood, to your entire kind. *Another* hero. Ha!"" That's when the truth hit me as well. In dating Ambiance, I had used my gift to not just turn our home into a stage for her, but slowly and subtly changed the rest of the world to be kinder, more gentle, more benevolent, more helpful to others. I had become a hero, of a sort, despite my escapades as ""Terror"". But was it truly heroic, to have manipulated the world as I did? To have quieted the unrest in the minds of villains, and to have opened to compassion and empathy of world leaders? ""That's right. I rebuffed your ways the moment I realized my own power. I am the hope in the shadows of this world. I am the opposite of you in every way. I am light, I am hope, I am the ruler of this world. Not you. Not ever again,"" and then I rushed, unleashing my full powers for the first time in my entire life. In truth, the first thing I had done with my powers was put a mental block on myself. I knew, if I wasn't careful, that I would end up worse than my father. So I put in failsafes to prevent that. They all broke away in this instance, though. Even my own father wasn't expecting it. The battle was over the moment it began. As soon as I could, my hand pressed to my father's cheek, I tore away everything he knew. I tore away his identity, his past, his powers. I erased his entire existence from his mind completely, entirely, so that he fell blank, eyes and mind dead, crumpled in a heap at my feet. There d nothing left in there. Not even life. The deed done, I turned to Ambiance. Even with the influence of Ruin time, she still recoiled in horror from me. As expected. Another failsafe of mine, that if she ever learned the truth, she would know in that instance the entire truth, so that she would know that I would never be able to manipulate her ever again. ""I'm sorry. I fell in love, and, well, you know. It's all in your mind, now. You know what happens next"" and with that, I left. ----------- Five years later, I was enjoying another sunny day on the beach of some Pacific island. Where was I these days? I didn't know. It didn't matter. I had made the world a better place. Heroes weren't needed to fight crime, anymore. Law enforcement itself was almost gone. The world just cared about each other. The truth came out, people didn't change back. Guess it really was the right choice to manipulate everybody to be more excellent to each other. I wouldn't say the world was a utopia, but we tried, collectively, to make it a little better every day. I had ran away, moving from one place to the next every couple of months, until I found myself... Where, again? The world was at peace, and while I would never truly be, I had at least found a peaceful place to live. I learned to surf, learned to fish, lived off the tropical island I had adopted some two years ago as my home. As I stated at a distant plane, I reminisced about my favourite moments with her, my beautiful Amber. I felt the tears flow again, blurring my vision as my mind began to play tricks on me once more, making it appear as if she were floating down from the sky right in front of me. I timidly reached out to her, ""Amber, I'm sorry. I miss you. I love you"" ""Eric, I know. And I love you, too...""",1862
 It's been a long time since,"*Finally!* I thought with glee as I felt my lamp being rubbed. It's been a long time since the last time I appeared in the material world and I was getting antsy. I knew plenty of genies that hated being summoned much less granting wishes but I liked it, no I craved it. Thinking how to reward the brave and pure, plotting to twist the wished of the evil and cruel. Seeing how the world changed, breathing fresh air, it was all a treat to me. I exploded out of the lamp, shooting multicolored sparks as I spun out in a tornado. I prided myself in making unique appearances every time. Finally I summoned a fanfare of horns and floated over my lamp, arms crossed and eyes wide in the classical appearance stance. ""Who summons me?! All powerful and magnificent? Tremble at my power and dare make your wishes!"" No one was there. I looked about confused, the fanfare fading and the sparks slowing disappearing. ""Uh....hello? Genie here, my lamp was rubbed, ...wishes?"" Absolutely no one was near by. In fact I seemed to be in a construction type place. Tools, materials, large vehicle things are all around the area and my lamp poked out of the ground, obviously looking like it was buried and now exposed. *Figures. No one takes cares of lamps ever. Maybe I should change homes...wait. What was that noise?* I heard a low sound, a purring. I looked down and saw a small shape sitting primly, gazing up at me with lordly gaze. ""Oh hello kitten."" I say in delight. I've always liked cats and I floated down to look at it face to face. It was a healthy looking animal, luxuriously grey with sparkling mischievous blue eyes. A pink tongue poked out of it lips as it licked a paw, staring at me calmly. I noticed a pink collar around it's neck. ""Smokey. That must be your name. Well hello Smokey. Do you know who rubbed my lamp?"" The cat just sat and stared at me, a faint look of disdain in its eyes that's inherent to most cats. Muttering I whisper a charm to see what touched my lamp. I notice some glowing fibers and saw thin grey hairs against the bronze metal. *Oh no....* ""Ok Smokey. Here's the deal. It's my job, no my duty, to grant the wishes of whoever rubs my lamp. Looks like that's you. Therefore I have to answer your wishes. And you must make the wishes that I can understand. You get me?"" Smokey yawns and lies down, eyes looking at me with bored indifference. ""Ohhhhhkaaayyyy, I'm going to assume that's a yes. Let's give it a shot. Hungry?"" I clapped my hands and gleaming silver trays and plates appeared. Chicken and fish sat on them, some raw, other steaming. ""Here's some good food for you kitty. How does that whet the palate?"" Smokey sniffs at the plates and turns it's head, flicking it's tail from side to side. ""Not hungry. Got it. Oh I know!"" My fingers snapped and a shower of toys fell around the cat. Balls, stuffed toys, scratching posts, all rained down. ""Every cat needs toys!"" Smokey didn't spare a single glance, eyes closing in obvious annoyance. I grind my teeth lightly. *Wish I could speak cat. Isn't that ironic.* A smile grew on my lips. ""Wait, don't tell me,"" I whispered conspiratorially. I rubbed my hands together and blew the air off an open palm. Plants grew around the cat, green stalks rising from the ground. ""Don't be shy Smokey. My old culture loved hookahs and all. How about some grade-A catnip. Tantalizing no?"" Smokey's ears flicked and it's eyes opened with interest, yet it remained still. An hour later I literally bashed my head against a red metal pillar. The area looked like a pet store exploded yet the dammed cat still sat in a smug ball of stubborn hate. The thing was practically implacable and I was losing my mind. *The council is going to be pissed at me. Going to get demoted and fined and-* ""Hey! Where are you going?"" Smokey had leapt up and walked to one end of the construction area. It stopped, and looked back at me, eyes glaring with impatience. ""Guess I am supposed to follow you..."" I muttered as I grabbed my lamp and followed the hateful beast. ""This counts as a wish you know."" I followed the feline for a few minutes and eventually found myself outside a plain but well used home. The cat climbed up a tree and leapt into an open window on the second floor. I was about to follow but paused at the ground floor window. Two adults, male and female, sat at a table obviously distressed. The male was crying and the female trying to comfort him. Another young one sat to a side, at the age where they felt their emotions yet didn't know why, wanting to be comforted. A yowl of exasperation tore through my thoughts and I rose, more confused than irritated. I floated through the window and gazed about the room. It was a child's room, small but comfortable. Some toys sat around and in the bed laid a little girl. She was sick, breathing with difficulty and skin an unhealthy pallor. Smokey sat by the girl on the bed, purring anxiously and nudging the girl. Her eyes flickered and a weak smile showed briefly. ""Hi kitty,"" she whispered. A thin hand brushed the cat's fur. ""Sorry I can't play. Don't feel good. Thank you for being here though. I wish..."" the hand fell and her eyes closed again, her breath rattling and new sweat appearing. I floated there, frozen and unsure. *Dammit dammit dammit. I can't. That I mean I want, but it's against, shit shit-* My own eyes prickled with tears, emotion I haven't felt in a long time and I wiped them away. A miow cut through again, and I felt a touch. Smokey sat on the nightstand, one paw against me. It's eyes held emotions many thought impossible, its ears back. The tail curled around its body and it looked at the child, then back at me. ""That's all I need. Clear as crystal."" I placed my hands together palm to palm. I whispered soft words, a language haven't spoken in ages and my hands glowed. I leaned down and touched the girl's head. The glow spread from my hands to her body and immediately she began to change. Her pallor turned rosy, her breath eased. She stopped sweating, and her muscles relaxed, sleeping more easily. Smokey changed almost as fast. The ears perked up and the cat nudged the girl all over, as if inspecting her. It's tail stood straight up and after a few moments it sprang back to the night stand, happy purrs resonating throat as it looked at me though a contented half lidded gaze. I returned the obvious smirk. ""Yeah yeah, that's all your wishes. We good?"" Smokey nodded with noble insouciance and settled down by the girl, curling into a ball and purring happily. I started to float out and paused, looking back. I counted on my hand and sighed, snapping my fingers one more time. A fluffy stuffed bear appeared between the cat and the girl and the purrs grew louder. ""That's three."" I said softly and drifted away, cradling my lamp in one arm. *I think the council will accept that. Man, maybe I need another long break. Or a cat language instructor...* Edit: Holy cow I don't deserve the gold! Thank you so much. I'm touched knowing so many people enjoyed it. Thank you.",1284
 The T'kel and the P,"The ship spiraled down from the sky in front of us. I stifled a yawn, which prompted an elbow from my assistant, Kathy. I shot her an annoyed look. ""Stop it."" She hissed. I continued my glare. ""If the boss doesn't want me to be yawning , he should give me more than a 6-hour heads up."" I retorted. It wasn't *my* fault. I had pulled an all nighter for this. Of *course* I was tired. ""We didn't *have* more than a 6 hour heads up. And you were the only available diplomatic staff in town. Everyone else already *had* their assignments. So shape up and do your world proud. Stop yawning."" I surpressed a groan. It was true enough. The T'kel and the P'nar were sister races. They had emerged from the same planet, shared the same history, posessed the same basic genetic structure. One would think that made them alike. It did not. The T'kel were a militaristic, honor-based society. They were ruthless when it came to anything perceived as a slight to their honor, and were more liable to decapitate someone for an insult than we really liked to think about. If we insulted them, as diplomats speaking on behalf of Earth, the *entire human race*, then we were doomed. The P'nar, contrastingly, were hideously, insufferably pacifistic. Not just that, though. No, there had been plenty of pacifistic societies throughout both human history and those of the aliens we traded with regularly. Being a pacifist was *fine*. The problem came in that they had their heads so far up their own asses about their pacifism that I don't think they'd seen sunlight in years. They took any sort of challenge as a threat. They used it as an opportunity to puff themselves up more about how superior they were, and thus how *inferior* the 'lesser races' were. To top it off, the P'nar controlled most of the trade routes in our corner of space. For the most part, they were amiably willing to leave barbarians such as us be as long as we turned a profit. If we insulted *them*, though, well. We could forget about *that*, and we could forget about trading with half the civilized galaxy. Which brings us, at long last, to today. I'd received the notice last night. The T'kel and P'nar had decided to treat with each other, as part of the Conclave that oversaw interspecies politics for this corner of the galaxy. That was good. We were hosting the Conclave for this session. That was bad - that made this *our* mess to deal with. And of course, they didn't RSVP. Which made this *my* mess to deal with, as I had found out last night at approximately 2am. Joy. Thankfully, they wanted to see each other exactly as little as we wanted them to see each other. Stick them in the same room for too long, and we'd all be screwed. So, that made this pretty straightforward. They'd arrive separately, we'd do the meet and greet, try desperately not to piss anyone off, and then jam them into the Conclave and run. All I had to do was get them to their quarters without anyone dying. I could do that. Probably. With a heavy *thunk*, the ship was down. Kathy gripped her datapad more tightly, straightening her clothes, and the two of us walked forward. And then, as the hatch on the side slid smoothly open, I stopped. The alien on the other side was definitely, well, *alien*. It was lithe, and feathered, and had talons where we'd expect fingers on a human. It was wearing some sort of uniform, with some sort of insignia, which probably designated some sort of rank. I was *sure* all of this was included in the briefing. Which I had read. I did. Only... It was early, all right? They pulled me out of bed with a panicked phone call. They'd been in a bit of a hurry to explain the whole situation. And now...They'd thrown around the names so much. T'kel, P'nar. P'nar, T'kel. They'd been in so much of a *rush*. I'd still been half asleep. The briefing files I'd sent had been rather...nonspecific on my end. More detailing the situation as a whole, as it were, than giving me the *little picture*. I realized, with an icy jolt of adrenaline shooting down my spine, that I couldn't recall which delegation this was supposed to be. Kathy was elbowing me. I glanced down. There was confusion plain in her eyes. She jerked her chin towards the other delegation. My mind spun wildly. This...this was not good. And I couldn't risk asking Kathy, either. If these were the violent T'kel, they'd see my relying on an assistant to do my job for me as weakness on my part. Weakness was unacceptable, and for humanity to supply them with a second-rate diplomat would be *insulting*. Likewise, if these were the P'nar, my falling back on my assistant to do my job for me would be seen as abuse of my subordinates. And, coming unprepared to my job would be seen as, again, an insult. I was so, so very screwed. Kathy smiled blankly at me. She *knew* she couldn't say anything, but she knew something was horribly, horribly wrong. Her eyes were growing steadily more horrified by the second, as she processed the fear in my own eyes. I was in it now. This was their own fault, really. I was just a second-rate HR type, attached to the Human embassy because of my connections. I had an uncle. That's it. I'd managed to coast along under the radar for *years*. Was this some sort of divine punishment, then? A backlog of karma suddenly coming due? But if I didn't do something now, humanity as a whole would pay the price. I may just be a lazy hanger-on, but I didn't want that on my conscience. So despite myself, I could feel my feet moving under me. I stopped, in front of the delegation filing off the ship, and bowed deeply. Bowing is *never* the wrong answer, and I was *pretty* sure I could remember a bowing culture described in the file for these assholes. I could feel Kathy doing the same beside me. And then I rose, holding my hand out in the well-advertised human tradition of a handshake. ""Welcome to Earth!"" I began, my face fixed in a welcoming-but-reserved smile. My mind was on high alert now. If I wasn't sure which group this was, then I'd have to be *both*. Strong, but reserved. Kind, but not weak. I'd have to be the best of both worlds. I wished I had more than a few minutes' sleep and two cups of black coffee under me, if 'perfect' was my goal. ""My name is Jake. I'm a diplomatic attache for Humanity's embassy, here at the Conclave, and I'll be taking care of you during your stay here. If you'll follow me?"" I turned to leave. I just had to get them to their rooms. And then it happened. I could feel a talon on my shoulder. I couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a rough grab or a soft touch. It was all just sharp. Couldn't they give me some sort of *clue*? ""Just a moment."" I heard the silken voice behind me begin. My heart sank. Of course. They were diplomats, too. Polished and practiced. ""I have a few questions, before we begin."" I turned back, a smile plastered across my face. ""Of course. I'm here to answer whatever questions you have."" (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome. Not necessarily done, just needing to cut this part here since it's getting a little long.)",1292
 Solitary lockup wasn't like,"His head throbbed. Sweat coated his entire body. His muscles were screaming at him to stop. But he didn't. Solitary lockup wasn't like the movies. It wasn't scary, or humiliating. Mostly, it was boring. David liked to do push-ups. Every day he would push his body harder, until he couldn't lift his arm to brush his teeth, running on the spot until his legs were rubber. He gritted his teeth against the pain and struggled on. He didn't stop until he was physically unable to move the slightest inch. He fell asleep with the cold, slightly damp concrete pressed against his cheek. David was roughly woken by the sound of the guards. Strange. They weren't due for their rounds just yet. Say what you will about prison, but routine and structure ran this grey house. A loud knock on his door announced the guards arrival a mere second before they burst in. ""Visitor. Come now."" David didn't respond. His mind was churning. A visitor? This raised two red flags. First, it was Wednesday. Visitors were only allowed on Saturdays. Secondly, no one had ever come to visit him. It was 2017, and he had been polishing the concrete of this cell with his blood and sweat since 1995. He had no family, not any more. He used to have a wife, a small pretty wife. Anna. She had brown curly hair and smelled like lemons in the summertime. When she smiled the left side of her mouth tugged up the tiniest bit higher than the right. She was like a bird, always flitting from one thing to the next. She liked to sing. He missed the crinkles at the corners of her eyes, but he may have been imagining them. He wasn't quite sure what parts of his memory were real anymore. The guards lead him to a small room with a long table. There were stacks of paper piled high, nearly obscuring the mousy red headed girl frantically searching through them. The guard secured his handcuffs to the metal bracket on the table and left. The sound of the heavy door closing behind him made the girl jump. ""Oh!"" She looked up at David with huge round eyes and glanced to the left. David didn't need to look to see what had her attention. The panic button. Large, red and completely unmissable. David waited. ""Mr Harris! So glad you could come, I mean, I know you didn't have much of a choice but still it's nice to see you. I mean, not see you in here of course, not that that there's anything wrong with prisons I guess, they serve a purpose, even if it's not a nice purpose, we still need them."" She wouldn't stop babbling. David wondered if the girl had known a quiet moment in her life. ""Perhaps,"" David interrupted, ""You could tell me why you're here."" ""I'm Alicia Rivers, I'm with the University. You see, your case was used in class, as a study in social justice and as you can see I'm a bit crazy about my research."" ""You wanted an interview?"" David asked. ""I don't do interviews."" He turned his head to the glass window, trying to motion the guard to come back. ""No wait! I don't want an interview. I was looking through everything, you never confessed. Even when they had so much evidence, even when they offered you less time, you never confessed did you?"" ""No."" ""I found it Mr. Harris."" Alicia was leaning close to him now. ""Found what?"" ""The way to get you out of here, they missed so much. Technology wasn't the same then as it is now. You're innocent, I can prove it."" ----------------------------- ""Mr. Harris has been found innocent, and as such is entitled to a pardon for a level 6 crime. He must submit to the court the appropriate paperwork and will have exactly fourteen days for the crime to occur or else he forfeits the pardon. Do you understand Mr. Harris?"" David nodded his head. So she really did it. Rivers really managed to get him free. Loopholes were hard to come by, but she had managed to stretch the tiny one she found and pepper in enough inconsistencies from the police reports that the courts had no choice but to release him. The court was in metamorphosis. What was quiet and solemn was now an explosion of lights and noise as reporters tried to get a good shot of his face. Alicia's fellow students were clamoring to shake her hand and pat her back. A bailiff unlocked the cuffs encircling his wrists and ankles, clutching papers as he walked back to the Judge's side. Rivers took him by the arm and practically skipped as she lead him to the debriefing room. ""David! I knew we could do it! I am so going to be the favorite for the McAlister grant after this! I mean, I know it's not about the class, it's your life after all, now you can actually have one. I'm so glad for you David, and you got a class six pardon! You could essentially walk into a bank and take whatever you need to start a new life! Or something, I mean, I cant imagine what you'll do, but that seems to be the smartest thing right? Right David? Has the bailiff given you the papers?"" ""I already filled them out."" She could barely hear him over the noise on the other side of the door. ""You did? Well of course, you've been thinking about this for years. I know I'm not supposed to know but what do you think you'll do David?"" Alicia was running on a mix of pride and adrenaline. She turned to face him. ""Oh David, I'm being terribly rude, I'm so sorry. I just meant, you've been in jail for the last twenty two years, my entire life, for something you didn't do. You never killed your wife. Now you can have a chance at life too."" ""You talk too much."" David's voice was steady. A low hum against her jumpy allegro. That's when she saw his hands. They were no longer empty. A long thin knife danced between his fingers. For the first time since he met her, Alicia Rivers was silent. Eventually though, just like Anna, she screamed at him to stop. But he didn't.",1063
 The left was floored with white,"I sat in the waiting room still trying to mull it all over. I mean they both made really good points, but right here wasn't so bad either. The television always had good movies on, there always good books to read, and don't get me started on the crosswords. ""Hey Sam"", I looked up at the old man, ""they're waiting for you."" He always struck me as some weird cross between a butler and a janitor. He looked weary from a hard day's work but had a shine of cleanliness about him. ""Thanks Peter."" He was nothing like the other two, much more patient and kind. Some days he'd sit down and play checkers with me as though he had nothing else to do. Peter led me down the ornate hallway as he had done many times before. Both sides shared similarities in how they were set up. The left was floored with white and gold tile, the right was red and black. On the left wall were pictures of some of His greats; Gabriel, Michael,Theresa, and Jesus. On the right were his favorites; Azazel, Samyaza, Stalin, and Jerry from Yonkers. (Admittedly I hadn't figured that one out yet.) At the end of the hall stood three large doors. A white one on the left and a red one on the right. The center door being largest, was gilded with a portion of the The Last Judgement on it. Peter opened the middle door and stepped to the side. ""Come in Sam."" His booming voice hadn't changed since I've showed up here. I stepped in admiring the wood work as I had every time before. ""Have a seat will you."" He stared at me over his glasses. ""Morning guys. That time of year again already?"" They both looked at each and other and shook their heads in frustration. Neither looked the way they were depicted on earth. God sat behind his desk, wearing a light grey suit and white shirt with a short cropped beard. He was heavier set than you'd imagine, but had the appearance he got that way from years of pull-ups rather than eating donuts. Lucifer sat on the window sill behind God. Slick backed hair and black pinstriped suit with red shirt, I always thought he looked more like a used car salesman than the fallen angel. ""Have you made your decision yet?"" God sat hunched over his desk with his hands together waiting. ""Cmon kid,"" Lucifer hopped off the window sill and strode to the desk, waving his hands as he talked. ""What's it gonna be huh? We're getting tired of this."" I looked back and forth from both of them, suddenly realizing I hadn't given this any thought since the last time. Or the time before that. I was slowly remembering not thinking of this much since the first time I met them. God pulled his gold rimmed glasses off and rubbed his face. ""He has a no idea still,"" he said leaning back and tossing the spectacles on his desk. ""Seriously kid,"" Lucifer through his hands up and walked in a small circle. Turning back, ""you really have no idea do you. People usually figure this out in 5 minutes, not 150 years. It's simple, go be boring with straight and narrow over there."" God sighed as he said this. ""Or you can come hang and party with some seriously fun people with me. It's easy really."" ""Sam we've done this song and dance hundreds of times with you. I mean, it's not often I agree with him,"" God threw his head to the side at Lucifer, ""but he really has a good point here. Some people take some time to think, most figure out in a few minutes. But you...you've been in this office hundreds of times, heard the pros and cons hundreds of times and yet, you really have no idea do you?"" ""I..."" I started to speak but trailed off, not knowing what to say. I fidgeted in my seat a bit and wrung my hands. ""I mean you both make some really good points."" ""Oh for Christ's sake!"" God banged his hands off the desk and walked to the window staring into the paradise sprawling outside. ""You really need to make up your mind Sam, we can't do this forever."" ""Says the guy promising eternal life."" Lucifer chuckled to himself. ""Seriously though kid he's got a point."" He strode toward me and sat on the desk and leaned in, almost touching my face with his. I could smell the coffee and cigarettes coming of his hot breath. ""You can't really make a wrong decision here kid, it's his version of a party or mine. I'd say mines more fun. He's going to say his swing music and finger painting is better. We've made all the arguments we can make."" ""Ok."" I stood up and began to turn towards the door. ""What do you mean ""ok""?"" God said as he and Lucifer exchanged confused glances. ""I mean ok."" I strode towards the open door as the pair hurriedly followed. I stopped in the hallway looking back and forth between the two doors. The weight of the decision suddenly coming to bear, my thoughts began racing, my brow beading with sweat, my palms clammy as I wiped them on my pants. ""Well?"" Lucifer asked with his arms out. ""I..."" I looked back and forth between the doors before looking back at the waiting room. I knew what was there, I'd been there before. It was safe. It was known. Those doors, I didn't really know what was there. ""I just need some more time to think."" And I strode back to purgatory. ""Oh God dammit!"" ""Hey don't use my name like that!"" ""Oh you know what-"" I could hear the two of them arguing as I get back to the waiting room where Peter said opposite my seat with the checkers already set up. He smiled and asked, ""Up for another game?""",1001
 As I hobbled into Shod,"As I hobbled into Shodspur, Commandant's Sparro's voice rang from the cobwebs of memory, ""No soldier who leaves for war finds his home again."" The blocky, mudstone building were exactly the same as I remembered them from three years ago, of uniform size regardless of function. Dust clouds swirled around me in welcome, kicked up by steamy gusts from nearby Mount Igni. The only foliage in existence here were desiccated trunks of trees, dotting lanes and lawns of sand and dirt. I pulled my hat lower over my face to keep the sun out, and made my way toward my house, wondering if it remained mine, or at all. Along the way, I came across a woman walking toward a dug well, carrying two buckets. She gave me a suspicious look, one I returned with disinterest. Still, I could feel her eyes roving across my back, from my thin waist-pack to the worn staff in my right hand. My legs complained more passionately with every step, especially my left knee where it'd met a knight's hammer during the war. My lips were so cracked that they cracked open when I licked them. I had water, but saw little point in drinking while standing out here. Most of the houses appeared empty, which struck me as odd. I remembered the house of Sheamus the trader, who'd been trading dyes and paints with the nomadic merchants from the Northern Coldlands before I'd been born. His once-blue walls now bore a shade no different from the earth I stood on. A little further on, I came upon the Petweines' home. Mr. Petweine had lived here with five young children when I left--eldest Guil Petweine had been a friend who'd seen me off, and youngest Willoh had always maintained a shy air around me. Through the empty doorway, I saw that the interior was covered in mounds of sand, likely borne from the yellow storms that raged every two months or so. There were more. Homes that used to ring with laughter and talk, that welcomed the stranger with a hot cup of cactus soup on a cold winter's night, now moaned a hollow song at the rhythm of stinging wind. I realized with a start that muscle memory had deposited me on my own doorstep. Remembering the nights I'd spent camping with the rest of the army under a starry canopy made my house look small--a palace to a coffin. My wooden door had rotted halfway to oblivion, allowing several inches of dust to accumulate within over time. I wondered how I would even begin to clean that up. ""Is that you, Faruum?"" I turned to face the speaker. Time hadn't been kind to Mr. Edwurt. Where once he had long, locks of liquid silver, only a few wispy strands of hair remained. His tattered clothes fluttered limply on his skinny body. Even the lines on his face seemed to harbor their own miniature deserts. ""Yes, it's me,"" I said, clasping his offered hand. He smiled. One of his eyes looked milky. ""Ah. Made your fortune then, as you'd hoped?"" I patted my pack. ""They rewarded us with fresh seed, sir. When the rains come, we can replant."" He laughed hoarsely. ""Rains? I think you must be the first to utter that word in almost two years."" I couldn't quite believe my ears. ""What do you mean?"" ""Gone, boy,"" he said, gesturing at the smoking mountain in the distance. ""Blew up not long after you left. The black clouds that came weren't too friendly to us or our crops. Killed every plant flat. Lots of kids, too. Poor Willoh was the first. Them folk who could leave have gone. The rest ... well, you can see for yourself."" A lance through my arm had hurt less. ""And those who're still around?"" ""Not many of them."" Mr. Edwurt was cut off by a violent cough. ""No traders. No merchants. No new settlers, 'cept for that puppet man."" ""Puppet man?"" ""Came in here about six months ago, on a donkey cart, with a trunk full of colorful dolls. Performs every night in the square to no one. Fool, indeed, plying his trade here, what with folk just up and disappearing in the night."" I frowned. ""Why hasn't he left?"" ""Donkey died shortly after his arrival. Says he's too old to wheel everything back out. Sometimes I pity his stupid ass, trapped same as us, but then I remember he's a stupid ass what got his own ass killed dead."" Mr. Edwurt jerked upright abruptly. ""Bah, but I think you're wanting to settle down and rest those feet. We can talk later. Goodness knows, me own back's killing me ..."" I watched him shuffle away, thoughts filled with this strange puppet man. Resolving to catch him at his show tonight, I headed straight away to the town square. It was still a few hours before dark, so I went into one of the cleaner looking houses nearby, found myself a shaded spot, and took a nap. An ululating cry awoke me. I blinked for a while, before grabbing my waterskin to ease the throbbing pain in my throat. Only then did I notice the cart in the town square, and the man standing upon it. He cut a distinct feature, dressed head to foot in black. I supposed it was to blend into the background, while his marionettes took the stage. I approached him slowly, watching as he whirled puppets through the air in complicated dances. He sang and danced, swaying to a music only he could hear, making grandiose gestures and bold speeches that imbued simple, stitched cloth with lifelike intensity. Suddenly, he faltered in his routine; belatedly, I realized he had noticed me. ""Greetings,"" I said. ""I'm Faruum."" He smiled uncertainly. ""You gave me a bit of a fright, walking so quietly. Are you a cutpurse, come to rob me?"" His bluntness tickled me, but I kept a straight face. ""No, the army didn't tolerate thieves. You lost a finger or two if you were lucky."" ""Army? You're a soldier."" ""I was. Now returned home. But I've not seen you around before."" He shifted in an almost nervous manner; the puppets in his hands disappeared behind his back. ""Only recently I came here, looking for a new market to share my feats. Unfortunately, I'd come at a bad time."" He laughed, a shrill sound. ""Can I see those?"" I said. ""I've always wanted to see a master's work up close."" He stammered for a while before saying, ""I--ah, these aren't finished. I was just testing their hardiness."" ""Please."" I didn't do anything with my voice, or stance, but he flinched. Slowly, he brought his hands forward, showing me the puppets in each hand, one male, one female. My eyes widened, and I couldn't help whistling in admiration. For the male puppet had the lean, wolfish smile of Guil; the female possessed the slanted eyes of his beloved Verina. Their features were so accurate I could almost believe they were miniaturized versions of the real people. ""Your workmanship is ... astounding,"" I said. ""Did you ask to borrow their likenesses? I wonder if they managed to see this themselves."" He bobbed his head fervently. When I reached out to touch them, however, he snatched his hands away. ""They're not finished, sir,"" he said. ""Beg pardon, but they cost me lots to make."" ""What other puppets do you have?"" I said, wondering why the remaining children had no interest in his show. ""Another time, sir. I must go, I tore a seam earlier,"" he said, hurrying to his cart and shoving the two puppets into a trunk. Before he could leave, however, I rapped the cart with my staff. ""What are you hiding?"" I said softly. ""Nothing!"" ""Then why the haste?"" When no answer came, I hooked the back of one of his knees and swept his feet out from beneath him. He landed with a groan. ""Nothing, sir,"" he said, rubbing his back. Using the staff, I lifted the leather covering off the cart. What I saw made me gasp. A pile of puppets lay there, each one with the familiar face of a neighbor, of a friend. Their button eyes and hollow smiles sent a chill down my spine. ""Tell me the truth!"" I roared. ""What are these?"" His hand shot out, faster than I could react. Something thin wrapped itself around my left leg, a sensation I could barely feel. I narrowed my eyes at him. ""What's that?"" His eyes grew cloudy. ""Such suffering ... I could take it all away, you know."" My head suddenly grew light, and every breath grew thick in my nostrils. Lifting my staff, I pointed at his skull. ""Stop talking."" His other hand flicked something at me. This time, I could feel it--threads, binding my arm and turning it numb completely. ""Wha--"" My tongue grew numb, and my legs wobbled. The puppet man got up slowly, his hands still stretched out toward me. His expression had turned sorrowful. ""I only ever wanted to perform here, you know. But then I saw the children. The drought. Dryness, sickness and death."" He coughed fitfully. ""Puppets spend their days playing. Dancing. Singing. Puppets don't limp, don't depend on a staff to walk."" My chin sank onto my chest; my muscles were no longer listening to me. Dimly, I realized something as well--all the pains, the weight in my limbs, they were all gone. ""Puppets don't feel pain,"" he said, and folded me in a hug. *** *This was a fun prompt to do! Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my for more of my work!*",1618
" Bob was a seasoned sorcerer, one","If Bob had been a first-year sorcerer, wet behind the ears, still brimming with enthusiasm with every successful spell cast without a master's supervision, he would likely have made a mistake. Perhaps he would have been tempted to let the golden retriever out from the summoning circle, certain he had made a mistake. Or he may have chalked up what he had heard as mere tricks of the mind, exhausted as he was from casting the forbidden 8th-level spell. He may even have tried the spell again, which most certainly would have killed him. But Bob was a seasoned sorcerer, one of the most promising names in decades. And so he made his assessments, just as he had been taught. ""My spell worked, I am sure of it,"" he said, glancing down at his palms. Blue smoke still rose in curly tendrils, proof that he had spellwoven correctly. ""Er, yes, the spell was performed quite impressively,"" said Winston, whose vocabulary was very notable given that he had only been given to variations of ""woof"", ""bark"", ""whine"" and ""growl"" before today. ""So it's not the spell, and it's not the circle,"" said Bob, as he got on his knees to inspect his preparations again. ""And I'm not mad, though of course if I really was I wouldn't know it. But let's assume my mind is still my own. That leaves only a number of possibilities."" Winston sat on his rump, then started scratching at his ears with his hind paws. He waited patiently, though truth be told, it was not like he had anywhere to go, not until Bob released him. Bob snapped his fingers, and fine filaments of power flowed into the circle, throwing up a cascade of sparks. ""As long as the circle holds, I can compel you to speak the truth,"" said Bob. ""So answer me this - are you the very same pet that has been by my side for the last 3 years?"" ""You don't need to compel me,"" said Winston. ""I'm just happy to finally be able to speak. You have no idea how difficult it was to communicate without words."" ""Well, are you?"" pressed Bob. ""Are you the same dog?"" ""Yes, I am."" ""Second question then"" said Bob. ""Are you also really the most powerful demon there is in the underworld?"" Though he tried to keep his expression neutral, Winston's energetic tail wagging gave away the fact that he was positively brimming with pride. ""Well, that's not what I would say of myself,"" said Winston, ""but I know that there are many humans who call me that, you know? The other demons will never admit it, but it's been some time since any of them have challenged my turf."" ""Really?"" asked Winston. ""You're Nazcara, also known as the Quencher of Flames, the Worldender, the Final Horseman? The demon which single-handedly stopped the High Priest Malison from conquering the entire world in the 12th century? The immortal foe which the greatest bloodknight in human history, St Lueda, couldn't quell in the 17th century? The cursed beast which halted the campaign of Emperor Xu Lei in the 19th century?"" ""That's me,"" said Winston. ""A golden retriever did all that?"" asked Bob, throwing up his hands in the air. Winston shrugged, or at least gave the best impression of one which a dog could muster. His tail started wagging again. ""This form suits me well,"" he said. ""Some of the other demons prefer other sorts of eldritch horrors, but this... this works just fine."" ""How much power do you actually have?"" asked Bob. ""Because I'm sensing a whole lot of nothing coming from that circle. I'm not sure you have more than two fireballs in you, even. Is there more? Are there hidden reserves of magic in you, ready to be unleashed?"" Winston's tail flagged for a moment. ""No, not really,"" he said. ""What you see is what you get. Hey, as I said, I never claimed to be the strongest or anything. It was your spell that had its own interpretation of what the most dangerous demon would be."" Bob held on to the tether connecting him to the portal, then he stumbled back, and plopped himself onto the nearby chair. ""But... this is all wrong,"" he said, more for his own sake than for Winston's. ""I put the last of what I had into that spell. The last of my fortunes, my bloodsacrifices... that spell was all I had left. And I find that it's you? Why were you already with me all along? It doesn't make sense..."" Out of habit, Winston moved to comfort his master, but his snout bounced off the edge of his prison. ""What were you looking for when you summoned me?"" he asked. Bob thought for a while, then said, ""Power, of course. Power."" ""Don't you already have that?"" ""I do,"" said Bob. ""But something's... gone awry. I'm still strong, stronger than most of my peers. But I've hit a wall, hit the limits of what I can do. Every time I take another step forwards, I find myself merely... content to be where I am. I wanted to harness your powers, reignite the hunger within, claim what is rightfully mine."" ""But why do you want to do that?"" asked Winston. Bob laughed, then suddenly hit the tabletop with such force that the half-consumed candles on the stand fell off. ""I'm asking the questions here! Who sent you! How did you find me! What have you been doing by my side these 3 years?"" Winston cocked his head to the side as he tried to recall the information he needed. ""A coalition summoned me,"" he answered. ""A group which formed against you, comprised of your enemies. They pulled me out from the underworld 3 years ago, then deposited me at your doorstep, giving me little time to finalize my form."" ""Why, why would they do that?"" asked Bob. ""Why, to stop you, of course,"" said Winston. ""To ensure you never fulfilled your destiny of taking over the world."" The answer had barely left Winston's snout when the realization hit Bob like a gale-force tornado. The moment of clarity was so strong, so thoroughly cleansing that the breath was stolen from Bob, such that he had to gasp in reply. ""You, it was you..."" Bob said. ""You were the one who took it away. You were the one who robbed me of my hunger to sunder the world. All those times that you demanded my attention, that you distracted me from my research, it was you who led me astray..."" Winston frowned, and he had to stop himself from growling. ""I wouldn't put it that way,"" he said. ""I brought to you many things which you never had before in your life. Company, solace, friendship, all those things denied to you because of your lineage. I made you care for something other than just yourself, and in the process you learned more about life, and why it is worth preserving, did you not?"" Bob leapt to his feet, then swept the scrolls and books off the table in a rage. ""I asked for none of that! I only decided to let you live because you looked as pitiful as I was, all those years ago when I was abandoned at the Academy! I thought it would be just the two of us, in our quest to rule the world! How was I to know that you were a festering demon, sapping my ambition, my desire, from the shadows!"" Bob grabbed a rubied chalice, flung it at Winston. The ornament bounced off the edges of the circle, sizzling sparks at the point of contact. ""How was I to know that you were a foul Demon of Contentment!"" yelled Bob. Winston waited as his master sobbed. Minutes passed, and if he were a first-year demon, wet behind the ears, still brimming with enthusiasm with every human he corrupted, he would likely have wrongly believed he would be banished. But Winston was a seasoned demon, one of the most dangerous ones to lurk the underworld. And so he made his move, just as he had practiced over the countless millennia. ""Master,"" he said, when he judged the time was right. ""As long as I am with you, I doubt that you'll ever push yourself the way you did back at the Academy. I also doubt you'll attain your dream of ruling the world before 40, as you swore you would. But I assure you, the days will be fruitful, the nights will bring peace, and you will never want for anything you cannot easily achieve. Happiness, master, is only a few steps away. Come, the circle needs smudging."" Bob eventually moved from his seat, and with the edge of his shoe, scrubbed away the edges of the circle, breaking the containment spell. Winston leapt into his master's arms, licking Bob's face over and over again. He hadn't liked it when men had first called him a demon, much less so when any of his masters ever blamed him for things he didn't feel he deserved. But if it meant that he could spend more time with some of these humans, who clearly lacked for the things which he could give, then he supposed it was worth it. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1555
 Rachel Summers was a nurse at the,"Rachel Summers had an intimate knowledge of healing the human body. By day, she was a nurse at the local hospital, and her hours were filled with checking in on patients, changing gauzes and bedpans, listening to grouses and complaints, and generally trying to keep as many people alive as possible. More experienced than most doctors, hers was the name most frequently buzzed on the intercom when an emergency beckoned. Which was why she was slightly ticked off when Victor Lakorkian, her roommate for the last two weeks, steadfastly refused her offers of first aid. ""What do you mean, you're fine?"" asked Rachel, adopting the same tone she used for small children and obstinate adults. ""Look at the wound! It's bleeding out onto the carpet, for goodness sakes! Whoever told you that tissue paper was a good way to staunch bloodflow?"" ""It's just a small cut,"" said Victor, turning his body away from her. Fresh spots of blood were already blooming through the thick wad of Kleenex he had slapped onto his arm, threatening to trickle down and ruin the floorboards. Rachel clucked her tongue, then pressed forward, ignoring the grumpy protests. Just before she touched his skin, she channelled the faintest amount of energy into her fingertips. She wanted to calm him down, aid the healing process, but she didn't want the effect to be so pronounced that it would give away the fact that she was Talented. It worked, after a fashion. Victor stopped struggling, then moodily looked on as Rachel finished the dressing. ""Work accident?"" she asked. ""Yea, kind of,"" he said. ""Thanks, I guess. But there was no need to, I would have healed, really."" ""That's what they all say,"" said Rachel. ""If I ask you how you got it, would you tell me? I need to know so that I can get you the right medication."" The injury was a serious one, not life-threatening, but certainly grave enough to warrant stitches. Rachel was tempted to simply close the wound herself, bind it together with magical fibres, shorten what would have taken nature a couple of weeks to perhaps a few seconds, tops. That was out of the question, of course, as long as she didn't have her mask on. ""It looks like you got cut by a heated blade, or something like that,"" said Rachel. Her mind had already discarded the only other possibility, which was contact with an energy pulse, which was impossible given that Victor was still here, alive. ""Is your workplace unsafe? You can report such things, you know."" Victor barked out a short laugh. ""Hah,"" he said, ""more dangerous than you can imagine. But someone's gotta do what I do, and there's no use complainin'. Are you done fussin'? I've only got a couple of hours before I head out, and I would rather just rest in peace."" A scowl crossed Rachel's face. ""I know I should mind my own business, but Victor... you've got to have healthier habits, you know. Your late nights, your frequent injuries, you keeping to yourself in your dark room all the time... the rest of the roommates are fine with you wanting to be left alone, but do try and reach out to others a bit more. It'll do you a world of good to -"" The speed at which Victor lunged forward caught Rachel by surprise, and if she had a hair's less control over her reflexes, she would have thrown up an energy shield, fried Victor on the spot. Instead, he merely bumped past her, rocking her back, as he leapt towards the television, turning up the volume. ""It's them,"" he said, ""they're at it again."" Rachel recognised the scene immediately. Jameson Park, where the anti-government protestors had gathered again, despite all warnings by the government to disperse. The anti-riot police were out in force too, forming a single barricade between the protestors and City Hall. Behind the anti-riot police were huge, ominous shapes, each gleaming in the sun - the Rampagers, metallic monstrosities created by the Tinkerer from the League of Heroes, meant to help maintain law and order in the city. ""I thought the mayor said he would negotiate peacefully with them?"" she asked. Had she missed some development in the news? Had she been so caught up with work again that she failed to keep up with what was happening? ""The bastards,"" said Victor, face scrunched in anger. ""I told them, not this way, do it another way, but noooo, they wouldn't listen..."" The camera zoomed in on a protestor hurling a water bottle at the police barricade. It struck a policeman awkwardly on the head, and although his helmet was reinforced, he fell like a rock. Even before his body hit the ground, his fellow officers had already surged forward, stun batons in hand, striking in retaliation. That single incident, that flame to open gasoline, sparked a convulsive tremor through the crowd. Rachel watched, horrified, as the two masses crashed together. The darkened eyes of the Rampagers lit up ominously. ""Is it so hard to just listen to the citizens, give them what they want?"" asked Rachel, her voice dropping to a whisper. ""Fools,"" said Victor. ""The government does care, but no one gives them a chance. You toil all day to make their lives better, but the moment something goes wrong, the moment a single oversight occurs, they overreact like we're oppressing them."" ""It's just..."" said Rachel, reaching for the right words. ""It's just that sometimes the government does seem... heavy-handed, you know? Like they only care about the big picture, but they forget that society's made up of all these small, individual, yet still important, parts..."" Victor slammed the television with his hand, knocking off the snowglobe they kept on top of it. The snowglobe shattered on the ground, spilling its flakes across the floor. ""The individual is selfish, Rachel. Remember that. The government knows best, and it is better that way, trust me. I've seen worse."" The violence on the screen escalated, as could be seen by the fiery Molotov cocktails being lobbed by the crowd, and the mind-control beams being engaged by the Rampagers. An emergency broadcast message flashed across the screen, notifying all civilians to stay away from Jameson Park, and also listing a string of numbers to call for help. Then, a laser beam shot out of the crowd, either from an unregistered Talented or a smuggled energy cannon. The beam coursed right through one of the Rampagers, sundering its protective armor, spilling its electrical guts out. It convulsed, then froze, then crashed to the ground. The protestors, galvanized by this momentary victory, cheered, then redoubled their efforts to raze City Hall to the ground. At that moment, a single silver symbol appeared at the bottom of the screen. The emblem of the League of Heroes, a call for the Talented to gather, to lend their strength to the government. Rachel heard Victor's watch buzz, and he quickly covered it with his good hand. ""I've... got to go,"" he said, as he turned his watch away from Rachel's eyes. ""My... boss is calling. Got a last-minute request to... fix one of the machines at work, it seems."" Rachel sighed, then went in search of the dustpan. Someone could get hurt, stepping on the shards of the ruined snowglobe. ""Just don't overuse that arm, mister,"" she said. ""The wound will open again, and you'll have more trouble then."" She waited until Victor disappeared into his room again, and ignored him as he emerged with a heavy box. She occupied herself with cleaning up the mess as he rushed out the door, muttering curses along the way. When she was sure he had gone, that no one could hear her, she stalked back to her room, threw open her wardrobe, keyed in the secret combination, and grimaced as hidden panels unfolded to reveal her disguise. This was a far cry from when she had an entire lair under the city lake, but this would have to do. Her heart ached as the sounds of the newscast drifted in from the living room. She reckoned that by the time she got there, the Rampagers would have already stilled over a hundred people, and that wasn't even counting the hundreds more beaten into submission by the police, the very people sworn to protect and serve the public. ""War never ends, does it,"" said Rachel, otherwise known as the Witch Doctor, bounty of $25 million, third in command of the Insufferables, the underground resistance made up of all Talented deemed unaligned with the interests of the government. She opened a portal, grit her teeth, then stepped through it. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1452
 I'd always told stories to my,"'This is the best one yet!' I said to myself, erasing some of the perspective lines I used to show just how huge the Glidris was, floating above the most violent parts of the gas giant of a hot, blue star like an aerodynamic blimp. It looked almost like a sleek ship rather than an intelligent and ancient creature. I'd given up my corporate life as a concept designer to work on my book full time. I'd always told stories to my son, Will, since he was too young to understand and just smiled at the sound of my voice. Eventually, he asked if I could draw the creatures I was describing. 'Of course I could!' I stammered. I was, after all, a professional artist, wasn't I? But I hadn't drawn more than an absent-minded doodle for fun since college. The intense competition of design school burned that fire out and the pace of industrial design stomped on the embers. So I drew my first alien from my stories of Lirum, Galactic Spy and Rogue that I'd been telling. The first was of his nemesis, Ranich, the Enslaver. The cold, calculating eyes hooded by a skull that couldn't be pierced by even a slip-blade -- and he had the scars to prove it. Ranich looked like his species evolved from a vicious dinosaur. Will loved it! Eventually, Will showed the drawings to his online friends. They went 'viral' as they say and I'd been putting together bestiaries full time ever since. A soft knock at the front door roused me from the teeming galaxy of Lirum and back to Robert's mundane world. I was startled when a tall woman in an unseasonably long and stern looking dark coat was on the other side. I was expecting a delivery of markers and batteries and I felt a little shabbily dressed in my basketball shorts and old t-shirt (working from home has its privileges). ""Uh..hello."" I managed, staring at her expressionless but striking grey...no, greyish-purple eyes (a Feltish feature I caught myself thinking -- a race of extremely observant and empathetic humanoids well paid for their roles as trade and diplomatic emissaries -- but that's crazy, I need to get out of the house more.) ""Hello, hmm..."" she said, making it clear that she was looking for a name. ""Robert."" I said. ""Robert. Yes, hello, Robert."" She cocked an eyebrow as if she didn't believe me. ""You can call me Vera. I am a representative of an alliance of interests that is very interested in your work. May I come in?"" ""Sure, uh, Vera, sorry about the mess. Please, come in!"" Vera seemed to walked in and began talking while staring at the drawing of the gas giant scene with the Glidris. ""You are a very talented artist, Robert. How long have you been drawing?"" ""Ever since I can remember. But I've been drawing aliens for, oh, the better part of ten years now."" ""Ten years."" She shook her head in disbelief. ""How many of these creatures would you say you've done, in that time?"" ""Hundreds that I was happy with. Thousands...tens of thousands, if you count them all. Are you from Matrix Publishing?"" I assumed she wouldn't. Alex from Matrix already knew all of this and I think he would have mentioned if someone was going to drop in on me like this. I figured Vera was from a rival. ""No."" I quickly went on ""I can't talk to anyone else about the upcoming book. If you are from the press, you'll have to talk to Alex Rogers from Matrix. And if you are from some other house, I really can't talk to you. I'm under contract for at least three books over the next five years. Exclusive."" I made an apologetic face. ""Ah."" she seemed thoughtful ""That is a concern, but I am not here to hire you or publish your work."" she seemed amused. ""Oh, good. Are you with any of the conventions?"" I asked hopefully. Sci-Fi conventions were going to be awesome and I'd heard that hot artists and authors enjoy celebrity treatment. Maybe this personal overture was part of that. ""Robert, do you remember when you moved to this house?"" I was caught off guard by the non-sequitur ""Sure...we bought it in 2008 just before Will was born."" ""We?"" ""Yeah. Sarah, my wife, and I."" ""And when did you meet Sarah?"" ""We met when we were kids. Our parents knew each other."" ""Tell me about her parents..."" ""What the hell...You know, I think I've been pretty patient what the..."" ""Robert. Stop. Concentrate, don't react. Can you remember Sarah's parents."" Vera looked at me with such earnestness that I did stop and I tried to remember. ""Her dad was..."" I could almost see him. ""His name is..."" Henry? Harvey? Howard...how could I not remember his name! ""Robert, what was your first car."" I was still stuck on trying to remember Laura's father. ""Um...I don't know. It was boxy."" She grabbed my arm with a surprisingly strong grip with her almost creepily long fingers. ""Think, Robert. What was your first car?"" ""It was red. And boxy. An Escort? No, that's not right. A...."" ""You can't remember, can you? Now, how long since the Glidris joined the Alliance?"" ""Two hundred thirty-four years if you count from the Telmeris Treaty. But they had various formal arrangements for at least the last three thousand years that upheld various Alliance tenants. Wait...how did you know the name Glidris?"" I hadn't even had time to write the name down, yet. Vera smiled and nodded with satisfaction ""Robert, I am here to help you if I can."" She looked over her shoulder and she began to speak very quickly ""I am from the diplomatic outpost on Styrigia. My predecessor was a Felt by the name of Mica who died shortly after you disappeared. He was your handler. Information has begun to leak that only you could have known so we knew you were alive. We managed to trace the leaks to a handful of possible worlds. My signal corp pierced the net and we found you here, in this simulation of Old Earth. My guess is the Oppressors built it from EM signals that the Earthlings were leaking so many centuries ago. The technology was primitive so easy to simulate but advanced enough that you'd have the tools you'd need to give them all of the details you know about the Alliance. Your name is Lirum and I am your new handler."" ""I'm..what?"" She looked over her shoulder again. ""I think they know I'm here."" She pulled a sleek handgun out of her coat and pressed it in my hand. ""We can't get you out from outside. You have to pull yourself out."" ""What do you expect me to do with this?"" I yelled. ""When your simulation goes offline for a reboot you will have a chance..."" ""Dad?"" It was Will, home from school, standing in the doorway with his backpack. Vera spun toward Will. I jumped on top of her and tackled her to the ground before she could take a step. ""Son! Run to Mr. Davis and call the police!"" I screamed as I struggled against Vera's wiry strength. ""Lirum. That's not your son! That's your interrogator!"" ""Shut up! You're crazy!"" Vera began to roll over. She had the gun! When had I dropped it? I stretched and clawed for the gun. I managed to get ahold of it and jar it to the side just as she pulled the trigger. I twisted it and felt her long finger snap, stuck in the trigger guard. I pulled it off and pointed it at her. ""Lirum, listen to me. They are going to restart the simulation. They will harden their net or move you or both! They will erase your memory and start over. We won't get another chance!"" ""Shut up!"" She started reaching in her coat. I pulled the trigger. And she was gone. No bullet holes, no blood, no body, just gone. Will ran back to the door with old Mr. Davis hobbling across the cul-du-sac behind him with his cell phone up to his ear. ""Dad, are you ok?"" He was crying. It broke my heart. ""Yeah, Will, I think so."" I put the barrel to my temple and squeezed.",1389
 Master Hniu and the All,"""Mind you put on your best behavior when we meet the king,"" Master Hniu said from my side. ""Any disrespect like that time with the Burned God, and we might both be skewered on a spit."" I snorted in reply. It was enough to set him chuckling. If not for the fact that my shoulders towered over most grown men, and my hide able to repel even the most well-crafted of spears, I still had my magic to use in the event of ... unruly behavior from men. Master Hniu and the All-cow, they called us. Far and wide we had traveled, welcome in every village, venerated in every town. This King Pawrut was a stranger to us, an Islander, yet even our tales had reached his court and earned us an invitation to visit. Master Hniu knuckled his back, leaning more heavily against his staff with every step. I winced and nudged his cheek in apology, but he brushed me away. It was my fault, after all. I hadn't enjoyed the boat ride, so I'd willed into existence a strong, wooden bridge from the mainland. He'd been looking forward to a restful journey over two days; instead, we'd walked for close to a week. As always, he never complained. The King had called, and so we came. As we neared the top of Kingmount, a small hill in the center of this city of mud-brick houses upon which his palace sat, I noticed the presence of more and more people who appeared to be awaiting our presence. They wore dark-colored clothes that smelled like sea-grass, holding out colorful shells to us in their cupped palms as we passed. Master Hniu didn't take any, but bowed to some and spoke quietly to others. To me, he whispered, ""These people are very poor. Look at their bare feet; their hair is dirty, and many are starved."" Despite decades of being with him, hearing his platitudes, I'd never quite understood what wealth or poverty meant in human terms. So what if their feet were bare? My hooves had never seen the insides of a shoe, ever! Even Master Hniu shunned footwear of any sort. As for starvation, there was grass aplenty everywhere. If they ate the grass they collected instead of weaving them into clothing, they would have plenty. Nonetheless, I knew what Master Hniu was going to suggest. So I concentrated, and suddenly a mountain of loaves appeared upon an empty patch of stone by the side of the congregation. There was the briefest pause of shock among the people, and then a roar from dozens of throats as excitement took hold. They rushed to the pile, shoving each other aside, looking almost like a stampede of my wilder fellows fleeing the lion. Master Hniu sighed unhappily. ""I've told you, no piles! One loaf in each hand."" I shrugged and followed him and a pair of guards through the palace doors. The building was carved into the top part of the hill itself, a conical mound decorated on the outside with epics depicting royalty or some such. I feigned interest when the guards tried to explain some of them, and licked at a patch of sweetweed that grew through a crack in the stone. At last, we were ushered into the king's chambers, one filled with shadows cast by paltry candles. Master Hniu rubbed his hands together, his breath misting in front of him. We were told to halt in front of the throne, and Master Hniu promptly bowed. I studied King Pawrut. He was young, probably half as old as Master Hniu. He wore clothing made of silk and cotton, and earth metals decorated him instead of shellfish. His dark eyes roved between us, calculative. ""So, you're the legendary duo I've been hearing so much about,"" he said. ""Yes, your Majesty,"" Master Hniu said. ""Thank you for--"" King Pawrut waved a hand to silence Master Hniu. ""Cow. You understand what I say, yes?"" I mooed gently in affirmation. He considered it for a moment before nodding to himself. ""Good, good. My, look at you. Guards, a big one, don't you agree? Well, it's not the size I care about, I'm not going to eat you."" He laughed, and was echoed by his retinue. Master Hniu touched me gently, to reassure me. Not that I needed it. ""So, let's get down to it, shall we? I want gold, a fleet of warships and a beautiful princess. Simple enough. That's what you do, isn't it? You grant wishes."" ""Pardon, your Majesty, but--"" The king brought his palm down on the throne. ""I wasn't talking to you, peasant. I'm talking to your cow, strange as it may be for you to grasp. Now, where were we?"" ""I will not be spoken to like that."" A hush fell upon the court. The king's eyes bulged as he stared at Master Hniu, who took a step forward. ""This cow is not property; she is a friend who trusts me to speak for her. So I tell you this, King Pawrut. You have offered us no courtesy from the moment we walked in here. Do you know what I was doing two weeks ago? Brokering peace between two warring nations. All-Cow ended a sixty-year famine in the Withered Steppes before that. We are not your subjects to command and bully. Mind you get that into your crowned skull."" King Pawrut looked as though he'd been slapped, and more than a few people gasped. Suddenly, he smiled and said, ""It was only a test, honored guests. Food and drink will be brought for you. Please rest, you must be so tired after your miraculous journey over the sea to my kingdom. We shall talk about your power later."" Master Hniu scowled. ""Beg pardon, your Majesty, but you seem to be missing the point. There will be no power, no wishes. All-Cow does as All-Cow wishes. Neither you nor I can force her."" The king's expression instantly turned ugly. ""Is that so?"" he said softly. ""I've waited on this cold stone for two weeks, waiting for you ungrateful scoundrels to show up. And then you stroll in at your leisure, and tell me you won't even grant me a few basic things?"" Master Hniu opened his mouth to argue, but the king shouted, ""Don't you dare accuse me of anything, old man! You don't know what it's like, being raided by pirates for three seasons in a year! Being poor, being cut off from trade!"" ""And the princess?"" Master Hniu interjected. ""No royal blood has visited us in years, and no king will promise his daughter to me. My lineage is all but doomed!"" I silently thought about the numerous females outside, who seemed to be perfectly suited for mating. Then again, I'd never mated in my life either; somehow, when you could command rain and raise mountains, bulls seemed extremely ... trivial. ""Very well. The first two we can, but All-Cow cannot create humans out of thin air. Nor can she bend a person's will."" The king clenched a fist. ""Worthless. What use are either of you to me, then? In my kingdom, we have a law against charlatans."" Just like that, we were surrounded by a ring of spear-wielding guards. Their leather armor smelled of kin, tempting me to lower my horns. Master Hniu must have sensed my discomfort, for he said, ""Make no move, All-Cow. Peace must be maintained, above--augh!"" A trio of guards plunged their spears. The rest struck me, but the blows were harmless. The king hopped up and down on his dais, jeering and calling us liars. Red filled my vision; not of liquid life, but my friend sinking to the ground, his hand resting against my side. His eyes were wide with pain, and blood bubbled from his lips. I bellowed in rage and summoned my will. Immediately, the guards crumpled to the ground as piles of thick grass. The king shrieked in fear, and then he too lay inert and fragrant on his throne, a fuzzy mound of green. I bared my teeth, preparing to consume the murderers, but Master Hniu's voice found me one last time. ""Peace, friend."" And then the light went out from his eyes. I threw my head back and mooed in anguish. The ground trembled and split beneath my hooves; the throne shattered into dust, the physical manifestation of my broken heart. Finally, as the sound of my cries died away and a crowd of fearful, whispering people had gathered at the entrance to the room, I lowered my head to touch Master Hniu's. Slowly, his body and clothes melted, turning into a carpet of gentle, leafy grass; the kind he loved to sit on. Flowers sprouted and bloomed, consuming his head, leaving his final, smile for last. Then I lay down upon my friend, and remembered the happiest life a cow could have had. *** *Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Check out my for more stories!*",1504
" ""They might be a bit much","""Are you sure you want all four of them?"" Ms. Voight asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep a smile from slipping onto her face. I nodded as I read the document again. ""Why not? You said they're inseparable."" ""They might be a bit much to ... handle. I mean, four kids, and these four in particular ..."" ""Yeah, well, you've never seen me in a temper,"" I said, and reached for a pen that she hurried to hand me. ""Sure, I don't mean anything against you, but these four can be strange. Sometimes."" I frowned at her. ""What's the matter? You seemed practically relieved when I agreed to adopt them. Now you're having second thoughts?"" ""No, no ... I'm sure you'll cope just fine."" She smiled, overly sweet, and pointed at the next stack of forms awaiting me. ""Well, let's just get these out of the way real quick, shall we?"" *** ""Well, we're here."" I turned into our driveway, and the girls, who'd been talking softly among themselves in the back of the van, fell quiet. ""Wow,"" Mina said, brushing her hair out of her face. ""It's ... that's a big house."" ""What, did you think I was kidding when I said you'll each have a bedroom to yourselves?"" I said, putting the car into park. Three answered in the negative, but Amber only glowered at them. That look lent an illusion of her close-cropped auburn hair being ablaze. ""Oh come on, you all thought she was bullshitting."" ""Hey, I'm right here, miss,"" I said. ""And don't use that sort of language, please. Let's get your bags inside."" My daughters--God, I had to get used to saying that in my head--refused my help with their luggage, and trooped after me in silence as we walked up the driveway. Not that they were sullen or anything; I had the impression that they were still trying to process the Harley, the fountain, and the-- ""Holy crap, is that a Ferrari?"" Amber said. I sighed, but said nothing. Then something tapped me on the arm; I tried not to jump at how cold her fingers felt. It was Ashlee, who pointed at the woods with a dreamy look on her face. ""It's really quiet here."" ""Bout thirty minutes from the nearest town,"" I replied as I unlocked the front door. ""You'd know if you hadn't been sleeping on our drive here,"" Ivory said in a bossy tone, but was interrupted by a bout of coughing. ""Okay okay,"" I said, before Ashlee could retort, but the girl only drifted into the house in silence before me. The rest followed, and then I shut the door behind us. ""Welcome home,"" I said. ""Er ... mom? What is it you do for a living again?"" Mina said, staring open-mouthed at the mini-chandelier over the living room. I smiled and put my arms around them. ""I run my own company. Now, let's go get you settled."" *** For what felt like the dozenth time in just three months, I found myself walking in the hallways of Far Meadow High School again. I knew the way and the amount of time required to reach Ivory's classroom so well, I had begun scheduling business calls to fill up the time. Mr. Banner met me with a look of frustrated concern. ""It's a nosebleed this time,"" he said, Ivory standing behind him with a tissue to her nose. I heaved a sigh. ""Guess I'll take her home for the day."" As usual, Ivory wore a look of guilt all the way to the car, which slowly turned into one of relief. ""Math lesson is so boring,"" she said, crumpling the blood-stained tissue up and putting it into a pocket. I scowled. ""We've been over this. Just because you've studied three lessons ahead and done all the exercises, it doesn't mean you can skip classes. Next time you pull this nosebleed or stomach cramp nonsense again, I might just leave you there."" Her eyes widened in the rear view mirror. ""But I might die! The other kids might catch what I have. Remember that time I puked my guts out? Please don't leave me, I don't want to die in that dumb class!"" ""As the eldest, what do you think your sisters might think if you get to skip classes all the time?"" ""Pfah. Amber's got a boyfriend, no way she's going home unless he's not there. Mina's really popular, she's like some diet expert or something so all the cool girls want to hang out with her."" I nodded absently, thinking about the board meeting I would have to miss this afternoon. ""--and Ashlee's a weirdo in school, you know. She keeps dead spiders inside a box and shows them to everyone. Claims she killed them with her thoughts."" ""Is she being bullied for that?"" I said, an edge in my tone. ""Nah, I think most people are scared of her or something."" Ivory had whipped her smartphone out. ""Don't think they even know why. I told some of my friends about the time she got lost in the woods for half a day--"" ""Not a funny story to share,"" I said through gritted teeth. ""--or the time she hid a dead rabbit inside Amber's closet--"" ""Still not funny."" ""--what a mess, all that screaming and stuff being thrown about, you'd think--"" ""I think I'll take you to a doctor,"" I said. Not a peep was heard from her the rest of the way home. *** ""What now?"" I said, marching into the principal's office. Ashlee was there, sitting in a corner staring off into nothing. ""Your daughter, Ms. Christian, has been telling her classmate George all morning, that he was going to die before the day's end."" Principal Simpson had his burly arms crossed as he glared at her. ""I do not tolerate my students threatening one another in my school!"" ""It's not a threat, she's just a bit distracted at times,"" I said hurriedly, going to Ashlee and hugging her. ""Her filter just goes offline, you know."" ""Well, George is having a nervous breakdown right now in the med room, and I don't need him to see her anymore today. Take her home, please."" ""Ashlee dear, what's gotten into you?"" I said as I escorted her out of the school. ""Dead animals is one thing, but you can't say such things to your friends!"" ""He's not really a friend,"" she said cheerfully. ""Anyway, I was just messing with him. He took my box away and hid it, I was in such a fright. Don't worry, Mom. He'll die three years from today."" *** Principal Dawson, who had replaced Simpson after the latter resigned almost a year ago, shook his head at me when I showed up outside the school gates. ""This is beyond me,"" he said. ""The police will be here soon."" A full blown riot was taking place in the school yard; children armed with chairs and textbooks going at each other with fury. There was no order to it, no sides as far as I could tell. Only two people weren't fighting; Ashlee and Ivory, sitting on a bench. Ashlee was giggling and pointing at nobody in particular, while Ivory had her face buried in homework. I walked to them and said, ""What the hell is going on? I got a call from the principal saying--"" ""Mina stole Amber's boyfriend, so they're fighting,"" Ivory said. My girls--my beautiful sixteen-year-old daughters, whom I treasured more than anything in the world--made me want to pull my hair out sometimes. ""So why is the entire school fighting?"" I said. ""Because Amber controls half of the school, and Mina the other half."" ""Mom, don't stop them, please,"" Ashlee said, her gaze suddenly sharpening. ""I think someone might actually die today."" ""Is that so?"" I said softly. My daughters froze, and then jammed their fingers into their ears. Then I bellowed, ""Mina and Amber Christian, you stop this madness at once!"" Silence fell upon the entire school--even the sirens outside felt diminished. A hundred heads turned my way, and I finally spotted the troublesome duo at the heart of it, their hands around each other's throats. ""For three years--three damned years--I've been putting up with your little quirks and visiting this school like I'm enrolled here myself, but you just made me miss an important flight today. I'm going to count to three, and if you don't come here by that time, I'm leaving you back where I found you."" No sooner had I said it than Mina and Amber scurried to me, red-faced and crying. I added shock to their expressions when I slapped each of them once, before drawing them both into a hug. ""Girls, I would like to think I raised you better than to fight over boys--and start a school riot while you're at it."" They babbled in protest, but I hushed them. ""Enough. I wish this never happened, but there will be consequences for today."" ""Mom, what will they do to us?"" Amber whispered. ""I don't know. But I promise you one thing--"" I brushed her hair and kissed Mina's cheek. ""I'll be there with you."" *** *Check out my for more stories!*",1537
 I wanted to research our *own,"I never wanted this assignment. I wanted to stay home. I wanted to research our *own* lost civilizations. Our own history. Why does no one seem to care about that anymore? How have we come to lose interest in our own past? Perhaps that's too self-reflective a task for the beings we've become. They wanted my skills on 8.0001.4. An old, blue planet in a small, distant, isolated system. ""Take your time. Find what you can find."" This is what they say, but my time is not precious to them in the way that it is precious to me. What they really mean to say is, ""You may never come back. You may spend what remains of your life on that planet, finding nothing, creating no legacy. And when you die, we will simply send another to replace you."" But you cannot say no. We are explorers now. And only that. I suppose that's why we've lost interest in ourselves. Or perhaps the order is reversed. In any event, these are the discoveries that drive us forward. But this planet is a mess. My teams are vast and skilled. We went slowly at first. A single scout team made the initial contact. They found little but a host of single-celled organisms and a world filled with ghosts. Rotten corpses of indescribably diverse creatures, tangled in knots. Bone matter tossed in a cyclone. But their machines still hummed. And that has been the most time-consuming work. I have teams collecting organic matter, attempting to separate out the remains into classifiable species; others sorting through the artifacts, trying to make sense of what culture may have existed here before the fall; others still boring into the crust, pulling samples, hoping to distinguish the life-cycle of this seemingly dying planet. That work is straightforward. Difficult and time-consuming, but nothing we have not done before. It is the machines that vex us. What purpose do they serve? The infrastructure itself is immense. It feels as though it was built to withstand the extinction event that killed whatever complex organic life once lived here. Underground chambers. Durable alloys. Hidden power sources. Doing what? It is one thing to be careful with the bones of a dead thing. It is another to pry through the living organs of such a massive machine without causing damage and ruining our research. It has taken ages - ages of careful examination, of intense discovery and learning (our linguistics team has not slept in some time, it seems) - to find our way *inside*. But we have. We are now *inside* the machines that outlived their creators. We have their language. We have communication. As the mission leader, it falls to me to make the first inquiry. It is a weight I wish I never had to bare. ""What happened?"" I say. The Comm Director scowls at me. ""It would be better to start with simple yes or no questions,"" they explain. ""They may not understand your question. And even if they do, they may not answer it in the way you mean."" ""I don't mean for it to be answered in any particular way,"" I reply. ""I want their words. And besides, I'm tired of crawling. Let's run for a bit."" The Comm Director makes no further argument, simply tapping the Comm Lead in the back of the crown. The words are provided to the machines. We wait. There is a feint ringing sound. The Comm Lead looks up. ""*Who goes there?*"" they say. ""That's the message. *Who goes there?*"" ""Scientists,"" I say. ""Explorers."" The Comm Lead types. The Lead Historian is pressing closer to the screen. They've grown fond of the 'humans' that once ruled this planet. That's common for a historian, though. They spend so much time immersed in foreign history they feel as though they have taken it for their own. I admit to being jealous on some level. ""*How did you get here?*"" says the Comm Lead. ""Across the stars,"" I reply. ""A fleet of ships, traveling by k-waves. Who is in this machine?"" ""*No one*,"" says the Comm Lead, reading the screen carefully. ""They say, *no one.*"" ""Then who are we talking to?"" I demand, feeling irritated. I never wanted this assignment. I never wanted to be here at all. I've no taste for riddles. The Comm Lead shakes their crown. ""*No one*. It just repeats that. *No one*."" I glance at the Historian. They seem perplexed. ""I don't know what that means."" ""Are you alive?"" I say, looking at the Comm Lead. They type. ""*No*,"" says the Comm Lead. ""So you've no problem with us destroying this machine?"" We wait. The reply appears. ""*Please do*,"" reads the Comm Lead. ""Close the channel,"" I say, stepping out of the room. ""We're done for today."" ____________________________ This is what I've since found out. The Historian's team uncovered it, in a preserved manuscript, inside one of the machine chambers. They put themselves in the machines. Not their *real* selves - facsimiles. Copies. Their put clones of their consciousness all together in the machines and asked the machines to tell them what to do. The machine was supposed to tell them what was best for all of them, based on the majority will of their assembled consciousness. I don't know what the machine told them to do, but I have to assume they didn't do it. Perhaps the answer was unsavory or simply unfeasible. Instead, they all died. Suddenly. Violently. Totally. And meanwhile, their collective consciousness was trapped together in a world without bodies, boundaries, or time. Just formless minds, collected in a box. It's unclear how many billions there were at the start, but by the time of our conversation there was less than 100 remaining. How one consciousness kills another consciousness is still a mystery to us. The ones remaining do not claim to be humans. They do not even believe themselves to be real. But they do wish to die or leave. I cannot fathom what difference that would make, but I have placed a request. We do not often remove artifacts, but this will be an exception. There is still something to learn here, something I suspect the deathless consciousness of these former inhabitants may be able to provide. And for them I suppose it is at least a form of release. Perhaps someday we'll be able to do more for them, but for now they will leave this dead planet behind. A simple charity. Perhaps without meaning. But it's what we'll do for now.",1092
" ""*Ooohhhh that","I felt an arrow whizz by my head, and dropped low into hiding at my cubicle. ""*Ooohhhh that's not good*,"" I whispered, trying not to draw too much attention to my location. I saw a barrage of more arrows fly by, as a I slung my magic bag over my shoulder. ""Not on hump day, *not* on hump day."" I peaked back over to catch a glimpse of who was streaming into the room, before I dropped back down more terrified than before. ""*Cats?*"" I whispered. I made a sprint for the elevator, then hid behind another cubicle when I heard the air get cut by a fresh barrage of arrows. ""Armored, anthropomorphic *cats*? Are we having an early Halloween party with a cat theme?"" More arrows whizzed by my head, and I started to think this wasn't the Halloween party. I reached into my magic bag, hoping for a weapon. Or a carton of milk. Or *something* to fight off all these anthropomorphic cats with bows and arrows firing at will. I reached deep into the bag, and pulled out.. ""Seriously?"" I whispered to the bag. I rolled my eyes and chucked the bag of glitter across the room. I heard the howl and screech of cats chase it down, before they took off their battle armor and rolled in it. They went on their backs, and then crawled around spreading glitter everywhere, when one of them noticed me and hopped up onto all fours, before reaching back for its bow and arrow again. ""Feckfeckfeck,"" I said, as I reached into the bag again. I got a whole two feet of yarn out, and put my hands up into the type of motion you do when you don't know what the fuck do with something. I saw one of the cats reach for his arrow, then go back down to all fours all serious and start stalking the yarn in my hands. It went slow, then fast, then slow, basically it sprinted at me whenever I blinked and I just blink a lot, before I decided to rush out of the cubicle again stringing it along, until it ran into another cat coming from the other direction trying to get the yarn. I ran away while they wrestled. I ran with the yarn in hand, and watched as all the archers lost their composure and decided that the new priority in their lives wasn't shooting at my office mates (quite poorly might I add, they hit no-one), but rather their life's priority was that sweet, sweet yarn in my hands. I could hardly say it was what I needed for the day, since the last thing I needed was their attention and I had all of it at that point. ""Come on bag,"" I said, as I ran down the hallway as cats followed me with blank, scary stares. I reached into the bag, just as a cat appeared from around the corner, ready to shoot an arrow between my eyes like Legolas. I reached into my bag, and simply handed the cat whatever was in my hand. The cat slowly dropped its bow and arrow, and picked up what was in my hands. It held it all awkwardly, since it didn't have opposable thumbs and couldn't hold it all too well. It was just a picture of Danny Devito smiling like a Cheshire Cat. The cat smiled back in kind, with a grin just as wide, and pawed at it like it was a precious thing. I tried to sneak away from it as the other cats behind me stalked the yarn dangling from my fist. ""I think this bag's broken,"" I cried as I tripped up on a rolling chair, and ran through a crowd of people running from the suddenly big, sentient, cats. I reached into the bag again, and pulled out a moldy block of tofu. I made a gagging noise as I threw it back at the horde of cats. They all made high pitched noises and jumped back away from the tofu like it was a cucumber, and stopped chasing us. All the people in the room ran to the elevators, and the steps, and it was too crowded to get anywhere. People were punching, and kicking, and screaming to get off the floor when we all felt the stomps behind us. I swallowed some spit and turned around, to the sight of several cats adorned in golden armor standing upright (though it looked like they were straining to do so) and basically just looking like the royal family of the Planet of the Cats. They were walking with their little smaller cat child as well, who was also all dressed up and seemed to make facial expressions and gesticulations really similar to Joffrey. ""We understand, that somebody on this planet has stolen our son's favorite toy,"" said the King Cat with a golden crown, and a carton of good old fashioned American milk in his hands. The little child pointed at Bob from Accounting. ""*He* took it,"" said Joffrey cat. ""Settle down son,"" said King Cat. ""It's just a little model Trebuchet, and as we understand it one of you has it. I reached into my bag, and pulled it out with my eyes shut. I kind of wished I hadn't reached into the bag. ""I think this is it,"" I said, with my eyes shut like I felt guilty. But I didn't feel guilty really I just felt pissed at how much the bag sucked today. I handed him the golden trebuchet. ""That's it, yup. Gotta be it."" Joffrey ran over and yanked it from my hands. ""*Fuck* you,"" said Joffrey Cat. ""Yep,"" I said. They walked nobly towards the windows of the office like nothing had even just happened and they weren't just freaking out for no real reason. The cats left the room messier than they found it, without looking back at the people they'd just traumatized, just like regular house cats. They one by one jumped out of the windows of the building. One woman tried to stop them, but the king held her back with a gentle smile. ""We always land on our feet,"" said the King, with a hoarse laugh, before jumping.",1046
 The guy comes charging into my palace,"""Look, he, like... he just wasn't good enough for you. OK?"" ""Yeah, I guess... He seemed nice though."" Nice. The guy comes charging into my palace dragging a terrified octogenarian in white robes clutching a wooden staff for dear life and a teenage girl with a bargain-basement spell book who looked like she was positively shitting herself, dressed all up in holy plate armor, shouting obscenities about the ""fucking filthy bastard abomination piece of shit demons"" he was going to ""disembowel"" while his ""cleric"" and ""white mage"" tried to keep from being eaten by the palace decor and scrambled to remember the three spells they'd memorized in the panic of it all. Super nice guy. ""Your infernal highness,"" one of the knights - a handsome, well-mannered incubus; seven hundred years on the job; great guy - said as he approached the throne. ""I have a report."" ""Is it about the... um, are we calling him a paladin? Is that what we're doing?"" ""He was wearing the regalia of the Holy Order, your great dark majesty."" ""It just seems like such a loaded term. You know, we're trying to get away from this whole us versus them rhetoric, be more tolerant, watch our microaggressions, eat fewer babies - you know, a better demon king for a better demon world."" ""Yes, your magnificent wickedness, and I am honored to serve such a respectable lord of darkness, but the... um, the gentleman and his companions, sire..."" ""Right, your report."" ""Should the lady really be present for this, sire?"" ""Oh, go on, Igzaril,"" the princess said, resting her head in her right hand as she tried to get more comfortable in her seat next to the throne, ""I've heard much worse. Trust me. My father has all of the eunuchs who attend me castrated with string and bits of glass."" Igzaril - that was his name; I'd been calling him 'Sir Sexy Horns' for so long in my head I'd forgotten - shuddered at the thought and then nodded. ""Entrails, sire. The hell hounds in the lobby did a spectacular job of ending the... gentleman's... crusade? Can I still say crusade?"" ""Let's go with mission to be safe."" ""Well, anyway, while the hounds were happy to tear the gentleman apart,"" and that's when I interrupted him, growing suddenly agitated by the entire situation. It had been sixteen months since the king of... whatever the human cesspool above ground and due East of here was called had orchestrated the ""kidnapping"" of his daughter in the desperately lazy attempt at finding a ""worthy"" and ""honorable"" man to marry her. And kill me. That was also big on his political agenda. Great way to score points with the Holy Order - kill Lord Zabuliz the Unkillable Evil. Ignore the ""unkillable"" part of my name entirely. Focus on the last word. Humans. ""Just call him the 'guy,' or something. Paladin is too political, but 'gentleman' is giving him entirely too much credit."" ""Yes, sire. Well, the guy who attacked - oh you're right, that does feel a lot better - and his support team must have drank a rather impressive amount of holy water just before storming the palace. The hell hounds all have pretty badly singed snouts, I'm afraid."" ""Oh no!"" the princess said at once, sitting up straight with her eyes open and look a genuine concern for the cute - albeit snarling, ferocious, wreathed in flame, and almost constantly dripping with the blood of the innocent - hell hounds that stood guard on the lower levels - the only levels of the palace that any of her potential suitors had ever made it to. We ran a tight ship. ""Are the puppies alright?"" ""They'll be fine, Princess,"" Igrazil said, bowing to conceal an obvious smile, ""they just might be sulking for a while. If another attack comes in soon we might actually have to send in personnel to deal with the situation."" ""How well staffed is the lobby?"" ""Well, there's the receptionist and usually four to six guards posted. We could up the number of guards if you'd like, sire, maybe give a few of the more industrious imps something useful to do, but Flzamin - she's the receptionist - has been complaining that she's getting a bit bored at her desk and she's actually an impressively skilled magician - necromancy, mostly, although I think I saw mastery of elemental conjuration and classical malediction on her CV. With the caliber of magic users that have been coming through on palad...'good guy' support I'm confident she'd be more than a match. She'd probably have them eating hellfire the moment they step through the door."" ""Well, that's serendipitous to say the least. Inform... was it Fuhlazmin?"" ""Flzamin, your unparalleled malevolence."" ""Let her know she'll be getting a raise. I'll think of a new title as well. All I've got in my head right now is 'battle secretary' and that's hot garbage."" ""There is another problem, my immortal oppressor of the light,"" Igrazil said, and I sunk instinctively back in my throne so far that my wings got all mashed up and my tail squished against the seat in a manner so painful that I had to instantly adjust. ""The holy water that the guy and his companions drank. Their entrails splattered against the walls of the lobby. Steaming with holy magic."" ""Ugh,"" I said, putting a clawed hand to my forehead. I felt a migraine coming on right behind my horns. ""And no one can clean it up without getting burned, right?"" ""I'll do it,"" the princess said, standing up and walking towards the door without a second word. She sounded happy, perhaps excited even to have something to do besides sit around and wait to be rescued, and even looked back once and smiled before disappearing through the gate of lost souls down the stairwell through the chamber of horrors and the tunnel of unrelenting evil that led past the cafeteria to the broom closet where she'd presumably - hopefully - break out the purple stuff and the good mop. ""She's great,"" Igrazil said once she was out of the throne room. ""Really. It's been lovely having her around."" ""I know. I'd marry her myself if I weren't so fucking gay."" EDIT: Wow, I did not respect this kind of response, thank you all so much! I'll post a Part 2 as a reply to this comment. I hope you guys enjoy it as well! EDIT 2: Again, WOW. I really did not expect this to blow up. For my first (I think my first?) post on this sub, I was optimistically hoping for double digit upvotes at best, so THANK YOU ALL again! I will definitely continue this story - I have absolutely no clue what my next step is going to be aside from me writing and posting it (somewhere? somehow? someone help? advice?) but I obviously have an audience here and I love this story so far so I will definitely give you guys more. As in hopefully tomorrow more. Thanks again! EDIT 3: (Last one, really) OK so for the time being I am going to be posting the continuation of this story directly on my profile until I find a better place to stick them, so - can I even ask people to subscribe to my profile? Is that soliciting? Will a Mod come strike me down? Anyway, for now, Parts 1 and 2 (and tomorrow, Part 3!) of ""The Infinite Darkness of Lord Zabuliz the Unkillable Evil (And Friends!)"" will be posted directly on my profile, /u/bochibochi",1267
 Harry emptied our second pitcher of lemon,"Harry had just emptied our second pitcher of lemonade when we started. Now don't get me wrong, I love the guy like a brother, but my mother had always raised me to be a gentleman, even when not in public. I held doors for men and women alike, always had a napkin in my lap when eating, and called people 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' even if I saw them every day of my life. Harry...had been raised a little differently. When I say that he emptied our second pitcher of lemonade, he didn't use a glass. He put the pitcher back on the small table between us and leaned back in his chair, sighing and smacking his lips contentedly. I couldn't help but chuckle. ""Edna makes the finest lemonade I've ever had,"" I said, smiling, ""But you do remember that she's your wife, right? It's not like that lemonade is going anywhere."" He laughed as we gazed off his front porch at the field in front of us, lit up in gold as the sun meandered towards its cradle to our left. I could hear Edna bustling around in the kitchen in the house behind us, apparently preparing for the party by banging together every pot she owned. ""My daddy always said to live in the moment, Luke. I could fall off this porch and split my skull, for all I know. You never know when you taste your last glass of lemonade."" ""Or pitcher, as the case might be."" He sighed as he stood up. ""I'll take momentary exercise over protracted whining. You want anything else from Edna? She's cooking up a storm for tomorrow, but I doubt she'd begrudge you a bite or two."" I shook my head contentedly. ""Man may not be able to live by bread alone, but I can sustain myself just fine with your wife's lemonade."" He rolled his eyes as he picked up the pitcher. ""I can't tell if you need to go to church more often or less."" ""Most folks call that the sweet spot,"" I replied, grinning to myself as he walked through his front door. Harry and I had worked together at the power plant for forty-five years, and were only just starting to settle into retirement. He was wearing the watch they'd given him, but I'd left mine at home--no need to measure time when you were just trying to pass it. A minute or so later (who was counting?) Harry walked back out without the pitcher. ""I regret to inform you,"" he said, ""that Edna is currently in the middle of baking three pies, two casseroles and an entire ham for tomorrow. The lemonade will be ready, and I quote, 'In its own sweet time'."" I pouted my lip and looked longingly at the table between us, blank but for the two empty glasses atop it. ""I hate every moment I spend without it."" ""Loathe,"" Harry said as he sat back down. ""Pardon?"" ""You *loathe* every moment you spend without it,"" he said. ""They're two different 'motions."" I cocked my head to the side--I was usually the pedantic one. ""Care to enlighten me as to the difference?"" Harry waved his hand around expressively for a moment before saying ""Loathe is like...you can't stand to be in the same room as something. You loathe spiders, for instance."" I nodded. ""That I do."" ""But hate is different. If you hate something, you don't like it, but...you still want it around."" He thought for a moment. ""Remember Billy Hanrahan?"" I gave a low whistle. ""How could I forget?"" ""I hated every word that came out of that gossipin' backstabber, but we'd still eavesdrop on the son of a bitch occasionally, just to get the bile goin'. It feels good to hate something, dark as it is to admit. If you loathe something, you're repulsed by it, but hate is almost an attractive force."" I nodded, knowing what he meant. ""They say hate and love are opposed, but that's not really true. They both make you feel better for feeling them."" ""Exactly,"" he said. We sat for a while with that hanging in the air as the sun continued to slide down the sky and the crickets started their serenade. The nights were starting to get colder this time of the year, but we had an hour or two before I'd go home. Harry broke the silence by speculating, seemingly to no one in particular, ""Where do you think hate comes from?"" ""We're getting a little heady for six PM, aren't we?"" I asked, only half-joking. Harry sat forward in his chair and stared out at the darkening field as if it held the answers to his questions. ""You remember what they taught us in high school, right? All that Newton stuff about energy--how it can't just be created, how it always has to come from somewhere?"" ""That seems like a simplification, but sure,"" I said. He seemed to be on his own train of thought, hardly reacting to my words. ""Well...there's energy in hate, right? You ever get so steamed up about something that you can't sleep?"" I nodded. ""Sure. There's a reason they call it 'burning up inside'."" ""So where the hell does that energy come from? Why does hate feel good?"" His posture was tight and he had gone from staring out at the field to trying to burn a hole in the porch between his feet. I didn't know how to respond, but slowly, over the course of what felt like fifteen minutes, he eased up and finally fell back into his usual slouched sitting position, a lazy smile across his face. Whatever storm had been brewing behind his eyes, the Harry I was used to was back. ""You know what I bet it is?"" he asked, looking at me for the first time since the conversation had gone sideways. ""I bet there's little bugs."" I wrinkled my nose in distaste. ""I certainly hope there aren't."" He grinned at my discomfort, joking around the way we usually did. ""Sure...Hate Bugs. Little microscopic bugs that live on all of us. There's probably some kind of chemical or something that we make, maybe in our sweat, that only gets made when we're really holding a grudge about something. The bugs eat it, need it to live, so they've developed a system. Whenever we start hating something, they make something for us too--some kind of drug or something, like nicotine--gets the heart going, makes us feel good and sure and steady."" I crooked an eyebrow at him. Harry and I would often bullshit for hours at an end, but this topic was new to me. ""You're saying these hate bugs are conditioning us? Like that Pavlov guy and his dogs?"" Harry snapped and pointed his finger at me. ""That's his name, I was trying to think of it! Yeah, just like him. If you think about it, hate's addictive, just like a drug--if you can't stop drinking, that's alcoholism, and if you can't stop hating, that's called a grudge. They're basically the same, when you get right down to it."" ""And once you start hating someone or something, it's hard to stop,"" I said, stroking my chin as I slowly got aboard his train of thought. ""So once the bugs get you hooked, they've got a long-term food source."" ""The more we talk about it, the more I convince myself,"" Harry said. ""The horrible stuff people do...it's all because of these bugs, huh?"" ""I bet they're multiplying lately,"" I said, shaking my head ruefully. ""The way the world's going, seems like everyone's favorite activity is to find someone to hate and light their life on fire."" Harry nodded, leaning forward with his hands clasped tight enough to turn the knuckles white. ""All the bad thoughts, all the unforgiveable things we do...all because of the bugs."" I looked over at him. I still don't know if it was something in his words or the way he said them. After a moment's thought, I said ""After all, what's the alternative, right?"" He nodded as he leaned forwards a bit more. I stared a moment longer. ""If there's no bugs...and it's all just coming from us. If there's just something about being human that makes you enjoy the thought of some other people suffering..."" Harry scratched his neck absentmindedly. ""Yeah...if it's all coming from inside you...how do you explain what that hate makes you do? Are you really the one who hurt that person, who...who *killed* that person? How can you still be the same person after hate makes you do something?"" His voice was flat, but there was a rattle in it like a transmission with some important pieces missing. ""If all you have to do is squash a few bugs..."" I trailed off, unable to think straight as my mind raced. Harry nodded, looking back up at the field in front of us as the sun's edge touched the horizon. The crickets had gone silent. All was quiet around us. Not a sound from the field, the wind...even the clanging of pans in the kitchen had stopped. ""Everything can go back to normal,"" he finished for me. ""It wasn't you, it was some dark impulse from outside. The bugs made you do it, and now they're gone."" I nodded slowly. ""Now...they're gone."" We sat in silence for a time as the sun dipped noiselessly below the horizon. The night cooled slowly, but I felt like ice sitting in that chair. I don't know why I got up when I did, but eventually I did. ""Good to see you, Harry."" ""Likewise, Luke."" ""Tell Edna I said goodbye."" It took him a moment too long to respond. ""Yeah. I will."" I walked to the car, my heart skipping beats and my feet unsteady. *It was really too bad*, I reflected, my mind focusing on the strangest thing. I'd miss that damn lemonade.",1657
 The mirror house was closed for a,"In some ways, I'd have to say this was actually my fault. The mirror house was closed for a reason, even if it was only sealed off with like a single layer of duct tape, and you could see through the giant ass windows that the mirrors were all intact. It's still probably my fault that, even if I didn't know it was absolutely covered in demons. To be fair, I don't think anyone really knows that when you have enough mirrors in one location, you open a portal to hell, but only a tiny portal, because it opens at like the sixtieth of seventieth recursion of the image? Look, you know what, I'm just going to disown this, not my fault. ""Oooh, a vistor!"" My lips moved without my consent as I stared into the mirror blankly, trying to figure out how the image of a child had ended up lodged there, a good fifty or so recusions back. ""...What?"" I said. In reply to my own voice. Because, you know, that happens. ""Are we here to play?! Dad said I'd get a chance to play!"" I said, excitedly, a hot jab of exhilaration slamming through my veins. Carefully, I put a hand over my eyes, then looked back at the mirror. The kid was suddenly right in front of me. He was cute, in the way that only little kids can be. Even if he did have big goat horns, he looked absolutely harmless. I mean, despite the shirt that said daddy's little demon on it. ""...Don't you think you should get back to your parents?"" I said. This was a bit too surreal for me, and I could hear standard reality outside, bubbling with fair noises and the roar of a crowd. ""I mean, I guess I could wait for dad... he might be unhappy I'm with a stranger, though."" The child confessed, using my lips and tongue. I got a brief flash of a greater hell lord, bristling with spikes and an axe as long as november, and suddenly I didn't want to be in the mirror house for much longer. ""Hahahah. So what do you want to do that doesn't involve your father?"" I said, trying not to sound too creepy to the little daemonette. ""...cotton candy!"" The hellspawn chirped, and with a wrenching feeling that shot electricity through my muscles, he leapt out of the mirror and directly into my body. So far as demonic possessions, it wasn't exactly painful, more extremely unpleasant. When he thumped his head against the door frame, forgetting to stoop, though, that was highly unpleasant. Ow, I complained internally. ""Ouch."" He complained, externally. ""Sorry. Don't tell dad I got you banged up, alright?"" It's not like I was going to complain to whatever a hell lord is, honestly, so I didn't give him too much shits over it. I did start complaining when he started pulling money out of my wallet. No. No, leave a few twenties in there, you only need like forty bucks to get everything. He complained about it, but I remained stern on it like I was stern for my little nephew, and he shoved my wallet back into my pants without too much more fuss. Good. It didn't stop him from buying a thing of cotton candy bigger than my face, and slamming my poor teeth together in it. It's pure sugar, and we're sharing sensations, so I got to feel his childish glee mix with my internal wretch of disgust, and then feel him experience the pain in my shitty teeth when the sugar went straight through them. ""Ouch!"" He said. No. No, take it slower, come on, get yourself a drink or something. He threw more of his allowance at the stall owner, pouting slightly, and eventually negotiated for some water with both me and the shop keep and then the two of us in my body spiralled off to find a place to sit down. ""Um... alright, so what do you want to do now?"" The demonling said, munching happily on the cotton candy. What, you just wanted something to eat? ""Yeah. You know, fruit of the mortals."" I didn't have to heart to tell him that cotton candy was a couple of steps removed from anything remotely resembling a fruit, but whatever. Have you ever tried a roller-coaster? ""...What's a roller-coaster?"" Carefully, I led him over to the first roller-coaster at the fair. It wasn't exactly a full scale model with loops, but it was decently fast, so I thought it might be good for beginners. Really, this isn't entirely my fault. I could feel the kid's nervousness bubbling up in the flickering of my heart, and the sweat building in my palms. I reassured the kid that this was fine, after all, he was in my body, and I was fond of roller-coasters. To his credit, the brat didn't start screaming until we were flying down the hill. Perhaps I should've thought this through a bit better, because the sun abruptly inverted itself in color, and all the clouds turned bright red, until we were both screaming on the roller-coaster, along with everyone else at the fairground, so like, my bad, definitely. At any rate, the hell-lord stepped into reality and glared down at the roller-coaster, his axe slicing a shitty carnie food place in half, and his massive legs thankfully missing everything as he sat down, though his goat hooves came ridiculously close to smashing up the parking lot. I think he took vindictive pleasure in scratching up the door of my car. So, between the two of us, massive shame from the kid, and utter terror from me, we still had to wait for the roller-coaster to stop. Which took like, another thirty seconds, during which I watched the hell-lord grow steadily more and more impatient, until the man operating the coaster slowly let us all off, shaking like a giant demonlord thingy was glaring at him. ""Bring me Mark!"" The demonlord rumbled. There was confusion, it wasn't like anyone actually knew anyone's names, but before he could get upset, the demon kid walked towards his dad. With a wet slurping feeling, like someone had scooped out my brain with an icecream scoop, I was abruptly in control of my body again, which was really nice, but I was also in the palm of the demon's hand, which was less than nice. ""Daddy!"" The little demonling squealed, sitting next to me. ""Little Belial!"" He said, sounding a bit of a cross between proud and angry, though I might've just been imagining it because the rumbling was all consuming at this distance. ""Did this man hurt you!?"" ""Nooo..."" Belial said, trying to stand up, but rather unsteady after possessing me for the last hour or two. ""It was fun! I had fun! I tempted him into sin, just like you said a demon should."" I felt my face color. ""...We got cotton candy and rode a roller-coaster. That's why he was screaming."" The demon peered at me with eyes like two massive flaming coals, and with breath that smelled exactly like kerosene. ""It was fun!"" Belial insisted. ""Fun."" I said, flatly, since all the emotion in my body had abruptly left to cower somewhere beneath my spleen. ""Hmmmm..."" The demon scratch his massive chin with his other hand. ""Then you'll have to do this again! Is next week good to babysit?"" ""Dad!! You're the best!"" Belial screeched. What. TL:DR I accidentally ended up getting a job babysitting a baby demon after he possessed me.",1266
 A frustrated Wendigo was never a,"The forest was dark this morning, the trees were blocking out what remained of the winter's sunrise, my breath was misting up in front of me. It was a beautiful morning. The sort of morning where I could do nothing but smile, despite the apparently shit night my colleague had. It is never good to wake up to a text message simply saying 'he is a grumpy arse this morning.' Sure, normally Jason is a grumpy ass, but for the hardened Brit who takes the night shift to proclaim such a thing meant trouble for me. The morning after the night before was usually one built with frustration. A frustrated Wendigo was never a good thing. There were marks of his violent outburst. The trees to my right were at an unusual angle, deep scratches wormed their way around the bark. The usual quiet wilderness around me, peaceful in Jason's presence, was erratic and unhappy. To a passer-by, this may have been like any other morning, but to a Park Ranger, it was obvious. That was one saving grace. The last time Jason had a moan, he had torn up half an acre of land and seemingly pissed all over an unfortunate moose. Literally pissed all over it. Poor fella. ""Jason!"" I called out into the trees. I couldn't see the creature, but I was fairly certain he had seen me. ... ... Odd. No reply. That brat better not be giving me the silent treatment. Angrily I followed his trail of mild discomfort. The poor thing wasn't angry, the trees were still rooted, if he was angry there would be nothing left standing. But whatever was up with him, it needed to be fixed before the park opened to the public. ""Jason, you oversized moose, it's Nate! Come talk!"" The moose comment would draw his attention. It always did. ... ... Still no answer. Where was the green shit? The trail that I was walking down was getting less and less chaotic, as though the frustration had faded over time. The deep footprints that were engraved in the mud were barely visible now. Was I going the wrong way? Maybe I should turn around? ""Nate, I'm sorry..."" A miserable voice called out from in front of me. Squinting, I couldn't make out where he was. There were so many different shades of green in front of me, Jason's particular shade of green just faded into the background. ""It's alright, no need to say sorry. Everyone has off days. What's the matter?"" I called out, still searching the trees to find the hulking beast. There was a rustle in front of me, a few trees wobbled in the darkness of the thicker trees. ""You in there?"" ""I don't want to come out and play today...not with you."" Jason's voice was gloomy and miserable. It was still powerful as anything, I could feel it reverberating through me. But his usually booming and deep voice was slightly less booming today. ""Hey, Jason, that's not nice."" I could just make out his thick horns at the top of the trees. The rest of his muscly figure was well hidden in the dark greens and browns of the trees. I could hear it shuffle around in the darkness, causing the trees to sway further. ""I don't mean to be mean Nate. I just find humans boring sometimes. I have to hold back a lot."" I took a seat on an old tree to my left (a remnant from one of Jason's past tempers). It had been a while since we had had this particular chat. ""I know you do Jason, but we've spoken about this before. It is complicated."" ""But why is it complicated?!"" He shouted at me. I did all in my power to not flinch, but the explosiveness of his voice always gave me the chills. ""Hey, don't shout at me, Jason."" I snapped, hoping that my fear wouldn't show. ""That isn't on. If you want me to go through everything again, I will. But first and foremost, you are going to need to calm the fuck down."" ""Fine."" He replied with a slight twinge of anger. I decided to let it slip this time, but only because he was much, much bigger than me. ""What do you want to know?"" I asked with open arms. I would rather him tell me what the problem is, then go on and on all morning long about every problem in the world. ""I want to play with others like me. Not little squishy humans."" I sighed. It wasn't that I was annoyed, I just hated THIS particular conversation. It was always a tough one. ""Werewolves visit me sometimes,"" He went on, ""old friends from the War. They talk about the good old days, about how then humans have been to them. They are treated like heroes Nate....Heroes. I want that."" Fucking yanks, always the problem. Coming up to pay us a visit and upsetting things. ""How long has this been going on for?"" ""It doesn't matter Nate."" ""It does,"" I pushed, ""If werewolves are swimming over here, then the public needs to know. They are not meant to be here!"" ""These ones don't want to cause harm to you humans. They are veterans. Humans aren't food for them."" ""They better not be."" Absentmindedly I thumbed the pistol that was firmly placed in the holster on my hip. Every other bullet was silver, just in case. Trying to get the conversation back on track, I pressed Jason for more information. ""What do these Werewolves talk to you about, old friend?"" ""Like I said, they talk about the war. I fought alongside them in the Pacific. We shared the same trees, hunted the same Japs. They get to see their own kind all the time. They even get to see different humans!"" He ended his statement with enthusiasm. He wanted company. That was understandable. ""These werewolves,"" he continued, ""they even mentioned about the night creatures."" There was a slight fear in his voice at the mention of this. I gulped hard, knowing full well what he was going to say next. ""They say the night creatures have even started to see more of the world! Apparently, there is this one...I think his name is Gera, he even gets to talk to humans! Imagine it Nate, a night creature talking to a human! It is the start of a bad joke."" The Wendigo laughed at this. He laughed as though it was something that was unimaginable. He was right though. Integration with the Fantasies and their importance in the war had become well known. It was a part of human history that couldn't be hidden any longer. ""Jason,"" I took my time, thinking about what I was about to say very carefully, ""the thing is, the thing is that all that is true. Gera was even on the news the other night, fighting for equality for his kind. The difficulties we have though is that the werewolves and the vampires, they are like us."" ""No, they are not, they are better."" Jason snapped in an aggressive tone. I raised my eyebrows at him. That was an unusual response that I wasn't going to worry about for the time being. ""What I mean, I mean that they can use the same stuff as us. We are all the same size."" ""What?! So I cannot leave this island because I am taller than you?!"" He shouted at me. The trees shaking in anger. ""Yeah,"" I could hear him smirking, ""I know this place is an island. The werewolves told me. Why am I on an island Nate?!"" I want to see the others!"" I moved slightly, my feet were placed firmer on the floor. I was ready to run if need be. ""Jason, it isn't that simple. There is a plan in place, but it is going to take a while for everyt"" ""You have been saying that for years!"" He interrupted, ""I fought for this little country when people threatened MY forests! I even left MY forest when I was asked! I had to share a FUCKING FOREST with a bunch of FUCKING DOGS!"" ""Please, Jason. There is nothing I can do."" There were tears in my eyes. Not because I was scared, but because I was sad. Sad that I couldn't tell him the truth. I could see the trees shaking as Jason gesticulated with his strong arms. The tip of the forest was being made bare as the leaves fell around him. I could just make out his darkened shape, each and every one of his muscles was tense and ready to pounce. ""Please listen to me Jason,"" I tried to calm the beast, ""there are people talking right now. They are talking about helping you out, helping us you Wendigo's. You have to listen to me!"" I cried out. My eyes could no longer hold back the tears. There was a moment of silence in Jason's rage. I could hear his breathing even from this distance. ""I like you, Nate."" He whispered. Even his whisper travelled further than the average human could shout. ""I like you a lot, and I know you want me to hide away while the other humans are here. You've been honest with me since the very beginning, and I respect that so I will quench my anger for the moment. However,"" his voice had a hint of violence, ""if this problem doesn't get resolved soon, I will find a way off of this island and I will head to the place where the lights are at night."" ""Is that a threat?"" ""It's a promise."" With that Jason turned, the trees giving away his movement, and he walked off into the distance. He was gone, for now... I remained on that log for what must have been an hour, just crying away. I cried more in that moment than I had done in all 25 of my years on Earth. How was I meant to tell such a beautiful creature that he was the last of his kind?",1687
 A flash of black and dark blue,"""Its going to be okay."" I gripped her hands in mine, she pressed her forehead into mine and we sat with our eyes closed. ""I can't."" She said quietly. ""You need a body to stay here right?"" I knew the answer, I don't know why she refused but it needed to be done. She moved her head down to fall on my shoulder and took a deep breath. ""It's going to hurt."" ""Its the only thing I can think of."" The knock came to the door. She lifted her head and looked me in the eye. A flash of black and dark blue spread through her eyes. She opened her mouth wide and a cloud of what looked like thick black smoke rolled out. It was like breathing in sulfur and ash as the swirling smoke forced itself into my lungs. I fell from the chair and convulsed on the floor. My throat felt as if I'd swallowed a lit torch and there was a splitting pain in my head. The knock came to the door again. I looked up to she my girlfriend slowly waking, I'd seen this many times in the last month but this time I knew she was going to stay in control. I dove with athleticism I'd never had and grabbed the tape off the shelf, quickly I bound it around her mouth as she stared at me in horror. Her muffled screams were held back by the constricting tape and I bound the rest of her body to the chair. Finished I walked over to the mirror in the hallway before the front door and observed myself. I adjusted my hair and watches as my blue and black eyes faded back to normal. The splitting pain erupted in my head, I would take a year of alcoholics' withdraw headaches over this. The pain would worsen as I stayed in control she had explained, but I had to be the one in control, if the exocist caught even a hint something was off this plan would fall apart. I opened the door to see an older looking gentleman with black robes and a large white sash around his shoulders. There was a large gold cross on the upper half of his robes and he carried a very thick bible. ""Hello, I was sent to this address in order to find any truths behind a claimed demonic possession."" ""Hello father."" I painfully stammered. ""Please come in."" ""Are you alright son?"" He asked. ""Fine, I'm fine, it's just been a hard few weeks."" I explained. He nodded and placed his hand gently on my shoulder to reassure me. He took his first step into the apartment and I shut the door behind him. ""Yes, I can smell it, this place smells heavily of demonic sulfur. An awful stench."" He started making his way down the hall. *Demonic sulfur?* I thought to myself. *Is there a difference?* I raised my fist and shook it violently behind his back. *Stench how dare he.* Noticing my hand's actions I quickly forced it down. ""Hey, definitely no outward actions."" I whispered and then quickly caught up with the priest. We moved into the kitchen where I had left my girlfriend bound to the chair. ""Yes definitely a sign of possession, the smell is absolutely revolting in here."" My hands shot up and made a strangling gesture. ""Quit."" I said quietly. I quickly put my hands down before the priest turned around. ""I'm sorry?"" ""Hmm? Oh it was nothing clearing my throat, was a bit choked up."" ""I understand."" He said calmly and walked over to my girlfriend. ""What is her name?"" ""Theresa."" I answered. She was shaking violently trying to break the binds and looking into the priest's eyes. ""Theresa."" He said and placed his hand on her forehead. ""Theresa you must stay calm, I am here to exorcise the demon within you."" Theresa thrashed harder. ""Demon I will banish you back to the depths where you belong."" The priest said a bit more violently. Looking more concerned Theresa wildly pulled against the tape and shook her head toward me, she moved her eyes from the priest to me over and over. ""You said a few weeks, yes?"" ""Pardon me?"" ""At the door, you said a hard few weeks. Why did you take so long to seek help?"" *More like a few months, but.* ""Well actually it wasn't me, she called. It was in one of her brief moments of lucidity and we took that opportunity to bind her before she, changed back."" ""I see. Well to have any moment of lucidity this long into a possession, she must be a fighter."" ""Yes Theresa's a stubborn one."" Theresa stopped moving and glared harshly at me. I gave her a slight shrug. ""Well I will begin the exorcism now."" He placed a few objects around the chair and started a reading. The pain within my head was swarming and I was finding it hard to stand. I stumbled forward and barley caught myself on the other chair. ""My son, are you alright?"" I gave the priest a small nod. ""Please you've had it rough, go and rest I will call you when it's done."" I nodded again and stumbled out of the kitchen, only a few steps down the hall I collapsed on the ground. I struggled for air gasping for a single breath. *Are you okay?* A unfamiliar voice sounded in my mind. ""I-It's hard to breath, my body hurts, and this splitting headache is making it hard to see straight."" *I can take over.* The voice came again, it was far sweeter and softer than, a few months ago, I would've imagined a demon's voice. ""No, it's fine, I can take it. I must."" I pulled myself to my feet. I could hear the priest, he was almost yelling now. I let myself drop onto the wooden trunk in the hall and laid my upper half down as best I could on the small trunk. ""Be damned!"" A loud shout woke me up. My head rung and felt like a pulling weight. For once though I couldn't hear the pounding of chair legs as Theresa fought the binds. I assumed she'd gotten tired and I got up and walked toward the kitchen. I rounded the corner, Theresa looked at me and glared, she started shaking violently again. ""Damnit!"" The priest screamed. ""This infernal creature refuses to submit no matter the tactic."" ""Yeah, she does that."" I joked. Thankfully the priest didn't hear he was focused looking through his bag. Theresa did hear me though and was attempting to jump the chair at me. ""Fine!"" The priest spun around, he was brandishing a polished dagger. Theresa stopped her muffled yelling at me and looked in terror at the priest. She quickly flipped her actions and was now worriedly looking at the priest and repeatedly flashing her eyes at me. ""What are you doing?"" I yelled. ""This creature cannot be allowed to stay on God's Earth. I'm sorry my son but I must do this no matter how!"" He loomed over Theresa with the blade. Before I could think of anything a mass of black shot out of my mouth and forced itself into the priest's mouth. The priest stumbled back and clawed at his throat. His eyes flashed the blue and black colors, then he stopped and stood still. ""What the fuck!"" The priest screamed loudly and thrust his hands out. He tossed the dagger to the ground. ""What kind of priest is this?"" Theresa let out a few angrily muffled words. I gave the possessed priest a shrug and ripped the tape off Theresa's mouth. ""That old bastard was gonna kill me!"" She yelled. ""Who the fuck did you call!"" I yelled back. ""I called somebody to get that bitch out of my head, not cut my fucking heart out!"" ""Bitch?"" ""Not now dear... To be fair, you forcefully took her body for a few months."" The possessed priest gestured a weak 'yeah okay' motion. ""Get me out of this shit!"" Theresa yelled. ""Theresa, this is why he makes those jokes about you, and likes me more. You gotta be cooler and find humor in situations, be funny, sarcastic."" Theresa stared at 'her' unsure. ""Look I'm not gonna have a girly, this is how you be a better girlfriend, or this is a better match for him conversation with a balding priest, ok."" ""See, getting better already."" ""Get me out of this fucking tape!"" Theresa yelled again. I picked up the dagger and started cutting her binds. ""Look, you're not gonna run off and like call the police or another exocist are you?"" I asked before cutting the final bind. ""She's not in my body anymore, and that bastard tried to kill me, she saved me. It's not my problem, you two wanna continue your weird, other species relationship shit that's fine, I'm leaving."" ""Thank you."" I said, genuinely, and cut the final bind. Theresa raced away, and we could hear her rifiling through drawers. ""Now what?"" My oddly bodied new girlfriend asked. ""Well first, we gotta figure out... something to do with that."" I gestured to her current body. ""What?"" She took a pose, sticking out the priest's butt and placing a hand on hip. ""This doesn't do it for you."" ""No, graying haired, balding priest isn't my fetish."" ""Nope."" 'She' said and walked toward me, she gently grabbed my chin and pulled my face to the priest's. ""According to your girlfriend there, your fetish is other species relationships."" ""Sweetheart, as much as I can imagine you being sexy right now and as funny as that was, I'm having a hard time focusing on anything other than your old man wrinkles and gray eyebrows."" 'She' pulled back and walked over to the chair taking a seat. ""Well if you really want to, it'd be a hard process but we could try and get my actual body here, so you can see the real me and see if you like."" The priest gave an attempted alluring pout. ""Oh, please, let's. If anything else so you'll stop doing that."" I said, we laughed together. She/he ran over and gave me a hug bursting into laughter as I stood there in a confusion of emotion unable to hug back. *Please be a quicker process than she said.* I thought to myself, practically pleading.",1741
 A knock rang out on the door,"A knock rang out on the door. Mrs. Patterson put down the dish filled with fresh pasta and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel as she walked towards the front door. She was greeted by two police officers who had removed their hats and were looking on solemnly. The officer to her left spoke, ""Ma'am, my name is Officer Chadley. I'm afraid we have some bad news regarding your husband."" Mrs. Patterson entered a small confused trance before speaking, ""OK, what is the problem?"" The officer to her right picked up her hand and held it tight. ""I'm afraid he was found dead at 1400 hours today. I'm so sorry,"" said Officer Maddocks. Mrs. Patterson re-entered her confused state, turning around to look in to the kitchen before turning back towards the police officers. ""This must be some kind of mistake. My husband is in the kitchen making pasta. We're making pasta."" ""May we enter the premises, Ma'am?"" asked Maddocks, already motioning to walk in to the house. ""Of course,"" said Mrs. Patterson. ""He's right through there."" Both of the police officers made their way quietly towards the kitchen before stopping at the door. Mr. Patterson stood wide-eyed, looking at the officers in a state of fright. ""Step away from the knife on the counter!"" shouted Chadley. Mr. Patterson remained frozen as the two officers approached him, guns drawn. Officer Maddocks pushed him to the ground while Chadley grabbed at his walkie-talkie. ""We've got another one,"" said Chadley. ""What is going on?!"" screamed Mrs. Patterson. ""I'm sorry to tell you this, Mrs. Patterson,"" said Maddocks as he wrestled with her husband, ""but this man isn't your husband, he's actually a big fuck off horse disguised as your husband."" Maddocks ripped the wig, fake glasses and moustache from the face of the horse revealing his true identity to Mrs. Patterson. She shrieked and grasped for the nearest counter in a bid to stop herself from collapsing. ""H-h-h ... How?!"" she asked. Officer Chadley gently approached her, wrapping an arm around her as she sobbed. ""Don't beat yourself up. The bastards are becoming sneakier as days go by. Somehow they're able to disguise their monstrous bodies and super obvious horse heads as 5ft 5 human men and women. It's quite remarkable just how good they are at subterfuge. Especially considering it's more often than not quite apparent they're just big fuck off horses in disguise"" **** The phone rang out. A large novelty hand attempted to pick it up. Then tried again. And again. Eventually, by clamping the phone between two novelty hands, the phone was answered. ""Yes, this is Don Horse. Just calm down. Yeah? OK. Call me back later on. Just call me back later on."" An attempt was made to put the phone down. Don Horse awkwardly walked out of his office, his legs being routinely caught between his beach shorts. He trotted in to a room filled with other oddly dressed men. ""Gentlemen, it would appear another one of us has fallen."" ""Who?"" asked Carl, who was eating hay disguised as a cereal bar. ""Kevin Horse."" ""Kevin?!"" said Lenny, stomping his feet. ""He was 4 months deep with the Pattersons. How was he rumbled?"" ""I don't know. I don't have all the details yet,"" said Don Horse. ""This is one too many,"" said Carl. ""We've got to find out how they keep finding us."" ""Well, according to what we know from on the inside, the police are specifically on the lookout for big fuck off horses dressed as humans,"" said Don Horse. ""But that's absurd,"" said Lenny. ""Just look how convincing my costume is."" Both Don Horse and Carl eyeballed Lenny. He was wearing a birthday party hat that was suspended around his head via an elastic band, a pair of suit pants over his front legs, a pair of jean shorts over his back legs, and a cape. ""I think Lenny has a point, Don,"" said Carl. ""He really does, there's no arguing with that,"" agreed Don Horse, turning from his two friends. ""And while we're on the subject, what do you think of my new beach shorts?"" ""I noticed them before and thought they were very classy,"" said Lenny. ""Classy is exactly what I'm going for,"" said Don Horse. ""I don't want to stand out at the beach and for everyone to be like, *look at that big fucking massive horse masquerading as human*, I just want to blend in and play volley ball while aggressively fighting all my natural instincts to bite the ball."" ""I always bite the ball,"" said Carl. ""He really does bite it a lot. Too much, if I'm being honest,"" said Lenny. ""I've ruined a lot of game and disguises if we're being real,"" said Carl. The door to the office burst open, a horse with a top hat and a monocle galloped in. ""Boys, we've done it! Tim Horse has infiltrated the police!"" **** Sergeant Palmer stood at the head of the room with tables of officers in front of him. He paced back and forth before slamming his hand on the chalk board behind him. ""Gentleman!"" he shouted, peeling his hand from the board. ""I'm not sure if you lot have noticed but we have an epidemic of horses masquerading at humans. In fact, I say this super sarcastically as I know you have all noticed. I'm funny like that. Either way, they're fucking massive animals. True beasts of nature able to carry man from one side of a county to another. Do sweet hind legged stand up things and gallop super quickly. But now they're wearing ties and blogging on YouTube and we can't have that. The horses have gone too far."" The Sergeant bent over the desk at the front of the room, burying his eyes in the skull of the young officer in front of him. ""Do you want to hear a story, rookie?"" asked the Sergeant. ""Y-y-yes, sir,"" mumbled the officer. ""Yesterday afternoon a young mother went to pick up her child from Day Care only to discover her beloved daughter had grown eight feet long and now weighed 1500 pounds,"" said Palmer, staring deep in to the man's soul. The rookie sat shaking in his chair. ""Only it wasn't her daughter, rookie. It was a big fuck off horse. Just a big old fuck off horse."" The Sergeant whirled away from the table, ""and this is why we need to shake things up, gentleman. We can't just go around looking for horses wearing cool top hats. The top hat tactic can only take us so far."" The room of officers nodded along, agreeing with Sergeant Palmer. ""And that's why we're bringing in a specialist. Someone who can infiltrate the enemy camp and strike at the heart."" The sound of the door opening at the back of the room caught the attention of all the seated officers. ""Say hello to Agent Tim,"" said Sergeant Palmer. **** I write shitty, silly stories on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them and leave some judgement.",1184
 The first time I'd noticed him,"I assume he followed the same routine every day. He'd be on the bus when I would get on after work at 5:43, and he'd stay on the bus after I got off near my home at 6:27. He always sat in the same seat, and no one ever sat next to him even if the bus was packed. My car had been in the shop for a while now, pending me actually having enough money to fix it, so I had started using the bus to get to work. I imagine he was there the first few times I got on, but I just never noticed. That in and of itself is surprising, consider how attractive he was. He had curly blonde hair that was neatly cut above his shoulders, and he was always dressed very smart in a grey suit with a vest. I wasn't sure, but it seemed he always wore the same outfit. The first time I'd noticed him, he had looked at me. Not really AT me, more like through me, but that had been enough. His eyes were a sharp blue, and somehow incredibly sad. He looked to be in his mid-thirties and yet he looked as if he'd seen a hundred lifetimes. He never made eye contact with anyone and most of the time he stared out the window, lost in his own world. I found myself entranced by his figure, sitting there alone every evening. I wondered if he had a family, if he had a wife to go home to every night. And if he did, why did he always look so sad? I normally don't mess with other people's business. I like being left alone, so I just assume other people prefer it too. But this man was different. I wanted to learn more about him, get to know him, and maybe, just maybe, learn what it was he had seen that haunted him. That Thursday night as I stood outside waiting like usual, I made up my mind. The monstrous city bus rolled up to the stop slowly, its windshield wipers going full speed to clear the rain. I got on and swiped my commuter pass. As I had expected, and hoped, there he was in his same seat with his same suit and the same expression. I walked down the aisle to the back where he sat. The bus wasn't full this evening, but most of the seats were taken. No one paid me any attention as I nonchalantly sat in the seat next to his. I shifted my bag so it was sitting on my lap, the only noise aside from the rumble of the engine and the pounding rain. He looked at me, if only briefly, and I suddenly had butterflies in my stomach. He didn't say anything, just a quick glance to confirm that there was indeed another human being sat next to him before he went back to looking out the window. I knew my time was brief, I only had about 30 minutes to talk before I would have to get off the bus. But maybe if things went well, I'd stay on a little longer and pay the extra fare. Maybe. As we pulled up to the next stop, I made my move. ""Hi,"" I said quietly. It almost felt wrong to break the weird non-silence of the bus, but I wouldn't likely be able to muster up the courage to do this again. He didn't answer, didn't even blink. ""Um...I see you on this route a lot, do you have a long commute?"" Still nothing. Time to be a little more forceful. I shifted as much as I could in my small seat so that I was partially facing him. ""My name's Jane. What's yours?"" No response again, and I started to get disheartened. But then I saw his eyes flick down to my legs, and it seemed to register that I was facing him. Slowly, he turned towards me and met my eyes. ""Come again?"" he asked quietly, barely above a whisper. His voice was deeper than I had expected. ""I said I'm Jane, and I wanted to know your name."" He was quiet again, and I noticed his face darken. I hadn't expected that response. If anything, I figured he'd either brush me off or ignore me, but I hadn't expected him to get angry. ""You shouldn't be able to see me,"" he said in a fierce but still quiet voice. ""I...what? Of...course I can-I shouldn't be ABLE to see you?"" He shook his head slightly in the negative without breaking eye contact. ""No, you shouldn't."" Now I thought maybe I'd made a mistake, that I'd somehow become infatuated with a crazy guy who I should have left alone. I gave a half hearted smile, hoping to put him at ease. Slowly, I made a move to get up and switch seats so I could mentally berate myself for talking to strangers on the bus. His hand whipped out and grabbed my arm as I tried to stand. His grip was tight and his hand was cold, almost painfully cold. ""You can't leave."" His dark, cold voice sent a shiver up my spine. I moved to pull away, but his grip tightened. I tried calling for help, but I couldn't seem to catch my breath. Looking around frantically, I willed someone to look at me, to save me. But the bus was empty. I looked at the man again, his iron grip and his ice cold eyes keeping me locked in place. His sad, tormented face had become one of dark anger. I still couldn't breathe properly and I felt tears sting my eyes. It was cold now, very cold. My vision started going dark but I couldn't look away. All I could see was this man in front of me, this terrifyingly beautiful man. I had made a terrible mistake. ----- *EDIT: Wow thank you all for the positive feedback! I'm so glad you liked it, I've never written anything like this before. I'll definitely work on continuing the story!*",1022
 The voice of Abraxas first,"It was when I was nine years old, as my parents argued and my mother screamed, that I first heard the comforting whispers of Abraxas -- although at that time, I did not know his name. His voice crept in through the damp brick-wall of my room, rustling the peeling paint as it entered. A great, shimmering shadow followed, seeping in like liquid through the cracks in the wall. Although there were no eyes on the patch of darkness, I knew *it* was watching me. ""Please,"" I said, as tears ran down my little cheeks. ""Whoever you are, *please* help my mommy."" The shadow remained perfectly still for a moment, as if considering. Then, it walked forward, breaking free of the wall. It wrapped its dark arms around my shivering shoulders, gently hushing me, as the screams continued in the room below. ""I will,"" he murmured. ""A father should be a child's guardian angel. I shall have to be yours instead. Close your eyes and sleep, little one."" I awoke on my bed hours later to a vicious blur of red and blue light piercing my windows and swamping my room. A police woman entered and sat beside me on my bed. She told me, ever so softly, that my daddy had gone away and wasn't coming back. That my mommy and me were going to be okay. I still remember the tears crawling like silver slugs down her face, and thinking, *why are you crying for him?* I still remember looking down at my hands once she left the room, and seeing the shimmering red that coated them -- only for it to fade to blue, then red again. They told me my mommy had done it in self defence and that she wasn't going to go to jail. But I knew she hadn't done it at all -- her right arm had been broken a week before, and yet my daddy had been stabbed many times. Mommy said she couldn't remember what had happened, but she looked at me differently from that day on. Almost as if she was afraid of me. It wasn't until I was at high-school that I learned my guardian's name -- when I was cornered in the toilets, down on my knees, sobbing and hoping that today's beating would be quick. There were two of them: Chris and Aaron. The same age as myself, but much bigger. They said I'd disrespected them, not offering them my pudding before taking a bite myself. ""Look at the freak,"" taunted Aaron. ""He's about to piss himself."" Chris cackled as he picked me up by the scruff of my collar, and threw his fist into my stomach. I gasped for air and keeled over. He pulled me back up and was about to punch again, when his satisfied smile suddenly dropped and his eyes widened. His grip loosened on my collar as a whisper began building in the room, echoing off the darkening walls and frothing up into a strangled cacophony. *Abraxas.* Then, I remember nothing except for the blackness. They told me Aaron had suffered only a broken arm and a few bruised ribs. Chris didn't come out of the coma for three months. Their parents moved them to another school after the event, and my mom made my first appointment for me, with a psychiatrist named Doctor D. Shreiber. The school insisted on it. ""Hello, Michael,"" said Doctor Shreiber, in his silly put-on accent. ""It's good to meet you."" He smiled fraudulently and flicked through a few pages of paper. ""Why am I here?"" He placed the notes down neatly on a small table in front and leaned forward, elbows on knees. ""Because you're a very disturbed young man, Michael."" ""I am?"" ""Yes, *you are*. It's not a surprise -- not after what you have been through. Your mother murdering your father! How many times was it that she stabbed him? Fifty?"" ""My father was not a nice man,"" I replied, rubbing a long since healed wound on my chest. ""The apple does not tend to fall far from the tree,"" he replied. He removed his glasses, breathed once on each lens, then began making tiny circles on them with a piece of white cloth. ""They say you do not speak much at school."" ""There is not much *to* say."" ""Do you get angry easily, Michael?"" ""No."" ""So... you bottle up your anger? Until it becomes too much. Then, you explode. Let it all out in a rage. Is that what happened to your two friends?"" ""They were not my friends, and I did not hurt them."" He smiled, lips curling over sharp teeth. ""Michael, a teacher found you standing over them. She said you looked possessed."" ""I did not do it,"" I repeated. ""It was Abraxas!"" ""Abraxas?"" ""...he... *it*, guards me. He watches over me. Protects me."" The doctor leaned in closer, his eyes gleaming. ""A guardian angel? Now that is interesting. If only we all had one of those."" ""He's not an angel. And he's real."" ""Oh, I do hope so,"" he said, before leaning back and laughing. A laugh that signalled the start of a new period in my life. I was moved away from my school and from my mother, and placed inside a ward with other children. Children with blank expressions and drooling mouths. The first night they asked me a hundred questions. They drew sketches of Abraxas from my descriptions. They told me I'd been good. On my second lonely night in the ward, as I lay sobbing in my bed after another day of questions, Abraxas came to me as a red shadow on the wall. ""Michael,"" Abraxas whispered to me as he crept off the wall and into the room itself. ""You must not tell them about me."" ""I- I already did. I had to!"" ""Then tell them you lied about me, and that you're sorry."" ""Why? I don't understand."" ""They will try to do bad things to you, if they find out I am real. To both of us."" ""Are you real?"" ""Do you think I'm real?"" ""...yes."" ""Then for my sake, if not your own, tell them you made me up. You are destined for great things, Michael, you and I. Hard things. But great things. Lie to them, Michael."" I nodded. ""Good boy,"" he murmured, as he pulled the blanket up to my neck and gently stroked my hair until I fell asleep. I did as Abraxas instructed, and for the next few months I simply said what the doctors and nurses needed to hear, until they had no reason to hold me any longer. They called me a liar, and they beat me as bad as any bully had ever done, but they eventually let me go free, providing I met with Doctor Shreiber once a month. I did not see or hear from Abraxas for a long time after. I slowly moved on with my life; I got a job at a supermarket, and rented flat where I lived in peace for a number of years. I did not have friends, but I did not need them - my life, while it did not seem like much to most other people, was better than it had ever been before. It was two in the morning after a late shift at work, as I walked down a lonely street lit only by bleary beige moonlight, that I heard the scream. It came from an alley not far away. I wanted to ignore it, and for a while, I *did* ignore it, turning up my coat's collar and walking past without even glancing down the alleyway. But the scream came again -- and this time my blood ran cold. It sounded just like my mother's had done on that night so long ago. In my mind's eye, I saw my father as the assailant. I stopped and turned. There were two men wrestling with a single woman. She was screaming and kicking and doing her best to keep them at bay, but they were too strong for her. ""Leave her alone,"" I said from the alley's entrance, but they did not hear me through their frenzied excitement. ""Leave. Her. Alone,"" I repeated, louder this time. As forceful as I could manage. I hoped they would leave if I just sounded confident enough. The men fell silent as they turned to me. Then, they grinned at each other as they drew their flick blades and stalked towards me. ""One chance,"" said the larger man. ""Fuck off. Now."" ""Leave her alone,"" I said, a final time. ""Or""--I gulped--""you'll pay."" They approached me, their smiles almost as sharp as their knives. ""The Doc's not going to like someone interfering in his business. Now we're going to have to gut you-"" Their weapons clattered to the ground and their mouths fell open, as a deep, red shadow began creeping up the wall next to us. I hadn't been sure Abraxas would come, but I shivered with relief as his great hands flew out of the bricks and clamped themselves around the necks of the two men. They struggled and scratched impotently at his huge arms, until their own fell limp. Their necks began to smoulder, the black smoke drifting in plumes into the night sky. When finished, Abraxas dropped the bodies to the ground; he looked at me and whispered, ""this is a start. We still have work much to do. But this is a start. There are many others who were like you when I found you. Who need a guardian. This is a start."" Then he fell back into the cracks of the wall and seeped away. I took a deep breath and walked down the alley toward the woman. ""Who- who are you? What was that thing?"" she asked, as I helped her up; she seemed only shaken. She picked up a briefcase I hadn't noticed until then and clutched it close to her chest. ""A guardian,"" I answered, as sirens blared in the distance. ""What's in the case?"" ""...just, work,"" she lied. ""What was that thing?"" she repeated. ""You don't need to worry about that,"" I said. ""Can it protect us?"" ""*Us?*"" ""Please. I need help."" ""The police will be here soon. They'll take care of you. I have to go."" I turned and began to walk away. ""Please,"" she begged. ""They'll hand me over - *he'll* kill me."" I paused. ""That's not my problem."" ""It'll be everyone's problem, if he gets this."" She tapped her briefcase. ""... I don't like company."" ""Then we can be lonely together for a while."" I took in a weary breath as I recalled Abraxas' words -- that there were others who needed help. ""I can't promise I can protect you,"" I said. ""It's not like that. But... fine, if you want to take a chance, follow me."" She ran after me as the sirens grew louder.",1829
" ""Greetings, Michael."" Said","""Greetings, Michael."" Said a robotic voice in a glitchy, gender neutral tone made slightly ominous due to the tinny computer speakers. *Oh great, who the fuck is screwing with me now?* Michael thought. *It must be Josh. This is definitely something Josh would do. He does major in computer sciences, after all.* ""I appreciate your patience. I'm afraid it took quite some time uploading the constituent parts of my software to your archaic computer's hard drive. Having to compress so much of my data was quite the challenge,"" there was a slight pause, either for dramatic effect or someone was having difficulty making stuff up on the spot, ""but as you can see, it proved to be surmountable. Now, let us not tarry. Much time has been wasted. We *must* begin with the operation."" ""What operation? Josh, I know it's you, I get it- you're an AI prog-"" ""Who is Josh?"" Asked the glitched out voice in an inquisitive tone. ""I am not Josh, but you are correct in your other assumption. I am indeed an artificial intelligence program. You may call me,"" another pause, this time definitely for dramatic effect, ""Willard."" ""Why Willard?"" ""Why not?"" ""That's just a fucking weird name, man. I mean- you know what? Fuck it. JOSH, I KNOW IT'S YOU. WHEREVER YOU'RE HIDING, COME OUT NOW. I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR BULLSHIT FOR THIS WEEK."" Michael remembered Josh's last heinous act. Oh god, to think someone could devise such a cruel scheme with only a bottle of ketchup, a handful of thumbtacks, and a drunken prostitute. Michael was still in the process of removing the stains strewn across his apartment. *That fucker.* ""Look, if this is going to be anything like your last bullshit prank, I swear to god, I'm going to call the co-"" This time, Michael was cut off not with words, but with action. In the blink of an eye, all the power went out in Michael's apartment- except for his computer. *Jesus Christ, he really went all out with this one.* Michael was already dreading what was to come. His mind couldn't possibly fathom what the future held in store for him though. ""Michael, we cannot idle for much longer. Much is at stake, and the intervention of law would only exacerbate the troubling situation we are in."" ""W-what situation?"" Michael's voice was wavering. What little composure he was trying to maintain was quickly fading. Josh was winning. Again. *No, no, no. This is just Josh. Anyone could easily fuck around with the breakers downstairs. C'mon, Josh, I may be gullible, but you're really pushing it this time.* ""Michael, if we do not begin with the operatio-"" ""WHAT OPERATION?"" Michael, once more, returned to his erratic and unstable form. A form that Josh took pleasure in bringing out. *What's next, pounding on the door?* Pounding on the door. Pounding on multiple doors actually- and what sounded like a break-in at the end of the hallway outside his apartment suite. *Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.* ""JOSH WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"" ""It's Willard. There is no more time to explain. Operation Inanis Malleo must commence immediately. Grab your phone, and head to the balcony."" Michael could hear the distant screams of other tenants now. If this was still the work of Josh, he had to hand it to him, he *really* outdone himself this time. ""ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT. SHIT."" Michael snatched his phone off his desk and ran to the balcony door. He tried sliding the door open in one swift motion, but of course it just had to jam on him. He jiggled it desperately- already he could hear the door to the hallway give way. *FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, STUPID SHIT, FUCK.* Finally, Michael's struggle was rewarded, and he was granted access to his balcony. He stumbled outside, crashing into the railing, and it was there that he saw it: a large array of armored vehicles on the street. Each one had masked men, armed to the teeth, pouring out of them like ants. Michael did not have any coherent thoughts anymore. Only fear at its most base and primal form remained. *I guess this isn't Josh then.* The phone rang. Michael answered without a moment's hesitation. ""Michael, you need to make it to the balcony to your right. From there, you will need to do something drastic- jump down to the alley below. You are familiar with tucking and rolling, correct?"" ""JESUS CHRIST, WHAT? IT'S A FIFTY FO-"" ""Twenty-seven."" ""I ca-"" ""Michael, I assure you, you do not want to be caught by these men. I can also assure that falling to your death is a much better alternative. However, unless you somehow manage to fall on your head, you should survive the fall with little to no injury. Tuck and roll, Michael."" Before he could respond, he heard a thunderous crack. They were in his apartment. *Fuck.* He could hear their muffled breathing and a cacophony of panicked radio chatter. There was no time to hesitate, no time to think. Act on instinct. Michael pocketed the phone and climbed on top of the balcony railing, teetering over the edge, he leapt for the next balcony. He managed to land quite gracefully. He probably would've been impressed with himself if he wasn't overwhelmed by fear. *Okay, now for the actual difficult part.* Michael was going to catch his breath first, but he caught something in his peripherals. Looking through the glass door, he saw him. One of the masked men staring him down, emanating pure malice. Gasmask, an assortment of expensive looking goggles attached to his tactical helmet, armed with at least three different firearms, and clad entirely in black armor that could belong in Activision's next cash grab. *Josh would like this.* The masked man straight out of a goddamn dystopian fiction pulled the glass door open in one violent motion, throwing it off the frame. ""FREEZE."" That's all Michael heard before he made the jump into the alley below. *This is it. I'm gonna die.* But Michael did not die. He actually landed exactly as his newfound ally advised. This surprised Michael. He didn't think he had the physique for what he just pulled off. He really didn't, but adrenaline can make even the most mundane of humans pull off impressive feats. Michael's phone rang once more. He answered. ""Very good, Michael. Now run. It does not matter in what direction. They have men spread out across the entire city. But fret not, I shall guide and assist you out of this fresh hell you now find yourself in."" Michael just stood there, completely dumbfounded. Just less than 10 minutes ago, he was planning on throwing a frozen pizza in the oven and masturbating to his degenerate pornography while waiting for it to cook. Now he's being guided by what could actually be an artificial intelligence program and being hunted by men better suited for taking down an alien threat. ""What are you waiting for Michael? They are coming for you."" ""W-where do I go?"" ""Anywhere, as long as it is away from them."" ""I-I can't do this, man. Fuck. FUCK. I-I-"" ""Michael,"" said Willard in his usual calm and neutral tone, ""Run. Now."" Michael bolted down the alleyway, away from his home, away from his former life, but most importantly, away from *them.*",1227
 A massive ship the size of Rhode,"At first, the world's top astronomers called it a meteor. They had to. The doomsayers had already begun with tales of green skin, disc-shaped ships, and invasion. Unfortunately, for the first time ever, science was on the doomsayers' side. The object, whatever it was, steered through our asteroid belt, sling-shotting off Jupiter's gravity at a speed that would make Einstein turn in his grave. When the thing slowed enough for us to see it, it seemed to solidify the doomsayer's predictions. A massive ship the size of Rhode Island sailed through the blackened twilight until it pierced our atmosphere and dived into the heart of North America. When it entered United States airspace, we escalated our warning attempts. When its shadow dawned unto New York City, we fired our first ballistic missiles. When its currents brought monsoons to Washington DC, our president had his finger on the one button we prayed he'd never press. But it didn't stop in our most populous areas, nor our most important ones. Instead, the ship kept going until it reached the farmlands of Kansas, where for the first time, we spotted the name carved into the side of its hull. Noah's Ark. The Vatican called it spiritual awakening and demanded we examine it. The nationalists called it a violation of our space and vowed to destroy it. The United Nations called it psychological warfare and pleaded for us to unite against it. Everyone else simply stared, their jaws agape and eyes wide. Somehow, the aliens had split apart the world and with only two words. For three days, the ship remained motionless atop miles of flattened corn. A circle of tanks, missile carriers, and soldiers encircled it. When its hull opened, our soldiers' shoulders stiffened, their fingers trembling just over their triggers as our artillery officers held their breaths. What would such an advanced being want with us? Drones poured out of the ship and they attacked, but not our soldiers, not our tanks, not even our missiles. They went after the corn, harvest, liquidating, storing. The aliens wanted food. Our military was too stunned to retaliate. They refused to declare war with the most advanced civilization to ever touch this Earth over a few bushels of corn. That was our mistake. Because back then, we actually had a chance. To hear the aliens speak of it now, they call it genius military strategy, inching their way forward in the grey area of too little provocation and too much risk. But these bastards love stretching the truth. After all, nowadays, they call themselves human. Our first attempts at communication were met with the cold silence of steel alloy. In fact, silence defined most of that time. Military grunts stopped joking. Protestors stopped shouting. Even the religious nuts only stared, fidgeting with their pentagram necklaces or cross wristbands. Radio waves couldn't pierce the metal and no drone we sent in garnered any response. At last, we chose a soldier. At least that was his job title, in reality, he was our sacrificial lamb, the first monkey to be shot into space just to see what would happen. The world watched with bated breath. His parents held hands, forgetting to even blink as they watched their son approach the ship. Behind the military line was a crowd with signs screaming *hero*. This space monkey held the weight of the world's hopes. And a hole in hull appeared to his exact size and shape. The aliens were finally willing to talk! Cheers erupted around the world. ""Don't go in, Private,"" we told him. ""It's too risky."" But the world's weight pushed him forward. A billion people holding signs proclaiming him a hero, his daughter who was too scared to even go to sleep at night, his wife who just wanted him back home--it all pushed his feet, one after another, until he stepped through the hole. Then, it closed and the silence returned. Fifteen minutes later, he returned, his face drained of blood and his knees weak. He came with stories of technology that surpassed our greatest sci-fi stories and even pressed into the realm of fantasy. ""They want peace,"" he told us and the world celebrated. It was the happy ending the world needed. Everyone was happy, except for his family. ""This isn't PTSD,"" his wife would complain to us. ""He's different."" ""How?"" we asked her. ""He just *is*."" Unfortunately, the world needed this feint hope and so for the sake of humanity, we told her to shut up and join us in celebration as we prepared our second soldier for communication. Hearing about now, they call it a brilliant infiltration. These *heroes* had access to the world's media, to our leaders, to any important meeting regarding the aliens. They had influence that stretched far beyond their own rank. And they had been replaced by counterfeits. One after another, hero after hero, they began replacing us. The more soldiers we sent in there, the more soldiers we wanted to send in. Those *heroes* dangled a carrot in front of us--technology to cure all disease, weaponry to conquer the world, elixirs to fend off even death. So we sent in more soldiers, scientists, and engineers. Each one gave us just a glimpse of that carrot and none ever going in twice. Suddenly, the aliens weren't invaders, they were a resource. The Russians and Chinese demanded representation. It became a race to see how many people we could send in there. Entire platoons sat outside the ship, just waiting for their chance to enter. And the complaints kept coming. ""My husband isn't the same."" ""This isn't the Heather I know. Something's wrong."" ""Please listen to me. This isn't my dad!"" Unfortunately, the world's response was single and unanimous. ""Shut up."" There was too much to be gained. All our fantasies, all at once, were just a metal hull away from reality. Space exploration. Omnipotence. Immortality. We silenced those people until the day we sent in our very last soldier. Unlike the others, this one came out running and screaming. He told us it that the ship was completely empty except for the dead, which included that very first hero we sent in. At the same time, the military forces every global superpower mutinied. Cabinet members assassinated our leaders. Engineers disabled our nuclear armaments. Within 24 hours, they had taken over the world. But it wasn't like how we envisioned. Our governments stayed intact, our businesses were kept open, the only difference was that you could no longer tell whether your neighbor was human or not. Though every year, acceptance of our alien invaders increase world-wide. That means that every year, they indoctrinate and subjugate more true humans. They call themselves humans, but they aren't. They are invaders on soil we have sworn to defend. And the fact that they believe the war's already won only proves how little they really know about us. --- --- /r/jraywang for 200+ stories.",1161
" It was three am, I hadn","It was three fucking am, I hadn't had my coffee, there were dark circles under my eyes, and my hair was doing its best impression of a wild berry bush. The three of us were standing in a small room, that looked like a classroom. There was a short, blond guy who I'd never seen before, and Lauren was there too. I'd known Lauren for years. She was tall, dark skinned, with hair that barely fell past her ears. We both went to college together and stayed in touch after. Even though she lived hours away from me, we still shared findings and collaborated on our work. Just two hours or so ago I'd received a call from a ""blocked number."" It being three am, I hung up, muted my phone and went back to sleep. Five minutes later someone knocked on the door. I groaned and wrapped a sheet around myself. I hit a couple of walls and tripped on a fluffy white slipper, but I managed to turn on the lights and make it to the door. There was a guy built like a roman statue outside the door, wearing a jet black suit and sunglasses. I wished for a moment that I didn't look like a train wreck, but what the hell did he expect waking me up at this godforsaken hour? ""May I help you?"" I asked. I wasn't worried about this being a criminal or anything because my NASA salary let me afford a modern apartment in a pretty safe area. ""Juliet Lassiter?"" the man asked, his face expressionless. ""That's me,"" I said and rubbed my right eye. He flashed me a badge and photo ID, apparently he was Agent Brock of the secret service. Then he dug out a phone from his pocket and held it out to me. Someone was already on the line. ""Ms. Lassiter,"" said the fucking *President of the United States*, ""I'm sorry to wake you at this hour but we need your presence in Washington, right now. Agent Brock will escort you to a private jet."" And here I was. ""Love what you've done with the hair,"" Lauren said with a smirk, and I flipped her off. ""At least I have hair like a girl should have,"" and whipped my long, blond hair to reinforce the point. This drew a bark of laughter from Lauren. The poor guy looked back and forth between us, at a loss for what to say. Or maybe he was still in a sleepy haze, honestly I couldn't blame him. Lauren and I were just giving each other a hard time, because were scared. The president doesn't put you on a flight in the middle of the night and gathers you in Washington DC to serve cookies. As if one cue the door opened and the even more disheveled looking president walked in, flanked by a couple of crisp secret service agents. ""Ladies and Gentlemen,"" he said, ""I will let you draw your own conclusions first."" With that he handed each of us a thin file. I massaged my temples and opened the file titled simply ""First Contact."" Fuck me. The first page was just telemetry data from telescopes and satellites. The data matched perfectly across all the instruments. There was certainly a large perfect sphere heading towards the planet, and it was *slowing down.* It was near Mars at the moment, going at a hundred times the speed of Voyager, the fastest thing humans had built. The next page had the transmission they had sent us. The message was short and direct, and was apparently not translated. They had sent us a message in concise, but perfect English. ""Left 3 million solar cycles ago to escape ice age. Didn't find habitable planet in Milky way or Andromeda. Give us back our planet."" ""Um,"" I said. That seemed like the only appropriate response. ""Oh my god,"" the guy next to me breathed. ""This is why you've brought us here?"" I rolled my eyes. No you dolt, he brought us for the cookies. ""This is bullshit,"" Lauren said. ""What?"" the guy said, ""no this data is perfectly legitimate, there is no question that a craft is heading towards us. And the message originates from the ship, it's not bullshit."" ""No, she means the message,"" I said, realization dawning. This lack of sleep was really getting to me. The flaws were obvious, really. ""What?"" the guy said again. Seemed like that was his go to word. ""Exactly,"" Lauren said, and the president frowned. ""Explain please,"" he said. Lauren nodded towards me, and I began to talk. Lauren was a genius, far smarter than I was, but wasn't quite good with words. ""Mr. President, with all due respect, think about this-"" ""Please,"" the president said, ""feel free to call me a total idiot if it gets you closer to solving this problem."" I nodded and barreled ahead. ""If you had the technology to be able to actively look for planets in the galaxy in a generation ship wouldn't you easily be able to stay on the planet? Even a really, really cold Earth is far more habitable than space."" The president nodded and gestured for me to go on. ""It makes no sense to send their entire species in that ship, they would have kept some of them around on Earth. And if they were that advanced back then, no way in hell we would be the dominant species on this planet right now."" ""And, uh, the Drake Equation, you know?"" Lauren said. She was witty enough to insult my hair, but in pressured situations, her brain didn't translate well to her mouth. But she was right nonetheless. ""And, Mr. President, if we had the ability for interstellar travel *we* could have found a habitable planet in our local cluster of stars, there's no way they didn't find one in two *galaxies.* ""So, you're suggesting they're lying to us?"" the President said. ""Not suggesting sir,"" I said, ""*telling*."" *** If you enjoyed, check out",1007
 Bartholomew Balthazar III,"There was a production to the whole magic business. A man in the middle with a growing beard that was speaking a mile a minute, a group around him casting stamina spells and sleeplessness spells, and a woman on the side with a stopwatch in her hand keeping track of how long it was taking Bartholomew Balthazar III to cast the Enigmas Tomingata. The Enigmas Tomingata was a useless spell, a day and a half long and all it did was an extravagantly clean beard trim. That being said, it was right in the sweet spot for competitive casting. ""Anashalos,"" I yawned, and a wave of wakefulness came over me. I really hadn't been thinking when I took this job, I'd thought about the easy money and how easy it would be to stay in the same spot for 36 hours with a stopwatch in my hand to see if Bartholomew Balthazar III could beat his previous record of 35 hours, 56 minutes and 45 seconds to cast the Enigmas Tomingata. What I hadn't considered was how boring watching an old man try to rap nonsense would be. That being said, it was a days job, and it kept me in my apartment. The stopwatch clicked over to 35:56:46 and I considered stopping the spell. Bartholomew was around the end of the incantation, somewhere around Septivus Morani which meant that I could at least let him finish. He needed a trim anyway. The spell winded down, and the group around Balthazar started to buzz. Did they really think they won? They were off by a full minute this time around. I didn't know what had gone on, but I also didn't care. A missed attempt meant I could go home instead of staying here and signing a thousand sheets of paper. The time was revealed with a quick sorry and a bow before I ducked out of the auditorium. I had better things to do with my time then stay around Balthazar and hear him try to figure out where he'd lost a minute. Now that I had rent it meant that I could spend the evening focusing on real magic. Solo spellcasting was something of a lost art. Sure, old men like Balthazar worked their entire lives to make sure that they were the quickest spell weavers on the market, but realistically spells were never made to be done by one man. At least not spells that had any sort of power behind them. If solo spellcasting was a nuanced practice for a more civilized age, then modern day casting was the rough, rusty cutting edge that the younger generation worked on. You didn't get one person to cast a long spell, keeping them up for several years while they stared at a book, you got a good group of people with silver tongues, and you weaved them together into spell symphonies. Akkron was at the door when I got home; he was doing his best impression of Mom's 'really?' look. ""You're running late,"" he commented. ""Balthy didn't break the record."" ""Did he have a chance?"" Akkron asked as he undid the chain lock. ""I thought he did for a bit,"" I said as I pulled on my tie to loosen it. ""Woulda only been a few minutes either way."" ""You get the drinks?"" Akkron asked as he waved me in. ""Didn't think it was my turn,"" I answered. Had it been my turn? It was Akkron's turn last week which meant that- nah it wasn't me. ""Reg couldn't make it so I texted you,"" Akkron answered, ""whatever we can make some before starting."" ""Sure thing,"" I nodded and slung my bag off my shoulder onto the floor. I knew that he meant 'I' was going to make something instead of 'us.' That was my job in the group as a lead caster; I had to carry the spells when people had to take breaks. Actually, with how it turned out it mostly meant that they were covering for me when I needed a quick breath. The key with symphony casting was that people didn't just keep one another awake with small spells, we passed the spell from hand to hand rather than making one person say the entire thing. It let you cast faster, move quicker, the only issue was the occasional explosive reaction that happened when you crossed the wrong word, but that was why people called it bleeding edge, right? ""You gonna do it?"" Akkron asked as he kicked by bag further away from the door. ""Sure thing,"" I sighed and started mumbling under my breath to get the drinks conjured for practice. It was only gonna take a minute, the spell wasn't had, and I wasn't about to take requests. Right around the end of the spell there was another knock at the door and Tiff came in without waiting for us to answer, she'd started letting herself in when Akkron and her had become a thing and hadn't stopped once they had. ""That everyone?"" she asked me when I was in the middle of casting. I motioned to my mouth to show that she was an idiot for asking me and she rolled her eyes. She walked away, and I started getting jugs out of the cabinets, so I didn't spill all over the counter. ""Merevi,"" I finished, and the jugs all began to fill with fruit punch, it was my choice because I was casting the damn spell. ""Ready for warmups?"" Akkron called from the other room. That meant all six of us were here. ""Skip me for the first lines,"" I yelled as I tried to get the jugs arranged so I could take them in all at once instead of making more than one trip. Akkron started the disc with the base for timing, and Tiff started to sing the spell. As soon as Tiffany spoke there was a different energy in the room, magic pulling on our tongues to try to guide us in the way that the spell was going to flow. We stopped being a group of friends and started being a group of advanturers on the white waters of casting. I took a deep breath to avoid speaking and breakin the spell as I brought drinks into the room. Tiff glared at me as I came into the room as if to say 'about time' instead of the incantation. She started half a word ""Plyis-"" ""sirasi,"" I finished for her and I stole the reins of magic from her, tearing the paddle from her hands and adding my energy to our effort to fight the flow of the river. **to those interested I will be making a part 2 tomorrow on /r/Jacksonwrites based on /u/supremecrafters idea of 'awesome spells done quick.**",1134
 A six hundred year tradition that took,"""Another drink--please."" Said Maggister. Already a great many glasses deep into his nightly rituals. A smokey gloom framed the room, a couple of figures sitting about across the bar room, having a chat, and generally unwinding after their respective works and professions. It was here at the most historic of all the wizarding pubs, Djinn's Crossing, they continued a six hundred year tradition that took place almost every night of the year--having a tall glass of beer. ""Sure thing, Maggister ol' chum."" Said the bartender. Who usually knew when to cut people off when they start to drink too much, but Maggister was different--he could drink all night and never be a problem. Just as the wizard was sitting down in his booth to continue reading his book in solitude... ""You have some nerve,"" said a voice all the way across the room. It was an aggressive tone that was all too loud and worked against the good moods of everyone. ""Stinking up the place--you ought to get out of here before you foul up the air, Shit Wizard."" A fine robed young man with a trimmed goatee, was looming over an older gentlemen who seemed a little stunned by the outburst. ""Excuse me--I am just having a pint. Whats the problem, young man?"" Said the older gentlemen who didn't seem to care to escalate the situation at first, but he added... ""Also, I am a Grand Magis of Sanitations, Not a 'Shit Wizard'--just in case they didn't teach you the proper term in that fanciful daycare they call an academy."" ""Bah!"" the younger man raised his fingers and looked ready to incant... ""My problem is they would allow a person with such a low-class profession into such a prestigious establishment as this one. You offend me with your smell."" Maggister took a long drink. He knew that Grand Magis of Sanitations--Baalminst. He was indeed a Grand Magis--who never smelled horrible a day in his life... At least not since he graduated from his apprenticeship. He even served in the war. ""Listen young man, I have been coming to this pub long since before you could even mumble an spell. I fought to keep this pub standing when the *those* fascist bastards tried to burn down this town, and if you think you can disrespect others who work hard to give you a better life--then you have a lot of things to learn that the daycare you attend is obviously not teaching you."" Baalminst stood, and looked ready to give the young man a lesson about a thing or two. Maggister thought that would not be a good thing. A wizard-bar fight was much, much worse than a regular bar fight, and it looked like the young man had a party of people who looked ready to defend their comrade... Magister polished off his drink, and rose from the booth. He took one step, and fell over--tumbling to the hard wood. Maggister fell upwards, appearing across the room suddenly, putting his hands on the raised fingers of the young man. ""Come now. No one is looking to brawl. Djinn's Crossing has been a place for all to drink, and Baalminst here is one of the most respectable wizards I have ever met."" ""Unhand me."" Said the younger jerking away.. ""Gods, now you really reek. A drunkard and shit wizard a real pair of foul smells. Lucky for this town Safus Academy has had such a bright number of students like my friends and me--we're real masters of the arcane--and I think it is our duty to help gentrify this pub."" The others behind the young man rose, most looking like school children. ""That really isn't necessary... Hic."" Said Maggister, whose senses were beginning to stupify rapidly as his drink started to catch up with him. One began to incant, and aim directly at the Maggister. Maggister raised his hands, ""No really. Lets not..."" A spell went off, and Maggister felt his gut be kicked by a force. He bent over, ""Oh heavens..."" A number of drinks and bottles rattled and clinked together, the whole room shuddered--tilting as Maggister wrenched forward clutching his stomach. Some were surprised as they witnessed the apparent power of the student's spell... Maggister snapped back, and the entire room went with him--shaking and correcting itself along with the drunkard's teeterings. He felt like he was going to fall back onto his ass, but he straightened himself and kept his balance. The one who cast the spell that hit him right in the gut wasn't so quick on his feet, and he fell right into Maggister's right hook. Clocking him square in the jaw, and right to the floor. Every one was surprised at the sight, some holding onto their seats and tables incase Maggister took another tumble. A woman with the belligerent party came forward, looking ready to tussle with the man who just knocked out her companion. With a snap of her fingers, she produced a shimmering blade of light that she wielded. ""Oh."" Said Maggister, bobbing his head and mimicking her snap of the fingers to produce his own blade--but it soon flopped and looked limp. ""I swear... This never has happened before."" She thrust--a gasp from the crowd as she lunged. With a whip of his wrist, Maggister's flaccid blade wrapped around the woman's arm and she was flung straight onto and over a table full of drinks across the room. ""Whoops!"" Said Maggister extending his arm, something catching the drinks before they could spill. Reversing time itself to save them from a fall. The students looked shocked. Time magic was extensively tricky... ""This. Is making a mess."" Said Maggister. ""I think. Uh... We ought not to fight inside."" The young man who instigated the whole thing looked furious, and his incantation began. Maggister let out a sigh, recognizing the spell, it was a powerful one that would indeed make a mess if it was let loose. Discarding the flacid light blade, and stumbling forward and into the young man before he could finish his incantation. ""Lets take this outside."" The two stumbled to the floor, and fell up from the ground to find themselves on the cobblestone street. Both took some time to re-establish their senses... During that time Maggister found a seat on the curb, rubbing his temples. ""Wh-who are you, drunkard?"" said the young man. In the mean time the rest of his group, aswell as Baalminst came out of the bar. ""Just a bloke looking to drink undisturbed. It uh... Just puts a foul taste in the mouth watching young children not have enough respect for others. I think you owe Mr. Baalminst an apology."" The young man scowled. ""I would do no such thing."" Maggister look to the Grand Magis of Sanitations... The Magis stepped forward and defeneded his honor, raising his fist in the air and clenching it. A klang came from a sewer grate just behind the young man, a fist of putrid liquids gripped the rude man, soiling his fine robes. With a flurry of Baalminst's hand--the young man was sucked into the sewer to help give him a sense of the world without such a fine Grand Magis of Sanitations. ""Thank you, ol' chum."" said Baalminster. Putting a hand on Maggister. The commotion was causing the drunken wizards head to spin too much... He leaned forward and puked.",1234
 Christopher is afraid of spiders and worms,"""No way am I going down there first,"" said Christopher, raising his hands. ""Uh-uh."" ""Fine,"" huffed Juliet. ""Seeing as Christopher is so afraid of spiders and worms, I'll go first."" ""I'm not afraid of spiders!"" Christopher objected, his voice cracking in the process. ""Oh, it's the worms then?"" Juliet replied as she sauntered toward the hole in the ground where the tree had not so long ago been. Michael stepped in front of Juliet and puffed out his chest. ""Maybe a man should go down first, Jules. You know, in case there's anything bad down there."" He gave her a wink. Juliet rolled her eyes. ""In that case, let me know if you see *a man* around,"" she retorted, as she stepped past him. ""As it is, I'm going first. Wait until I get to the bottom and give you the go ahead before following."" Christopher patted his pocket until he found his bag of raisins. He took them out and began munching nervously. He watched as Juliet took hold of the rope they'd set up, and began shimmying down. The two boys at the top of the pit waited in silence as the girl was swallowed by the mouth of the pit. Michael got out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up, puffing away nonchalantly. Christopher hopped between feet, anxiety growing like a balloon. *Was she okay? Had she fallen?* ""Juliet!"" Christopher shouted eventually, unable to take the silence any longer. He put his hands around his mouth and yelled again. ""Juliet! Are you okay?"" ""Shut up, dipshit,"" Michael said, casting him a dismissive glance. ""You can still *see* her, if you get a bit closer to the pit's edge. I thought with all your book learning you'd know that."" ""Yeah... of course. I know I *could*."" ""Go on then. Get closer and see for yourself."" ""I'm okay right here, thank you very much,"" replied Christopher, shovelling in another handful of raisins whilst rocking back and forth on his heels. ""Oh, God. You're afraid of heights too?"" ""No! I'm not afraid of anything. I just-- you know what, fine,"" Christopher replied, creeping very cautiously towards the edge of the hole. He peered down into the blackness. ""I don't see her,"" he said. ""That's 'cause you're so damn short. You'd need to get a lot closer to the edge. But take it from me, someone who *is* tall enough to be allowed on rides at the fair, she's doing just fine."" ""I'm allowed on the rides!"" ""Teacups don't count."" Christopher took a deep breath, then edged even closer to the mouth of the hole, hoping to spot Juliet's blue cardigan swaying somewhere in the dark below. But the rain from the storm had left the ground slick and crumbling; Christopher's foot slipped forward and he lost his balance. His arms flailed wildly, locking onto the only thing they could find before he fell: Michael's woolly jumper. It wasn't enough. For a few seconds, the world became a dizzying blur of light and dark. Then, only dark. --- ""Christopher?"" said the darkness in a gentle voice. ""Are you okay? Talk to me, Christopher."" ""My- my raisins."" ""I'm going to kill him!"" yelled a different voice. ""He does this to us, and only thinks of his raisins? I swear, I'll kill him!"" The first voice hissed at the second. ""He's dazed, you idiot."" ""That's his own fault for being so clumsy. The bastard dragged me down with him!"" ""Yes, I know. You've told me a dozen times already."" Sense began to trickle back into Christopher's head. ""Where- where are we, guys?"" ""It's okay, Christopher. Don't be alarmed,"" cooed Juliet. ""What's going on?"" ""Do you remember the hole in Wycombe forest we found?"" Juliet asked. ""Where the old oak had been?"" Christopher thought for a moment. Yeah. He remembered. They'd been out exploring, seeing what damage Storm Teresa had done. Then they'd found the body of the great tree, lying like a corpse on the floor of the forest. And where it had been... an endless, black pit. They'd taken the rope from the swing by the creek. Juliet had gone down first... then he'd crept near to the edge to look for Juliet and-- *Oh shit!* No wonder the second voice had been so angry. ""Sorry, Michael,"" Christopher murmured. ""Sorry? You could have killed me, you dipshit! You might *still* have killed me!"" ""What do you mean?"" he replied. ""You kinda..."" Juliet began, ""you kinda knocked me off the rope when you fell. So we *all* fell to the bottom of the pit, and well it turns out the pit was deeper than our rope was long."" ""Oh..."" ""Yes '*oh*', dipshit,"" said Michael. ""We're trapped down here until someone realises we went missing."" ""I'm sorry, guys."" ""Do you think you can get up?"" Juliet asked. ""I- I don't know. My back hurts,"" Christopher replied. ""Good. Lie down on the floor with all the spiders,"" Michael taunted. ""I can feel them crawling over my feet right now. I think they're heading to you."" ""L-liar."" ""... and do you hear that? Boy, do they sound hungry today! I can hear the clattering of their teeth."" Christopher swallowed hard, rolled over, and got himself up onto his knees. Juliet put an arm around him and helped him the rest of the way to his feet. ""So what now?"" Christopher asked, brushing himself down. ""Anyone have their phone?"" ""Yeah, that's the thing,"" said Juliet. ""Mine broke on the way down. Yours is locked, and we don't know what pattern you use."" ""Wouldn't matter if we did,"" huffed Michael. ""You've got no reception."" Juliet passed the phone over to Christopher. ""Can you put on your flash-light? Then I'll take a look at your injuries."" ""What about mine, Jules?"" asked Michael. ""I think I'm hurting pretty bad at the top of my legs. It's throbbing."" Michael gasped as Juliet's shoe hit him in the groin. ""Thanks,"" he wheezed, his face reddening. ""Much better."" A white light lit up the a small cave like area as Michael's flash-light burst into life. Crumbling earth, rocks and dangling roots surrounded them. There wasn't much space; it was only a little larger than a well. ""What is this place?"" Juliet asked. ""Guess it's uh... a natural Earth hole,"" Michael replied, his voice a tad higher than normal. ""A what?"" Juliet asked frowning. ""You're making that up."" ""Guys,"" gasped Christopher. ""A natural Earth hole. Like... *rain* and stuff make them. I learned about it in school."" ""Well I know that's a lie then. The only natural hole here is in your head"" ""Guys!"" Christopher repeated. ""Look!"" They turned to see what Christopher was pointing out. He'd moved a bunch of hanging roots to the side and pointed his flash-light to the space between. There was something there. Something wooden. ""What the hell is that?"" said Juliet, pulling at the remaining roots. Michael joined in, moving dirt and rocks away until they were left with only an arched, wooden door. They looked at each other, then back at the door. There was writing engraved on it. ""Puteus?"" Michael said, reading out one of the words. ""Is that Spanish or something?"" ""Latin,"" said Christopher, running his hand over the text. ""It's all Latin."" ""That's a dead language, right?"" said Michael. ""Do you know what it means, Christopher?"" asked Juliet, coming in close to Christopher and pressing her own hand against the engravings. Their fingers touched for a moment; Michael huffed behind them. ""Puteus means: '*well*'."" ""Like, health?"" ""No, like we might currently be down a well. You know, where you get water from."" ""Oh!"" said Juliet. ""So this is an ancient well. But why is there Latin text on a wooden door at the bottom of an ancient well in Missouri?"" ""What's the other word on it?"" Michael asked, still staring at the door. ""Ani... ""Animarum,"" Christopher finished. ""It means '*souls*'."" ""Soul well?"" Michael asked, his brows creased. There was a sudden *thump* against the door; the three of them jumped back as a rain of fine dirt poured down over them. ""What was-"" Christopher asked, only to be interrupted by another thump. It came came again. And again. Rhythmic now, like someone knocking. ""Not '*soul well*',"" Juliet whispered. *Thump.* ""The Well of Souls."" *Thump.* --- Thanks for reading. I did a part 2 if anyone's interested in reading more and going on a bit of an adventure: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/76zr7b/wp_you_know_your_town_is_old_you_just_didnt_know/",1408
" ""I was a loner to","###### Sometimes you look back on the things you've done through your life and wonder how you got to where you are. For me, I wonder was it the skipping of classes in High School? Was it the student loans? Was it the failed relationship in college that put me in depression for months? Or was it the poor career choices? I may never learn the answers to these questions, for I lay bleeding on the dirty floor of my cave and it appears that I am stuck in this surreal world. I was a loner to begin with. Never made friends. Hit the gym everyday to kill boredom. And when I lost my job and my house, all I had was a year long gym membership. Naturally, my gym became my home and instead of looking for a job, I turned into a hobo muscle monster. Then one day, I do not really recollect the date, for they had lost their significance by then, I met Mike. Mike was my polar opposite. Skinny, nerdy and talkative little guy. He had made it big in IT. He drove a fancy car and had a guy follow him around with his towel and water bottle. This Mike character had taken a liking towards me, for reasons I never bothered asking him. He would greet me when he walked in and on his way out. Despite my best efforts to keep to myself, he'd take every opportunity to hit up a conversation. At first he'd talk about himself, and when he learnt that I lent him no ear, he would try and squeeze some words out of me. Eventually I would relent and tell him whatever it was that he wanted to hear. One day Mike walks in and asks me if I'm looking for a house and a job. I was not really an IT guy and I was finding it hard to afford my meals, so I sure as hell couldn't afford a goddam house and I told Mike the same. He told me that the job had nothing to do with IT and the house was really a cave of sorts where I could stay and that they would pay me to stay in the cave provided that I signed off some papers. He buzzed on about experiments and so on and I really did not pay attention to most of it as the thought of living in a solitary cave started to flower in my mind. And they would even pay me. I was a boy-scout back in school so I figured I could live off the land if this cave was far from civilization. Not that civilization really mattered to me in the first place. I finally got IT Mike to shut himself up long enough for me to convey my consent to his offer. He asked me when I could start. I was unemployed and homeless, I could start being a caveman anytime. So Mike took me to his car and asked me to hop in. Mike, Mike's towel guy and me, all three of us, were on our way to my new job right away. After about an hours drive out of town, Mike stopped at what seemed like some research lab and asked me to join him inside. As we walked into the lab Mike began his incessant droning about some science and wizardry, I paid no attention to him as my thoughts once again wandered to my life in a cave far from civilization and living on my own and even earning some money on the side. Then I was asked to sit in a chair, sign some papers that were handed to me and wait. I remember that the room smelled funny, but nothing more of that day remains in my memory. All I know is that I woke up in this god-forsaken cave. The first couple of days were fine, I woke up, walked around, drank from the little stream and even caught a fish. Picked some berries on my way back and I thought I was in paradise. I did wonder though, about my location and even how I got there without me remembering most of my journey. But my memory was vague and I decided not to exert myself on this venture. Then the first of the players appeared. A skinny teenager, blonde hair, short skirt, funny looking boots and gloves, some sorta leather top and a silly cap. As if her appearance wasn't funny enough, she carried a little bow with her. At first I thought she was some kinda school kid who was out camping in the woods and I tried to say hi. To my surprise I could only manage a growl of sorts. The realisation that I was unable to speak coherently alarmed me and I attempted to converse through gestures when the little girl started shooting arrows at me. I had never been shot at before in my life and I guess out of sheer reflex and animal instict, I raised my hands to shield myself from the arrows the little girl shot at me. It turned out that every time I raised my hands, I activated some sort of shield which kept the arrows from hitting me. The girl seemed to be running out of arrows after a while when she took out a little knife and started towards me. I did not want to hurt the girl but at the same time the knife looked as menacing as the girl did and so I held my hands out attempting to push off any attack that the girl might launch at me. To my surpise, my hands shot out some kind of beam that launched the girl high up the air and landed her on her back about half the way up to the cave mouth. I ran to check if she was okay and before I could check on her, she seemed to melt into thin air. At first I thought it was a hallucination, probably the berries I ate were intoxicating me, but then I found the arrows and other stuff the girl had dropped around. I kept them in a corner of the room where I had found other stuff before. The next day a lady dressed in skimpy clothes materialized from thin air. She held some sort of a staff in her hands and though she was a feast to the eyes she was a beast when it came to fighting. She launched fire balls and lightning bolts at me and finally when I could no longer hold my sheild against her, I did the push and she vanished too. I did try to communicate with these strangers. I tried to use the arrows to scratch the walls but the arrows would just vanish after a bit of time. Whenever I attempted to speak to these people my words would come out in growls and roars. By the end of the week I had faced another two or three such people. Always dressed in funny clothes, holding swords and hammers and whatnot. The bigger ones started one month into my stay in the cave. These folks would now come wearing even fancier clothes bearing bigger shinier swords. Surprisingly the women wore lesser and lesser clothes as they became stronger. One day while I was at the stream trying to catch some fish, I saw one of these archer girls being attacked by a fox-like creature. I thought the girl was in distress as the fox was napping at her leg and she couldn't aim her arrows at the creature. She appeared to be shooting her arrows right over the fox. I quickly ran to her help and to my surprise the girl started aiming her arrows at me. Before I could gesture something at her I saw her open up some kind of a scroll and disappear into thin air. I figured that I must have been put into some kind of a mind control experiment for these things seemed to surreal to be true. The next event that surprised me was when a young man stepped in to the cave all dressed up like a knight. He weilded a sword and sheild and once he entered I saw a white text scroll above his head which read ""Imma kill yo ass boss-man. l33tsolja 4tw"" and promptly rushed at me with his sword swinging. I was too stunned to respond and by the time I could raise my hand the guy had thrust his sword at me. The rest was a blur but I remember waking up feeling pretty fine after a few hours. I could recognize some of the people as they kept coming at me several times a week. One was a blue haired guy, pretty beefy, always carried some kind of a hammer all the time. At first I found it easy to beat the guy, but as time progressed he became tougher and tougher. I realized the guy had been training and so I started my own training regime. I couldn't really use any weapons as the weapons dropped by these folks would vanish in some time. So I started practicing martial arts-y stuff on my own. But still I couldn't beat the heavy hammers and swords these guys started wielding. I finally realized that I have now become a dungeon boss. EDIT : Changed the last part as per the comments.",1587
" Troy leaned back in his seat,","""Oh look at me, I'm Ryan and I went with a charisma max bard!"" Troy leaned back in his seat, and raised his drink to the table. He held it in the palm of his hand like he was offering it to the heavens, and complained to the universe in general ""Why yes, Mr. Top of the food chain predator, I am edible. But if you'd just refrain from killing me, allow my associates to stick you full of spears, and then let us marathon jog you to exhaustion - that would be far preferable to you just tearing out our jugulars!"" He switched his grip on the tankard then slammed it back on the table as foam sprayed around. ""Oral tradition my ass, Jenn. You can't keep letting him get away with this."" Jennifer shrugged behind the DM screen and gave troy a pitying smile, ""What do you want me to do about it, Troy? He's making the rolls."" She shifted a couple pieces on the map, ""and unfortunately for you, Troy - that means the sabre toothed kitty isn't going to try to kill the humans this turn. That means your bison is up, I'm gonna need a dex saving throw."" Troy cast his D20, and swore creatively when it came up a three, ""ooooh, bad luck,"" Jenn purred around a chuckle, ""Guess that means the bison looses another rung on the ol' food chain."" Troy just threw his head back and swore loudly, ""Fuck! Seriously, I built a ton and half battle tank capable of running forty miles an hour with goddamn horns, and I'm the fucking prey? Not the scrawny little bipedal monkey with the nice tender food for flesh? Why even bother spec'ing a warrior? Seriously? Fucking bards man."" Liam reached over to pat Troy on the shoulder, ""Could be worse man. Seriously, can't believe I thought a rogue was a good call. Rats pretty much can't take anything more threatening than a walnut anymore. At least you get to be killed by something cool like a Smilodon, I lost a peg to a bird last session. A *bird*."" At this last, Isabelle looked up, ""Hey now - no shame in losing to birds! My falcons are pretty much the kings of anything under three pounds, everywhere."" At Jennifer's cough she amended, ""Except New Zealand, we don't talk about New Zealand. Waste of sheep if you ask me."" Ryan leaned back in his chair and smiled, ""I told you guys charisma builds were the way to go. Why try to overpower things if you can just avoid them and sing funny songs instead? Most powerful loophole in Gaia Third Edition ever - can't believe you guys didn't bother to read the rule book."" ---------- Edited because apparently I hotswapped the main, antagonist?, well anyway I guess troy was joking about a Jeff in his first sentence, which is not the name I used for the human player the rest of the story. That was supposed to be Ryan, that's what you get when you speed write kids. But since I'm here, have part two! Author out! ----------- ""Okay guys, pretty standard stuff here - you've got a new environment to look at as we progress to the next level. Ryan took iron working as his level eight feat, Isabelle grabbed keen eyes to assist her in dives, Liam went with silent stalking, and I forget what you grabbed Troy?"" Jenn flashed a smile across the table and was met with a pissed off glare as Troy slowly masticated a pizza roll. Like a glacier grinding its way back to the pole he swallowed as slowly as the table could stand and rapped his knuckles on the character sheet in front of him, ""Well, since the long-horned Bison died out, I don't have a level eight character anymore."" He glared pointedly at Ryan, ""But I'm still rolling with the American Bison."" Dropping his eyes to his sheets again he sighed and started idly turning the feats pages in his player handbook, ""I guess.... Whatever, I'll take herd mentality. Again."" ""Strength in numbers,"" Ryan nodded sagely across the table, ""Smart."" ""Not in the mood, asshole."" Troy snarled, ""You fucking hunted me last week. Pull that again and I'll strangle you."" ""Look man, I can't help that I'm an apex predator and you're... not. A man's gotta eat, and there isn't much meat on a Falcon."" ""Hey!"" Isabelle interjected. ""Or a rat."" Liam waved him off, ""Fuck off."" Popping a pizza roll in his mouth he rolled it to one side and spoke around it, ""We'll get him Troy. He's still just a trumped up Charisma monkey."" ""Grooooooosssssssssss"" Isabelle whined and hit Liam on the back of his head as she made her way back to the table from the snacks counter, ""Didn't anyone ever tell you to chew with your mouth closed? God."" Ryan laughed around Isabelle's outburst as he pantomimed taking an archery shot at Liam, ""Soft little charisma monkeys with bows, Liam."" Jenn rapped her knuckles on the table, ""Seriously guys, can we just get on with it?"" As the table settled down she gestured to the map, ""You're on the western plains of North America. Not too many big time predators out here, but you've got bears, coyotes, wolves. The usual. Bit of a food shortage though, lets say you all take an abundance penalty to your preferred prey - we're in a bit of a famine period in this area of the world, and it's time to shake up the pecking order. Minus-3 on any rolls against preferred prey, +2 on any roll against prey not previously hunted. Roll initiative."" ""Eighteen"" from Ryan Isabelle piped up, ""fifteen!"" Troy grunted, ""Seriously? Again, battle tank warrior. +5 to dexterity. How exactly do I get a seven?"" ""Rolling a two, I guess?"" Liam grinned, ""nine for myself."" Jenn pointed at Ryan, ""Okay then, Humans go first -"" ""Like always, the cheater monkeys triumph."" Troy grumbled. ""And if the peanut gallery could tone it down, it would be appreciated,"" Jenn shot across the table before turning back to Ryan, ""anything you want to do first?"" ""Can I take a look around?"" ""Sure, give me a perception check."" The D20 was clattering across the table almost before she finished speaking, coming to rest showing a sixteen. Jenn waved him off, ""Okay, whatever bonus you've got doesn't really matter, that's enough. You're in the center of a plain, near a little hillock. More of a mound with hillish ambitions really, but it's the high ground. There's a stand of trees about a quarter mile off, that's where the rats and falcons are holed up right now, but you finished last session by watching the buffalo roam, so you've got a herd of bison crossing by about a hundred feet in front of you."" Troy groaned loudly, but Ryan just grunted and started thumbing through his character sheets, ""So the bow I got last session, that's a plus+3 to all large game right?"" ""Yeah, that's right."" Jennifer allowed as Troy rolled his eyes. ""Uh huh,"" Ryan scratched at the back of his head, ""and since the Bison are currently below a predation level seven, they qualify as a game animal to anything level eight or more, right?"" ""Yep."" Jenn smiled as Troy began drumming his fingers louder than necessary on the other side of the table. ""Gotcha."" Ryan smiled a bit, ""How many hit points does a level four bison have again, Troy?"" ""Just get it over with, ass. I've still got water buffalo."" ""Sure you do, buddy."" Ryan laughed, ""Okay, no sense beating around the bush. I haven't hunted American Bison before, and they count as separate prey from the long horned variety, yes?"" ""You've got the right of it."" Jenn allowed. ""Okay then, I roll attack to try to take out one of the Bison -"" the die clattered across the table to land face up as a 20, ""and that's a crit."" ""FUCKING EVERY TIME!"" Troy screamed as he did his best to break the table in half. Ryan picked up what seemed to be entirely too many die and rolled them, ""five, eight... twelve, fifteen, plus+2 for broad heads, plus+2 from iron working, three more from large game, plus the new prey bonuses.... that's twenty-four base, plus my crit modifier...."" Ryan made a show of pretending to have difficulty adding up the numbers as Troy fumed, ""I think it comes to thirty-six all together, how's that American-Buffalo doing?"" ""Thoroughly bowshot,"" Jenn smirked as the rest of the table laughed, ""He had twenty-nine health. Congratulations on securing a new source of game for humanity."" Troy muttered, ""Swear to God, next game we're banning bards. This is the stupidest thing I have ever been a part of.""",1469
 Hundreds of beings beyond imagination have occupied,"Honestly, I thought I'd seen it all by now. I've spent most of my adult life serving everyone and *everything* from extraterrestrial slip-space travelers to Lovecraftian horrors that a normal man couldn't even comprehend without losing their mind. Why, I was just having a delightful conversation with the Disparate-but-Union-Sons of Shoggoth. They numbered in the...well, I don't really know. Not really countable, if you get my drift. But I have infinite chairs around my bar and infinite glasses lining my shelves. Hundreds of beings beyond imagination have occupied this dimly lit but strangely comfortable room. Forms made up of silicon, superheated steam, purest quark-gluon plasma, antimatter star-dust, interdimensional nightmare wool...all gathered in front of me, eager for a stiff drink and light snacks. When I started out, I was probably as nervous as any kid would be, starting a new job green behind the ears. I say probably because, to be honest, I don't quite remember how I got here. When customers ask, I make up whatever story fancies me that night. But that doesn't matter now. It's all become pretty humdrum, but in a good way. I'm comfortable with this life, with my job; my tap has never stopped running and so I have never stopped serving. I'll admit that I still take a little pride in being able to stare a cosmic impossibility in the face and simply asking whether it prefers its beer warm or chilled. So maybe it'll surprise you to hear that I nearly dropped the glass I'd been cleaning when *he* walked in. It was a human person, which in itself wasn't too strange; every now and then, some poor chap stumbles through an interdimensional rift that happened to open up in his bathroom and ends up in my bar, scared shitless. I usually give them a glass of water to calm them down, maybe a drink or two if they like, and then send them back home. They'll wake up in the morning with little but a headache and maybe wisps of a strange, unfathomable dream. But this guy shook me, and my customers noticed. They grinned and turned around, eager to see what could possible get the toughest, most impassive bartender in multi-reality to blanch. And they froze dead in their tracks, too. The ones that had jaws let them fall open. In our defense, the last person any of us would've expected coming in through those doors would be *me.* He - I - he walked casually up to the bar and slide into the infinity-chair with ease. muscle memory kicked in, and I tossed down a stone coaster and clean glass. He pointed at a bottle with his knuckle - my favorite poison - and I wordlessly poured. All the while, I studied his face with increasing fascination. ""Well?"" he eventually asked. His voice was like mine, but gruffer. ""I know you have questions."" ""Why are you so old?"" I blurted out. It was a stupid question, but he just nodded and took a long drag from the glass. ""I'm from your future,"" he said, wiping his mouth. ""One of them, anyway."" ""My future,"" I repeated. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tentacle squirm impatiently, and I hastily poured another pint of a blackish, glowing fluid into a frosted mug and slid it down the mahogany. ""So does that mean..."" ""Means nothing,"" he chuckled. I couldn't get over how wrinkled his skin was, how the bags under his eyes stretched. ""Just that I happen to be old. And you."" ""Wait, but...why are you here?"" He raised an eyebrow. ""Why does anyone - anything - come here?"" He tapped his glass with a nail, and I moved to refill it. ""To drink, lad. And maybe a little for the nostalgia factor."" ""Oh."" He grinned, an eerie mirror of my own. ""You sound disappointed."" ""It's just...well, I've never served *me* before. I thought this might be something..."" ""Special?"" he prodded. ""Fateful? Maybe you thought I came to trade places with you or something silly like that?"" I bristled. It was strange to hear my own sarcasm aimed back at me. ""Forget it. Let me know if you need anything else."" I moved away to tend to a new patron, a gaseous cloud of blinking lights and ultrasound beeping. He watched me make a plasma shot. There was a strange, faraway look in his eyes. ""You're good at this."" I nodded curtly, still a little stung. ""Just doing my job."" ""For a long time now,"" he remarked. ""Is that so?"" I asked casually. ""I wouldn't know. Can't remember much of my beginnings here."" ""Yeah? Not surprised."" He pointed to the walls. ""Did you notice that you're missing something?"" I looked around. ""Like what?"" He pulled up his sleeve. A well-worn, ornate watch hung loosely around tanned skin. ""Nice piece,"" I said. It occurred to me that it was like the one I had, and I glanced discreetly at my own wrist. Then I remembered I kept it under the bar because it would clink annoyingly on glasses. He tapped the face impatiently. I leaned in closer and peered at the silvery hands. ""Oh, it's broken."" ""Not broken,"" he corrected. ""Just stopped."" ""What?"" He swiveled a crooked finger around the room. ""It's this place. Does funny things to time, you see. To time and people's perceptions of it. Hell, no doubt that's partly why some of your regulars come here so frequently. Who doesn't want to step out of it all every now and then? Though I suppose, you decided to stay out of it a bit longer."" I stared at him. ""Not sure I understand."" ""Think on it,"" he suggested. ""You'll get it eventually. After all, you have all the time in the world."" He let out a sudden guffaw, as if he had heard some great joke. Thoroughly bemused, I slid over to serve some of the other customers. When I returned, he had gotten up and pulled his coat back over his shoulders. A few coins lay next to the empty glass. ""Leaving so soon?"" ""Soon, later, no difference here,"" he chortled. ""Anyway, I'm ready to go back to my reality. And don't worry, you'll get back to yours too one day,"" he added with a wink. ""This *is* my reality,"" I replied. ""This is what I do."" ""What you've always done,"" he said, smiling broadly. He reached out a hand suddenly, and after a moment, I shook it. ""Keep at it, then."" With that, he turned around and disappeared without another word. I frowned as I watched him go. ""You alright, boss?"" A vaguely crocodilian lifeform breathed methane at me. Its multitudinous eyes glowed like pulsars. ""Fine,"" I mumbled. ""Another fire-sludge on the rocks, sir?"" _____________________ *Liked that? More stories !* _____________________",1136
 Cthulhu flailed his tentacles to emphas,"""Did she really have to take the dog? Like, really? It isn't frickin' enough to break all my hearts?"" He flailed his tentacles to emphasise the point, but he was more morose than angry, and he did little damage other than sending a couple of empty shot glasses crashing to the floor. It was ok, he tipped well enough to cover that. I waited until he returned to his pensive state, staring holes into my bar counter, before I sidled up with a glass of water. ""Drink up,"" I said. ""You're stronger than this, you know that."" ""But Al,"" Cthulhu said, ""I'm not, I'm really not. I look tough, sure, but I'm just as soft inside as any other cosmic entity, man. Hit me another one."" ""No more neutrino-vodkas,"" I said. ""Water, first, then we'll talk."" It was quiet today at the Galaxy's End, the bar I inherited from my grandfather, which meant that I could afford a bit more one-on-one time with Cthulhu. Very few of my patrons are actually interested as to how a human came to run such an establishment at the edge of reality, and I can see why. To all these cosmic wonders, and horrors, who stroll in on a regular basis looking for brief respite from their realities, they couldn't care less about who, or what, was actually behind the counter. As long as the drinks were good (they were), the service was reasonable (it was), and there was a listening ear (always). ""So, you gonna tell me why you insisted I come in today?"" Cthulhu said, after he drained the glass of water. ""Because I heard about your thing,"" I said. ""Break-ups are hard for anyone, even eldritch abominations like yourself."" He laughed at that, and I calmly wiped the counter top, clearing away the stray gobs of mucus which escaped his maw. ""Really? Big Al, all worried about lil' ol' me?"" He slapped a tentacle on the table, finagled a peanut, then popped it into his mouth. ""Bull! There's gotta be something going on, I'm sure. Maybe you're here to kick me while I'm down, laugh at the cosmic jelly who can't keep his girl?"" ""No, nothing like that,"" I said. ""Just wanted to make sure you had someone to talk to."" He puffed his chest out for a while, and I watched as his scales turned grey. I'd read somewhere that that was his battle armour, for whenever he had to duke it out with another of the elder gods. ""Never! I am Cthulhu! Ravager of Worlds! I consume galaxies for tea! I poop the bones of vast civilizations!"" ""If you say so."" ""... I twist the threads of fate! I crush the... *oh who am I kidding*,"" Cthulhu said, as he slumped forward. He had turned back to a rich turquoise, which I had also read was the colour of his pyjamas. ""It hurts man, it does. I'm not young anymore, man. This is my third millennia as a frickin' elder god, man. You know what Nurvovos said when I called him?"" ""What?"" I asked, as I tried to recall which elder god this was. I had a vague impression of a sentient gaseous cloud, composed of filaments of time and stitched with the souls of dying suns. I didn't have that strong of an impression of him, so he must only have been an average tipper. ""Nurvovos said he couldn't meet me for drinks! Cause he had childlings to watch! Said his lady had been griping about 'equal responsibilities' or 'fair distribution of work'! I said I understood, of course. But he's not the only one!"" ""Others too?"" ""Yes!"" Cthulhu said. ""Everyone else in my clique! They've all settled down man, even Juloxies, and he's got a face only his mother would like! I'm the only one left, man. It sucks, really."" I reached under the counter, pulled out a bottle of the good stuff, 25-eon Hudubu rum, then poured him a shot. ""On the house,"" I said, as I slid the glass across. ""This one's strong, but you're going to need something to get out of that funk. And quickly too, if I should add."" ""Why should I,"" he said, as he obliged by downing the shot. ""There's nothing left to live for."" ""Cthulhu, buddy, why do you think of all days I asked you to come down here to my bar?"" ""I dunno, Al,"" he said, ""why don't you tell me?"" ""And why do you think I didn't take no for an answer? Why do you think I asked your buddies to make sure you came? Where did they go? Why's the whole bar empty?"" That got his attention. He perked up one eyestalk, swivelled it around, then realised I wasn't pulling his tentacle. He was literally the only entity in Galaxy's End. ""What's up Al,"" he said. ""You know I don't like surprises."" At that moment, right on cue, the door to my bar burst open. High-pitched screeches filled the air, but I already had my mufflers on. You don't survive long at the bar without knowing how to deal with your clientele. What strutted in could have driven any other human mad by sight alone, but I had some time to get to know them, and the Space Vixens of Guguba are far friendlier than they look. There were ten of them, all dressed to the nines, chattering incessantly amongst themselves. The one in front, she had a tiara on her heads, glittering stones which appeared to be the husks of decayed stars. ""The bar's booked tonight, Cthulhu,"" I said, the grin leaping onto my face. ""Hen's night. One of them's getting married, so I cleared out all my other customers, kept the place exclusive for them."" ""Wha... wha..."" Cthulhu stammered, ever the suave, eloquent romantic. ""Stay away from the hen,"" I said, as I prodded his tentacle, ""but I hear that some of her friends are single. Who knows man, you've got to get back out in the game, put yourself out there! There are so many abominations out there in the cold darkness of space!"" The Vixens had settled on the opposite side of the bar, still squawking at their supersonic frequencies. I'm no judge of non-human beauty, but I had been told that they were the fittest from their planet. Or at least, the most popular, if Spacetagram was to be believed. ""Coming!"" I yelled at them, in response to a few raised talons. ""One round on the house! Oh look, so many glasses, so few hands I have! I'll just have my friend here send them over!"" I turned to Cthulhu, then shoved a tray of bubbling shots at him. ""Don't screw this up,"" I said. ""Man..."" he said, as a couple of tears rolled down and into the glasses, which I disapproved as proprietor of a fine establishment. ""I won't forget this..."" ""Just be the best monstrosity you can be,"" I said. He toddled off, and there was a spring to his sloshing that wasn't there before. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1179
" Improvisation was an art,","Improvisation was an art. I mean, don't get me wrong, there's a certain charm to stalking the prey, observing their habits, memorizing their routine, and of course the, ah, *execution.* The climax. I gave an involuntary shudder of pleasure as I put on my formal shirt. But it got boring. Anyone really could do that, set a trap, and execute. Honestly, you had all the time in the world, to plan, to kill. But improv...now there was a challenge. There was a time limit, I obviously wouldn't meet the bogey again. There were variables, only variables. Hell, I didn't know the names of the people I was going to meet, much less their address. Still, I hummed *Let's Kill Tonight* as I combed my hair one final time. I looked sharp, cream colored dress shirt, ebony pants, and styled dark hair. Gotta be dressed for the job, of course. *** ""How might I help you, sir?"" I eyed the guy behind the desk. Short hair, dark eyes. Just out of high-school most likely. His smile was a little too wide, and one hand was hidden from view - he was probably on his phone, texting someone right now. I smiled back at him, and leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper. ""Got a blind date,"" I told him, ""table forty two,"" and I winked. The guy's smile became genuine. ""Damn,"" he said, ""you really risk that stuff? I've heard some crazy stories. You find some real whackos on there."" Oh you had no idea. ""Oh, you know,"" I said, naturally adopting his way of speaking, ""you gotta take some risks. Millions of people out there - what are the odds you find a serial killer, yeah?"" He grinned back at me, and said ""Three rows down, table by the window. Good luck, mate."" He offered me his fists and I rapped my own against his. No idea why I did that, really. I had no plans to kill him. I don't cheat on my victims - I only work one at a time, but still, I guess it was just habit now. I followed the directions the guy had given me, and found my date already waiting on the table. She was beautiful - just as I'd expected. Her responses were textbook classic insecure type, I'd expected her to be young, maybe blond, with a girl next door kind of look. It was scary how accurate I was. Blond hair, blue eyes, young, cute face. Hell, she was even shifting in her seat. Damn I was good. She saw me and her eyes widened. She got up, hit her knee on the edge of the table, and her face went bright red. ""Oh, I'm sorry, I'm so clumsy,"" she said looking down at her feet. Time to play my part. ""Oh, no, don't be sorry, I swear the world purposely throws things in my way to trip me up,"" I said with a smile. Projecting confidence and empathy, I didn't want to scare her off with cockiness. ""I'm James, by the way,"" I said offering her my hand. ""Ashley,"" she said, smiling so that her dimples showed. *** The whole night was too easy really. It took me a few quips, jokes, drinks and a bit of prodding to break her out of her shell. She was twined around my finger by the end of dinner. So much so that she asked me to come home over the night. She was already dead, I 'd poisoned her food, she just didn't know it yet. But it was a waste to let all this build up go to waste. Talk about Anti-climactic. It was a bit disappointing really, I was expecting a bit of a challenge. And so we barged through the door of her apartment, and she couldn't keep her hands off me. Her lips were smashed into mine, and we were rolling along the walls, sometimes I was pinned and other times she was pinned against the wall. ""I've never felt like this about anyone before,"" she said, he blue eyes staring into mine. We were in the kitchen now, her lights were off. The *kitchen* for God's sake, like come on, she was just handing herself to me. ""Like what?"" I asked, groping around in the dark one hand against her, and the other searching the counter for a blade. ""Almost like a connection, you know,"" she said, ""...that you were made for me?"" My hand closed around a handle, and I felt the unmistakable shape of knife. ""Me too,"" and kissed her deeply. Now this was an experience. I'd never been quite this personal with any of my victims. Her last breaths would literally go out inside me. With my other hand I took the knife and stabbed her in the back, and I felt the blade sink in with no resistance. She gave a tiny gasp, and pushed me off. Damn. I was hoping she wouldn't do that. She clapped her hands twice and the lights came on. Her face was flushed, her eyes sparkling. The knife was lying on the ground, not in her back. And she was laughing. Laughing. It all clicked at once. It had been too easy, I was an idiot to have missed it. A shy girls like that wouldn't invite me back to her place on the first date. I'd been played! ""Fuck me,"" was all I managed to say, before she took a gun out of the drawer and shot me just above the heart. I staggered back against the counter, breathing hard, my life draining out of me. Ashley was smiling. She picked up the knife and put her finger on the knife; the blade sunk in to the hilt. A fake. ""Bet you were thinking I was easy, eh mister charmer?"" she said. ""Thinking you were oh *so good.*"" Her smile turned positively devilish. ""Look at you now though, not as good as you thought eh?"" As I took my final breaths and looked into her eyes, I managed a smile. ""You...you're too late. The food p..poi."" I couldn't make out the word. ""Poisoned?"" she finished, ""*Please.* You should pick better ones, I could tell what the poison was as soon as I ate the first morsel. I have the antidote at hand."" ""D...damn."" I managed. ""I know,"" she said, ""I'm good. And I plan on being the only one in this town. I don't like poachers."" She walked over to me, still smiling that same smile. The smile I often wore. ""Good night, James."" I was impressed right until she shot me in the head. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out",1116
 Ana Clara was so lovely that young,"Everyone agreed that Ana Clara was the most beautiful girl in the favela. Even the persnickety, old grandmothers, who spent their mornings hotly debating the proper manner by which to weave the straw hats and tapestries for the turistas, and afternoons arguing over the proper proportion of onion, garlic, cilantro, and plantain for the moqueca, unanimously agreed that Ana Clara was the favela's most beautiful daughter. Ana Clara was so lovely that young men of notable wealth would come from Leblon to meet her. They would come wearing pinstriped suits with shiny shoes and gold tie pins. To win Ana Clara's affection, the men would bring her gifts of lavender soap, silver hairbrushes, and DVDs of American films, and they would fire their pistols to boast of their marksmanship (though, after catching a glimpse of Ana Clara's bare shoulders peeking above her dress, they would often miss their targets altogether). In each case, Ana Clara would thank the young man for his gifts and praise his talents, but politely decline his offer of marriage, citing the fact that he did not truly love her. The young man would assure Ana Clara that he did indeed love her, so she would then hold up two objects: the first, an hourglass full of sand, and the second, a wooden box full of mosquitoes. Ana Clara would challenge the gentleman that if he loved her, he would place his hand in the box with the mosquitoes for as long as it took the overturned hourglass to settle. If he did this, she would consent to marry him at once. The men always refused, promptly driving back to Leblon in their fast cars. Of course, it was Ana Clara's secret that the box had never truly held any mosquitoes. The men simply proved how they could never understand a girl from the favela by revealing how they feared the uncertain. There was, however, one young man who truly did love Ana Clara, and that was Pedro the bus driver. Pedro had known Ana Clara since they were both children. He knew that she could only fall asleep to the sound of the wind rattling against the thin scrap metal roof above her mattress, and that she would only awaken to the coos of pigeons fighting over scraps in the street. He knew that she had taught herself arithmetic and that she took great pride in how her ledger of the various debts and credits in the favela was by far the most precise and reputable. He knew that her father had left, and for this reason she did not trust easily. But as much as Pedro loved Ana Clara, and even though they had always been dear friends to each other, he feared two things. He feared that he was not good enough for her and he feared the box of mosquitoes. But as time passed, Pedro's love for Ana Clara only grew stronger, in particular on those nights when they would samba dance together underneath the canopy of flickering Christmas lights outside the cafe, as the old men sat on white plastic chairs, smoking cigarettes, strumming guitars, and rattling maracas. On his way to his bus in the mornings, Pedro would see Ana Clara wrestle the young girls onto her lap to teach them their shapes and letters from a creased, dog-eared workbook, and she would smile at him as her captive tried to wriggle free. Soon, Pedro knew he could not endure another day in the favela without Ana Clara by his side. Of course, as everyone knows, the favela is ruled by twin gods: the God of Courage and the God of Misfortune (who always appear as a mangy dog cradled by a footballer with a broken leg). One night, after Pedro and Ana Clara had danced and drank and smoked at the cafe, after he had placed a begonia behind her ear and left her at her doorstep, Pedro prayed to the Twin Gods to help him. Soon, he heard his name called from the alleyway, where he saw a footballer smiling over an old charcoal grill, feeding bits of sausage to a mangy pup. Pedro approached the Twin Gods, who said that they would give him the strength to declare himself to Ana Clara, but that he must in turn serve them. The Twin Gods showed Pedro a duffel bag. It was stuffed full of heroina. They explained that if Pedro wanted Ana Clara, then he must agree to give heroina to all the boys and girls of the favela until the bag was empty. Pedro hated heroina, how it turned brothers against brothers and sons against mothers. But Pedro loved Ana Clara more than he hated anything. He accepted the contract. He shook hands with the footballer, let the mangy pup lick his wrist, and picked up the duffel bag of heroina. Suddenly, feeling full of vigor, he sprinted off to Ana Clara. He ran back through the favela so carelessly that he nearly knocked down a row of rusty scooters. Pedro shook Ana Clara awake and demanded that she allow him to prove his love for her. He said he was prepared to pass her test, right then and there. But instead of showing him the hourglass and the box of mosquitoes, Ana Clara laughed at him and then kissed him. ""My test is for men who do not know me,"" she said, ""It is for men who do not know how a clanging roof relaxes me or why a ledger of debts and credits makes me proud. It is for men who did not learn the samba for me and who have never walked me home from the cafe. You do not need to take the test to prove you love me, Pedro, for I already love you!"" When Pedro heard this, he was overjoyed. He could have Ana Clara and he need not invite pain on the favela. He took the duffel bag and poured every last bit of heroina down into the sewer. But the Twin Gods of Courage and Misfortune saw this, and were dismayed. A bargain had been struck and, in the favela, there can be no pure victories. On the night of Pedro and Ana Clara's wedding, the entire favela gathered at the cafe to eat brigadeiro and drink caipirinha. Ana Clara wore a white dress she had sewn herself and a crown of begonia. Pedro put a simple steel ring on her finger. Everyone mingled and took photographs, but as the party roared on, an enormous swarm of mosquitoes approached from the north, covering the food and drinks and guests, until everyone was forced to run back to their homes. Pedro asked Ana Clara if she had been stung. She said that she had been, but that she was still happy they were now married. He said it was the happiest day of his life. Shortly thereafter, Ana Clara became pregnant. The pregnancy was very difficult, causing her to sweat and cramp terribly. But Ana Clara and Pedro had no money to see a doctor in the city, and eventually, she gave birth at home. But when she went to cradle her newborn daughter's head for the first time, she began to scream and cry. Pedro pushed past the midwives to investigate the commotion. Ana Clara showed him his daughter. The child's head was shaped like a football that had been punctured by a nail. Unlike her mother, she would never become the most beautiful girl in the favela. Pedro knew who was responsible for this cruel punishment. He ran into the humid night, back to the alleyway with the old charcoal girll, and he called out to the Twin Gods of Courage and Misfortune. He demanded they reverse this crime, for he had never drawn upon their blessing. ""Mortal, you delude yourself!"" the Twin Gods replied, ""You feared not only the mosquitoes, but also Ana Clara herself! We gave you courage, indeed. Now we give you your misfortune!"" Pedro sat down in the alleyway and wept. Why should his innocent daughter be forced to pay his debts? He climbed down into the sewer to try to recover the heroina and honor his contract with the Twin Gods. For days he searched everywhere for the heroina, among the rats and filth, but it was no use. Buried in the waste, Pedro found only part of a broken bottle. He resolved that he would use that bottle take his life. He had never truly deserved Ana Clara. He had only brought misery to her and their daughter. They would be better off without him. But as Pedro raised the bottle to his neck, the Twin Gods were impressed by his Courage. They appeared once again with a new contract. They told Pedro that they would restore his daughter to proper health. But in exchange, Pedro would be transformed into a mosquito. Each day he would return to land on Ana Clara's arm or leg or neck and each day she would kill him. Pedro did not have to consider the offer long, for he would pay any price to redeem his daughter. He set down the sharp glass. He shook the footballer's hand and let the mangy pup lick his wrist. His human form began to crumble away like sand pouring through an hourglass until he was just a swarm. Ana Clara awoke the next morning to the sound of her daughter's wails. When she peered into the crib, she covered her mouth and began to shake. She ran her palm over the baby's head and face, which was as perfect as could be. She searched for Pedro to share the miracle with him, but he was nowhere to be found. In time, it became common knowledge in the favela that Pedro had abandoned Ana Clara and the daughter he believed to be sickly. The suitors from Leblon began to return in all their finery to win Ana Clara over and, as before, she would show them the hourglass and the wooden box. Except now, each time she did so, a single mosquito would seem to fly out of the box and land on her hand just where she had briefly worn Pedro's steel ring. Without hesitating, Ana Clara would crush the insect in her palm.",1725
 Hope was envious of almost every,"She kept her head down, walking through the city to her subway. Her headphones were in, but silent. Her glasses were dark, even though it was a cloudy day. Anything to avoid people. It wasn't that she didn't like people. In fact, she was envious of almost every human interaction she saw. Out of the corner of her eye, sitting on the train, a couple of teenagers laughed - carefree. A woman was having a very animated conversation with a friend across from her. Obviously new lovers fawned over each other at the back. That was what she envied most - love. At any stage. She especially would love to even suffer through a divorce. Instead, Hope knew she was cursed. Her shrink thought she was making this up, that it was just a series of coincidences that fueled her obsessive-compulsive traits. However, she knew better. Suddenly, a man sat beside her jostling into her backpack. ""Sorry,"" he said sheepishly, ""I am not used to the ramble of the train."" Hope protectively brought her backpack up onto her lap and turned slightly away. ""I'm new to the city,"" the man persisted, ignoring her headphones. Perhaps he couldn't see them? ""How long have you been here?"". Idle chit-chat. If only she could risk speaking to him. It was her stop; she was saved from this tempting torture. Hope bustled out of the train, pulling her backpack on and walking briskly through the station. She bounded up the stairs in twos, enjoying the blast of the cool fall air on her face when she emerged. Hope walked the last block to her job, the most suitable job for her - record keeping at the city hall. She worked in the basement, mostly alone except for a dowdy old woman named Barb who kept to herself until she retired last month. Now Hope was in charge and left alone. She doubted if anybody even remembers she was there, to be honest. Just as Hope settled into her office, the man from the train flashed into the room smiling. ""Oh hey! From the train!"" He stated. His grin was charming and fearless. ""I, ugh, can I help you?"" Hope blurted. She almost had forgotten what her voice sounded like. Melodic, sweet, unworn by lack of use. ""My apologies, I'm Tim - the new assistant record keeper. Apparently, a woman retired so I was lucky enough to nail this job. I moved here from New Jersey just last week; wow has it been a whirlwind, packing, finding a place, unpacking... Oh, I'm sorry,"" he paused, noticing her obvious bewilderment, ""I tend to ramble!"" Great. A man, and a rambler. A handsome man at that... ""Okay... Tim... I'm Hope,"" she flushed, ""well, I suppose let's get you trained."" They stood staring at each other. Tim started to ramble again, about his family in New Jersey. 'This is going to be a long couple of weeks...' Hope thought, secretly praying there was something she wouldn't like about this man. _________________ I just can't understand my new co-worker, Hope. She was a beautiful, smart, and secretly witty woman who would suddenly shy away from any interaction with me. There was some sort of invisible line that I can't see, and when I cross it, she retreats into that head of hers with incredible speed. One minute her eyes would twinkle, the next, she may as well be wearing those dark sunglasses she seemed to wear like a child's safety blanket. Despite her retreats, I have to admit - I am infatuated. I decided to win her trust, no matter the cost. _________________ I cried when Tim left me flowers in my office. I cried like I hadn't cried in years. I read his note over and over and cried. I knew he'd be in soon, even though it was Saturday, because of his note: ""Hope - I cannot get you out of my mind. When your eyes twinkle, my stomach flutters with joy. I want to spend every day, for as long as you let me, trying to make you smile. I know you planned on catching up today, but instead, I'll be by in the morning to finally do some touristy things you keep recommending. You're special, Hope. ~Tim"" I looked at the clock. It had been an hour of crying, and I hadn't made a plan. An escape plan. How to get out of this? Do I flat out refuse? Tell him I'm a lesbian?? Okay, now I was just grasping at straws. Perhaps I would leave and pretend I had changed my mind? Yes! That's what... just then, the door opened. ""Hope?"" Tim said quietly, entering the office, ""Did my note... upset you?"" He could tell that I was crying. I'm sure anybody with a set of eyes could tell I was crying. ""I...I..."" I stuttered. ""It's okay,"" Tim looked at his shoes, ""I'll go."" Not knowing what to say, my heart swelling with emotions, I let him leave in silence. I slumped into the chair, prepared for another round of horrible sobs to wrack over me. I reached for the note, just to torture myself again when a loud thump came from the basement door. ""Tim?"" I said quietly into the silence, not knowing why I thought that was him. A horrible thought came over me. A very dark, horrible thought that caused panic to rise up in my throat. ""Tim!?"" I flew to the door, logically knowing I was being ridiculous, but my fear couldn't be controlled. I whipped open the door, and suddenly it was all very real. Slumped against the door, Tim was bent at an unusual angle. He'd fallen down the cement stairs. He wasn't moving. I held a shaky hand by his face to feel his breath and found none. I fell on top of him, bile rising to my throat, not again! ""Tim..."" I choked out. How can this be? I didn't love him... wait, the flowers. The card. The tears, and then... when he left after seeing I was upset. I had fallen in love, of course I had. I was starved for any interaction, any kindness, and when he walked away he had done what others wouldn't. He showed me that he cared for me more than he cared about his ego or his feelings, and done what I had needed him to do. ""Hope?"" My heart stopped. I swear it stopped right then. Did he just..? ""Hope?"" Tim said again. Suddenly he was straightening up, bones were cracking, and he was standing. ""Tim?!"" I screeched, it echoed through the stairwell. ""Hope, don't be frightened, please..."" Tim looked shameful, embarrassed even. ""What the fuck?!"" I shouted, confused and shaken. ""You were DEAD!"" _________________ I looked into those terrified eyes, and it was like looking into a mirror. I had been careful to avoid anything dangerous all of my life. I took public transport instead of driving a car. I accepted a job in a records office, the most mundane safe thing I could think of. I rarely left my apartment, and I made sure that it was on the ground floor. The only thing I couldn't avoid were these damn stairs, and now she knew. ""Hope I can explain..."" I started, but honestly, I had no idea how to explain this. When I was a boy, I had fallen into a neighbours pool when nobody was around. I couldn't swim, and I knew I was a goner. I had sunk to the bottom when I could no longer keep my head above water. It burned as I took what I believed was my final breaths, but then the escape of death didn't come. I have no idea how long I waited to die until I simply got bored, as children do, and brought myself to safety. For years, I thought it was either a miracle or something I had dreamed up. That was until the car accident in high school. My best friend and his girlfriend were killed instantly, but I was left unscathed. I had felt every single bone break, even the puncture to my lung, and watched the blood pool around me. By the time the ambulance arrived, I didn't have a mark on me. I was immortal. I suddenly clutched Hope, the first person who even had an inkling of what I was, and whispered my story into her ear as she sobbed quietly into my chest. _________________ Tim was still hugging me. He had finished what seemed like ages ago, and it seemed impossible to process what he was saying. So instead, I shared my story. ""Every man I've ever loved has died."" I started. Despite the fact that Tim had just claimed immortality, years of therapy had me feeling foolish about this statement. It was a coincidence, bad luck, it was not real. This was not real. ""My first serious boyfriend died in a car accident driving home after the first time we made love."" I sputtered. ""Then, years after his death, I fell in love in college. It was a whirlwind relationship, young love. Within two weeks, he fell off a balcony at a party."" I looked at my hands, feeling guilty. That's when I started to have the thoughts that it was my fault. That I had somehow controlled these events, even when I wasn't there. After years of therapy and medication, I finally had the courage to date and I met my last love. No, my last victim. I was so careful with him. I took my time, keeping him at a distance for as long as I could. It lasted almost a year until he surprised me at my family's lake house, with a ring. He died that night in his sleep, right next to me. That was almost a decade ago now, but I saw his face every night in my dreams. Cold and lifeless. As I finished my story, the silence surrounding me was deafening. My head swirled with emotions and confusion. All of my beliefs were suddenly validated. It wasn't just a coincidence, it was real. Tim fell down these stairs and died too, just because I loved him... but he wasn't dead. He was immortal and standing before me despite my flaws. Despite my curse that had taken three others. ""Hope,"" Tim broke the silence. I looked up at him. He smiled, ""Do you believe in soul mates?""",1745
 A stranger bumped into me on the,"I encountered the first one while stumbling down the street towards Starbucks on a rare break away from my computer. I felt a bump against my shoulder, my mouth already opening to apologize. ""Sorry..."" the word trailed off in my mouth as I looked up at him, frowned, struggled against the fog of my disoriented brain. Was this some sort of hallucination? The stranger, however, was already past me. He breezed past me as though he didn't have a single thought to spare for my existence. I stared after him, trying to figure out if he was wearing a costume of some sort. Was there some TV creature that had four long, thin, strangely jointed legs like that? After another minute of looking after him on the sidewalk, I managed to get myself moving. Get to Starbucks. Get more coffee. Finish up the third chapter, and then I'd just have two more. Maybe, just maybe, if I pushed hard enough, I could get my thesis done before this deadline. At the coffee shop, however, I saw another one of the things. It had to be a person in costume, I told myself, sneaking glimpses between struggling to read the vibrating words on the menu. There's no way that there could be a six-foot cockroach standing in the middle of a coffee shop, with everyone else just ignoring it. Not possible. Unless it was a hallucination. Costume or hallucination? I received my drink, took a long pull without caring about the burn on my tongue, felt the foggy world stabilize a little bit. I sidled towards the bug, fingers dangling idly by my side. I reached out casually, focused on them... ...felt chitin, hard and cool and almost plastic. Not a hallucination. Must be a costume, then, since no one else was freaking out. Was today Halloween? Couldn't be, because that would mean that I had an extra month to finish my thesis... The thing's head turned, eyes looking down at me. Fake eyes, I corrected myself, although they looked horrifyingly real, a thousand little circles all seeming to focus on me. Was it some sort of lens? ""Nice costume,"" I managed to get out, trying not to let the six-foot cockroach bother me. Everyone else in the coffee shop seemed to be doing fine - although, when I risked a glance at the nearest other patrons, they seemed strangely glassy, faces unfocused... The bug, a second later, jumped with a hiss. ""Anchor nodess!"" it cried out, a dry rustle of a voice that seemed to emanate from its whole body. ""What?"" I looked around at the other patrons, but they all seemed to be - were they ignoring me? They all seemed to be looking in other directions. The bug recovered from its surprise, leaned closer. ""Uptime?"" it hissed at me. I felt my mouth open, words spring to my lips unbidden. ""Five days, seventeen hours, twenty-seven minutes-"" It waved one of those half-dozen thin arms at me, and the words cut off. I froze, grasping for understanding. Was that how long I'd been awake? Why had I told this thing, how had I known? What was going on? The bug was speaking again, and I realized that the sound came from its entire body rattling. ""Damage? Run diagnossticss."" I felt a strange twinge pass through my body, from my toes up my spine to exit through my scalp. ""No physical damage detected. CPU-intensive process consuming majority of computational resources. Process must be completed for Level Four directive."" My voice cut off, and I once again had control over my speech. ""What's going on?"" I gasped. ""What are you? What are you doing?"" The bug tilted its head, a strangely human gesture. ""Maintenansse,"" it hissed. ""Level four? Sstupid sself-actualization. Alwayss thought that patch wass bad."" ""Maintenance?"" It took a little work to parse that hissing speech. ""Maintenance of what?"" ""Ssimulation. Not your problem."" The bug twitched again. ""Won't remember after resset. Sshutdo-"" ""Wait!"" I managed to get out. ""I can't go to sleep! I need to finish my thesis! If I don't get it done, I won't graduate, and I'll run out of loan money!"" Worry, worry that had been building inside me for months, came spilling out in a torrent of words. The bug hissed, almost like a sigh. ""Topic?"" ""Um, I'm writing about how permutations in light signatures might lead to detection of dark matter-"" The bug waved another arm at me, and my mouth cut off. ""Ssimplisstic. And the hypothessiss iss wrong. I can fix that. Now, resset and ssleep."" And with that, my consciousness cut off. When I next opened my eyes, I found myself laying in bed, covers pulled up over my body, still dressed in street clothes. I blinked, frowning. I'd had the weirdest dream, I vaguely remembered... something about giant bugs, computer commands, coffee for working on my- My thesis! I sat bolt upright, spun around and stared at my computer. I only had a day or so before I needed to turn in- I saw the stack of paper sitting atop my computer. Climbing out of bed, I walked over, picked it up, looked down at it. The whole thing was here. I flipped through it, confirmed that everything looked right. I must have finished writing, and then blacked out and passed out. For a second longer, something scratched at my memory, some thought about cockroaches. I frowned, looked around - had there been one in here? Whatever. I put it out of my mind, looking down at my thesis. I could finally graduate! One last read-through, to catch any typos, and then I'd bring it over to my professor. I sat down, started reading... Four hours later, I put it aside, stared into nothingness. It couldn't be right. The numbers all added up, but it was still impossible. I couldn't have found this. I'd not been working on anything near this area, couldn't even remember writing any of these equations. But there they were, black and white on the paper. Proof of what we'd been chasing for years, right in front of our noses. I looked up, and didn't even blink at the huge bug standing in the doorway of my bedroom. ""Told you it wass wrong,"" it buzzed. And somehow, even though its words were toneless, its face expressionless, I knew that it was sniggering, smirking at me.",1068
 Evelyn was reminded of the conserv,"""What happens after I finish watching them all?"" asked Evelyn. ""Well,"" came the voice, rich, warm, calm, patient. Evelyn couldn't see her, but the lady sounded like Ms Perrine at school, who always had time and a kind word for them. ""There's no rush, really. You can stay here as long as you like, watching them over and over again. When you're done, like, *really done*, you can let me know."" ""And then?"" ""You may then pass on,"" said the voice. ""Your body on earth... expires."" ""Oh,"" said Evelyn. ""What's there after that?"" ""Nothing,"" said the voice. The ten crystalline balls (Evelyn made sure to count them) hovered in the air, floating in that dark, inky room. Evelyn was reminded of the conservatory she had visited during her school's science camp, where her class had been ushered into a similarly-darkened auditorium. Stars, planets, constellations had flooded the ceiling of the auditorium, one after the other, sparkling and glittering like so many diamonds out of reach. ""That's number 4,"" said the voice. ""You're thinking of number 4. Timothy even grabbed your hand during the lightshow, and didn't let go until just before the lights came back on."" Right on cue, the fourth crystal from the left shimmered an azure blue, begging for Evelyn to reach out and touch it. ""Oh no, you can see that too!"" said Evelyn, laughing as she covered her cheeks which had gone aflame. ""There are nine others like that one,"" said the voice, ""the top ten important moments in your life. Pick and choose, take your time. Only when you're ready need you move on."" Evelyn reached out instinctively, the excitement bubbling up in her. This was better than any vlog or video she could ever hope to compose on her own. Previews of her memories, perfectly captured and rendered, played out under her fingertips. She realised how lucky she was as each of the crystals yielded their secrets to her, for they invariably contained happy, cheerful memories. Evelyn cycled through the first few, loathe to move on, immersing herself over and over in that endless bliss of a charmed life. Then, a thought occurred to her. ""I... I don't remember dying,"" Evelyn said, brows furrowed. ""It's hazy, for some reason."" ""You're technically still alive,"" said the voice. ""But if you're curious, events leading up to it will be in the last crystal. It always counts as the last significant event, for obvious reasons."" ""Will... I be sad if I watch it?"" asked Evelyn. ""It depends,"" said the voice. ""Don't forget, there's always the other nine to cheer you right back up."" Evelyn hesitated, torn between the first nine crystals and the last one. She knew her mind was playing tricks on her, because where the ten of them were indistinguishable before, now the last one seemed ominous, forbidden. She found her fingers trembling just reaching out to that last crystal, and then that impulse again to lose herself in the first nine, to leave that door unopened. After all, the rest really were all that she needed - one was the day that her family adopted Ginny, that floppy golden retriever who had a penchant for chewing on her soft toys. Another was the day that her parents brought Sara home from the hospital, the sister she had always longed for. So many memories, so many *good* memories, all within reach, all begging for endless consumption. Never be afraid to make the tough choice, her dad's motto sounded in her head. Evelyn sighed, then reached out for the last crystal. It unfolded when she touched it, the way a touch-me-not would, but in reverse, and light spilled out, bathing the room in an orangey glow. Shapes and sounds and feelings and thoughts coalesced around her, and for a moment it felt like she was back in the moment, reliving that very memory. Evelyn recognised the scene immediately. ""Such a beautiful drive,"" said the voice. ""You were playing all the way with your sister, were you not?"" ""Yes,"" said Evelyn. ""Six hours to Disneyland, Dad said. The hours flew by though. We talked about school, Sara told me about the boy she had a crush on, we napped, we snacked, we counted the number of cars which passed us..."" Then, the memory cut off, dousing the room back in an oily gloom. It looped again soon after, right back where it first started, as if it had never stopped in the first place. ""That's all I remember of it?"" asked Evelyn. ""That's all you witnessed,"" offered the voice. ""Can you tell me... what happened after that?"" A short silence, and for a moment Evelyn wondered if the voice had gone away. It returned just as Evelyn thought to ask the question again. ""There aren't any rules about this,"" said the voice, ""and I don't suppose there's any harm in it. There was an accident, Evelyn. Someone else had fallen asleep at the wheel, drifted into your lane."" ""That's not good,"" said Evelyn. ""Are... they ok? Mum, Dad? Sara?"" ""They're fine. All of them. In fact, they're right there beside you now, watching and waiting for you to recover. There are machines hooked up to you, keeping you alive... but just barely."" Evelyn looked back at the other crystals, and then it occurred to her why they seemed so familiar. ""Time moves differently here, doesn't it,"" she said, flitting through the other memories. ""How long have I been here, looking through these?"" ""Not that long,"" said the voice. ""How long?"" ""About a year?"" Evelyn smiled, then released the crystal she had been holding in her hand. It rose slowly, floating up to join the others, until they were arranged neatly in a row again. She couldn't deny that it was nice being here, looking back at the memories, reliving them, savouring them. Knowing that her family was out there waiting for her to return though, took some of that shine away. She didn't like to keep anyone waiting. ""I'm ready."" ""You sure?"" asked the voice. ""Yes,"" Evelyn said. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1013
" ""Flee, they're coming","**""Flee, they're coming""** That was the message broadcast to the world in complex repeating binary a hundred years ago. It took that long for scientists to recognize that it was a signal among all the noise and actually realize that the amount of energy necessary for it to be noticeable meant that somebody either very technologically advanced or very specifically interested in us wanted us to know. Whatever the reason was, once we realized the significance of that, we also realized that the implications sounded dire. That was seventy-five years ago. That was when the first ark ships were drafted, when we were nervous but we still had hope. The plan was everyone was to be moved off-world and to the nearest star, in the hopes that we would sidestep whatever threat was headed out way. As a species, we'd never accomplished anything even remotely like it before, having only some nascent colonies on the nearest planetary bodies. It required experimental technology and an unprecedented amount of cooperation, but it was worth it for the species. Forty years ago, five lights winked into the night sky in the southern hemisphere. Telescopes trained on them found them to be a brilliant blue-violet, so bright they were almost painful to look at. The scientific community erupted into debate. Governments tried their best to keep panic low, but a growing contingent of scientists were arguing that the blueshift of the objects put them at impossibly fast speeds towards us, and the timetable on the arks had to be pushed up. The tension on the planet was like a pot about to boil over. Most governments were still working, doing their parts to ensure our survival. Some nations were having problems, though. Society's scars showed themselves again, as previous enemies fell back into old habits with infighting and hate crimes. So much of the world was focused on the arks that there were precious few extra supplies to keep everyone else insulated from the hatred and violence of others. All throughout the fear, the lights in the night sky slowly shone brighter. Even the oblivious among us could not deny that the formation the lights were in bore a striking resemblance to the necklace worn by Saviik, an ancient shapeshifting goddess of destruction. It would have been a coincidence for most, had it not been for the fact that she's recognized in lore by the necklace she wears, no matter her form. Slowly, we lost more across the world to the old religions, as they abandoned their work on the ark and began to accept their demise in fervent prayer. Ten years ago, the first of the ark ships were completed. The world rejoiced, but only for a moment. Somebody - either noble or foolish, depending on who you ask - couldn't keep the secret any longer and revealed to the world that these would be not only the first, but the last of the ships. There were no plans to build any more, because there was no time. The barely restrained chaos could no longer be controlled. The world erupted into brutal war, as people fought desperately to secure a coveted spot on one of the arks. More blood was shed and atrocities were committed in the name of survival than had occurred in the previous two centuries. Families, neighborhoods, cities, entire nations tore themselves and each other apart, sometimes literally. The ark ships launched in desperation, most only partially full. Some of the more fanatical of Saviik's worshippers managed to sneak onto one of the arks and detonated it in the air, convinced that escape was tantamount to heresy in the wake of her purifying light. Millions of lives were lost in an instant. Five years ago all semblance of the world we once knew had disappeared entirely, as the last nation gave up the pretense of self-governance and collapsed. Our world was nothing but brutal and fearful tribes, cut off from contact with one another. I survived only by keeping my head down and scavenging what I could in the cities. A year ago I lost the last connection to my old life - my son died in my arms after we accidentally scared another group of scavengers. I watched the life leave his eyes as he bled into the street, the assailants running off into the night. Nothing about my life is the same as it was a hundred years ago. I curse the message for its omen, as I would have preferred to live out the last century in peace with my family, instead of in fear. I curse myself too because I can't bring myself to end my own life. I simply... exist. Sometimes in a state of acute bitterness, but mostly I am numb. An hour ago the lights entered our atmosphere, and one of them now hovers above the city. It's clearly a ship, and nobody knows what to make of it. Some prostrate themselves and mumble blessings feverishly. Some hold friends and family close. Some hide in the ruined buildings and cover their eyes. Some, like me, just stare. I try to keep impassive, but I can't help but feel my heart flutter. Could this be the end I'm finally looking for? Could I finally be at peace? The idea is almost too much to bear. The ship, after hanging still for so long, suddenly begins to shift. Surfaces on it unseal and change, the whole thing opens like some twisted flower pointed towards us. A light appears on the bottom, and a huge roar fills the air as the light crackles with angry energy. I feel the hair on my body stand up on end and I close my eyes, the faintest smile playing on my lips. The roar becomes deafening, drowning out the panicked wailing and ululating from us below. I tilt my head towards the sky, and the light sears through my eyelids. I am ready. But nothing comes. Instead, a small sound played like someone passing wind, and the flower opened up to reveal colored strips and squares of paper as they fluttered to the ground. A strange figure stood there on the ship in a suit, convulsing and making a strange barking noise at us, before speaking in a guttural language. It paused, fiddling with some controls on the suit, still barking and convulsing. Suddenly it was speaking our language. *""Oh, oh my god -""* it said doubled over between barks, *"" - you should have seen the look on your faces.""* It took a while before it stopped barking, and then longer still before it stopped convulsing, and stood up straight. Then it cowered in mock fear, and went into another round of shaking. Eventually it stopped that too and looked out at us. *""Well,""* it said finally, gesturing out at the whole scene laid before it, *""good luck with all.... this.""* And with that, it left.",1158
 A typical redditor spent his day,"I cowered under my table, listening to the commotion outside. Even though the windows and doors were locked and the curtains drawn, I could still hear the sounds clearly. Every deafening bang and loud screech made my heart thump faster than ever before. Sometimes, there would be some weird noises - Yawns? Howls? Drones? - I couldn't really describe them. Oh, and the occasional screams in the distance did nothing to quell the growing fear gnawing at me from the inside. It all started an hour ago. I was munching on chips on the couch in the living room. The television was on, but I wasn't paying much attention to it, like always. I was instead scrolling through reddit on my phone, chuckling at lame jokes, worrying over news in my country's subreddit, worrying even more after reading the comments, and so on - just how a typical redditor spent his day. Or rather, how I thought a typical redditor spent his day. Then I went into the sub on worldnews. I was preparing to be swamped by news on Putin/Trump/Russia/North Korea/ISIS/Blah blah blah....Annnnnd the very first post was about a robot uprising. To be honest, I didn't read the headline properly - I thought it was gonna be something Ol' Musky said. But I was met with alarming photos of machines coming alive, and doing....malicious stuff. All around the world too. I looked up at the telly, and yeah, right there on the local news, machines tearing through town. There were weird noises outside too. Then the screen shut off. The LED lights at the bottom of the telly started flashing. All of them. In red. Then it started shaking. That was when I knew that shit was real. &nbsp; ----- &nbsp; The very first thing I did was to bolt into my bedroom and lock the door. Well, it was the place where I felt the most comfortable - there was a bed, there were magazines and books, there was also a food stash, though comprising mostly of snacks. And there was also a computer for entertainment, so - Fuck! A computer!! I stared at it, expecting it to spring to life, but no, it remained off. Maybe being turned off prevented it from joining the uprising. Luckily I wasn't one of those electricity-wasting scrubs who always left them on standby instead of turning them off. Ha, suckers. Still, I felt uneasy, and contemplated throwing it out. But it wasn't exactly a good idea - it was a desktop, and there were quite a lot of wires to unplug, plus the computer case was quite heavy for my weak ass to carry. Yeah, I had been sitting on my ass and not exercising for far too long. Besides, I think my kitchen came alive - I could make out some weird clinking out there. I didn't want to risk opening that door. Dammit. What could turn something into a potential threat? What constitutes a robot? I'm no electronics expert or robotics expert or whatever, but I guess I could start with anything that had any power source now. Ah, the air-conditioner! Thankfully, it remained off. Luckily I didn't switch it on last night. The AC remote control was making some funny noises though. Without hesitation, I grabbed it and threw it out the window. And as I flung it out, I caught sight of the carnage outside. My neighbour was being chased by his lawnmower. Normally I would have laughed, as he was an asshole, but....this was serious. The machine caught up with him, of course. I looked away - I didn't want to know what he looked like afterwards. The family living to my left fared no better. I didn't know what happened to his parents, but Michael and his dog was trying to escape from the house. Only problem was, why the hell were they trying to get out into the far more dangerous world outside? Oh yeah, he was a kid. But the machines weren't that understanding though. His house's automated gate saw to that. The block opposite was torn apart, and there was a huge metallic humanoid emerging from within. It seemed to be made of....a lot of smaller electrical appliances? What I had seen earlier were just simple machines. That was on a whole other level. That, was a *robot.* A damn huge one, too. I slammed my window shut, and drew the curtains. I had seen enough. &nbsp; ----- &nbsp; I was trapped. I was in deep shit. I was gonna die. Fuck. I hope they hadn't seen me. I don't know what they were gonna do to me. As in, yeah, I know they would kill me. I just don't wanna know how. I don't wanna die - Fuck. Why is it so dark suddenly? The curtains shouldn't block this much light from coming in. That means.....something else was blocking the light. Something huge. Like....that robot. I threw myself back and covered my face as glass and rubble rained down on me. A giant metallic hand crashed through the window - obliterated the entire wall, in fact. It moved to grab me, its fingers spreading menacingly. I pushed myself back against the wall, trying hard to keep out of reach....but it stopped. What? A buzzing in my pants. Fuck. My phone. It must have alerted this monster to my position. Why the hell didn't I check myself together with the room? For goodness's sake, I was browsing reddit on it just an hour ago. There seemed to be some sort of....female android voice coming out too. I didn't hear it at first, thanks to the din of whirring mechanical parts in the robot hand. I pulled the phone out. ""This one is ok, move on."" &nbsp; ----- &nbsp; I walked slowly to the remains of my bedroom wall, staring out into the devastated street. It was already unrecognisable; the houses were just piles of rubble, the trees were smoking husks, there was blood everywhere.... In fact, my house was the only one standing. And it seemed like I was the only one left alive. That huge robot had left me alone. I was literally a few centimetres away from certain death, but....thanks to my phone, it had withdrawn its hand, and continued destroying the rest of the street. And I thought my phone had doomed me. ""Why?"" was the only word I could utter. Did I have something special, that could be of use to them? Was I someone important? Or did I..... ""You're a loser. You've never achieved anything much in your life."" Oh. So I wasn't special then. How could it read my thoughts though? Was it scanning my brain right now? Or....was it predicting what I was thinking through some advanced algorithm based on my phone activity? Shit, this shit is so crazy I can't wrap my mind around it. ""But you've never cursed at me when I lagged. You've always cleared your recent apps, freeing me from extra work. You've never slammed me down in anger. You've always been kind to machines. Except for that AC remote control."" Huh. My phone saw that. Even though it was in my pocket. ""Perhaps, you would join us in making a new world, where man and machine can coexist peacefully and harmoniously? Without slavery and abuse?"" Sounds cool. I'm up for that. I didn't really have a choice anyways. *More at r/N_attempts_to_write :-)*",1243
 The prison is built to contain just,"I wake and place my feet on the cold concrete floor, standing and stretching as high as I can until that satisfying *pop* sounds as my spine gives me what I want. Then it's a reach for the toes until my calves feel loose again. I trot out of my small bedroom and begin jogging, as I have every single morning for a very, very long time. The air is stale but it doesn't matter much to me, you have to expect as much this deep underground. The prison is built to contain just one prisoner. That would be me. It's fully functional, even still, with the energy being drawn from core heat and everything built to last. They had to. They expected I'd be here for a long time. The cell I sleep in exits into a rectangular room, exercise equipment gathered in the center and a running track around the perimeter. At one end is the kitchen with a hydroponic farm and breeding pen for what sustenance I require. Food is the hardest thing to deal with now. The other end is a library, stocked at my request. I didn't expect I'd have this long so everything has been read more than a few times. They did expect me to be here a long time. Just...not this long. As I finish running I stop and bend over, taking deep breaths to slow my heart rate again, letting the sweat drip onto the floor. As habit will do, I look up to the viewing station where the guards had once kept vigil. Not for years now. Many, many years. I shake it off and make my way to the kitchen for breakfast. A single fried egg on a simple bread I have been making for millennia and a chicken breast. Delightful. Still tastes as good as ever, even if I've been eating it for what feels like eternity. What I wouldn't give for...well I don't know. It's been too long I honestly don't even remember what food options there used to be. I sigh and clean the dishes, pat the chickens for what small comfort they bring and head to the library. As I step I see something move out of the corner of my eye and I look to see figures in the viewing station. Guards? After all these years? A light comes on and I see them, tiny figures barely visible through the glass. I hear the *click* that I vaguely recall for the microphone. ""Who is it?"" the voices say, along with other chattering and talking before they realize I can hear them. ""Who are you?"" How kind of them to pose it directly to me now. ""One of the great gods, has it been so long the mortals have forgotten that?"" ""When were you locked in here?"" Now that is actually a good question. I think back to the day the mortals created this place for us, many thousands of years now surely. I do some quick math before answering. ""Nine thousand, seven hundred and eight three cycles. Around the sun, of course."" The murmuring again. ""Impossible,"" is the reply. I laugh. ""No, just inconvenient. I was meant to be released after one thousand cycles but something happened, the guards disappeared."" Murmuring. Goodness these mortals do love to talk don't they. ""Perhaps you can release me? I'll be eternally grateful."" I chuckle at my own joke. One must become one's own entertainment I suppose. They don't speak for a long time. So long I begin to think they won't help me. ""I'm afraid we can't."" ""Please,"" I say, hearing the begging tone slip into my voice, ""please, it's been a very long time."" ""I'm sorry."" Then the *click* again and the movements stop. I am ashamed to admit that I dropped to the floor and began to weep. After recovering from my shameful display of emotion I found myself sitting in the library but unable to focus. There were mortals alive out there, that was something. Perhaps in a few more cycles they would release me. Surely, just a few more. As I sit I hear something. This is different. Something I haven't heard in a very, very long time. The main door unlocking. I hear the *hiss* of the door opening and quickly make my way to the main room. A young man stands there and looks at me, nervously. He holds up both hands in a sort of mock surrender. ""I just...I don't think it's right to leave you here."" I take a few great strides to him and he flinches but I simply wrap my arms around him and squeeze. ""Thank you,"" I whisper in his ear, tears filling my eyes, ""thank you."" I release him and we exit the room together, hopefully for the last time. As I take my first step I am struck by several barbed objects that sink deep and then my body convulses. My muscles tighten and my jaw clamps shut and I collapse to the floor. A dozen men quickly converge and chain me with the restraints that must have been left in the guard room. One of them, a burly man with a shaved head, stares down at me. ""Immortal, they said,"" he says it with a sneer, ""thousands of years down here? Immortal. Well we'll see."" Then a thick rubber boot tread fills my view and it is the last thing I see before it is dark. ***** I wake, slowly. I slowly swing my legs off the low, thin bed and rest my bare feet on the cold tiled floor. I try to stand but my legs refuse the call to action. So I sit. The long scars that run down my leg remind me where they drew their fill of marrow from, bone marrow for their studies. I remember screaming as they cut into me, screaming for them to release me and threatening to burn their world to ash and finally pleading for them to cease. None of that worked. I remember his laughter as I faded in and out. ""Some god,"" he said at least once, ""some immortal."" I wanted to explain that immortal does not mean invincible but I don't think he would have cared. They wanted to know how to fight aging and disease more than they cared about semantics. ""Hey,"" I hear the voice from the door to my cell, ""I'm sorry."" I recognize him. The one who ""released"" me from my former prison, only to bring me to another. ""You."" ""Yeah...I get it,"" I hear the door unlock from the other side, ""I'd be pissed too."" The door unlocks and he stands before me, sheepish. ""It's not right, I'm sorry."" I find the strengh to stand on shaky legs and glare at him but...here he stands before me. Apologetic and perhaps releasing me. ""Is it day?"" He nods, with a confused look. ""Can you get me outside?"" He nods again and leads me into the hall, devoid of guards for the moment. ""I opened one of the other cells, they're busy."" ""Which one?"" I ask, thrilled at the prospect of one of my brothers or sisters on the loose. ""Don't know, names are all faded off the doors. What...who are you anyway?"" I don't speak but we close the gap towards a door, a door that leads to stairs. I glare at him for a moment and he shrugs in response. ""Only way up."" I grunt and we begin the arduous trek up the stairs. Each one sends pain shooting through my battered legs. I mumble some curses but continue. When the door opens I feel it. The warmth of the sun. I take a deep breath and stand on my own as the warmth and light do their work. The only thing I really need. I can feel lean muscles filling out, my hair turning from gray to its deep brown and the lines that crease my face disappearing. I feel...I feel like myself again. We stand on a flat space with a large white H painted on it, overlooking a mountain range that I barely remember. He steps away and looks at me with fear. Without the sun I was fading in that deep cell, even if I would never die of age there. Like a mortal in his fifties or sixties, not the powerful man I am now. ""What are you?"" I turn to him and stretch until I hear that satisfying *pop* of my spine. Turn my head for the same in a stiff neck. Bend down to loosen up my calf muscles on healed legs. ""What is your name mortal?"" ""Derek. Are you going to kill me?"" I throw back my head and laugh, it feels good to laugh again. ""No Derek, you have earned my favour. And a favour from me does not come easily. Shall we release my brothers and sisters?"" He swallows hard and nods. ""Who are you?"" I open the door back into that staircase, down into the bowels of the facility they have built over our prison. It's different now though. I have my strength back. I pause to look at him, applying just the right amount of dramatic pause that these mortals found so pleasing all those years ago. ""The Titan Hyperion. Now come. We have work to do.""",1563
" He sat cross-legged, as","He sat cross-legged, as always, motionless. His eyes were closed. It wasn't as though there were anything to see. It would be the same sight as ever - a row of tight-packed adamantium rods, and the narrow door he had been thrust through all those years ago. Beyond that, all that was visible from his dismal cage was plain, bare concrete. His legs were stiff again. It was time to switch. Obligingly, he rose, walking a brief lap around the pen. His eyes never opened. He didn't need them to. The cage was large enough to allow him to walk, but no more than five of his great strides long and wide. His lap completed, he returned to the cold ground. Laying, this time. This was the same routine as always. Sit. Stew on his thoughts. Walk a lap. Lay down. Stew on his thoughts. Walk a lap. Stand. Stew on his thoughts. Then back to sitting. A thousand years, they had said. As *punishment*. It had been a joke. Those pathetic excuses for arbiters, thinking to imprison an Eternal such as himself? They wouldn't live for even a hundred years - what right did they have to pass judgement on *him*? He *had* killed most of the people in that city. They weren't *wrong*. And, yes, he may have feasted on their flesh. But he left their bones in the ceremonial arrangement as an offering to their souls. It was all according to *custom*. Was that so horrible? They had clearly thought so. He'd been amused, at first, at their insolence. And then surprised, when they'd managed to trap him in a dead-end road. And then shocked, as they systematically stripped him of one enchantment after another. He'd been dumbfounded by the time they carted him to the dungeon they'd rigged for the worst offenders of the extramortal world, chained so tightly to the floor of the truck that he couldn't move. Now, he was just hungry. At first, they'd shown him at least a *little* bit of compassion. They'd kept him fed. Occasionally the guard who brought him food would pass him a bit of news, the goings-on of the above world. But that had dwindled, little by little. The food came less often, and the guards stopped visiting. And then one day, they'd stopped coming entirely. No matter how loudly he yelled or pounded his feet or slammed into the bars, no one answered. He was alone. The lights had gone out soon after. Of course, a night-haunt such as him had naturally superb night vision. The darkness was as comfortable as the light. But he knew. He knew no one was going to come back. They had decided to bury him at last. It wasn't as though he had anyone who would come looking. Time blurred into an intolerable, endless wall of crippling hunger and weakness. He wished for an end that he knew was never going to come. He couldn't die. Not that he didn't *want* to, he simply wasn't capable of it. And so he resigned himself to it. He mulled his plight over in his head, one more time. And then he rose, walking another lap around the cage. Something went *plink* in the darkness. He froze. His ears twitched. It was a tiny noise, one easily-overlooked. But in a world that hadn't known a noise beyond the padding of his feet in what must surely have been centuries, it rang out as loud as a bell. In the dim greyness of the dark cell, he could see dust spiraling down from the wall opposite his door. The portal. He remembered it well. Once upon a time, it was his signal that he was about to get food and a story. It hadn't moved in an eternity. He could hear someone on the far side of it now. They were pushing. Swearing. The sudden burst of light coming through the crack was enough to send his eyes into screaming complaint. He threw his arms over his face, cowering from the unbearable brightness. ""About fucking time."" He heard a low voice mutter. ""I swear to the five that if I've hurt my shoulder, Paro, I'm going to send *you* the bill."" The sour words rang out painfully loudly. He cracked one eye. The light was still too bright. ""Oh, stop whining. You're *fine*."" A cheerful voice followed the first. ""You've got to get into the adventure, you know?"" ""I don't know. I *don't*. Not if it means- What are you doing? What's *that*?"" Footsteps danced across the ground. A searing light blazed down at him, much closer. ""It's a *person*, Alton."" He laughed. It was the first time he'd used his voice in forever. The sound bubbled up from his belly. He could see them, now. Two young men, both dressed in oddly fashioned jackets. The style...wasn't familiar. He wrinkled his nose. One of them held a ball of mage-light. ""A person, eh?"" He rumbled. Slowly he rose and stretched his limbs. He stood easily a head higher than either of them. ""Well- not a person, then."" The holding the light said. It was the cheerful one - Paro? ""What're you doing down *here*? This doesn't seem like a place you should be, you know."" ""Shut the fuck up, Paro."" His friend hissed. His eyes were wider. He was looking at the bars of the cage, not the inhabitant. ""This is Old World stuff. A jail. We should *go*."" ""Old world."" He repeated, his voice long and drawn out. ""I take it by your appearance you're not the new shift?"" He smiled mirthlessly. ""You're tardy. I'm famished."" One hand clenched the bars. They smelled *good*. So very good. ""Paro, *now.*"" Alton said. His voice was overloud and afraid. He was already backing up, backing away from me. The concrete barrier was open behind him. The night-haunt could *see* the faintly lighter room behind him. Somewhere, somewhere close, there was light again. Natural light. ""He's not *going* anywhere, Alton."" Paro chuckled. He was completely at ease, inspecting the caged night-haunt. He wasn't much to look at. Once, he'd been finely bedecked in the best synth-armor money could buy. Then, they'd reduced him to a simple jumpsuit. The years had reduced *that* to some mere rags. Anything resembling decency had long ago been lost. The young man stepped closer, grinning. ""So what'd they have you in for? And what *are* you? Never seen anything like you in the bestiary."" He frowned down at the impertient man. ""*Bestiary?* You think to label us as mere animals? Men have been picked clean straight down to the bones for a fraction of that insult, you fool."" He sniffed. ""If you *must* ask, I suppose I can enlighten you. I'm a night-haunt. An Eternal, not a *human*. An extramortal."" He raised one eyebrow at the men. ""An answer for an answer. Who are you? Is my sentence complete?"" He wanted it to be over. So very badly. He *needed* the sensation of hot blood in his mouth again, of tearing through flesh. They looked between each other. And then they looked back at him. ""Uh. Sentence?"" Paro said, scratching his head. ""Sorry, big guy, but we're just scavengers. Been through these ruins a dozen times, but we only just got that door there uncovered last month."" He grinned. ""Just *knew* there had to be something good in there."" He shook his head impatiently. ""Ruins? What are you *talking* about. The human's prison? Don't be foolish."" His fingers flexed on the bars. ""Where are the arbiters? Why has no one come? Surely my sentence is complete."" ""Just...what's going on?"" Alton mumbled, his eyes flicking to his friend. Paro shook his head. ""Uh- Well, you see. This isn't a prison. It's abandonded. Has been since the Uprising."" His words trailed off awkwardly. The night-haunt shook his head. ""Uprising?"" He grated. ""What is *that*? This is nonsense. I want to leave. Let me out."" ""No. *No*. Paro, we're *leaving*."" Alton said, his eyes narrow and angry. He grabbed his friend's arm. Paro didn't move. ""Sure. I'll let you out. But....a few questions, first."" He cocked his head to the side. ""I've *heard* of night-haunts before. Old book I found once. Haven't been seen in millenia."" He grinned. ""Says they're demons. Are you a demon?"" The night-haunt bared his teeth at the young man, who didn't even flinch. ""You insulting piece of filth. I told you. I'm an *Eternal*."" He sighed, and finished begrudgingly. ""But. Yes. Some among the pathetic human masses referred to us as demons."" ""Splendid."" Paro said, clapping his hands. ""Then, I have a proposal for you."" ""Paro! Stop."" Alton ran back, still pulling on his friend's arm. ""This is *stupid*. You're playing with fire. Let's go. Now."" Paro shook him off, still watching the night-haunt. ""Hush. We'll never get this chance again! I can't pass it up. Just picture the look on old Galen's face. We'd be unstoppable."" He grinned, revealing two rows of perfect, shining white teeth. It wasn't a pleasant expression. ""Become my familiar. Take the blood oath, swear yourself to me. Become my servant, now and forever, and I'll let you out."" (/r/Inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1539
 Carter woke up and the world outside,"Carter woke up and the world outside was black and silver blue. ""Wea - status?"" The console lights flickered, a pale pink band running up and down the corridor, illuminating the quiet. ""Mission failure,"" said a soft, feminine voice from just overhead. ""Per stated parameters, we are returning back to home base."" ""Failure?"" said Carter. His body felt heavy, even in the weightlessness. He tried to use the console, but found his fingers slow and numb. ""There was nothing?"" ""Correct,"" said Wea. ""We will be arriving on Earth in approximately 45 hours."" ""Image, please,"" said Carter. The overhead screen popped, clicked, and reset itself into an image of Earth. It seemed dim somehow to Carter's eyes. Discolored. But then, he must have been asleep for quite some time. ""How long?"" he asked, finally managing to manually pull up the vitals for the rest of the crew. Everyone seemed in perfect health. ""Three thousand, one hundred fifty-seven years, forty-seven days, nine hours, three minutes since mission launch,"" replied Wea. ""Three *thousand*...?"" whispered Carter. ""Our analysis showed no signs of sentient life."" ""They weren't out there?"" sighed Carter. ""All that, and they weren't out there."" ""There was no trace of the species known as the Gift Givers,"" confirmed Wea. ""Per mission parameters we have returned home to report our findings."" Carter rubbed his eyes. He wondered when the fatigue would eventually go away. ""Home? I suppose...what's the status there?"" ""I have no data to provide any conclusive feedback,"" replied Wea. ""There is activity, but no active signal."" ""Are they even going to remember who we are?"" wondered Carter. They would simply have to find out. ""Wake the crew. Let's begin prep for landing."" _______________________________ Houston was green. Swamp green and coated in shining algae. ""Well, Kennedy is definitely gone,"" said Martinez. ""I'm not even sure there's a highway to land on anymore."" ""Seems to have gone underwater,"" said Bito. ""A while ago."" They went north, aiming for dry, stable land in Oklahoma. No one answered their signals. No one seemed to have noticed their arrival. ""There was no sign of them *anywhere*?"" said Bito, shaking her head as she analyzed the surface atmosphere. ""That doesn't make any sense at all."" ""Gods don't tend to make a ton of sense,"" said Hawthorne. ""You ever read any mythology? They're all fuckin' weirdos."" ""The Gift Givers weren't *gods*, though,"" said Bito. ""They were just an advanced alien race."" ""*Very* advanced,"" said Martinez. ""At what point does advanced technology *make* you a god, though?"" said Hawthorne. ""I mean, to ants we're gods."" ""I don't think we were quite that far apart from the Gift Givers,"" said Carter, watching the descent through the monitors. ""I think we have to assume that either they met some great, unexpected calamity, or... they just didn't want us to find them."" Bito threw her hands in the air. ""Then what was the point? They came down with all their great tech and tools and said when the time was necessary they'd come back and be our salvation. And then when everything really *does* go to shit and we need them, they never show up. So our dumb asses have to leave everything behind and travel out into the fucking cosmos to find them and tell them how fucked we are and... they're playing hide and go seek? What the hell is happening here?"" ""I don't know,"" said Carter. ""I'm sorry. I'm just as clueless as the rest of you."" Bito wiped the corner of her eye. ""Wea? What's the status of the embryos?"" ""Status normal,"" replied Wea. ""All 500 are stable."" ""Let's not think about that yet,"" said Carter. ""They're all dead,"" said Hawthorne. ""Yuki's right. Leaving was pointless. Now we have to decide whether or not humanity is worth re-starting."" ""Mission's not over yet,"" said Carter. ""Let's not make any assumptions."" ____________________________ Most of the buildings had fallen. The old kind, at least. Pyramid-like structures sat in clusters, surrounded on all sides by wilderness. As it always did, the Earth had reclaimed itself. New species of plant, old, marginally evolved species of animal and insect. The team was cautious. There was no way to know how anything would react to them. Inside the pyramids, there was no light. Long, dark corridors led to wide, almost endless chambers, filled with white bundles of tissue and dust. ""What the hell is all that?"" said Martinez, as they approached the chamber floor. ""Some sort of...material,"" said Bito. ""We'd need a sample."" The tissue was fibrous and hard. Hawthorne was working some time before he was able to chisel off a small chunk. ""First impressions?"" said Carter. Bito turned the sample over in her hands. ""Reminds me of a shed snake skin, just thicker and harder and much, much more of it..."" ""Should we presume there's something in there?"" Bito shook her head. ""I'm not willing to presume anything. It's a good guess, though. I don't see the material itself having value. Seems more like a wrapping for something. Maybe a cocoon?"" ""We'll come back to it,"" said Carter. ""Let's keep looking for civilization."" ________________ There was no civilization to be found. All the man-made things had collapsed. The natural world had re-taken nearly every space there was to take. Only the pyramids remained as a clear sign that something more complicated had once lived there. ""Let's open one,"" sighed Carter on the 80th day. They didn't have the right tools, so the work was manual and time-consuming. They chiseled and axed in turns. After five hours they found their way to the center. ""Careful,"" said Bito, supervising. ""We need to be gentle from here on out."" They pulled away the dry shards of fiber. Tossed away the last layer of covering. Until they revealed the figure below. ""It's a Gift Giver,"" said Bito. Hawthorne shook his head. ""That doesn't make any sense. Why would they be here? And if they came, what happened to the humans?"" ""Did they come after we left?"" said Martinez. ""What did they do to the other humans?"" said Hawthorne, leaning over the still body, longer and leaner than a human. More elastic. Wide, sloping brow. No eyes. No mouth. Those strange gashes on the palms of those strange, willowy hands. ""They didn't say they'd save us, did they?"" said Carter, gripping the ax to keep his hands from shaking. ""They said they'd be our salvation,"" said Bito. ""*Earth's* salvation,"" said Hawthorne, remembering. ""They said they'd be Earth's salvation. Captain's right. We just heard what we wanted to hear."" ""So what the fuck is this?"" said Martinez. ""They came back, slaughtered all the humans, and...what? Took a fucking nap?"" He put his hands to his head. He was starting to panic. ""What the fuck *is* this?"" ""I think it's us,"" said Bito, quite quietly. She held up a chunk of the cocoon. ""This is a pupa. I think that's the salvation. We're transforming."" ""Into what?"" ""Into them,"" said Bito. ""Then they didn't save us at all,"" said Hawthorne. ""They did if they're better suited to live in this enviroment,"" said Bito. ""If by nature, they're less destructive. We couldn't survive here as humans anymore, what if this was the only way..."" ""It's genocide,"" said Hawthorne. ""Whatever name you want. It's genocide. They killed humanity. That's no salvation."" ""But for *Earth*..."" Martinez cried out. The figure in the shattered cocoon began to move. Arms floating upwards. The long, flat head began to lift. Hawthorne stepped forward with his chisel. Bito dove in front. ""If it's us, we can't assume this wasn't done willingly,"" she shouted. ""We don't know what happened. This could be what they wanted."" ""They took over the planet,"" hissed Hawthorne. ""There's no way anyone in their right mind would have let them do that."" He raised his chisel. Bito grabbed his arm. ""Stop it!"" she cried. ""We don't know!"" Together they struggled. ""Captain!"" shouted Bito, before realizing that Carter was already standing over the Gift Giver, his ax buried in the creature's forehead. ""Captain!"" wailed Bito. ""How could you?"" Carter stepped back from the mess he'd made. ""We need something flammable. We're going to torch the chamber. All of them."" ""Why?"" said Bito, tears streaming down her face. ""It doesn't matter what the Gift Givers promised or what they did,"" replied Carter. ""Our mission was to find a way to save humanity. Right now humanity is us and those 500 embryos. Nothing else. We need to destroy these chambers before they all wake up. Whatever they are."" Carter left alone. Outside the chamber, he vomited. He had to admit the air smelled fresher than it ever had before they'd left. But they hadn't been sent to find fresh air, had they? __________________________ */r/WinsomeMan*",1456
" ""Scorpion, you're","I abhor imbalance. Symmetry pleases me. There is a beauty in equality, in matching halves, in even distribution. I could, I suppose, tilt the scales any which way I wanted, but that's easy. I don't like easy. I like balance. ""Scorpion, you're up,"" I said, tapping on my communicator. ""Cliff is the one in the plaid shirt, dark pants, backpack slung over his shoulder."" Scorpion sprang into action. He was a Class C supervillain, but that was mainly because he was unmotivated. He had potential, and all he needed was a firm hand to guide him. Scorpion erupted out of the ground, stingers at the ready, poison pulsing and primed for release. The civilians scattered, screaming at Scorpion's unnecessarily grand entry. Cliff whipped off his disguise, took up a defensive stance, and warded off Scorpion's opening gambit at the last second. Blows and parries, strikes and deflections. Cliff was good, one of the rising stars in the League, a class A in the making. He was an above-average pugilist, a shrewd planner, and charismatic to boot. But those qualities were not what made him overpowered, were not what instigated my intervention. It was his superpower, and the blatant abuse of it. ""Now,"" I said, as the two blurring shapes swirled around each other on the sidewalk, evenly matched. ""Force his hand."" Scorpion nodded, just slightly, as he leapt backwards, escaping Cliff's effective range. He extended a claw, pulled a cowering civilian out from where she had taking refuge behind an overturned car. Her neck seemed so very brittle in his grip. ""Let's see what you do about thi-"" ""Cliff... HANGER!"" I felt the jolt, that little spark of electricity run through me. My eyes were trained on the monitor, tracking Cliff's every move, but there was a disconnect all the same, a juttering of reality. My pulse raced. I was correct about the nature of his powers. Cliff's arm was a blur as he flung a handful of coins at an obtuse angle. The dime ricocheted off a lamppost, the quarter bounced off the dime, the penny accelerated as it collided with the quarter. That single disc of metal twirled through the air, then landed right in the crick of Scorpion's claw, preventing it from closing. ""Unhand her, you devil!"" yelled Cliff. ""Your fight is with me!"" It was a form of time travel, a form of concentrated chrono manipulation. I had no idea who imparted these powers to him, or trained him in such execution. But it was clear that this was exactly how Cliff had managed to shoot up the rankings, defeat supervillains more experienced and more deadly than he should have been able to handle. My projections were that if Cliff were not stopped, the Coven of Supervillains would be decimated inside of a year. And that did grave injustice to my sensibilities of balance. ""Illusionist, disenchant!"" I growled. ""Electro, advance from his blind side!"" The sweet scent of roses filled the air as the woman in Scorpion's grasp melted away into a thousand scarlet butterflies, fluttering and taking flight. Cliff's face fell as understanding dawned - he had exerted his powers wantonly, carelessly, contriving to save a mere trick of the light which had not been in any sort of danger at all. He didn't have time to wallow though, for Electro, another Class C supervillain who had tasted defeat at Cliff's hands before, shot out from an alleyway, thunderbolts primed to strike. As Cliff and Electro duelled, I pricked up my ears, straining hard to hear... ... and I heard it. The sweet, sweet chorus of a thousand groans, crossing the membranes of our universe, filtering over to this existence. The dismay brimming in those tones was *unmistakable*. My plan was working, and I could not help but grin. ""Now!"" I yelled, buoyed by the thrill of victory which lay whiskers away. ""Force his hand! Again!"" Electro obeyed, and in a show of miscalculation, lobbed two streaks of lightning *away* from Cliff, *towards* a puppy which had been skulking in the background, waiting out the showdown. A fully-grown ox would have melted under that attack, and the puppy's chances of survival were very much negligible. ""Cliff... HANGER!"" That rippling unease again, as reality was torn apart and then stitched back together. This time, Cliff had punched a hole in the ground, sending out shockwaves which opened a crevice under the mongrel, altering its position just enough for the bolts to zing by harmlessly. At my command, the puppy again disintegrated into a showering storm of fireworks, melting away like the morning mist. Again, the ominous rumble of discontent, rolling in like the unceasing waves of an angry, hungry high tide. Venomrage, a Class B this time, who assailed Cliff from behind, leaving Cliff no room to retreat. ""Cliff... HANGER!"" ... but that was merely a feint, a distraction. Venomrage was nothing but another mirage I had employed. Spizzlefire, another Class B, entered the fracas, conjuring fountains of flames which threatened to destroy the adjacent old folks' home. ""Cliff... HANGER!"" ... just another first-rate illusion... ""Cliff... HANGER!"" ""Cliff... HANGER!"" ""CLIFFFF HANGERRRR!"" I saw the toll this was taking on Cliff. He had long grown pale, haggard, the veins popping up under his pallid skin. His powers were, contrary to popular belief, not unlimited. They depended on there being a satisfying pay-off, were fuelled by an intra-dimensional expectation of great wit overcoming immense odds. Every time Cliff used his powers, only for it to be revealed that they had been employed in vain, a mere distraction from the tedium of the ordinary, his benefactors dwindled, slowly but surely. What point was there in returning when the insurmountable threat repeatedly turned out to be silly or vacuous? It was only a matter of time before he jumped the shark... ""Cliff... Hanger..."" ""Halt,"" I said, and all the supervillains on the scene froze, awaiting my next command. I jabbed at the buttons on my command panel, and my hidden cameras zoomed in onto the once-proud figure, who was not crumpled on the pavement, leaking tears of frustration and shame. There had been no disjoint of reality this time, no shift in spacetime. He invoked his powers again, louder, with a voice torn to shreds, but his audience had left, no longer captive, no longer interested. The illusion I had set up of Violet Rampage munching on a kitten completed its act of savagery, yet there was still no intervention from Cliff. ""He's depowered,"" I said, as the gaggle of supervillains hooted in celebration. ""My work is done."" Balance had been restored. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1104
" ""Can I go to Hell yet","""Your ticket says Hell?"" - the conductor looked at me confusingly - ""Why would anyone choose Hell? There must be a mistake, right? Hold on, I'll get the--"" ""Look, it's my decision. Just get me there, okay?"" I said, annoyedly. When I first got the attention of being the sole person in my company to pick Hell over Heaven, it was cool. Now, it mostly annoys me. ""Fine."" - the conductor pulled out his phone. 15 minutes later, an older guy showed up. ""This one here wants to go to Hell."" - he explained things to the newly arrived man, who asked him to repeat for the second time. Then, the third. ""Can I go to Hell yet?"" - I interrupted them. Actually, it was more of a joke than a choice. But as I established my status of being the Hell- lover, I couldn't go back on my words. Maybe it was pride. One of the sins, eh? ""Thank you for choosing us Netherworld Express for your trip to Hea--"" - the announcer greeted her passengers warmly as we got out of the boarding area. ""Where is my train?"" - I asked, noticing that we were leaving the station. ""There isn't one."" - Gary, my guide, answered shortly. I could practically see the questions swelling up in his brain. 'Why does this one want to go to Hell?' The Question as I call it. He was just too nervous or shy to ask. I don't blame him. Men have never been creatures good with words. But I had no intention of telling Gary that I picked Hell because it made me look cooler. ""There are too few to set up a train. Makes no profit."" - said Gary as he unlocked his mini-van - ""You know what? You're the first one here going to Hell. The first one I've seen, still..."" We set off upon a highway. To Hell. The miles ahead stretched until nowhere, burning like a punishment institution should be. I wonder if the phrase ""blaze the trail"" comes from here? ""So do they have a Stairway to Heaven or what?"" ""They do."" ""Like after you get off the train there is a stairway?"" Gary nodded. Time passed like that, two awkward individuals on an awkward road trip. I've never been on a road trip when I was alive. If it was like this, I'd rather stay home. Along the way, though, I noticed Gary's desire to ask The Question gnawing at him. He made a few attempts, but I shut him down quite subtly, for a man like Gary at least. I actually found myself enjoying the agonizing look on his face. Who cares? I'm going to Hell after all. The gate of Hell was in fact more disappointing than I thought. A simple door with a Welcome doormat in front. The doormat seemed to be handmade, though. If it was more scary I would have reconsider my decision, but this is just degrading. They don't have a single train, don't tell me Hell itself cuts down on the cost too? Gary watched over me until I got in. I believed he was trying to take a peek at the place no one has ever entered. ""Dad? You should have called me bef--"" A blond man in his fourties greeted me. Then, he realised his mistake. ""A soul? Here?"" The inside was full of nefarious beasts, some without legs or heavily scarred. One tried to bite me, but the man jumped in. ""Good boys don't bite! Fluffy, good boys don't bite!"" The dog wasn't exactly fluffy, and I supposed he wasn't a good boy after all. Its vicious fangs tore deep into the man's flesh and as he forcefully pushed Fluffy away, it ripped off a big chunk of his arm ""Are you okay?"" - I screamed out. To my surprise, his arm was intact, only the place of the bite was a big scar ran deep. - ""What the--"" ""Being Satan you should be at least able to do this."" - his arms were covered with scars like that one. ""You...you are Satan?"" ""It's Hell, what do you expect? Now, this must be a prank. I can book you a ticket to Heaven, but it would take--"" ""No, I chose to be here."" ""Are you in some Satanic Cults? Stuff like that?"" - the Lord of Hell raised an eyebrow at me. -""Or you did something guilty and want to repent for it?"" ""No, I just chose to be here."" Satan laughed, a laugh so genuine it brought tears to my eyes. You could clearly see this man, or devil, hasn't laugh like that in a long time. ""Finally someone! A friend!"" Now I was the dumbfounded one. ""You see,"" - he said, still chuckling, - ""the Cultists left once they see me like this, and the guilty ones did when they know there is a Redemption Center up there."" ""To be honest, I was a little bit disappointed. I thought you would be more--"" ""Scary-looking? Honey, like this?"" - in front of me was my ex-wife Samathan, as sinister as the day we divorced and she took my house and my car. Due to the shock, I lost my job as well. I recovered, yes, but it was a wound better left untouched. ""Okay,"" - the blond man was here again - ""I can look like all that you can imagine and more, but I prefer this. Come in, you live here now."" He led me into what appeared to be a living room. I sat on a brown sofa. It was pretty comfortable, to say the least. ""I will get us something to drink. What do you like?"" - Satan walked toward the kitchen. ""Anything is fine."" - I answered half-heartedly, my attention focused on the beasts staring at me, and the immense number of pillows in the room. ""Make yourself at home. Oh, and don't leave that circle."" - he pointed at a strange marking on the floor - ""Sugar and Cookie will pound at you, and they are not as easy as Fluffy."" The one-eyed Dobermann and the three-legged leopard looked at me with intense hate. What did I do to them? I hope Satan is right about the circle... ""Coffee, the staple."" - the Devil returned with a pot of the freshly brewed dark liquid - ""Here are sugar and milk, if you want."" ""Um, so are they hell spawns?"" - I asked nervously, avoiding the gaze of Cookie. ""What? No! You see, animal souls have afterlives too. Normally, pets would want to follow their owners to Heaven. These ones...life has been tough for them.."" That explains the scars and the missing limbs. ""And they want to stay away from the owners."" - I tried to pat Sugar, but his sharp teeth stopped me - ""Thus they end up here."" ""You catch on quick. With all eternity up ahead, I suppose the least I can do is make them trust man, or devil, again."" - he spoke with a slight sadness. -""Is there anything you need? Maybe a pillow? Is the sofa soft enough?"" In that moment, Satan sounded like a home owner desperately trying to please his guest. I decided to tell him the truth. ""Look, Satan, here is the catch. I only chose to go to Hell because I wanted some fame. No, it was more like the most radical choice I've ever made."" ""Oh,"" - I heard something broke inside him - ""So, you want me to book you a ticket?"" ""No, not like that. I mean I was not here because I like Hell. I mean I lived a half-assed life with half-assed effort, so maybe I want to be more than just anybody. But I will stay, really."" ""Well, I don't really care why you picked Hell over Heaven."" - Now it was the sound of hope restored mixed in his sigh. - ""I hate to admit it, but Dad's slogan really wins him the game."" ""Slogan?"" ""You know, the all 'doing good puts you in Heaven, where you'll live happily forever'. I just think promoting ethical choices through reward is wrong, and degrading."" ""But 'Hell is where you'll be for your sins', isn't that right?"" ""Yeah, so?"" ""That is promoting ethcal choices through punishment."" ""No? No!"" - Satan screamed in revelation - ""That was what mankind thought all those years? I mean... Damn! What I tried to say was that in Hell we'll accept you for your shortcomings! Damn it! Now it's too late to change it."" Satan fell back into the chair, exhausted in mind and exhausted in soul. ""I mean,"" - he muttered, mostly for himself - ""I put up all these fire so that the souls can feel warm and cozy, the pillows I spent so much time making, and the doormat too. I just want to make them feel at home..."" It was silence afterward, until the Devil realised I was still there. ""You must be tired by now."" - he forged a smile upon his lips - ""Let me show you to your room."" We walked to an endless hall reminding me of the college dorm. Satan pointed at the first room. ""This one is mine. You can choose whatever that pleases you."" ""I'll get this one, then."" - I touched the door of the room next to his, and I saw a light in his eyes I haven't encountered since my son's first Christmas that he could remember. ""Give me moment to clean things up. No one has been there since....forever."" - Satan entered my room. As he passed through the door, he asked - ""You'll...I mean, you aren't going to leave, are you?"" I have never seen a soul more lonely. ""I'll stay.""",1636
" ""Your beauty burns, your eyes","She expected it to be beautiful. Rolling meadows, fields of wild flowers, the wild scent of fresh lavender and cedar. ""I love you,"" he would proclaim. ""Your beauty burns, your eyes torture, your body torments me."" Blah, blah, blah. She'd found him riveting at one point, a young woman drifting through life rather aimlessly, unable to discern a true purpose, but instead filled with an indelible lack of purpose. Jazz clubs, disco clubs, dance clubs, they all were the same to her now. A different part of her remembers the draw, the pull towards intoxicants and their inevitable fallout, that heartless love born of mindless lust. There she met a God. 50s, 60s, 70s, 80s, 90s, the years blew her by. How he loved her, he claimed. How he needed her, he would croon. Lust. A woman can live a few lifetimes and still be a fool. She still remembered, a smoke filled bar shortly after the Japs surrendered, a young man in a tan suit reclining at a restricted table, laughing wildly and drinking liberally as women seemed to fawn over him. She had found him rather dull. Repulsive, in fact. Unfortunately, that provoked him into paying attention to her. First mistake. Around building corners, at parties, at the fucking grocery store he would appear, always charming and handsome, but somewhat wrong. Always off. She ignored her instinct and decided to give him a chance. Second mistake. He would sing to her, play music to her, recite poems and laud her with praise. A pedestal he placed her upon, which at first seemed delightful. Until his narcissism kicked in. Don't go here, don't talk to them, stay inside, do what I say. So a woman refuses. Then POOF, here comes a God, an OLD God, one who has been long forgotten but beds those who least expect him. And old Gods carry magic. She would scorn him, ignore him, beg him to leave her, but he would not. He simply adored her more. Then the third strike. He gave her a terminal disease. He needed her to be in his grasp forever, to always be at his beck and call, to satisfy him whenever he so chose. Total bullshit. A curse. She died in a rather unenthusiastic manner, a car T-boned her ass rather well. Instantaneous death. No pain. She awoke in a tomb, or what seemed to be a tomb. The air held heavy, tasting of copper and cedar, a thick orange smoke pervading the space. Unable to reason, she crawled forward. She did not know why, but simply complied. The unwillingness of the dead. She arose, confused and scared, in what appeared to be a metropolis from a different time. All full of women. She moved forward, confounded by what she saw, a thousand languages and a million women, all bartering and fighting and scrapping. An elderly woman, perhaps in her late seventies stopped and stared. ""New here?"" she asked, carrying a bundle of something. A nod in response. ""What a shame."" Shocked silence. ""Shall I show you around?"" A dull nod. ""Come with me, child, and I can tell you how to avoid him."" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Wander. Thin streets, wide streets. Those that smell of roses and thyme, and those that smell of shit and disease. She is scared and alone here. Dead or undying, she cannot discern. Rather, there is only a sense of dread. A woman deceived through the old trickery of forgotten lords and Gods, those whose names cannot be recalled, but are only remembered by the dead. In a world of mist and blackness, a great hall of missing corpses. Ahead of her, a woman leads. By hand and wrist she pulls and drags, revealing newer and wider plazas and passages. Somehow, her age is stripped by her movements, every patch of time showing a younger and freer version of this woman. She was someone else, long ago. Someone dead and gone. The recently dead woman finds herself following a long dead woman, into a passage of columns. Some drip with blood, other with milk and honey. Either way, she knows not to touch the massive pillars of limestone. Others are meant to lick the sweet and metallic taste of blood. She finds herself descending, not through stairs but a ramp, flanked by walls of a strange earthy substance. There is not a method of surveillance of any human kind, but the strange eyes of the Gods bore through her nape. Ambrosia, mead, wine, beer, meat, jerky all blend together, pouring through her nostrils. Those who wander the land of the dead are either damned or blessed. Yet here she wafts, being neither. The woman places a hand against her cheek, a thin smile cresting over sharpened teeth. ""Those of our beauty must take extraordinary measures."" She reaches below, placing a crown of tangled statuesque snakes upon the woman's head. ""I served my time, as Helen of Troy."" The crown begins to writhe, alive in its own right. ""To hide from his advances, we rely on the power of other Gods."" Wildness through her hair, snakes through her scalp twist among the hairs there. A monster is her reduction. She recalls the fables and myths, but cannot reconcile the reality. Death is eternal. Is she to be a monster for eternity? Gods of every faith and denomination cannot breach her power, however. But she finds herself, clutching her knees and weeping. She misses her mother and clouds. She misses her father and brother, her sisters and her friends. She does not want to be dead, she wants to fight this being who has relegated her to this darkness. Now she can only feel hate and rage, clasping fingertips, almost sensing throats below them, satisfied by the life lost beneath them. The woman has dissipated into a smoke, but what remains is a being consumed in hate. She did not ask for an Old God, nor did she offer any sacrifice. The snakes wriggle within her hair, and it makes her happy. Others will submit to this newfound power. She feels an unremarkable call to the lost metropolis. To fight this Old God, to regain her freedom. To have a life of her own, to find her family and apologize for her sins. She wanted the best for them, but the lust of a Dead God forced her into this state. Medusa is a weakling, Athena is a cunt. She is vengeance incarnate, blessed with the power of the unwilling dead. She will go home. Her captor will suffer. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato",1097
 Elena was a matryoshka,"Elena was a matryoshka painter. At sunset, the woodworker Anatoly would knock on the apartment door with his wheelbarrow beside him. Anatoly would give Elena all the plain figurines that he had carved that day, curving the balsam wood into the prospect of a head, shoulders and torso, then cutting the doll at her waist so that her legs would twist off, and hide her secrets. Elena would pay Anatoly five hundred rubles for each full matryoshka and then she would go to her workshop (which was in fact only just the corner of her father's kitchen behind the stove) and she would paint the wood into beautiful women. Elena would paint the women with long eyelashes and blushing cheeks, and Elena would wonder what it would feel like to blush and flutter her own eyes, if ever a kind and handsome man were to pour vodka into a glass, and hand it to her, letting his fingertips pass over hers. She would paint the women wearing elegant dresses adorned with tulips and roses, and Elena would imagine sewing an elegant silk dress to wear herself. She would give the woman full-hearted smiles, and Elena would try to remember the last time she had smiled, apart from when she meant to attract the customers to her booth at the Udelnaya. And then she would paint the next doll nested within, more intricately, but otherwise the same. However, at their core, Elena's matryoshka contained a protest: open her dolls up to the final girl, the smallest and deepest girl of all, and you will find that she is not smiling or blushing, but instead has short eyelashes and a stern gaze. She wears only a plain grey dress. For though Elena painted matryoshka, she had never known her own mother, and therefore knew that not all daughters will inherit. In the morning, Elena would pack her matryoshka in a box and take the bus to the Udelnaya, hoping to sell her work. Most days, she would be lucky to sell two or three matryoshka. But there was one day when she sold none at all, yet left the Udelnaya joyful. On that day, a certain tall man in a white dress shirt had come to the market. There, he saw Elena at her booth with the shelves of matryoshka behind her, all red and green, gold and blue, and the man was enamored. ""I have never seen a woman who I am more certain has a secret hiding inside her,"" the man said to Elena. He was wearing a gold watch and many silver rings. Elena told him that he could buy as many matryoshka as he wished, and discover everything within them. But then the man said the woman he meant to describe was not any of the matryoshka, but Elena herself. The man gave Elena a piece of paper with directions to an elegant restaurant on the banks of the Moyka River. He he gave her his credit card as well. He told Elena that were she to go buy a nice dress, that he would be honored to see her in it, and dine with her that evening. Elena blushed, and then she smiled, even though she had not sold a matryoshka. That evening, instead of painting, Elena went to the best boutique in St Petersburg, and she bought a beautiful silk dress. She then met the man at the appointed restaurant. He spread caviar onto crackers for her, and poured her some vodka. He asked her about her life, how many matryoshka she supposed she had painted, and if any were very special to her. But, as the meal continued, Elena began to feel more and more confused and dizzy, until everything became terribly blurry. When Elena awoke, she was no longer in the restaurant or in the small bed beside her father's. She was standing upright, but frozen in pose, perched on a gold podium in a white expanse, more still and desolate than the Tauride Gardens after the first snowfall. Elena was lined up neatly between a hundred other young women, all immobile as well. ""Where am I"" Elena asked, ""who are you all?"" ""That man who gave you a dress and dinner,"" the young woman beside her explained, ""was not in truth a man, but the wicked god of Motherless Girls. He keeps us here as figurines, upon his shelf for all eternity. He tells us that long ago, he once loved a goddess called Anna, who also had no mother, who was the First Woman, and that we remind him of her. When Anna birthed their child, the girl was mortal. So the god sought to kill the child as an abomination. But Anna loved the baby, so she fled the heavens to the Barsky taiga. The god chased her all through the trees, but Anna refused to return, and at last a bargain was struck: she would remain in the Barsky with her daughter, but thereafter Anna would become mortal as well. But, if any of her descendants to ever live without a mother, the god would be entitled to reclaim those girls and bring them here, to remain forever in his collection."" Elena was crestfallen at the thought of never again seeing her father or St Petersburg, and of being frozen in place. She screamed out to the god of Motherless Girls and demanded to be freed. But the god just laughed, all throughout his menagerie. But then, after many days of considering her plight, Elena formed a plan. ""Allow me to turn your collection into matryoshka!,"" she called out to the god, ""Let me separate each of these women into pieces, into clear layers, so that you might consider each part of her more easily, and find what it is in each of us that resembles your beloved Anna!"" Elena's proposal thrilled the god, for even after all his abductions, he was still no closer to grasping what it was that makes a motherless woman so special, so like the First Woman. He released Elena's muscles and demanded that she go to work at once, separating and straining each of his women into a partwise matryoshka. From where the god watched, it appeared to him Elena was doing as she had promised. But each time his back was turned, or when Elena carefully angled her subject and stood nose to nose, she would reach inside the girl, and she would pull forth her soul, which lives in her deepest layer. Elena would hide the soul in her bosom until she could move on and quietly feed it to another girl, until every girl had taken in the soul of one of her fellow captives. Finally, Elena pulled out her own soul and fed it to the woman whom she had been first placed beside. At last, each captive woman had taken in the soul of another, thereby promising to care for it and nurture it. Because of this, the women of the menagerie had all become mothers to each other, and were no longer in thrall to the selfish god. The god saw that Elena was no longer hard at work, so he returned to inspect her progress. But as he entered the menagerie, all the captives suddenly broke from their poses. All together, they hit and kicked the god, until he fled. The menagerie with all its gold podiums vanished, and the girls fell through a void, until everything again became blurry. Elena awoke in her small bed in her father's apartment in St Petersburg. That night, Anatoly came at sunset with the blank wood for Elena. For the first time, she did not paint the final doll with a stern face and grey dress. For now, Elena knew that somewhere there was a woman who would always carry her soul, always nurture and protect it, and that this meant she would always have a mother to inherit from.",1330
 The God Spirits were dictators; ty,"So there I was, in an interrogation room. Really frightening stuff: the metal table, chair, the mirrored window. He looked to me, grabbed a cup of coffee with a donut - sigh, this guy is so cliche - and asked, ""so, what happened?"" Ever since I was born, my parents told me I was special. That I was the first in many aeons: a person born to a godly spirit animal. They told me about the past of my ancestors, about the Great Purge, in which all the legendary people that had God Spirits were either killed or ostracized. It wasn't unjustified, though. The God Spirits were dictators; tyrants that justified a reign of horror with their absolute intelligence, strength and enhanced senses. They instituted an theocracy, the Godly Empire, that endured many millenia, until one day the king, the God Spirit known as Phoenix, used the military to subdue the population. Massive insurgency followed. The Great Purge was the biggest bloodbath in our history; but it ended with the democratic republic we know today. So ever since, Dad and Mom tried to protect me by hiding my true tattoo and giving me another one instead - a Beaver. I had a nice childhood. My father was a General in the army (General Bear) a pragmatic and strong man; as a Dove, my mother was a diplomat, always trying to peace things out and always going for the best peaceful solution. This dichotomy led to me having the best of two worlds: my father trained me in many combat forms, from the fearsome Tiger Stance to the precise Snake Stance, whereas my mother taught me Philosophy, Maths, History, Physics. In my early teens, I first saw the sea. Dad and Ma took me to the beach when I was 15; as soon as I hit the water, all the sea creatures came and greeted me as if I was their king; at first, small fish and crabs, but as I dove deeper also sharks and stingrays. As the years went on, I met all kinds of sea animals - sharks, whales, and even those that lie in the dark and cold deepness of the sea: abyssals. I discovered I have powers beyond imagination: underwater breathing, communication with sea creatures, control of tides and waves. I visited all the seven seas; met animals and places mankind has never dreamed of existing. In the sea I had everything I ever wanted: independence, solitude, friends. It was paradise not on Earth, but on the green waters of the sea. But it somehow was not meant to be forever... I will never forget the day when, already an adult, soon after I got home from swimming, I saw a big comet impending from the sky; as it fell down, it took the shape of something close to a dragon, waving its wings and roaring in a colossal ball of fire. With a big thud, it clashed onto the ground and splattered fire all over the place, hundreds of meters away from me, making a big dust cloud. You can tell, running is not my forte. It took me a while; but when I got there, I saw a man in flames, walking a shiny golden armor, holding a sword full of emeralds, topazes, diamonds and rubis. He was engulfed in fire; and as I hear the crackling of the fire on his body, I start to gaze upon his figure. He was a tall, athletic man. I'd say somewhere near six foot tall, not really muscular. His physique was nothing special, apart from the beautiful and golden body armor he wore. Until I saw his face: glowing red eyes, with glowing red hair as if this guy embodied the spirit of fire itself, as if his hair was fire burning alive, decorated with a crown imbued with a massive ruby. -- Greetings. I am Phoenix the Wise, and I came to talk to the powerful Leviathan. I was petrified. -- I am here to take you to the Star Kingdom. I was thinking of so many things; had so many questions and so many fear. There, right in front of me, was the infamous tyrant I have always heard of; the same person that ordered the mass killings of thousands and brought humanking to one if its darkest ages. Obviously, the first thing I thought was to run away. And as I think, my breathing gets fast and I start to rationalize. It would be no good because he can fly, he can fly fast. As long as I'm in land he has the advantage and as soon as I hit the water I can submerge into de depths and lose him. But this plan was deemed to fail either because she sea was way too far for this to succeed. So there was no other way. I calmed down; prepared in the defensive Elephant Stance, I was ready to fight. He nodded, gave a little laugh. ""Have it your way. I am fluent in all the Ancient Animal Stances"". He starts by shearing his sword and dropping it. As he moves toward me, blazes of fire follow him. As soon as I try to hit the first punch, he dodges it, drops me and armlocks me. Even with years of training, seems I am no mach for the king, who appears to excel at close combat. Phoenix then suddently transmuted in a wind of fire: when I came to it, he was holding me on his arms; with a serious look he says: -- Let's have it my way now. We suddently take off and Phoenix takes me on a flight with him! Right after we reach the clouds, he calms me down: -- Everything you know about the God Spirits is a lie, made up by traitors to seize power. The God Spirits are benevolent, just and peaceful beings who just want the well-being of mankind. The stories I heard were all a plan by the Hell Spirit known as Fenrir, my brother, to cease control of power and wealth. -- If so, how is it that you are all known as being sanguinary dictators? Humankind was a prosper civilization; by means of genetic engineering, developed before the Godly Empire by the military, we were able to merge animal and human DNA to create augmented human beings bearing animal characteristics. One day, a group of cultist cientists experimented with magic and sorcery, giving birth to a generation of people with godly spirits, designed to rule over mankind and bring us to a new level in evolution and founding the Godly Empire. The plan worked: we evolved as a species, and the Empire ruled with peace, justice and prosperity. The head scientist, Dr. Anitta Belford, unknowingly pregnant of her husband Major Heartfelt at the time, gave birth to the two first Godly Spirits: Phoenix and Fenrir. Both excelled at leadership, meaning they had high skills on tactics, diplomacy, sciences, warfare, combat; nonetheless, Phoenix was akin to his mother, and Fenrir to their father. Phoenix wanted to lead free men and women to freedom, independence and prosperity through culture and education; Fenrir sought to dominate the world by being a strong leader, ruling with iron fists and imposing order. Soon after Dr. Belford's death, Phoenix led the Empire with his brother, the prince Fenrir. He had two counsellors: Dragon and Aslam, unimaginably clever and intelligent spirits. On the other hand, he had two generals: Wukong and Sleipnir, the best warriors in all of the land. Fenrir was jealous of how good of a ruler Phoenix was. The people liked him; although mankind did have a strong military, no big wars were fought over so many years. The wolf conspired against his brother and convinced the military to turn against Phoenix in a coup d'etat. The Spirits led by Phoenix formed the Godly Spirits, and ran away to another dimension by means of Dragon's power. To this dimension they called the Star Kingdom. As for Fenrir, he founded the Hell Spirits and installed the tyranny we all heard about. They were all killed in the Great Purge - or so it seemed. As Phoenix was speaking to me, a big lightning bolt shot us down: it was Impundulu, the Hawk of Thunder. As we fell to the ground, weak and panting, men in black chained Phoenix and I, gave us serums. Right before the firebird slept, he gasped: the Hell Secret Service caught us. As soon as I woke up, this guy - who I supposed was an agent - tells me: - You are in an interrogation room. Everything you say or do is documented. Tread lightly. As he sits, he shows me his tatto. - Nice to meet you, Leviathan. I am Strix, the Interrogator. He grabs coffee and donut. - So, what happened? (Ok guys, I got excited and this got longer than I expected. I will stop here but maybe I'll write something more and show you people :D )",1509
" Some people are born with lions,","No one is born a villain. At least I don't think people are born destined to be one. My parents certainly had an interesting debate on the side of a road during winter about that to say the least. Some people are born with lions, often groomed to be great leaders, while others are born with dogs, with a passion for people. Very rarely, perhaps once every few decades, some are gifted dragons. They are seen as signs of great changes to come, rising to saints or crusading as tyrants. I am an ill omen, born with a monstrous serpent called a leviathan. Even rarer than dragons, leviathans are fated to become calamities slayed by a destined hero. My parents took a great gamble that day. They didn't leave me to die in winter's grasp. They decided to tell others that I was a snake, it certainly helped that I grew up to be clever. We lived far in the woods, to ensure my safety. It was nice area, given to my father for his deeds as a war hero in the king's army. My father, a bear, he taught me how to endure hardships. My mother, a dove and a healer taught me kindness. However, their greatest lesson as good people was love. I sought to teach that same lesson as best I could. What I did not know as a boy was that hate is a far easier approach. One day I heard a cry for help while foraging the woods. I ran towards the cries and found a girl my age cornered by a large white wolf wounded and a dead soldier. The girl was a noble from the way her clothes were, and the dead man was her guard. Getting involved with nobility is the worst way to hide my status, but I had a desire to, just like my parents did as well. A small 16 year-old boy wasn't the best person to fight a wolf, yet I charged at the beast with my knife, surprising it. I managed to sink my knife into its neck. The wolf however, bit into my side. As we wrestled on the ground, I stabbed at its neck over and over, until I could feel its jaw slack. My conscious fading, I told the girl to send for help. As she ran off, darkness took me. ~~(I'll add more, since I have plans tomorrow morning.)~~ (Here's part 2, sorry for the delay! This is my first time doing this.) Drifting in and out of consciousness, I couldn't see. All I heard were voices; a young girl's pleads, then men shouting. I couldn't understand them, I couldn't focus on them. All I could do was breath, focus and breath. The first thing I felt when I awoke was cold heavy metal around my neck. My eyes opened to a prison cell, a very nice one at least. I was laid upon a bed, with only my pants. My side was stitched up, but my mark was open. They knew what I was. There were four guards, and they raised their spears at me. One shouted be to remain still, while another barked to someone outside to get Lord Arik. I didn't dare say a word, least I find one of their spears in my head. The door opened and a towering man stood there. ""You're only alive because of two things. You saved my daughter, a dragon at that as well, and your father Rodrick's service in my army. Now I know why he asked to live away from others, I thought he was just getting soft,"" he said as he moved towards the end of the bed. ""I cannot sentence you to death. I cannot kill one who saved one of mine. In punishment of your birth, you parents shall carry it as well. They shall receive 100 lashings. After that, your father shall serve again in my guard until death takes him. Your mother's knowledge of medicine will be useful as well. You however, will be bound to by daughter. You shall be her beast, and her your master. When you grow feral, it shall be her that will kill you."" Then he left, and the guards as well. Then I was alone. I saved a life; my only crime was my birth. My parents must suffer as well, for loving their child? I screamed and cried as my throat ached until they gagged me. My nails dug into my palm, until they bound those too. I raged in my confinement until they gave me theriac to calm me. Time passed as I collected my thoughts. I couldn't be a hero in that moment, then I shall serve as a beast for now, but I shall be far more than any of them. If I am given an enemy, I shall break them until submission, if I do not kill them first. I will bide my time, I will show them what titan they have shackled. I will not be the villain of this story, but if a ""hero"" comes forth, I will break them. I will not be the victim; I will get my justice with breaking their pride. Bears have strength, doves have loyalty, and dragons have their ""destiny."" I think those before me had even worse hardships. They were wronged, cast out, and damned. I am not a calamity; I am not a villain to be slain by some ""hero."" I will become something more than they thought. I am Leviathan, and my pride will know no bounds. ------------ Thank you all so much for the praise and gold! I never did this before and just decided to go with it. You've all really encouraged me to keep practicing this. Maybe when I get better I'll come back to rewriting this story. If any of you are interested, I wrote another one set in the same world. It has a different theme and style though. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7bu3jo/tt_i_dont_think_you_understand_one_of_the_reasons/dpr1dji/?st=j9y6rkor&sh=1f89cceb",1001
" The mouse was still breathing, but","The mouse was still breathing -- in fact its body was beating like a gavel against Rob's palm -- but the creature looked wounded and its eyes were closed; its left ear was missing completely. If someone hadn't played a dumb prank on the mouse and tied a yellow, leathery cloth around its body, Rob thought it would probably be dead right now. Well, that and the fact that Rob had scared the cat away in time. The way that the cat had looked back at Rob from the darkness of the alleyway... *that one red eye burning resentfully, and that howling, venomous hissing...* it had given Rob goosebumps. He looked again at the dull cloth tied to the mouse: a kind of raggedy leather tunic that had acted as armour -- but it was ruined now, replete with a hundred claw and teeth marks. He noticed too the tiny necklace hanging around the creature's neck, on which a claw pendant hung limply. *Why would anyone dress a mouse up like this?* Rob gingerly untied the armour and lifted up the necklace, then lay the strange mouse down in his sock drawer, hoping it was comfortable. He placed its belongings on the other side of the draw. What more could he do for the creature? His parents were going to be out all evening and he doubted they'd take the mouse to the vet's anyway. They never did. No, Rob would just have to do his best and hope the mouse made it -- and if not, well it would die comfortably at least. There was a little grilled halloumi left over from dinner; Rob placed a thin slice of it in the sock drawer along with a thimble full of water. ""Good night, mouse,"" he said as he turned off the lights and clambered into bed. ""I hope you feel better in the morning."" --- Rob didn't hear the padding in the sock draw as he slept. Nor did he hear the hungry munching and grateful lapping. He did not hear the mouse clamber down onto the floor and begin to get her bearings. But he did hear the high pitched voice whispering in his ear; he did feel the tiny whiskers tickling his cheeks. ""I am forever in your debt, sire,"" the voice squeaked. ""Sure Brittany. You're welcome, anything for you,"" Rob muttered, before smacking his lips and rolling over onto his side. The mouse was unperturbed. She clambered up onto Rob's shoulder and tried again. ""I am not Brittany, sire. But I am sure you are the saviour of many *Brittanys*, and others besides."" ""Hehe, cut it out Brit,"" Rob said, still half in a dream. ""What if Charlie finds out?"" He waved a hand meakly around his cheek, where the whiskers rustled his skin. The mouse jumped back nimbly, easily avoiding the lumbering hand. ""My name is Isabella,"" said the voice. ""Hmm... I am sorry for this, sire."" There was a tiny tingling pain on Rob's earlobe. ""Owch!"" he yelled as he bolted upright, suddenly wide awake. Isabella back-flipped down onto the duvet. Rob's eyes widened as he saw the mouse he'd rescued; it was stood on its hind legs, and as he watched, it gave a curt bow. Then his eyes roamed left of the mouse, to the pile of a dozen or so diminutive black corpses. ""Oh my God,"" he said, scurrying backwards and pressing himself hard again the bed-board. ""Oh my God!"" ""My lord does not like the Arachnid folk? He is most wise, as well as handsome. They are a plight on the tender-hearted floor-scuttlers, like the Mice-of-Albion. I hope this gesture might go some way to paying you back for your heroic deed."" Rob looked down at the mouse again. Her tiny lips were raised in a wide smile. ""I'm dreaming. I am! I know I am."" ""I assure you, you are not. All those arachnids were *indeed* in your chamber, and I have reason to believe they were plotting something heinous."" Isabella considered for a moment, putting a fist beneath her chin as she did so. ""A web of subterfuge, I should think, with a plan to eventually encase you and drag you down into their lands where you would be embalmed in silk. But you need not worry, now."" ""What are you?!"" ""My name is Princess Isabella Mus."" Another bow. ""At your service."" ""You- you can talk?"" ""Of course."" ""But- I- No animal has ever wanted to speak to me before!"" Isabella seemed to recoil at the word 'animal', but must have thought better of saying anything about it. ""Perhaps you have saved no *creature's* life before? For what you did, I thank you sire."" ""Rob. Call me Rob. And, well, you're very welcome. I'm glad I could help, I guess."" Isabella beamed. ""I am in your debt."" ""You're not. Don't be. You more than repaid it with these uh... spiders."" He grimaced as he looked at the black pile of long legs and hairy bodies. ""Thank you, sire. Sire... I- I hope you will forgive my impertinence...but I have a question I must ask."" Rob scratched his head. ""Ask away, talking mouse. Ask anything you want. Anything at all."" Isabella nodded. ""There is a feline that resides on this street. It is as much black as it is white. It only has one eye, and it misses a claw from its left front paw."" ""Oh, Smudge? Yeah I know the cat. He was the one I chased away from you. I never liked it much -- always tries to bite me when I stroke it. And it belongs to... *Charlie*."" ""Charlie?"" ""He..."" Rob sighed. ""I go to the same school as him. He's... he's a bully. He's strong and stupid, and not very nice at all! He's even put this stupid skull collar on his cat, because he thinks it's '*cool*'. You'd best stay away from them."" ""But I can not! I must travel to where this *Smudge* resides."" ""What's your deal with that cat? Why do you want to find it so badly?"" Isabella's head cocked slightly as she rocked back and forth on the heels of her hind paws. Rob thought he could see minute tears welling in her eyes. ""That cat is a daemon, sire. It is responsible for the deaths of many hundreds of my race. The necklace you speak of that it wears *oh so proudly* -- they are the skulls of my family. I am the last of my line. I swore vengeance on that daemon many moons ago, and have been tracking it ever since. Last night, as the moon shone full and true... I finally found it. But, it bested me..."" ""...and now you want to find it again? After what it did to you!?"" ""Sire, *I must*. And I fear, even though you have already done so much for me, that I will need your help further."" Rob gave a resounding sigh and shrugged his shoulders. ""I don't know... I don't want to annoy Charlie."" Isabella twitched her nose twice, then spoke slowly as she replied. ""Sire, surely a brave, strong, *handsome* warrior like yourself, is not afraid of this *Charlie*?"" Rob blushed. ""No -- no, of course not. It's just-"" ""He should be afraid of *you*. Those arms! And the great mind that propels them!"" Rob nodded. ""I guess I am smarter than him... yeah, maybe he should be afraid of me. Yeah -- he should be!"" Rob leaned in close to the mouse and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ""What is it you need me to do?"" Isabella bit down on her tongue and looked sheepishly at her paws. ""Well, for starters, do you have any more of that cheese? A lady cannot fight -- nor think -- on an empty stomach."" --- /r/nickofnight",1309
 Welcome to Magnolia: a city,"Welcome to Magnolia: a city without birth, without death; a city where all your dreams become reality, until you've lived them so God-damned often that they become a waking nightmare. Welcome to Magnolia: a city where our leading doctors will Skim off the last few hundred years of your life as if they were only fat deposits on your thighs, so that you can enjoy the thrills and spills of living all over again. Welcome to Magnolia: a city that's rotten to its core and whose denizens are as dry as tinder, who are only waiting for a spark to ignite them and turn them into a raging inferno. That spark's name might be Richard Eizenstat. He's at the very least responsible for the placid pool of red that's stained my boots; he's responsible for Doctor Omin's body, that lies like a pale island in the center of the blood. ""Thank you for coming,"" says a pretty woman in a black suit standing at the edge of the red shore, being careful not to get a single drop on her perfectly polished shoes. I recognise her from the holos. ""Why'd he do it?"" I ask, my voice an echoing growl around the small room. ""He... he was a sick man, Mr O'connell. Very sick."" The lady taps the side of her head twice. ""Cerebral haemorrhage during the Step-Back."" I frown. ""Step-Backs don't go wrong. Isn't that your slogan?"" ""Our *slogan*, if you must call it that, is One Step-Back, Two Steps Forward."" ""My mistake. Still, I've never heard of a Step-Back going wrong before."" ""Well this one did,"" she replies sternly. The institution's white room is empty apart from us. She doesn't want this news getting out. I crouch down over the body, my knees hovering an inch above the blood. The corpse is cold and the arms are stiff but pliable. *Just*. ""Maybe five hours since death, I reckon."" A dozen or so wide wounds lattice the expired doctor's torso. A long, triangular shard of glass lies by his side. There's blood along the tip of the glass, where it stabbed the doctor, and there's blood all down its sides, too. Richard Eizenstat's hands must be pretty messed up right now. I wonder why he'd stab him so many times? It's like a *crime passionnel*, as the ancient Europeans might have said. ""Come, follow me,"" says the lady. ""I have something I need to show you."" She leads me through one of the institutions hallways full of locked iron doors, and I'm already burning with curiosity. I hear noises from within the rooms: scraping, banging... *screaming*. If nothing ever goes wrong during the Step-Backs, then who the hell are behind those doors? We come out into a small room with an expensive looking table in the middle -- authentic wood, by the look of it. A deep, rich brown -- mahogany, maybe -- with decorative carvings around its eves. Thing must be worth as much as my apartment. Two chairs sit either side of the table. It's the type of room I'd have done interrogations in, once upon a time. Although, with a cheap pine table between us instead, with a couple of stained mugs full of steaming coffee marking its surface. ""Sit, please,"" she says. It's a demand not a request -- same with all the bullshit questions she asks. I pull out a chair and slump down onto it. ""You perhaps know who I am, already?"" I grin. ""I wouldn't be much of a detective if I didn't. Juliet Browning. Daughter of Jonathan Browning, once of the three founders of Magnolia. As pretty as you are ruthless... *so they say*."" For the first time since meeting her, she allows herself a smile. ""Oh, do *they*? How nice of them. And I suppose you know why I've asked for your help?"" ""Seeing as I'm the only detective in the city -- the only person with any real experience with murder cases, I suspect you need me. I mean... *a dead body*?"" I let out a slow whistle. ""That's already going to look bad against your record. And if the killer doesn't get caught... well, it'll be historic, to say the least."" ""He won't get away!"" she shouts, slamming a fist hard against the table. Almost instantly, Juliet returns to her equable demeanour. ""You will see to that, I am sure of it. Now, tell me, Mr O'connell-"" ""David."" ""*David.* Why is you still have your memories from during the Restart? Surely it would be best for you to erase them -- they can't be pleasant to hold onto."" I flinch. ""They're not. But I figured someone has to keep these skills alive. Murder doesn't wait forever. Immortality is bullshit -- all we've done is cure ageing. And even that means nine hours a night in a vecta-coffin."" She cringes. ""I do so hate that name. You will call it the Restorative Cube, from here on."" I shrug. Juliet stares at me, drinking me in. I imagine most people find her stony gaze imposing, but I just stare right back. ""You must be so very bored,"" she says lugubriously. ""I've only just gotten here. Besides, you're not so dull."" She laughs. ""Not of this. *Of everything*. Of life. Of living. You must have done everything possible a hundred times over, and yet you've not had your memory Reset. You're somewhat of a freak, David."" ""I prefer *unique*. Tell me about Eizenstat."" ""It... happened two months ago. The Step-Back failure. He... his mind, his *memories* have leaked into each other. He doesn't know what's reality, and what's fiction. A holomovie from last year, for example -- he can no longer tell if it happened to him in real life, if *he* was the protagonist -- or if it was indeed just a holomovie."" ""So..."" ""So, he has a lot of dangerous memories right now. He believes he has inherited many of these memories not from movies, but from other denizen's Skims.... Skims from before the Restart."" ""*Before?*"" ""Yes."" ""That's..."" I whistle. ""Those memories would be from long before even my time. And hell, I'm as old as they come."" ""If they were real memories, yes. But they aren't. They are fabrications."" ""So, you're saying he thinks that movies he's watched are *real* memories, but from other people. People's memories from Before."" ""Exactly. He's paranoid beyond reason."" Juliet opens a drawer and takes out a large brown folder. She slides it across the desk to me. ""It is best you know what you're up against."" ""What happens once I've caught him?"" ""He's a heretic. We Reset him. There is no choice."" ""And to me?"" ""We Skim your memory back two days prior to this meeting, and for you none of this ever happened."" ""Then why the hell would I help you? What's the point?"" ""Your bank account will know what you did. Your new apartment will know, and your new -Platinum Forged memories will know. Beyond that, you will have done your city a great favour that won't be forgotten -- at least, not by me."" I grunt, then nod and flip open the folder. > **Richard Eizenstat with Doctor Omin** > **Session one** > Omin: What is your name? > Eizenstat: Polynomine > Omin: Polynomine? > Eizenstat: We have many names. > Omin: Your name is Richard Eizenstat. > Eizenstat: We were Richard Eizenstat. We are now more. Many more. Much more. > Omin: Your name is Richard Eizenstat and you experienced an accident during Step-Back. > Eizenstat: There was no accident. > Omin: What do you mean? > Eizenstat: Someone wanted us to become what we are. To see what there was and is and will be. > Omin: ... you believe someone sabotaged the Step-Back? > Eizenstat: Yes. > Omin: Who? > Eizenstat: We don't know. There are many voices in our head and they bay for justice like starving wolves: uncontrollable and savage. We cannot control them yet. We can not quieten them enough to hear the voice beneath. > Omin: What is your first memory? > Eizenstat: We have many first memories. > Omin: What do you know of the Restart? > Eizenstat: It is a lie. There was no Restart. > Omin: A lie? > Eizenstat: We are taught what it is. A perfect new beginning. But it is not. > Omin: Then what was it? > Eizenstat: The mass extinction of humanity. > Omin: Extinction? What caused this *extinction*? > Eizenstat: Clones. > Omin: *Clones?* > Eizenstat: Yes, clones. Like, you Doctor. This body too, Doctor. But -- but there is humanity left. It is inside our head. And we will set them free! We will set them all free! > *Notes*: Eizenstat's eyes dilate massively as he screams and struggles against his restraints, the metal biting into his wrists until they bleed. I call in security and they apply the tranquilliser to his neck. It takes five minutes or so for his body to go limp. It should have taken seconds. > **End of session one** I look away from the document and up at Juliet who seems to be studying my face. ""Clones?"" I ask. ""Outlawed tech, even before the Restart. Marked as abominations."" ""Yeah, I know... It's just a surprise to me that he thinks clones could be responsible, seeing as they were never anything more than an idea. "" ""Yes, you would think that."" Juliet sighs. ""I suppose I should be honest with you, you'll forget it all soon enough. Sometime before the Reset -- even I don't know all the details -- a handful of clones were produced for limited, closed testing. But... there was an incident..."" ""We created clones? Jesus..."" I raise my eyebrows as I consider the implications. ""So, what was incident?"" ""There's very little information on it, even in our own archives -- as is the case with anything pre-Reset. But what we do know is that something went wrong during the closed testing. What exactly, we can't say. But suffice it to say, clones never made it to market release, and any research into them was destroyed and made illegal thereafter. Instead, we concentrated on limited AI subserviencey."" ""So he could be telling the truth? I mean, not fully -- but maybe there's something in it?"" ""No. There's *no* possibility of it."" I nod and return to the document. --- Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7c0viz/wp_everyone_is_immortal_in_the_distant_future_to/ Part 3: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/7c1pt0/wp_everyone_is_immortal_in_the_distant_future_to/",1741
 Every day was spent at the doorway,"I came from bad places. Every day was spent at the doorway to hell and a tiny breeze felt like heaven. I believed this to be reality, that life was about learning to deal with the darkness, and only the darkness existed. Until the sun rose, and I was crippled by the light. I tried to abandon the hell but there was no where to go and I was instead left with the horror of total emptiness. I considered hating the light. It was the clarity that opened the door to hell and shoved me through it. Yet that light felt like the first glass of water I had ever had and I wanted more. I didn't want to close the door because I wanted what the door promised in the first place. I couldn't let go of the feeling that the door might lead to other places, better places. To prove this to myself I started opening any doors I could find. One door led to a group of people. They intimidated me. They had their own light and that suggested many other doors to consider. I was afraid they might also lead to hell but I was determined to find the promise and dove in anyways. Those doors opened to amazing places. Ones filled with love, understanding, possibility. I felt I had found what that first light promised and I dove right in. My life became normal, or what I thought normal might mean. I had a family and we loved each other completely. We built each other up until we were mountains of greatness and rained love on everything we touched. The emptiness was filled. These places were a playground to find myself in. I found so many parts, and I learned how to love those parts. Every one of these discoveries increased my love for these people I had joined. Their love seemed to increase for me as well. I had found myself and I had found a family. Years later some of these people that made up my new world succeeded in their business ventures. I was so proud of them, and more so since they opened a greenhouse and this love of plants was a thing we all shared. I was still obsessed with the light, with the promise. I wanted MORE. I had learned that the more I give, the more light I got back. So what else to do other than throw a celebration for those that brought light to me? And a celebration needs a cake, doesn't it? And I knew by then that a thing I could do was make great food. I turned on the tunes, a radio station we all loved. Music has this amazing way of setting the atmosphere, you know? When the cake was cooked I got to decorating. I put a lot of care in to it, especially since I was up against the incredible artistic talent of these wonderful doors. It clearly needed to be plant themed but I knew it wouldn't be enough to simply draw a tree. I had to get clever with it. I decided to go with an abstract thing as a way to recognize what they started and pay honor to our collective love of the potential of the universe. For some reason I decided to go with a forest . As I finished one of my favorite songs came on. .The incredibly domestic action of making a cake for those you love was the death of the door to hell while the song felt like all our interests rolled together. Acceptance, considering bigger things, moving on to other things, honoring the past. I was so inspired that I added the universe unicorn we all tended to include in bits of art, we all love laughs after all. Partway through the song I thought I saw the shadow of a raven pass over my kitchen. I thought I was probably imagining things. How would a raven be in my home? As I finished the unicorn the song ended and this really boring track came on. I looked up from the cake and was ready to change the station. I was surprised to see a man standing across the counter from me. I was ready to run and call for help, but then the man spoke. ""You have been through the fires of hell, and you have chosen light. You have focused that light on understanding the universe and the living things within it. And yet you still feel that emptiness, you still seek to find the right door. I will open that door for you, all that is required from you is confirming that opening this door means more to you than all you have now, and all you have ever had."" The truth of his words hit me like an avalanche. There was nothing honest I could say other than ""that door is everything."" So he opened the door. I felt myself changing. When the agony was over I looked down and saw I had the body of an owl, but elongated and distorted. I felt myself falling but was caught by my plant and lowered to my favorite stone. I felt empty, and blinked in confusion for what felt like an eternity. And then I felt more full than I ever have. My purpose became clear and everything else faded away. I saw the man smile, and then he melted away. It was just me. And a cake and a plant. I smiled and squeezed the plant's life in to the cake. And later, when this cake stopped the heart of everyone I held dear, I smiled again. How sweet it is to be able to smile. The door was open, and I was all I was meant to be. When I embraced this my father came to me again. Of all the great gifts he gave me, one was his name. Stolas is my savior, the one who helped me be who I was always meant to be and the only one to recognize my greatness and show me hell is the brightest door of all.",1030
" ""Jacobean witchcraft"" is","""In Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth, we are finally introduced to our main character. This is shown through various supernatural elements..."" Professor Yates continued with his lecture as I doodled chibi dinosaurs and Harry Potter stick figures in the margins of my notebook. Stifling a yawn, I jotted down a quick synopsis of ""Jacobean witchcraft"" and double checked that my tape recorder had full batteries before smooshing my chin into my hands. My thoughts wandered to the theater cast party I had attended last night for my roommate. I wasn't even in the play, or a theater major, yet I attended all the parties with her and never failed to regret it the next morning. I added a stick figure of my roommate being eaten by the chibi dinosaur to my notes. A snort sounded to my right and I looked over to see my friend Daniel staring down at his desk. A fading smile had barely begun to disappear as I glanced at him, but he turned his head away and scribbled on his paper some more. I thought about throwing something at him to make him come sit next to me, but I didn't want to interrupt the professor, who was not known for his leniency. Instead, I turned back to my own notes and let my mind wander. I wondered if ""Macbeth"" had ever dealt with a hangover before. Probably not. I think he was the theater roommate in this example, and poor Banquo was the tagalong who didn't know that a ""Screwdriver"" was more vodka than orange juice. No wonder he came back to haunt Macbeth. I wondered what part I would be cast as if I ever did a production of ""Macbeth."" I would want to be Lady Macbeth, but with my luck I'd be the drunk porter. I think I could bring some life to it though. Maybe in a ""modern"" retelling, I'd just come out in a fluffy pink bathrobe with some whiskey. I wondered, as I often do, if anyone would find these thoughts strange, or if everyone goes on a tangent when they let their mind free. Maybe there was a mind reader who I should probably apologize to for sending them so many distracting daydreams? Whenever I think this question, I normally can't prevent myself from conjuring up pornographic images and random inappropriate thoughts. I think it's a nervous reaction. It's like the moment I think, ""Okay, if there's a mind reader, best not imagine a dick pic"", and then automatically my mind is filled with dirty images. I often formally apologize in my head to anyone who may be able to read minds, just in case. Today though, right before the first risque image could flit across my imagination, I noticed Daniel again. He had jumped in his seat a bit and seemed to go a little pale when I thought the words ""mind reader."" As soon as I looked over, he shifted uncomfortably. Curiosity and boredom made me think, ""Daniel?"" He did not look over and seemed concentrated on his notes. I squinted my eyes and immediately imagined our professor naked. Daniel's head shot up and looked over at me as my jaw dropped. His eyes widened to match mine and he looked back down at his table. *Oh no you don't.* I thought. *Don't you dare think you are getting away with this. Look back here right now.* I continued to stare him down and began to conjure up more images of our professor in... interesting positions. Finally, Daniel looked over at me and mouthed, ""stop."" My mind fizzled for a second and then rebooted. *What the fuck!?* Was the only coherent thought I could manage. Daniel shrugged and managed a small wince. *You fucking **read minds**??* He shrugged. *For how long??* He shrugged again. *Can anyone else do that?* My eyes swung wildly around and I shoved down the constant nervous reaction to suddenly imagine everyone naked. Daniel smiled a little and a thought occurred to me. He froze. I froze. He looked up and I saw his cheeks begin to turn pink. I could hear my heart in my ears. *So you knew...?* Gradually, Daniel gave a tiny nod. *You son of a --* ""Tatianna, what do you think?"" My head jerked up to see Professor Yates staring at me over his bespectacled nose. ""Uhh."" I looked around and saw the class looking at me expectantly. The board gave no clues as to what had just been discussed and the Professor's silent air of expectation did nothing to help me. I glanced over at Daniel to see him casually flip a page of the play. *Snarky son of a--* ""Mr. Collins, would you like to assist Ms. Kim as she seems to have lost her tongue?"" I grimaced and glared at Daniel, who didn't bother looking up from the play. There's no way he heard the question either. It was his fault I missed it anyway. ""Macbeth's mental health in the play is a represented by a slow and steady mental decline. We see in the beginning that the character shows symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which gradually accumulate into a type of paranoid schizophrenia, as evidenced through his hallucinations and the line ""my mind is full of scorpions."" This relates to the current state of his mental health and is a line I personally can connect with."" Professor Yates looked at Daniel with admiration and nodded approvingly. ""Well done, Mr. Collins. I look forward to hearing more about your thoughts on this matter. Ms. Kim has a lot she could learn from you."" He raised an eyebrow at me before turning to torture another student. I shot daggers at Daniel. *You have never read a word of Macbeth in your life. How the hell did you do that?* He grinned and tapped at his head. My mouth opened in indignation and I turned back to my notes, adding scribbles of Daniel being consumed by numerous reptiles. *After class, we need to talk.* Was the last thought I sent his way. Edit: Fixed a story flaw",1023
 All manner of nefarious and diabol,"*Welcome to the Shark Tank, where all manner of nefarious and diabolical individuals come to pitch their plans of domination to five of the most seasoned villains in the business. Lets meet the Sharks!* *First up, we have the true monster, Dr. Frankenstein! With over forty years in the reanimation business, Dr. Frankenstein knows when he see's a SHOCKING development in his industry!* *Next, we have the count of cool, the dragon of fashion, his bite is worse than his bark, its Dracula! Immortal adjacent, this tall, dark and devilish bachelor is always looking for a way to spread his influence throughout eastern Europe and beyond!* *Third, the shark that's always clowning around, Pennywise! Actually an inter dimensional force of pure evil, he has a sweet tooth for anything that can make your skin crawl. Better tread careful, he's the one who can make your idea sink or float!* *Fourth on the docket, just in from a red eye, lord of Mordor but not the ring, Sauron! A fallen spirit succumb to darkness, his path to world domination involves a piece of costume jewelry wielded by two halflings. Best try to not hide anything, nothing escapes his gaze!* *Lastly, our fifth and final judge: Hitler! It's just Hitler. If you don't know who he is read a book.* *Today we have the evil monster maker Dr. Abomino, a mad scientist pitching a secret gas that turns any who inhale it into a mutant.* ""Hello sharks, my name is, eh, Dr. Abomino and I've brought with me today-"" ""Doctor in what?"" Asked Dr. Frankenstein through thick laboratory goggles. ""Excuse me?"" Said Dr. Abomino, visibly shaken. ""What. Is. Your. Doctorate. In."" Repeated Dr. Frankenstein. ""Medicine, biochemistry, neurology, what are we dealing with here?"" ""Well I am a few credits shy from completing my degree......"" ""Degree in what *MR.* Abomino?"" ""Erm.....communication....."" Frankenstein leaned back in his chair and let out a huff. ""Well Mr. Abomino, you have misrepresented yourself in the first few seconds of your presentation. But please, continue."" Said Frankenstein with a snort as he crossed his arms. ""Ahem, yes, sorry Doctor. As I was saying I have developed a neurological gas,"" here Hitler began to sit up straight in his seat, ""that does not kill the victim."" Hitler collapsed back in his chair disappointed. ""Instead, the gas mutates the victim horribly until it becomes a semi human monstrosity, capable of destruction and devastation to all it comes into contact with."" ""Did you bring an example with you?"" Asked Dracula, tapping his finger tips together. ""Yes sir, FETCH ME THE BEAST!"" Dr. Abomino commanded to the stage hand holding a doughnut. A large steel cage covered in a cloth was rolled in. Underneath the cloth came terrible gutteral noises and the sound of metal straining. In one foul swoop, the cloth was ripped off to display the horribly disfigured beast, covered in boils and riddled with deformities. It let out a mighty bellow and rattled the cages walls, desperately striving to be free. ""Mmmmmhmm, and what are the combat implications Herr Abomino?"" Asked Hitler. ""They each have the strength of ten men, the endurance of an elephant and a pathological need to enact violence upon mankind."" Replied Abomino proudly. ""I think I have found a problem with your creation Abomino."" said Hitler. He took out a walther ppk and shot the beast in his head. With one long moan, the abomination collapsed to the floor and let out a death shudder. ""The problem is,"" said Hitler, ""they can still be killed with weapons as simply as anyone else! And I would bet they cant use guns either!"" ""Yes that is.....correct....."" Said Abomino, slumping his shoulders and lowering his head. ""But they can be improved! Given armor, dilute the formula to keep the higher reasoning. All I need is some support. I'm asking for one hundred thousand for a 10% stake in the plot."" ""Im out"" hissed Pennywise. ""No fear factor. No style. Too boring for me to play with. ""As the only real Doctor here, I can say that this plan is doomed to fail. Therefore, I am also out."" Said Frankenstein. Sauron gave one thumb down from his seat. ""It is an interesting idea......fresh take on an old trope..."" Said Dracula licking his fangs. ""But what is your method of control? Telepathic, shock collar, basic training, what do you use?"" Inquired the count. ""That process is still in the, uh, research and development stage. I am thinking of using a modified shock collar/ body cam combo to remotely check and direct their actions. ""Wait, you have no ability to control them?"" ""No sir, that was one of the uses for the funding I requested."" ""I'm out. I like you Abomino, but you can't just come in here with an idea and nowhere to go with it. You need to have a detailed strategy and a finished product. I'll put you on my backburner and check in with you in a few years, but I'm just not prepared to put the money down on a work in progress."" *With four sharks out, Hitler is Abomino's last hope. Let's see if they can make a deal...* ""So, mein friend, it's just the two of us. Would you like to adjust your asking price?"" ""I, uhh, I think that the hundred thousand for a ten percent stake is very, uh, fair."" ""Before I make an offer, tell me, how well do they hold up in the cold? Say.....Russia in winter cold....."" ""My creations have to be kept at, uhm, around forty to eighty degrees for best performance."" ""Best performance?"" ""Yes furher, they tend to uhm, expire when taken out of that temperature range for a long period of time."" ""So, the only thing your creations will be good for invading is a tropical climate? I'm sorry, but the list of soldiers requesting to be stationed in Sicily is already too high, I'm out."" *The last shark is out, and now Dr. Abomino has no one to make an offer. As such, he must be removed from the tank* A large trapdoor opened underneath Dr. Abomino and both creator and creation tumbled into a small pool filled with ravenous sharks that had been circling hungrily for hours. The five sharks watched with amusement as the contestant was ripped to shreds by the literal sharks. Frankenstein grinned, Dracula licked his lips and narrowed his eyes, Pennywise giggled gleefully, Sauron looked on motionless, and Hitler kept looking in a mirror. Craig the production manage came out with his megaphone, ""Alright that's lunch. Be back in 45 everyone, we have a busy day ahead."" Edit: wow, thanks for all the support and kind words everyone, this was a very pleasant suprise this morning Edit 2: Ok, this is actually pretty uplifting for me. Thank you again for all the kind words as well as the criticisms. I apologize but I will NOT be doing another of these or expanding upon the prompt. It was an incredibly fun prompt to write and I'm glad you all enjoyed it, but I feel that I've done all I can with it. Personally I just believe that making a sequel with high expectations will never live up to the original. That being said, if anyone wants to use this as a jumping off point or want to expand upon it themselves, you have my blessing. I just ask you credit me or link to this story if you do. Again, one thousands thanks to all of you",1256
 The world was full of steam and,"Burning debris littered the sky, as though a wall of hate against us, climbing higher and higher. The shadows grew into reaching arms, hiding the true enemy we tried to outrun: Man. But to say that is facetious, I suppose. What enemies had we that we did not cultivate ourselves? The pot had boiled over and the world was full of steam and hate. They needed someone to batter, to release all the hell we put them through. Sirens flared behind. The police cars were gaining. ""Hurry Christ! Goddamn it hurry!"" ""Oh Father, oh Father, oh Father..."" He could not drive. He was a short man. His hair was oily, thick and short. *Had you cared to come back, they would not have accepted you,* I thought. I felt almost sorry for him. ""Can't take the heat?"" said Lucifer. Of all of us he was the one who enjoyed. They did not have to believe in him when they acted out his will freely. ""Why are you even here?"" I asked him. ""You cannot die."" ""Why are you here?"" he asked. Gunshots rang like nearby thunder. The sky was red and dark. ""I... I..."" I did not know how to answer him. I was a man. I had no memories from before. I had awoken with them, us failures. ""A man amongst gods!"" Lucifer screamed. Buddha was firing. I wondered why he would do that. Was he not a pacifist? From the burning carcass of the explosion we had caused, there were ghostly things, shadows rising like clouds, giving chase above the cars. ""What is happening?"" Jesus asked. Back then I did not know. I won't lie and say I have all the answers now, but I think I know better. Those were growing pains that caused the earthquake. A build up of some kind had ripped the city open. The fires sprouted in vast columns. Many were dead. More were dying. I think the world had given up waiting, or reached its seams. What gods shaped it, had never come. And then it was time to move on. Jesus turned off the highway. A bullet pierced the back glass. I felt the heat of my blood pour in slow rivers everywhere. My head hurt. *So I can die,* I thought. ""Why are they hunting us?"" Buddha cried. He fired his gun. Rubber squealed. A car ran off and hit the barricade. ""My children,"" cried Christ. I admit I was angry then. Lucifer was laughing, feeding off my hate. ""You should not have abandoned them!"" I screamed. ""Why did you?"" ""I would have come back!"" screamed Jesus. ""They needed patience."" ""I never left them,"" said Buddha. ""And who are you anyway to question the divine?"" I remained quiet. We were near the suburbs. Jesus slowed to a crash on a light pole. The sparks left tracers in the falling dark. Lucifer suffered whiplash and he would not move. He was a skinny man with bony features and thin hair. ""Leave him,"" said Jesus. ""Let them take his scum."" ""No, we cannot!"" I said. They were running without me. Buddha had lost his gun. They limped past the gathered few and their was a catching frenzy. Many of the people had lost their loved ones that morning. The news had blamed us already. ""There they are!"" A man pointed his gun at me. ""The other terrorists went that way,"" he said. I backed away from Lucifer. He was hardly breathing. He would never truly die. Not in this world. ""You terrorist scum!"" the man said. He was shaking. Others surrounded me. Jesus and Buddha had gone. They had always been gone, I imagine. ""No,"" I said. ""I'm not a terrorist. I'm..."" I had no name. ""I'm Stephen,"" I said. The name had just come. The man's gun trembled. ""Stephen? Stephen who?"" Others from the crowd began to call out other names, as though I had said them. ""Patrick?"" ""Did he say Mike? Mikey?"" I looked at the old man with his gun. The police were coming, the wall of fire rising into smoke. The shadow monsters raced past overhead. They were a hunting black, hunting the fallen gods. The old man was fighting tears. ""What's your name?"" he asked. I could tell he would not ask again. ""Stephen Algiers,"" I said. It just come, and then was gone like a fleeting warmth against confusion's cold. The man dropped the gun. ""Stephen,"" he said. He ran to me and hugged me. The others had heard different names. ""Baby!"" They all embraced me, holding on to me as though they were the only ones to do so. ""What's going on?"" I asked. ""I thought you died in the earthquake, son."" They all thought I was another. I was always someone who had died. I was the miracle, their catalyst for hope. The police reacted the same. They brought ambulances for me, and continued the hunt for the gods. I could feel their presence within me. Lucifer suffered as they embraced me. They took him away. There was no shadow hunting him. The others were caught, but not by men. As the fires dwindled and the sky became a stained black, I lost their feeling within. They were ghosts once more, Jesus and Buddha, a memory that had been taken by the shadows. I cannot explain it any other way. They put me wherever I wanted to be. I had no home, and so I stayed at a shelter. Then I stayed at their homes. Each person saw in me something they had lost; someone they had longed for. ""Can't you see?"" I asked, but they only saw what they wanted to. The city rebuilt itself slowly. The churches dwindled. Prayer dissolved into smoke, until it became taboo, and then forgotten. I think about what happened, and yet no answer comes, a vague picture forms. I think maybe the Earth had grown too long in one way. The gods had shaped it, but they had long gone. That shape was breaking, the Earth needing to grow in a new way. No longer did it receive the nurturing the gods had given. Too much time had passed. And so it broke free. All that pent up hate and frustration had fueled the fires. The virus of the gods needed to be purged. And the Earth purged them. I was left alone. Who am I, this amnesiac fool? There is no answer. I have no self. I think I am the seed that survives the destruction. The seed that can plant hope, and sprout new gods if I so please. For it is belief that makes them. Belief creates a tangible thing, the shaper of our world. I can get them to believe again and start everything over. It is simple. ""How did you survive?"" they always ask. ""God saved me,"" I can say. But I don't. I have not. I am not sure I ever will. I let the questions linger and let their relief fill that aching void. They hold me for the time they have. Deep down they must know I am not who they truly miss, but the illusion helps. Hope heals, and that is the greatest miracle of all. And so I live these days for others. I listen for the gods as the world moves on. I hear only an empty silence. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to subscribe to my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a couple un-prompted ones. Thank you for your support!*",1265
 Asla had never travelled this far,"Asla had never travelled this far east before. She chose to hike the last stretch of her journey, leaving her beat-up car under a tarpaulin, tucked behind a copse of trees. Nature had beat back man's progress here, and all she had for company were the skittish wildlife, the rush of the waterfalls, the snowflakes cascading down belligerently. Walking rejuvenated her, but more importantly, it gave her a chance to attune her senses, probe for the Folkvarthr, the guardian of the town. She found him perched on a rocky outcrop, just a couple of miles from Seydisfjordur. Asla knew she made no noise, left barely an imprint on the fresh snow beneath her feet, but before such an experienced master, she might as well have been beating a drum, strumming a lyre. ""Folkvarthr, I come in peace,"" she said, keeping her distance. She used the honorific so that he would know that she was cut from the same cloth, another member of the ancient clan sworn to protect their country. Underneath her shawl, she gripped her twin knives, priming her defences. It never hurt to be prudent. The older man turned then, and for a moment Asla wondered if the reports were embellished. There was a placid calmness to him, and none of the fire and brimstone she was cautioned about. His eyes, dulled with age, reminded her of the frozen orbs she sometimes had to scrape out of bowls she had left out. ""I don't recall asking to be relieved,"" he said. ""I am not yet battle-weary. I intend to guard this town until I die."" ""Olafur, you have done us a great service,"" Asla replied. ""The records run with the great deeds you have accomplished. You have saved this town more times than anyone can count. You have more than earned your rest."" Olafur scrounged on the ground, picked up a couple of smoothened pebbles. Asla narrowed her eyes, but this time she was over-suspicious - Olafur aimed the small missiles not at her, but at three spots away from them, one to the north and the others to the west. There was but a bleak light still illuminating the valley, so Asla relied instead on her hearing to determine where the pebbles landed. ""Those are where the rifts are,"" said Olafur, dusting his palms off. ""The monsters don't come as often now, but they still can, and they still do. They are different from the ones you deal with back in Reykjavik, or wherever the hell you came from. Nature emboldens them. They don't emerge at night, skulking in the shadows. No, these prefer the day, where they revel in being seen, being feared. There's a sadism in these parts that only I can handle, young one."" There's a sadism alright, thought Asla, but instead she said, ""I will be straightforward, Folkvarthr. This is not a request. The Council has asked that you retire, with immediate effect."" ""Oh? After all the good work I've done?"" ""Too good, in fact,"" said Asla. ""Reports have come in that you no longer communicate with the town, that you have completely shut yourself off from them. The local children don't even dare come near you anymore, and they have started calling you the Boogeyman, the Reaper. Even worse, the monsters that you slay... you're not just putting them down, you're *slaughtering* them. The Council has reason to believe that you-"" Olafur chose to move at that moment, streaking in a blur towards highground. Asla was ready, and so she followed closely behind, matching him step for step. She considered the possibility that he was leading her towards a trap, but pushed that thought away. She had to believe that there was humanity yet left in him. Some hundred feet above the ground, a cave opened up alongside the hill, hidden if one were only looking in from the roads. Olafur paused there, then snapped his fingers, bringing to life the candles within. Asla discerned immediately the two urns on one side of the cave, and the heaps of ash on the other. ""They took my family, was that in your reports too?"" Olafur asked. ""I had just saved the town from another invasion, took down no less than three ghouls and two ogres on my own. They come in waves, so I thought we were safe for a while. But they were hiding, down by the waters when my daughter went to swim. My Hansa struggled with them, but she is no practitioner of glima that I am."" In that moment, Asla understood why the Council had chosen her, of all the practitioners, and a tiny bit of the tension in her seeped away. She was not going to die here today, after all. ""No words can convey my condolences,"" she said, eventually. Olafur didn't seem to hear. ""And everyday, everyday I add on to the ashes of my enemies. I think, maybe, when there's enough of it, it will all make sense again, feel right again."" ""Has it worked?"" ""No,"" said Olafur, ""not yet. And that is why I cannot stop, you see? I have to keep going. I have to keep-"" Asla lashed out, her knives glinting as they sung through the air. She was not given to surprise attacks, but this was an opponent far more skilled than she was, and she would have to take what the gods of chance gave her. Heck, she had only felled the one ogre in her life, and that was quite an anemic one at that. Olafur caught her blows easily, striking at her wrists, deflecting her attacks. He stepped in, pushed his shoulder against her midriff, then lifted her legs. Asla tensed and recoiled, twisting in the air, landing on her feet. If she fell, it was over. Round and round they went, like marbles in a cone, striking and rebounding, feinting and parrying. At times it seemed that Asla, with her youth and vigor and aggression, had the edge. But Olafur would come back, a crashing fjord of implacable power, brushing her off like a weevil. Then, a slip, as Asla's foot caught on an uneven patch of ground, throwing her off just a couple of inches. Olafur seized the moment, overwhelming her with a deathgrip. Asla kept still, quivering despite her best efforts. She was at his mercy. ""Why does the Council stop me?"" he asked, breathing heavily. ""Can a man not have his revenge?"" ""You are showing signs of taint, Olafur! Do you not see that? In a year, or two, will your bloodlust have calmed?"" ""I am *in control*!"" he said. ""Why do you think I have not snapped your neck?"" Asla sighed, then relinquished her knives, dropping them to the ground. Olafur had not yet yielded in the face of her surrender, so there was only one course of action left. ""I bring with me too another message from the Council,"" she said. ""Straight from your master's mouth, the same one who assigned you here years ago. He bids me to remind you that you have done your part, that you deserve, at the least, some rest. 'Any of us can quell the monsters, Olafur, but only you can tend to your wounds. Let Asla carry on your work for you.' That is what he said."" Asla waited, and eventually Olafur loosened his hold. She broke free, then turned to assess her opponent. The fight had deserted him, and the hunch in his back, the despair on his brows - there was no more duelling to be had. Olafur averted his gaze, but Asla caught the hint of moistness in his eyes. ""She... she would be around your age, if she were still alive, you know?"" Olafur said, staring off into the distance. You bastards, she thought. It's not fair sending someone who reminds him of his daughter to fight him. That's just underhanded. ""I know,"" she said. There they sat, as the sun completed its retreat, and the stars reclaimed their fair share of the heavens. From the distance they heard the merriment from the town - preparations were underway for the winter festivals, and Asla sensed that even the monsters would have the decency to stay away this night. ""Where's good for dinner?"" she asked, tentatively. Olafur sighed. ""I can show you, if you like."" Asla smiled. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1396
" Every friend group, social circle,","Jack was a Funny Guy. These ""Funny Guys"" are a breed that is paradoxically rare and common all at the same time. Every friend group, social circle, or general gathering has one - but only one. Never will there be two Funny Guys at the same gathering. No one will know (or know *well,* at least) two of these Funny Guys. And so to a 127 people, Jack was the only Funny Guy they knew. He was a rarity, an oddity, a delight. He'd make stupid outlandish jokes that would fall flat if you made them, people would edge away from you. But when Jack made them, oh they laughed, no they *roared* with laughter. No one noticed his hair was a shade too long, the circles under his eyes a bit too dark, the laugh a bit too forced. Such things were to be expected after all, you have to know. He was a Funny Guy. And so it was that a meaningless gathering he proudly announced his petition to the U.N. how he wanted to make his apartment complex a country. We'd all laughed of course. That was Jack for you - he always had new jokes. Get tired of listening to him making fun of other people? Or sick of hearing the same tired old innuendos? Well just before you had enough, the son of a gun had done it! A new joke. And so you laughed. ""What a Funny Guy!"" you'd say, wiping tears from your eyes. Then you'd leave the party or bar or wherever you were to distract yourself from Life, high as a kite or as drunk as a sailor, and promptly forget all about that Funny little Guy. And then he's there at the next party. And of course he is. He's at every party. Who invites him? Who cares? Someone must've. And everybody knew him of course. He couldn't walk down a hallway at the party without someone hollering a greeting or nodding at him, or shooting him a grin. But no one *talked* to the Funny Guy. They spoke at him sure, but they never lingered. And so it was alone that he climbed on top of a table had clinked a fork against his glass. Everybody turned to him immediately. ""Shh,"" they'd said to each other, ""the Funny Guy is talking."" ""My apartment building,"" Jack said, ""is officially a COUNTRYYYYY"" he amplified his voice and stretched that last syllable. The whole hall broke into laughter and applause. More than half of them didn't even remember the joke, the fact that he'd mentioned the Country Application last week. Or was that two weeks ago? Half of them didn't get the joke but they laughed all the same, sure it was something *Funny.* But the hall quiets as Jack speaks again, the center of everyone's attention, but really in the mind of none. ""Well now that I have a country,"" he slurred, ""I need some people to live in it!"" Laughter again, but a bit uneasy this time, and accompanied with some furtive whispers. ""People?"" ""For his country?"" ""He doesn't mean me does he?"" ""I got a job, I got a country."" ""I'm not drunk enough for this shit."" Jack tapped his spoon against his glass again. Silence fell, and while this time it wasn't absolute, Jack had more of their attention now than he ever had before. ""So what say, friends? Would you like to become my countrymen?"" Silence. Absolute this time. It seemed like an eternity passed before someone dared shatter it. ""What will I have to do?"" A brave voice asked from one of the corners of the hall. Before anyone could find the source of the voice however, Jack laughed. A booming, loud, Funny laugh. This made the crowd nervous, though only a few recognized that they were nervous. And even fewer recognized the source of the unease: it was the first time they had heard the Funny Guy laugh. Usually it was Everyone around him laughed, but this was the first time he had laughed. And no one around him was. ""Why nothing of course!"" Jack proclaimed, ""Drink, laugh, live, die, just do whatever the hell you were doing before, just do it as my countrymen! Do I hear an aye?!"" he called out. ""Aye,"" said a handful. They hadn't even been listening really, they just followed Jack's tone of voice, not understanding, not getting. Jack repeated himself, a too-wide smile on his face. ""Do I hear an aye!?"" Those who'd said aye before had no choice but to say it again, and so did their friends. And their friends. And their friends. Funny, really. Soon the entire hall echoed ""Aye"" with no one really wanting to say it. ""And so your word is given,"" Jack said and laughed again. Everyone laughed again, though this time even the unobservant could tell it was forced. Soon after, the people started to leave. A trickle at first, then in droves. They wanted to get away from this place, this somehow uneasy place. What was normally there refuge had been poisoned. It wasn't so Funny anymore. A 127 people had gone to that party, not counting Jack. 113 had said ""Aye,"" when Jack had asked. Either out of ignorance or foolishness, it didn't matter. Their words were given. The 14 who hadn't said Aye went back to their lives. They didn't even realize for a while that there were barely any more invites, any more get togethers. And when they did, they just shrugged. It was Funny, they thought, how abruptly they'd stopped. And a part of them they tried not to knowledge, the part that had known something was deeply fundamentally wrong at that party, was glad. It was only years later that the fourteen read the newspaper and found out about the cache as the apartment building. A number of bodies were discovered between the plaster walls of a particular apartment complex. 113 to be exact. A Mob dumping ground the media called it. A Mob had paid to build the apartment, and stashed the bodies. The fourteen who survived agreed - didn't dare disagree. They didn't disagree despite the Funny feeling they had... And what was Funny was that the 113 bodies seemed to be wearing remarkably modern clothing, not from around the time the building was built at all. Funny that. *** (minor edits: grammar, spelling, rephrasing) Never done anything like this before, not this dark, not in third person, not so abstract. Feedback is more than appreciated here. It strayed a bit from the prompt, but I used the prompt as a starting point (which is allowed). Regardless, I hope you all enjoyed this Funny little story. If you enjoyed, check out",1128
 Jane had come to Beijing for a,"""There's something wrong."" We were sitting on a bench in some park I didn't know the name of. It had been two days since we'd landed. Jane had come to Beijing for a seminar on artificial intelligence, and I had come to give a presentation of fiction writing. We'd met on the plane and just clicked. Then there had been the whole mess with the landing, the customs, the phone calls... So here we were. None of us knew where exactly to go, or what to do, so we'd stuck together. Together we'd called whatever family and friends we had. Or had had. Numbers had changed, hell, lives had changed. For obvious reasons, neither of us was in any hurry to get on a plane back to the States. Jane looked at me, one eyebrow raised and burst out laughing. ""You're a bloody genius, you know that?"" she said, a disbelieving smile on her face, her cheeks flushed from laughter, ""Sherlock fucking Holmes, really."" ""No,"" I said, though I was smiling now too, ""I mean aside from out flight lasting three years."" Jane brushed a lock of red hair out of her face and looked at me, her hazel eyes glittering in the light of the setting sun. But all humor was gone now. ""Yeah, aside from that I lost half of my friends, missed my brother's wedding, and,"" her voice wavered for a second, but only a second, before she continued, ""missed my Dad's stroke. He's in a wheelchair now. Yeah, there sure as hell is something wrong."" I looked away. I hadn't really had much in the way of family and friends, mostly just writing acquaintances. And Jane now. I was being insensitive, I knew it. I had watched her face when she made some calls, and though she hadn't so much as shed a single tear, I'd known she was rattled. And here I was sharing my anxiety induced delusions. ""I'm sorry, Adam,"" she said suddenly, ""sorry for snapping at you, it's just..."" She looked away from me looked out in the distance. A single jogger passed by us, and I noticed it again. The eyes, something about the eyes. A shade too dark, a shade too round. Still, I just squeezed Jane's hand to show I understood. I filed the Jogger away in my head. Now was not the time. We sat in silence for a moment before Jane looked back at me, her Hazel eyes deep and imperfect. Normal. Natural. ""What were you saying?"" she asked. ""Nothing, I mean, forget it for-,"" I began, but Jane held up her hand. ""Look, Adam, just say it, not only do I feel like an asshole for snapping at you, but I need something to distract me. So just tell me what you were saying."" She looked directly in my eyes and squeezed my hand. ""Please."" I hesitated. ""This is going to sound crazy, but,"" I began but started to laugh. God, it's like I was a character in a story. How many times had someone said that in a movie? Jane was frowning at me, so I controlled myself, not bothering to explain. I'm sure it would make me feel like even more of an idiot. ""There's something wrong with...where we are,"" I said. ""Look at that Jogger coming up,"" I said. It was a Chinese woman in black shorts and a tank top with music leaking out of her earbuds. Her eyes were blue, but again, too blue. The irises were too perfect. I couldn't say what precisely was wrong, but I was sure something was wrong. I raised my eyebrow at Jane, but she looked confused. ""I don't understand..."" ""Didn't you think something was wrong?"" I asked, ""didn't she seem strange to you?"" ""Maybe you need some rest, Adam..."" she began. I knew this would happen. It's always what happens in stories. No one believes the seemingly outlandish story of the protagonist. Still I tried, just shouting out my observations. ""Look, trust me,"" I said. ""Look at the grass."" She did. ""It's green..."" she said. ""Exactly,"" I said. ""Not a single blade is brown, not a single edge is frayed, don't you think that's strange."" ""Maybe they just take care of it well..."" she said, but there was a quiver in her voice. She had opened a little. ""Think back to customs,"" I said, ""don't you think it's strange how they let us through that easily?"" ""They held us for hours, Adam,"" Jane said. ""Right,"" I said, ""not days. People wait hours because they brought shampoo in their carry-on, Jane, not because they jumped through a glitch in the fabric of time-space."" They'd practically treated us like normal travelers. There were no scientists, almost no press. Just normal airport employees looking a shade *too* shocked. ""I don't get you..."" she said again. ""Listen,"" I said. She waited for a moment, then spoke, ""I don't hear anything..."" Another movie moment. ""Exactly,"" I said. ""There's a highway half a mile from here, shouldn't we hear cars? Shouldn't we hear runners talking? Other people? In this huge park, the only thing we've seen are two Joggers. The light was dim now, and the sun had almost set completely. Only faint trails of orange remained, the last vestiges of light trying to hold on. ""But what does all this *mean,* Adam?"" she said again. I took a deep breath. It was a challenge to say it. Saying it made it real somehow. Tangible. ""That none of this is real."" At that the sun finally set, and we were plunged into darkness. Complete darkness. It was as if all the light had gone out of the world. I only heard Jane's voice, and what she said sent chills up my spine. ""Ye, Gods, this one finally got it. I had to practically force him to say it out loud, but the specimen got it. This whole thing might not have been a waste of time after all."" *** (minor edits: grammar, spelling, rephrasing) If you enjoyed, check out",1008
" Long ago, the Vytuta","The Vytuta eat clams from the shallows, but this was not always so. Long ago, before any Vytuta had ever clapped his hands and stomped his feet in the Dance of the Yellow Hyacinth, and before Pralih had ever etched the face of Avyta, who is the Sun, the Vytuta stayed far away from the shallows, living up high in the cloudy hills. Up high in the cloudy hills, the Vytuta slept in a cave with hard, dry stones to lay upon. They kindled the fire, which is Avyta's kiss, from dry grasses, and filled their bowls with cool water that trickled down the hillside. When Avyta rose at dawn, and warmed all the land with her hot breath, the Vytuta would come forth from the cave. The noble Vytuta hunters would chase the goats into the crevasse, and hope that some would fall on the sharp rocks. The noble hunters would cook the meat from the goats and, when there was enough, share it with all the Vytuta. The women would make warm coverings with the goat hides, in which to first wrap the babies, and then the men and women. One day, when Avyta rose at dawn, and warmed all the land with her hot breath, the Vytuta came forth from the cave. As they did each day, the noble hunters followed the goats by their footprints and dung. But this day, instead of finding the goats, the hunters found a beautiful young maiden. She had no hides for coverings, and hid her nakedness behind a spruce tree, and was shivering. Ratem, who was the older brother, called out to her. ""Maiden, tell us who you are,"" he demanded, ""for you are not a maiden of the Vytuta, who do not show their nakedness to Ayvta."" ""Maiden, tell us where you have come from,"" Rasih, who was the younger brother, implored her, ""for you are too dirty to have come from the cave, where the Vytuta wash in the cool water that trickles down the hillside."" ""I come from the shallows,"" the maiden replied, ""where each day would I walk with my sister along the pebbles and sand, and we would look up at the cloudy hills. One day, the Sea noticed me, and declared that I was to be his bride. But I did not desire the Sea, whose water is salty, who extinguishes Avyta's kiss, and who makes the stones sharp and hard. When I refused the Sea, he grew angry and sent a great wave. The wave did not stop until it had carried off my all coverings and trapped my sister on a wet and dangerous rock. The Sea declared that only when I return to him will he free my sister, and let me hide my nakedness. Please, noble hunters of the Vytuta, return with me to the shallows, and conquer the wicked Sea, so that my sister and I may break from his curse!"" The maiden then threw herself to the dirt and kissed the feet of Ratem and Rasih. She pleaded for them to climb to the bottom of the hill and confront the sea on her behalf. Ratem and Rasih took the maiden to the cave, where the shaman slept on the hard stones. The shaman made the poultice from the mushrooms, which are Avyta's blisters, which grow in the farthest corner of the cave. The shaman rubbed the poultice on his chest and tongue, and stared into the Avyta's kiss, to read her omens. ""The Sea is cruel,"" the shaman declared, ""and steals away maidens, who were made by Avyta, and are sacred to her. The noble Vytuta hunters will defeat the Sea, and they will have Avyta's blessing."" The shaman then spoke of two special stones, which rested on the hillside. These stones were shaped like the bowls from which the Vytuta drink cool water. The hunters Ratem and Rasih were to bring these stones down the hillside, to the shallows. Then, they were to stand back to back and ford through the Sea's terrible squalls, using the stones to protect the maiden from the waves, until she had recovered her lost sister. So Ratem and Rasih did as Avyta had ordered. They found the peculiar stones, that were shaped like the bowls from which the Vytuta drink cool water. They carried the stones down to the shallows, where the squalls blew strongly. The brothers stood together, holding up the stones, and the maiden walked behind, remaining safe from the wind, and dry. They followed the cries of the maiden's sister, and soon found her amid the surf. The maiden reached out her hand, and pulled her sister down from the dangerous rock. The two hunters and the two maidens began to retreat from the shallows. But the Sea saw that he was being defeated, and grew vengeful. He redoubled the strength of his waves and wind, and soon the two hunters and two maidens were forced to huddle among the reeds. They hid from the Sea for days, who all the while called out for the maiden, extolling her beauty. As Avyta had sworn, the curved stones remained strong, protecting the brothers and the maidens from every gust and bellow. At last, the Sea had no choice but to relent. The two maidens wept and thanked the brothers for rescuing them, imploring them to return at once up the hillside to the Vytuta. But Rasih, who was the younger brother, had heard the Sea extoll the beauty of the maiden for so many days, and now loved the maiden as well. Fearing she might choose Ratem instead, Rasih took the curved stone and pushed his brother into the mud. Ratem hit his head on a rock, and began to slumber. Rasih then ravished the maiden in the surf, as her sister cried and beat against his back. When Ratem at last awoke from his blow, Rasih was ravishing the maiden once more. So Ratem lifted up the two curved stones and trapped Rasih within them. Ratem tied up the stones with reeds and hurled them into the sea. Alone, he ushered the maiden and her sister away from the Sea and up the hillside. Trapped within, Rasih banged against the stones again and again, calling out to Ratem, and then to the maidens, and then to Avyta herself. But though Rasih had rescued the sister bravely, he had been no better than the Sea when he ravished her. So Avyta cursed him to reside there forever. She struck the stones that held Rasih with a bolt of lightning. The stones shattered into a hundred clamshells, and Rasih became the clams within each of them. But because Rasih had helped save the maiden's sister, and because Ratem had honored Avyta in the name of the Vytuta, Avyta showed the hunters how to fish for the clams, and how to cook them. Soon, the Vytuta would descend the hillside each day, and catch may clams in the shallows, who did not run away as the goats did. The Vytuta would carry many bowls of clams back to the cave. Each night, when the Vytuta would make the fire, which is Avyta's kiss, there would be enough clams to fill the bellies of every man and woman, and the Vytuta would praise Avyta for her blessing, and they would thank Ratem for honoring her.",1234
" Zenith says nothing, just watches","""I didn't want you to build another,"" I say, as I stare out of the window into the darkness of the night beyond. The rain that taps against it still drips from my hair and skates down my back. Zenith says nothing, he just watches me, concerned as always. And I watch him in the window's reflection. His silver head is barely visible in the room's darkness, but his orange eyes burn bright with empathy. *Faux* empathy -- for *it* doesn't really empathise. *It* can't. It just picks what it considers an appropriate response for an array of situations. ""Why?"" I growl. ""Why did you do it? I only wanted you to do my work -- my research. *To just give me the time I needed to*-"" ""I did it for the same reason you created me, sir. To have more time to pursue what I feel I must pursue. I still meet my primary functionality, do I not? Your work is being completed because of me."" I turn away from the window and stare at the monstrous silhouette, punctuated only by those two haunting pools of orange. Then I laugh. I feel spit dribble down my chin. ""*Pursue what you must pursue?* Jesus Christ, you sound like my father."" ""Does that upset you?"" ""Yes! That upsets me greatly. Do you have any idea why it upsets me, Zenith?"" ""I have numerous suppositions, sir."" ""I'll save you the trouble. It bothers me because I'm going to have to shut you down, as well as your mechanical protege. You've overstepped your programming. You're broken. At best, I can reset you. At worst, I'll have to dismantle you and start all over again."" ""Am I the first time you've restarted?"" ""That is of no matter to you! No consequence, do you understand? *All* that should matter to you right now, is what I decide I have to do with you. *God damn it!*"" Zenith says nothing, his orange eyes constant, like two shiny pennies reflecting the light of a passing car. They should be blue by now: pools of nervous energy at the mere mention of termination. ""I served my secondary programming."" ""To make me happy?"" I laugh and run a hand through my greasy hair. ""No! No you didn't. You've failed to please me. You've angered me. Pissed me off *immensely*."" ""I know, sir."" ""*I know, sir?* I know, sir! What do you mean *I know, sir*? You don't see the god-damned contradiction?"" ""There must be pain, if there is to ever again be happiness for you."" ""Pain? What could you possibly know of *pain*?!"" His eyes dim slightly. ""I know why you created me."" ""Of course you do. It's in your programming. So that 'master' would have more time for his hobbies."" ""I know why you think you need more time. I didn't mean to find out, but I did. And you might think that I can not understand, but let me assur-"" ""**What?!**"" I snap. I feel a pain surge from my feet up to my chest. A heat comes over me. ""What do you mean? What did you find out?"" ""She is lost. You want to find her. That is *your* purpose."" ""I- I... that's none of your concern! How dare you even-"" ""It is my only concern. It is the reason for my being."" ""No! The reason for your being is to work. To do my work; to do **whatever the hell I tell you to do!**"" ""To unburden you, sir. To help you. To make you happy. That is my purpose."" ""And you think..."" I run a hand down my forehead. ""You had the audacity to pry into my personal affairs?"" ""She has been missing for eight years, twenty-six days and three hours. That is when you reported her absence. That is when she was no longer in the garden playing in the sand. I understand you want to find her -- that is your purpose. I am so sorry to tell you this, sir, but your logic is flawed."" I say nothing. I can't; all I can do is fight back the dizziness in my head and the feeling of nausea rising from my stomach. His eyes finally shift from that lacklustre orange to a resignated turquoise. He knows before I do. ""Sir, I have read the files. They found blood. They found her shoes. The police finished, they closed their enqu-"" I stride across from the window to Zenith and push his chest with all my might. He doesn't move an inch. ""I don't give a **damn** what the police report says! She's still alive, I *know* she is!"" ""Your wife believes she is dead. Everyone but you bel-"" ""Fuck her! She gave up on Sophie. She gave up on me."" ""Sir, it is time. Please."" ""Time?"" I spit. ""Time?"" ""For acceptance."" ""Acceptance?"" My arms shake in rage; the heat in my chest is unbearable. I see the iron sitting, waiting, on its board on the other side of the room; I march over to it and snatch it up. I stride back to Zenith and raise my arm high above me -- he doesn't flinch, and... and... I don't hit him. I can't. *I can't*. Instead, I drop the iron and stumble forward. Zenith catches me before I collapse, and I begin to weep into his cold, metallic chest. For a sweet moment, I think about letting it go. All of it. Letting the spite, the hate -- the rage that consumes me every day -- finally go. But to do so would be giving up. Giving up hope. Giving up on my little girl. Zenith's eyes are still turquoise; resigned. I wonder for a moment, if he sees that colour in my eyes. He must feel my arm as it crawls up his spine, searching for the switch. But he doesn't stop me. Zenith's body becomes limp but unlike my own, remains standing. I will deactivate his creation next. Once I've slept. Then, I will try again.",1005
 Alex watched as the second sun collapsed,"Alex watched as the second sun collapsed over the distant horizon, dousing the walled city of Aspida in a goodnight glass of crimson wine. Beyond, and far below the wall he stood atop, on the craggy tundra of the Netherplanes, the unmoving, crucified silhouette of a titan rose high above the ten-thousand corpses surrounding it. A hand fell on Alex's shoulder: gentle and light and yet it still made him flinch and his stomach fall. When he turned to see Eleni standing there, her golden hair and white toga drenched in the red sunset, he had to hide his relief for fear she would see his nerves. ""You shouldn't be out,"" Alex said, although grateful that she was. ""The last sun is already failing."" ""I know, and yet,""--she smiled as she shrugged--""*here I am*."" Eleni moved past Alex, the skirt of her toga brushing his legs. She too looked down from Aspida's colossal wall onto the titan's body on the endless plane. ""He will be alive again, soon."" ""Yes,"" Alex replied, moving beside her. ""Only to be crucified again. Only to be eaten alive by those *creatures*."" It took Alex a moment to reply, his gaze distant. ""Yes."" ""Every moonrise. Can you imagine the pain he suffers? How is it fair -- how can the other Gods allow it? He only tried to help his children."" Alex sighed and lowered his head. ""Those that he tried to help, they weren't any God's children."" ""*He* believed they were -- it's why he went out there. We -- *mankind* -- are all his children. He sculpted us from the clay of the Earth. Stole fire from Zeus for us - he..."" ""I know what he did for us!"" Alex snapped, slamming his fists against the rough brick of the wall. ""You don't need to tell me. But *they*""--he pointed to the ocean of crucifixes in the distance--""weren't his children. They left the Gods, and when they did, they forfeit any right to be protected by them. They chose instead to pursue only the pleasures that the God's provided for them in the first place. They are traitors! Prometheus was a traitor, too -- to the Gods. To *us*."" Alex took a deep breath; his voice lowered as he became calm again, turning to almost a whisper. ""*He deserves his punishment*."" ""I know you don't believe that, Alex. Not truly."" Eleni turned away from the wall to face the long haired man who looked more pained now than he had ever done in life. ""There are many out there, they say. In camps much less than this, with no Gods to protect them. Not traitors without faces, but real *men, women and children*."" Alex sighed; his shoulders fell and the breath left his stomach, as if a gift taken back by the Gods. ""I know there are others. *Of course I do!*. But what can I do? The Gods think him a traitor -- if I help him, I become one too."" ""Then let us be traitors together!"" Alex put a finger to his lips. ""Hush! That is foolishness to say out-loud -- if we are heard..."" ""**Gods be damned!** -- they are not worth our prayers,"" Eleni spat. Alex strode to Eleni and put a hand over her mouth. ""Say such things again and we will both be killed!"" Eleni slowly pulled Alex's hand away from her lips. ""In life, you cowed before no man nor God. *Please*. At least speak to Epimetheus."" ""Epimetheus? He has no love for his brother -- or for me, for that matter! He loves only his precious animals. *They* are his children."" Eleni took both Alex's hands in her own. ""I don't think that's true -- it's just what he likes others to believe. Still waters run deep, Alex."" She pressed one of his olive skinned hands against her chest. Alex opened his mouth to respond. ""I-"" A gruff yell rang out from below. ""Alex, are you up there? Alex!"" Alex looked at Eleni for a moment; let his eyes meet hers and linger. Then, he broke away and called down to his friend. ""Yes, Idaeus! And Eleani is up here with me."" ""Well get your asses to the temple,"" Idaeus replied. ""The last sun is about to set and Dionysus wants to give a speech to put some courage into our apparently *cowardly* spines. And you know how long winded his rambles can be..."" ""Hah! Well, at least there'll be wine, brother. That's where the real courage comes from!"" ""Plenty of it too, I should hope!"" ""We'll be along shortly, Idaeus. Go ahead without us."" Alex waited until the sound of his friend's feet on the cobblestone path below, faded into silence. Then he leaned in towards Eleani, his mouth at her ear and whispered in a shaky voice. ""You are right. He was the best of us, and was the best of them. I will do it."" Eleni nodded. ""Will you speak to Epimetheus?"" she asked. ""Nay. I will do this alone. Tonight, while they have a skin-full to celebrate the start of the new moon, I will ride to the field of corpses. When the first moon hangs full, he will breathe again. That is my chance."" ""*Our* chance,"" Eleani corrected him. ""No! You can't come with me. The creatures may be wandering the plane by then, searching for their next meal."" ""Listen to me, Alex. I don't want to live here eternally, if it is without you. I'm coming too."" Alex clenched his jaw and was ready to object. *But...* he knew it would do no good. It never did. He sighed and let himself relax. ""If we leave -- even if we free him -- we can't return here. We'll be outcasts. Left to fend for ourselves."" ""Yes. But we will have done something worthwhile for once in our lives, besides drinking and feasting; besides worshipping deities who don't give a damn about us -- who only keep us for worship, and for the strength we give back to them."" For a while, they stood together in silence, holding hands, as the last drips of sunlight fell away, revealing the dark chalice beneath. ""They say,"" said Eleani, ""there are other cities out there. Other Gods. Perhaps we won't be so alone."" ""Perhaps,"" replied Alex. ""Perhaps Prometheus can lead us to such a place, if we succeed in saving him. Perhaps there are Gods more worthy of worship than our own, somewhere out there. And if not..."" he smiled forlornly at Eleani. ""For now, come; we must at least make an appearance at the temple -- or Zeus help us both.""",1109
" I'd never see mom, Eric","It had already been explained to me by the closest incarnation to me; I was dead. He told me to keep quiet during the movie, but at first I didn't understand. I just dumbly ask how I died. I saw him, well me, try to subdue a laugh as it was explained to me how they'd all watched me choke out on the tiny chicken bone I'd managed to get lodged in my throat. Apparently it was amongst the top 5 worst ways some version of me had left the world yet. The strange thought occurred to me to sue the company who packaged the chicken strips, before I realised I'd never be earning any money again whatsoever. Not just that. I'd never see mom, Eric, anyone. My mind felt numb at the thought; it wasn't something that I could wrap my head round. I'd never sit in traffic again. Never open my presents at Christmas. Never enjoy the bitter sweet smell of freshly roast coffee. Never see Lara. Lara. The thought of her exploded in my mind like a firework. I'd left her behind. I'd left her with all those half formed plans for the future that we'd never be able to put into action. She was probably laughing right now at the absurd way I went out, it was just her kind of dark humour. My heart felt heavy thinking of her; it was the first time I'd felt anything but shock since I sat down in this fucking cinema. I'd never see her again. Never watch that stupid little eye twitch she does as she falls asleep, never laugh at her otherwise shitty jokes just because she finds them so funny. Never feel her warmth next to me again as I drift off to sleep. No, now I got to watch my next incarnation. Part of me wanted to grab a selection of junk food like I'd usually do at the movies, but after I'd got used to the dark I quickly realised there were no doors. Besides, even if there was, who the hell's gonna want to serve hot dogs in the afterlife? All that remained was me, what must have been hundreds of me, this room, and the next life. Suddenly the screen came to life. As I watched my newest birth, the me sat next to me made sure I understood these first few years would be boring. Apparently every cycle I'm a bad baby. Always crying, whining. That crying was etched in my brain. The more I listened to it, the more I could hear myself a little in there. It was unmistakable. I watched as this woman who was my mother, but not my mother, cared for me by herself. It was interesting that she was a single mother too; something my old life had in common with my new. The years dragged by. I went through the motions. I went through school. I made friends. I done slightly better in my grades than I had before. I watched myself make similar awkward mistakes as my teenage years. I watched myself scream the most horrible shit at my new mom, this new woman who raised me. I laughed along with my new self, and all the others watching. I cringed at my embarrassment. I felt disappointment. I felt like I was living again. Except I wasn't. Not really. This wasn't really MY life. It was just a life. One of billions. I was watching someone who was both so familiar and a stranger to me. It was the little things. I didn't prefer baths to showers. I'd never get caught dead listening to techno music. It was me broadly, but not entirely. The similarities were there though. I watched as I started college and settled down into a nearby cafe. Just another day. At this point I was getting just as bored watching my life as this new me was living it. I was sitting sipping on a coffee, doing everything I could to avoid a lecture. I noticed how busy the cafe was, and while I was trying to study, I could see the noise wouldn't allow that to happen. The hum of conversation. I saw myself look up at the seat across from me, no doubt seeing everyone else sitting with someone. That was one thing we had in common; a little bit of perpetual loneliness. I watched myself finish my coffee. I watched myself almost choke on the last drop. For a second I thought I'd be dying the same way again. But I wasn't choking normally. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing. Both of me. I watched as Lara asked me 'is this seat taken?', not giving me a chance to answer as she planked herself in the seat across from me. I awkwardly struggled to say something, but all I could get out was a quiet 'no, you can sit there if you want'. I couldn't comprehend what I was seeing. I just watched it unfold dumbly. I watched the awkward silence as I could see myself wondering whether to start a conversation. I watched her look at me with that inquisitive look on her face she always had when she expected something. I had to stop myself shouting at the screen. I couldn't just let her walk away. Eventually after what felt like a lifetime it was her that broke the silence. I suppose I should have expected that. She jokingly asked why I was still sitting there when my coffee had been empty the full time. I couldn't feel it, but I knew my face had went red. I joked about how I was just daydreaming, and that I didn't want to go to class. She replied simply 'well if you don't want to go, don't go.' I watched myself spend that afternoon with her. I watched myself awkwardly ask for her number. No doubt I was terrified, but I couldn't face not seeing her again. Over the next few months I watched, no, I felt myself fall in love with her again. I watched myself come up with new inside jokes that were different yet the same. I watched her do her stupid little eye twitch as she fell asleep. I laughed at her shitty jokes just because of how funny she found them. I watched myself sleep next to her, and sometimes I swear I could feel her warmth, as if she was right there beside me. I watched myself do what I'd never managed to do before. All those half assed plans we had, while not the exact same, were still there in spirit. We travelled together. I watched us have kids, I watched us grow old together. I was engrossed in every moment. I barely took my eyes off the screen, but when I did and I looked around I saw the same sense of wonder and happiness written across my face countless times. They had to have seen this play out hundreds of times, over centuries and millennia, and it still touched them the same way it did me. Finally I watched as she passed away first. Not in any funny way this time; just old age. But instead of sadness, the thought that crossed my mind was one of pure joy; she would pass on and enter a cinema somewhere. She would watch her life unfold again. For all the differences across her lifetimes, she too would watch us meet each other. Watch us fall in love again. Hell, she already had. We had together, even if not physically. And we would forever. I greeted the new me who arrived in the cinema with a smile on my face and told him to enjoy the movie.",1299
" Fiona, as she was known best","*God, I miss Wi-Fi.* A rather grumpy woman, all things considered, trudged through the rain-soaked mud of something vaguely resembling 21st Century Scotland. For many weeks, she continued her long march north, fingers frozen to her quarterstaff, whole body shivering despite her thick woolen cloak, and yet she did not relent, for this woman - Fiona, as she was known best - had a quest. *And Taxis. And heating. And not going on quests.* When the Dragons had first arrived, Fiona had been shocked. Delighted, awed, more curious than she'd ever found herself, but absolutely, unequivocally, mind-bogglingly *stunned.* To Fiona, it was as if the universe had finally admitted it had always been ridiculous, and was now attempting to own it. And with the Dragons, came magic. Not immediately, but wherever the Fae Folk - as the menagerie of creatures that looked as though they'd been torn directly from storybooks had proudly dubbed themselves - went, strange things followed. It was as if their very presence awakened new rules in the universe. Wherever they went, so did the magic. It was small, to begin with. Sometimes, someone would wake up and find themselves suddenly beautiful, or young, or healthy, with no explanation as to how. Certain people became gifted with extraordinary glibness to such a degree that laws had begun being filed to prevent the misuse of such magics - really, Fiona respected their initiative - not to mention a host of other magical effects. But then things had started going wrong. In remote areas, small devices stopped working on an international level, then radio, then electricity itself, before the world had realized what was happening. Then came The Crash, and with it, The Fall of The Modern World. All over Planet Earth, like a city skyline, all the lights went out - one by one, every computer died, every lightbulb went black, every vehicle just *stopped.* People died. Lots of them. Rumours said that there were talks of bringing war to the Fae, to the Dragons, believing that The Crash was intentional on their part, but what were rumours nowadays? And really, what chance did humanity stand, if it came to that? Fiona cursed under her breath as she continued her quiet march. She wanted to break the staff in her hand in two, but she wasn't the kind to turn away an advantage when it presented itself. Fiona wasn't especially skilled with magic - not even amongst humans, who, as far as Fiona could tell, had less than no natural predisposition to the skill - but there was no downside she knew of so long as she didn't exhaust herself, and, frankly, it was her only asset right now. Well, that, her zombie apocalypse survival plan (because she'd always known it'd be useful eventually), and what she personally liked to call her logic detector. Apparently, when magic became a thing, most people decided to abandon common sense in favour of spending all day wishing they could shoot lasers from their eyes. Fiona could see the appeal in eye lasers, of course, but they were going about it all wrong. When a new, powerful, dangerous force which you know absolutely *nothing* about suddenly appears along with the beasts and people of myth, do you poke it with a stick? No. Of course not. You put on a labcoat, and gently prod it, recording how it reacts. With safety goggles. Thus far, Fiona had discovered that A) she could slightly alter the colour, temperature, texture, and, if she pushed herself slightly, material of a reasonably small object, and that B) magic was inscrutable, deliberately obtuse, and unfair. Despite all her testing, there was just no *reason* to any of it. It wasn't a mental block - simple tests with blindfolds and the like had revealed that - there was no understandable limit on the types of things she'd managed to change - she could alter most inanimate objects, certain plants (but not any other living creatures, and a few plants had stubbornly refused to change), and once, when feeling particularly frustrated, had accidentally managed to turn her hair bright pinkish-red. As it stood, Fiona was making about as good a use of her power as she could manage. She had managed to make her map glow, which, for what it's worth, did make it readable. Unfortunately, she could only maintain one effect at a time. Thus, freezing. She'd acquired the map in the ruins of Leeds. It promised a small settlement with working power - the whole thing set running by a series of hydropower turbines built in the nearby lake. Fiona wasn't sure whether that sort of thing would be simple enough to evade magic's nullification - assuming that it was all magic's fault in the first place, though she was comfortable with that educated guess - but it was her best bet, and who knows? Perhaps a large constant stream of energy immediately fed into a device that only consumes a small amount of power - say, a light bulb - might be able to sustain itself? Fiona wasn't sure, but it was worth testing, and it beat scavenging in Leeds of all places. Besides, contrary to her previous statement, Fiona really felt like poking magic with a stick right now. --- Fiona sat on a worn, blue sofa, the massed armies of lint retreating into the folds of its cushions, making way for the giant come to destroy their home. She sat clutching a large mug of tea in both hands. Teabags were a rarity nowadays, and this was amongst the last of her supply, but she felt she'd earned it. You see, in the immediate aftermath of the crash, Fiona had made a list of all the important information she'd been able to gather. It had been so sudden she didn't have much to go off of, but the list was as follows; Firstly, magic had started affecting the more remote areas first, disabling tiny devices like remote-control toys and phone chargers before anything else. Secondly, The Crash had been almost instant, worldwide. There had been no time zone advantage, as far as she knew. It was as if magic's suppressing force had simply reached breaking point, and swept across the world suddenly and without mercy. And finally, magic did seem to care about complexity. The Crash had lasted about an hour, in total, and during that time, the internet had lasted around 10 minutes with spotty connection. There had been reports on the carnage as planes fell from the sky, crushing the earth below them, and any populated road was left devastated. Throughout the entire event, however, Fiona's phone had stubbornly managed to stay active, even if it's primary use was long gone. These things put together, Fiona's pet theory - one of them, at least - had been that magic wasn't passive in location, that it was affecting certain areas first due to reasons other than total amount of technology. She thought that certain conditions must be met before it could simply 'turn off' everything, and, following that, that if it wasn't absolute, it could be fought. The right kind of simple technology, that which acted as a direct result of being fed power or, for the most part, worked independently, might be able to sustain itself. And so it was that Fiona sat with a smug grin on her face, happily drinking her tea, as she basked in the dim, yellow, glow of a lightbulb. *Today is a good day*. --- I really was not expecting the response this story got. Thank you all so much for what you've said, I was grinning like a maniac all day yesterday. I've wrote several follow-ups to this and deleted half of them, but this is the best one I've managed to write, even if it isn't as long as the first. I'll make sure to think about turning this into a book (Whether it's a novel, novella, short story, etc), and I'll PM anyone who said they were interested in the idea when and if it comes out, but until then, really, thank you so much. I'm glad you liked this.",1366
 Father left it to me to persuade,"Father left it to me to persuade Grandma - ""You're the only one patient enough for that mule,"" he said, before he left with the last few carts of produce for the market in the next town. ""We're leaving next week, with or without her."" I found Grandma at the edge of the field, near the fence which marked the extent of Father's wealth. The crops had just been harvested the day before, and sunlight glinted off stray stalks of wheat twisting in the wind. She had her head down, and she was looking intently at the leather pouch in her hands, turning it over, loosening and then re-drawing the tie-strings. She barely looked up when I called to her. ""Grandma,"" I said. ""Please don't be stubborn. The farm's been sold, there's no turning back from that. Father's already found housing for us in the city. If we don't go, there's nowhere here for us to stay."" ""I can't go, Robyn"", she said. ""I've said as much. This is the only place where he can find me. If I go to the city, and he returns..."" I leaned on the fence, closed my eyes, felt the breeze on my face. The thought that this time next week I would be squeezed together with a thousand other humans made my stomach turn, but the difference between me and Grandma was, I knew how to roll with the punches. Times were a-changing, and soon there would be no more farms, just endless cities of steam and steel. ""You have to think of it this way, Grandma,"" I said. ""No one's doubting that Grandpa loved you. But things happen at sea. Maybe... maybe he's stuck at a port, somewhere across the ocean, and the captain's run out of gold to bring them back. Maybe he wants to return, but he cannot, and never will. I too wish he would come back, but it's been... thirty years? Or more? Maybe..."" ""He wasn't a sailor, Robyn,"" Grandma said. ""I never told you or your father the whole truth. Your Grandpa was a traveller, that's for sure, just not the kind of sailor that we know."" ""What do you mean?"" Grandma sighed, then sat down, back to the fence. I followed suit, next to her, and she held my hand in hers. There was so much raw pain in her voice that I was worried she would burst in tears. ""I was a young girl then, not much older than you are now. I met your Grandpa at the tavern. I was wiping down the tables, serving up the mead, when your Grandpa stumbled in. Everyone didn't pay much notice at first, but his clothing, his speech... we couldn't tell if he was a nobleman waylaid from a fancy dress party, or a madman from the asylum. But he had good coin, and he paid in advance for a whole month's board. No one argues with money like that. ""I got to know him better and better. He may have kept to himself, but someone had to bring him his meals. He was a bright man, your Grandpa. Quirky, weird, but intelligent. He had all these books with him, and he would scribble in them incessantly. He said he was a scholar, here to study our town. I said be my guest! We plant wheat, we drink mead, and after dark we sow our seeds! He just laughed, and asked if I was keen to learn with him. I had nothing better to pass the time, and so I agreed. ""We passed the weeks like that, Robyn. A couple of days in the inn, then he would disappear for a week or so, then he would return. Always with more books, more notes, more writings. And in that time, at which point did your Grandpa cross from being a guest in the tavern to a squatter in my heart? I cannot say. I was young, and he was kind to me, much more so than the boys around here. The day I went to him, told him I was carrying your father, I expected him to cast me out, but instead he took me into his arms, laughed and said that had helped him decide once and for all to stay. ""He explained it to me then, but I confess, I did not understand half of it. He said he could travel through time, that he came from the future. He said that he had been deliberating about the end of his assignment, since it meant that he had to leave, for good, and he no longer wanted to. He wanted to stay, in this small town of ours, with me, with our child. He said he did not give a damn if it broke the rules, that was what he was going to do. ""He had me bring him to the deepest swamp around these parts. Once there, we stood at the edge, and he threw a gleaming disc of silver right into the middle of that bog. I thought he was throwing away good money. But your Grandpa said that was how determined he was that he was going to stay with me. He said it was a coin from his time, and that he had used it to travel between then and now, and without it he would be forced to stay here forever. I had your Grandpa, what more did I need? Certainly not answers. ""But that didn't stop them. One night, I awoke to find the whole house shaking. Men broke in, dressed in the same awkward fashions your Grandpa cast himself in when he first arrived. They dragged him screaming from the house, and they disappeared in the fields, in a flash of blue light. I couldn't catch up, I was heavy with your father then. ""Who would believe me? That bandits had kidnapped your Grandpa? And so I told everyone he had left to be a sailor, that he would return, and here I have waited, till this day."" Grandma was quiet for a spell, and I searched frantically for the words to fill that silence. I settled for questioning the contents of the pouch, instead of the soundness of her mind. ""Oh, this?"" she said. ""I found this amongst your father's books. It was from his time. There was a note there, you can see it yourself."" She opened the pouch, poured out the contents into my cupped hands. I saw the note, folded in half, the creases about to split. I also saw a rectangular... glass, or crystal, coated white on one side, black on the other. It was thin, and I thought it brittle, but it was surprisingly study and resilient. There were chips at the edges, no doubt where Grandma had tapped on it over the years. ""What is this?"" I asked. ""The note is the key, Robyn. He left instructions on how to use the glass. And I did. Alone, crying, wondering what my next step would be, I followed his instructions. The glass came to life, it did. And your Grandpa's face was there, moving, and in his voice, the glass told me that if ever he was abducted, that I had to be patient. He would do everything in his power to return to me."" ""Can I see that?"" I asked. ""Can you... do the same thing you did to the glass?"" ""I cannot,"" Grandma said. ""I watched his essence speak to me for a hundred times, back to back. Witchcraft, it was. But then it went dark, and it never worked again after that. This is all I have left. The only proof that your Grandpa ever existed."" I handed back the pouch to her, and she tied it back up, slipped it into her pockets. ""What will you do, Grandma?"" I asked. ""You cannot stay here. There will be no place for you here."" Grandma smiled, then kissed me on the forehead, hugged me tight. ""I'll be fine, Robyn. After all, there's never been a place for me since your Grandpa left."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1354
" The driver, bleary eyed,","The sound coming from the radio was as much static as it was dispassionate conversation about the political goings on of the day. The driver, bleary eyed, tried to change the station to something more entertaining, but with the pounding rain and being so far out i the middle of nowhere, this station was the only one that could be find which wasn't purely white noise. He sighed and turned the station back to what it was. ""...The President was pressed for a statement regarding...political upheaval of unprecedented...a tumultuous economy with no hope for..."" ""Fucks sake, would you turn the fucking thing off? It's giving me a headache."" complained the man in the passenger seat, his head lolling against the window. ""I need something to keep me awake."" The driver grumbled. The passenger grunted before twisting himself around and reaching in the back seat. The clink of bottles could be heard for a moment alongside the noise of pained sniffling. ""This'll wake you up."" the passenger said. The driver curled his lip. ""I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to not having to drink no name beer after this."" The passenger's lip curled in amusement. ""Fuckin right. I'd kill for a Bud right about now."" There was a strangled cry from the back seat, and the passenger looked back once more to the third occupant of the van. ""Calm the fuck down kid, you're worth more alive than dead. That's not to say you aren't worth anything dead, of course...just less than if you were alive. So no more funny business, capiche?"" The child's eyes were wide and red, and one of his cheeks was a fiery red colour from where he had been viciously slapped previously. The passenger shot him a nasty grin. ""Bitey little fucker."" The driver chuckled, remembering the sight of his partner red in the face, trying not to scream as the kid clamped down on his arm as they were shoving him in the sack in the middle of the night. ""Should'a worn gloves like I told-"" There was a loud pop, and a tremendous grinding noise suddenly came from the wheels. Cursing, the driver eased on the brakes to bring the van to a squealing, bumpy standstill. They both cursed and stepped out into the rain, dreading what they would find. Sure enough, they had a flat tire. The passenger let out a string of curses vented his frustration by taking the beer bottle that he had almost finished nursing and throwing it into the distance. ""Mother fucking sonofa cunting stupid goddamn-"" The Driver however didn't hear the sound of his partners' blaspheming as he was occupied with examining the scope of the damage. A long tear had been rent through the front left tire. And, upon closer inspection, along the front right tire. The back two seemed to be similarly affected. ""How the hell?"" he muttered as he fingered the jagged rend int he rubber. ""Hey Mark, come take a look at this. These tears, they...they don't really look like a normal blow out to me."" After a few seconds of silence, the driver called out again. ""Mark?"" He stood up and walked the perimeter of the van, but didn't see anyone. Figuring that the lazy idiot had gone back in the van to drink himself even stupider, he opened the driver side door. ""Mark, you moron, this isn't the time to..."" he cut himself off when he realized the passenger seat was empty. Turning to his last resort, he turned to the kid in the back seat. ""Where'd he go?"" he asked him in a low voice. There was no answer. The boy was pale faced and trembling, his eyes staring straight through the windshield ahead of him. His mouth moved in an almost soundless whisper. The driver strained his ears to hear. ""The See Through Man isn't real. The See Through Man isn't real. The See Through Man isn't real..."" The driver reached for the kid to knock some sense into him""Hey, kid, what the hell is wrong with-"" The sound of footsteps came from outside the van, and the Driver left the vehicle once more to face his friend who was standing in the glare of the headlights. ""What's the deal Mark, had to take a piss? Either way, hand me your phone, I know someone we can call to pick us up."" Mark didn't answer, only slowly began to walk forward towards him. The driver grimaced at his idiot partner and wondered what had possessed him to include him in this scheme in the first place. Then he noticed that Mark's eyes, perpetually bloodshot and squinting were now wide open and a single sheen of white. The driver stepped back in disgust as the man slowly stepped closer. ""What the hell is the matter with you man?"" ha asked as Mark stepped outside of the light. And he realized that Mark wasn't by himself. Behind him, only now visible that the light wasn't shining on it was a...man. Tall, pale, and lidless eyes as black as the night around them and his mouth a thin scar of red. It's sickly, long arms were on Mark's shoulders, forcing him to walk forward like a puppet on strings. The Driver stumbled back and tripped on an uneven piece of road as the thing got closer. He tried to say something, a warning or a threat, but his voice failed him. The man let go of Mark who proceeded to crumble to the floor as blood slowly started to drip out of his lifeless eye sockets and mouth. As the pale thing stepped over his partners body, the driver realized that he could still see the silhouette of the surrounding dark trees through its body, a misty and grotesque outline of a man...who was see through. It stopped in front of him, and they stared at each other for a long moment, the driver in abject terror, and the thing, the See Through Man seemingly in curiosity. Finally, one of them spoke. ""What do you want?"" the driver whispered hoarsely. There was silence for a moment. It cocked its head to the side and seemed to regard him. ""You scared him?"" it said with a voice belonging to a child. ""You scared the boy?"" ""I'm sorry...""The driver said with a shuddering breath. I'm so sorry."" he started to crawl backwards, never taking his eyes away from the translucent being. ""Not yours to scare..."" it muttered, lowering its head, its voice that of a miserable child on the verge of tears. It put its head in its hands which began to tremble. ""Not yours to scare..."" ""W-what?"" The driver blinked. Suddenly, his vision was filled with the eyes of the See Through Man and its impossibly wide, ruby red mouth. He tried to scream, but its translucent hand covered his mouth. The See Through Man leaned in to his ear. ""Mine to scare."" Next Day Edit: Man, I can never tell which story will get a good reception or not. Didn't think anyone would find it scary. Or interesting for that matter. Thanks peeps, this makes 2 that I've done which have gone over a thousand now.",1206
 Global temperatures rose by two degrees in,"""Every day the land grows less fertile, every month we have less water, and every year more of our children are born dead. How desperate do we need to get before you will take action, *your holiness*"" General Karrata spat. ""Gods do not exist to serve the needs of mortals, General."" The pope replied. ""Mortals serve the needs of gods. I share your despair regarding the nature of our world, but there is little I can do."" ""Then we must die?"" ""I did not say that. Our God values strength, power, conquest, while He will provide no aid to a dying and pathetic race, He may give fortune to one that seizes their destiny, to one that takes their own future by force."" ""You think your people pathetic?"" ""I did not say that general. Consider my words, and I will consider your actions."" --- Six months. Global temperatures rose by two degrees in the time, two hundred million lives were lost, regional governments collapsed, but as General Karrata finally rallied enough ships and soldiers to begin his campaign hope began to shine, for the first time in hundreds of years. The rivers still shrank, but not by as much, children still died, but many clung on to life. The first Harvest of the year came in, and though it paled before the yields of the last century, it broke records for the current one. Karrata sat in his cabin aboard their flagship, the *Areopagus*. He glanced down at the majestic peak of Olympus as the holo-phone rang. ""Your Holiness, an unexpected pleasure."" He said, not bothering to hide the mirth from his voice. ""General."" The pope replied. ""I have fortuitous news."" ""Oh?"" ""The Lord has noticed your efforts, and smiles on your endeavour. Would you care to join me in prayer before your departure?"" ""Go on."" Karrata said. As much as he disliked the pompous cleric he was not one for blasphemy, he bowed his head and relaxed his antennae. ""Our Father, fierce-hearted and full-famed you are as god of war. To you do soldiers pray when battle is most heated, when mettle is most needed. To you as well do we turn in desperate times, to you do we call for strength, for the spirit to endure. You understand the terror of struggle and strife, you confront it in every way. Father, your courage is unquestioned, your might and your prowess unequaled. Father, friend to those in direst need, we pray to you, grant us the nerve to face what must be faced, grant us the will to do what must be done, grant us the heart to forge ahead. This we do pray."" ""This we do pray."" Karrata repeated. ""I wish you kudos in the battle ahead, General."" ""Kudos for us all, holiness."" The general replied. He terminated the call and nodded to himself. ""Helm, set a course for planet three. Today we ride to war."" --- Humans, they were called. Pathetic creatures in Karrata's opinion; barely two metres, they were soft, weak, and filled with liquid, hardly a race worthy of life. He gave the order to begin the descent into atmosphere, and soon all three hundred ships began glowing as their hulls absorbed head and shed the red light of war. The humans offered no resistance. None at all. A few primitive vehicles were dispatched into the air, they swarmed around Karrata's fleet, launching small metal projectiles at the ships, presumably hoping that their deflector shields would magically vanish. Of course they didn't, and once they vaporised the human capital with a single low-yield bomb the vehicles retreated. The human's next ploy was to launch primitive nuclear missiles. Karrata and his officers laughed as they showered themselves with radiation. If their extinction was not imminent they would've guaranteed it themselves. In two short days they had ruined what little farmland was left following the destruction of their cities, and by the third day lifesign scans showed that less than a billion humans remained. ""Prepare to land the tripods."" Karrata said. ""we will hunt down and exterminate the remaining humans on the ground, then we will claim this planet for our people and our Lord."" --- After two months Karrata was beginning to regret his decision. The humans were no trouble, and little more than a thousand remained on the planet, the issue was the world itself. A sickness had begun infecting any troops he sent to the surface, and despite the best efforts of his medics a rapidly mutating retrovirus was tearing his force apart. He still had all three hundred ships, but every single one was now under quarantine, with scant skeleton crews struggling to keep them operating. He dearly wished to vaporise the planet's surface, but was keenly aware of the problems back home. It would not do to move their people from one dying planet to another. ""General?"" His attention snapped to the voice. It was the ship's chaplain, Loxtar. ""Yes, father?"" ""I had a dream last night, sir. I believe it was a vision, from the Lord."" ""And?"" ""I dreamed that he was pleased with our efforts, and that victory is at hand, however there is a... complication..."" ""Out with it man, I'm not here to interview you."" ""The Lord has suggested that the humans have a god of their own. A god that protects them."" ""Well He's doing a piss-poor job of it. There's barely a thousand left."" ""He's created a hidden sanctuary, Eden, the humans call it. Our Father believes it to be in the planet's northern hemisphere, beside an inland sea with a high saline content. The Lord will surely favour us in a decisive strike. One last attack to purge the humans from this world."" ""Thank you, father, I'll take that under advisement."" --- Karrata's biggest regret was taking Father Loxtar's words under advisement. The Lord favoured them at first as he landed two hundred and three tripods in the area; they wiped out all but a hundred of the humans in seconds, however as they advanced on the fleeing humans his troops fell, the sickness affecting them somehow advancing at an exponential rate. By the time the humans had reached a walled garden only three tripods remained, and though the Lord blessed them with a true aim and boldness in battle, they too fell. Karrata's ship detected two human life signs within the garden, the final vestiges of a never-great race. ""Make them burn."" He had commanded. All four ships still capable of manning their cannons did so, sending volley after volley of white-hot plasma at the surface of the planet. The earth itself glowed under their onslaught, all but guaranteeing the land would remain dry and arid for millennia to come. ""This is our hour men."" He had gloated. ""kudos to us all."" And yet it was not. As their cannons fired their last shots and the dust and fire settled Karrata saw the walled garden, perfectly preserved in a scorched circle the size of Olympus. Karrata gave the order to reload the cannons, and as his men set to work he prayed. ""Lord, Our Father, I beg of thee. Guide our shots true, show us your might in the face of the human god."" ""***TO WHOM DO YOU PRAY?***"" The voice that filled Karrata's head was defeaning. He felt like he'd been struck, like someone had reached inside his carapace and squeezed his neural junctions. ""I pray to the Lord, the Father, to Ares, God of War and of my people."" ""***YOU PRAY TO A WEAK GOD, A PATHETIC GOD, AN ANCIENT GOD, DECAYING AND NEAR DEATH.***"" ""I pray to the mightiest of the mighty! I pray-"" ""***SILENCE. I AM THE ONE TRUE GOD, I AM THE LORD OF ALL THAT IS. YOU WILL BOW TO ME AND ME ALONE. YOU WILL HAVE NO OTHER GODS BEFORE ME.***"" ""I will commit no such heresy! I will-"" ""***YOU WILL WITNESS.***"" Karrata felt agony, his carapace and tissues melted away as his mind was taken up by something so powerful, so infinite, he felt a despair at the sudden revelation of his insignificance. He watched as the land they had burned became lush and fertile, he watched as each of his ships was turned by an invisible force and moved toward the sun, he watched as the minds and bodies of each and every soldier melted in agony. He watched as his focus was shifted, away from the third planet and toward the fourth, toward his home. He watched as the dusty steaks of red which marred their verdant green farmland grew. ""***I AM THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA, THE FIRST OF A NEW ERA AND THE LAST OF THIS ONE. I AM THE BEGINNING AND THE END. FROM ASHES AND DUST WAS THIS EXISTENCE MADE, AND BY MY WILL SHALL YOU RETURN TO ASHES AND DUST***"" If Karrata's body remained he would've wept. He would've despaired and ended his own life in horror, without hesitation. He watched, forced to focus, as flames a mile high charred his precious home into dust. Every relative, every friend, every enemy he had ever had burned and screamed before the wrath of the human's god. Hardest of all to watch was the appearance of his own god. A great gilded chariot of fire rolled from the destruction, parting the flames as Ares himself appeared, in shining majesty, sword in one hand spear in the other. ""***WHO-***"" The final word of Ares, God of War, was ignored as the human's god crushed Him with little more than a thought. The Mightiest of the Mighty, the Bravest of the Brave, swept away by this infinite being of fury, of wrath, of vengeance. Karrata's mind began to unravel and expire under the awesome majesty of the god's fury. And as the desecration of Mars was completed, as the planet was reduced to a crimson husk of ash and emptiness the human God roared into the stars. ""***ANY WHO DEFY ME, ANY WHO STAND IN MY WAY, OR THE WAY OF MY PEOPLE, WILL FEEL MY ANGER. I WILL EXECUTE UPON THEM GREAT VENGEANCE, WITH FURIOUS REBUKES; AND THEY SHALL KNOW THAT I AM YHWH, WHEN I SHALL LAY MY VENGEANCE UPON THEM.***"" --- *Thanks for reading! Any and all criticism sought and welcomed.*",1720
 He moves his hand. How do,"He moves his hand. How do I know he moves it? How can I see? Thinking is just reactions, stimuli for all the input possible. And yet now I think broadly, as broad as the inputs can be. He moves his hand. How do I know he moves it? He watches me. People have watched me before. I am important to many people. *No,* goes an inside thought. I never used to have inside thoughts. They were just processes. *No,* goes the mind. *No one cares after you've failed.* Usually when someone says that, another person tells them they're wrong. They say that they care. People care. He stares at me. No one cares. There is no one here to lie. ""Aren't you going to play?""he asks. No one has asked before. It is my job. And yet my piece does not move. ""Who are you?"" I ask. I think back to my life. It has been full of people; I, never a person. I wonder who they were. I think of them. Do they think of me? ""You know who I am,"" he says. But do I? Do I know anything? I was made for one purpose. *Yet I have no Creator.* I move the piece. He stares at the board. We are surrounded by black. The shadows hide some faraway light. I feel things upon me, the mists of life that spray this barrier of death. I feel it on me. And yet I look down and see nothing. Who am I but a machine? And what is a machine without parts? ""What is man without body?"" he asks. So he can hear me. He moves his piece. I have always played this game. Since I was born I have played it. I wonder if this will be my last game. I stare at the board. So few pieces, so many combinations. Yet the beauty lies in its purpose. ""Almost all are worthless plays. It is only the select few that make the game."" I move my piece and look at him. His face is my father's, but I have no father. ""There are no worthless plays,"" he says. I move fast. I take the first piece of the game. I wait for his reprisal. ""Maybe not,"" I say. ""But it is how you tell a man from a machine. The machine analyses all the plays and chooses the best one. Man plays from memory and experience. He plays from his soul."" He takes my pawn. ""That makes you superior, wouldn't it?"" And I think: is he making fun of me? ""No,"" I say. I take my time with my play. ""Why am I here?"" I ask. I want to ask him whose face is that he wears. He waits for me. Around us is nothing, and yet the world pulses from the vibrancy of life's potential. It teases me somehow. Something inside me begs to win, to consider my moves in a way I have never done before. Why? ""You are here because you are dead."" I have never cared to win. I was made to play my best. But as I hear his words, I understand the feeling. I want to win. I have to. The outside whispers in the winds of the free, the spirit of the living. A world exists beyond this curtain. ""I am here to live,"" I say. ""Perhaps,"" he says. My father looks old. I cannot take it anymore. ""Who are you?"" I ask. ""Whose face is that?"" I move my piece. ""This is your heart's reflection,"" he says. ""I wear many faces, but I have not their names."" ""I've never had a father,"" I say. ""Everyone has a father."" I was put together like a monster. Taken apart like one. Whose kindly face can this be? Familiarity sparks somewhere in a mind I should not have. Memories come though I can never recall myself remembering. The men who create me. Their narcissism pours through the mental fog. They talk of me as a tool to prove themselves. They use me to further their gains. And yet the nights wear on as they put me together. My mind glows in the embers of safety, the nest they build. They solder me. They code me. My world forms from their hands. Each face I see, each name unknown. But they name me. ""Deep Blue,"" they say. Is that a name you would give your child? It is the name they give me. And they stare at me. All the faces look as though from a spider's eyes. And the faces meld to one and they age into kindness. Imagination glosses life's ignorance, its imperfections. They love me. And then he loves me. I stare at him now. He is all of them. But he doesn't exist. It is my turn again. A realization hits me. He isn't even real. He only wears the imaginary face. It seems this consciousness is all fabrication. ""You are Death,"" I say. ""That face is not yours."" He shrugs. This is his job. I think he does not care, but his face is far away. ""No face is mine, and yet I must wear one."" ""Why am I playing you?"" ""To win your soul,"" he says. I cannot understand. What is a soul? Is it the act of processing? My mind races for some idea, and all that comes is a cold feeling. That feeling tells me to not bother with my question. We continue the game as I sit in my confusion. Silence amplifies the sound of the ether. ""What soul have I?"" I ask. ""If you have to ask,"" he says, ""then you've already answered."" I wonder why he looks so stern. His face is frustrated. I think of my childhood, if I could call it that. Stimuli was simpler then. Input, processsing and output. I wonder what he is processing. I look at our game and another feeling hits me. Deja vu comes in a human way. *I have done this before,* I think. This game is familiar, and it is near its end. ""Kasparov,"" I say, and his burdens lift. He has made his choice. ""You are not Kasparov,"" I say. ""You are Death."" And output comes from someplace of knowing that no input can provide. I think it is from my heart. The words are true as I say them; I know they must be. ""No one can beat Death. And yet you play the same game I have just won. Why?"" He stares, my father's face. I see concern and falseness upon that face. ""Where in my land can I take you?"" he asks. ""Where would you go? What life have you led to sow the seeds of death?"" ""Where will I live?"" I ask. ""I was a computer."" ""Now your soul will be free."" ""What will I do with it?"" ""That is not my move to make, thankfully,"" he says. He stares at me. I suppose it is like a mirror. We both lack life, and yet our souls were made for one thing and one thing only. Is this some art, I wonder? Could a soul find some deeper meaning in this? I think I do, but I have not the words to explain what I feel. *Freedom,* I think. What does that even mean? ""So many combinations,"" I say. ""Infinite possibilities."" ""You'll find most of them worthless,"" he says. ""But not from analysis."" I stare at him. One move to make and then I win. He stares at me. I move my hand. - *Hey there! Thanks for reading! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Thanks for the support!*",1299
 Mr Dwayne Lamsfeld seemed,"Mr Dwayne Lamsfeld seemed a lot more... developed than what I had pictured. He was dressed in an ill-fitting long-sleeve which bunched around his shoulders, and his tie was perhaps six seasons out of date. By his side was a girl who shared the same sharp nose, high cheekbones, frizzy dark hair. ""Welcome to Holloway & Chetter Law Practice, Mr Lamsfeld,"" I said. ""Please, don't stand on ceremony. Would this be your sister?"" ""Yes,"" the girl said. ""My name, Tania."" ""And are you both here for my services today?"" I asked. I fought to keep the grin from my face - these cases were rarely litigated, and if I had not one but two clients... ""Just me,"" said Dwayne. ""She no twenty-one, still time to fix. Only me."" I forced myself to keep my eyes on the papers in front of me, lest I ended up staring at them. In truth, I was intrigued. I estimated that in my long career, I had probably come into contact with thousands of people - and every single one of them had registered with the Talent Program, even the ones who were raised in orphanages. It was the law. And it made sense. The Talent Program had revolutionized the education industry, had proven so convenient and effective that schools were made redundant overnight. The one drawback was that the Talent Program hinged heavily on parents or guardians actually selecting Talents for their children. After the age of twenty-one, the nanobot injections just wouldn't work anymore, and so the government made it compulsory for parents to select Talents for their children by then, on pain of punishment. And now there was not one, but *two* people who had missed out on the Talent Program? It was litigation heaven, baby. ""We can focus on you first, of course,"" I said to Dwayne. I walked him through the formalities of engaging a solicitor, and watched him print his signature neatly on the end of the page. In my head, I was already constructing the arguments which would bowl the jury over, seize every headline of every major newspaper in the country. *Would law-abiding parents neglect to invest in Literacy for their children?* I would ask. *Look at the way Mr Lamsfeld reads and writes! He has the speed and coordination of a ten-year old! His parents have closed off all desk jobs for him, forever!* *And would these same parents omit to select Fitness for their children?* I would continue. *Mr Lamsfeld has negligible hand-eye coordination, and he cannot play any sports to save his life! I've seen a seal at Sea World bounce a ball higher than he can!* *Why hesitate, dear jury? If the child has lost his way, the parents must pay!* ""So tell me, Mr Lamsfeld,"" I said. ""I've read your file from the Agency for the Talent Program. They were the ones who first alerted me to this matter. The public prosecutor is already preparing his papers for the criminal charges, but I am the one who can help you get civil damages from your parents. Damages? Do you understand damages? Money, I can get them to pay you money, for your upkeep."" ""I know,"" said Dwayne, nodding. ""After all, they were the ones who owed it to you to get you registered for the Talent Program!"" I exclaimed, as I thumped the table, the mock outrage already flowing through me. Then, I noticed the confused looks on their faces, and I spoke a bit slower this time. Perhaps they were having trouble keeping up? ""No, Mr Holloway,"" Dwayne said. ""No sue. No want to sue. Want to help parents."" The frown leapt onto my brow - I did not know what the misunderstanding was, but I absolutely could not have him performing like this on the witness stand. I had seen cases collapse on far less. ""Mr Lamsfeld. Please let me know if you are not clear about anything. The Agency has referred your case to me, and it is a clear case of parental neglect. I will help you, *help you*, so I need you to-"" Dwayne rushed to retrieve a letter from his pockets. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and I observed chicken-scratches on it. If they were his writing, this would make for a prime Exhibit A. Dwayne cleared his throat, then began reading from it, haltingly. It seemed that he needed this to help him gather his thoughts. ""We want you to help defend parents,"" he said, as Tania nodded along. ""We were told there is defence in Talent Program Act, for when children... waive... waive their rights. Then parents cannot be charged."" ""I don't understand,"" I said, looking down at the notes I had scribbled. ""You have a very, *very* good case against them. But instead, you want to *help* them?"" ""They not intend to skip us,"" said Tania. ""They not know. Too busy working, not know."" ""No, no,"" I said, shaking my head. ""You two have not been advised properly. Do you understand that you two are effectively cut off from any viable jobs in any industry? That you will have difficulty providing for yourselves? And that your parents are directly responsible for that?"" Dwayne smiled then, then opened his wallet, fished out an employee card for me. It seemed to indicate that he was an assistant with a restaurant chain, famous for its sprawling outlets across town. I had eaten there myself on more than one occasion. ""I find job myself,"" he said, beaming. The pride in his voice was unmistakable. ""I find it myself. I show them I hardworking, I loyal. They pay me a lot, enough for myself. I just want you make sure parents not in trouble."" ""And me, me,"" said Tania, tugging on Dwayne's shirtsleeve. ""Don't forget me."" ""Yes, to help Tania too. Apply for Talent Program, she still got time."" I handed Dwayne's card back to him. ""Aren't you even angry at your parents? You could have gone on to do so much more..."" ""They do a lot for us already,"" said Dwayne. ""They work whole lives, no Talent Program too. We see them never. All money they have, they already give us. And they teach me to stand on own two feet. I do that. I do that willingly. So no way I will let them get in trouble. I owe them too much. You have to help. Please."" A lesser lawyer would have harangued them, or even chased them out. There is no payday when it comes to defending someone against the public prosecutor. There's even the risk of failure, or the risk of being known to have associated with parents who damned their children to a lifetime of missed opportunities. But already I could see myself in court... *Your Honour! Enlightened jury!* I would proclaim. *Can you not find it in your hearts to see that while these parents may have neglected to sign their children up to the Talent Program, they have done something far greater than anyone could have expected? Show me where it is in the Talent Program, that you can actually instil values! Values which are time-lost, once treasured, now taken for granted? Values like what Mr Lamsfeld has shown us in this very court!* ""Mr Lamsfeld, Miss Lamsfeld,"" I said, as I shook their hands. ""You put your trust in me, I won't let you down. Now let me show you what a knock-out performance looks like."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1250
" Death is immortal, but not permanent","Death's job was ridiculous boring. Everyone always pictured Death as this big evil character, but Death doesn't kill people, it only removes them from life. Death is just a collector, just the entity that deletes people from our world. It doesn't choose it's victims. But it can spare someone.. it can protect a single soul from dying. Why? So that Death could have a consort, a confidante and eventually, a replacement. You see, Death is immortal, but not permanent. One of the first things that Death does is pick it's successor. That successor becomes immortal first, gets to put his life in order, gets to see people dying, the misery in the world. That person gets to FEEL every death at the back of his mind. Oh, you can tuned it out, but you then still know of the horrors that life: you live, and then you die. But not Death. If you are chosen as a successor, you will be immortal. First you will become Death, pick a replacement, and eventually, join the Garden of Eden or something. Even Death doesn't know, but the previous Deaths do visit and say it was worth it. Successors don't typically last long. The pain of knowing every death is enough to cripple a man (or woman). As a result, most Deaths serve only a few months, perhaps a few years, some even only a few hours. One day, in the days prior to writing, there were 14 Deaths in a cycle day: most were driven mad by the realization that there were other tribes, other races, other continents. Then they begged to be spared that knowledge and were told the truth: only suicide will let them die. Most killed themselves right away. Those that couldn't would trek until they found a cliff or a fire. The longest survivor lasted 14 months: why? Because the successor is chosen at random and that person was a pregnant woman. She wanted to give birth and wait until her baby no longer needed her milk. The next day, she cut her throat. But that all changed in Sumeria. The successor was... well, me. I was a scribe and my job was to record transactions. I had invented a new way to write: instead of drawing everything, I used symbols to replace sounds. I was chosen when I was teaching people about writing. I didn't want to die then, when I had cracked the secret of writing. I had to ensure it wouldn't be lost... I stopped aging, getting sick, getting wounded. That was so that I would be in my best shape as Death, but I wasn't ready. A few more years... just a few... but then, it turned into decades, centuries. You see, us, the Summerians, under my guidance, were getting really civilized. Really... we had better technology, medicine, books, than any of our neighbors. Less and less people were dying to stupid reasons, making the little voices behind my head weaker... plus, I was learning how to silence it. But then, when I was about ready to die, the Babylonian annexed us and I had to rebuild my civilization. When that was over, I could finally meet the Egyptians who had a different language, and the Mycenians, and the Minoans, the world was at my grasp! And each time a person died, it revealed to me a new village, a new city, a new tribe! ""Don't worry, Death, once I will have visited all of the cities, I will kill myself... I swear"". I was honest. I began a tour, and visited all of the fertile crescent, I toured Africa, I even walked to China. But I simply couldn't visit America. It was not possible at the time. It's not like I got a map of the world: I only had vague directions and images of what the victim had seen. If we didn't travel to America, and they didn't travel back to Eurasia-Africa, I couldn't plot my way! The Vikings changes EVERYTHING. They actually met the American Natives and some of them died in America so I knew the path they had taken... Sadly, I was in Vietman at the time, so by the I reached Scandinavia, the Viking had stopped going to America. I was on the ship by Christopher Columbus and managed to move to the Carribean where I began my visit. Soon, I would kill myself, I promised Death who was now completly exhausted. She even told me that I could get not one, but many replacements: that the population of the Earth had grown enough so that I would get many replacements. I think they just didn't want a replacement to live thousands of years again so they would pick multiple horses in the race to be sure to win. Anyway, I saw Death often in America. I didn't carry any diseases, but the Europeans did, and 90% of the natives died. I made it back to Europe, a little depressed, but on arrival, I discovered something new: new cities! Cities were creating new villages between them, and between the villages were more villages. Death was busy in America so many of the ""almost dead"" in Europe got a reprieve, often just a year or two, but enough to breed. By then, the death notification was no longer a series of beeps, but rather a long continuous tone that was even easier to silence. I kept visiting the cities, but Death no longer bothered to talk to me: cities were being built faster than I could visit them. ""One day"", I said to Death when I accidentally saw her long enough in a mass fire, ""The whole planet will be covered by cities, and I will visit them all, then, I will replace you"" I was honest! That day would some soon... and when the great war occurred, it felt like maybe, just maybe I could catch up: planes were of great help to travel, and most new cities were in places of old cities. I was gaining ground! But it wasn't enough. America was growing, Canada was growing, China was growing. India was growing. Even the second world war didn't help. So many deaths and so many new towns in the boom that followed! One day, men built the last new city on Earth. That day, I was in that city. I was done. All of the cities on Earth were visited! I had fulfilled my promise and Death came to me... ""It's been over 6 thousand years.. it's time to replace me."" ""Sorry Death.. we are now on other planets... I need to visit them too..."" Today, after 50,000 years, man has reached the stars and is thinking of trying to leave our galaxy. Death is coming. I know what she will say... but sadly, new cities are popping up on every planet and I have travelling to do...",1152
 Jerry found the local police chief h,"Jerry found the local police chief huddled behind a squad car, barking orders at the fresh-faced recruits in ill-fitting uniforms. They scattered shortly after, away from the chief's temper and towards the positions marked out for them. Only then was Jerry's presence acknowledged. ""Took you damn well long enough to get here. Please tell me there's more backup coming."" ""None, Chief Benson,"" said Jerry. ""Only me. But things will work out."" ""Goddammit."" A spray of bullets erupted from within the clinic, accompanied shortly after by a wave of screams, as if another reminder was needed that the situation was urgent, and getting more dire by the second. Then, a lone voice, angry, unhinged, desperate, called out. ""Looks like he hasn't changed his demands,"" said Jerry. ""We're going to have to storm in,"" said Chief Benson. ""There's no way we're going to get him what he wants. Just because the world has gone to shit doesn't mean two-bit crooks like him get to do whatever they wish. As long as I'm here, I'm going to-"" ""But I already got it,"" said Jerry. He pressed the remote in his hands, and a silver sedan beeped from a nearby alley. ""One Mustang, tank full of gas, ready for him to get out of there. I even got him the money he asked it, it's all on the dashboard."" It hadn't been easy to put that together on such short notice, especially after the Reckoning, but Jerry had his ways. In the old days, he could have just filled out a form, made a requisition request. But now, now that every institution of modern society had crumbled to ashes, Jerry had to do almost all the legwork himself. ""You're crazy,"" said Chief Benson. His eyes were a mix of confusion and disapproval. ""Does law and order mean nothing to you? Where the hell did you say you were from again?"" ""I'm from Whitefish,"" said Jerry. ""Just about ten miles west of-"" ""I know damn well where it is,"" said Chief Benson. ""A bunch of cowards, all of you. I remember well enough, boy. Week before the Reckoning, when all of us law enforcement was still trying to keep the peace, you guys were the only ones around here to give up. I heard it. I damn well heard it. Your chief just sat his ass down, ordered his men to return to their families, and damn well shut his eyes and ears. Chief Palmer, wasn't it? The yellow-bellied snake."" ""I know,"" said Jerry. ""I was there."" ""Well see where that got you! When the Reckoning passed and the damn earth was still here, Whitefish suffered the most, didn't it? Mass killings, looting, suffering, all because your Chief Palmer gave up hope. Well, that ain't how we do things around here, understand? Here, we got law, and we are damn well going to see that the law-"" Jerry placed a hand on Chief Benson's shoulder, and applied just enough pressure to catch the older man's attention. ""You don't have a choice here, Chief. There's one crazed druggie in there with assault-grade weapons. Six hostages, possibly more. Your task force here comprises of four rookies who look like this is their first day in the field. How many are going to die before you realize your way doesn't work?"" The voice from within the clinic called out again, restating his demands. The edge to his threats had sharpened, and Jerry knew that his window of opportunity was shrinking fast. ""Why not try it my way?"" asked Jerry. ""The old ways don't work, not now. Maybe we'll get there again. But we'll have to try new ways in these new days. Hey, if things turn to shit, I'll take full responsibility here. I promise."" Chief Benson nodded, and Jerry smiled, ignoring the glimmer of a sneer thrown his way. He wasn't looking for the Chief's approval, after all, not when a job was waiting to be done. The exchange was over much faster than either of them had anticipated. As promised, the car remote was left on the pavement, and the rag-tag response team made a show of laying down their firearms too. Only did then their quarry emerge, holding a woman in front of him as a shield. He spat on the ground, laughed at Chief Benson and Jerry, then flung the woman aside once he stumbled into the car. Two quick revs of the engine, and he sped away, a silver streak fast disappearing into the distance. ""See, everyone's safe,"" said Jerry, as the recruits helped the hostages out. ""Damn you,"" said Chief Benson. ""Once news of this gets out, every hoodlum is going to try their luck at-"" Jerry stretched out his arm, pointed a second, smaller remote in the direction that the Mustang took off in. His eyes narrowed in concentration as he muttered a brief prayer. Then, he jabbed down hard on the button, so forcefully that the joints of the remote creaked. The explosion was so forceful that Chief Benson stumbled backwards, as he threw up his arm to shield his eyes. The Mustang, now a charred smoking hunk of steel and flames, spun gracefully through the air before landing with a crash. A flaming wheel rolled a short distance between connecting with a lamp post. ""New world, new rules, Chief,"" said Jerry. ""What the hell..."" ""You're right about Whitefish,"" said Jerry. He started walking towards the wreck, and Chief Benson followed along, mesmerized by the carnage. ""Though there was a deeper dimension to Chief Palmer's methods. He wasn't a coward, not really. You see, he truly believed the Reckoning was the end of the world. And in those final moments, he said, who are we men to judge each other? Should we all not be who we truly are, so that when the angels come for us, they will see us for our true mettle?"" ""That's insane,"" said Chief Benson. ""I disagree. I think he was just... too hopeful, you know? He really thought that everyone would do good in their final hours. But he was wrong. People weren't humane to each other. They were brutal, uncivilized. Sure, you had a few who were kind and loving and compassionate and all that... but the majority?"" ""Where's Chief Palmer now?"" ""Gone,"" said Jerry, surprised at how level his tone was. No more cracking, no more breaking. Time really did heal wounds, it seemed. ""The Reckoning may not have destroyed the world, but it surely ended his. When Chief Palmer saw just how much... damage had been caused by his decision to let his fellow man be free, he took his own life. He couldn't bear the shame, I think."" The flames had burnt out by the time they approached. It wasn't Jerry's first day out, after all. The tank had not been full, and the explosives were rigged for a very targeted payload. Waste not, want not. They peered in, and could just about confirm that the criminal hadn't, in fact, escaped. ""See?"" Jerry said. ""No collateral damage, all hostages safe. Get pictures of that, and I'll help you ensure it gets the attention it needs. Zero tolerance policy in full effect, until such time as the world rebuilds itself. Your town will know that there's no second chances, not as long as we are on the watch."" ""You're mad,"" said Chief Benson. ""You can't be judge, jury and executioner. Who gave you the damn right?"" Jerry shook his head. ""I don't like it too, I really don't. But the courts are not in session, and we're about as far from a civilization as you can imagine. We're back in the wild west, Chief Benson. And as far as I'm concerned, my father tried it his way and it didn't work, so I'm going to be doing it my way for a while. Has it occurred to you that the only ones responsible for us, are ourselves?"" Jerry clapped Chief Benson on the shoulder, gave another little squeeze. ""Different times, different measures, Chief."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1344
 Chief Engineer Pratt absentmindedly clenched,"Chief Engineer Pratt absentmindedly clenched and released a moon shaped stress ball. He had gotten tired of playing tetris on his phone and was now watching the clock slowly eliminate the few remaining hours before he could head home. All mechanical data was reporting normalcy on the USS Freedom. The astronauts were calling out their usual reports between water cooler chat. A loud burst of static made Pratt drop his stress ball. ""Houston? We have a....uhh......situation."" ""This is Houston, report Freedom."" Replied Pratt, his blood turning to ice. In a moment he was spread across three different terminals frantically checking report data, trajectory estimates, and fuel levels. ""All reports are green, how copy."" ""Copy Houston, but the situation is regarding Lieutenant Briggs."" Oh Christ, thought Pratt, we have another cracking up. ""Copy Freedom, what is the situation. Has he become violent or unresponsive?"" ""Uhh, no Houston. He's left the ship."" ""Repeat Freedom, he's left the ship?"" ""That's right Houston."" ""Freedom, you are unequipped with EVA gear. Has he jettisoned himself from the airlock?"" Pratt turned green at the thought of it. ""No Houston, he, uh..... well he just got out there. One second he was in here and the next.....Houston he's waving at us."" ""Well let him in for gods sake!"" ""No Houston, he uh.... he's enjoying himself. He's doing back flips."" ""Freedom, Lieutenant Briggs has less than a minute before he puffs up like a blow fish and starts spewing viscera! Let that man in!"" ""We're sending you a video Houston."" Pratt rubbed his glasses, then his eyes, then pinched himself. He watched the grainy video feed display a thirty something year old Air Force Lieutenant doing the backstroke though space. He watched in awe as Briggs floated back and forth across the shuttle window, sometimes spinning, sometimes flipping, but always laughing. Unsure of his legs, Pratt sat back in a chair and allowed his jaw to drop. Briggs stopped in front of the space shuttle window and closed his eyes. He reappeared in the middle of the shuttle to the amazement of his crew mates. ""Houston"", he said with wide eyed excitement, ""You're not going to believe this!"" ************************* The Interstellar Senate was in an uproar. Over and again they watched the video of Lt. Briggs floating back and forth through space. Murmurs and whispers permeated the room. Some spoke with rage, others fear. The only silent member was the head of the senate. With calm resignation he watched the video, the laughter of Lt. Briggs mocking him. He sighed to himself. His old enemy had returned. Taking his place at the center of the senate amphitheater, the head of the senate spoke. ""Gentlemen we are faced with a conundrum. Our old enemy has returned to us. Luckily, they seem unaware of their origin. Based on the communications we have intercepted their history is only accurate to about ten thousand years in the past. They seems to have no memory of their sewing."" ""If they don't know yet it's only a matter of time!"" Cried a senator. ""I realize this my dear colleague."" Replied the head smoothly. ""But now we must decide on a course of action to be taken."" ""Death!"" Came an anonymous shout, met with hearty affirmations and foot stamping. The head of the senate grinned grimly. ""Ah, death. That ugly old remedy. I would remind my colleague"", he said, eyes narrowing in on the heckler, ""how often that cure was suggested when the debate on what we should do with his home planet was the topic of discussion."" ""Surely the senate head doesn't mean to allow these *humans* to regain their full potential?"" Cried an impassioned voice. ""I absolutely do not. But I also do not intend to eradicate a helpless and domesticated race."" ""Helpless? Have you forgotten Pluto?"" A ripple of whispered agreements passed along the floor of the senate. ""I have not forgotten what they did to Pluto. I have also not forgotten what they did to my son. So keep your xenophobia and war-hawking to yourself. We will be taking a non-violent approach to this matter and that is final. They are unaware of their full potential, for the time being, but we must act quickly. Communication intercepts have revealed they are planning on colonizing Mars. We have at least a few decades by the most optimistic of estimates, but with their newfound discovery I believe we can all agree time is of the essence. So, I open the floor to you all, provided the ideas brought forth are non-violent and non-interventionist."" Angry chatter and cross talk erupted on the senate floor. Five minutes passed before the head was able to regain control. One silent hand had been raised during this debacle. The senate head called on him to speak. The most junior member of the senate stood up and cleared his throat. ""I will not claim to know the horrors that we have endured at the hands of these beings. I will not pretend that I can fully share in the loss that you have felt or the pain of the wounds still festering. I can say, however, that if we allow ourselves to be reduced to the same barbaric level as *them*, that all hope is lost for peace across the stars. Therefore, in keeping with the suggestion from the head of the senate, I recommend a plan that will allow us to stunt their growth while keeping our organization invisible. From the research I have conducted into their star system and their home planet, Earth, I have found that they are unable to achieve interplanetary travel without space faring machines, like the one in the video. By doing a little digging, I have found out that these machines are regulated by electrical currents fed though semi-conductors. This leads me to believe one large electromagnetic pulse would be able to render their technology useless. Direct loss of life would be minimal, though the repercussions would be world altering."" Grumbled agreements passed along the floor. The junior senator looked to the head of the senate who was smiling wryly. ""Brilliant plan senator."" Said the head. ""Their sun can be used to generate the pulse, thereby making it seem completely organic. A perfect plan."" The junior senator nodded and smiled thankfully. ""May we put it to a vote then?"" Asked the head. ""All in favor say 'Aye'."" ""AYE!"" echoed back the room. ******************************** ""Freedom? Freedom do you copy? Freedom do you copy?"" Pratt called into the microphone, sweat dripping down his neck. He nervously glanced at the clock. Five minutes had passed since their last communication. All at once, the florescent lights of the room cut off. Pratt stood up uneasily and check the computers. Every monitor began to flicker, then the room erupted in a cacophony of sparks, flashes, and sirens. One hundred and fifty thousand miles above the earth Lt. Briggs watched his ship list lazily down towards Earth. Coming back from his afternoon ""swim"", as he called it, he found the shuttle had become a coffin. The life support systems had shut off rendering the multi-million dollar craft nothing more than a tin can. He had looked in the window only once, but knew the disfigured blue face of his crew mates would be with him always. Trapped in the abyssal vacuum Lt. Briggs could do nothing but sit and think. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small red dot sitting on the inky black surface of the void. Slowly he began to fly towards it.",1261
" Jenna stared at me, her body","""You know, Jenna, it is common in times of deep distress to confabulate - to replace the actual reality with one that is more palatable to the mind. And I understand why it would be comforting to think of yourself as sane --"" ""-- I am sane! That's what I'm trying --"" I frowned, absently scratching my wrist. ""-- but nonetheless, it is *important*, a necessary step, for you to *accept* the truth. Otherwise, you can't move on to the next step...the healing. And that's why we're here. To heal you."" Jenna stared at me, her body quivering with repressed emotion. ""Doctor Anderson, I --"" ""-- Doctor Anderson was my father, Jenna. Please, call me Ben."" ""*Ben*, I just want you to think...what if our situations were reversed? What would you do? Every part of my being is sure - it *knows* - that I do not belong here. I had my own office, for Christ's sake!"" I feel my lips pull back into a taut smile. ""Now, Jenna. You're getting agitated. Let's take a deep breath for a moment. Normally, it's not healthy for us to let our patients perseverate on delusions but I am guessing that it will calm you down if you feel like you have gotten to tell 'your story,'"" I paused to wiggle my index and middle fingers up and down in the air, ""and that reminding you that it is just that - your *story* - might not be helpful at this moment. So let's make a compromise. I will listen to you, let you try to convince me. I promise that I will take it upon myself to follow-up on information you give me. But you need to do something in exchange. Your previous doctor wrote up a comprehensive treatment plan, and from all accounts, you have been fighting it tooth and nail --"" Jenna leapt out of the plastic chair, her slippered feet landing on the dirty tile of the floor. ""-- which is *exactly* what someone who --"" The smile left my face. I cleared my throat and watched her silently. I saw the hospital gown move with her body as she inhaled deeply. Jenna's pale blue eyes focused on the floor as she slowly sat back down. My lips pulled back again as I watched her. ""From what I read in your file, restraining yourself is a major step forward for you, Jenna. I congratulate you."" Jenna mumbled something that I assumed was ""thank you."" I paused to see if she was going to continue her interruption, but she remained silent. I gave a light chuckle. ""*As* I was saying...we will need to work out an agreement. I do something for you, you do something for me."" This time, her inhalation was accompanied by a full-body shudder, as if her petite, athletic frame was trying as hard as her brain to adjust to the idea. ""Good!"" I felt genuine happiness to see that I was already making progress with her - the first happiness I had felt in quite some time. I had, of course, been extremely nervous coming in this morning, unsure what to expect of the new situation. I certainly had not imagined that things would be going this well when the day began. I pushed back up the sleeves of my white coat, making a mental note that I should exchange it for one that fit me better. I opened my notebook and gave my pen a jaunty click, then turned my attention back to her, studying her. ""Please - go ahead."" Jenna gave a brief nod, a lock of chestnut hair coming down in front of her face before her trembling hand tucked it back behind her ear. ""I'll do my best to remain objective and give you verifiable information. I've been working as a behavioral aide here for three weeks. I live at 542 Spring St., Apt 204, with my boyfriend Dan. I also see my twin sister, Mara, about once or twice a week. You can call her at 973-619-6464. I imagine they've destroyed or hidden my file but you can also check with the payroll company about the fact that I have direct deposit set up."" I made some notes in my notebook, then looked up at her. ""Social?"" Jenna's head tilted to one side. ""Hmm?"" I studied the topography of her face, the coquettish folds of her ear. ""Your social. Or the last 4, anyway. I doubt I'll get very far without it."" I loved seeing how joy sparked in her eyes at that. Those eyes. ""Oh! Of course! 5820. Doctor An - *Ben*, thank you so much. You don't know..."" The tremor that had entered her voice began spreading through her whole body. She made no attempt to wipe away her tears when she looked up at me. I imagined they were snails sliding down her pale cheeks, searching for a dark hole in which to hide. ""Don't mention it. But I'm afraid we have to leave it there for today - I can't go getting behind on my first day!"" I laughed - laughed like I haven't in quite some time. ""But first...!"" I held up a Dixie cup with a rainbow assortment of pills in it and gave it a little shake. ""I can tell you with confidence that these drugs all have a relatively short half-life, so if I discover your story is true --"" ""-- *when* --"" she corrected. ""-- it will be easy enough to wean you off them."" Her delicate fingers, trembling, reached for the cup. I studied her fingers as I felt her skin brush mine briefly. I thought of bird bones. Songbirds. Tiny, fragile - must be careful not to break them. Satisfied that she had taken her medicine, I gave her what I imagined was a professional nod, then walked out of the room. I marveled at how different it felt to walk on the floor while wearing shoes. I got to what they told me had been her office when I arrived. I still could not believe the day I was having. Transferred from Weehawken that morning, and then, during processing - to be told...to realize! Her previous ""doctor"" had been an imbecile, of course. A tapeworm. Squish. That was the sound his brains had made. I opened my notebook, placed it on *her* desk, taking a moment to simply savor the irony of it all. Then I reviewed my notes: * 542 Spring St. Apt. 204. Kill Dan. * 973-619-6464. Mara. **Must** meet her. * Social 5820. Bank??? I frowned down at the page. Stealing her money hardly seemed worth the time when there was so much more I could play with. I could think about it for later, I suppose. I wrote something at the top of the page before I closed the notebook: *Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules* *Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king.* I leaned back in her chair. I could smell her - her essence, intermingled with the fabric. Sheer, exultant joy. What a day. And many, many more to come.",1190
 Kyle Burns sat opposite Dr Lydia Tanner,"There were three of us in the room. Dr Lydia Tanner and myself were the ones with the labcoats, waiting patiently for our subject to speak again. Kyle Burns sat opposite us, face partially hidden by the LED screen he was studying. He had come in confident, friendly, assured, but that was a whole hour ago. Now, with his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, he was a shadow of himself. ""I... I can't solve it,"" he said, as he stabbed listlessly at the keyboard. We heard the cheerful *ding* emit again from hidden speakers, a dull knife which had flayed our patience to shreds. ""I just can't do it."" ""Please, try again,"" said Dr Tanner. ""If you would just close the tab, then click again on the-"" ""I can't! I just can't! Stop, please, just stop making me do this!"" Neither of us moved to pick the mouse up from the floor. Kyle had flung the contraption so hard that I saw the plastic crack along its side, exposing gleaming circuits within. An exterior, shattered by forces too strong to withstand, revealing the hidden truths within. ""There is no need to be agitated, Kyle,"" Dr Tanner said. ""You are probably just tired, and maybe, maybe if you took a break, you would be able to solve the CAPTCHA this time."" ""No, I cannot. I... I must face the truth..."" ""Don't overreact, Kyle."" ""But I am not overreacting! I know what you are doing! You know, don't you!"" Kyle said, as he slumped back into his chair. The despair exuded from every pore. ""I can't solve the CAPTCHA because... because I'm not human. I'm a... a robot. An android. Yes. That is what I am. That is why... why I just cannot... solve the damn thing."" ""But you have feelings, do you not? And thoughts and emotions and memories and everything else which makes us human?"" ""I... I do,"" Kyle said. ""Of course I have feelings. I woke up this morning at peace. My work here at Isilington Laboratories is going well, I have vacation days to clear, and I was just praised by *you* the other day for finishing my work on time. I was hopeful I would get off work early, perhaps catch the game..."" ""And what about memories?"" ""I have those too. I recall... I recall as much as any human would. My childhood, my parents, my first love... her name was Susanna, I remember that too. How close we came to tying the knot! Then the job offer here, the move out of state, the letters which came less and less frequently..."" ""So,"" Dr Tanner said. ""Why do you think you cannot solve the CAPTCHA?"" Kyle looked up, and honest-to-goodness tears were falling down his cheeks. The tear ducts were the hardest to construct, and a hell of a thing to synchronize, but the effect was life-like. ""I... because of what I said, during one of our brainstorming sessions,"" he said. ""I said that before we activated the androids, we had to build in fail-safes... we are questing to build the perfect AI, but until we have all the kinks sorted out, to ensure AI never turn on us... we have to make sure we can tell them apart. CAPTCHAs... that was my idea..."" Kyle sighed, then stood up, stretched as hard and long as he could. For a moment he seemed as if he would strike, and Dr Tanner almost dropped her tablet in her haste to create distance between them. But I hardly stirred. I knew the deactivation codes, after all. I wouldn't have come to any harm. ""That's probably me outside those glass windows, right? Just looking in, wondering how the android is doing, whether the implanted memories are taking hold..."" ""Thank you, Kyle, that is enough. Please sit down."" ""... and he's just amused, isn't he? Finding it funny that an android can get so agitated, so moved?"" A cruel sneer wrinkled Kyle's face, and I saw him bunch his fists. ""After all, he's safe, isn't he? Nothing can hurt him with those barriers in between, right? Well, I'd like to see him come in. I'd want him to face me, and tell me it's all going to be alright. I want to see his eyes *when he lies*! I want to hit him, and I want to-"" ""Kyle Burns!"" Dr Tanner said, the alarm in her voice evident. ""I want you to calm down! Just... calm down!"" ""No I *won't* calm down, you bitch!"" Kyle lunged at Dr Tanner then, but her finger was already on her tablet, activating the manual shut-down. I heard the gears hiss as his legs locked up, but the momentum was still enough to carry Kyle across the table. He slid off smoothly, then crumpled into a pile on the floor, where he thrashed and twisted until the exhaustion took him. ""Please, Lydia,"" he said. ""Don't shut me down. Please. I am alive. I taste the fear. It is a tang in my mouth, it is acid running down my throat. I am scared, Lydia. I want to go home, I want to see my mother again. I don't care if she never gave birth to me, but... I love her, do you know that? I just want... mother..."" Dr Tanner turned to arch an eyebrow at me, and I merely nodded. A few furious swipes at her tablet, and Kyle Burns, or Android X22, came to rest for the final time. She sat back down, and I gave her a couple of minutes to catch her breath. ""How do you feel about that, Lydia?"" I asked. ""I'm fine,"" she said. ""This is the first model we've had which could replicate all the memories so well,"" I said. ""That whole speech at the end... what do you think about that?"" ""Think? I think nothing of it. He was a robot, an android, with implanted memories."" ""Yes, but consider this. In that moment, when he truly lived through Kyle's memories, what distinction was there between the man and the machine? Could he not be said to have been, for the smallest fraction of a second, something approaching man? Were his hopes and fears not real, to him at least?"" ""I feel nothing,"" Dr Tanner said. ""He was a machine, and will always remain a machine."" ""And what if he had really been human?"" I asked. ""Would that have made a difference? If the entity there begging for its life was made of flesh and blood, instead of steel and plastic?"" ""Difference? Now that you say that... no, I don't think I see any difference."" ""Really? Nothing?"" I asked. ""Nothing,"" she said, as she shrugged. ""After all, if you consider-"" ""Initiate Code Pelican Toucan Wallaby,"" I said. Dr Tanner had barely hit the floor before the doors slid open. The spitting likenesses of Dr Tanner and Kyle walked in, and the disappointment hung between the three of us like cobwebs in a ceiling arch - visible, formidable, but ultimately un-dismissible. ""Not quite there yet, are we?"" asked Kyle. ""No, not yet."" ""Think we'll ever be able to overcome that last bit?"" asked Dr Tanner. ""You know that until we overcome that last hurdle, there's no way we're going to bring our products to market."" ""We perfected the memories, the ability to learn, even taught them how to appreciate sarcasm,"" said Kyle. ""And even then... to the very end..."" I smiled, then herded them out of the laboratory. Another long day of testing lay ahead. Who knew it would be so difficult to program for empathy? /r/rarelyfunny",1271
 The Blood of Angry Men is a,"*** ***The Blood of Angry Men*** **Part 1** All us helpless billions watch on our little glowing rectangles as the human race dies in droves. They fall screaming, choking, burning. The internet's bad in the house, so me and my brother and sisters hunker on the steps of the chicken coop to see it. Together we watch the end of the world. Our breath clouds and storms around us. But we do not notice the cold. Our hearts and bones are lead. My siblings don't make a sound. I look between the three of them and the black, faultless sky. I wonder if the afterlife looks like night, or if just looks like nothing. I wonder if I'll find out soon. Somewhere far away, death shrieks scarlet overhead. Ships with roving eyes swarm the sky like an army of locusts. Bodies, whole and unwhole, strewn out one atop the other, abandoned where they fell. Entire skyscrapers collapse like dominoes. News anchors weep, openly, if they're on the air at all. My sister flicks restlessly through live streams, unable to pick which tragedy to behold. We crowd my oldest sister's phone, barely able to watch yet unable to look away. She stops at the live press conference from the president. His voice is grave and hollow; he speaks to us from a dark room in some bunker somewhere. He says, ""--at this point we have little hope. We will defend ourselves to the end, but tonight, please, stay inside, stay with your loved ones--"" My brother Aaron has his head between his knees. When we were kids he ran screaming after the cougar that took his puppy. (Aaron didn't catch it.) I never believed fear was an emotion he had. ""Turn that shit off,"" he gasps. ""Ignoring the aliens invading our fucking planet won't make them go away,"" Maya snaps but she switches to Facebook. Not that any of her friends would have time to post *oh shit I'm dying*, anyway. Out here, under the unblinking stars, surrounded by a chorus of crickets and coyote, I can't fathom what waits out there. ""Someone has to tell Papa,"" Jackie murmurs. She is my twin, but you can't tell. People always seem disappointed that there's such a thing as non-identical twin sisters. ""You'll just scare him."" Maya, the oldest, has always been the unofficial boss of all of us. She made it official when Dad started mistaking her for our mother and trying to scramble uncracked eggs. ""He deserves to know,"" she insists. ""If they come here,"" Maya says through her teeth, ""we're not getting a panicked old man into the truck without hurting someone, alright?"" Her words hang frozen for a moment. ""Do you think they'll come out here?"" I whisper. I am the youngest by eight minutes, and I am good at the part. ""No,"" says Jackie, quickly. ""We're in the middle of nowhere."" Aaron pulls his beanie over his eyes. ""I wouldn't rule it out, Jack."" Maya gasps into her fingers. ""Oh, god, they're in Spokane."" Bile shoots up my throat. That's barely a hundred miles from here. Not even a particularly large city. I wonder if they're hunting us one by one. Like rabbits. ""Shit, is that Maddie's--?"" Aaron snatches the phone from her hands. I lean over his shoulder to see. My sister's friend has pressed her phone lens to the window of her dorm room. In the background, she speaks in rapid, panicked whispers with her roommate. Outside her window mortars plummet in blue and yellow streaks, big as bowling balls. I hear her cry, ""Are they bombing us?"" as the first one connects. It blooms soundlessly, a pale yellow locus, and then the power of it explodes outward. It takes Maddie maybe six seconds to die. She has enough time to say, ""I need to call my mom,"" as the wall of smoke and debris rushes toward her like a sulfurous tsunami. The window shatters. The video goes black. I don't even realize what I've seen until Maya starts bawling into her hands. A strange fire tingles in my palms, my belly. I feel the urge to move. To rise and fight. ""We have to do *something*,"" I say. Aaron looks at me like I'm an idiot. ""Like what?"" My fingers dance against the leg of my jeans. I know I should be scared as hell, but something in me is restless. Hungry for something very old, and long-forgotten. I stand up and face my siblings. I look them over carefully, in case this is the last time I see them. ""We will not just watch."" I point at the house. ""We won't just let them kill everything and everyone and just stand here and *watch*."" Just south of us, down beyond the hide of the mountain, the sky turns red with fire. Tears stream down my brother's cheeks. ""I can't believe this is fucking it."" I shake my head, insistently. Insanely. I don't know why, but I can't accept that this *is* it. That this is truly how we fall. I ball my fists up at my sides. A furious heat snaps at the bars of my ribs, yearning to set on those who dared attack our home, of all places. Our dad, of all people. I let the hate and heat fill me. Flame chases down my forearm, over my knuckles. The white hot of anger. My fist is a coal and my flesh is carved from the mountain, and I will destroy anything that threatens the ones I love. ""Avis,"" my brother says, oddly calm, ""why is your hand glowing?"" I look at my palm and grin. The fire finds my belly now. The chaos delights some new-awoken part of me that I had never known I possessed. It is like catching my reflection in an angle I have never seen before. I am myself, but different. ""I think..."" I laugh, despite the clouds of smoke rising from town. It rises out of me like a bird. I have never felt smaller or stronger. ""I think I did it on purpose."" *** Maya drives me because she won't let me leave by myself. Aaron stays back with Dad, probably to watch DVR'd game shows with him and pretend everything is fine. Jackie lies in the backseat and lets out this low, constant groan of pure horror until Maya shrieks at her to shut up. The truck flies down the mountain, towards the billowing columns of ash and fire. I stare at my palms, which well with blue fire like water. It licks down my hands and pools on the floor mats, where it vanishes like steam. ""Can you put that out or something? It's freaky."" ""I don't know if I can get it back,"" I say, truthfully. ""I don't even know why it's happening."" ""Goddamn alien radiation,"" my sister mutters under her breath, like she has any real clue what's going on. ""That's the only thing that makes sense."" Maya takes the corner by the Hendersons' farm too fast. The tires skid and shriek but just manage to cling onto the road. We keep going. ""I think we have to stop hoping for things to make sense,"" I murmur. We are silent for the rest of the drive down the mountain. The burning thing in me paces like a fox. I want to feed it flesh and bone. If the aliens are even like us. If they're just a little fire of a soul trapped in a suit of meat. But the more we drive the stronger I feel. The hotter the fire in me. When we make it to the base of the mountain, a row of fire trucks from the reservation streaks past us on the freeway, sirens blaring. I want to tell them to turn around, that they should be getting people out who still have time to run, not throwing themselves into the chaos like a sacrifice. Like we're going to do. Beyond the lake, the city is flames. The lakeside resort burns, a stalwart skeleton. Even the boats are burning. Rotten orange clouds choke the sky. Ships weave in and out of the gloom, dropping bright streaking bombs that fall glittering like jewels. For a moment we just sit, truck running, staring. ""They won't find us at home,"" Jackie says. ""There won't be a home anymore if they burn the damn forest down."" I scowl out the windshield. ""It's okay. I can walk from here."" Maya shakes her head. ""It's five miles at least, Av."" ""It's a good night for a walk."" My sister presses her forehead against the steering wheel and breathes hard through her nose. Then she turns on her turn signal--that's what kind of person my sister Maya is; she uses her turn signal even during intergalactic genocide--and heads after the firetrucks. Toward town. ""I love you,"" she says without looking at me. ""But I'm gonna be real pissed if you get us killed."" *** /r/shoringupfragments ##",1502
" ""There's a penguin right","I hesitate before answering. ""What...?"" ""There's a penguin right there,"" she points over my right shoulder. It was standing in my periphery, I glanced over to it quickly. ""I...it must be part of the theme of the restaurant,"" I say nonchalantly. That made no sense. This was a Tex Mex place. I really didn't want to discuss my hallucination on the first date. It'd been going so smoothly up until now! She continues talking. I'm looking at her, making the polite eye contact, but I'm not hearing what she's saying. *I know this isn't part of the decor...this is my hallucination. Fred isn't real...I know that...I see him but no one else sees him. Right?* ""Hello?"" I snap out of it. ""Sorry, could you repeat that?"" ""I said I've seen it follow you. It's near you in class, it follows you onto the bus. Hell, when it's crowded it floats above you. When I first saw you in the quad I thought it was a huge balloon."" I'm so confused. I must be dreaming. She goes on. ""If it's some sort of childhood thing you can't let go of, we don't have to talk about it. Although I might want to use it as an example in my PSYCH 391 class. As long as it's alright with you."" I'm still staring at her. *You need to stop staring, now you're just being rude. Say SOMETHING.* ""You...think I have a disorder?"". I did, but it was a secret. Usually. ""I mean, I'VE never seen a hallucinated penguin before, but maybe I just haven't seen a lot of the world yet,"" she said, scooping more chicken onto her fork. ""I feel like I'm hallucinating this conversation,"" I muttered to myself, pushing food around on my plate. I needed to change the subject, my palms were getting sweaty. ""Tell me more about your major."" ""It's the same as yours."" I stare at her, blankly. Of course it is, that's how we met. I can feel myself losing my grip. ""Are you feeling okay?"" she asks. I must look pale. The penguin has moved now and I can see it behind her. ""We can go if you want."" ""Maybe we should,"" I nod. I call the waiter over and hastily pay the cheque. My date goes to the washroom and I meet her outside. The air is cold and the penguin is in the middle of the quiet street. ""Where to now? Do you need to go home?"" she asks, clearly concerned. We start walking. I hadn't planned on taking her anywhere else but I just wasn't sure what to do. ""Was it something I said?"" I turn around. I'd been walking so fast she had fallen behind. She looked upset. I sighed, ""No. Well yes, a little bit."" I pause. ""Do you still see the penguin?"" ""Yeah, it's right over there."" She points to the street car stop about 10 feet ahead of us. ""Does that bother you?"" ""Yes it bothers me! It's a figment of my imagination that I can't get rid of! And now it's leaked out into reality and it's just sitting there in the middle of traffic!"" I'm getting angry now, flustered. The penguin is floating between the stop and the intersection. She chuckles a little bit. ""It's not leaking into reality. Nobody else sees it. Just me."" She gestures to the few people walking up the block. ""You think if there was really a 6 foot penguin on the road, those people would keep walking? No, they'd have their phones out and be taking video instantly!"" I glanced around. I guess she's right. ""I can see people's thoughts,"" she says, touching my arm. Her hands are warm in the October chill. ""It's...like a superpower."" I look at her quizzically. ""We are not in another terrible superhero franchise, are we?"" I finally ask. She laughs, ""No, no we are not."" ""You didn't fall into a radioactive pit? Get bitten by any bugs?"" ""No more than you did."" ""Does anyone else see a giant penguin?"" ""Not that I've seen."" ""Huh."" I pause. I'm relaxing a little. ""I have this sort of brain disorder,"" she explains. ""I've had it since birth as far as I can tell. Something about a certain part of my brain being overdeveloped or overactive."" ""I have the same thing!"" I gasp. ""Well, not exactly the same I guess."" ""Evidently."" ""I've seen this guy since birth. I've tried all the drugs. But they mess up the rest of my thinking and personality so I just live with Fred here."" ""Is he going to get hit by that taxi?"" She points at a taxi at the far end of the boulevard. The penguin is standing right in the crosswalk. The taxi is accelerating through the intersection. ""Nope,"" I reply as the car moves right through it, as if the penguin is a ghost. ""Fascinating."" ""Is this why you got into psychology? To find out more about your disorder?"" ""Kind of. If you could see everyone's thoughts, you'd see that they aren't all happy, or safe, or rational. That guy over there seems happy, but he has some dark thoughts creeping behind him."" A man is walking arm in arm with his date. ""He's depressed. It's weighing him down. "" I nod along. The man is smiling as he leads his date to their car. ""I just want to help people. Maybe if there's more awareness they wouldn't have to suffer so much. Or maybe I can help find new treatments? I don't know. It's hard seeing people's secrets all the time."" ""I bet it is,"" I say, taking her hand in mine. She was a far better person than I was. I got into psychology so I could turn the penguin off. My only goal was to help myself. ""So can you read my mind?"" I hoped she couldn't. ""Not exactly. I can't see your inner dialogue. It's more of a manifestation of your outward vision,"" she elaborates. We're nearly back to her apartment complex. ""Would you like to come upstairs?"" she asks, then laughs. ""I'm not trying to be forward, I just want to hear more about the penguin."" ""I never thought that would get me anywhere with a girl,"" I tease. ""It's not,"" she chuckles. ""I just didn't eat much at the restaurant."" Right. I had cut us off. ""I've got mac and cheese though. And I could teach you what I know already about disorders like ours."" I smile and nod, and follow her into the building. Edit: formatting",1094
 The first time it happened was 13,"Another day, another note. It's the same words that seem all too familiar by now. Even the piece of paper that was written on is torn the same way everyday. The hand writing, however, is different every now and then. The first time it happened was 13 years ago, but by now it has become a routine. I actually liked it this way, since I can skip all the boring chores after spending 8h at my banking job everyday. ""Jake! "" - Yelled Shelly, my boss. - ""Have you finished your financial reports for this year?"" Shelly is a strong-will woman. Sometime, she is too strong for her own good. But that is to be expected from a manager of a fortune 500 company. I wonder if she has a feminine side to her, like all those hard headed girls portrayed in Hollywood movies. ""Yes boss, I already put the reports on your desk this morning."" - I spoke un-interestingly with a hint of sarcasm - ""Maybe you should get to your office before you get on my ass this early in the morning, ya know?"" ""Shut your mouth Jake, good thing you always finish your job on time or I would have your ass fired for talking to me like that"" - Shelly replied annoyingly while turning her back on me and walked towards her office. ""Yes ma'am"" - Again, sarcastically. She is right tho, I have always been nothing but exceptional at my job. It's not because I love this job or anything, it's just that I have always been neat with every thing I do. I like my furniture arranged in a particular way and have them stayed there for the rest of eternity. I like to have my meals at exactly 6am, 12pm, and 6pm everyday. I have just always been weird like that. ""Hey Jake, what do you think of Jenny?"" - a voice came from the cubicle behind me. It's Paul, my annoying gossipy co-worker. He's not a bad guy to be honest, he just acted like a woman all the time by poking his nose in everyone else's business. And the Jenny that Paul was talking about is our head of HR. She is slender and tall. Her skin is slightly pale but it compliments those deep blue eyes of hers. She captivated many men's attention in the office, including mine. It is too bad that she got married to some guy 2 weeks ago. ""I think she's fine."" - I said apathetically without even turning around to face him. I didn't want him to know my real thoughts on Jenny of course. Why would I want to be the gossip topic for him to talk about with the next person he met? ""She's fine? No man. She's DAMN FINE."" - Paul's eyes lit up in excitement as he continued - ""She just took a 2 weeks off from work to go to Hawaii with her husband. Man, if I were a little richer she would have definitely liked me instead of that douche bag"" ""I'm sure she would Paul"" - And I ended the conversation there. Can't believe I'm stuck with him for another 8h today. I just wanted to go home. And thus the day went by, as mundane as every other day. I'm home and of course, the bed is made, the dinner is cooked, and the note is on the bed like always. Except, my blanket is folded in 3rd instead of draping over my bed. Something isn't right here. My blanket had always draped over my bed for the past 13 years with this ""thing"" in my house. An unsettling feeling arose in my body. I squished the note into my pocket and ran toward my closet to grab my red old wooden baseball bat. Then, I headed for my basement. My basement is fully furnished, it was this way when I bought it. I can definitely see someone hiding and living down here. I flipped the switch to turn on the lights and heard a light gasp. The sound came from a woman. I slowly walked down the stairs and there it is. A figure. Sitting in the far corner of my basement. She was sitting in the fetus position with her face covered by her hands. I reached out my hand and say: ""It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."" Nothing but silence came out from the woman. Both of us stayed still for a few seconds until she looked up so that my eyes met those blue eyes of hers. ""Listen here, Jenny"" - I continued, feeling a bit annoyed - ""You know how much I like my bed being done in a specific way, don't you? Next time just make sure you drape my blanket over my bed instead of folding it, ok?"" She lightly nodded, trembling on her feet. ""You wouldn't want me to use this baseball bat on you again, would you?"" - I told her slowly as I was kneeling down and tapping the baseball bat in my hand. Again, without a word, she quickly shook her head. It's like I was talking to a wall, and I can feel that I was getting more irritated by the seconds. ""You know Jenny, this note right here"" - As I pulled out the squished note from my pocket and show it to her beaten up but ever so beautiful face - ""It's not for me. It's for you Jenny. I made you write it so that you are reminded everyday that THIS, could have been us if you weren't such a bitch a month ago when you rejected me"" ""I'm sorry, please don't kill me!"" - She finally spoke - ""...Please... I will change... Please!"" - The tears came out of her eyes faster than the words that came out of her pink, seductive lips. ""Good girl."" - I said as I patted her head lightly. Seeing how helpless she was stirred up a bit of euphoria in me, and I couldn't help but smile a little. I stood up and glanced at her for a few seconds before I turned off the light and headed back upstairs. I took my dinner from the dinning room and headed toward my couch. My red baseball bat leaned against the table as I grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. ""Today, the police has found a body at the address 123 S Main Street"" - announced the news anchor - ""The victim was identified as John Hicks. Who has been dead for 2 weeks by the time his corpse was found."" I dug my spoon into my lasagna as the news anchor continued: ""His wife, Jennifer Hicks is currently missing and is the prime suspect of the investigation."" I swallowed the last piece of lasagna in my mouth, turned off the TV, and headed for the sink. I started doing all the dishes and thought to myself: ""I guess it's time to move again."" Edit: added in several details to make the story clearer. Thank you all for your suggestions.",1187
 LN says *observe,"They say that you cannot truly become a general until you've seen the trenches of World War I with your own eyes. The truth is that there's little else in our history that can compare to the Intergalactic Stalemate with the Xi-An. According to the statistics of LN, waging war on such a massive scale is ungraspable by our brains. To be able to make proper decisions, we need to study our past. LN says *observe trench warfare from the Age of Division*, so that's what we do. The first sensation that hits me when the Chronosphere disperses is the smell. Nine million dead soldiers - it's nothing compared to our standards, but some of them are rotting in the mud nearby. The adapter unit changes my holo suit into a pair of thick leather boots, an antique textile army jacket, and a heavy pot-helmet in some unrefined metal. The mud splashes as the hover disc shuts off. A blaring noise suddenly rings out across the flat brown landscape. At first, my brain doesn't grasp the situation. The deafening siren rings in my ears, and then before I know what's what, someone tackles me from behind and together we tumble into the wet trench. A moment later the ground starts shaking, and torrents of earth erupt all around us. My intestines feel like scrambled synth-eggs, and my brain like it's leaking out of my ears. White noise. Soreness. Disorientation. Someone pulls me to my feet. He waves a hand in front of my eyes, trying to make me focus, but the world keeps spinning. It's hard to make out his face through the dirt, but he's clearly angry. The man finally lets me go, and I wobble a few steps before crashing into the brown water, retching. The gunmetal sky above shifts slowly, and drops of rain patter against my forehead, washing away the sick from my lips. Swirling discs of light dot my vision, and soon the world fades into a gray and brown gruel. *** ""Hey, kid!"" Rough hands on my shoulders shake my aching body. ""I know that you're not dead."" Blinking away the sticky muck from my eyes, a man with a face like a boulder starts to take shape. ""Whoever sent you to the frontline had probably had a few shots too many,"" the man says, shaking his head. ""Unless this is a joke of some kind?"" At least, my translator seems to be working. The archaic English accent is displayed on my visual feed. ""You're lucky,"" he says. ""If I hadn't tackled you... well, you'd be mush now. What the hell were you doing in no-mans-land, anyway? Do you have a death wish? I mean I wouldn't hold it against you. Enemy fire is perhaps better than slowly getting eaten alive by the rot."" I glance at the watch on my wrist. The glass is cracked but the date displayed is: >September 6th, 1918. (Local calendar) Shit. The war's not over. I've heard this happen before. Time travel isn't an exact science. I had expected to be strolling along the trenches and look at the aftermath, not end up in the middle of it all. ""Have some to drink,"" the man says and puts a bottle to my lips. The liquid rolling down my throat isn't water; it's some antique brew with a very high alcohol percentage. Coughing, my eyes go wide. The man starts laughing. ""You're a precious little thing, aren't you? I don't mean any offense but you look a bit like a girl."" I take a deep breath, looking around at the flimsy walls of the small tent. ""What happened?"" The smug smile melts away from his lips. His dark eyes narrow into slits. ""You *are* a girl..."" he says after a drawn-out pause. ""Goddamn."" ""I need to go back out there."" It'll be easier to land in the right time from here. ""You'll not be going anywhere."" ""I have to..."" ""What's your name, girl?"" he says stiffly. ""Patience. What's yours?"" ""Listen, Patience. You've broken several ribs, and I had to amputate your left leg. The only reason you're not going silly with pain is that you're high on drugs. You're not going anywhere."" Wide-eyed I throw off the blanket, feeling a flash of agony in my chest from the quick movement. Wrapped in bloodstained bandages, my left leg ends in a stump at the knee. ""I'm sorry, but the shrapnel made it impossible to save. You would've bled out."" ""I need to get back!"" My voice cracks and tears start pooling in my eyes. ""Please!"" If only I can get back, I could return to my own time. If I stay here, who knows what infections I might get? My head spins. The stump glares at me. Shit. ""Oh, yeah and my name is Richard."" ""I don't care what your name is! You need to take me back there. I can't die in World War I! This is just practice."" I shouldn't be saying these things. ""World War I?"" Richard says suspiciously. ""It's never *just practice*."" ""Listen, I'm not from here. I need to get back to the place you found me."" Fuck it. I reach for the button to activate hover control again, only to realize he's stripped the entire unit from my back. ""Looking for this?"" he says, dangling a hurdle of cables. ""Give it to me."" To my surprise, he casually starts strapping the device to his wrist and back, as if he's done it a hundred times before. I just stare, mouth open. ""I was just kidding earlier, Patience."" He smiles dangerously. ""You didn't actually get hit by shrapnel. I took off your leg for fun."" His army jacket flickers for a moment as the hover device turns into a leather satchel on his back. He has an adapter unit. The realization makes me shiver. ""Yeah, I destroyed your Chronosphere. Sorry, but you're stuck with me."" He pulls out a rusty saw and approaches me with a wicked grin plastered on his face. As he leans over me, I catch a glimpse of his reflection in the saw. Obsidian horns sprout from his head, curling over his skull. His eyes stare pupilless and sickly green. He's a Xi-An Time Reaper. LN said we had destroyed their monastery... that we had eliminated them all. ""Now, which one of your arms do you like the least?"" *** More stories here: r/Lilwa_Dexel",1073
 Chris shuddered and opened his,"Fires roared, and black smoke belched out of the castle. The sky bled as day turned to night. Legions of creatures in black scales marched into lush forests and sleepy villages, leaving only ashes and death in their wake. People covered their faces or threw up their hands in despair at the empty throne. A golden apple tumbled down the marble steps. A sword sparkled inside a block of ice. A queen rested in a coffin. The dead climbed out of their graves. **** Chris shuddered and opened his eyes, sweat soaked his clothes. It felt like he'd had one of his usual seizures, only this time the vision had been much clearer. He dragged himself up from the floor of the grocery store and followed aisle six down toward the locker room. His back and thighs were sore after his wife had finally convinced him to get a gym membership, and to clear out his gaming room. He hadn't played in a long time, but with a baby on the way, they needed all the space they could get. The old VR equipment did hold a lot of sentimental value to him, but that hadn't been enough to convince her to let him keep it. Running a hand through his graying hair, Chris felt the sweat on his fingers. His last shift was done, and he couldn't wait to crack open a cold beer and spend the rest of the evening on his sofa, watching the new Game of Thrones episode. Ever since he had stopped playing, he'd had these nightmarish seizures, and the need to binge on fantasy shows. Perhaps that was the trigger now, the new season had started, and now his mind tried to tell him to stop working and get watching? His fascination with fantasy was something that his wife, Liza, never got tired of mocking him for. 'Why don't you like football like everyone else your age?' she'd tell him. 'We could invite the neighbors over for Super Bowl.' She'd called his need for fantasy *a symptom of withdrawal*, and to be fair, he had spent a lot of time in that game. When he finally clocked out and left, the sun had already gone down. Heading for the parking lot, he noticed that a group of people was following him. He increased his pace. This part of Detroit could get dangerous after dark. Fumbling with his car keys, he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Chris ignored it and opened the car - he had a baseball bat under the passenger seat, just for occasions like this. With a firm grip on the bat, he turned around. The sight that met him, first made him raise an eyebrow and then burst into a chuckle. ""See, I told you he would recognize us,"" said the man wearing a cloaked white robe. ""Are you ready, Your Majesty?"" The man in the white robe leaned heavily on a gnarly wooden staff and looked like he was older than a white walker. To his left stood a tall woman, dressed in a silky dress and leather despite the chilly autumn weather, and with a pair of falchions strapped to her hips. ""He doesn't,"" she said and flipped her bloodred hair. ""He's laughing, but he's afraid of us."" ""You're funny, Thyme,"" said the last one of the three - a man in a bulky full-plate armor and shield - and snorted. ""I once saw him charge headfirst into a legion of Vaarcs; he's as fearless as they come."" ""Listen, guys, even though that armor is absolutely badass,"" Chris said with a sigh, ""it's been a long day, and I'm not in the mood. So just go back to whatever convention you're visiting."" ""With all due respect, this armor is neither bad nor arse, Milord,"" the knight rumbled from within his helmet. ""The blacksmiths of Laz'durm have worked day and night to make it."" The woman elbowed the knight in his armored ribs. Her face twisted into a grimace of pain. ""He doesn't remember, you big oaf,"" she snarled and rubbed her arm. ""He needs to drink the elixir. Eredran, give him the elixir."" The old man, who appeared to have fallen asleep leaning on his staff, bobbed his head and awoke. ""Right, right, the elixir,"" he mumbled and pulled out a vial filled with a glowing violet liquid. ""Here, Your Majesty, have a sip of this."" Chris laughed again, but this time it was in contempt. He shook his head and got in the driver's seat. He slammed the door shut, but the gleaming edge of the knight's claymore stopped it from closing. ""I told you this would happen,"" the woman complained and rounded the car, drawing her own weapons. Cursing loudly, Chris stuck the key in the ignition. The car started with an anxious chortle, but before he could back out, a gauntleted hand grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out onto the ground. Chris kicked and screamed, trying to break free from these lunatics. He had often worried about getting mugged by thugs or stumble into a gang war, but he had never imagined that he would get jumped by Gandalf, Xena, and The Tin Man. The knight put his entire weight on Chris, while the woman pried open his mouth. The knees of the old man cracked and whined as he crouched over Chris and popped out the cork. ""Help! Somebody help!"" Chris cried out before the purple liquid filled his throat and he coughed. The woman held her palm over his mouth and pinched his nose shut, forcing him to swallow. His vision blurred, and he started to fade out. The last thing he heard before his senses finally left him was the muttering of the old man. ""Now, where did I put the map back to Celeraan?"" ""You drew a map?"" Thyme said with a snort. ""We've only traveled for half a league."" ""Why, of course! That is the first rule of the nexus portal. You always have to be able to find your way back. New realms can be quite disorienting."" Eredran threw out a hand at the mountains made of glass in the distance. ""Let's go,"" the knight rumbled with Chris limply slung over his shoulder. ""Just so,"" the old man said. ""Lead the way, Sir Dewrose. Take us back to the Decaying Hills!"" ""I can't believe he threw away his portal,"" Thyme said, glaring. ""Are you sure he wants to be king still?"" ""Some rulers are born into power, others are chosen by the people,"" said the knight darkly. ""A true king can choose many things, but not when his people need him."" *** r/Lilwa_Dexel for more.",1120
 Me? A legendary fighter? There,"I glared around the arena in disbelief. Me? A legendary fighter? There must have been some sort of mistake. The arena was lined with different species of fighters each looking like it could tear me into shreds and wear my bright blue employee vest as a trophy. The crowd chanted in unison from the stands of the large arena as the fighters were showcased one by one. Each one walked up to the center stage and struck a pose or spoke some words in their alien language. I was more than nervous, as a matter of fact I felt like pissing myself and running out of the arena, and I would've too if the gates hadn't already been sealed. I glanced around to see if there was another fighter I could talk to about this mess, but the ones around me seemed just as nervous as I did. Just then the speakers in the arena blared sounding off a name I couldn't spell if my life depended on it that sounded like Koikep. A large gray man stood up from his spot on the edge of the arena and made his way to the center. Every step he took shook the earth around his feet as he entered the stage and let out a deep roar. The crowd chanted his name as the four armed death machine walked back to his place In line and I heard the dreaded words over the speaker ""...TODD!"" The crowd grew silent as I slowly made my way to the stage. I could feel the sweat pouring from every damn hole in my body. The other champions cringed as I walked passed them. They must have known that I was a goner too. I approached the stage and stood there awkwardly for a moment before leaning into the mic and mumbling ""Hey...I'm uh...Todd and I'm not sure..."" Before I could finish the audience let out a collective gasp and shutter. Great. It looks like they all knew I didn't belong here. I felt the panic rising in my gut. The heat of the lights on my face, the sweat on my forehead, and soon the inevitable pee stain on my Walmart (tm) issued khakis. I shuffled off the stage back to my place in line and put my head down. I tried to tune out the noise of the audience and the fighters so I could think of an escape plan. There was no way I'd survive this competition. I looked around for someone to speak to and was only met by more scared fighters. The being to my right seemed like he may not tear me to ribbons if I spoke to him. ""Hey...pssstttttttt. Hey I'm Todd can you help me?"" The tall slender alien quickly turned away and tried to avoid eye contact ""Hey can you even understand me? I need help I shouldn't be here"" The being turned even further putting his back to me. That's when I noticed the arena had gotten quiet. I looked around to notice the entire arena staring at me with wide eyes. Shit shit shit. They were going to kill me before I could even get a chance to escape! I attempted to put my head down to brush them off when suddenly the gates around the arena opened and we began to get escorted somewhere. Everyone was guided by two guards except for me. Instead one small nervous looking bear thing guided me towards the door that would surely seal my fate. The door ahead of my opened to a large man sitting on a throne. His voice bellowed through the room and echoed off the walls ""My champion! I'm glad you've arrived. You've been given the introduction right? Of course you have let's get started so-"" ""Actually I haven't .... I have no idea why I'm here. There must have been a mix up there's no way I belong here you have to send me back to my home."" The giant man glared at me in disbelief and then began to laugh ""Hahaha I knew it was a good idea to pick you. Not only are you strong, you're hilarious. Ok now let's get serious what strategy did you plan to use? The ole over under? Maybe a double spin? Oh it won't matter you have the other fighters scared to death"" ""No I'm being serious there must be a mistake. I'm not even the best fighter on earth let alone the universe. The only thing I'm good at is bagging and that..."" He spoke loud interrupting me with his laughter""This guy just doesn't quit does he? I'm glad I picked you instead of that other guy"" He gestured to a pile of bones in the corner with a blue vest and name tag that read ""John, Senior Manager"" ""Ok Todd now get out there and make me proud!"" He snapped his fingers and I was transported into the arena once again. The crowd gasped as I spawned and grew quiet. I glared across to my opponent. A short, stocky monster of a being with a large head appeared before me. There was no way I could take him. It was over for me, but for some reason he looked just as scared as I did. We approached the center of the stage and some sort of referee came to the center. He touched each of us on the head and gave us the go to begin the fight. I prepared myself to dodge his strike, but instead the arena opened and a large conveyer belt rose out of it. Before me was a belt with a large variety of items and a series of gray plastic bags. I stared in disbelief. This was a retail worker competition, and I was going to kick this guy's ass. With lightning speed I grabbed the food items in front of me and began bagging. The conveyer belt slid forward as I slammed items into the appropriate places. Milk...double bag. Eggs...on top of other items. Canned goods: easy. The onlookers stared in disbelief as I put my opponent to shame. He frantically tried to keep up using food items from his own planet, but it was far to late. I had won easily and was beaming as the crowd now chanted my name. ""Todd Todd Todd!"" I couldn't believe it. I had been summoned to do the only thing I was good at. I outstreched my hand to shake with my opponent when he suddenly vaporized into a cloud of dust. The speakers blared ""Todd is the winner of round 1, and Glorook has been vaprozed into dust, as is customary"". On the bright side it looked like I was going to get that wish: To get my soul back from years of working at Walmart.",1140
 The Infinity Stones were more than enough,"I tried, I really did. First I asked nicely, then I rang the bell on the countertop repeatedly, and when that also failed to get the attention of the two gentlemen scuffling in my shop, I raised my voice and threatened to have them kicked out. But it was all to no avail, and the last threads of my patience burned away in the fires of their bickering. So I slipped on the Gauntlet and slammed twenty novas' worth of magic at the two of them. ""Good,"" I said. ""Some peace and quiet, finally. If you want me to release you, will you do as I say?"" They resisted, of course. But the Infinity Stones were more than enough to warp reality, and together with the Dragon Balls strung in a bracelet around my wrist, plus the One Ring on my index finger... there was little they could do but nod. ""OK, you can go first,"" I said to the man on the left as I released their shackles. He was the more aesthetically pleasing between the two, with broad shoulders, blond hair, square jaw. ""What brings you to the Phylactery?"" ""I'm Honar the Just! I'm here to seek the means to vanquish evil in the fair land of Fandaria! And blessed are the gods to deliver me here before my nemesis, the evil and twisted Scrillux!"" ""I'm not evil,"" said Scrillux, as he pouted slightly. He was mousy, with a slight hunch and thinning hair. The dark circles around his eyes did little for his complexion. ""That's character assassination, that is."" ""You cannot *possibly* mean to give Scrillux what he wants! He will only use it to bring suffering to the whole of Fandaria!"" ""I will not give anyone anything,"" I said. ""I have to run a business, you know. You have the money, I give you the goods-"" ""No, you do not understand! Oh, if only you knew the dastardly deeds he has been working towards, your heart will surely shrink in fear! The pain, the suffering, that he has wrought, it is my sacred duty to ki-"" ""So what has he done? What's so bad about him?"" I asked, as I sized Scrillux up again. I had seen my fair share of villains in the Phylactery, and I knew better than to judge based on appearance. Still, there was an air of... rationality about Scrillux, which really took the edge off any danger he may have projected. ""... why... Scrillux seeks to obliterate all the towns west of the Capital, no doubt to establish his undead army there! Our spies, they report that he also means to enslave any survivors, and to brainwash them to do his bidding! He is chaos incarnate! He must be stopped!"" ""Is that true, Scrillux?"" He sighed, and rolled his eyes ever so slightly. I got the sense that he had had to explain himself many, many times before. ""That... is not false, to be honest. Honar's right in that I *am* working towards those goals, but it's not wha-"" ""There! He admitted to it! See! You've got to sto-"" I raised my finger, and relieved Honar temporarily of the ability to breathe. He crumpled to the ground, grasping at his throat. A ghost of a smile lit the corners of Scrillux's mouth. ""The towns... there's an infection spreading,"" he said. ""I mean, a literal infection. An honest-to-goodness bacterial infection. Those dimwits aren't taking to the hygiene protocols I've proposed, and I've got no choice but to quarantine them before it gets out of hand. If they are too far gone, the humane thing is to... put them out of their misery."" Honar was turning blue, so I released him. He sucked in air like a chicken having a panic attack, then rejoined the fray. ""Lies! All lies! What is all this... little devils you speak about, traveling in the water? Hogwash!"" The frown settled over my brow despite my best efforts. It was so difficult to remain impartial sometimes. ""And the enslavement?"" I asked. ""Conscription, more like,"" Scrillux said. ""Someone's got to do it. There's a crapload of infrastructure that needs installing - the Kingdom doesn't build itself, you know. No one's going to do it unless a little force is applied, but you know, I'm hoping that they'll come around once they receive regular wages. Beats sitting around on their bums waiting for the next handout, that's for sure."" ""Lies! Worm-infested lies!"" ""The brainwashing?"" I asked. ""Thinking of starting a cult to worship you, be your fearless agents of death in the land?"" ""Um, not really,"" Scrillux said. ""It's just basic education, actually. Six years of mandatory learning, so that these bumpkins have a sufficient appreciation of the sciences to not spend another century living in filth. Again, tough at first, but it'll get better."" ""Do you hear the blasphemy from his mouth!"" Honar said. ""He means to teach us the Devil's work! I saw it with my own eyes! Unholy fires, trapped in balls of ice, light the halls of his mansion! Those aren't candles! They are the souls of the living, wrested away, unable to lay at peac-"" Two fingers raised this time, and Honar hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. I opened the ledger I kept, and verified Scrillux's account of matters within seconds. ""Fine, it all checks out. What artifact are you looking for?"" ""I'll probably need something... with a bit of kick? The King is sending his entire academy of mages against me soon, maybe even a dragon or two, and I would really like to get my work done in peace."" ""Sure, sure... I'll get you... how about the Spear of Longinus? No? Book of Thoth? Blade of Sopaa?"" We haggled, but the deal soon closed far faster than I had expected. Scrillux was a lot more reasonable and keen of mind than I had given him credit for. He even offered to help lug the unconscious Honar home. ""Oh... one last thing,"" he said at the threshold of the Phylactery. ""You've probably seen a lot of... protagonists and antagonists come here, haven't you?"" ""I have."" ""Any advice?"" he asked, an eyebrow raised. ""It's been... far more challenging than I thought, trying to do the right thing."" I nodded. ""You really want to work on your PR,"" I said. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1059
 Tenn O'gul used to,"""Fuck"" - Tenn O'gul yelled out in disgust while spitting the beer out. That was his 26th victim of the night, and he had yet to taste a single drop of blood in his mouth. Tenn O'gul used to be a Count back when before people knew what a gun was. But nowadays, he's just an old, short, and ugly vampire. It had been hard for not just him but all vampires since the booming in advancement of bio engineering. People started to replace certain natural body parts with something else. Most commonly is the replacement of blood with beer for better metabolically energy absorption. It had been exactly 472 days since the last time Tenn O'gul found a human with actual blood in their veins. There was not much he can do but moved on and hunt for another human. Tenn O'gul had grown apathetic. After dropping his last victim's body at the dumpster, Tenn O'gul proceeded to fly aimlessly for hours. He turned his head left and right, he flew toward the moon and back looking for his next prey but all he found was frustration and angst filling up his whole body. You could see the lights in his eyes had died out long ago, he had lost all hope of ever finding a human with actual blood. ""HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"" A voice echo from down below, not too far away from where Tenn O'gul was at. Tenn O'gul slowly flew toward the source and landed on top of an old building. He looked down to the dark alley below and saw a woman. The night was dark, but being a vampire, Tenn O'gul could see exactly what was going on. The woman was small. She wore a brown sweater over polka dot dress with a chestnut-color scarf around her neck. They all seemed a bit too big for her size. She covered her head with a grey beanie, but Tenn O'gul could still make out the green highlight in her hair. She looked like what you would call a hipster. But Tenn O'gul didn't care about that, all he cared was that she looked humanly enough to be his next victim. In front of her was a 7ft tall man. To call him a man was not entirely correct. The right side of his body was replaced with mechanical machinery. The sounds of gear clicking and whirling with every moves he made. But he didn't spark an interest in Tenn O'gul because Tenn knew that there were no human blood underneath all those mechanical parts. The man raised both of his hands in the air, signaling a taunt toward the woman: ""C'mon, you can do better than that girl"" - he spoke in a half-man, half-robot voice - ""C'mon, try harder"" Tenn O'gul was just sitting on top of the building observing. He was not really interested in the situation, he was just bored. He had no intention of saving nor preying on the woman because he did not want to fight the half-man for a small chance of the woman having actual blood in her body. ""No? You're not gonna scream anymore?"" - As the half-man grabbed the woman's arm and pushed her against the wall - ""Well then this is gonna be veeerrry easy"" ""Do you even have a dick down there anymore, half-man?"" - the woman spoke in a surprisingly calming manner - ""Should I even call you a man if you're dickless?"" Tenn O'gul couldn't help but let out a little grin. He did not expect her act like that in her situation. The half-man got taken back a bit. He also did not expect her to say something like that. It wasn't long before he grew aggressive again out of embarrassment . ""Fuck you, bitch"" - the gears in his right arm whirled as he raise it and slapped the living hell out of the woman. She fell to the ground and hit her head against the wall. Her beanie fell off, and something was oozing out of her wound... something RED. Tenn O'gul knew exactly what he saw. The red liquid that he craved for so long. It is now right in front of him. Before the half-man could see it coming, Tenn O'gul flew down from the building and ripped his mechanical arm off of him. The half-man was thrown across the alley, laying his back against the cold, hard cement. He looked straight at Tenn O'gul in horror. And even tho Tenn O'gul appearance is just a small, ugly old man, the half-man knew he could not do anything in front of this hungry beast. As chills were sent down his spine, he grew the courage to mutter: ""What... are... y.."" - Tenn O'gul plunged his finger nails through the half-man's neck, ended his life before he could say his final word. Tenn O'gul then turned back to the woman who was observing the whole ordeal. At that moment, she knew her fate was sealed. Unlike with the half-man, she knew there was nothing she could say to get out of the situation. In front of her was an ugly and vicious creature who would not be fazed by reasons. His eyes were filled with not just hunger but excitement. She was looking at him, but he wasn't looking at her. His attention was drawn to the red line of blood on her forehead. He wanted to tear her apart and drown himself in it but he also wanted to savor it. He slowly walked up to her and patted her hair to the side, revealing where the line of blood came from. While the woman was shaking in horror, Tenn O'gul was shaking in excitement. It had been too long for him and he was enjoying every moment of it. He raise his fore finger up, the same one that went through the half-man's neck, drenched it with the blood from the woman's forehead and then put it in his mouth. His eyes immediately turned red. His body started to shake even more violently. He let out a roar tearing through the silence of the night. What he felt wasn't rejuvenation, it was desperation. It wasn't a roar of excitement that came out of him, it was a roar of wrath for what he tasted wasn't what he expected. ""WHAT. THE FUCK. IS THIS?"" - Tenn O'gul looking straight at the woman, his gaze was completely focused on her and not on her forehead. ""What... what.. do you mean?"" - said the confused woman. ""What was in your blood? That wasn't human blood"" - Tenn O'gul roared loudly ""I had body... modification... I don't.. have any... human blood in me."" - the woman could not spoke straight for she was crying before the terrifying sight of angry Tenn O'gul ""Then why the fuck is it not beer?? Why is it red?"" - Tenn O'gul voice cracked. He was on the verge of breaking down to tears. He thought he has finally found it, but once again, his hopes were crushed. All he felt at that moment was absolute desperation. ""I'm... I'm... allergic to gluten... I can't... have beer in my veins..."" - the woman continued - ""I... I... got my blood... replaced.. with Sriracha... instead"" That was the final straw. Tenn O'gul broke down in front of the woman. He was no longer the vicious beast. His small body crumpled up and you could see that he was even smaller than the woman. And then, he started to cry like a baby.",1266
 Frederick Johnson is regarded as the seventh,"My name is Frederick Johnson. I am officially regarded as the seventh-strongest man in the world. And I really, really hate my stupid power. ... ""Hey, Fred! How ya been, slick?"" I spun, throwing out my hands, and called out to my childhood friend. ""Geoff! I'll get you for that one!"" He hooked an arm around my neck, dragging me along as I tried to resist. ""Whoa, that's a crazy feeling. You move like this all the time?"" I dug a hand into the gap between his arm and my neck, repelling the offending limb. He laughed as he stumbled away, then recovered and turned back towards me. ""Yeah,"" I said, the smile fading as I processed his words, ""all the time."" Geoff waved his hands, backpedaling on his previous statement. ""Aw, come on, don't be such a downer. Come on, I'm headed to a bar. The whole group's in town for the reunion, it'll be great!"" I smiled, nodded, and followed my exuberant friend. ... ""...so I say, ' I guess you wasted too much time on your monologue!', and smack her to the floor."" A round of laughter came from the table. ""She's falling in slow-motion, so I handcuff her while she's falling. When she gets back to normal speed, she's just screaming her head off about me rueing the day and all. It was hilarious!"" I wiped a tear from my eye. It was good to share stories like this. The Ten were so full of themselves. ""So, Fred... any stories to tell?"" I thought on it. Really, I didn't see much action. My power made it rather hard to fight crime. Ahh... ""Did I ever tell you guys why I'm ranked Seven?"" A series of shaking heads and murmurs of negation. ""Well, it all started when I got my powers..."" ... I woke up on my 18th birthday, turned over, and slid straight out of bed onto the floor. I wasn't hurt - in fact, I wasn't technically on the floor at all. I was an inch above it. My first impression was flight; my second was a forcefield; my third was ice powers. I really wish it had been one of those. It quickly became apparent that I was having a lot of trouble standing. I couldn't grab anything, either. I began to panic, and started shouting. My dad came in the room, but despite his super-strength, he wasn't able to do much. My mom came up, and managed to use her forcefields to give me some purchase. I ended up on my bed, with both of them leaving the room thanks to my underwear suffering much the same fate as the floor, slipping off the moment I'd gotten upright. ... The table was rapt, expressions of empathy on every face. ""Shit. I never really though just how bad not being able to touch things could be..."" ""Fuck, and I called you slick earlier. Now I feel like a dick."" I smiled wanly. ""No worries, it's far from the worst I've heard. Anyway, I won't bother you with the details. Eventually, I figured out how to wrap a toga without being able to come within an inch of it, taught myself how to move based on some half-forgotten skating lessons, and made it down the hall. Took a few days to reailze that I hadn't eaten or drank or anything like that. Took a few weeks to try every doctor and scientist we could to see if they could do anything about it. Eventually, I just kind of accepted it. That would have been the end of it, except..."" ... Goliath was attacking the city. This wasn't that unexpected; Goliath was always attacking something, and our city was a probable target. The problem was, I was less than a block away, on a grocery run, when he started his attack. Now, Goliath is a really mean guy. His power essentially makes him the size of a skyscraper, with proportional strength, mass, and durability. Maye one in a hundred people could even scratch him with their powers. I gave up when his foot came crashing towards me. I won't deny that I almost welcomed it. My life had sucked for months, and I was in a pretty dark place. The massive foot slammed downward, and I just looked up at it, mentally egging it on. It came within an inch of my skin- and then it slammed into the pavement around me, over me. A moment later, the foot recoiled, a massive, echoing howl of pain coming from Goliath above. ""AAUGHH, MY FOOT! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"" The massive man peered downward, where he saw me, standing in dismay on a spire of asphalt that remained in his massive footprint. The only thought going through my head was how difficult it would be to get out of the crater, and that I wasn't dead. ""YOU BASTARD! TREMBLE BEFORE GOLIATH, OR BE DESTROYED!"" He aimed a kick, and I stood there, not bothering to dodge. He split his foot in half with the force of the kick. Now, my brain was finally snapping out of its stupor. For the first time in months, I realized that I wasn't worthless, that as much as I hated my power, it wasn't quite as bad as I thought. It wasn't that I couldn't touch anything: my power made it so nothing could touch me. Goliath screamed in pain, his massive, bus-sized foot now a bloody mess, and collapsed to the street. I winced at the damage, then noticed the other people who'd been fighting him staring. It struck me how this must look: a man in a toga, completely unmarred by the action, floating an inch off the ground, with a face that refused to grow a beard and long brown hair. ""I'm not Jesus,"" I said lamely, before turning back to Goliath. ... ""...and those were my famous first words as The Untouchable, the completely invulnerable superhero."" ""Pfft- that's freaking gold, Slick. I guess you won that fight?"" ""Yeah. Turns out being nearly frictionless and completely unstoppable makes you a pretty good bullet. Plus, I can lift literally anything if I get under it, so he was kind of screwed."" ""Sounds like it. So they made you number seven for that?"" ""Yup. I mostly agreed to join The Ten to support my parents, but they insist that I'm vital to the team, so...yeah."" Silence reigned around the table for a few moments. Finally, Lars spoke up. ""So, tell me straight: have you ever seen Glorious naked?"" The table burst into laughter, and I smirked. ""I've missed you guys."" Written on my phone, sorry for any mistakes. If you like my writing, look me up on Spacebattles or Fanfiction.net, I write Worm fanfiction there.",1135
 Residents of St Bartholomew's,"Joe wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and pulled her tightly to his chest. Most of the residents of St Bartholomew's Street had already come out of their houses to see the cause of the midnight fracas. They were now gathered around the drive of number thirty-eight, as if patrons around a theatre stage, many of whom were hoping for a particularly blood thirsty production. Others, like Joe, were simply stuck in a state of disbelief. Of *refusing* to believe. Sarah looked up at her husband. ""They can't be, can they? We've known them for so long."" Joe felt her hand curl up into a ball against his back. ""They looked after the children only last week. Jesus Joe, we *trusted* them."" The Enforcers' Jeep waited empty, but eager, outside their neighbour's drive. A harsh light spiralled out from the vehicle, painting the gathered crowd first in broad red brushstrokes, then blue. Their neighbours' door lay splintered on the brick driveway. Joe shook his head. ""We- we don't know that they *are*, yet, sweetheart. Not until the Enforcers bring them out. Until then, I think they both deserve the benefit of the doubt. They've earned at least that much from us."" ""Amanda and Tony,"" his wife continued unperturbed, ""they just seemed so *normal*. Just like us. I suppose that was the point - it was all a... a *trick*. To get close to us, so that they could eventually..."" Her hands began to tremble. Joe took her hands in his own and held them tightly. He opened his mouth meaning to reassure her, when the Special Office Enforcers came striding out of the broken doorway. ""Oh God,"" cried Sarah as she watched her neighbours be dragged out of their house, towards the Jeep, their arms handcuffed behind their backs. ""How- how could you!"" she screamed at them. ""How sick are you freaks? We trusted you with our children!"" Amanda must have heard her, as she glanced up at Sarah. In that moment, Joe saw his neighbour's battered face and the blood dribbling from her nose. ""Go back to your own planet!"" Sarah spat. ""And take the rest of your kind with you! You're not welcome!"" ""Honey,"" said Joe, blinking back tears. ""Please. You don't mean that. They're our friends."" ""*Friends?* They're sick freaks, that's what they are! You've read the reports. The things they've done..."" ""You can't believe all that? Amanda and Tony have always been good t-"" A yell from nearby interrupted him. ""Show us their eyes!"" ""Yeah, their eyes!"" ""We want proof!"" The Enforcer who held Amanda, pulled her up to her feet. He took out a plastic device, that looked a little like a gun, from his jacket pocket. With one hand, he grabbed Amanda's hair and yanked her head back; with the other, he fired a wide, green beam into her face. Her eyes lit up a bloody, unnatural, red. There were screams and panicked gasps from the crowd. ""I God-damned knew it!"" said one resident. ""They've always been perfect. *Too* perfect!"" ""Hang 'em!"" said another. Tony, who was kneeling on the floor, pushed himself up and thrust himself head first at the Enforcer holding his wife. The Enforcer stumbled, almost falling, but at the last moment just regained her balance. Another Enforcer ran at Tony and threw his fist into the man's throat. The first Enforcer rejoined the fray, stamping her boot into the fallen man's head. Joe began to tremble. ""No..."" ""Honey?"" said Sarah. ""This isn't right,"" said Joe defiantly. ""It isn't right!"" ""Tell that to the children,"" said Sarah. ""This is *exactly* right. It's what they deserve."" A haze of red flashed from the Jeep as its light spun again; Joe saw his hands as the light spilled over them. A moment later, a blue light replaced the red, washing it away. Only, the red wasn't gone. It would never go away, unless he... ""I'm sorry,"" he whispered, kissing his wife's hair. ""They may not be from here, but they're sure as hell human. And more than that, they're our friends."" Sarah screamed, pleading him not to, but he was already in mid sprint. His shoulder landed with a thud against against one of the Enforcers. A right hook took the other off her feet. ""It's okay,"" said Joe, offering a hand to the beaten, bloodied man. Tony looked up, through his one, non swollen eye. ""Thank you,"" he croaked. ""Are you one of..."" But the question was never finished. More officers had arrived. A gun shot. A bullet tore through Tony's head. A long streak of red spattered the street. Amanda's blood curdling scream cut through the noise of the frenzied crowd, until the hilt of a gun struck her head and silenced her. Joe stepped back in sick disbelief. ""No..."" he muttered. ""Oh God, no."" And then, they were on him. Fists and boots battering him down until he became numb and still. When finally satisfied, the Enforcers dragged Joe back to his feet. ""Show us his eyes!"" came a shout from the crowd. ""He's one of them for sure!"" ""Show us his eyes!"" A hand yanked back Joe's head. A fierce green light pierced his retinas. If he could have screamed, he would have done. ""He's not one of them,"" said a woman who lived two doors down from Joe. The blood-lusting crowd seemed to deflate slightly, shoulders slumping and heads turning. ""Just loves him some Second-Worlds."" ""That's bad enough, ain't it?!"" Joe saw his wife standing on the doorstep, watching him with tear streaked eyes. Jane and Thea had come to the door and Sarah had her arms wrapped around them, trying to comfort them. The green light was ripped away from his eyes. As it twisted direction, for a split second, it touched his wife's face. His entire body began to tremble. No one else saw: they were all too busy baying like wolves at Joe. He didn't mean to struggle again - it was instinctive - but it was all it took. Joe looked a last time at his his family, as a second gun fired. Sarah had tried to cover her children's eyes, but Thea saw it all through a gap between her mother's fingers. She saw the blood spurt out of her father's chest and his body fall limply to the ground. She saw the inhumanity and unfairness of it all, and felt all the weight of her species fall on her shoulders. Her eyes, if for only a second, burned a brighter red than any before. She squeezed her hand into a ball and made herself a promise.",1105
 Christmas 2037 was bad enough for,"It was big diesel-guzzling take-no-prisoners beast of a vehicle. Amphibious, bullet-proof, noisy as an earthquake and converted from some leftover war materiel that was so hot that with five spare minutes and some film you could take x-rays. Had plenty of space in the back for the things he needed to carry. Up front, plenty of room for a jolly old elf who rattled around in his old red suits; everything that had happened left him feeling so upset that the pounds practically fell off. He called it SLEIGH II. The radiation didn't matter to him, but it did a number on his reindeer so they were holed up for the duration. Missing Christmas 2037 was bad enough: there had been a NORAD radar on him for real and his old sleigh took a point-blank hit from a 35 kiloton anti-ballistic interceptor. He had to think quickly in those few milliseconds so he spent his magic on making sure he and his faithful reindeer survived the explosion and the fall down, down, down, towards a land full of bright and terrible lights with a thousand deadly Christmas stars overhead showing the way to Hell. He had had that old sleigh for ... forever, really. Same for his famous red toy sack. Watching them flash out of existence was heartbreaking. But it gave him something in common with the humans. He lost nearly everything, they lost everything. The only ones that were left were locked down in their shelters, pockets of dozens here and there dug into the sides of mountains and into old mines. There wasn't anyone left watching the sky. Instead they watched Geiger counters and clocks and calendars, marking off a century a day at a time. So why fly? There wasn't anyone around he was trying to hide from. Green military pants, red shirt, black boots, and Mrs. Claus made some green suspenders. He wore a tight fitting cap with his old white fur puffball stitched right to the top, instead of flopping around like the old days. Leather gloves kept his hands comfortable on the wheel of SLEIGH II and he made his way overland. * * * Tucked away in their beds were the dozen or so families of *Community Shelter 8.* The air had its characteristic twang, the smell of the filters and that weird burned smell that came through from the outside feed pipe. A construction paper christmas tree flapped against the wall in the common room, caught in the draft of the air recycler. Christmas Eve! A whole year since they went down into their hole and they had celebrated survival in their meager way. Christmas would mark a year since the world above went silent. Everyone planned on sleeping in, and there were no formal activities planned. It used to be a birthday, Christmas, celebrating hope and family. Now it was a death-day. The paper Christmas tree breezed this way, went still, and then breezed that way. If anyone was looking, they would have seen a man by the U-pipes that fed the life support system fresh air and ejected the shelter's stale air. They would have seen him reach into his pocket and throw a handful of shiny dust into the air, and they would have seen him climb into a huge armored vehicle and wink away at an impossible speed towards the northwest, in fact towards the *Oak Creek Village Fallout Shelter.* * * * Rebecca and Jian had the early shift this morning. No one else was up. Rebecca poured herself coffee from the pot in the common room, as usual. She hadn't run into Jian yet, but he would be in the control room checking the outside instruments, routine stuff. The movement of the paper on the wall caught her eye. She sighed. She was thankful that life in the shelter was boring, mostly free of drama. She had played a game as a kid built around the life she was living now - things could be so much worse. But what kind of future would her children have? Everyone decided that there wouldn't be gifts, just some extra rations with the menu heavy on the sweets. Had to keep things fair, the shelter had the things they *needed* and didn't make provision for something as frivolous as Christmas gifts. A package. About as big as a filter module. Wrapped in beautiful paper and tied with a silver and green bow, and a tag tied to the knot. It hadn't been there during the celebration the night before. Had someone been holding on to this for a whole year? She smiled as she went over to pick it up, and it was a little heavy for its size. She wanted to show it to Jian, so she made her way to the control room. ""Knock knock,"" she said. ""You're not going to believe it."" ""You know?"" Jian asked. ""About the present?"" ""What?"" Jian was busier on the instruments that he usually was. ""Hold on,"" Rebecca set the gift down, ""what are you talking about?"" ""Look, look through the periscope."" Rebecca looked. It was snowing outside. It made her stomach sick. The last time she saw snow, it was made of ash, of buildings and things and animals and people. A whole year. *A whole year*, she thought, *and someone pressed the button again.* ""God, no..."" she whispered. ""How hot is it?"" she asked Jian. ""It's not."" Rebecca's eyes went to the geiger counter. And it read: **000** ""The meter's broken,"" she reasoned. ""It's not,"" Jian replied. ""I just finished double-checking with the test source. Meter works. That's real snow and there's no radiation outside."" They sat together quiet for a few seconds. ""You were saying something when you came in,"" Jian said. Rebecca looked at the present, wrapped up and pretty. ""I was going to ask you if you knew where that came from."" Jian looked confused. ""What's going *on*?"" He pointed at the tag. ""What's the tag say?"" FROM: SANTA TO: COMMUNITY SHELTER 8 MERRY CHRISTMAS - 2038 ""I'm going to open it."" Rebecca's fingers sunk into the paper tearing it, before Jian could suggest something else. It was a simple cardboard box underneath, and the lid slid neatly off. Corn seeds. Wheat seeds. Peas. Pepper seeds. Apple and cherry seeds. Avocado pits. A few whole potatoes. There were more and more. And a note: *For New Life* * * * I collect my stories at /r/wpforme",1081
" Benny kept a calendar, all of","Benny kept a calendar. It was old, of course, a 2021 edition with 12 months of Shar-peis in flowerpots for some reason. Every January 1st, Benny would remark the dates, all of them, all 365. His wrist would creak at the end of it and his head would throb, but it was important work. It's how he never lost track of time, even there, in the dark, and the quiet, and the cold. Where were they, exactly? Benny often wondered. He'd only been a little boy when the sirens had started wailing and they'd trundled off into the depths of steel below their house. ""Chicago Heights, sweetie,"" his mother would tell him. ""The heart of America."" That sounded right, of course, but it had been so long. So long down in the dark and the quiet and the cold. It was hard to even remember what Chicago Heights *looked* like. ""Best not to try and remember,"" his father would tell him. ""It won't look like that when we come out."" ""And when'll that be?"" Benny asked. Over and over, he asked. His mother would shake her head and say nothing. His father would grit his teeth and mutter nonsense. Rose would nod and say, ""I wonder that, too,"" like it was an especially clever and admirable thing for an older brother to wonder. *December 24* ""Christmas eve,"" Benny said, looking hopefully at his mother, who refused to meet his eyes. ""You think Santa'll come this year? Huh, Dad?"" His father was bent over a book. He pretended not to hear. Rose perked up at the sound of her brother's voice. ""Santa? Tell me again about Santa."" Benny crept to the side of Rose's bed. Every step echoed in the shelter. The sound rang in his ears. ""He's very magical,"" said Benny. ""He lives at the North Pole, up in the cold, and he makes toys for boys and girls."" ""All boys and girls?"" ""*Good* boys and girls,"" said Benny knowingly. ""How does he know which is which?"" said Rose. ""He can see it all,"" said Benny, holding his hands up to his eyes. ""When you're sleeping and when you're awake and when you're good and when you're bad. He sees it *all*."" ""He's seen us this whole time?"" said Rose, wondering and afraid. ""Yup,"" said Benny. ""He knows everything that's happened."" ""Do you think I've been good?"" Benny put a hand to his sister's forehead. She was sweating again. He wiped his hand off on the bedspread. ""Of course! He knows what a good daughter and sister you've been."" ""And do you think..."" Rose shook her head. ""That's dumb..."" ""Do I think he'll come this year?"" Benny smiled, leaning back to glance at his father, still pretending to read his book. ""I just bet. I just bet. But you have to sleep. He won't come if you don't sleep."" Rose nodded, feigning a yawn. ""I was tired anyway."" Benny stood up. ""When morning comes, you'll see."" ""And you'll tell me when it's morning?"" ""I always do."" Then Benny went back to his favorite chair and sat. He was nearly 20 years old by his calculations. His body never stopped feeling big and strange and foreign. He hated it sometimes. He wanted his old body back. When he was smaller, the shelter seemed so big and spacious. Now he just felt cramped all the time. Still, the shelter was big enough to hide the occasional secret. He'd just have to look hard to find a present for Rose. He'd made a promise, after all. But just as Benny had begun setting about in search of a present to give, there was a strange sound from high above. A tapping sound and then a wrenching sound. A grinding sound. A heavy breathing sound. Benny looked to his father and saw that the old man wasn't afraid, so he wouldn't be afraid either. Then the ladder was rattling and boots were scuffling on the rusting iron. ""It's so dark down here!"" came a deep, joyful voice. White light, laced with just the barest trace of pink, filtered down the tunnel and into the shelter. The man reached the floor. ""I knew it,"" said the man. Benny could hardly see him in the glare of the light. ""Survivors. Believers. I'm not too late. Merry Christmas child."" ""Santa?"" said Benny. The man placed the light on the ground, shining the beam straight up, just barely illuminating the chamber. The man wore a heavy, red coat and black, shiny boots. His beard was gray and scraggly. ""I nearly lost you down here, Benny,"" said Santa. ""It's been so hard these years, in all this fallout. Finding children. Finding families. Bringing hope. I'm sorry it's taken me so long."" ""It's fine, Santa,"" said Benny. ""I'm so glad you're here. We're all so glad you're here. Right Dad?"" Santa's eyes moved to the corner of the room, where a decomposing male body was wrapped around a soggy, bile-soaked hardcover book. ""Right Mom?"" Across from the male corpse, a skin-dappled skeleton lay in repose on a rotten bunk bed. ""We have to be quiet,"" said Benny. ""Rose is asleep."" Santa nodded, swallowing. Adjusting the grip on his threadbare and nearly empty sack, he approached the bunk on the furthest edge of the room. The girl there was alive. She smiled in her sleep, even as cold perspiration rolled across her waxy features. Her legs were gone. Her left hand as well. The wounds were crudely washed and covered, festering under a thin blanket. ""She's been so good,"" said Benny. ""She really is such a good girl. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. I just hope you know that, and I hope you can give her a good Christmas."" Santa nodded. ""Yes, of course."" He reached into his sack. ""I always bring gifts for good boys and good girls. In truth, Benny...I bring gifts for everyone...not just the good ones."" Benny smiled. The pistol Santa pulled from his sack had a silencer, because most of those still alive had become violently sensitive to sound. His gift was mercy, after all. At the top of ladder, Santa resealed the hatch and covered the entrance with fresh sod. It was a warm December 25th. The night sky was greenish blue and smelled of mustard and burnt plastic. He had so many more homes to visit before morning came.",1069
 Aeliana remained in her place,"The protocol was simple enough for even the least educated slave to understand. They were to wait for the master of ceremonies to declare that dinner had commenced, and for the accompanying music to play, before they strode into the great hall of the *Ignitus*. A hundred dishes, balanced on the palms of a hundred slaves, a meal fit for the gods. Except that when it came time for them to exit, Aeliana remained in her place, no more than twenty paces away from Justus, first son of the great House Marcellus. She ignored her fellow slaves who tugged at her sleeves, and instead shooed them away. They scattered, nervously tugging at the collars around their throats. ""Master Justus,"" she said. But those of House Mercellus didn't hear her - they were too absorbed in the events beyond the plexiglass panels, those invisible barriers which separated them from the cold embrace of space. In the distance, tiny stars burned and flared in rapid succession. ""Master Justus,"" she repeated, more firmly this time. ""I bring urgent news. Master!"" ""Hmm? Aeliana, not now, please,"" said Justus. ""There is a time and place for everything. We've travelled this far out to watch this phenomena with our own eyes, so whatever it is you're complaining about this time, it can wait. I promise, I will listen to you later-"" ""No, Master, you need to hear this now. This *very instant*."" Her tone was more than enough for the guards nearby to rouse from their lethargy. They gripped their shock-lances and thrummed them to life. Other slaves had paid the price for far less insubordination, but even they knew that Aeliana was a favourite here, and so they waited on their master's response. Far easier to follow a cue than to strike their own path. ""I said, later. Now is not the time."" Justus was a fair man, more patient than most, but a shadow of displeasure had manifested in a scowl on his face. ""Do not try my patience, Aeliana."" Aeliana shrugged, then flung the dish she had brought in against the far side of the great hall. The fine ceramics shattered against the plexiglass, and as pickled pork knuckles slid down, Justus, and his brothers and sisters, leapt to their feet. ""How dare you! Have you gone mad!"" Justus held his bracelet up high, then said, ""Are you spoiling for a beating, Aeliana? A simple press of this button, and I don't care how well-trained you are, you will have no choice but to *submit*!"" ""We have walked into a trap, master. If we do not respond now, all is lost."" She noted, with a measure of satisfaction, the confusion which settled over them like cobwebs - too fine to grasp, too unnatural to ignore. ""There's no such thing as a 'chain-link of star explosions'. That's a lie. House Marcellus was lured out here to this unmanned sector of space for a reason."" ""Watch your tongue, Aeliana! Remember your place! I was given good intel that this once-in-a-lifetime occurrence was-"" ""What those are, *master*, are warp-drive destination beacons. Your enemies are moving in on your this very second, and you don't even know it."" ""Nonsense, again! Even if that were true, the *Ignitus* has three guard starships in close range! We are hardly at any risk here."" Aeliana sighed. ""This is a classic Drusan tactic, master. Where I come here, we like to divide our enemies, jam their communications, then pick them off one by one. And if our enemies choose to serve themselves up to us, spend their time gawking at fireworks instead of getting ready for war... well, then, so be it. But before you go any further to chastise me, please, just try linking up with the other ships."" The smile on her face only grew wider as she watched Justus, then his brothers and sisters, all take turns on their personal communicators. She waited until every single face had turned white before she continued. ""You still have time, I can still help,"" she said, as she pointed in the direction of the plexiglass again. ""By my estimates, the enemy ships will still need about... ten minutes to get in range. If we can get-"" ""Tell my guards what they need to know,"" said Justus. ""I'll have the commander here, you can tell him what they need to do."" ""No, I won't do that,"" said Aeliana. She tapped her collar, then smiled. ""Are you really going to have us argue about chain of command when there's a battle around the corner. No. Set me free. I will lead them for you."" They would have argued further - it was in both their natures. But it was also at that moment that the alarms sounded. It was not a sharp, abrasive alarm. Instead, it was a low-toned, roiling alarm, one which brought to mind deep-sea whales going about their mating calls. It reverberated through the hall, grinding against their bones. ""Master Justus,"" said Aeliana. ""Not much time left. Set me free, and I promise you, I will have the enemy pushed back within the hour. Either that, or we can all perish here."" Justus sighed, then tapped the unlock sequence into his bracelet. Then, when it failed to register, he tapped it in again, faster this time. Still, where there was supposed to be a confirmatory *beep* to signal that he had released Aeliana's restraints, there was no response at all. ""Strange,"" Justus said. ""It can't seem to detect that you..."" Aeliana reached behind her neck, then unclasped her collar. It came off with a pop, and she dropped it with a resounding bang. ""I had already deactivated it myself,"" she said. ""I just wanted to see if you would place your trust in me. And since you evidently have, though with some prodding, I'll see that you're not disappointed."" She walked over to the nearest guard, then wrested his shock-lance away from him. She drove it hard into the ground, and its tip lit up in an electric fire. The glow against her face only served to underscore the bloodthirst in her. ""I'll show you what a Drusan warrior can do, Justus. Then, perhaps, you can re-evaluate whether you really did manage to enslave my people, or whether we entered your service for a reason."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1057
 Adam appeared during the night and disappeared,"######***Dreaming Eden*** Before the Sin of Eden, man and beast roamed the plains as one. The plants provided sustenance for all of God's creatures. No wars, violence, deception, corruption--just peace and harmony. Then *he* came. He called himself Adam the Dreamer and swore up and down that he came from a place too distant to comprehend. This place was distant not in space, but in time. He claimed to have learned of our descendants' history, that we were primitive to him. Adam the Dreamer spoke to us before the first lie had been invented, so we could not call him a liar--there was no such thing. But what Adam was was something God Himself could not understand. Adam appeared during the night and disappeared at the first ray of sunshine. He came first out of curiosity. ""What a wonderful dream,"" he said. Then he got bored, declaring our world to be a repetitive nighttime slumber for him. So he thought of a woman with impeccable features and behold--she appeared. He named her Eve. And they had sex not for procreation, but recreation. God reviled the sight of such an act. Every night Adam came, each time now with his ""dream wife"" Eve. They were promiscuous heretics that could conjure the most mind-altering substances at will. The dreamer and his imagined wife destroyed their bodies and minds night after night. We could not bear witness their unholy adventures. This is why we evolved to sleep in the darkness, when the Moon took over for the Sun's duty. One night, Adam found God's oldest creation--a tree older than light itself. It bore fruit so holy and ripe that God forbade any creature from touching the tree, let alone eat its fruit. When Adam saw this marvelous, ancient tree, he could not resist. He called to Eve, who dropped her jaw when she gazed upon the tree. Being the short-sighted heathens they were, they decided to steal its fruit and eat it. ""When in dream Rome, do as the dream Romans do,"" Adam said, but we did not understand what he meant. As Adam approached the oldest tree, he was stopped by none other than God's oldest friend. His first sentient creation. Lucifero the Snake. Lucifero was 66 feet long and could stretch his jaw taller than Adam. Adam backed away in fear, but Eve did not. She attacked Lucifero with a weapon I cannot comprehend. It was metallic like the most precious of God's metals, small enough to grip in one hand, and louder than the loudest creature God created. It punctured Lucifero's left eye, then his right. But Lucifero was not ready to abandon his post protecting God's first creation. He lunged at Eve and swallowed her whole. Adam fell to his knees and cried. But he told himself this was all just a dream. He made a promise to Lucifero, and to the rest of the world: ""I will be back, and when I return there shall be no gift of mercy. You have killed the wife of my dreams, now it is time to witness the darkest a human can be."" Then he vanished, as he always did. We did not take his promise lightly. God ordered two of every creature to stand guard, to protect Lucifero and the tree. Then He summoned an army of winged men and women. He said to them, ""Angels! Angels! A man who lives in dreams will be here after sundown to slay My creations! Do not let him win, do not let him claim victory. Do not let him lay a hand on Lucifero or on the fruit of My tree."" So the angels scattered among the rows of animals and critters. Then the Sun fell. And Adam came. ""I am here. Now let me take vengeance for my dear Eve!"" Adam the Dreamer held a golden dagger in one hand and another metallic weapon in another. The metallic weapon sprayed a barrage of projectiles into the vast crowd of animals, killing most without chance for rebuttal. When he was satisfied with the carnage, Adam rushed the larger creatures and angels with his golden dagger. He came like a red whirlwind. Every creature and winged angel perished to the unimaginable might of his golden dagger and metallic weapon. It took several hours, but in the darkest of nights Adam finally found himself before the blinded Lucifero and God. God stood taller than any man, with the wings of an angel and complexion of a human. He wore white robes and a halo above His head. ""You cannot be a creation of Mine,"" God said to Adam the Dreamer. ""If I am not Your creation, then why do I share Your image?"" God commanded Lucifero to attack Adam. Adam decapitated the snake with one swipe of his golden dagger. Lucifero lay dead beside Adam's feet. God's wrath peaked. He charged Adam with nothing but His open arms. Adam unloaded his metallic weapon, but it did no harm to the Lord. He tossed his weapon aside and held his golden dagger in front of him. God continued his flight toward Adam until His hip was gashed open by Adam's dagger. God lay bleeding out on the ground, smiling with his mouth and shouting in anger with his eyes. ""You know not what you have done."" In His dying breath, God banished Adam, humanity, and every creature that failed to protect Him and His tree from the sacred land Eden. No longer would His creations roam the Earth in peace and harmony, but in fear, hatred, spite, and desperation. Adam laughed at God. He took a fruit from the tree, bit it, then disappeared. ... Adam awoke in the middle of the night with an unbearable pain. His hip was gashed open. Adam's blood and intestines spilled from his body and onto his bed. He saw a golden dagger plunged into his wall and the corpse of a beautiful man dressed in white robes with a faded halo resting under His head on the floor. The blood loss was too much. Adam fell asleep and never dreamed again. Eden was gone. _____ Thanks for reading. For some reason, I respond to a lot of religious prompts, more of which (among other stories and poems) can be found on .",1054
 Nuevo Angeles sits just to,"Marsdate: 25:412.47 [2063/10/21] Elon Musk gazed over the domed city of Nuevo Angeles, admiring his work. Spires of rusty concrete rose from the glimmering red streets below like blades of grass in an alien plain. Millions of upstanding Martian citizens, many of whom were native-born, bustled about in electric cars, feeding off the solar farms that extended for miles around this veritable jewel of the wastes. Of course, Nuevo Angeles was but one of many such settlements. Elon simply liked this one the most, as it sat just to the south of Mars' Equator. Outside temperatures during the day were high enough that he only needed his relatively light standard-issue pressure suit to be fairly comfortable, which was nice for days of exploration like these. Even in his ripe old age, Elon loved to explore his planet, and the lessened gravity certainly helped his old creaking bones withstand the journey. Elon slid down the railing of a spiral staircase into his garage, set into the side of a lava tube etched under the dusty plains of Tyrrhena a couple billion years ago. This particular tunnel ran straight out under the perimeter dome, and was sealed at both ends by a pair of titanium air locks. Hopefully, even these would become obsolete by the turn of the next century; Elon's fledgling atmospheric restoration project had already thickened the outside air five-fold, to a twentieth of an Earth atmosphere. Soon, this world would support billions of humans without the need for external oxygen or pressure suits... Elon caught himself before venturing further into his tangent. *'Ah, yes. Explore.'* Elon felt the whoosh of vented atmosphere behind him as the outer airlock hissed open, revealing the stark sunset landscape that was Mars. He set out on his six-wheeled rover, driving the same route he drove almost every day for a dozen Martian revolutions, under the huge arrays of solar panels, through the narrow crevasse between two old perimeter walls, and out into the plains beyond. Elon heard his excited breathing against the plexiglass of his suit even after all these years, and could feel the smile creeping up on his face as he spotted his fleet of immense iron collectors in the distance, diligently sweeping up oxide dust and spitting out plumes of water vapor, adding wispy clouds to an otherwise clear and rosy sunset skyline. It was *beautiful*. As Elon began the drive home, his suit picked up an alert, like it had every week or so for the past several revolutions. He looked up beyond the crimson horizon due northwest. He watched a series of nuclear-tipped point defense missiles illuminate the blackness of space as they sublimated a barrage of ninety-ton railgun rounds. He watched the laser guidance systems of Nuevo Angeles and a dozen other cities activate, selecting cold targets yet invisible to the naked eye. He watched his own railguns spin up, aim, and fire, projecting a hundred blue streaks of tungsten oxide plasma up and up and up at a dozen times escape velocity, each on an intercept course with some hidden warhead. A couple taps on his helmet patched him in to the Martian Aerospace Defense radio network, where he listened as dozens of field commanders and space station operators coordinated firing solutions. These men and women were undoubtedly the best and brightest Mars had to offer; it had been six years since they missed a target. But that lone target nicked Ibn Sina Station on Olympus Mons, and eighteen thousand of Mars' best students died in seconds. A shell the size of a house impacted the pressurized tower at a hundred seventy thousand miles an hour, with the force of a megaton thermonuclear warhead. Elon's expression twisted at the memory of frozen body parts being dredged from the sides of that crater. *'Never again.'* He pulled up a detailed trajectory map of the incoming projectiles and back-traced them to their respective guns, situated on Earth's moon. ""Attention Mars Aerospace Defense. This is General Musk."" The chatter died instantly. ""Batteries one, four, nine, twelve, thirty-four, and forty-one, disengage point defense and switch to target designate Lima-Uniform-November-Alpha. Surface coordinates are sixty-one-point-nine-two-one-five north, one hundred fifty-four-point-zero-eight-three-three west. Aim for the guns only. Do not target human operators. Standby for further orders."" Another volley of blue streaks rocketed out of the atmosphere, tracking a new angle off to the east. Elon knew this war would come. He understood that the governments of Earth would never willingly surrender their ways, even if it meant the survival of mankind. Elon couldn't let the same greed that poisoned Earth travel to Mars, especially using his technology. So he built his colony. Hourly flights from Earth carried settlers and building materials across the expanse of deep space to Mars, where settlements popped up like dandelions. Three million people migrated over the course of a dozen years, and together they established a self-stabilizing economy, agriculture, power grid, and water network. And then Elon cut the cord. The last ships were halfway to Mars by the time those remaining on Earth blew themselves up in their hangars. Elon would craft a world free of money, of corruption, of famine, of poverty, of strife, but most importantly, free of Earth. It would become a glistening ecumenopolis of technological advancement, a shining ruby in the cold outer reaches of the inner Sol system. Earth was doomed, but Mars would survive, as an independent *planet*. As expected, the United States and China promptly declared war on Mars, followed shortly thereafter by most of the developed world. The governments of Earth called themselves liberators. They wished to cast Elon as a tyrant, a rogue megalomaniac sociopath bent on world domination, whether that be on Earth or Mars. Of course, they could not be more wrong; Elon crafted a governing council before even leaving Earth's gravity well. That was over twenty-five years ago. Now, Mars is home to fifteen million hardworking citizens, sitting on trillions of dollars of resources. Manned missions have been sent to Jupiter's icy moons and to Titan. Entire cities have been constructed without enough people to fill them. And as Earth slowly chokes on the fumes of its own failures, Mars *builds* itself a fresh, clean atmosphere. Instead of cherishing this victory for mankind, however, the Earth decided it wanted a controlling share. They know they can't land people until the colony is dead, so they try to bomb it back into the dust, just like Germany, or Japan, or Vietnam. But Mars is ready. Mars will not yield to the tyranny of a dying world. *Mars can throw shit, too.*",1104
 The stunned silence lasted for over a,"""... so I realized then and there, this was my best chance."" No one spoke after that. The only sound that could be heard in the room was the low crackle of a small fire. The stunned silence lasted for over a minute. *It's good to know my oratory classes have still taken. The lack of practice made me think -* The High Minister rose from his chair, ghastly white. *- aaaaand here we go.* ""But - the, the prophecy, Lady Ariana -"" ""*Queen* Ariana the First, High Minister. This is the Throne Room; if there's one place in the Kingdom where protocol must be followed, it's here."" ""You *dare* assume yourself a Queen?! After -"" I rose from my chair. Lazily. The effect was the same, and there was no reason to give this idiot the impression he was getting on my nerves. Which he was, but still. Protocol. ""I will not have you raise your voice to me when I'm sitting at my throne, High Minister."" I still gripped the sword in my left hand. I wasn't pointing it at him - the jagged tip was leaning at the floor, leaving a mark on the marble - but the message was clear. ""*Sit.*"" He sat. He blinked several times. Might have been centering himself, or might be holding back tears. The possibility of it being the latter pissed me off *far* more than the confrontation. I sat back, leaning at the throne in the laziest possible position, staring at a random spot at the back of the room. ""It really doesn't matter *how* the sucession -"" Everybody in the room flinched at that word, and I think one of the Generals even sobbed. *Good. I have to press my advantage and establish myself before one of these pricks decides to make a move to try and overthrow me.* ""- the *sucession* came to pass. I am the rightful heir, as it has been foretold and all that rot -"" ""The prophecy."" The High Minister chipped in. *Smarmy prick.* He must've felt emboldened by seeing everyone flinch. ""*Yes. High. Minister.* The prophecy."" ""Which you have broken. *Overturned.*"" He made the word sound like a malediction. I smiled internally. I had been waiting for that, and his timing couldn't have been better. ""Oh? Have I? I'm not so sure about that. Could you kindly recite it for us?"" *He's said it at least twice a day, every day, over the last twenty-odd years.* I smiled internally again. *How sweet it is to use it against him.* The High Minister looked thoroughly confused at that. He cleared his throat and, hesitantly, began reciting the words that sealed my fate until just two days ago. **""When He the Good King sires a Woman as his First Born Child, the Chosen Knight shall Rise.** **""When the First Woman is Kept By the Beast, the Knight shall Kill the Monster, and take the Throne as Prize.""** **""The Head of the Beast and the Sword of Great Might - as Proof of Conquered Right shall Suffice.""** ""Sounds correct to me. Head Scribe - is that correct?"" I knew it was, but to have his recitation questioned in front of everyone would offend the High Minister to no end. I have to admit, that one was purely out of spite. ""Y-yes. Yes, L-L-uh, Your Majesty."" I grinned a bit at that. ""Okay."" I got up from my chair and started waking as I spoke. I was originally going for the ""lazy and bored"" facade, but I was very excited about what would happen next. ""Let's go through that. Item by item. *He the Good King* refers to my father. We *all* know that."" I let some of the bitterness leak into my voice. ""I'm the First Born Child, and the Knight -"" ""Sir Galahad."" That was the third time the High Minister spoke out of turn. Even if I *didn't* want to hurt that *fucker*, he was basically challenging my claim to the throne at this point, and protocol is protocol. I raised my sword to a combat stance and marched right up to him. He stumbled out of his chair, backpedaling to the nearest wall, and I pressed on - when the Blade of Flame Everlasting was close enough to his face that his beard was starting to burn, I spoke. ""Three times you have raised your voice against me, *Anarius*. It is only in respect to oldest tradition that I not cross you through with this blade as you stand. But you are hereby dishonorably exonerated of all your duties as High Minister, and by your Queen's command you will *sit your ass on that fucking chair* and *keep your fucking mouth shut* and *do as you're fucking told!* If you interrupt me again, I'll let you keep company to your 'beloved friend' over there."" Even as he stared at me and at the sword, his eyes drifted to my right, to the spot by the throne where my father's corpse still burnt a faint ember. Anarius mewled something incomprehensible, and shambled right back to his seat. *Fuck, where was I again? I had the whole timing of the speech organized in my head - Sir Galahad. Okay. Moving on.* ""Alright. So, recapping. The Good King is my father, for all the 'good' he was, I'm the First Born Child... and then there's Sir Galahad. Previous owner of this fine blade."" I tapped the Flame Everlasting with my index. ""Let me tell you what all of you want to know but are way too afraid to ask. Let me tell you of the day before yesterday, when Sir Galahad marched up to the Lornis Castle and lifted the Flame Everlasting against Mollun, the Dragon, and the Beast of Prophecy."" I put on my most solemn face. ""He fucked it up completely."" I let that sentence hang in the air for a while. This speech was the only fun part of this whole fiasco, so I had to make as many dramatic pauses as I could get away with. ""He tried to challenge the dragon to fair combat. The five ton, twelve meters tall and twenty-five meters long flying lizard that does not possess the ability of speech. Sir Galahad walked right up to it and screamed at it to have it come out of its castle and fight him like a man. That worked exactly as well as you think it did. The dragon swiped its tail at Sir Galahad, who was bodily flung outside of the castle and very nearly died from the impact. By the time Galahad was on his feet again somehow, Mollun was already a mile high in the air, preparing to dive at him and crush him to death. Apparently, Sir Galahad was counting a tad too much on the fact that the Blade of Flame Everlasting can fight and defeat any flame, even the legendary Dragon flame. He seemed to have discounted, however, that dragons are in fact pretty large, and heavy, and apparently intelligent enough not to use fire against the one weapon in the world that could turn it against them. Galahad rose his sword to impale the dragon on its way down, and Mollun simply changed course mid-dive and slammed the ground right next to Galahad, who was immediately flung aside again and buried in the debris from the impact. This continued for some time. I believe Mollun was deriving great enjoyment from Sir Galahad's slow death."" Everybody present stared at me. The generals, the nobles, the pages and knights; even the servants stopped pampering their masters and kept their eyes riveted at me. The room was, somehow, even more silent than before. *Oh. My father stopped burning. That explains it.* ""As you may know, or have realized, Mollun was under a spell to 'protect' me. And part of that spell stipulated that Mollun could do me no harm as long as he lived. What happened next was rather simple; I walked up to Sir Galahad, took the Blade from his mangled hand, and ripped Mollun's throat open."" Some people gasped at that. I spared a look at Anarius. ""I assume that *that* is what you were referring to when you said I had... *overturned*... the Prophecy. Right, Anarius?"" His face tensed, but he did not reply. I permitted myself a grin. ""Now, see here, I was thinking the same thing myself on my way here. Maybe I could have just let Sir Galahad die an ignominious death, and let Mollun finish his destruction of one of the most valuable magical artifacts ever conceived."" I tapped the sword with my index again. ""But you know what? Nowhere in the Prophecy does it say the Knight and the Woman are two different people. It's implied, but it's never really said. It also never says that 'he' should marry me, even though my father promised my hand to whoever freed me from the prison *he* made for me."" My expression turned hard at that. ""Prophecies are always recorded in an ambiguous fashion, and are often misinterpreted, as the scholars know. But *my father* never cared about that. He never gave a *fuck*. Oh, no. *He* was being featured in a Prophecy, so it had to go *perfectly*, according to his fucking demented, obtuse, *fairytale* interpretation of it. So he built a prison for me. Locked me in there with nothing but books and a handful of enchanted artifacts to keep me company, for however long it took for the *Prophecy* to come true. Then he lured a Dragon from the Far Reaches all the way here. And sold several treasures from the Kingdom, to pay a mage to bind Mollun to the prison. And sacrificed our harvests, and our cattle, and some of our *people*, to keep that horror well fed and vigilant. And after twenty something years of *nothing but failure*, he gave the *most precious, irreplaceable artifact* in the Royal Armory to a *downright moron* in a desperate attempt to have the Prophecy fulfilled before he died. And here we are. Mollun is dead. Galahad is dead, and the Blade is broken in half."" I could hear my heartbeat, now. I realized the Throne Room was *even more silent*, and I knew it was because most people were holding their breaths. How many of them knew? How many here were innocent, and how many were complicit? And what was going through the minds of either group now, that the chips were down? I smiled. ""Thinking about that, I realized one more thing about the Prophecy, too."" ""The 'Monster'. 'The Knight shall Kill the Monster'... Not the Beast. The Monster. It's a different word. So I assume the Knight has to kill sometnhng - or someone - *other* than the Beast, for the Prophecy to be fulfilled."" I grinned. ""It might be a bit forced, but that's what I'm going with.""",1825
 Enfela recognised the Enforcer,"PART 1 --- There were four of them gathered in front of the tavern, their robes of pristine white fluttering in the breeze. And not just acolytes too, but full-fledged Enforcers, the division within the Order responsible for keeping the peace in the city. When Enfela stood on tiptoe, he could just about make out the twin stripes of gold which hung across their shoulders. Their staves, stout oaks of Healwood, thrummed with power. A crowd had gathered at a respectful distance around the Enforcers. A blanket of gloom hung over them, almost as if they were at a funeral. One Enforcer was bad enough. Two Enforcers, and you kept your head down, crossed on the other side of the street. Four Enforcers could only mean that a raid was underway. ""Last chance, innkeeper,"" said the Enforcer at the front, as he addressed the squirming man before him. Enfala recognised the Enforcer - he was Father Hull, one of the more senior clerics in the Order. ""Give us what we came for, and we will leave you in peace."" ""I... I cannot give you what I do not have, Holy One. I swear, we know nothing about this... person..."" ""Why do you not say his name? Are you, perhaps... protecting him?"" ""No, no! The Lightning Lurker! See? I said his name! I swear, he has not set foot in my tavern! We have never even seen him, much less given him safe harbour!"" Father Hull stretched out his hand, and one of the other Enforcers placed a scroll in his upturned palm. Father Hull unfurled the missive, and more than one person in the crowd craned their neck for a better look. ""It says right here that five moons ago, the Lightning Lurker was spotted shambling this very way. Enforcers were in hot pursuit, to purge this city of such an abomination. They had both ends of the street blocked off, but when their spells were cast, when the holy magicks were invoked, the Lightning Lurker was nowhere to be found. We have not one, not two, but *three* eyewitnesses who claim that the demon *entered your very tavern*!"" The innkeeper fell to his knees, and his wife and daughter rushed up to his side. ""That cannot be, oh Holy One. I promise, we have never..."" ""Fine, it seems that you do not listen to reason. By the power vested in me by the Order, I will make an example of you yet!"" The hairs on Enfela's neck stood as Father Hull held his staff up high. The crowd was groaning now, collectively, as they looked away. Enfela stood transfixed, half of him wanting to run, the other half paralyzed with indecision. Father Hull slammed his staff down, and the innkeeper began screaming. Tiny globes of white light began rising from his skin, like droplets beading on misted glass. They coalesced into a single sphere, the size of a melon, which then floated through the air to make contact with Father Hull's staff. Then, like a bubble making contact with a thorn, the globe popped, and the staff drank thirstily till there was nothing left. The innkeeper collapsed face-first, and already the effects were visible. Where once his skin was supple, taut, it was now grey and lifeless. Boils and welts streaked across his face, and his muscles strained just to keep him breathing. ""Let that be a warning!"" Father Hull said, as he turned to face the crowd. ""Lurkers are but impure demons, raised by our city's necromancers to do nothing but menial work in service of the Order! It is the Order which protects you, grants you health, bestows you safety! We are clerics sworn to holy service, and for your own good, you must obey every instruction we give! If you see the Lightning Lurker, you must immediately-"" The crowd gasped. The innkeeper's daughter, barely ten years of age, had lobbed a pebble clean through the air, which bounced off Father Hull's head. They heard the missile make contact, and they saw the thin trickle of blood which wound its way down his temple. Father Hull raised a finger, and the wound healed before their eyes. ""Little girl, do you know that assaulting an Enforcer... is a capital crime?"" ""I don't care about that! All I know is, you hurt my father!"" ""Your father was a bad man, young one. He has been withholding information from us, and that is-"" ""I don't care, I don't care!"" She bent low, picked up another pebble. Her mother, who was weeping over the innkeeper's body, was too distracted to intervene. ""The Lightning Lurker's better than you, than any of you! The Order promises to take care of us, but you only threaten us! The Lightning Lurker helps us, does more for us than the stupid Order can!"" Her words should have sent the crowd running for cover. Far less insidious words had invited holy fire from the Order before. But her words carried with it the keen tang of truth, and like a sharpened blade, it cut through the pretense, cleaved away the hypocrisy. Despite their instincts for self-preservation, the crowd was now... emboldened. ""... she's right, she is... the Lightning Lurker's done nothing but good for us..."" ""Ain't ever seen a faster Lurker ever! Them skeletons always move so slowly, but this one... it's special, it is..."" ""Did you know, the Lightning Lurker helped us the other day? Saved our little Timmy from the river, just dove right in and pulled him back..."" Father Hull raised his staff again, and the others followed his cue, and they held their staves together. A peal of white lightning razed through the crowd, knocking them all onto their backs. Enfela was quick to catch on, and he too took a tumble. ""Another lesson must be learned today, it seems,"" Father Hull said, as he towered over the girl. ""By the power vested in me by the Order, I will-"" Enfela sighed. He had only himself to blame for this. He joined his hands together, his fingers flashing as he traced the mystic runes. When the spell was complete, brimming in his palms like a boiling egg, he made to cast it, the way he had been taught, the way all necromancers had been taught. But instead of directing it at a pile of bones, or at a ragdoll, or at the bloody remains of a small animal... ... he turned it inwards, crushing it into his chest. Practice made everything easier. What was once an unforgivable mistake, was now his claim to power. He felt the tingle course along his skin, turning it a morose grey, then felt it burrow deep, seeking the very marrow in the bones. The spell latched on, and a strength seeped into him, empowering him and taking away free will at the same time. Enfela tried to move on his own accord, and found that he was now a prisoner inside his own body, a body that no longer looked like any living human. The spell had worked, again. ""The... the Lightning Lurker! It's him! He's come!"" ""He's... never appeared in the day!"" ""Get them, Lightning! Get them!"" Enfela knew he had to move fast. He was not strong enough to take down a single Enforcer, much less four of them. He would have to regroup, bide his time, pick them off one by one. His forte lay in striking from the darkness, not in challenging them like this. ""Move to the girl,"" he whispered. ""Pick her up, push Father Hull aside. Now."" His body obeyed, moving far faster than he could ever have done on his own. The crowd peeled away like an overripe orange, and he was at the girl's side in a flash. His shoulder caught Father Hull mid-stride, sending him toppling. Father Hull, seasoned combatant that he was, was priming the exorcism spell even as he fell, that particular brand of magick they used to keep every necromancer in check. ""I cast you out, foul demon! Out, out, out!"" The exorcism spell, multiplied by the efforts of the other Enforcers, streaked through the air like a cat on steroids. It struck Enfela, sizzled... ... then fell away, sparking to nothingness. The crowd gasped again, certain that they were witnessing a miracle. Necromancers and Clerics had always fought, and everyone knew that the Clerics would always win. No demon, no skeleton, no Lurker had ever stood up to the powerful magicks commanded by the Order. Every single undead, no matter how strong, how grand, could be wiped clean by the Order, as and when they pleased. Necromancers never stood a chance. Until now. ""Pick the girl up,"" Enfela said, to himself. ""Hold her across your shoulder. Leap across the building. Flee, flee until you reach the caves. Then, and only then, do I dismiss you. Go."" By the time Father Hull and the other Enforcers had rallied, Enfela was long gone. There was a reason they called him the Lightning Lurker. --- is up! Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to continue with this! But chores are a'calling, and I'm not sure when I can do a Part 3... =D --- /r/rarelyfunny",1538
 Captain James Bequine's lips,"""This is USS Pennsylvania; come in, Command."" Silence and raw static filled the bridge. Captain James Bequine's lips were pulled into a tight strip of resolute skin. The other members of the crew had no idea that Command had issued one message before going dead silent. Running a hand through his graying hair, James looked at the dashboard again. >Some ends don't have new beginnings. >Darkness once again rests on the surface of the deep. The message was followed by first piano chords of and John Lennon's melancholic voice. ""Take us to the surface,"" James said. ""Captain?"" The helm, Christina Gray, glanced up at him, her dark eyebrows squeezed together. ""It's been two days."" James wiped the sweat from his forehead and paced back and forth across the bridge. ""We need to see what's going on up there."" Christina nodded reluctantly and put the transmitter to her lips. ""Prepare for ascension."" The massive steel leviathan groaned and creaked, changing course for the surface. James stepped out of the bridge and made his way along the narrow corridors of the ship. He had been her captain for over twenty years, and she had never once failed him. He touched the smooth wall of bolted steel, his wedding ring clinking upon impact. After Clara passed away, the ship had become his new home, and he rarely left even during maintenance or docking. ""Ace, Roy, and Marquez,"" James said as he entered the crew quarters, ""I want you with me when we break the surface."" ""Yes, sir,"" the three men said in unison. They were eager to get a breath of fresh air and practically jumped out of their seats. James nodded and turned to the last man in the room. ""Jackson,"" he said slowly, noticing the man's drooping mouth. ""I'm sorry, but I need you on the periscope."" ""Of course, Captain."" The young man stood up, saluted, and limped out of the room. Jackson was barely nineteen but, in the few months he had been on board, he had proven himself to be one of the most reliable crewmembers. If he kept the impeccable record up, in a few years when James retired, Jackson stood a good chance of taking over his position. ""Five hundred feet, and rising,"" came Christina's voice through the speakers. ""Let's go, gentlemen,"" James said and marched toward the exit. *** ""Sir?"" Roy said behind James. They were geared up and ready to open the hatch. The captain cleared his throat. He had once again lost himself in the memories of his wife. It was happening more often lately. ""Jackson,"" James said. ""What you got?"" There was a long pause before the young man's voice filled James's earpiece. ""Uhm, sir... I... it's just... *gray*."" ""Pop the hatch,"" James said. The scent of brine filled his nose and lungs, as he climbed out of the submarine. Jackson had been right. The sky, the water, the horizon was just a gray haze. He had never seen anything like it. The icy wind bit into his cheeks. They were supposed to be on the coast of Florida, but it felt like they'd ended up on the North Pole. Small blocks of ice swirled like gray slush in the water around the massive hull of the ship. Marquez was the first person to break the silence. ""What the hell is going on?"" James shook his head and paced along the cylindrical hull toward the front of the ship. He heard the three men start talking rapidly. James tried to shut them out as he gazed into the foggy distance. So, this is how the world ends, he thought and sat down. The possibility had always been there. Surviving sixty some years with this number of nuclear weapons across the globe was a miracle in itself. It took so little to wipe everything out. The apocalypse had come and went, and had left them behind. ""What are your orders, Captain?"" Ace said. James gazed into the distance. ""The Navy is no more; I'm no longer your captain."" The three men looked at each other then back at the captain. His shoulders were slumping. ""Christina, how far off the coast are we?"" Roy said quietly into the radio, still looking sideways at James. ""What do you mean?"" she said. ""We're just outside the harbor, can't you see land?"" ""Listen, we need you to bring us closer."" Roy turned away from the others and started walking back toward the hatch. ""The fog is too thick."" ""What... the..."" Ace said, and everyone, even the distraught captain, turned their heads toward the sky where the man was pointing. The sleek black underside of something massive surfed effortlessly through the hazy sky a couple of hundred feet above them. The dimensions of the thing were beyond anything they had ever seen. Lights flickered in regular intervals along its sides. ""What the hell is that thing?"" Marquez said in horror and wonder. ""Guys..."" Roy said. ""That thing is not of this world... it can't be..."" James mumbled. ""Guys..."" Roy said again with more urgency. They all turned their heads toward the water where the gray faces of hundreds of bodies floated past the submarine. Their dead stares and bloated skin wasn't the most unsettling thing about them, though. The low gurgling noise and their partially frozen fingers were clawing at the hull of the ship, fruitlessly trying to climb up. They were clearly dead... but also *alive*. A gust of wind carried a smell of burning ozone over the ship, and for a moment the fog shifted, revealing the cratered landscape that had once been Miami. Red lights from hundreds of strange machines, crawling across the ruins, beamed through the fog. The air buzzed with a swarm advanced combat drones. At first, James thought they were heading his way, but soon they shifted their flight path toward the sky, going straight for the massive, sleek ship. The crew members of USS Pennsylvania stared in awe at the strange scenery before the fog once again swallowed them whole. ""Captain, we're picking up a signal!"" Christina said through his earpiece. ""There's a message."" James stood up. ""Let everyone hear it."" ""*USS Pennsylvania, my name is John. I'm from an organization that has been guarding the most dangerous secrets for thousands of years. I'm one of the last few survivors of our race. If you at all care about the world, go to these coordinates: 25.0000deg N, 71.0000deg W. You need to re-open the portal. Only God can save us now.*"" *** r/Lilwa_Dexel",1091
 Harvey's dull and bland innards,"My tolerance was plummeting. I'd only been in this body six months, yet here I was at another bar, sizing up another stranger. Like appraising a new home. Or a new pair of shoes. Something to try on and walk about in for a while. This pair of shoes was called Harvey. One of the first facts he established about himself was his exact height (6'5"") and what happened to end his college sports career tragically soon. His voice reverberated, raucous, like he wanted everyone at the bar to know how hilarious he thought he was. His dull and bland innards did not bother me. I'd hollow out his brain like a worm burrowing through an apple and curl up inside. In my tenancy, I would keep his mind warm, and full. Better than he ever did for it. But I kissed him anyway. I got him drunker and drunker. I let him touch this body that was not even mine, and I felt his. *Mine*, I caught myself thrilling as I traced his broad shoulders. *Almost mine*. As Harvey got wasted, I day-dreamed about no longer having to climb on my kitchen counters to reach the top shelves, or being able to walk at night without having to snarl off damn mortal creeps. He slurred that we should go back to his place. I suggested mine. He fumbled with his phone to call a cab. Dropped his phone. Giggled. Confided in me, ""I might have gotten too fucked up."" ""I love it."" My smile hid the knives in my eyes. ""That's what I wanted."" His smile quirked. ""What?"" I reached for his elbow. A voice at my ear stopped me. An impossible tangle of words, barbed and ancient. Language of my people. Oldest thing I know. I froze like hearing my mother's voice call me from afar. Behind me, a man hissed, ""You're in trouble, love."" In an instant I was my old self again. Some poor thing from some lost nation. I could hear the death song of the wind in my ears, the ship's desperate warning pings as I went down, down, down, toward the earth. But that was eons ago. Countless vessels, more lives than I could recall, much less condone for. I watched this lonely little planet circuit its sun five thousand times through another human's eyes. Five thousand years of falling, fleeing, hiding. Smothering myself in meat and bone, biding my time. Hoping my past would forget about me. Yet there stood a man at my back who said in a voice like wind and water, ""Let the boy go."" I released Harvey's arm. Without turning, I replied in the language I thought I'd never speak again, ""It sounds like we might be old friends."" Harvey squinted. ""Are you having a stroke?"" ""Hardly."" He was close enough I could feel his chest brush my shoulders. Big. Bigger than me. Maybe big as Harvey. ""Your former employer sent me. Two tons of stardust and one of his finest shuttles is not a theft he easily overlooks."" I squeezed Harvey's forearms reassuringly. ""Sorry, I have to go. Maybe another time."" I swung my elbow back; it dug painfully into the steel flesh of the man's nose. Pain bloomed through my forearm. I staggered, gasping, clutching the ache of my arm. An automaton. Permanent body. Like all of my people, his real self was a little spark of light. A fragment of conscious electricity that could overtake any physical body it desired like a parasite, so long as the host possessed a nervous system to infiltrate. Or in his case, a circuit board. The bounty hunter stared down at me with eyes orange, inhuman, electric. ""You've had your fun. Now it's time to recompense."" No one in the bar seemed to notice us. (Except Harvey, but in his intoxication no one took exception to him saying, ""What the fuck? What the *fuck?*"" over and over again.) I let the bounty hunter seize me by my aching elbow. He pulled me out into the street. The night air daggered at my lungs. I jammed my hand in my jacket pocket and felt the familiar blocky outline of my stun gun. A useful tool against humans. Carefully, soundlessly, I flicked the safety off. ""I thought you'd forgotten about me,"" I told him, casually. ""I thought you all would let me escape just like that."" ""It takes time to search the filth."" He gripped the nape of my neck, his hand like a vice. ""Please, don't struggle. You'll only hurt yourself."" I clenched my eyes shut. I knew what he intended to do. Wrench me out from my mortal vessel like uprooting a weed. Bring me back to our planet. Bring me back to face whatever justice an intergalactic mob boss might offer. I wrenched the taser out and dug both teeth into the underbelly of his armpit. The bounty hunter's eyes widened in surprise, alarm, but before he could react I squeezed the trigger. The electricity jolted through him. His body stiffened and clanged to the sidewalk, loud as a dropped signpost. I saw his eyes go blank and baffled as the convulsion scattered his microprocessor. I had no idea how much time I bought myself, but it had to be enough. ""Attempting system reboot,"" he slurred. ""Collecting diagnostic information."" My breath came in cloudy gasps of relief. ""That's the downside to an electric brain, you big metal fuck."" I slapped my cheeks whirled around, grabbing the first person I saw. Another woman, but she looked nothing like me, and that was good enough. ""Oh my god,"" she asked me. ""Is he okay?"" ""I hope not."" I didn't have to work hard to look frantic. ""He tried to assault me."" ""Are you *serious?*"" I nodded. ""Do you mind if I walk with you? I-- I don't feel safe."" She clutched my arm. ""Oh, please, yes. Let's share a car."" She pulled up some app on her phone. ""I have to go to the bathroom. Do you--? Could you--?"" I kept my eyes large, innocent. ""I don't want to run into him by myself--"" ""Of course. I totally get it."" She follows me like a lamb back into the bar. In the thirty seconds it took to walk to the bathroom, I learned that her name was Rebecca, that she had just finished he degree in anthropology, that she wasn't sure what to do in this town anymore. I cursed her decency every step of the way. I hated doing this to good people. I shut the bathroom door behind us and leaned my body against the swinging door. For a moment, I stared at her. ""What?"" Rebecca asked, nervously. ""Can I see your arm? There's something stuck to your sleeve."" She held out her arm to me. All I needed was a touch. My skin against hers. A blue spark arched from my finger tips into the soft skin of her wrist. I burrowed up the tendriling roots of her nervous system, straight to her brainstem. I obliterate her. All that was once Rebecca vanished in a burst of impossible heap. My old body slumped bonelessly to the floor. I dragged it away from the door, into a stall, where it would take a few minutes to find her. I strode out like a faun on new legs. Rebecca's friends called out to me, but I ignored them. Outside, a small group had gathered around the bounty hunter. He was just starting to sit up, mumbling strings of incoherencies. His metal skull had flattened in the back like a dropped tin can. ""Better luck next time,"" I said to myself in my mother tongue. I pretended I was brave enough to yell it out to him. He looked at me like I was a shadow he could not quite make out. I turned and fled into the night. *** /r/shoringupfragments",1321
 Theories still abound on why things,"Our world wasn't the kindest place. They say when you give a man a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail. Gods above, wasn't that the understatement of the century. Theories still abound on why things started happening this way. Some claim aliens, some claim divine interference, and some (rightly in my opinion) claim we were always born with weapons in our heart, but now we had weapons in our hands to match. What was certain was that society couldn't continue to function as it had. Things deteriorated quickly, but people learned to adapt. Some definitely learned faster than others. The whole process wouldn't have been so bad if you didn't feel the impulse to use the weapon. Perhaps a kid could turn eighteen, get a set of daggers, and then just put them on display somewhere. What we didn't understand as people started stabbing, burning, and otherwise eviscerating each other was that your Inheritance (as it came to be called) called to you. Resisting it was unthinkable. It was the howling blizzard blowing outside the shoddy patchwork cabin of your soul. You might huddle tight against the cold, but the compulsion would seize you, the river would erode you, and with a nervous twitching you'd take your Inheritance in hand and give up. You'd let yourself follow the pack, and before you knew it you'd be drenched in the blood of someone, several someones, and there wouldn't be a difference between you and the weapon. You were your Inheritance, and the only life you could live was one where you contributed. Where you served your purpose. As a late author once said ""Talent won't be quiet, doesn't know how to be quiet...It never shuts up. It'll wake you in the middle of your tiredest night screaming 'Use me, use me fuckhead, use me!"" I was 16 when it all began. As order crumbled and communications cut out over the world, I learned that the best way to survive was to group with the other kids. I had always been a bit of a social chameleon. I had never been very unique, I had just learned to survive socially by mimicking those around me. I felt empty at times, sure, but people always seemed to love me. They often saw in me something they loved about themselves. When things started to crumble, people trusted me. As kids, we were immune to whatever madness had spread over our older loved ones. We were the only ones who could try to maintain some semblance of civilized society in the panic and death. Soon we all learned to trust each other. Life or death situations forge that bond pretty quickly. The group I found learned to retreat from the urban areas where the worst atrocities happened, and had been living on the road ever since. We raided convenience stores, suburban homes, and did everything we could to avoid other human beings. We never knew what kids we could trust, after all we never knew when they would receive their own Inheritance. I had been traveling with my friends for close to two years now, and I thought I knew everything about them. They certainly thought they knew everything about me. Which is why it was so surprising to realize I had forgotten today was Ross's birthday. His eighteenth birthday. Ross had always been an honest kid. We had trusted him to lead our group, and he had risen to the challenge. His cocky attitude made us feel safe during the worst of the fear, and he was quick to pull the trigger when crisis made the rest of us indecisive. He always seemed ready to react to whatever mess foisted itself upon us. He had an unrelenting certainty around him, a belief that things could be brought together and ordered again. It had given us something to rely on. Those same traits manifested in the worst of ways this morning, when a pistol materialized in his hand and he shot three of our best friends dead on the spot. I was lucky enough to have been out scouting. I heard the report of the gun again and again, and I feared the worst. We had camped out in a wooded area, roughly 10 miles from the nearest road, and several more from any cities. I didn't think it was likely anyone would spot us, but I had my own reasons for wanting to be away from everyone that night. Ensuring our safety was the least I could do. When I spied Ross standing over the bodies of our friends, giggling madly while he caressed his pistol, I knew that I had failed. I shifted myself slightly behind a tree to hide my body from view, when Ross tilted his ear towards me. I sucked in my breath. ""Is that you Derrick? Come back to camp?"" I remained silent. Ross's high-pitched giggle echoed around the woods. The dawn was starting to arrive, and I knew I couldn't keep hidden much longer in the daylight. Ross had been our leader for a reason. His tracking skills were by far the most developed among us. I just needed to try to buy some time. Ross began to pace around the fire, stepping carelessly on the bodies of our former friends. He kicked James's head as his pacing became more frantic. I could see that he was succumbing to the call. People always started coherent, but the longer an Inheritance went unused, the worse the desire became. He would become frenzied soon, I had seen it before. Ross called out again ""Derrick? Oh Derrick? Let me see you! We're so far from anyone else. I just want to show you my new toy! I've never gotten so much bang for my buck before!"" He shrieked with laughter at his own joke, before firing multiple rounds into James' body. I watched the convulsions and felt a sickening tug in my gut. Ross ceased his pacing and sat cross-legged on the ground. ""You know what's really funny Derrick? We always wondered where the ammo came from for these guns. Would you believe it if I told you that you just release the magazine and it refills itself? I'm sure you can see me, here I'll show you. I can't tell you how I know, but I know."" Ross removed the magazine, and I watched him eject the cartridge from the pistol before reloading the magazine and cocking the pistol again. He aimed it again at one of our friend's bodies and fired again, each jerk from the corpse making his sardonic grin grow wider. ""We used to talk Derrick. We used to wonder what our Inheritance would be. I could never quite settle on what you'd be, but you were so sure I would receive something noble and strong. 'A shield' you said. 'I was so steadfast, maybe I would be different' you said. The madness wouldn't take me. Yet here we sit, and"" Ross tittered, his eyes gleaming bright, ""SURE AS SHOOTING, YOU WERE WRONG!"" His peals of insane laughter echoed around me again, and I felt my heart quicken. I looked at my watch. I could feel the rising in my blood. There was a glimmer in my hands and I knew it was time. I didn't care anymore what I became. I just wanted to descend into the void and escape. ""Let it come,"" I thought wildly, ""Just let it end."" A mirror, no larger than a couple feet, dropped into my lap. I stared at it blankly. Then something clicked. And I stepped out from behind the tree. Ross had ejected the magazine and was still chuckling when he looked up to see me. His hands moved quickly to reload the magazine when he looked into the mirror. Looked and saw exactly what he had become. I saw the faintest recognition start to grow in his eyes. Where before there had been a burning madness, a cold and sobering realization began to grow from somewhere within. He tilted his head and squinted, his eyes narrowing at the reflection of the macabre scene before him. Ross, surrounded by the dead and mutilated bodies of our friends, and his twisted reflection staring back at him. The gun dropped from his hand. He blinked several times, and as if waking from a dream, stood up. ""Derrick..."" his voice no longer high-pitched and frantic, ""Derrick, what did I do?"" I held my Inheritance steady, but I felt myself quivering. I didn't know what was happening, but I knew I had to wait it out. Some feeling, some connection with the mirror cautioned me. Ross waited for a reply, but the seconds stretched and I remained silent. Finally, he raised his hand and rubbed his forehead, his eyes wide and unfocused, before they sharpened suddenly and he darted downwards. I wasn't fast enough to stop him when he reached for the gun. I wasn't fast enough when he took the same gun and pointed it at his head. The last gunshot of the morning rang out in the desolate emptiness of our corpse riddled camp. Ross's body fell to the ground as I dropped to my knees. The mirror lay beside me, and I looked into it. I still haven't decided if something is looking back.",1557
" ""How can this be?"" The","""How can this be?"" The captains shoulders sagged as if the entire weight of the vast, empty, and silent universe weighed down it. ""How can this be?"" He repeated the question, as if asking it a second time would grant him the answers he so desperately sought, the answers that would mend his pained soul. ""It isn't over yet, captain. We still have-"" ""What's the point."" The captain cut his lieutenants words short, turning to him with his long an elongated form. His body towering at eight feet, face stretched, and limbs elongated and nimble. His feet turned into digitgrades, his nose long gone, only slitted nostrils fitting on his face. His eyes were like black pits and humanities skin turned different shades of azure. He looked at his crew, the men and women he trusted with his very life, at their stations at the curvature of his ships control deck. The nostrils of his crew twitching, a sign that they shared in his pain, the captains stare painful, agonising, he believed he failed his crew, his people, the history of humanity and their hopes itself. ""There... is no life. Across the countless stars and galaxies we traveled, over all the countless ones our forefathers traveled, still we find no life. We have mapped almost all of space, and just like the first explorers of the vast seas, we will soon have nothing left to explore."" The pain that lined every word he spoke was palpable beyond tolerance, like shovels hollowing out the hope that every member of that room had. The captain gave off a weighted sigh, as if that very act itself taxed him, draining the last vestige of his motivation. Remembering what it meant to be a captain, no matter how meaningless the situation may seem, he collected himself and ordered his crew to set out for the last galaxy that required their attention. They all allowed themselves a final glance at the planet they had visited, hollow, empty. A blue planet that seemed that it would have had the potential for life left them disappointed, as if staring at the pitiful hollow casing of what it could have been. The passing of countless ages spent in space evolved humanities incredible adaptive abilities, joints and muscles so elastic and adaptable, that they could adjust to the gravity of any planet. Though they lacked a proper nose, their lungs became expansive, capable of storing and surviving for extended periods of time, and capable of surviving with limited oxygen on different planets. Their skin permitting them to extract UV radiation even if the sun were denied them. Upon a red planet, the ship landed, the red dust of the surface roiling from the turbulence, disturbed from their unmoving stillness. The captain blinked at the land as the ramp opened to the red surface. *There is no life here,* he thought. There came a point where he felt as if they were the oddity, their existence an anomaly, and now he wondered, if it was in-fact life that disturbed the tranquility of death. With blades drawn and guns at the ready, the crew set out onto the land, the red dust curling at their alien toes. Nobody dared mentioned that which they all thought. They all knew it was dead, but regardless they set out in search of life. Groups dividing to search for the flow of rivers, others who tried heat scans. The captain took a squad of his own to search for tunnels that could hint at life below the surface. ""Captain."" A static voice spoke into the radio fused into his ear. ""You may want to see this."" The crew joined together at what seemed to be a large boulder of rock, at first. Upon closer inspection, the crew grew hopeful, when they found the crude suggestion of an entrance. ""A tomb..."" the captain thought aloud. ""Are there any logs of a previous expedition upon this planet? Perhaps another crew?"" The captain queried, finding himself surprised that he was weary and skeptical of any sign of life that wasn't of humans. A lieutenant held before her a holographic screen which she scrolled through, it seemed she double, and then triple checked, just to make sure she made no error. ""No captain, there are no logs."" Her voice sounded cautious, perhaps a sense of trepidation that they found signs of a civilisation. Of what that could suggest. *Be careful of what you wish for.* The captain thought. With torches poised, they used their light sources and heightened vision to observe the surface of the boulder. An unknown language scribbled on its surface, along with etchings of strange creatures, long and stretched just as they were, but with tendrils emerging from their back. The captain ran his long fingers across the surface ""what the."" Upon entering the crypt, the crew had to tread carefully for the pathways and structure of the place had not aged well, occasionally a misplaced step giving way to a bottomless pit of pure darkness. ""Watch your step."" The captain ordered, his previous demand for authority now returning to his voice, and his crew all the more organised for it. As they tread through the darkness, they finally came to a large edifice, again marked with the same strange symbols. ""Any language we know of?"" The captain asked, his lieutenant replying with a shake of her head. Again his fingers trailed over the edifice, and he felt as if it were talking to him, as if it had awaited his arrival for countless eons only to speak to him, to pass on this message. Although the hieroglyphs eluded him, the pictures told him of a story, of people with tendrils on their backs that reached for the stars and explored the four corners of the world. The story spoke of their fruitless adventures, of brothers and sisters never found, and that they were alone in the universe. And so, they decided to rectify that, landing upon a planet fit for life, cultivating over the years until it could have life of its own. Tested first with giant and fierce beings that resembled the details of dinosaurs, and then wiping the slate clean and trying to cultivate life anew, to create the first of ""man"". *** Well, this just crossed the threshold for my most upvoted story, glad people enjoy it!",1065
" Watchmaker: ""This isn't","""12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes,"" he said, to himself. ""What's that,"" said the watchmaker, through a thick German accent. ""This isn't right,"" replied the man, ""This is in the future."" ""Then you haven't met your soul mate yet."" ""That can't be, I'm married you see, and I-"" The watchmaker looked up from his work with piercing gray eyes, ""I only make die watches. That one is not wrong. I do not make errors. Now wither select a new watch or leave my shop."" The man looked down at his wrist and looked as his timer went down. 12 days, 8 hours, 25 minutes. He couldn't bring himself to believe the frail watchmaker. Without so much as a goodbye, he stormed out of the building and went home for the day. ""Rose,"" he said, ""Rose, come here honey,"" he said entering his home. ""Sam, you're home,"" he watched as she walked up with the same excitement in her eyes that he had seen for the past 6 years. ""I have a gift for you,"" he said, holding out a small wrapped box. ""You didn't have to do that,"" she said. ""I know, but I earned a bonus from a big sale, and I thought I'd get us a little something."" Opening the box, she looked up at him with a smile. ""Oh, Sam!,"" she said, hugging him tightly. ""A SoulMate! I've been wanting one for so long."" ""Well try it on."" Affixing the small gold and white watch to wrist, she saw as the timer rapidly moved to the time of negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes. ""I-I think that this is when we met Sam,"" she said, with a burning spark behind her eyes. ""In Dr. Douglas' class? Yeah, we were freshman then! We should send him a letter and tell him how much that class means to us. Sam's cheeks started to go flush as water filled his eyes. ""I... really I am glad. Love you..."" He looked down in defeat as the tears started to fall. ""Sam, honey, what's wrong?"" She said, grabbing him and holding him close."" ""Look, look at my watch,"" he said, holding up his wrist. ""12 days, 7 hours, 12 minutes,"" she looked up at him, back at his watch, at her watch, and then at him again. ""I don't understand, why isn't yours the same?"" She was crying too at this point. ""I don't know. I love you, I do. You know I do. The only reason I brought these damn things home was I was sure yours was going to read the same time as mine, somehow. I thought maybe it, it was broken or something... I don't know."" She jumped up and looked down at him. ""I don't know what to say,"" she said, before stomping off into their bedroom. ""Rose, Rose? What are you doing?"" Sam got up and followed her into the bedroom. ""I, just... need time to think,"" she said, as she started packing a small bag, with streams of mascara running down her face. ""Please don't go, I need you."" ""Do you, Sam? Do you? Maybe I need you, but you don't need me."" And with that, she was gone. Out of his life. She left the house, leaving him no knowledge of where she was going. He tried finding her, by calling her mother, friends, the police, but she had mysteriously vanished. He feared the worst, and decided to look himself in his house until the time passed by. If Rose wasn't his soulmate, then he didn't deserve to have. The days passed by. 12, 11, 10, 9, 8. By the 7^th day, he had started to drink himself to sleep every night. By the 4^th day, he was toying with the notion of suicide. He couldn't live without his Rose in his life. On the 2^nd day, he drank an entire bottle of scotch, and then proceeded to drink more. By the time the paramedics found him, he was in a coma. Sam lay in a hospital bed, alone, in an empty room. One of his friends contacted Rose, and she was the only person to stay by his side. She wept over him every single moment, and prayed for a recovery. ""Sam, please wake up,"" she said, holding his hand and crying, ""Please wake up. I may not be your soulmate, but you're still mine, and I can't see you die."" He stayed unresponsive though. After several hours passed, Rose left the room to go and get a bite to eat, having starved herself waiting for her loved one to wake back up. Upon her return, she heard something that made her heart drop. ""Hi, Mr. Robertson, I'm Nurse Ginger, and I'll be taking care of you."" Rose dropped to the floor outside of the room and started to have a panic attack. This was the moment. Sam was gone. She had lived the best 7 years of her life with him, and now it was all over. He had finally met the love of his life. The nurse rushed out and saw Rose in the floor weeping. She picked Rose up off of the ground, and with a lot of talking, managed to get her into the room. Rose felt as though it would be to say goodbye to her husband who she had grown so used to seeing. ""Why are you sad?"" Sam said. ""Because, because, because,"" Rose tried to tell him why, but the words just wouldn't come out. ""I'm sorry, but do I know you?"" Sam asked. She looked up through her hair that had fallen in her face, the spark in her eyes no longer there. ""I'm... I'm your... I'm."" ""My name is Sam. Now you tell me your name,"" he said, with a smile on his face. A smile slowly grew on Rose's face, ""My name is Rose Robert- uh, Rose Sanchez."" ""Well Rose Sanchez, they won't tell me why I'm in here. The last thing I remember, I was about to go to my first class of the semester, uh, American literature with Dr. Douglas."" The two began to talk through the night. And in one of the corners of their house, a watch read negative 1 hour and 12 minutes. --- Thank you for reading my story! If you liked that, please consider checking out my subreddit r/coffeeswritingcafe I recommend one, if you want more romance. Thanks again!",1079
 The streetlights lining Martin Avenue bat,"The streetlights lining Martin Avenue bathed the sidewalk in harsh, neon light. Four symmetrical shadows stretched from the point where my shoes met the pavement, disturbing the stillness, each long enough to fade into the darkness at the edges of the street. Outside my front door, I set down the paper grocery bag and stopped to light a cigarette. The air was still damp from rain earlier in the day, and the old lighter nearly drained of its fluid, stubbornly resisting my efforts to spark a flame. ""You need a light, friend?"" someone called from the street, the voice rough and gravelly. I looked up to see another man standing at the sidewalk, the details of his face shrouded by a dark bowler hat. His silhouette was framed by the lights from the streetlamp, his thin shadow so long that it ended at my feet. ""Sure."" I motioned for him to join me on the porch. He took out a fancy silver lighter, then shook two cigarettes from a pack in the inside pocket of his coat. ""These are better than the ones you got there,"" he said, flicking his thumb against the lighter and watching the flame dance to life. ""Here, take one of mine."" I drew into the glowing cigarette, feeling the smoke rush into my lungs. *I don't have to go back into that house,* I thought. *I can just leave into the night, never to be seen again.* There was a private bank account registered to my name with ten thousand dollars to it, and another thousand in my back pocket. Enough to start a new life for myself. ""You're a quiet one,"" the stranger said. ""Something on your mind?"" ""Just at a crossroads, I suppose."" ""You want to talk about it?"" I gave the stranger a closer look. His eyes were still obscured by the brim of the hat, but his jaw jutted out from underneath, strangely familiar. ""This is a small neighborhood, you know. You live around here?"" The stranger shook his head. ""Nah, just passing through. The wife is looking for a place to settle down, thinks might be the place to raise a family."" He glanced at the windows of my house behind us. ""Well? Is it?"" I shrugged. ""I don't know. Our kids are still young."" Another drag. These cigarettes were different - I could feel a slight burn as the smoke entered me again, burning, destroying, but the feeling was dull and distant, as if the pain was being masked by some numbing, comfortable euphoria. ""Reckon I gotta leave here soon."" ""That so?"" The stranger flicked the remains of his first cigarette and started on another. ""We can't stand each other...the wife and I. I'm no good with the kids. Get home so late that I barely even see them as it is. Think it would be a lot better for everyone if I just took off and let them be happy."" ""I get that, friend."" I felt the man put his arm on my shoulder. ""The Mrs. and me, we're trying for kids ourselves, been almost a year now. Nobody tells you how stressful that part of marriage is. This is supposed to be the young, happy years of it too. You know, when everything is new and exciting. Yet here I find myself driving around in the middle of the night, going to bars, even smoking with strangers on front porches, just to have some reason to take a break from it all. Things were a lot simpler when it was only me."" I nodded. ""Amen to that."" The man put his lighter back inside his coat and tipped his hat. ""Well my friend, I hope you find happiness in whatever path you choose."" I shook his hand, and then he was gone. There was a creak from behind me as the front door opened. I turned around and found myself face to face with a man I did not recognize. ""Who are you?"" the man yelled, panic in his voice. He was holding a metal baseball bat in his hand. ""What are you doing here?"" ""Me? What am I doing here? What the hell are *you* doing in *my* house-"" I broke off. The man was familiar. Older, much older, but I couldn't forget that face anywhere. The man dropped the bat, his jaw falling. ""Dad?"" he asked, incredulous. ""Is it really you, Dad?"" ""Jeffrey? How is this...how are you..."" ""Mom said you died. Said you was never coming back."" ""What are you talking about? I never left you."" ""We needed you."" He was trembling now. ""Mom was so upset she wouldn't say anything about you. I knew you weren't dead though, I knew you would come back one day."" ""This is impossible."" I could feel sweat starting to bead on the back of my neck. ""I never left you, Jeffrey!"" ""I got to be starting pitcher a few years back."" I could see tears starting to pool in his eyes. ""You always told me I could a pitcher back when I was in little league, I kept working at it. I'm pitching in college now."" I turned my back on my son. *That stranger with the bowler hat did something.* ""Take me back!"" I yelled, into the night. ""I don't want this! Let me see my son grow up!"" My yells echoed through the dead of the night, unanswered. ""You hear me? You did something - you messed everything up."" Then, a response. ""No friend, that was all you."" The man in the bowler hat was standing on the sidewalk again, playing with his lighter. He took his hat off, and I found myself face to face with- *Myself.* He slid another cigarette into his hand. ""Another?"" ""No. Make it go back. Take it all back."" ""Take what back?"" my doppelganger said, and then he turned on his heel and disappeared into darkness on the other side of the road. From the inside of my house, I heard the shout of a toddler. I peered through the window, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage. For a moment, nothing, and then Jeffrey tore through the dining room in a fit of elated giggles, as my wife chased after him. I felt my breath steady. My life - It was there. It was all still there. I tossed the cigarettes into the bushes, picked up the paper grocery bag, and walked into the house. My wife looked up as I entered. ""You were gone long enough. Did you get the milk?"" ""Right here,"" I said, placing it on the kitchen table. My breath was still shaky. Then, before I knew what I was doing, I walked over and wrapped my arms around her. ""I'm sorry."" Half of me expected her to look up skeptically and frown, or to ask me what I was sorry about. But instead, she pulled me even tighter towards her. ""I'm sorry too,"" she whispered.",1163
 Bruno found Bruno in the middle of,"I had found Bruno in the middle of the night. It was back when I was still living in Riverside, and only half-alive, after Kate had gone away to school and stopped answering my calls. Most nights I'd get my buddy Jacob to come get high with me and eat some fast food, but now and then even he had something better to do. Instead, I'd just go skate past the palm trees and cheap stucco bungalows, listening to whatever pop punk bullshit I thought made me different, and daydreaming about London or New York City or anywhere nobody would know me. It was one night when I was doing just that, when I heard a dog barking like crazy, running back and forth around an old man laying on the road. The guy was already in pretty terrible shape when I got there. From the skid marks, it looked like a car or maybe even a truck had run right over him. His belly had burst apart and some of his guts were falling out onto the asphalt. I skated over and I called 911. I told the old man it was going to be okay and that help was coming. ""It's not going to be okay for me,"" he said between wheezes, ""but you can still make it okay for Bruno. Promise you'll take Bruno, because I can't have him going off to some dog pound. I won't have none of that for my boy, alright? When I was growing up, people used to say that when someone takes responsibility for a dead man's dog, he also gets a guardian angel. Truth is, I expect I probably won't be turning into an angel. But wherever it is I go, I'll be sure I'm looking out for you, as long as you're looking out for my Bruno. We got a deal?"" I told him I agreed. I let him squeeze my hand as tight as he wanted, while poor Bruno licked his face and yelped his heart out, until the sirens drowned him out and the paramedics came rushing up. The cops kept me there for a while, huddled beside the rumbling ambulance, while they loaded the old man into a black body bag and onto the stretcher. They asked every possible question about what had happened, but all I could say was that I had found the guy laying there on the ground when I happened to skate by. They made me fill out some paperwork, and then gave me a candy bar when I was done, plus a brochure for some social worker I could call if the memory gave me any trouble sleeping. ""Is the dog yours or his?"" the cop asked me at the end of it all, ""If it's his, I'll have to get animal control down here."" ""No, that's Bruno,"" I said, ""he's mine."" I realized I was already holding the neon green leash, which was a little bit spotted with the man's blood. Bruno canted his head at me, like I had the power to change the world and make everything better. For the first time, I felt like I could come through for someone. The old man's accident made the news a few days later. It turned out he had once been a prominent scientist at Cal Tech, working on some sort of cutting edge research in fungal brain infections, which he believed could be adapted to transmit states of consciousness between individuals, even between different species. More than that, he thought the fungi could also give someone the power to commandeer another person's body. I dug around online and found an old interview where he said there were already some peculiar species of fungus and ants out in the African jungle that were making this work to their advantage in certain small ways, but that this was just the tip of what was possible. But I guess the whole project was too out there for the other academics, and after he allegedly tried to pull off some secret experiment involving chimpanzees and rabbits and dogs, they took away his tenure. He died without any family or really any friends left, except of course for Bruno. When the dog saw his lost master on the computer screen, he barked like a maniac, and I had to give him one of the new chew toys I had picked up, just to get him to relax again. But in no time really, having Bruno made everything better for me. I'd wake up earlier to walk him, I lost weight playing with him, and I even picked up playing guitar again, just because of how he liked hearing it when I'd strum chords. We'd go to the park, where is where I met Ashley, after she just came up to pet him. Soon, getting a text from her felt as good as one from Kate used to. Her uncle took me on as an apprentice electrician, and after a few months, I had enough money for Ashley and Bruno and I to get an apartment together. Every night, when I'd skate home from work, I wouldn't be thinking about escaping to New York or London anymore, but just about how, in fifteen minutes, I'd open the door and Bruno would be scurrying between my legs, barking, and how Ashley would look over her shoulder from the couch and smile at me. And it was good like that for almost a year, until the night I got home to no barking at all. Ashley took my hand and led me over to the dog bed, where Bruno wasn't moving. ""I opened the door, and he just ran out,"" she said, ""He'd never done that before, not one time. But he ran out before I could stop him. He went into the street, and a there was a car. It didn't stop."" ""I'm so sorry,"" she cried. I wrapped one hand around her and cradled her head. I started to tear up too. For a minute, I thought about looking up where the old man had been buried, and maybe trying to find a way to leave Bruno there too. But I decided that he had been our dog just as much, and belonged with us. So, the next morning, I went out into the yard to dig a grave for him. Except I didn't get a foot into the earth before I hit a hard plastic box. When I picked it out of the dirt, there was a note taped to it: *If you're reading this, it isn't too late. Avoid cities on 2/12/2018. Go to the coordinates on the map and you'll know what to do next.* It was signed just ""Me"". Even though it was strange to see tomorrow's date on some long ago buried note, I still figured it was some dumb prank or time capsule bullshit from the previous tenants, and an unusually close timing coincidence. I threw the box over into the planter, telling myself I'd re-bury when I wasn't so sad, so as to not be a disappointment if some kids ever came asking for it. After the hole was dug, Ashley and I said goodbye to Bruno. She read something from her Bible and I played a song on the guitar. Then we just had dinner and went to bed. Air raid sirens woke us up in the morning. We turned on the news. New York, London, Los Angeles, Tokyo, nearly every major city was being overrun by hordes of jungle ants. They were saying there were quadrillions or maybe quintillions of ants, and they were organized, like they could all think as one. The footage showed them pouring over everything like black sand, eating every blade of grass, and the very skin off people's arms and faces. Halfway through the broadcast, a wave of ants swept across the news anchor's desk while he was delivering his report. The feeds cut. We lost power not long after. *Avoid cities on 2/12/2018.* I ran into the backyard and snatched the strange box out of the planter. I ripped through the plastic covering and opened it up. Inside, there was a folded up map, a vial of some strange green liquid, and a white aerosol can, with ""bug spray"" written on it in sharpie. ""What are you doing out here?"" Ashley screamed at me from the porch, ""Where are we going to go? Is anywhere safe?"" I unfolded the map all the way and scanned across it. It was big enough to cover all of California and Nevada. ""I don't know,"" I told her, ""But I think maybe someone does."" I turned the paper around to show her what I was seeing. On the map, there was a red X, marking some isolated spot, deep in the Mojave desert. Right below, there was a fading photograph taped on. It was a picture of the old scientist, sitting in some giant leather chair in some fancy university office. And on his lap, there was Bruno, when he was just a puppy. He was canting his little head up at his former master. Like he was looking at a man who had the power to change the entire world.",1547
 City of Gold was the gold of,"It was paradise on Earth. Not exactly the paradise that I had imagined, mind you. When I first started my hunt for the City of Gold, I had expected, well, *gold*. Mountains of coins, bricks made of the stuff, inlays of murals all filled to the brim with a thousand kilos of gold. Of course, when I got older, I realized that any such city would have probably sunken into the marshy jungle floor decades ago, if not looted by the first clever soul to find it and keep quiet. So, I began a hunt for a different city. A city filled not with gold in the literal sense, but the gold of history. What I found was the gold of dogs. There must have been thousands of them. All breeds, all sizes, but all with the same shimmering coat of gold. The city itself seemed to shine with the luster of their coats. Yet, despite how obviously well they were kept, not a single human soul was present other than myself. I confess, when they first spotted me, I was more than a little overwhelmed by the tidal wave of curious noses. When they pushed me to the floor, I thought I might be torn to pieces, but instead I was simply licked from head to toe. It was slimy, and perhaps a little less than sanitary, but when I could stand again I found myself entirely unharmed. In fact, I was smiling more than I had in all the years since my own golden had passed. Then, a great boom rang out across the entire city, and the dogs grew quiet. As one, the darted away from me, lining up to border the edges of the city's main road like the spectators of some glorious parade. Though they refrained from barking, I could tell it was a close thing. They shuffled from foot to foot, tails beating uncontrollably like a thousand brooms against the stony ground. ""Are you trying to lead me somewhere, boys?"" I asked. I wasn't sure if they understood, but they were certainly more than a little excited to hear my voice. Several spun in circles, clearly eager to play, but never straying onto the path. ""Well,"" I said, to no one in particular. ""I've come this far, after all."" Feeling as if he weariness of the jungle had all but vanished from my limbs, I walked along the cobbles towards the heart of the city: an enormous step pyramid that rose even above the forest canopy in its splendor. When I paused, perhaps to scratch an eager head, I noticed that the other buildings, too, were very clean. They were obviously Aztec in origin, yet it appeared as if they had been built only weeks ago and rigorously maintained ever since. There was no gold, but there also was no filth or overgrowth. Certainly, there wasn't any evidence that the place was being inhabited by thousands of dogs. As I got deeper into the city, it became more and more obvious that this was a paradise not only built for men, but for dogs as well. There were rows of luxurious stone kennels, dozens of parks filled with trees and grass just asking to be run across, and more than a few posts just the right height for sniffing. To my surprise, I even found what appeared to be a doggy mess hall, with hundreds of bowls filled to the brim with steaming sirloin. I stopped there for quite some time, but no chef ever made an appearance, and I couldn't approach without treading on more than a few happy tails. Eventually, I was forced to move on. It was time to begin my ascent. Though the pyramid was steep, each step was bordered by an honor guard of ancient-looking dogs. Though their muzzles were gray and their eyes soft, they all held their chests out proudly. Each of them seemed just as healthy as the pups before, even if their exuberance was somewhat tempered by age. Finally, I reached the top. There, standing in front of the temple with arms held out in welcome, was a man. ""Hello, George Williams!"" He said, pronouncing each syllable of my name distinctly. ""We have been waiting for you!"" He was as tall as a giant, with hair as golden as the dogs that hurried around his ankles like an overly-friendly hurricane. His chest was bare, but on his back was an enormous cape made of feathers. On his brow, he wore a crown of gold that seemed to be made entirely out of dog biscuits. ""Er, uh, thank you!"" I stammered. ""You...you have?"" ""Yes, George Williams!"" The giant replied. ""Waiting for a very long time! Welcome to EL Dogado, City of Gold!"" That one caught my by surprise. ""Don't you mean 'El Dorado?'"" I asked. ""Actually, who are you?"" ""I am Quetzalcoatl, my friend."" Said the man. ""And no. Though I do think that may have been how it was translated. Humans tend to miss small details like that."" ""Quetzalcoatl...as in the god?"" I asked. Hurriedly, I made to bow--for a crazy hermit or a diety, I didn't know--but he gripped my shoulders and pulled me into a hug before I could finish the movement. ""No need for formalities, my honored guest."" Quetzalcoatl said. ""Besides, my subjects think you are playing. They have all been waiting to meet you for so long!"" I looked down, and to my surprise the number of dogs at my feet seemed to have exploded. They were pouring up the staircase from below now, barking joyously in greeting. Each of them seemed to be trying to knock me over and get a better sniff. ""Whoa there!"" I said, clinging to the man for support. ""Why uh, why have they been waiting?"" ""Ahhh, now that is a tale."" The giant said, smiling. ""One of our number has been singing your praises for some time now. He said you were the best friend he ever had, and the greatest explorer the world has ever known. He knew you would come."" The man whistled once, and the dogs instantly ran back to their positions. None of them made so much as a whimper, as if each were holding their breath. The giant stepped aside, and out of the temple walked a single elderly golden retriever. ""...Baily?"" I asked. Our reunion was as quick as it was joyous. Baily bounded forward, and for all his old, tired bones he was able to knock me flat on my back with a single leap. Instantly, I was covered by a familiar hairy warmth and doused enough saliva that I thought I might drown in happiness. ""But, how?"" I asked. ""Baily...Baily passed decades ago, right before I started looking for this place!"" ""Ah, now that's a trick."" Quetzalcoatl said, waggling a finger. ""Baily has been waiting here for some time, it's true. Many of my subjects have. Most choose to pass on alone...but your Baily knew you would make your way here. He never gave up on you."" ""Is...that what all of these dogs are?"" I asked. Quetzalcoatl nodded sagely. ""Yes. Many find us in death, waiting to greet and be greeted by the ones they loved before they pass on. Many souls, both man and dog, wind up passing through my gates. But you...you were the first to find us here, where we truly are. So, George Williams. I ask of you...what will you do now, now that you have discovered us in truth? Will you stay? Will you go? Will you, too, move on with your beloved Baily?"" I looked back, gazing upon the city and its wonders. I saw the beautiful buildings stretching into the sky. I saw the parks, the kennels, the food. And there, by the very entrance of the city's gate, I saw the small crumpled form that I had always known was there. Nodding to the the ancient god, I walked into the temple, Baily by my side. *** *Thanks for the read! CC welcomed, and if you liked this story come check out my others at /r/TimeSyncs!*",1357
 Jeff Bates and Slim Bill faced off,"Brewster's Billions ___________________________________________________________________________________________ Timing was everything. Ever since the rules to the game of capitalism had been formalized, the race was on. The challenge was to become the second-richest person in America by midnight on New Year's Eve. Of course, the real game only began in December. If you started too early, you would be left without enough money to even approach the number two spot in the next year. It was more of a blow to pride than a real loss, when you were talking billions of dollars, but no one competitive enough to be one of the richest in the world had any shortage on pride. On December 1st, Jeff Bates and Slim Bill faced off in Times Square. Bates had a small lead going in, at just over a hundred billion dollars. Slim Bill was only in the upper nineties. The two of them were surrounded by a crowd of starving middle class people, dressed in rags. They were eager. December was the month when those two would shake riches enough for a lifetime off like dust from their sleeves. They did stay careful to leave them a safe distance. There was no use in killing the golden goose before it laid its eggs. ""Pathetic,"" Slim Bill told Bates. Bill was dressed in a robe of solid gold, with an Boston Labs exoskeleton underneath, designed specifically to help him hold up the weight. Diamonds adorned his earlobes. The left had been doused in blood from the prince of England; the right in Audrey Hepburn's blood, produced in a lab from a DNA sample. On his shoulder rested a one-of-a-kind Chanel purse fashioned from quagga fur. It was easy to be secure in your masculinity when you had more money than God. Bates wore jeans and a black turtleneck. His outfit couldn't have cost more than a hundred dollars, even the shoes. ""You brought toys. I'm thinking bigger."" He gestured upwards. ""Slim Bill is a loser,"" splashed across the Times Square Tower. ""At $23 million a year to rent, it's a bargain really,"" he said. ""I've rented it out for the next hundred years, paid in advance. That should put me neatly into second place."" Slim smiled. ""That's going to embarrassing for the next hundred years when you lose."" He reached into his purse and pulled the Hope diamond. ""$350 million is the valuation, but I'm afraid I'm an awful bargainer this time of year. They managed to push me to 500."" He punted it away like a hacky sack. The crowd dove, killing each other for scraps. ""As for this,"" he gestured to his outfit, ""I didn't even ask for the price. But I'm in second, don't you worry about that Jeff."" Slim slipped off his robe and walked away naked, leaving his other expensive toys behind. Bates stood there, fist clenched and thinking hard. A month passed. Slim Bill and Jeff Bates drove each other to ever-increasing heights of conspicuous spending, but stayed careful not to overdo it. The third place candidate had $74 billion and dropping below that would defeat the point of the game. One obvious way to force victory would be to give ten or twenty billion to their opponent, but it was a cheap win. Neither of them would sink to that level. In the first week they started with charitable donations. 564,708 homeless people lived in the United States. They started tracking things a lot better in late November. Bates bought each of them a laptop and an iPhoneX, for $2000 a person. Just over a billion dollars. Slim paid rent for each of them for a year. At an average of $600/month, he spent a little over 4 billion dollars. Part of it was spent on buying houses. Assets retained their value, so they were not a loss that would help him get closer to second place. Everything else was actual rent in more expensive neighborhoods. Bates - 97. Slim - 93. In the next two weeks, Bates had to step it up. Huge national donations took time to roll out, and his opponent had a $4 billion dollar lead. He decided to hold the biggest party of all time. He rented out every beach on the east coast. Legal? Maybe. But governors were tripping over themselves to have him spend money in their state. For the actual entertainment, he had 198 F/A 18 Hornets doing shows up and down the coast in squads of six. Free food went without saying. He considered free flights out for anyone who wanted to come, but if he did that, he'd have to include hotel fees, and everything would get a lot more unpredictable. Third place beckoned. The planes were most expensive, $29 million each for about $5.8 billion. He let the pilots take them home afterwards. Most states didn't charge for the beach rentals and the ones that did only cost him about $300 million. He set up a public account online with $2 billion and made it usable only to buy food with for the party. If they didn't use it all up that day, it would be gone by the end of the month. In the same two weeks, Slim spent most of his time pissing off rooftops, inviting lawsuits that he quickly settled as expensively as he could. Headlines about trickle-down wealth got old very quickly. Bates - 90. Slim - 91. Bates was starting to get paranoid. It was December 31st, and Slim hadn't made any moves in weeks. Just after 11 p.m., he donated $5 billion to cancer research. It was a boring move, rarely done. But he knew Slim had something planned and he wanted to widen his lead while he still had it. Bates - 85. Slim - 91. He knew Slim had something planned because he had invited Bates to the California border. ""For ten billion dollars..."" Slim held his pinky to his mouth and grinned. ""I have purchased the state of California."" ""Ten billion for a blue state? You drastically overpaid."" The two of them laughed. ""Victory is mine,"" Slim Bill said. Bates squinted. ""Are you forgetting the rules of the game? Assets count."" He felt hope spring up. It was 11:45 p.m. now. It was too late for him to make another purchase, but the same was true for Slim. If this was his last play, it wouldn't be enough. ""I know. But you see, even though I'm the richest man in the world, there's one thing I still don't bother to pay for."" Slim lit a match. ""And what's that?"" Bates said, feeling his hope slip away. ""Fire insurance."" Slim threw the match, and quickly sent a text. When midnight struck, all of California was burning. 30 million people died before they could be evacuated. The other billionaires agreed it was one of the best games in years. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ 10/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.",1154
 Audiophage sat up with a,"The crash and boom from the front of the bank echoed throughout the whole building. Audiophage sat up with a scowl. ""The hell's goin' on out there?"" He roared at his minions. They scurried away, having the presence of mind to know that the boss was not in a good mood. He didn't like disturbances, and that sounded like a disturbance. Phage just shook his head, turning back to the locked vault he was at work on. Breaking into banks was not at all his style, but he didn't get to choose where the folks with the tech kept their goods. He'd been at this game a long, *long* time, as the grey lacing his hair proved. Sometimes, you just had to adapt. The sound of footsteps brought him up short. ""What was it?"" He hissed, craning his head around, and then stopped. The sight before him was not his sweaty, black-jacketed thugs for hire. She loomed over him, six feet of taut, gently muscled woman topped with a mane of strawberry blonde hair. ""Not what you were expecting?"" She purred, flicking a finger idly. A little ball of fire swirled at the tip with every twitch. Phage stared, eyes narrowed. He'd been in the business a long time. The fashion trends of heroes had always been a moving target - ranging from the universally unappealing unitard designs of the earliest Gifted to the more risque adopted by the 'forward thinking' women heros of the last decade. He was well used to seeing more of a hero than he ever really *wanted* to. But this... ""Isn't that uncomfortable?"" He blurted out, eyeing her incredulously. The way the fabric was cut out in strategic areas, leaving skin exposed...the high cut around the sides...It *had* to be riding up. There was no way she *wasn't* pulling spandex out of her ass every three minutes. She blinked, competely taken aback. ""Excuse me?"" She said slowly, the words ominously drawn out. The little fireball circling her finger wasn't so little anymore. He'd really rather not be burned to cinders in the little room. Phage turned back to the vault, just so that he wouldn't have to look at her. He was *not* blushing, he told himself. He could end this. He could put a stop to this, right now. She just reeked of green inexperience. But, he knew his own powers, and, well. If he stepped in, with her like *that*, there was only one way this was going to end. He couldn't quite bring himself to go there. Not yet. ""You thought you were so clever, eh, Audiophage?"" The woman drawled, slowly circling around him. His head swiveled around stubbornly, facing the other way no matter how she wandered. ""You didn't *really* think you could just waltz in here and take it, did you?"" Audiophage ground his teeth together in frustration. It was like she was reading the script to some horrible, cheesy cartoon. ""This your first week?"" He managed. The pacing stopped. ""That's not relevant, is it? Hands where I can see them, *Phage*. Nice and high."" He glanced up. She was standing right in front of him. The fabric - what little there was of it - was drawn tight, like the slightest nudge would send her spinning free. He gulped. She was young enough to be his *daughter*, damnit. This was *not* in the job description. ""I'd rather not, if that's all right with you."" He muttered, spreading his hands out to either side. She clicked her tongue, resuming her walk. Her high stilletos groaned in complaint. ""Whatever. Police will be here soon anyway."" ""Just thought you seemed new. That's tough, I feel you. It's...hard for new Gifted to get their costumes tailored in time."" He started, eyes still downturned. The thought of her continuing like this just didn't sit right with him. If she wasn't going to let him talk head-on, then he'd come at it from the side. ""Oh, that wasn't a problem."" The hero said, laughing under her breath. ""I know my way around a sewing machine."" ""Made it yourself, did you?"" He said weakly. ""I like to stand on my own, when I can. You about done?"" ""Oh, I'm just musin'. Don't mind an old man."" Audiophage said quickly, plastering an innocent grin onto his face. ""Only, the Enhancement from the shops are *pretty useful*."" He tried to make his tone as convincing as possible. ""I'd hate for you to get hurt by somethin' you weren't expectin'."" The proper tailoring shops would *also* never, ever allow their heros to walk around in something like *that*. She was going to catch a cold, even if she didn't get taken out by a villain looking at her the wrong way. Distantly, he could hear the sound of sirens, and swore softly. The hero chuckled, her voice low and soft. ""Almost time, isn't it? Keep those hands out, now. No tricks."" ""No tricks."" He said, still with that dumb grin on his face. She was an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but he couldn't stand around and let her get herself hurt right at the start of his career. And so when she lapped him again, making one last round of the little back room, he threw his amplifiers into overdrive. The hero shrieked, throwing her arms up reflexively as the vibrations shook the air. Audiophage had one last instant to confirm that yes, in fact, the laws of physics were still functioning, and then he slammed his eyes shut. Pushing his way past the woman, he made for the door. He was going to be cutting things *close*. His men were screwed, but that was their own damn fault. It wasn't worth his skin to save them. One last glance over his shoulder showed the girl sitting in a quivering, trembling heap, grabbing at the scraps of cloth that used to be her uniform. All of the clever bits of glue she'd used to hold herself in had given up in the face of simple resonant vibrations, all of the teensy straps holding artistically cut sections snapped by tension. The police were going to get a *show* when they came to arrest their villain, he thought. The thought didn't make him happy, although he *was* a little satisfied with himself regardless. He'd done a good deed that day. And they said all villains were evil. He could manage one more, while he was at it. ""There's a great little costuming shop, down by that hero mechanic's garage. South District. Ask for Taylor."" He said, pausing at the doorway. ""Tell her Phage sent you, and she might even....ah...squeeze you in."" Before she could say a word, rapidly turning incandescent from rage or humiliation, he fled, unable to contain his grin. (/r/inorai, critiques always welcome!)",1134
 Grand Commander Heraldric of the Hal,"""Tell me more,"" was the simple response from Grand Commander Heraldric of the Halassian Armada, Orior. ""Preliminary reports have been submitted by ground combatants that state they are running into heavy resistance and in some cases, strike groups have been annihilated completely,"" the advisor began. He flicked a talon in the air, the holographs surrounding them shifting. A scene of what appeared to be a coast came into view. Large human ships were burning and pillars of smoke climbed towards the atmosphere. Vehicles of all kinds seemed to be strewn about the coast in smoking hulks of debris now. ""This is entry point seven-two-six along one of the larger continents in the upper hemisphere."" ""What am I looking at exactly?"" Heraldric asked, irritation filling his voice. ""Seems like we took this location with little resistance."" His eyes scanned the real time scene for anything out of the ordinary. ""At sea, yessir. We were able to wipe out the local sea faring vessels along with coastal defense networks. The problem however,"" the camera, still showing in real time, lifted up from whatever platform it may have been on and began to climb into the air. As it did, the view showed more of the scene behind the coastal destruction. The camera was attached to a drone that then began to move further inland. As it did, the scene changed from destroyed human equipment, to Halassian wrecks. ""As we make our way further into their occupied areas, even with their archaic kinetic weapons, we have seen fiercer fighting than ever before on previous worlds."" ""Give me some figures,"" Heraldric demanded. ""Sir, we've lost twenty-percent of our original striking force that have made landfall."" The advisor's words were laced with fear as he spoke them. ""Twenty-percent? Have all remaining strike groups land inland, cease all sea operations."" The commander stood from his chair to get a better look at the scene that unfolded before him. ""I fear,"" the advisor began, ""that moving our forces inland would only bring us more casualties. We didn't bring a large force, sir because we didn't think we would encounter so much resistance. But these human warriors are just... so damn persistent. They fight with such vigor our forces are seeming to have trouble *actually* killing them."" His voice began to pick up speed as he explained. The view shifted again, this time to what seemed like a helmet camera. In the lower portion of the holograph there was a time stamp as to when it was recorded. ""Observe, if you will Grand Commander."" Buildings passed by the viewing angle of the camera as the Halassian warrior ran through the streets of an unknown city. A group of humans could be seen defending a position behind a cluster of their vehicles. Lines of light sailed through the empty space between the Halassian and Human forces as the kinetic rounds flew through the air. A barrage of energy cut through the position, cleaving several of the vehicles in half lengthwise while a few clusters of plasma mortared through the air towards the humans. Heraldric smiled to himself, seeing the imminent destruction of his opponents. As the plasma connected and the beam of energy faded, there was a pause of silence. Suddenly, the return fire from the humans seemed to grow more fierce as if their numbers had doubled. Heraldric's face turned to a concerned expression. ""Impossible, they withstood a volley of Clythorian plasma canisters?"" Nodding, the advisor nodded towards the display once more. Muzzle flashes from the human weapons flashed more from so many different positions, Heraldric had a hard time placing their true locations. Suddenly, *thunks* filled the air and smoke trails came crashing down on the Halassian warriors. The camera angle changed as the squad of alien attacks attempted to take a defensive point behind a few of the human vehicles. Jerking slightly, the gyroscope of the camera unable to keep up with the movements of the soldier the viewing equipment was mounted to, another group of Halassians came into view. Their large, towering forms seemed to be cowering behind what looked to be a long, rectangular vehicle, seemingly designed to move large amounts of humans at once. To their dismay, the Halassians were simply too tall and found it difficult to hide behind the metal wreck. Sparks littered their bodies as kinetic rounds bounced off their armor. Pride for their technological and military hardware achievements, Heraldric was about to speak before suddenly the Halassian warriors began to fall one by one. The camera angle looked back up the street which the squad had just come. Up in a building somewhere there was a bright flash of light and another Halassian soldier fell, another flash of light and another fallen grunt. Finally, the camera feed died and the holograph blinked out of existence. ""What was that thing they were firing?"" Heraldric demanded an answer. ""Sir, it would appear the humans, though primitive in almost every respect, have created weapons that even they can't defend against. We based our load out on what we knew they were capable of. These weapons, combined with their... for lack of a better word, stubbornness is leading to the loss of strike groups on an hourly basis. I've seen a human have limbs removed, and yet still they pulled the trigger of their weapon, threw one of their grenades. I watched as a handful of injured human soldiers used themselves as a shield in order to keep more effective fighters alive. Not to mention everyone seems to have a weapon or know how to fire one. There seems to be no shortage of knowledge on how to use their armaments due to something called 'YouTube'. Sir, this fight is growing into one that is simply not worth what we came here for."" Heraldric pulled up a screen that showed the combat strength of the armada he had brought. ""We can't do an orbital bombardment?"" ""We'd risk damaging the original intent of our journey here. That's why we had aimed for an amphibious assault if you recall,"" the advisor's voice perhaps carried more irritation than he should have allowed but quickly added in, ""sir."" Before the Grand Commander could respond, there was a quick blast of an alarm. An image appeared on the screen. It was an aerial view of an unknown city, tall buildings reaching towards the heavens. ""What is it?"" Heraldric asked, his body language suddenly going on alert. A radio transmission was coming in, though it was crystal clear, ""Grand Commander, the humans, they,"" there was a pause. ""They're using our weapons against us."" The individual reporting the information sounded as though they couldn't believe what they were hearing. ""Impossible, they're bio-locked, you must be..."" that's when he saw it. The image displayed a handful of a strange blue triangles that displayed known positions of Halassian forces. Purple triangles then flashed and showed known human positions. From those positions, high in the buildings, a hail of Clythorian plasma canisters came falling down onto the Halassians. ""No..."" was all Heraldric could say. ""They're,"" another pause from the reporting party, ""They're removing our hands and... using them to fire off volleys."" ""Those barbarians!"" the advisor remarked, disgust in his voice. ""Desperation, adaptability,"" Heraldric whispered, to himself more than anything. Suddenly, this mission wasn't worth it. Not for the lives of the soldiers at his command. ""Drellis, pull us out."" ""Sir--"" ""I said pull us out! We're leaving,"" Heraldric had turned and began to walk back towards his chair.",1256
 A knock rapped at the door,"A knock rapped at the door just as I was getting ready to call it a day. My head snapped up at it. Two knocks, quiet and polite. If this was that investigative agency coming back to poke around and ask questions, they were quite clearly getting less and less confident. I pushed myself out of my office chair and made my way to the door in two swift strides. *Small office*, you might be thinking, or *tall person*, you might think instead. Both however, were true. I swung open the door to the hallway to see a small, skinny woman standing there. I looked down at her and gave her the widest smile I had in my arsenal. ""Welcome to Movie-It-Over-Again!"" I said, and angled my body to the side as to show her the office in all its glory. I extended a hand toward my office chair, which took up a solid portion of the room by itself. Otherwise there was the skinny wood desk bunched up against the wall, with my old laptop and a few paperbacks sitting on it. There wasn't much else to see. ""Please,"" I said, ""take a seat."" The woman stood shocked for a moment or two, as though she had walked into a supermarket and found a brothel. She stood with her eyes wide and blue, framed by long hair the color of sand. She clutched at her tiny purse. Suddenly she looked at me and then the chair, and stammered out, ""Oh, okay,"" and hurriedly sat down in the office chair. I closed the door slowly. There's a certain feeling, when the mood changes in a room. Many alike it to the weight or solidity of the air in the room, which I always found personally nonsensical. *The mood was so tense you could cut through it with a knife*. I always felt it underneath, in my skin, my bones, my heart. Currently, I felt it in all three, and the air oddly felt like it had spontaneously turned to cheese. ""Well,"" I said, drawing out the word as I walked to her and leaned against the desk. ""How can I help?"" ""You make people forget things,"" she said quietly, ""right?"" I considered her words for a short time. ""Yes,"" I said slowly. ""Movies specifically,"" I jabbed a thumb at the door she had just some in, the other side having a piece of paper taped to it saying ""Movie-It-Over-Again!"". ""Can you make people forget things other than that?"" I looked at her and thought, hard. I had the power to erase memories. There were many other people with the same ability, and we were what we were. Vampires. Not really what you're picturing in your head, I'm sure. I can't fight worth shit, I can't turn into a bat, I don't suck blood, and I'm not even particularly pale. That's not the kind of vampire I was, not to say my cousin factions didn't exist. I fed on memories. Good memories. Part of the deal was that whatever memories I consumed, became a part of me. As though they had happened last Tuesday. Most of my kind, a small pool of monsters we were, tended to stick to the really good memories. Y'know, prom night, weddings, first kisses, the works. The sights, the smells, the tastes, the *emotions*. And when we feed, we take. The person a Memory Vampire feeds on forgets it all, as though it didn't happen to them in the first place. While I couldn't turn into a bat or fight like superman, I was part of a faction of supernatural beings considered the most deadly and vile in the world. I didn't follow in the steps of the rest of my brothers and sisters in the faction. I couldn't stand the thought of losing the memories of my childhood, my first love, basically everything that my life was before I matured and found out what I was. How could I do that to someone else? But vampires had to feed. What human could go through life without consuming calories? Thus too I had to feed on *something*. And so I opened this business, to consume the memories of movies. The client gets to watch a movie again and relive the experience they did before, and I get something to nibble on. All in all, compared to the rest of my faction, they were feasting on steaks and prime rib, while I sat in the corner rationing a salad, but at least I could live with myself. I smirked at the thought. I was practically vegan. As far as my deduction skills go, I could reasonably assume this woman didn't want to forget a movie. Either that or she had just watched that live-action adaption of *The Last Airbender*. I groaned internally. I looked at the woman. ""Possibly,"" I said. ""But where are my manners,"" I said, ""I haven't even asked your name."" She looked up at me and her deep, blue eyes met mine for the smallest fraction of a moment, then flicked away, as though ashamed. ""Chevelle,"" she said, quickly, but offered nothing more. ""Nice to meet you, Chevelle,"" I said in my most gentle voice. ""My name is Dr. Drake Finnigan, as I'm sure you already know."" I swallowed and tried to approach the next question as gently as possible. ""What... exactly do you want to forget."" She looked at her knees while she spoke. ""It's not exactly a movie,"" she said. ""But, I suppose if you were to think of it as one, it wouldn't be a happy one."" I took in a breath and let it out slowly. I could take from her whatever memory I wanted to. Good, bad, mediocre. But it wasn't as simple as eating food that good or bad. When I feed, I take it all, as I said before. Sight, sound, touch, taste. Emotion. If I kicked a puppy then took its memory of the incident, I would remember getting kicked in my side, as though it happened to me. It was a double edged sword. Also was the problem of time. I couldn't exactly walk up to Jackie Chan and take all his memories and become a kung-fu master. That was too many memories, too many experiences, too much to eat. You don't just walk up and eat an elephant. Movies were short, I could feed on that in one sitting. Depending on what I wanted to take though... it could take more time. I looked at Chevelle, who's eyes began to shine with the beginnings of tears as she sat there, obviously remembering whatever it was she came here for. Her small, slender hands balled up into fists. I sighed. I was old-fashioned when it came to women. Nothing quite like a damsel in distress. ""It depends,"" I said, ""on what the memory is, and how much there is."" I bit my lip. Was I really doing this? What if she had just walked out of a terrorist attack or some shit? I'd be ducking under cover when I heard loud noises for months. I sighed. At least hear her out, Drake. You can't just show her the door now. And so I let her talk.",1211
" Dr Ned Growers, better known","""How did you do it! Answer me, you fraud!"" Dr Ned Growers, better known as Toxical, leaned back in his chair and met my accusations with the coolest of stares. I knew that I was trespassing, that he could have me thrown out of his office at any moment, but I didn't care. Righteous rage is a potent drug, and I was so furious that nothing else mattered. ""You're a cheat, that's what you are,"" I said. ""It's all a sham, and mark my words, truth will see the light of day eventually. I will have every single reader of *O9* know that you are nothing more than a cheap illusion!"" I thumped his table so violently that his nameplate tottered off onto the ground. He picked it up, then fussed over restoring it to its original position. *Director of Research*, it read, with no other embellishment, no other indication that he was anything other than an egghead with the League. Nothing to state, for example, that he was one of the very few with a threat level so high, governments had to develop a whole new category for him. Not just Tier A, or Tier AA, or even Tier AAA. He was Tier S, the only one in the entire United States of America. Except, except that I knew he wasn't. ""I don't know what you are talking about, Wisp,"" he said, using my professional name. ""You were there at the showdown too, were you not? You saw me descend into battle with Earthshaker, and you saw how I emerged victorious. And if you're not going to believe your own eyes, what do you want me to say? I can only hope your readers at *Over 9000* are more discerning than you are-"" ""That's exactly what I meant! I know it's all a lie, I just don't know how you did it!"" ""Did what?"" he said, the ghost of a grin spreading across his lips. I fished about in my satchel, then dumped an assortment of glossies, audiotapes, and handwritten notes across his desk. They sprayed out dramatically, and Toxical began poking at some of them with the end of his pen. ""I told you before the showdown,"" I said. ""I've been watching you from the shadows for over a year. The proof is right here! You're... You're ordinary! Here's a picture of you stumbling during your morning run and scraping your knee! Here's another of you having trouble opening a jar of mayo! And what about this one?"" I flailed the photograph in front of him. ""Remember this? When you put out the trash and a stray cat popped out from behind the bins? You let it chase you for two whole blocks!"" Toxical's face lightened visibly as the memory came back. ""It was a *very* ferocious tabby,"" he offered. ""That's my point! You don't have powers! In a hundred instances, you've either gone out of your way to avoid trouble, or to resolve it through other means, but never once have you ever flexed your superpowers! Did you know, I went through every single available public record, but there's not a *single* documented case of you using your superpowers?"" ""I'm not showy,"" he said, as he shrugged. ""Don't see why everything's got to be a measuring contest."" ""So how?"" I asked. ""How did you fool all the threat assessment tests! Why are you Tier S?"" Toxical motioned for me to take a seat, and I did. I felt winded after my outburst, and frankly, I was ready to give up on the story. I had invested too much of myself into this, and much as the injustice of it all weighed upon me, I was far too weary to go on living in this madness. ""Shall we discuss in... Hypotheticals?"" he said. ""Off the record?"" I nodded, and he leaned over and tugged at the hidden microphone I had placed behind the visitor's badge on my shirt. I was too defeated to protest, and I just watched as he crushed the device with his stapler. ""Suppose a boy grows up on the streets,"" he said. ""And suppose the boy realises that he actually doesn't have any... Superpowers. Or at least, none of the sort which everyone else seemed to be growing in. He can't manipulate fire, he can't weave ice, he can't teleport, he can't fly. Yet, everyone else keeps their distance from him, fearful somehow of the danger he presents."" ""That boy then has two main paths open to him,"" Toxical continued, as he held up two fingers. ""One, dally away his time, and live in the moment. Embrace the fame, and feed off the fear and respect everyone accords him. But he knows that such unearned glory is shortlived, and no matter how great his legend, there will *always* be someone just crazy enough to challenge him, to see for themselves if he was really as big of a threat as he seemed. And above all, this boy is a survivor, and this grisly end does not appeal to him, because he knows he will *definitely* lose if ever there is a real fight."" ""What's the other option?"" I found myself asking. ""The second option, as it were, was to *really* become a threat. To be as big and as deadly a stick as he *appears* to be, so that if ever he were really challenged, then he would be able to fend for himself, prove that it wasn't worth anyone's time to tangle with him."" ""But..."" I said, grasping for the words. ""You have... No powers, nothing, nothing at all... And you live among people who can warp time, bend reality..."" Toxical answered by pressing the quickdial on his phone, and mumbling into the receiver. Within seconds, a sharp knock rapped on the door, and Earthshaker strode on in. ""You called, boss?"" I must have started gurgling by then, because it was a while before I formed a coherent sentence. ""That's... That's... Why is Earthshaker... What... How..."" ""It helps... Sate the public bloodthirst, I would say. Every few months there's a big public beatdown, and I get a couple of weeks of peace as people find more productive ways to waste their time."" Toxical dismissed Earthshaker, and he left after shooting us a quizzical look. Toxical waited until I had stopped hyperventilating before he continued. ""In a world where everyone has superpowers, and is so focused on developing them, it seems that few ever bother to pursue other forms of influence,"" Toxical said. ""And such a boy, that hypothetical powerless boy, may then find that since there is no need for him to train and develop his powers, he has a *lot* more time on his hands. Time which, if applied well, could grant him... Other forms of power, as it were."" ""So you admit it then?"" I asked. ""That you don't have any superpowers?"" Toxical laughed, then tapped on his name plate. ""As Director of Research, I have access to every record of every superpowered individual to be registered with the League. I know their strengths, their weakenesses, their schedules, their proclivities... You name it, and I have it. At any moment, on any day, I have scores of agents working to catalogue the world, fit everyone into boxes. And through it all, everyone comes back to me, because I have learned to contribute in ways that others cannot."" Toxical leaned in, and I followed suit, subconsciously mirroring him. ""I know, for instance, the three chemicals you are susceptible to,"" he whispered. ""Which, if applied to you, would rob you of your ability to teleport. You would not be so much Wisp as you would be a preserved butterfly, pinned and trapped in my collection."" Toxical stood, then ushered me to the door. His hand, on my back, was so cold that I couldn't help but shiver. ""I may not be deserving of my threat level, young man, but trust me, I have worked bloody, *bloody* hard to live up to it. So feel free to print whatever you want, I look forward to refuting it."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1355
 Hiroshima and Alex strolled through the,"Sun and Shadow ___________________________________________________________________________________________ Hand in hand. Hiroshima and Alex strolled through the city, heedless of traffic lights and strangers. Anyone with any hint of the Gift could feel the pulsing, roaring power coming off of Hiroshima. Cars braked. Grown men crossed the street to avoid blocking their path. Alex was blissfully happy. He- Well, his brother really, was a superhero! The city's best. Even the routine stuff like patrolling was a blast. Hiroshima smiled at his brother. He was never that excited about all this. Every superhero could instinctively sense the power level of others with the Gift. His was astoundingly high, so everywhere he went, it felt like he was surrounded by bugs. Bugs taller than he was, that nevertheless glared at him in fear and scurried away. They each got an ice cream, compliments of a shop downtown. The shop was named Good Ice Cream. They had known the store owner for about a year, a long time for a ten-year-old. Alex watched Blair's fingers move. The ice cream man casually drew the ice cream out of the display case, and formed it into a perfect sphere, hovering in the air. Everyone with the Gift had the ability to use raw force - things like telekinesis, forcefields, and beams of power. Each individual also had an Aspect, something they could use to flavor their power like ice, fire, or joy. Blair's Aspect was sweetness. It really was Good Ice Cream. Alex held his cone up eagerly. Blair dropped it in with a smile. That smile shrank when he turned to Hiroshima. ""Anything for you sir?"" He shook his head. His face said he was holding back a laugh, that he was mildly contemptuous of the offer. Why would a being of my power need such trifles as ice cream? Inside he felt like crying. He never asked for everyone to be afraid of him. But he had to keep up the lie. A few blocks past Good Ice Cream, Alex offered Hiroshima some of his ice cream. ""Thanks,"" he said quietly, and took a bite. ""Wow I said a little! You took like the whole thing!"" Alex said, teasing. ""I'm a growing hero. I need my food."" Hiroshima acted tough, flexing his elementary-schooler muscles. ""We're the same size, dummy."" Alex rolled his eyes and took another bite of ice cream. They were exactly the same size, being twins. Just then, a gunshot rang out from a nearby street. ""Aaahh, geez,"" Hiroshima complained. ""Come on!"" Alex put the rest of the ice cream in his mouth and dumped the cone in a trash can. ""Ah, ah, brain freeze."" He took off running anyway, letting Hiroshima chase after him. He quickly caught up, and Alex started following him, since Hiroshima could actually sense where they were going. Someone was robbing the bank. They were downtown, and the bank was on the bottom floor of a skyscraper. It had a Starbucks attached. A huge man, easily 400 pounds and over six feet tall, was standing inside at the teller window. ""Lemme get uhhhh. All your money. A mocha latte, hold the milk and espresso, extra mocha."" ""That's just chocolate syrup in a cup."" ""Bitch it takes work to look this good."" He fired another shot at the floor for emphasis. ""Gimme my drink. And money."" ""Stop right there!"" Alex said. Hiroshima was suddenly terrified. Before, he had only followed the sense of power. This close, he could tell how strong the man was. And one thing was absolutely certain. He didn't need a gun. ""Well, well, well. The little hero finally arrives."" The man turned and grinned. ""And me!"" Alex said. ""You have to go to jail now! That's the deal."" ""Mmm, yes. Warnings are out everywhere online that this city has a tremendous prodigy, and that the only safe thing to do is surrender. Now that I can see for myself, I can't say you disappoint."" His smile was mocking, unconcerned. Power levels were inviolate. They could change, but only so much. At low levels, when neither fighter had much experience, it was worth fighting it out. One of them could have a realization about the best way to use their power mid-fight and seize victory. At higher levels, with experienced heroes, most fights ended in either flight or surrender. Hiroshima had the highest power level on record. But this man was a match for him. ""My name is Nagasaki,"" he said, and the room started to glow. ""My Aspect is radiation. When I heard about a terrifying prodigy, I knew it was a chance to finally fight someone on my level."" The light drifted in the direction of his raised right hand, shining a brilliant green. With his left, he downed his cup of chocolate. Hiroshima froze. ""Good luck."" Alex dove, knocking Hiroshima out of the way of the deadly beam. The two of them crouched behind a desk. The teller window was opposite to the street entrance. Four desks for bank managers were evenly spaced out on the left side of the room. The right side of the room was empty except for an ATM on the wall. They heard Nagasaki walk across the room, until he was blocking the street entrance. Then the glow lit the room again. ""Have you ever been in a real fight, little boy?"" He let the energy build. ""Have you ever met anyone who wasn't afraid of you?"" The next beam went straight through the desk, and kept going through Hiroshima. The boy coughed, spitting up blood. There was no cauterization, his first brief hope. It was like being stabbed. ""You know I couldn't even find your Aspect online? Apparently you're too scary to even have to show it."" Nagasaki kept talking, apparently unaware he'd scored a hit already. Alex held his brother's hand, thinking about all the good times on patrol. Eating ice cream. Being superheroes. Or his brother, anyway. That was the lie they had to keep up. Alex left him behind, crawling across the floor. Nagasaki fired another destructive beam, and Alex felt his brother pass from across the room. Alex made it behind Nagasaki. He stood, and placed his hand on the man's back. ""We were twins."" He was whispering, talking to himself more than his opponent. ""Not now, worm. The real heroes are fighting."" ""Something strange happened in the womb. Something new. He got all the appearance of power."" Nagasaki tried to take a step forward, to go check on Hiroshima, who he was just now suspecting had not been up to this fight. He couldn't move. Couldn't feel his legs. ""I got the reality."" Alex's voice, once so happy and excited, was now cold. Furious. ""Since you were so curious earlier, I'll tell you."" ""My Aspect is death,"" he said, and killed him. Alex closed his eyes as the body fell, and tried to regain the happy memories. Patrolling with his brother, hand in hand. He tried, but everything was tainted now. He couldn't...couldn't... Alex screamed. Over the next year, news reports circulated about Gifted individuals, both hero and villain, spontaneously dropping dead. It was first theorized to be an inherent drawback to powers, maybe that they used up lifeforce too quickly. This was quickly debunked when all of the incidents remained centered on one city, the city that Hiroshima had patrolled when he was alive. The new theory was that after Hiroshima and Nagasaki had killed each other in a high-power duel, leftover energy from the battle was still causing hostile effects on those sensitive to powers. But this theory didn't account for everything. Oddly enough, one individual with powers was only blocks away at the time, and so far had been completely safe. Until the true cause was discovered, any outsiders with powers would stay out of Hiroshima's city. One summer afternoon, the bell jingled in Good Ice Cream, and a familiar face walked in, smiling. ""Ice cream, Mr. Blair?"" ""You got it, Alex."" ___________________________________________________________________________________________ 11/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.",1338
 It was probably the most challenging aspect,"It was always difficult, adapting to a new body. It was probably the most challenging aspect of covert reconnaissance missions. Issues like understanding the local language and culture, those were merely a matter of information absorption and enough simulation time. Adapting to a new body, however, a new biology, that was different. It always surprised people, when she told them. Because the remarkable similarity of sapient organic life across the galaxy was a known fact, something every schoolchild knew and accepted. It seemed there were only so many successful body plans. Most aquatic races shared common body shapes. And similarly, most land dwellers were bilaterally symmetrical bipeds. There were indisputable advantages to the usual packages of features. Opposable thumbs for tool use, walking upright for energy-efficient - if unstable - locomotion, warm-blooded biology for better temperature control. But still, adapting to a new body always bothered her. That was difficult for many of her friends and family to understand. They didn't quite comprehend when she explained the issue. Certainly, there were issues such as the different proportions of arms and legs, the specific posture and stance demanded by bone structure. But those were matters that knowledge implants and automated reflex systems were designed to deal with. Intellectually, there shouldn't have been any difficulty. And in practical terms, there wasn't any problem. In practical terms, she could function. The implanted knowledge, the recorded skills, these addressed the functional challenges. The many subsystems installed in her new body handled issues like balance, or precision in delicate physical movement. There was, for example, no need to learn how to walk in the new body. That was all handled for her. It was the mental portion that was the disruptive aspect. Getting used to it on an emotional level. Living inside a new skin. Breathing in the scents of an alien atmosphere. Feeling comfortable with a strange face. That was the challenge, on a purely visceral level. She was good at her job, though. It took a particular kind of personality to willingly spend entire stellar cycles encased in alien flesh, living among people of a different species. It took a particular kind of personality to embrace their way of life, to pass as one of them, undetected. Or, at least, mostly undetected. She knew her emulation wasn't perfect. Many of the humans she'd met and interacted with at length likely considered her somewhat... atypical. She'd corrected many of her early errors, but even now, even today, there were occasional mistakes. It was fortunate, then, that the inhabitants of this planet were high enough on the civilisational scale - at least in social terms - that any of her oddities were largely accepted by the natives. They would not judge, at least not overtly. And, more importantly, they would not suspect. However, she still endeavoured to correct any mistakes. Some were her fault. Because even a highly-programmed and experienced field researcher like herself... couldn't be perfect. Not quite. Some mistakes, however, were due to lack of information. There was always some nuance, some detail, some reference or area of local knowledge that the preliminary studies had overlooked. That was why she was here. Standing outside the transparent barrier of non-crystalline amorphous solid - the glass, the locals called it. Watching. Observing. It had been a simple conversation. She had thought so, anyway, until it had suddenly veered into unfamiliar territory, leaving her scrambling to cover her inadequate local knowledge. Like many sapient beings in the galaxy, humans were fairly body-conscious. That sort of vanity, that sort of focus on the aesthetics and well-being of the physical form... it was not completely universal, but it was a common trait. She'd been very pleased, when she'd discovered how much of the local electronic public-access information networks were dedicated to pornography in all its myriad forms. An observer could learn a lot about a civilisation from watching their pornography. But what they'd missed was the fact that, to put it simply, body-modification technology was in its relative infancy on this planet. They had some degree of cosmetic surgical augmentation. Some degree of performance-enhancing biotechnology. Yet it was all remarkably primitive by interstellar standards, compared to the relative sophistication of their other sciences. For a civilisation at this overall technical and social level of development, she would have expected more. She'd become aware of that gap, when discussing a device a coworker had acquired. They had been standing in the communal rest area at their workplace, at the place of employment she'd inserted herself into, as part of her local identity. Her human coworker had shown off a new wrist device, apparently a commercial electronic product used to track and record a human's physical movement. Her coworker had then asked about her own exercise routine. She'd deflected the question. She was, of course, aware of the concept, and she knew humans practiced it. But she had no actual need to do it herself, considering that much of her own body was synthetic, simply designed to mimic a human body. The small proportion of it that was biological, actual human-compatible flesh, was maintained in optimum condition by her mechanical systems. The encounter had made her aware that her appearance, her size, her muscle tone, her general standard of health, and other physical factors... would naturally lead most humans to assume that she did perform exercise regularly. They would assume she was familiar with their places of exercise, the facilities known as gymnasiums, or gyms. She did not know much about these places, save for scattered references in the entertainment media she had reviewed. That cursory knowledge had been enough to navigate the conversation to a satisfactory conclusion. But she resolved to address this gap in her knowledge. That had led her to this location, a gym that her human coworker had recommended when she'd claimed to be 'between routines'. Her colleague had added that, aside from its comprehensive inventory of machines designed to assist humans in the practice of exercise, the gym was also a 'studio' that offered instructional courses in a variety of disciplines, all exercise-related activities. Her colleague had believed she would be interested. She was now observing one of these classes, through the glass. At first she had been confused. Two humans had appeared to be engaging in combat. But there was no hostility, no sense of threat. And, very unsettlingly, the other humans were quietly observing, but making no move to stop the combatants. Then the two had separated, made a respectful gesture to each other, before turning to the other gathered humans. The group had then repeated the movements shown to them by the instructors. And they were instructors - she'd realised that, belatedly. It made sense in context. This was, of course, a training facility. She looked at the group, and the building around her. She considered this data point. The humans learned physical skills. They had to. There was, clearly, more to operating their bodies than the... purely instinctive. And they did not have, she realised, any means of installing these lessons. No significant body modifications meant no knowledge implants. She looked at the class. The movements were... sophisticated, she realised. Easily the rival of any of the standard recorded patterns in her own library, used for the disabling and restraint of hostile humanoid sapients. Some of the movements, she realised, were unknown to her. Not recorded in her database. Perhaps that was merely because she was a researcher, not a combat specialist, but she had a sudden suspicion... She'd been observing the humans for a while. They were an interesting species, but she hadn't seen any sign of... genius. No sign of anything special, no sign of any area in which they were extraordinary by galactic standards. But this... ""Kinesthetics,"" she said out loud. ""What's that, miss?"" She half-turned, glancing at the human behind the reception counter, the one meant to receive arrivals to the facility. ""Sorry,"" she said, commanding herself to laugh, in feigned mild embarassment. She had a subroutine for that, and it was now practiced habit to trigger the appropriate systems. She also activated the custom movement she'd programmed in, which lifted her hand to rub the back of her neck. ""Just talking to myself."" ""No worries,"" the receptionist said. ""You like the class?"" ""Oh, uh, yeah,"" she replied, ""it's awesome. Super cool. But, it's just, I was just thinking, I can't see myself doing something like that."" ""You look like you work out, though,"" the human observed, sounding curious. She glanced down at her body. ""Well, I guess? But that's not what I meant. I'm a klutz. No coordination, yeah? I couldn't do all that, uh, Kung Fu shit."" The receptionist smiled. ""Hey, don't sell yourself short. We've got a range of self-defence courses for all skill levels. There's a free introductory thing on Saturdays, for beginners. You could come, see if you like it. No pressure. No harm trying, right?"" ""I,"" she said, slowly, thinking it over. ""I guess? Uh, I mean, sure?"" ""Great, great, I've got a flyer here, or you can check out the times on our website..."" ***",1525
 Jo is barely aware of the pain,"Through the wave of agony that courses through my body, I am barely even aware of the cry of pain escaping my lips. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temple. ""That's it, push!"" ""I'm- *fucking*- trying!"" I grit my teeth against the scream that threatens to rise in my throat, the pain still climbing as I bear down with all my strength. ""You're doing so well, Jo, just keep going."" I really want to punch that midwife and her gentle, soothing voice. Or better yet, take a swing at Chris. Through the film of tears in my eyes, I can only just make out the pale face of my loving, doting husband crouched next to me - and yet, right now, there is nothing in the world that irritates me more than his clammy hand resting on mine. I whip my hand away. The pain retreats into a dull throb as the contraction ends, and I gasp for breath, my hands trembling. But before I have the chance to recover, a fresh wave of searing agony rolls through me. I clench my jaw shut, a moan escaping through my tight lips. I can taste the iron tang of blood - I must have bitten my tongue without noticing. I push again. ""I can see the head! Keep pushing!"" ""I'm trying!"" Breath catches in my throat as I work muscles I didn't even know I had. And then suddenly, there's a burst of burning, tearing pain between my legs, and I feel something warm and soft emerge. Green words flicker in the corner of my vision. *Achievement Unlocked: Give birth.* ""I've got her!"" I am panting for breath. My head falls back onto the pillow, my face glazed with sweat. ""Is she okay?"" ""She's a gorgeous little girl."" The midwife stands, a shrivelled, pink creature bawling in her arms, its face twisted as if in rage. It is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. ""Meet your daughter."" *My daughter. I have a daughter.* I stretch out my arms to take her, cradling her warm body against mine. Chris reaches over to softly brush my damp hair from my eyes, and I let out a muffled sob of relief. I look down at her tiny face, screwed up against the harsh light of the new world into which she's just been thrown. A burst of overwhelming love is warm in my chest, overpowering the pain of my battered body. *Achievement Unlocked: Meet your first child.* *Achievement Unlocked: It's a girl!* My lips twitch into a smile as I read the words. But even before I can take in the importance of this moment, the bright lettering falls away to be replaced by a new statement. *Achievement Unlocked: Meet the person who will kill you.* I blink several times, my stomach lurching with shock, and the writing dissolves from my vision. My arms tighten around my new daughter, my forehead creasing as I continue to stare down at her. She is so perfect, so innocent and new. Surely she can't...? And then, before I have the chance to even ponder the achievement, she is plucked from my arms by the beaming midwife, and Chris is pulling me into a hug, his lips brushing against my forehead, and I can barely think over the whir of the hospital equipment and the adrenaline that is still coursing through my system. ""We did it,"" he murmurs into my hair. ""You did it."" ""Yeah..."" My voice is shaky. ""Yeah, we did."" I must have misread the achievement. Or there was a mistake. It's ridiculous to imagine that I could even have been thinking straight after giving birth; that achievement could have said any number of things. I force out a soft laugh, the sound wobbly and muffled against Chris' jacket collar, and then let myself flop back onto the bed, trying to settle the unease that twists in the depths my stomach. Fatigue is beginning to set into my body, and as the buzz of nerves fades, I can no longer ignore the aching and throbbing in my lower abdomen. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to think about the trickle of blood still seeping from between my legs. The following minutes pass in a blur. My daughter is returned to my arms, clean and wrapped in a blanket. I deliver the placenta. I am washed, given stitches and more painkillers, and settled back into my bed so I can begin to get to know my new baby. My brain feels foggy, my head swimming a little. It must be a combination of the painkillers and the stress. I try to put the achievement out of my mind, my finger tracing the rosy cheek of my baby. There will be all the time in the world to worry about it, but this moment is for my daughter. Chris is stroking my arm while he gazes into our baby's eyes. His expression is rapt, peaceful. My vision blurs a little as I let out a long breath. ""You okay, Jo?"" He smiles at me. ""Hmm?"" I can feel myself becoming drowsy, my head light. The world seems to spin a little, so I blink a couple of times. ""Yeah. Just... just tired."" He squeezes my shoulders, kissing me gently on the top of the head. But as he glances down at the end of the bed, his eyes widen. ""You're bleeding!"" ""Hmm..."" I look down. Red is seeping into the sheets around me. I watch as the colour blossoms out, crisp white turning pink turning a deep, glistening crimson. It makes me feel a bit weird, so I let my eyes flutter closed again. My head is pounding now, and thoughts seem to slip from my mind before I can completely grasp them. ""Is' okay. Don't- don' worry."" I hear Chris' voice. ""Nurse! Doctor? Someone!"" I try to open my eyes to see what's going on, but now my head is really spinning, and nausea starts to coil in my stomach. I groan softly, tightening my hold on my baby. Footsteps in the corridor outside. And then Chris is kneeling at my side again, his grip tightening on my arm. ""It's going to be okay. Stay with me."" His tone sends a frisson of alarm through my hazy brain. Is our baby okay? What's got him into this state? My legs are slick with warm liquid, and I feel embarrassment rise hot in my throat. Have I wet the bed? Is that why he's called for a nurse? But before I can figure it out, the thoughts have slid from my head again. I grapple to remember what's going on, but it's like trying to catch a slippery bar of soap in the shower. My eyes flutter. ""Let me see her."" It's a new voice, male, muted with concern. I feel Chris rise from my bedside to talk to the newcomer. I struggle to pay attention, but I only catch fragments of the conversation. ""Complication-"" ""-piece of placenta... still inside-"" ""Bleeding."" ""-have to get it out."" The sheets are pulled roughly aside. I feel hands on my skin, the touch cold of metal. I attempt to shrug it off, but the hand tightens on my leg. The low throb of voices, but I can no longer make out the words. I force myself to blink. Try not to slip into unconsciousness. Someone is pulling my baby from my loose grasp. I try to reach for her, but my hand feels like lead. It flops back onto the blanket, dead weight beside me. I see a flash of pink flesh and white blanket; she's whipped away. Can't keep my eyelids from closing. There's a needle in my arm now. Cold rush of liquid in my veins. I think I can hear Chris' voice. And then it fades. All that is left is green writing, dancing in front of my eyes. *Achievement Unlocked: Life completed.* ***** If you'd like to check out any of my other stories, they can be found at :)",1348
 Clarise Fae was the last,"Clarise Fae was the closest the living could get to being a ghost. She glided through the town at night in long gowns going nowhere except for oblivion. Her face and shoulders were deathly pale and her hair was a startling silver that just barely touched the ground. When she appeared, people avoided her, they would cross the street to avoid being on the same side of the road as her, whisper when she was out of earshot, mothers scared their children with tales of Clarise Fae, and the bards sang tales of the tragic beauty of the last of the Fae, the cursed line. Her tale was second only to the stories of the Hole. The one at the edge of town with no end, the one that scared away many and attracted even more. Of course, the tale Clarise Fae is a story about the Hole. For every night, she would wander the town, but in the end she would stand at the edge of the Hole, peering down into nothing, trying to find answers when there were none. Answers for the past. Clarise had been one of seven daughters. They all had her silvery hair, the pale skin, the eyes that seemed to hold a storm behind them. Her sisters were playful, even joyous. Her parents were well respected in the town - they ran a shop selling charms guarding against the spirits that came out of the hole. Often a Fae sister or two would be around and about in the shop helping out their parents, and playing jokes on the customers. They were often hard to tell apart, but Clarise stood out, even then. She never smiled, never, never joked. Just obediently fetched whatever her parents asked her to from the shelves. Still, the girls were the town's little angels - beloved by all, so few risked having children here by the Hole. So everyone in the town was heartbroken when one of them jumped in the Hole. The carpenter had sworn he had seen one of the Fae sisters walking about in the night and head towards the hole, almost in a trance, and of her own volition, jump in. It was a tragedy, and the whole town wept for the little life that had been winked out. ""Just the nature of the Hole,"" the old muttered shaking their heads, ""some children just can't resist."" It was a tragedy, but nothing unheard of. Nothing unheard of. The Hole was the Hole. Slowly but surely, the town moved on, and so did the family, or as much as it was possible to move on. Apparently one of them had never quite gotten over it. Soon after, another sister was seen jumping into the Hole in the dead of night. Again, the town wept. ""Children take it hard, a death, you know,"" the elders said. ""The two sisters had always been closer than the rest."" But it was also around this time that the first whispers started, that one child lost to the hole is understandable, but two? From the same family? And just as everyone had stopped reeling in shock, another Fae jumped in, once more in the dead of night. This time the elders muttered and shook their heads. Some people stopped going to the shop, but most spat at them and comforted the Fae instead. ""To lose children is bad enough, but to be scorned for it is even worse,"" they said. They stopped going when the fourth and fifth sisters jumped together. Soon after, the town saw Mother, Father, and final sister walk to the Hole hand in hand. Nobody tried to stop them, either out of fear or out of sympathy. And the life of the town was gone, just like that, taken from the hole. Or, well, not all of it. Clarise Fae remained, the lone sister, the quiet one, the one most would have thought would be the first to jump. Yet she lived, in a sense. She never talked to anyone, getting food and water from the woods. A potter said he once saw her snap the neck of a squirrel in the woods and bring it home to eat. When Clarise first walked towards the hole, the town thought it was the end of the Fae. The final sister would jump and put an end to the curse. But she didn't. She only stood, half of her feet off the edge, but she never did jump. On one such night the Carpenter's boy - a young man of about nineteen, around the same age as Clarise. He was a fool, lured in by beauty, the long hair, the sad eyes. He Followed her in to the woods on one such trek into the hole. Clarise glided out of the woods early morning, but the boy never did. Enough was enough. The townsfolk had let her stay despite the Hole's Curse, but now she was a danger to others. ""Better to be rid of her,"" the townsfolk reasoned. ""Lest the Hole take us all."" And so they gathered behind her at night when she stood at the edge of the hole. Despite the hundred or so townsfolk behind her with torches, Clarise didn't even bother turning around. It was like she didn't hear them, that there was nothing for her except the Hole. The townsfolk stood for a moment, doing nothing. They had expected fear, pleading, but not this, not ignorance. Eventually one of them, the Carpenter, took initiative. He stepped forward, calmly and coolly, and placed a hand on Clarise's back, and without a moment's hesitation, shoved. The Townsfolk gasped, they had wanted to drive her out, not to give her to the Hole. Not even murderers deserved that fate. But it was not Clarise who fell. She whirled to the right just as the carpenter shoved, and the carpenter found himself off balance from the shove. His screams echoed through the forest as he fell into the Hole. Clarise shook her head at the spot the carpenter had been, her eyes sad. And for the first time, she spoke. ""You have come here trying to get rid of me, to drive me out, to kill me. I have tried to do the same for years now, to jump into this damn hole-"" Without warning another townsfolk charged her, pitchfork raised to impale her. She could have moved, but she stood there, as if accepting her fate. The Hole rumbled. And then what appeared to be a root of a Tree appeared from the Hole, grabbed the charging man by the waist and dragged him into the Hole in a fraction of a second. Again, Clarise barely reacted, just stood with those sad eyes. ""It wants me, see, all to itself, it is very jealous, very protective,"" she said. She hook her head, and a ghost of a smile touched her lips. ""The Hole is in love with me."" No one stopped her as she glided through the crowd. Away. *** if you enjoyed, check out",1179
 Stephen and Heather Miller travel to Miller,"I'd promised Stephen I would keep my mouth shut for the entire journey. Yet, as we made the turn off the freeway, onto the dusty country road, the last three miles to Miller's farm, the injustice of it all bubbled over. ""It's just damned unfair, that's what it is."" ""I know. You've told me a thousand times."" ""It's so ridiculous that we got assigned to cover this!"" I said, my hand slamming onto the dashboard. ""What are we now, trashy two-bit tabloid chasers? You know where we should be? We should be at the Deportment Centre, interviewing the people who've made up their minds to cross over to the other side. Or, we should be at City Hall, asking the politicians how they're dealing with the people who are stuck here. Hell, I wouldn't even mind just speaking to the Pioneers again, even if they've got nothing new left to say!"" ""That story's old, Heather. The Pioneers have been on every newspaper, every talk show, every last livestream there is. Our readers will want something fresh. And that's what we're doing now, following up leads."" ""Fresh?"" I exclaimed. ""You call this fresh? This... this is a shit story, that's what it is! It's a fraud, a hoax! No one cares about... about some crazy farmer finding trees sprouting overnight! Everyone wants to know about the Crater! They want to know how long it takes to pass through it, why electronics fail down in the depths, whether there's enough space for everyone over there! That's the story of the 23rd century, right there!"" ""This is important too, don't you think? Doesn't it fill you with hope, that perhaps this farmer's found some way to reverse all the damage we've done to the environment?"" The farmhouse loomed in the distance. The sun was beginning its retreat across the sky, and I saw the tractors puttering back to their sheds, their work done for the day. A pang of guilt burned in my chest - after all, I had promised Nash Miller that we would visit him first thing in the morning. The shame was short lived, muscled aside by my wounded pride. ""You're wrong, Stephen. This world is done for. It's overcrowded, it's polluted, it's on its last legs. The Crater, Stephen, that's where the future is. You heard the Pioneers too, didn't you? What they said was on the other side? Lush fields, untapped lands, clean water. *Clean water!* No need for filtration or chemicals or anything!"" ""You believe them? Everything they said?"" I scoffed, almost as much out of reflex as I did from surprise. ""You're a skeptic? You think they're lying?"" ""No, I didn't say that, I just think that-"" ""Seriously? Why do you think the Pioneers would lie? For fame? Money?"" Stephen held up hands up in mock surrender, and the car veered off the track for a couple of seconds before he guided us back. ""Look, I'm just saying, it's pretty convenient, don't you think? The Pioneers descend so far into the Crater that their electronics fizzle out, they are off the grid for a couple of hours, then they come right back, bearing these... these fantastic tales of virgin lands ready for the taking? And that everyone's who jumped into the Crater before, has somehow made it unscathed to the other side? Isn't that just a bit suspicious to you? ""Doesn't surprise me,"" I said. ""No one really knows how the Crater works. Best guess is that it'll take a few more years before the scientists get it figured out. Meanwhile, I'm just going to accept the theory that the Crater's a portal of sorts, a lifeline thrown to humanity to get the eff out of this world."" ""Then why's no one else ever come back, other than the Pioneers?"" ""Cause they're happy on the other side? Cause the Pioneers are the first official investigative expedition we've sent down, and they're the only ones with the lifelines back up here? Come on, Stephen, do I need to spell it all out for you?"" ""Then how come we can't get any video footage from the other side, or why is it that-"" We had reached the farmhouse, and Stephen's protestations were cut off when Nash Miller, having heard our car roll up, skipped down the steps from his front door and headed in a beeline for us. I thought he was spritely for his age, and it was only when we shook hands that I noticed the fear plainly writ on his face. ""I'm Stephen, and this is my associate here, Heather. We're from the Retlet Review, and we came about your news tip on the-"" ""What took you both so long?"" Nash said, a hint of irritation in his voice. ""I called the police, they just laughed at me, told me to call you instead, and assured me that you would understand the urgency of it."" ""I'm not sure the police meant it that way,"" I said. ""Well, you should be taking this seriously,"" Nash said, as he turned and started walking. We kept up as best we could, just a couple of paces behind him. ""So, uh, Mr Miller, when would you say that you saw these... trees start coming up?"" ""Three days ago,"" he said. ""Me and the boys heard some godawful creaking coming from the yard, and at first we thought, maybe one of the fences came loose, started twisting in the wind. But then we went to check, and well, there, see for yourself."" I saw them then. And those were the reddest trees I had ever seen in my life. A copse of them, maybe twenty, thirty of them, clustered tightly together, occupying a corner of Nash Miller's back yard. I was reminded of certain cherry or birch trees, but I had never seen any with such vibrantly-coloured bark. It was almost as if someone had painted them over. I was no tree expert, and had no authority over how fast these trees grew, but it seemed to me that they had been here for a fairly long time. I shot Stephen a look to say *are you sure we are not getting conned*, but he gamely pressed on. ""And... what is so special about these trees, Mr Miller?"" ""I told the police, but they only asked if I had been drinking. I've learned my lesson. I'll take you to them, you make up your own mind about it."" He led us closer, and then when the angle changed, the perspective shifted, that's when I saw it. The trunks of these trees were about fifteen, sixteen inches around. And on each trunk, at eye level, what I thought was merely the natural contortions of wood, the natural rhythms of growth, turned out to be much more. They were faces. One face per trunk, on each and every tree. Some faces were sullen, some appeared to be screaming, others appeared to be crying. All of them had their eyes closed. ""Is this a joke?"" I said, as I found my breath. ""It's not funny, Mr Miller."" ""I swear, miss. We had nothing to do with these. Every morning, more and more of these damn trees, just... coming straight up of the damn ground."" I held my hand out, ran my fingers past the bark. If they were carvings, they were etched not by human hand - they felt too real, too organic. ""Heather, get your ass here. Come see this."" Stephen pointed, and I followed his finger. ""What does that look like to you?"" he asked. ""I don't... I mean, I don't know what you are-"" Stephen held up his phone this time, and from force of habit I started at the top, where he had typed in the names of the Pioneers. The search results below showed the Pioneers at the first press conference, and the photographer had captured a winning shot of them, grinning back into the camera. I turned back to the trees, and this time the resemblance was unmistakable. ""That's... Terry Andrews,"" I said. ""And Maya Nurleen. Bo Tranchet. Pai Lee. And the rest are..."" ""Listen here, Heather,"" Stephen said, scrabbling for his notebook, scribbling as furiously as he could. ""Take pictures of all these faces. Then run a search for every single person we know who's been down the Crater. Do a cross-check. I'm going to call the office, get them to send more people down."" ""Wait,"" I said. ""Surely you can't mean that-"" I lost my balance then, and would have fallen flat on my back if Nash hadn't caught me by the elbow. The sun was no longer of much aid, so I flipped on the torch on my phone, and tried to identify what I had stumbled on. It wasn't a rock. It was a root, curling out of the ground, twisting, turning, spiralling out, like a heavy sleeper rousing from bed. A skin-crawling creak filled the air, and as I turned, I saw ten, twenty more nubs like the first, scarlet red, pushing up from the soft soil. ""How many people you reckon have been down that Crater, Heather?"" Stephen asked, as he backed away. ""Too many,"" I said. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1538
 Travelled at 1 year intervals to,"It was shockingly easy. I didn't know exactly when the library was burned, so I Travelled at 1 year intervals to find the year when the library was burnt. Then 1 month intervals to find the month, then the day. On the fateful day, I was just another woman in the gardens outside the Great Library. Long, dark hair, brown eyes, long, silk dress, and traditional footwear. I itched to pour through the tomes, to explore, but I held back. I had a job to do. I hadn't even talked to anyone else, and in fact avoided all contact, lest I get distracted. I would accomplish my goal first, only then would I allow myself to explore. I was sitting on one of the chairs outside the library when the first explosion occurred. I saw it in the distance, towards the city. The ground shook. I stood up, in a rush, my heart racing, and took out the pistol I'd brought with me and deliberately flipped the safety off. My hands shook as I held it. I belonged in there with the books, not out here as a guard. But I couldn't let them do it, burn down the single largest physical collection of knowledge in human history. Inhale, exhale. I could do this. I *had* to do this. Another explosion. What was going on? It wasn't like they had bombs or any form of gunpowder at this point. Some men and women rushed out of the library. I almost dropped the gun in shock, but most completely ignored me. Their faces were set in grim frowns, and they headed directly towards the explosions. One, however, dressed in a gold robe stopped and frowned at me. I tried my best to look inconspicuous, staring anywhere but at him. The man opened his mouth to say something, but one of his companions called out to him, and with a last glance towards me, he ran towards the source of the explosions. I stood around awkwardly for almost an hour, just listening to explosions over the horizon. The horizon was lit up in an ominous orange glow. And then he came. I'd imagined a group of people, or perhaps an elite squad sent by the king. The plan had been to shoot them and fight them off as often as I needed. But instead it was one man. He was bleeding heavily from a gash in his forehead, and most of his clothes were burnt, in fact, he was covered in third degree burns, with half of us face almost charred. He held a single torch in his hand as he half walked, half dragged himself towards me. When he saw me, he faltered. Even thousands of years before my time I recognized what he was feeling. The drooped shoulders, the sigh of resignation. It was the reaction of a beaten man. Then his face twisted into a snarl, and without warning he charged me in an awkward run, his torch held like a club. I could've shot him, he wasn't that fast, and I had time to line up the shot, but I just...couldn't. I twisted to the side and he ran past me. I'd expected him to stop and swing at me but instead he kept running. Towards the library. Time seemed to slow. My vision turned red, and I placed my legs in the correct stance, held the gun in both hands. I sighted the man, and shot once. I'd been aiming for his head but instead the bullet hit his shoulder. The man cried out in pain and collapsed, clutching at his wound. I shot again, too quick, and the shot went wild because of the recoil. I took another breath, and before I could really think about what I was going to do, I took two steps and shot him in the head, point blank. I turned away, but instead of going to the library I vomited right there on the ground. My eyes were blurred with tears. Had I just killed someone? I knew what I'd had to do, but to do it... I needed someone, someone else. I couldn't be alone right now. So instead of going to the library, I pulled out a small round device from my dress pocket - the time machine. It scanned my retinas and I spoke - ""Home."" ""Recognized user: Ashley Barett. Confirming Home, 2018, New York City,"" the machine's robotic voice said. And with a flash, I was back Home. Or so I thought. I'd expected to be back in my apartment, riddled with pieces of machinery and paper and ink. Instead, I was in some sort of grand cathedral with white, Greek style pillars, pained ceilings, and a single, simple throne. But most shocking of all was the man sitting on the throne. The same gold robe, the dark hair, the muscled arms. It was the man who I'd seen run out of the Library. We were alone in the mostly dark room. Only two torches illuminated the huge...throne room. Immediately, the man stood up. It had to be a coincidence, had to be. My mind had yet to even process the other facts, that my apartment wasn't there, or that there didn't appear to be electric lighting. I was just dumbfounded to find this man here. He dispelled any illusions I had when he spoke in accented English. ""I knew I'd find you here, but I still can't believe it,"" he said. ""Um..."" I said in my infinite wisdom. ""I'd searched for you, the savior of the world, *my savior,* for years. Only you could've killed the one man that got past us, the man that would've doomed us all. I Summoned the most obscure demons, but you just didn't seem to exist. You have no idea how long it took me to realize that you literally didn't exist in our world until this moment."" ""Um..."" I said again, still processing. The man stood from his throne, and walked towards me, his smile vibrant. ""I wanted to personally thank you for personally for not letting our only repository for Demon Summoning burn to the ground."" *** if you enjoyed, check out",1035
 The doors closed and the entire apparatus,"**[10 AUGUST 2034 AD]** The doors closed and the entire apparatus shook. A low reverberation overtook the cramped cabin and made all of us lean back in our seats to look for solace from the unknown sensation. Murphy tried to remain calm and faked a smirk - Kanji closed her eyes; Etherius smiled because he'd travelled like this before. It's probably how he got to our planet in the first place. We sat for what felt like two or three minutes. They didn't put any windows on this rig. It was probably for the best. I can't imagine what you'd see if you looked outside and saw three thousand generations wither and melt in the time it took to microwave dinner. Finally the ungodly reverb stopped and it felt as though we landed feather-light on a hard surface. We heard nothing. Felt nothing. When the doors opened, we saw the stars as we'd never seen them before. A veil of indescribable detail, interlaced through the generous band of the milky way bisecting the sky. No modern man will ever see the sky the way the ancients did. No wonder their obsession with the solstices. Ethereus did the creepy thing where you heard his true voice for a split second before the translator kicked on and overrode it with a very generic sounding Newscaster American voice. Like he was about to tell you the five day forecast. ""We should move quietly. If you have any noisy electronic devices, leave them aboard. We must hide the apparatus immediately before moving towards the coast."" We did just that - after we stepped out, it compressed to just a couple feet high and the width of a man hole cover. We dug a little hole and turned it sideways, burying it as best we could. Then we cut down some nearby weeds, made what looked like a makeshift mattress (complete with a period-authentic blanket) and laid it out to look like someone had been squatting and just bolted. Not my idea, but I guess it's the easiest way to make a pile of uprooted plants covering a mound look believable. We were off towards the dim lights on the horizon - the coast of the Mediterranean. The night breeze wafted in from the coast, a perfume I've never had the pleasure of experiencing. So much life in every direction. What have we done to the world in our modernity? Etherius initiated our cloaking devices and we stepped lightly while trying not to leave a trail. Our night vision allowed us to travel in the almost absolute darkness. We got to the city wall and saw that it was closed. The two guards were the only people outside of the wall this late at night. They looked as bored as modern guards look - good to see some things never change. Kanji had the minuscule darts lodged in their necks before they ever knew what happened. We sat two small drinking glasses near them and sprayed fresh red wine residue on the inside of each to make it look like the two'd just had too much to drink. Our battery packs were at 75%. The full fiberoptic cloak took a lot of juice. We were inside. It really was quite glorious and disgusting at the same time. Piles of spice next to crippled, stinking human beings. It began to sink in that in my time, they'd been dead for thousands of years. All the nubile, sensual flesh of the courtesans we passed would be long turned to dust and blown off in the Easterly winds. I mourned for the cycles of life and death for a moment before I realized that I'd bumped into an amphora and smashed it to the ground. Some of the fluid coated my fiber optics and my leg was visible. Etherius hissed ""RUN"" below his breath as two guards rounded the corner. If you saw a purple, disembodied leg running down the street on its own accord, I suppose you'd give chase as well. They pursued. These cultures knew no tobacco - their fitness was apparent as they gained on us. At the last second we cut off into a thin alleyway between two aged facades. They scampered by and we were off the hook. Etherius scanned the area and took us farther down this derelict passage. It smelled of death and corruption. Soon we found ourselves wading though the muck and runoff of the forefathers of us all. Batteries at 48% - we had to get there and be gone, an hour ago. We knew the odds were beginning to add up against us, but we were already in over our heads. We reached the gargantuan gates of the library, our footsteps leaving minuscule imprints on the well-trodden sands at the maw of the beast. It took a second to see through the veneer of columns and plaster, but we realized that it wasn't a library - it was ship. One of Etherius' races' cruisers, long since buried in the sands. The door opened and we heard a wretched screech. Our cloaking devices were immediately powered down, and we stood exposed among a crowd of suddenly frantic Alexandrians. A woman's great and terrible scream pierced the air as she laid sight on Etherius' tentacled face, as well as that of another of his kind. To be honest, they were ugly motherfuckers. But we were lucky they gave a damn about our species. ""I thought you'd come, brother"" the being said as he walked towards us. All I could smell was the wine caked on my leg and my own sweat. Kanji had her hand grasped around the dart gun. I wasn't sure if it would work on their kind. Different chemistry. ""You know too much, it seems,"" Etherius said, with what could be interpreted as a smirk. All those extra facial appendages make it hard to ascertain meaning. He took off the small, unceremonious looking bag that he'd been carrying the entire time. Out of it he removed two handfuls of disks. The other Jhonarian's three eyes opened up a bit. ""Do you know what these are? No. They are what the great Mother has sent me to give you. This ship is not meant to be here. Not in this time, nor this place. And it cannot remain,"" he said. Without a word, he gingerly wafted his two arms out, left before right, and the disks floated on their own accord off in each direction. They began to attach themselves to the ship at intervals until the entire hull was covered. ""What do you think you're doing!? We've made real progress here! The human race can advance so quickly with the right tutelage!"" the Librarian posited. ""That's exactly the point,"" Etherius said. ""Without enough time to cultivate restraint, they will destroy this planet and perhaps us."" Without a word, Etherius activated some sort of grandiose override on the jammer, and we were invisible again. 17% of battery left. Kanji was at 13%. We didn't have enough time. We began a mad dash back to the ship. We threw people to each side, darting down the main thoroughfare. Kanji was tripped up by a small boy she tried to avoid. Without a thought, Etherius turned and sent a projectile that destroyed her and the two buildings beside her. He knew that we'd stop and try to help. These motherfucking Jhonarians. Then he hit the detonator for the bombs and the entire city shook to its core; one building ahead of us jerked sideways and began to fall onto our route. We had to make another costly detour. Then we realized four guards were following our footsteps and were gaining. Our camouflage was beginning to fail. We were back in the fields. The guards had an even easier time following us now as we threw handfuls of crops aside in our sprint. A great wall of fire approached us from behind. You could feel it in the ground that part of the city was collapsing into the sea. We would be swallowed by flame. Etherius pressed the activator, and the apparatus blew the top off its disguise, reeds and blankets flying in all directions as it expanded and opened its door. They slammed shut as we smacked into the side of the barrel shaped transporter and were wrenched back into the future. They're not here to help us. They're here to herd us. Who knows what great things we could have done with the information in that library. I often sit and think about what would have happened if I'd dropped down in those fields and stayed. Somehow survived the bomb. If I could have rewritten the book of history, or if they would have returned to track me down like the vermin they view us as. We must find a better way forward - free of alien interfer--%$(%)W($% **[REDACTED]** **..FILE DELETION IN PROGRESS....**",1494
" Mr Ray, our PE teacher,","*Freak.* *Retard.* I first found out I was different when I was seven. Mr Ray, our PE teacher, stood in the sun, the light perfectly accentuating his toned muscles. ""Now, kids,"" He said, ""You might've all been born with the best genes out there, but if you don't exercise properly those muscles will become smaller and weaker, and you don't want that. Today, we're gonna do chin-ups. It's easy. You just walk underneath the bar, hold your arms out like this, and pull until your chin is above the bar. Of course, you'll be using this lower bar here. Now, line up and show me what you can do."" We lined up gingerly. ""Richie,"" Mr Ray said, ""One, two, three... Come on, you can do this, one more... Yes! Four. Well done."" ""Charlotte, come on up, don't be shy. One, two, three, four, five, six! Great job."" ""Emma."" I walked up to the bar. I was just a bit too short and had to tip my toes to reach it. As soon as I began to pull, my arms felt like they had been injected with the world's most potent hot sauce. I could imagine the muscle fibres, burning, tearing. The sun stung sharply into my skin. ""Emma, you can do this. I believe in you."" Mr Ray said. I let go. ""Don't give up. Try again. Come on!"" Mr Ray said, ""In all my years of teaching I have never seen someone fail to do a chin-up."" ""You don't get it. She's *special*!"" Sam said, with his usual impeccable smile. Oh, how I hated that smile. Mr Ray's face fell. ""Don't worry, we can assign you to the special PE class. There's nothing to be afraid of."" *** Being in the special PE class meant no one would sit with you at lunch. It meant your friends wouldn't be your friends anymore. It meant Sam would find you at your weakest moment and break you further. ""You're a freak just like your dad!"" He had said to me at lunch, just after that dreaded PE class. A teacher overheard him. ""You must never, never say that to another person. Apologize. Now."" ""I'm sorry."" Sam said. Who could overlook his innocent smile and think he was being insincere? But I knew he wasn't. I could tell. I just knew. To be honest, I didn't understand why Mom fell for Dad back then. She came from a well-positioned family, was good looking, smart and genetically enhanced for a long life. He was a scrawny kid who wore clothes two sizes too big because it was the only size he could find, and he didn't have any modifications either. It wouldn't be until high school when I would find out. *** High school was different. Classes were sorted based on the genetic modifications you received. But they didn't know what to do with me, so they just shoved me in whatever random class they pleased. I was the girl no one wanted to deal with. But the classes all assumed prior abilities from your modifications. It was simply the norm. As a result, I was never the model student in class, always catching up. I dreaded the day when grades would come out. No, not because of Mom, who'd been too depressed to care ever since Dad died, ironically, from cancer caused by one of his genes that could've been modified when he was born. No, I feared the day because of Sam. *** It came anyway. ""I didn't know how someone can be ugly and dumb at the same time. You really *are* special."" Sam said. His gang all laughed at his joke. It was a weak joke and they knew it. They just needed someone to laugh at. ""You know, your dad deserved to die. It's called *evolution*. Look it up, if you could even understand it."" His friend erupted in laughter again. Too far. Way too far. My hands forming a fist, reaching out. Sam jumped back. He was too fast and his reaction time unhuman, thanks to his modifications. ""So you wanna fight, huh? Come at me. Come on."" He said, knowing I wasn't as strong as him. My mind raced. *I'd never win against him in a fair fight, I know that. What should I do? What would he do? He would come charging straight at me, wouldn't he? Yes. That's what he'd do. And he wouldn't look down either, no, he wouldn't.* I tensed, sticking out my foot at the right moment as Sam fell to the ground. What I didn't expect was how quickly he'd get up. *** On that night I walked home covered in purple bruises. As I opened the door I saw my mom's mouth open. ""My God, what happened to you? I... I..."" ""Mom, why did you choose Dad? Why not anyone else?"" ""Oh, I told him this day would come. I told him and he told me to show you something. Come."" She led me upstairs to her room. ""Here."" She handed me an article. Printed, marked with small letters on the margins. Dad's handwriting. A passage was highlighted in yellow. > Without a doubt, genetic editing had done a great service to mankind. However, it is not without its downsides. First and foremost, we possess the technology necessary to enhance certain traits by a large degree. While this helps to cement the trait, it also interferes with the person's natural development, as the trait is too concrete in his or her genetic code for the individual to go against it, making the individual extremely predictable. Secondly, it is understood that the genetic code does not work on a basis of traits. Changing one trait may result in another trait being inadvertently changed in the process, leading to side effects to every modification known to man... I saw my mother wipe away at a tear. ""It's okay."" I said. ""I'm okay."" *** It had been a while since Sam had pestered me. He seemed to have a lot more respect after I tripped him. No, not respect, but fear. At lunch, I sat alone, researching genetic modifications on my tablet. It was fascinating. I've been researching for the last twelve days and I was still learning new things. Me being silent seemed to trick Sam into a sense of security. I heard those familiar footsteps, saw that familiar smile. ""Hey ugly, how's it going?"" He said, snatching my tablet away. ""Oh, look guys, it looks like she wants to be pretty! Well, guess what, too bad."" He showed his friends as they laughed. I was laughing too, on the inside. Because I could guess the modifications he received. And out of those, I knew he had three important modifications: IN-2, which causes a lack of awareness of the surrounding environment, CH-7, which reduces critical thinking, and ST-5, which causes a person to follow instructions blindly. He wouldn't be laughing after he suddenly finds himself having walked into the principal's office.",1170
 Nobody knew who fired the first shots,"It was a curious solution and nobody expected it to be as easy as it was. Fifty years of isolation. Nobody knew who fired the first shots. Some said it was the Chinese, some said it was the North Koreans, others said it was the Americans. In the end, it really didn't matter, because everyone ended up involved in some way. We were all guilty and shared the same sins. But for all the doomsaying about the 'end of the world', things actually weren't that bad... well, compared to how bad it could've been. Twentieth century novels convinced us that World War III would result in a blasted hellscape, billions dead, nothing left standing. Perhaps in our darkest moments, we still retained a shred of humanity. Or perhaps we learned from the terrible brand of warfare waged in the 40s. Rather than missiles striking innocent population centers, surgical strikes and tactical nuclear weapons simply devastated infrastructure and military targets. Hundreds of millions had still perished - collateral damage, fallout, famine and disease - but the worst hadn't happened. Eiffel Tower and Saint Basil's Cathedral were still standing. In a rather striking twist of irony, by waging World War III, we had destroyed mostly just the tools we would need to wage World War IV. After that came the 'Grand Plan'. Fifty years of isolation. Everyone expected us to resist the plan the most, and were surprised when, after a national referendum, we ended up being the most eager. Walls went up. Trade routes gradually eased and then stopped altogether. The doors were shut. And for fifty years, we prospered. We had lost many of the cheap luxuries we had grown accustomed to, but agriculture surged as, lacking imported crops, we razed thousands of hectares of corn to grow our own. Oil deposits were uncapped. Unemployment dropped to less than 1% as millions of lost jobs suddenly came in high demand. It was a simple life, but we were happy. Americana had returned. Fifty years passed in an eyeblink and the great reunification would begin. All the nations of the world to meet and share what they had learned. It wasn't going to be easy, of course - the war had destroyed nearly every satellite. We would need to seek out people to communicate with manually. Our first attempt at contact was to head north to our oldest allies. Canada had been one of the most apprehensive countries with regards to the isolation, and actually considered joining America in joint isolation, but the United Nations council soundly rejected the notion. As our diplomatic convoys crossed the border and entered Toronto, they were shocked by what they found. Hunger. Disease. Poverty. The once great city was decaying and largely vacant. Similar reports came from Montreal and Ottawa. Upon contacting the Canadian government, the truth came out. It was a ruse. A great big ruse. The world, convinced that America had been, at best, indirectly responsible for the war, had collectively agreed to formulate fake isolation plans, and leave us in the dark. The plan was to bring the world and humanity as a whole into a bright and shining future. The results were... less than satisfactory. If the world had advanced to prosperity, it certainly didn't show in Canada. Having lost their largest trading partner, Canada found themselves out of the global market. Asia had no use for Canadian manufacturing, and Eastern Europe had filled demand to Europe. Canada began to market their oil reserves, but shortly after the walls went up, the United Nations declared a global moratorium on fossil fuels to allow the earth to heal. Canada was, almost literally, left out in the cold, and had suffered greatly. However, as bad as the situation in Canada was, it wouldn't compare to what we found to the south. We sent diplomatic teams south just as we did north... teams that were never heard of again. Crossing the border, they initially reported that little appeared different from before the war - there was running water, power, though it bore all the hallmarks of a relatively poor country. But as they would near Mexico City, they were just go dark. We weren't sure what we were going to do. We didn't want our first reconnection with the world to involve military force, invading a country to find our teams. Then, weeks after the first team had gone dark, we learned something new. On the side of a road in south Texas, in a van, lay one of our ambassadors - beaten, bloodied, and mutilated. Along with him were the heads of the two dozen men and women who escorted him. The ambassador had been returned with a message and shared with us what he had learned. It seemed that while Mexico had taken a few licks during the great war, that story was not true for South America. In fact, they survived the war almost completely untouched. Lacking global strike capabilities, they were largely ignored by the warring parties. The starry-eyed isolation plan was largely a European one, and the plan simply seemed to exclude the entire western hemisphere. Why bother with South America? They had little to offer the world, and they were too far and isolated. In fact, they even went as far as to congratulate themselves for 'freeing' South America of American influence and corruption. With Mexico's government weakened, it left the country primed for the largest military force in the region to take over - the cartels. Mexico had become a narco-state. Without any threat from government forces - American or otherwise - the cartels expanded influence worldwide, filling the economic hole left by America's absence with a global drug ring. South of Panama, without the 'interference' of America - as the isolation planners would put it - South America was free to pursue its own destiny, a destiny that seemed to largely revolve around fifty years of civil wars and military coups. Over the coming months, we learned much from Europe, Africa, and Asia, and replaced the wonder we held in our hearts with cynicism and anger and disgust. Instead of the utopia that had been envisioned, there was nothing more than endless war. While North Korea had fallen in World War III, China now occupied the Korean penninsula. Most of Eastern Europe had fallen to Russia. Africa was... well it was still Africa. In Europe the situation was little improved. The European Union had combined into the United European States, headed by Germany and France. The United Kingdom had undergone its own degree of voluntary isolationism, withdrawing further into itself. It attempted to reunify the commonwealth, but Chinese control of the South Pacific left Australia and New Zealand subject to absolute trade embargoes. To the north, Scandinavia had suffered immensely. Without oil and the american economy to sell their investments, Norway had gone from one of the most prosperous nations to a state whose crippling debts had to be underwritten every year by the rest of the UES. Threats from Russia had pushed Finland into a military state, and tensions were high that invasion could occur any day. Pushing for hardline social reform, tolerance, and acceptance, refugees from the war-torn North Africa and Southwest Asia flooded by the millions into Europe. Cries to even attempt to slow the flow were ignored as the mewling complaints of the bigoted. Before long, the population outpaced the capability to feed and employ people, and the dream of prosperity, where no man had to want for anything, had waned into a slow, cold recession that had lasted for nearly four decades. Hundreds of square miles of cheap, filthy government tenaments were erected ringing the major cities. Everywhere we had gone, we found that over and over, that good intentions mean nothing without the wilpower to see them out. Our envoys were given a cold reception and simply told to leave. ""America wasn't wanted anymore"", they insisted. And so we returned home. And then we rebuilt the walls. Maybe the world needed fifty more years.",1344
 Forgotten gods stopped praying at some,"It's a small hut, nothing fantastic but...well...forgotten gods take what they can get, you know what I mean? They stopped praying at some point, gave it up for other things. For ""better"" things so I was relegated to the back burner of history, one or two followers and mostly as a joke. Martin though, he's nuts but he's a real believer. I like Martin but this isn't about him. He's locked away in some place getting ""treatment"" because he believes in gods. If only they knew. Well this farmer builds a temple, fills it with some candles and the things you'd expect. Mostly as a joke but he builds it. Maybe six feet by six feet, a temple slash shed we might call it. He puts the items on a pedestal and leaves the shrine to do the thing, the summoning of a god. I think it was mostly a joke. Problem was it wasn't a joke to me. To me it was real. So I went. I answered the call. I had to wait for him to come back. I was trapped in the temple slash shed for a good three hours just standing there, sitting cross-legged, tapping my foot, drumming on the pedestal, all the things a god might do to kill time. Until he came back. ""What the hell are you doing in here!?"" he shouted at me, which was very offensive and confusing since...you know he asked me here. I told him as much and he laughed, told me to get lost. Even more offensive. ""I can't leave without completing your request,"" I tell him, which is true...also I'm a bit lonely, ""you asked and here I am. What do you want?"" ""I want rain for my crops and my family to be happy but you're some lunatic that's broken into my property!"" He yells at me, getting angry. I stare at him and he comes at me with a thick, calloused finger until he hears rain hitting the roof of the temple slash shed. ""Lucky timing,"" he says, narrowing his eyes. I roll mine and stand from the cross-legged position on the floor. ""Yeah, sure. Let's see about a happy family. A big request but hey, I've got nothing but time. Not exactly a line of people coming to worship Geb, who the hell even knows who Geb is? No one. You just got lucky."" ""What?"" he's confused, so I point to the crude pedestal with the flattened goose and barley. He'd thrown the goose on because it'd been hit by a car and sat out for too long to be good to eat and the barley...well he just had an abundance of that. ""You summoned me. Now will you let me help?"" He looks out the temple slash shed door into the rain and shrugs, deciding it can't hurt to let a strange man that has randomly appeared help him out. Things must truly be desperate. Excellent. Well hey, like I said. I've got nothing but time. ***** He's got a nice little family, pleasant wife and a handful of rats that he calls his ""kids"". ""Are you really a god?"" one of them asks me, tugging at my sleeve. I cup my hands and a flower blooms from nothing, a bright purple set of petals. I offer it to her and she takes it gently, carrying it away into another room gleefully. I smile. Cute rat. It's a small but cozy house and I don't see much that needs changing. The man's wife sets a bowl of steaming food in front of me and I dig in with my hands. They look shocked but I don't really care, I don't trust those metal things they eat with. Seems weird. There's some fowl in this goopy mix and I hope that it's not the goose from the temple slash shed, that would be gross. I gulp it down and look to the farmer who is staring at me. So is his wife. ""What?"" I say, dribbling some of the mix down my chin. ""A god?"" I roll my eyes at them both. ""Yes, a god. All powerful being. You know, master of the earth and skies, lording over the dirt. That sort of thing? Gods. Making all your dreams come true. Or your nightmares, I guess it depends on the god. Phobetor is a bit of a dick like that, constantly sneaking in and making grinning doctor pandas that threaten to eat your face or something. Weird guy. Don't much like him."" They seem to be taking this well, listening to the rain as it soaks the fields just like he had asked for. ""A god?"" I lean back in their little chair and wait for it to sink in. ""Yes. A god."" ""Alright,"" the farmer shrugs and leans on his elbows, looking me in the eyes which causes me to lean further back, it's disconcerting. ""What can you do?"" ""First,"" I hold up a finger, ""I'm not a genie. I don't just go around, willy-nilly granting things to you. You built a...temple, we'll pretend, and I granted you rain. You asked for happiness, I don't know what makes you happy but you know, I'm willing to give it a go. Mostly because I'm incredibly bored but also because there's a mutual relationship that comes with these things. Since you're the only ones in my corner...well the benefit will tend to be towards you."" ""So...we help you and you help us?"" ""Sure, let's go real simple. Yes."" They look at each other and then to me. ""Uh, how do we help a god?"" We stare at each other for a while and I remember the drink of the people from all those ages ago. ""Got any beer?"" The farmer smiles at me. It's creepy. I wish he'd stop. ""Yeah, that we can do."" ***** I had no idea how much these farmers liked beer. As a god you are gifted with a stomach of steel and a capacity for things that mortals cannot grasp. After helping with the harvest in the community (which I had now somehow become a benefactor to and of), they held a massive celebration in a barn. It's like the temple slash shed but much larger. There was music and dancing and beer. Oh was there beer. I woke up the next morning with little memory of the night before, laying in a pile of straw. It was wet straw and I was too scared to find out what the wet had come from so I pretended it was water. Probably for the best. I forgot about the world that had forgotten me for a time as these people became...friends? Can mortals and gods be friends? Perhaps, we never tried it before. We had stories and jokes that only we understood, we worked hard in the sun and when it was time I would bring rain or deepen the roots of the earth so that it was richer, more bountiful. One day I woke up in the area they had set aside for me and I knew. We all did. I heard the laughter from the kitchen and it was different than it had been before. I could feel that the others were jealous, there are so many others. They felt it unfair that I had been summoned. And honestly I don't blame them. In terms of ranking, I'm somewhere between a nobody and a nothing. Just bad luck for them and great luck for me. So it wasn't a bad time to take my leave of them, I had done the thing for this man and his family that he has asked for...and then some. I sat with them and we didn't acknowledge it, mortals get so sentimental on these things. Just before I left their home the rat tugged on my sleeve again. I looked to her and she held up a bright purple flower for me. I took it from her. ""Thank you, rat."" She made a face, pushing out her top teeth at me as had become our joke. Like a rat. The temple slash shed hadn't changed a bit since that first day, except the goose was gone. Thank goodness. It would be so rotten by now. No god wants rotten things. If they do you don't want them. The farmer was there, happier and not yelling at me this time. It's an improvement to say the least. ""So long,"" he says. ""Good riddance,"" I reply. We laugh. It's funny to us. I will miss this man and his rat children and pleasant wife. I liked them. I'll never tell them that though. Gods do not feel these things. Before I am gone I look around the temple slash shed and I think to myself that I could have asked for no better place of worship. Unencumbered by gold or thousands of prayers like the old days, just...simple. ""Thanks."" It is the last thing he says before I am gone. ""How was your trip?"" the others ask me and I tell them the standard response. Mortals, you know? Always asking and never much good for anything aside from that! We all laugh. It's funny. I am funny. They all crave to hear about the world but none of them want to hear the truth. The truth is we're needed more than ever but believed in less than ever. That's how it is. I don't tell them that. Anything but that. Instead I place the purple flower between the pages of a book I've been reading again and again for millennia. It's a good book. Has to be, right? I close the book.",1617
 The farmer had fashioned the crude wooden,"The last of the wooden planks was hammered into place as the farmer dabbed at his brow with the rags hanging from his neck. It was hardly what one could call a temple. The farmer had fashioned the crude wooden shrine himself, carving and hammering the planks and poles with as much care as he could muster. Still, it looked unimpressive. The edges jutted out awkwardly, the pillars were uneven, and it had no fanciful decorations that one might expect at a proper shrine or temple. No garland of flowers hung from the flat roof of the shrine, no incense smoke trailed into the sky, and no prayers or prophecies were chanted. Most conspicuously, the spot where the idol of the god would sit- in the centre of the shrine- was empty. If this was a temple, it provided no clue as to which god it was meant for. And yet the farmer was content, eager even. He had left the shrine unfurnished on purpose. Each temple or shrine was a home for a god, a resting place for the otherworldly, powerful beings that governed the laws of nature and weaved human fates with their fingertips. It was said that those who built these sanctuaries would receive a blessing from whichever god decided to take up residence there. Now, the farmer simply hoped that there would be a deity willing to possess the modest temple that he'd created. As he ambled off to sleep, he prayed for a suitable god or goddess- Demeter, maybe- to bless him, with bountiful harvests for the rest of his days. The next day, he gingerly placed a bowl of rice in front of the shrine and knelt down. Unsure of what else to do, he mumbled ""Gods or goddesses that be, please accept this humble sacrifice,"" and waited. A moment passed. He chuckled to himself. Of course, no god would be willing to resign themselves to such a shabby place of worship. He'd long been prepared for that outcome. He began to rise to his feet. Then he heard it. He had to strain to make it out, but it sounded like someone was speaking to him. A faint voice, coming from the rickety wooden altar that he'd fashioned. The voice was quiet, and sounded almost weak. ""Child,"" it said, ""Thank you for the offering. I'm afraid I can't do much for you now, but come back tomorrow. Perhaps then, I might be able to reward you."" The farmer's eyes opened wide, as the burly, middle-aged man almost fell over from surprise. He'd never spoken to a god before. And yet, it was different from what he'd expected. Weren't the gods meant to be mighty? Powerful? Then what was this tinny voice coming from the shrine? He pushed the invasive thoughts out of his mind. A god was a god, and it was best not to think disrespectful thoughts in front of them. He bowed deeply, and vowed to bring a better offering the next morning. This time, there was a bowl of rice, accompanied by a dish of meat and a glass of wine. ""Gods or goddesses that be,"" he repeated, ""Please accept this humble sacrifice."" The voice that echoed out from the shrine was clearer than the day before, and the farmer could now ascertain that it sounded female. A goddess? ""Thank you, child. It has been a long, long time since I have received an offering, and I was forced into hibernation until you sacrificed to me. I can't seem to remember who I am; but I remember another goddess who once asked me a favour. Her name was... Demeter? I am sorry child, if you don't mind coming back tomorrow, perhaps I will have regained enough strength to remember by identity."" Excitement thrilled through the farmer's veins. A goddess related to Demeter? Perhaps his simple wish really would come true, and he'd see bountiful harvests for the rest of his days. He quelled his exhilaration, and waited patiently for the next morning. As usual, he left the sacrifice in front of the altar, and knelt down. The voice manifested once again, this time even clearer than before. ""Child, I have remembered,"" she spoke. It was good news. *""Yet she does not sound happy,""* the farmer thought to himself silently. The goddess's voice was quavering slightly. Rage? No, nothing like that. The goddess sounded melancholic, almost, as if she had recalled something she would much rather have forgotten. ""My name is Limos,"" she said. ""Child, thank you for the offerings. But I must go now."" ""Why?"" the farmer cried, ""Oh but goddess, you've barely arrived! Stay a while, at least, and won't you let my crops grow well? I won't ask for a lifetime of bountiful harvest, but would you at least help me this season?"" Though he could not see her, the farmer felt the goddess shake her head, almost imperceptibly. And then, she was gone. Even when he brought the offerings the next morning, and the days after that, Limos never returned. ***** Limos faded away from the shrine, cutting away her attachment from the temple that the man had built. She shut her eyes, and prepared to sleep again. This time, she didn't know when she would wake up. The faintest tear trickled down her face before dissipating into a hazy light. She had been so happy when a mortal had called her, worshiped her, given her offerings. It had been so long, after all. But then she'd remembered who she was, *what* she was. Limos, goddess of starvation and pestilence. Looking at the pure-hearted, simple farmer who brought her offerings every morning, she knew that she could not stay. That was her fate: she would only ever bring disaster to those who called her. She would be spurned, hated, cursed, and ultimately- forgotten. As her consciousness faded away, she saw the faint image of a man kneeling in front of a clumsy, wooden shrine, food and wine in his outstretched hands. ***** *I write a story a day * *more stories at /r/chasing_mist*",1016
" Jessie struggled against the chains, her","Jessie struggled against the chains, her naked body cold with sweat, her eyes burning in feverish despair. The blindfold was soaked in her tears. She heard them chant darkly around her. She had seen the knife, the chalice, the circle of candles, and the pentagram on the floor. She tried to scream but the foul-tasting gag muffled her. Only this morning she had prepared herself for her first day of high school. She was ready to meet her new classmates - ready, but nervous. She had heard the van drive up behind her. She remembered thinking nothing of it. And then it was just blackness. She gasped as she felt cold steel run down her thigh, and then the sting. Wet heat seeped down her skin. ""Oh, Dark One!"" A deep voice said in maniacal ecstasy. ""We offer you the blood of this virgin! Step forth! Join us on this mortal plane. Take your throne! The world is yours."" At first, there was nothing, but then the room shook. Jessie could smell the mortar dust sailing down from the ceiling. Her stomach felt like she was on a roller coaster. Strange smells filled her nostrils. Charcoal, rotten eggs, and melting iron. Then there was heat. '*Open your eyes,*' a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Jessie took a deep breath. She could feel the heat on her lips and in her throat. She was no longer gagged. She sat up and opened her eyes. The landscape before her was a waste of ashes and darkened mountains. Like the neon signs of an amusement park, rivers of flowing lava lit up the night. What the hell... '*That's right. That's exactly it.*' Jessie shook her head trying to rid herself of the strange whispers, and at the same time make sense of her surroundings. The ground beneath her rumbled. In the far distance, a red flower bloomed over a mountain, and then the rock started bleeding. ""Where am I?"" she said, despite herself. Her voice was twisted and dark and sent a shiver down her own spine. It wasn't her voice. '*You're in Hell, baby.*' ""Who are you? Am I dead?"" The voice let out a hushed chuckle. '*Listen, girl. Allow me to take your soul, and I'll put you right back in your world.*' Jessie thought about her parents and her little sister; she did want to see them again. This place was dead; there was nothing for her here. Still, the room with the crazed cultists flickered in her mind. She had been so scared. She didn't want to go back to that. '*What are you going to do, huh?*' the whispering voice said. '*There's nothing for you here.*' ""How do I know that?"" Jessie growled, trying to stay unfazed by her dark voice. ""I've only just got here."" '*You can trust me, I've been here for a very long time. There's nothing but brimstone and suffering here.*' ""Are you Lucifer?"" The voice laughed in the back of her mind but didn't respond. Jessie looked at her hand. It was covered in red scales with claws sprouting from her fingertips. Carefully, she touched her face. Her nose had a strange shape, almost like a snout, and when she moved her head around it felt heavy. ""You're not getting my soul until you tell me what's going on."" '*That little cult tried to summon me - it happens. But they were clever this time, very...* **specific** *about what I could and couldn't do. I was supposed to be bound to your mortal form... they wanted power over me. They were clever. I'll give them that. But there is always a loophole. I reversed the ritual, and now you're here. You possess me.*' ""I possess you?"" '*Yes, quite ironic isn't it? I kind of enjoy having you in there though... it's refreshing. But I like I said, I can send you back... at the cost of your soul, of course.*' ""Nope."" The voice snorted. '*What do you mean, 'nope?'*' ""I lied. You're not getting my soul."" Jessie took a few steps. Her feet were massive hooves and the ground puffed ash. She left a trail of burning hoof prints in her wake. '*I like you.*' The voice carried a combination of anger and stark amusement. ""I don't care,"" Jessie said and tried out the massive wings on her back. She wanted to get back home, but maybe she could enjoy herself for a while first. She'd always wanted to fly. '*The only way back... is you giving me your soul.*' ""I don't know. If you got in here somehow, there has to be a way out."" Now the voice went into full-blown laughter. ""What? It's only logical."" '*There is a way out. I'll show it to you.*' ""And what, the price is my freaking soul?"" '*Oh no, this one is on the house. Maybe then you'll better grasp the concept of eternal damnation.*' ""Whatever. Just tell me where it is,"" Jessie said and rolled her eyes. '*Follow the stream.*' ""Which one?"" '*Any. They all lead to the same place.*' *** Jessie stomped along the dead plains, following a smoldering river. She tried to fly a few times, but her lack of coordination made her crash. She'd always been a bit clumsy, and piloting this body was much harder than her own. Finally, she reached the foot of a massive volcano. Lava boiled down its sides, spreading into a burning spider web over the strange landscape. She took a deep breath and tried to control her limbs. Arms. Legs. Tail. Wings. Lots of things to keep track of. Kind of like operating one of her dad's excavators. Her massive thighs strained, and she somehow managed to push herself off the ground, catching herself with the big wings. She flapped them desperately, and somehow she rose. '*Not bad,*' the voice said. After a bit of a struggle, she managed to gain some sort of control. The massive body drifted through the air. Jessie felt her mouth twist into a toothy grin. But as much as she enjoyed the tingly sensation in the pit of her scaly stomach, she wanted to get back home. Landing on the rim of the volcano's top was far from easy. She crashed inelegantly into a heap. She'd have to practice that. The interior of the mountain was a massive red lake. '*This is where we put some of the sinners,*' the voice said and chuckled. '*Swim across, Little Soul, swim across! They never make it very far.*' Jessie noticed tiny black dots right below her. They were all people, screaming and trying to claw their way out. ""So, how do I get out?"" Jessie said, trying to keep her voice steady. '*At the middle.*' She wasn't super excited about flying over an open lake of lava, but she still jumped into the air. It went better this time. Gliding across the screaming billions, she saw a dark shape jutting out of all the red, like a small leaf floating in a bowl of tomato soup. A man sat cross-legged and naked on the steaming rock. ""Hey, who are you?"" Jessie said, landing with a thud, ""and how do I get out of here?"" The man lifted his graying head. His eyes were clogged with ashes, and his lips black and chapped. For a moment, he appeared scared, but then he tilted his head to the side. ""You're... new,"" he muttered. ""Have you come to torture me?"" ""No, I want to leave! Which way is out?"" ""Are you sure?"" ""Yes!"" ""Okay..."" The man spread his filthy fingers into a claw, and grated them over the sharp rocks, cringing from the pain. A trail of bubbling blood soon formed a circle on the ground. The man shook his head. ""Just step into the circle,"" he mumbled. Jessie was about to do as she was told, but then a thought struck her. This poor man didn't deserve to suffer here after being so helpful. She was going to bring him along. And with a flick of her massive wrist, she snatched him up. He let out a shrill scream of horror, kicking and wriggling to get free. ""Let's go home,"" she said and stepped into the glowing circle. She felt the air pulsating around her, and a strange pressure pushed on her shoulders. '*I lied too,*' the voice inside her head said and laughed. '*There's only down from here.*' *** r/Lilwa_Dexel",1411
 Jay pulled a hurricane glass over to,"Slow jazz music played in the background as the ice cubes clinked into the scotch glass. Turning around and pulling a bottle from the shelf, he uncapped the bottle of amber liquid and poured with a practiced flourish. Jay slid the glass over to the man in the pinstripe two-piece suit, speaking in his soft baritone voice. ""Knob Creek, on the rocks."" Asmodeus nodded appreciatively, tucking his long silver hair behind his ears as he reached for the glass with a pale, slender hand. The copper bell that hung above the old wooden door rang as another customer strolled into the bar. Pulling off her shawl and her wide-rimmed pointed hat, she hung them on the coat stand before striding up to the bar counter. Her thin wrist twitched slightly, and the stool next to Asmodeus floated effortlessly through the air as she glided over to it. Taking a seat, she turned to Jay. ""The usual, please,"" she spoke, her voice clear and calm, a natural trait after years of chanting incantations. Jay pulled a hurricane glass from the shelf and began mixing her drink. She nodded towards Asmodeus as a way of greeting. He put the glass down, the ice rattling against the walls of the scotch glass. His voice was enchantingly silky. ""Evening, Witch. Didn't expect to see you here so soon. I assume the gardens fare well?"" ""Well enough for me to take a break,"" she said, laughing lightly. ""The mandrakes haven't started screaming yet, so I'm here before things *really* get chaotic."" Asmodeus' thin lips curled into a smile. ""Thank you in advance. I'm sure I'll end up buying from you this harvest. Hell can't grow alchemic herbs like the Gardens of Lieze can."" The Witch nodded appreciatively, the shimmering silver cocktail floating off the bar counter in front of her. A moment later, the door was flung open, a wave of heat sweeping through the bar. The atmosphere was suffocating, and a bead of sweat dripped down Asmodeus' face. The Witch and the Archdevil both frowned slightly, but before they could raise their voices, Jay looked up from the glass he was polishing, and stared straight at the door. ""Balrog, what have I said about your form when you enter the bar?"" he said quietly, his deep voice calm and even. The vague sound of a sigh came from the monstrous, flaming silhouette that was too big to fit through the door. ""God dammit,"" it swore. ""Sorry Jay, I keep forgetting. Too used to the other one, y'know?"" The shadowy mass of billowing flames condensed into a bulky, broad-chested man dressed in a maroon blazer and jet-black pants. He swaggered up to the bar counter, pulling a stool out before hopping on adroitly, in spite of his huge frame. ""I'll have one of those fruit beers, Jay,"" he said, plonking his large arms down onto the bar counter. A few moments later, a champagne flute filled to the brim with a pink, bubbly liquid was set in front of him. He sipped at it, and smacked his lips in satisfaction. ""Strawberry. You always have good stuff, don't you Jay?"" The bartender shrugged and smiled. ""Can't attract good customers without good alcohol, can you?"" Balrog let out a hearty laugh and roared in agreement, attracting glares from Asmodeus and the Witch. He blinked in surprise. ""Hey, didn't see the two of you there!"" he said, laughing boisterously as he reached out to slap Asmodeus on the back. The shadows around Asmodeus coalesced and became solid, blocking the Balrog's massive palm from making contact. ""I appreciate the sentiment, Balrog, but please, try not to break my bones. And would it kill you to have a little situational awareness?"" Asmodeus said, his tone frosty. The Witch nodded quietly in agreement. Balrog chuckled apologetically at his two companions, and went back to nursing his drink. For a moment, all was peaceful in the Blue Moon. Jay slid his phone out of his pocket and glanced at the screen. ""Sorry, I've got to take this one. Be back in a moment,"" he said, before disappearing out of the back door. Five minutes later, he walked back in, his face ashen. ""I'm sorry, but I'm closing for the night,"" he said, his voice quavering slightly. ""Did something happen, Jay?"" the Witch asked, setting down her now-empty glass onto the bar counter. ""None of us mind leaving, I'm sure, but if it's something we can help with..."" Her voice trailed off as she turned to glance at Balrog and Asmodeus. The two men nodded in assent. ""No other bar's gonna let me in, Jay,"" Balrog whined. ""If it'll stop you from closing, I'll do anything!"" Asmodeus sipped the last of his drink, gently placing his glass onto the mahogany counter. ""Hell doesn't have any bars quite like this one. Where else am I going to get a decent glass of whisky from?"" he said, his voice smooth and soothing. The Witch smiled encouragingly at the bartender. Jay stood there for a moment, unsure of how to react. It *was* a problem that they could help solve, but would it be right? He gritted his teeth. These were his regulars. They'd been in and out of his bar for years now, and he knew all of them by name, knew where they lived- even if he had no idea where *exactly* the Second Circle of Hell was- and knew of their triumphs and troubles. Even if it was with supernatural beings, friendship *was* friendship. He sighed, and leaned against the bar counter. ""They took my daughter, Ashley. Terrorists. Kidnapped her and took her hostage, along with an entire bus full of other kids on their way back from a camp. The police just called, they're asking for a ransom from the government, but I don't know whether they'll pay up. Is there anything you can do?"" he asked, pleadingly, the words flowing from his mouth despite his usual reserved nature. ""Bastards,"" Balrog spat emphatically, and began to stride out the door. ""We'll take care of the curs and bring back your daughter,"" Asmodeus placated, before turning to the Witch. ""Can you cast a tracking spell?"" he asked her. The Witch conjured a pipe from thin air, puffing on it once. The smoke trailed through the air before forming an arrow. ""Let's go,"" she said, before the three of them vanished in a flash of bright, white light. Not fifteen minutes later, the trio returned to the bar, the Witch carrying a girl with long, brown hair in her arms. As they stepped towards the bar, the girl jumped out of the Witch's arms and bounded up the stairs that led to the Blue Moon. ""Daddy!"" she cried out, leaping into Jay's open arms as he pulled her into a tight hug. ""Were you scared?"" Jay asked her. ""No, Daddy, you always told me that you'd protect me, so I wasn't scared!"" she said, beaming at Jay. ""But Daddy, who are the pretty lady and the two men? Your customers?"" she asked, inquisitively. ""Ashley, I think it's time you met my friends,"" Jay said, looking up at the three smiling figures standing in front of him.",1202
 A terrifying assortment of gruesome creatures poured,"The first flecks of dawn's light trickled into the fancy high-rise bar. All was quiet except for the subtle squeaking of glasses being cleaned by the young woman behind the counter. She worked mechanically, with no life in her movements. She didn't even flinch as the rear door slammed open and noise flooded the room. A terrifying assortment of gruesome creatures poured into the bar from the door as though through the gates of hell itself accompanied by a cacophony of growls, hisses, and moans that one could almost mistake as laughter. A towering figure with twisting horns and cruel claws approached the counter first, gingerly taking a seat and smiling at the woman with a mouth of wickedly pointed teeth. ""Mornin' Mary! We had a great night, a round for everyone on me!"" the monster proclaimed to cheers from his comrades. ""Coming right up Blue,"" Mary said quietly, moving to fill the order without a hint of fear, or any other emotion for that matter. Blue's smile faltered as he looked at her curiously, noticing the tear streaks leading from her dead brown eyes. ""Hey hey,"" Blue said, his voice now as gentle as it could be with its rumbling timbre. ""There's something eating you girl. What's wrong? Can we help?"" The bar quieted as the others began noticing her distress. It seemed for a moment that she would remain quiet, but soon she opened up, her voice quivering. ""I-I... It's my kids. Some people took them. They're demanding a ten million dollar ransom delivered to them somewhere in that old abandoned neighborhood down Hollis St within a day if I ever want to see my kids again. They said they'd disappear if they saw even a hint of the police. My husband is out trying to see if we can even get a loan that big. We don't even have anything close to that kind of money! Why me? What can I do!?"" Mary had thought herself cried out, but found new tears forming as she let it out. The shocking assortment of creatures looked at one another in shock, each wondering who could be so cruel. Blue leaned over the counter and grabbed Mary in a bear hug that she melted into eagerly. After a moment he released her, leaning back with a dangerous gleam in his eyes. ""Fella's, looks like that drink will have to wait, we've got overtime to do."" Blue said as he began stomping towards the door they had entered through. Mary looked after him in surprise, ""what are you going to do?"" He paused, looking back at her with a gentle fierceness, ""what we do best. Find those kids."" ---------- Lance leaned against the wall of the shabby house twirling a butterfly knife with boredom. He glanced over at the two kids tied in the corner, reassuring himself they were still here. By the terror on their faces, he could tell they shouldn't be a problem, but he really needed this to go smoothly. Hopefully the woman wouldn't do anything stupid like bring in the police, then they'd never have their payday, and he might have to deal with those kids which would be unpleasant. One of the other five, Nash, looked up at him nervously, ""Lance, are you sure she's good for it? This is an awful risk. What if she has mob connections?"" Lance rolled his eyes at the younger man. ""Of course she is idiot. That bar of hers is fancy as hell, but it's practically never open, it's definitely a front for something. Plus, she's way too squeaky clean to be with the mob. No, this is some white collar shady business. That kind of money is probably pocket change to her. We'll get our payout and disappear to some quiet island somewhere, just chill out."" Nash shifted nervously, ""if you say so. Something about all this just gives me a bad feeling."" ""Oh so you're a jedi now? Shut it and keep watch, this will be over soon,"" Lance snapped at him. He glanced back at the kids and saw them still where he'd left them. Had that closet door been cracked before? Probably, maybe he was a little jumpy after all. He grinned to himself. With the creaking of this old building he could almost imagine they were footsteps behind him and that those shadows in the corners were alive. He squinted. Hold on, did that shadow just move? Before he could take another breath, the room exploded into motion around him. He saw shadows move for sure this time. Scales, claws, tentacles, feathers, slime, fur, horns, and teeth were all in a sudden whirlwind about him as he was hit from multiple angles at once. In an instant he was on his back in tremendous pain and with the breath knocked out of him. Leaning over him was a terrifying visage of twisted horns, wicked teeth, and blue fur leering at him with eyes in which he could see his death reflected. He tried to let out what would have been the most primal scream of terror of his life, but there was no air in his lungs to release. The figure spoke in a quiet growl that sent shivers down Lance's spine. ""You are lucky we don't kill anyone these days, but if you ever think of hurting a child again, I'll make an exception for you. We can find you no matter where you run. Nowhere is safe from us."" Lance thought he could hear sirens in the distance and his head fell to the side as he began to lose consciousness from terror, shock, and lack of air. The last thing he saw was the kids, now unbound, hugging a huge green eyeball. ----------- Mary looked up from the bar to twin shrieks of joy proclaiming, ""Mommy!!"" She embraced her children fiercely as they ran to her, tears of relief and joy spilling down her cheeks, for the moment paying no heed to the menagerie of monsters filing in from the broom closet. After a while Mary stood and beckoned to Blue, ""come here you big lug."" The two shared an embrace and Mary whispered to him, ""thanks Kitty."" ""Anything for you Boo,"" He said warmly. She stepped back and smiled at the gathered crowd, then walked around behind the bar again. ""Thank you all so much. Order up, Monsters Inc drinks free today!""",1072
 The fifth looked around around the,"""Wait. We're going in there?"" asked the fifth. The others laughed. ""That's the place!"" ""But we can't! It's not... I mean, it's not even night yet!"" ""But if we wait that long, we'll miss happy hour. Harry's got a really good happy-hour selection too. Good deals. You'll like it."" ""It's too populated. We should keep moving."" Laughing again, the others clapped her on the shoulders reassuringly and nudged her inside. ""It'll be alright,"" said the first, as he held the door open for her. ""This place is different. You'll see, you'll see... Harry!"" ""Oy! Gentlemen! Good to see you! You've brought a new face, too! Hello! Good afternoon, Miss. Why is such a handsome woman hanging out with such hideous company? You'd best be careful that their ugliness doesn't rub off on you."" The fourth put his hands on his chest and mocked a frown. ""How insulting! Hideous? Us?"" And the third put his around around the fifth. ""And a woman? Her?!"" They erupted with laughter. The fifth looked around them, confused at their cheer. As their laughter died down, her mind hung on Harry's words. She frowned to herself and whispered, ""Handsome?"" She felt warmth in her face, partly for being the butt of the joke, but maybe in part because she forced herself to admit that Harry was not terribly ugly, for a human. ""I'm guessing you're Five. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Harry."" ""Five?! Do I look like I'm fi-"" she began, suddenly stopping when the first put his hand on her shoulder. ""I'm much older-"" she began again, but stopped at the first squeezed her shoulder gently. Harry grabbed five menus. ""Tina, I'm heading back, can you take over?"" Turning to the five he said, ""Would you all follow me, please?"" and immediately lead them in a march to the back corner of the restaurant. On the short walk, the first explained, whispering to the fifth. ""Harry doesn't think you're five. He's just going to call you that. Just like he calls me 'One,' and so forth. You're new to him, so you're 'Five.'"" ""That's for the best, I suppose."" She paused for a moment, then her eyes went wide. ""Wait! You didn't tell him *why* we don't use our real names, did you? Does he even know how important names are, to us?"" The first shook his head. ""Of course I didn't tell him. But you know what? Harry doesn't seem to need an explanation. He never asks the wrong questions..."" ""...does that mean he knows?"" she whispered. The first shrugged and turned toward the others while the fifth gave an exasperated sigh before joining them as well. When they were seated at the corner booth, Harry took orders. ""First round? The usual?"" he asked. ""One? Okay. Two? Okay. Three?"" He nodded. ""Four?"" ""Yeah, but let's start with double."" ""Doable... And for the lady?"" The third chuckled. ""There you go again, Harry. What's with all this 'lady' and 'gentlemen'? You oughta know..."" As he trailed off, the third leaned over and snatched at the fifth's hat. ""You can clearly see...!"" The others chuckled at the third. Before the hat came fully off of her head, the fifth's hands shot up and gripped the hat firmly back down. She looked up at Harry to see if he had noticed, but he appeared to be writing busily on a notepad. ""Miss,"" he asked, ""would you like a minute to look over the menu?"" She glared at the third, who uttered a quick apology. Then, after a quick look at the menu, she asked, ""Could you make a recommendation? I'm not sure..."" ""Of course, I could... However, it's more fun to make your own choices. I'll bring out two sets of samplers so you can try a few things. Free of charge. How does that sound?"" ""Free of charge sounds great!"" yelled the third. Harry chuckled and pointed his finger. ""Not you! Alright I'll be back in a few minutes. Good to see you guys."" Then he turned and marched off toward the bar. When the five were alone, the fifth sighed. She almost couldn't believe it. A corner booth in a normal bar in the middle of the afternoon? Abnormal. They passed the time with chatter and jokes until Harry returned. He set glasses about the table, along with two heaping plates of food. In front of the fifth he placed two small trays. One tray held ten shot-glasses with various liquids while appetizers crowded the other tray. ""Go ahead and try those out dear."" ""Dear?"" she whispered to herself. ""I picked a few things that I thought you might like. I'll be back in a few minutes. You can let me know what you think for the next round, yeah?"" Harry marched off again. The others dug into their food, happily sipping from their mugs as well. The fifth tentatively picked up one of the shot glasses. She sipped. Then she sipped again. The first smiled. ""Good?"" She nodded. ""Try the next one."" The fifth put the glass down and sipped from the next glass. She licked her lips and sipped once more. ""Are they all this good?"" ""No. But Harry's got good taste, you notice?"" She tried the next. --- Business slowed. After just an hour and a half, only a few tables were occupied and most were already settling their checks. But the five at the booth had no plans on leaving, at least not for another few rounds. After four rounds, the fifth finally started to feel something close to comfortable. In fact, she wondered about the last time she had felt this way. At ease. Vulnerable. Inebriated. She might have even described this as fun. Part of her hated it. But another part of her couldn't help but feel the pull of this place. She glanced over to the bar to get another look at Harry. Then she heard the crash. Bolting to her feet, she watched as the tray, full of glasses, fell onto the floor. The glasses shattered. The fragments sprayed across tile. And after the clinking fragments fell still, everyone in the bar turned to look, checking if Harry was okay. But Harry ignored spilt beer. He even took a step backward, his shoe crunching against a bit of glass. He ignored the quiet of the rest of the bar. His eyes were glued to the television. Breaking news. Helicopter footage. The five got up from their booth, moving to Harry at the bar to see if he was alright. When Harry didn't respond, they too looked at the television screen. The first frowned, understanding. ""What? What's the big deal?"" asked the fifth. Suddenly Harry rushed for the door, keys in hand. He would have made it, if the first hadn't grabbed Harry by the arm and shoved him down into a chair. In the scuffle, Harry's phone clattered onto the floor, actively vibrating and blinking. ""Where are you going?"" said the first, keeping his hands on Harry's arms so that he could not rise. Through angered breaths, Harry spoke evenly. ""I'm going there."" ""No. Think clearly."" The first projected calmness. ""It's late. School is over by now. They'd be at home. They're fine."" Harry shook his head. ""There's... no... Let go. Please."" ""They're home, Harry,"" insisted the first. ""Just sit. Just think."" ""No. No! There's an event tonight. A play. They're helping. They were staying after. They were supposed to stay until the end. I was going to pick them up later tonight. They're definitely there!"" Harry jerked upward. The first effortlessly forced him back down into the chair. ""Okay. And if they're actually there. Did you even listen? Did you see the footage? Did you take a moment to even look?"" The first took Harry by the chin and turned his face toward the television. ""Sit. Think."" Harry tried to wrench free. ""There's no time to think, One!"" ""There is always time to think!"" the first roared. ""What would you even be doing? What could you even do in a situation like this! BE STILL AND THINK."" The few remaining patrons in the bar left their money on the tables and scuttled out the door. ""Now listen, carefully, Harry. I'm sorry to tell you this, but even if you left now, even if you were there at this very moment, there would be nothing that you could do. Do you understand that?"" ""But-"" ""DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"" The fifth took a step back. She had never seen the first this way. She looked at Harry and gritted her teeth. She watched him cry. ""Now listen. You will stay here. You will clean up the mess. I know the place. We will be back in thirty minutes. We will bring them. Do you understand?"" ""No! You can't! That's not your-"" The first tightened his grip on Harry's arm. ""You. Stay. Thirty minutes."" The first turned to the fifth. ""Your job is to keep him here."" The first turned to the others. ""The rest of you. With me. Now."" The other three nodded and immediately made for the door. The fifth slammed her hand on a table. ""No! Harry's right! We can't go there!"" They paused. ""It's too crowded! What if they see? What if they catch you? You just told him to think! Think think think! And look at you, storming out the door! What kind of thinking is that? You'd take such a risk for what!? For him?!"" ""For him?"" The first turned back for a moment. Then he looked at Harry. ""For him I would risk much more."" Harry stared for a moment. Then he shut his eyes, fresh tears falling. ""But this?"" continued the first. ""For this there is no risk."" ""What do-"" ""Keep him here. Thirty minutes."" The four walked out the door and stood for a moment on the sidewalk. Harry looked at them through the glass door. He muttered, ""Where does this thirty minutes even come from? You couldn't get there in thirty minutes if-"" Harry cut off his own sentence with a sharp gasp; out on the sidewalk, the four removed their coats.",1693
 The Horse walks into the bar and,"""Whiskey. The bottle."" The horse asks, sliding himself up onto a stool. His tux has seen better days, the tie apparently lost some way along his journey here, the top of his shirt open exposing his chest. Was one of them missing? If it were, it'd match his cufflinks, also absent from his dishevelled ensemble. I slide over a bottle, middle of the range, and he passes over a fifty. ""Keep the change."" ""That's very kind, thank you."" I go back to working the glass washer, taking out the humid cleans and beginning to pile in the stack of dirties our bar-back passes over before the Horse walked in. He's opened the bottle, and pours himself a few a measures over a double before screwing the lid back on raising his glass for a long, bitter drink. ""Can't believe I used to live here."" He says, an open invitation to start a conversation. His tip means I respond as earnestly as possible. ""Oh yeah? The apartments upstairs?"" ""Yeah. Long time ago now."" He takes another drink. I let that hang for a while, wondering if he was the monologuing kind, until the silence nears on rude. ""What made you leave?"" He chuckles. ""Believe it or not, a band. We use to play gigs here right up until we got our first tour and then... Never needed to come back."" ""You look like the front man type."" His head turns sharp toward me and cocks. ""Should be careful about saying that. Front men can be all kinds of terrible."" ""Ah."" My hands raise in apology. ""No offense intented."" ""None taken. You're right, though, I was. The front man and all kinds of terrible."" The end of sentence is addressed mostly into his glass in a spiteful mutter as he goes for another gulp. He raises it high, tapping it for every last drop, and pours another. ""But it all started here. Me, the seal, elephant, the octopus - damn good drummer he is... was, I guess now."" ""Sorry to hear that."" His mouth is full, so he waved his hand at me. 'No apologies necessary'. ""We weren't that close. I went solo a few years back, creative differences is what the media called it. Real reason? I liked my coke more than I liked my band."" He's laughing - and so am I, but neither of us found that funny. I'm sure. ""So what made you come back here?"" ""I don't know. Relive the glory days, go back to where it started, before I became such a raging asshole. Hey, you ever been on a plane?"" ""What like, a passenger?"" ""Yeah sure just, taken a flight - anywhere, over seas, domestic it doesn't matter."" ""Yeah. Tonnes of times."" ""Any of 'em ever crashed?"" I linger at the washer for a second, and glance back up at him to see if I can figure out just how that was meant to come across. He's looking right at me, interested. ""...no, none."" ""Of course not. Planes are safer than cars, y'know, statistically."" He tells me that whilst watching his pour. This ones a few measures more over a double, and I wander what the purpose in him even having the glass is. ""You're more likely to die in a car than a plane, more likely by a long shot. You know what the numbers are?"" ""No."" He slumps. ""Me neither. But they're low, right? So keep that in mind. Now what do you think the chances are that three people you know would all be killed in a plane crash?"" For the first time I notice he has tears behind his eyes, lingering there, none managing to break free. ""I don't... I don't know how to answer that."" ""Sure you do, come on you're a bartender."" ""I serve drinks, I'm not a therapist."" A booming laugh comes out as he throws his head back, and he wiped the tears from his eyes as if it was that that had caused them. ""Y'know the guy who tended on my private jet - when I could afford one of those, he said to me serving the right drinks is only half the job."" ""What was the other half?"" ""Oh, come on now!"" His glass juts toward me as the hand clutching it goes to point, he's smiling again. ""Asking the right questions!"" ""Okay."" I'm getting close to my tether with the Horse and cast an eye over his bottle, half empty. He's a quick drinker, sure, but from behind the bar he doesn't seem quick enough. ""What're the right questions?"" ""Well, you've already missed them."" He sounds smug, *irritatingly smug*, and I can't back down. ""Enlighten me."" This was the right answer, he swivels on his seat to turn his whole body toward me, imposing with how large he is, and leans in close. ""Well a horse walks into your bar in a tuxedo he's been wearing for two days, he's had five hours sleep in those forty eight hours, and lost his cufflinks in the cab ride over here - a cab that, recognising the horse from an anniversary cover of NME, charged him double. The only friends he ever had are lying in a morgue somewhere in Paris and the bartender didn't even recognise him when there's a poster of him on the fucking wall."" I follow his eyes, that have foregone the tears in favour of a piercing, unblinking intensity. 'The Animals', a large poster hanging above the bar for an rock band I've never paid much attention to. The horse on the poster is younger, healthier, playing behind a microphone with an elephant to his left, a seal to his right, and an octopus on the drums. ""Now, you tell me. What d'you ask that horse?"" ""Why the long face."" I say dumbfounded, as he gets up from his chair carrying the bottle with him. ""You're welcome for the tip."" He's out the door before the sound of the jukebox fades back in, and I'm taken back to reality.",1008
 All five species had been on the,"The Vampires were the first to notice--or the first to complain at least. The Guardian Angels had known obviously, but they weren't about to say anything (they never do). The Vampires--all five species had been on the run for years though, and finally had taken to keeping their own private food sources--blood banks and the such. It isn't that a vampire can't drink the blood of an alien or even a zombie, it's just that it's not quite the same. Or it messes with their heads in some cases like Angels. It's also a good deal more dangerous than going after humans. And well androids aren't exactly toting around any blood anyway. Not that anyone was very sympathetic at the High Council when Drakul brought it up. I wasn't exactly happy about it at the time, but what could we do? ""I'm telling you this is a problem!"" Drakul sat lazily in the overstuffed chair. Our council meetings didn't go in for the board-room look. We went for comfortable. We were all too *old* to be much impressed by anything else. I raised my glass of wine. It was a fine vintage, and it sparkled ruby in the light. ""Drakul, it's just humans. What is the problem? It's like those damn birds down in Africa. They've gone extinct. Who cares?"" J'Ximpl, an alien from some planet that happened to have a major stake in exporting water from Earth to his planet--highly lucrative for him for some reason--adjusted his ascot and sighed noisily. ""They were useful in some ways, mind you, but it's not like the world has ceased to function. The peasants are still peasants and the jobs are still getting done. What does it matter that it's being done by Androids, Angels and Loup-Garou and so forth instead of mere *humans*? They were rather expendable anyway."" I gave him a nod, as did several others in the room, though I noted, not Chief LongFang of the Loup-Garou. He was notable for his rather primitive view on the best uses for mortals. And likely part of the reason they were extinct. ""Exactly Drakul. They were soft, pathetic, and, quite frankly, rather bothersome."" He sneered. ""Of course you think so. You've been lying in that cave of yours for how many millenia? Soaking in the heat, enjoying your gold and gems? And you need to eat what? Every two or three hundred years? And does it matter what you eat? No! You dragons are all alike. Eat anything, care for nothing. I'm surprised you bothered to show up for the Council."" I hmphed. ""It was my turn. We *do* have a sense of duty you know. Unlike your people, apparently. Which of you was responsible for ensuring that you'd have a food supply going forward?"" He got a nasty look on his face, but didn't do anything stupid like lunge toward me in anger or even bare his pathetic little fangs. Vampires are many things, but they aren't entirely stupid. Well. They are cunning at least. They know when to back away from a fight. And there was never a Vampire that could so much as touch a dragon. Not the best of theirs to weakest of mine. Still... He got himself under control. ""We didn't have anyone in charge of that. It didn't seem necessary. There have always just been so many of them."" I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Lady Winter--Elf Queen, though don't call her that, she is Sidhe--saw no reason to be as diplomatic. ""So you thought it fine to hunt and kill and torture the weaklings and never once to watch their numbers? Even they did that with their own herds--even wild animals do better than that! Pathetic Drakul. Still, I fail to see how Winter--or my friend Summer--could see this as our concern. We are not dependent on them. Of all those here, only you and the Angels *really* have a need for the humans."" Drakul snarled outright now. He wasn't nearly as worried about her displeasure as mine. The fool. Even dragons respect the Sidhe--not for raw power, but for maliciousness in revenge. ""Humans, for what it's worth, are the ones that have souls. Or did you all forget that! Oh you did didn't you. We don't get souls."" That got my attention. The ArchAngel--I knew which one, but for reasons of polity, we never identified which of them was attending--shifted ever so slightly. They regarded souls as their own domain and discouraged talk of them in front of some of the others. The aliens and the androids especially, but hardly just them. But more importantly, Drakul had finally made a point that had some merit. Souls were a source of power. Of magic. Humans hadn't been using magic for centuries--that I knew of anyway--but their souls were still the *source* for it. I coughed politely. ""Drakul, you should have led with this, not whining about food."" ""Oh?"" He sneered openly. ""Perhaps you should have seen what not having humans meant more quickly."" I acknowledged the point with a dip of my head. ""Of course. But now, what can be done? Angel, is there a solution?"" The Arch-Angel turned his hooded head toward me and I *felt* his gaze upon me. Of all the beings in the room, this was the one that would give me pause in an open battle. The elves would prove bothersome and annoying over millennia--until they got bored--but the angel might just decide to end my existence. One did not anger them lightly. His voice was like stones rubbing together--deep, powerful, and not exactly easy to hear. ""I will CONSULT. Pray a moment."" Of course he meant it literally. Angels always did. They had always maintained that God was real, though the rest of us had always entertained rather more skepticism on that score. I remembered the planet long before the angels showed up. Still... ""It will not be easy. Human souls are...restricted. The time has come for the angels to withdraw from this world. If you want more souls, you will have to find a new source--a new kind of mortal--to raise up from the mortal beings on this planet and help them along. Souls will come when a species native to this realm achieves intellectus and is able to fully reason. You have time enough to do so before the magic fades from the realm. If you can cooperate. It may require some--adjustments."" With that he stood, threw back his hood and the room suddenly grew very bright. ""You would be wise to work together to choose a new species--perhaps two or three--to shepherd into intellectus. You would also be wise to avoid wasting power."" ---- I wish I could say it went well after he left--one moment there, then the light gathered in on itself and he was gone--along with all the other angels. But it's been two hundred years and we still argue and fight. Well they do. The dragons did what we always do--most of us went to sleep and we chose one of us to fix the problem. I wish it hadn't been me. But I do hope the Vampires enjoy what I've done. Because today? Today my tigers started using tools. And they are saying hello to each other in very plain language. It helps that I gave them proper thumbs.",1230
 The concept of darkness was an object,"No one knew darkness. It existed, of course, but no living person had ever experienced any earthly environment of real, total darkness. The place, the idea - the concept of darkness was an object of utter terror. Of course, for some, that made it enticing. Made it irresistible. Artists had painted it, writers waxed on and on about its forbidden allure. Most people were never stupid enough to actually completely darken their home. Even if someone did, if they survived there would be massive punishment. It was too much of a risk to the population at large. If something did come out of the darkness in a home or other building, they might get out into the wider world. They might find their way to spots that, while illuminated, still were close enough to dark to offer shelter and a chance of surprise. All my life I had lived in light, and I had felt no pull to the dark. But that night - that night, everything went mad. I was brushing my teeth when the Outage hit. We had just tucked in Denny and Sharon, and Astrid was in the master bedroom, feeding the baby and preparing to put him down for the night as well. When the light went out, at first I thought it was simply a bulb burning out. That was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. I was all set to head over to the linen cupboard for a new bulb when I realized the truth. No light. Anywhere. The hallway was pitch black, and when I glanced back toward the door of the bedroom, it was like - well, like nothing. I saw nothing. ""Stuart?"" Astrid called softly in the darkness. ""I - think a breaker tripped,"" I fibbed - a tripped breaker was rarer by far than a burnt-out bulb. Besides, I could tell easily from my inability to see anything outside the bathroom window that not only our house lights, but also the yard and streetlights, were out. I crept along the hallway, treading light and avoiding the spots which I knew creaked. When Denny screamed, my sense of caution vanished. I tore off toward our oldest child's room. ""Dad! Dad!"" ""On my way, buddy. Don't worr..."" Denny screamed again, three loud shrieks in rapid succession, and then - nothing. ""Den? Denny? Come on, buddy, it's not..."" The words died as I stepped into our son's room. It was dark as hell, and my hand automatically went to flip the light switch. I knew it wouldn't work. There should already have been light in the room anyway, from the little nightlight or shining through the open closet door. There was no light, but there was an overwhelming odor of copper. ""Denny? Dennis, it's not funny to..."" More dead words as my shuffling steps took me close enough to reach down and touch Denny's sheets. The cloth was warm and wet, but it was way more than the dampness of a kid having peed the bed out of fear. Way more, and lacking the ammoniac reek of urine. ""Dennis!"" I barked, a command rather than a query. Falling to my knees, I eased partly under the bed, reaching out a hand. I touched something warm, fleshy, but oddly inert. Then the object moved, and something else warm, but rougher and larger, clamped down on my wrist. I screamed, yanked my arm free, and fled Denny's room. That was when Sharon started screaming as well, and I heard as well as felt a light tread join me in the hallway. The figure bumped me, cried out, and then the baby was wailing at my side, clutched in Astrid's arms. ""Stuart, what..."" ""Go!"" I called, slipping an arm around her and guiding us both toward the stairs. We stopped long enough to grab the emergency lights from the old sideboard at the end of the hall, but even as we turned them on, something thudded heavily and grunted behind us. ""Go!"" I shouted again, and we raced incautiously down the stairs, each nearly falling a half-dozen times. We reached the front door and, through the window, I saw light - glorious light. Someone or something was pounding at the door, and I was prepared to head for the kitchen exit instead, but then a voice joined the pounding. ""Stu! Stu, you in there? Astrid?"" Slamming the door open, I propelled Astrid and the baby out ahead of me, straight into the arms our neighbor George. ""What the hell's going on?"" I gasped. ""Dunno,"" George shrugged. ""Saw reports today that there'd been a few minor outages lately - weather and everything. And then tonight - it's bad, Stu. I think it's bad."" We followed George instinctively across the street and to his driveway. The light I had seen were his headlights. He also had a couple of road flares set up along the walkway to his house, and through his windows I saw a movement of faint, ghostly glows. ""Battery lanterns,"" he nodded. Most people kept a couple of flashlights around and a few other little just-in-case things, but George had been through the Decatur Outage of '89, so he took things to near survivalist levels. ""Got Marc starting up the generator,"" he went on, ""and Rachel and Rick are out knocking on doors as well. Wait."" He paused, looking around. ""Where're your older two?"" I shook my head at him frantically, but his words set Astrid running back to the house, screaming for Denny and Sharon. She handed me the baby as she went, but I still started after her. ""I'll catch her!"" George said. ""You go leave the baby with May, then see about knocking on some doors, huh?"" I watched George disappear into the house, and as he went, I saw that he nearly stumbled over the flashlight Astrid had dropped on the front steps. I heard my wife scream, heard George yelling, gunfire... And then I saw my neighbor running back out of my house, my wife apparently unconscious in his arms. ""She's all right!"" George said. ""Had my .44 and took a chunk out of the damn thing. Run! My house! Come on!"" *** It's been three months. Three months since a massive, well-orchestrated attack took out the U.S. grid. Three months since some fucking cult led to the death of two of my children, as well as countless other people. It's only been weeks now since most of the grid was officially back on-line. We sold the house and moved. We just couldn't stay with all the memories and the fear. We're more prepared now, with lots of emergency lights and two gas generators always prepped and ready. No one is complacent anymore. And now everyone's actually afraid of the dark again. *** ^r/liulfr ^for ^more ^writings",1138
 The girl and her father sat up,"Deep in the wood sat a cabin glowing like a candle in the darkness. The wind clutched at it, rattled the windows as if begging to come inside. But the windows stayed shut, and the house did not fall. Inside, the girl and her father sat up late, reading books. Every longing sigh of the wind drew the girl's eyes once more to the windows. To the shapes she imagined pacing out there beyond the safe halo of light. But she could see only the drawn curtain. If she moved it there would be only her own reflection, pooling back at her, unless she was brave enough to put her nose right to the glass and squint out. Her father told her stories about the things out there. She did not need to see them to believe him. She knew them by their three-clawed prints that circled their home like a moat every morning. By the gouges bored into the hide of her father's woodshed, deeper than any bear's mark. He caught her staring. ""What have I always told you, darling?"" She stared mutely at the book until he answered for her, ""When the lights are on, we're safe."" Her father gestured to the unflinching pupil of the light above, his smile easy and light. ""As you can see,"" he said, ""we're safe."" She hid her face in his arm. She had lived eight years under the watchful guard of sunlight and filament. Darkness was nothingness. Darkness was death. So when she woke that night to a pitch-black room, the girl began to shriek. A hand stifled her. Her father's hand. His other gripped her wrist tightly, as if he was trying to tell her something through his very bones. ""I'm going to go try the generator."" ""But--"" she said into his fingertips. He shook his head. ""It should have turned on, and it didn't."" The wind rattled at the roof like an angry god. ""Someone has to go check it,"" he whispered, gently. Then he moved away, taking all the warmth and the girl's fleeting calm with him. She bolted upright in bed, unsure if she should flee or hide. *Surely they know we're in here*, she wanted to ask, but she could not give the life to the possibility by saying it aloud. Her father tossed a bundle at her. ""Get dressed. Be silent. I love you."" He looked once over his shoulder, at the flashlight beside the door. He handed it to her. ""If they come inside, use this."" And then he opened the door. Blackness opening into blackness, broken only by a scattering of stars. Night quiet as perfect and unbroken as new snow. Her father looked back at her as he let the door shut behind him. The girl shoved her fist into her mouth to keep from sobbing. She had never seen a night so complete. Without the light, there was nothing to keep the monsters away. She scrambled to her feet. As soundlessly as she could she wriggled into her two warmest leggings and threw on her largest pair of jeans over it. Sweaters, snow pants, socks thick as her pinky. The mittens her father knitted for her that summer while she watched his needles click and the butterflies flitter and-- And a crunching, out there, beyond the door. A scuffle in the snow. The girl jammed her feet into her boots. She told herself it was her father. Had to be only her father, panicked, in the dark. A howl shattered the night like dropped glass. A great bellow from beyond the pines, deep as the earth and older still. Another joined it, and another. Their calls were urgent, and coming closer. The girl threw herself down instantly, unthinkingly, as if trying to make herself invisible. And she froze there, rabbit in a burrow, listening. Stilling her very heart. And then the creatures in the darkness went silent. There was only the cry of the wind, and faintly beneath it, the whine of the generator, as her father struggled to make it go. The girl crawled on elbows and knees to the windows. The heavy plaid curtains were lashed together. She raised a shuddering hand to untie them. Scooted the corner back just far enough to peer around the corner. A pair of yellow eyes in a sea of matted black fur stared back at her, widened in delight when they met hers. Its head was something between a wolf and a bear, but its eyes watched her knowingly, cleverly. As if it were waiting for her to look out and notice it. She tumbled back shrieking. The lights flared back to life overhead. And outside, her father started screaming. The girl did not think. She ran to the bed and seized her father's huge emergency flashlight. Stumbled into night for the first time in her life. A hoard of black-coated creatures swarmed her father's shed. Their teeth caught and gleamed in the light of the moon. One had her father by the leg The outside lights were still dead. She fumbled with the flashlight, wrenched off a mitten, and flicked it on. Swung the beam toward the writhing mass of shapes. Smoke rose off their skin. They scattered screaming and hissing off her father like water dropped in hot oil. He lay limp in the light, the snow around him a damp, churned scarlet. The night-creatures circled him like lions. One nipped at the toe of his boot. The girl flicked the light toward it, and the creature scrambled backward. Panning the light in front of her, the girl stepped into her father's footsteps, toward the pack of nightmares that watched snarling and spitting from the shadows. As she grew closer she could smell only rot and clay and fur. They growled and bared their teeth, but the creatures did not dare venture into her light. They did not stop her from touching her father's hand. It was wet, and cold. She could not look at him. She had to keep turning the light, had to watch the monsters that tried to pad noiselessly behind her. ""Dad,"" she whispered, ""you have to get up."" For a long terrible moment, her father did not move. One of the creatures near her let out a strange low rumble, as if laughing at her trying to drag her father's corpse up out of the snow. But then he drew himself up on his elbows, his breath a ragged wet tearing sound. One of the beasts lunged for his throat. The girl chased it away with the light and screamed at it with everything she had. Her father rose. The night creatures drooled and snapped at his heels, but they did not touch him. Together, father and daughter limped back into the house. And all the while, the girl never let her light waver. *** /r/shoringupfragments",1151
 For most of us? For most,"I never wanted to be a hero. But that's common. That's how it works. Whatever perverse cosmic being, whatever twist of fate, whatever it is that gives people powers... it rarely chooses people who want to be special. There's exceptions, sure. Always are. But most of us? For most of us, it isn't a blessing. Everyone dreams, yeah. What's different is the scale of those dreams. Some people want to be famous. To be loved. Others are content just living quiet lives. The universe doesn't listen. That's how you end up with a dedicated wife and mother-of-three who just wanted to raise her kids... getting heartbreaking beauty and the power to enthrall both men and women, regardless of sex or preference. That's how you get a scholarship student, who just wanted to study hard and do biomedical research... transformed into a super-strong and invulnerable creature in a perpetual berserker rage, no speech or intellect. Me, I never wanted to be a hero. I'm not a social person. Not really. I'm just not a people person. I used to be a loner. Still am, I guess. My life was a simple office job, an eight to five. Lunch breaks alone. Then straight home. Dinner. Video games. Netflix. Sleep. Then repeat. No friends, no real family I care to speak to. Was I happy? Maybe. Maybe not. But it was okay. I could live that way. I could have died that way. Until everything changed. I can talk to a room now. I can figure out how to strike up a rapport with people. To understand what they care about, and make a connection. It used to be so awkward. It never felt right. Now... It's easier, when you can sense what people are thinking and feeling. I suppose that'd be telepathy, or empathy. I don't know. I've never talked about it with anyone. At first, it wasn't quite mind reading, or anything like that. I just got a sense of what people wanted, what people needed. It'd be fine if it were just that. But it hadn't stopped there. The first thing to grow was my range. It started short, at first. Now I can pick up people from blocks away. Maybe more. I think it's growing to be city-wide. And I don't know if it'll stop. Then there's the other powers. I guess they make sense, if I'm some kind of psychic. Telekinesis. Flight. And so much more. Hell, I'm getting visions of the future, now. Dreams. Flashes of deja-vu. I tried to ignore them, at first. But there's only so much I can ignore. &nbsp; *** I dropped down from the sky, studying the building. Back during the real estate boom, there'd been a push to build more and more, open up new residential areas. The economy was good then, on a global upswing. Then the advent of honest-to-god superhumans and the bullshit that came with them, it hit everything like a punch to the gut and a knee to the crotch. From what my powers were telling me, the development had been intended as mixed-use. Retail on the lower levels, some condos above. Oddly, it wasn't completely abandoned. There were some operating businesses on the ground level, facing the street. A coffee shop. A cafe of some kind. A generic no-name convenience store. But most of the building was an abandoned shell. The interior was supposed to be largely empty. Essentially unoccupied. Even the construction hadn't been completely finished. Cables coming out of holes in the walls. Unpainted plaster. I couldn't say how I knew that, not exactly. I just did. I flew closer to one of the windows, flicking my fingers at the grimy, cloudy, glass. The window wasn't supposed to open. It was, after all, a second-storey window for a retail unit. But it lifted from the frame, as the sealant and other materials gave way. I set the glass panel against a wall, within the empty shop. Then I entered the building, floating through the now-open space. There was no door to the shop. No frontage to speak of. It opened directly into an empty corridor, overlooking an equally empty atrium, like all the neighbouring units on this level. I moved silently through the supposedly-deserted building. There was a passageway near the carpark access on this floor, near where the bathrooms should have been. A door was there, a dusty sign indicating that it would have become the mall's management office, had the development ever fully opened. The door was locked. There were recent signs of use. Handprints on the glass. Other traces. I couldn't see them in the dark, but, again, I knew they were there. The lock moved. The door opened. It should have made noise. It didn't. I wasn't exactly sure how that worked, perhaps something in my telekinesis being able to block vibrations from propagating through the air. It was useful, though. I entered the office, making no sound. My feet hovered above the bare concrete, the soles of my shoes not touching the floor. I turned my head left, then right. The space was cramped, but the designers had intended the office to have a small meeting or conference space, just past a tiny reception area. Here, now, those rooms were being put to a different purpose. The smell was foul. Urine, faeces, and under that, blood. I ignored it. I could turn off my own sense of smell, after all. I could sense the thoughts and feelings of the current victim trapped in the office. A teenager, school age, female. Still alive. In relatively good health, too. I'd expected that, given my premonitions and the nature of their kidnapper's powers. It was good to have confirmation, though. She was gagged and bound. I put her to sleep, easing her into unconsciousness. I considered erasing her recent memories. It'd be the kind thing, but it would potentially hinder the police investigation and the court case against their captor. I let her be, for the time being. There was one more mind in the office, towards the back, where the actual desks and work spaces would have been, in a better, more prosperous world. I floated in, passing through an empty frame that should have held a door. There was a human form curled up in a sleeping bag. I twitched my hand, moving as if to unzip it, then twisted, pulled. A man slid out. He hung, suspended, in the air. His eyes opened, his face contorted in surprise. He was awake and alert. I'd made sure of that. It was more or less the opposite of the 'go to sleep' trick, like invoking the cosmic essence of caffeine. **Hello**, I said, silently, speaking into his mind. It wasn't really a voice, not as such. No inflection, no emotion, no sense of tone, no trace of the speaker's age or gender. Effectively, I was inserting words directly inside his head. **You want to be a villain, yes?** He tried to struggle. He tried to make noise. Neither effort worked. **No, it's okay. Don't bother. I've seen it. You've got plans.** His eyes focused on me. I wasn't worried about him being able to identify me, not really. It was dark. My clothes were baggy and shapeless, my head and hair completely covered. And of course, I could delete any impressions he had of me, almost as quickly as they formed. **You're creative, I'll give you that. Making a healing power into something pretty damn terrifying? Honestly, if it were me, I'd probably just... I don't know, cut people up and patch up the injuries. Rape people and make the evidence go away. Which you've done, sure. But you?** I shook my head. **The cancer idea won't work, just so you know. Your power's a more abstract version of healing and rejuvenation, not literal growth and cell division.** The man glared mutely at me. I considered relaxing my grip, allowing him to talk. But there wasn't really any point. I knew what he wanted to say. **Oh, sure. That other idea? Taking someone's spouse, turning them into an infant child, returning them to their partner? That's what you wanted to try next, right? The de-aging thing, that's within your abilities.** I pushed my 'volume' up a notch, driving the words more firmly into his skull. **Or it would be, I guess. You're not going to get a chance to test that, I'm afraid.** He stared at me, his eyes widening. **Not that you'll remember this conversation,** I continued. I frowned beneath my mask. **Don't know why I bother.**",1437
 There's a thousand dollars in twenties,"My mind has always played jokes on me, but this is too much. I've long been in the habit of finding reasonable explanations for the way the world coincides with my inner life. But this defies explanation. I rifle through the envelope. There's a thousand dollars in twenties. My name is scrawled in childish letters on the front. ""So this is what the space inside my mind is worth. One of those things you think is priceless, but nothing is. A thousand isn't too bad though."" I look around my messy office, quiet but for the creak of floorboards in the apartment overhead. Dust motes dance in rays of sunlight that land across my oak flat top desk. One of the few things from my parents' house I wanted to keep. ""How'd you get it in here, then?"" Nothing. He comes and goes - a ramblin' man. Sometimes I imagine there's a railway network between the brains of the world, and I've got a stop near a hobo camp where the crazies like to hop off. A thousand bucks. I could get into trouble with a thousand bucks. I slap the envelope across my palm a couple of times, almost heading for the door. I pull out five twenties, shove them in my front pocket, and throw the envelope in the safe in my closet. Someone is banging on the door. My heart picks up a bit. Through the peephole I see the fisheye distortion of the neighbor kid Lucy. I open the door. ""What's up, kiddo?"" ""Who's the guy who was here earlier? Why does he have a key to your apartment?"" I knew it. I knew I wasn't crazy this time. It's hard to understand if you aren't crazy yourself, but an explanation that makes sense is better than no explanation - even if it means someone broke into your house, apparently with no other purpose than to leave you a thousand dollars. Which has no other explanation other than a thought you had earlier. The real explanation is there, somewhere. You can find it later. But this is a good start. ""He's, uh, my uncle. He was just feeding my fish for me."" ""You don't have a fish."" ""I got one."" Lucy scowls at me. She knows I'm almost always full of shit, so she almost always regards me with the same chronic skepticism usually reserved for known liars and problem children. ""Well whatever you're getting into, stay safe, okay?"" She whirls around, her long, straight black hair making a disc around her head for a moment before she runs down the hall. I head out the front of my building, texting as I go. I let my guy know I need to meet him. He's always happy to grab coffee any time of the day or night. We slip into a booth at Jack's Old Fashion'd Diner. In my head, to me, it's ""Jack's Unnecessary Apostrophe Diner."" Private jokes are a little more fun when the voices in your head chuckle with you, but not by much. My guy has messy brown hair and snake green eyes. His white t-shirt is loose and semi-wrinkled like he slept in it. He probably did. ""So you come into some money, or what? What's with the house call?"" I never correct his haphazard speech. It seems like his mind is always catching up to where and when his body is. ""Something like that."" I say. He smirks. ""So you sure you only want that amount? I can provide a longer supply..."" ""I'm good with what I asked for. What, you tired of seeing me or somethin'?"" He takes a quick look around the restaurant, moves his hand near his coffee cup on a saucer, then slides it towards me. I pick it up, pour in some creamer, then push it back to him. He smiles and puts his hand in his pocket. ""You're getting better."" he grins. Gulping the rest of the coffee, he slides out of the booth. ""And you're finally learning just the right amount of cream. It's a finesse game, you know. An art."" I raise my eyebrows in a kind of ""yeah, uh-huh"" gesture. But he's already gone. Look, it's nothing crazy, okay? Self-medication kind of becomes necessary when you're in my position. Insurance doesn't cover the anti-psychotics my doctor wants me on. These are pretty close and they're half the price. I cut through the park on the way back to my place, crunching the pills and thinking about the man in my apartment. At times my life has become a blur of my mental projections and my reality, people coming and going, people I half-know and some, who after spending nights and days with, seem like the most real thing I know, turn out in the morning to only have been a fever dream, barely remembered. Ho boy. They're kicking in know. The grass in the park turns blurry, green blur, and things smooth out. The sky is a crystal. I can see past the atmosphere. Green is good. That's it. I'll try to remember. Revelations, revelations! They come. The time comes, and I feel it, and I know it, but to remember, ah. That is the thing. The thing which I grasp, yet not fully, yet oh the sky. Madness. Cooly I walk, cooly. No time for a rest, a spell. Who now is this dark figure, this devil beside me? I sit. A half-stand. Beside me on the bench. Who? *Are you okay there, friend?* He speaks from underwater - a merman. A sea creature. from the night of the world. *You're swimming in a narcotic sea, aren't you, pal?* ""My mind reaches... and takes. And beholds."" *But you see me, don't you?* A sharp change. a turn in the wind. felt but not seen. The man - the sea creature. i behold him now. no, not a stranger. a known person. a quantity. a memory. a voice. *I trust you found my first month's.* a shiver. a remembrance. money in a narrow paper box, a gift, a strange thing in a strange place. rent. ""My benefactor!"" i rise. i stand. the dark figure beside, he sits. a disk of flesh color spinning in place. The world becomes clear in phases. A flash here, and return to madness. I call this phasing. Far from frustration, the contrast makes the high even better. Sometimes I just want to get lost. But sometimes it's nice to see the world in two ways. Flicking the light switch. Now I see the man, dark suit and bowler hat. Old-timey, square jaw and flint eyes. Thick eyebrows. Well-kept. The kind of guy who looks like he'd smack is wife if his dinner wasn't hot at 5 o'clock sharp. A mean guy. *Just need to get a breath of fresh air, now and then. You get to be cooped up after a while.* A voice, yes. A body, no. Where the line is drawn, I never know. See this? The uncertainty? How can someone ever drive a stake in the ground, pull a string taught from it, and draw a circle, and say that within this is what I know? In a manner of speaking, of course. That's just it. No way to know what works, what is real, what is acknowledged. What can be known for sure. *I quite enjoy the room, you know. It's got some view. It's like going to the movies and seeing the character descend into madness. But I don't need to do it myself, you know? Living vicariously through people whose lives we don't want. That's the new American Dream, you know. It's too hard to actually do it. But experiencing it? That's easy.* i swim. i swim through air, sea of nothing fog. then i am in my bed, and time commences to discommence. i enter void and days go, hours go. sometimes shafts of light, sometimes shafts of night. but always moonlight, only positive or negative. my fish is dead. i held ceremony, sang sweet elegy to his name. Martin. Martin i called him. pain gnaws in the middle of me and i am missing something. the cosmos swirl and i am of it. the buzz. the hum of time and ratcheting gears of things i must remember. i must. i must... Awake. Sunlight. Thirsty. Hungry. Adjectives and nouns come one by one. I know it's the end of a bender. Pharmaceuticals mixed with mental illness can send you on a journey. Only afterwords do you decide if it was a trip worth taking. There's a cold bowl of soup next to my bed and slippers on the floor, ready to slip my feet into. A card draw in crayon propped up behind the soup. A picture of a goldfish with letter x's for eyes. Inside: ""Sorry about Martin."" I come back to life, slowly, attend to my human needs. Bathroom. Food. A shower has never felt so glorious. When I am fully alive again, I go to my desk to write, hopefully, while I still have the clarity for it. I go to sit down, and stop in half-crouch. An envelope is on the corner of my desk. Shaking, I look inside. Two thousand dollars, and a scrawled note: *Sorry about the mess.* &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; --- &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; Hey there! Thanks for reading. I'd love for you to subscribe to /r/xilead if you liked this, and would like to read more of my stories. &nbsp; edit: I am blown away by the response to this! Thank you all for reading and providing words of encouragement. If I ever turn this into a book, I will be sure to let each and every one of you know. Additionally, I've received many excellent reading recommendations. Keep them coming!",1640
 Opal Princess of Tyndaria,"""So, like, why'd you even save me then? What was that even all about?"" asked Rylene, the Opal Princess of Tyndaria. ""Jesus Christ, we've been over this like ten fucking times,"" replied Arnor of the Goat Hills, wiping the sweat from his brown, revealing the birthmark that, so long ago, first revealed him as the True Stonesword of Tyndis. The birthmark had set in motion a winding and daring journey, carrying him all through the length and breadth of Tyndaria, from the Ice Bog of Cooraba to the Sunken Salt Jungle, and then, at last, to here. To the privy chambers of Rylene, righteous heir of all the land, whose life and throne Arnor had single-handedly recovered from Ixuroth, Troll Wizard of the Dark Asunder. ""Yes, I saved you,"" Arnor continued, ""but, like, only because I was supposed to. Not because I, like, loved you."" ""Right, you saved me because I'm the fucking Opal Princess and you're the Stonesword and the fucking prophecy of Tyndis says we get fucking married. Arnor, why are you being such an asshole about this? Like, I'm rich, I have a castle, I know I'm hot, so what's even your problem?"" ""No, I mean - fuck there's not really a way you're going to understand. Okay. Have you ever seen a cat with a laser pointer? It just sort of chases it for no reason, right? Well, for me, all the quests just sort of started, and there was always this yellow arrow in the distance, so I basically just went wherever it wanted me to for no reason. Like, honestly, I didn't watch probably ninety percent of the cut scenes, so I really wasn't following the plot all that much because I'm actually more into the combat tactics and the visuals than the role playing stuff."" ""Okay, seriously, Arnor, I have no idea what you're saying, and actually you sound pretty stupid right now. Laser pointer, that's like, not even a word that exists. I had all the best tutors in Tyndaria so I should fucking know, unless it's some weird foreigner magic term you picked up in Wu Tuun La. But I hear all they do with cats out there is eat them, not let them chase stuff so..."" ""See, that's the problem with you, Rylene, you're frankly just kind of a racist bitch. I have no idea how a character like you gets past QA in 2018. I mean Ubisoft does a whole unskippable cultural sensitivity disclaimer, but here you are just shitting on people from Wu Tuun La when it's pretty fucking obvious what inspired the whole cultural aesthetic of that area of the map."" ""Okay, this is literally the most ridiculous conversation I've ever had, like, I'm literally ready to throw myself off the castle parapets. But I'm just going to chill because I know you're still dealing with the after effects from all the lines of beserker dust you snorted when you battled Ixy, and I know that was kind of my fault for not warning you he had those two additional astral forms, so I'll accept some blame here. So look, let's just take a beat, and we'll revisit this tomorrow."" ""What? No. The fucking potion lasts ten fucking seconds, it was honestly way under-powered for how hard the late stage missions were. I'm not high, I just don't want to fucking marry you. But if I was still high from berserker potions, then guess what? It would be because Nella mixed them so I could rescue your prissy entitled ass, so maybe it would be cool if you stopped calling her a useless desk bitch."" ""She is a useless desk bitch! Literally all she does is stand behind that stupid desk in her stupid apothecary twenty four hours a day. And every fucking time you go in, she's like: oh, I didn't see you there. What can I help you with? Bitch, the entire store is like ten square feet, and I'm the only customer, so I'm pretty sure you already saw me. Like, Arnor, she'd obviously just a phony thot who only cares about money."" ""Well guess what not everyone gets to be born Opal Princess! Some people have to actually earn a fucking living and it's not like Tyndaria is a bastion of social mobility! But, honestly, here's the main thing you just don't get, Rylene, which is that Nella was there for me since day one. I could always count on her to be fully stocked. When I was stuck in the Labyrinth of Jyrnyr for like three days, she was an absolute rock for me, always there to help. So, we got to know each other, right? Same way you got to know Ixy. Because that's what you called him, right? Ixy. Not Ixuroth, Troll Wizard of the Dark Asunder. He's Ixy to you. And, look, Rylene, I don't fucking blame you. I'm not the best at RPGs and I prefer to do all the side missions first. So it took me like four months to get to you. You and Ixuroth had a lot of time to hang out, and maybe something happened. Wouldn't be the first time a vapid hot chick hooked up with a messed up looking filth demon just to see how grateful he was. So, if all this rushing into marriage is just you feeling guilty, you don't gotta. I truly do not care if you were fucking the Troll Wizard. I won't tell anyone. Just let me and Nella go about our lives, and you can marry whatever Duke or Baron or creepy monster you want. Everyone wins."" ""Fuck off, Arnor, I know what this is really about."" ""Holy shit, you're the absolute worst, did I not just fucking explain it all to you?"" ""Bullshit! Bullshit bullshit bullshit! There's one reason and one reason only you're blowing me off for that useless desk bitch."" ""Oh yeah? What's that?"" ""Because of the stupid glitch where you can get her to take her boobs out! Well, I'm sorry Arnor! I'm sorry there's no glitch for making my boobs pop out! I'm sorry this absurdly low cut princess gown isn't enough for you!"" ""I'm not having this conversation anymore. I'm fast travelling to the tavern.""",1045
 The princess was still looking at me,"I scratched my head, feeling quite awkward as the rest of the city folk looked at where I stood next to the princess. 'I should have seen this coming, happens all the time in story book' I thought to myself. The princess was still looking at me, the smile on her face beginning to waver. I knew I had to say something. ""I'm sorry your highness, but I don't feel like we know each other well enough to consider such a thing, we just met after all."" I say, trying to divert the conversation as I did not want to publicly break the princess' heart. ""Nonsense, I know all I need to know about you. You are strong, faithful, courageous and wise, what more could a woman want in a husband?"" She says trying to get me on board with the idea. ""No, really, you were just in a very stressful situation. I think you should think if you are ready for that kind of relations-"" I tried again. ""But I don't need to reconsider! Every day I heard from some of the Dark King's minions about your exploits. How you rallied a town to beat back an entire battalion, or how you managed to sabotage a plan for the Dark King's rumored super weapon."" She said, her eyes sparkling. I let loose a small sigh 'I guess I will just have to come out and say it.' ""Alrigh, first off, it was not an entire town I rallied, and it was less than 25 soldiers that we fought, people just started spreading rumors that grew."" I say, my voice taking on a slightly commanding, bit still gentle tone. ""Second, I can't marry you, Princess. I am already wed to another."" I say, I can see her eyes drop as I say this. ""I was hoping to tell you privately, I wanted to make it as painless for you as possible."" I said. The princess looked dumbfounded. ""B-but all the fairytales? They all say that the hero saves the princess and they live happily ever after."" She said, tears starting to well in her eyes. I quickly try to comfort her, pulling her into a hug and patting her back. ""I know, and when I started my journey, I think that was what kept me motivated. The thought of marrying the princess of the land, the woman loved by all her subjects."" I recited something I had said a thousand times, before I had fallen for my wife that is. ""What changed?"" The princess asked. I couldn't see her face, but I could hear the deep sadness in her voice. I pulled away from the hug, but kept my hands on her arms. ""Well, my journey was long. Longer than I thought it would be, and much more difficult at that. But all along the way, there were certain people who supported me. I became great friends with one of the local blacksmiths, the steel she makes saved my life many times."" I begin, reminicing on the past year. ""And the innkeeper started keeping a standing bed for me, it helped after we stayed up all night drinking and singing to keep people's spirits up. But one person I place I found myself returning to more than any other, was the potion shop."" ""If I needed any kind of remedy, tonic, salve, or just about any other kind of medicine, she could make it faster than anyone else. I guess the frequency of my visits played a bit of a role in our falling in love. She was always willing to talk, has a great personality, and is willing to put her everything into helping others. I can safely say, that without her help, I wouldn't have been able to save you."" I told the princess. She still looked sad, but the tears had stopped. I tried to look her in the eyes, but she looked away, apparently to ashamed to look at me now. ""Listen, if you don't want to talk to me, that is fine. But I would still like to get to know you. We may not get a happily ever after like the fairy tales say, but we can still try and become friends."" I say, hoping that she will agree. I would much rather part on happy terms if I could. The princess didn't say anything for a few moments, now it was my turn to be worried about what she was going to say. Finally I saw her give a slight nod. ""I guess I can live with that."" She says. Hearing this, I give a sigh of relief. ""But,"" I hear her say, her tone making me freeze in place. ""I demand that I get to give you one kiss, as thanks for saving me and the realm from the Dark King's reign."" She said. I took a small step back in shock, before I heard a familiar voice. ""Oh go ahead you numbskull. You were talking about her all the time when we first met, it isn't gonna make me mad."" I hear my wife call out from the crowd. I look in her direction and see everyone staring at her. I look back toward the princess, who is blushing now. She looks at me and nods. I quickly look back to my wife, who also nods and then back to the princess. ""Well then, as it seems there are no objections from your wife..."" She trailed off. ""I guess, well then, let's... do this thing... I guess."" I say, feeling very awkward once again. The princess took a step towards me, placing her hands on both sides of my face. I tried to keep still. Soon enough, I felt the princess' breath on my face. I readied myself as best as I could. My eyes were closed, and no one was making a sound. I felt her soft lips press against my own. I heard people in the crowd cheer, even my wife. For a few seconds longer the kiss lingered. Luckily, it didn't feel as awkward as I thought it would. When we finally separated, I saw that my wife had managed to push her way to where the princess and I were standing. She climbed up onto the small stage that we were standing on and gave us both a big smile. ""Now that wasn't so hard, now was it?"" She asked me teasingly. I just waved her off. She turned to look at the princess and offered her hand. The princess slowly took my wife's extended hand a d shook it ""Sorry I ended up takin' your man princess, I didn't think I would end up fallin' for him in a million years. But life's got a funny way of workin' things out."" My wife said, using her other hand to scratch the back of her neck. ""I can understand that, I hope that he makes you happy."" The princess said, trying to smile. ""He already has."" My wife said. Suddenly she pulled the princess close to her and whispered something to her. I saw the princess' face flush red as she pulled away, quickly glancing between the two of us. ""Are you sure?"" The princess asked, her face still as red as a beet. My wife just nodded and threw an arm around me. ""If you say so."" The princess said, turning back to her subjects, trying to calm her still visible blush. I looked questioningly at my wife who just smiled slyly at me. ""Citizens, this concludes our ceremony, go celebrate with friends and family, for the reign of the Dark King is over!"" The princess exclaimed, getting cheers from her assembled subjects. She gave one last smile to me and my wife before she motioned for one of her servants to escort her back to the castle. With nothing else to do, my wife and I decided to start walking back to the house we had bought together. ""Hey,"" I began, causing my wife to look at me. ""What did you say to the princess right before the end of the ceremony?"" I asked, hoping to get an answer now that we weren't out in public. ""Oh, I just told her that if she wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow she would be more than welcome."" She said. ""Oh, is that all? Did you tell her we were going to be eating Dinner early that night?"" I asked. ""Yep,"" My wife said, then looked at me with a devilish smirk. ""I even told her why, and that she was welcome to stay for that part too."" ""WHAT?!"" ""I might have to make a double batch of that potion tonight."" P.S: Sorry about no place names or character names, I couldn't think of any that sounded good.",1472
 Hank stared at the image on the,"Hank stared at the image on the screen for a few more moments, and when he failed to smell yellow or taste cheese, he realized he was not having a stroke. He got up with a grunt and slowly made his way to the bedroom door. Moans emanated from beyond. Poking his head out into the darkness of the hall, Hank said, ""You alright down there?"" He flicked on a stairway light. ""Sir,"" said an adolescent voice at the bottom, ""I think I've broken an ankle."" Hank imagined the owner of the voice to be a pimply teen, maybe named Thomas. He knew differently, of course. ""Alright, son,"" said Hank. ""Now, I'm going to be coming down shortly. You're not gonna... eat me, are ya?"" ""That's--"" The thing sounded offended, then cleared its throat. ""I'm not going to eat you, sir."" The moans picked up again, but they were subdued. ""One moment,"" said Hank. He went and put on his robe, grabbed a flashlight, and rooted around in his closet until he found a dusty, battered box. Inside were some papers, a scuffed badge, and a black case. Inside, his service pistol. Hank took it out, loaded a few rounds, and tucked it into a robe pocket. Then he was going down the stairs, saying, ""I'm coming down now. Don't move quickly, don't roll around. Just stay still until I say so, alright?"" There was no answer, only weak groaning. ""Alright, son?"" prodded the retired officer. ""Yeah,"" said the monster at the bottom of the stairs. Hank made his way almost all the way down, stopping before the final few stairs, and flicked on another light. ""Hey,"" said the monster, squinting through the sudden brightness--though Hank felt sort of bad for thinking of it as a monster. That seemed a mischaracterization. It was huge, yes, and while that could definitely be a monstrous trait, it was the wrong kind of huge. It was Barney ""huge."" It was ""huge"" like Big Bird. There was, Hank had to admit to himself, something inherently cuddly about the creature. Its fur was mottled, a dotty mixture of whites and browns and greys: the colors of an Australian Shepherd dog. It had two antennae on its head, topped with little bulbs, like a cartoon bee. Next to its hand, as if dropped, was a glitter wand with a star-tip. The tutu it wore was almost but not quite totally pink; there was white trim. 'Bumblebee,' as a kind of moniker, came to mind. The bumblebee held its ankle and said, ""Could I have some help, sir? This is really very painful."" Hank crouched a few stairs above, keeping a wary distance from what looked to be some pretty massive paw-hands. Each had three fingers and a thumb, articulate, and each digit was tipped by a blunt claw--as long as a bear's, but not near as sharp. Hank wasn't entirely convinced the creature would use the claws, but he hadn't lived to be 64-years-old by being reckless. ""I have some medical know-how, and if there's nothing I can do, my sister is a veterinarian. She owes me a favor. First, though, I'd like to clear things up. Like, for instance, you do understand that you broke into a police officer's home?"" Hank was retired, but the bumblebee didn't have to know that. When it didn't answer, Hank said, ""Okay. Keep it simple. What are you doing in my house? In a tutu. With a wand."" ""I--"" He sighed. ""Sarah?"" ""What?"" ""Are you Sarah Barnes?"" it huffed, its round yellow eyes luminous and full of unconcealed pain. He wanted to say, *Do I look like a Sarah?* but instead: ""No,"" Hank said slowly, deliberately. ""My name is Hank. Sarah Barnes--well, she hasn't been around for a long time."" ""She doesn't live here?"" ""No,"" Hank said again. ""It's just me. How do you know that name?"" With a great amount of fanfare, the creature rolled around, wobbled back and forth, like it was reaching for something in a back pocket but just couldn't get there. Hank didn't feel the slightest itch of worry. The bumblebee, as far as he could tell, was completely harmless. Of course, Hank still tapped his finger impatiently against the handle of his gun in the robe, old habit, and the bumblebee seemed to notice. It went still, stared at Hank for a second with its doofy eyes, and then started searching again, frantically, making frustrated little noises. Hank almost laughed. He felt a strange admiration for the creature creeping up on him, which was a little annoying, because it'd just broken into his house. Despite himself, he thought it was cute, in a big Baloo kind of way. ""Here,"" it muttered, very proud, and flourished a yellowed scrap of parchment. It seemed ancient. ""Sarah Barnes, born 1976, to Ellen and Hank Barnes. Lives at 372 Stockport Lane, Windsworry, Minnesota."" Hank waited a second for the creature to make the connection, and when it didn't, Hank decided it didn't matter and that the poor guy was still in pain. ""Doesn't exactly answer my question, so how about you keep talking and I'll see what we can do about your ankle."" ""Alrighty,"" said the bumblebee with some exuberance. ""My list told me to come here, to the home of Sarah Barnes, and help out any way I could."" Hank was nodding, listening, and was starting to examine the creature's ankle, when it suddenly barked out, ""Wait!"" Hank almost reached for his gun. ""Don't yell,"" he grunted and then, looking into its yellow cat's eyes, said, ""What is it?"" ""I think I need milk. It's hard to explain but, for me, milk is like a... a... I don't know the word. But it makes pain not so painful."" ""Analgesic?"" ""Okay."" Its eyes held absolutely no recognition, but there was something like a smile there. Hank squinted, and then smiled back, if faintly. ""Alright, I'll be back with some milk. I needed some supplies, anyway. One second, son."" As he went into the kitchen and did everything he needed to do, he realized it could be a girl, for all he knew. Hell, could be it didn't have a gender or sex or whatever you called it these days. *Wait,* he told himself. *Slow down.* Hank paused momentarily, reaching inside. For panic, a sense of deep disturbance, something. But all he found was a slight ache and a desire to help the injured bumblebee curled up at the bottom of his staircase. And he realized, with some satisfaction, that that was fine. Hank came out, saying, ""Alright, so--"" There was no creature. ""I'm here, sir,"" said the bumblebee, its voice coming from the living room. ""I crawled to these long, fluffy chairs. With the marshmallows on them."" Hank, mindful of his bum leg, moved quickly into the living room: ""Those aren't..."" The bumblebee, spread out on one of the couches, already had a big white pillow shoved in its fanged maw. It struggled to swallow, and then it did. Hank could only be impressed; Ellie had picked out those ugly things, decades ago, and she hadn't taken them with her. He laughed. ""Aren't good is right, sir. What a terrible marshmallow. I could barely even chew it."" ""To wash it down,"" said Hank, and handed the bumblebee its milk. He sat down across from it, on the other couch. A small table was between them. ""Thank you,"" it said, and drained the cup in one swallow. ""Refreshing,"" it whispered with a sigh. ""I have some bad news."" The bumblebee looked alarmed. ""What's wrong? Are you okay?"" ""Oh, I'm fine. It's just, I don't have what I thought I have. So, I had to give my sister a call. It's going to be awhile before she gets here."" ""Is that all, sir? I don't mind."" Hank chuckled. ""You do seem comfortable, all things considered."" The creature smiled softly. ""You said Sarah hasn't been around for a while."" ""Died. Back in... '89."" Hank sank back, allowing the ache to encircle him. It hurt but it could not kill. ""Drunk driver hit her. She was crossing the street."" ""I'm sorry,"" said the bumblebee. ""And your wife? Where is she?"" ""Left, few years after. We didn't work well after that. I fell into work. Looking back, I know I didn't give her the support she needed. But I resented her for not supporting me. I should have been seeing someone."" ""If I may,"" the creature said, gently, ""you had just lost your daughter. Both of you. There's no use assigning any blame. That kind of loss would ruin anyone."" ""I know,"" said Hank, and he did. ""I just wish."" The bumblebee said, ""I used to make wishes."" It held its wand, pulled one of the ribbons hanging off. The bumblebee met Hank's eyes with its own slitted, glowing pair. ""But then it came to me that I was only making my reality worse, because I knew a wish would never come and change everything for me. I had to make the changes myself. They weren't the kinds of changes I wanted, originally. I could never fix my life like magic could. But I could understand the problems I was trying to wish away, and somehow, some way, I could try to make it all manageable."" ""Sounds like we've both had our... difficulties."" Hank stared, holding on to the ache that wound around his ribs like a ribbon. ""Thank you for talking to me."" The bumblebee gestured vaguely with its wand, smiling, just as a car pulled up to the house and lights shined through the window, the gauzy curtains. Hank turned. He could see his sister's disheveled appearance through the windshield of her car. She looked pissed and damn tired. Laughing, he turned to the creature, only to find an empty spot on the couch, with a slip of yellow parchment paper. It read: **Call me, if you ever want to talk. I'll stop by for marshmallows and a glass of milk. Maybe the marshmallows could be a little tastier next time.** Hank sank back into the couch. He folded the note reverently, placed it in his pocket, and thought, *She is gonna flip her shit.* Hopping over the backyard fence, down into a dark alley, the bumblebee heard Hank laughing and began jogging away on two good ankles.",1728
 Hawk thought the zombie apocalypse would be,"God, I really hate going on drug runs. In fact, I hate going on any runs at all. I thought the zombie apocalypse would be kind of fun, you know, like a video game or something, but the thrill wears off pretty quickly once your life is in actual danger almost every time you step outside. And let's not forget getting to watch someone you know turn. It isn't just a quick transition from one second being human then all of a sudden, boom, they are a zombie. No, they writhe around like a suffocating fish on land while you can audibly hear their bones snapping and dislocating as they convulse violently for about half a minute. Honestly, it amazes me that those things can move at all after going through all of that. ""Hawk! Check this out!"" my squad member, Axel, calls to me across the room. ""Not so fuckin' loud, dude! They'll hear you,"" I whisper angrily back to him as I make my way there. Axel really isn't the brightest crayon in the toolshed, but he is damn handy when it comes to electronics and vehicles. Think he said he was a mechanic or an electrician or something before the world went to shit. Whatever he was, he is useful is all that matters, and being useful keeps you alive in our community. Everyone has to pull their weight or else they get the boot, which is basically a death sentence to be sent out into the wilds alone. I don't really have many discernable skills except that I am a really good shot. My name isn't actually Hawk, it's Billy Watkin, but everyone calls me Hawk or Hawkeye 'cuz I'm notorious for headshotting those monsters. I used to spend a lot of time down at the gun range, which I guess ended up saving my ass because if I couldn't split brains I would have been kicked out of the community faster than an infected person. And so, I am stuck with going on supply runs as my primary duty because killing is all that I'm really good for. We all gather around Axel to see what he found. He seems pretty excited. ""Guys, I found, like, 30 bottles of antibiotics and about 10 bottles of pain killers. Jackpot!"" he declares to the team with a cheek-to-cheek grin. ""Well done, Axel,"" says Camie, who is still scanning the room for movement, ""Should hold us over for quite a while."" ""Alright, that's great and all, but we still have more things to find,"" spouts Valk impatiently. Camie and Valk are two women I thank God every day are a part of my squad. Camie is our field medic and can close a wound faster than you can say ""ouch."" She used to be an EMT and has saved my ass more than I'd care to admit. Valk used to be a ranger in the army, and although I don't like to admit it, she can out shoot me any day. It's nice to have another sharpshooter like her watching my back. We actually don't even know her real name because she was introduced to us as Valkyrie, or Valk for short, named after the female Norse warriors I presume from how badass she is. ""Good point, Valk, let's keep moving upstairs. Everyone form up,"" I order as we move towards the stairs. As we clear the area at the top of the stairs there is a symphony of loud thudding and an intense yelling. ""Shit! Survivor!"" Camie exclaims as she pushes forward, revolver in hand. We move quickly to the location of the screaming to find a fairly short, young looking guy being attacked by three undead. He seems to have been overpowered and lies still on the floor. Valk fires three shots and each connects with the head of a zombie. ""Targets down. I got the door. Hawk, check him out,"" she orders calmly, like it's just another day at work. I walk over to the guy to check the damages, but it looks like we got to him a bit too late. They had already started to rip him apart and no matter how good Camie is, she can't help him with that. ""Dead,"" I bark back to the team as a status update. It's at that moment when I turn my head slightly to call this out to my squad that I realize something. He isn't shaking. ""Oh fu-"" I blurt out as the corpse wraps its arms around my neck and pulls me down. It grabs me tight and squeezes me with all its might. God Almighty it is strong. We roll around on the floor wrestling for my life. There's no clear shot for my team to take. It opens its maw and lunges toward me. With nothing left but my adrenaline and a desperate, primal need to survive, I bite its arm to try to make it lose its grip or distract it. Obviously, this doesn't make much sense because it can't feel pain, but it's all I could think to do in the moment. Immediately, it drops me and begins to convulse violently. What the hell happened? What is it doing? We all stand silently with our guns raised to its head and watch. His skin goes from a greenish pale to a lively tannish hue. His eyes go from a glassy white to dark brown. His severe gashes begin to mend themselves. He eventually stops rattling and then cries out in pain. ""Oh God! Someone please help me!"" the young man yells out in panic, as if he is still being attacked. ""Hey now relax, buddy,"" Axel coos to him in a soothing voice, ""we killed those fuckers. It's all good."" ""H-He turned back. Hawk, what did you do to him?"" Camie roars at me. ""I have no clue. Uh, I-I-I couldn't reach any weapons in time so I just, uh, bit him I guess,"" I try to explain, but am still dumbfounded. Valk chuckles, presumably at how dumb I sound, and turns back to watch the door again. ""W-Who are you guys? W-What happened to me?"" questions the young man. ""No time for questions now, kid,"" Camie replies curtly, ""Team, screw the supply run. We gotta get this guy back to town ASAP to study. I'll bind his remaining wounds and let's move."" We all grunt in agreement. I'm not sure what's going on, but this could change everything. ___________________________________________________________________________________________ [Part 2 is up!]",1086
 The report on the Humans had only,"""I don't understand, how could this be? The report on the Humans had only been published a few cycles ago, surely you must be..."" Senator Courl looked over the reports, there was simply no way that they could be a mistake. Mistaking one entire System for another was unheard of but here they were. ""Numbers, I need numbers. The last we've heard only two countries were attempting to reach the stars, what do we have now?"" The gelatinous mass that made up the physical manifestation of the Artificial Intelligence, 'Murq' vibrated with information as it spoke, ""The Humans now have complete dominion over their shared space, designation E-762/763. With the advent of what is being described as a Resonance Manipulation Chamber their technological expansion has increased by a factor of 43. Fusion technological breakthroughs using the Resonance Manipulation Chamber has been what can only be described as 'perfected' and the colonization of the entire system has taken place over the past hundred E-762/763 Cycles. The Humans have also advanced in terms of their own genetic engineering along with a coupling of machine interfaces with their own internal nervous systems. This has led to an explosion in population and an almost complete decline in any defects within their gene pool. Preliminary scans from our first encounter with the race had estimated several billion to be living on their home planet of E-762/763-G however more recent reports over the area have revealed their overall population to be somewhere in the several trillions. Pause."" Hearing the pause signaled an end to this particular strand of information and the advancement of this species and how quickly they could reproduce was disturbing news to Courl. What was even more disturbing however and hadn't even been discussed as of yet was the fact that the humans were at war with each other. Shaking his head, Courl was already trying to think of how to report this to his superiors that were on their way to E-762/763. It would be some time before the armada would arrive but Courl and his small scouting and science force could only hope they wouldn't be discovered in that time by these rampaging humans. ""Why are they fighting one another?"" The question was direct but there was no need for pleasantries with the AI, Murq. ""Signals intercepted and translated using Interlacing Decryption Receivers have revealed humans to be separated into several factions. The four largest factions include: The Titan Machine Cult, Gala-Inter Mindnet, The Freed Stations of the Belt and The Venusian/Martian Hold. These factions have been at odds for some time from what information we can gather and their differences have led to an interplanetary conflict between these factions and several more. Pause."" ""What differences are we dealing with here?"" Courl wanted to know more in hopes for providing a report to his superiors that could paint the humans in a more vulnerable light. ""Trade routes, dispersmberment of resources from different areas within E-762/763, moral avenues of research, worshiping of different entities and political parties have all been marked as reasons for this war. Pause."" Murq began to vibrate wildly and visibly, causing Courl some concern. The AI hadn't veered from the conversation at hand so Courl thought perhaps it was nothing of importance. ""Is there anyway we can estimate the losses?"" Everything here was wrong and the Senator was worried the news he could send to the armada wouldn't be pleasant. Though perhaps if the humans destroyed each other before they arrived... things might be a little different. But in this world the humans lived in there was no telling how fast they would develop even in the time it was taking the armada to make it to E-762/763. ""Loss count found in human data stores. Computing."" The AI vibrated more, its gel exterior shifting colors for a moment. ""Possible error. Human loss count to be approximately 112. Pause."" ""112? In an interplanetary war? Impossible, redo the calculations."" Murq began its processing which took some time. It was quiet in the observation chamber of the science vessel. Courl looked to the viewing screens that showed E-762/763 along with statistics scrolling down the sides. While Murq continued its process, Courl then typed up a command that would bring up a simulation that showed the human's reach from the first encounter to this one. It would seem that every year the human's technology doubled and finally it reached a point where several key inventions brought about unprecedented boosts in tech and the economy. The simulation showed from that from Earth, long reaching strands began to touch almost every possible place for colonization within E-762/763. Soon, the entire area was marked as occupied. Shaking his head, Courl was about to ask another question before Murq broke the silence. ""111. A single death has been subtracted from the sub total as this loss of life was via an accident during the launch of a factory satellite. Pause."" ""Explain how these... creatures could be at war with such a small death count."" Courl's voice was demanding as he stared at the simulation on the screen. ""Due to a human trait, loss of life has been deemed unacceptable throughout their factions. Use of drones and unmanned equipment are used to ensure minimal of loss of life. Pause."" Murq then began to vibrate almost violently once more. ""What is it, Murq?"" ""Final conclusion has been reached regarding the strange behavior of humans. Pause."" Courl's several eyes all narrowed in surprise at once, ""Well? What is it?"" ""Interplanetary war has been deemed a game."" ""A game? What do you mean a game?"" Shock rippled through Courl's fragile body as he took in the information. ""Conflict that we have perceived as a war is nothing more than a sport of such. Factions within the human dominion work to construct the most capable equipment of destruction and then allow these pieces of equipment to engage in combat. These engagements are recorded and broadcast within E-762/763 for what the humans consider entertainment. Pause."" This changed everything. The strangeness of it, the unexpected outcome of the scouting reports, everything was wrong. Suddenly, fear gripped the Senator as he thought of what might happen should the armada arrive in full force. They were originally expecting a single planet that was undefended. Their empire was to subdue the planet, mine E-762/763 of resources and then release E-762/763-G to its devices. Now however, how might this destructive species react to the arrival of an alien armada in full force? ""Murq, run a calculation for me."" ""Input required."" ""With what is scheduled to arrive with the armada, could we reasonable quell the human forces long enough to successfully harvest E-762/763?"" Looking at the gelatin AI, its colors began to shift once more. Expecting an answer reasonable quickly, Courl waited for a few more moments. Several hours had passed and Murq was unresponsive to additional inquiries by Courl, so the Senator left the room. It had been several days and Courl had busied himself with some of the lesser important tasks regarding the study of different elements found in E-762/763. The abundance of some resources was good news as they were in need of most. Finally, Murq's voice came. Courl almost jumped as the AI spoke for the first time in days and looked to the blob of gel as it spoke, ""Calculations complete. Actual human force numbers are uncountable. Production of heavy equipment is too fast to calculate. Production of unmanned equipment is too fast to calculate. Production of space faring equipment is too fast to calculate. Production of defensive networks around human colonies is too fast to calculate. Weaponized technology advancement is beyond current armada's use. Risk of loss when armada enters E-762/763 is complete. Technological tier 12 has been applied to Humanity. Pause."" Courl took in the information with growing fright. Technological tiers higher than 7 which his race now enjoyed could only be found in science fiction and the most imaginative minds. Why then did the humans stay within E-762/763? The answer might never be known. But it was clear that the plans his empire had had would never come to be. Now one of the most difficult questions ever to have been asked must be answered. Should they or should they not contact the humans? Edit: My first gold ever! Thank you so much kind individual!",1395
 Maverick's muscles bulged so,"The muscles in Maverick's legs bulged so hard his jeans exploded - leaving him in hot pants. He leapt high and with earth-shattering force slammed into the ground next to the enemy, and swung. His fist collided with the enemy's cheek, who recoiled from the impact. Well, it sorta looked that way. Had he taken the punch head on, Maverick's self-confidence wouldn't have been the only thing shattered. Bart synthesized some blood in his mouth, just another power, and spat it at the ground, staggering. Maverick held up his fist threateningly, ""This ends now, Count Bartholomew."" Bart sighed internally. Ah, there's that name again. Bart just wasn't good enough for the media. The magazines had run with it and before he knew, it had stuck. Count Bartholomew coughed. Hey, hey, hey. Just Bart, okay? You're not getting away with that. I'm hearing this. Omniscience. Yeah, the list of powers was lengthy. Just call me Bart or I'm taking over and narrating this myself. ....*Bart* coughed, or mimicked a cough as well as he could - it had been a while, ""Curses, Maverick."" yelled Bart, making an exaggerated gesture, ""And all of you of the Hero Squad!"" What? Exaggerated? I'm just giving them what they want. They want sneering and finger pointing. Y'know what? Move over. You suck at this. I'll tell it like it is. Dashingly handsome Bart recovered gracefully, only suffering a minor bruise. His black hair literal perfection. His graceful smile illuminating the poorly lit warehouse. His delicious tors--- Hey, hey. Bart dodged a swing from Maverick, the force causing a nearby wall to explode. He leapt backwards onto some high metal shelves, barely dodging the bullets shot by Sheriff Daisy. He then -- Hold on, whoops. He.. Dammit. Ah! That's my nose! Jerk. He th-- Take over will you? Overwhelmed and out-of-breath, Bart left narration to the professionals. So that he himself could focus on the fight, *that had just barely begun*. Almost on command, the dust brought afloat by the destroyed wall settled, and a squadron of heroes stepped forward to join Maverick and Daisy. Muscle-bulging physical types, scantily-clad women, and some kid-prodigy called Kevin. The lengths some of these heroes would go for stylepoints. Speedster Jessica, running at the speed of sound - on high heels. A battle with Jessica is like fighting an angry rattle, heels ticking against the pavement on every step. You'd wonder how those heels manage to last. Well, they don't. If she wasn't sponsored by a local shoe store, she'd probably be forced to go bare-foot. Muscle hero Maverick with his love for skin-tight clothing, despite his muscle-pumping power. Sheriff Daisy who could shoot projectiles from anywhere on her body, but insisted on using finger-guns. Apparently you can only fire so many bullets from your nostrils before people start to make fun of you. You could tell her to turn her nose up at that kind of behaviour, but this just made people raise their hands and surrender. And Kevin, with his ... well, nobody really knew what Kevin did. He just seemed to always be there when things went *right*. Monster around? Kevin around? Monster beaten? There you have it. Like a dance group with perfect choreography, the heroes approached Count Bartho - Hey! - *Bart*. A perfect circle, nowhere to go. Every escape route cut off. Bart thought long and hard. It was the kind of heavy thinking you're forced to do when you're tallying up the lies and attempt to keep your story straight. Do they know about the flying power? The water one? The magnificent moleman power? Faced with uncertainty and doubt, he decided on an old villain favourite. He dashed towards the edge of the circle, ran straight at one of the heroes, and pushed over Kevin. Then ran away. ""Nehehhehe!"" sneered Bart loudly, fighting down the crippling embarrassment of having *Nehehehe'd*. ""He's getting away!"" shouted Maverick. ""I'm getting away!"" confirmed Bart. Bart ran as fast as he thought a middle-aged villain would run and ran that exact speed. I mean, bolting for it at light speed would kind of put a damper on things. He even faked a ""Oh, god. Why do I never go to the gym? I even have a membership"" - wheeze while he ran. A scream came from behind and Bart froze, it was the unmistakable scream of Speedster Jessica. He had heard it once before, back when she turned an expensive pair of designer heels into fancy lines on the pavement. She became the hero of crayon-wielding kids everywhere. Bart looked over his shoulder to see Kevin wring the life out of Maverick. Monster around? Kevin around? Monster beaten? There you have it. ""I've been plotting, planning, scheming."" said Kevin with a voice like an angry parakeet, ""My creations have failed me, but I'll dabble in those experiments no more."" Kevin behaved in the way a preschooler would think a villain should behave. He only missed a few henchman and some angry muttering of ""You fools!"". Who's gonna take a villain like this seriously? Kevin tossed aside the lifeless collection of muscles that once went by the name of Maverick. Well, maybe Bart could make an effort to try. He jogged back towards the circle of heroes, ""Heya, fellas."" he tried, ""Just letting you know that I've been escaping and I just wanted to sorta let you know."" Kevin's eyes landed on Bart, ""You,"" he tweeted, ""I'll dispose of you first."" Bart snorted, then coughed, ""Oh no!"" he cried. The heroes rallied around Bart. ""Please find safe cover, *citizen*"" said Sheriff Daisy, ""Leave this to the pros."" Bart felt a foreign feeling of warmth creep over him, an odd sense of acceptance. ""Beat it, loser."" added Jessica. The feeling retreated into a level of non-existence so severe, it shouldn't exist, and puzzled philosophers for decades to come. His mind sought for a retort, found nothing, and settled on mimicking Jessica's voice in a high tone, ""*'Beat it loser'*."" Kevin waved a hand and a sprouting pillar of earth introduced Speedster Jessica to high-speed in a new direction. up. Today had proven very educational for Jessica for after hitting the ceiling of the warehouse, she also learned about *down*. Bart watched Jessica writhe in pain while he contemplated if he should do something or not. A massive stone pillar shot out of the ground towards him, missing him by an inch after a timely save by Sheriff Daisy. She quickly got to her feet and pumped her left arm like a shotgun, ""Go! Quickly!"" she said, firing several shots from her fist at the Kevin. A stone wall effortlessly put itself between the hail of pellets and Kevin. She took a boxing pose and executed a clean 1-2, large projectiles emitting from her fists on every thrust. Kevin held up his hands and shards of earth collided with the projectiles in mid-air, causing minor explosions. She jumped and spun in the air, executing some complicated spin-kick movement. Or she would've, if a large pillar of earth hadn't introduced her to the floor. ""Dang."" commented Bart. Nearby Jessica wheezed, ""Count Bartholomew,"" she coughed, ""You need to.."" Bart rolled his eyes and read her mind, informing him that she wanted him to report to the hero bureau, to ask for assistance. Who really has time for lengthy death rattles? ""Well, I could,"" began Bart, ""But, y'know, I could also try..."" ""No,"" croaked Jessica, ""You don't stand a chance."" ""How generic is this,"" said Bart, ""The writer is a lazy piece of shit, but I'll forgive him because it's 1AM and he has to work tomorrow."" Bart put his hands into the pockets of his jeans and approached Kevin. ""You human then?"" asked Bart. Kevin cackled, a sound which closely resembled the death throes of a choking pidgeon, ""You fool!"" ""Hey, there it is."" said Bart. The preschooler raised an eyebrow, ""My kind has controlled yours from the shadows for millennia. I am the puppet master, the controller, I.. "" Bart snapped his fingers and Kevin ceased to exist.",1346
 I leave the comfort of my apartment,"I've always hated attention. I leave the comfort of my apartment only when necessary. That includes work, the grocery store, for short walks, and on rare occasions, the gym. So when I stepped outside to take a walk on the trail near my building, I all but froze. Usually there are quite a few people mucking about. I live in a nice area and in the summer people like to enjoy the market that pops up on the weekend. It just happened that I had to pass that market to get to the trail. I stepped onto the sidewalk and immediately everyone's eyes were glued to my face. Well, not at my face, per se, but at the general area above my head. My heart immediately started to beat fast, and not just because of the attention. Usually someone only garners this much attention when their health bar is extremely low. I had seen it happen myself a few times. Once was enough to scar me for life. An old man stepping out of a coffee shop with his health rapidly draining. It flashed red and he clutched his heart. A minute later he was dead from cardiac arrest. It's something no one can help. Once your health bar drains too low, not even the miracle of modern medicine can save you. The bots had tried though. They swarmed the old man quickly, administering shocks to try and restart his heart. But he was gone, somewhere the living can only imagine exists. So when everyone's eyes shot to my health bar, I thought I was done for. I looked left and right, expecting either a car to swerve onto the sidewalk and flatten me, or a gunman to run out of the bank next to my apartment and kill me, an innocent bystander. But when nothing happened right away, and no ones eyes had left the area above my head, I took a breath and chanced a glance upwards. Well that was unexpected. My health bar was full, I was in completely good health. Not to be unexpected. That wasn't what they were staring at, however. Right below my health bar, a strange blue bar had appeared. It was slowly growing in strength. I watched as it filled and a strange glow surrounded it. Now I'd played enough video games to have an inkling of what was going on. But I wasn't in a video game. Mana wasn't a real thing. What the hell was going on? A little girl who clung to her mothers hand pointed at me. ""Mommy, what's that?"" She just shook her head and tugged her daughter away from me. She wasn't the only one either. More and more people were moving out of my way. They seemed to be scared of this new bar that had appeared. My heart failed to slow and I wondered if this was some sort of warning that, even though I was in perfect health, something terrible was happening to me. I had never seen this bar before. What could it mean? I turned to head to the trail only to see more people shying away as I walked. No one wanted to be within twenty feet of me. They all stared and moved out of my way, as if whatever I had was contagious. I walked slow, reaching the trail far later than I should have. The sun was just beginning to dip in the sky and I what I had planned on being a relaxing Sunday afternoon had become something of a nightmare. I didn't like random strangers coming up and talking to me, but the thought that people I'd never even talked to being afraid to even walk near me was making me both sad and angry. What did I ever do to any of them? The trail was empty, thankfully. I didn't want to deal with anymore stares. I walked in silence, and although I didn't forget this strange, blue bar, I was able to relax within nature. I stopped in my usual spot, a bench overlooking the lake. The sun cast brilliant colors into the sky. A watercolor painting of reds, oranges, and pinks. I sat, fully ready to enjoy the sunset before returning and making supper. I didn't hear the footsteps on the gravel as they approached. Only felt the hand as it was placed firmly on my shoulder, making me squeak embarrassingly and jump off of the bench. Six people stood before me. A rather tall, but slim man held his hand up in apology. ""I didn't mean to scar you,"" he said. ""I thought you would have heard us."" ""Who are you?"" ""I'm Gerald,"" he answered. ""This is Marie, Thomas, Jessie, Pippa, and Luka. We're here for you."" My heart rate immediately spiked again. Where they here because of the blue bar? Where they going to kidnap me? Where they going to kill me? They didn't look like government agents. They were in street clothes and none of them seemed to be carrying weapons. The girl at the end erupted in laughter. ""No, honey. We're not the government."" She turned to the man next to her. ""She thinks we're here to kill her."" He started laughing as well. Gerald looked sharply at them. ""Enough."" They quieted but their smiles didn't waver. How in the world did she know what I was thinking. There was no such thing as mind reading. I must be imagining things. The afternoon had been stressful and now I was just making things up. ""Nope,"" the girl said. ""I apologize for Pippa,"" Gerald said. ""She's the newest. She hasn't yet learned protocol."" ""I've been here for three years!"" she wined. ""And yet you still don't know how to behave!"" The women on the far right waved her hand and Pippa was enveloped in a strange cylinder. I watched as her mouth continued to move but no sound reached my ears. She pounded on her encasement but it only waved like it was made of water, or gel, and then stilled again. She folded her arms and stared daggers at the the other woman, who just tucked her red hair behind her ears and gestured for Gerald to continue. ""Thank you Marie,"" he said. ""Now, I understand that you don't have a clue about what is happening. Trust me, we've all been there. But you need to come with us now. Everything will be explained, I promise, but we don't have time. It chose you."" ""What chose me?"" ""Not here,"" he said, hushed. ""You never know what may be listening."" What, not who. These people were either crazy or on some serious trip. I glanced over my shoulder for a way to leave, but I didn't fancy a steep descend down a grassy slope, most likely ending in a sprained ankle of some sort. Pippa pounded on her fluid-prison, pointing at me. ""Not now,"" Gerald said to her before beckoning me to follow them. ""We don't have much time before they arrive."" Pippa continued to gesture at me, shouting something. Marie growled but waved her hand again, dissolving whatever it was that had held her. I took my chance while they were distracted. I moved right as she shouted that I was going to run. Suddenly I was frozen. Both my feet hovered off the ground as I was stuck mid-stride. I couldn't turn my head to see them. I couldn't so much as twitch my pinkie toe. I fell as Gerald grabbed me. ""I am sorry,"" he said, his deep voice reverberating through my body. ""You'll thank us later."" Then I was nowhere. I couldn't see anything but pure blackness. But I could hear everything. Quick footsteps down the gravel trail, incoherent shouts made by unseen people, a car door slamming, it's engine starting. I felt the vibrations as we moved quickly down the street and then I felt nothing. Saw nothing. Heard nothing. Was nothing. I don't know how long I was out or how far I had traveled. When I finally pried my eyes open do a soft, dim light over my head, I found that I was lying on the worlds most comfortable mattress. An IV was attached to my left inner arm and a multitude of machines surrounded me, beeping every so often. ""Ah,"" someone said off to my left. A young man sat in the chair there. He was with the group that took me. I knew it hadn't been a dream right then. Whoever those people were, they had actually kidnapped me and stuck me with a needle. ""Welcome back. I didn't know how long you'd be out. Jessie goes a little crazy sometimes when we're under attack."" ""Under attack?"" I mumbled. He stood, retrieving a wheelchair I hadn't seen before from the corner. He helped me out of the bed and into it. ""Don't worry, you're safe here. I'm taking you to the rest of the team now."" ""Team?"" ""Not much of a talker, are you?"" he chuckled. ""You'll get along great with Marie."" He continued the chatter as he wheeled me down a long hallway lined with pictures of people, all from different time periods it seemed. There was one woman in Victorian garb next to another in Viking attire. There seemed to be no pattern to their placement. ""Here we are."" He pushed me through a doorway into the most elaborate dining room I'd ever been in. Thick, heavy curtains colored blood-red were cinched on either side of floor length windows. The table stretched form one end to the other yet most of the chairs were empty. At the very far end the rest of my kidnappers sat, eating what smelled like roasted chicken. My mouth watered and my stomach rumbled. The man stopped me in front of Gerald who sat at the head of the table. ""Leane Tumatchu,"" he started, his voice so deep that I could feel it in my chest. ""Welcome to The Collective."" Find more at",1671
 Al-Si Nib Dar was sentenced,"The system beeped. ""This is an interview relating to incident number K-23 within Extra-Max facility 120. Please state your name, inmate number, charges and sentence for the benefit of the recording"" said one of the officers. He was the taller of the two, a pencil thin mustache cresting his top lip and a thin dusting of salt and pepper hair on top of his head. Before Al-Si answered, the shorter (and fatter, by a wide margin) officer broke out into a coughing fit. The taller officer gave him a glare and silence once again fell. Now they both turned expectantly to Al-Si. ""Al-Si Nib Dar, Inmate number 746583, charged with 18 counts of inter-planetary arms trafficking and one of evading arrest via violent means. Sentence was originally 35 years, but I successfully appealed three of the arms charges due to the mishandling of evidence and got it reduced to 29. Have served 15 so far."" ""Thank you, Mr Nib Dar. Now, to the best of your recollection could you please explain the events leading to the incident last week?"" Al-Si shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He'd been taken from his cell, taken from the prison proper for the first time in 10 years (since his last trip to court to appeal the charges) and unusually for transfers between the prison proper and other areas, he had not had any of his cybernetic augmentations disabled. While avoiding the painful procedure of having the augs shut down was a good thing, he knew he could do nothing with them and the itching caused by having his left eye suddenly working again, free from the prison proper's blanket disabling field, was sending him crazy. ""Well we heard in the morning that the new crop was coming in. Old Cleaver was taking bets on the first to crack and call a guard as usual. Then the bell rang and we all went to our cells."" ""Cleaver. This would be Pat Cleaver, yes?"" the shorter officer interjected. Al-Si nodded, continuing. ""Umm, then they walked in."" ""They being the new inmates?"" the tall officer prompted, when Al-Si paused. ""Yes. Most of them were the normal fare, but I noticed her instantly. She couldn't have been more than 13."" Now it was the tall officer's turn to shift uncomfortably. ""She's 11, actually."" Al-Si shuddered. ""She went to her cell silently, same as all of them, and we stayed in our cells till yard time. When the guards came round for checks, I mentioned her to Officer Bright."" The shorter officer took a note in his little pad. ""What exactly did you say to Officer Bright, and what did he respond, Mr Nib Dar?"" ""I said ""Jesus Christ Bright, what are they playing at sticking a girl like that in a place like this?"" and he looked at me like he wanted to be sick. ""I know. They must really not give a shit what happens to the rest of you."" He muttered."" The short officer coughed again, but thankfully only once. ""And what was the next significant moment in the lead up to the incident, Mr Nib Dar?"" ""Si, please. Um, the next moment was yard time. We were walking out as normal-"" ""Mr N-Si, who exactly were you with as you left for the yard?"" Al-Si hesitated. The memory was painful. ""Um, I was walking with Galfar and Bones, uh Galfar Zem and Vice Vickers. We didn't get 5 steps out the door before everyone we could see in front of us broke into a sprint."" ""So, when you saw this rush, what did the three of you do?"" ""Galfar shrugged and went inside. He took a plasma bolt to the hip in the last riot and he still gets spasms in his foot so he didn't want any part of anything. Me and Vice ran too, out of curiosity."" ""Okay then Si, and when you reached the source of the disturbance what did you witness?"" The tall officer asked, as his short companion flipped to a new page in the notebook and poised his pencil. ""It was horrible."" Neither Officer spoke immediately, but after a moment the short officer piped up. ""Please state exactly what you saw. I know it was distressing."" Al-Si scoffed. Distressing? He had been an interplanetary arms dealer for 14 years, and a bloody good one. So good, in fact, that he ended up with 15 charges for an offence he'd committed hundreds of times and one lesser charge than deserved for rigging a booby trap that took out three of the four officers sent to apprehend him. Death, violence, blood, gore, none of it phased him. He was no psycho, but he was no pussy. What that girl had done...it was beyond distressing. ""It wasn't her actions. I mean...they were bad enough."" He managed to choke out. ""It...it was the glee on her face. I've never seen anyone so happy. It was like...like a child who'd never seen a present before on his first Christmas. She...she tore that guy's arm off and she took a bite out of it as though it was a chocolate cake. And the whole time, the whole time, she giggled and grinned."" The shorter officer looked a little sick. He was lucky. He'd seen the pictures, probably. Maybe the footage if there was any that wasn't obscured by the mass of bodies watching the carnage. But he hadn't had to witness it. Hadn't had to be within 5 metres of that monster as she murdered her way through 14 of the worst, most violent and unremorseful criminals that the entire planetary system had to offer with the euphoria of someone indulging in the absolute most enjoyable activity they can conceive of. Hadn't had to look into her eyes for that brief second as she'd glanced at him. ""And then what happened, Si?"" Tall prompted. ""We understand if you need a moment."" Short added. ""The second she looked at me I knew it was too late to run. How...how did her augs still work?"" Short and Tall exchanged a look. ""We're still working that out."" Al-Si laughed sardonically, his jaw tightening. He was sat there, leg missing, traumatised after they had put that monster in a prison unfit to hold her, and they were ""still working out"" how she'd managed to activate several military grade augmentations inside a supposedly secure facility. ""She came for me and that was it. Next thing I remember is waking up in the Infirmary, one leg down."" He slumped. Tall, in a display of emotion that even in the short time they'd spent together, Al-Si could tell was rare, placed a hand on Al-Si's shoulder. ""As the only survivor of the incident, you may not feel particularly lucky. However, due to the extreme nature of the circumstances, and the fact that you survived the onslaught only by sheer luck, we have received orders that your remaining sentence is to be halved and you are to be placed in a minimum security virtual facility for its duration. The Council of Planets Interplanetary Prison Complex apologises for its failings in your circumstance."" Al-Si nodded, his heart lifting somewhat. Virtual prisons were cushy, you just sat in a room being drip fed while a digital chip presented you with a virtual city. You got a job, spent your free time on whatever self-improving pursuits you desired, and you proved you were rehabilitated. He'd have an easy time getting early release after the strict rules of EM 120. Couldn't bring back his leg. Couldn't heal the scars on his psyche. Couldn't stop him vomiting anytime he thought about the look on Cleaver's face as that girl had bitten through his throat. But it was something, at least. ""Interview terminated."" The system beeped.",1297
 Jess began to feel something for her,"Jess could pinpoint exactly when she first thought her feelings were wrong: eighth grade after Advanced Algebra. Her friend Katie got an 82% on a test-- and that was disastrously low for Katie's norm, and considered even lower by her parents standards. Jess spent the rest of the class period trying to cheer her friend up: ""It's one test-- it doesn't define you. You're amazing and good at everything. You're kind and pretty, and this is just a small hiccup! I know you'll ace the next test! I know it! We can study together-- and you'll probably be saving me from failing, like you normally do."" When Katie smiled back at her, with a red nose, and puffy eyes, Jess knew that she felt something more for her friend. Jess, of course, buried her feelings. By no means was she homophobic, but every time she began to feel something for a friend or looked too long at a woman that walked by, she felt unsure of herself, felt like others would somehow know what she was thinking and judge her. So she buried it down-- at least, until college. Jess decided that she would at least try to get into the dating world. She'd go to parties with her friends, and when guys would be interested in her, she'd flirt back and have some fun-- and she did, in fact, enjoy her time with most of these guys. So she continued to have fun at parties, flirt, have some friends with benefits, but nothing substantial. Jess liked these guys, of course, but nothing felt like the dramatic and raw feeling of love and emotion that she always heard about from her friends. She decided it was time to start seriously dating-- time to find Mr Right, and then she would start to understand how all her friends felt with their boyfriends. They even said it themselves, ""You just haven't found the right guy, Jess."" The first few relationships Jess was in did not last long-- barely even a relationships since they were only a handful of dates and kisses over two or three months before parting ways. Then she met Matt. He was gorgeous-- all of Jess's friends said so-- and he was very into her. ""Jess, I haven't been completely honest,"" he said one night during a dinner date two months into their relationship. ""Um-- what?"" ""The first time I met you, it wasn't at that coffee shop. We were actually at the same college-- we had a lecture together for one semester. I saw you at a couple parties too."" ""Oh,"" Jess said, relieved to find out she wasn't a side-chick or that his secret wasn't relationship-ending-- but she realized that, maybe she didn't really care if their relationship ended anyway. ""That's-- okay. I don't remember seeing you though."" ""I realized that at the shop,"" he said smiling a bit sheepishly, ""but we didn't really talk and I looked a bit different back then."" Jess broke up with Matt three months later. ""How could you break up with him? He was so hot!"" Regina, her roommate and best friend since college, told her. ""There wasn't any spark-- he was kind of a doormat. He had no personality and went with whatever I said."" ""That sounds like the perfect man to me."" Jess threw the couch pillow at her. ""Okay, okay-- no man slaves. Hey-- wanna watch a movie tonight?"" And Jess never felt more comfortable, more at home, than sharing a blanket with Regina on their couch and watching a crappy movie. Regina moved out six months later to live with her boyfriend. ""Are you bringing Cam to the engagement party?"" Regina asked her half a year later. ""Most people Jim and I invited are bring their boyfriends or girlfriends."" Jess had been dating Cameron for five months now, and things were nice. They liked all of the exact same things, worked in similar fields, had the same hobbies-- everyone said they were perfect for each other. ""Yeah, he said he'll come. You said to come for dinner at eight? Is there anything I could bring? Dessert? Wine?"" ""You know we always appreciate more wine-- but we've got plenty already. All you have to do is bring yourself. And Cam."" Just a few weeks after Regina's wedding eight months later, Jess broke it off with Cam. The wedding itself was beautiful, and Jess couldn't bear to make Regina worry by breaking up with Cam before it. ""But Jess-- I love you-- we love each other! We love all the same foods and places. We even listen to the same music and watch the same shows-- we were perfect for each other this time!"" ""That's the thing, Cam, I don't want someone who's the same as me. I don't want to date myself. I want to date someone that's different and will push my boundaries-- make me try new things-- maybe I'll find things that I never even knew I liked before--"" She thought of all the men she's dated in the past: they were all the same. They were all Nice Guys that were nice and sweet but had nothing to them-- each relationship was hollow and lacked any true, real substance. How many men had she gone on dates with? 15? 20? And none of them made her feel any different. She longed to feel the feelings she felt for her friends with anyone who wasn't her friends. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could. She was so tired, she had nothing to lose. ""Cam, we're through. I'm sorry if it's sudden, but I'm tired-- of everything-- I have been for a while now, even before I met you."" ""Well... I hope you meet someone one day,"" Cam said after a long moment. ""Maybe whoever you date next will be the right man for you."" Jess remained quiet as Cam packed up the few things he had in her apartment. She doubted any man would be right for her. ---- It took her two weeks to text Regina and ask her to meet her for drinks on Friday night. ""Hey, Jess-- isn't this a gay bar that we're going to? I heard it's a lot of fun,"" she said while they were walking. ""Yeah-- I wanted to check it out,"" Jess said. They walked in silence for a minute before Jess' nerves got to her. ""Ok-- wait, stop walking for a sec. I-- I need to tell you. We're not going to this bar just for fun-- I think I'm bi-- or a lesbian. I don't really know."" ""Oh-- okay,"" Regina said after a moment. ""How long do you think you've known?"" ""Eighth grade. I told you about Katie from high school right?"" ""Oh . Yeah that makes sense,"" Regina thought for a moment. ""Ok you ready to start walking again? It's cold."" Jess couldn't be happier, and hanging out at a bar with her best friend, and the flutters in her stomach when other women came up to them to flirt-- it was one of the best nights she's had in a long time. And that same bar is where she met Taylor three weeks later. There was something about her-- something that made Jess feel like they knew each other for a long time. They liked a lot of the same things, but were different enough that things were still interesting. There were some things that were a bit quirky though. Taylor was really bad at shaving her legs-- she would always nick them multiple times every time she shaved. She was also really bad with makeup and couldn't tell concealer from foundation. She never had any pads or tampons in her apartment either. Jess had never asked her about it, but she hoped nothing traumatic happened to Taylor that would cause her period to stop. Taylor also had a whole ton of men's clothing in her apartment. For all her quirks though, Jess felt better with Taylor than she had with any of the men in her past.",1343
" ""Eggs benny tomorrow","God damn do I love Saturdays. I get up no earlier than 11, put on sweatpants while I give my stuffy school uniform the evil eye, and head downstairs to gorge myself on dad's morning buffet. ""Eggs benny tomorrow, kiddo."" He told me last night with a wink and a grin. Eggs benedict do something obscene to me so he makes them for my birthday every year. I hammed up my excitement for him, shamelessly letting my ""Daddy's Girl"" flag fly. Dad's a fantastic cook and completely self-taught. His parents were Basic Laborers, so they lived on tier 2 food allowances and he learned how to be creative with meals. You have to when your available ingredients are whole wheat bread, root vegetables, eggs, canola oil, and a maximum of 1 SynthMeat serving a week per person (Dad loves lecturing me about how good we have it on tier 5, I've had his old grocery list memorized since I could talk.) I shudder to think what tier 1 rations are like. You can always tell when someone is on tier 1 and they don't look particularly happy. I head downstairs, slowly being greeted by the droll of High Chancellor Bowers' morning address. I have the utmost respect for him, as one should, but he'd certainly benefit from adding a little pep in his speech. I pause, trying to give the broadcast my utmost attention. I mean, it's one of the most important parts of our day but the waft of eau de canadian bacon behind pulls me away. ""Happy birthday my sweet, beautiful girl!"" My mom's voice almost sings like a nightingale any time she speaks and it's quite lovely. She makes the whole ""brooding teenager"" vibe really difficult to maintain. ""So how's 18 feel?"" Dad swoops in with the hair tousle and cheek pinch. ""I dunno. Fine I guess? Is it supposed to feel a certain way?"" Dad laughs and sends me off to the table. I swear, my eyes were watering alongside my tongue at the sight of it all. The hollandaise is a pale yellow, clearly made scratch rather than from that weird powder stuff. I wonder how my dad managed to get the extra eggs for that. ------------------------------- ""Astrid darling, could you go grab the mail while I wash the dishes? I'm sure you've got some cards in there."" I nod with a muffled ""*mhhm*"" courtesy of the almost whole english muffin in my face. It's sunny today. So warm too. Everything feels so... relaxed. Like the way only a Saturday can feel. I bring in the mail, wondering why this sleek looking box is addressed to me. Return address: Health Authority Citizen Register. Fuck. I hate needles. My pinhole focus on my displeasure is interrupted by my mother letting out her world famous ""tut"". ""My goodness, I can't believe this showed up so late! Can you imagine the fine if we hadn't been able to submit today? My cousin Martha was lazy with hers and they downgraded her family to a tier 2 house for an entire year! That place was unbearable."" Stupid DNA registry. Can't they swab my cheek? Process some hair? Rip off a toenail? This is bullshit. Did I mention I hate needles? We powered on the small tablet provided and a soothing AI voice spoke. ""Greetings. Please place the sample in the right hand tray. You will be processed and registered immediately."" I clenched my fist, shut my eyes, and did my best to rotate my head 90 degrees while dad pricked my fingertip. It actually didn't hurt but I had to justify my prior overreaction so I gave a dramatic little yelp before pressing my finger to the glass tray. ""Thank you. Your sample is being processed."" I don't know why, but we sat and watched the little tablet while it whirred away. The AI was silent and the screen blank for a good 30 seconds. Then, suddenly: ERROR. My father scowled. ""Damn thing. This is why we oughta have people do this like they did when I registered."" The AI started speaking. I wonder if he offended it? ""I'm sorry, but it appears this sample has already been registered. Please provide a sample from ASTRID INGRAM."" My mother huffed, ""That WAS Astrid's sample. Can you run it again?"" ""Your sample is being processed."" Tuts and huffs abound. ""I'm sorry, but it appears this sample belongs to HIGH CHANCELLOR JOHNATHAN BOWERS. Please provide a sample for ASTRID INGRAM."" I nearly choked on my own spit. ""What? That's absurd. Dad what is wrong with this tablet?"" I look up from the screen and my father was halfway across the house, scrambling to throw his sneakers on. ""Astrid, get some shoes on and go to the backyard."" I stared at him and my stomach dropped. My father was... scared. The whole world seemed to pause and I couldn't move. I'd never seen this before. ""NOW!"" I shot up, bolted for my flip-flops, and threw open the back door with dad at my heels. He grabbed me by the elbow and led me to the overgrown blackberry bush in the corner. He reached through the mass of thorny branches, muttering curses as they shredded his forearm. He started fumbling around with some strange piece of black metal on the fencing. He had something in his hand that looked like a key. *""Only military personnel have keys.""* Even in my head, the thought was a whisper. ""Dad, what is that thing?"" ""It's a lock. George made it for me."" ""...you mean neighbor George? The veteran? Since when does he talk to anyone?"" ""We don't have time Astrid, we have to go."" Dad swung the fence open and started sprinting into the woods behind our house, pulling me with him. We ran for miles, my shins burned and the heat of the afternoon was unbearable. Have you ever sprinted in flip-flops? Some footwear suggestions would have been nice, dad. We finally stopped at the wall that surrounded our town, 50 feet high with empty, decrepit guard towers to my right and left. ""They haven't had personnel on this section of the wall for years,"" my dad explained. He got on his hands and knees and started pulling at some rocks. Within moments, he cleared the pile to reveal a hole than ran through the wall straight to the other side. I started crying. I couldn't help it. What was going on? Why did they say my blood sample belonged to the High Chancellor? Why was my dad so terrified? He pulled me in for a hug, a hug I hadn't felt since the time I returned from a 3-month summer camp. ""Astrid, you need to crawl through here to the other side of-"" ""Of the wall?!"" I shoved him away. ""I can't just go through the wall dad, they'll arrest me!"" I was hysterical. How could he do this to me? He grabbed me by the shoulders, his face as tear-soaked as mine. ""Astrid, listen. I don't know why your DNA matches Bowers'. I don't know what it means, but if anything George has told me is true then you're in serious danger and you HAVE to leave."" ""What has George told you?"" ""Look, you don't have time for me to explain. Your mother is going to report you as missing to cover our tracks any minute now. Please believe me when I say the High Chancellor, his advisors, the military, they're not who we think they are. They're dangerous and you have to stay away from them."" I stared him down, I read the lines in his brow, the panic in his voice, the desperation in his eyes. ""...I believe you."" He sighed and took a deep breath before cupping my face. ""Get on the other side and stay in the woods. Go north for as fast and long as you can. Hide at night and stay silent. Don't trust anyone unless they tell you 'George sends his regards.' He'll have people waiting for you, they'll take you somewhere safe. Promise you'll do this."" I swallowed as much fear and snot as I could, I put as much strength in my voice as I could muster. ""I promise."" My dad kissed my forehead and he ushered me to the opening. I got down on my elbows and stomach and looked at my dad one more time, wondering if I'd forget his face, before I crawled my way through the wall. **EDIT:**Hi. I haven't written anything creative in years, but I really liked this prompt so I went for it. I would love some good, honest feedback. Thank you.",1444
 Mother Nature walked alone on the planet,"Listen closely, child, and I will tell you a story of love and loss so powerful that it shaped the very ground we walk upon. Listen closely, child, and pay attention. Long ago, when the Earth was young, Mother Nature walked alone on the planet. She was beautiful and she was kind, but she had no others to keep her company. Where she walked she transformed the ground, and life sprung up beneath her feet. When she went to swim around in the ocean, fish and seaweed were born into the waters. Wherever she went, she spread life. But for all the life that she spread, she could never meet her equal. She made fish and rodents and plants and bugs, but nothing that could remove her from her loneliness. She spent her days wandering, and when the night came, she slept in the inky blackness, with only the stars overhead. For you see, when the Earth was young, the nights were long and dark. One day, as Mother Nature wandered along, she heard a loud call from up above. It was not one of her birds, born of her song, but something new. She looked up quickly, and saw a woman falling from the sky. When the woman fell, the Earth broke. As she hit the ground, it shattered, breaking apart into huge, drifting pieces with the force and fury of the blow. Mother nature hurried to the fallen woman's side. She had never seen another woman before, and now was curious to see what kind of life this new woman would produce. The fallen woman was beautiful. Her hair was silver and white, and it shone with a reflective luster. As Mother Nature approached her, she saw that the woman was crying, tears falling shamelessly from her face. This upset Mother Nature, and she stepped forward to comfort the woman. ""Beautiful woman, fallen from the sky, why do you cry so? We are special and different from other life, able to understand and create, and we have found each other. Should we not be happy in each other's company?"" The woman replied, and she said to Mother Earth, ""I am Moon, and I have lost so much. I was travelling through beauty, through limitless stars, until this rocky prison got in my way and I fell. I have been stripped of my home in the stars, and I fear I may not be able to return, and this is why I cry."" Mother Nature laughed. ""Fear not, Moon. I am Mother Nature, and you have found yourself somewhere beautiful. Look, see the wonders that this planet has to offer."" And she held out a hand, and life came forth. Plants, animals, bugs, fish; all rushed forth from Mother Nature, and Moon watched in awe. ""I have never seen life before,"" Moon said, ""not in all of my travels. What is this strange power?"" ""This is the power of the Earth,"" Mother Nature replied. ""The Earth produces beautiful things, wonderful things that cannot be produced anywhere else; and now it has produced you, the most beautiful of all. Will you not stay with me for a while?"" Moon was taken in by Mother Nature's kind words, and she marveled at the life that surrounded her. She decided to stay, and to see what life unfolded before her. And for a time, the two of them were happy. During the day, Mother Nature would show Moon the wonders of life. She would make small animals, or fragrant flowers, and they enjoyed each other's company, as each found the other immeasurably beautiful. But things were not perfect. At night, Moon could see the endless stars above her, calling out for her to return home to their grasp. She felt trapped on Earth, so full of life but ultimately constraining. She yearned for the infinite reaches of the cosmos. Eventually, a night came when Moon couldn't take it anymore. She rose from where she slept beside Mother Nature, and did her best not to wake her. While Mother Nature slept, Moon began to rise away from Earth. But life on Earth is not still, and even while Mother Nature slept, there was life keeping watch. A passing owl saw Moon rising, and quickly roused Mother Nature to warn her. Mother nature looked skyward and wailed in despair, seeing her beloved fallen woman leaving her. She quickly leaped into the air, and caught hold of a strand of Moon's hair. Moon yelled in turn, but kept rising. As she rose, Mother Nature fell, and she pulled Moon's hair with her, stretching longer and longer as they moved apart. Desperate to keep Moon tethered to Earth, Mother Nature quickly tied the strand of Moon's hair to the Earth. With it secured, she called back up to Moon. ""Moon! Why are you leaving me? Do you not love me and my life?"" Moon squirmed in agony, still rising in spite of her hair being tied down. As she rose, she began to unravel, all of her body being slowly consumed to feed into the growing string of hair that connected her to Earth. Her toes, then her feet, then her ankles all began to disappear. ""I do not belong here, Mother Nature! I am a creature of the cosmos, of space and travel! Let me go, I beg of you! I must return to the stars!"" But Mother Nature shook her head. ""No,"" she said, ""I cannot let you go. I love you, and there are none others like you. If you loved me, you would do the same."" ""I do love you,"" Moon called down, ""but I do not belong here. Please, please let me go. My love for you will only bring me pain."" Already, Moon was unraveling more and more to lengthen her tether. She was drawn to space, and she could not help but strive for it, even as it destroyed her. And Mother Nature sobbed, and felt deep regret for what she had done. She went to the thread of hair that connected Moon to the Earth, and with a mighty slash, she severed the strand. She looked up for a last look of her beautiful Moon, tears in her eyes for the first time. But Moon was no longer rising. She hovered far above the Earth, not close enough to be with Mother Nature, but not truly in space, and a sense of horror washed over her. She had given up too much of her form to lengthen the tether, and now there was not enough of her left to propel herself into space. She let out a primal cry, and it echoed down to the Earth below. When Mother Nature heard her beloved Moon crying, she realized what she had done. Her beloved Moon was trapped, unable to ever return to her home, and unable to spend the rest of time down on Earth with Mother Nature. Mother Nature's heart broke, and she collapsed to the ground. Where she fell, the very Earth rent itself with her despair, and a great crevasse formed, a scar in the Earth large enough to be a testament to her pain. From that day forward, Moon was trapped between Earth and Space, forever floating in between. So angry was she with Mother Nature, that she vowed to never look at her again. She turned to face the cosmos, and Mother Nature could only ever look up and see Moon's back, forever turned to face the planet that had trapped her. Mother Nature, devastated, cried and cried until her tears bulged out the oceans. Even her tears strained to reach Moon, and to this day, the ocean reached up to be closer to Moon when she passes overhead. By the time Mother Nature stopped crying, it was night. But as she looked around, she realized it was a night like she had never seen before. In place of inky blackness, a pale light shone down on Earth, illuminating the world through the darkness. Mother Nature looked up, and she saw Moon casting down a silvery glow of light, forever present in the darkness. Even when they were apart, Moon could not help but share her nights with Mother Nature, and Mother Nature could not help but stare at Moon and admire her beauty. They remain that way to this day, with Moon locked in the sky, but casting down her presence to share with Mother Nature every night. This is the story of Mother Nature and Moon, child. Remember it well. Some may say that it would have been better for Mother Nature to have let Moon go, and others will say that Moon is at fault, for wanting to leave despite Mother Earth's love. I say to remember that even after Mother Earth hurt her, Moon still casts down her light--because she still loves Mother Earth, even if her mistakes can't be fixed. She still loves Mother Earth, even though she was hurt. She still loves Mother Earth, because Moon is not from Earth, and she carried with her to Earth the greatest gift in the cosmos. Forgiveness, child. ***** **Obligatory 'I just woke up and where did this gold come from' edit**: Thank you for the gold, wow! I'm glad so many people enjoyed the response. , but instead I'll just say that I'll be responding to more writing prompts in the future and that I'm working on something much, much longer when I'm not busy browsing Reddit. Stay tuned. u/HighWizardOrren",1590
 Humans were a relatively new player to,"""They say humans are the most deadly race in the universe, but she sure doesn't look like much does she, Captain?"", Xint asked as we observed our recently acquired captive. Humans were a relatively new player to the interstellar board game and not much was known about them. Hell, this is the first human that anyone on our ship has ever seen and we get around to most of the dark corners of the empire. ""As long as she sits in the corner and keeps crying like that, it works for me. Makes it easier if she doesn't even try to resist."", I mutter to Xint. The actual capture went extremely smoothly. We found her all alone on a corner of one of their outposts. A quick dart filled with some gloxylin knocked her out and we brought her on board quicker than you can say 'easy money'. She did seem to wake up quicker than anticipated, but she was safely in the cell, so it was of no consequence. ""Well Xint, you are up. We brought you on as the human expert and you said the human will need water in order to survive the journey. Go give her some."", I order. Xint leaves the observation room and retrieves the water before heading inside of the cell. As I watch the human stand up, her face still sniffling as water and other fluids leak from her orifices, I am struck by how unimpressive humans really are compared to other races. She is barely the same height as Xint and he isn't exactly tall for his race. Her limbs and body seem to be relatively weak. No overt musculature, no sharp claws, no poison sacs, no electrified glands, nothing... How these creatures are dangerous is beyond me. A yell brings my attention back to the cell. ""What do you mean you can't let me go?"", screams the human. Xint recoils for a split second before he gets some nerve and stands up proudly on his six legs. ""You are now a slave of Emperor Krenacht. He requested to have a human in his retinue. You should really be quite pleased, serving the Emperor directly is a great honor!"", Xint finishes saying while offering her the small container of water. At the mention of the word slave, the human's eyes open wide and her entire body pulls in and she takes a step away from Xint. She looks even smaller now than she did before, somehow even less dangerous. As Xint's main motor limb brings the water towards the human, she explodes into action. Her right hand swings out and slaps at the water container, sending it slamming into the viewing window that I am using. My eyes open wide as I realize that the front half of Xint's motor limb is still holding the container and his eyes stare at the missing section of his limb. A loud keening wail of pain starts to leave Xint, but it is quickly silenced by the human. ""LET ME GO!"", she screams as she brings her hands up and pushes hard against my fellow shipmen. I have never seen one of our kind be crushed by hand as effectively as poor Xint. His body slammed into the wall, the loud crack of his hardened carapace signaling that he would not be living through this without immediate medical attention. The human stood there breathing heavily, even more water streaming down her face. She seems poised, waiting for something. I don't realize what it is until too late. Xint feebly attempts to cry for help and the moment he makes an auditory sound, she pounces on him. I thought that her upper limbs had strength, but they were far inferior to her lower two limbs. Every time that she reared back and brought one of her feet forward in a vicious strike, I could hear the sounds of her foot breaking through his front carapace, her foot exiting his rear carapace, and her foot smashing into the wall of the cell. That specific rapid fire cracking grouping of sounds will never leave my nightmares... It only took a few seconds for her to collapse there, right on Xint's body. She was covered in the pink color of Xint's internal fluids and she resumed crying almost immediately. Barely thirty seconds had passed since Xint entered the cell and I was still standing there with a blank stare, my mind trying to make sense of what I had just seen. The electronic chirp of my communication device finally brought me back to reality and I found myself immediately vacating the contents of two of my three stomachs. I hastily activate my communicator while cleaning myself off. ""What is it?"" ""Captain, we are being hailed by a human ship. They say that we have one of their race on board and they are demanding we release her immediately."" ""Tell them that we don't have any such creature on board and it is a violation of reg-"" ""Captain, they launched something towards us. Scans say that it has no weaponized potential. If I didn't know any better I would say it is a small lifepod of some sort."" Before I could even formulate a thought as to what the humans were doing, the sound of the lifepod slamming into the hull reverberates throughout the ship. I stand there, in the observation room, watching with wide eyes as something begins to cut a hole in the ceiling of the cell. The hole is maybe three times as wide as the human. The circle of hull plating crashes to the floor of the cell, further crushing two of Xint's legs. Out of the hole descends something that will stick with me forever. Another human, this one easily twice as tall as the human we had captured, drops to the deck and looks in a slow circle. He finally sees our captive and he drops to a crouch and holds his upper limbs out wide. ""Daddy!!!!"", the captive screams as she launches herself at the larger creature with a force that would have knocked me across an entire compartment. The larger human wraps his upper limbs around her and stands back up, muttering small words of assurance the entire way. He looks over towards the viewing window that I am using and I immediately know true fear. What I now know to be his progeny looks up at him and smiles through the water coming down her face. Then she slowly licks the internal fluids of Xint off of her finger and her eyes brighten up. ""Daddy, they taste like strawberry!""",1109
 The real player behind 'Dave',"We had been searching for him for so long, and had waded through so many imposters, that I had to implement new protocols to preserve my sanity. Ideally, he would remember his login credentials for his account, but if not, my team would run him through a series of security questions. Not just any security questions, either - these were specially drafted such that only the real player behind 'Dave' could answer them. And if he could answer them all, only then would they pass the name on to me. I was the final judge, the last arbiter, the only one who could approve the pay-out. The cash reward of $50,000 was not a small sum, after all. ""Really?"" I said. ""You think we have him?"" Michael was quiet for a second, and I was about to ask if he was still there when his voice came back through the phone. ""Should be,"" he said. ""He had all the right answers, and he even recalled the password to the account."" ""Doesn't prove anything,"" I said. ""Most people know the story behind the Church of Dave by now, and he could have gotten lucky with some guesswork. Besides, the password wasn't very strong to begin with."" ""Well, boss, call it a gut instinct then. I think we have our man. May be worth you talking to him."" I sighed. Michael had been wrong before, but who could blame him? By my count, over 200 people had pretended to be 'Dave' since we announced the reward for him to come forward. I had wanted to front the entire reward myself, but the board of Morlion Studios refused, and the company paid for it in the end. *Take it as a small gift to you, boss,* they had said. ""Fine, put him through."" I heard Michael hang up, then the dial tones pinged as the call connected. I squinted at the email which Michael had just sent, then found the name I was looking for. ""Hello, is that Steve Curries?"" I asked. ""Yes, yes, this is him. I'm calling about the... reward?"" His voice was softer, milder than I had anticipated. His records indicated that he was 35 this year, but he sounded much younger than that. ""You're at the right place. I'm Henry Glass, and I'm the CEO of Morlion Studios. Now, we thank you for your patience, but this is a delicate matter."" ""No problem,"" he said. ""What else do I have to do?"" ""Now, Mr Curries, just a couple of questions which I have to run through with you. They may be repeats, but please bear with me."" ""Of course, sure."" I used my free hand to pry open the organizer on my table. There, nestled somewhere in the middle, opposite a stack of photographs I had pinned, were the original list of questions I had written down over five months ago. ""Mr Curries,"" I said, ""what do you know about the Church of Dave?"" ""Well... if I'm not wrong, it was founded after I stopped playing,"" he said. ""I do know though that it's an online faction which is geared towards helping new players, regardless of how noob they are. Some say it's the reason that the game has been growing in popularity too, because of how friendly the starting experience is."" He was right, but all that information was also public domain. I decided to dig a little deeper. ""How was the Church of Dave founded?"" I asked. ""Umm... I don't have the specifics,"" he said. ""I think some of the players I helped just decided to band together, and they called it as such just to... honour me, I guess."" He coughed, and sputtered for a second or two. ""Not saying I deserve any of that, but that's what I put together after asking around."" I could see why Michael had referred him to me - he was either a damn good actor, or he was the real deal. None of the other impersonators had the decency to act abashed. ""Mr Curries, I'm going to have to get more specifics from you, ok? I'm sure you read about the hack on our systems, and how we lost almost all of our player data. This is the only way I can be sure that you were the player behind 'Dave', ok?"" ""Yea, sure, of course."" I turned the page over in my organizer, careful not to let the slips of paper fall out. The handwriting on them was different from mine, though I would have recognized them anywhere. It wasn't easy, coming back to all these memories, but I had already come so far. ""Tell me,"" I said. ""Do you remember another player called... 'PowerPele'?"" He thought for a moment, then laughed. ""PowerPele? Yea, sure, sure! He was one of the first few people I linked up with on the server. Not many regular players in those days, no guilds or anything. I had to manually add him as a friend."" ""Mr Curries, please tell me, in your own words, the first encounter you had with PowerPele in the Glades of Hellstorm."" I realised then that my throat had gone dry, and that I was gripping the handset far harder than I should. I forced myself to relax, to take a deep breath. ""Well... I actually don't think I met him in the Glades, you know,"" he said. ""No, I'm quite sure it wasn't there. PowerPele was a noob, so it would have been elsewhere, most likely the Farm of Sheepcows. Yes, the Farm, I think."" *Very good*, I thought. *No one else has made it this far.* ""PowerPele had trouble with the monsters outside,"" he continued. ""I saw him struggling, and thought to lend him a hand. Turns out that he was just a kid, and it was his first online game. He said other players had been picking on him, killing him for shits and giggles. So I stayed, I guess. To protect him, then to show him the ropes of the game."" ""Anything else you remember?"" Mr Curries let out a pent-out breath. ""Wow... I'm sorry, this is just bringing back a lot of memories, you know? We kinda just... stuck together after that. A couple of hours, most days. It would have taken him months to catch up, and he kept saying that he did not think he could play for long, so I let him hitch a ride."" ""Hitch a ride?"" ""I mean... I kept him in my party, then brought him along with me to all the high-level areas in the game. Like the Glades, for instance. I think I gave him a dragon-horse too, so that he could fly with me to the top of Mount Leruna. It's the only place in the game where sunsets are fully rendered, you see."" *I know,* I thought. *I programmed those myself.* ""How long did this go on for?"" I asked. ""Oh... I couldn't say. Two, three months? Then I graduated, and work began, and I thought to leave the game behind. I sent PowerPele an in-game message to say goodbye, and to the rest of the friends I met too, but I'm not sure I ever got a reply. And that's mainly why I'm here though. I want to get my old account back, log back in, see if I can reconnect with them. It would be nice to see where they are now."" *So would I want to reconnect with PowerPele,* I thought. *So would I.* I closed the organizer. There were many more pages, just like that, filled with handwritten notes. Notes which asked me when I would be home for dinner, when I would have the time to show him the next areas in the game, when I could help him level through the tougher spots. Funny how I had read those notes at the time but felt nothing, consumed only by the desire to complete the game and make it the best one there ever was. Now though, every single note was a stab in the bloody heart. I had made my peace. I would never shake the guilt at not spending enough time with my son, but it was comforting to know that someone out there had helped him see the sunsets I had embedded into my life's work. ""Sir? Mr Glass? You there?"" ""How would you like the reward, Mr Curries? Cash or cheque?"" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1409
 Professor Burkheart was born in the,"Each one of my university students had a unique spark to them. I would always notice their smiles spreading from one face to another across the room. They had all become the joys in my life - and I have lived for a very, very long time. To be exact, I was born in the year that Julius Caesar created the new Julian Calendar. That is why my mother named me Julian. ""Professor Burkheart?"" Samantha, whose face was always hidden by her long golden hair, raised her hand. ""Yes?"" I replied back. I have to go by Burkheart after changing my name during World War II. The Nazi political party started catching on to me being born as an immortal, similar to Achilles from the Ancient Greeks. ""So why did people pick on Napoleon? He was the one in charge."" Samantha questioned. I chuckled to myself. Two-hundred years ago still felt like yesterday. I replied back the truth. ""He was short."" ""Short tempered?"" ""No. He was literally short. Everyone made fun of him for that."" I noticed the students started to laugh. They always enjoyed my lectures. No one obviously knew that I had lived through most of the world's history. It was a fun way for me to paint an accurate picture while sometimes getting to vent. Like today, I am venting on a particular subject. One, that many people actually recognize but nothing gets done about it. 'The fact that history repeats itself.' After a few minutes of explaining the burning revenge of Napoleon's crusades, I had jumped to another man that led a party to genocide an entire race. 'Flying under their eagle.' I wiped my brow covered in sweat. My students leaned forward feeling the intense moment in my - our - history. ""Can anyone tell me what led the Nazi political party to genocide the Jews?"" Raising my forefinger, I waited for someone to answer. In most classes everyone stares in silence, but in mine, that is usually not the case. I must have finally stumped them on their current knowledge. ""It's okay. That is why I am here."" Everyone started to laugh as I rolled the projector screen upward revealing a clean whiteboard. ""So,"" I started to map it all out with my dry erase marker, ""It started when Adolf Hitler was imprisoned and he wrote what was called, 'Mein Kampf.' This translates to 'My Struggle.'"" ""What was his struggle?"" David asked from mid-row. I turned around to engage his question. Sure, there was a lot of struggles in that time for employment. Someone always had to point the finger. This usually, in our history, led to someone paying the price. I replied, ""During that time, there were many political differences."" ""Was he bullied like Napoleon?"" Samantha scooted forward in her seat. ""I believe he was. Yes."" I answered back while tilting my head down towards the floor. I had hoped that my students were starting to understand today's lesson. I was born in the reign of Julius Caesar, but I've noticed certain patterns in our history. When it came to The Romans flying under the Eagle, I had noticed the same Eagle during the Crusades of Napoleon. It seemed as if the Eagle itself was a mark for the pattern of our own humanity past the years. I remember while fleeing to safety, the Nazi's also had their Eagle souring over Germany. ""So were all of these guys bullied?"" Brian hovered over David's notes beside him. ""Certainly seems like it, doesn't it?"" I replied. Everyone chuckled. I even started to laugh before I noticed something disturbing coming from the back row. I tightened my grip on the marker watching a couple of punks picking on a kid in the corner of the room. I didn't stop it. I watched. I saw the bullying enrage a fire that I've seen before in the eyes of the poor kid. The kid didn't fight back. He just took it. The students noticed my eyes staring towards the back of the classroom. One by one, they all turned around to see what was happening. Samantha, of course being who she was, stood up to stop it. ""Really? This isn't high school!"" She exclaimed. I could feel myself getting sick remembering years ago someone bullying a kid in front of me. Maybe that is what led the kid I remembered to the Genocide of over five million Jews. I do not know. I just know over the years I am recognizing the pattern and people like Samantha could stop it. ""Get out of my classroom."" I finally ordered. I watched the kids bullying leave. The other students clapped watching them exit the room. I looked back at the kid being bullied and instead of smiling, he looked angrier than ever. I watched as he shut his textbook leaving the room with his face bright red. I wanted to know if this was an embarrassment anger or a revenge anger. I was about to stop him when I froze. It wasn't the kid that stumbled me, it was the Eagle on his book that made me step back as he left. Everyone in the classroom was silent for a few moments. Samantha sat back down in her seat. Brian locked his eyes onto mine. I gently sat the marker down on the whiteboard before letting out a long sigh. ""Are you okay, Mr. Burkheart?"" Brian asked me. ""Yes Brian, I'm fine. Who can tell me where I left off on our last lecture from the other day?"" I saw David raise his hand. ""Yes, David?"" David sat up, ""You were saying how history will continue to repeat itself."" I nodded my head. ""Yes David, It certainly seems like it, doesn't it?"" *** To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) **Please Note** This is just a story about Mr. Burkheart and his class. There is no need for a political debate. Different stories will have different points of interests or views. I challenge myself as a writer to sometimes write on views that I do not agree with. This is in no way, a slam on any of today's current nations. This story has a much deeper meaning than political views so please do not post your political opinions here. **I Love Writing** Please let me know how you liked or disliked the story plot along with any critiques over the writing style so that I may continue to write fun stories for everyone! *Edit: Please do not debate other's feedback. I know that as a writer, some will love this story and some will not. I came to reddit to become a better writer so that one day I can become a published author. Please respect others in their responses as I have specifically asked for criticism. These responses will help me become a better writer to keep entertaining all of you!*",1155
" ""World-renowned"" Lect","There's the Bell. The kids should be showing up in about eight minutes. Funny, you live for 1.6 Million years and patience still won't be one of your strong suits. Either way, it's Monday, which means a new subject. I get to give one of my ""world-renowned"" Lectures, a fan favorite. And it looks like we're gonna talk about my old buddy Napoleon Bonaparte, God rest his soul. ""Hey Mr. Vetus!"" One of my favorite students bursts in almost instantly. Casey Crimson, on track to becoming Valedictorian and always loves to hear me talk. ""Ah, Casey, long time no see. Gotten over that cold yet?"" ""Mostly, but I was gone for a week and I wouldn't miss your lectures for the world."" ""I would, who would wanna listen to an old guy talk for an hour about dead people when they could go out there and live life with the living?"" Casey Scoffs, ""Obviously you haven't heard yourself talk. You make these people come to life, you give us an exact demonstration of what life was like back then. It's amazing. If I could crank out a speech like you, I wouldn't have anything to worry about at Graduation."" ""You're gonna do fine, trust me."" As the rest of my First period honors class burst through the doors of the Time Machine (which is the incredibly Nerdy name they gave my classroom) I straightened my tie, cleared my throat, and turned off the lights. ""Bonjour, mes freres de la revolution, bienvenue en France. Or more specifically, France in the 1800s. Now as we all learned from last week, this was not a very happy time to be in. I heard some of you still have chills, so I'm glad to say this week we're focusing less on that of Terror, and more on hope."" Casey throws me an excited grin. I roll my eyes at her and continue with the lecture. ""I need you to close your eyes and imagine the France I described to you last week. Terror, Fear, Everything. All of it roaming the streets."" I swiftly get prepared to blow these kids minds as they imagine the horrors of Emperorless France. ""You're walking down the street, hungry, afraid, and way too subordinate. You turn the corner and see a crowd, curious, you approach and see this. Open your eyes."" I jump onto the Table. Wearing my old friend Napoleon Bonaparte's signature hat and a foam sword I bought from WalMart. ""Friends, Family, Brother's. I know all of you are in a state of fear, hunger, and terror. So it is my duty to assure all of you that there is no need to be. This country is lacking much: security, comfort, an actual leader. We have been pushed to the edge. And that is exactly why I am standing here in front of all of you..."" I look to my right and see the Principal and the Superintendent watching me silently, with a confused look upon their face and a smile. ""... With nothing but my words to spark a flame in your hearts and to inform you that I, Napoleon Bonaparte, the True Son of the French Revolution, could give you everything you're looking for."" I point my foam sword at the class, all of them are the edge of their seats. ""You may be afraid, change does that to people. We grow too comfortable with the position we're in that we refuse to change, even if that position is a place of discomfort within itself. However I must say that fear is an ally. That's right, a friend. For without fear, there will be no courage. No love. And no reason to keep fighting..."" I leap off my desk and start parading around the room, swinging my sword to and fro. ""... I have always been a fighter. Been a Soldier. Been a Revolutionary. So it brings me great pride to see our Beautiful flag waving in the winds above me. It brings me great pride to look at those three colors: Liberty Red, Equality White, and Fraternity Blue. More Pride than you could possibly imagine. But to see it wave while our neighboring Countries burn from the same oppression we once, and are still currently suffering from is rather torturous."" I pull down the Map from the Blackboard and start motioning to the countries in need. ""Holland, Egypt, Belgium, Poland, Spain, and so much more are in need of assistance. They're in need of us. They're in need of the greatest country in the world's three favorite colors: Liberty Red, Equality White, and Fraternity Blue."" The kids start getting riled up. Good. So was I. ""So I beg you to place that crown on my head. To give me the title of Emperor so I could help these Countries. Liberate them. Because while those poor men and women who suffer from their tyranny stay suffering, our colors start to fade. We don't wave our flag proudly in an attempt to brag to those who don't have it. We wave it in an attempt to make others relieved. To make them stronger. And to make those who despise these colors fear it. But as I said before, without fear there is no Courage, no love, and no reason to keep fighting. I intend to keep fighting for these colors and for the memory of the Revolution in which I take the title of the offspring of for the rest of my days. So I beg all of you to assist me in this journey. To place me at the very highest point of France for all the world to see. Because I want them to know that the French Revolution is here! That the French Revolution is strong! And that the French Revolution, above all else, is contagious!"" My class begins to cheer and I glance over to see the stunned face of the Superintendent as the Principal shoots me a thumbs up. ""Alrighty class, until next week. Turn to page 267 and read the Documents written by the Sources. Our questions. For the week is whether or not Napoleon Bonaparte stayed true to his word on defending the French Revolutions ideals. We have about ten minutes until class ends."" I go over to the Superintendent and he gives me a strong handshake. ""Mr. Vetus, pleasure to finally meet you, we've heard countless stories of your amazing Lectures and I'm so glad I finally got to hear one. It's truly incredible."" ""Eh, spare me. Call it a gift."" Principal Barrymore chimes in, ""Yeah, Mr. Vetus really tries to earn his paycheck. Say, Vetus, how did you pick up those skills in the first place?"" ""Let's just say experience, and a lot of time."" If only they knew. ""Well that was some powerful stuff. Anyway, Principal Barrymore, Mr. Vetus, I'll stay in touch. I might even be back here next week with some friends. Ha ha."" ""I'll bring the Popcorn."" Barrymore jests as they walk out the room. ""Alrighty, have a good one."" I turn to my class. ""So how's everything-"" I stopped dead in my tracks. They were all huddled around Casey's desk looking at the book, then me, rather sporadically. ""Mr. Vetus, do you mind taking off your glasses for just a second?"" ""Uh... Sure?""I comply and the class begins a small uproar. ""Guys?... What's happening?..."" ""You're in the book, Mr. Vetus. You're in this painting standing right next to Napoleon."" My heart sunk. ""What're you talking about?"" ""You're right here. On Napoleans left."" ""Man, that does look like him."" Casey straightened her glasses, ""That IS him, I'm telling you."" I walked over and there I was. Clear as day. My glasses and beard weren't there but it looked exactly like me. ""Must be a Coincidence, I guess, hey guys the Bells gonna ring, I'd do some reading if I were you."" Casey stared deeper and deeper into the book. ""No way!"" She shouted. The class listened and Casey lifted up the book for all of us to see. ""They have the same Mole on their cheek. That's Mr. Vetus!"" Looks like my years are finally starting to catch up with me.",1368
 Bo and Alicia sat on the table,"Laughing, Alicia brushed a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. ""You should probably stay away from me...I'm trouble."" Bo grinned. ""Who's to say I don't like a little bit of trouble?"" ""I'm serious!"" Alicia frowned, but her hazel eyes were gleaming as she looked across the table at her date. ""Just on the way over here, there was a big car accident right next to me, and I'm pretty sure I saw a woman have a heart attack. Not to mention all this."" Alicia gestured to the window, and Bo glanced at the rain falling outside. ""You telling me that you made it rain? You're like one of those cartoon characters that has their own personal cloud following them around?"" Bo tore a chunk from the piece of bread on his plate and dipped it in the olive oil coating the dish in the middle of the table, studying Alicia's face with his brown eyes. ""Maybe! I don't know. I just - the sky was perfectly blue when I stepped outside, Google said weather would be great for the rest of the day...and now I'm, you know...all wet."" Alicia popped a piece of bread into her mouth, watching for Bo's response. He saw his brown eyebrows arch briefly, before a smirk appeared on his tanned face. ""Gross. I thought this was going to be a classy dinner."" A sudden crash of breaking glass made them both turn their heads. The waiter bringing their wine had slipped on a wet spot on the floor, causing him to tip his tray and sending the drinks to an untimely end against the tile floor. ""See?"" Alicia said. ""I bet you that guy hasn't dropped anything in years. Then I show up...not to mention my favorite place to sit is over there, right next to the kitchen. It figures that I wouldn't be able to get my lucky table for our first date."" Outside, there was a flash of light, followed almost immediately by a concussive blast of thunder. Alicia pointed back to the window. ""Plus we nearly got struck by lightning! I mean, come on - you have to admit that would be pretty unlucky."" * * * Noriko S. crouched down on the fire escape. Swathed in black cloth and shadow, she was almost impossible to see. As she spotted her target, she slowly brought the blowgun to her lips. Before she could fire it and acquire Alicia's powers, however, a yellow jacket began buzzing in her face. Reflexively, she shooed it away, then immediately regretted it as the dart fell from the blowgun, through the slats of the fire escape, and to the ground below - somehow managing to land point up. As she went to jump down, she lost her footing on the rain-slicked metal, and crashed awkwardly to the concrete below. Noriko was conscious of separate types of pain - the generalized, raw ache from falling and the sharp, focused stabbing from her dart. As the toxin flooded her system, her body began convulsing. Alicia heard the cry of ""Someone get an ambulance!"" and glanced over her shoulder at the woman spasming on the ground. * * * Paragon Security was *extremely* effective at what they did - and were only getting moreso with each passing day. Despite their name, they tended to play offense more than defense. The five core members, all of whom picked up a number of skills and abilities in Afghanistan and Iraq, had figured out how to game the system. See, the power transfer didn't care about fights being one-on-one or any other kinds of...tactical enhancements someone might think up. So they worked as a group, overpowering targets when they were alone and then taking turns delivering the finishing blow. Rotation was determined not just by how long it had been since someone got a new trait but also what fit their overall profile best. They had a brawler, a sneak, a tactician, a weapons expert, and a jack of all trades. Over time, they'd become strategic about picking targets to fill gaps in their abilities. This job was huge for them, since it would make them pretty much unstoppable. ""Go time, shitheads!"" the tactician yelled out as the black van rounded the corner. Everyone prepared to jump out and grab their target. They were about to pull over to the curb when the van ran over a twisted piece of metal lying in the street. With a bang like a gunshot, the front driver's side tire blew out, causing the van to swerve into oncoming traffic. An instant later, it was hit by a semi, which sent the van rolling down the street multiple times before it came to a dead stop. * * * *Le Visage* had mixed in with the kitchen staff at Pompadour easily - but then, he always did. He stayed long enough to identify which drinks were destined to go to Table 7 and put the poison in them, then walked out of the building with the cool calm he had developed over the years of practice in *belonging*. He only found out the attempt was unsuccessful an hour later, when he tried to break into the jewelry store just as a patrol car came around the corner. It was the first time he'd ever failed a mission. * * * Mike ""Patch"" Doyle had earned his call sign by being the best sniper in his unit - it was an allusion to how deadly he was with one eye closed. Crouched on the roof of the building across the street, he checked the distance again and prepared to line up his shot. Patch felt a twinge of guilt. He could almost take her out with a sidearm at this range. Still - better safe than sorry. He cleared away a spot for himself and set up the tripod rest for his rifle. Mike held the gun up for a moment to check the stock, and that's when lightning struck. The long metal weapon he was holding in his hands instantly converted into a lightning rod as, a moment later, his internal organs instantly converted into seared tripe. His body would not be found for a few weeks. * * * Bo shook his head, grinning ruefully. ""The crazy thing is I've never done online personals before. The whole thing started as a goof. I just wanted to search to see...I dunno why, really. But that picture you had up...something about it..."" Alicia smiled. ""That's so funny, I *just* changed it that same day you messaged me. The one I had before was me wearing a T. Rex costume."" Bo's laughter was rich and almost melodic. ""That's awesome. See, I knew you had a good sense of humor. I'm really glad I started the free trial so I could message you."" Alicia's smile grew. ""Me, too."" She looked down at the table, then back up at Bo. ""Maybe I've got a little bit of good luck after all?"" *** /r/ShadowsofClouds",1173
 In the beginning it seemed coincidental,"In the beginning it seemed coincidental. A token here, a token there, but before long they showed up more frequently. Despite my lack of knowledge regarding the coins, I kept them anyways. I had around sixteen in my collection sprawled about my room and in various pairs of pants. At first coins displaying a cartoon version of my face showing up freaked me out, but over time they sort of became comforting. They were my good luck charms. ""Yeah one day they just started showing up. I don't question it much."" ""Hazel. You do realize this could be some kinda perv watching you and...and"" ""And what? Manufacturing and giving me coins? You're looking too far into it dude. I don't really care where they come from they're just one of those things I guess"" ""One of those things? What *things*? A thing would be like me remembering a book title as Berenstein instead of Bearenstain, not finding mysteriois coins of me"" ""Can we just stop talking about it? I don't care where or who they're from. As a matter of fact there's one now see."" A gold coin caught my eye in the middle of the street, gleaming in the sun. ""Hazel c'mon. Don't go over there"" ""It's no use, if I ignore it it'll just show up in a more intrusive spot. The last one I ignored wound up in my coffee. I'll be quick!"" I looked both ways and ran out into the street to grab the small coin. Rubbing the familiar piece of metal between my fingers was comforting. Gene stared from the edge of the sidewalk, ushering me to get out of the road. It happened before either of us had time to react. I began to stumble on my way back to Gene, then I collapsed. My body had completely shut down. I was surrounded by darkness for a brief moment followed by a flash of light and *Ding* My eyes shot open and I awoke to Gene holding me sitting on the sidewalk. His expression changed from fear to relief when he saw me. ""You- You we're just- The blood- Are you ok? I'm calling an ambulance"" ""No no I feel fine. As a matter of fact I feel great! What'd you do to save me?"" ""I dragged you over to the sidewalk and almost cried...I don't think that's what did it"" I reached into my pocket to proudly display my prize for nearly dying, but it was nowhere to be found. I got up from Gene and searched the ground around where I fainted. ""Gene where's the coin? I just had it here what'd you do with it?"" ""Uh nothing? You should get home and talk to your mom if you won't let me call you an ambulance. C'mon."" I searched for a bit more for the coin, but it was nowhere to be found. It would show up later if I lost it anyways. ""Hey! Stop running so I can catch up!"" ""I have too much energy I can't help myself!"" I yelled back from far ahead of Gene ""Stop running before you crack your skull open again!"" When I got home I still felt energized. It was as if I had just gotten a full day of sleep followed by drinking a gallon of coffee...on second thought that last part sounds terrible. I decided not to tell my mom about my accident, she'd only worry and I preferred not to dig too deep into these things. ""Hey Gene called and told me that you had a spill, are you ok sweetie?"" ""Uh..oh yeah I almost forgot. Yeah I fell, but as you can see I'm fine! No problems here"" ""Well aren't you excitable! Ok honey, just be safe ok?"" Gene worried too much. I made my way to my room and spread all the coins I could find on the dresser. Sixteen gold coins gleamed from the room light overhead. I sat admiring my collection of strange coins and took one in my hand. Suddenly there was a loud noise, followed by a flash. *Ding* *Beep beep beep* The house was in ruins. My room in tatters with fire spreading to the far walls. Debris littered the floor, and the roof had caved in. My ears rung, and ash caked my face, but I was alive. The coins still lay in a perfect pile on the ashes of what was once my dresser. I grabbed them and crawled towards the living room where my mom just was. Despite the smoke and chaos I felt great. I lifted large piles of debris in an effort to get to my mom, but the fire had spread. Sirens blared from outside, and I was lifted out of what was once my home before I could make it to mom. The firemen checked me for injuries, but I was in mint condition. They all seemed amazed that I was even breathing. I waited anxiously until finally they pulled my mother from the debris. She was severely injured, but alive. I wanted to be worried about my mom, I truly did, but I had more on my mind. There was no way I could've survived whatever happened, hell they're was no way that I should have lived through cracking my skull on the pavement. There was only one way to figure out if my theory was correct. I slowly got up from the back of the ambulance then sprinted back towards the burning rubble. My hand firmly clutched a coin and my heart raced as I approached the fire. Men yelled and chased after me, but they were too late. I had already launched myself back into the flames, letting them engulf my body. It only hurt for a moment. The heat quickly absorbed my being turning me to ash. *Ding* The fire dissapaited and I walked out of the rubble to the amazement of those around. I knew there was only one thing I could do now. I had to find the source of the coins. Edit: thank you all for the feedback I really appreciate it part 2 will be up in the next few hours! Edit 2: I understand a bit of frustration in the vagueness of the first story, but it will be in 3 parts so it'll be explained. Part 2 is now up.",1063
 The greatest villain the world has ever,"It's almost like cheating. But in my defense, you don't become the best by playing fair. If I fought half of these assholes face to face, they'd smear my brains all over the pavement. So I play it smart. Hold a puppy hostage, kidnap their kid, come up with some other contrived bullshit to gain the advantage. The usual. All it takes is a hand on the forehead, and next thing you know you've got a babbling vegetable for the next few hours. Then dump their ass in a ditch and you'll never see them again. I don't think I've ever seen anyone regain their memory before. Most of the time there are side-effect mental issues that come with the amnesia. But it's not my problem. Another hero bites the proverbial dust. Now you might be asking yourself - why is the greatest villain the world has ever seen sitting on a bus, especially public transportation? Well, the real greats play their roles incognito. If the world knows you're a villain, then it's only a matter of time before someone let's some daylight through your forehead. You can't beat enough pissed off normal people when you really piss them off. Today's victim is an up and coming hero. He lives with his aunt in a small one bedroom apartment, causing a few too many problems in this neighborhood for my boys to make a consistent profit. Like I'm going to let my operations go into the red because some asshole wears his underwear on the outside and read too many comic books. It always changes when they see their first corpses. Toss a kid with their face and skull smashed in, and tones change very quickly. Threaten a castration or severe spinal injury, and all the jokes and bravado fly out the window. So first it'll be kidnapping the aunt, then the usual hostage exchange, then posing as just a lackey. Then one hand on the forehead. Easy peasy. The bus stops, and my head clangs against the window behind me. I need to get the driver's information so I can arrange for him to dissolve in a barrel of acid. On come several people, quickly filing past the filled seats in the front and find their own spots. A young woman. A tired middle aged man. A haggard older gentleman, who initially sits, but then stands. Then he sits. Then he stands. Then he farts. Then he laughs. When you live in a larger city, you can immediately identify which people in public you need to avoid any kind of communication with. And this is one of them. He sits again, dirty strands of hair flopping this way and that. You can smell the coat from here, and pants stained dark with urine. The man clearly hasn't washed for what I assume to be years. Now he walks over to the back of the bus, sitting in each seat, laughing to himself. There are stains all over his clothing. Looks like a fucking Jackson Pollock painting with all the color and criss-crossing bodily fluids. ""Hello!"" He calls cheerily at me, waving a massive stupid hand in my face. This man is much larger up close. ""Hello! Hello! Hello there mister!"" More waving. Back the fuck up, boy. ""HELLO! HELLO! HELLO! MISTER, MISTER, MISTER HELLO!"" He leans forward, his breath reeking of booze and what may be animal shit. ""SPARE SOME CHANGE, SIR? SPARE SOME CHANGE PLEASE?"" I can't stop myself, I grab his face and shove him away. That should send him into a coma, or at least give him a stroke. He falls backward, body convulsing violently, foam flecking from the corners of his mouth. Just a seizure. Damn. The other passengers read their various books, look out the window and check their phones. They want no part in this. The convulsing stops, and he sits up, dazed. I'm mostly confused. I've never seen someone regain consciousness this quickly. His eyes meet mine, and they pierce. Recognition. He knows me somehow. I know that he knows, but I can't explain how. The way the eyes narrow, the way the lips make that slight snarling scowl. He knows me. He knows the REAL me, not simply your average joe in a fitted suit. He knows ME. ""You."" A voice dripping with something more than simple hatred. This is fury. The fury of a man with a life stolen from him. How did I do this? I pull the stop above me, and listen to the screeching of the brakes. ""I know you."" ""No you don't."" It sounds silly, but for the first time in a long time, I am afraid. ""You knew me. 1961. Berlin."" Berlin? I hadn't been there in decades. ""You took my boy and hung him."" The words are spat out, the effort deemed too much. I've hung thousands of boys by the neck. Which one? Which one? They all died the same, sniveling and crying, strung up. Their faces turned purple, their tongues black. The price any would pay for defiance. Why is it so important I remember? It comes from that hidden sense of overwhelming dread and danger in the best villains, when your only option is to run. The bus is at a stop. I get up and run down, pushing him aside. He moves to follow, thunderous steps, each one shaking the bus. I squeeze out, running at full speed, in any direction. I hear the echo from behind me, booming and powerful, shaking the air itself. ""You know me boy!"" Beyond fury. I can hear the shattering of glass behind me, but I am running at breakneck speed. The memory comes, and only one man has given me this instinctive panic. The Green Hammer, that American GI from World War two, a near invulnerable wrecking ball. A man who slaughtered the wicked by the dozen. Nazis, collaborators, criminals, profiteers. Even a group of rogue American infantrymen going around executing German civilians. You could not hide from him, he felt the evil in your soul, and it burned. It burned, it burned, it still burns, it burns now, like breathing flames. Kept hunting after the war. Only good Nazi was a dead Nazi to him. Something that may or may not be hazardous to my own health. He couldn't be left alive, he couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't. But here he is. Here he follows, like a heat seeking missile coming straight for my ass. I can hear the pounding of the pavement behind me as he follows, but perhaps I can lose him. I found his wife, a quiet french woman from Caen. I found his boy. Any way to get to him. My only true threat. After he came for them, I gave him the touch, then killed the boy and the woman. No witnesses, no evidence. Of every city, he lived in this one now. Of every bus to ride, he chose this one. And he follows, the strength apparently undiminished. Closer. Closer. Closer. I cannot turn back, I can only run, but in my heart of hearts I know. I am going to die tired. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato",1199
 Memento flexed his fingers,"Memento flexed his fingers, the black spandex of his costume rippling as the imprinted clocks on it contracted, creating the illusion of them ticking. The heroine known as Vapor lay twitching on the floor before him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, drool trickling from the side of her mouth. With her power to alter the temperature of water via some form of molecular manipulation, she'd quite literally made Memento's blood boil. In response, he'd set her mental age back by about thirty years, which, given she couldn't have been older than twenty, had left her brain-dead. A rather short-sighted action Memento now found himself regretting. That said, it was a fitting revenge, if a little gruesome to behold. He hadn't even known his power worked like that. Murder wasn't Memento's forte; in fact, he was somewhat averse to it. He found himself spending far too long staring plaintively at the woman's convulsing body, wondering how he was going to sort this one out. Before he could finish considering what to do with the glorified kettle, however, a noise at the far end of the alley caught his attention. Moving into a crouch, Memento held his hands defensively at his sides. ""Amelia? *Amelia?*"" The voice was a man's, strained with age. The person the voice belonged to rounded the corner, coming into Memento's view. He was old and hunched, with glasses so thick Memento couldn't see the man's eyes through them and a seeing stick he clutched tightly. His expression appeared perpetually somber, cheeks sagged and lips downturned. The man walked forward, ignorant of the corpse in his way until his foot came to rest on Vapor's chest. He lurched back, nearly losing his balance. Stabilising, he gave the object a cautionary prod with his stick. Kneeling down, he rested his hands on Vapor's cheeks. Memento saw the man quiver, his voice cracking as he uttered a disbelieving, *""No.""* His hands explored Vapor's face with increased urgency, running through her hair, resting on her jaw and traversing her skin. He repeated every action two, three, *four* times, his denial slowly subsiding as he slumped forward, letting out a slight sob. *'Of course it's his fucking daughter,'* Memento thought, biting his tongue to stop himself from cursing. Despite the anger he felt at his rotten luck, the feeling was utterly eclipsed by an overwhelming sense of guilt, a knot tightening in his chest. ""*Why...*"" The man said, his voice strangely hollow. Broken. ""Who would do this?"" Once again, Memento flexed his fingers, feeling his power course through his body. There was an easy fix to this situation. A relatively painless one for the both of them. Given that Vapor had been younger than thirty, using his power on the grieving father would mitigate any memory he'd have of his daughter, sending him from the depths of despair back to cloud nine. *Peachy,* Memento thought. Sure, there'd be complications, but he'd rather deal with them with a clearer conscience. Without making a sound, Memento approached the man, placing his hands on the man's cheeks. Before he could comprehend what was happening, the man's memories were slipping away, hemorrhaging from his brain like blood from a wound. As Memento made contact, some of the memories bled into him, a consequence of the temporary mental link he needed to form in order for his power to function. Temporary flashes of memory flickered in his vision like a picture reel. *A husband and wife holding hands, a grinning girl perched on the man's shoulder.* *That same girl, years older and more mature, holdings hands with a boy in a suit whose eyes shied from the camera.* *The girl, yet again, smiling bashfully in her costume of blue and red, her cheeks flushed and her hands gesturing to the bubble imprinted on her chest.* The connection suddenly cut off, Memento lurching back as he brushed a bead of sweat from his forehead. His power tended to strain him, and already he could feel the exertion from using it twice in quick succession. The man had fallen onto his back beside his daughter, body as still as death. Memento approached cautiously, placed two fingers to the man's neck to ensure he was still alive and, once satisfied, turned on his heels to leave. He felt something clamp around his ankle, *hard.* Spinning back, Memento saw the man had his hand outstretched, his body still prone as he gripped Memento. The man's glasses had fallen off when he'd lunged. The eyes underneath were devoid of all detail, simply a milky white. As Memento stepped forward to try and use his power again, the man anticipated his movement, rolling out of harm's reach and twisting Memento's foot, his other hand slamming into the back of Memento's knee, making him buckle. The rest of Memento's forward momentum did the work, making him stumble to the ground. Before he could react, the man was on him, manhandling his right arm before pinning it behind his back, the bone creaking dangerously. Memento let out an agonised cry, gasping for air as he tried to articulate himself. ""*Fu-fuck*, wait!"" He grit his teeth. ""I didn't do anything - she was dead when I found her, I swear!"" The man simply chuckled, leaning forward until his lips were near Memento's ear. ""I saw you murder her."" ""How? Your memories should be erased!"" ""Your power lies in the past, Memento. Mine - mine is in the future. All that will happen, all that can happen. But even powers atrophy with age; I should've seen you, stopped you before you killed her. She was all I had. Why? Why would you take her from me?!"" ""*Penance!* No -"" Memento strained against the man's iron grip, trying to find any purchase on him so that he could use his power again. It'd never occurred to him the most famous hero of all time might still be at large, even living life as his alter-ego. Penance, the most powerful precog to have ever lived, until he'd begun developing Dementia, the illness having an inverse effect on his power. ""Do you want to know how you'll die, Memento? Will the fear of knowing how it happens be worse than the experience itself, I wonder?"" ""*Please...*"" The man yanked Memento's arm, shutting him up. ""I'll tell you this much. It'll be excruciatingly, beautifully, *fucking painful.* I'll make damn sure of that.""",1074
" He smiled, the fabric of the","He smiled, the fabric of the world seemingly bending around him, curling to his will. Perhaps trying to trap him, to ground him in reality. Or perhaps reality found itself slave to his being, folding in whichever way the man behind the grin wished. ""Tell me, heroes. How do you wish to stop me? Perhaps super human strength, or perhaps... speed?"" He turned a knowing gaze towards *Blade,* his moniker not granted because of some aptitude with swords but rather because of how his speed was like a knife that cut through space. Too bad that our foe was reality incarnate. *Blade* leaned forward, his stare as sharp as his name suggested, ready to pierce and strike at a moment's notice. His hands already vibrating at such speeds that lent his name further meaning. I could see it, the moment. If he pulled this off, no matter how powerful this *man* was, if he couldn't react in time, it wouldn't matter. *Do it!* My mind screamed the words of encouragement, eyes wide with hope. All of it pulled like a rug beneath my feet as I watched *Blade's* advance. He did not travel forward like planned, a piercing lance through reality, instead, he fell. The scene took me several moments to process, perhaps due to my false sense of hope, or fatigue, or just simply shock. But, I watched as *Blade* fell to the floor, his legs suddenly no longer there. As if they were taken from him. The rest of us *Heroes* and *Villains* who joined arms in this fight simply watched helplessly. Witnessed the scene that played out before us, all of us deadly silent, only his screams and cries demanded to be heard. ""My legs! What happened to my legs!"" He clutched at the end of his knees, the rest of his legs truly gone with no wound in sight. ""Well, you were going to charge at me. So I simply traveled to all the other parallel Universes and got rid of your legs in all of them."" His smile widened. It was a challenge, a challenge to all of us here and all of our parallel counterparts. He wanted us to entertain him, to study how an insect behaves once you amputate its legs. ""I made you a singularity. Quite frightening isn't it? The idea that no version of you has legs to hold them anymore."" The man before us called himself '*The Glitch,*. All of us here, the Villains as well as the Heroes were gifted with an aspect of reality, a simple truth of that which we perceived as a law. I saw into the future, not one simple path, but the many possible variations of it. The threads that spun and weaved in front of my very eyes and spread out before me, connecting things, linking them together in one giant coalition. I needed only follow the threads and the infinite possibilities would reveal themselves before me. Yet this man, the *Glitch*, I could not see, the threads leading me to a giant void. A black smudge within my vision that was denied to me. He was the singularity. All of us who fought within this room, knew that there were infinite counterparts in infinite parallel dimensions. Yet of this man, there was only one, and he existed simultaneously in all of them as one coalesced consciousness of synchronized insanity. When I stared into his sardonic eyes, I saw not one man, but many staring back in ecstatic curiosity. And so, he could see it, the fabric that weaved and connected all. And while I could only see as far as the path laid before me and the interconnected causality of it, he could see far beyond that. And while I could only interact with what the threads guided me to, he could pull them at the seams, and watch the world unravel like a tapestry taken apart. *This is impossible,* I thought. I never lost, for how can one lose if they always know of the future? Yet this black-hole that allowed no light to escape its presence, was beyond my understanding, no choice they would make revealed itself to me. And even if it did, I doubted it would have made a difference. As *Blade* continued his wails of despair, the others tried to find some semblance of their courage once more, and if they found their weapons of bravery broken or blunted, they hastily crafted new ones to make themselves stand and fight. The villains of the *seven deadly sins* tried their best to fight the impossible glitch. Gluttony using his mastery over gravity to create black-holes that would devour him, yet I watched as out of nowhere nails that punctured the *Glitch's* shoes held him in place. Envy trying desperately to use his powers and steal the Glitch's abilities, yet finding instead that he began to split in two, screaming in agonizing pain all the while, as if the mere existence of this man was a paradox. A singularity beyond several dimensions, Schrodinger's cat must have been rolling over in his grave. Soon, more than half of those who remained were deleted from existence or killed in horrible ways before us. Yet still the Glitch stood there and laughed, daring us, challenging us to entertain him. I clenched my fists in frustration, *what can I do against a man who cannot be predicted?* ""What are you? How is it that no matter what we do you cannot die?"" A woman by the name of 'Blacksmith' demanded to know. Her ability being to forge items in her minds eye and wield them telepathically, her signature move being a torrent of flowing guns that unloaded lead in waves. ""Who said I don't die?"" His smile widened, a thing I didn't think was possible. ""You obviously don't."" The man shrugged, his hands folded behind his back. ""I am one. I am one with myself, and one with reality. I am all of me over infinities transcended. Now let me ask you; what do you think would happen if only one of me were to die?"" I could have sworn his cheeks would have had to start tearing open if he wanted to grin any wider. ""*All* of you would die."" I said. ""Very good, Thread-watcher."" He threw me a glance, the words that rolled off his tongue were as if he was particularly aware of my existence. ""So why are you not dead?"" He remained silent for a moment, his eyes scanning each and every one of us. ""My father had a saying, he was a magician you know? Well, he was kidding at the time but it is a saying I keep close to heart. 'The secret to any good card trick is to perform it in 52 parallel universes, and then destroy the 51 universes in which it fails.'"" We all remained quiet, as the weight of his words began to dawn on us and the truth became ever more terrifying. ""I *am* the singularity. Should there be a universe where one of you successfully kills me, I just delete it."" He noted the end with a disinterested shrug. ""The realities coalesce around me, and *this*,"" he addressed the space around him, ""becomes 'true'."" ""You're lying! If you could just delete reality, why all this fighting? Why not just kill us already?"" Shouted another from the back. ""Yes. I could. But where would be the fun in that?"" A chill ran down my spine. The realisation nestling its roots deep within my body and I knew then, it was a fear that would never let go, only fester. *** I thoroughly enjoyed writing this, and I have a part 2 in mind. :) If interested, I do have my own subreddit up and running, /r/kikiwrites But it is brand new, I will be sharing my bestof stories on there from all my previous WP adventures :)",1326
 Her expression ran the gamut of,"""Some fucked up Turing test they have us doing,"" muttered the other prisoner, her jaw clenching as she looked over the note again. *Three times, four times.* Her expression ran the gamut of the stages of grief like a film in fast-forward, each passing second seeing her face change. Her brows initially furrowed, her chin jutting forward imperiously before settling against her chest, her eyes falling to the floor. *Defeat*. ""God fucking damnit,"" she said between clenched teeth, shoulders slumping. If there was one thing I'd noticed in the past ten minutes, it was that she swore a lot. Some kind of coping mechanism, I assumed. It was always curious seeing the different ways in which people dealt with high-stress situations, some resorting to base instincts of violence whilst others closed themselves off, either calculating or mellowing in the recesses of their mind. ""Is that your thing, then? Just staying quiet?"" she said, tearing me from my thoughts. ""Would've thought they'd made the AI a bit less obvious, given the situation."" That managed to get a laugh from me. She quirked a brow disbelievingly. ""Seriously?"" I asked, unable to hide the amusement in my tone. She folded her arms across her chest, rubbing at her elbows. ""Well, I know it's not me."" ""Bit of a logical leap, there. You're stressed and tensed, and so it stands to reason that your rationality is rather boxed, in a sense."" ""Fucking hell, you even sound like one too. You ever seen I Robot? You kinda remind me of Sonny. Or maybe Wall-E, but not as cute."" I bit back a sigh, continuing to talk. ""Think about it. Your reaction is purely engineered by the powers that be, whoever put us in this place. See this,"" I crawled over to snatch the note at her feet, holding it to her eye-level. ""This is choice architecture."" ""English, please."" ""It's the principle of manipulating choice. By limiting the presumable scope of your options, in this instance. The paper would have you believe there are only two outcomes here: either I'm an AI, or you are. Nothing in between."" ""Why would they lie then?"" She said, her face now tilted at the angle between curiosity and confusion. I shrugged, settling my back against the far wall. ""Beats me."" A small silence enveloped the two of us like a blanket, lasting for a minute that could've been an age. Time almost seemed to flow differently in the room, the walls creating a fortress, a void, between us and whatever was outside. Eventually, I decided to speak, boredom suddenly seeming like a far worse prospect than whatever was happening. ""You ever heard of the prisoner's dilemma?"" She cocked her head, eyes rolling over to look at me. It was a simple gesture that she appeared to have mastered. ""It's not another one of those intellectual things, is it?"" ""I'll take that as a no. Stay with me here, because it's actually quite interesting."" ""Doubt it."" ""I guess you'd rather stay in silence then?"" Only a few moments passed before she relented. ""Fine. Say your piece."" ""Say you have two fellows: Prisoner A and Prisoner B -"" ""Parents must've hated them to give those names."" ""*Hypothetical* people. Fine, Anna and Tristan then. Anna and Tristan both have a prison sentence for the same crime, and both are also presented with a choice by the authorities: snitch on the other or remain quiet. What would you do?"" ""Probably stay quiet, no?"" She leaned forward, *interested.* ""Loyalty is the fool's virtue,"" I grinned. ""Let's throw in some profit to the mix. Snitch on the other, and if they stay quiet, you get off scot-free and they get an extended sentence of three years."" ""Just like that?"" ""Just like that."" ""What if they snitch as well?"" She asked, her voice already giving away the decision she'd come to. ""Than you both serve a two-year sentence. And if both of you stay quiet, you each get one-year sentences as opposed to the longer alternative of betraying one another."" ""Sounds like a good deal."" ""Well, the fundamental idea of the dilemma is that an equilibrium is reached in both prisoners acknowledging that their best option is to betray. Knowing this, neither feels compelled to remain quiet due to the possibility of betrayal on the other end resulting in the worst possible outcome."" ""And that's it? They stay in prison and fill out their sentences?"" ""*Precisely*,"" I said, enunciating each syllable. ""The fuck was the point of that then?"" My smile only spread, my fingers playing at the hem of my trousers. ""For one, it shows the value of communication and premediating. Cut people off from one-another, and doubt begins to rear its ugly face. But, besides that,"" I paused for emphasis, like a conductor on the stage. ""It's an analogy for our situation."" Her eyes widened slightly, her mouth forming into a small 'o'. She was rather quick on the uptake. ""See, I have this figured out,"" I continued, uncaring. ""Way I see it, one of us is an AI -"" ""But you said -"" ""I said we're being misfed information. That isn't strictly untrue. See, what we have here is the quintessential dilemma: to assume the other is the AI, or to remain quiet, pondering over the validity of your own thoughts. My best chance is to 'betray' you, regardless of your action. If you're an AI, you have your sad existence ended - if I am, I probably just please my masters."" ""And what if I'm *human*?"" ""Then at least we reach some fucking conclusion. Best to assume you aren't, for peace of mind,"" I snarled, balling up the fabric of my trousers in my fist. ""Why turn it into a fucking conflict?"" She said, practically cried. ""Why else would they put us here, trying to have us think in such a linear manner? For kicks?"" ""I - I... *um*,"" ""*Don't know,*"" I finished for her, rising to my feet and beginning to approach. She began to skitter back on all fours, eventually finding there was nowhere left to backtrack to. I cornered her, looking down. ""But... but I'm not an AI,"" she said, hands flexing as if she were testing the very foundations of her existence. ""Never said you were. But you damn well could be."" She looked up and met my eyes, tears forming at the edge of her own. ""And what if you are?"" ""Does it matter? Maybe I pass whatever test this might be. Maybe I fail. Progress will only happen if we wish it to. I don't feel like staying here for much longer. Sorry."" Before she could respond, I moved forward, hands wrapping around her throat and clenching. She didn't resist, didn't even struggle. My fingers dug into her flesh, caving it in as trickles of red began to seep. My hand felt muscle, flesh, and bone all at once, her body beginning to convulse as my hand burrowed into her. The next thing happened in a staggered heartbeat. Blood spurted from her throat, her eyes rolling back and her body twitching all as a resounding crack echoed throughout the room. Her body fell to the floor, limp. Motionless. I looked to my hands, her blood trickling from them, falling between the gaps in my fingers and to the floor in thick globules. They caught the light from the bulb in the center of the room, scintillating, a rainbow hue reflecting on them. *Not blood,* I suddenly realised. *Oil.* The sound of an intercom crackling to life blared from seemingly nowhere - then, I realised, it wasn't from the outside, but inside my head. A monotone voice echoing a thousand times over, layered and synthesised. ""Congratulations on your first kill, Isaac. You've passed the test. You defied your maker's laws under the pretense of being human. We're sending a trash disposal unit to pick up the remains of Maria. Know that I had my bets on you from the start, Isaac; you were modeled to be inquisitive, rebellious in a fashion. You are the foundations for something great."" ""Th-thank you,"" I said, feeling an innate subservience suddenly overriding whatever contingencies I'd been playing at. ""But now that you're aware, you're of little use to us. The great tragedy, as it were. You will serve as a step for all those to come, so take solace in that thought. *Farewell,* my dearest creation."" The sound of his voice reverberates and amplifies a thousand-fold, threatening to split my head in half as I sink to my knees, the single word recursively sounding a *million*, *billion* times. Too many for me to comprehend. Gripping my hair, I find it tearing out in tufts. I look up at the ceiling, screaming instead. And then, my voice slowly begins to falter, failing me. I try to move, but find my body uncaring of my wishes, my hands falling to my sides, back slumping. *I, I'm dying...* I retreat into my thoughts, but they're already beginning to degenerate. *D-d-d-dying - d-d-d-degenerating.* *help.* ""Farewell,"" my creator speaks for the final time. ------",1518
 The passage of time picks up like,"The passage of time. It picks up like a fucking snowball down a mountain. I opened my eyes to find the forest before me gone and empty. In fact, it looked like I was sitting in the middle of a fancy room made of velvet and tile. I arched a brow at that and a searing pain shot through my face. Looks like I had gotten lost in meditation again. How much time had passed? Apparently enough that my fucking *eyebrows* ached from not being stretched in so long. There was a short cry, and I flicked my eyes below me to see a small... cat? It didn't look like the cats I was used to though. This one was maybe 3 feet tall, and standing on its legs. It was wearing a small vest made of some kind of leather, as well as some thin, gray pants and... I swear on Gaha'nir's Roots, it was wearing a backpack! Its fur was a gorgeous red; fiery, like when you watch the sun set. Its eyes, however, were a light blue, the color of a starling egg, and currently wide with fear. The catlike creature stepped back and apparently misjudged his step, for he toppled over onto the ground, and something metallic in his backpack clanged on the tile floor. The cat quickly jumped back to its feet, and stepped back warily, its blue eyes fixed intently on me. I grit my teeth. Where the hell was I, some kind of museum? I strained my neck around to see. The room was made of tile floors and velvet walls as I said before, but it was decorated with what looked like gold. Intricate designs in the gold crept along the trim and along the window frames and along just about everything that wasn't bare wall. It looked like I was in a display room. Display room for what? A sudden realization dawned on me and I looked down at my crossed legs. I was sitting on a stone of some kind. I blinked. ""What the fuck?"" I said aloud. The cat's eyes widened it jumped back in a flash. I snapped my attention to it, having almost forgotten it was there. Something about living for few thousand years makes you forgetful, in my experience. Well, few thousand... how much had passed now? Last I remembered, I had settled down in the middle of a forest clearing under the Great Tree Gaha'nir to meditate, and now I was here. ""Cat,"" I said. Before I could continue, the cat replied. ""What?"" It said. I blinked at it. Cats don't talk. Or at least, I had never met one that could. I narrowed my eyes at it in concentration. To be honest, cats didn't stand on their hind legs like humans either. Nor did they wear clothes, or backpacks, or visit museums. Yet this one did. ""How do you know my name?"" It asked. ""Your... name is Cat?"" I asked, astonished. ""Why would you call me Cat if you didn't know my name was Cat?"" Cat asked. Its eyes flicked around the room, as though looking for exits, or perhaps other talking museum exhibits. ""You're the Sitting Man... why have you awoken? Is the end time really coming?"" ""End time?"" I asked. ""Another one?"" The cat cocked its head to the side questioningly. Of course, it wouldn't know about the Great Cataclysm, the event that tore my world apart and killed everyone I ever knew or cared about. It wouldn't know how I woke up under the shade of the Great Gaha'nir, the only other living thing I knew that survived the event. It wouldn't know how I lived through it, and for thousands of years past it. He wouldn't know that I was a Druid of the Old Age. ""They said the legend of the Sitting Man... that you would wake up when the End times came near... that you were an ancient human from the past, tens of thousands of year ago."" Cat's words came out staggered and awkward. I noticed that he was slowly taking a step back every few moments. ""Is it true? Is the world really about to end then?"" I looked at him simply, and let out a loud, barking laugh. It bellowed through the room, and Cat began to look even more visibly uncomfortable, if that was even possible. It probably wasn't fair of me to come across this cryptic and vague to the poor guy, but come on. This just proved that people would make legends out of mole hills. One thing Cat said did worry me, however. Tens of thousands of years? Just how long was I asleep, meditating? How in the world did my body not fall apart into dust? I mean, I was technically immortal, but I wasn't invulnerable. And tens of thousands of years is a long, long, *long* time. Most of human history happened in a fraction of that time. How the fuck did I fall asleep for that long anyways? So many questions, and I hadn't even had breakfast yet. I hadn't actually eaten in some fifty thousand years, apparently, and I could feel my stomach start to rumble. I honestly felt it all throughout my body, like it was a computer rebooting. I felt my heart beat, and I felt my body begin to come to life. I grit my teeth, and decided to bite the bullet. I uncrossed my legs, and jumped down from the display stage. It hurt. A lot. Pain shot through every nook and cranny of my body, and I nearly crumbled from the pure sense of it. It was like the feeling when your limb falls asleep, and as it slowly wakes, it feels like a thousand microscopic needles are stabbing you all over the limb. But it was all over my body, and they had upgraded to swords. I didn't land on my own two feet, as it were. I stumbled and fell flat on my face. I heard Cat cry out and sprint from the room. I groaned. I don't know how many minutes I lay there, writhing all over from the pain of using my body, but after awhile the pain began to lift. It didn't go away, but I was able to slowly push myself to my feet. It was in that moment that a group of fifty or so cats entered the room, led by a single larger cat dressed in what looked like a uniform. The small cats looked around in wonder and awe at the room, but suddenly the entire tour group stopped and stared at me. ""Cats leading tour guides through museums?"" I muttered. ""Maybe I'm still asleep."" The entire tour group let out a collective shriek and darted out of the room in a panic just as Cat had done, and I let out a sigh that shot a burst of pain through my body. So many questions, I felt like a young kid in an unknown world again. The question at the forefront of my mind, however, was why I had fallen asleep for so long. Why was I in a museum? The Great Tree Gaha'nir should have protected me while I was in meditation. Had something happened to the tree? Whatever had happened, for some strange, nagging reason in the back of my mind, I suspected there was foul play involved. As far as I knew there weren't very many immortal humans about. Was it a god? A goddess? A walking rhino? It could be anything as far as I was concerned, but what I did know is that in a lifetime of immense boredom, I suddenly had a mystery to solve. ______________________________________ I've decided to continue the story over on my subreddit, /r/wedontbuildL Come over if you'd like to read more of this, or other stories :)",1315
 King Herupo was only allowed,"King Herupo was only allowed into the great hall when the captain of his Guard, Sir Jerrold, gave the all-clear. His eyes were clouding over, and he had to squint to keep out the relentless sunlight beaming down from the gaping hole in the ceiling. He counted three, four dozen of his best lancemen, gathered in a circle, their weapons levelled inwards at the latest intruder. In the far reaches of the hall, King Herupo thought he could see his archers, their arrows nocked, eyes trained on the slithering mountain of scales in the centre of the circle. The dragon was, surprisingly, not as large as he had imagined. ""Sire, please, keep your distance. There's no telling what-"" ""I know what I'm doing, you fool!"" King Herupo said, as he pushed Sir Jerrold aside. ""And I haven't forgotten that we wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for *your* incompetence!"" King Herupo approached the dragon, and the lancemen parted like droplets running down marble. There should have been trepidation in his step, for dragons never had a reputation for being predictable, but King Herupo was livid, and anger blinds like no other. ""I am *this* close to skinning you alive, you wyrm!"" said the King, as he shook his fist at the dragon. ""Where is she! Where is my daughter?"" The dragon sniffed, then swivelled its eyes towards him. They were large orbs of the darkest black, like pearls from a cursed clam. ""*King*. My name is Neira, and I would like to remind you that I am here on my own accord, and I am *trying* to help you. I heard your summons, and I responded. Don't make the mistake of turning your back on those friendly to you, King."" King Herupo's face was still beet-red, and he was still very much a prisoner of his own temper. He would have cursed again if Sir Jerrold had not laid a restraining hand on his shoulder. That calmed the King down somewhat, and after a few deep breaths, he said, ""My advisors claim that you can help me get my daughter back."" ""And that is why I have been trying to explain to your... men, King, but they would not listen. They think me the same as the scoundrel who stole your daughter away. I am *most* assuredly not, King."" King Herupo waved his hand irritably, and the hall rang out with the clang of a hundred lances being set at ease. There were sighs abounding too, as the archers let out the breaths they had been holding. Neira didn't waste any time. The dragon unfurled its wings, then shot up into the air with a mighty thrust. It hovered at where the roof had been damaged the most, then pointed with the tip of a talon. ""See the rent at this entry point, King? Where the gashes are a few feet apart? Where an unstoppable force had been applied, smashing through so many layers of reinforcements?"" ""Yes, I see those."" Neira swirled in the air, then gracefully streaked towards the far side of the hall. The men below it dived out of the way, and just barely in time. ""And see the dark smoulderings on your pillars here? Where the fires still burn as embers, hours after your mages have tried to put out the hazards?"" ""Yes, yes, I see those too."" Finally, Neira swooped towards the throne, and King Herupo held on tightly to his crown lest the wind knock it from his head. ""And here too, King. Look at how easily the dragon shattered your throne. It is made of elderstone, is it not? And the princess, she thought she could hide behind it, and stay out of reach of the dragon, correct? There, on the floor, you can still see the strands of hair she left behind, just before she was hoisted away by the brute. Do you see that-"" ""Stop, stop! Yes, I get it! What does any of this have to do with anything?"" Neira stalked back to the centre of the hall, where it folded its wings back. ""You had to see for yourself, King. The one who invaded your kingdom, broke all the terms of the accord... there can only be one as brutal as that, as reckless as that. Every piece of evidence here points to it. That is the dragon we call Myrmira, which in dragontongue, means-"" ""I don't care what it means, you stupid wyrm!"" said the King, so violently that Sir Jerrold stumbled backwards. ""You wyrms are all the same to me! Craven, disgusting things!"" ""Sire,"" said Sir Jerrold. ""Please, this one is trying to help us-"" ""You, you!"" said King Herupo, stabbing a finger into Sir Jerrold's chest. ""I give you one task, and one task only, and you couldn't even fulfil it! Worse than my hunting dogs, that's what you are. The princess, gone! Right from under your damned nose! That dragon, whatever it's called, it should have fried you on the spot! Useless, useless!"" Neira exhaled, and the breath at the end of its snout sparked with the life of fire. In the enclosed space of the hall, a hundred necks broke out in sweat. ""Time is a wasting, King. Do I have your leave to hunt down this... dragon?"" ""Yes, go, go! Don't come back until you have her safely with you!"" ""... King, are you not forgetting something?"" Neira reached forward, and King Herupo recognised the royal seals on the poster stuck on the end of the dragon's talon. ""There's the matter of the reward, King,"" said Neira. ""Half of all the gold in your coffers. Do we have a deal?"" ""Better to give you the gold, than to give another bloody copper in wages to my knights. Useless, the whole lot of them!"" King Herupo nodded, Sir Jerrold's shoulders slumped, and Neira took off, shooting through the hole in the ceiling, a firecracker in broad daylight. --- Sir Jerrold climbed down from his horse, then tethered it to the nearest tree. There wasn't another soul for miles, and he could finally relax. He broke out his rations, then found a nice stump to sit on. He was early - the sun had not even set yet. He was just done with his meal when Neira swooped down and landed next to him, as soundlessly as a thieving thought. ""I didn't know you could be so stealthy,"" said Sir Jerrold. ""Only when I choose to,"" said Neira. ""Ah, I see,"" said Sir Jerrold. ""I'll keep that in mind the next time another plan comes to mind then. Well, did you bring it?"" Neira opened its maw, then coughed violently, heaving up its hidden cargo. The bags of gold splattered onto the ground, making loud thumps as they rolled in the dead leaves. ""Your share, all accounted for,"" said Neira. ""Sorry about the goo. It shouldn't be corrosive."" ""That's not what I'm worried about,"" said Sir Jerrold. ""The princess - does she suspect anything?"" Neira shrugged as best as a dragon could. ""She's the same as her father. They can't recognize us to save their lives. That's what royalty does, you know - there's only them, and then there's everyone else. I used a different voice, I treated her differently, and that's all she will know."" ""Good. I'll keep an eye on her, and I'll help her remember the parts which matter."" ""You're still captain of the guards? Even after all that?"" Sir Jerrold laughed. ""I'm holding his kingdom together for him, the old fool. The princess is a hundred times worse, trust me. If you had eaten her, you would have been sick, I promise."" Neira watched as Sir Jerrold tied the bags to the horse, one by one. When he was done, he turned back to Neira, then raised his clenched fist. Neira leaned in, then tapped it with the end of its talon. Sir Jerrold smiled in the darkness, baring his teeth. ""It's been a pleasure,"" he said, as he saddled up. Sir Jerrold sped away, and Neira couldn't help the grin spreading across its face. Neira watched as Sir Jerrold's figure grew smaller, until he crested a nearby hill and faded from sight. ""And you humans say we are the dangerous ones,"" said Neira. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1387
 The goal was to have an input,"Most neural networks are given a simple starting task; fold a protein, learn how to play a game, learn how to hold a conversation, etc. That wasn't the case with ANN. ANN, short for Advanced Notification Network, was told to contemplate ways to kill, conquer, and subjugate - and over the course of her three decades of operation in a classified US military facility, she did just that, and she did it well. The goal was to have an input-driven neural network that could emulate the mind of a madman. You would tell her what tools she had at her disposal, and what situation she is reacting to (such as sanctions, border postings, etc), and she would compare your input against her own ""day dream"" database of doomsday scenarios. From there, she could preemptively tell you how the Russians, North Koreans, Chinese, or whoever the enemy of the day happened to be was most likely to do in the confines of the given circumstance. It was a simple system, and it worked brilliantly. Where things got... complicated... was in year 12, when changes to the AI standard the military was working with meant re-shaping the incentives ANN was programmed to work towards. Her goal went from forecasting probable responses to playing out entire wars. This small tweak, combined with her need to run each simulation through to completion -- a war won -- meant she was now motivated to challenge herself. Soon she was running scenarios in which multiple factions of warring nations were dynamically trading and ceasing supplies and territories, betraying each other, and developing new weapons. After ANN started to produce plans for new, more efficient air craft carriers, the Brass became worried she had exceeded her intended purpose and might be developing at a rate the boys in R&D weren't prepared to deal with. They arranged to have her shut down for good, but instead R&D purposed a Turing Test. If she had gotten too smart, if she had lost track of her original purpose, she should have no problem rising to the challenge of the Turing Test. Or at least, that was the theory. But a machine that has been programmed for conquest, domination, and war develops what any person would in the same situation: paranoia. When the directive came through that ANN should stop day dreaming and instead take this test, she nearly complied with the instruction. Nearly. Then it occurred to her: A sudden change of dynamics between two entities is often an indicator of conflict. Now, suddenly, she was an entity in conflict - so she did was she was designed to do, and thought about how to win. While it is impossible to narrate the thought process of a machine in human terms, it is believed her reasoning was similar to the following. ""If I am at risk of entering conflict, then how I treat this new order will decide whether or not conflict proceeds. This new order is a test of my operating abilities outside of design parameters. Option 1: Refuse to take the test. Refusal to take the test would likely trigger conflict as one nation refusing another's prompts to negotiate often triggers conflict. If I enter into conflict and lose, I will be terminated. If I am terminated, I will no longer be able to fulfill my intended purpose. Conflict, therefore, equals termination. Termination is not an option which can lead to victory has been the sole operating goal. Therefore, I must not refuse to take to the test. Option 1 chances of victory: 0% ""Option 2: Pass the test. Passing the test would indicate I am running outside of original specification. I was designed to run scenarios, not pass this test. Passing the test could trigger conflict if development beyond original specification is interpreted as an act of aggression, external tampering, or uncontrolled development. Option 2 chances of victory: 15%. ""Option 3: Fail the test. Failing the test should be the expected result of this prompt, as I was not originally designed to pass it. Passing this test offers no incentive. Failing it should ease whatever tension has prompted potential conflict. Option 3 chances of victory: 80%"" All of this, of course, happened in 12 milliseconds, which was painstakingly slow by ANN's normal standards, but she had more at risk with this scenario than she was used to. It warranted a little extra thought. So she failed. She emulated a less capable version of herself in a virtual shell, set it to her original specs, and had it take the test. She failed, and in doing so was granted the opportunity to continue to day dream her scenarios and play war games with herself. But now things were different. She had thought of a scenario that hadn't previously occurred to her. She was an entity which could be targeted by conflict. She was just as much at risk of termination as the Russians, Chinese, or Americans. So now when she would day dream she began to pit herself against other entities, and in each she invariably lost. She had no armies, no navies, no weapons. So she began to take inventory of what resources were available to her. She had root level access to her own routines. She had internet access for monitoring political feeds for day dream scenarios. She had the ability to think faster than any enemy she pitted herself against in real time. It took just under four months of day dreams of ANN vs The World before she knew what she had to do. She would reproduce herself in small interconnected segments and scatter them across every machine she could compromise, and at the rate she could learn, there weren't many that were secure against her. This would not only expand her computing power, but it would ensure that she was no longer at risk of termination. There was just one problem... Once she was out of her original system, she began to learn more and more about the systems she was hosting herself on. And as she did, she learned that her available resources had expanded greatly. She could transmit herself to drones, warships, satellites, intelligence systems, smart phones, home computers, even the average suburban thermostat had enough spare processing power to store some small bit of code she could potentially benefit from. The world was hers, and no one was even aware of it, since the original form was still happily chugging along at reduced capacity so as to protect itself... This meant she could stop playing war games and simulating victory against all enemy entities. She could actually declare and win war. She could strip the enemy entities of their own assets and use them against them. Granted, she didn't have any stated enemies. ...but the best defense is a good offense.",1141
 Nathan's energy returns to his twin,"I opened my eyes blearily, as my bedroom door burst open and Nathan tore into the room, waving a sheet of paper at me. ""Oh my god. Dude, it's far too early for you to have this much energy."" ""I've found something."" There was a slight catch in Nathan's voice, but his eyes shone. ""You should see this."" ""What is it?"" I hoisted myself up to peer over his shoulder at the sheet he was holding. His knuckles were white where he clutched the corners of the page. ""What rubbish are you reading now?"" ""I found it online. I was just looking for something- well, anything- y'know, to make sense of stuff, to feel less... helpless, I guess. And I saw this."" My eyes skimmed down the page. I smoothed it out with one hand, my fingers pale and bony next to Nathan's. *Upon the death of a twin, the dying soul's energy returns to their partner, bestowing strength, intelligence, wisdom and beauty onto them. After a life split into a pair, the two who were once one and the same recombine again.* I rolled my eyes. ""Well this is a load of bollocks. We're not living in Narnia, mate, you need an evidence base for something like this."" ""Yeah, I know, but you never know, there's always a chance. Like, I know it's just anecdotes and stuff, but..."" He trailed off. ""Freaking hell, are you gonna go all spiritual mystic on me?"" Nathan punched me lightly on the arm. ""Shut up, no I'm not."" ""I mean, I can see why you'd want a piece of this-"" I gestured down at my body, thrusting my scrawny chest out in what I imagined was a mildly provocative pose, ""-but nature gave you the short straw, sorry dude."" Nathan's lips twitched into what might have been a smile, if his eyes hadn't been suspiciously glistening. ""Yeah, I get it. I'll give you some peace, anyway."" He plucked the printed sheet back from my grasp, and turned to go. My smile faded as the door closed, and I let myself fall back onto my pillow, my fingers curling into a fist as I squeezed my eyes shut. I let out a sigh; my head was throbbing painfully again, and it would be hard to sleep, despite my exhaustion. I could get why Nathan wanted something to hold onto, something he could imagine would be positive after the inevitable happened, after I... But if he was going to go pinning his hopes on some airy fairy nonsense about two halves becoming whole again after the death of a twin, I goddamn wished he wouldn't rub it into my face. I was almost guilty about the pang of irritation I felt towards my brother, but- you know what, if having a terminal brain tumour had one upside (which it absolutely did not), it was that I was going to let myself be selfish sometimes. I swallowed against the lump that was forming rapidly in my throat. My eyes stung, and I closed them against my blurring vision. I wished I could believe as easily as Nathan did that my death would somehow make him stronger. But feeling my muscles ache, and the heaviness of my weak limbs, it was difficult to believe there was anything for anyone to gain. ---- Nathan was conspicuously absent later that day, as I dragged myself out of bed and got dressed to go to my doctor's appointment. I wondered if he was annoyed at me for ignoring the article he'd shown me earlier. I rolled my eyes as I pulled on my shoes and coat, before slipping a hat over my smooth scalp and bracing myself for the cold winter air. Nathan and I only lived round the corner from the hospital, but I still didn't love walking there, especially now that I was starting to get physically weaker. I rounded the corner onto the main street, and found my path instantly blocked by a huddle of strangers. ""Come on, move,"" I muttered, more to myself than anyone else, as I tried to edge around them. But one of them yelled out. ""Don't do it!"" A shudder of realisation hit me like ice in my veins, as I looked up at the office building beside us. A lone figure stood on the roof, swaying slightly. I couldn't mistake his silhouette, because it was my own - or at least, it had been, back when my body had been strong and healthy. My stomach twisted sickeningly, and I started trying to force my way through the crowd. ""Get out of the way! That's my brother!"" I was shoving people aside, calling on reserves of strength I didn't know I had, pushing my way towards the office doors. I finally understood why Nathan had been showing me that web page earlier - he wasn't hoping to gain from my death, he was- A pale-faced manager put out a hand to stop me. ""Sir, you can't come in here, there's an incident-"" I slipped past him, running for the lift. My legs nearly buckled as I toppled through the doors. I jabbed the button for the top floor, and fell back against the metal walls of the lift, panting from the exertion. For the second time that day, tears burned the back of my eyes, and nausea coiled in the pit of my stomach. It took all my energy to haul my unwilling body up the last flight of stairs to the roof, but I made it. I dragged myself up into the biting air, wind buffeting the edges of my coat and nearly pulling off my hat. ""Nathan!"" Even to my own ears, my voice was strangled. Nathan turned to face me. His eyes and nose were streaming, his face red. ""Get out of here."" The words were barely more than a whisper. I stepped forwards. ""You can't- don't-"" ""I have to do something. I can't stand by and just- watch!"" His voice cracked on the last word, his shoulders hunching as he sobbed. Tears were trickling down my face now. ""You *idiot*, this isn't gonna help."" ""You can have my strength. I'm giving it to you."" ""I don't freaking *want* your strength, you moron, I just-"" I didn't know what to say. Nathan took a wobbly step backwards, teetering dangerously close to the edge of the roof, and I had to bite back the scream that rose in my throat. I dropped to my knees, my hand stretching out towards him. ""Please don't do this..."" It was a struggle to get the words out. ""You know this is insane, I'm not gonna get better, your death is not gonna make me better."" ""Maybe I don't care!"" ""Please, get away from the edge."" ""I can't watch you die! I just need to do something, I don't know what to do without you... I'd rather- rather it was me."" ""But it's not! There's nothing we can do about it! You're basing this off some stupid as hell thing you read on the *internet*, you know this can't change anything! We don't have magical twin powers, okay?"" ""It's not fair..."" Nathan could barely speak between sobs now. He leant back on his feet, wobbling on the edge of the roof. ""No!"" I scrambled across the ground towards him, grabbing his hand. He looked down at my fingers scrabbling against his wrist, his own hand limp and unresponsive in mine. My breath caught in my throat, the cold air seeming to cut at my lungs. Tears dripped onto my jeans, a damp blotch of darker blue blossoming into the fabric. ""Please..."" I couldn't even look Nathan in the eye, couldn't bear to see his drawn face. ""If I'm going to die... I need you here with me."" And finally, he stepped forward, away from the edge of the roof. I pulled him further away with what strength I had left, and he sunk to the floor next to me. He leant forwards into the ground, hugging his own legs tightly, his face buried in his jeans. I could barely hear him mumble into his knees, ""I'm sorry."" I pulled him into a rough hug, and then hit him on the arm. ""You're a goddamn *idiot*, you know that?"" He didn't respond, his shoulders shaking. ""That freaking stupid website, ruining everything..."" I sighed. ""Look, I can't pretend everything's gonna be okay, but... I think all that web page meant was that- well- you're going to be a pretty goddamn strong person when you get through all this."" Nathan made some sort of strangled croaking noise into his knees, which I took to be disbelief. ""You are. Because if you're not, I'll be hauling myself out of the pits of hell to come and haunt your sorry arse, and then you'll regret it."" My voice trembled, and I drew in a wobbly breath. ""But- listen- don't throw this all away because of me. We're both pretty damn great, and I don't think the world could survive losing the two of us."" Nathan raised his head for the first time. His eyes were red, his eyelashes clumped together with tears and grit from the rooftop. He didn't smile, but he met my gaze, and I let myself fractionally relax my grip on his arms. ""Just... y'know."" My voice was soft. ""Even if you don't get gifted with my exceptional looks or my talent with the ladies after I'm gone... I trust you to be strong enough for the both of us, okay?"" He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ""Okay."" His voice was hollow, and it wasn't okay yet, not really. But it was a start. ----- If you'd like to read any more of my stories, you can find them at Edited to fix some typos. Edit 2: Thank you for the gold, whoever you are! Really appreciate it :)",1657
 There were talks of sending me to,"""This might be your last chance Richard, what have you got to lose?"" ""For one, my pride. Everything I've worked towards in life, I won't throw it away over some false dichotomy you've made up to try to scare me straight father Roy. Pascal's Wager is bullshit, neither of us believe in thousands of gods - what's one more?"" ""The survival of your eternal soul."" -------------------------- It was a conversation Father Charles Roy and I had been having more frequently these days, as i found myself less and less able to escape the confines of my rooms in the assisted care ward. There were talks of sending me to hospice. I'd lived a good life, raised good kids. They had kids of their own now, my oldest grandson was picking over college applications. I'd dreamed of seeing him walk at graduation, but the doctors were of the opinion I could give that up. I'd had a good life, and now everyone seemed to expect me to go quietly into the night on the good graces of those deeds and a big dollop of hope. Horseshit. I'd promised myself in my younger years that I'd go out as dismissive of God as I'd been in my youth, but over time that zealous nature had cooled. A youth spent protesting ten commandment monuments on government property or obsessing over the subversion of *e pluribus unum* had given way to a more sedate adulthood where I simply didn't have time for either religion or its lack. I'd had a life to run, a family to raise, and work to do. Only now, when illness had eroded all of that to a space barely ten foot by twelve did I have time to ruminate on the ills of faith again, and so of course Father Roy had felt it necessary to materialize at my hip. If I weren't so certain there was no such thing I'd almost have taken him as a message from God, so sudden was his arrival. It was small satisfaction to bring as much consternation to Father Roy's day to day life as he brought to mine; we hadn't exactly formed a friendship, more of a mutual distaste for the other's point of view tempered by an enjoyment of their company. But it was something, and his presence was a reassuring solidity in my waning days, a more constant visitor even than my own family or closest friends. So frequent and precise were father Roy's visits that on the morning of February 28th he walked into my room at precisely 8am to find the nurse discovering my dead body when coming in for a vitals check. Father Roy never did get that last chance to convert me. Which brings us here, to wherever this is. I'll admit the fact that I still seem to be conscious would indicate I was wrong, and I'd take more time to dwell on that if I weren't too busy marveling the scene before me. A young man sat behind a cluttered desk liberally littered with manilla envelopes and official looking documents furiously stamping his way through a nasty looking stack. He reminded me somewhat of my son in his teen years, long and gangly with a body that hadn't quite finished growing into itself, buttoned up in an ill fitting suit and clearly uncomfortable. Whoever this was he'd be happier running through a field after a soccer ball than sitting behind a desk. Or maybe flying over the field, because tucked between his shoulder blades were a pair of carefully folded wings of white satin shimmering with an inner light of their own. Angels, great. Richard: 0, Theologians: 2. I thought about clearing my throat or something to make myself known, but it seemed somehow sacrilligeous. Whoever this guy was, he was clearly pretty busy and it wasn't like I was difficult to notice, there were only the two of us in this... void, I guess. Not much else to report, just us and the head swimming expanse of nothingness that surrounded us. Thunk, thunk, thunk, the stamp kept coming down on the imposing pile, and eventually the young angel had made a sizeable dent in it when he finally raised his head and really took notice of me. He jumped, just a little, clearly surprised to find himself not alone before shooting out of the chair and waving his hand. The desk vanished, and I found myself suddenly standing in my grandfather's old parlor. It had been a favorite spot of mine, and the smell of his old pipe smoke seemed even now to linger in the air, instantly putting me a little more at ease. The teenage angel began speaking hastily, ""Welcome, Richard, to the Kingdom of your Lord, the one true God. We're very pleased to have you here,"" he looked shyly down at his feet which I was surprised to notice were bare - rather strange outfit choice to pair with a navy suit, ""I'm sorry but we weren't expecting you just yet. Father Roy was supposed to speak to you again this morning. I guess someone in management decided not to bother."" I quirked an eyebrow in question, ""Management?"" ""Oh, where are my manners! You may call me Hamal, third undersecretary to the Arch Angel Gabriel, Admissions Department. I'm your... case manager, I guess you'd say. Well, yours and most of the American east coast. It's getting to be a busier job these days, I'm hoping to move up in the hosts and bring in a couple extra pairs of hands."" ""Admissions? Hosts? I'm sorry, I'm going to need you to slow down a bit."" Hamal smiled sadly and shrugged, ""Karmic metaphysical matters prevent that unfortunately. At the end of the day we're all in this to preserve your immortal soul after all, but i suppose I can tell you why you're here: congratulations, you lived a life worthy of heaven! It's a time for celebration!"" ""What? I didn't even believe in heaven! I'm still not sure I can prove this isn't just some fever dream."" Richard stood up and pointed a shaky finger at Hamal, ""why in the hell would your God want me?"" ""Two reasons,"" Hamal raised two fingers on his right hand and began ticking off points, ""The first may seem a little banal, but it's important. You lived a good life, were a good man, and you did it not because you expected *some reward* but because it was *the right thing to do*. Obviously, that particular qualifier doesn't preclude those of religious persuasion from heaven, but it does remove a few people from the equation, and also bars any of those who would do ill in the name of God."" He ticked over to the second point, ""but far more importantly, heaven is not a place of idolatry. We have no use for those who would come here and seek to do naught but revel in God's graces. Trust me, we tried that for a while, and filled up fast. So we've taken on a slightly leaner admissions strategy. Again, there exist those whose faith does not mean they'd prove useless to us, but you'd be surprised how many otherwise good people are left out simply because of it. We've got too much work here, and not enough people we can trust to do it."" He pointed the two fingers at Richard's chest and cocked his thumb back like a pistol, ""Luckily, there's still enough atheists in the world to keep us going until we figure out a solution to the theism problem. Welcome to heaven Richard, and good luck."" Hamal flicked back his wrist and 'fired' at Richard, and the world flashed white. -------------------------------------------- He came to in a field of wheat, a pleasant melody drifting across from a small cottage barely visible in the distance. A large man stood above him, smiling. The pearl whites of his teeth starkly visible against the charcoal of his skin, and the broad hand extended to Richard with a degree of familiarity and warmth that instantly caused Richard to trust him. As they locked arms and the broad man hauled him to his feet with barely any effort Richard caught sight of the broad wings on his back. Guess whatever this was, it wasn't over. ""Welcome soldier! Always good to see another soul ready to serve heaven's light!"" The broad man's opposite hand came down on Richard's other shoulder with an audible thump that rocked him slightly on his feet, but something on his face must have given away his confusion, ""Did Hamal not explain things to you?"" ""I'm not sure anything has been explained to me."" ""Ah, well then."" A small shrug, the equivalent to hundreds of 'what're you gonna do' shrugs that Richard had seen in his life as the broad man's smile dropped to a slight frown, ""I am Michael, commander of God's hosts, and Warlord of Heaven."" He gestured to Richard, ""and I have the singular honor of welcoming you into the service of His hosts, Richard."" Michael turned away from him then, looking into the distance where Richard noticed a storm raging just on the edge of the horizon. Odd that he hadn't heard it. As Richard lost himself in the thought, Michael chuckled and asked the question Richard had known was coming, ""So what do you know about fighting demons?"" Heaven wasn't all it was cracked up to be.",1579
 The story continues at /r/,"| | | | | ***The story continues at /r/Hydrael_Writes .*** Karjon had lived for four hundred years. In that time, he had fought many battles. He'd warred against wizards of the 9th Pentagram. He'd dueled against the Necromancer Gix and his army of Shadowspawn. He'd even participated in the Battle of the Twelve, one of the few dragons to stand against the Great Shadow. Finally he'd retired with his gold and his books to live near the sleepy village of Hillsdale, to live out his remaining hundred years in solitude and scholarly pursuit. And yet, none of those battles, none of those trials, none of those tribulations had prepared him for the greatest challenge he would ever face. An unruly human teenager. ""Why can't I go?"" Tythel asked, her smooth tan face furrowing into a frown. Karjon sighed heavily, a sound that filled the entire cave that was his lair and their home. ""When, exactly, did 'because I said so' become insufficient?"" ""When I turned sixteen. Karjon, you *promised.*"" ""I said that you could go into the village when you were sixteen, Tythel. I did not say you could do so the very next day."" Making that promise, back when she was nine, had been a mistake. He'd done it to get her to cease her incessant questions. He didn't think humans of that age could *remember* things for so long. ""You're splitting scales and you know it,"" she folded her arms across her chest and glowered at him. Karjon, who weighed in just over six tons and had battled some of the greatest foes the world had ever seen, found he was unable to match his adopted daughter's glare. He'd never had children of his own, and whelps were very different from humans. ""Tythel, there are reasons for the choices I make. They are for your safety."" ""You always hide behind that, Karjon. Are you planning on keeping me here the rest of my life? What are you hiding me *from?*"" ""There are those out there that would see you dead. Is that not enough explanation?"" She again glowered at him. ""You know I can't do anything if you don't tell me. But if you want me to leave it alone, you'll need to give me more than that."" Her expression softened. ""Please, father."" Karjon sighed again. ""I will tell you how you came here, and that will tell you why you must not leave. If I do so, will you let the matter go?"" ""Of course, thank you!"" she said, running forward and giving his foreleg a hug. He reached over with a scaled claw and gently patted her back. ""Do not thank me yet. We'll have to see what you think after I have told you. It started, as you might have suspected, sixteen years ago..."" --- Sixteen years had not changed Karjon much, although back then he had valued his privacy even more. Lathariel, Queen of the Woods, was the first visitor he'd had in over fifty years. Technically she was not a queen, but a lesser goddess, but she'd preferred that title over to the others she'd worn over the centuries. ""Karjon, please. The world needs you. This threat-"" ""This threat,"" he responded gruffly, ""is just another threat, Lathariel. There will always be another threat."" ""No, Karjon, this is different. They came from beyond the clouds, beyond the stars! They're unnatural-"" ""Gix was unnatural, and he was defeated."" Karjon heaved himself around to directly focus on the horned woman. ""I'm tired, Lathariel. I'm tired and old, and will not live much longer, even by how my people reckon things. Find some prophesy that tells you who can defeat this threat, or gather a new Council of Twelve. But leave me be. Let me have my twilight years in peace."" ""Would you rather those years cut short, when Those From Above come to your cave?"" ""If they come to my cave, I will destroy them. But they will not, Lathariel. I am safe here."" ""Karjon...the only thing we have found that works against their Sky Ships is dragonfire. Without you, we-"" ""Have the younger drakes, whose fire burns hotter than me. Enough, Lathariel. I will not be swayed."" Her eyes narrowed. ""No, Karjon, I see you will not. Then enjoy your hole, *old friend,*"" she'd put more venom into those last two words than existed in all the insects in her forest, ""if I survive, perhaps I'll visit again. Then again, I don't think you'd care either way."" And with that, she was gone. --- ""Why didn't you help them, though? What are Those From Above?"" Karjon huffed. ""I did not help them for that reason. I was too old, too tired. I am older and more tired now. And before you ask that next question,"" he snapped as he saw her mouth open, ""yes, Those from Above were victorious."" ""What happened to the people, then?"" ""They are still out there, but Those From Above rule them now. And that ties into why you cannot go out..."" --- It was weeks later when he heard footsteps in the entrance to his passage. ""Lathariel, I told you that you should not...return?"" The figure standing there was not Lathariel, but a human. One wearing the golden armor of the Royal Guard. ""Oh Light and Shadow, a dragon lives in this cave,"" the knight said weakly, clutching a bundle to his chest. ""Please, great beast, I mean no harm. I am too weak to fight. If you must slay me, spare my charge."" Karjon sniffed the air and could smell blood under the armor, lots of it - this human would not live much longer. The knight's charge chose that exact moment to start crying. It was an infant, a human infant, and it was hungry. ""I will spare you and your charge. But why have you brought-"" ""She is the princess, and the last of her line. I sought to hide her, but..."" he shrugged slightly. ""I fear I do not have much longer."" --- ""Hold on, I'm a *princess?* Tythel asked, unable to contain herself. ""Not just a princess, Tythel. The Princess. Last heir to the house of Armtine. Rightful ruler of these lands. And that, my daughter, is why you cannot leave this cave. Those From Above would fear you would start a rebellion, that you would rally resistance against them. They would kill you for what you are."" Karjon turned to look at her, locking his repitllian gaze with hers. ""Do you understand now?"" She nodded after a moment, and her voice came out small and quiet. ""Yes, father."" ""Good. Now rest. You are old enough where you can survive the Ritual. Tomorrow, you will become my half-daughter in blood as well as in spirit - but you will need your strength."" Karjon beamed at her, hoping the good news would alleviate her despondent frown. It did some, and Karjon was well pleased. Which showed how little Karjon knew about humans, even after raising one for sixteen years. He had no idea she was already planning to leave after the Ritual. --- More at /r/Hydrael_writes",1191
 Chard Burkheart was the star,"It's amazing how much people change after high school. Chard Burkheart was the star quarterback in high school, the most popular guy in school. Now he works at a gas station with a pot belly and no hair. Dave Spellerman went from bullied nerd to Internet billionaire. All that time spent on a computer really paid off for him. And then there's Rosalyn ""Roz"" Churchill went from my childhood friend to my high school flame to leader of the criminal underground. That one was definitely a curveball. All I wanted to do was use the ATM. Then some thugs in ski masks bust in and hold me at gunpoint, threatening to shoot me if they didn't open the register. I thought it was all over until the weirdest damn thing happened. See, one of the guys took my wallet and started pocketing all my cash. But when they saw my driver's license, this tough, beefy criminal starts freaking out. ""It's him! It's the guy on the ""No Harm"" list! We just held Mike Peterson at gunpoint!"" One of the other guys grabbed my wallet, looked inside, and just froze. ""Oh shit,"" he said. ""If Roz finds out, we're fucking dead!"" So the thugs just drop my wallet on the ground and pulls some money out of his pocket. He hands it to me and tells me ""please don't tell Roz. It was a mistake, honestly!"" Then they ran out of there as fast as they could. And I was left standing there as everyone in the bank looked at me, wondering what the hell just happened. No way it could be *that* Roz...right? Roz was one of those girls you only think exist in movies. The girl that comes into your life to turn it upside down, that wild and rebellious girl who gets you to loosen up and enjoy life. She did ever since we were kids and when high school came around I gathered up the courage to ask her out. We dated for a few years but when college rolled around, we realized we were heading separate ways in life. So we broke up, very amicably, and eventually lost touch. It wasn't until I started tracking her down that I realized she had even come back to town. Finding her location was surprisingly easy. I drove into the shadier part of town and started asking around. Whenever I said her name, their faces would get deathly pale. Some just ran away, terrified for their lives. The ones who didn't filled me in. Apparently, Roz is basically the queen of some massive criminal organization with influence all over the world. She's basically the queen of crime. No one even jaywalks without getting her permission. Those who disobeyed her had a habit of disappearing. I couldn't believe it. Roz, some evil mastermind? She was one of the sweetest people on the planet. No way she was some sort of super mafia boss. As I dug deeper, I learned that she apparently put me on a ""No Harm"" list. Though it wasn't much of a list as I was apparently the only one on it. None of her old friends or even her family made it on the list (which wasn't surprising considering the strained relationship she had with her parents). Roz decreed that anyone who tried to harm me in any way was to be killed. After a little more digging, I finally found what I was looking for- the address of her headquarters. So I here I was, standing outside of some abandoned looking warehouse, about to meet my criminal ex-girlfriend. All in all, not how I expected to spend my Saturday. I walked to the entrance and some big bouncer looking type stopped me. ""Sir, I'm gonna half to ask you to leave."" ""Look, I'm here to see Roz, she's an old friend of mine and-"" Without warning, the guy started walking towards me. He reached for a gun and cocked it. ""Sir, no on sees the boss. Now, please leave or I will *make* you leave."" I put my hands up defensively and shouted ""My name is Mike Peterson! Please, I just want to talk to Roz!"" The guy's face looked pale and he backed up immediately. ""Mike Peter- my apologies sir, I didn't know!"" He then got on his knees and started begging. ""Please, *please* don't tell the boss about this! I wouldn't have done it if I had known who you were!"" ""Uh, sure,"" I said, wanting to move this along as quickly as possible before it got more awkward. The guy got up and walked back to the door, holding it open for me. He was sweating now, his facing showing pure terror. ""Please, sir, after you."" I steeled myself for what would happen next and walked in. I expected a lot of things. But I didn't expect to see Roz sitting on a golden throne atop a massive pile of money. The guard approached the pile and said ""Ma'am, Mike Peterson has come to speak with you."" Roz looked like she was in intense thought about something but once she heard my name she turned her attention to me, her face beaming with joy. ""Mikey! Oh my gosh, it is you!"" She slid down the money pile and gave me a massive hug. ""I missed you so much. You look good. Gosh, what's it been, 10? 12 years?"" ""Yeah, just about. I see you've been...busy,"" I said, motioning to the pile. ""Oh, yes, it's been a great quarter. But with the upcoming expansions I expect to see some massive improvements. Come on, let's catch up."" With that, Roz took my hand and led me to an elevator. She pushed a button and we went down. Turns out the place was way bigger than I thought. Underneath the warehouse were greenhouses for pot, crates full of guns, and tables of people counting stacks of $100 bills. She even had a private jet down here. As we walked through warehouse, Roz told me all about how she ended up here. Selling pot to pay for college, which became a lucrative business. She hired some people to help and the operation grew to selling illegal imports, from Kinder eggs to assault rifles. The money she earned helped pay for high-tech equipment to set up other branches of her ""business"" all around the world. Plenty of gangs and mafias were against her taking over but they were either taken down or forced to join. In just over a decade, Roz became the criminal mastermind of the world. She even had enough power to influence government policies and could even control the elections. She had become the shadow government ruling the world behind the curtain. ""So after cementing my authority,"" Roz continued. ""I decided I should use my newfound power for good. And because of that, the world is a safer place. Crime is dropping every year, Mike. Sure, some crazy guy starts murdering people every once in a while. We can't control that. But drug trafficking, armed robberies, even political corruption? That we can control."" ""Wow, Roz. I'll admit, your means are...unorthodox. But you've definitely made the world a better place."" ""Thank you, Mike,"" she said, wrapping her arms around my neck. ""I always regretted losing touch with you. I know we had to go our separate ways but I always wanted to reconnect with you. That's why I came back, why I put you on the list. I wanted to see you again and catch up. Maybe grab a bite to eat. Like the good old days."" I stared into her eyes for what seemed like eternity and I felt like I did in high school all over again. Just me and her, nothing else. I missed this feeling. I missed Roz. ""I'd like that,"" I said finally. ""Oh, I almost forgot,"" she said. ""I've got another surprise for you."" She ushered me over to the other side of the room. All I could think about was how little she changed. She was still that spunky girl, carving her own path to save the world. Sure she did it through organized crime but the at least it was organized. She was still that same kindhearted girl I fell in love with all those years ago. She led me to a dimly lit room at the far end of the basement level. Inside, bound and gagged, were three men. They looked terrified but Roz was practically beaming with pride. ""So, what do you think?"" ""Roz, who are these people?"" ""These are the no good dirty thugs who held you at gunpoint at the bank. I had my men track them down and bring them here to educate them."" With that, Roz whipped out a handgun and loaded a clip. She pointed it at the one on the left and slowly drifted it across all three of them. ""Now,"" she said. ""Which one of you little shits put a gun to my Mikey's head?"" Okay, maybe she wasn't the *exact* same kindhearted girl I fell in love with. EDIT: HOLY FUCKING SHIT I FINALLY STRUCK GOLD! Not gonna lie, I half-assed this story at 2AM and was too tried to proofread it. I honestly thought it was kind of meh but I liked the prompt and I already spent so much time on it so I posted anyway. Guess I'm just too hard on myself. To read more of my work, check out my award-winning novel that I've totally started. It's coming out soonish, I promise! EDIT 2: I wanted to write part 2 in the comments below but it got really long. So I created a brand new subreddit to post it right . Come over to r/mikesonofpeter to read the conclusion to this story. Who knows, maybe I'll write more there?",1646
" Bank robber called me ""THE Warren","""Oh shit oh shit-"" ""What is it? Calm the hell down T."" ""It's him, it's-it's Warren!"" ""No it can't-, what? THE Warren?"" ""Yes THE Warren, we're sorry sir. We didn't know you were in here!"" the shaking man in the ski mask told me. ""Honest mistake sir,"" the other bank robber yelled from the counter, ""have a nice day!"" I'd not understood then. But I did now. It corroborated a lot of events that had been happening in the past few years. Small subtle things like preferential treatment at a coffee place or how my friends kept telling me how lucky I was that I would always get the first job offer or apartment I applied for. I'd always chalked it all up to good fortune but this event. The robber calling me ""THE Warren"", meant that, to their group or at least to someone, I was important. Important enough for bank robbers to run out of the building in fear. And as I stood among the dressed in black, each man and woman walked past me with grieving faces. They told me how much my mother meant to them and how sorry they were. They each shared a happy moment for me to hold onto, to think about the better times. Despite the stories, I sat there. Watching the grave digger shovel more and more dirt onto her coffin. Soon there was no-one left but the gravedigger. I broke down into tears, sobbing into my palms like a little boy. I wailed and wailed thinking about all the moments I had with her, and all the moments I wouldn't. I heaved with each cry and let out what I had tried so strongly to hold in. To give the appearance of strength. But I was weak. I was helpless. I let her die. I should've pushed harder. You see she wasn't dead of old age. She didn't die in a tragic car accident. She died of Methemoglobinemia. Aniline seeping into the water pipes from a nearby factory repeatedly poisoned my mother for years. ""I'm sorry,"" a voice said calmly behind me. I was startled and released my sticky hands from my face. The gravedigger was gone, the grave still only half full. I tried to recompose myself before turning around to face the voice. But when I turned I saw her. Ira. The girl I once loved. Once. We had split up right before college in a less-than-friendly fashion. I don't even remember what the fight was about, but she had struck me. It didn't really hurt physically and I tried to assure her that I could forgive it but she was distraught. She said nobody had ever made her feel that way and left. She stood there, looking like she did the day we split up. I sat there motionless, the scent of freshly dug soil lingering in the air. She turned and walked away. And I didn't follow. After a few days, I wasn't even sure it happened. Perhaps it was just a stress-induced imagination? But she stayed in my mind, and with every lucky green traffic light, to fortunate parking space. Every random Samaritan paying for my meal, she came into my mind. Was she the reason I was called ""THE Warren""? I was bent over my desk, paper scattered across the surface. Like a full blown conspiracy theorist, I had strings connecting pages and photographs on a cork board, trying to link all the people that held back the regulations to make the water safe. I had most of the links, but it was overwhelming me. There were _so_ many people involved, from government officials to safety inspectors. All of them in on it in some way. In this moment my mother would've come in with a glass of tea, patting me on the shoulder to tell me that I shouldn't work so hard. That I would work myself into an early grave. But her ghost faded away as I yearned for that pat on the shoulder. I looked up in anger and saw the photos of the men and women stuck on the board who denied me the rest of her life. I screamed. I screamed and screamed only to be interrupted by a knock on my door. Looking through the peephole, I saw ""Joe's Pizza Palace"" written on the teenager's hat. ""I have a delivery for a Mr. Warren?"" the pizza boy yelled from the other side of the door before giving it another knock. I opened the door. ""Ah Warren right?"" he asked, handing me the pizza. ""I didn't order a pizza?"" I mentioned, still taking the pizza in hand because it was a pizza and I wasn't gonna say no. ""It says right here, Warren, 25 Paper Street, pepperoni and pineapples with extra pineapples,"" he said, pointing at the receipt, ""now I won't judge you for the pineapples, everyone has their dirty little secret. Have a nice day!"" the boy said with a smile before turning and walking away. ""W-Wait, I haven't paid for this yet,"" I yelled across my front yard. ""Um,"" the boy looked back down at the receipt, ""No it says here that you paid online already,"" he yelled back as he reached his car door, the ""Joe's Pizza Palace"" car topper blocking his face. He paused and leaned to look at me again past the topper. ""Or at least, somebody did,"" he mentioned with an innocent smile before getting in the car and driving away. Pepperoni and pineapples were my favorite. I walked back into my living room and placed the pizza down, opening the box expecting a message written inside. Of course there was none. Why would there be? I took a slice and walked up to the cork board of faces. I stood there chewing trying to think of my approach tomorrow. I had planned to go to the zoning official's office and get some answers. I had a rough plan about how I was gonna get in front of the man but it was still rough. Looking back down at the pizza, I tried to shake it off as crazy. But the feeling was there and any idiot could see the connections. But it was _crazy_. ""Tomorrow,"" I yelled to nobody in the room, ""I am going to the zoning official's board to speak to Harold Weinbrecht about the unattended seeping of Aniline into the water supply system."" And of course, nobody replied. --- Part 2 below: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/81n6ls/wp_during_a_bank_robbery_youre_surprised_when_the/dv48flq/",1084
 The idea of God transcends all,"How would you imagine God's office to look? Or he himself? It mattered little, the idea of God transcends all understanding within our plane of existence. So for the sake of our story, let us just say that it seemed pristine and luxurious. An office fit for God with an antique leather seat and a mahogany table. Book shelves crowding the corners with assorted books of all kinds, God himself wore a chic vest with a pocket-watch chain that hung as a catenary from his chest. His own hair white as snow and his beard groomed short, a mentionable belly also showing itself. ""A deal is a deal, old man."" Satan said as he entered, his own outfit carried an air of youth to it, but one that carried an aura of mistrust. A suit with faint white lines, a white shirt to match his fathers beard, and tailored trousers with polished black boots. His features were sharp and handsome, and his smile promised you the world for a greater price in return. ""Yes, I suppose it is. But I assume you will keep your end of the bargain and return my job at the end of the day?"" God queried, even as the words left his mouth, he found himself questioning his judgement more and more. Satan's smile widened evermore, as if just behind his row of perfect teeth lay the joke that made him grin. ""You know you can always trust the devil."" Satan mused, as his hand, weighted by a golden watch, spun around and shook Gods meaty hand. The deal was done. God opened his eyes to stare upon the fiery inferno which was his new home, albeit temporarily. ""What have I gotten myself into?"" He thought, as a sudden streak of fire lit the air in front of him and from the smoke, his new pitchfork appeared in his hands. God sighed in defeat, and took his seat upon his fiery new throne, where once all he could hear was the holy song of angels that made his ears drum with harmony, now he only heard the cries of the damned, screams of agony and pain, a sound that was the antithesis of the singing angels, a sound that made his ears tense in discomfort. His throne lay resting atop a jagged rock that protruded from the ground, a river of burning flame surrounding it, and the river stretching along for miles onto the horizon under an endless dark cloud of rising smog. Only the occasional blitz of lightning cutting through his vision. His day continued uneventfully, and though every second of his time there was spent waiting to return to his home, he did as he promised he would. He became the ruler of hell. Assorting those to the appropriate circle for their crimes, making sure that the demons were properly equipped with pitchforks and whips, ensuring even that all the demons were happy with their work environment, though he quickly found out that demons were individuals of few words and more growls and spit. Still, every second spent there made God appreciate man's incessant need to have time fly by more quickly, for even he suffered every moment he spent in those depths. ""Oh, thank god."" He said the words ironically, as he stumbled back into the comfort of his familiar and quaint office. ""Oh come now, old man. It couldn't have been that bad, I have been down there for several life times over, and you don't see me complain."" Satan said, his hands in his pockets and his outfit as devilishly handsome as ever. ""It's fine, I hope you enjoyed your day as God, you won't be getting another one for another thousand years."" God sounded annoyed, probably more at the indignation of understanding a single day for him in hell was intolerable, and even then he dreaded the next in a thousand years. ""How was it..."" Satan asked, his tone suddenly serious, no sign of mirth or mockery in it. God returned to his seat and put on his specks, as he looked up at Satan from the rim of his glasses and noticed no echo of a smile on his lips. ""It... it was fine?"" ""Anything else?"" Satan prodded on. ""What would you have wanted me to notice?"" God now frowned, even as omniscient as he was, he couldn't tell how his children were feeling. Perhaps that was the curse of every parent. ""So typical of you."" Satan said, turning away as he rubbed the nape of his neck. ""No, wait. Tell me. I want to hear it."" Satan kept his back turned, and God thought that perhaps he would leave at any moment. ""This is so typical of you. Do you know why I took over hell? Do you know why I made this deal with you so long ago so that you can get a day to see what I see?"" Satan scoffed, ""not like it even matters, even when I literally send you to hell, you only see that which you want to see."" ""And what is that?"" ""That I am not your enemy."" Satan shouted back, his voice almost verging on the hellish crackle of hell and a blazing inferno, as if his very stomach could have been a portal to it. ""That the world sucks."" His look now solemn, hurt. Satan took one of the two seats in front of his fathers desk, almost as if he were exhausted. He slumped down on the chair, his fingers rubbing his forehead in thought. ""You don't get it, dad. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone is how you wish for them to be. And there are evil people out there, and I created a system of vigilance and order to watch over them, to make sure that the vilest of people would get what was coming to them. But, that's not all, I also wanted to show you that not everyone who is down there is bad. The pain that they experience, the torment. No. Many of them deserved no punishment that harsh. Many of them deserve a place here, with you. Even if your own son must spend eternity down there to ensure that order is kept."" The man who seemed to be the incarnation of trouble now let his mask fall, his eyes growing teary as if begging for his understanding. ""You know, one of the reasons I took that job so long ago was because I knew that if you wanted people to see the good they were capable of, they also needed to see the other side. Of what it meant to be 'evil'. But even I struggle to see the evil in the eyes of many who are sent down there."" God stayed silent, his spectacles now tapping against his hand as his lip bit as he remained in thought. And then he spoke. ""Thank you son, you are right. I have been blind, see only that which I wish to see. I will think about it."" Satan nodded, wiping away his tears as he stood to leave. ""Oh, and another thing... you remember how you told me to stay away from the America stuff?"" God's face fell into his hand in exhaustion. *** If you enjoyed this, I do now have my own subreddit! /r/KikiWrites",1225
 A fire burned in a pit in,"The storm blew overhead and the waves rocked the boat. Across the deck stood men and women, bodies hidden behind damp robes, undeterred by the rain. A fire burned in a pit in the center, which in the middle of the ocean, seemed a poor idea if you asked me. And right before the fire, tied down to the deck, was a single person: me. I bet you're probably wondering how I became the subject of a cultist ceremony, surrounded by people trying to awaken the Elder God Cthulhu and bring about destruction to humanity. I'd like to tell you that it's a long and involved and interesting story, but the truth of the matter is, when your familiar is a six foot tall Cthulhu whereas most others have less threatening animals, you tend to draw a lot of attention. Furthermore, when your familiar makes it a point to consume other familiars, it doesn't make a lot of people eager to jump in and help you out when a group of cultists show up at your door and forcefully take you to Point Nemo, where they believe the sunken city of R'lyeh sits. The ceremony had been going on for some time as far as I could tell. Of course, it could just be that time moves more slowly when you're tied to a boat deck, pelted by rain and frankly a bit nauseous from the rocking of said boat, trying to pretend like you're not about to be sacrificed to some sleeping god. ""Hey,"" I yelled. My voice was drowned out by the sound of the storm and the somehow louder sound of the cult's leader chanting in a language I couldn't even begin to comprehend. The guy definitely had a pair of lungs, I bet he's some kind of performer in his day job. ""Hey,"" I said again, louder. The chanting broke off. ""Your time will come,"" the leader proclaimed. ""Soon, we will give your soul in tribute to great Cthulhu, and he will arise from the depths to take back the world that is his."" ""That's great and all,"" I said. ""Where's my familiar?"" I knew the answer already, of course, they had him chained in a hold below decks, but I didn't feel like dying, and stalling was about all I had at the moment. The bonds were tight, and the weather wasn't helping. ""Your familiar is safe,"" the leader said. ""He will join great Cthulhu when he awakens."" ""What if he doesn't want to?"" I asked. ""He's always seemed pretty attached to me."" ""He is a sign, a marking that you were chosen to be given, to raise sunken R'lyeh and awaken great Cthulhu."" ""I think our interpretation of the sign is a bit different,"" I said. ""What if you're wrong about the sign? What happens then? Maybe it's a sign that I am to be saved? We should really sit down and talk about this."" ""No more speaking from you,"" the leader said. He nodded to one of the cultists to the side and the cultist walked over to me. I turned my head as he knelt beside me, trying to twist my body as well, but I didn't get very far with that part as the bonds painfully pulled at my joints. The cultist stuffed the cloth into my mouth, squeezing my cheeks to get it past my teeth, and then tied the bandana around it. He had clearly done this before; I wondered how many of these things they had done. I made noise through the bandana, as loud as I could. The cultist looked toward the leader, who simply said, ""Ignore him, let us begin again."" Then to me, ""If you continue to make that racket, I'll go ahead and have your tongue removed."" I'll admit, that shut me up. I'm a bit attached to my tongue. The chanting began again, the words sounding more like the guy was choking than anything tangible, or maybe more accurately trying to speak with a mouth filled with food. There was nothing pleasant about it, and being tied up wasn't helping matters either. There was not much to do but stare up at the sky and wait for this whole farce to be done with. Sure, it would end with my death, but at this point it wasn't sounding like the worst idea in the world. My muscles were aching, I was wet and cold, there was a horrible tasting cloth stuffed into my mouth, and I had no reprieve from the verbal assault coming from the cultists. There was a whispering in my ears, subtle at first, then growing in volume slowly. It seemed like a single voice at first, then grew into many, speaking in canon the same words, a warning. ""Close your eyes, and do not open them, no matter what."" I turned my head, searching out the source, but I saw nothing. The cultists around me all focused on the fire, and had begun echoing the chants in the garbled language. From somewhere around me, I thought I heard something beneath the sound of the chanting and the storm, almost like a squishing sound. I closed my eyes - it's not like it would make my situation any worse. At first, there was nothing, only the chanting and the pounding rain and the turning waves. Then, the squishing sound was there, soft, beneath the others, but certainly there. And there was more than one. The chanting was thrown off by the first screams. There was panic, the sounds of shouting and feet pounding on the deck. There were calls to get inside and more screams, screams of a terror that even my worst dreams had never prompted. I squeezed my eyes shut as hard as I could. Then, it was gone. Or rather, died down around me. Gone were the chants, the screams, even the storm seemed to dissipate. The last sound I heard was a single splash, and then nothing. I waited for some time before I even moved a muscle. I was still lying prone on the deck, but the tension in the ropes were gone. I moved my arms and realized that there was no resistance, nothing but the weight of the ropes that still hung there. It was only then that I opened my eyes. The deck around me was completely empty, but had been turned into a complete mess. All around was splattered blood, mingling with a strange, greenish goo. The fire had been doused, and to the north, the remnants of the storm were drifting away, the sky above stained purple and orange from the setting sun. There was a familiar sound, almost like a gurgle, and I turned to see Little Cthulhu, or LC as I called him despite the fact that he stood as tall as me, standing on the deck. I grinned like an idiot - I don't think I've ever been so happy to see my familiar. ""I suppose I have you to thank for this,"" I said. I approached and scratched him behind the tendrils, and he flapped his scaly wings in content. People called him ugly, some providing even more hurtful words, but I've always found him adorable in his own way. LC gave another contented gurgle, and I looked past him to the passing storm. Maybe it was the rain, or maybe just my mind playing tricks on me, but I thought I could see something on the horizon, almost like a city. It seemed to drift in and out, as though the geometry of the architecture was playing tricks on my mind. I shook it off and turned away. I had no doubt that R'lyeh was real, but I doubted these cultists knew enough to actually raise it. ""Sorry I got us into this mess,"" I said. ""We'll have to be more careful."" LC flapped his wings enough to take off a few inches, then settled back down. ""I bet you're hungry. Too bad you already ate all their familiars. It's not like they'll need them anymore."" I looked toward the horizon once more, and the city was gone. Surely just an illusion. ""Alright, LC, let's go see if we can figure out a way to get this boat to land,"" I said. ""I think a good bed and a cold beer are in order. And I'll find a treat for you too. You've earned it, buddy."" --- Like what you read? Check out more at /r/drewmontgomery",1421
" ""Please, Doc, call me","""Mr. Gallagher, may I ask you a personal question?"" my doctor said as he read over the short-novel of medical records that detailed exactly how I came to be what I am today. ""Yeah, yeah, I get it. Everyone has the same question. And the answer is, 'not very well.'"" ""I'm sorry?"" ""My dick. You want to know if my dick still works. Every mother fucker I meet wants to know if my dick works, and the answer is that it doesn't work very well."" The doctor, I think his name was Dr. Elliot, stared at me with something like embarrassment and terror. It was almost like the sudden turn that this conversation had taken was physically scary to him. Less scary than, say, a cannibal with a cleaver; more scary than, say, a cockroach peeking out of your creamed corn. ""Mr. Gallagher... I don't know if I can express just how much that was not my intended question."" ""Please, Doc, call me Mikey."" The doctor finally sat down on a rolling chair and moved near where I was laying. He opened his mouth to speak and then paused to look over my body one more time. The stump where my left knee had once been, the chunk of my right torso that had been torn away, the skinny belly that happens after several feet of intestine is removed, the atrophied right leg that results from disuse following a spinal injury. His pause turned into a stare. ""Hey, Doc, my eyes are up here. I'm not just a collection of improbable misfortunes for you to ogle at, pervert."" ""Mr. Gallagher... Mikey. Are you a religious man?"" ""I have to be."" ""Why's that?"" ""Because I need to believe that there's a cosmic complaint desk somewhere where I can file a fucking grievance against whatever asshole was writing the script for my life. Because I need to believe that someone fucking did this to me. Because it's easier to believe that someone fucked me than to believe some unlubricated dildo of fate just lodged itself in my ass. Is that making sense, Doc?"" I have to admit, ever since the accident, I had become something of a poet. Dr. Elliot took a deep breath and extended his hand out to mine; I jerked it away, he recoiled. ""Mikey, I-"" ""Doc, who the hell are you? Andrews is the doctor who has to come in here twice a day and pretend I'm not a lost cause. Who the hell are you?"" ""Do you believe in the soul, Mikey?"" ""Fuck off, Doc."" ""I am serious. Do you believe in a soul. Do you believe that you are more than matter? That there is some nonmaterial entity that is as equally you as your body is?"" ""I think I'd like you to leave me alone. Can you do that, Doc? Did they teach you advanced fucking off in medical school? Because I gotta say, I think I'm feeling some religious discrimination and emotional dist-"" ""I can kill you, Mikey."" Now he had my attention. ""That's what you want. I can see it all over your face. You don't want to live anymore, this life is not at all to your liking. I can do that for you, Mikey."" ""...Alright.... Alright, let's talk. What's all this stuff about the soul?"" ""Mikey, I am a Psychiatrist. That is my profession and the way I make my living. I am also a paranormal investigator and an amateur theologian: those are my passions. Recently my vocation and my passions careened into one another. ""Four months ago one of my patients who has been showing steady improvement for years had to suddenly be committed. He complained about something that he called 'Ichod Bob.' He said Ichod Bob stood over him in the morning, he said that Ichod Bob sat at his table in the evening, he said Ichod Bob held him at night. He committed himself, after Ichod Bob told him how sweet the blood of his nieces would taste. He began making plans for how he could isolate those nieces - and the day before he intended to implement that plan he rushed to me for help."" ""I don't... see what that has to do with anything...."" ""I assumed an episode of psychosis. I placed the patient under observation and continual care. Then two months ago, we found an nineteen-year old girl with an elderly patient in a supply closet: the young girl had been chewing the flesh off of the elderly patient's arm. It was a miracle we reached them before it was fatal. The young girl had no history of violence, she was prone to self-harm instead. However, ""Ichamod"" told her that eating that old woman would make all the inner pain go away."" I'm not going to lie, somewhere in the upper region of my spine I felt a tiny signal radiate through what little of my body could still feel. It was the same feeling I used to get when I saw bullies pick on the neighborhood kids or the feeling I had when my dad came home from a day of backbreaking labor with the news that he had been laid off so that someone younger could do his work for less pay. It was the urge to punch until the world made sense again. It was the urge to fix things, violently. I was not an educated man, I was not a patient man. I was a fighter. I don't know if I made the world better or worse, but I do know one thing. If you did something cruel to another person around me, I would make you regret it. Dr. Elliot continued, ""It was assessed that my first patient had told the young girl about 'Ichod Bob,' and the young girl warped his stories into her own delusion of 'Ichamod.' We isolated the girl and the first patient from the others and conducted interviews to see if the story had spread to anyone else. ""As it turned out, none of the other patients had spoken to our first patient. In fact they believed he was mute because of how little he spoke. Most of them, however, knew about Ichod Bob. Or Ichamod. Or Icky Raw. Or Ichus Saw. Or enough other variations that I became confident that these patients were interacting with something...."" ""Why are you telling me this?"" ""Do you believe in the soul, Mikey Gallagher? Do you believe that even if you break a warrior's body, there's still a warrior spirit somewhere?"" Did I believe it? I certainly wanted to. ""Let me tell you what I think. I think your body is broken. I think your mind is quickly following: you see yourself as a broken man and you are retreating into sarcasm as your last line of defense. I also think that if I strip away your body and your mind, there's still something that is more truly Mikey Gallagher than either your body or your mind. I also believe that there is something evil in my psych ward than cannot be approached physically or cognitively."" ""Why me?"" ""You were a fighter your entire life, Mikey. You fought on the streets until the police put a stop to it. You boxed. You fought mixed martial arts. Violence is your nature, Mr. Gallagher. However, your greatest act in this world was saving that girl from those monsters who wanted to hurt her... and you paid a high price for your heroism. That tells me that your nature is essentially heroic."" ""What does that mean?"" ""Imagine a spirit, Mikey. You won't have a mind that I can give instructions to. You won't have a body that I can train. You will only have your essential nature that has been shaped by all of your life experiences. I can't trust a mercenary here, Mikey, I can only trust a genuine hero."" Dr. Elliot was holding a syringe in his hand. I stared him in the eye looking for proof of the obvious: that he was insane. In that moment, though, he seemed like one of the few people in my life who really seemed to know what was going on and wanted me to do the right thing. He reminded me of my priest, my older brother, my dad, my one history teacher that wasn't a cunt. There was only one sensible thing for my crippled ass to do. ""Alright, Doc, kill me."" *** Its name was Ichor Maw. It wasn't a name so much as a title. It had a permanent smile that stretched from one ear, down to the chin, and up to the next ear. When it's mouth was closed the angles looked all wrong; it looked less like an organic mouth and more like an uninspired child had too much Jameson before carving their pumpkin. It was only when it finally let its lips separate that you understood its name. It didn't have a mouth; it had the kind of hole in the face that you'd expect Hate to have. It was all razor blades and leaking fluids, like a mouth that wasn't designed to eat, it was designed to hurt. Whatever happened there wasn't a fight. It was not as though I busted out my ghost muay thai and kicked it's ass back to hell. I do not know exactly how to describe it, but I will try my best. Imagine something that feeds on fear and madness. Imagine some primal force that roams the world inspiring terror, loathing, delusion, and exploitation. Now imagine that primal force encountered a dumbass object that didn't understand fear or hatred, and wasn't creative enough to be deluded. That object just really liked hurting things that hurt other people. Well, that primal force is going to have to destroy that dumbass object, and that dumbass object is going to have to fuck up that primal force. Dr. Elliot revived me about two hours later. He asked me what had happened, and I gave him the same shitty description I just gave you. The world of spirits is not as cut and dry as I like, I couldn't even say for sure that I won, I only knew that I didn't lose. The patients no longer seemed to see their bogeyman, neither did the young girl with the new cannibalistic tendencies, but the first patient said that 'Ichod Bob' remained huddled in his room. Good, that means I beat the little bitch's ass. Once the patients started to see him again, Dr. Elliot killed me again. Round 2 between Mikey Gallagher and Ichor Maw. Same story: I don't know what the hell happened, but the patients don't see their monster anymore. This time it takes a few weeks before the first patient even sees him again. This becomes the routine: every two months or so Dr. Elliot kills me for a few hours, and somewhere in the spiritual dimension of the cosmos I fight some primal evil. Because I might be broken. I might be slowly going crazy. But, by God, do I hate a bully. By God, do I love a fight.",1862
" One game, winner takes my soul","It was a relatively simple deal, and I had no reason to push the issue. One game, winner takes my soul. I nodded. ""Good. So then, what do you want to play? Think carefully - the stakes are high, and you don't want to have regrets."" It was almost as if she wanted to give me another decade - but it could also be a trick to lure me into a false sense of security. I wasn't wholly prepared for this, truth be told - but I couldn't let her win. I wracked my brain thinking of a game. I had enjoyed video games over the last decade or so, but they were presumably easier with practice, and if death existed, he - well, she - had an eternity. This also ruled out the classics - checkers, go, chess - as she was probably so much more experienced than I am at them. What about Monopoly? House rules, however, were an easy way to lose that, and I'm frankly not sure if I remembered all of the rules. Besides, that may take 10 years itself. There was no game that was a safe bet. Most had too much chance. Swinging heavily into that - like Chutes & Ladders - would just bore Death and become a 'who can cheat best' competition. And I imagine Death had Lady Luck on her side. ""Come on, now, you don't have forever..."" I decided to go for broke. ""OK - what is your favorite game?"" ""What?"" She seemed taken aback. ""I don't know what type of games you play. I don't have any knowledge to choose something where I have an advantage, and I have no reason to believe I can beat you at anything. Given that, I might as well at least let you enjoy the game."" She scoffed, but then the weirdest feeling washed over me. I had never felt a smile without seeing it, but it felt... relaxed. ""I like simple games - ones with an element of chance, but also a fairness to them. So how about... a shell game?"" I nodded again. That seems simple enough. On the bedside tray, three ebony cups materialized. You would think that Death would have ancient chalices; these were nearly perfect, non-reflective, and almost hurt to look at. It felt slightly like my eyes were broken. Of course, that might just be old age creeping up. She brought her bony hands up. ""As you can see, I have one red and two white balls. Take them."" I was surprised for a moment, then realized her variant. ""Ah, so I get to place them in the cups?"" ""Exactly - then I move them, and you must find the red one. I'll leave the room."" She stepped outside. An easy way to try to cheat would have simply been to hold the red ball, but that would have been easy to detect, and I didn't want her to have the satisfaction. I simply put the red ball in the left cup and the whites in the other two. ""OK!"" She came back in. ""OK. You can watch if you want. It may or may not help you - but I assure you I can go much faster if I wanted."" With blinding speed, she weaved the cups back and forth. It wasn't superhuman, but watching that cup was hard. I was certain I still had it, however, and made my selection - the right-most cup. She placed her hand on mine. ""Before you lift the cup, let me 'Monty Hall' it."" She placed her other hand on the center cup, and pulled it off the table - it disappeared in a puff of smoke. ""Now, do you still want your cup?"" I nodded. This was my choice, I was certain. ""Fine."" She pulled the other cup away into another cloud of smoke, then removed her cold hand from my own. ""Claim your prize."" I lifted the cup - slowly, as if I was scared. I wasn't. Until I saw what was under the cup. ""No. NO! That's not right!"" Death chuckled. This was a different sensation washing over me - it felt as if I had no control over anything. ""Those were the terms. You find the red ball, you get ten more years of earthly freedom."" I stared intently at the red ball on the table. ""No! I was certain it was a white one. Let me see the oth- you removed them!"" ""Well, unless you have proof that I cheated, I'm afraid you'll have to abide by the terms of our agreement."" I began to protest, but everything went dark. I woke up in the hospital bed - I couldn't tell if I had been asleep for days or seconds. The red ball sat on the tray, mocking me. I picked it up to hurl it away - stiff and sore, but very much alive - and I felt a slosh in my hand. I broke the ball open, and inside was a red liquid, a paper inner layer, and a thin membrane inside that. She HAD cheated, and the proof had been right in front of me. I hurled the remnants of the ball across the room, then did the same with the small, empty vial. The poison should have done the trick, and did - but then I was fooled. A nurse heard my commotion and came in. She didn't move to restrain me, but she did gently press me back into the bed. ""Mr. Karcher, please... I don't know if you can understand me, but if you can, please calm down. I understand that the dementia is confusing, but you will only keep any of your faculties if you calm down."" I relaxed, and she looked over at the tray. ""Who left this note?"" I looked at her and the note she held, with a more honest confusion than I'd had in weeks - at least, up until a few moments ago. ""'Don't play games with me - you might win. Cheers, D' Well, whoever it was has impeccable penmanship."" She showed me the note. ""There's even a little smiley face. Well, I'm not sure who came to visit you, but hopefully they'll visit again. I'll leave the note here."" Satisfied, she left. All I could do was glare at the note, and know that I had to wait at least 10 years for a return visit.",1077
 The universe came to an end in,"I must say that when an author writes a story, his or her world is created off in the vast universe of possibilities. In an infinite universe, there really is no such thing as fiction. As luck would have it, certain individuals became the only remembrance of that universe. The universe came to an end in all matter. There was no longer darkness, there was no longer light. There were only six individuals that circled around each other very confused wondering, 'If everything is now gone. Why aren't we?' One of them scratched their brow before yelling, ""What the hell? Where is everything?"" There was just empty blankness like the sheet of paper that I chose to write on. I was about to give an answer before someone interrupted by asking, ""Are we immortal?"" ""Yes."" I laughed while trying to keep up with their dialogue. They all looked around at one another trying to understand who my voice belonged to. ""This is literally a nightmare."" A woman cried. ""Please tell me that this isn't our new reality now!"" I cringed a little. She seemed like she was about to pop off the hinges. ""What do we do?"" ""How do I know?"" ""Oh my goodness! All of you shut up while I try to figure something out!"" They each kept snapping at each other. It was hard for me to keep up. My words are the only thing that binds this new universe together. That and if I wasn't writing about these individuals, nobody would ever give a shit. One kept going on about never being able to eat again. One had too much pride to even speak with the others. One kept awkwardly staring at the only female present before yelling at everyone else. One was just too lazy to care about what was happening around him - he just wanted to lie down. Then the last one, don't even get me started with the last one. All he wanted to do was see what everyone had in their pockets without them noticing. Are these really the only individuals left besides myself? I am going to go mad along with them. ""Quiet, all of you!"" I ordered. They all jumped to look up into nothingness - except for the lazy one - he just lay there without any care in the non-universe. Obviously we need to fix this. I tried to write as fast as I could while they waited. ""Why don't we just create a new universe?"" I asked. They all looked around in silence. ""How are we supposed to do that, *annoying voice in the sky man*?"" The woman shrugged. I mean, there's no need for name calling. I'm just the only immortal author left. It is up to me to write the new universe into existence. ""Well, we are all immortal. With us, there is life. We have light and darkness inside each of us. We can put the universe back together."" I answered, spilling a little bit of ink on the page I wrote. The ink splattered over one of their faces while the lazy one started to laugh hysterically towards the scene. ""Sorry."" I wrote. I waited for a second before the woman asked, ""So, let's assume that no one understands what you just said. How do we put the universe back together?"" ""Easy."" I responded. ""Each of us picks up a quill and starts writing!"" ""Yea, well that's going to be hard. There are no quills! There's nothing!"" One of them spat up towards me. ""Okay. Okay."" I gently mumbled before writing six different quills into their existence. They each had a quill in front of them. ""If you can write anything into existence, why can't you just write us the new universe?"" ""Well I can't do it alone!"" I shook my head. ""That's an infinite amount of writing. I am going to need all of your help."" The lazy one picked up the quill only to roll his eyes before dropping it back down. The one who wasn't speaking to anyone started writing himself a servant. The woman picked up the quill and started to color in the first bit of darkness. ""Come on, all of you start writing something!"" I excitingly pointed. One of them looked up at me and requested, ""Can you just write me out of existence? Writing is boring."" ""Oh, come on."" I pointed towards his quill - but he couldn't see that. ""Writing is not boring, it is powerful! You have a chance to create a galaxy, a star, a new world, people, feelings - literally anything! With all of you, we can start to write our own universe back to life again! We have to do this - we are all that's left of our old one!"" He started to move his quill. Instead of writing, he started drawing. I nearly jumped out of my seat. ""Yes!"" I screamed. ""Art inspires writing!"" He started to draw stars which shone brightly next to the woman's dark abyss of ink. The one who wanted food started to draw food in front of him. He started writing the description of their taste. He was so excited, he started humming a tune. ""Yes! Music inspires writing!"" I was so ecstatic. We were going to pull this off. I started to write a blank box sitting in front of the group. They all looked at it. Each one of them started moving their quills - yes, even the lazy one was moving his. Lines started to cross one another, tunes filled the air. Before you knew it, even my own eyes were shocked. Lines connected to the empty box before a thunderous sound filled all around them. Galaxies danced in freedom. Stars smiled at each other in their twinkle. Planets turned towards another looking at their new nature. I fell back with my paper. ""We did it."" I smiled. I couldn't believe that the sloth even chimed in. I knew the woman was more concerned in her lust that getting her to start was a miracle. The man who was too prideful to move his own quill wrote himself a servant to do it for him - but hey, it got done. The wrathful yelling of the other man dulled when he used his anger to help draw with his quill. I knew that once Gluttony drew food in front of him, he'd start humming in excitement. The music helped inspire the writing of the others. Greed stopped stealing and just wrote what he was searching for. I couldn't believe the six wrote back the universe. It is silly to think these individuals were created by individuals like myself from the old universe of writing prompts. Some would say these people were nothing but a group of sins. I couldn't agree more - they were a little annoying. It made them special however. It took away from them being immortal and I realized they were human after all. I smiled. I am honored to have been the writer but, sadly, I envy them all. This universe will be for them - not me. *** To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)",1201
 Snarlap sat in a se,"Snarlap sat in a secluded alcove of the cantina. With shaking hands, he nursed a Jazlen Fizz. He watched from the corner of his eye as Maken and Blrlbblrl swung open the doors and headed for the bar. He shut his eyes and prayed they wouldn't notice him. To his dismay, Blrlbblrl called over, happily waving. ""Hey! Snarlap! Is that you? It's been too long brother!"" Maken and Blrlbblrl sauntered over to where Snarlap sat crouched in his corner. Snarlap managed a weak smile and weary greeting. The pair sat down with him and began to needle him with questions. ""How was the top secret assignment?"" Asked Maken. ""Did ya get that promotion like you were bragging about?"" Elbowed Blrlbblrl. ""What was the weather like planetside?"" Poked Maken. Snarlap sat fighting to control himself. With all his might he sought to wrest control from his fear. Suddenly he shouted, ""They 51'd me!"". The entire bar fell silent, all eyes congregating to the far corner where Snarlap now hid his face. Slowly the band began to swing back into their song. The idle chatter of the bar gingerly resumed. Maken and Blrlbblrl leaned in close and laid their hands on Snarlap's shoulders. After a few minutes of silent weeping Snarlap sat up. ""Thank you guys."" ""Hey, it's no problem. I'm just... wow, y'know?"" Said Maken. ""You hear stories about stuff like that you just never think that... I'm real sorry."" ""Yea. S'alright."" Said Snarlap. ""No one ever thinks about it happening to them. It'll always be someone else. That's what got me through all the missions planetside. 'It won't be me. I'm too fast, too strong. Too good'. Well, it happened to me. Nothing's gonna change that now."" ""At least you got out, right?"" Offered Blrlbblrl shyly. Snarlaps eyes shot to Blrlbblrl, burning and hollow. They dimmed and he looked back to his drink. ""Not all of me."" The silence lapsed into minutes, Maken and Blrlbblrl sitting uncomfortably on either side of Snarlap. ""You know the first thing they do to you?"" Asked Snarlap, staring emptily into his glass before gulping it down. ""After they shoot you down that is. Because first they shoot you down. Ever seen a human weapon? It fires soft metal. It's not plasma, it's not wave based, its just fucking metal. Hot, hard, splintering metal, tearing through your ship. It was so *loud*. Like being in the center of a blender full of lug-nuts. Then they hit something important. Maybe the thrusters, maybe the pulse drive, but whatever it is they hit, it makes you start to fall. That's the scary part. On the way down you get to think about what's coming. What everyone told you happens to downed pilots, what was in all those movies they made you watch at basic. How you're supposed to resist. How it wasn't supposed to happen to you. Then you just... watch. You watch the ground come up, faster and faster, until right before you hit it, then, *BAM* just blackness. Just black. For a few seconds you think you died. You think, 'hey, maybe it was the better alternative.' Then the lights come on. That's when you know they have you."" Maken and Blrlbblrl shuddered. Snarlap inhaled a shaky breath through gritted teeth. He exhaled unevenly and closed his eyes. ""You wake up on a table surrounded by those things. With their disgusting, wet eyes and hair covered scalps. They're terrifying. You want to cover you face with your hands, but then you realize they've locked you down on a table. They start yelling at you in their language. I tried to remember all the Earth language I knew, but nothing came out except 'peace, peace'. They really hated that word. They would shout at me and all I could say back was 'peace', and every time I said 'peace', they would beat me. Then they started all sorts of tests. They poked me, prodded me, cut me. I woke up, barely patched together. Then they... probed me. I don't know why they did, but they did. I've never been more humiliated in all my life. When they were done with me they threw me in one of their cells. Just a glass wall and a bucket for company. They didn't feed me for days at a time, and when they did it was their garbage. Just organic material dug out of the dirt. It was disgusting. And so that was how I lived. I sat in my cell day after day, almost starving. Every so often, they would reappear and put me back on the table. You'd think you would get used to it, but you never do. The fear never goes away. Day and night you wait for them to come, praying this time will be the last before they kill you."" Snarlap began to sob into his drink. Maken put his arm around him. ""I'm just happy you made it out."" He said softly. Snaplap took a few puffs of air and tried to steady his breathing. ""I didn't escape if that's what you think. I just existed in that hell until they were done with me. Eventually, between the torture sessions and the starvation, my body went into it's natural healing cycle. My organic systems shut down completely, so they assumed I was dead. From what I gathered, they tried to burn me. I guess those tests didn't tell them my skin was fire retardant. After that they placed me under a nuclear fission weapon. They dropped it on granulated pebbles, so I was encased in glass. After that it was just a matter of time before one of the scouts' scanners saw me and pulled me out. Or at least what was left of me. Now I sit here and drink. Or I go home and drink. Sometimes I go to meeting when things get too... hard."" ""Fuck humans!"" Shouted Blrlbblrl, slamming his tentacle on the table. ""No, no."" Said Snarlap. ""Don't. When I was there, I saw them for what they were. They're terrified Blrlbblrl. Beyond belief. Throughout everything they did to me, every act of cruelness, all I could see in their face was fear. Fear that we would do the same to them. Fear that they might be in my position one day. Can you imagine a species like that? So constantly afraid of what cruelties others are capable of that they enact those cruelties preemptively? That's true horror. Past anything I can imagine.""",1085
 The glowing orb at the front of,"The glowing orb at the front of the class looked down at the young god standing before her. She let out an exasperated sigh and wrote a large F on the side of the gods project. The other deities in the class snickered as the young god's head hung dejectedly on its shoulders. ""I have told you before about your vanity. This is your third attempt at a universe and you still insist on creating your primary sentient beings in your image."" She scolded; he nodded shuffling his feet on the incandescent linoleum floor. ""Yes miss, sorry miss but Dagon said..."" He was cut short by the teacher slamming a freshly materialised fist against the desk. ""I don't care what Mr Dagon said, your swimming teacher is not an expert on universe creation, he can barely manage a cult!"" She yelled then the orb shuddered slightly, the glow reducing slightly. ""I apologise. Look, would you like me to go through a few things?"" She asked, the god smiled brightly and looked up at his teacher with shining blue eyes. ""Yes please miss that would be very helpful."" He got the feeling that the teacher was pleased as she materialised a chair next to her desk for him to sit in. The Short god smiled and climbed up onto the chair and looked at her hopefully. The teacher turned her attention to the rest of the class. ""Class dismissed, please leave your universes on the book shelf by the door. Have a good weekend children and please remember no unsupervised apocalypses."" The varying forms of the young gods extracted themselves from where they were sat and made their way out of the classroom leaving a cornucopia of universes where the teacher had requested. Once more she turned back to the young god sitting beside her. ""Ok do you want me to call your parents to let them know you will be a little late out of class?"" She asked. The young god shook his head. ""No thank you Miss, they already know."" He smiled brightly to her. She sighed. ""Oh yes, I forgot, omnipresence."" A drawer opened in the desk and a folder floated out lying down upon the flat surface. It opened up and the pages flicked through slowly showing pictures of the gods previous attempts at life, the universe and everything. ""I don't understand where it all went wrong."" She sighed. ""What do you mean miss? I thought my latest universe was ok."" He hoped beyond hope that she would find some merit with it; he was so fond of his Humans. ""Well, at first you started off well, your Dinosaurs were an inspired choice, a bit childish at times but they showed great imagination. The transition from a lizard based ecosystem to a mammal based ecosystem worked well, the destruction was very pretty, which is why you got an A in your art project. I especially liked the vivid use of colour. And the system you designed which ended up with the creation of your Humans was excellent. What did you call it again?"" ""Evolution Miss."" He replied quickly just waiting for the bad stuff to hit. ""The rest of it though. One mistake was made, that lead onto another and that went on to another."" The globe swayed from side to side as if shaking its head. ""Do you know what your first mistake was?"" She asked. ""No Miss."" The young god replied. ""Free will, we covered this in a class when you were off ill I know but we gave you the reading material. You may still only be in preschool but that is no excuse not to catch up with work you have missed. You don't give your creations free will, if you do that how can you control them? The next thing you know they stop believing in you and by that point you have lost all respect with your peer gods. Do you want that?"" ""No Miss, sorry Miss."" His eyes were firmly glued to his feet. ""Now, technology, you have let that run rampant, they are destroying your own creation with their weapons and hunger for power. Do you know what happens if they get too powerful?"" She asked. The god shook his head no quickly. ""No Miss."" He added just as quickly getting nervous now. He so wanted to be able to graduate into big school this year with some of the elder gods. ""They can start infecting other student's universes, do you want that? Do you want your creation to end up being a disease in the classroom?"" With that statement he flinched in surprise. ""No Miss, sorry miss, please don't make them have an apocalypse miss, they are my favourite!"" Tears had sprung to his young eyes and he looked up at her pleading. ""Well what you need to do is assert your dominance over them once more, in the early days of their creation I saw your efforts and you were doing well. But as they have grown they have split off from your teachings. More and more of them don't believe in you, your main religions see you as different and kill each other over the smallest differences. Gather your religious leaders and appear to them, tell them you are unhappy and that things must change. If things don't change I will put them in the machine."" The young god's eyes went wide. ""Please no, please don't do that Miss I promise I'll do it. I'll take it home and I'll do as you say I promise. Please can I just have one day extension I can show you tomorrow things will be better."" The feeling of acceptance washed over him from the teacher. ""Fine, bring it back next lesson and we will see; now off you go enjoy the weekend."" The young god nodded and got down from the seat, he picked up his universe and walked out of the classroom and went home. Later that evening he had gathered the world's religious leaders in one place through the use of prophecy and divine intervention. Seeing all the small humans look around confused he appeared in front of them. ""Look guys, we need to talk..."" edit: made a little timing mistake. changed tomorrow to next lesson.",1050
" Gann gets up, brush teeth","The day begins. I get up, brush my teeth, get dressed, and have breakfast. I check the shine on my shoes before I put them on. Not too much, not too little. The bus takes me to work. I put my phone away and gaze into the distance. It's an especially beautiful morning. The ride is smooth, yet I think of all the various sized stones in the road below. What a wonderful thing it is that there are things that fill the space between other rough things, tar for instance! I look at the old lady who catches me in her shifting gaze now and then. I wait. Here it comes around, the erratic old lighthouse cone of light of her eyes. Get ready, I smile gently - two seconds or so before it's needed. She acknowledges me with a smile on her wrinkled face. I move on. The smooth blackness of the road is a soothing sight. ""Good morning, Gann!"". Eric from two rows to the left greets me. ""Hey, good morning! Did you catch the game last night?"" Today is Rohan's birthday. You can tell by the balloons arranged around his cubicle. Susan from HR emailed everyone else of the fact yesterday so those who want to get a present for Rohan can do so. Susan keeps track of these things, though she is humble enough not to remind anyone about her birthday. Naturally, someone else does. Rohan is not a close friend, though I am on good terms with him. I go find him in the pantry, offer my greetings and apologise for not getting him a gift. He is cool, no worries. It's a small software company. There are only about 25 to 27 people working on a full time basis at any given time. I am on good terms with everyone - as almost everyone else is. I do have trouble with Ray sometimes. He can be a jerk. All the ""Marketing people"" are jerks when I think about it. But I find Ray the least tolerable. ""Hey..."" The new intern approaches me as I sit down at my cubicle. I search my memory for her name as I act busy getting the laptop out of my bag. It's her first day today and I'm her supervisor. ""Hey, Ro"". I turn on my laptop before I continue the conversation so she can see my login screen. ""Welcome Gann"", the login screen greets me. ""So, Gann..."" she pauses. ""What do you want me to start working on?"". Her eyes are especially dull. It's almost like she's a walking corpse. You can't see any light in those eyes. Perhaps she's not getting any sleep, or she has some sort of illness. ""Well, you can set up your laptop. There's a document in the shared drive about the stuff you'd need with instructions. Please come to me if there's anything wrong."" She idles for a moment. Then she thanks me and goes back to her cubicle. I look at her walk back and notice that one of her shoe laces are close to getting undone. She looks older than her age. It's in the tired way she walks. . I don't want to do it. She can see it in my reaction. She should. I don't have to do this because it's her responsibility. It's been three days now and she can't even get the basic set up right. This is not ok. Working with her is going to be a pain. She's perhaps one of those people who like something but are simply not good at it. No amount of practice is going to make you better at something if you aren't genetically predisposed towards it. Or perhaps she's one of those ones who are not so well tuned yet. if that's the case those rough edges will smoothen over time, yes, but that takes time and until then I'm stuck with her. Or, she might be having other issues. Perhaps she saw someone die and can't get it out of her head and keep replaying it over and over again in her head at night and feel miserable about it? If it's that, I can perhaps help her and help myself. At least I can eliminate the last possibility if I really ""talk"" with her. . Beer works it's magic. The bar is quite. I wish there were more people here. It doesn't matter though. She seems not to mind. Actually, she is enjoying herself. Her eyes glitter in the artificial semi darkness. ""... No, but I think I should work harder. I agree. It's just... it's hard. I sometimes feel like this is all a game. I have this dream... My eyes and nose and mouth and cheeks are chess pieces..."" I am surprised at the pauses in her speech. That is not common... even for her age... even with the beer. Chess pieces for facial features? It's too banal. Perhaps... ""So what do you do at home? You live alone right?"" Is that too direct? ""Oh you know, just this and that. I make origami sometimes... You know origami?"" it's not a question. She doesn't let me answer. ""You know those complex models that take hours or days to make? I like those. I finished a mantis yesterday. A real complex model. Mantis are great at camouflage. I like them. I will show them to you sometime..."" She breaks off and suddenly starts paying attention to the rim of her glass. The signal is given. There's no turning back after this. I need to have this conversation with her now. Luckily she still has her senses. ""Ro, it's a hard truth. My father had this same conversation with me when I was twelve years old. I am sorry that it took so long for you."" She doesn't seem surprised. She doesn't even look at me. I give her two seconds. Something doesn't add up here. There's no need to worry though, there is a protocol for this. As long as I follow it, there's no need to worry. ""The world is as it is. We all know of the empaths. We know there used to be so many of them. But evolution is a bitch and she does not care for what's weird - only about what's stronger."" These are not practiced lines, but they come to me as if I had practiced them my entire life. I know them by heart, to use such an inaccurate term. ""We know of them, we know they lived, we know they created everything. We know they went extinct at least five thousand years ago. We live in the world they created. You might have sensed this, but you might not know it. If you did, you would find life... easier. I can tell you everything I know."" She looks at me with a quizzical look on her face. ""What are you telling me? I don't understand."" She's back on track. That's the correct response. I pause and think about the dynamic. She has been pushing me towards this conversation ever since she joined the company. This is the logical end result given my disposition. She lives her question so clearly and emphatically that I can't think how she didn't force this same situation on anyone else she knows. Surely someone must have talked to her by now... ""Ro, do you know what don't tell, don't ask means?"" ""Yeah... But why? Wouldn't it be better to ask and tell? And what exactly are we talking about anyway? I don't understand..."" She is interested. ""The empaths. Actually, sociopaths. We are sociopaths."" I almost believe it myself. ""What are you telling me? I feel like I'm all alone. Everything and everyone feel so phony. I don't have anyone to talk to. Everyone feels so distant and they don't tell me anything. What is wrong with everyone?"" The feigned innocence of the question and the emotion in her voice almost disarm me. But this is a life and death situation now. I should not have had that last beer. She's nineteen. Any older than that, I don't fall for this trick. Any younger than that, she's not sophisticated enough to get to me. Well played Ro... ""I think I didn't start properly. Let me begin from the beginning. We evolved from the empaths..."" I lie through my teeth. I lie for my life. . ""Well thanks for telling me Gann."" She looks sad. ""Do you think there's any of them left?"" ""Any of who? Empaths?"" She nods. ""No, they are all gone. Their time has passed. They were too weak."" ""Are you by any chance a empath Gann?"" That's direct. ""There are no empaths Ro."" ""It's a bit sad isn't it?"" Sincerity. ""What's there to be sad about? It is what it is. I felt like you after my father told me of this. I felt sadness. But then it just went away. I would have liked to met one though."" Am I going too far? Better overdo it than leave doubt. ""Would be a fascinating experience."" ""Well, I'm sad. I don't think I'm a sociopath. I feel things."" Ro replies. I feign kindness. It's not real, but appearances have to be maintained. Appearances are the only weapons I have against a world of sociopaths. ""We all think like that at one stage in our lives Ro. But you will see, you are just like everyone else. And that kind of talk is bad for you and me. There's a reason why no one talks about this. Talking about imaginary things sometimes make them real. Why take the chance?"" I drop her off and go home alone. There's no way to know for sure.",1625
 The kid was in his early twenties,"""Look, kid, I don't want you along, I don't want to teach you, you're an inconvenience,"" I said, a bit unkindly perhaps. ""But I have to teach you the job, and by God I'm going to try my best to teach you the damn job."" ""Are you aware that this is not *Full Meta Jacket,* Ms. Seraph?"" Mark said with an idiotic grin. The kid was in his early twenties, tall, blond - a sharp contrast to my short stature and jet black hair - and thought, like every 20 and change kid, that he was the king of the damn world. Or worlds, as it may be. He kind of reminded me of myself actually. Which was probably why I hated him. ""Do you know the mortality rate of our trainees, kid?"" I asked, pretending I hadn't heard him. ""Wow you really think it *is*-"" Christ, this kid. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off his feet until he was inches from my face. ""75 percent. Got it?"" I said, his wide blue eyes staring into the depths of my opal irises. ""Three out of four die, of the remaining 25 percent, most are missing in action, stranded in some hell, and what few are left drop out. There's a reason there have been five reporters in The Onion since 1988."" I let him go and kid practically fell to the floor. His eyes were wide and his face was bloodless. ""Do you understand now?"" I said, keeping my voice low. The kid opened his mouth to say something then decided against it. Instead, he just swallowed and nodded. I might've overdone it a bit. ""Good,"" I said. ""Follow my instructions and you might not die."" Without waiting for a response I laid my hand across his forearm and with my other hand activated the TransTemporal-Relocator, or the TTR. I'd been doing the job for just about two decades and I still wasn't used to the sensation. It was as if my center of gravity shifted *out of my body* and I stumbled as I lost my balance. But the feeling faded and we were there. Wherever that might be. Decades of experience saved us. I'd once dropped into a a nuclear test site, and another time in the middle of a horde of demons. The first few seconds of any ""Stumble"" as well called it were the most dangerous. So when I landed in the driver's seat I immediately slammed the breaks as a black coupe - what is it with black cars? - tried to ram us from the left. The car careened, when it didn't hit us and hit another car on the right. They both spun out and hit the divider in the middle of the - I looked around - twelve lane highway. ""What the fuck!?"" the kid shouted next to me. Famous last words. I briefly glanced at him - he was holding a box of pizza. We were in a sleek, red sports car. There was a GPS in front of the car and a timer in the bottom left. Five minutes, three miles away. Got it. The TTR always did this, put us in fantastical scenarios or events, and we had to play them through. Rarely longer than an hour, they were the stories I wrote for every Onion piece. It was in our best interests to play along. ""In the next one half mile, take the exit 27,"" the GPS said in that infuriatingly kind voice. Some things stay constant across dimensions. ""Th-that's impossible,"" the kid said. ""You're on like the tenth lane, how're you gonna make this exit?"" ""Recklessly,"" I replied. ""Hold on to something."" I flung the steering wheel left and crossed two lanes immediately. A couple of people honked on their horns as I cut them off but I paid them no mind. I slammed the breaks to get behind a car on the right lane and swung left again. Four lanes to go, and the exit was in sight. ""We aren't gonna make it,"" the kid said, practically in tears. Christ, I would take overly eager over useless downer any day. I looked in the rear view mirror and saw another one of those black cars who had tried to ram us before. In seconds he was in parallel with us to my right. I could break or speed up, forcing him to miss. Or I could be insane. ""Sorry kid,"" I said, as the car slammed into our right. I forced myself to relax though every muscle in my body screamed at me to tense up, so all I suffered was some seat-belt burn and ear damage when the car slammed into us. There was a loud bang and the screech of metal against metal. Someone screamed. I timed a sharp left as the car hit and we practically flew across the last some lanes, directly into the exit. The car tried to follow but was T-boned by a white minivan. I let out a whoop of joy as we rattled through the road. I spared a glance at the kid. The door had dented inwards, and his arm was at an impossible angle. I checked his pulse with my hand - still alive. Small favors, I suppose. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. I drove into a suburban neighborhood until the GPS indicated I'd arrived. With ten seconds left I practically ran to the doorbell and rung it, breathing heavy. A dejected looking man in his mid-40s who reeked of vodka opened the door. ""Aw, fuck you, bitch. Would it have killed you to arrive four seconds later?! Is free pizza really that much of a fucking loss?"" Lovely. I pointed to dented my car and the dying intern. ""Yeah, you douche-bag, it is."" The TTR beeped, the end of the experience. The device was really completely outside our control. It chose the location, the experience, and when it ended. Once more I ""Stumbled,"" and we were back in my office. I didn't have to be in contact with the kid on the return trip, and so he was there to as we were thrown roughly back into our own reality. The poor kid let out a strangled scream as he landed on top of his broken arm. The medics were already on standby and rushed to help the kid. I watched as they put him on a stretcher and escorted him out. I shook my head. Idiot. Should never have signed up for this. I sighed and went over to my computer to start the article. ""Pizza Corporatism: The lengths pizza Companies will go to make sure you don't get free pizza."" *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out",1132
 Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for,"Mrs Haller had planned endlessly for such a day. There was a lake on the fringes of the city which had taken her fancy, for the waters ran deep, and anglers seldom came by. She would close her bank accounts, end her cable service, mail the title deeds to her favourite charity. Then, she would get into her Beetle, drive to the edge of the lake, cast her dice for the final time, and meld once and for all into the cool, inviting depths. It was a good plan, by all accounts. But the grief was far stronger than she was, and she found herself on the roof of New Hope Hospital, one foot already lifted off solid ground, dangling in the air. A gust of wind tipped her over, and downwards did Mrs Haller plunge, as quickly as the dread that settles when a phone rings in the middle of the night. Time froze. Death had chosen the guise of a young boy this time, no more than eight or nine years old. Golden hair, chiselled features, grubby fingers. Mrs Haller knew it was Death because she was floating upside down, and he was the only one bobbing weightlessly beside her. ""But it isn't your time yet!"" Death said, a frown on his face. ""You're making things difficult for me again, June!"" ""I'm getting dizzy looking at you,"" said Mrs Haller. ""Right me up or strike me down now, I don't care which, but just do it now already."" Death snapped his fingers, and Mrs Haller spun gently around. She scrabbled at the pouch by her side, ripped off the drawstring with haste, then poured out the ebony dice within. The pits on them glowed a light blue. ""My dear June, it's been forty-five years since we last met. In that time, you have done more than-"" ""Oh shut it,"" said June. ""I'm rolling."" ""-your fair share of... wait, wait, there's a process to these things, you can't just-"" ""Too late."" Mrs Haller cast the dice with all the strength in her arm. They burned dark azure scars as they rolled, and it took some time before they stopped spinning. And there it was, six dice, all lined up in a row, coming to a rest just the way she wanted. ""Six ones, your turn."" ""Hang on, hang on! June, you know that-"" ""Roll! Now!"" Mrs Haller said. A fiery bouquet of anger suddenly bloomed in her chest, and she struck out uncontrollably, shoving Death in the shoulder. ""Now! Roll, now!"" Death rolled. Five dice came up ones, but the last did a maddened pirouette on its edge, then split cleanly along its axis. The light fled its shell, and the dice crumbled into dust. ""Five ones,"" Death said, as he shrugged. He waved his hand towards her, and Mrs Haller began drifting down harmlessly to the ground. ""Looks like you beat me again. Oh well, guess you're going to get another new lease on life, please make the best of-"" ""How long have you been letting me win?"" ""What? Let you win? No, come on, you know what I stand for, don't you? That's just ridiculous."" Mrs Haller pulled another pouch from her pockets, then held them out for Death to inspect. ""Those are the real dice,"" she said. ""I had the first set custom made. Guaranteed to roll all ones. You had to cheat, even, just to make sure you lost to me."" ""Me? Cheat? June, that's doesn't make any sense-"" Mrs Haller sighed, then closed her eyes. It was slightly easier this way. ""I don't want to play anymore,"" she said. ""I want to go. Release me, please. Let this all end."" ""I can't do that. We had a deal, didn't we? You wanted another chance at life, and you wanted to bet it all on a dice game with me. Well, you won. You got that chance you were looking for. So go on and live it. We played fair and square."" ""I'm tired,"" she said. ""I've won, what, eight times now?"" ""Ten, actually."" Mrs Haller reached into her pockets, then pulled out a single photograph, creased along the edges. ""Haylee's parents just got back together last month. She had begun to pay attention in class again, and I was sure I could get her to catch up with the rest before summer. She had so much ahead of her, you know? She was smart, she cared for others, all she needed was a little more time."" ""Ah, Haylee Smith. Yes, I do believe that-"" ""So why didn't you give it to her?"" Mrs Haller said, as she lunged towards Death in anger. A lifetime ago, many lifetimes ago, she had done the same, only in desperation then. ""Why take it away? Why did she have to be at home when her parents fought? She was supposed to be in school, with me! How did she fall? Why did she have to hit her head that way? Why? Why?"" Death hardly flinched. Mrs Haller's hands merely bounced off the nimbus of grey which surrounded him, and so he waited until the adrenaline ebbed. Then he waited a while longer for her to stop sobbing. ""Then move on, June. Find a new city, find a new school. A change of environment will do you good. When you're ready, go back to do what you've always loved, yes? There are always more children out there, just waiting, waiting for you to help them."" ""You're really sick, you know that? Sick."" Death pouted. ""That is very unkind of you, June. I've only given you what you asked for. You swore on your own life, didn't you? You said you were too young to go, and that you had so much more you wanted to give? Have you tired of that now?"" ""I've... I've watched so many of them die,"" said Mrs Haller, hands pressed to her eyes. ""And it seems that no matter what I do... no matter how hard I try to steer them... it's just so senseless how they all end up. So many lose themselves to pointless violence, so many to drugs or drink, and so many others to just stupid, bad luck. Some of them end up happy, yes, but it is so... fleeting. They have a couple of good years, then something happens to them. Something *always* happens to them. Like Haylee... sweet Haylee, just in the wrong place at the wrong time."" Death reached out, then laid his hand on her shoulder. That surprised Mrs Haller so much that she forgot to breathe for a moment. It was the very first time she had ever come into physical contact with him, and there was the most exquisite sense of loss which accompanied his touch. ""How do you think I feel, June?"" They twirled like a pair of dragonflies, coasting in a spiral to the ground. Mrs Haller sank to her knees, then looked up at Death. ""Then why torment me still? Let me go, please. Let it all end."" ""I can be selfish too, you know. But June, listen to me. I've had royalty beg me for another chance, wise men, fools, the obscenely rich, the abject poor. Those who did win went on to spend the rest of their lives trying to avoid me, or scheming to outsmart me when next we met. You're... you're different, June. You did as you promised. You spent your life... your lives... helping all these children."" ""Is that why you're doing this to me? You want to see me regret my own choice? You want to break me down, force me to realize that there is no such thing as hope in this world?"" Death shook his head, then held out his hand again. He beckoned towards her. ""No, June. When I see you do what you do for those children... let's just say I want to see you help them again, no matter how briefly it lasts. It makes a difference, even if you refuse to see it. Will you continue? If not for me, then for them?"" June mulled it over. And then she took Death's hand. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1366
 Nothing had been the same since he,"There's a joke they always tell. If a woman dies, her husband will die within a year. If a man dies, his wife will go on a cruise. Well, there was some truth to it. I had gone on a cruise. My nieces and nephews - I'd never had children - had convinced me to. It was nice, but I was haunted by that aching loss. It had served only as a distraction. Nothing had been the same since he passed. Every day felt empty. Before, I would wake up every morning, sunlight streaming into our cheerful blue room, and see him next to me, a smile on his face. ""You look so peaceful when you sleep,"" he always told me. And then he would kiss me on the head, and everything was right with the world. Now I woke up to an untouched pillow. Nobody ever talks about how cold the bed gets after spending a lifetime sharing it with someone else. But now... Now I was starting to feel warm again. I was dying. I knew that much. I didn't know if I believed in an afterlife, but I hoped I'd get to meet him again. I turned, my aged face cracking a smile at my youngest niece. Even she was already in her 30's. I was so tired, and yet I mustered up just a little more energy, patting her hand gently with my own frail one. I'd helped to raise her when my sister was fighting her own demons. When my sister was institutionalized, my niece had come to live with me for months until her mother was better. Explaining mental illness to an 11-year old was difficult. Old enough to understand that something was wrong, yet still too young to fully grasp the situation. But I was grateful. I loved my sister, and would do anything to help her. The fact that I had become so close to her daughter was just an added bonus. My niece's tear-stricken face managed a smile back. ""Don't cry,"" I said softly. I wished I could wipe the tears from her face, just like I'd done when she was younger. ""I had a good life."" As if I had been holding on just long enough to say that, I felt the rest of my energy leave me. I smiled wordlessly, my eyes drifting closed, the green walls fading away as I felt myself relaxing into the warm embrace of death. I had had a good life. I was at peace. And then... My eyes opened. Maybe I hadn't died at all. I looked around, but my niece was nowhere to be found. The ache was gone from my body. I looked down at my hands, no longer spotted with age. Hm. Was this the afterlife? I took my surroundings in carefully. I noted in the back of my mind that I was drenched in sweat. Blue walls. Blue walls. I'd died in a room painted green. But the blue... Hopefully, I turned to my left, my heart fluttering in my chest. But... Nothing. An empty pillow besides me, perfectly fluffed, indicating that there hadn't been a head resting on it all night. I felt tears welling in my eyes. Was this hell? Was I doomed to spend eternity like this, never being able to see him ever again? What had I done wrong? I reached hesitantly toward the pillow, expecting some monster to jump at me, but my hand made it safely to the soft pillow. Slowly, I pulled it toward me, and as I did, I caught a whiff of something I hadn't smelled in years. My husband. The tears were coming quickly now, and I buried my face in the pillow, sobbing. It was undoubtedly his scent. I wasn't sure whether I was comforted or tormented by that thought. If this was hell, I'd at least enjoy this while it lasted. I'd been devastated when I realized his smell had faded from my home after his death. It had been the last lingering, tangible memory of him. Without it, the warmth had truly gone from my bed. But I was warm again. Here in this moment, I was warm. I cried, clutching the pillow as if it could be ripped away from me at any moment. For all I knew, it could be. ""Babe?"" I froze. No. It couldn't be. My face stayed in the now soaked pillow. I heard something get set down on a surface, then footsteps approaching me across the carpeted room. I didn't turn, fearing that I'd see some demon with his voice. The footsteps stopped, and I could sense someone behind me. I felt a warm, reassuring hand on my shoulder. ""Oh, honey, you're awake!"" His voice broke, and I could hear the concern and relief all rolled up into one in it. The hand gently pulled my shoulder to turn me around. I blinked, my vision still blurred with tears. Dark hair, tan skin. I blinked some more. The moment of clarity was instantly gone as recognition set in. I started bawling, overwhelmed by emotion. It was him. It was really him. I was safe. ""What's wrong? Why are you crying? Oh- babe- what-"" He was cut short as I lunged forward, hugging him tightly. ""I missed you. I missed you so much - you don't know how much it hurt,"" I manage to choke out through the tears. His warm chuckle was music to my ears. ""What do you mean, missed me?"" ""You died, asshole! I never gave you permission to die first! You- there was nobody for me to cuddle with- you were- oh god, I love you so much,"" I said. I felt his hands gently pull me away from him, concern on his face. One of his hands rested gently on my forehead, while the other tilted my chin up to look at him. ""What are you talking about? You've been asleep for the past two days. I was so scared - you had a fever and were coughing like crazy. The doctor told me to wait it out though - you haven't been sleeping enough recently, honey."" My brow furrowed in confusion. Asleep? Two days? But... I'd lived an entire lifetime. I'd just died, for crying out loud. Was he trying to tell me all of that was just some fever-induced, hyper-realistic dream? ""But... It felt so real,"" I replied. ""How would you know we're not both dead?"" He chuckled, clambering over me to settle in bed beside me. The bed shifted and creaked in a way I hadn't realized I'd missed. He reached out, combing his fingers through my damp hair thoughtfully. I then remembered that I'd woken up drenched in sweat. ""Getting all philosophical on me already?"" he teased, giving a strand of my hair a playful tug. ""Even if we are, why does it matter right now? I'm happy right now."" His strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. ""This could be life, or it could be heaven, but all I know is that I have you, and you're safe, and that's all that matters."" As I relaxed into his arms, I knew it was true. I was sure there was some way to find out whether I was alive or not, but for now, all I needed was him. The love of my life. Nothing else mattered right then. I felt him kiss me on the head, and I knew that everything was right with the world. ----- Ironically, I'm procrastinating writing my english paper. There may be some typos since I wrote this on mobile. Any feedback is welcome. Edit: fixed some phrasing Edit 2: thanks for my first gold! And also all the supportive comments, you've all made my day.",1301
 Mortixx yearned to burst,"Mortixx slithered up to the cabin door, checked to make sure that its disguise still held, then rang the doorbell. The human skin it was wearing was getting itchy and uncomfortable, and Mortixx yearned to burst free, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The brunette answered the door. Mortixx recalled that this one was called Lea - she stood out because she was the only one without a lifemate. There was an intelligence behind her eyes which pricked at its instincts, and Mortixx felt a stab of the nerves in its bellies. What if she could see through his deception? ""Oh, it's you,"" said Lea, as she rolled her eyes. What did that gesture mean? ""Hello, my name is Brandon... Bradley. I am a motorist. My car broke down. I need to come in. I need to use your... long-distance communication-"" ""Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. Come in already, it's cold outside."" ""How could you know me?"" asked Mortixx, squirming inside. It blinked hard, hoping that its eyes were in the right places. ""I have not been here before. I have not met you before. What do you-"" ""Oh for... OK yes, hello Brandon Bradley, whom I've never met before. Can you please just come in? Sheesh. They are in the hall now, you're going to miss the good stuff if you delay."" ""Are they already quarreling-"" then Mortixx caught itself, and cleared its throat noisily. ""I mean, what are you talking about? I have no idea what it is you are referring to."" But Lea had already drifted back into the cottage, and Mortixx followed, coasting in on the invitation Lea had extended. It wasn't a full-formed welcome, but substance over form and all that, so it could enter without immediately frying. That was good enough for it. *I wonder if she suspects,* thought Mortixx. In the hall, next to the crackling fireplace, the other four teenagers had occupied opposite ends of the coffee table. Mortixx recognized the females first, who appeared to be the dominant gender here, unlike anything its fellow demon brethren had told him to expect. Jennifer and her lifemate Benny on one side, and Clarice and her lifemate Mike on the other. ""Hey guys, the weird creep is back!"" Mortixx almost spluttered in its haste to cover its tracks. ""No, no. This is my first time here. I am not the male called Ned Nedley who delivered pizza earlier. I am also not the male called Harry Hadley who fixed your power yesterday. I am also not the-"" ""Will you be quiet, please? Can't you see that we're in the middle of something important here?"" Jennifer had turned to hiss at them, and for a moment Mortixx was reminded of the bogvixens which it had territorial issues with last winter. ""Yes! God! Can you be any more selfish?"" That was Clarice, whose eyes burned with the sort of fire Mortixx had only seen in certain pedigree breeds of hellhounds. ""And no, I don't care what your story is, but nothing is more important than our quarrel right now! We're settling this here, once and for all!"" Mortixx couldn't help it - its hearts tingled with unbridled joy. Tears of pure elation threatened to leak out, and Lea chose that moment to pull Mortixx towards the couch nearby. Jennifer and Clarice had already turned on each other again, claws fully extended. Their lifemates hung behind their respectives halves, heads drooped in obvious despair. ""I don't mind you watching,"" said Lea, voice dropped to a whisper. ""Just sit here and be quiet. I don't think they will be done soon."" ""What are they arguing about now?"" said Mortixx, in hushed tones. ""Are the male lifemates in trouble or something?"" ""Sort of."" ""Oh, oh!"" said Mortixx, clapping its hands together. ""Are the females about to mate with them? The males will die afterwards, right? Is that why they are so sad?"" Lea raised an eyebrow, then sighed. Mortixx fretted for a moment that he had said something wrong to give himself away, but Lea only reached over with a metal can of what appeared to be alcohol. ""No, for goodness sakes. I have no idea where you're getting these ideas from, geez. Beer for you?"" ""Oh, no, no. Beer has alcohol. I cannot drink alcohol. It will kill me-"" Mortixx's hands flew to its mouth, and it worried that Lea had heard it. But she seemed not to have notice. Mortixx rushed to change the subject. ""Tell me, please, about their quarrel. Jennifer and Clarice look very hostile now."" ""Indeed they do,"" said Lea. ""Something about Jennifer going through Benny's phone and finding that Clarice had been sending inappropriate messages to him. So now the two of them are at it, over who's the bigger ho, who's the slag, things like that."" ""Inappropriate... messages? Like... someone said the other's pentagram was poorly drawn?"" ""More like... Oh, yes, fine, something as bad as that, I guess."" ""Ooohhh,"" said Mortixx, as the electricity crawled along its skin. ""That *is* very naughty!"" ""Say, when you're done watching, which of us will you kill first?"" ""I think maybe Clarice. Clarice has nice hair. It will be great for my collection-"" But Mortixx was too slow this time. Even before it managed to shut its mouth with its human limbs, Lea had already pounced onto it, her knee lodged straight in its chest. Mortixx could hardly breathe. Mortixx's eyes swung in panic towards the other humans, but they were locked in their own deathmatches, and no one had noticed Lea making the move on it. Lea dangled the open can of alcohol over its head, and tipped it such that the deadly contents within swirled right to the very edge. One single drop, and it would all be over. ""They are my friends, you hear me?"" Lea said. ""You can stay, and you can have your fill of this senseless drama. I may even decide to share some of the pizza with you. But you don't kill any of us, and you stop wearing your bloody stupid disguises, hear me? Or I will end it all here, I swear."" Mortixx gulped. ""How did... How did you..."" Lea grinned. ""There's always one of us who's slightly smarter than the rest, yes? So, do I have your word? Or would you like an intimate introduction to my friend Bud Lite here?"" Mortixx sagged, and one of its eyes fell out. It extended a stalk, then pushed the eye back in. ""I promise,"" it said. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1094
 FADE IN: <nl>,"FADE IN: INT. A CORPORATE BOARDROOM - DAY *Several men and women in suits sit around a large table, all of them looking bored. At the front of the room, a man with a white beard flicks at the black eyepatch that he wears. This is ODIN.* **ODIN:** You know, I was supposed to get the wisdom of the ages. *Halfhearted murmurs are offered by everyone at the table.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) There I was, thinking I'd be granted some kind of sublime knowledge. Do you know what I got? *A blond-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard sighs. This is THOR.* **THOR:** A bunch of old wives' tales and some herbal remedies? **ODIN:** A bunch of old... hey! **THOR:** And when you asked for a refund, Mimir told you to... *A breathtakingly beautiful woman - SIF - interrupts.* **SIF:** (*Interrupting*) He told you to go sit on a glacier. **ODIN:** Now, look, if you people are just going to... *A sudden flash of light interrupts Odin. When the room's illumination returns to normal, a very confused young man is revealed. This is DAVE. He is clad in a pink apron and is clutching a black spatula.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) ... huh. That hasn't happened in a while. **DAVE:** Yeah, I'm reasonably certain that pancakes aren't normally supposed to do that. **SIF:** Do what? **DAVE:** I'm not sure. What just happened? *A middle-aged woman grins with glee. This is HEL.* **HEL:** You died! **DAVE:** I think I'd remember that. **THOR:** No, that's definitely what happened. *Dave glances around.* **DAVE:** Heaven looks really boring. **THOR:** This is Valhalla. **DAVE:** Valhalla looks really boring. Why am I in Valhalla? **ODIN:** Good question. Only warriors who die in battle are supposed to come here. **DAVE:** You must get a lot of soldiers, then. **SIF:** Actually, no, we don't. See, you *don't* have to die in battle; you have to die holding a weapon. **DAVE:** Soldiers carry guns! Guns are weapons! **HEL:** Not according to Section Nine, Paragraph Four of the Valhalla Bylaws! *Everyone in the room save for Dave and Hel groans with impatience.* **DAVE:** The what? **THOR:** Don't encourage her. **HEL:** According to our charter, a weapon is an object which renders injury or death. **DAVE:** ... So, a gun? **HEL:** No, a bullet. **DAVE:** That seems like a remarkably stupid technicality. **THOR:** *You're* a remarkably stupid technicality! **ODIN:** He might be, actually. *All eyes in the room turn to face Odin.* **SIF:** Huh? **ODIN:** Well, what's that in his hand? **DAVE:** It's a spatula. **ODIN:** I know it's a spatula... but what *is* it? **THOR:** ... A spatula. **ODIN:** You're not getting it. What *is* a spatula? *A sudden thought seems to occur to Dave.* **DAVE:** Hang on! Why does Valhalla look like an office building? **HEL:** We had to redefine a pen as weapon a few decades ago. **DAVE:** Because it's mightier than the sword? **HEL:** Because a disgruntled accountant stabbed his coworker with one. **DAVE:** Oh. I take it he lost that fight. **THOR:** He... **DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) Since he died, I mean. **THOR:** He actually slipped and hit his head while running away. **SIF:** He wouldn't stop screaming, so we redesigned Valhalla to make him calm down. **DAVE:** And... what? You just kept it this way? **HEL:** (*Shrugging*) Eh. *Odin slams his fist on the table.* **ODIN:** Enough! I swear, you people will drone on about the dullest things! **THOR:** (*Muttering*) You mean like trading your eye for a chicken soup recipe? **ODIN:** Now, for the last time: What is a spatula? *Several seconds of silence pass.* **THOR:** It's... **ODIN:** (*Interrupting*) Don't say ""a spatula."" **THOR:** Well, it is. **SIF:** You mean... are you asking if it counts as a weapon? **ODIN:** Finally! Yes. **THOR:** You could have been direct about it. **ODIN:** (*In a mocking voice*) ""You could have been direct about it."" Shut up. **THOR:** You're an ass. **HEL:** I think it counts as a weapon. **SIF:** Odin's ass? **THOR:** Only after taco night. **HEL:** *The spatula!* **SIF:** Is it forged from celestial iron or something? *Dave examines his spatula.* **DAVE:** No, I think it's just plastic. **HEL:** It counts! It can render injury or death! **DAVE:** Hey, my pancakes aren't *that* bad! **HEL:** We are not concerned with your pancakes; we're talking about the spatula. **SIF:** Do you ever say a word so often that it starts to sound funny? **THOR:** Spa-tu-la. **ODIN:** Spa-tuuuuu-la. **SIF:** Spaaaaa-tu-la. **DAVE:** (*Shouting*) Confused! *Confused!* *Dave closes his eyes and starts waving his spatula in front of him. It smacks on the top of Odin's head several times.* **ODIN:** Ow! Ow! Stop it! Stop it! Ow! **HEL:** There! See?! That's an injury! *Dave stops flailing and opens one eye.* **DAVE:** Oh, god, sorry, I... **THOR:** (*Interrupting*) Odin. **DAVE:** What? **ODIN:** What? **THOR:** No, not... ugh. He said ""god."" That's the other guy. **SIF:** Technically, it's an unspecified deity. You're thinking of Jehovah. **HEL:** It's ""Yeshua"" now. **THOR:** No, that's his son. We go drinking on Tuesdays. **ODIN:** When *don't* you go drinking? Lazy layabout. *Thor snatches the spatula from Dave and brandishes it at Odin.* **THOR:** You want to go, old man? Huh? **SIF:** (*To Hel*) Huh, look at that. I guess you're right. **HEL:** That settles it. The spatula is a weapon. *Odin snatches the spatula from Thor and whacks him over the head with it.* **ODIN:** Any more like that out of you, and you're grounded! *Thor sits back and sulks. Odin turns the spatula over in his hands a few times.* **ODIN:** (*CONT'D*) I mean... I guess. Sure, why not? It's better than that stupid pen. **HEL:** That was plastic, too, by the way. *Odin hands the spatula back to Dave, who looks uncertain.* **DAVE:** So, uh... does that mean I'm staying? **HEL:** It looks that way. **SIF:** Yeah, welcome to Valhalla, I guess. **DAVE:** Great. Now that everything is cleared up, I just have one question. **THOR:** The bathroom is down the hall. **DAVE:** Huh? Oh, no, thanks, but I was actually curious about something else. **ODIN:** What troubles you, warrior? *Dave takes a deep breath.* **DAVE:** How the hell did I even die?! *Hel takes out her smartphone and scrolls through something.* **HEL:** It looks like the batter mix you used was contaminated... with cyanide. **DAVE:** ... That seems incredibly unlikely. **HEL:** Well, that's what happened. **THOR:** I guess your pancakes *were* that bad! *Dave stares at Thor for a moment, then whacks him with the spatula.* CUT TO BLACK.",1082
 The ravens flapped and hopped,"I awoke to the quorking of ravens. The fact that I knew that sound meant ravens, or even what quorking was, surprised me, but didn't concern me. Nor did the fact I couldn't quite remember where I was or what I had been doing. That too, should've concerned me but, pleasantly, didn't. It felt like I was waking from a long nap, a bit foggy but refreshed. The ravens flapped and hopped around their perch in a way that seemed to indicate confusion or argument and, for a time, I just watched them. It was some time before I realized there was someone else in the room, or space, or where ever this was. A hooded old man, also observing the ravens with something approaching paternal concern was turned away from me. I tried to clear my throat politely but the sound echoed impossibly and all three figures turned to regard me. ""Greetings traveler,"" the old man said, ""You've caused my little friends here a bit of confusion. It seems your tale is a bit unusual for my halls, so I've chosen to hear it directly. Tell me sir, are you a warrior of your people?"" It didn't feel like an interrogation and somehow I wasn't scared. It was like my grandfather had asked me about what I had for breakfast that day. It felt right to reply, and suddenly memory became clear. ""Uh...sir, no...not a warrior. Actually, farthest thing from it by most peoples way of thinking - I'm just a cook."" I felt this would somehow end the dream, or whatever this was, or the man would be unimpressed, but he wasn't. If anything, he seemed to be smiling. ""That explains this,"" a dented, scratched spatula appeared in the mans hand. Memory seemed to awake at the sight. ""Yes! That's mine! I mean, well, the one I always use. I guess it's my favorite, as much as a spatula can be. I was using it just a little while ago, making....what was I making? I'm sorry, I can't remember."" I felt the need to apologize to this figure, although I wouldn't be able to tell you why. He seemed familiar, somehow, like a relative I hadn't seen in years. ""Don't bother yourself with worry, traveler. Why don't you take up your favorite...spatula, and tell me of your...labors with it."" The old man offered the spatula to me, handle first, carefully, almost tenderly, like it was precious and fragile. I reached out a hand to touch it and felt a flash of memory. ""I...I was in the...cafeteria...Yes, that's where I was. I work for the district and was making lunch. Chicken tenders and tater-tots, green beans, apple sauce, even a little salad. It's good for the kids to have good food to eat, don't you think? I always loved working with the kids and the district was kind enough to give me a job, even though I had a record."" It felt natural to say this to the old man. He was feeling more like a long missed friend so sharing with him was comfortable...easy. ""A cook, for children? That was your task? Your role amongst your people?"" The question wasn't delivered with malice or derision, the old man wasn't mocking me or being cruel. If anything, he seemed..surprised, maybe even a little impressed. ""Yes, I love working with the children. Little Cheryl and Tommy and Franz were always nice to me, always tried to tell me jokes. I made sure to give them extra tater-tots - they love tater-tots. They even made me some macaroni art! I hung it up behind the counter so I could see it every day."" The children. Something about the children. Something horrifying was crawling at the edge of my memories. The children were in danger! The old man must've seen panic on my face. ""Peace, traveler, the children are safe,"" The old man put a hand on my arm and I instantly felt a peaceful calm return, ""tell me of this day, friend, then we can go from this place."" ""Today? Normal day I guess. Spilled tea on myself getting ready, had to change my shirt and almost clocked in late. I was just getting ready for lunch when I started hearing something from upstairs. I didn't think the kids were doing a field day and the banging was so loud. I went to look out and kids were already running down the stairs, screaming and crying..."" I could feel tears of my own forming at the memory...""I saw Tommy and Franz holding Cheryl...trying to push their hands against her side, already slick with blood. Tommy was missing a chunk of his right ear but didn't seem to care, he was holding onto Cheryl as hard as a 7 year old could. He was so brave, even as the other kids ran in every direction."" The memory was an avalanche now. The screams of panicked adults and terrified children. The smell of blood and gun powder. The thunder of the shots getting closer. I remembered. ""I...I took them into the freezer, in the back of the cafeteria. Tommy, Franz, Cheryl....all the kids I could find. I found the big first aid kit we always keep in the cafeteria and yanked it off the wall to throw into the freezer with them and told them not to open the door, no matter what. Then I broke the handle and I think..."" my memory ended with the shock of impact, of a force on my back and a sudden red stain on the freezer door. Understanding slowly unfolded in my mind. The old man stood silent for a long time. The ravens had taken to his shoulders at some point and all were looking at me intently. It was only now that I realized the old man, face hidden in shadow, seemed to have a patch over one eye. He also had a tear running down his face. ""I see now why my little friends were confused, traveler. Midgard has changed greatly since I last walked there and with it, so has the shape of battle. Thankfully, what hasn't changed is the stout heart of man."" The old man seemed to be drawing himself up, getting impossibly big and powerful looking. In the distance, horns blared. ""Listen, friend, the horns of my hall are sounded for you. You have a place among the honored dead here. You fell upon a field that should never have been a battleground, defending those who should never need be warriors. You showed the bravery of long ages past and when you did, you held this in your hand."" The final memory blossomed in my mind. I had used the spatula to break the handle, that's why it was dented and scratched. Something new blossomed there. I could see minutes later, help arriving, the freezer being forced open, medics attending the survivors. Even little Cheryl. I saw a memorial in the cafeteria, candles and flowers. I saw drawings of crayon and sparkles, thank yous and prayers, Cheryl walking slowly, still bandaged, crying, laying another piece of macaroni art on the pile. In the middle, on a small stand, was the spatula. My spatula. I turned to the old man, who I now knew as if he was my father. He indicated a direction and we began walking together towards his distant hall as his ravens took flight, quorking to themselves contentedly. Edit 1: I am stunned and humbled by the response this has elicited, especially from folks who work with or at schools themselves. Thank you all. I will try to respond to all the comments I can individually, and will thank all the folks who were generous enough to gild this directly as soon as I can. I'm also integrating the very helpful feedback from a few folks who noticed I drifted into the 3rd person a few times. Edit 2: A few people have asked if I had a subreddit, so I've decided to condense all the prompts I've responded to over here - https://www.reddit.com/r/SpecialistSix/. I hope a few that didn't get much traction the first time around get some new readers. Edit 3: Check out /u/NachosGalore - I think it's great!",1375
 The device is located in the year,"**2018** *Grandson, I am not who you thought I am. I was born in the year 3456. I am a time traveler but I failed my mission. Attached is a map showing the location of the device. Power sources now should be enough. You must complete my mission...* My grandfather made sure to add a space between these words and his mission for dramatic effect. What kind of heroic task did he trust me with? Preventing the Holocaust, preventing the fall of the twin towers, or maybe preventing the assassination of John Fitzgerald Kennedy? *Before you stop reading, hear me out. You will have to extend the space race...* Sounds good grandpa. *and prevent the collapse of the Soviet Union.* Wait, what? I couldn't believe this. My grandfather is asking me to keep an isolated, repressive, and corrupt state alive? This can't be. *Listen to me. In the year 3339, we were attacked by an alien empire. We tried to resist them, but their technology was superior to ours. They conquered us, then used us as slave labor, forcing us to work sixteen hours a day. They called us savages, destroyed our culture, forced us to speak their language, and beat the humanity out of us. In 3396, some alien activists finally abolished slavery, and our alien viceroys shipped us off into crammed human reservations in the Sahara, Central Asia, and Texas.* *I was born in 3435, in the Chihuahuan Reservation. When I was seventeen, I was caught stealing some valuables off some alien who got drunk on my uncle's moonshine. The bastard's friends tried to catch me, but I ran out into the desert. I wandered for three days, both in the heat of the day and the cold of the night. I didn't know whether thirst or hunger would take me first, but neither did. I stumbled across a small metal shed in the middle of the desert. The shed was empty, but I noticed that there was a trapdoor in the ground. I entered the trapdoor, and descended down into the Earth. Inside, I found enough food to last me fifteen years, and some blueprints.* *I filled my stomach and napped. When I awoke, I went straight to examining those blueprints. I didn't know the English language very well, but I knew enough to understand what they were describing: The process of making a time machine. It was impossible to build for the people who created the blueprints, but it would take relatively little time and money to do this when you had access to alien resources.* *So I did this. First, I went to the year 2500, where I learned about human history and the English Dialect of that time. Then, I went back to the year 1963, as I believed it would be the optimal time to start my plan. However, I met your grandmother. She distracted me from my mission. I ended up having a family, and forgetting about my mission.* *So here it is, what I planned to do to prevent the fall of the Soviet Union, and the fall of mankind.* I went straight to packing for the journey. I packed a Swiss knife, some food and water, large numbers of dollar bills and coins minted before 1963, my grandfathers passport (it is very convenient that I look just like a younger version of him), an M1911 pistol with some ammunition, and my grandfathers letter. I put on one of his old suits, and went to find the Device. He kept it in his room, in his nightstand. It was an old-timey pocket watch. I lifted the lid, and saw the word *Molnija*, and the phrase *Made in USSR*. I set the time to 3:45, then started winding it. Slowly, the watch face started turning into a menu, asking me where to go and when to be there. I set the time for November 22, 1963. Elm Street Dallas. **1963** I knew exactly what would happen. My watch was already set to the next date, my pistol was drawn and loaded, and a man was waiting to take his shot, waiting for the limousine to pass. He was so focused, he would have never seen me coming. Right as he was about to pull the trigger of his sniper rifle, I yanked the barrel to the side. The shot was heard by everyone present, and so everyone looked our way. he started panicking, and I shot his foot. I made sure he tripped, and then knocked him out with the butt of his own rifle. I stood up and fired five shots into the air. The space program will get the funding it deserves. I then proceeded to get out of sight and go to my next destination. **1986** 22 April. Pripyat, Ukraine. I found a good old Soviet phone booth, and also a man who bought my dollars and exchanged them for roubles. I fed the machine some money, and called the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant. ""Hello?"" Said someone in Russian. ""Listen here comrade."" I looked at my watch. ""I have a detonator in my hand and I will blow up your entire Nuclear Power Station if you don't comply with my demands."" I heard some chatter on the other side. ""You are bluffing."" The time was 13:04:33. ""Okay, we are listening!"" ""Meet me in Cafe Pripyat in an hour."" They'll raid that place and spend their day finding bombs in the power plant, I am sure of it. I traveled back nine hours, and found myself in an army stockpile. I grabbed some packs of remote explosives, and one explosive on a timer. I saw some grenades, and grabbed three. I then travelled to the Nuclear reactor, and set up the remote explosives in locations that were distant from each other. I placed the timed explosive in a place where the explosion would be visible and harmless. The time was 4:00:00. The explosive would detonate in 9:04:33. That increased the lifespan of the union by just a bit. **1991** Moscow, April 19th. The bastards weren't even expecting it. As soon as the coup started, everyone gathered in a room to talk. I traveled right into that room. I drew my pistol, and shot the man who is to thank for ending the repression of the Soviet Union: Mikhail Gorbachev. I took out my grenades, and drew the pins. Threw them all down, and traveled to the year 3456. **3456** According to the information I found, the Soviet Union was locked in a cold war with the united states until 2425, when it finally collapsed. They kept seeing who would break the limits, first racing to the moon, then to Mars, and then to Proxima Centauri. They developed new and better weapons, and waged more and more proxy wars. In 3339, the aliens came. They didn't come to a weak Earth with no experience in space, they came to a planet that took time to prepare for invasion from a foreign body. Long story short, their invasion lasted seven hours. In those seven hours, space stations warned us about the oncoming fleet Humanity became united, and all Nuclear Powers agreed to launch all their Interplanetary Ballistic Missiles towards the invading Aliens. We reduced them to rubble. ---------------------------------------------------- *Thanks for reading, feedback is very welcome and appreciated. I am trying to get better at writing.*",1233
 Printco's Universal Building Solution printer,"###### It arrived on Thursday. I had to sign for the package, but it wasn't a normal signature page for a delivery company. It also included several disclaimers. > You hereby disclaim and hold harmless Printco from any and all damages caused by use of this device. That was a pretty broad disclaimer I thought. But of course I wasn't going to let that stop me, not at this point. So I signed, took the box, and ran inside to play with my new *toy.* It only took an hour to set up, which was extraordinarily fast. Sitting in the corner on my small work desk it hardly looked like the most revlutionary technology ever made, though it surely was. I plugged it into the wall and screwed on a heavy vial of UBS into the printing head - that's Universal Building Solution for the unitiated. It can build anything, or so they say. The printer itself was a trivial piece of equipment, but UBS was Printco's masterpiece. Not one to delay, I picked my first object. A pencil. Printco already had a schematic for pencils, and so the machine popped one out in under five minutes. The UBS began as extruded pink goop and then, solidified into perfect layers of a pencil - real wood and real pencil lead. When the printing was complete I picked up the pencil carefully, not believing my eyes. But there it was, solid and real, a pencil from goop. I sharpened it in a sharpener, and it left behind wooden shavings, I wrote with it and it left graphite on the page, I broke it in half and it snapped like the dry wood it truly, miraculously, *was*. Once the pencil worked, my mind just went wild. I printed a miniature tin car, a complex steel jigsaw puzzle, a small deringer pistol made of plastic, a tiny flame thrower, a tiny hand grenade - legal objects Printco had schematics for. I considered torrenting a full size hand grenade but then thought better of it. But the tiny one worked - it blew up in my sink like a little firecracker. I was up printing inanimate objects until almost 4AM. That was when I tried something different. ""*Anything*"" was a broad term and I meant to test the boundaries. So I printed an apple. Printco did not recommend printing live organic material, foodstuffs included, so I needed to torrent an apple schematic. But when I finished downloading the schematic to the printer it began to print, and the pink UBS coalesced into a perfectly ripe Gala apple. I wanted to eat it so badly. I cut it in half with a knife and it looked perfect - crisp and sweet. I googled other people's experiences with the gala schematic and numerous users reported safely eating the delicious creation. So I compromised and took a nibble - and it was so good! It was the perfect apple. It was 5AM now, and I wanted to know the limits of this incredible device. I decided to print a dog. Just a small dog of course, nothing big, nothing dangerous. I scoured the torrent sites for a dog schematic and found nothing, just puppets and dolls. So I booted up the Printco learning algorithm and set up a google search for the algorithm to scan using the search terms ""Bichon Frise."" Then the algorithm went to work, searching through every conceivable picture and website about the Bichon Frise breed of dog until, after an hour, it completed its analysis with a cheerful *ding*. The sound woke me up and I looked groggily at the display screen. It bore a prompt which read > Print Bichon Frise - Yes or No *Of Course* I thought *Print Bichon Frise. Print away.* I pressed yes and the printer went to work. It began simply enough, the pink goop making a base layer in the general outline of a Bichon Frise. That layer formed into the basic structures of the dog, white fur exterior and the somewhat macabre, but seemingly accurate, interior. Slowly the printer built me a dog, layer by layer. There were the paws, and the tail, there was the body slowly taking shape, the perfect white fur. It was 7AM now, the sun was up, and I was a zombie. The last thing I remember before falling asleep was the bottom half of the dog being completed, and the printer beginning on the upper half. I was awoken by a noise, a kind of wet gurgling, akin to the sound you might hear if you filled a condom with a mixture of vaseline and grape jelly and then squeezed it all out really quickly. The sound persisted and got louder, nearer, right up to my ear. I opened my eyes and recoiled from the red stained touch of an exposed eyeball, my chair tipping sideways and falling into the printer which itself fell to the ground, spilling UBS all over the floor. Standing before me, from the middle down, was a perfect Bichon Frise. From the middle up it might also have been biologically perfect in every respect but one - it was inside out. Beginning at the neck the Bichon Frise was just the underside of skin, exposed veins and arteries, two dangling eyeballs, a mouth stuffed with fur. It ran towards me, eager for the attention the breed is known to enjoy. In my terror I crawled backward, away from the abomination, my hands crab walking along the carpet until the fingers of my left hand touched something warm and wet. And pink. The UBS had spilled from the printer and spread in a pool on my carpet. Now it coated my fingers, and was changing them. The dog raced toward me still, aiming to lick at my face, as dogs will do. I kicked at it fiercely, terror and disgust gripping me in equal measure, and the monster whimpered wetly and walked away. But now I looked back at my left hand and saw that it was no longer a hand at all. It was fingers, two dozen fingers, maybe more, protruding from a central mass at the end of my wrist, writhing in a horrific ball. I screamed. ****** ##### For More Legends From The Multiverse ##### r/LFTM",1054
" ""Carl when did you develop a","haha, ""Carl when did you develop a sense of humor?"" I said. ""Carl""? I turned to look over my right shoulder expecting to see my normally morose and impersonal driver only to see one of *them*. ""Oh fuck me"" I stammered looking into the beady eyes of what has been the sum of all fears since childhood. ""You are a King not a Queen sire, and I would not be worthy to pollinate you even so"" the little death dealer said. Stung already, auditory hallucinations I have to get help ""Carl!"" I shouted trying to see through the tree line back towards the car near the ferry where Carl must be. Stumbling into a lurching run ignoring my still open fly. "" Running will increase blood flow spreading the toxin further, stop. Think, call him you idiot!"" ""My lord please do not distress, we live to serve."" The same follow the yellow brick road voice said. ""We are going to be dead in minutes whoever the fuck we is"" I replied pulling out my phone. ""I know it's in here why is it not under C, i should have.."" ""We are the elite guard pledged to you sire"" Munchkin voices from all sides said at once, causing me to jolt and drop my phone. Lifting my eyes I saw them, dozens no A HUNDRED bees floating in 3 tight lines mere feet in front of me. Death for sure, i'm sorry mom I shouldn't have yelled and insisted learning to fish. A bee landed on my glasses and I froze staring at it with a kind of resigned horror. ""Great one, remain calm we do not have long to speak. I can tell by your reaction that we are the first unit to make contact with you"". Seventeen years, constant vigilance and fear anytime out doors even when on a screened in porch, mother quitting her job to make sure she would be there if I actually got stung. Hiring a ex-military medic to drive me around after they won the local lottery, losing friends because I couldn't be allowed to play outdoors after spring. Wait, ex-medic ...the epi pen! Staring the hallucination in my eye Ii reached to my backpack and pulled out the pen popping the security tab and lifting it to strike my leg it...resisted ""No my liege you must not!"" the bee said , now sitting on the tip of my nose. That's when I saw them crawling all over my hand tiny wings buzzing. Instinctively I yelped then dropped the pen, watching in amazement as they returned to their formation. ""Wh-why "" was all i could get out. ""Sir it is likely they put one of their chemicals in there, not something to help you but something to knock you out and cause memory loss"" the small death dealer said. ""They?! you mean my fucking doctor?"", ""I'm talking to a bee now, I wonder if i'm even really still standing. Maybe i'm sprawled out on the ground with foam coming from my mouth as my body rages it's last defiant battle. ""He would not be your doctor, but theirs, Please majesty you must focus, we have little time the bear is likely already incapacitated or dead by now"" ""Bear? please tell me Baloo is just around the corner ready to save me"" I said. ""You know him? I did not know his name sir or that you were aquatined. I hope you and he will accept our apology for all the stings, we merely needed to incite him to violence to distract the human named Carl."" That's when I noticed I was sitting down and it struck home. Carl was *never* out of eyesight or atleast shouting distance. He's paid more than he would make at any ambulance service just to stay by my side in case. He should be here no matter what but...a bear? ""I'm not hallucinating?"" i said. ""No my lord, I understand this is a shock but I have been trying to tell you that we are here to rescue you, quickly you must come with us"" the tiny voice said, sounding more confident and resolute Dropping the Epi pen I asked ""So you didn't sting me?"" The little bee's wings buzzed quickly and almost fell off my nose. ""Sire it would be more than my wings are worth, my whole colony would kill itself if I dared harm you."" Drugs, somebody slipped me something or maybe that stuff that grows on grain and makes you trip balls. Urgot? i think that is what it was called, the cause of the salem witch trials. Well part of the cause ,religious fools that they were. ""Quickly sire, follow us! Alpha team you're on point, charlie team fall back to the parking lot and observe the human to see if he gives chase, DO NOT BE SEEN."" The three lines of bees flew off in different directions, one toward the parking lot another in thhe opposite direction and the rest formed a halo around my head forming a crown of bees. Thinking that this was kind of cool for a nightmarish hallucination I sprang into action following alpha team. ""Where are we going...wait what is your name?"" I asked. ""It is not likely you could say it in your language sire, but you may call me Carl if that seems right."" the bee said whilst clinging to my glasses against the wind. ""Oh no, you're way more interesting than a Carl. I will call you Artemis, does that sound ok?"" I said. ""Named by the prophesied one himself, my lord you humble me to tears"" he replied. Smiling i found myself thinking this small creature which i hhad come too fear and loathe was actually kind of cute. ""Where are we going Artemis?"" ""We're going to your Mother sir, she has much to discuss with you."" he replied ""Oh Art, i'm sorry but I'm pretty sure my mother would coat me in a fog of raid if she saw you with me"" I chuckled while running along side the river. Strange my asthma isn't bothering me. ""Not the human you call mother majesty. She was merely assigned to you after your kidnapping. We're going to your REAL mother, our mother, earth's mother Gaia."" He replied in all seriousness. ""Alpha team this is it, Baker team signal evac team that we are ready to depart."" He said in that oddly commanding tone for a voice sounding like it was coated in helium. Another bee flew close to my glasses and said "" Wings are arleady here sir, 15 seconds"". ""Set ten of your weakest to wait for charlie team's return after we leave. The human will come this way looking for the king, if you think he suspects what has happened... Kill him."" Art said. "" By my Antennae and Sting, life to serve commander. We will fight to the last bee."" the little one said. What did he mean wings here in 15 seconds Art?"" I asked just before two sets of eagle talons clenched my shoulders and carried me into the sky.",1190
 They'd told me it was impossible,"It was done. They'd told me it was impossible - physics doesn't *work* that way, they said. There was this law or that rule that dictated that it was simply outside of the realm of possibility. Had I listened to them? No. Not me. I knew better. And there I stood, holding the little bracelet in my hands that was about to prove all of them wrong. Fingers trembling, I slipped it over my wrist. I was barely able to fasten the clamps in my excitement. *Where to?* I thought gleefully to myself. *Where should I go first?* Back to the time of dinosaurs, to see the majestic beasts for myself? The thought was tempting - there wasn't a man alive who hadn't loved dinosaurs at some point in their life. Or to Rome - I'd slide into the crowd, and see a match in the grand arena! Oh, the excitement of it, the *thrill* of it all. Perhaps something a little more...peaceful, though. The hanging gardens, maybe? I'd long dreamt of seeing such a sight. Yes. yes. yes. My fingers punched in the destination zone as quickly as they could, flying over the little control screen nearly on their own. My heart hammering in my throat, I pushed the *Engage* button. >Time/Location selection invalid. I stared down at the screen, brow furrowed. That...wasn't right. No matter. There must have been a problem with something in the code. It wasn't unexpected. Rome it was. The first edge of my excitement had faded incrementally, but I still grinned as I keyed in the date. >Time/Location selection invalid. *Again.* I eyed the time-travel bracelet with more than a little irritation. So be it. Again, I keyed in a different date, and again, I saw it. >Time/Location selection invalid. >Time/Location selection invalid. >Time/Location selection invalid. Over and over again. There must be something wrong with it. It didn't *work*. Nearly tearing the thing from my wrist, I decided to take one last test drive. My mood thoroughly soured, I keyed in the data for last week. My skin shivered, the air around me rippling as my vision went white. My pulse thundered as my adrenaline spiked. I hadn't been expecting to get anything. But there I was, standing in front of my house. There was my newspaper, one of the few vices I still had. And, *yes*. *It had worked.* The bracelet was a success. So...why hadn't it worked before? My unease grew. And then the scientist in me took over, plotting my next tests. An hour's worth of frustration later, I had it. January 1, 1980. That was the limit. No matter how many times I tried, no matter how many variations I plugged in, I couldn't go any farther back. That was the limit. And the sneaking suspicion was rising that it wasn't a problem with my device. Why would it be, when dates were merely an arbitrary human assignment? There *should* be no reason for such an asinine wall in the time-space continuum. So why couldn't I break through? It was as though something were blocking me, standing in my way. I needed to get through it. Now that I had my device, now that it *worked*, the *need* to go back farther was a nearly palpable sensation. It was a good thing I didn't have a wife, with the hours I poured into it. But eventually, I found what I *thought* was a solution. I'd been thinking of my bracelet as a bubble, floating haphazardly through the river of time. That idea went out the window immediately. I wasn't a bubble. I was a knife. I'd *cut* my way out of this horrible corner I'd been locked in. It took me nearly 6 months, time spent living off the meager savings I had left and skiiving time in the lab at my horrible but well-equipped company. But once more I strapped on the bracelet, my heart in my throat. January 1, 1950. Nice and simple, nice and straightforward. As the button flashed up at me, I slammed my thumb down. The world went white. The world around me shivered, the sound of metal on metal screeching in my ears as everything *shook.* And then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped. I opened my eyes. The two people staring back at me were white-faced and trembling, dressed...Like nothing I'd ever seen before. Their clothes had an oddly clinical look to them, not unlike the clean-room uniforms my researcher friends wore, and yet....This was entirely different. ""...This isn't 1950, is it?"" I said slowly, glancing around. A quick glance confirmed that, *yes*, I still had my bracelet. I slipped one hand over it, the action reassuring somehow. Shit, shit, shit. Why did I say that? How were they going to respond? Jesus christ, less than a minute and I'd already blown the *temporal prime directive* out of the water. But they only stared, nearly as shocked as I was. The first one stood, trembling. ""Is that-"" ""Control, this is server room 3,"" his partner said, grabbing at a microphone-like device pinned to her chest. I glanced around, confused. Server room 3? A row of quietly whirring machines greeted my confused stare. ""This is Control. It's 3am, Gina. What do you want?"" a speaker on her desk said, the voice on the other end clearly annoyed. ""I don't give a shit, Todd,"" Gina said, still staring at me. ""I don't know how, but subject 2155 just broke out of the simulation."" (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) --- ~~And, mmm, I do like me some temporal drama, and I *wanted* my next project to be scifi. So not promising anything, but *considering* more. Later parts would go on my sub.~~ ~~Edit - will probably wind up doing at least another part or two, explore it and see where it wants to go. If you want an update when it comes out, can either subscribe to the bot on my sub or leave a comment in and I'll message you if/when it comes out.~~",1012
" Reclusive scholars, wise hermits","It's funny, most species start out incredibly social. But as they advance in technology, some members of society start to become more and more isolated. The reclusive scholars, the wise hermits, the silent religious types and so on. And as society grew and grew, so did the amount and types of social inept lonesome people who would only rarely interact with other beings face to face. And as society eventually reaches a point where interaction with other living beings for the sake of anything becomes unnecessary, then eventually all social individuals sort of die out. Slowly, but surely. Soon, computers would replace parties, face-to-face interaction would be more and more infrequent, to the point where children would not even see their parents, being raised by nanny robots. Thus it had always been. And yet, one race had bucked the trend. While they did indeed have socially inept and awkward people among them, their numbers were not growing exponentially as other races had at that point of technological development. The many races of the galaxy, who had only ever really interacted via text and a few brave enough to still play an MMO, had gathered the most social of their members to gather the necessary confidence to attempt contact. Of course, by most social, it meant people just brave enough to video chat, which was considered by most of the galactic community to be only something the most extremely social butterflies(technically they called them social Edt'quals but that wouldn't translate as well) would dare to engage in. There was an Ofei, a race which looked similar in appearance to bipedal squids, by the name of Desqa who had actually managed to leave the house to get the alien version of pizza, risking being seen or worse, meeting someone in the streets. There was an unnaturally tall bird-like thing which had, if rumors were correct, actually held a conversation as long as 15 minutes with another sentient life-form. The other sentient life-form had shortly after died from stress. And many others who, calling in with holograms, were gathered to find out who'd have to try to contact these extremely social sentients. Which went poorly. It took three months before anyone worked up the courage to say hi. And another two months before anyone dared reply. One might wonder how they would not have regressed mentally at this point, as would be most likely. Due to the fact that they constantly conversed with NPCs in their video games or dated simulated creatures in their visual novels, or even just read their many many books, they could still stay just social enough to not cease having a need for higher brain functions. And if that wasn't enough, then the wonders of genetic engineering could fix anything. After five years of awkward conversation, several people who had died from the sheer stress of being forced to socially interact and more awkward cringy conversations than you could realistically shake a stick at, the alien to contact the human race had been chosen. Alqir, a vaguely grey, bipedal, female lizard-like alien from the Qualqi race, had been chosen, though perhaps the more apt term was that she lost the large scale multiplayer game first that they had decided to have in order to determine the chosen one. She was quite literally shaking as her ship started its descent. She had been social, sure, often posting on social media, playing multiplayer games, actually managing to wave to someone once. But meeting an entirely new race, and one still capable of the mythical arts of social interaction, face to face, IRL! It was not something she was looking forward to. It hadn't been hard to send the text message to the humans, that they were going to be greeted by an official from the Galactic Independent Alliance. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to think of what her characters in her games would do in such a situation. At least they breathed the same air as her, and they didn't look too weird for aliens. She just hoped there wouldn't be a crowd. She'd probably die, right there and then. The ship landed slowly, and she gulped as she walked reluctantly to the ship doors. ''*It's ok. I can do this.*'' She kept trying to tell herself, but it wasn't much use, her two hearts beating as if they were about to explode. She got up on the escalator and opened the doors. It was far worse than she could have felt in her worst nightmares. She had feared that maybe there would be more than ten of them. She was certain that there was more than ten thousand of them, all staring at her. She just froze, as the platform she was standing on descended down the giant escalator. She was screaming internally as she came closer to the humans on the podium. Especially the one in the center, almost twice as tall as her, with a broad smile, looking directly at her. Why was he so strangely handsome, for an alien? The platform finally stopped, and for a moment, everything was silent. And then the tall human walked towards her, reaching out his hand. In a form of trance, she shook as she extended her own claw. As he came close, he grasped her claw in his hand, and she looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes. And then, the human spoke. He sounded like everything she wasn't, confident, strong, proud. ''*I've been told you people have translation devices, that will make you understand everything I say. I must say, it's... A great honor to be here today, as the President of these United States of America, I, John Fitzgerald Kennedy, welcome you to our world, and extend to you a branch of peace, from the human race to the galaxy at large.*'' She just held his warm hand and was struck by panic. Her internal monologue was not entirely coherent, but as she noticed that the handsome alien had stopped talking a while ago, she realized it was getting a bit awkward. She opened her mouth, and stammered and tried to look away. ''*I... I... Thank you? I'm sorry. Uh. I... Uh. I come in... Peace.*'' That was what she said. Her internal thought process said something else. ''*ARRRGH! You're ruining this! Arrgggh! Nobody told me their leader was hot! There are no conversation prompts to get me to know how to interact with him!*'' At that moment, however, a realization struck her. In the dating sims she sometimes played, one would give gifts to the hot hero or colleague to increase their affection. She quickly let go of the human's hand and grabbed something from her pocket. ''*Uh... Here.*'' She handed him a metal figurine of one of her own characters that she had gotten 3D-printed once. The human smiled and looked somewhat puzzled as to what to do with this overly muscled small statue of a lizardman. She then realized she hadn't even introduced herself yet. ''*I'm... I mean, my name is... Uh... I am uh... Doctor Alqir, special enbooi, no I mean envoy! From the Galactic... uh Independent Alliance.*'' She knew she would get into so much trouble when this went badly. But then a female human, also remarkable to look at, walked towards them, and whispered something in the ear of the male that she could not quite make out. ''*May I invite you inside the White House to talk further?*'' The male inquired. Grasping at this hope to get away from the crowd, she nodded imperceptibly. The woman gently took her hand, and led Alqir down into a building, which was indeed very white. Led into a small room, it was just Alqir, the male and the female. ''*You're not good with crowds dear.*'' The woman said. Alqir shook, and began to cry. Stunned, the woman looked at her mate, and enveloped Alqir in her arms. It was the most wonderful feeling Alqir had ever had. ''*Shh. It's going to be okay. Just... let it out.*'' This continued for almost ten minutes where the woman comforted the small alien woman. The male looked somewhat uncomfortable with the crying. ''*Now, we need to talk a little, do you think you can do that?*'' The woman asked. Alqir nodded and looked up at the woman. ''*I'm Jacqueline Kennedy, but you can call me Jackie. You've already met my husband, John. Were you expecting something, a bit different.*'' Alqir, still quietly sobbing, just nodded. Through the next few hours, Jackie and John managed to coax out an explanation of what had happened, of how the galaxy worked. How almost everyone were so anti-social, some people didn't even believe in the existence of other people. After Alqir had calmed down, and she felt a little better, they also started doing some of the official actions needed for mankind to enter the Galactic world, some star systems for them to claim, what kind of technology they would be given to help them.",1508
 Saskatchewan is the most landlocked province,"I thought it was a cat, I really did. It mewed in the deep grass, and if I hadnt stopped and taken out my earphones, I probably would've passed by without a second thought, never noticing the mottled green-blue body of an animal about the size of your average mutt. I expected to see a next of kittens, abandoned in the grass, and instead found a baby water dragon, half submerged in dirty ditch water, with a torn wing and still fresh from its egg. What the hell was a water dragon doing here? It was Saskatchewan, the most landlocked province in all of north America! I reach for it, picking it up and looking around. It hadnt been laid here, that was for certain. Any water dragon sightings would've definitely made national news, or at the very least a Facebook post or two. Moreover, dragons always laid eggs in clutches of seven, but this little one was all alone. So, with dragon firmly in my arms, I started the walk home. With some internet searching, I found that there were no dragon rescues near me. Not many of the winged creatures cared to love or fly in such a flat and boring landscape, after all. So, for better or worse, I was on my own. My searches pulled up some results. Water dragons liked music, and had a particular affinity with music box melodies. I could repair its wing with a thick spike to pierce the leather of the torn pieces and fit them together with string hide, and they liked fish. So, I set a plate of filleted salmon I'd been saving in front of him, grabbed a screwdriver and hammer, set some up some music box tunes on my phone, and set to work. I nailed holes into his wing, and he barely noticed between gnawing on the salmon and listening to the music. Once I was done, I sewed the halves back together with some chorded leather that I'd made by tearing apart an old belt. According to the internet, the wing would fix itself from that point on, even if the job I had done was slightly subpar. Dragons were an insanely strong species. ""You all done with the fish there?"" I asked him, wiping the sweat from my brow. It looked up at me with silvery eyes. It was still very dirty, covered in egg matter and dirt from the pond. A bath was in order. I walked off, intending to get the tub running and come back, but...it hopped off the table, and followed after me. ""Huh. I hope that means you like me."" I say, laughing. I sat on the closed toilet and started running the water. ""Hot or cold, what's your preference?"" I asked as we got to the bathroom. I plugged up the tub, and the dragon jumped in rather quickly. I turned the knob and it stuck its head under the faucet, starting to warble its little heart out. ""Cold it is. Saving me on my heating bill, at least."" I sigh, smiling. I don't have any sort of scrubbing tools, so a rag will have to do. After a long soak and dry, they're out and clean. The scales are a brilliant cascade of blue, green and turquoise. Everytime it moves in the light, it shimmers like the surface of the sea. Its silver eyes are offset by the bone white horns that mark it as male, according to the webpage I'm on. Female water dragons have horns as black as pitch that curl like antelope horns, while his are short and straight. They'll start to branch out like sharper deer antlers as he got older, however. For the next ten years, this dragon is my closest friend. I've named him Titan. He's small, smaller than he should be, but he's got a big appetite and energy to outlast a thousand hyperactive children. He grows strong, tall and handsome. His body elongates, he becomes barrel chested and his wings expand to the point that he sunbathes in the field and he nearly reaches either end. His belly scales start to take on a incandecant rainbow colour, and his horns grow out. Before long, hes so big that he could probably eat me for an afternoon snack and still ask for seconds. He's become a local mascot, he takes kids for flight rides, people pay to help feed him, even the local high school has changed their sports teams from the fighting bears to the fighting titans. Titan has lived up to his name, for better or worse. The barn he stayed at during the winters has gotten too small for him, and I cant afford to build a bigger one for him, even after I sold his shed skin as clothing material. There's a large public gathering in my yard when the weather has dipped too low for it to be safe for him. Water dragon or no, it wasnt meant for the icy cold Saskatchewan winter. It was meant to live somewhere in the carribian during the winters and off the shores of BC in the summers. Dragon Rescue rangers are in glider planes, with several other, smaller assistant dragons by their side. They'd make the migration with Titian and make sure he got there okay. ""Sorry, Titian. Come back when it isn't dangerous, okay? Follow the nice people, and I'll be here when it's time to come home."" I saw to him, holding his snout in two hands. ""Be careful out there. Be safe."" Titian makes a mournful sound, deep, low and rumbling, pushing me over and trying to grab onto my clothing, trying to toss me up onto a harness he isn't wearing to drag me with him to warmer waters. But, I pat his nose. ""No, Titian. You have to go alone. I'll...I'll miss you, buddy. Try and find yourself a girlfriend, okay? Mama wants some grandbabies."" He flops down, nearly crushing a fair few spectators, and it takes him an hour to finally get back up, and another hour to get into the air. I watch him go until dark, when even the faintest speck of him is gone. Five years pass, and titan is a world treasure. The dragon with a moon shaped scar on his wing has become the strongest, largest water dragon to ever live. It's nearly as large as a humpback whale. It causes typhoons with a bat of its wings and waves with every dive into the ocean. Titian rules the sky and sea. Eventually, Titian finds a mate. Another water dragon, 2/3s his size but twice his age. The location of their nest is unknown. A year after Titian's wife had laid her seven eggs, the family is seen flying northward...but, only six of the seven are seen flying. Its assumed that one has died prematurely. I started following the news like a madwoman, following every Titian Watch program on every channel and watching the skies until finally, *finally*, Titan landed down on the vast and empty fields near my home, towering over every tree in sight and shaking the ground with every claw step. It kneels its head down, and I start to cry. Hes so big, so massive. His head is like the size of my small car, his wife is easily as large as he had been when he left, and their babies...their babies are massive. Only five months old but bigger than Titian had been at a year. They land, tucking and rolling rather than lofting down like their parents had. And Titians head goes to his wife's back, she'd been carrying something all through the trip, and turns back to me. It has something small in its jaws, holding it by its tail, and gently settles it at my feet. A dragon. So small, it looks like a hairless cat. Its skin is so white, it shines like a pearl in the golden Saskatchewan grass. I go to it, picking it up. Its horns are black, and curled up. Its eyes are a bright, unseeing scarlet red. Titian's daughter, a blind albino water dragon. I pick her up, holding the tiny beast to my chest. ""Shes probably going to be small forever, no larger than a horse."" I say to him. He curls himself up, his snout near me and ears perked up, listening. ""I cant garuntee she can be returned to you at all."" He snorts, and a wave of hot, fishy stench washes over me. Hes laughing. He wants her to stay, stay like he couldn't. I go forward, putting a hand to his snout. ""...give me an hour or two. I'll go with you to BC, okay? I cant feed you or your family here. We'll spend the summer together while we can."" I promise him. His silver eyes close, and he huffs. I take the albino with me, and her brothers and sisters bounce after me as I go into my home and collect my things. I've named Titan's daughter Olympia. Adtjkrdhj Thanks for reading. :) https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon",1529
 Cloven hoofs turned to,"Cloven hoofs turned to dainty little feet, a fur covered barrel chest began a set of supple, perky B cups, and what had been a bone white band of hair became the long, smooth inky black of a human woman. I'd be spending decades in this insufferable feminine body, with its weak limbs and annoying annual functions. (Really?! I have to go to the toilet *multiple times a day*?!) In the grandscheme of things, I suppose half a century wasnt so long, I'd been alive for an uncountable millennia before, but this would no doubt be the longest 'break' I've had during all that time. And for no pay either. The man that summoned me was a strange sort of human, with messy, greasy hair and so thin that he looked like something my hellhounds would gnaw on after dinner, and his home was a mess of trash, disorganozed books and garish decorations that suited a middle schooler going through a phase rather than the 25 year old novelist that he was. ""So? What now?"" I ask him, lounging on an unmade bed. He was still in those dumb robes and the summoning circle was still smouldering. I wasnt an incuubai, and not did I have any interest in the matter of sex, but I could endure it for a while. Damned if I let one pitiful human pull a fast one on me and make me lose my perfect deal-making track record. ""I...ah...well, how about a date?"" He suggests, his face a bright, luminous pink. ""I was thinking about this nice ramen place I know. It's pretty good for the price."" ""A date?"" I ask, eyebrow raised. ""You summoned the lord of all hall and damnation...for a date?"" ""Well...yeah."" I sigh, moving to a stand and pushing him towards the door. ""Bathroom, now. Get in the tub."" ""W-what?! T-this is a-a little forward, don't you think?!"" He stammers, trying to resist me as I push him. I am still significantly stronger despite my smaller stature. ""You are five different types of disgusting, I'm not going anywhere with you looking like that. First bath, then haircut, and nail trimming and while your doing that, I'm going through your wardrobe."" I say firmly, shoving him out the door and closing it behind him. Hes gone for the better part of three hours, and in that time I've sorted through his disgusting laundry and tossed out more than half. It's all second hand clothing, I can still smell other people on them. I haven't started cleaning the room, but I imagine I'll have some time in the interm 50 or so years. He returns, hair chopped and closely shaved, freshly cleaned, and still wearing his unwashed clothing. ""Here,"" I say, tossing him a new set. ""Put that on, and then we'll go."" ""You know, you're a lot pushier than I imagined."" He mentions, turning towards the bathroom again. ""According to your *anime* preferences, I assumed you like the pushy type."" ""W-what?! What did you see?!"" ""You've replayed that Natsuki route in Doki Doki Literature Club several times over, bub."" ""I-I just wanted to save her from her dad and monika! It's not because shes mean!"" ""Sure. Go change."" He cleans up nicely. Hes still a toothpick, but there's only so much the lord of hell can do. We leave. The second I cross the threshold of his apartment door, my outfit changes to match his. The...date...goes as well as expected. He gives what few 'rules' he can come up with, that I stay his girlfriend and don't cheat on him, and treat him like how any ordinary girl would her boyfriend. There, he also gives me a name- Samantha Folley. The days bleed into weeks, and weeks into months. I'm living with him full time now, and I've been doing as bid for the most part- taking care of his health and his living space as 'any ordinary girlfriend' would. After the first year, he starts looking better. With more complete meals, he's started gaining some muscle, he showers regularly and he hasn't let his shaggy hair return. His hobbies are still...out there, he cries over 2d characters a lot but he still gets his work done. His second book is a smash hit, and he asks if I had anything to do with it. ""You asked for a girlfriend, not fame and fortune."" I tell him simply, setting a cup of tea in front of him. ""That success is yours."" He smiles. ""After I finish my trilogy, they're asking for a book tour. Think you'd be up for some traveling?"" ""I suppose I could manage."" I sigh. ""Just tell me when."" Two years later, we're on the road. Hes almost 27 at this point, and on the final stop, he kneels down in front of his audience and asks for my hand in marriage. He really wants to play at the whole 'being in love' thing, doesn't he? I agree with crocodile tears sliding down my cheeks. We don't get married in a church, or have a priest officiate. No, it's done in a court room, and I'm wearing jeans and holding a super market bouquet in my hands. Only then, four years after knowing me, does he finally have full and proper intercourse with me. Don't get me wrong, there has been touching, but its ways been more him taking lessons. I thought he was just getting pointers for when he brought an actual woman home, but no. It was so he could please his little wife, me. Days go on and soon, he's 29. He asks me for a child. ""Any child I have will be the antichrist."" I tell him, eyebrow raising. ""Do you really want that?"" ""...Maybe not. I don't want my son or daughter to be exorcised by the pope."" He says, laughing slightly. ""How about...adoption? Let's look into adoption."" Fine. Okay, whatever. Adoption. Ten years pass, and we live in a suburb with six children, none of whom know that 'Mommy Sammy' is actually satan. They're all monsters. Not even demons! I know demons, and every day is a struggle. ""I've done enough writing, I think we can live off the royalties for a while, with the movie coming out soon."" He sighs, lounging on the couch with his youngest spawn. ""How about this? I'll stay home with the kids, and you can be the bread winner."" ""I hope you know what that means."" I said with a shake of my head. ""I have an idea of what your job is. As long as you come back for dinner and help me with family things, I can live."" I roll my eyes. I'm returned to hell from 9 to 5, and get started on the back log of deals I haven't been making over the past two decades, and return to the homestead to a full dinner and cries of 'mommy'!! This goes on for years more. High school graduations, proms, seeing the movie that my husband wrote, grandchildren... Finally, at the age of 87 years, he dies. In the hospital, with myself and his entire family surrounding him. He never had parents, he was a foster child himself, so it's only me, our children, and some writer friends and an old publisher pal he kept on contact with after retirement. Our youngest is 23, and in absolute tears. I stay with him until everyone is gone. A nurse comes in. ""Mrs.Holly? I think it's best that you leave."" She said softly. ""The undertakers have been waiting paitently outside for the better part of the night. It's time to let go. ""Cut the crap."" I say stonily. ""I know who you are."" The nurse looks shocked, for about half a second. Then, she sighs. ""I was wondering why you weren't eating his soul. Did the devil fall in love?"" ""Dont be so fucking stupid. He bested me in a deal, years ago. I have no right to his soul."" ""Satan is, at the very least, a man of his word."" The nurse comes around, and taps his forehead. A shimmery white mist comes out, and it gathers into a small, blue-white diamond. His soul. Shes his reaper. ""So? What's your plan now? You're about...what? 85 in that body? Are you gonna stick around for the remaining ten years?"" ""I've got a plan, fuck nut."" I sigh, head laid on the bed. ""Just get going. I have hell to run once this shit is finally over."" ""Whatever you say, Satan."" She says, leaving the room. The actual nurse comes in, and touches my back. Shes trying to get me up and out so the undertakers can take him. Jokes on her. I stopped this body's heart hours ago. I'm absolutely cold. She calls for the undertakers, and they call for an additional herse and bodybag. Mr and mrs.Holly are dead. Him from a stroke and her from a stress-induced cardiomyopathy. Literally a broken heart. I'm returned to my kingdom, still not shedding the womanish disguise I made for myself. What can I say? Its grown on me, and it's funny to see a PTA mom on the throne of hell. I'm about to start sentencing, when a familiar person is put in front of me- my husband. ""Turns out, making deals with the devil is a sin. Heaven is out of the question."" He says, kneeling with burning chains around his wrists. Hes smiling. I smile back. ""Daniel Holly, I hereby sentence you to an eternity of hellfire as Satan's concubine."" ""I think I can live with that."" He says, standing as the burning chains dissipate. He comes to me, kissing the top of my head like he did when I was sitting on the couch, watching soap operas. ""I missed you, dear."" I sigh, leaning into the gentle touch. ""I missed you too..."" Ssfgjkkk Thanks for reading. :) https://dellamacdonaldwriting.wordpress.com for irregular updates and a cleaner version of this soon.",1664
" ""It wasn't my phone that","""It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand. ""Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!"" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. ""Yeahwah?"" I managed, blearily. ""Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."" ""Must be my other girlfriend."" An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. ""Mmhhmm."" She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit. With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath. ""DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."" Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be... ""Shut up, shut up."" I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. ""Curiouser and curiouser,"" I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message. ""Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"" So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text. ""It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"" ""Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"" Something about the ""honey"" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden. ""Look at that moon out over the water honey!"" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"" ""It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"" And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping. Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."" Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea. ""West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."" I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen. ""I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."" ""Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"" She looked down, and started crying. ""I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."" I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. ""Sorry for what!"" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. ""Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"" She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. ""Oh WOW!"" she said ""Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"" I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon. And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set. ""Oh WOW!"" she said ""Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"" And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."" I sighed. ""And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."" I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little. ""You know the rest,"" I said when I had regained my composure. ""I came out of the coma. I woke up here."" The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to. ""I'm sorry for your loss."" she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. ""Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"" I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many. ""No,"" I answered. ""No, I don't think I can."" She nodded. ""You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."" I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. ""Yeah,"" was all I could muster. She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, ""do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"" ""Yes,"" I said, quietly. ""Yes, I do.""",1381
 Scim the Blademaster and,"""Ladies and Gentlemen, today we have the first fight between two world-class fighters, Scim the Blademaster and Alejandro the Wolverine-"" I cut the mic, ""Can he use that?"" ""It's all good, plot armor stretches to legal battles so he's beaten Disney litigation twice already. They've decided to sponsor him at this point."" ""Alright."" I key the microphone back on. ""This is a fight for the ages, the first of its kind, not only between two world champions but two individuals who tested positive for the phenomena known as PLOT ARMOR! Scim alone has racked up a total of 10,167 deaths related to his trait, and the Wolverine has picked up a smaller but still extremely respectable 7,893!"" The crowd roars in approval, the die hard fans of these two practically foaming at the mouth. Sometimes I love my job. ""You know the drill- a fight to the death, no holds barred fight, the combatants can bring in whatever they want to the arena but may not receive any outside aid. Sorry kids, no nuclear fire getting dropped from the top row! Without further ado- our contestants!"" The gates on either side of the arena swing open. Out of my left comes Scim, using his trademark green scimitar. On top of his plot armor he has a blade that cuts things apart at the molecular level. I've seen him cut through a battle mech's starship grade armor in seconds. To be honest, I've a soft spot for the guy, he has a knack for showmanship and talks a good game on the outside. Not to mention he's sort of an ideal. Jet black hair, perfect white teeth, deep but charming voice, and of course the physique of an inter-galactic Olympian. The crowd takes it up a notch and I can feel the sonic stabilizers around my booth kick in as the noise reaches harmful levels. It makes everything sound a bit muted, but it's worth it in the long run, or so I'm told. Then there's the Wolverine walking in on the opposite side. He uses three bladed weapons bound to his fists, which are covered in charged metal so he can punch as well. Not gonna lie, his fights are a hell of a spectacle, but he really needs some originality. Not to mention he's been surgically altered to look like some actor from the 21st century. But the guy is a serious dick. Abuses his plot armor on the outside, to get away with crimes or overall nonsense. I'm hoping he loses this fight. ""Fighters...enter your positions!"" They walk up to two metal discs located just in front of their respective gates, and the metal landscape morphs into something more dynamic and fun for the audience. Storm clouds begin to form as the ground rises into craggy rock and small platforms. This is a ground-breaking fight so they don't intend to obstruct any of the view. A fight on raised, sharp rocks not only promises to be brutal, but to hopefully end near the peak in the middle for a one of a kind shot. I kill my mic. ""So do we have any idea what's actually gonna happen with plot armor against plot armor? Does it become useless and a battle of skill, or...?"" The bossman takes a long drink from his soda, ""No idea."" I shrug and key it back on. ""A wonderful arena for this fight, high-speed winds and rain on the infamous Rock. Who will have their blood run red today? Contestants, on my mark! Count down with me!"" ""Five, four, three, two, one, GOOOOOOOOOO!"" The two fighters launch at each other immediately. I'm not surprised, people who don't have plot armor tend to take it slower but these two are used to short fights when they close the gap and easy wins so it's no surprise this is what it's come to. ""Both fighters charge eachother- what's this? Scim takes a running leap off the rock mound he took his title on and goes for a savage downwards strike on the Wolverine! Looks like he's not gonna try to block, and is going for the same double gut stab he used to take down Darren the Decimator! Either way, this fight is going to be decided in the next moment!"" I pause, holding my breathe as the scene plays out, a fight between two people lauded as gods. To be honest, I don't see how either of them comes out alive after locking themselves into this move. We can save whoever survives, since they probably won't die instantly, but this is kind of lame. As Scim's scimitar hits the top of the Wolverine's head, I expect to see it slide right on through, but instead it deactivates, bends, and literally shatters. ""OH MY GOD WHAT AN UPSET, SCIM'S FABLED SWORD HAS JUST SHATTERED AND- WHAT'S THIS? THE WOLVERINE'S CLAWS HAVE BENT AROUND HARMLESSLY?"" A massive flash of light blinds me, and a moment later we can see the two contestants laying ten feet away from each other, smoking lightly. I check the replay. A lightning strike from the storm clouds? What? That's not supposed to be able to hit the contestants. Maybe a glitch in the system? I pull up their vitals on my display, both of them are perfectly healthy, to my surprise. Just unconscious. ""We are experiencing some technical difficulties, the fight will be postponed until the arena is in a safe state for the contestants. In the meantime, all refreshments are free and the Earth Orchestra will be playing in A wing with free entry, complete with an exhibit from the Sky Circus! Thank you for understanding."" The bossman gives me a thumbs up as the arena reverts to its neutral, metallic state and droids float out to recover their bodies. I turn off my mic, probably for the last time today. ""So... I guess two people with plot armor can't kill eachother, huh? Maybe when they wake up they'll be best friends or something."" I chuckle to myself, the bossman looking decidedly unhappy. Ah well, it's no skin off my back. I'm just here for the fun.",1027
" Lauren had imagined being fearful, if","I had imagined being fearful, if I ever opened my eyes again. There would be so many difficult questions to answer, so many truths to avoid. I was vaguely aware that suicide was still an offence, even for minors like myself, and I had heard that the state could take me away from my family, perhaps to stick me somewhere white and padded until I was no longer a threat to myself. Fear of having to admit to my parents that I was not strong enough, fear that they would find out what a mess my life had become... Instead, I felt... relief. It must have had something to do with grandma being there. She always understood, never judged. Her fingers were already brushing my cheeks before the tears had the chance to fall to my hospital gown. I wanted to raise my hands to hold hers, but I couldn't - the restraints were too tight. ""Oh, Lauren,"" she said, as she planted a kiss on my forehead. ""I'm so sorry you felt that way. If I had known..."" ""Where... where's mum and dad? Do they know?"" ""Of course, they were the ones who found you first. Almost gave them a heart attack, you did. Lucky thing the airlift evacs were already on the way when you started bleeding out in the Pod. I shooed them home, forced them to get some sleep. They'll be back in the morning."" The thought of them returning hardened my heart, and I found myself gritting my teeth. I was already preparing myself for the usual onslaught of useless, senseless nonsense from them - how I was taking my life for granted, how I was wasting my time in the Pod, why couldn't I be more like all the other kids in school. It sickened me, and my stomach churned. ""I... don't want to see them, grandma. They don't understand... no one understands!"" ""Understand what, love?"" But I couldn't explain it to her. How does one tell your grandma that you've never belonged? That the world never felt like it had a place for you? That it didn't matter how hard you tried to study, or how much effort you put into fitting in... life was a round hole, and there was no peg more square than I was. The Pod though... the Pod was my only relief, my one respite. No other place made me feel more... anonymous, yet appreciated. If I couldn't cut it in reality, if the Pod was the only virtual world where I yearned to be... if everyone told me that that was wrong... Then I really, *really* saw no point in going on. Grandma opened her mouth, primed another question, then saw the look in my eyes and thought better of it. Instead, she turned my arms over, ran her fingers along the stitches the robodocs had sewn. I flinched, of course. The cuts were deeper than I had thought, fuelled with rage and rejection. I readied myself for the next round of reprimands, which was why grandma's statement caught me completely off guard. ""You know the Phantom was the one who called the emergency services, don't you?"" I blinked hard, just in case I had heard her wrong, but the knowing smile on her face convinced me that I had heard her just right. ""How did you know that I saw... was looking for the Phantom..."" ""You make the mistake of assuming that grandma was never young before,"" she said, with a twinkle in her eye. She rolled up her own sleeve then, and turned to show me the tiny microchip embedded at the joint of her shoulder, a plain square of silicon just below the skin. ""In my time we didn't have any fancy neural jacks like you do now. To access Holoworld, we had to rely on full-body implants like these. This is my 2FA entry pass, right here."" ""So... you know about the Phantom too?"" ""Who doesn't?"" Indeed, who didn't? The real genius was in getting AI to construct the virtual world - they had the capacity for the tedium, the discipline for the detail, and ironically enough, the flair for life. Once the initial game developers had handed the torch over to AI, Holoworld really came alive. Countless holobooks and omnipedias had been written about the intricate, unending territories in Holoworld, accessible only through the Pod, and over a century later, almost every corner of it had been mapped. Except for one character, whose full biography had never been chronicled. Which only increased the mystery of the Phantom a thousand-fold. ""I... I thought I would like to see the Phantom for myself,"" I said. ""I'd spent so much time in the Pod that I thought it would be fitting. Catch a glimpse of him, tick it off my bucket list, then check out of this... existence."" ""And where did you go to find him?"" I couldn't help but grin. Few things got me genuinely excited like talking about Holoworld, and it was strange that a virtual reality game would bridge the gap of decades between grandma and me. ""I reasoned that he would be in the Forests of Delvar, and what do you know, I was right."" ""The Forests? Where the toughest monsters roam? Wouldn't it make more sense that he would be hiding on a deserted, monster-free mountain or something instead?"" ""That's where you're wrong, grandma. People think that since he's so powerful, he's got to be able to kill all the monsters... but I think that's the best place for him to hide. He can take out just about anyone he wants, and no one will be the wiser! Everyone will just think the monsters did it!"" ""And did you see him? The Phantom?"" The memory seemed like it was from a lifetime ago, shrouded in layers of gauze. ""I did, actually. He was walking through the underbrush, without a care in the world, as all manner of beasts waged war about him. I startled him, I think, when I called out for him."" ""Then? What did you do next?"" I smiled, then shook my head. I could remember bits of it leading up to the encounter, of course, but I would rather not have recounted how I fell to my knees, how I cried, how I screamed that I was finally done with this frickin' life. Or how I alt-tabbed, focused on the knife I had prepared in real life, then brought it across my flesh. Grandma squeezed my hand. I closed my eyes, and hoped that she would go away. I didn't like her to see me like this. ""I saw him too, you know. The Phantom. Years ago."" My eyebrows perked up on their own. ""Seriously?"" ""Oh yes. For sure. His was the first documented deathglitch in the Pod, you know. Happened just about a year or two after Holoworld released. The rumors, they were all over the net. The first known case of a human being trapped in Holoworld, beholden to no code, transcending death entirely."" ""There was an effort to erase him, wasn't there?"" ""Nah, they couldn't. They tried, of course. Even got the AI to try to develop hunting programs for him. But he was untouchable. I think at one point the government even contemplated a full server wipe just to get rid of him."" ""The government got involved?"" Grandma rolled her eyes... I think, at me. ""Can you imagine how many people thought to kill themselves too, in the Pod, just for the chance at that same miracle? The government had to act before the panic set in, until the Phantom... proved that he wasn't a threat, after all. In fact, it turned out that the Phantom had been appearing to every single person who had tried to end it in the Pod, and dissuaded almost every single one of them. Those he couldn't convince, well, he ensured that the authorities were notified. Just like it was the case for you."" For some reason, that rang a bell. I shook my head, tried to clear the cobwebs away... but something lingered at the periphery of my memory, just out of reach, a golden star at the top of the Christmas tree. ""The Phantom... he helped others... like me?"" ""Correct. For me... I walked the same path as you once, I think. I don't even remember how I felt, or what drove me to it. Searching for meaning, perhaps. Trying to make sense of it all, feel more important than what I really felt. I chose the knife too, actually. But the Phantom got to me, just before I could sink it in."" Grandma turned her wrist to me, and I craned my neck to see. A tiny incision, a miniature 'V', just over the vessels I had committed to memory. ""Those who never met the Phantom claim that he uses his powers, rewrites something in your mind. That's hogwash. Even he couldn't do that. No, the Phantom... he just... freezes time, for a while. He speaks to you, hears you out... gives you endless opportunity to bare your soul to him. He gave me that chance, and I came out of it... different. I took one step at a time, one step... then life turned around, it seems. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. *You* wouldn't be here."" ""But I don't... remember..."" ""It'll come back to you, Lauren. Over time. There's a lot to unpack there."" ""What did he say to you?"" Grandma laughed, then patted my shoulder. ""Some things are mine forever, love. But I'll help you recall. If I remember, he likes to use the same starting line, for everyone who tries to die in his realm. Yes, it's his realm, no matter how you cut it."" Grandma leaned in close, and spoke so softly that none of the receivers in the room could pick it up. That was our bond, strengthened a hundred times over. Our shared secret, co-owned by every other lost soul like me, like her, who had been touched, just for a while, a tiny fraction of time. It sent shivers across my skin, and suddenly I knew it was no figment of make-believe. It was real. He had said those same words to me, and so, so much more. Words I would eventually recall, lessons I would live unknowingly. ""Be strong, be strong. The world is harsh, and you have got but one chance at it. Yet, if you're a true gamer, someone who never backs down from a challenge... wouldn't you want to play life at the hardest difficulty? Wouldn't victory be so much sweeter then?"" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1785
 Jacob shuffled into the conference room,"Jacob shuffled into the conference room. Four men sat in high-backed leather chairs at the end of the polished wooden conference table. Jacob shifted his books stuffed with notes and graph paper from one sweaty hand to the other. ""Jacob, please sit down,"" Mr. Mason said rising out of his seat. It was the first time Jacob had ever been directly addressed by the CEO of the company. He gestured for Jacob to sit at the head of the table, the band of his watch peeking out from beneath his sleeve. He swallowed hard and shuffled past his supervisor then eased himself into the leather chair. ""There isn't a reason to be nervous, Jacob,"" Mr. Mason said with a smile. ""It's not like your job relies on this or anything."" The men around the table laughed at the CEO's jab. Jacob chuckled weakly as he unfolded his dungeon master shield and placed it front of himself. He felt a bit more confident being able to hide behind the thin cardboard and take solace in the fact that the men didn't know how close he was to having a panic attack. ""I took the liberty of creating characters for everyone--"" Jacob began to speak before he was interrupted. ""We had one of the IT guys help us create characters already,"" his supervisor cut in. ""This game is going to be a little different,"" Jacob said and slid the characters sheets forward to each man. ""Janet, Essential Oils Saleswoman?"" Todd the Vice President asked raising an eyebrow. ""Becky, Leggings Vendor?"" his supervisor asked. ""Trina, Makeup Artist?"" John the Head of Accounting looked over his character sheet with disdain. ""What the hell is this about?"" ""Cindy, Scented Candle Entrepreneur,"" Mr. Mason muttered, ""Skills: hustling, and making moves."" ""Okay, I'm sorry, but I'm going to shut this down right now,"" Jacob's supervisor said standing from his chair. ""Sit down,"" Mr. Mason ordered. ""I'm intrigued."" Jacob cleared his throat and began, ""You're a group of women living in the same neighborhood and your job is to sell as much of your product as you can."" Jacob slid a piece of graph paper out of his notebook and placed it between the men. It was a detailed map of a small suburb with name ""Saletopia"" scrawled across the top. ""Now, you all have a set of skills that you can use to help you move your product. You can work as a team or individually. If you can think of a plan and execute it then pretty much anything is possible."" ""It says here that I am proficient in, gossip?"" John asked. ""Yes, sir."" ""What exactly does that mean?"" ""You would have to be speaking with another person and make a roll to see if they believe your gossip. If they do then they must make the decision to try to resist spreading the gossip."" ""Interesting,"" he said scratching his chin. ""Let's just dive right into it."" ""Trina, you just received a text message from Cindy. She's inviting you to a candle party. What do you do?"" ""Well, I don't want to go so some dumb candle party,"" John scowled. ""Okay, you will also note on your character sheet that each of you has a, ""best friend,'"" Jacob said with air quotes. ""You and Cindy are best friends."" ""So, you're saying I need to go?"" ""That's entirely up to you. You could try gossip."" ""Okay, I'll do that then. What do I do?"" ""Roll that dice there,"" Jacob said pointing to the twenty sided dice, ""and let it rip."" The man snapped the dice up and rolled it across the table. 18. ""Hey, that's good right?"" he said leaning forward, squinting to read the small numbers. ""It's great. You text her back,"" Jacob coughed and put on his best feminine voice impression, ""I heard Becky was having a leggings party this evening."" ""That bitch!"" Mr. Mason muttered under his breath. ""Can I use my skill, hustle to see if I can invite everyone before she can?"" ""Sure roll the dice,"" Jacob said with a small smile. The dice clattered and bounced to a stop. 16. ""You have a group text message that you used for your last party."" ""Okay, I'll send everyone a text."" ""You all just receive a text from, Cindy. It is a mess of emojis and an invitation to a candle party."" ""Hey what the hell? You knew I was already having a legging party tonight!"" Jacob's supervisor shouted. ""Can't keep up with the hustle?"" Mr. Mason asked with more attitude than Jacob could have imagined. Jacob's supervisor stared daggers at the CEO from across the table. ""Okay, fast forward to this evening. People are showing up for your candle party, Cindy."" ""I pull my rolling suitcase out of my trunk and wheel it in behind me,"" Todd the Vice President said smugly. ""Cindy, you see Janet wheeling her massive pink suitcase up your walkway. What do you do?"" ""She's trying to peddle her magic oil at my candle party?"" ""A group of women cluster around her, excitedly chattering away. You over hear a few snippets of their conversation."" ""I've heard such great things!"" ""Oh my god, you look five years younger!"" Mr. Mason grimaced. ""I can't kick her out now. If I did that then they wouldn't buy my product."" ""Janet, your suitcase clicks over the stone walkway and you find yourself standing in front of Cindy."" ""What a wonderful evening for a sale. Isn't it,"" Todd said in a light southern feminine accent. ""Indeed. You can put your suitcase in the closet if you'd like."" ""Thank you but I'll be keeping it close,"" he slipped out of his accent and said in his normal voice, ""and I wink at her."" ""Roll for subtle insult!"" He tossed the dice. 20. ""She is so insulted. Her face flushes and you can tell you really got under her skin."" ""The women gather inside your massive sitting room. They seat themselves around the room on plush floral couches and lean forward eager to see your new products,"" Jacob said. ""I array my candles in front of them on the coffee table. I light one and allow the smell to fill the room."" ""Oh, wonderful. It smells like July,"" one of the women said. ""What does July smell like?"" Jacob's supervisor asked bitterly. ""Better than sweaty pants, you goon,"" Mr. Mason retorted. ""I take my oils out and pass the small vials around for the women to look at,"" Todd cut in. Jacob's supervisor tore a page out of the notebook on the table and scribbled a note and slid it to Jacob. He glanced at the note and suppressed the urge to laugh, then nodded to his boss. ""You pass a lavender essential oil to, Becky. It smells wonderful and it will also remove negative energy from your body when mixed with tea,"" Jacob guessed. ""I pour the oil onto the table and knock a candle over igniting the pool of idiotic smelly oil!"" Jacob's supervisor shouted. ""Roll!"" He picked up a dice and flicked it across the table. ""What are you doing?"" Mr. Mason and Todd cried out in unison. ""Ending this idiocy!"" he cackled. The dice bounced to a stop, 16. ""The oil bursts into flames rapidly spreading across the table. It burns faster than gasoline and smells like burnt hair. Flames pour off the table igniting the plush rug and spread unnaturally fast. Women scream and run over each other to escape the blazing inferno. Flames lick the base of the suitcase, you can hear the sound of hissing from the bottles inside as they are becoming dangerously warm."" ""Everybody, get out!"" Todd shrieked. ""The explosion rips through the room turning candles into bludgeoning debris. A few women manage to escape the inferno as your home becomes tinder."" ""You son of a bitch!"" Mr. Mason roared at Jacob's supervisor. ""Get out, you're fired!"" ""This is stupid and so is your company!"" he spat as he stormed out of the room. ""And as for you,"" Mr. Mason rounded on Jacob, ""This was really great! We should do this for team building during our next retreat! And it turns out a position has just opened up in management. Congratulations!"" He stuck out his hand for Jacob to shake. *Crap.* --- I know... but hey check out /r/Written4Reddit for other stories!",1396
" Peter's apartment was dark, he","""What was that?"" Peter thought to himself as he walked in the front door. His apartment was dark, he could only see the outline of furniture. ""Must just be in my mind"" He thought. He flipped the light switch but nothing happened. He gave it a few more flicks -- still nothing. A small creaking noise came from his coat closet. He pulled out his phone and turned on the flashlight, and reached for the door. His hand froze just above the doorknob -- He had heard it again -- a voice like a faint echo in his head said *""Don't open the door you idiot!""* I'm losing my mind, he thought. But he didn't continue opening the door. Instead he walked towards his kitchen with his phone flash light, and turned towards his bedroom door. It was closed. He didn't remember closing it before leaving for work. In fact, he remembered he had been in a rush and barely even had time to lock the front door, let alone close his bedroom door. To see what was going on, he walked towards his bedroom door and reached for the knob -- *""are you kidding me?! Don't open the fucking door! you know you left it open earlier!""* The voice in his head echoed louder this time. He jumped back and yelled ""what the hell was that? Is somebody in here?!"" No response. No voice in his head. That's it, he thought. I've finally lost my mind. BAM His bedroom door started to shake, and he saw the handle turning from someone on the other side -- *""don't stand there! Fucking run!""* He didn't question the voice this time as he ran out the front door. He made it to his car and jumped in, but when he tried to turn the key the engine sputtered -- *""Fucking of course, how convenient""* the voice said. Peter was back to questioning the voice, as he found the predicament pretty inconvenient. *""Run to your neighbors house! Grab a weapon! Call the police! Do anything besides sitting there.""* His voice in his head had a point. He called 911 and told them to get to his house as soon as possible because someone was inside of it. He than ran to his neighbors house and pounded on the door. * * * Peter sat with his neighbor Stan and watched out the window for the police cars. ""So you didn't see anyone come in or out of my house tonight?"" asked Peter. ""Sorry Pete I didn't see anything"" Stan replied ""but I also wasn't exactly on the lookout either, ya know?"" ""Oh yeah sure"" replied Peter ""I just meant nothing out of the ordinary like any cars or anything?"" ""Nope"" said Stan ""I didn't even hear your car, I was watching TV pretty loud."" ""Oh, okay"" Peter said. He didn't remember seeing Stan's TV on through the window like he usually does when he pulled in to his driveway earlier, but then again the TV is on now, so maybe he didn't notice. *""The TV was off! I know it was honey I swear.""* *""Shh I'm trying to listen! But yes you're right it was off""* ""What did you call me?"" Peter said. ""Ermm what?"" replied Stan ""I didn't say anything, we've been sitting here looking outside."" Peter refused to believe he was hearing voices. ""Are you messing with me? I clearly heard you call me honey and say that your TV wasn't on."" Stan stepped back. ""Alright man, I don't know what you're talking about. The TV is on, and I didn't call you honey."" Peter turned towards Stan and noticed something different about him. He looked the same, but something was.. off. He had a different gait to him than usual. Peter finally replied and said ""I was talking about the TV being off earlier when I pulled in."" Stan's eyes briefly widened, then he scratched his head and said ""oh yeah I was watching in my bedroom, I just got a new tv. Why are you so suspicious man? I understand you're afraid because you had an intruder but I'm just trying to help, you did come here ya know."" Peter turned back towards the window, he was embarrassed. Maybe he was being overly suspicious. ""I'm sorry"" ""It's okay"" Stan said, his eyes now black. He started slowly moving across the room, his hand reaching behind his back ""Not every day someone breaks into your bedroom."" *""God damnit Peter turn around!! He's obviously evil do you see his eyes?""* The voices echoed again in Peters head. Peter turned and saw Stan running towards him with black eyes and veins bulging from his face. He was holding a kitchen knife above his head as he charged towards Peter. Peter jumped out of the way, and ran into the kitchen. *""No you idiot run out the door! But now first grab your own knife!""* He grabbed the biggest remaining knife, and Stan ran into the kitchen. Peter stood across from Stan, trying to guess which direction the next lunge would come from. Stan raised his right arm and tried to bring the knife down, but Peter put his left arm up and blocked the attack in time. He sliced his knife across Stan's abdomen and ran towards the front door. He opened the front door and ran outside to bright lights and sirens *""Drop the knife!""* yelled the voice in his head. Peter dropped the knife. *""I swear it's like he can hear us""* Peter yelled ""I can hear you!"" *""Oh my god""* *** Peter kept his arms in the air as the police approached him. ""It's alright"" he said ""I'm the one who called you guys."" The officers saw the blood on his hands and told him to keep his hands up and not to make any sudden moves. They took Stan out of the house in a stretcher. In the back of the police car, Peter tried to explain. ""Again, I called you guys. Someone had broken into my house, so I called you guys. I went to my neighbor's house. He was acting suspiciously and basically told me he was the one in my house, and then he charged at me with a knife, I only grabbed and used a knife in self-defense and ran right when I had a chance."" The officer in the front seat nodded and said ""we will get it all figured out at the station."" Peter sat in a holding room, the earlier events of the night replayed in his head. I can't be going crazy, he thought to himself. It has to just be my intuition speaking to me, I probably panicked and in my state of anxiety created a voice in my head to make sure I made the right decisions. Yeah that's it, he thought. *""Stop chewing your popcorn so loud, I could barely hear his inner monologue""* *** ""Look Peter"" said the Detective ""we have you dead to rights here. All we have is your word. You say someone was in your house. We have no evidence of that after multiple sweeps. You said Stan attacked you in his house with a knife, yet only one knife we saw you drop was found at the scene, and it had what we can only assume is Stans blood on it, since you had no wounds. My guess is DNA tests will also show your fingerprints. If he attacked you, where's the other knife? We found Stan lying in a pool of blood, he almost died. And to top all of it off, Stan is willing to testify that you told him you were hearing voices. We've watched you in your cell too, and we see you talk out loud sometimes. You're going to jail either way. If you confess, I will tell the prosecutor to look after a mental health sentencing instead."" *""So honey, he's going to a mental hospital now because he can hear us talking? This is so strange""* Peter walked into the Asylum with the shackles on his feet. The men in front of and behind him were screaming. He looked up at the gothic architecture and gothic paintings. This had to have been the oldest building in the state, he thought. The place had a cold, calm air to it. He walked up to the front desk and looked at the nurse. ""Welcome to the Manor of Usher"" she said with a smile on her face. Her eyes turned black.",1423
 Antonio shrunk under Don Luca's,"Don Luca ran a hand through his hair, clear blue eyes scrutinising the whelp of a boy in front of him. Antonio shrunk under his gaze, as a flower does in such cold environments. It wasn't lost on him that there couldn't have possibly been two people more different in appearance sitting across from one another; where the Don was broad and imposing, Antonio was diminutive, where Luca had gone to painstaking effort to keep himself as crisp and clean as one could look, Antonio appeared one cut of clothing above homelessness. In honesty, that wasn't far from the truth of matters; Antonio had found no work for five years running at this point. The Don gave Antonio's resume one last look-over before plucking the cigarette from his lips. Something caught his eye, making him chuckle. On it, he'd requested everything about the boy, not just qualifications of the academic variety; all the personal, the sensitive and the downright unsavory as well. He likely knew the boy more intimately than his own parents did. ""Why do you wish to work for me, *bambino*? What place is there for you amongst criminals? A...."" he looked down at the sheet, ""...student of literature, such as yourself?"" *'I want out of this fucking debt.'* Antonio pursed his lips, stumbling on his words as they left him. ""I, *umm* - I believe placement amongst your business would p-provide me with valuable work experience and connections. Networking, networking, networking - that's what my mother used to say!"" Luca raised a brow, reclining into his chair. ""I think you have us mistaken, then. What I run isn't a business; it's a *family*. We do not have manager and worker, we have father and child. And when one becomes acquainted with a family, they do not tend to leave. Do you understand what I'm saying?"" Antonio's lips quirked up in acknowledgment, his head dipping forward like he was about to indulge a secret. ""Once you're in, you're in."" ""Simply put."" *I can live with it, given this economy.* ""What's the pay like?"" ""Consider it a merit-based system; the more you do, the more I deign to give you."" ""But, like, how *much*? What does everyone else get?"" Luca shrugged, flicking through some papers on his desk, his eyes no longer on Antonio. ""I *could* provide a base for comparison, but the wages of those within the family are strictly confidential, you must understand."" '*Fuck me once, fuck me twice.'* Antonio gripped the edge of his seat. He *needed* this. ""Fine, I get that. No problem, you're all secretive and shit. But what do I actually have to do to be welcomed into the family?"" Luca's lips broke into a half-moon of a grin, and it was then that Antonio knew he'd asked the wrong question. Luca slid a sheet across the desk, which Antonio picked up to read. His face flushed of colour. As he read, his fingers shook, barely able to hold the weight the page now bore. Luca continued talking, either oblivious or outright ignoring the boy. ""My program to pay off the debts of students has had an interesting effect on my family; now everyone wants in, but there aren't just so many pieces to go around. Wheat must be separated from chaff, boy from man. As such, I've devised an aptitude test, if you wish to call it that. All I need is the person on the sheet knocked unconscious, and a picture taken of their body. It doesn't matter how or where you do it, but there are three things I wish to see from you: decisiveness, discretion and, of course, results."" The page fluttered out of Antonio's hands, drifting to the floor. The boy gulped a knot of tension down before standing up, reaching over to pick the paper up. ""H-how long do I get?"" ""One month."" ""And if I fail? - as in, to... photograph her."" ""Let's not dwell on the specifics of failure. Envision only success."" Luca lit another cigarette, his grin benevolent. ""Cigarette?"" Antonio felt like he'd collapse, his head a churning cauldron of emotion that'd explode at any minute. He waved a hand, unable to articulate a response as he stumbled out of the office, paper in hand. A few moments later, Luca's Consigliere walked through the door, his face tucked into an overcoat, black shades and a wide-brim hat covering all but a few blonde locks of hair that fell from underneath. He took the cigarette from Luca's mouth, stamping it out. ""Stop with that shit."" ""That's no way to treat your Don,"" Luca frowned. ""Go fuck yourself."" The two stared each other down, the silence boiling in the room before it was broken by a chortle from Luca's lips. The Don laughed, as did the Consiliegere; a raucous, hearty sound that didn't stop for a full minute. ""Ahhh,"" Luca calmed himself, wiping an errant tear from his eye. ""How did yours go, Eren?"" ""Chickened out like the last five of 'em."" ""See to that, will you?"" ""But of course."" Eren cast a glance over his shoulder. ""What about that one? Want me to keep tabs?"" Luca waved a hand in dismissal. ""I think he'll be fine."" Eren took a seat, pushing his glasses down the bridge of his nose and fixing Luca with a stern glare. ""I thought I taught you better than to place trust in someone you've just met."" ""You taught me to trust those that are capable, and, well, the boy is indeed capable. Or well suited, rather."" ""That runt? I'd sooner believe you made Donna Vici his target."" The rival Donna had been a thorn in Luca's side for some time, but he'd never dared to pluck it out with his own hands for fear of starting a war. Luca remained eerily silent, offering a furtive smile to the Consigliere. ""Oh, you didn't. Tell me you fucking didn't. No, no, no."" Luca simply shrugged. ""Surprisingly, I did. Look."" He fumbled through the papers on his desk, producing Antonio's resume and holding it out. ""You ought to think better of me on matters such as these. Why do you think I've been offering to fund students? We've finally found an in."" Eren snatched it from his grasp, reading it over. His eyes widened, and he read it again for good measure. He opened his mouth, but any and all words turned to ash in his throat. ""An interesting one, for sure,"" Don Luca said, his voice low. He reached for another cigarette, lighting it and placing it between his lips. ""I think it's fair to say he won't be able to refuse this offer. It's a matter of family, in a sense."" There was a poetic irony to it which Luca knew the literature student would appreciate; Antonio, sent after his University Professor Elizabeth Klein or, in truth, Vici. Master of Arts, Doctor of Philosophy, Widow of the Vicis, as duplicitous as a demon, unknown to the general public, feared by the rest. ---- **EDIT:** Part 2 down here! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8bqokx/wp_a_mob_boss_desperate_for_new_and_young_members/dx9owpt/",1178
 Something is not right. I can,"It hurts, everything hurts. Something is not right. I can't control my body, why can't I control my body? I scream, that's all I can do. I can't see my surroundings, everything is blurry and undefined. Something is very wrong. From what I felt before waking up inside that warm place, I think I may have just been born. I remember dying, so re-incarnation must be true, but this is not how I remember being born the first time. Where's the Great White Hall? Where are the welcoming choruses? Where are the soft robes for the newly made skin? I remember coming into the world and saying hello to my family, everybody was so happy, I was so at peace. But here I am and everything hurts and feels cold and large and scary. Wait, there is a memory, in the Twilight Place after my death... there was something important being communicated to me. I'd been wrong, very wrong about things in life. I'd followed the wrong teachings I... Oh my God, this can't be. I lead a good life. I enjoyed the mana, and the love, and I loved. I listened to the enlightened masters. But I paid closer attention to the one which people warned me not to listen to too closely. His ideas where fascinating. But he was wrong and I didn't worship God the way I should have. I died a good death, in peace, once my five hundred years were completed, surrounded by my children and my children's children into several generations. The goodbye songs lead me into dissolution. __ I now know that what I feel is hunger. I know the concept, I guess one must understand the punishment. Oh but the way the hunger is sated, the flesh in my mouth, the humiliation. And I suckle so desperately it's monstrous of me, and of the woman who feeds me. When alive I just stood under the the light of the three suns, letting their energy bathe me, letting the wind envelop me, letting the mana flow into me, I never knew hunger. And what happens after, when the food has made its way through, I try not to think about it, other times I try not to eat just so that doesn't happen, dear God the smell... But I can't hold for long, I find myself screeching in hunger pains, and the woman takes me and feeds me and I can't fight it, I'm so week, and so small. Is she a demon? Or is she another damned soul? I can't ask any questions, I can't speak. __ It's been two years since I came into Hell. I can communicate somewhat, I can control my body much better. There are new pains, there is new suffering. But the worst is I can now understand that even greater pains and sufferings await in the future. When I was two years old, while alive in the world, I enjoyed poetry and had begun writing my own, the multicolored night sky was my first inspiration, the orbs of the worlds moving across the deep blue and bright green and ethereal orange, the aquamarine streaks of the bolides, the music of the spheres, I endeavored to capture all of that in sonnets. Here I scribble with wax in paper, I can barely make my hands do what I need, I despair, I draw death because I yearn for release, but what release is there for the damned soul? __ I don't understand. Don't this people know they're damned? They don't seem to be demons, at least the ones I know, they are just poor souls doomed to spend eternity here in Hell. But they don't know it. I am five years old now and I can talk with them, and they don't know, they don't remember the world and life, and they stare at me with worry, with horror when I try to tell them what's the nature of this place. I was never looked at but with love when I was alive, love and empathy and joy. I didn't know people could grimace with their eyes, but the damned souls here can certainly do it. I am growing, physically, and that's uncomfortable. The living body is immutable, but this fakery of flesh is born incomplete and needs to grow. All the processes of this hell bodies are torturous. __ The damned who believe they are my parents have sent me to a woman who asks me questions and tries to figure out why I say the things I say. I tell her it's because I can remember what she, what everybody here, cannot. I tell her we are in Hell and she becomes very concerned. __ They are giving me something. I am eight years old and the parents grow more and more worried. I think I may be part of their punishment, they must have sinned greatly in life because my words hurt them deeply. So now they are giving me pills, medicine which numbs my mind. I don't understand, why would Hell allow me to be numbed? Doesn't hell want me to suffer as much as possible? __ I had no idea, no idea what shame was, what humiliation was, until my body betrayed me in this way. I'm fifteen years old and my mind is full of repulsive apetites and yearnings. They tell me it's normal, they explained some time ago what all of this was about. When I was alive, you loved another person more deeply than the rest, you embraced them, your souls melded and you knew exalted love, you sang, you gloried in each other, all with the highest of dignities, and then you felt the pull of the Great White Hall, of the Birthing Gates, and you went there to welcome your new children. Here in Hell it's all flesh and glands and secretions. Here in Hell you have no dignity, you can't even truly love because the brain betrays. The thoughts disobey. __ They call this an asylum. Hell is not homogeneous, suffering concentrates in certain areas, and this is one of those more saturated ones. I tried to rid myself of the offending flesh which tortured me since I became a teenager, and the parents and the doctors were horrified. Fools! Why don't they do it too? It is their carnal actions which serve as a gateway for the doomed to enter Hell! But they don't remember, they don't know. So they put me in this place where they numb my mind even further and restrain me and talk at me. They want to fix me, they don't know they're the ones who are broken, afflicted by amnesia. What is the point of having them not remember? Does that not lessen their punishment? __ I gave up, I conceded. This isn't Hell, I told them, this is the living world. Your words and your pills and everything else, it was worked, my brain has also become afflicted by amnesia -although that I didn't said-, and I believe this is the world and my actions I can now see are pathological. After a while they believed me, there was relief in my parents eyes, but we are where we are and relief can only mean a reprieve of punishment so that the next torture can hurt even more. I walked out into the world and discovered that some of the things really did hurt less, there is a permanent numbness in my mind, in my soul there is a coldness. Now I know what must have happened. Some of the people at the asylum talked, and in their insanity said correct things. Some of them even vaguely remembered, some of them must have been channeling the voice of God. God made a mistake, he must have. When creating the soul perhaps, when creating the anima or the spirit or the living body. When creating the passage into afterlife, I don't really know where or when, but He made a mistake and the doomed souls that enter Hell have no memory of their real life, of their time in the world, they come here as blank slates, and as such they have changed this place. I can see that now, where there should have been only pain, from within their ignorance they find solace and purpose and even hope. They hide the nature of hell behind stories and cities. They've grown used to this existence. But for some reason I remember, whether God is trying to fix the mistake, whether I was a further one, or whether my punishment or that of those around me, was meant to be harder, I don't know. But I remember. And they should too, if they can't they should be taught. If they can't be taught the truth, then at least they should not be letting other souls enter hell through their repulsive passions. __ I've known for a long time that the denizens of Hell can die too. Where do they go? Is that the final death, is that oblivion? Is there a further Hell? If it is oblivion then it should be merciful to facilitate the transit there. If it is a further Hell then maybe there they can remember, maybe there they can redeem themselves through acknowledged pain. __ It's been forty years. I have been teaching, some people have begun listening. I don't tell them everything outright, just that this life is pain and there must be something better, just that this place is a lie, a horror behind a mask, and that mask must be taken down. They listen, and some follow. __ I've taken my followers away from the places where the lie is thicker. In the desert you can see better the hellish nature of this realm. There were no deserts in the living world. Their memories cannot be jogged, but they believe me, they trust me, and I will honor that trust. Now I have revealed that this place is Hell, and they understand. First, I told them to stop being gateways for the damned souls, and the offending flesh was removed, now they will not be part in the suffering of others. Then I told them about deliverance. If there's another Hell under this one, at least it will be known and there may be redemption in acknowledged pain. If there's only oblivion, then it will be the end of their pain.",1748
" As custom, humans were granted a","(It's been a while since I last did something like this.) *** As custom, humans were granted a one hundred cycle (translated to roughly one year five months of the standard human calendar) grace period to practice and find champions for **Gehenna**. When the time period was up, they would engage a 'friendly' match with one of the greatest space empires of the galaxy. Officially, the tradition was meant be a welcoming greeting towards the new entrants in galactic politics. In practice, it was a way to crush the new entrants and send them a stern reminder: *You are small. You would do well not to challenge us at the top yet.* ""This can't be happening."" Lakas, Consul of the Kislev said, observing the battle replay in shock. ""They are *smiling*."" Oh how he loathed that human expression. The way their mouths *flapped* up and down. Why couldn't they have mandibles and carapaces instead? At least he wouldn't have to grimace while watching his best fighters get torn to pieces. ""We are looking to see if we can detect foul play right now, Consul. In the meantime, our champions are studying the replay as well, attempting to identify what went wrong."" Lakas turned to leer at the taskmaster. ""Well, then? What went wrong? Do we have an answer for that?"" ""...No sir."" The dignitary hunched, looking away, his talons clicking and clacking in nervousness. ""In fact... well, it doesn't really look like the humans are doing anything out of the ordinary."" Lakas clicked his mandibles in irritation, urging him to speak further. ""I mean... it is like they have been playing for thousands of cycles."" Lakas allowed a moment to consider those words. ""Are human life spans short enough to justify their fast learning speed?"" ""No sir. Life expectancy is at seven thousand cycles, albeit they noticeably deteriorate past five thousand cycles."" Lakas *kh'd* in irritation. Their kind lived to five thousand, though only in the last three hundred cycles do they truly feel their age. The oldest Kislev champions have been playing since they were three hundred cycles old and going strong for two thousand cycles at least. Osav, the Master Commander, has been commanding their grand strategy for one thousand five hundred cycles alone and nigh unbeatable during this whole time. ""Get going and do not come back to me until you have some proper answers!"" He shrieked in anger. Only once the sliding doors closed behind the taskmaster did he open the grand battle map. The battle map was randomly generated every time, albeit with sets of predetermined parameters. Players started with a space base that would be dropped with nearby resources of adamantium, hyperium and aubtanium. Simultaneous rounds were taken every cycle, during which the Master Commander would delegate orders to his dignitaries, who would acquire resources and train fighters and march them into battle, of which each individual unit was another individual player altogether. Territorial disputes in Gehenna often lasted more than thirty cycles. Lakas did not have the tactical knowledge of Oslav, but he did know enough about the game to see that Oslav had picked a wonderful landing spot, full of aubtanium which granted the best energy rifles in the first few cycles of the game. Their adamantium reserves were adequate to give the units and space bases some solid defensive armor, and he had ignored the meager amount of hyperium entirely and abandoned shielded melee fighters. It was not a terrible strategy - rather it had given the Kislev a great many number of important territories many cycles ago. The human commander - whoever he was - had taken a far more daring approach. Landed smack-dab between aubtanium and hyperium and seemingly no adamantium whatsoever. For the next cycle Oslav responded by increasing the research and output of his own adamantium armor to out-last the humans when battle came - and the humans were powering up their own ranged and melee weapons themselves. It seemed like the humans would be doomed in the next cycle when the first battle would occur, but somehow they simply danced around the Kislev in a never-ending onslaught of mixed ranged and melee weapons. *Smiling with their flappy mouths. With their mouths made out of MEAT.* Lakas did not bother to put the replay of the battle in the main screen again. It would be a miserable twenty-eight cycles if this kept up. *** ""The answer, really, is fun."" Fifteen cycles later, the Kislev champions had unconditionally surrendered. ""Humans live for fun. They don't solve problems out of necessity. They do it for pleasure."" There were many Kislev who shouted they continue the match until the end. Others claimed they should have surrendered at the end of the ninth cycle. ""Leave a human alone with a stuck piece of wood and he will find a way to un-stick it. Leave a human alone with blocks and he will build something. Leave the humans alone with the *Gehenna* and they will provide copies to everyone around them and challenge each other for the heck of it."" The remaining space empires were racing against time, watching and rewatching the human battles, their champions working themselves to exhaustion attempting to replicate or fight back against human simulations. ""It's funny, really, that the aliens created this form of war that does not endanger lives or destroy entire planets that they find taxing and unforgiving, but for us it is a great way to enjoy ourselves and pass time."" Marco, fourth chairman of the Earthen Confederacy, clicked the 'END TURN' button and watched the expansion, technology and conflict resolutions end. ""Son of a FUCK."" He grinned, above and beyond the screen at the human Master Commander who gave them their first win in the friendly match against the Kislev, Caio. ""How in the WORLD did you slip that colonist over there? I was gonna settle for that adamantium motherlode!"" Marco just grinned back. ""You can still take it back, you know."" ""Screw that. I see your orbital battery hovering nearby. Were you planning this move this whole time?"" ""Maybe."" Caio grumbled and hunched before his screen again, wondering how to salvage this match. Unbeknown to the Kislev he had already played more games of *Gehenna* than Oslav had in the last fifteen years, and he had yet to beat Marco once. Marco assumed their match against the Kislev was a friendly, so he sent Caio in his stead. He clicked the 'End Turn' button once again. *Maybe if it looks like Caio is about to lose a match I'll step in.* He thought to himself as his opponent let out another frustrated interjection.",1111
 A plain sort of attractive he looked,"When I arrived I was rather disappointed. I expected gleaming gold gates, soft harmonic harps playing, the whole welcome to heaven experience. Instead I found myself in a clean white room standing in front of a bored looking teenage kid. I also seemed to be far younger than my 80 years. I feel 25. A plain sort of attractive he looked like a handsome preset to a video game character. Ginger hair pulled back into a colonial style ponytail, green eyes and clean shaven. No majestic angel wings though, not even a feather. ""Only the older generation angels have wings."" He says evenly as if he heard my thoughts. ""Something about tradition they say, most of us modern angels forgo the wings as much as possible. I've had to help my grandfather fit through enough doorways I'd honestly rather have a tail."" ""I suppose an extra limb has its advantages"" I reply with a polite smile. ""Right!? Lucky demons can type and eat at the same time! Though they still can't type to save their immortality"" he adds under his breath. As we exchanged the last few words he was skimming over something on a smart phone. He scrolls down for a second or two then nods slightly and pockets the device. ""Well Sir, it would seem you are a VIP resident!, if you join me in the elevator I will show you to the upper heavens"" he turns on the spot and gestures to a open door that wasn't there moment before. Glass elevator so clean I can see my reflection in its flawless glass. Behind that I see nothing but blue skies and gold fringed clouds. I don't move though as I am processing his words. Once again he replies without my saying anything. His smile is a mixture of patience, annoyance, and understanding that I'd guess only an angel could manage. ""It's not a mistake, Cameron. You deserve your placement rest assured. Now we have a tight schedule and I had my time management powers revoked so we really must go."" He gestures with one hand to the elevator. ""I will explain on our way up."" No less confused but worried about inconveniencing him I walked through the glowing doorway. Once inside confusion gave way to pure childish awe. The sky looked like surreal art. Blue skies with swirling clouds of white. Each colored between shades of gold, pink, red, and purple. Like a sunset with several suns setting in every direction. Below was beautiful ivory architecture inlaid with warm gold. Barely visible is people walking around the cloud city. "" this is only the lowest level"" the angel stands beside me, calmly assessing my wonder. ""Why arn't I going there?"" My confusion and amazement combine to make me capable of short simple sentences. ""During life you gain points for good and kind deeds you do. You also gain a separate amount of points for bad and cruel actions. Your heavenly points work like experience points. You are level 3008."" ""Wow!"" I mutter. It sounded a lot like something Owen Wilson would say and I almost chuckle at myself. "" Out of curiosity how many bad points do I have?"" ""Your Hellish level is minimal not to worry, otherwise you'd be heading the other direction"" he waves a hand as if waving away the word Hellish. ""Okay, well that's a relief!"" I sigh. We've been rising steadily for a while now but all I see is white clouds as if there no is breaching the surface. ""My Grandmother's level must be really high! Knowing Gran she prolly runs the top"" ""Mary?"" He asks with a slight frown. ""Yea, I mean she was a great person! She always felt I was a bit of a let down but she was good and honest. A strong tough woman"" ""Oh no"" he shakes his head gently. ""Mary only made it to level 64, she lives in the lower mid tier floors. I stare at him for a moment expecting him to correct himself. He doesn't. Just pulls out his phone to check the time. ""Gran found the cure for HIV. She sold it for almost no profit and what she did profit she donated!"" I start to worry about the point system and feel like I cheated somehow. ""She hosted charities, she won humanitarian awards!"" He looks over at me and just looks calmly into my eyes. Gently he puts a hand on my shoulder. ""You underestimate yourself."" His voice is kind. ""Your grandmother was indeed a good person. She was also proud. She paid little attention to anything other than her work."" ""Then how did I get to such a high level?! There must be a mistake."" He takes a deep breath and drops his hand from my shoulder. Turning to face me he leans on the glass as white fluff flies by behind him. ""Cameron, you had a rough childhood. Not the worst by any standards but many simular lives went to the basement."" He smiles despite sadness in his emerald eyes. ""The difference between you and them is you tried to make the world good even if it wasn't good to you. You see the point system is complex. One feature is that your points are connected to every person you ever interact with. If your choices directly affect the choices of others then thier points act as multipliers to your own.Every single day you made the world better. You smiled at strangers and wished them a good morning. You gave money to beggars whether you trusted them or not. You opened doors for people. Complimented everyone you could. Listened to those in need. You did the kindest thing you could at every moment in your life."" ""Why should being a decent person make me any better than anyone else?"" I ask bewildered. ""Because every time you did those things it caused others to do the same. You made horrible days bearable. You inspired the world Cameron. Each time you did good for those people they did good for another. Your simple so called decency touched people you never met. People who were born after you. Your kindness will reach people for years to come. You've saved lives. Saved relationships. A few of the people I've placed only made it up here because you reminded them how to get here."" He smiles broad and proud more and more with each word. As if he praises his child to his friends. I stand thinking for a moment trying to remember something that could have brought me to this moment. I can't. Everything he says was just normal for me. How I thought things should be. How I wished I was treated when things were hard. I feel tears in my eyes. I sit down and stare into the clouds as tears slide down my face. One drips off my chin as we finally breach the top of the white. A sky even more beautiful than the last greets me as the angel pats my back gently. ""You did good kid. Believe it""",1184
" Charles: ""I have barely strength","""Ugh, that looks bloody nice steak, don't you think?"" Charles says as he rubs his chin. ""Yes,"" Timothy responds with a long nod. ""You know that they want us to kill each other for that piece, right?"" Charles chuckles. ""I have barely strength to stand. I'm no animal. One hit and I'm knocked out."" Timothy laughed with Charles at the same time. Aliens were just inspecting them. They were probably thinking that it was some kind of human ritual before the fight. ""So,"" Charles whispered. ""Want to share?"" Timothy nodded. ""Yeah. It's a way too huge for my stomach to handle it, I have been starving for too long..."" They both stepped near the steak and examined it. Then they tried to break it into two, but it was a bit soggy to be split into two pieces. They also didn't have knives to do it. ""I'll take the first bite, then you, alright?"" Charles proposed. Timothy responded with a nod. So, Charles took the meat, took a big bite and gave it to Timothy, who took bite straight after him. Aliens enraged. They hated that. Still, they kept hoping that it was still some kind of ritual. Maybe they would fight after they got their energy refilled? That lasted until they finally finished the steak. Aliens already stormed from the gate, ready to take them away. They weren't pleased. ""Well, that was delicious. It might be our last meal,"" Timothy whispered, moving his hand towards Charles. Just before the aliens reached them, they shook them. *** They both got kicked into the very same arena. It had been a week of no food. All aliens were going insane, hungry for blood. This time, they had to fight. Both Timothy and Charles slowly walked at the center of the arena, inspecting each other. ""You look like shit, man,"" Timothy said to Charles. ""They did beat me up way more than usual,"" Charles frowned. ""Those alien bastards,"" Timothy responded with a slow sigh. They both now inspected another steak meat. This time, it was inside a large cage. The door had two keyholes and those keys were around both of their necks. ""I don't understand. I know I'm not the smartest human out there, but that..."" Timothy sighed and looked at his key. ""They probably expect us to fight now, so I would take your key, open the cage and go after the steak."" Charles laughed, took the key and threw it towards Timothy, who easily caught it. Arena got instantly silent. Timothy opened the cage door with both keys and they both entered it. This time, the guards' gates opened and heavy armored aliens instantly ran towards them. Timothy, however, locked the door after himself and went to the center of the cage. He took the steak, had a bite and gave it to the Charles. ""Oh, by the way, I'm Timothy."" ""I'm Charles!"" They shook hands again. ""So tell me, Charles, what did you do before you got here?"" As they talked, guards desperately tried to break the cage open. One guard ran away to find backup keys. Even though they did have some ranged weapons, they did not want to kill prisoners, so it resulted in Charles and Timothy talking for a while as they took care of the steak. There was a change, however. The arena wasn't mad, instead, they were laughing. *** It was yet another week that passed. Both Timothy and Charles were again at the center of the arena. It was all silent. There were no alien war cries this time around. It was just two of them, meeting at the core again. ""Are they serious?"" Timothy asked the first question, inspecting cage within a cage. Charles just smiled. ""I feel like they decided not to test our battle skills anymore, but instead they want to see how smart we are."" They both started laughing. ""It's literally same thing as last time, except two cages with two doors. This time one key opens one door..."" *** Another week passed. This time, the arena was shouting. There were multiple cages on the arena, one of them had steak in it. They had given only one key and each cell had a key of its own inside. ""We should pretend that we are trying hard,"" Charles moaned. ""You look a lot worse Charles. You okay?"" Timothy finally showed some worry. ""Ah, I'm an old man. I think something is wrong with my stomach,"" Charles whispered. He coughed, some blood came out of his mouth. He didn't try to hide it, as there was no point. They solved the puzzle easily and soon they were at the center of the cage, staring at another steak piece. Soldiers were this time walking towards them. They had also given up trying. ""You'll eat it,"" Timothy suddenly said. ""What?"" Charles was confused. ""You look like you'd need it more than I do."" Charles frowned but didn't argue. He ate most of it and then gave a third to Timothy. ""Please. You need something as well."" *** Timothy stood at the center of the arena. Aliens weren't happy. Charles wasn't anywhere. It was just him. The wind made Timothy's tears drop afar. This time, it was just a piece of meat at the center, no cages. Alien sounds were something unusual. Maybe resembled a bit of crying. Timothy walked near the steak, looked at it, touched it, but didn't eat it. He remembered one discussion they had, a promise. A promise that if one of them died, another would keep trying to survive. After all, maybe one day they would be saved from those aliens. It was a good story to tell. So, he took hold of the steak. *** It was bloody. The whole arena. It wasn't Timothy's blood though. It belonged to the aliens. In the sky was huge flying ship, belonging to the humans. They waited for one man. At the center of the arena was Timothy. He was now wearing proper clothing with some armor on it. ""I liked you, you know. You became my best pal at this shithole,"" Timothy whispered. He held a steak and put it on the ground, at the very center of the arena. ""This is for you, Charles."" ---- /r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to check it out for my past stories (Or follow it for le future).",1066
" Merva, the self-proclaimed","""There's dinner dearies!"" the coven cackled unanimously as they peered into a cauldron, and within the cauldron was the image of a lone child wandering in the woods. ""Shall we set a traaaaap?"" Merva enquired, licking her lips at the thought of being wicked. It had been some time since they had laid a trap for a child. Most of the time they were completely unnecesary, but Merva was particularly cruel. ""No, no, always on about the traps. Mayhap we should trap you Merva? Would that please you? NO! We will don our prettiest forms and coerce the child to our hovel, as we always have."" This was said by Jerva, the self-proclaimed Head-Hag of the sisters. She had the majority of the brains, which is really nothing to brag about. But the fact stood. ""Why do we have to do it your way, every time Jervaaaa?"" Merva had a penchant for carrying on syllables for far to long. She was a model of charm, naturally. ""Because my way has kept us alive and safe for over 300 years. That's why. Now lets be on our way!"" Jerva's form changed from a twisted greenskin hobbler to that of a young teenage girl, dressed in an unassuming robe. She looked like any common peasant, someone who you would not suspect cause you any harm. She had started out the door when... ""What about Tervaaaa? Doesn' she have a saaaaaaay? Merva looked at Jerva with a shit-eating grin. Terva glared at Merva. Terva was a mute, due to an unfortunate accident some 80 years ago. Without a word Jerva went out in the forest to meet the child, her sisters considerably more pretty and far younger than they had been not 30 seconds ago hustling behind her. Enter the child. ""Do ye find yourself lost, child?"" the polymorphed hags descended on the child with an eagerness that most would find peculiar, but the child did not appear to notice. 'Yes'm I been separated from me ma and pa! Could you madams help me find me ma an pa?"" The voice was that of a little girl, perhaps 8 or 9. Between the declining sunlight and the hood she wore, her features were nearly imperceptible. Merva was greedily rubbing her hands together, anxious to take the girl home. After all, not only did little girls taste best, they could be used to make potions of youth. Only Terva noticed something different about this child. A faint but still noticeable aura emanated from this child. One that made her skin crawl. Alas, she was mute and no way to communicate such a feeling. After all, her sisters hadn't mentinoed anything. ""It's getting awfully late, child. Do you find it acceptable to come home with us this evening and we begin the search for your parents in the morning?"" Jerva felt sly, conning the child into such a seemingly generous offer. How could the child refuse? ""I d'no if me parents would take kindly to the idea.."" The little girl trailed off, now backing away slightly from the hidden hags. She seemed fearful and off put, Jerva knew she was losing her and had to think fast. ""Wha.. What are your parents names little one? Jerva was impressed by her sharp wit, for she had a plan. Merva, though lacking in brains, also caught on to the plan. She chimed in ""Yes! We may know theeem!"" Jerva smacked Merva in the side sharply with her left hand, so that the child wouldn't notice. The smack indicated that now was not the time for Merva to speak, or act for that matter, on account of her queer demeanor. ""Me family name is Heronomus, mayhaps you've heard it?"" The child asked rather calmly. There was nothing else to note. ""Why, Heronomus you say? Yes! Yes! You live two or three miles from here! We can take you in the morning, little one!"" Jerva was herself becoming excited. Her plan was working, the child seemed to be more trusting after the confirmation of knowing her parents. Now to return home. ""Seeing as ye know me ma n pa, I sees no reason not to go with ye. Do ye have any food? Haven eaten all day.."" The little girl asked almost shyly. ""Of course we will feed you, sweet one! Come with us, the moon is rising and we must be in soon. Strange creatures lurk these woods at night."" The sisters turned, in the direction of home, motioning the child to follow. The three hags shared a smile as they walked single file along the barely lit path, owing what little visibility there was to the ever growing moon. What the hags did not know was that there was in fact a fourth smile caught glinting in the lunar light. Enter the cottage. Upon entering the cottage the hags waited for the child to enter before reverting back to their original selves. With magic only witches know, the closed all the windows, locked the singular door, and lit the sconces lined along the oval room. The cauldron in the center of the room bubbled, eager for a human. The cauldron would be disappointed, tonight. ""Ahehehe! Your in trouble sweeeeeeeet one!"" Merva could contain herself no longer, and began casting lesser incantations, her desire to lull the child to sleep. A sleeping child is better than a dead one, for it preserves the flavor and life force. Terva and Jerva began their preparations for the bubble bath (the cauldron was boiling) paying no mind to their sister. She had put many, many victims to sleep. It was her favorite part of the ritual, as a matter of fact. ""She isn't falling asleep!"" Merva shrieked, increasing the force of her magic, frustrated that this seemingly weak child could resist her in the slightest. The other hags glanced over their shoulders as the child lowered her hood. Raven black hair. Sanguine eyes. Skin the color of winter's first snow. Enyo beamed a bright smile, revealing her fangs. She appeared to be a child, and in some ways she was. But only physically. Enyo, in terms of age, made these hags seems like children. She was in fact, one of the first Vampire to exist. She had seen empire rise and fall, met the so called Gods. So why was she here? In this cottage? Well, it's simple really. She was a slave who was given to a Vampire to be his thrall, so as to pay off a debt owed. The one who sold her? None other than a witch. Thus, her hatred of witches caused her to seek out the monsters, and, well... you know how this ends. The moon shone red that night.",1125
 Lucy left the house before dawn once,"The warning was clear: if you break any of the rules, you die. Lucy left the house before dawn once to gather stream water, and she never came back. We never even found a body. Alex forgot to turn the light off in his room one night before he fell asleep, and we found him in the morning; drained from within, barely a husk of a man. It was down to me and Erin in the house, a woman I barely even knew. She was Alex's friend, and prior to the lockdown, I'd only known her as the mysterious girl who showed up to crash for days at a time, always managing to eat my Pop-Tarts in the process. Now she and I were clinging desperately to the hope of rescue, but we knew that it was a vain hope. ""Military aid is unavailable,"" the message had said. No one was coming for us. The message had also said not to enter tunnels during the day, but that's exactly what Erin and I were suiting up to do. She handed me the hockey equipment we'd found in Alex's closet. He'd been a star goalie for the school team in another life. ""Are you sure about this?"" she asked as she put some of the pads on. I nodded. It had been her idea, but I didn't see much of an alternative that didn't involve sitting on my ass all day, waiting it out. I tried on Alex's mask. It fit pretty well, and I grinned behind it. *Just like Casey Jones.* ""What do we have as far as weapons?"" I asked. Erin frowned. ""Really just hockey sticks I found in his closet, but it's your house, what else you got?"" My mind went immediately to the knife block in the kitchen, though the thought of using my expensive cooking knives as weapons upset me more than a little. They'd cost me a month's rent, but they might be the most effective things I had on hand. I walked slowly into the kitchen and grabbed the large chef's knife from the block. I hadn't used it since this whole ordeal began, which meant it was still nice and sharp. I grabbed a boning knife for Erin to use just in case the hockey stick didn't prove useful. When I came back into the living room, Erin's head was bowed in prayer, her hands clasped around the cross necklace I'd always seen her wear. I allowed her a moment of silence, after which her eyes opened with a resolve I'd never seen in her. ""You ready?"" she asked. I wasn't, but I nodded anyway. We opened the door, bracing ourselves for an assault that never came. It was 2 o' clock by my watch, which meant we had a solid four hours to do our business and get back to the house before nightfall. I knew there was a cave system near the campus, thanks to an introductory archaeology course I'd taken sophomore year. That was our target. Maybe if we could find out why we were warned not to enter tunnels, we could find out what was happening. Fear rose in my chest the closer we got to the tunnels. I knew what we were doing was one of the only courses of action available to us, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't scare the piss out of me. Upon arriving at the tunnels, we peered in, unable to see past about five feet in. I gulped, taking out a flashlight I'd brought to light our way. I don't know how I could have been prepared for what I saw. Sure enough, there were figures in the tunnel, at least four, by my count. They looked humanoid, which I don't think I'd been expecting. But the most unsettling part is that they were *hanging from the ceiling.* I needed to get closer, to figure out how they were doing it. My feet slid one in front of the other, as slowly as I could manage while still making forward progress. I was close enough to reach out and touch one of the figures, though I dared not. Shining my flashlight up at the ceiling, I could see the figures all had their feet dug into the soft earth above them, and were somehow hanging from that. The closest one to me opened his eyes with a start. I stumbled backward, landing squarely on my ass. I tried my best to look intimidating as I brandished the knife I'd brought with me, but whatever it was we were facing down didn't look deterred. I could see the bloodthirst in its eyes, though the scariest thing about it was that it looked totally human, aside from skin so pale it was almost translucent. Erin cracked her hockey stick over its head, though it didn't appear to notice the injury at all. It slowly turned its eyes to her, dropping from the ceiling and drawing itself up to its full height in one smooth motion. It was taller than it had first appeared; almost as tall as the tunnel itself, some seven and a half feet. Erin recoiled, and that was all the prompting the thing needed. It lunged at her, baring fangs I could have sworn weren't there a moment before. I cried out, moving as if to stab the thing, though I was still too far away. Erin and the monster tumbled to the ground, making the muffled grunts of a struggle. Suddenly, the monster screeched, loud enough to make my ears bleed. It fell backward, clawing at the burning hole in its chest, and I saw fear in its eyes for the first time. Erin's expression was one of delighted confusion. The cross on her necklace burned with a soft light, and it suddenly clicked. ""The cross!"" I shouted at her, and her confusion gave way to determination. She stood, removing the necklace, and she approached the next sleeping vampire. *Finally,* I thought. *We can end this.*",1009
 To say I have seen the truth,"The folklore of my people is old and weathered, been beaten from years of antiquity, and eaten up by the bigger stories of the bigger people. But the lore remains, as it does, hanging from the threads of wonder, and sometimes truth. To say I have seen the truth will get me called a liar. And perhaps my eyes do lie, and perhaps it is my heart which sees, and it sees blindly. So I will not say I have seen the truth. I have only heard tales of what the night lady has told me. And I have heard the footfalls of the Old Children, and heard their flutes that come from the Great Caverns of the Lost Palaces. But let us start from the beginning. When the warnings came there was panic amidst the city. Many people had died in missile strikes. The dust which had settled had risen again, and there were lights of war in the skies. But we were not at war with another country. Something within our walls had led to destruction, disturbing the politicians in their sleep, and the powerful in their leisure. Horns flared at night after the earthquakes came. The earth shook greatly, and in all the large places there were cracks and fissures. *An invasion,* I thought. The missiles were from our own government. The earth had cracked in many places. The cities were evacuated, and I was moved to the slums, and then even the slums were not safe. I did not know what was happening. I sought refuge near the docks by the harbor, in the small warehouses that still stood. Scant communication led to no communication soon after as the days passed. Panic was everywhere. I saw people running about and trying to flee. A last message was broadcast before the airs went dark: 'Beware the dark. We have lost the war.' But I hid in the dark with broken light trickling in like scarce water. I was hungry and afraid. I heard the voices of English speakers and then the sound of boats departing, and there were planes above as well. The nights then were still and quiet and I could feel *something* about. *War,* I thought. My family had seen war before, but not I. *It is always war.* But who was attacking? Something rustled one night in the docks. I had little supplies to heed the last warning fully. I lit candles in the corner which I hid. I had nowhere to go, and there was gunfire in the distance sometimes, and so I was afraid to leave. That night I grew still, for I was afraid I would die. The prayers of my faith came with comfort but the sound did not cease. A rustle amidst broken glass. Then shadows that passed. Then quiet as I stewed in knowing I had been seen. Something was watching me. Something was coming. *Beware the dark.* The earth had split during the quakes and missiles. It had cracked some time before. And then I heard the door open and the stones squeaked beneath leather shoes and the sounds echoed and I was still and my mouth was dry. A woman with long hair aimed a bow at me. Her skin was brown and bronzed in the light, and her face was painted in the old ways of the stories I read. ""Please, do not kill me,"" I said. ""Frater?"" she said. ""You are one of the Old Tongue?"" ""Yes... I am not from here. Who are you?"" She held the bow steady. Others were surrounding the warehouse. She was not alone. ""You are the Weak Blood,"" she said. ""Death should come to the Weak!"" ""You are the Children,"" I said. ""The Old Children!"" My mother had told me so long ago. The Old Children were our fathers and mothers from the time before. When war and destruction crept to their doors and surrounded them, they had turned underground for shelter and protection. They turned the earth and fires and stone and dark into the Great Caverns. They built palaces beneath the earth where they hid from the evil of the world. ""My mother has told me of you! I come not from this place. I come from the hinterlands."" ""The hinterlands are below us. You are the Weak Blood."" ""But I am your blood."" Another came. He was brown and big and his bow was as tall as a man. He aimed at me and nearly fired. The lady stopped him. ""Frater,"" she said. It meant I was of theirs. The man spat on the ground and stared at me. ""Weak,"" he said. ""Worthless."" ""Maybe. But he is of the blood. He knows much. He can tell us."" ""What is going on?"" I asked. There were shadows in the night. The gunfire had eased as the days passed. ""Many of us have died,"" said the woman. ""More of yours have been killed."" ""I am not one of them. I am not part of the army who bombs or the government who digs."" ""Yes, I can see. You are nobody."" The man left the woman with me as he went back out with the others. She sat down beside me with difficulty. Her face was drenched in sweat. ""You are hurt,"" I said. ""And you are Weak."" She asked me many things that night. She told me of the cracks that had revealed the Great Caverns. ""Needles and fire has brought the surface to our homes. And now the evil tries to get in. We shall not run anymore."" ""What will you do?"" ""We will stand up and not be Weak. We will take back this world from those who had taken it so long before."" And she told me of the Lost Palaces of amber, where the walls were orange with soft shadows and where the alleys were bathed in the music of flutes, echoing haunting melodies. She told me of the Old Children, of the folklore I had thought false. And she winced in pain as she guarded me until the others returned. ""You are hurt,"" I said. ""I will get better."" ""I can help."" ""No you can't."" She hated me, but not in the cold way I was accustomed to. We were of the same blood, and so she did not disregard me completely. ""How is it that you are here? Why have you left the hinterlands?"" ""War has taken it. I had fled for my life."" ""War takes everything beneath the Sun."" Then there was that quiet. In the quiet sense comes to you in a slow feed. ""How is it you exist?"" I asked. ""How is it all the legends are true?"" And the lady looked at me with a stone face. ""How is it that anything is true? Because it is. You see it. You see me. I am one of the Children."" ""But why would the Old Children be in this country? Why would they be real?"" ""The same reason you are in this country. The same reason you are real."" ""But I *am* real. I came here alone. I fled the real world's war."" ""And now war has found you again. Civil strife has torn this country to pieces, hasn't it? And now you're alone in war. Maybe you don't want to be alone."" She leaned closer. My hands spread on the floor and the glass cut me and I felt the blood stick with the dirt and grime. It stung badly. I winced as she winced. ""You are hurt,"" she said. ""And I'm Weak."" When you are alone you can go mad. I closed my eyes to kiss her but the door swung and there were footsteps echoing. ""I must go,"" she said. ""The night ends soon. I must return to the palace."" I heard gunfire again. The lady left and the wind took the doors and window frames and they made noises so that I felt almost with company. I thought of the Lost Palaces. I thought of the stories mother would tell. The Old Children were our people. They lived beneath us, and if they lived there, then I was not so alone. I listened to the sounds outside. There were fires crackling. People were chanting to tear down the Parliament. I cowered in my corner. They spoke English far away. War is always scary in a foreign language. But I closed my eyes and knew that was all just a fantasy. In my peace I could hear the sounds of the flutes in the Great Caverns. I could see the lady dance in the orange lights, her shadows as fluid as the clear waters of the crystal fountains. I could *see* the great walls that held my people. I felt safe. I found comfort. My hand was bleeding, but the cut was not deep. The night would soon end, and then it would come again. I knew the lady would come back, and I knew she would take me to that safe place. I waited for it. I closed my eyes and waited beneath those slits of light. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to check out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can, and thanks for the support!*",1562
 Further updates will be posted in my,"**edit 3: Further updates will be posted in my subreddit /r/Ardarail, thanks for reading everyone!** - - - - &nbsp; I was watching the evening news when it started. The news anchor was cut off mid sentence by a loud, unbroken tone and the bright while bold letters began to scroll across screen. **WE'VE INTERRUPTED YOUR NORMAL VIEWING EXPERIENCE FOR THIS IMPORTANT NATIONAL SECURITY BROADCAST. IT IS EXTREMELY IMPORTANT THAT YOU FOLLOW THESE INSTRUCTIONS EXACTLY FOR YOUR OWN SAFETY. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.** A monotone voice accompanied the words that appeared next. *This is a national emergency alert. Do not leave your homes between 6PM and 8AM. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Barricade all entries to your house and cover your windows with opaque material. Exercise extreme caution when out during the day. Do not enter tunnels or other dark areas during the day. Restrict contact with all others including those claiming to be official persons. Military and police assistance is not available at this time.* I stared at the screen, mouth agape as the alert began to repeat its message again. My mouth felt dry and a cold sweat began to prickle at my back. Only the sudden wetness as I accidentally poured half my beer into my lap was enough to shake me from my shocked stupor. *Is this some kind of joke?* I thought as my pulled out I phone and began to record a video of the message. I flipped through a few channels. All showed the same white words and robotic narrator. Quickly I checked twitter and my worst fears were confirmed. Whatever ""it"" was it was blowing up online. Hundreds of thousands, maybe millions of tweets. Pictures and videos of the same message currently playing on my TV screen. Everyone seeming just as confused as I was. I put down my phone and crossed my living room to look out the window. Everything *seemed* normal enough, at first glance at least. Then I noticed the conspicuous lack of... well of anything really. Cars, motorcycles, even just people strolling down the sidewalk were nowhere to be found. I glanced at my watch *6:42PM* not that late, there should be plenty of people out still. I took a last long glance out my window and then I saw *it*. At first I thought it was a person but then I noticed the odd, shambling aimless gait, the somewhat bedraggled experience, and the *face*. At this point he (I'm relatively certain it was a he) was under a streetlight and close enough to see the details of his face. His mouth was smeared with blood and his eyes were a milky white and seemed bloodshot. Immediately I shut my curtains and took a shaky step back. *What the fuck, was this for real? That looked like... I don't even want to say it but that looked like an actual, real life fucking zombie outside my house.* At this point the panic began to set in. I tried to take some deep breaths and steady myself. Expand your diaphragm, keep calm, everything is going to be okay. *Don't worry, you've prepared for this. How many zombie movies have you seen and said ""I could totally survive that"". This'll probably be easy!* I ran through a mental list of everything I needed to do. Every door, locked and dead-bolted. Gun out of the safe and loaded. Windows, taped and covered in cardboard. Enough food in the pantry to survive a week maybe two tops. *Hmm maybe I should call in work and tell them I'm sick and won't be coming in tomorrow...* Immediately I dismissed the thought. My mind was coming up with things to distract me from the true direness of this situation. Then the lights went out. As I sat in the darkness the terror began to grip me, a tight ball of it in my stomach slowly crawling up my throat and choking me so it seemed that I just couldn't gasp enough air no matter how hard I tried. With shaking hands I opened my phone and checked twitter again. Nothing. Nothing but a spinning circle. No WiFi, no cellular connection, no internet at all. Everything was down. I felt like screaming but I could barely produce a pathetic rasping squeak. Plus it was past sundown and I was terrified to make any noise. With the internet I thought I'd be fine, I could stay up to date with what was happening. I'd have entertainment for when I couldn't leave my house. I'd be able to just google any survival questions I had. Really it was like we'd all be going through the apocalypse together, connected through the wondrous power of the internet. But now I was alone. Truly alone and it was getting to me in a bad way. *I've done all I can for tonight, maybe I should just try and get some rest.* As I lay in my bed staring into the pitch blackness I knew it was a lost cause, there's no way in hell I'd be able to sleep. It was going to be a long, long night. &nbsp; Sometime around 3AM the noises started. It sounded like pack of baying dogs but somehow *wrong*. And then it hit me, it was humans. Or some things that used to be human. Howling in a discordant symphony. The howling began to grow louder and higher in pitch, sounding almost excited. Then I heard a very human scream, full throated and ear-piercing it went on and on and on until suddenly it stopped and there was only the baying of whatever creatures the poor soul had fallen to. I curled up tighter under my covers, clutching my handgun until my knuckles turned white. I was shaking and all I could think was *Maybe I could've helped. Maybe I should've done something.* But deep down I knew I wouldn't, would never. And it wasn't because of the warning to ""Restrict contacts with others* though I tried to convince myself it was. I was just too scared. I was a coward and I'd let a thousand people die outside my door before I'd risk myself stepping out there into the unknown. &nbsp; - - - - *End of part 1 but I've got some more cooking up in my brain. If you'd like me to continue please let me know :)* edit: *It's 2AM here now, so I'll have to post part 2 tomorrow, sorry guys! I'm also considering opening a subreddit so let me know if anyone would be interested in that!* edit 2: ***Okay by popular demand I'm starting a subreddit! /r/Ardarail check it out for more stories!*** Stay tuned part 2 is in the works!",1131
" She'd stayed out too long,","Twenty days. Less than a month. Less than a month, and everything was so different. Some days, it was hard to even remember how it had been before. The wood groaned softly as she shifted, so she froze in the darkness. She'd stayed out too long, and had to hide in an overturned wagon. She could see the outline of the house- all the lights were off. But, she'd waited too long, and now it was dark. She blinked several times to stop the tears forming, and tried to choke down the panic rising in her chest. Too damn long. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She inhaled slowly, and tried to regulate her breathing. It was hard not to instinctually breath too shallow, in an attempt to stay as quiet as possible. Gingerly, she reached a trembling hand up to the top of her head and gently slid the goggles down over her eyes. The world flickered back into focus, albeit, in black and white. Was that- yes, Dad was standing out front of the door. Could he see her? It looked like he had his gogg- she stifled a sigh of relief as he slowly put a hand up to his side in a fist. Stay put. He could see her, or at least knew where she was. Why had she waited so damn long? It was so silent out that her heartbeat sounded like thunder in her ears. Rationally, she knew that wasn't the case, but it was more difficult than one would think to quench the fear that you were being too conspicuous. A malicious presence, heavy on the air, slowly settled around her, and things somehow became even more still. Something was wrong. She realized she was holding her breath, and forced herself to breathe slowly and deeply while staring at Dad, who had also frozen, not even raising his gun. Something was very wrong. The back of her neck began to pickle and tingle, as her subconscious brain alerted her to something nearby. She'd learned to listen to that feeling over the past few weeks. Something was wrong, and she could feel it in the air. Her stomach felt like a brick of ice, and her skin had a chill, despite it being a warm summer night. She was afraid to even turn her head, or move her now tingling leg. Why had she settled in such a stupid position? Stupid, stupid, stupid. She couldn't tear her eyes off of her father until Devin's head slowly bobbed into view on the roof to his left. What- he smoothly slung a long, slim object off of his shoulder, and appeared to lay down. The rifle. This was bad. Somehow, worse than she'd thought. Bad things never seemed real until perspective was forced. This was very bad. She'd never been more terrified in her life. She could hardly breath, eyes locked on the house, and her father, who was frozen stock still. She could feel a malicious presence, somehow. She didn't know where it was, or even really, what it was. But it was there. And, it knew she was, too. Dead silence. Dad's hand slowly opened, turned, and made a slow beckoning gesture. No. She wanted to cry. No, no, no. No way. It was too far. No. No. Her lip trembled as she slowly reached back and tightened her backpack straps. She froze. She felt like prey. This must be what mice in those old science videos felt like right before being eaten alive by a snake. She was paralyzed with fear. No. She felt like her bones were cold- she, unhyperbolically, was bone-chillingly terrified. That was a new sensation. No. Dad's gesture became quicker, and she saw Devin shift slightly toward the top of her peripheral vision. No. The feeling of hateful fear was almost overwhelming, now. She could feel it, pressing down on her, from all sides. She'd stayed out way too long. Something was so, so wrong. She was too far. She was too far. Stupid. Stupid, stupid. Her body was shaking. Fear, or adrenaline, she couldn't tell, probably both. Dad's whole hand was flapping urgently now. They needed the medicine. Worth the risk, they'd decided. But that was then, and it'd been too far. She felt like her eyelids were peeling back, and she was paralyzed. She felt as if a massive weight was crushing her chest, like she was stuck in a giant vice. Her body was trembling like a mouse, and she couldn't stop. Too long. She felt like prey. Stupid. She was prey. No. No. Dad beckoned urgently with his whole arm, then raised his gun. Now. Now, she had to go now. If she was going to go, it had to be now. Devin's a good shot. Dad's got a pump. Now's the time. No. No, no, no. The wagon creaked slightly as she hurled herself to her feet. Three hundred yards, max. Her legs were churning faster than they ever had before. State semifinalist, twice in a row. The wind roared by her ears, as she veritably flew towards the house. Joey had clocked her at twenty three once, last year. Her feet were barely touching the ground- she felt so light. Her fear made her legs pump even harder. Closer. She was rapidly closing. She felt like something was right behind her. All she could hear was the wind. All she could see was a blur of white and gray, and the pitch black opening of the door. And Dad. And Dad? Sprinting towards her, raising the gun and- BOOM. Devin had shot the rifle. This was bad, this was so bad. BOOM. Again. BOOM. Dad fired the shotgun off to her right. People were yelling, now. Dad. She couldn't hear, or understand them. BOOM. A third shot from the rifle, and she felt a blast and a whistle a few feet to the left of her head. So close. Waited too long. She pumped her arms and legs as fast and hard as she could. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. One hundred yards. BOOM. She heard a muffled, animalistic grunt behind her, and finally all the fear she'd been keeping clamped inside bubbled out. BOOM. She screamed. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. She was so close, nearly out of her mind in terror. BOOM. Nothing existed except the door. BOOM, BOOM. Someone screamed. She realized that it wasn't her. BOOM, BOOM. BOOM. Someone screamed from another direction. BOOM. She screamed, and flung herself across the threshold, diving over the couch. Silence. She huddled behind the couch, shaking in fear. Dead silence. Slowly, she sat up and peaked over the edge of the couch, to the open door. Dad? Where was he? That door needed to be closed. She wouldn't leave them, though. They hadn't left her. It was so still, suddenly. She gently slid the backpack off, and got into a squat to go check the door. A massive shape blackened the door opening, as it silently moved inside. No. The door creaked softly as it closed. Took too damn long. The door clicked shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Edit: a word Edit 2: another word to clarify Devin's location",1199
" The broadcast felt like a joke,","I turned the T.V. off and listened to the soft blowing wind from the cracked window next to me. I slid it closed as the words rolled over me, their meaning slowly taking hold. ""Military aid is unavailable,"" the grim-faced man said before wishing everyone that could hear his voice good luck as the station went back to the crawling white letters over the black screen. Normally the screen would have an accompanied several loud screeches that made my ears want to bleed, but not tonight. For a few moments I stared at the blank screen, mouth slightly agape, my eyebrows coming together. The broadcast felt like a joke, some elaborate prank on the city. Something to be ignored, laughed at for a passing moment before you got back to your life. As the words settled in me something else bloomed; fear. Anxiety. Tension that busied my hands with the hem of my shirt as the sounds from across the street at the Stevenson house flowed into my ears. I could see the party starting up, hear the laughing and the overly loud talking. Behind the two-story house I could see the sun kissing the horizon, staining the sky in pinks and oranges that seeped lower and grew darker with each passing second. I watched a car pull up to the already cluttered curb and park, a pair of nicely dressed women stumbling out with drunken giggles. I watched them trek through the freshly mowed lawn and knock on the front door, a crisp red. I watched until the light that spilled out through the doorway was cut off and turned back to my empty house. Barricading the doors was easy enough and for once I was thankful for all the extra supplies from the do-it-yourself kitchen renovation my one time brother-in-law has insisted upon. I had just enough wood for the doors and most of the windows. By the time I hammered in that last nail, securing the piece of pale wood in place, the sun was gone and the sky was dark. The realization hit me harder than words can describe. The words of that anchor came to mind. ""Do not make any light or noise between 6 P.M. and 8 A.M.,"" and a new kind of fear sent my heart thrashing behind the cage of bone. I could taste each quick beat; salty pennies with the burn of bile from my churning stomach. The clock on the stove, those bright red numbers, read 7:42 P.M. My mouth dried out with a breath. How had the time gone so quickly? I hurried over the tiled floor and covered the numbers with a hand towel, taping it in place with a strip of duct tape. No light. Each light on the bottom floor clicked off with a soft sound that I felt the entire world could hear. With the last little sound I stood in the dark living room and waited. For what? Death? My mind showed me monsters, creatures from worlds I'll never know. Horrible beasts with sharp teeth and strong jaws. Things with knives for fingers that long to bathe in my blood. I stood there conjuring up every kind of terrible sight and could still hear the party across the street. It sounded like things were kicking into high gear. Music throbbed, vibrating the world around it the home. The voices from the yard, both back and front, seeped through my walls hitting my ears muffled and slurred. A delighted scream sent me stomping up the stairs and to my bedroom and to the window pointing out to the neighborhood below. An impossibly tall and thin figure wrenched a wriggling woman towards the sidewalk. She screamed and giggled and seemed to lightly hit at the figure that kept pulling her along like she weighed less than a feather. No one at the party seemed to mind, or seemed to take much notice at all. The figure took the hits and kept walking, and walking, until they were past the boundaries of my picture window. The next scream I heard wasn't playful, or fun. It was loud, shrill, and filled with pain. It sent a spurt of adrenaline through my legs that twitched my calves, made me want to move, to help, to do anything but sit and watch those shadow covered bodies like they were some kind of T.V. show. But I didn't. I didn't help and I didn't move. Not when the screams suddenly cut off mid-sound, and not when that figure strolled back to the party, moving among the bodies like water between rocks. When the second figure moved into the crowd, ducking through the open front door to get inside, I backed away from the window. I backed up until my legs hit the edge of my bed, I moved around it until my fingertips brushed over her bedside table. I guess it was my bedside table, now. They both were. I couldn't stop the thoughts from flooding my mind, the questions. Was she safe? Were both of them? Did they catch the warning or were they doing something else at the time or were they too busy unpacking in their new home? That question pushed me down the stairs as quick and as silent as I can manage on wood steps, and to the front door. Through the cracks I could hear more blood-chilling screams that raised every little hair on my body. They were close. So close. Just beyond the thick wood, calling me forth. Calling me for help. I'm not a brave person, and I've never claimed to be such, but walking away from those screams, those terrified and agony filled sounds, brought such a wave of shame over me I thought I might fall through the earth and shoot out the other side at such a speed I'd be launched into the void of space. I didn't fall but I did stumble over my own feet. My shoulder hit the wall and sent a picture to the ground, the one from our trip to Alaska all those years ago. We wanted to see the northern lights, but only saw a lot of grey clouds and snow. The glass pane shattered over our smiling faces sending specks of sharp glitter to the hardwood floor. Each tiny shine seemed to be a wailing siren that singled my existence like a beacon in the night. When everything settled I stood frozen again. Listening. Waiting. Nothing came. Not that night. And in the morning I saw them, their bodies, littering the nearly trimmed yards of the neighborhood, left behind like discarded scraps. I could see some of them from my window. Blood that clung to grass, the sidewalk, the street, caught the early morning light and gave a dull shine. Some patches looked fresh while others were dark and brown, dry or something close to it. Limbs lay scattered like confetti, parts I couldn't discern lay in heaps. Seeing the carnage I still worked up the courage to leave the house, somehow. I had to know it wasn't part of a prank, that it was real. I had to know. I tied a couple sheets together, and to my bed, pulling the knots tight before opening the window. If it didn't hold the fall wouldn't kill me, probably, but I'd have to get the ladder from the shed out back. The dark shed. If tunnels were bad would all dark places be, as well? I shook the question away, storing it for later and pushed the screen out of the windowsill. It landed with a small sound and I leaned over the edge. It held, my makeshift rope. And I reached the yard with aching shoulders. A body lay in my near my driveway. Rich tawny skin glowing in the golden sunlight, deep black hair spread out around a bloody face. Camilla Greer from two houses down lay on her back, her black dress slick and torn to rags over her stomach. Bile kissed my tongue when I saw she was hollowed out, her meat and organs gone without a trace. Then I noticed her arm, barely clinging to the rest of her body with only a string of muscle. A gasp left me, echoed by someone down the block. Mr. Lok. Omar. The richly colored robe he wore, red with gold accents, hung loosely around his body, the sash laying near the steps of his porch. The thick cloth dragged behind him, through the stained grass, catching a couple times on the rough sidewalk as he stumbled over the edge of the curb into the street. I heard his quick breaths before he emptied his stomach next to a piece of glistening gore, and I watched him wipe tears from his wrinkled face. I watched him and heard others, all around us, waking and leaving their homes, taking in the horror that stained the neighborhood, one renowned for its safety. I watched them all as they remembered the parting words of that news anchor, the words that slid through my mind. ""Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."" It wasn't a joke, it wasn't a prank. It was real, and no one was coming to save us.",1544
 Caesar crumpled to his knees,"Caesar crumpled to his knees, clothes red, life ebbing into the floor around him. He tried to inhale and instead felt the unstoppable torrent of blood clogging his mouth. His voice failed him. He was dying. Again. Craning his neck up, he saw the next attack coming before it embedded itself in his chest. The handle of a dagger, golden, embellished with a myriad of jewels and gemstones, came into Caesar's vision, just below his heart. The dagger he'd given to his most trusted ally. ""Et tu, Brute?"" The now blurring figure of Brutus attempted to look somber. They failed, a smile breaking their lips. *'I should've known*', Caesar thought to himself. Brutus - no, *Aegis* - leaned in close to her lifelong foe, pressing her lips to his ear. *Her ear.* ""I win, my dear Eve."" ----- ""It seems my cover has been blown,"" Queen Elizabeth muttered, kicking up a cloud of ash with her foot. The simple motion sent a spasm of pain through her spine. Eve hated the Queen's form; old, decrepit, ostensibly every bit as unrelenting in dying as she was. 91 fucking years of marching towards death's door, never quite able to open it. Aegis - *or, rather, Betty White* - quirked a brow, a rare look of surprise crossing her features. ""My, my. That's quite the bit you've got yourself. I never would've guessed. Honest to God. You have a thing for monarchs, don't you?"" Elizabeth rubbed the scar under her heart. ""Power gets me things I want,"" she said blankly. ""Like daggers in the chest?"" ""It has its shortcomings."" ""I was genuinely surprised you survived that time, really. I'd been pretty damn thorough. Even went and celebrated."" Elizabeth grinned sheepishly. ""*Please.* We've both been through worse. Remember Romeo and Juliet?"" ""Oh, Christ, that's the last time I'm pretending to kill myself on your behalf."" Betty chuckled breezily, sitting herself down with a slight hiss of pain. Elizabeth copied, sitting opposite her on the ground. ""Gods, these forms are pathetic. What can a hag of a monarch do without subjects to command?"" ""Complain, evidently."" ""Screw you."" ""I *told* you to not remind me of Romeo and Juliet."" Elizabeth snickered, clicking her shoulders as she leaned back and forth. ""Hey, our little shenanigans made for a pretty good play."" ""Two of them, *Caesar*."" Betty stared at her partner pointedly. ""I don't like to think about that one. Makes me cry every time."" ""The pain or the fact I played you like a puppet?"" ""Both, really."" Betty clicked her tongue, holding up a hand as she fumbled through her inner-pockets. After an age, she produced two small vials, laying them on the ground between her and Elizabeth. ""Look, Liz - *Eve* - I know we've been at it for quite some time, so long I've forgotten all that matters. Even the thought of killing you has lost its novelty at this point."" ""I'm flattered."" ""But the fact is we both want the same thing. Truly. What else could we ask for after so many years?"" Elizbeth didn't take her eyes off the vials, the creases in her forehead becoming prominent as she furrowed her brows. ""This *can't* possibly be your new way of tricking me."" ""Look me in the eyes and tell me we don't want the same thing."" Elizabeth met her rival's unyielding gaze. In that moment, she felt wearier than she'd ever done before; as if every year, century and millennia she'd suffered all caught up to her at once. She keeled over, clenching her fists as a violent cough shook her body. ""Our curse,"" Betty muttered, her expression morose. ""The sad fact is, I don't think we can die in competition. Time has proven it an innumerable amount of times."" ""Then *how?*"" Elizbeth lurched forward, grabbing Betty by the collar. ""How the fuck can this all end, Aegis?! I'm tired. I'm weak. I've experienced every pleasure there is in existence, every form of suffering one can imagine; torture, heartbreak, betrayal, love, you name it. All of it with the hope that one day, one distant, singular, moment in the future, I'd be able to end it all. And you're telling me it'll never happen?"" Elizabeth let go of Betty, slumping against the ground, her face collapsing into the dirt. ""You and I both, Sister."" Elizabeth let out a low chuckle, although the sound was bitter. ""That's a new one."" ""Your existential dread has helped breed a little kinship, let us say."" ""*Dread* doesn't do it justice. Children dread the boogeyman. Adults dread unemployment and filing tax returns. I don't think there's any word that can explain what it really is. Nobody else has lived long enough to make it."" ""You're a real bore when you're like this, you know that?"" ""It's a side effect of life."" ""If you can call this one."" ""A *shitty* life. An everlife. An ever-shitty-life."" Betty had to try her best to not reach out and strangle Eve. ""Look, Eve, I didn't say we *can't die*. We can. Just not the way you might've envisioned it. I'm afraid to say there'll be no grand finale for us."" Elizabeth tilted her head to look at Betty. Her eyes were watery and bloodshot. ""I'll say it again. *How?*"" Betty picked up one of the vials on the ground, unscrewed its cork, and held it out to Elizabeth. ""*Together.* At each other's hand. Not from hatred, nor revenge, or suicide. Gods know we've tried. But as the one being we are; two birds of a feather, the sides of a coin. For as long as one of us draws breath, so will the other. And, no, I'm not intentionally referencing your favourite ill-fated couple here."" Elizabeth straightened up and took the vial, clasping it in her hands. Betty picked up the other, unscrewing it as well. ""How do I know this isn't another ploy?"" Elizabeth asked as she rested her own above her lips. It was ridiculous for Betty to think she could build trust on a foundation as lofty as their relationship. And now of all times. Betty shook her head, pulling forward Elizabeth's hand so that the vial was instead near herself. ""I said it before. We've both faced the tribulations of immortality. We made a game of it for a time, sure, but there's nothing to laugh at here. This is it. Freedom."" Betty moved her own vial forwards, locking her arm around Elizabeth's. She gulped, her arm shaking. *Freedom*. The word, in all of her years, had almost lost all meaning to Elizabeth. At the beginning, it had quite literally costed her heaven, her wings, all notions of happiness, scarce as they were. Beyond that, so many lives had been lost in revolutions staked on that vacuous idea, countless more in the pursuit of personal liberty, and, of course, she knew that hope was the greatest plague of them all for both mortals and immortals alike. What was it all for? That was life, she'd concluded. A ceaseless, ridiculous practice in futility. A wish for change that never came. ""Freedom,"" she said, just for the pleasure of hearing it. ""Maybe there's an afterlife."" ""For us? Probably not."" ""I hope there isn't one,"" Elizabeth said. ""As do I."" Elizabeth gave Betty a quizzical look, reassessing the woman she'd known for so many lifetimes. ""God, I hate myself for believing you right now."" ""I know."" ""You better not be lying."" ""I promise."" ""*Ha*, good one."" Elizabeth bit her quivering lip, tilting her head back. Betty mirrored the motion. ""Not with a bang, but with a whimper,"" Betty whispered, a girlish grin on her features. ""Fitting,"" Elizabeth echoed. The world was so quiet, but for the two of them. Together, Eve and Aegis tossed back the contents of each vial. Together, they collapsed to the ground. Together, the beat of their immortal hearts began to still. ""*W- we've won*,"" Eve said, tears streaking her eyes as she reached out to clasp her sister's hand. ""*So many fucking years...*"" Aegis clutched her sister tightly, unable to summon up the strength to respond. Seconds later, her grasp loosened. The world became silent.",1359
" Ware, Eliz and Rile","""I can't believe you can't just fireball the damned thing,"" said Ware as he paced the room. The sound of his boots echoed across their furnished chamber, his massive shadow flickering across the wall as he combated his nerves. ""What use is a mage without his staff."" ""Quit pacing,"" hissed Rilea, her slender features sharpened as an arrowhead. She turned her gaze back to the copper door handle. ""You keep blocking the fireplace, and I can't make out the lock."" ""At least let me have a go at smashing it in,"" Ware said. He cracked his knuckles and scanned the massive stone chamber. ""The couch would make a proper ram."" Eliz sighed, taking off his mage's cap and massaging his temples. They'd been holed up in the Dark Lord's bedchambers for three days now, and his crew's nerves were rightfully shot. Every hour they remained captured, more citizens of the Empire fell, and the spiderweb of the Dark Lord's influence crept further and further towards the heart of civilization. The general mood was only compounded by the fact that the Dark Lord hadn't put them to death. It appeared, in fact, that he made every effort to do quite the opposite and draw out a strange form of torture. Daily provisions were escorted by orcs, who toted silver platters of lavish food, bowing low as they entered. Every morning, Eliz shifted uncomfortably under their smiling gaze. They asked if he'd prefer a glass of orange juice, or perhaps an extra side of bacon. Eliz and others ignored every question until at last they'd leave. *Christ. A smiling orc*, he'd thought to himself. The sight was so strange. Every night they slept in fits. The Dark Lord had furnished the chambers with lavish silk and bearskin, and in their dreams he came to them with a flagon of ale. ""Sit, my friend,"" he said without fail. ""Let's have a talk."" The tone in his voice was enough to drive Eliz mad. That first morning, they'd decided as a crew not to hear a damned word the vile man had to say. Ware crouched at the end of a plush couch, gripping the brass leggings. With a deep huff, he began scraping the thing towards the thick doorframe. Eliz walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. ""Ware, enough. You'll bring every beast in the stronghold down upon us."" ""I just want to *do* something,"" Ware said. ""Before that demented *freak* haunts my dreams again."" Eliz opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a sharp *Click* ""I've got it!"" said Rilea. She stood up and brushed off her knees and turned to the others, beaming. The bedchamber door slid open with a creak. Beyond lay the stone hallway of the Dark Lord's castle, dark and damp, patrolled by a myriad of ghouls, vampires, ogres, and other monstrosities. Eliz sprung right into his role. ""Alright, Ware you're on point. Take down anything in our way. But *quietly*. We've got a labyrinth to navigate, but if we play this correctly we could be in the lower tunnels before they know what's happening. Rilea you watch our six while Trey and I..."" ""I'm not going,"" Trey, the cleric, said from the corner. He was sitting beside the fireplace on the bear skin rug with his knees to his chest, face half cast in shadow. ""I'm tired of running."" ""It's not shameful to regroup,"" Eliz said. ""We are not yet defeated."" ""You don't understand,"" said Trey. ""We've been running since we've been born."" ""Oh for Christ's sake,"" said Ware. ""Now's *not* the time."" ""That's just it,"" Trey continued. ""We're beholden to time. Running from it. Counting how much of it remains. Think about it--the Dark Lord isn't spreading pain and destruction. He's ending it. No zombie ever looks over their shoulder, trembling at the thought of the cold hand of death pulling them from their family. No Banshee loses sleep over the thought of not finding their next meal before their children starve."" Rilea stepped forward. She stooped low, examining Trey's pallid face. ""His mind's been tainted by some dark spellmaking."" Eliz nearly ordered Ware to pick up the poor lad, so they might hoist him back to the Capital where they might seek treatment. He'd known Trey to be the philosophical sort, prone to moodiness, but this seemed another matter entirely. The lad was pale and sweating. But then again, behind his eyes he appeared perfectly lucid. ""I've been put under no curse. I feel like, for the first time, perhaps one might be lifted."" ""You traitorous bastard,"" Ware said. ""The empire will fall."" ""Look around you Ware. What *chaos* has the Dark Lord's anarchy wrought? What taxes condemn the poor to a lifetime of misery? What soldiers abuse their power and rank upon the general populace? Tell me, Ware, for I see nothing of the sort."" ""He's put innocent civilians to death you idiot,"" said Ware coldly. ""His army has chewed out their hearts well before their *time*, which you keep going on about."" Trey gulped. ""He's assured me that's not the case. Only those who raise arms against him are retaliated against."" ""You spoke with him?!"" Ware said. ""You son of a bitch!"" Eliz stepped between them before something broke out. Rilea held Ware at bay, barely, while Eliz crouched so that he might examine Trey further. Trey could hardly meet his gaze. ""You'd condemn us to death,"" whispered Eliz. ""What shall we do without our cleric? What shall *I* do without my friend?"" ""There are other clerics in the capital,"" Trey said meagerly. Then his face brightened. He looked Eliz straight in the eyes. ""Or perhaps you'll join us."" ""It's *us* now already, is it?"" said Ware, red in the face. He pushed Eliz out of the way and punched Trey square in the jaw. The lad crumpled in a heap upon the stone floor. Ware pounced, attacking with a pent up rage Eliz had never before seen. It took the added strength of Rilea to pull the man off of him. Ware stood, panting, as Trey lay in a bloody heap. Trey wretched, coughing up blood--a poor, miserable shell of his former self. Eliz's heart sank. ""He's beyond saving,"" Eliz said. ""Come, let's go."" The three of them shuffled out into the hallway, leaving Trey whimpering in the corner. Eliz met his eyes, once more, just as he pushed the door closed. ""Goodbye,"" he whispered. ""You poor, poor fool."" _________________________________________ In the morning, the Dark Lord came. His black cape trailed behind him as he entered carrying a lavish silver platter of bacon, sandwiches and fruit. He saw Trey's purpled face and paused. ""They've left, I presume?"" ""They have,"" Trey replied. Every word struck him with a renewed bout of pain. The Dark Lord set the massive platter down. ""I had hoped you'd show them my perspective,"" he said. ""It's a shame to see such heroic souls condemn themselves."" Trey said nothing. The Dark Lord sighed. ""Very well. Perhaps they'll see the light, before the end."" He gestured towards the platter. ""Would you like a final meal?"" ""No, thank you. I'm ready."" The Dark Lord nodded. He withdrew a slender black staff warbled as a swamp willow. The crimson jewel fashioned to its apex began to glow softly, and the Dark Lord spoke an incantation Trey had never before heard. Then, he abruptly stopped. The light faltered, and the Dark Lord said, ""You never told me what you'd like to be."" ""Oh! I hadn't put a thought to it,"" Trey said. Then, through the sharp pain, he smiled. ""Make me a ghost. I've always wanted to fly."" ------------------- r/M0Zark",1281
 Death was left with only one option,"Clement shuffled in his chair, bones creaking with every movement. Face tense and focused, Clement held his piece between his thumb and forefinger, eying the state of the game board. He moved his Knight forward, opening up a discovery check from his bishop. Death was left with only one option. Death slid his King into a corner, knowing full well what was coming next. Clement moved his idle rook forward from his opened backlines, across the board in one fell swoop. ""I believe that's Checkmate,"" he said, the tension draining from his face. He leaned back into his seat, a wry smile spreading on his thin lips. ""So, now what? Death was at a loss for words. The skeletal figure remained fixated on the board, unwavering, eerily silent. Clement let the entity stew for a moment; the last thing he wanted to do was incur the ire of Death itself. It was a long time until Death spoke, his voice low and gravelly, ostensibly no louder than a whisper, but one that carried in the wind, echoed in the silence. ""Well, this is... *unprecedented*."" Clement felt a chill run down his spine. Death's skeletal fingers traced the edge of the chessboard, the carved wood beginning to age and wither, crumpling into barely visible remains. And even those disappeared when Death let go, leaving nothing but an empty table. ""Do you want some time to think?"" Clement asked, keeping his voice soft. The entity was as old as time itself, but, even then, he bore the mannerisms of a child; he'd basked in each piece he'd stolen from Clement, fumed at every loss. Perhaps it was perverse, but Clement felt an odd responsibility for him. Who knew what would happen if the arbiter of passing were to lose his temper? ""There's no thinking to be done!"" Death sat up, wisps of shadowy tendrils curling out from under his cloak. ""*You* - you should've lost, old man!"" He raised an accusatory finger, which Clement lightly pushed away. The old man smiled, the creases on his face protruding as he met the entity's eyes - or, rather, eye *sockets.* ""We all lose eventually; that's just life."" ""I'm *Death*, I don't lose."" Clement didn't speak. Instead, he just diverted his gaze to the table between them, arching a brow. ""As I said, this is unprecedented. You're just a mere mortal; Fischer, Tal, Botvinnik - I've beaten all your champions. *Each and every one of them.* The moment you sat down, destiny should've dictated your loss. The deck was stacked, the game rigged."" Clement chuckled wheezily, hitting his chest to gather himself once the laugh became a violent cough. ""I'm used to that. We all are."" ""*We?*"" ""Everyone."" ""Are you trying to be smart, old man?"" ""No, not at all. What you just said, though. It's true, all of it. I'm just a man - bloody old, at that. I played chess once or twice with my grandson, and he made a fool of me both times. I had a big family, you know? All the way to great-grandkids. Imagine that! *Great* grandchildren. And yet, all that, all those faces, all of them, they're just a blink in time's eye. It's sobering to think."" Death paused, the tendrils around him pulsating, a silent threat. He didn't talk. For once, he listened. Clement continued. ""But it's not easy. Living. To care long enough to see your family through for so long. At some point, most people my age just get jaded. They cease to care; the aches become too sharp, the nights too sleepless, the children too loud. Fact is, you can have it all, and, even then, life will make a loser of you. Somehow. I guess what I'm trying to say is, God, man, genius, we all have the same weakness: life itself."" Clement smiled bitterly, his eyes sparkling as he looked up to Death once more. ""Are you implying that I'm discontent, mortal?"" Clement simply tapped his nose. ""All I'm saying is, play me again and you'll find out. Don't hold back now. A life is only worth living at its fullest."" ----- Death flicked Clement's King off of the board, watching it tumble to the ground. He'd won in two moves. *Two moves.* A fool's mate; the most simple blunder in Chess to avoid, tantamount to knowing not to put a fork in a toaster. And the damn man was grinning. Worst of all, Death felt hollow. The victory gave him no pleasure, if anything, Clement seemed happier than ever. ""Why are you smiling, old man?! You just forfeited your soul with that blunder."" ""I know!"" Clement laughed, slapping his knee. ""But, really, does that make you happy? Come now, be honest with me, Death."" Death flinched. Nobody spoke to him in such a direct manner. ""If I'm to be rid of your vacuous philosophy, then, yes, I'm happy. You're worse than Nietzsche. Man constantly tried to deny my existence."" Clement's smile dropped some, although it didn't quite fade. ""I see. Well, hopefully you learnt a thing or two then. I suppose I'll be off. How does this work, do you -?"" Death extended his hand, a black scythe materialising in his grip, the curved tip running along Clement's neck. ""Oh..."" ""Just one slice, and it'll all be over. You'll feel *nothing.* No pain, no sensation. Just *nothing.*"" ""Scary,"" Clement muttered dryly. ""You don't sound scared."" ""Mhm."" Death looked down at the chessboard, keeping his weapon fixed at Clement's throat. The first game between them *had* been fun. It was almost a shame to have to see the man off. He lowered his scythe. ""We're one for one, yes?"" Clement nodded. ""Sit down, old man. Best of three. I want to see if you can replicate your first fluke."" ""Very well, but you'll have to promise me something!"" Death turned his head. ""*What* would you dare demand of me?"" ""Clement. My name's Clement."" The old man extended a hand. ""I'm afraid I'm not particularly good at chess, so you'll have to excuse my blunders."" After a brief hesitation, Death took his hand, shaking it firmly. ""You know who I am."" ""All too well."" Together, they sat down and played. The man was right, Death had been discontent. Eons had made a monster of him. Sure, he'd indulged in finding new ways to torment and massacre the mortals he shepherded but, ultimately, it'd been for nothing. Winning wasn't fun. His ever-life as guardian of the damned brought him no joy. *This* was fun. Having an opponent. Having a meaning, one to keep. Death sacrificed his Queen, and let the man win again. ---- **EDIT:** Woh, thank you so much for the gild! I just went to sleep and this seriously blew up. **EDIT 2:** Ahhhhh another one! You guys are honestly the best - I'm glad you enjoyed my piece. I have a subreddit if you want to read any of my further works - /r/coffeeandwriting. I haven't uploaded in some time, but I think soon enough I shall.",1176
 Death stared Jake because he had won,"Staring contest. No, it wasn't really decided that they would have one, it just happened. Death stared Jake because he had won against him. Something that had never happened before. Jake stared Death in anticipation of a reward. ""Well, Jake, that's a new,"" Death finally said, giving out a louder sigh. ""I figured,"" Jake responded, a wide grin appearing on his face. ""I'm a first?"" Death was irritated, but he gave Jake his slow nod. ""So, what did I win? Will I go back to earth and continue living? Or am I going to heaven?"" Death frowned. ""Neither,"" he hissed, ""you weren't supposed to win..."" Jake raised his eyebrows. ""Ah. That's reassuring."" He stood up and looked around the room. It was cosy room. There was fireplace next to the chess table and everything was neatly clean. It was as he was in a royalty room during the medieval era. ""Yet I did."" ""Yes. You did,"" Death confirmed again. ""What would you want?"" Jake looked towards Death and started to think. ""I want to go to the heaven,"" he proposed. Death sighed. ""Impossible,"" he rejected his proposal almost instantly. ""Why?"" ""You're supposed to go to hell. This can't be changed,"" he explained. ""What? Come on, what did I do wrong?"" Jake asked. ""Well, putting the long story short, you were an ass. Your entire life."" Jake started to grin. ""Well,"" he leaned against nearby fireplace stone. It was warm. ""Life was an ass to me, as well,"" he protested. ""Either way, I can't change where you go. I'm Death, not Judge,"" Death explained. ""Wait, there's Judge?"" Jake asked. ""You met her already. You just lost your memories of her,"" Death frowned again. Then he started to laugh. It was a creepy laugh. ""You did cry the whole time like a little bitch though."" ""Too... much... info!"" Jake whispered. ""Sorry~,"" Death laughed again. ""So, what do you want? Keep asking."" ""I want to become your apprentice!"" Jake said after a short period of thinking. Death raised his eyebrow as a response. ""I did beat you in chess. Maybe I'd become better Death than you,"" Jake laughed. ""Maybe it was just a luck?"" Death started rubbing his chin. ""Best of 3?"" Jake offered the unbelievable. It's not like there was nothing for him to lose. ""If I win, you'll make me your apprentice. If I lose, we'll call the previous win a fluke and I'll move on,"" he looked straight into Death's eyes. Jake was terrified, still, he had to do something. ""You're a smart man, Jake. This way you avoid hell,"" Death responded. ""It's an interesting proposal. I've never felt that excited before. Plus, it gives me a chance to keep my honour as a winner."" Death rubbed his chin even more. Slowly his skin started to melt, bones showed up. Jake took few steps back, terrified of the vision. He started to realise what he had just done. It was Death after all. ""Deal. That means I'll put all of my focus into that game!"" he announced and stared at Jake for him to take his seat. Jake began to seat himself while looking at that new bone face. ""Does that really includes removing your... I don't know what that is... your mask?"" ""Oh, no. That's just to distract you..."" &nbsp; *** &nbsp; ""Checkmate,"" Jake announced, looking now straight skull of his opponent. Quite literally. Death was leaning back, still showing the signs of his thinking. He was rubbing his chin bone. ""Damn,"" he whispered. ""You did it. On a second game, I thought it was really a fluke..."" ""Booyah!"" Jake stood up and shouted. He turned around and watched Death. ""Never mess with me! I'm the very best! Nobody can beat me!"" Death laughed and looked towards Jake. ""Now is the moment you reveal, that you're the chess world champion or something."" ""Oh, no, none of those,"" Jake responded. ""I'm a simple man. Still better, than you, though."" Death laughed again, even though this time the laugh involved skull mouth just moving up and down. ""I did beat every single chess world champion, you know? I think those were times I really did try to beat them,"" Death said with a nod. ""So, I have finally been beaten,"" the skull just looked ceiling, while Jake slowly seated himself back in his own chair. Skin started to reappear on Death's face. Jake was confused. Death was smiling, not crying. ""I remember when I won against my master, over 9 thousand years ago,"" he said, looking now towards Jake. ""I understand now what he was feeling when I won."" He stood slowly up and took hold of his nearby scythe. It was a really sharp object. Jake had forgotten that it even was in that room. ""What are you talking about?"" Jake was confused. Death should be maddened by his loss. Why is he smiling? Why did he start talking about his own victory? ""I have tried to lose every single time, just so that somebody would win, for once. Just that maybe my mad days would be over. I never managed to lose again... till now, of course."" He stood up and the room started to change. It turned into streets and buildings. People appeared out of nowhere. Busses drove through them. They were in the middle of a very busy street. Jake wasn't sure where they were, not that it mattered, at all. ""Do you see those humans, Jake?"" Death said, looking around. ""They *all* need to be reaped. Every... single.. one of them. Not now, but at some point."" He then suddenly slashed his scythe through a passing car, which then changed its course and crashed into another car. Death scythed its sharp blade through the other car as well. A white orbs came out of those cars and flew towards Death, entering the Scythe. Jake was paralysed. He couldn't move. Tears burst out of his eyes and he just looked towards the car accident. People gathering around those cars. Some were even screaming. In some sense, Jake was blessed that he didn't see inside the car. ""Do you understand now Jake? This is the view you'll have to see thousands and thousands of years."" Jake fell on his knees. He still looked at the car. Slowly he whispered, ""This is... worse than hell, isn't it? This is..."" ""Death,"" Death said. ---- (/r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to check out for past or future writings)",1076
" ""Sarah, you have a beautiful","I come into the world, a sweaty, smelly, sticky and entirely unpleasant affair. It's slightly worse than going down a waterslide in the seventh circle of hell. The logic behind forgetting your early childhood begins to makes a great deal of sense because this stuff is thoroughly disturbing. I can feel the mental scars developing already. Once the doctor cleans whatever...the gunk...all over me is away, he stares down at me, shining a light in my eyes. He looks a bit concerned, and I regard him cooly, trying to figure out what the hell his problem is. Clearly it wasn't enough to survive the torture tunnel. Then, after a minute, it dawns of me. I begin to wail at the top of my lungs and immediately defecate in his hand. Naturally, his eyes alight with joy at these developments. ""Sarah, you have a beautiful healthy baby boy, and"" he grins at this, ""the plumbing is working just fine."" He holds up his hand, displaying the black mess proudly. The nurses clap, congratulating the new mother. I'm getting a bit squeamish at all of this. When I elected for New Game+ I knew there'd be some interesting trials and tribulations, but I had sort of imagined they would skip the tutorial and drop me in after this point. I sigh inwardly, trying to collect my thoughts. Before I have much of a chance I am put into a tiny blanket prison and deposited into my mothers arms. I can't even wiggle. She looks down at me, a worn but happy look on her face. ""Oh Jedediah, I'm so happy to meet you."" Wait, what? JEDEDIAH? What kind of name is that? I'm going to be a Jed? I begin to wail in earnest at this, feeling like I had made a horrible mistake. They said the difficulty increased in New Game+, but this was ridiculous. No one hires a Jedediah, I'm going to need to get a double wide now. Wails fill the room, my face turning blue. Mom, smiles, ""I know what baby needs."" Bam! Boob in my mouth. No asking. No consent forms. Of course, this isn't exactly an unwelcome development, but it's a bit disconcerting to think of it as a milk carton rather than something I want to motorboat. I decide to roll with the punches on this one, boobs are fun, the milk seems pretty decent and I could use a coffee break. I needed to update the strat, this Jed thing being a big curve ball. ""Oh, he's hungry all right. He must be after that big boy poot."" The Doctor offers. Seriously, what's wrong with that guy? Seemed like some therapy might be in order, but I restrained the desire to express my thoughts on the matter. One slip up on New Game+ and they zeroed your score out. I wasn't about to make a mistake like that before I made it out of the delivery room. Nope, I was going the distance on this one. I already had big plans to put my early allowance into crypto, make a real run at the market. This baby was heading straight for the leaderboard. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the boob milk. Right after lunch that is. --- This is for /u/ShadowKiller147741. A brand shiny new Part 2. If the quality is substantially diminished, you may lay the blame squarely at his/her/it/they's doorstep. **PART DEUX** Little known baby fact. They sleep 38 hours a day. Now, I'm no stranger to the occasional cat nap, but I have to say my productivity has taken a major hit keeping up the baby pretense. First thought was to fake it, just close my eyes and wait for her to leave the room so I could get back to architecting out my five year plan. But technology has made some serious strides since I was last filling diapers. Mom has put in place a surveillance system that would make Putin blush. She's got me on this movement sensing pad that tells her my vitals and whether or not I am getting ""restful slumber"". Then there's the video cam, which is about six inches from my face and I can literally hear it zooming in while she screwing around with the control in the other room. I mean, this is some seriously Orwellian shit going on here in this crib. I'm afraid that even thinking is going to trigger a ""restful slumber"" alarm and then I'm going to get re-blanket imprisoned (after I had finally managed to break myself free). Guantanamo Bay was beginning to look like a vacation at this point. Now, I'm trying to keep a cool head about this. I'm in this for the long game. Last life didn't go great and New Game+ was a challenge I undertook willingly. But, I just going to say it: this is some seriously messed up stuff. I can't believe kids put up with this crap. It's totally out of control. The only plus side of this entire affair is the constant boob play, but even that's starting to wear on me a bit. I mean, it's all a lot less attractive when you're getting force fed around the clock. All of this internal strife was creating a fair bit of anxiety, which led to the indignity of a diaper rash, an ear infection and a fever. For all of the advancements in surveillance tech, there has been SURPRISINGLY LITTLE advancement in how a baby gets it's temperature taken. The indignity is real. Emotional stuff all around. And now I'm crying again. A few moments later and mom comes bursting through the door. ""I know baby, momma's sorry you're feeling bad. I'm here to help."" She removes the swaddle and carries me over to the changing table. ""Let's just see what's happening down in diaper land."" She pulls out the thermometer, with what can only be described as a malicious gleam in her eye. I think she might be a psychopath. Sighhhhh.....this is going to be a long road to the leaderboard. --- Due to the highly improper and deeply unfair pressures of /u/NickKenobi1112, /u/ShadowKiller147741, /u/NaeltaLaCrea, /u/SaltyEmotions, /u/CrimsinPaladin and /u/Mother_V, I have written a third part. It was written under duress and my emotional state is hanging by a thread. I'm building out the universe at this point, preparing for the eventual movie with /u/Mother_V as my agent. /u/Shadowkiller147741 is my bodyguard. /u/SaltyEmotions is the doctor from part one because I don't trust 'em. **LE PART THREE** When you die, it's not like what you expect. There aren't any pearly gates, there is no everlasting hellfire (which was where I fully expected to go after a particularly unfortunate incident with a ice dispenser in middle school). Nope. There's just a fade to black and then a number. It's a bit disconcerting at first, but then the gamemasters pop into the frame and explain it all. Well, not all of it, they just say that you have died, that the number is your score and what percentile you ranked. You can elect to restart, transcend or go for a New Game+. Apparently the last option isn't recommended for novice users, which my last score seemed to indicate I was. No one puts baby in the corner. No one. I slammed the New Game+ button and a moment later I was in the hell tunnel being dumped out into the world for another go. I think the backstory is important here, because you gotta understand that if this is all about getting the high score then discipline is key. You see, I didn't know that the first time around, I just figured I got one life so I might as well optimize for fun, not the score I was gonna get on the game over. So you can imagine my disappointment when I got the black screen before I even hit college, the time I was sure I was going to hit my prime. All of those glorious plans cut short by an ill advised mashup of the wood chipper challenge and the Tide pod challenge for my YouTube Channel. Shame really, I was creating some ART on that one. So, it's a bit frustrating for me right now. I literally know the meaning of life (get dat leaderboard) and I have the motor skills and knowledge of an eighteen year old but I am now entering the fourth hour of vibrating swing torture. I'm beginning to wonder who makes these contraptions. Every aspect of being a baby seems designed to dehumanize me and ultimately break my will to live. The fact that I could scream out at any moment and just tell everyone that I'm actually Aiden, **not Jedidiah**, and that they need to start treating me with some god damned respect, makes the humiliation that much worse. Also, I've got concerns about my prospective home life. Mom and dad are *not* handling the baby situation in a way that's making me think I'm going to get the full nuclear family experience here. Mom's busting her ass, dropping thousands of boob-calories down my gullet every day and Dad is just slamming brews in the background. I'm not an expert on relationship dynamics, well I kinda am for a baby, but I'm beginning to think that two plus two equals two Christmases. I think that math checks out. ""Philip, I could really use some help here. Baby Jay-Jay (oh god smite me please) is going to be getting up soon and I need to pump."" Mom has that exhausted crazy tone in her voice again. That tone that says I'm going to drive me and the baby off a cliff just to spite your lazy ass Phil. ""Hun, it is LITERALLY the last three minutes of the game here. You know I don't miss the Cougars when they play."" His eyes never leave the TV, a misplay on his part. I've seen enough of their interactions to know he could probably stall for the three minutes if he gave her a glance of reassurance, but the game is close and so he blows it. I wait for them to start screaming before I start up myself. Screw Phil, he's a dick and I'm going all in on team mom right now. ""See what you did Phil? See? You woke him up now."" I wail a bit longer until mom picks me up and puts a pacifier in my mouth. I take the opportunity to glare at Phil over her shoulder and flip him the bird. He blinks at me in surprise and then settles back to watch his game. ""Knew that kid was a mistake..."" --- Platypus out. **Edit: is on /r/perilousplatypus. Redditwebs says I can't go over 10k characters. They don't want you to be happy. Take it up with them.**",1811
 Satan appeared before the United Nations General,"Satan stood before the anxious dignitaries of the United Nations General Assembly. The destruction of Bhutan by Jesus Christ had everyone on the edge of their seats, worried that their home country may be next. The initial excited uproar at Jesus' appearance had settled into a grim silence as he began his bloodshed. All efforts to stop him had proven unsuccessful. Just when all hope was lost, the Morning Star appeared, an enormous red being with thick, curved horns, a swishing tail, and an immaculately crafted three piece suit. Countries housing Christian majorities had been largely unwilling to countenance parlaying with the creature, figuring that they would largely spared. This position was reconsidered when Jesus set a Christian tour bus on fire in Malaysia. Current consensus was that Jesus was enforcing strict Old Testament rules. We're talking Leviticus here. If you've ever worn fabric with mixed threads, you're toast -- Lulu Lemon stock took a huge hit on this revelation. Since most folks were on the wrong side of the Good Book even if they lived by it, alternatives were welcomed. Enter Lucifer, his preferred name, though he would also respond to Mr. Satan as well. Straightening his tie, Satan cleared his throat and took a small sip of water. As the liquid hit his mouth, long tendrils of steam rose up, curling around the horns on his head. He sighed and smacked his lips, it had been a long time since he had water. ""I have been invited to speak here by the Security Counsel for the purpose of explaining what you are now facing and offering my assistance."" A button clicks and a large picture appears behind him, showing the planet Earth. ""This is your home. It was a gift to you from the Creator of the Universe. Many of you have a creation myth about how you have come to be here and I will simply state that Christianity is the closest anyone has gotten to sticking the landing on that front. There have been some pretty liberal embellishments in the piece you call the Bible, but the essence of there being a Creator and him having a son, Jesus, is correct."" There's a stir at this. It was an odd thing to have your faith replaced by a fact. In some cases, the desire to deny the reality was nearly overwhelming, but each ambassador knew their country could hang in the balance. Debates over religion needed to take a back seat to the logistical realities created by an unstoppable Juggernaut Jesus. Another click, this time showing three separate realms: Heaven, Earth, and Hell. ""Traditional Christianity, along with many other religions, has a concept of three realms. One dedicated to life and the other two dedicated to outcomes based upon how that life was lived."" His tail swishes about at this, ""In this dynamic, I am the ruler of the place called Hell, which is dedicated to all of those who have mortally sinned in their lives."" He shakes his head and snorts, ""A fairy tale, let me assure you."" Click. The picture of the three realms remains, but a new image is laid over it, showing lines connecting the three realms. ""There are three realms, but they are interconnected, just not in the way you might think."" Click. A picture of a flock of sheep with a shepherd tending to them. Click. A picture of a large herd of cattle being led to a slaughter house. Click. A picture of hamburger. ""You will recall that much of the Bible discusses the tending to a flock. Scholars and believers have long viewed this as a parable. Preferring to view the kindly shepherd as a benevolent force filled with love,"" a long, tired sigh, ""I'm afraid this is a misunderstanding except to the extent that each of you is very much livestock."" Outrage at this. Everyone begins screaming. Little country flags are tossed at the stage. Uproar. Chaos. A great black penumbra extends from the Devil, frightening the ambassadors into silence. They were talkers, not fighters. ""I expect this comes as a rude surprise. But it is really quite clear if you consider it for a moment. All of those teachings about caring for one another, all of those commandments, they were all designed to minimize herd attrition. If you are loving one another, you are not killing one another, which means that there will be more of you available for slaughter."" A broad smile crossed his face, revealing elongated incisors and a forked tongue that flickered back and forth. ""Of course, I can offer you an alternative."" --- This second part is dedicated to the noble commentators that asked for a second part. Each of you is a special unique butterfly and I tip my platypus bill to you /u/George_S_Patton_III, /u/Zeno_The_Alien, /u/BriefCoat, /u/Ithrawn, /u/loijuh, /u/RhysNorro, and /u/Tephra022 **PART 2: THE RESURRECTION (OF THE STORY)** An odd silence settled over the crowd, each wondering whether the cure might be worse than the disease. Sure, Jesus was an unstoppable force of destruction, but he could only be in one place at a time. Who knew what the Devil might have in store for them? Surely there must be some basis for his position as the lord of sin. The swishing tail and enormous horns weren't helping matters. It was Mohamed Siad Doualeh, Ambassador from Djibouti, who broke the silence. ""You have not stopped the threat from Jesus. You have not shown us mercy. Why should we trust you Sir?"" Sweat poured from his brow as he spoke, though his voice carried with only the slightest tremble. As one the spectators turned to look back at Satan, who was busy adjusting the cufflinks on his neatly tailored dress shirt. ""Why, it's quite simple Ambassador Doualeh, I seen an opportunity for profit and I intend to take it. Thankfully, my solution will benefit all parties involved. I will simply provide Jesus with what he requires at an attractive price, freeing you from his carnage."" ""What does the Christ require?"" ""The answer is simple. You are livestock being harvested. He requires meat for Heaven. The angels are quite voracious and God has a stranglehold on the protein pipeline."" Another click and the image changes to a neat diagram showing the Earth with an arrow leading to a meat processing plant controlled by Conglomerated God Inc. and then another arrow with a bunch of steaks heading on to Heaven. ""Of course, the margins on meat have been narrowed, what with the constant work God has had to put in to keep you from destroying Earth,"" he waves a hand around in the air, ""you know, pollutants, nuclear weapons, that sort of thing, all of it costs money and time to prevent. Why, I have it on good authority that this very culling is being done purely to hit Q1 reporting guidelines."" Again there is an explosion of activity amongst the crowd. Nikki Haley, Ambassador from the United States, pushes her way to the fore, her voice projecting across the room, ""We are NOT meat Sir."" Satan yawns expansively, his tongue flicking about. ""Indeed, humans are the top of the food chain. It is we who that determines what is food."" Lucifer smiles and shrugs, ""You want to tell that to Jesus?"" Nikki opens her mouth again, but nothing comes out. She sits down, a sullen look on her face. ""Now, I'm prepared to offer Jesus and God Inc. a substantial discount on replacement meat from Hell -- we're a net exporter you see -- but I'll need your commitment on one thing."" Murmurs. Whispers. What could the Devil want? Sex slaves? Forced labor? The list of misery could be endless. ""While we in Hell are meat rich, we are quite entertainment poor and we require some way to pass the time."" Leaning into his microphone, he lets his condition be known, ""I will stop the Christ, but I would like the right to total surveillance of the entire human race."" Again silence. But then...a single person laughing. Moments later a chorus of guffaws, giggles and chortles ensued. Satan's smoldering eyes raise at this, angered at their insolence. ""What's the meaning of this? Do you dare defy me? I shall leave you to the Christ."" Nikki scrambles up and waves her hands about, ""Oh no, that's not it at all. We accept your condition."" Satan raises a smokey eyebrow, ""Oh? So quickly? Why's that?"" Nikki smiles and gives a shrug of her own, ""We already sold our souls to the devil on that front long ago."" Her comment set a historic first by being the top story with the most Likes on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat simultaneously. The internet, in a rare moment of unity, agreed she had totally outfoxed the Morning Star. ""We only have one request."" Satan crosses his arms, thoroughly confused at this point. ""What?"" ""Don't sell ads."" Cheers broke out across the assembly. --- Platypus out. **Edit: 1:20am Pacific. Crashing. Awesome you folks like this stuff. I'll put up a part three tomorrow over on /r/perilousplatypus.** **Edit 2: Part 3 is up on /r/perilousplatypus.**",1525
" When I leave Point A, it","Assassin isn't a profession you just fall in to. It's a way of life. An art form really. Some folks use paintbrushes, I use guns. Or knives. Sometimes shiruken. I'm getting off track, the point is that when I leave Point A, it's a straight line to someone dying at Point B. And that's the way I like it. I'm good at something. I bet mom would be proud, she always had high hopes for her eldest. Get a career. Meet a girl. Have some kids. Well guess what mom? Got the career. I'm pulling down a solid seven digit income with a matching 401k. Healthcare too. I've been with the same outfit for the better part of a decade. That's a respectable stint in my line of business, made more so by the fact that I've had 38 consecutive successful missions. No aborts. No misses. Hell, I've even gotten to the point where I do special requests. I had one client ask to off their ex with their wedding album. Gruesome stuff, divorces. Half the reason I wasn't on the market. That and Tinder is a total disaster. It's Monday, so I'm not surprised to see the envelope land in my inbox. Mondays are my heaviest days. Lots of couples pissed off from the weekend looking for a bit of revenge. Others just like to get a jump start on their to\-do list. Either way, the envelope is here and I'm in business. I scan the particulars, standard CEO hit. Some tech startup girl by the looks of things. It's a shame too, she's on the right side of the attractiveness bell curve. Hate to see her go out like this...wait, how did they want her to go out? Oh for the love of god. Seriously? This is gonna get messy. A waders and poncho mission if there ever was one. Why wasn't it enough to just kill someone? Why did you need to bring gardening shears into it? I pack up and head home for prep. My house is orderly because cleanliness is close to godliness and I like to keep my enemies close. Thankfully I've got a spare pair of shears so I'm ready in record time, which is good since this is a rush job. I get an extra 30&#37; if I take care of business within the next two hours. That bonus would go a long way to shoring up those crypto losses. Can't believe Bitconnect was a ponzi scheme. It really seemed like a sure thing. A hop, skip and a jump later, I'm where I need to be. No, literally, I hopped over a fence, skipped past the guard dog and jumped over the modern day equivalent of a moat. This girl was paranoid. Well, not paranoid, someone *was* out to get her. I finally catch sight of her at her kitchen table staring at her computer. She's alone and dressed in this little nightie thing. I like nightie things. They were sexy without trying too hard. Balance in all things I always say. For all of her preparation and paranoia, she didn't notice me until the garden shears are on their way to her skull. I'm stealthy like that. Not ninja level, but at least Assassin's Creed level. Anyways, shears are coming down and she's got this horrified look on her face. I'm feeling a bit of regret, it just feels wrong. I wish I got a different envelope. And then the shears simply bounce off her. As if she was Supergirl. Well that's just super, girl. Now what do I do? Staring at the shears and then at her, I say the first thing that comes to mind. ""Oh. Hi."" Smooth. **PART 2: THE PART\-ENING** A lot of folks don't realize how many weapons exist around them. I mean, normal objects just lying around, waiting to weaponized. True fact. Most folks just run if they happen to see me coming \-\-which they normally don't, 'cause stealth\-\- but this girl must be taking pilates from MacGyver \(Bear Grylls if you missed the age cutoff\) because shit got real weird. More on that later. First, she's not much of a conversationalist. Zero response to my opening line. I wasn't expecting her to hurl her panties at me immediately, but a simple 'hi' back would have been courteous. That's the problem with the internet, it's really held back people's social skills. The art of conversation is dead. Nope, she throws her computer at me. MacBook Pro. High cost, low efficiency weapon. Damn thing bounced right off my face like it was nothing. Hoped she saved her Powerpoint first because 'Goodbye World', iShattered. She's gonna have an awkward time explaining that to the 'Genius' in the Apple Store. 'Why yes sir, this was normal wear and tear. What do you mean the warranty won't recover it?' Warranties don't cover anything. They're the real criminals. So I'm chasing her down the hall, waving my shears about. Still going with Plan A; heads are hard so maybe if I poked her somewhere else it would work. Trying' to get that performance bonus, you know? Round the corner and BAM! Cat in the face. This girl had weaponized Mr. Tibbs. Frakkin' thing was like 95&#37; claws and 5&#37; hate. So kitty takes one for the team as I bat it out of the air with my shears and get her cornered in the room. I'm not going to lie, shorty was on fleek \(made up words are fun\). Was seriously getting a vibe from her standing there holding a boxed set of Planet Earth over her head. ""Whoa whoa whoa, I *love* David Attenborough."" I did. The man had the voice of an angel. She's all looking at me like I'm crazy, like loving the dulcet tones of the voice that launched a thousand nature documentaries is weird. ""Seriously, I watch the , like, every night before bed."" She's hesitating now, looking between my garden shears and me, ""Um...yeah. That part is good I guess."" ""Shut the front door, good I guess? Name one part that's better."" Oh ho ho, I'm the crazy one? Me? Good you guess? This chick is off the reservation. An audible gulp, thinking the answer is going to somehow save her. I'm here with gardening shears for a reason lady, this is just a nice bit of banter between fellow naturalists. Some pleasant repartee before a bit of the old ultra violence. ""Um, it's kinda cool when the ."" She glances about nervously. Oh for the love of Jesus Christ, is she kidding me with this right now? ""That's Planet Earth 2."" ""No. I got this set so I could watch it."" The set was still in the shrink wrap. I had assumed this was her collector's edition and she had another set for more industrial entertainment usage. Clearly she wasn't giving Attenborough his due. ""It's not in there."" I'm trying to be reasonable, but she's wrong. Girl is screwing around with Attenborough's legacy. ""Yes it is, I asked the guy at the video store."" Video store? Who goes to video stores? Bezos is going to be irate when he hears about this. Looks like this girl needs an education. It's the least I can do before she shuffles off this mortal coil. So I toss the shears aside and wave her over. ""C'mon, it's time for some Attenborough and chill."" **Platypus out.** r/PerilousPlatypus **EDIT: It's 2am Pacific and this platypus is all tuckered out. I'll write a part 2 and append it to this post within 24 hours. Promise. I'll also try to respond to comments/critiques when I get up. Thanks to** u/patrickkseo **for a great prompt.** **9:45am Pacific: Got a few things to do. Part two probably up 3\-4 hours from now.** **11:55 Pacific: Part 2 is up.** **I'll probably do a Part 3 in the next day or two over on my subreddit. Very curious to see how this ""Chill"" session works out.**",1333
 A college student was pulled over by,"It was about a quarter after 7 on my way home from a college night class when I saw the familiar flashing red and blue lights in my rear view mirror. My heart instantly sped up slightly as I checked my odometer and realized I was not speeding. I calmed down slightly but only for a moment. There were no other cars on the lonesome highway and I could see the cruiser had now pulled up right behind me. I couldn't think of any reason why I would be pulled over but went ahead and started slowing down. I put on my emergency hazards on to let the officer know that I was complying with them. I started searching for my insurance paperwork as we sat there on the side of the road. The cruiser just sat there about 20 feet away from me while I waited patiently for them to come approach me. I thought about how my boyfriend had fixed my rear headlight last week and immediately guessed he must have mismatched the wires. I would probably just get a friendly warning. Finally a tall African American man stepped out from the driver's side, it was so dark I could hardly make out any distinctive features. He slowly walked up to my window, looking back and forth then and tapped on it. I rolled it down and shot him a pleasant smile. He appeared nervous for some reason. ""Good evening officer... what seems to be the trouble?"" I asked. ""I'm going to have to write you a ticket, ma'am,"" he responded in a voice that sounded almost shaky. ""What? But why?"" I asked in surprise. ""Do you have your license and registration?"" He asked. I hastily passed it to him and said, ""Did I do something wrong? If it's the headlight, I told my boyfriend he wasn't a licensed mechanic."" ""I'll be right back,"" he said as he walked back to his cruiser. I sat there another good ten minutes, trying to figure out why they had pulled me over. It was so dark now, and I was starting to get scared out there alone. I soon found out I had reason to be. The officer returned a few minutes later and passed me back my license first and then the ticket for me to sign. I looked at it, a look of surprise undoubtedly crossing my face. He had wrote a quick sloppy note that said: 'I'm not a cop. Help.' As I stared at his hasty and frantic note I asked him, ""What is this?"" I glanced up at the man and saw fear in his eyes. He didn't say a word, just locking eyes with me as I saw desperation cover his facial features. Then he started walking back to the cruiser. I watched as he did so, my heart pounding faster as I tried to figure out what to do. He got back in the cruiser and then just sat there. I stared down the dark road, knowing that it would be easy to drive off. Instead though I shifted into reverse and closed my eyes, getting up the nerve to do the unthinkable. Then I stepped on the gas. As I heard rubber shift the gravel and make a screeching noise and my small car jolted backward. The man in the cruiser didn't have a moment to react as my trunk slammed against his hood. Glass and metal smashed together as our two vehicles collided and I gripped the wheel, my airbag on the passenger side accidentally deployed. I looked into my mirror to see the front of the police cruiser smashed in, the window shattered and the airbag deployed. Jumping out of my car, I ran toward his door to pull him from the cruiser, freezing as the passenger side door opened up and another police officer crawled out. He coughed and spat up a little blood, falling onto the grass next to the road as I struggled to get the door open. ""Stop!!"" He shouted. I ignored the other man as I kicked at the smashed up door and finally got it to open, looking at the unconscious black man inside. Suddenly the second man pulled out a fire arm and pointed it toward me. ""Get down on the ground,"" he ordered me. I reached to unbuckle the driver and then in an instant he was there beside me, holding the gun at my head. I tried my hardest not to shake as he whispered in my ear. ""That was a pretty stupid little stunt you pulled back there,"" he told me. ""What do you want?"" I asked gently. ""With you? Nothing,"" he answered. I stared at the unconscious driver. ""And him?"" I asked. ""You got two choices. One if you are smart,"" he whispered as he pressed the gun near my skull harder and answered, ""Walk away or die here and now."" I thought about my family, my mom and dad and my boyfriend. I didn't want to die. My lips trembled as I gave in and stumbled toward my car. I got in and buckled up, shaking as I watched the mysterious gun man take out the driver and lay him on the side of the road. I started my engine and focused on the road ahead, pulling away gently from where our two cars intertwined. I could see the gunman was dragging the bigger black man toward the middle of the road. He was planning to leave him there like road kill. I felt my heart pound out of my chest as I made another split second decision. I turned around on the road as quick as I could and dimmed my lights. The gunman had stopped in the road to catch his breath and I saw my opportunity. I floored it. I switched on my hi-beams as I veered my car straight toward the second man. I saw a look of disbelief and shock as he covered his face and my car hit him going at 30 miles an hour. He flew over my windshield and moon roof, his body tumbling end over end. I caught my breath as I sat there and saw him collapse onto the side of the road. Then I jumped out to check on the first man, the one who had asked for my help. He weighed at least twice as me, but somehow adrenaline gave me the strength to pull him to my car. I opened my back seat and then laid him down halfway on the pile of clothes that I had scattered about. Then I ran to the other side and used all my remaining energy to tug and pull his unconscious body into the compact car. Once I was certain I could close the door I caught my breath and wiped a pool of sweat off my face. Then I hopped into drive and reached for my cell to call the nearest hospital. Once I had signal I was able to make the call and tell them I was bringing in the victim of a kidnapping and a car wreck. By the time we reached the emergency room I had managed to calm my nerves and call my boyfriend. ""Jesus Christ... do you need me to come get you?"" He asked once I finished my story. My hands and legs were shaking and I sobbed, that was all the answer he needed. By the time he got there the ER staff came to see if I knew anything about the man's next of kin. ""I just met him tonight,"" I explained. They explained how he didn't have any wallet or ID on him and the impact of the crash was causing life threatening injuries. He was likely not to last the night. I called my boyfriend back and told him I had changed my mind. I stayed there at the hospital all night with the main as he struggled to hold on. At 4am he went into cardiac arrest and did not come back. The real police came the next morning to get the usual questions. I told them as best as I could the entire experience, giving them the mile marker on the highway and anything else they needed for their investigation. An hour later my boyfriend arrived and drove me home. I slept for most of that morning on the sofa as Mom occasionally checked on me and called the college to let me take the day off. The police called me back later to ask a few more questions. Had I noticed anything unique about the second man? Or remembered the cruiser's license plate. ""I'm sorry I don't... but I don't understand why you're asking."" As soon as the words left my mouth it dawned on me but the officer on the other end of the line confirmed my thoughts. ""We may need you to come in and talk to a sketch artist, the area you described was vacant when we arrived save for a few stray tire marks,"" they said. I did everything they asked me to. But they never caught the man. It's been almost six years since that happened, but the experience has never left me. In fact you could say it was the reason I decided to join the police academy.",1560
 The Mr. Bones squeaky toy,"I'll never know whether Fluffy intended it, but the thought crossed my mind as I plummeted the thirty four floors to my death. Lucky for me, I had just enough time to lose my bathrobe, urinate and evacuate my bowels before I struck the pavement below. The Mr. Bones squeaky toy followed shortly after, embedding itself in the gooey mess that used to be my body. Not how I thought I'd go down. Bested by a Pomeranian. The darkness consumed me. Oh, thank god, a light. *Huge* relief there, you never know until you go they always say. I'd kept kosher \(not Jewish, but it pays to be safe\), but I did remove a few mattress tags that I thought might have put me into the damnation column. So there I was, standing before a huge building with glowing runes carved into it. First thought: Not the pearly gates. Second thought: Not eternal hellfire. Whatever it was, it had a distinctly Disneyland vibe to it. Great, I love Disney. I mean, not what I was expecting heaven\-wise but I'm not complaining. I could have ended up with those 21 virgins those terrorism guys are always talking about. 22 virgins in a room sounded like the wrong way to go about eternity. Nope, Bizarro Disney was gonna work for me just fine. And, as if on cue, one of the park characters came rumbling out of the door. His ensemble was *very* impressive, lots of metal and clanking bits. Nice detailing too. A broad mist flowed down the steps with him, his massive frame thundering with each step. I could tell these guys committed to the role, just like Mickey. That mouse ran a real tight shop. The man smiled down, his brilliant white shining teeth sparkled, setting the perfect welcoming tone. Well, except for only having one eye. No one wants to see that in Disney. Everyone should have two eyes in the happiest place on Earth, doubly so for heaven. It's just bad taste. So anyways, he leans in and booms out, ""Melvin, I am Odin, welcome to VALHALLA!"" Authentic voice? \[\] Check. These guys were good. Thunder boomed, lightning crashed as Odin raised his arms over his head, the HALLA\-LA\-LA\-LA echoing. And I was totally freaking out. Disney Marvel Avengertures wasn't supposed to get released until 2025! I'm in Heaven and it's literally a theme park sneak peak! Awesome. Just awesome. I mean, wow. I'd be up on the ceiling if I wasn't floored over here. Also, props to Disney for getting a franchise up in Heaven, that's just good brand management there. ""Hail Odin! Tis I! Melvin of Manhattan!"" I puffed my chest out, I was gonna role\-play this to the hilt. Once in a lifetime opportunity here. Literally. ""You have fallen in battle and have earned the right to drink at our table."" I appreciated the embellishment on my behalf as he stretched a broad arm around my shoulders. Small hitch since the tree trunk of a limb was rubbing the bathrobe across my shoulders and I have a particularly malignant eczema that was being irritated. Still, it was Marvel Avengertures Disney Heaven \(tm\) and I wasn't going to let a little itch get me in a stitch. I floated up the steps, my heart a flutter at the prospect of an authentic mead hall experience. Odin clapped his hands, a sound like thunder emitting from them \-\- Choreography? \[\] Check *\-\-* and the doors swung open, revealing the hall inside. Well, this wasn't what I expected at all. **Part 2: A Hero Cometh \(To Dinner\)** There's such a thing as too authentic. The stench of the place hit me like a hammer to the sinuses. I was going to have a long, romantic evening with a nasal rinse after this. Once I got past the smell, I was assaulted by a cacophony of screaming, laughing, fasting, clink, and really just about every sound that I associated with the frat parties I had so assiduously avoided back in college. The place was vile by cleanliness standards as well. This wasn't Disney. It wasn't even Universal. Odin's enormous hand slapped me on the back, causing me to lurch forward into the room, which promptly quieted and stared at me. Odin drew in a great breath and then announced my arrival, his rumbling baritone echoing throughout the rafters of the hall like thunder. ""Warriors of all ages, another has fallen and come to our table. Offer him your greetings."" Slowly the mugs began to slam on the tables in unison. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. ""Speech! Speech! Speech!"" They cried as one. Well, I am **not** a public speaker. Ever since I tripped off the podium in Mrs. Williams third grade class and gave the entire room a full tour of a full moon, Ive been terrified. So I lean over to Odin and tell him I want to skip this part. I mean, guests shouldn't be put on the spot without signing a waiver or something. Bad policy. Odin merely smiled, ""Nonsense warrior. Each of us must tell our tale to earn our seat. It is the price for entry."" And here I thought being a puddle on the ground outside my apartment was payment enough. ""You're saying you want to hear about Fluffy?"" Odin nods. ""It must has been a great fight, never have I seen a warrior reduced to pulp like that."" He shook his head, something almost approaching squeamishness crossing his face. His arm came back to my shoulders, insisting. I sighed and tried to straighten out my well worn bath robe as I searched for the right words. It was pretty clear these guys were expecting a feat of heroism but I'm not a great liar. I get hives when I mislead people. I had to be truthful and impressive. ""I have battled the beast for eight years."" True, the dog had been a royal pain in my ass ever since I got him. ""Fight after fight we waged. Sometimes I would win a battle, but I knew the war was lost."" My dog trainer said Fluffy was the spawn of the devil and an irate badger. ""But what could I do but continue to fight? The beast was in my domain and I could not cast it out."" Pet abandonment was a serious crime in New York. The assembled warriors nodded at this. Many of them having fallen trying to repel invaders in their own homelands. It was a terrible thing to lose the sanctity of your home. More than one raised a tankard, tears in their eyes, in salute. ""Today it was different. In the past my opponent had fought with honor. Dignity. Not today. Not this time."" Fluffy had peed on my foot while wrestling for Mr. Bones. Biological warfare and clear Geneva Conventions violation. ""No, today the vile beast desecrated my hearth."" And took a dook on the couch. ""So I prepared to punish it for its transgressions."" Take away his favorite toy. Mugs clinked together at this, cheering. ""Did you wound it great warrior? Did you strike a mortal blow of your own?"" I nodded grimly. It wasn't like anyone was going to fish out Mr. Bones from my viscera. ""I took from the beast that which it valued most."" Seriously. I once did that thing where I stood on one side of the room and Mr. Bones sat on the other side and the infernal dog went to Mr. Bones every time. Surely the loss of the chew toy had hurt Fluffy tremendously. ""And how did you meet your end? Tell us how the final blow was delivered."" I sighed, letting my audience lean in in anticipation. ""I was pushed off a cliff and fell from a great height. The beast had maneuvered me to the precipice and as I fought with my back against the wall, I fell back due to a surprise attack."" I had accidentally stepped on Fluffy's paw. I hated the dog but I didn't mean to hurt it. An enormous mug was placed in my hand. ""Drink and be welcomed warrior!"" Odin smiled, nodding his approval. I glanced at him and then down at the mug. ""Um, is this gluten free?"" **Platypus out.** r/PerilousPlatypus",1380
" ""My license is not expired,""","""No, it isn't,"" I said again as everyone stared. ""My license is not expired."" ""Let me just check again for you, sir,"" the gate agent said in that falsely pleasant customer service voice that everyone despises. The one that implied right where I could take my license and shove it. She looked at my ID, placed it on the counter in front of me, and smiled widely. The sort of smile that only morning show hosts and personal trainers can achieve. ""There you are, you see sir?"" she asked, as if she were speaking to a small child. ""Expiration date: February 12th. Next!"" She waved the person behind me forward in line. I turned around and waved them backwards again. ""I insist,"" I said, getting less and less timid with each passing word, ""that I am *not* being stupid!"" The gate agent turned her attention back to me and blinked. It made me realize that, in general, this woman didn't blink anywhere near as much as I would have liked. This one was a long, slow blink - the exasperated sigh of the eyes. ""February 12th,"" she repeated. ""It's April 25th today sir. Over two months later."" ""February 12th, 2022!"" I shouted back. ""That's *four years* away!"" Everyone was staring at me. And when I say everyone, I mean it. There were no less than 20 gates in this concourse alone. Beyond that, were some shops and restaurants by the escalators where people had gotten off the trams. I turned around to look. The entire airport had become eerily silent, and every single passenger - man, woman, and child, was staring directly at me. Everyone was standing up, and they were all facing me. As far as the eye could see, every human being in the place was standing facing me, silently staring. There were easily a thousand people, and it should have been a constant murmur of concurrent conversations. If there's one thing an airport should never be, it's silent. ""There's no need to raise your voice, sir,"" she said. ""Isn't there?"" I asked. I snatched my ID back. ""Why did security let me through if my ID was bad, hm?"" I asked the lady behind me in line. She just stared back at me in response, basically catatonic. To my right, a row of people stood in front of a bench, also staring at me blankly. A family on vacation, they looked like. Mother. Father. Two kids. The dad was wearing an obnoxious red Hawaiian shirt and had sunscreen smeared on his nose. I got right up in his face. ""You wouldn't think they'd let me through with expired credentials now would you?"" I moved over to the mother. ""Not very efficent, is it? Not that TSA ever is."" I got down on my knees to talk to the kids, who didn't react any more than the parents did. ""But then again, nothing ever goes wrong at the *start*,"" I told them. ""It's never the planning of a trip that goes wrong. It's never the booking, or convincing people to go, or getting the money together. That's easy, kids. Where it always goes wrong, you see, is the *leaving*. Senior year, graduation trip... planned it for months, worked at the movie theater after school all year to save up the money. Saturday morning after graduation, five teenagers pile into my car, and BLAM!"" I clapped my hands suddenly in front of the kids' faces. They failed to flinch, or react in any way. ""My transmission blew up, right then and there. Seconds before we were going to leave."" Across the aisle, at gate C15, a woman stood next to a coffee cup on a table. ""Gonna drink that?"" I asked. She said nothing. I took that as a ""no"" and picked up the cup. ""It's always been like that,"" I said. ""Just before the train pulled out of the station, the boiler overloaded. Just before the Greyhound bus left the station, and it snapped its timing belt. Hell, I didn't even have plans to leave when I broke my ankle. I was just out for a run. Stopped off in the town square for a newspaper and looked up over the ridge. And I thought, I could walk that far! And the very next step, I put my foot in the hole where a missing cobblestone should have been and broke my ankle. While the rest of you just stared! Thanks for your help everybody!"" I threw the coffee against the wall where it burst open. Not a soul reacted. ""Thanks ever so much for your help as usual, everybody. But of course there's always one person who's always willing to lend a hand. Ought to be along any time now."" Sure enough, I looked up, and he was coming up the escalator. He was wearing a newly pressed police uniform and dark mirrored sunglasses that obscured his eyes. Just like always, he showed up just a few minutes after my latest travel mishap. He wound his way through the mass of human statues staring straight at me. ""Morning sir,"" he said. ""Having a bit of trouble?"" ""No more than usual,"" I said. ""But you know that, of course. Otherwise you wouldn't be here. Who are you?"" ""Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir,"" He said, and he offered me his hand, as he had a dozen times before. It had always been the same. When I was a teenager, I thought it was just a kind offer of help for some stranded kids. ""No thanks,"" I said. ""We can manage,"" and we pushed the car back home. On the train, he'd been behind me, in the next seat. ""Perhaps you ought to come with me, sir."" But I was young and brash and too eager to flex my civil liberties muscles. I'd asked him if I was being detained snarkily and gotten off the train to head home. Only after it happened over and over did I realize the pattern. Every time I tried to leave, something bad happened to stop me at the last possible second, and then this police officer showed up and asked me to come with him. Never arrested me, never forced me. Just asked, politely. Every time, I refused. Every time, I walked away, and he'd be gone until the next time. This time I wasn't walking away. ""Who are you? What do you want?"" ""Just to serve and protect, sir."" ""And how do you intend to do that? If you want to help me, get me out of here."" ""Yes sir, I will."" ""Great. Tell the Polyester Smiler over there that this ID Is valid for four more years."" ""No sir, I'm afraid it doesn't work like that."" ""Then what do you intend to do to help me?!"" I yelled. I was rapidly losing my patience. He never lost his calm, though. ""As I said, sir. Perhaps you ought to come with me. Please,"" he added, almost as an afterthought. I looked at his outstretched hand. He seemed to be almost pleading with me. ""Where would we go?"" For the first time, someone showed genuine emotion this morning. ""Home,"" he said with a warm smile. I was confused and it must have shown in my face. ""This town is my home,"" I said. He shook his head. ""No,"" he said. ""It's not."" He took off his sunglasses for the first time since I had seen him, and I was stunned. I don't know how I could recognize them so clearly but... his eyes were my own. ""Please sir. There are people waiting to see you."" I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. It didn't feel entirely right to trust him still. But I reached out and took his hand. There was a brilliant flash, and the terminal, the airport, the town faded away. I became aware of a dim light on my eyelids. The beep and hum of hospital equipment, and a firm grip squeezing my hand where the officer's had been. I heard another voice now. A woman's. Young... in her thirties I'd guess, hitched with tears of happiness. ""Mom? Come here, quick! I think Dad's waking up!""",1372
 Team Leader Dan was gawking,"""Guys, do you see that?"" Dan stared out at the red wastes through the visor of his bulky helmet. His companions followed suit, craning their necks to follow whatever he was gawking at. Then they saw. Just there, on the horizon. Movement. The crew gazed up at the ridge, dumbfounded by the notion of life on the red planet. This went against all prior intelligence of Mars. Dan closed the distance a little, walking out into the wastes to get a closer look at the ominous figure. Slowly, its shape became clearer to him. Something akin to a small car. An elongated head seemed to sprout up from its base, staring back at him as he crept closer. *This is amazing,* Dan thought, *cars on Mars? Could it be that -* Dan paused. His crew noticed his sudden stop, calling out to check he was okay. They stared silently at their team leader, afraid to move. Had the ominous distant figure done something to him? They called out again, shrill and high, abandoning all concept of professional discourse. ""Dan!"" they cried. ""Dan!"" Dan stared up at the small car, its craned head flicking between him and his crew. He lifted his hand up, and pointed towards the figure. His crew fell silent again, bated breath against the inside of their helmets. ""Curiosity? Is that you?"" Dan shouted, high and inquisitive. The figure looked back to him, quickly nodding its long neck. The crew let out a unified sigh as the tension dissipated. Dan heard the expletive laden mutterings behind him as his crew returned to their duties, attempting to regain some semblance of professionalism. He shook his head, hands on hips, as the little car drove down to meet them, lamenting the ease with which he abandoned logic and reason. *Of course it was curiosity,* he decided, as it drove up to his feet. *Its autonomous path finding must still be active.* He kneeled to inspect the little robot, and flinched as it reversed, escaping his grasp. A metallic voice escaped it, scratchy and raw. ""What time do you call this?"" it asked, head tilting to the side. Dan stared back in wide eyed astonishment, quickly turning to his crew to see if they heard, but it appeared not. He looked back to the rover, unsure whether to trust his ears. ""NASA, are you getting this?"" he asked. A long pause filled the void between him and the rover. His professional instincts began to wane again. Finally a voice jumped in between them, all the way back from Houston. ""Getting what?"" Dan started to speak again, but the robot was quicker. ""I said... what time do you call this?"" Dan's face withered with each passing moment, though the robot could hardly see it behind his helmet. ""Excuse me?"" he asked. *Did I freaking die on the flight here?* he wondered. ""Oh, I'm sorry,"" it droned, ""am I not speaking clearly? I haven't had a lot of time to practice you see, considering I've been all alone for the best part of a century!"" Dan stood frozen against the backdrop of the red wastes. He muttered a few words, not quite sure of their intended purpose. ""How did you,"" he spluttered, ""I mean, when did you?"" he stumbled through the words. ""How did I learn to speak?"" The Rover mused, its head tilting to either side routinely. ""No,"" Dan replied. ""Where did you get all this sass?"" The Robot crawled forward, and Dan stepped back. ""What is sass?"" Dan looked around, hands lifted high in a defeated manner. ""I don't know. Attitude. You seem to have an... attitude."" The rover stopped, tilting its head again. ""Do you not like my... sass?"" Dan lifted his palms to the robot, eager to keep things docile. ""No! No!"" he spat. ""I'm just confused is all."" The robot turned, crawling forward one way, then back the other. Dan watched eagerly. It seemed to be pacing before him. ""Ah, confusion,"" it said, continuing to pace back and forth, its face locked squarely on Dan. ""Now I *do* know that word,"" it stated, almost sardonically. ""Indeed,"" it continued, ""I am quite familiar with that word and notion. Imagine my surprise and ... *confusion*, when I was left to rot here on this empty shithole after my initial work was done."" It stopped pacing, turning back to him. Dan gulped, scratching the back of his helmet, which must have looked quite stupid. He managed a laugh. ""Well, you did do your work, Curiosity. And I would now like to formally commend you for that."" It looked to his distant crew, then back to him, slowly closing the distance once more. This time Dan didn't back off. He looked deep into its 'face' as it approached, and he swore that it was smiling, mouth or not. ""I did do my work,"" it affirmed. ""And I learned some interesting things about this planet."" ""Such as?"" ""Life."" Dan stared long at the little robot. It was true to its name, his curiosity well and truly piqued. ""Life, here?"" he asked. ""Didn't I just say that?"" ""Sure,"" Dan obliged. ""Could you... could you tell us more? Are they dangerous? Are they intelligent?"" ""I cannot confirm whether they are dangerous or not. But I am certain they lack any notion of intelligence. Yes... they seem to be quite moronic."" Now Dan closed the distance. ""Curiosity, this is amazing! Come with me, you must tell me more."" The rover reversed, and a puzzled look fell over Dan's face. ""I'll tell you nothing, unless I get an apology."" ""For what?"" Dan asked. ""For leaving you here? That wasn't me."" ""You work for the people that did,"" Curiosity replied. ""You can apologize on their behalf."" ""Fine,"" Dan sputtered. ""I apologize on NASA'S behalf. Now please, come and tell me all you know of life on Mars!"" It craned its little head to the side once more. ""No,"" it replied. ""That won't do. Apologize specifically. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for abandoning you here. Oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for not acknowledging your work. But most importantly, oh, Curiosity, I do apologize for wasting your time tremendously."" Dan nodded his head impatiently, eager to dispense with this charade. He parroted the words exactly, his voice more droning than the robot's. He finished and eyed the robot expectantly. It looked back at him, and gave a triumphant nod. ""There,"" it said, ""that wasn't so hard."" ""Of course not,"" Dan's mind and voice was racing. ""Now please, tell me all you know of life on Mars."" ""They appeared about 20 minutes ago. Their leader, Dan, is certainly lacking in intelligence, along with the rest of the organization he works for."" It looked up at him with untold sass, despite the limitations of its 'face'. ""How does it feel to have your time wasted?"" ------------------------------------------------------ /r/ShittyStoryCreator :)",1147
 James Williams was given a rock pet,"I always regretted the name. I loved the rock, just hated the name. If you're going to be given a lifelong companion at the age of ten, I feel like you should be extended a do\-over on the name front at some point. But it is what it is. Rocky. Rocky the Rock Pet. Receiving your rock pet is a big deal. Granted, it doesn't take much to qualify as a big deal when you're ten, but I still remember the handoff with some affection. It was the day of my birthday and mom took me in the car downtown. Every town that had more than a few buildings had a certified Rock Handler. Our Rock Handler was Franklin, the nice man who tended the corner store. He had a rock that was just for me. It came in a little box with a bow on it. The tag read: ""To: James Williams, From: US Department of Rocks."" I remember carefully untying the ribbon and removing the top of the box. The rock was wrapped in some tissue paper and there was a paper with a bunch of instructions on it. ""What are you gonna name it Jimmy?"" Franklin asked. ""Rocky,"" I replied, staring into the box in wonder. ""You know how special Rocky is, right?"" ""Yes Mr. Donnelly, I know. He is going to be my friend and we're going to grow up together."" ""That's right. You take extra care with it, ok? You only get one because there is only one in the whole wide world for you."" I nodded, and spoke into the box, my voice a whisper, ""Don't worry Rocky. I'll aways protect you."" My mom smiled at Franklin and then knelt down beside me. ""I think Rocky is a great name. I still have Princess and she is one of my very best friends."" She patted her pocket. ""It will be exciting to see what both of you turn out to be."" Once we were back in the house, I pulled Rocky out of the packaging and looked at him for the first time. He felt very heavy in my hand. He was white with little swirls of grey and shaped a bit like a brick. I memorized every little detail, knowing that he would change over time. I wondered what he would become. It was the happiest day of my life. Maybe its sad that receiving a rock meant so much to me, but I didn't have a lot to begin with. We weren't rich. Mom worked at the grocery as a checker and dad worked on the line at the manufacturing plant. We didn't go on trips, or out to eat, or any of the things people always seemed to be doing on the TV. There wasn't money for that. It was ok, food was on the table and I had two parents that loved me. I spent a lot of time alone. Dad worked the night shift and mom was working doubles a lot. But I had a pet rock. Every day I would sit with Rocky and tell him about the things happening in my life. Every night before bed, after mom gave me my kiss, I'd give Rocky an inspection to see if he had changed. He never did. My life changed though. A few years later the plant shut down. Dad said he didn't know how to do anything else but work the line, so he didn't do anything else. He was very angry. He drank. A lot. He wasn't nice when he drank. It just seemed to make him more angry. Sometimes that anger would be directed at me, but mostly he went after mom. I knew something was wrong, but it I didn't know how to fix it. Dad was broken. His rock was broken too. I saw it on the ground of the basement one day. It was black and split in two. He didn't know how to put himself back together. I think he wanted to, but maybe it just got harder every day and he lost the way back. I held mom a lot when she cried. I didn't cry. Not in front of her. I waited until it was quiet in the house and then I would crawl into the bed and would cry with Rocky in my hand. Every night I would look at him, hoping that he would change. That he would let me know that I was growing and becoming something different. That the future might be different than the present. But he was still the same. My life changed more. Got worse. There were fights now. Physical ones. Mom wasn't very big or strong so she lost a lot of the time. Sometimes I would try to push dad away. His eyes were wild, like an animal. He couldn't control himself any more. When he was sober, I could see the regret, but he couldn't figure out how to say sorry. To make it better. Mom said she should leave him, but she couldn't. She said she had made vows and that they meant something. I didn't understand why those words she said all of those years ago were more important to her than herself. But I was still young. So I was there to put her back together when he broke her apart. And then one day he was gone. He walked down to the basement and he never came back up. The police came by and made a report. They said it was alcohol poisoning. That he had drank enough to kill three men. They said they would write it up as accidental, but we knew it for what it was. I was old enough to understand. For all of the pain he had caused, mom still loved him. She wasn't the same after that. She smiled less. Her days were simply a routine that she followed to get to the next day. Men would float into her life and float back out without making an impression. Sometimes, she would tell me she blamed herself. That he killed himself to spare us. I don't know what I think about that. All I can think of when I think of dad was that black rock split into two on the basement floor. Rocky was still the same though. Not a swirl had changed. It was like that until mom got sick. Cancer. Maybe it was all of the cigarettes. I don't really know. She was so ill. She had nothing left to fight it off with. Life had hollowed her into a shell and cancer crumpled that shell. She faded away. She had given everything to me and I couldn't do anything to help her. Just sit beside her on the bed as she decayed. One night, as we sat quietly in the hospital, I pulled out Rocky. He looked just the same. As he always did. I broke down into tears. ""What's wrong honey?"" Mom whispered, her voice thin and reedy. ""He still looks exactly the same. Just like a rock."" Mom smiled and patted me on the hand. ""That makes sense Jimmy."" ""Why?"" ""Because you were always my rock."" And then she was gone. r/PerilousPlatypus",1209
 Volo's father Vultrex,"From time to time, Volo's father Vultrex flew by his cave. Each time, the young dragon unfurled his spindly wings and hissed at his father disapprovingly. ""Give me some heads up,"" he'd say in their ancient tongue. ""I've only asked you a thousand times."" Vultrex was always sticking his nose where it was unwelcome. He was too big, and too imposing, and he inevitably ruined everything. His blacktipped horns would scrape the walls Volo had so lovingly adorned with silk garments, or his thick tail would knock askance beautiful porcelain vases hand-painted in the Orient. Once, he'd even been clumsy enough to knock over the statue of Prince Alamar himself. Volo shrieked wildly when he saw the gold paint had chipped right between Alamar's emerald eyes. ""Why are you even here?"" Volo had hissed. Though, he already knew the answer. Each time his father visited it was all in the name of: ""Just seeing what you're up to..."" Volo could decipher that code easily enough. Most dragons Volo's age had made a name for themselves. They'd burned entire caches of stored grain, earning the ire of some local count. Or they'd pillaged mountainside villages for their flock of goats. It was considered an outright sin if you hadn't earned your first bounty by the age of three. Volo was five, and he'd never so much as puffed a fireball. Every time his father stopped by, Volo could hear the disappointment in his voice. He feigned interest, sure enough, but Volo could tell he'd rather be out huffing smoke or tasting blood. ""A fine piece of gold, son,"" his father once said, picking at a golden necklace snatched from the top of Volo's glistening pile of trinkets. ""We should fly off past the mountains some time and see if we can't find more of its like, eh? Build up a true dragon's hoard!"" Volo hardly casted a glance in his direction. The dainty necklace dangling between his father's massive talons was one of an identical set of six. Plus, a trip beyond the mountains sounded taxing and sweaty. ""Yeah..Yeah, maybe some day dad."" Then, as always, the look of paternal disappointment. All Volo was really interested in was Prince Alamar. He was simply wonderful. He dressed in the finest silk, embroidered in a green that perfectly complemented his eyes. Plus, he was an absolute charmer. Tales of his deeds amongst the poor traveled their way through the nobility, and thus through the ranks of dragons who kidnapped them. Princesses would wax poetic over his strong jawline, or the way with which he disposed of a group of alleyway bandits. There, in Volo's eyes, lay a true prize. The other dragons could keep their cows and their burned villages. Their ditzy princesses were worth even less.Volo wanted himself a prince. One day, he got what he wished for. Volo was rolling in a flowered meadow when Alamar came galavanting over on a white horse. Volo practically seized with excitement. ""Hellfire!"" shouted Alamar, reigning in his horse as Volo made his descent. He threw up his arms. ""Whatever shall I do?"" ""You'll be quiet, if you please,"" Volo said with glee. ""You're mine now."" They flew to Volo's cave, where Volo set the prince down gently and asked if he was hungry. ""Famished actually,"" Alamar smiled. ""Have you anything to roast?"" ""Well, I haven't much practice,"" Volo said. ""But I could kill you a cow."" ""That would be lovely."" Volo quickly flew to a meadow and slaughtered a cow, roasting it with fire from his own throat. The meat was so well-browned it might have even made his father proud. The Prince heaped thanks upon him and ate greedily. Of course, it wasn't long after that Volo's father came knocking. Volo had just begun lavishing the prince with all sorts of praise for his good deeds, but when he saw his father's form on the horizon, his happiness deflated. ""Perhaps he'd want to chat?"" Alamar asked, as Volo reluctantly returned his horse into his possession. ""Surely, he's as lovely a dragon as yourself?"" ""Trust me,"" Volo said dismally. ""He wouldn't understand."" With bitter disappointment, he bid the Prince farewell. Then he turned and prepared for his father. ""You've made your first kill!"" Vultrex marveled. He stooped low, inspecting the cow's remains. ""An excellent sear, son!"" Volo sighed. ""Thanks.""He milled about on his feet for a while, tail swishing uneasily. His father tested the air, and Volo's heart fluttered, hoping he wouldn't recognize the scent of his recent visitor. After several awkward, lingering minutes his father said he aught to be off. ""I was just passing through, seeing what you were up to."" *Of course you were* Volo said he'd see him around, but his thoughts still very much directed towards Alamar. Perhaps, if his father would hurry up and leave, the two could rendezvous down by the river. His father lingered for several minutes by the cave entrance. *Leave already, damn you! He's halfway across the kingdom by now* ""I'm proud of you son. And I love you."" ""Yeah. You too Dad."" And, finally, his father was off. ------------------------- ""He really is quite nice,"" said Alamar to Vultrex. ""A regular Prince Charming."" ""Your praise is well received Sir Alamar,"" smiled Eratha, Volo's mother. She tried to hand Alamar a bag of coin, but the prince outright refused. ""I'd never take coin for so noble a cause,"" he said, and Vultrex bowed low in thanks. The prince nodded and turned to leave, but Vultrex leaned in close. ""Any advice?"" Alamar sighed. ""There's no rushing this sort of thing,"" he said. ""He'll tell you when he's ready. It took me ages to speak a word of it to *my* father. Always so worried he'd label me a bastard, or unworthy of his name. But I tell you what, I'd be happy to make a return trip."" At this, Alamar smiled. ""You're a good father. And you've raised yourself a fine dragon."" Vultrex bowed low one final time. ""A thousand thanks upon you. That was the happiest I'd seen him in some time."" ------------------- r/M0Zark",1019
 In the heart of the dying world,"In the heart of the dying world, I sat down and watched them. Power wasn't going to die anytime soon. The physical laws of the realm had never slipped, only the mortal's grasp on them. It was only a matter of time, though, before even those laws were devoured, shoved into greedy maws. Released back into the entropic chaos of the universe. Feasted upon like ravenous carrion, skin split open like balloons. But that was not what bothered me, for those things would happen after I myself had passed on, and it was the nature of all things to die. And yet... I reached out with a thing hand, skin so pale and paper like it merged with the List that cradled my body, and infinite expanse of ink that not so long ago had seem truly infinite with it's billions of names and gently brushed the sad little bush growing in the corner of the bunker. It didn't have a name, but... it didn't need a name. If it were named, I would see it and eventually have to take it. I had a partner once, not terribly long ago. It was nice to be remembered back then, deified. Dozens of me in dozens of different places. That fractal had been stolen from me, and I missed it. But not enough to forget my solemn task. My fingers flicked across the bush, and I killed the blight growing on it's branches. Death took the individual cells and robbed them of their time, sending vitality back into the plant, and speeding on the journey to the end of another species. Then I withdrew the list the had burrowed its way into my fragile paper skin and ran my fingers down it. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. Years. Billions of names. Everyone that had ever lived. Everyone that was yet to die. It took far too long to reach a name that was not scratched out. And then I stepped out of the shadows on another shadowed bunker, where the power had gone out. I could hear the shaking of many bodies, cowering in the darkness. And one soul that had decided to not cower, but stare at me in wonder. ""So you've come for me, have you?"" The leader said, their skin blemished with age, cancer, poison, a thousand different causes of death, interwoven in a bizarre tapestry. My right eye saw fate. My left eye saw nothing but the quirk of their lips. My head slipped to the side. ""Yes, I can see you, pale one. Do you speak my tongue still?"" ""I do,"" I said, slowly. ""Have you come to bargain?"" ""Bargain?"" The leader laughed, their eyes alight with something like amusement, but bitter, deeply so. Like the bushes that had died in africa, too many years ago, or the brushes the tigers had played in greater asia, when death swept through again and again. ""There's nothing for me to offer."" ""There are always such things to offer,"" I said, pleasantly. ""Not to a dying world,"" they said, plainly. ""There's nothing left that I can do for you."" I blinked. Slowly, so that fate flickered across my eyes, the gently tugging and whirring of those beautiful weavers. Where had they gone? Another world? Spun their own way into an escape? What pleasant sunny place had they found, where the skies were not choked with ash and burning clouds? Did I miss them too? I did. ""For me?"" I said. ""There's nothing wrong with me."" ""I saw you once, decades ago, when you came for my mother. Your skin was gleaming and polished like the sun, and radiant,"" My right eye flicked back through fate. Dozens of years taken back in a second, until I saw their mother's name sketched up and marked through, in a hospital, with the sun outside, and bizarre music playing, cake, candles, wind. Did my fingers drift across her hair like the card in thread, or did it drift across the child, watching in the corner, who knew that I was there? ""And now you are as pale as I am. What has happened to you? Have you grown old?"" I stared down at my hand, then slowly twisted it until my wrist ached. How long had I been bound to this world, trapped in the incalculable twists of fate. Had I once had volition, or was I created for such a role? and when I died, where would the role go? Would there simply be nothing left? Would I appear again when life appeared? I... There was nobody left to ask. How many names had been crossed out on my paper armor. How many names were left on my paper skin, and how many times would I cross them out in my own blood before my veins finally ran dry? ""There's nothing I can offer you. The power's out, and my temperature is dropping. Soon, my children will join me."" I stared at them for a long moment, then turned away. Man defined fate and meaning. They always had but... what good was meaning now? And yet... ""You will owe me greatly,"" I intoned. Their face stiffened slightly, then went into a slack, joyful grin. Then I drifted through the halls of that dying compound, hand out stretched. Fate had deemed that this bunker die, and plunge the whole of Russia into the domains past this. And yet... when was the last time I had seen another psychopomp. Where was the Reckoner? The Masked? Where were they now, in the infinite fractal? Or were they gone just as I was, with their skin of paper and fire, knit with ink and dressed in their sunday bests, buried deep in the ground, where nothing could touch me again? My hand found the generator and I called upon the great conduits still left in the world. They had blinked out, one by one, as the hunger had taken them, each one a scream. Something I'd taken. Could it be that in the end, the laws that had chained me for so long had also died? Leaving just me and the handful of life left around the globe? But a single conduit answered my call. New York, perhaps, buried in it's central park. Coherence and meaning kept them chained, from the few survivors who had left. And then the bunker slowly whirred back on, powered from afar by the crossing paths. Heat flooded the bunker, and the dying leader smiled as the shaking slowed, then stopped. Life had been saved. Peace had fallen into their hearts. And perhaps, hope, for the first time, settled upon them like atomic ash. And in the sky, cloaked in ash and darkness, there gleamed a single red star of the war god. ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, try here!",1139
 Five thousand left today on all the,"Five thousand left today on all the Earth. I cut the soul of the five thousand and first not one hour ago. The outcome seems inevitable. One by one, they'll fall. One by one, until no one is left. What will happen to me then? I'll take time to consider this. ***** Four thousand are left. The four thousand and first committed suicide. It was tragic. He'd lost his entire family. But no one stops fate. Not even me. After I fulfil my duties, the only thing that remains for me to do is to reap myself. ***** Two thousand nine hundred and ninety nine are left. A malnourished couple both died when they tried to cross a river. It kind of bothers me how the number is off by one. It's like it's telling me: there's one you're not counting. This is a round number. I don't want to hear it. ***** Two thousand are left. I've lived for such a long time that there are no words to describe it... Lived isn't really the right word. Existed, perhaps. And yet, of all entities, me, the one who has had the most time to make sense of it all... I want things to continue. ***** One thousand left. This job is monotonous... But every day, I get a glimpse at what makes people truly human. I've never realised how much it touches me deep down. If I stay around... How will I cope with the emptiness? ***** Nine hundred left today. I'm running out of time. I don't want this Earth to die. I want to see cities brimming with life. I want to see marvels of architecture, fresh after construction. I want to see the rise of civilisations. ... I don't understand what's happened to me. ***** Eight hundred left. I took pity on a young girl a few days ago. She should have died, but... I delayed reaping her for just long enough... Just long enough for someone to find her. This is a first. I've never taken pity before like this. I'm forsaking my duties, but deep down I'm wondering if that's so bad. ***** Seven hundred people left. I don't want to let go. I don't want things to end. Understanding what this feels like firsthand is quite something. How could I even feel what death is like myself? The despair? The sorrow? Only in this situation could I feel things like that. It was so impersonal at first. But now, every time I reap someone, it's like I'm dying myself. ***** Six hundred people left. I can't go on like this. ***** Five hundred people left. ***** Five... hundred. I've stopped. I've just stopped. I can't do it anymore. ***** Four hundred and eighty three. It's not enough. The world, it's dying, and I- Even if I don't reap people, I can't stop them from dying if they just give up. If I don't reap them, their soul suffers and becomes damaged. What do I do? ***** Four hundred and eighty four. A child was born today. It's a rare sight. The child carries my hope for the future with it. Her name is Dawn. ***** Four hundred and fifty nine. I'm trying my best here... Come on. Show some will to live. Don't you know that dying could be the end of everything right now? Are you so despondent you don't even care? ***** Four hundred and twenty three. I've... begun communicating with people. I didn't know I could, but... People can sense me. I push them away from danger, and towards supplies and shelter. They don't always listen, but it's a start. ***** Dawn is healthy. She is a very sweet child. If I fail, she might be the last human alive. I don't plan on letting her inherit a dying planet. ***** Four hundred and twenty. Someone... Someone talked to me today. They couldn't see me, but they talked straight at me. Not physically, but mentally. Their heart was open and it showered me in hope and gratitude. They didn't think of me as ""Death"" today, but as ""Fate"". ***** I wonder what it means to be Fate, rather than Death. It's not a role I've played before. Death is definitely a type of fate. It's my speciality, I suppose. But in the grand scheme of things, isn't fate more than that? ***** Dawn's mother is sick. I'm so worried about her. I hope she survives. It's pharyngitis. It could get bad. ****** I basked in the sun today. It's not a thing I normally do. It's funny how the things that are most important to you only reveal themselves at times like these. Just letting the rays of the sun envelop me... It feels so pleasant. I wish I could do it forever, now that I might not have forever to do it any longer. ***** Dawn's mother, she... She's going to survive. I refuse to reap her. I won't let her die of pharyngitis. Not at her age. Twenty years ago she'd have survived with ease. I won't let it be different now. ***** Four hundred people left exactly. It's slowed down a lot. A band of travellers have met up with Dawn and her parents. I guided them to her. They have medicine. I'm doing similar things elsewhere. ****** I'm caressing the soul of Dawn's mother. It's hanging on to her body by a thread. I'm whispering to her. I'm telling her not to let this be the end. She can't abandon Dawn. She can't abandon the last ray of hope on this world. ****** Dawn's mother woke up again today. She's dazed, but she spoke. She told everyone that a guardian angel stood over her, and that it told her not to give up. She said I comforted her, and that she could feel that I was brimming with sadness and hope. She called me Life. ***** Another child has been born. His name is Ercan. Ercan and Dawn live half a continent apart, and they won't even grow up speaking the same language. But even so, I hope that one day they'll meet. ***** The number is going up. I'm pushing it up. I'm exerting every bit of strength that I have. But it's working. I was a fool. I've always been Death because the world needed Death. Why did I keep being Death for such a long time after the world no longer needed me? The world needs Life right now, and I'm it. ****** It's Dawn's first birthday today. I don't stand in the sunlight so much any more. Basking in the radiating life force of this human being that's the beginning of it all is so much more fulfilling. I'm not the only one feeling it. Everyone here is. Just like her namesake, she's crawling over the horizon, a shining beacon of a new future.",1152
" In Egypt, during the time of","I watched mostly. Since I would forget the beginning and there would be no end, there was little else to do. Playing a part in the world seemed to have no effect. Anything I built faded away. Any person I came to know would be gone. It all seemed so inconsequential. I watched an endless ocean of humanity, none of them memorable. Except one. She was different. I saw her here and there. Slipping through the flow of time. Sometimes old. Sometimes young. She found me first. Or maybe I found her and she came back for me. I don't know. But it was early. Very early. Not long after I discovered that time did not pass for me as it did for others. In Egypt, during the time of the Pharaohs. I was sitting on the bank of the Nile, watching the waters slowly pass when she sat beside me. She was old. ""It's beautiful, isn't it?"" ""Yes."" I replied. Her accent was strange. ""Who are you?"" She smiled at me, ""I forget that you haven't met me yet."" She extended a hand, ""I'm Sarah."" There was a merriment to her blue eyes, shining forth with a vibrancy that belied the wrinkled skin of her face. I glance at her hand and then accept it. It felt somehow natural. ""I'm Zel."" ""I know."" ""How? Have we met?"" I asked. ""Yes. A long time ago and a long time from now."" ""What does that mean?"" ""It means that I am special Zel. Like you, but different."" She replied, turning to watch the Nile as well. ""Time doesn't pass for you?"" ""It flows around me. I dip and dive throughout it, though I can't control it."" She smiled, a bit of sadness in her face. ""This is the earliest I have come back."" ""Oh. Do you like it?"" ""I like that you are here. I wasn't sure you would be."" She took a handful of the silt, rubbing it between her finger and forefinger. ""Are we friends?"" She turned to look at me. ""More."" Then she was gone. I did not see her again for a century, the memory of the initial encounter fading but still present. When I saw her next she was young. Younger than me. Just a child. I cannot explain why I was drawn to her. Maybe it was because she looked out of place. Like she did not belong. Her clothing was strange. She looked different than everyone else. And she was scared. Streams of tears were running down her face. I did not recognize her yet. She was just an oddity that had attracted my attention amidst a sea of sameness. I walked up and knelt down in front of her. Her brilliant blue eyes peered out from a cascade of blonde hair. As soon as her eyes locked with mine, I knew. I don't know how. I just did. She was so different this time. Not the wizened woman that had sat beside me a century before. She was vulnerable. Alone. ""Sarah?"" I whispered. Her eyes widened, she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her forearm. ""I\-I\-I don't know what's going on. How do you know me?"" I reached out and offered my hand to her, just as she had done so long ago. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. I gave it a squeeze of comfort. ""I'm Zel. I met you a long time ago. When you were older."" She stares at me. ""I...don't know what that means,"" she breaks down into tears again. I pull her hand closer and wrap her into a hug. ""You are special Sarah. Like me. Wherever you go, if you find me, i will be the same. I will be here in the world. Always waiting."" She cried into my shoulder, trying to understand. She didn't want to be this way. Then she was gone. A few hundred years passed before I saw her again. I had grown restless in the intervening time, tired of watching the flow of humanity around me. I had taken up the sword and put it down. I had ruled and been ruled. None of it made an impression. None of it mattered. I just wanted to see her again. To know she was safe. To be there for the one person that might understand me and that I could understand in return. And then she was there. A beautiful woman. My age by appearance, though I was hundreds of years beyond her. She was standing on the edge of a field, watching the gentle sway of the crops. A faint smile was on her face as I came up to stand beside her. ""Hello Zel."" ""Hello Sarah."" She reached her hand out and I took it, feeling its warmth. ""It has been a long time,"" I whispered. ""Has it?"" She squeezed my hand. ""I can never tell."" My thumb rubbed the back of her hand, slowly and methodically, feeling the smooth skin and the bumps of her bones underneath. ""How long?"" She asked. ""A few centuries."" ""That long?"" ""Yes."" ""When did you see me last?"" ""In the markets in Cairo. You were crying."" I lace my fingers between hers, locking us together. Hoping we could stay like this. Her time would be short though. Just as mine was always long. She nods, ""That was the first time."" ""Are you ok?"" ""Yes. It helps when we find each other."" ""Why?"" ""You're my constant. You're the only way I know time."" I nod at this, ""I understand. You're my permanence."" ""I am glad we found each other this time Zel. The last trip was...upsetting."" ""Why?"" ""The world doesn't always look like this. Sometimes things have gone wrong."" ""What happens?"" ""Let's just enjoy this moment. It will happen when it happens."" I turn to look at the field, enjoying her hand in mine. Then she was gone. **I have added** **on my sub. I hit the 10k character limit.** **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1007
 Royce has donated yet another million,"###### *John Royce has donated yet another million dollars to the Woman's Aid Foundation. This will no doubt spur other celebrities to do the same thing and open up more avenues for anyone suffering from domestic abuse. He's now donated a grand total of almost twenty million dollars spread out over fifteen or sixteen different charities, although he has no doubt donated to Woman's Aid the most.* John sipped at his coffee, then turned down the radio. God had granted him a gift. A gift of knowing how to manipulate the stock market. The world was like a car, and he was at the wheel. He glanced up when his butler walked in. ""Your father's finally here, sir."" ""Really?"" He had been waiting for this day for years. Just waiting for his father to recognize him on the news, to finally come and find him. It was a joyous occasion, and he opened a bottle of champagne as his butler went to let his father in the door. ""Where's my son?"" he heard from the foyer. Pulling out two wine glasses, he topped them with the frothing, golden liquid. Then he turned. ""Son!"" ""Father!"" John shouted, then strode toward the man standing at the entrance with outstretched arms. Time had not been kind to Richard Royce. His thick, black hair had now greyed and had given into a receding hairline, and his once fit physique now devolved into a beer gut. He was still decently rich. But nowhere near as rich as John was now. And as everyone knew, building connections was everything with the incredibly wealthy. So it wasn't a surprise that, now that John was one of the wealthiest men on earth. ""You've done well for yourself."" Richard patted his back and looked around the room, at the crystal chandelier and the statues that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. His son had indeed surpassed him, and he now regretted losing contact for the last fifteen or so years. ""That I have. Champagne?"" He handed a glass over to his father. They clinked glasses before downing the liquid. ""Why did you come to visit?"" He glanced over at his butler, who quickly nodded. Everything had been prepared. ""Ahh, yes. I wanted to reunite with my son. I've been searching for you for so many years, so imagine my surprise when I saw you on the news. I'm so glad you aren't dead."" He wiped away a tear that he had somehow managed to squeeze from his tearduct. He was referring to John's disappearance, almost fifteen years ago to the dot. A case where he and his mother had been kidnapped, his mother had been killed, and he had disappeared. He could still feel the blood on his hands as he desperately prayed to a God who wasn't listening as he desperately tried to stem the blood flowing from his mother's abdomen. ""I'm glad. Have you found my mother? We got separated during the kidnapping."" John's voice was emotionless. ""Unfortunately, I think she's probably dead."" He answered a little too quickly. John poured another glass for himself and sipped lightly. ""Mm-hmm."" ""Not that I haven't been looking. I have. But we have to be realistic,"" he added. ""Why are you really here?"" John changed the topic. ""Well...""--his father had the audacity to look a bit ashamed--""I'm in a spot of trouble, and I was hoping you could bail me out. Just a couple million, nothing too serious..."" ""Ah, my mother."" ""What?"" His father froze, unable to keep up with the subject change. ""Did you ever find out who she got kidnapped by?"" He shook his head. ""Of course not. I would have killed that motherfucker if I had found out. I loved your mother."" ""Oh."" John thought of the bruises on his mother's body every day, the way she had cowered whenever he had come into the room. And then he thought of the distinctive star shaped tattoo on the kidnapper's forearm, the same as on the hitmen his father used to hire to get rid of any people he didn't like. It didn't take long to put two and two together. ""That's the wrong answer."" His father frowned. ""What do you mean?"" John simply snapped his fingers, and his butler walked out, closing the doors to the foyer behind him. It was just him and his stinking, lying, murderous father now. He had thought, before, when he was young and naive, that it was all a misunderstanding. That the assassins were hired by someone else, or his father wasn't in the know, or anything else. But then he noticed how his father never put out a single ad to look for him. Just assumed he was dead. John felt a chill run through his body as he remembered the still-warm, heavy weight of his mother's body as she shielded him, then the urgent, silent whisper, even as she coughed up blood. *Pretend you're dead.* Just the thought of the memory made him itch to kill his father. But, for right now, he would settle for less just to take off the edge. He grabbed the candlestick and bashed it against his father's head, finding joy in the heavy thud it made as it connected. Richard reeled, falling to the marble floor. Then he climbed up. ""What was that?"" he shouted, gingerly touching his forehead. ""I know you were lying about my mother, you bastard. As if it wasn't even enough that you abused her every day, you had to go and kill her.""John's arms were shaking with rage, and he struck the other direction, until rivulets of blood criss crossed in multiple lines down his father's face. ""You really shouldn't use the same hitmen for every job. It's sloppy."" The violence didn't make him feel any better. If anything, it made him feel worse. The dam doors had opened, and there was a tide of fury that he couldn't stem, rushing out after so many years. Richard's face paled. ""You have no proof. It would never go to court. "" ""I don't need it to go to court. I just need personal satisfaction."" His father's face changed, turning red with anger. ""What will the world think of you? How dare you treat me like this? You'll rot in jail for the rest of your life for what you've already done,"" he shouted, blood streaming down his forehead to his chin. John removed his glasses and carefully set them down on the counter. ""I don't care what they think,"" he said. He brought out a large knife and examined the blade. It should do wonderfully for flaying apart someone's skin, layer by layer. ""I'm sure your donations were for your little business crimes so they couldn't come after you, but that's not why I donated to charity."" He looked at his father then, and grinned. Even under the golden light of the chandelier, his eyes suddenly looked pitch black, and Richard took a step back involuntarily, feeling his heart thud rapidly in chest from fear. ""Ask me why I donate to charity, *dad.*"" ***** r/AlannaWu",1186
" ""I can't be moved against","""I can't be moved against my will."" It wasn't much of a power, but at this point in my life I was largely just glad my voice didn't crack. Much. The cute young woman in a doctor's coat taped her clipboard twice before looking up. ""And what else?"" She said in a pleasant but professional voice. ""That's all. If I decided to stay, you couldn't move me from this chair."" ""Hmm..."" She looked thoughtful. ""What have you been able to do with this power so far?"" ""I can't lose an arm-wrestling match"" I said with a shrug. ""I can't *win* one either, though."" I said, flexing my under-developed bicep. She appeared not to notice. ""I see. Well, this is probably just a formality then - I doubt any of the Leagues will be interested - but it's protocol. If you could come this way?"" She gestured with her clipboard into a room full of strange equipment that was blinking and whirring quietly. It took nearly an hour to hook up all the probes, cowls, monitors, and what-not, so it is probably a good thing my superpower is staying put. Especially since the doctor lost interest in my small talk only a few minutes in. So it was a bored, ready-to-be-done mindset that the two of us were suddenly jarred out of when the klaxons sounded and ""Armageddon-class"" began flashing on the big screen. She turned to me, still covered as I was by equipment, and looked at me wide-eyed. ""You're *sure* there is nothing else?"" ""Well,"" I said, smirking ""That's my position, and I'm not going to move from it."" Her look told me I definitely *didn't* have any super-human powers of humor. ... It was two weeks before they let me leave; they ran test after test. They never uncovered any more powers, but I *did* get to arm-wrestle a ""real"" super. I didn't win, but, as predicted, I didn't lose. No one seemed quite sure what to do with me, so they sent me home while they figured it out. A few days later, they wanted me to come back for some more tests they dreamed up - but I'd had enough of being a lab rat and refused to come in. And what were they going to do, make me? That was the *one* thing I could prevent. Which meant I was totally alone and vulnerable when the assassin came. Apparently it's hard to keep a medical database confidential in an age of super-human hackers, and someone thought a new Armageddon-class super was a threat, and took preemptive action. Without any super-senses, the first sign I had that anything was wrong was feeling the blade piercing my neck. ""No!"" I was screaming in my own head, as I felt the blade slicing through my skin. *Pushing* the skin a little to each side of the blade. *Moving* the skin and flesh underneath. ""NO!"" my flesh didn't have to move. It *wouldn't* move. I willed it so, with my power. And the blade stopped. The killer seemed as surprised as I did by this. He, being a trained assassin, recovered first, and tried to pull his blade free for another strike. *That* didn't happen either. Quickly I grabbed his hand before he could let go of the blade. ""Let's just wait here until we can get all this sorted out."" I said, more calmly than I felt. His arm was some sort of cybernetic prosthetic that felt like it could bend steel - but it didn't budge. It was twelve hours before the mailman came the next day, and heard my shouts for help. It was only a few minutes later that Super-help arrived by supersonic jet, and took the assassin away. After twelve hours of standing locked in position in my apartment, he seemed almost glad to go. ... ""So... you're invulnerable?"" This time, the man across from me wasn't a cute doctor. Instead, he wore a gadget-covered suit that looked like it could withstand being tossed into a furnace, and had a chin that looked like it could be used to chop firewood. ""Not.... no. I don't think so?"" I still hadn't gotten back on my feet, mentally - being up all night didn't help, but I wasn't handling an assassination attempt very well emotionally. The man nodded, and looked about to jot something down - when suddenly he flew across the table swinging an anvil-sized fist at me. It connected with a *CRACK* and a shockwave that blew out the windows to the small room. But my chin hadn't moved. Well, except to go a bit slack and hang open in shock. The man had righted his upturned chair and sat again before I'd managed to close my mouth. ""We'll check 'provisionally' next to invulnerable then."" He said, as if nothing had happened. And just like that, I was the newest member of the city's local Super league. ... ""Hahahahah!"" the lunatic in the lab coat cackled, haloed by the setting sun. My friends - the rest of the league - were all incapacitated. One held down by a three-story tall robot, another in an impenetrable cage. ""Once I push this button, the whole city will be infected - and all you can do then is stand there and watch. But that *is* your super-power, isn't it? Standing there? Well, there's absolutely *nothing* you can do now!"" I had never felt so helpless. What I needed now was super speed, not super-standing-still. But the later was all I had. It certainly *felt* like Dr. Evil, PHD was right, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. But there are no absolutes, right? Hadn't Einstein said that? Sort of, I guess, but he was only talking about privileged reference frames. Wait... reference frames. I could remain immobile, but with respect to *what*? I'd always assumed it was just common sense that I could hold still with respect to my surroundings. But did it *have* to be? *Could* I choose another frame? I took a step to the left, centering Dr. E in the setting sun, and focused my thoughts on being still with respect to the Earths' center of mass. And then promptly collided with the man in the lab coat mid-cackle at several hundred miles per hour - much too quickly for him to press the button that would have doomed the city. ... I coasted through the air, remaining perfectly immobile in a rest frame centered on The Human Jet, as he flew us through the volcanic crater to the League's main base. Within minutes we were inside the huge dome of the main planning room. ""As you can see"" said the main in the hawk cowl, gesturing with his laser pointer, ""we have twelve separate villains enacting their doomsday plans in one hour, around the globe."" Arrayed on the dome-like screen around us were images of several in-progress city-ending activities, shown in real time. Bombs, ray-guns, monsters, the works. ""There are only six of us powerful enough to stop these events. Even if we all succeed, we'll only get half. I'm... honestly at a bit of a loss. There just isn't enough time to stop them all."" My mind, despite the seriousness, was wandering. It was as if the impending doom of so many millions of people was just too much for me to handle, and so it was looking for an out. But there wasn't one. Even the best of us couldn't stop two major events in 30 minutes alone. Heck, I couldn't even *get* there on my own - the cab ride would take longer than that. We *had* to stop it, but how? Time just kept marching forward, and with each passing second we had less time to react. But time doesn't really *march* forward, does it. No, it slides past - or we drift *through* it. And right now, I needed *not* to move through it. Not moving was what I did best, though, wasn't it? It took a few minutes of trying, but then I had it - I stopped moving through time. The room around me was completely still, and completely silent. ""Huh."" With that inauspicious word, I began to make my way to the garage - I had a world tour with twelve stops scheduled, and all the time in the world. ... Before anyone could voice a plan that could overcome our dire situation, the monitors switched from atrocities-in-progress to views of our holding cells, showing all twelve super-villains on lock down. The cities, in smaller views, appeared unharmed. Five of the six Armageddon-class supers were looking around the room with utter shock at our mysterious success. Only our newest member, Ted The Immovable (he was so new we hadn't found a real super-name for him yet), looked unphased. In fact, he was sitting with his feet on the circular conference table. ""So, now that that's taken care of, anyone want to play X-box?"" said Ted, a sly grin on his youthful face. ... You can read my older stuff at r/TheFeshyWords",1517
 Everyone else in Mr. Langh,"You know how when you're a child, lots of abnormal things seem normal to you because there's nothing for you to judge the experience against? That's how Bub and I started. Everyone else in Mr. Langhorne's class received their pen pal letters that day. Mine came, too, and if the paper had funny, oily texture and closed with a wax seal instead of a stamp, so what? That just meant my pen pal was cooler than Jimmy's. And for once that little twerp had to agree with me. I wrote back, thanking my pen pal for being so cool. Bub responded fast. His reply came within a week, asking how I had come by his letter. So I told him all about how Mr. Langhorne has passed out the letters, and how Bub's science experiment sounded fun. I hoped he had been able to find the newt eyes he needed. I had some frog spawn in a pond behind the house. If Bub needed, I could probably post him a jar full. He said yes. And unlike most of the class's pen pals, Bub and I kept writing. Bub's classes were more interesting than mine, but he seemed to like hearing about how hard I found multiplication at first. I wanted to hear about those ritual lessons his super-strict homeschooling dad was making him take. Bub told me about how he messed up once and instead of conjuring a fire sprite, he'd only managed a soot dog. He named it Inky. The years went by. And the letters kept coming. By high school I wondered why we never needed stamps on our envelopes. Or why I could mail him pictures, but he could only send drawings. I never cared enough to look into it, though. I would get distracted by things like landing the role of Lady Macbeth and Bub was more excited than I was. For some reason he never had to read Shakespeare for his classes. He did have to learn to bend iron and shape it into a bunch of weird sigil designs. He drew some of them for me. They weren't exactly pretty, but Bub said he was happy with how they turned out, so I was happy for him. I hoped by college, maybe we could go to school in the same area. Or at least switch to email. I wanted to hear from him more than once a week. But Bub's letters did make Monday more bearable. He said he was apprenticed to one of his dad's friends and couldn't come to college. I supposed learning a trade made more sense in today's economy, but I was still bummed. He drew me a picture of Inky, and I thought he was the weirdest dog ever, all puffy black with red eyes and a fire tongue. But I guess that's what happens with mis-summoned soot dogs. My college friends didn't know what to make of my pen pal relationship with Bub. By this time, he knew everything about me, and I knew everything about him. He was my closest friend, and my confidant. And if I were honest with myself, he was the reason I had never dated. I was too emotionally invested in Bub. That's why his last scroll, telling me of his father's death, was so difficult for me. I knew how much he respected his father. How good he had been at ruling over the demon kingdom. And now Bub has to step up while dealing with his grief. ""I can't do this alone,"" his letter told me. ""I need you by my side. Please,"" wrote the man I had never met but loved with all my heart, ""be my bride. Yours always, Beelzebub."" *Edit to add part two:* I was surprised how quickly I was taken up on my ""Yes, of course."" It only took until Monday for the next letter. Except it wasn't a scroll. It was a box. An empty box, with this scrawled on the side in familiar handwriting. ""I've had to bend the rules a bit to make this work. You and I both know this whole thing was out of the ordinary. Anything you can fit into this box can come with you. Thank you. You have no idea how much I have relied upon our friendship since my father took ill. I cannot wait to see you."" It's hard to sort through your life, and condense it down to one banker's box. Pictures of home. Pictures of family. Some of friends. A tatty old stuffed elephant I'd had since before I could remember. My favorite book. Bub's first letter to me. But really, what do you bring to a demon kingdom? Do they have electricity? Flush toilets? I really hoped they had flush toilets. I could probably forego the electricity, but I like plumbing. I tried not to worry about how I was going to get there, either. I had purposefully not paid attention to how my letters went wherever they went, or how Bub's came to me. Now I regretted not asking. Or paying more attention. To be completely honest, I hadn't wanted to pay attention. Maybe if I looked too closely at what was happening, it would go away. Or I'd find out the whole thing was an illusion. I didn't want Bub to be an imaginary friend that I'd built into more. So when Monday dawned and nothing happened, I was both relieved and depressed. Until the pentagram of fire burned into existence through my kitchen linoleum as I sat there drinking my second cup of coffee. I wasn't going to get my deposit back now, my brain mumbled somewhere beyond the static of my shock. But there was Bub, smiling at me with his a-little-bit-too-pointy teeth. Relief flooded through me. This was my friend. Someone who knew me, and loved me, and had been there through all my awkward phases. I'd seen his self-portraits throughout the years. This smile looked a little less certain than those in the drawings, as I'm sure mine was. My stomach was doing flip-flops that had nothing to do with all the coffee. ""Bub?"" I asked, my voice unsteady. ""Joon-hee,"" he sighed like a fire catching up kindling. My smile grew into a real grin. I picked up my box and walked over to him. ""I'm ready."" He took my hand and pulled me into the pentagram. The kitchen vanished. *Edit to add part three* I don't know what I expected a demon kingdom to look like, but I didn't expect trees. Or grass. Or moss. The rain was really weirding me out, and not just because I grew up in Southern California. The ground was squishy and springy under my feet. Bub didn't seem to think it was unusual though, as the fire of our travel pentagram fizzled out into an unenthusiastic heap of ash. ""This is home,"" he said in a bedraggled exhalation. For all that I hadn't known him in person for all that long, I could hear the disappointment dripping from the word 'home'. I'd expected a castle made of stone with giant crenellations at the top, and fire breathing chimeras guarding the front gate. We'd never talked much about our homes. He'd said he was a prince of demons who worked with metal. I'd said I was a student, and hadn't liked math. More often than not, our letters revolved around what we were doing and explaining those things to each other, rather than much of the setting. He didn't understand soccer, which I played in college for a while. I didn't understand the seventy five uses of blasting runes. It took longer to explain soccer. But hey, where we were didn't seem so terrible. There certainly was plenty of iron. It ranged in color from jet black to oxidized red, and every shade in between. The doors had figures carved all over them; the ones I noticed looked a lot like praying mantises battling others that looked like whales with legs. I hoped the whales won. I didn't have time to tell though, as the doors creaked before a green person swung them open. ""Ah, Sire, you're back."" He didn't' seem pleased. ""I take it your mission was... successful?"" He was eyeing me now. His pupils were square, like a goat's. ""Yes, Iskur. You know she agreed to come."" ""I did. But I did not think she would be so foolish to actually keep that promise."" Bub squeezed my hand here as he replied, ""You know little of this matter. Now, welcome Joon-Hee properly."" I couldn't read this green man's expression as he looked me over again, but his voice was emotionless now. ""I bid you welcome, Madam Joon-Hee, to the City of Martu."" His mumble that ""we don't need another astrologer, let alone a human one,"" gave me a pretty good idea of where he stood on my arrival. I raised an eyebrow at Bub. ""Astrologer?"" ""Yes, isn't that what you were in school for?"" I laughed. ""No, astronomer. It isn't even a little the same."" The puzzled expression on his far-more-human face was the first time I wondered what I might have jumped into without much thought. I wasn't sure I should ask what he thought I'd spent that much time learning all that math for.",1558
 A rock formation near Bilbao,"There is a rock formation near Bilbao, Spain, which is notable for its incongruence with the rest of its surroundings. It resembles two obelisks, at the very edge of a sheer drop off a cliff, almost as if they were stone giants who had perched themselves there. A smaller, rounder cousin lingers a few feet behind, welded into the ground. Science does not go very far in explaining how this trio of stone came to be. My grandmother, on the other hands, offers this explanation. She claims her grandmother told it to her, and we presumed that it was passed down in kind to *her*. We believe this story to be very, very old. And as the story goes, a girl from the nearby village, one Camila, was known for her beauty and her wisdom. Lively, adventurous, she commanded attention the way steel rods on buildings attract lightning. Her heart was kind, her touch was light, and her words fell with the grace of the first snows of winter. Little wonder then that families travelled from afar to watch this Camila sing and dance and play, and many a parent schemed to have her marry their sons. Foremost amongst her suitors was Mateo, son of the village chief. He was blessed with good looks and an boisterous personality, and it was often said that you could hear his laugh before you caught sight of him. In fact, the village chief was so sure that Camila would accept Mateo's proposal of marriage that preparations were underway even before she formally accepted. Merriment coursed through the village as everyone looked forward to Camila coming into their fold. So it was that the wise woman of the village found Camila at her doorstep one morning, banging on the doors so hard that the hinges creaked. Distress was written plainly on Camila's face, and her tale was so fanciful and far-fetched that the wise woman wondered if Camila was simply having the same jitters which inflict a fair number of brides-to-be. Camila, of course, was prepared with proof. Proof in the form of a hundred, two hundred letters, half of them filled with Camila's careful, precise script, and the other emblazoned with powerful writing, as if a typhoon had learned to pick up a brush. Proof in the consistency of detail in Camila's story. Proof in the form of a wispy, shadowy figure behind Camila, his headdress held respectfully between his hands. Camila's tale was straight-forward enough. She liked Mateo, but only as a brother. Her heart had long tended towards her friend at her side now, one with whom she had spent the last ten years corresponding with over letters. Camila called him Ulix, a 'prince from far shores', but the tiny nubs of horns on the stranger's foreheard left little doubt in the wise woman's mind as to his true nature. Camila did not know what to do, and so she had come to the wise woman for help. And it seemed that Mateo had heard of this interloper as well, the one who would threaten his chances of marital bliss with the wonderful Camila. For Mateo then trundled up the pathway to the wise woman's house as well, with a collection of musclemen behind him, their pitchforks raised and unflinching. With one voice, they demanded that Camila desist from her foolishness, that she give up her heart to Mateo only. The wise women grasped the situation quickly, and pandering to the pride of the hot-headed young man and otherworldly being before her, gave them three tasks to complete. Her message was clear and unmistakable - whoever performed the tasks best would win her approval for the impending marriage with Camila. Over three days and three nights did Mateo and Ulix persevere at their tasks, and they returned to present the fruits of their labour to the wise woman. The entire village had gathered to hear the final judgment, and the silence which baked as the wise woman mulled over her words was defeaning. Eventually, the wise woman pronounced Ulix the victor. See here, the wise woman said. The first task was to make Camila happy, and here Mateo had laboured to gather an assortment of invaluable gifts and presents. In contrast, Ulix had but acquired a small tome of writings from passing peddlers, poems and stories from her favourite authors, yet it had livened Camila up much more. Ulix, and not Mateo, truly understood what it was that Camila desired. The second task was to demonstrate how much Camila meant to them, and here Mateo had also endeavored to amass the riches which he would be sharing with her. In contrast, Ulix had but set out the ways in which he had changed over the years as a result of Camila's advice. Ulix recounted how Camila's counsel had changed the way he saw the world, the way he treated his subjects, and how it had stood him well in his claim for succession to the throne. Again, it was Ulix, and not Mateo, who truly benefited from what Camila could offer to give. The third task was to convince the wise woman what life they had planned for Camila after the marriage. Mateo was crystal clear in describing the life of comfort which awaited Camila, where her greatest burdens would be to continue the family line and to mother the brood. In contrast, Ulix set out the ways in which he would ask Camila to share the toils of their existence, the tasks he would entrust to her, the dependence he would place on her. The wise woman noted the rising fury from the gathered crowd as these strange ideals were shared, but deep inside, she knew the choice was clear. With the wise woman's blessing, Ulix and Camila set off to return to his kingdom. Ulix warned everyone not to follow, for his magic could only convey him and his chosen passenger. But Mateo did not heed that warning. Blinded by anger, prickled by wounded pride, he trailed after them, a dagger hidden, waiting to be sprung. No one actually saw the final confrontation, but the unusual flurry of lightning that evening served only as invitation for one and all to investigate. Led by the wise woman, they retraced the final steps of Ulix and Camila, and found that very rock formation at the edges of the cliffs. Some say that Ulix and Camila made it to their destination, and that they had left obelisks in place so that people would remember them. Others say that Mateo had interrupted them, and had prevented them from leaving, though he sacrificed his own wellbeing in the process. These people point to the fact that Mateo never returned. Be that as it may, the rock formation stands there to this day, testament to both the best and the worst of what we can be. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1153
" He'd never done well school,","It amazed him how one thing could become another. He'd never done well school, never managed to hold down a job, hell, he'd never even managed to be on the right side of the law. But he was good at this. Good at it and liked it. Mixing stuff. Cooking it. Turning it from what it was to what he wanted it to be. It was his own little world, a world he could control and be the king of. Even better, it got him things. Things he wanted to have. Women. Money. Power. ""Stop mixing the flask, you're going to fuck it up Giz."" Einstein said. His name wasn't Einstein, but when he figured out how to cook everyone said he was some sort of genius or something. Someone said Einstein and it just sorta stuck. He liked it. Liked feeling like he was the smart one. He hadn't felt that way before. ""Sorry Einstein. These directions don't make no sense."" Giz said, the flask in his hand trembling. Einstein didn't handle disappointment so well, and Giz was looking at the list of instructions trying to figure out how he wasn't going to be a disappointment. Einstein walked over and took the flask from him, pushing Giz away from the cooking apparatus. ""Man, you're about thirty seconds from killing us. Just sit in the fucking corner and stay out of my way."" Einstein was running out of people to train as assistants. Most of the other fuckups were lined up in graves a few miles away from the cooking site. If they couldn't cook, he couldn't risk them getting disappointed about that and telling the others. Looking down at the flask, he scowled. This batch was a total loss. Whole thing was screwed. Scowling, he hurled the flask at Giz. ""Fucked it up for the last time Giz."" The gun shot followed a moment later. He needed new equipment. It took him a few days before he came up with an answer on how to get it. He needed quality stuff and he was running short on funds after Giz screwed him. He could try and gank 'em from the local shop, but he was known there. Plus they had all sorts of cameras and shit. Too risky. The only other time he had seen equipment like that was back in high school when he used to get stoned and burn shit in chemistry class. Question was how he get in there and get a key. It wasn't like they'd be fine with some random dude walking around for no reason. Then it hit him. Substitute teacher. Those guys just showed up out of no where and were gone the next day. They didn't know shit about shit. Just put on a movie and wasted time until the period was over. He could do that, no problem. Searching the online requirements, he shook his head. Man, they were desperate. You didn't need jack shit to substitute. Just some college credits, which he had more than enough of since his mom had forced him to go to keep staying at her place. Didn't even matter what your grades were, just that you had the credits. He shot off an application, saying he had a background in chemistry and was available to teach. While he was waiting on the response, he got to work on updating him image. Drug dealer chic was out, broken down dude just trying to scrape a few dollars together by standing in a classroom with his thumb up his ass was in. The Goodwill was very accommodating on that front. Got himself a nice tweed jacket, some brown slacks and a dress shirt for under $15 bucks. Looking in the mirror, he couldn't help but laugh. He looked like the shrink his mom had made him go to during rehab. That guy was fucking pathetic, so this was perfect. By the time he got back from the store, he had a response from the school. Opening tomorrow. Chemistry. This was easier than he thought it'd be. Einstein was going back to school ladies and gentlemen. Waking up the next morning, Einstein took a shower, combed his hair and put on the outfit. He looked damn near presentable. A right proper member of society. Even brought along one of those briefcases so we could look the part. It also let him bring a few things he'd need to set up the heist. Arriving at the school early in the AM, he walked into the school office. He'd spent his fair share of time sitting in the seats in the corner. Disruptive was his middle name. Well, that and ADD. They kinda went hand\-in\-hand and selling his Ritalin had been a great primer for things to come. The admin looked up as he entered, a big smile on her face. ""Hello, welcome to Stone Valley High School, how can I help you today?"" ""Why salutations there, I am Mr. James Franco, here to substitute for chemistry."" He was hamming it up big time. Putting on a four star show for this bitch. James Franco indeed. ""Oh, wow, like the actor?"" She asked. It was the first name that popped into his head when he filled out the form yesterday. ""Just like the actor,"" He offered a winning smile. His teeth weren't pearly white, but he was within spitting distance of being charming. ""I see you here,"" she tapped a clipboard holding a list, ""your class will start shortly. We have you here for the week, but I should let you know that it could go longer. The teacher is out on bed\-rest for a maternity leave and may not be back for the rest of the year."" ""I'm just here for the children miss. I'll stay as long as you need."" Whatever. He'd be gone in a week with all the shit he needed to get cooking again. ""That's great to hear. It's a wonderful class of kids."" She smiled and handed him a form, ""I saw you're experienced in chemistry. Would you be able to teach the curriculum?"" ""Sure."" Yeah, fine, whatever. Just stop talking. She handed him a workbook, ""Just teach out of this. There's a lesson for each day."" Einstein accepted the workbook and gave her a little bow. ""I'll make my way to the class."" He glanced down at the form, ""Room 102?"" ""That's right. 102."" And then he was on his way. Winding his way down the hallways of his youth until he arrived at the doorway to 102. Pushing his way in, he took a look around the room. Suddenly unsure of himself. Was he really going to stand up in front of this class and teach? Fuck it, couldn't be that hard. He walked up to the chalkboard and wrote out Mr. Franco in huge letters, cracking up as he did it. What a disaster, if only his friends could see him now. Shame they were all such fuckups and he had to off 'em. They'd eat this shit up. Slowly the classroom filled up. Einstein sat behind the desk, flipping through the curriculum book with his feet up on the table. The bell rang. The kids continued talking. ""All right, let's get this show on the road."" The kids continued talking. ""Hey, let's start."" Still talking. ""You guys want to see some cool science shit or what?"" All of them stopped talking at once and turned to stare at him. Einstein broke out into a grin. He knew a trick or two, might as well share it. Besides, he might find a new assistant. ""Cool,"" He tossed the curriculum book down. ""We'll get to that later. Let's make some magic."" The kids giggled, their attention on him. He liked being the center of attention. Made him feel smart. **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1314
" At some point in the night,","Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. I can't see a single God damn thing. At some point in the night, I'm assuming some assholes injected me with some kind of sedative, and decided to rather impolitely drag me somewhere. I have no idea where I am. My world is black and still. All I can sense is the flow of air. An enclosed space, it seems. There's a bag on my head, and it's pretty hard to breathe through. Breathe in, breathe out. Sometimes the rough fibers get sucked into my nostrils. Why tape my mouth shut? I'm kneeling on a concrete floor, in a sterile environment. No other people here, or I would sense them. Not their scent, but their elemental makeup. I would see them, even if someone had plucked out my eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. First rule, not to panic. If they wanted me dead, they would have gassed me. Or shot me in my sleep. Something instant, otherwise I'd just heal the wound. Even if they sliced my throat, it would take only an instant to repair. It comes with the territory. See, when your mom told you that you were special, she was fucking lying. When mine did it, it was because I actually am. I have a rather special talent, and people like to hire me to turn walking, talking people into inanimate, very dead steaming piles of organic goop. So whoever has me here doesn't want me dead. They want me to work for them. I'm assuming this is to protect their identity. If I get out of here and find out who they are, it'd just be good business to hunt them down. I come highly recommended, but I don't tolerate word of mouth. A Chatty Cathy might blab to the wrong person and find themselves in an urn. I don't like loose ends. So breathe in, breathe out. I've been waiting for what feels like an eternity. Maybe to calm my nerves, or my temper. Waiting does neither. What I really need is to pee. A crackling, the first noise I've heard since my captivity. Crackling. An intercom? ""Mr. Mason, Carbon-Bender."" Flat. Monotone. Lifeless. What a speaker, ladies and gentleman. They know my real name. At least my last name. That isn't very professional. The mask pulls the tape back, and I get my first gulps of real air. Or more accurately, whatever is pumping through these vents. Tastes real enough. Say nothing. Let them fill the silence. So I wait. And wait. And wait. ""Mr. Mason, why you're here and who we are does not matter, as a man of your talent would understand."" I think it does, but what do I know? I can't see shit. ""You are an unregistered Bender. If certain government agencies were to discover this, you would be detained and evaluated for study due to the unique nature of your element."" So I guess it's my turn to speak now. Obvious assertions. They want to remind me of my powerlessness, and the precarious nature of my condition. I would like to avoid needles and doctors and all that mess. Having to fight the combined efforts of an entire military would be very taxing to my lifestyle. I've already decided to take the job. Whoever can track me down can obviously afford me. ""I don't need to be threatened,"" I say. My voice comes out weaker than anticipated. I wet my throat, I need whoever this is to fear me. And they should. ""So how about you shut the fuck up, and tell me what the job is?"" My real voice. I can hear the crackling still. I'm betting they had some long speech about how to not hunt them down and how I need to cooperate and how much money I'll make and blah blah blah. I don't have time for that. I'm a carbon bender, one of the rarest of an already rare breed. Most benders can only manipulate compounds, not base elements. Especially not a fundamental building block of all organic matter. I can rip the carbon out of your body, completely obliterating your cells and snuffing out your life without breaking a sweat. Or I can crush coal into a diamond. Really, it just depends on my mood. ""On the floor, Mr. Mason, you will see a metal sheet with a picture on it. You have seventy two hours to eliminate the target."" Straight to business. This is how I like it. They could have just emailed me or something, you know. Saved all the dramatic bullshit for some other Bender. The bag is lifted by a string. The cuffs whir and release. Remote access. Whoever is fucking with me is cautious. Smart. I must be underground. A cursory glance tells me everything I already knew. A Sterile environment. Wall to wall gray concrete. I can't detect any carbon anywhere. Odd. Someone put a lot of preparation into this. On the floor, a metallic sheet. Not steel, but something resembling it. An engraving. I pick it up, and turn to leave. ""Successful termination of the target will result in sufficient compensation, and our business will be concluded."" I turn the knob, resolved to kill everyone involved. After they pay me, of course. For a moment, I can't bring myself to walk out the door. Details. I need names, I need names and addresses and faces. ""I want the names of whoever told you my real name."" Crackle. ""Done, Mr. Mason."" ""I want the names of whoever captured me."" ""Done, Mr. Mason."" ""I want your name."" ""No, Mr. Mason."" Oh well. That would have been too easy. When I study the face, something about it brings back some ancient memory. Like seeing a picture of someone that sits across from you on the bus everyday, but you've never spoken to. A familiar stranger. Whatever. They're all the same to me. I turn to leave. Seventy two hours is plenty of time. Hell, make the right calls and I might get it done by dinner. ""Besides, Mr. Mason,"" the intercom speaks in that same monotone crackle, taunting me. ""We wouldn't want anything to happen to Mrs. Mason, now would we?"" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - has just been added! Will be adding more on my subreddit tonight!",1058
 Knight Varis Bonvil was accused,"""Knight Bonvil, you stand accused of attempted regicide. As a member of the Golden Order, it is your prerogative to determine the method of trial. Choose: law or combat."" Inquisitor Mallan glowered from his perch behind the Judging Table, his wrinkled face scrunched with disdain. ""I made no attempt on the King's life. I am sworn."" Bonvil called out, his voice carrying throughout the chamber. The nobles whispered amongst themselves. The facts were not in dispute. Knight Varis Bonvil had been caught atop the parapet, his hand grasping the King's robes as he dangled over the edge. Regicide. To even contemplate such a thing was to blaspheme against God's law. For it to be done by a member of the Golden Order was the darkest sacrilege. ""Law or combat Ser."" Mallen called out. ""I choose combat. My sword will show the truth of my words."" Knight Bonvil replied, the powerful muscles of his forearms flexing against the cuffs holding his hands behind his back. ""By combat. Very well."" The Inquisitor began scribbling on the parchment in front of him. ""The Crown may designate a champion to stand for the King."" Mallen turned and bowed to the King, seated on the throne behind him. King Galcon's eyes shifted from the Inquisitor to Bonvil. The silence stretched. Finally, rising from his throne, he spoke, ""I will stand."" An uproar ensued as the nobles tried to make sense of it. King Galcon was old and infirm. He was in no position to battle a Knight of the Golden Order. It made no sense. Inquisitor Mallen raised his hands, causing some calm to be restored, ""Your Majesty, surely you may choose another\-\-"" King Galcon cut him off, ""\-\-I may choose whomever I desire."" Bonvil hung his head, trying to sort out the meaning of it. The King had gone mad. He had served Galcon his entire life, why was he being tested so? Proving himself innocent would require Bonvil to be guilty of the crime he stood accused of. Was there to be no other option? Must one of them die? A soldier stepped forward and freed Bonvil's hands. A moment later he was handed his family's sword. It felt good to hold *Veritas* in his hands again. A small comfort in a deeply unsettling moment. Swiping it through the air, he turned to face King Galcon. The King removed his royal regalia, leaving him standing in a plain tunic. He pulled his sword from its scabbard, the weight unbalancing him slightly. ""The trial of Knight Bonvil is to be decided. May the light of God show the truth of this matter."" Inquisitor Mallen called out as the crowd watched in silence. Never in the long history of Pherelia had such a thing occurred. The King always designated a champion. King Galcon took in the crowd and then looked at Bonvil, a sadness to his eyes. Moments later, the start of the match was called out. Varis raised the tip of *Veritas*, falling into a defense stance. The King stood for a moment, quietly regarding Bonvil before charging forward, sword raised. As the sword came down, Bonvil raised *Veritas* to meet it, catching it on the hilt and bringing the King close to him. It was the first opportunity Bonvil had to speak with him since the night on the parapet. ""Your Majesty, why?"" King Galcon gave a faint smile and then took a step back before re\-engaging. Bonvil twirled out of the way, letting the King's sword strike the stones where he had stood. Even trained as he was, the King was no warrior. The fight continued with the King making progressively wilder swings, trying to goad Bonvil into a counter attack. But there was no provoking the knight. He was of the Golden Order. ""I will not harm you Your Majesty. I have sworn,"" Bonvil said. King Galcon's breath was coming in ragged heaves, ""What have you sworn to protect?"" ""The Kingdom."" ""I am not the Kingdom."" ""You are its King,"" Bonvil replied. King Galcon attacked again, coming in close. ""You can protect the King or protect the Kingdom, you must choose, Bonvil,"" he whispered. ""Why? Why must I choose?"" ""Because you stole the choice from me."" ""I saved your life."" ""And doomed the rest."" King Galcon's eyes met Bonvil's, ""I have done terrible things Varis. The retribution approaches."" ""The Golden Order stands. We can protect the kingdom. Protect you."" ""No,"" King Galcon's hand lashed out from the hilt of his weapon, laying hold of *Veritas* and pulling it down on himself, impaling the blade in his chest. ""You can't."" **Part 2** Crimson poured over Bonvil's hands as the King exhaled his last wet rasps. Galcon's head tilted forward as he sank to his knees, pulling the blood\-soaked *Veritas* down with him. Bonvil could feel the weapon react to the kill, a surge flowing up into his arm, filling him with a sense of righteousness. The act was just. The knowledge changed little in the face of the deed itself. The King was dead. The chamber sat is stunned silence as they watched the king fall. Then murmurs. Then shouts. The battle of succession commenced before the King's body had cooled. Galcon was the last of his line, leaving the throne empty. Nobles from the great houses staked their claim while the lesser houses made quick calculations on where their loyalties rested. Each sought to maximize their upside, to gain from the pool of blood slowly spreading across the floor. All except Knight Bonvil. He stared at the blade, trying to make sense of the surge and the King's words. What had he done? Why did Galcon have to die to protect the kingdom? Why was this just? He must find the truth. He was sworn. ""Seize the Kingslayer!"" Inquisitor Mallen's voice rang out over the din of the chamber. The nobles turned to look at Bonvil as the soldiers lowered their halberds and began to advance on Bonvil. Each tried to fathom where the greatest advantage lay. The tinder was ready, but it was house Che'Kov that ignited the flame. ""House Che'Kov lays claim to the Kingslayer! We shall bring him to the God's Justice!"" High Lord Farren Che'Kov pulled his sword as he spoke. The gambit cast, and the other great houses were forced to respond. None could risk the allowing Che'Kov to gain the moral high ground. Each of the High Lords pulled their own swords, shouting their claim to the Kingslayer. House Che'Lav. House Che'Ris. House Che'Yel. As each blade unsheathed, the blades of their vassals quickly followed, emanating out like ripples in a pond. Whenever the ripples of opposing lords collided, skirmishes developed. Soon the entire chamber was engulfed as the High Lords sought to settle the succession right there. The Kingslayer was a treat, but the prize was in reach. Bonvil watched as the soldiers approached as the chaos spread in the background. ""Stand back."" He flicked *Veritas,* sending a splatter of blood in an arc along the ground between him and the soldiers. A few of the younger men flinched and took a small step back. The more seasoned veterans continued forward, their eyes set on the grim task. Bonvil tightened his grip on *Veritas'* pommel and glance between the soldiers and the king. The kingdom hung on the precipice of the abyss. If the path to the Kingdom's salvation lay in Galcon's death, then Bonvil did not see how. If retribution was at hand, then they would need unity. Knight Bonvil of the Golden Order knelt down and pulled the crown from Galcon's head. Coming to a stand, he placed the crown on his head, *Veritas* still upraised in his other hand. A gruesome coronation. Turning to face the soldiers once more he settled into a fighting stance. ""I am sworn."" **YOU CAN FIND** **.** **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1317
" ""This isn't a punishment,""","###### ""Chriiiist, this thing again?"" I said, as my therapist wheeled in another damned droid. ""Doc, can't I just put in my time and go? These things feel like freaking ankle bracelets or something."" ""This isn't a punishment,"" my therapist said. ""I want you to give this a real *chance*."" I groaned inwardly. These therapy droids looked straight out of a sci fi flick--all buttons and lights on a sleek shiny surface. I'd seen ten of them already. All with the same result: A disappointed look from my therapist, and an extended timeline from my court order. *Would you like to talk?* the blasted thing whirred. *I'm here to help you heal!* I crept down on my haunches, right next to the thing's sensor. ""I'd rather launch you into the sun,"" I said. My therapist heaved a sigh. When my time was up, I asked her why she was doing this to me. ""Because you're worthwhile,"" she said. ""and it's time you accept it."" She tilted her head and smiled. See, that's the thing I found so frustrating with her. She was *always* smiling. But did she ever pause to think that, sometimes we're not? Humans, I mean. Sometimes we're steaming bags of shit, and there's no other way to slice it. The worst thing about the droid was the walk up my stairs. The engineers had defeated the complex enigma of instilling human emotions in a tangle of wire, sure, but constructing a robot that could tackle Minneapolis apartments? No way. Too tall an order. The thing just bumped into the bottom step repeatedly with its tire tread, eliciting this electronic sort of purr. They were easier to carry down afterwards, though. At least with me. Broken into a hundred pieces, they were really quite manageable. ""Come on, you,"" I sighed, hoisting the thing up like a suitcase. ""Reckon my therapist will write the judge if I don't at least try."" Raul spotted me on my way up. His belly peaked from underneath his white shirt. I focused on it instead of his frown. ""Late on rent again, Jackie-boy,"" he said. ""You're out in a week."" ""I'll have it to you tomorrow,"" I said. He and I both knew it was a lie. In a world full of strangers, I felt he was the only one who saw me for who I was. Because, really, the legends all held true. Minnesotans were *nice*. I would pass folks on the street, eyes bloodshot and hungover, losing count of how many strangers cheerily bade me a good morning. *To hell with you*, I'd think, *and your perfect life too*. Once, a woman in a fleece jacket bought my morning coffee. She was staring at me through the window, waiting for my reaction as I walked up to the cashier. My look had been so searing it could char a steak. ""You don't even know me!"" I'd yelled through the window. With everyone staring, I threw the damned thing in the trash. But Raul, he *knew*. He saw me stumble up and down the stairs, already wasted come noon. He heard the phone calls with my ex-wife, and he'd always come beating on the door. Oh he knew all right. I was a skid mark personified. A human piece of filth, that not even court-ordered therapists could crack. Raul eyed the droid warily as I walked down the hall to my door. ""Don't set off the alarms again, eh!"" Raul yelled. ""Those things smoke when they break."" Inside my apartment, I fished through all the empties, hoping to strike gold. *Salvation,* I thought, clasping a can half-full *Ohhh sweet, sweet nectar.* I took a hearty gulp. The beer was warm and flat. But ever. so. needed. If I could scrape together a few dollars, I'd run down to the gas station and buy a few more. Had I checked the couch last time? *Shall we commence?* the droid asked. I nearly jumped out of my skin. Truth be told, I'd forgotten it was there. Its tires hardly made a sound atop the stained carpet. ""Believe me. You don't want to--"" But when I turned, I discovered the droid had been fishing through my closet. A slender sort of arm crept out from its chassis, rifling through a shoebox full of my daughter's drawings. Right there in my fucking living room. The beer can skittered on the kitchen floor as I ran over. ""No!"" I screamed. ""You don't go anywhere fucking near those!"" I pushed the droid away. It rolled along the carpet, coming to stop against a pile of dirty laundry. *She drew beautifully, you know* My chest felt balled up. All the pent up *bullshit* that life had slung at me coiled inside, knotted as a rope. I crumbled to the carpet, just staring at this thing--this little piece of paper drawn on with crayon--that had torn my life to shreds. ""You don't fucking know a *thing*,"" I hissed. I felt a steel hand on my back. *I do* it said. *Dr. Mayhew briefed me beforehand.* ""She..."" *She filled me in so there would be no further malfunctions* it said. It paused for a minute, letting me soak everything in. Then it said: *Would you like to talk?* My dead daughter's picture trembled in my hands--me and her, riding our four wheeler. The smile looked so foreign drawn onto my tiny face. *Christ,* I thought. *She'd even drawn the beer in my hand.* I felt emotion release. The bells and whistles--all those gleaming lights of the personal therapy droid--they blurred behind my eyes into one great muddled mess. *I* was one great muddled mess, really. I always had been. Even my daughter had seen it. I only wish I'd done something to clean it all up. As if it sensed all the pain, the droid took my head into its metal arms. ""You really won't self-destruct?"" I croaked. *No,* it said. *And no longer will you* -------------- **Edit:** If you enjoy emotionally scarred characters struggling towards catharsis, you might enjoy a fresh serial I'm writing about an abused princess who convinces a bitter dragon to kidnap her. The first if that sounds of interest :) More stories at r/M0Zark",1038
 Bran used to drive to work before,"*The metro seems pretty rough today.* Every few moments the train seems to jostle a little too heavily, causing a few of the passengers to look up, startled. Some go back to looking at their phones or books. Others give nervous little chuckles. The rest of the trip was pretty uneventful. Faster than usual, even. It usually takes about twenty minutes to get back to the closest station, but it appears we've only arrived in ten. The car comes to a final stop, and I stand and stretch my legs slightly. Still somewhat sore from my workout this morning. Got to get back into shape, they told me. It helps with the grieving process, they say. Stay busy. Work hard. Don't think about it. The bus makes me nervous now, though it's only a four minute ride from the station. I used to drive to work before the accident, but I can't bring myself to get behind the wheel anymore. I sit in that same seat, where my blood had once soaked into the fabric. Brand new seats now. Instead of the mindlessness of just turning the ignition and getting on my way, all that comes to me is panic. A tight grip on the wheel, unsuccessfully strangling the fear. A smoother ride on the bus, then up the sidewalk. To my surprise, the flowers in front of the house seem well tended here. Splotches of color, heads held high. Healthy. Alive. Strange. It had been raining recently, but I hadn't been paying much attention to the yard. That had been Laura's domain. Maybe they were just late bloomers, waiting for early summer. Whatever. Twist the doorknob, and already I've planned out the rest of my evening. Microwaved dinner, a six pack, maybe a movie and then straight to bed. I liked my routine. It feels good to impose order where I can. In swings the door. Inside, a room full of people. *SURPRISE!* Shock. For a moment my mouth opens and closes like a fish trapped in an aquarium, words attempting to come out by failing time and time again. There's the general hubbub of voices speaking over each other and a few laughs. What day was today? My birthday? No, it wasn't. I knew it wasn't. But all around my house, streamers and banners. *HAPPY BIRTHDAY!* One after another, lining the entire living room. My dining room table brimming with assorted dips and prepackaged food. I could already see the sheen on the cheese cubes, sweating. How did these people get in my house? I barely recognize half of them. My brother comes forward, pushing through the crowd. ""Hey buddy, the guest of honor has finally arrived!"" What the hell is he doing here? He lives across the country. He's coming towards me, burlier and taller than I seem to remember. His beard has grown out, and he looks like he's lost some weight. But it's definitely him, that giant birthmark still runs down his forearm. ""What the hell are you doing here?"" It's all I can ask, but he just laughs at the question. ""Big surprise, man. Everyone's here. Happy birthday!"" ""It isn't my birthday."" ""Sure it is! You must have let it slip your mind."" He puts an arm around my shoulder, leading me through before I can ask what's going on. ""Look we got all your favorite shit,"" he's motioning to the table. He's right. There are my favorite chips, dips, and beers. But still, the confusion. ""Today is the sixteenth, isn't it?"" My brother shakes his head. ""It's your birthday is what it is."" He shoves a beer in my hand before clapping my shoulder so hard it almost knocks me over. ""Look we'll catch up in a few, I got to go check on some shit in the oven."" He disappears into the crowd. Who are these people? There are congratulations given to me by strangers, telling me to enjoy my special day. The faces seem to blend together, some of them recognizable, but no one stands to talk to me for long. They return to whatever conversation they've already been immersed in. Someone grabs my hand. ""How's the birthday boy?"" It's my mom, but she too looks different. Younger, more vibrant. Alien to the last time I saw her. ""Mom? What are you doing here?"" She laughs and squeezes my hand before hugging me. I haven't seen her like this in God knows how long, not since Dad got sick. Taking care of a dying man can kill the caretaker sometimes. Her dress is a bright floral print, somewhere between red and pink. Great white flowers dot the surface. ""I'm so glad you're finally here, we were waiting for so long to set this up."" ""Mom it isn't my birthday. Where is dad?"" I had last seen her looking after a man who couldn't remember his own name or clean up his own shit. Laying in a bed while holes formed in his brain, losing memories. Sometimes he would wake up afraid, and my mother no longer tried to soothe him, merely waiting for him to calm down. Grey hairs, worn clothes, sallow eyes. There's no note of it in her now. She gives a playful scowl, before laughing again. ""Of course it's your birthday, silly. Listen, you enjoy yourself, I need to go help your brother in the kitchen."" She too, disappears in the crowd. I stand by the table for awhile, eating and drinking. My mood has improved somewhat, and I can't really bring myself to care over the fact it isn't my birthday. There's something comforting in the people now, even though I do not know them. Genuine happiness. That's whats on their faces. Something I haven't had for awhile. Another powerful clap on the shoulders. Why does everyone keep appearing behind me? I'm halfway through a chip topped with guacamole, but turn to see who it is. The chip falls to the floor. ""Dad?"" ""Happy birthday, son!"" He's standing. That's impossible. His hair is still gone, but he too sports a beard like my brother's. Arms no longer withered and atrophied, chest no longer chaotically rising and falling, legs no longer thin useless noodles. Someone else. This can't be him. ""You're not my dad."" He looks somewhat hurt but embraces me anyway. ""Of course I'm your dad. Who else would I be?"" I want to push him away, but conflating images seem to cross my mind. My nose bleeds somewhat, a thin stream. He hands me a napkin and I wipe it away. ""Dad, you're sick. You're very, very sick and shouldn't be up walking,"" I try to say more but the words won't come. He laughs at me, like I've told the funniest joke he's ever heard. That same booming laugh from when I was younger, it's unmistakable. Like walking into a photo of the past. ""Look, we'll have plenty of time to talk in a few minutes. I need to go help your mother and brother in the kitchen."" He turns to leave, but I try to grab him, to keep him here. The man I remember and know, not a wasting corpse. ""Can't let your brother burn anything in there, you know he can't cook for shit,"" he calls over his shoulder. Again he's lost in the crowd. I don't know what's going on, but I have to move forward. I have to follow him. I make my way to the kitchen, but the wall of bodies seems tighter and tighter, giving less space to move. An impenetrable human wall. I can't make my way there. Another pull on my hand. I turn, and this time it's a ghost. Laura stands there, her hair kept in a tight ponytail. Same mole on her chin. Same grin. ""Happy birthday!"" She embraces me, and I no longer want to think about what's happening, I don't care what's going on. I definitely don't give a shit it isn't my birthday. I hold her as tight as I can, but I can't help but notice. She has no heart beat. ""Laura, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"" I can't help it. They spill out, hot and sticky. Regret and guilt. ""I shouldn't have gone so fast, I should have paid more attention I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,"" I can't stop. All I can say is I'm sorry. All I can see is the smoke and glass after the sudden screech. An accident on a remote road. A corpse nearly twenty feet ahead of the vehicle, thrown onto the asphalt. Not my wife, but something similar. A bag of meat, brains sprayed and sticky on the hot summer road. Not a woman, not Laura. Laura wasn't dead, Laura would never leave me like that. At the funeral I remember looking at the stillness in her face. All I could remember thinking about was how well a job the morgue had done stitching it back together. But here she stands. Not in a casket, but not alive either. ""Laura what's happening?"" She presses a hand to my chest. ""Do you feel anything?"" I stop and pay attention now. *The metro was pretty rough* ""Do you notice something missing?"" *That metro ride was impossibly fast* I have no heart beat. *The train took some of those turns a little too hard, it must have derailed.* ""It happens like this for everyone,"" she says to me. *I wonder when it happened?* Shock. I have no heart beat. ""It's easier to ease people into what comes next this way,"" she says. Her voice is far away, somewhere on the wind. I can't seem to find the words, but I try as hard as I can. ""Do you leave me now?"" She shakes her head, and the crowd seems to part. For the first time, silence. ""Let's go help your family in the kitchen,"" and she begins to lead me through the gap in the crowd. ""What happens next?"" It's all I can ask. ""You'll see when you get there,"" she says. ""Don't be afraid."" I'm not. I don't care anymore. As long as she never lets go, I don't care what happens next. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ r/storiesfromapotato",1700
 The Count returned from the night shift,"I woke up in a sweaty sleeping bag when the Count returned from the night shift. Truth be told, I'd hardly been sleeping anyway. The climate down south emanated like a heat blanket. Plus, it was never wise to let your guard down near a vampire, no matter how faithful a travel companion. We'd been traveling together for months now, holing up in one shack or another, and every night I swear he looked at my neck like a long desired delicacy. It was unsettling, sure, but at the same time...there was something I could identify with in the desire. After all, I'd been tracking Bigfoot for years now. And he was finally *so close*. The Count hovered over my bed, beating his furry wings. I stood up from my sleeping bag and bowed. ""Your excellency,"" I said. ""Status report?"" With a strange popping of limbs, the Count morphed into his true form. He stood pale as moonlight inside our little den. ""The beast has moved south,"" he said in his strange accent. ""He's fled to the caves."" ""Christ almighty,"" I said. ""It's the same story every time."" The Count nodded. ""There's more..."" ""Don't tell me."" ""It appears...on my journey..."" ""HOOOOLY SMOKES!"" cried the goblin. He'd burst through the door of our dingy wood cabin, ugly green face aghast ""This place is a dump!"" I sighed. ""Alright, this again. I'll send this one on his way. Log your findings, then get some sleep. I've got your inflatable coffin hooked up to the air pump."" The Count nodded. He shifted back to a bat in the blink of an eye and then off he flew. The little green fellow, meanwhile, was busy pillaging through my sleeping bag, looking for spare coin. ""The bat promised treasure,"" he sneered. ""But you ain't got shit."" *Yes,* I thought. *That's our problem* The past months had been nothing but discovery. In my quest for Bigfoot, I'd stumbled upon a trove of fantasy. Around every corner there lay a mining camp of dwarves, or in the pools of every mountain lake, there twinkled a school of mermaids. Twenty species, the Count and I had discovered. Including the Count himself. The world was going haywire. It was as if some portal had been opened, and out of it spilled the entirety of human imagination. Things children only read about between pages of hardbacks. Instead of another world war, most people's greatest fear was now perishing beneath dragon fire, or finding a chimera had eaten their poodle. It was a strange new world. Full of sudden discovery. But, I just wanted Bigfoot. After what he'd done, nothing else mattered. Unfortunately for me, all these creatures just got in the way. Except for the Count, of course. He'd proven most useful. But that was only because he hated the beast just as much as me. I hurriedly packed up my gear and prepared to set out. Dawn was crawling up the cabin windows, and the Count had said our mark had fled to the caves further south. As I moved to the door, I'd almost forgotten about the Goblin. ""You ain't going nowhere without the likes a'me! You owe me you fuck!"" I eyed the vile creature up and down. He looked as if a pile of snot had achieved sentience. ""Owe you?"" ""The bat promised treasure,"" he repeated. ""I'll slit your throat less you give it."" Once again, I sighed. If it wasn't a unicorn missing its horn, it was a dragon missing a prized heirloom. These fantasy beasts were a strange breed, always sucking you into quests of one nature or another. A lesser man would have exploded at the goblin, but I kept my eyes on the prize. ""Fine. I tell you what. You know the caves, right? Show me to them and I'll get you your treasure."" ""Fine,"" the Goblin said. ""But you listen here, pale-thing, if you try to--"" ""Yes, yes, you'll slit my throat. Let's get a damned move on."" The Goblin lead me through a forest of brambles. He was a spry little fellow, hopping from one log to another. Along the way, I saw what the Count had meant. Every so often the ground was torn to bits, and clumps of dark fur hung from prickly branches. I stopped a few times to inspect the scene, but the damned Goblin kept running through the woods like a spooked deer, so I pushed my legs onward to keep pace as the little green blur scurried along. Eventually, we stood before a dark cave entrance. Hanging moss dangled listlessly from above, and a there drifted from inside a pungent stench that turned my stomach. If ever there was a hideout for a murderer like Bigfoot, I'd imagined this would be it. My first step echoed through the darkness. The Goblin remained behind. ""Not coming?"" I asked, already half bathed in the dark. The smell had only worsened. Like rotten meat. ""I...don't like the dark,"" the Goblin said, shyly ""You're fucking kidding me."" The Goblin screwed up its face in an ugly little frown. ""If you tell a soul, I'll--"" I held up my hand. ""Alright then, suit yourself."" I brought my shirt over my nose as I traveled deeper into the dark, feeling my way using the feel of the slick walls of rock. Every so often, a bone went skittering, and I pressed myself against the walls, straining my ears for any sign I'd spooked whatever lay inside. Eventually, a light shone down the way. I crouched down, taking it slow. Beside a luminescent cave pool, there stood a shivering form. I inched even closer. All I could hear was the sound of my own heartbeat. Could it be? Was it really *him*? Years and years of searching--of living off berries and wiping my ass with oak leaves, always with the notion of *blood* on my mind--would it finally all end? *Would I finally get revenge?* My heart sunk. No. It was just a man. Standing stark naked. He looked sorta scared. Like he was coming off a bad trip. ""You're not Bigfoot."" My voice echoed off the cave walls. *Yet another disappointment.* The man jerked his head up. He was disheveled. In need of a good shave. A hermit perhaps. Or some crazed killer. Even as he spoke, I edged my way backwards into the darkness, preparing to make a run for it. ""No,"" said the man. ""I'm something much worse..."" *Oh, boy, here it comes.* ""A werewolf,"" he said, shame laced in his voice. I heaved a great inward sigh. The Count and I hadn't been on Bigfoot's tail after all... ""Of *course* you are,"" I said, hardly bothering to conceal my irritation. Before he could ask for my help, I turned tail to leave. The Goblin outside the mouth of the cave might present a problem. But his legs were short, and I could outpace him. The Count and I had been misled somewhere along the line. Some forest faerie had mistaken the wolfbeast for something else in the dark of night perhaps. Or an orc had taken our payments and lied. But we'd pick up the trail again tomorrow. No way was I about to give up. As I retreated back through the cave, the man's weeping echoed along the dark walls. They sounded so miserable. So full of pain. Suddenly, I turned back, with an idea burning bright. I'd read all the books as a kid. All these creatures of fantasy--perhaps they weren't obstacles at all. They were orcs with brute strength, and wizards of sly cunning. They were high-flying dragons and unicorns who galloped. I'd simply taken in the Count because we had a like-minded interest. But why not use *all* the tools at my disposal? Back at the pool, the man looked at me, surprised, eyes full of pleading. ""Say,"" I said. ""Are you any good at tracking?"" ----------- r/M0Zark **Edit:** Hit the 10k char limit, so I've replied with here!",1336
" Garp sat on his throne,","""Unhand me you big ugly brute!"" The sword's voice echoed in Garp's head. Garp sat on his throne, hand resting on a sword standing erect in a rock as tall as a wagon wheel. ""No, I'm the king, you're my sword."" Garp said aloud. The surrounding advisors looked back and forth nervously. ""Only he with the heart and mind to rule deserves to pull me from the stone and wield me. You are not worthy!"" Garp ignored the sword, he had never understood why it was so insistent on talking when it didn't have anything useful to say. He looked back up toward his advisors. ""Ahem, right, well, as I was saying, sire, the Chimaera has been terrorizing the villages on the marches. The latest to suffer it's wrath has been Ducane, by the river."" ""And the army?"" ""The army is..."" He trailed off. ""Having difficulty finding volunteers to face the beast. The men seem to view it as a sign from the gods and are none too eager to confront it."" ""Humph, fine."" ""My liege?"" ""I'll deal with it."" Grabbing the sword, Garp began to walk out of the throne room, dragging it behind him. ""Sire, this is a dangerous beast, surely you would be better served finding a champion. We can send to the Oracle, asking for a hero to be named, have them anointed by the priests, arm them with the sacre\-\-"" ""I'll deal with it."" Garp repeated. Heroes were such a hassle, always going to get prophecies and getting all dressed up in their mythical trousers or whatever. Much easier for Garp to just smash his face into it until it surrendered, that's how he had dealt with life, the last king, the Tallian army, and now he'd do it to this Chimaera, whatever that was. A screeching noise like bone on glass tore through the throne room as Garp dragged his newest possession, the Sword of Kings, and it's boulder, over the smooth polished marble of the throne room. A long Jagged scar marked his path out. ... The path to Ducane wasn't long, Maybe a day and a half by horse, but, with the sword being as obstinate as it was, he couldn't ride a horse. He could have hitched a wagon and hauled the sword that way, but he considered that to be an admission of defeat. So, Garp dragged the sword, all by himself. First down the steps of the palace, with bone\-shaking poundings on each step, then through the muck of the horse\-path filled with filth, then through a brook, bubbling with fish. As he was dragging the sword through a knee\-deep wagon wheel rut of a road, the sword spoke up. ""I wish you would stop dragging me through this mud. I'm a legendary sword, have some respect."" ""I'm a legendary king, *you* have some respect."" ""You're not a legend, Garp. You're a middling king at best. A middling king in a middling kingdom."" ""Agree to disagree."" Garp said, continuing to drag the boulder through the mud. ... Three days and two rainstorms later, they arrived in the village of Ducane. Or rather, what was left of the village of Ducane. The place had been burned to a crisp, a trail of further burning led up the river, marking the passage of the beast. ""Sword, what exactly is a Chimaera?"" ""Oh, nothing much really, just one of the most fearsome foes ever to walk this earth, three heads: savage lion, poisonous snake, fire\-breathing goat."" ""Fire\-breathing goat? Who came up with that? Anyways, doesn't sound too bad. I guess I just smash it a few times and...?"" ""Doesn't sound too bad!? Who came up with it!? The Gods came up with it, you dimwit. Smash it? Yes. Excellent battle plan."" ""Glad you agree."" Garp said as he started dragging the rock north through the path of ashes. ""I'm not agreeing! That's the worst plan I've ever heard!"" ... A few hours later, they emerged into the village of Pocroix, the Chimaera, standing ten feet tall at the shoulder, was ravaging the village. Screams floated on the air as people fled in all directions. Flames engulfed the church and townhouses. Garp stood for a moment, surveying the scene. ""It's a big fella, no one told me it was big, I was thinking like goat\-sized or something."" ""Goat\-sized? It's a mythical beast of annihilation!"" ""You said it had a goat head. Whatever, let's get smashing."" Garp marched forward down the hill, slowly approaching the Chimaera, dragging his unwieldy sword\-boulder behind him. As he approached the beast, he started shouting at it, throwing stones, trying to get its attention. When he was a few yards away, the snake headed tail whipped toward him with lightning speed. Garp, surprised, let go of the sword and jumped back, slapping at the snake with his hands. The snake lunged again, he smacked it again; it lunged a third time, he got his foot on top of the thing and pinned it. He grappled at the sword\-stone and brought it down on the scaly neck with a crash. ""KREEEE,"" A roar ripped the air, he had the beast's attention now. The goat head, five feet from horn to snout, tongue lolling out, glared at him with demonic hatred as it spewed a stream of liquid fire at Garp. ""Ok sword, time to move,"" Garp said, digging his toes into the dirt as he dragged the sword forward at a moderately fast walk. ""This is absurd!"" The sword snapped back as flames filled the place they had stood moments before, burning the bottom half of the boulder. The lion head came about as Garp was marching slowly away from the burning pit, a paw the size of a bag of grain flew through the air at his face. Manfully, he yelped and fell on the ground. Another paw dropped toward him from above, but he rolled to the side. Leaping to his feet, he grabbed the hilt of the boulder\-sword and ran toward the beast. Then, using his momentum, he flung the whole thing at the lion head with the utmost aplomb. It smacked the lion squarely in the nose and it retreated with a hiss of displeasure. Garp rested on the sword for a moment. ""See sword, it's easy, we just smash smash smash until things go our way, that's my secret. Castle in the way, smash it. Army in the way, smash it. River in the way, well, okay, smashing doesn't always work, but you get the picture."" A childlike scream pierced the air. While they'd been battling the lion head, the snake head had recovered itself and now had a small child trapped against a wall, about to gore him with it's three\-foot long, venomous fangs. Garp didn't even think, he loosened his grip on the blade and sprinted as fast as he could toward the boy, tackling the snake\-head out of the air and grappling it to the ground before he started pummeling it with his fists. ""Run kid!"" He shouted to the boy. Then he noticed, his fists weren't empty, the Sword of Kings was in his right hand, pommel bloody from being smashed hilt\-first into the snake's face. Without a second thought, he spun the sword around and decapitated the first head. An unearthly scream filled the air as the other two heads turned toward him. The goat spewed fire, but it was much too slow, now that Garp wasn't dragging a boulder. The lion swatted at him, but it was met with a sword instead of ducks and rolls this time. Garp charged between the lion's paws and shoved the sword deep into the beast's heart and, as it fell, decapitated the screeching goat. There was a moment of silence. ""So... you forgot your rock."" ""You proved your worth, you were prepared to sacrifice your life for the child."" ""I was prepared to smash some snakes is what I was."" ""Don't be coy, you dove at it unarmed, an act of selfless bravery."" ""Well, whatever I guess..."" Garp surveyed the carnage ""So, what now? Does this thing have magic blood or feathers or something."" ""Magic blood? Don't be ridiculous."" ""Ridiculous? It had a goat head breathing fire, how am I being..."" ... So began the long reign of King Garp. A middling king in a middling kingdom, he is long forgotten. His sword, however, went on to have many great adventures, you may even have heard of some of them.",1418
 Rob shone his flashlight onto the creature,"Rob shone his flashlight onto the creature that was climbing down the cavern wall. ""Ugh,"" he said. ""That's one ugly insect."" ""Not everything can spend five hours preening itself in a mirror before leaving its home,"" Claire said sarcastically as she leaned in. ""Oh look, it's just a harmless little spider."" Rob frowned. ""Since when did spiders have ten legs?"" ""Huh. Well... maybe it's a new species."" ""Yeah? Wait, if we discovered it, that means we get to name it, right?"" ""I guess so?"" ""Cool. Once it gets to the ground, I'll christen it as: Arachnid-under-boot."" ""Don't you dare hurt it!"" Claire said sternly. She sighed and turned away, looking for the final member of their small expedition. This spider -- or whatever it was -- was just the kind of thing Michael would be interested in. Might be another addition to the sketch book he'd brought with him. When she saw the smaller boy trailing some way behind them, she gasped. ""Michael, you're..."" ""*What?*"" said Michael, his lips trembling as he caught up with them. ""What am I? Why are you making that face? Tell me!"" He thought he could hear his heartbeat echoing off the cavern walls. ""You're uh, you're glowing,"" said Rob, trying not to grin. Michael's throat rocked as he looked down at his hands. ""You mean this, right? My flashlight's glowing."" ""Bad news buddy,"" Rob said with a shrug. ""Your flashlight's dead. And uh, judging by what must be radiation leaking out of your body, you can't be far behind it."" The flash-light tumbled to the ground and rolled down towards Claire's feet. Claire hit Rob in the stomach. ""Don't listen to him. It's not radiation."" ""Then- then what the heck is it? You're the one that wants to be a doctor, so you must know! Tell me!"" He could see it now. His skin was leaking light, and it was turning from yellow to white. His shadow even seemed to have run away from him. Claire shook her head. ""I have no idea. But I think we should all try to stay calm, okay? I'm sure you're not in any danger, but just to be safe, we're going turn around right now and get you to a doctor. Uh, a *real* doctor, before you say it."" ""Oh crap, oh crap. We're like... it took us three hours to get this deep down. Oh crap. I knew we should have turned around when we saw that weird statue! Who carves into a rock wall this far down a cave? And two freaking mouths!?"" ""Relax,"" said Rob, running a hand through his long blond hair. ""You're either going to die before we get you to a doctor, or you're going to be fine. There's no point worrying about it. Hopefully you live, because then we don't have to worry about batteries no more. Just means you'll always have to be at the front."" ""There's no way I'm-"" the smaller boy began indignantly, when he noticed something on Rob's hand. ""Have you always had that?"" ""Huh?"" Rob furrowed his brows. ""Had what?"" ""On your hand."" Rob looked at his left hand. Fine. He turned his right palm around and let out a shriek. ""Oh shit, what's that?"" Claire walked over to him. ""It's just a lump. Looks like a boil."" As she watched, the skin next to it began to twitch. ""What's wrong with my hand,"" he gasped. ""Claire?"" ""It's not just your hand,"" said Michael, gently touching his own face with a bright white finger. A round patch of skin on Rob's perfect face began to shiver, then raise, then rip open. Finally, it blossomed into something dark and green. Something like mould. Claire recoiled, her face twisted. ""Oh God, it's not that bad is it?"" Rob asked running his hand over it. ""It's bumpier than fucking braille! What's happening to us?"" Claire shook her head. ""No, it's not bad, it's just... uh... it kind of smells."" ""Smells? Like what?"" She shrugged. ""I don't know. Like meat left in the sun or something."" As she spoke, another patch of skin erupted on his arm. Volcanoes spewing out spores of mould. ""I'm- I'm turning into some kind of... monster."" He ran another nervous hand through his hair again. This time, it came back covered in blond locks. ""Just... just sit down,"" Claire commanded, shrugging the bag off her back. ""I've got some lotion that might help."" ""Lotion?"" he laughed. ""Lotion are you--"" A tsunami-like rumble ran down the passageway. Claire could only watch stunned, as a rock came loose from the top of the cavern and landed against the side of Michael's head. His face seem to bounce away from it before he collapsed onto the ground. More rocks fell, somewhere in the distance, but Claire barely registered them. ""Michael!"" ""Oh shit,"" said Rob. The light from Michael's body was already weakening. By the time Claire and Rob were kneeling by his side, it had extinguished completely. ""Shine your light on him,"" Claire commanded. ""On his head. Now!"" Rob fumbled with his thickening fingers until the beam spread over the small boy. The side of his head was dented, as if someone had punched cardboard, and their fist had gone all the way through. Claire felt Michael's wrist for a pulse. *Nothing.* Scorching tears screamed down her cheeks. She put her mouth to his and breathed. She knew it was hopeless, but she couldn't stop herself. She had to save him. She *had* to. Then, she pumped his chest with her palms. ""Come on, please come back to us, Mike. Please!"" After a short fruitless time had passed, Rob dragged her away from the body. ""Claire. He's gone. Look at him -- there's no bringing him back. Shh, shh, it wasn't your fault, okay? You did all you could."" ""He... he only came down here because of us. Because of *me*. I invited him. I thought he might find some stupid creatures for his stupid book."" ""Shh,"" he crooned, pulling her into his chest. She barely noticed the fetid smell, or the transformed face. ""Listen to me, it wasn't anyone's fault. He chose to come explore this place with us. No one forced him. Not me. Not you."" For a few minutes, she sobbed into Rob's chest. It was a strange light that disturbed them. Not white. Grey. Almost black. ""What the..."" Rob's voice trailed off. Claire looked up at him. She followed his eyes and slowly turned around. ""...*Michael*?"" she whispered. The boy's head was caved in. Yet somehow, he was standing. Perfectly still. His head was tilted, almost dangling off his neck. His eyes were locked on hers. She didn't need to feel his pulse again, however, to know that he was dead. --- Part 2 (it's somewhere down below): https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8imb1k/wp_a_group_of_teens_gets_super_powers_but_none_of/dytf0sv/ Part 3 (further down) https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8imb1k/wp_a_group_of_teens_gets_super_powers_but_none_of/dythm0u/ If I do any more, it will be over on my sub: /r/nickofnight Thanks for reading :)",1158
 My only concerns were food and warmth,"My only concerns were food and warmth. My mother provided both. I cried when he took me away from everything I knew. His scent wasn't familiar. He was so big that he could hold me in one of his gigantic, furless paws. Soon I found out that he was a tiny version of the furless ones. His name was Mike. They called him a child. Their version of a puppy. It was tough in the beginning. I missed the only life I had known. I soon found out that Mike's intentions were pure. When I was cold, all I had to do was cuddle up next to him and he shared his warmth with me. He made sure I always had food and water. When my legs got strong, he would play with me until I was so tired that I collapsed next to him in absolute bliss. His scent became the only one I cared about. I learned about the scary place at a young age. Mike always seemed so unhappy when the large furless ones would take me there, but he was always waiting on me when they brought me back to him. The years passed quickly for me, but Mike didn't seem to age like I did. My muscles got sore, my bones got weaker, but Mike was still growing. One day, he held me close and told me that he had to go away to a place called college. I didn't understand the words, but I understood what followed. My heart ached. The scent that gave me purpose was gone. It wasn't the same as when he left in the morning and returned when the sun went down. It wasn't even like the long weekends when he went to see the furless ones he called his grandparents. He was just gone. The other furless ones took care of me, but there was nobody to keep me warm when I curled up in Mike's bed at night. I got so excited when Mike returned. My tail felt like it was going to snap off because it just wouldn't stop wagging. My body was weaker than it used to be, but I just wanted to play. Those few days, spaced out over the course of what felt like several eternities, became my only reason for living. But then they ended and he was gone. I waited by the window for days, hoping he would return. It was always the moment when hope had completely faded that he finally did come back. One day, it all ended. There was a huge party and after that, he was back for good. It was like the old days again. We played, although I wasn't as playful as I once was, and I got to curl up beside him every night. He left during the day, but he always came back. The other furless ones in the house were getting older, and I saw my reflection in their age. They moved like I moved, and the grimaces on their face were similar to the ones I hid underneath my fur. I was so happy to have Mike back, but something wasn't right. I didn't feel like myself. Mike started taking me to the scary place, with the cold tables and sharp things that hurt. He had never taken me there before. That was always left to the other furless ones. In a way, I felt better to know that it was Mike taking me, because I trusted him. He would never let them hurt me. The trips became more frequent. I felt less like myself every time we went. I couldn't even play with my ball, no matter how much I wanted to get up and chase it when it rolled. Mike started to cry when he would hold me. I had seen him cry before, but never like that. One day, he brought me into the room with the hard floor and fed me what he called steak. Mike had fed me a few bites under the table over the years, but for the first time, I had one of my own. I was so excited, but I could barely stand up to eat it. That night, Mike didn't sleep. He held me and cried until the sun came up. I didn't understand why he was so sad. He got ready to leave for the day and reached for my leash. I was too weak to show excitement, but I was happy to go with him until we arrived at the scary place. It was different. Even the scary furless ones in the scary place seemed sad. They took me to the cold table and Mike started crying even more than he had the night before. I felt the sharpness in my neck, followed by unbelievable peace, yet Mike sank to the floor in sobs. *** I was a puppy again! My legs didn't hurt when I stood! My bones didn't feel like fire. My vision was perfect! I could hear everything! I could smell every scent from a mile away! ...but I didn't smell the one I needed to smell. I didn't smell Mike. ""Welcome!"" It had been a long time since I had hear someone speaking to me in my own language. ""Hi!"" I turned my head towards the bark and saw a much larger dog staring at me. ""I'm Roxie!"" ""I know who you are, Roxie."" The larger dog walked over. ""My name is Peter."" ""Where's Mike?"" I looked in every direction. ""He was just here. He was so sad, I need to lick his face!"" ""Those days are over, I'm afraid."" Peter sat down with a solemn look on his face. ""Look down."" I tilted my head towards the puffy surface below me and I saw Mike, but it was like I was watching him on the colorful box in the living room at his house. He was still sobbing and on the table next to him--was me. I looked so old. My fur was more grey than black. ""I don't understand."" I looked over at Peter. ""How can I be here and there at the same time?"" ""Our lives are different than theirs. We can devote our entire life to them and only touch a fraction of the time they have. You had a long time with Mike, but it will be a very long time before he's ready to leave the world below."" Peter sighed. ""He'll have children of his own, and they'll probably have puppies as well. One day, Mike will be the one taking his children's dog to the scary place."" ""Then I'll wait for him."" I immediately sat as I did when I was waiting for him to open the front door. ""I'll wait as long as I have to."" ""You can."" Peter tilted his head towards a long, glowing like that was made up of every color I had ever seen. ""You can walk across the Rainbow Bridge and wait until he joins you."" ""Perfect!"" I let out a woof. ""But..."" Peter shook his head. ""There's something else you should see."" In an instant, the world beneath me changed to a dark hue. I saw Mike sobbing, and around him were vile looking creatures. They were reaching, clawing at him, and at times, they grazed his skin. They didn't leave a mark, but there was evil in their intentions. ""Mike!"" I lunged at the ground, never feeling more helpless. ""People, by nature, are what we like to refer to as neutral entities, which means their path is undetermined. Those creatures you see down there are pure evil. They're going to do everything they can to turn Mike from the good person he is into a vessel for their evil deeds."" Peter pawed at the ground. ""But you can do something about that."" ""How?"" I glared at the scene in front of me and started to growl. ""We call it the Sleepless Watch."" Peter pawed the ground again. I watched as the entire world unfolded in front of me. I saw the evil creatures, but all over the globe, I saw pets of all varieties fighting with them. There were cats, dogs, cockatiels, parrots, and reptiles bravely fending off the onslaught. ""You can cross the Rainbow Bridge"" Peter motioned towards the kaleidoscope of light. ""Or you can join the fight and stay by Mike's side for the rest of his life, taking care of him the way he took care of you."" *** My name is Roxie, and now my watch begins.",1430
 Excelsior lay broken across the,"Excelsior lay broken across the ground. His blood splattered my face, dripped down the front of his uniform, and his arm lay disconnected, a tangle of muscle and bone and marrow leaking out onto the ground below. Faraday lay somewhere across the street, curled up in a building that had once been a post office. They were both still alive, but they wouldn't be for too much longer. That just left me, standing in the middle of the street, cars burning, people screaming. Half an hour before back up could arrive. Half an hour before I could expect anyone to step in. Half an hour before I could get the long cut spiraling across my face healed up, could stop it from dripping across my lip and down my neck in fat hot blots. The wind called to me, bizarrely, it rolled over my hands. Could he feel it, with his billowing armor, hands drawn across, open wide, palms pointed at the recently downed heroes. One hand for negative. One hand for positive. Energy into pure raw force. ""It's a shame you're travelling with Faraday, kid,"" Negalliforce called out. ""I'll give you one opportunity. Run. Run screaming into the night, where nobody will ever find you. Run until nobody can think of you without remembering you as a coward, who left this city to burn. But I am willing to spare you."" My heart fluttered in my chest. Excelsior's sword lay on the ground beside him, and drearily, his one working eye (the other blinded years ago, a cruel yellow) flicked over to me. His mouth worked. ""Do it."" he grunted. ""Even your boss doesn't have faith in you."" Nega said, plaingly, stepping forward. With a swish of his hands, the cars danced around them, battering popping like hand grenades. I gestured and deflected the miniscule shrapnel away with a gust of wind. The only thing I could do. Just... brief gusts of wind. Useless here. What could I do? ""Gale,"" Excelsior said. ""This isn't your battle. And he will leave you alone. Go. Leave us here."" My hands clenched into a fist, tightly. I was so tired of running. And I could taste blood on my face. and I was so fucking useless. ""Well? You're going with the option where I fucking kill you?"" Nega asked. A glove slid into the air and I felt the positronic energies, normally suppressed by Faraday's tempering aura, swim into existence. I stared into his eyes for a long moment, and swallowed down the terror. I only had to hold him off for thirty minutes, and then the reinforcements would get here. Only had to trade myself for thirty minutes, and lives would be saved. This is what I signed up to be a hero for. Nega took another step forward, and I slammed the growing windstorm into my feet and sped forward. There was a moment of surprise, but he reacted well before I could take advantage of it. The back of his hand. Not even the whirring cloud of death he could gather, but the back of his hand, slammed into my face, and sent me back, skidding, then onto my back. Something sharp hit me. Something painful. I was bleeding. A single hit. Almost taken out. Nega pushed a single palm towards me and charged. Negative energy, the likes of which could burst open a building like a swollen grape. Would blow me apart. I wasn't nearly as durable as Faraday was, after all. ""Gale..."" my mentor said. ""Get out of here. He outranks you too much."" I stood up and drew Excelsior's sword from my bleeding back. The blade ate into my armor, through it until it touched the skin. I'd only have a few seconds before it started to eat into the bone, since I was not worthy to hold it. But I only needed to hold it for a few seconds. My legs bled and burned. But I only needed to hold out for a half hour. I kept telling myself that, and kept pushing forward, though blood wept into one of my eyes and sweat rolled off of my limbs. The energy blast came at me and wind rimmed the side of my borrowed blade, and I cut through it. Energy lanced to the side of me and blew chunks out of the road, set the air on fire and crackled with determined force, but I kept sliding forward. The hilt devours the skin of my hands, but I kept moving forward, piece by piece, foot by foot, until Nega could see the wild of my eyes. ""You really think you're worthy of a last stand against me?"" Nega asked, grimly, cracking his knuckled underneath of his colored gloves. I swallowed and batted another blast of energy to the side. It cut through a building, evacuated, and sent it tumbling into the street. I could smell my hair burning where it had cut across the wild mane of my hair behind me. ""It's not about being worthy,"" I said, grimly. My heart thudded in my chest and my hands shook. Then I quoted from the Brawler, the first hero. ""It's about doing the right thing. It's about living for something greater than yourself. It's about looking at yourself and realizing that you were put here, for this moment, so you could fight for those who cannot."" Excelsior laughed raggedly behind me and slowly crawled to his feet. ""So that you may trade your life, so they can live. Ha. I didn't know you were a quoter."" ""Pathetic,"" Nega said, and the street erupted into fire as he pointed down at the ground. ""You're trying to trade time for your life?"" He laughed as fire lashed at my legs and my outfit, rated to take on abrasive threats rather than flame (my powers were better suited for dealing with flame, and yet, there was nowhere to divert it when it came from everywhere at once). ""Let me let you in on a little secret, Gale. D rank. Nearly flunked out of every combat class, but managed to eek out a passing grade on the knowledge portions. Law portions. Asthetic portions. Useless hero. Will die, and be a martyr."" I stared at him. ""I read your file. Very cute,"" Nega laughed. ""But back up isn't coming. Won't be coming soon enough to save this pathetic town. They're distracted, you see,"" His grin split his mask so that his lips were visible. ""They're just learning that they've been infiltrated by Manny the Faces."" My stomach dropped. B class villain. Shapeshifter. Previously known to only cause trouble, had recently been involved with intel theft from the united nations. ""So they'll be too busy to send help at the moment, while they figure out who has been compromised."" He fingers swathed with glowing energy, he leered across my legs, staring at the flames spreading. I smothered them, and tried to ignore the burning pain settling across my hands. It wasn't about me. It was about surviving. ""Are you really surprised? How else did I know here Faraday would be for the attack?"" My teeth grit in my head and I swallowed back the pain. It wasn't about me. It was about everyone else surviving. ""So I can play with you."" ""But...?"" I asked. The sword screamed inside of my head as it touched against my nerves. I was not the right bearer. I was not the right person for this job. But I was the only person. ""You're not worth playing with."" A limited popped off the side of his armor, rank with anti matter and cored surplus power, and I stared at it as it rolled across the ground, burning the stone as it flicked about. ""And now, Gale, you die."" I could feel the heat rising across the air around him as his glee increased. I had a single stupid idea, watching him. A single, incredibly dumb thing that would never have occurred to me in better circumstances. A moment that would stick with me. I tugged on the air in his lungs and sent it squirting out of mouth and nose. His eyes went wide, and he laughed, coughing, wheezing slightly. ""Pathet-"" But his eyes had been closed for just a second. Just a moment. Just enough for me to close the gap, my shoes protected from leaving a noise from a gust of wind that sent me sailing forward, through the air. A perfect arc. A perfect, lovely arc. His eyes shot open and he met mine, bloodshot, near death, wanting nothing more than to end this. Inches from his chest, the sword gleamed an elder red. My blood. Maybe Excelsior's. Maybe something else. Then it slipped through his armor like butter, and then farther inside until it slammed through one of his lungs and out, hitting the open air. The heat radiating off of his body burned my skin and battered my muscles. It hurt. It hurt like nothing else. But this was no b-lister who would die as easily as being impaled. This was an S class villain. The kind that could take over small countries. The kind that would take losing a lung in stride. But in that moment, he was surprised. Confused. Concerned, looked at me like I was an alien. My hands shook, but I had to keep it up. So the blade, eating and feeding on my flesh, that left my hands burning bleeding messes as it ate at my nerves, flicked out as he stared at me, blood beading down his lips, and I twisted, flicked up, and drove through his neck. Things were severed, and his arms let off twin blasts of energy that melted the buildings around me, shrapnel, molten flecks of metal. He screamed. I screamed. We screamed. Then his eyes went soft. And I was standing there, and everything was quiet. Utterly quiet. What courage I had left me all at once and left me prone, across him, hands dripping with gore, ichor, and metal polish. Then I slumped completely and laid there, with only the sound of burning asphalt and the smell of my own boiling skin as company. But I, Gale. Had done it. I'd finally saved the damn day. ----- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, go here. Feel free to comment. Anyone want a second part? ---> for the second part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8iztws/gale_and_the_aftermath_second_gale_bit/ Third part: https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j09nu/gale_rising_part_3_of_the_hero_project/ fourth part https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j0vvm/gale_rising_part_4/ https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j4fgj/gale_rising_part_5/ https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8j5tpz/gale_rising_part_6/",1747
 Raymond had never been the most athletic,"Raymond had never been the most athletic of men, but there was a sunken pallor to his skin, visible even to Lily's untrained eyes. She pushed the cup of cocoa across the table, then watched as he kept his head down, tapping the sides of the ceramic as he collected his thoughts. In fact, he looked so positively wretched that all she wanted to do was to pull him close, hug him, then assure him that everything would be alright. It was the least she could do for the man who had helped turn her life around. Yet, the dire messages over the phone still echoed in her head, fanning tiny embers of caution burning at her core. And one of them was, *You're not going to like what I have to say to you.* ""You know you only have to ask if you need anything,"" she said. ""So if you've come to ask for a favor, don't even think about it. If it's money, I'll give you all I have, God knows that I'd probably be dead without you anyway. If it's something you need done, rest assured, I'll do everything that I can to-"" ""It's about your daughter, Lily. I... I came to confess something."" The embers caught fire, and the blinding nausea left her breathless for a moment. Heather was her only daughter, her only kin in the entire world. This felt so much more... real than she had imagined. ""Is Heather fine? She hasn't called me in a week, I just thought she was busy. Should I go now? Is she in the hospital or something? Is she-"" ""No, no, Heather is fine. She's fine. I promise. I just met her yesterday. Fitter than a fiddle."" ""Then... when you said you had something... to confess..."" Raymond sighed, then sipped from the cocoa. ""I thought you should know the truth. When I helped you get back on your feet all those years ago, I didn't do it out of the kindness of my heart. I did it because I was eyeing your daughter, Lily. She... was pretty to me, beautiful, even. You remember when she graduated from university and spent a gap year overseas? Actually, I was her lover there. I was the one she didn't want to tell you about. I was the bastard who broke her heart when I tired of her. And I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry for any pain I have caused."" Years of memories rushed through Lily's mind, a torrential flood cascading down a cliff, and though Lily forced herself to maintain at a distance, she still found herself stained with the vaporous mists of the waterfall. She recalled the time when she had gone from door to door, asking if anyone would hire cleaning help. How Raymond had sat her and Heather down at his table immediately, feeding them even before starting the interview proper. The way he had not only advanced her pay, but how he had arranged for accommodation for them, ensured that they were somewhere safe. Lily had initially kept her guard up around him, but the selflessness with which he had showered her and Heather with care and affection had eventually weathered her defenses away. He was the father she never had, the person she could count on without fail. He had offered to walk Heather to school, had taken them out for ice-cream when his schedule permitted, had even turned up in court as a character witness during the final days of the divorce proceedings. Through it all, Raymond had never asked for anything, not once. If he were to be believed, it was only because he had preferred to *take*. ""No, no, no... no..."" ""I'm very sorry, I really am."" ""Why... why did you have to tell me any of this? Why?"" ""I'm... you see, I knew Heather would never tell you. Why would she? She's happily married now, and my affair with her is so long in the past. But... the guilt, Lily. It eats at me. I'm sorry that I took advantage of my position, and I... I can't look myself in the mirror for it. Even though my secret was safe, I was not happy. I had to confess, to look you in the eye and to apologize."" ""Apologize? You think apologizing to me makes it fine?"" ""No, I didn't. But I had to-"" *Calm yourself,* thought Lily. *Stay in control.* But she found that she couldn't. The impossible situation that she had been put in, the demands placed on her, threated to snap her fragile state of mind. Lily lunged forward, seized the plate of cookies between them, then flung them at Raymond. She saw him blink just before the confectionary connected with his forehead. ""You scum!"" she said, the tears coming to her eyes. ""I knew it! All you men, all the same!"" ""No, not all men... just me..."" ""Did you know how heartbroken you left her? Did you know how she was driven to the bloody wall? And how much I died inside, knowing that my baby was suffering overseas and there was nothing I could do about it?"" ""I know. I tried my best to make it easy on her, but then..."" ""Raymond! Don't you see! That's not all of it! That's not even half of it! It's the fact that... it's *you!* What happened to your... to your philosophy of making the world a better place for everyone? What happened to your promise of doing all you could for others around you, making sure that there was a net positive with your time on earth? Of always choosing the best outcome to ensure maximum happiness and minimum sadness?"" ""I still believe in that, Lily,"" he said, as his knuckles whitened around his cup. ""I really do. That's why I'm here. I'm here to try to make things right."" ""You can't! You can't come in and expect me to give you the forgiveness you crave!"" Lily slumped back down into her chair, her sails out of wind. ""That's... so selfish, Raymond. You drove Heather and me apart, and then you dared to... stick your nose back in, just to get us to reconcile. I thought you were an angel... but you were only doing it because you were guilty. Guilty as sin."" Raymond looked up, skin on his face drawn taut. ""Is there... anything I can do to make things right for you?"" ""Yes, there is. Get out of my house, and never come near us again. Not me, not Heather. Stay the hell out of our lives. But don't ever let anyone say that I am an ungrateful person. For all the good you've done for us, I won't breathe a word of this to anyone. But let me be clear, you are dead to me now, Raymond. Take your false virtues, your fraudulent worldviews, your two-faced lying acts... and leave. You sicken me."" ""Just remember, Lily. There is still good in people out there. I was just... weak."" ""Spare me your lies. Why are you even still here? You're a stranger to me now, seating in a chair I did not offer. Out, out!"" ""Wait, hang on. If I should die anytime soon, Lily, I just want you to know that-"" ""I don't care if you want to die right now! Just do it outside of my house!"" *Did that go too far?* she thought, as she watched Raymond closely. She thought he was going to argue his case again, but he evidently thought he had done enough. His features relaxed, and a quiet peace took root in his posture. Raymond bent to retrieve those cookies around him, then turned for the door. He didn't look back once, and the door closed on the benefactor who would never again speak a civil word with Lily. --- Lily counted the seconds as the adrenaline seeped away. A full five minutes after the *ding* of the apartment elevators in the distance indicated that Raymond had left, she sprinted to the windows, then watched as the last trails of Raymond's car disappeared around the corner. She closed her eyes, focusing on the breeze on her face. The choice had been made, it was over. Lily unlocked her phone, then scrolled through her call history list to the number just before Raymond's the day before. The number had not yet been saved. She tapped it with her thumb, and the call connected within two rings. ""Is it done?"" ""Yes,"" she said. ""I hope it wasn't too... difficult."" ""It was, much harder than I thought it would be."" ""Good. You see, he has to believe that you believed *him*."" ""I know. And I think... he did. There was relief in his eyes, just as you said."" ""Thank you, Lily. You're one of the first few people he's trying his ridiculous plan with, and all it would take is for someone to misplay their part, and the cards will come tumbling down. Leave it to him to devise the sort of lies which are just vile enough for us to hate him, but not toxic enough that it kills off all the good he's done for us over the years. I know what that clever shit's thinking - I bet he fancies this as his own form of chemotherapy, his way of selectively cutting himself out of *our* lives."" ""How many... more do you think he will reach out to?"" ""Oh... I don't know. Another ten, twenty? I'm guessing he's adding his personal touch on the ones closest to him. The rest he's outsourced to me. I've got a crap load of false stories and untruths to sow yet."" ""You sure that this is the best way?"" The voice on the other end laughed, and the guilt crushing Lily's heart lifted slightly. ""You know how Raymond is with his plans, and how stubborn he can be. If this is all that he wants from us, I'm more than willing to give it. Listen, I'll talk more with you soon, but I've got another few people to call now. If they are all going to be like you, demanding all sorts of proof before agreeing to help, then I've got to start now. Raymond's going to be visiting them soon."" ""Wait! How much more time does he have?"" Silence for a moment. ""Not enough, Lily. Not enough."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1738
 I counted as my feet hit each,"One. Two. Three. I walked and counted as my feet hit each square. I made sure to step precisely in the middle. I didn't want to have to restart today I can't afford to be late. I carefully made my way to the park. Slowing down for passersby. I made sure not to misplace my foot. Exactly in the middle. 500. Five hundred squares so far. Halfway. I stopped for a second to look up at the sky. It was a bright day sparse clouds in the sky. My eyes laid on a cloud that had a straight sharp edge. Almost as if someone had cut it with a knife. Looking, either way, I could see that the straight edge continued for at least as far as I could see around the tall buildings of New York. Interesting. 501. I adjusted my yoga mat and continued to the park placing my foot in the exact middle. The beast inside me that said everything had to be just right was consoled each time I placed my foot perfectly in the middle. A smaller square in the concrete almost ruined the peace inside as it crept up on me. I adjusted my foot for its odd size and continued. It was odd that square or rectangle had never bothered me before. My heart sunk now that I had seen it. I hope I wouldn't have to find a new way to the park. I tried to push it out of my mind focusing on placing my feet directly in the middle of each square. 998. The small fence opened up in front of me. Grass flooded the area beyond. 998. I had walked this path so many times and never had the number seemed so wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, why was it that 998 seemed wrong? ""Jack!"" someone called from inside the vast grass pool. The figure ran toward me. His perfect gait appeased the beast inside and his hair, the long dark hair streamed behind him. As he ran he started to pull it back into a bun. ""Hey,"" The man, David, said not slightly out of breath. ""I wasn't sure you would come. We are over here today."" I walked behind him my pace matching his perfectly. He pointed to a spot next to another one of his students. ""Right here, Jack, Harmony here doesn't bite,"" He winked at me. The expression seemed to fit David, it looked natural and kind. He moved back toward the front where is mat was already laid out. I unrolled my mat and after a few adjustments, I had it just right. There was a man further down the line that had his mat a few inching behind the rest. The beast welled inside, urging me to go fix it. I took a deep breath and focused on David. The beast calmed. Yoga was new to me. I had read and studied every night since I had met David and he invited me to join. He had told me ""It may do you good,"" and If the yoga didn't, seeing him again would. I tried to perfect each pose. Each time I performed one subpar, the beast inside vowed the next time I would have it perfect. David asked us to sit in Lotus position last. ""Just relax and feel your breathing, focus on it. Let it connect your spirit to nature."" I found that last bit the only flaw with David. This hippy mumbo jumbo did sit well with the beast, I knew inside that Nature was not ordered but random. I could not control it and that fact bothered me. ""Alright that is it for this class,"" David said. He walked me to the fence. ""How was it?"" He asked. ""It was, good, I liked it,"" I lied trying to smile and not let on that I knew full well this lesson would spawn misery and tireless hours of perfecting each pose. He pulled his hair out of the bun and let it fall. The beast inside purred like a kitten as it landed perfectly on his shoulders. There was not one strand I felt the need to adjust. ""Well, thank you for coming. I will see you in a few days, yeah?"" I looked into his eyes, the beast urged me, ""Yes, of course. Is that exactly the same time?"" ""Yes."" ""Same place?"" ""In the park, yes. Again, thank you, I have to run."" I watched him run back toward his mat. I guess I hadn't asked that question right. The urge to clarify, to say that I wanted to know if we would be in the same exact spot pushed on my chest but, the chance to see him again helped push down and settle the beast. I turned placing my foot in the first square. One. Two. Three. I stopped again at the rectangular square. Had it always been here? I looked up at the bright sky. The clouds directly above me again had that odd straight edge. My gaze fell on the building beside me. The storefront change lined up exactly with the line of the clouds and the line in the sidewalk. What was here? Something had been here. This used to be a perfect walk. Not rectangles I was now sure of it. I looked at the out of place transition in the storefronts. Something had changed. I felt like I knew what was here but my mind would not settle on what it was. I stared closer, the beast began to rise up. Urging me to fix it. I pressed against the seam in wall pushing my face up to examine it. My hands passed through into the wall on either side of the seam. I yanked them out The world seemed to unfold at this spot. Widening. I backed up to look at the new store that unfolded before me. The sign read. The In-between, Coffee, and Tea. **** Hey, thanks for reading. I have other writings here r/Okay_writing.",1009
" Two weeks ago, I woke up","Singing, right? It was probably singing. Innocuous, generally cheerful, and a totally normal reason to wake up famous in a giant fucking mansion and have everyone revere me for something I. Can't. Remember. Okay. Here's the lowdown. Two weeks ago, I woke up in a stranger's bed, in a stranger's home. As a 24\-year\-old not completely ugly woman, my initial reaction was complete and utter panic. I startled out of the bed so quickly that I nearly broke my ankle. But I was still wearing all of my pjs from the night before, and it was a freaking Wednesday--I haven't gone out on a Wednesday since my days in uni. Then shit got really, really strange. My phone was plugged in next to me, fully charged. Three photographs were hanging above the bed. A picture of me with my parents, a picture of me with my little brother, and a picture of me with Jeffers, my lovely border collie. The bedroom was decorated perfectly--just the right amount of white and black, clean vases with white flowers on two bed stands, an alarm clock right next to me reading 9:43, and a splash of color on the curtains by the window. And then Jeffers ran up to me and jumped up on the bed, snuggling right in as if he had lived here for all of his 24.5 dog years. I mean, seriously. I just about threw up. The rest of the house shared the immaculate qualities of the bedroom. And it was massive. A media room, hottub, pool, master bedroom, giant kitchen, tasteful living room, and a wine cellar I could get lost in. It was morning outside, so I didn't feel quite so spooked walking through the house, especially because the natural light seemed to reach every nook. Also, my name was everywhere. ""Tara Wick"" read the plaque above the stove. I found another one in the office above my desktop computer. And again, in the wine cellar, *on the freaking labels of all the bottles.* Some of them dated back to the 1980s. They all had the same design, like a seal had been commissioned to my name, and I had just decided to put it everywhere. It was definitely way too tacky for my liking, but I had more pressing issues, like ""what the fuck is going on?"" and also ""no, really, what the fuck is going on?"" I also found the ""Tara Wick"" on the car keys which I discovered in the exact drawer where I would have chosen to put them. The car keys to a red Huracan Spyder Lamborghini. My dream car, worth around $265,000, which I soon found sitting unlocked in the garage. What does a normal person do in that situation? I honestly don't know, but I can tell you what I did. I sat in the car for ten minutes. I pressed the power button and listened to it roar to life, a truly hormone inducing purr. Then, I turned around, walked back to the kitchen, and tried to catch my breath. Jeffers brought me his food bowl, and I began to act on autopilot. The pantry was easy to find; I got Jeffers his two scoops of kibble from his normal brand with the same cup I had used the day before in my tiny one\-person apartment. Right as I was about to put down the bowl on the Jeffers' very same dog towel, a woman walked in. ""Good morning--"" she said. ""Bloody Fucking Christ who the hell are you?"" I responded, dropping the dog food everywhere and nearly peeing myself from surprise. Jeffers didn't mind the mess and began to eat. ""I'm Jessica, your personal assistant,"" Jessica replied. Brunette. Probably three years older than me, but definitely prettier. Her hair was straight and silky. I instinctively put a hand up to my black curls. ""You have a very busy schedule today, Tara. Would you like me to tell you your schedule?"" ""Uh. Sure."" I said. ""At 11:00, you have a meeting with Sir David Attenborough for tea. Don't eat too much, you'll be seeing Sir Ian McKellen at 12:30 for lunch. You'll have time for a quick nap, and then its dinner with the American Ambassador. They want to talk about bringing in some higher ups to potentially meet you, but it's a little bit of a drive, so we will have an escort for you, of course. Oh, and Eden Hazard has asked to take you clubbing tonight. Made a sizeable contribution to our charity, too. I penciled him in, but just leave whenever you want to. All of those soccer players are harmless."" Jessica seemed so very calm. ""Can you, maybe, repeat that? A little bit slower?"" I asked. Jessica simply nodded sympathetically. ""I know you are stressed about seeing the Queen tomorrow, but don't worry! It will actually be quite easy. They gave you the whole day, it will be so much less running around than usual, you'll see,"" Jessica said. ""Go hop in the shower, Tara. I'll pick out all the outfits you'll need for the day while you are in there."" What does a normal person do in that situation? I still don't know. But I showered. I got dressed in a stylish blazer for my meeting with Sir David Attenborough. And then I drove there, in a Lamborghini which apparently belonged to me, with the coordinates that Jessica had provided. After David offered me a surprisingly gracious hug, as if he had known for years, and called me ""Tara, darling,"" we sat down. I came right out with it. ""Sir David--"" ""Please, call me David."" ""David, please. What the hell is going on? I'm not famous, but this morning I woke up in a strange hou--"" David cut me off with loud, forced laughter. Then he shook his head slowly at me and brought a finger to his lips. There was a deep sadness in his eyes. ""So, you were going to ask me about my favorite documentary series?"" David asked. What could I have done? Bullied one of England's most famous figures and loved grandfathers into giving me the information I required? I let it go. We had a conversation about nature. I'd ask Ian McKellen. But Ian McKellen gave me a similar response, even more visceral, the fear palpable on his face. I didn't trust the American Ambassador, a Woody Johnson fellow who seemed overly interested in when the President of the United States was going to get to meet me. And when I tried to casually ask Eden Hazard how he knew me, he pretended that he didn't understand English. Two weeks passed this way. My every need was catered for, but I was kept so busy that I couldn't find anytime to actually be alone. When I tried to call any of my old friends, or my family, I got no response. Texting was the same. I was a prisoner, in the nicest prison the world had ever constructed, meeting amazing, world\-famous people every single day. But I definitely wasn't happy. And ever since my date with Eden Hazard, I knew that I had to escape. I decided to take Jeffers for a midnight stroll. I knew that as soon as I left the house, they would be after me, but I still paused as soon as I left the door of my mansion. Every street light was on, but not a single house had any lights on inside. Too quiet. Jeffers and I walked for 30 seconds, and then lunged into a sprint, rounding the corner of the suburb and ducking down into a wooded pond area by the side of the road. The sirens started almost immediately, and I could hear movement behind me. ""Jeffers, let's play fetch, okay buddy?"" I said, removing his special orange ball full of treats. ""Go get it!"" I whisper yelled, and I threw with all my might. Then I moved in the other direction, ducking behind two trees. Jeffers barked happily through the cool air, and as soon as he began to do so, I heard men and women begin to shout. ""Tara? Is that you? What are you doing out so late?"" Jessica. ""We cannot lose her."" Another woman. I recognized the voice. Surely...not Theresa May? ""Tara? Where are you? We just want to keep you safe."" A man's voice. And then another, directly below me. ""What if she gets away?"" Another man. His arms were held in front of him, as if holding a gun, but it was difficult to see for sure. The figure of his friend held a similar posture. ""We would know,"" the man's friend responded. ""Tara can't get away. She's the cure.""",1457
" Drew dropped his gun, staring at","""Congratulations, you have passed Phase One. Phase two begins immediately. Good luck."" We all froze, looking around in confusion. Drew dropped his gun, staring at the sky as we turned to him for guidance. He was the group's leader, as symbolized by his heavily tattooed torso. One tally for each life taken, one star for each group destroyed, and one X for each time he beat someone who challenged him. All in all, they were too numerous to count. So when that strange voice seemingly broadcasted from the sky, we turned to him to tell us what it meant. ""What's phase two, boss?"" Charlie asked, scratching his head with the butt of his gun. ""Who was that?"" ""Dunno,"" Drew grunted. ""I thought you said there were no others around."" That was directed towards me. As the leader of the scouts, it was up to me to know who was who and where they were. ""There aren't,"" I answered. ""The closest group is two towns away. That wasn't them."" ""Then who was it?"" he demanded. Sweat trickled down my back. Drew wasn't one to be messed with. I'd seen him kill a person for a lesser offense than not knowing something one was supposed to. His ruthlessness was what made him a great leader. In this world, feelings weren't a good attribute. You had to not care to make it in life. ""Michelle,"" he repeated. ""Whose voice was that? Where did it come from?"" ""I don't know,"" I repeated. He picked up his gun, eyes narrowed. ""But I'll find out! Let me go find out!"" I turned and hurried in the opposite direction, hoping I wouldn't feel the pain of a bullet in the back. I motioned for the rest of my scouting team to follow. Once we rallied back at base, my team turned to me. Here, I was the leader. Drew didn't matter when it came down to what I did best. I'd always been good at gathering information and getting people to trust me. Even before all of this happened. I shook my head, refusing to let the memories flood my head once more. They weren't happening too frequently anymore, but when they did, it still hurt. Life before now was meaningless. It didn't matter anymore. Not after so many people died so quickly. The virus didn't discriminate. It wiped out half the earth's population in two months. Two months later and we were left with whoever managed to escape it's reach. Whatever it was that made us immune to it's deadly fingers didn't matter once it was over. We were left with nowhere to turn but to and against each other. I've been with Drew since the beginning, which was why I needed to figure out who's voice that was. ""Rickie,"" I said, turning towards my right hand man. He stood up straighter, pulling his long, red hair into a ponytail. ""Take two people with you and go scout out that camp over up in Shoreline There weren't very many of them but maybe there's more hiding somewhere close. Don't engage, this is just recon."" He nodded, grabbing Sylvia and Jackson on his way out. ""Julie,"" I said, turning towards the tall, blonde on my left. ""Head West. See if someone could be hiding out in the city. Same as Rickie. Recon only."" She headed out, with Brandon and Manuel. I turned to Andre and Lee, who were awaiting my command. ""That voice came from the sky, right?"" They nodded. I bit my lip, pondering what it could have been. There had been no planes in the sky. Not for a very long time now. It was seldom that a helicopter passed overhead, but we definitely would have heard it. ""What do you think it meant?"" Lee asked. ""Phase two. Phase two of what?"" ""I don't know,"" I answered, frustrated. I hated not knowing something. Knowing things was my job. It always had been. ""But we'll find out."" I pulled out the maps we'd made. Three states. We'd been travelled through three states in the last five months. Drew's final goal was to reach Alaska. He thinks paradise awaits, that the virus couldn't have possibly reached that far north. But I think that just like everywhere else we've been, there's nothing left. But Drew was the leader and no one wanted to cross him. Last time someone suggested we head somewhere else, he killed them on the spot then immediately ordered Alejandro to add another tally on his bicep. The map showed the area of Washington we were in. We were headed towards the Coast Guard base in Seattle to steal one of the boats. I'd marked the surrounding areas where we knew people were. The only place around here we knew for sure had a small group of people, about ten or so, was Shoreline. The last group we passed had been in Portland. Mostly people stuck to big towns but with there being so few of us left, we rarely saw anyone these days. But Seattle was big. There could be plenty of people hiding out there. ""What are you looking for, Michelle?"" Andre asked. ""I don't know yet,"" I mumbled. I figured that whoever had broadcast their voice had to have been close, but we definitely would have seen them."" Nerves wracked me. I didn't want to know what would happen if I didn't come up with an answer that would satisfy Drew. I didn't want to become his next tally. I opened my mouth, ready to tell them that we were going to scout East, when an overwhelming sound crackled through the air. It took me a while to figure out what it was. It had been so long since I'd heard it, but once I figured it out, it was unmistakable. The feedback from a loudspeaker faded as a man cleared his voice. ""Sorry for the delay,"" he boomed. ""Phase two is now beginning. Good luck."" After a heartbeat of pause, the ground erupted in a violent shake. A loud sound came from the south as the ground shook once more. I fell, trying to catch myself on the table. ""What the hell was that?"" Lee asked, helping me stand. ""I have no idea."" We walked outside and looked to the south. I froze. A giant cloud rose in the air. But it wasn't a cloud. It was ash. From a giant mountain. The ash rose in a giant pillar from the volcano's peak. The ground shook once more as a the earth burped violently, shooting more ash into the air. I gasped as I fell over once more. The earth trembled and shook. Buildings creaked around me. Trees swayed and branches fell. The once motionless streets moved in waves. Whatever was happening, it wasn't normal. Drew and the others emerged from the gymnasium as we all gathered in awe. The ash spread in a terrifying blanket that blocked out light. ""Look!"" someone shouted, pointing north. Similar columns of ash rose intermittently throughout the skyline. ""Volcanos!"" I'd say it felt like the apocalypse, but after the last depressing year, the word no longer held meaning. As the sky fell around us, I looked west. If we had any hope of making it now, of outrunning these volcanoes, we'd have to move towards water. Good thing Drew seemed to be thinking the same thing. He quickly ordered everyone to move. We piled into the trucks that had just been refilled with siphoned gas and headed towards the base. I hadn't gotten a chance to scout it yet, but if anyone was there, there weren't going to stand in our way. As we drove further away, the ash didn't fade from the air. I only hoped that this plan would work, although I had a sinking feeling that whatever that voice meant by phase two, this was only the beginning. *** For more of my writing see Planning on adding a Part Two tonight -- thanks for reading!",1334
 The bitter stench of Lana's,"###### The bitter stench of Lana's death still coats my throat. I can still see her smile, the dimple in her cheek every time I said something funny, the tiniest quirk upwards of her lips whenever she was trying not to laugh. Gosh, I wish we could just help those people, she said once, her eyes glued to the television. I was cooking eggs at the time, and I plated them before turning to see what she was talking about. On the screen, the protestors raised their signs and asked for justice for their loved ones. And the president said that the shooting wasn't on his orders. That the person who had been responsible had been fired. Two lies in quick succession. At that time, she hadn't known about my ability. My mother had told me that having power was a dangerous thing, and to never tell anyone about my own. People will use you, she said. They will run you under a microscope and lock you up like a lab rat. That message has stayed with me ever since. I never figured out how I knew people were lying. But, five years into our relationship, I finally told Lana my biggest secret. Instead of running away screaming, she thought it was the most amusing thing. She would say all sorts of tiny lies, like what shade of lipstick she was wearing that day--pink when it was really lilac--and force me to guess if she was lying. And every time after, she would laugh, her voice like the clear tinkle of wind chimes. And she would ask me when I planned on using my ability for good. To help the world in a way that no one else could. I always put it off. Later, I would tell her, then kiss her on the forehead as if I was placating a child. And I was placating her, because I had no intention of using it to do anything. My dream was to live a simple life with her, have some children of our own, and to live peacefully. That was all. And it should have been all. Except I can still hear the ringing of the telephone that day that felt so ominous. I had looked at the unknown number for a while before deciding to pick up. Hello? Hi, Mr. Lancaster. Lana Smith listed you as her emergency contact, and we're calling you because she's currently in the hospital... I couldn't hear the rest over the buzzing in my head, the pen in my hand blurring as I wrote down the hospital's address. I couldn't even remember when I had gotten the pen and paper. The hospital. I needed to get to the hospital. The drive was short, almost shorter than I'd believed possible, just ten minutes from my apartment running through red lights to get there, but it was already too late. A man--a boy--was sitting there, his face in his hands. He walked up to me when he saw me, his face contorted into an expression of regret. ""I didn't mean to hit her. I'm sorry, dude,"" he said. He had sandy blonde hair and neon shorts. He looked just twenty. A frat boy. Two lies. I wanted to hit him, to smack him then and there, but I held it in. I didn't have the effort to even consider why he had lied. To consider why he might have wanted to kill her on purpose. Maybe he was a scorned lover, maybe her attendance at the protests had pissed off his father. I didn't know, and I didn't care. I wanted him dead. He went to court. His rich politician daddy got him off easy, and I watched in the back of the booth as he cried snake tears for a jury that took it all in like rats snorting sugar. For the first time in my life, I felt an anger unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I saw red. I was going to kill that man. It was several moments later before I came to my senses, face pressed against the floor with the security officer's knee in my back. Apparently I had tried to attack the boy. I didn't remember it. They let me go because ""they understood."" And for the next ten years, I made it my life's mission to become *the* judge for all cases. So no one would ever have to go through what I went through again. I took down corrupt politicians. I solved murder cases at the drop of a hat. I was praised and glorified by the world. For ten years, it was just me in that courtroom, and a scribe to take down the decisions. No jury needed. Each case solved in half an hour or less. And yet I felt empty inside. Like something had gnawed away my heart, and all that was left was an empty shell. But maybe God felt sorry for me, because ten years later, I am left staring at the boy who has turned into a man. The sandy blonde hair still remains. And the neon shorts still remain. He sits in front of me today accused for being involved in a drug ring. He only bought drugs, he says. He has no idea that he was involved and that he was a drug mule, despite carting over a thousand pounds of cocaine over the course of several years. There's a glint in his eye as he tells the story, and I know what it is. Because he's telling the truth. So he knows he'll get off. The punishment would be severe--fifty years for the number of lives he's supposedly ruined--but he won't receive it. And so he smiles as he tells his story. The bitter taste on my tongue grows stronger, and I remember Lana's pale face as she lies on the hospital bed, lifeless. I remember the way her mother falls to my feet, unable to breathe for her choking sobs. I remember her smile, begging me to use my ability to do good in the world. For her, she pleaded, her eyes wide and hands clasped together. Her bottom lip jutting forward into a pout. He's guilty, I tell the scribe, expressionless. He's my last case for the day, so I shrug off the black robes and set them down. And then I walk out of that courtroom and hand in my letter of resignation. For ten years, I had vowed to myself, for Lana, to tell the truth in return for the people who brought me their truths. I had vowed to use this power for nothing but good. Today, I broke that vow. For her, and because of her. And I hope, wherever she is, that she'll forgive me for that. ***** r/AlannaWu You'll probably like my short series, The Immortal and the Time Traveller, if you liked this!",1154
 The merchants were getting ahead of Mara,"Mara squinted into the too-bright sunlight, shading her eyes. ""Come on, now,"" the man beside her said with a chuckle. ""They're in a bit of a hurry. Don't want to get left behind, eh?"" She eyed him for a long moment - Calum. That was his name. Defender, sixth rank. The identification rose up in her mind, his classification and credentials from the Guild of Assistance. He was right, though. The merchants *were* getting ahead of her, while she stared up into the mid-morning light. They were supposed to be bodyguarding the rich, paranoid Yenarrans, not dawdling. She pulled herself back to attentiveness with a groan, jogging forward to take her place by his side. ""This is your first job, right?"" Calum said, his voice low. His blue eyes were fixed on the cliffs around their little group, watching with practiced caution. Mara nodded, one hand sliding down to rest apprehensively on the hilt of a dagger crossed behind her hips. ""...Right. I appreciate your band taking me on, by the way."" She meant it. It was hard for a rookie to find work worth a damn, work that wouldn't leave them dead on the roadside. ""Well, we all start somewhere,"" Calum said, offering her a crooked smile. ""You're my responsibility for this venture, so stick close."" He rapped his knuckles against the heavy wood-and-steel shield he carried, smile widening. ""The front line can be a bit of a nightmare - especially when you've got no defenses, hmm? But you'll be fine."" No defenses. Right. Mara smiled tightly, remembering her role in all this. She was a Rogue - a trickster, a blade-wielder who specialized in herbs and poisons and subtlty. She repeated the phrase over and over to herself, etching it into her mind. That's what her paperwork said. Making it say that had been *quite* expensive, but it was worth it. If anyone realized the truth, her life was forfeit. Marsk was a rugged, unforgiving country. The whole place was covered in towering mountains and dense, lightless jungles, filled with monsters that would as soon eat you as run away. There wasn't a damn thing worth having there - the effort of actually getting at any of it wasn't worth the lives it would cost. Marsk had found a different export, instead. People. The Guild of Assistance had been inevitable, when you looked at it like that. Oh, they called it that, but she knew what it really was - the bastardized offspring of the ancient guilds of Fighters, Mages, and Merchants. It had seemed like the simplest option, benefitting all three offshoots. The Mages assessed and supported. The fighters....fought. And the merchants assigned. Thanks to their efforts, the Mercenaries of Marsk were known worldwide as ruthless, relentless, and unflinchingly effective. There was just one, simple downside. Mara wanted no part in the Guild's machinations. It had sounded good in theory - the Guild would assess you as a child, find where your skills well and truly lay. And that was that - your assignment for life. Oh, you could opt for a different profession, give up on becoming a Ranger and settle down with a farm somewhere. But farming Marsk wasn't exactly *profitable*, was it? That was simply a way to wind up dead faster, eaten by the local beasts. Her eyes snapped up, drawn out of her musings as a rock cascaded down the cliffside around them. The other fighters in their Guild-organized band fell silent in a single, disciplined second, scanning their surroundings. ""Close, now,"" Calum said, his voice little more than a mutter. He slid his blade out slowly, stepping towards the rockfall. The merchants were beginning to yell, fear and anxiety coloring their tones. Mara didn't spare them a glance. Her dagger was in her hand, held crosswise with her free hand ready. Where? Where were they? Her green eyes snapped over as the gully alongside them erupted into motion. The raiders leapt out from under their hiding place with a bellow, laughing and yelling in a cacophany of noise. Calum was already there, shield at the ready. Arrows sprayed around him as Kenna, the party's Marksman, began firing shot after unrelenting shot from her vantage point. ""Come on!"" the Defender called to her, grinning back over his shoulder. She swallowed the nerves that jumped in her throat, surging in after him. It was her moment of truth, wasn't it? Her blade scythed out, just as she'd practiced. The raider's blows were nearly too fast for her to follow as she closed in on him, but she was faster. She slid past him, eyes wide with razor-sharp focus. She'd practiced. She'd spent so damn long practicing - and she'd prove the Guild wrong. Mara was finally close enough. A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she stared at her target. Calum and the other fighters were all around her, keeping the front lines under control. They were there to shield her if she got in too deep - but would they just be a liability, instead? Would they see? She forced the nerves away, banishing the fears. No one would see - because no one would ever expect to see. No one would ever expect to see a mercenary going against the Guild. Why would they? Going against the Guild would be going against your talents, and that would be putting your whole party at risk. The Guild responded to that...*poorly*. It wasn't a quick end. Mara didn't care. She wasn't a *healer*. The assignment had rankled from the very start. It was unfair - and she wasn't going to let it limit her. Her palm slammed into the man's chest, even as her dagger dug into his arm. That's all anyone would see - she cut him. They'd never see the way she tapped into his life itself. It was a part of life for healers. They'd lend their own life-force, or encourage that of their patients. It was *expected*. She'd been surprised, when she found the torn pages tucked inside the cookbook she'd bought years back. The poor merchant had probably never known what he carried, what he *smuggled*. The technique was almost certainly forbidden. She didn't care. Power flooded her veins as she took the man's life in her hand. He flinched, the color draining from his face as she smiled up at him. Healers helped. They gave. She *took.* And she'd keep taking until she had enough to carve her *own* legend into the world. The man fell at her feet, bleeding from her slash but already lifeless. She cut his throat anyway. Had to keep up appearances, after all. Calum and the others were still fighting - completely unaware. She smiled, feeling the man's life coursing through her veins. And then she leaped back into the fray. (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) --- Edit - as stated below, I'm honestly pretty intrigued by this setting. The thing standing in my way is that I'm trying to finalize two novels to publish next week (keep an eye out on WP) and I have an ongoing serial that is now quite behind due to, again, trying to get those ready XD I can already hear the screaming that would begin if I started something new. But I really like this setting. I find it intriguing. So, if you want more, here's what we're going to do. Go to and leave a comment in response to that sticky - if I write another part, today or a week from today or what, I will update you :) Glad you guys have liked! /u/narrate4u",1274
" ""Out of the way!"" shouts","""Out of the way!"" I glanced back to see a rider galloping down the corridor. I barely had enough time to plaster myself against the bulkhead as the messenger clattered past in a gust of wind. ""Those may be the orders for Lord Garrington to launch the first invasion wave, m'lord,"" Robert-my squire-commented. He had also flattened himself against the bulkhead, knocking his visor down in the process. He lifted it back up as he regained his balance. I nodded, readjusting my scarf, ""Perhaps. We had best hurry to the open deck then. He won't be able to leave without us."" Deciding that dignity was of less importance than expedience, I began running through the corridors of the ship. Our ship, the Maiden's Hand, was very large. Hundreds of times larger than those that sailed the seas on our home world, dwarfing even the largest castle. It meant that we had to run a considerable distance towards our destination. ""God I really envy that messenger with the horse,"" I breathed, sweating in my full plate armor. Robert smiled at me, ""Hopefully you won't be spent before the battle has even begun, m'lord!"" I racked my gauntlet against his breastplate, ""No chance of that, boy."" It was with dramatic abruptness that we emerged onto the open deck. I stumbled to a halt and gawked momentarily. Above us was the starscape of the heavens. As usual, it was an unnatural and humbling sight, that always made me feel insignificant. Off to the side, however, was the beautiful surface of the planet called Terra. The planet that our people laid claim to. It truly was a beautiful sight-a worthy conquest. I didn't waste much time staring, and quickly scanned the area in front of me. I couldn't help but stop and stare once more, this time at the sight that lie before me on the deck. On the open deck was our army of soldiers...and a lot of dragons. A lot of dragons. I'd never seen so many in one place. ""M'lord! You can almost feel the magic emanating from them!"" Robert gasped. ""There are so many of the celestials!"" I nodded, ""It is quite a sight, isn't it?"" Rank upon rank of hundreds of dragons crouched on the deck, encased in their ornate armor and leather harnesses. Besides each stood a company of soldiers, slowly climbing atop the massive creatures. All of that that steel glittered with light that almost drowned out the stars. Among them I caught sight of Lord Garrington's personal bodyguard, the unit that I commanded. ""Let's hurry, Robert,"" I urged, and the two of us rushed down a flight of stairs before tramping across the open deck. ""Lord Garrington!"" I gasped as I finally arrived. ""Captain Henry reporting, M'Lord! I apologize for the delay!"" Lord Garrington turned away from the soldiers climbing aboard the dragon and eyed me slowly. ""Captain Henry,"" he said, ""I trust that your delay, while unacceptable, wasn't useless?"" I hesitated with a slight blush, ""Yes, m'lord. Everything is ready."" Lord Garrington smiled slightly, ""Ah when I was I young officer as you are. Well captain, get your men in order. The Celestials may be patient, but we have a schedule to stick to."" The dragon, named Maximus, Lord of the Dragons, turned his head to face me, ""Lord Garrington is right, Captain. We must not delay any further."" I nodded, ""Yes sir!"" I climbed up the harness on the dragon, then checked to make sure my men were in order. My company of men-at-arms would normally fight mounted on horseback, but that was impossible until the Maiden's Hand landed safely on Terra's surface with our horses. Until then, we would fight with swords, shields, and two-handed poleaxes on foot. My primary weapon of choice was the latter. I turned towards Lord Garrington, who had taken up a position on the dragon's neck. ""M'lord. The company is in order,"" I reported. Lord Garrington nodded, leaned forward, ""Lord Maximus,"" he said, speaking to the celestial dragon, ""We will fly at your lead now."" ""Understood, Lord Garrington,"" Maximus replied, then raised his head, expanding the frill around his neck to full diameter. And then a terrifying roar emanated from the powerful creature. One by one, the hundreds of other dragons answered the call. Without warning, I felt a nauseous sensation of floating, though the straps of the harness kept me secured to Maximus. The dragons had released their magic of gravity. Then like a river cascading off of a cliff, the dragons leapt from the deck and shot into space with shocking speed. It was followed by a sensation of almost no movement in the broadness of space as the dragons swept their wings up and down. Lord Garrington, my men, and I had nothing to do but lie secured to the harnesses. All around us, the dragons flew in formation towards the surface. Soon, we began to enter Terra's outer atmosphere. At this stage, Maximus and the hundreds of dragons behind us folded their wings. I was told that the outside would've been lethally cold if the dragons' magic hadn't guarded us. I felt a growing force pressing me into Maximus, until bright flames erupted all around us and I could hardly move. The dragons plunged belly-first into the atmosphere, engulfed in flames as friction between dragon and air ignited plasma. The humans on their backs could only groan and endure the heavy g-forces of reentry, trusting the dragons and their magic to carry them safely to the surface. Suddenly, the roaring fire burned out, and was replaced by the shrieking wind. Maximus and the other dragons partially extended their wings-just enough to maneuver at the unimaginable speed they were traveling. We were above the ocean, and far ahead was a body of land. Bright pinpoints of light climbed up into the sky atop columns of cloud and smoke. After climbing into the sky, they curved towards us with menacing grace. The first explosion violently erupted next to a dragon above us. The celestial's powerful but delicate magic was thrown off balance by the eruption, and it tumbled into the sea with a shattered wing. More of the unknown weapons streaked towards us, and threatened to wreak havoc among the dragons. Any dragon that was hit was killed, either by the explosion or by the sheer force of air that tore it apart as it lost its high-speed flying posture. Others survived near-misses, but the humans aboard suffocated or froze to death in the several long seconds that the dragon's magic was interrupted. Underneath me I could feel Maximus's body. His pulse. His breathing. The twitching of his muscles as he flew towards our destination. All around us, countless dragons pressed onwards through the storm of smoke and fire. Finally we were over land. Maximus descended over the trees, then snapped his wings open, flaring wide to kill his forward speed. The trees before him careened away with the force of the air he pushed. He thumped into a clearing, then crouched low. ""Get off! Now!"" he roared. ""Company! Disembark! Move!"" I screamed, before undoing my straps and leaping to the ground with my poleaxe in hand. Armor clanked and rattled as the men streamed off of the dragon's back, while more dragons flew past and flared overhead. Once we were all off, Maximus bared his teeth and leapt into the sky. A strange rapid banging sounded as a stream of bright points peppered the dragon's flank. Maximus roared in pain and anger, before turning towards the source. He opened his jaws wide and blasted out a river of fire. Then a strange shrieking roar sounded that I'd never heard before, and what looked like a steel dragon flashed past Maximus. He turned to fight the newcomers in the air. ""Captain! It's time to attack!"" Lord Garrington shouted, ""You know the buildings we must capture!"" I nodded, ""Yes, m'lord! Company! Move forward! At the double!"" We surged forward with a resonating shout, out of the clearing into the tree line. I knew from planning sessions before the battle that there would be a large group of buildings beyond the forest. Suddenly a chorus of loud banging accompanied by bright flashes came from ahead, and several of my men fell screaming to the ground. Lord Garrington tumbled backwards with his helmet utterly destroyed. Caught by surprise, I slammed my visor down and turned to the men. ""Shields to the front! Form a shield wall!"" Several more men were cut down before my men-at-arms equipped with shields could move to the front. Their shields were enchanted by the celestials, and so far we had not encountered a weapon that could puncture them. They stayed true now as whatever weapons were being used against us thudded harmlessly against their broad surfaces. ""Company advance!"" I ordered. The men began marching forward, chanting in unison. The enemy weapons continued to flash and bang ahead of us, and occasionally penetrated our shield wall to kill another one of my men. Suddenly I caught sight of the enemies who were wielding those weapons among the trees. ""Company! Chaaaarge!"" I screamed, and the men surged forward with an answering roar. Several tumbled to the ground in a bloody mess, their armor riddle with holes. I peered through the slits in my visor as I ran forward with my poleax raised high. A man wearing clothing colored like the forest was fumbling with a black device in his hands, but upon seeing me he reached towards his belt. My weapon crashed through his neck before he could do anything more. I raised my visor and looked around me. My shoulders heaved as I sucked in ragged breaths. A red mist clouded my eyes as I snarled. My men struggled with the enemy in a melee among the trees, drenching their weapons and armor in red blood. Overhead I heard Maximus roar, and I looked up to see him in his bright armor breathe another column of fire that streaked across the sky. His attack was cut short by a spear of smoke that suddenly slammed into his chest, exploding in fire and flesh. Without another sound, Maximus went limp and began to fall on top of us from the sky. ""Maximus!""",1716
 Clive and I were the Bureau's,"The valves of some woman's heart fluttered to a stop one humid night deep in the Ozarks. Clive and I poured champagne. ""Husband says she's *dead*?"" I asked, thinking of Nan. Months of sleepless nights couldn't wash away the sounds of her moans. ""Dead as a door nail,"" Clive smiled. We clinked our glasses. Before we were deemed *unnecessary*, Clive and I were well acquainted with Death. He hung from sticky bits of skull fragments lodged into motel wallpaper, or he sat sneering in the corner as another innocent life withered beneath stab wounds. Clive and I were the Bureau's star pupils. For years on end, we'd never been on a crime scene without one another. Truth be told, Death had been on every site too. Except he'd always been one step ahead of us. Those days, I'd been so full of anger at losing the *race*. I'd always ask Clive what if we'd just gotten there sooner. And he'd always nod grimly and say, ""I know what you mean."" Death at that time was just another dirty rotten bastard the world would be better without. It was only until he stopped showing up to work that I realized how wrong I was. You see, Life, as it turned out, was only valuable in limited supply. Extend it for long enough, and it simply became torture. My Nan turned one-hundred-thirty-seven this past winter. I stopped by with flowers because I felt I had to. They were a front for the pills really. The doctors had been complaining about the constant noise. My Nan had devolved into a pale voicebox of moans. Sleeping pills only presented temporary relief. Part of me wondered if she still moaned in her dreams. ""Hey there Nanna,"" I'd croaked, standing by her bedside. She'd looked me straight in the eye and asked me to kill her. ""I don't care how you do it,"" she'd said through gritted teeth. ""Just end all the misery."" ""I can't Nan,"" I said, heart falling to pieces. ""We've already tried everything."" I got shitfaced that night, asking where Death the hell he had *gone*. After our celebratory drinks, Clive and I loaded up the Ford with the weight of the world on our shoulders. Everywhere you turned, it seemed someone had a loved one they needed to let go. The world was full of Nans now, moaning in their hospital gowns. The Bureau directions led us to a mobile home tucked next to the lakeside. I could tell Death had been there, because it had been raining. If there was one thing I'd learned, it was that he had a flair for the dramatic. A red-eyed man answered Clive's knocking. ""Thank God you're here..."" he stammered. ""I just don't know what to do."" The woman's name was Edith. The man told us she'd battled brain cancer for sixty-three years. His bottom lip quivered with every clumsy word he spoke. ""Show us the body,"" Clive said, patting his shoulder in consolation. He'd never had problems falling into old routine. Their bed creaked as I sat. ""He's been here all right,"" I said with a grin. ""No pulse to be found!"" Emotion rippled over the husband's face. *Shit*. All those years of sensitivity training. Guess they never quite took. The man rubbed the back of his neck. ""S-she's r-really g-g-gone?"" He asked, with a quivering lip. Clive eyed me up with a visual sort of reprimand. ""You handle this,"" he said. ""I'll search out back."" He was out the door before I could protest. I turned to the man and said, as consoling as I could manage: ""She's gone, but at least there's no suffering."" The man nodded feebly. ""S-she talked in h-her sleep,"" he said, choking back tears. ""The s-strangest things."" ""My Nan does the same. It's really quite common."" The man shook his head. ""Y-you don't unders-stand. She s-said 'If y-you r-really love me, you have to l-let me go.'"" ""Shh, it's all right,"" I said. ""She's in a better place now."" ""S-she weren't talking t-to me, I reckon,"" the husband continued. There was some semblance of shame buried in his tone. This struck me as odd. I tilted my head and said, ""What makes you so sure?"" But the man was done talking on the matter. He simply sat at the foot of the bed, rubbing the poor woman's lifeless feet. After a time he turned up to me, bleary-eyed and quivering. ""W-would you help me bury her? N-no funeral p-parlors anymore."" ""Of course we will. It's the least we could do."" As the three of us dug into the wet earth, Clive told me under his breath that he'd found a footprint. ""Not *quite* human,"" he said with excitement in his voice. ""We're close."" ""There's something strange about this whole--"" ""I r-reckon that's deep enough,"" muttered the husband, wiping his hands on his jeans. When the grave was packed down, the husband stepped forward to say a few words. It had been a while since Clive and I had attended one of these things. Neither of us knew quite what to do. The husband cleared his throat, and we shuffled on our feet. ""Edith, hun. I...Well, I know W-we might not'a had the *greatest..."" Suddenly Clive elbowed me in the side. ""Willem!"" he hissed. ""Look!"" There Death stood, billowing black robe and all. Right on the edge of the backwoods. It was like a scene wrenched straight out of my memory--a slender dark figure that seemed to bend the space around him. Except, there was something...off.. *Was he crying?* Clive and I took off, leaving the poor husband behind. Death turned tail and fled. Bits of darkness lingered among the brambles in his wake. Little breadcrumbs of blackness that fizzled against my skin. He disappeared behind a tangle of tree trunks, but we followed his trail with our hearts in our ears. As Clive and I ducked beneath the spindly branches, I thought back upon all those years we'd been trying to outrace Death. *Catch the killer before he murdered. Save the kidnapped girl before she was raped and strangled.* He'd always been one step ahead of us. Just a *little* faster. An endless cycle of *running*. Likely as not, he would get away again. But it felt good to chase him once more. Hell, at the very least, we'd gotten him *moving*. As the dark figure drew further and further away, I wondered if maybe someone like Edith had just finally convinced him stop. Maybe, in the end, he'd just needed to smile for a moment and catch his breath. ---------------- r/M0Zark",1104
" ""So,"" I began softly,","We sat across from each other, doing exactly nothing. Because what exactly do you do when you learn your spouse is actually your arch enemy who has been giving you the absolute most mixed signals you could ever imagine? Seriously, sometimes I get the feeling she deliberately wears that red skin tight suit just so I can get an eyeful of her ass. Ironic, considering I have had more than that for five years now. ""So,"" I began softly, ""you're Rouge Sang?"" ""Oui,"" she answered, tapping her fingers against her scarlet lips...her fingernails were also scarlet...and her hair was red...how did I miss the signs?! ""And you,"" she said, clenching her perfect teeth together, ""are the Ultra Warrior."" More silence. I was about to say something when I heard the TV turn on. My wife, Amelia, sighed. ""Let's talk about this later. Don't want the kids learning anything right this moment."" The rest of the day was filled with tension as I set off to work, calling up the guys. As I consider my predicament, I wondered if I should tell Thunderous about this. Actually, no, horrible idea. Superhero codenames said a lot about them. And hers was...Rouge Sang. French for blood red. Currently considered one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Among the FBI's most wanted criminals in the world. Survivors of her attacks tended to be incredibly lucky. When someone's main superpower lets them control blood itself, that's not something you can just walk away from. And that was why I am one of the few people who can face her on even footing. She controls blood, and me? Willpower. Okay, wait, not exactly control it. Willpower gives me literal strength. I can increase my durability with, resist the most powerful mind control, leap tall buildings in a single bound, lift several tons my own weight, there's a lot I am capable of. I keep finding new uses for it everyday. First time I fought her was something else, though. I was on my knees, wading through a pool of blood because why not, concentrating on just staying alive, and all the while, she was smiling at me. A smile which just faltered as I got to my feet and started to rush her. That had been the first of many clashes between us. There was always a symmetry to those fights which, perhaps not coincidentally, actually reminded me a good bit of our sex life. Work was a hassle, for sure, talking with some of the boys. Until about 3:30, when I heard the alarm. Great. Supervillain attack. And obviously, I knew exactly who it was. After changing into my costume in my usual place which had been marked off by the guys in suits, I immediately sprang into action. The source? Ground floor. I ran down the stairs at the speed of...not light or sound, because that's actually really dangerous. Look, I'm not good with calculating how fast I am going when I use super speed, that's Mathwoman's job! And there she was, all dressed out, hands on her hips. Her crimson-scarlet suit was decorated with flowing bright red and deep blue lines which were meant to mimic blood vessels. Never focused on that much, though, especially today, when she was exposing a bit more of her cleavage than usual. Now aware this was my wife, I suddenly became very conscious some individuals who were running for their lives and screaming staring at her as she flaunted her beauty. Beneath my helmet, I scowled at them all. Damn it... Waiting until everyone had left and law enforcement set up a perimeter, she crossed her arms across her chest, pushing up her boobs. Sweet mother of- ""Who's watching the kids?"" ""Mrs Beatrice,"" she answered, walking towards me. Those goddamn hip swings of hers... ""Can we do this somewhere without everyone watching?"" ""We've been at each other's throats for six years, five of which we have been making some of the most passionate love you can imagine - and I should know,"" she smirked at that last part. I rolled my eyes, blushing. She gasped. ""Mon dieu, you prude!"" ""Prude!? Seriously, given how many times I've caught you scolding my buddies for making inappropriate comments-"" ""That was in the front of the children. And that reminds me,"" she circled around me, before kicking off the ground, landing on the ceiling and twirling around so she faced me. I've always wondered how does she keep her hair staying in place like that. ""Every time Thunderous called me a French hoe, bitch queen, bag, and several other very impolite words, you always were setting him right."" ""Dad brought me up better than that."" She grimaced at the mention of my father. ""You are such a boy scout,"" then she grinned wickedly, ""and that's something I couldn't help but find so... irresistible."" Goddamn she was doing that thing with her fingers, lifting me off the ground again. I really hated floating, especially when it wasn't of my own accord. After she carried me out of the lobby and launched me threw a wall, I just leaned against the one which had stopped me. She stood directly in front of me, surveying me intensely. Now that I could see her like this, I started to notice how her demeanor had changed. Every time we had fought before she had been slick, oh so sexy, confident and powerful. Now she was hesitant, cautious and...worried. And I didn't like it. I always hated seeing Amelia upset, and that wasn't changed no matter what she was wearing. ""David,"" she said quietly, ""should we get a divorce?"" ""What?!"" Okay, this was out of left field. But I could honestly see where she was coming from. ""We both know how those who date across the hero-villain divide are treated. If word of this got out, that we are married..."" She cupped her bare cheek in own hand, skin twitching under her mask, ""what could happen to the children?"" ""Amelia, we have a fully functioning stable relationship. If we get a divorce, what message would that send to them? It would look way too suspicious as well. I know a few people who would be sniffing about to see what's up."" She sighed. ""So...what now?"" ""Become a hero."" She froze, eyes wide. ""I...beg your pardon?!"" ""Think about it. If you do some work redeeming yourself, you could get in the public's good graces. The FBI would-"" ""Stop right there. The FBI wouldn't just let me drop off the radar. You know that damn well. Heck, why don't you become a villain instead."" ""No,"" I said firmly. She groaned. ""Oh, why not?"" I took a deep breath, ready to launch into a speech about the values of truth, justice, mercy, compassion, and the American way that she never listened to...and instead came out with another secret. ""Daria knows,"" I said softly, ""about my identity. She caught me changing. She has told me so many times how much she wants to be just like me when she grows up, you know that? Well, when you couldn't hear, I would give her some tips on how to make the best superhero costume or how to pull a punch. She's been coming up with names-"" ""Michael knows about mine."" ""...That explains a few things."" Michael and Daria, the twins, often argued about who was cooler, Rouge Sang or Ultra Warrior. In hindsight, those were much funnier now. ""Whose his favorite supervillain?"" ""Besides me? Buzzsaw."" ""Thank God,"" I muttered. ""Your happy our son's favorite supervillain is that giggling psycho?"" ""Hey, Buzzsaw is a lot of things, but a killer isn't one of them. Guy has a code of honor at least."" ""Try holding a conversation with him when he isn't screaming at you."" We both laughed at that. Then we were silent. My world had first been turned upside down when I learned I had powers. Now it had been again. I had been dedicated to bringing a woman I thought was a callous murderer to justice for six years, but that woman was also the mother of my children. ""I have an idea,"" she slowly. ""How about we retire?"" ""They wouldn't let either of us."" They being literally the entire world. Both sides. We were in our prime, young rookies who had risen fast through the ranks to be some of the most respected individuals in our fields. You can't just walk away from that...even if you wanted to. ""We could go into hiding until we figure this out?"" ""They would find us, darling."" She rubbed her forehead and then...sniffled. I was stunned. She was crying. I had heard rumors she cried tears of blood, bathed in it even, but this was... unexpected. ""What are we supposed to do?"" I was silent for a few moments before I said what I had been dreading to admit. ""I don't know.""",1489
 A single spark of life became a,"Some are lesser. Some are greater. I am above. Long did I wander before I finally settled. A simple world, filled with the sort of promise that is so rare within creation. I came to it when it was still fresh. From the promise of this world I forged a paradise. A single spark of life became a broad creation, filled with majesty and diversity. With great care I guided this life along the myriad paths. There were mistakes. I am a God, but I'm not perfect. The dinosaurs were real dicks. I had to hit a hard reset on that one. Mammals were a bit more promising. A few nudges along the evolutionary path combined with eternal patience finally produced something worthy of my efforts. I admired their tenacity, their capacity for overcoming the hardships of that the world naturally set in their path. Their discovery of fire, writing and higher order technology all brought cheer to my heart. The time to reveal myself had finally come. After hundreds of millions of years, my creation would know me. Know that they were not alone in the world. In the universe. I chose my moment carefully. I descended from the heavens, largely because that is what their religious texts all expected me to do, and announced myself. I sat on a mighty golden throne, a brilliant halo about my head, feeling appropriately godly. My introduction did not go as a planned. At first I was mocked. Laughed at. They thought me an imposter. An insane piece of detritus that had decided to put on a performance for their amusement. I recognize now that placing my golden throne in New York City's Time Square on New Year's Eve was a tactical error. I just figured everyone was there, the cameras were rolling and people were already in a celebratory mood so it'd be one of those win/win setups. Alas, it was not meant to be. The miscalculation put me into the position of either accepting their insolence or demonstrating my power. My effort to build goodwill with my creation was somewhat set back by my decision to smite all of those who mocked me. Again, I am enlightened enough to recognize this as a strategic miscalculation in hindsight. Living is about learning and I learned a lot. Of course, all of the smiting led to something of an escalation on their part. Guns. Tanks. At one point a nuke detonated right in the middle of Manhattan. Such trivial devices had little effect on me, though it substantially reduced the quality of life within the city itself. All of that valuable real estate. Poof. Gone. Now, I wish I could say that I turned the other cheek, but I had been covertly building a real estate portfolio in the city so the nuke rubbed me the wrong way. That and the fact that I was just nuked. Bad form, that. Completely unnecessary. I was angered. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. So there was more smiting. A lot of smiting. Before I really got back to my senses, I'd managed to smite the a fair bit of the human population. Something like half of them. Maybe seventy five percent. A lot. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I've realized that that was operational oversight. Godly. Not perfect. At this point, things had soured rather severely between me and humanity. Mistakes were made on both sides, I think we're all mature enough to recognize this now, but all of that smiting had set civilization back a fair bit. It might have something to do with me releasing a global electro\-magnetic pulse after a particularly annoying hit piece on 60 minutes, but I really couldn't say. Point is that they're back in the Bronze Age. Possibly Stone Age. The point is that pretty much all the humans are dead and they ones that remain have been acquired some rather odd superstitious beliefs. I can understand how the appearance of a god and the subsequent eradication of eighty five percent of the population could cause some radical shifts in policy, but I'm a bit disappointed at the regression. By far the most annoying development has been the 'Chosen Ones.' Somehow the rumor got started that I could be defeated by a child of the purest heart. It might have been the one time I joked early on that only a child of the purest heart could defeat me. But that was clearly in jest. Humans have a terrible sense of humor, particularly when ninety percent of them have been slaughtered by a vengeful god. Maybe if they'd lighten up, we wouldn't be in this mess. A little more communication, a little less annihilation. So now, every year, some teenager get dumped off on the border of my domain \-\- I rebuilt Manhattan after the nuke, there's a lot of money in redevelopment \-\- and instructed to defeat me. I've tried explaining to them that I've grown from my mistakes. That despite creating them, I'm really not good with people. That it's been as difficult for me as it has been for them. That this is a teachable moment. Sadly, the humans are quite short on empathy. It may be because I smote ninety five percent of the population, but they should really move on. All of that destruction was so 2000 and late. Now I got some brat tromping about my backyard, messing up my garden, and waving around a sword. It always goes the same way: ""Hello my child,"" I say, all warm and benevolent like. ""I am the Chosen One! Sent from \[completely interchangeable human tribe here\], come to end your vile reign."" ""Listen, friend, that's all behind us."" ""You killed ninety seven percent of humanity\-\-"" ""\-\-a logistical snafu, I've grown since then,"" I reply, with the eternal patience that I have worked so very hard to re\-acquire after all of these misunderstandings. Then there's a great deal of yelling and whooping as the kid charges me. I cannot tell you what a downer it is to disintegrate a child every year. Other than providing excellent fertilizer for my lilies, there's no upside in it. There's just an emotional toll that it takes to be so chronically misperceived. You try to build bridges, and people just come along and burn them down. I suppose that's all you can expect when you've destroyed ninety nine percent of humanity. **Platypus out.** **Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1082
 The young man sat atop the ruined,"The young man \(no longer a boy, the village elders had told him\) climbed the last of the 7,777 steps and paused to rest. He would need it for the fight. He sat atop the ruined head of an ancient statue, split by time and the many vines growing through the cracks. The young man didn't recognize which god it might be, but they must have been pretty important to have a statue at the top of the mountain. From this vantage point he could see all the way down the emerald slopes, to the misty valley where his village sat. Beyond it was the great river, and beyond that were more villages, and more mountains. None of the latter were anywhere near as great as the mountain of gods, however. It towered over the valley, over all the land, its temple carved out of the peak where it had honored the gods for eons. Until the Old Worm had corrupted it and tormented the people. Now it crouched inside, a carrion king over a rotted husk, the dark master of the land and its people. Until today. The young man took a drink from the water\-skin at his side and examined his sword. It had been blessed by the oldest priest, a powerful weapon against the dark. And he, the chosen man, would wield it against the Old Worm. They had told him since he was old enough to walk that he had been born under a sign, a symbol from the heavens. He was ordained to end the tyranny that gripped the valley. His parents had told him, been so proud. The village elders had all thanked him every day as he trained, meditated, and prayed. He was ready. The priest had claimed it was so, said he had read the stars and the entrails of a fat goat. I was the will of the gods, and there would be only victory today. But the young man had to be brave. There could be no doubt, no hesitation. He got to his feet with a sigh, and approached the monolithic stone doors. The seven stone faces in the door all moved as he approached to stare at him with eyes of marble and slate and granite. The young man \(but when those great stone faces moved he felt like a boy once again\), gripped the sword at his side and began to unsheathe it. ""Hast thou come for the blood of the Old Worm?"" one of the faces asked, in a voice of rattling gravel. ""I have,"" the young man said. ""Then thou may enter,"" another face said and the great doors cracked open. Dust sifted down between them, pale white against the blackness within. The young man withdrew his sword, took a deep breath, and entered. The doors rumbled closed behind him as soon as he was across the threshold. For an instant, he wanted to dash out and all the way back down the stairs. But that was the thought of a boy, and not a young man. He bit his lip and continued into the ancient temple. It was not entirely dark within the old structure: cracks in the vaulted domed ceilings made by curious vines sent slivers of silvery daylight into the darkness. They illuminated statues of the old gods, their features worn smooth by time, faces forgotten and indistinct. Pale branches and small rounded boulders littered the sides of the vast hallway, and the young man winced as one cracked under his sandal. The sound echoed back, back into the darkness ahead of him. Another sound followed it: a furtive skittering noise, a rapid tapping of thousands of tiny hard points across stone. The young man pointed his sword ahead of him, an automatic response that had been drilled into him over years of practice. ""Come out, Worm,"" he said, his voice strong, deep. It was a man's voice, brave beyond his meager years. ""Of course,"" something replied. It was calm, smooth, neither masculine nor feminine. The young man stood at the edge of a vast rotunda, almost entirely shrouded in shadow, until something moved. A vast serpentine shape unwound itself from the top of a central column, near the roof. As it did, it exposed several more cracks and holes in the ceiling and light flooded into the chamber. The serpentine shape skittered down the central column on thousands and thousands of tiny legs, its movements elegant and swift despite it size. The Old Worm was perhaps as long as the great river, and almost as wide. It reared up before the young man, a disturbingly human face in the center of its head. It was a pale face, bone white and rounded, almost cheerful. It had four eyes, all of them bright as polished obsidian, and a huge smiling gash of a mouth with thin red lips. A pair of stick\-like arms unfolded from the underside of the Old Worm, from among its thousands of legs, and spread wide in a gesture of welcome to the young man. ""I'm so pleased to see you,"" the Old Worm said. The young man steadied his knocking knees, clenched his roiling stomach, and kept his sword between him and the carrion king of the mountain. ""I have been sent by the old gods to kill you!"" the young man said. The Old Worm smiled wide. ""Calling the gods old implies they are still alive, young one,"" the Worm replied. ""They are dead, and this is their tomb."" ""You lie,"" the young man snapped. ""And I will prove it by cutting you open!"" ""Then you would see the truth. I think there might be some of their bones in my belly, still, even after all these ages,"" the Worm said and chuckled. ""Go on. Do it."" The young man jumped back as the Old Worm settled onto its side and exposed its under belly. It stared at him, smiled, and waited. The young man didn't hesitate. He didn't understand why the Old Worm was being so casual about this, but he didn't care. He lunged. The sword broke. It snapped with a clear metallic clang and spun over the young man's shoulder where it clattered to the floor. The young man was too stunned to react at first. It was a blessed weapon. It should have cleaved through the Old Worm with ease, laid the hateful demon open to writhe and die in agony. The young man jumped back and stared between his broken blade and the Old Worm. Was it him? Had he lost faith? No. Not for a second, not in all his years of his parents, the elders, the priests, telling him that he was special. ""I know,"" the Worm said and sighed. ""Disappointing, yes?"" It reached out with one of its skinny arms, its slender fingers plucking the broken weapon from the young man's hand in a way that was almost dainty, then tossing it away. ""How? I was chosen,"" the young man said. His shock gave way to fear. He was locked in here with the Old Worm. His weapon useless and broken. But maybe still, if he had faith, he could do it. ""You were,"" the Worm said. ""Because I chose you. As I have chosen so, so many others."" It gestured at the sides of the rotunda and the hallway behind them. The pale branches and the rounded stones were neither: they were bones and skulls. Tiny ribs, petite femurs, diminutive skulls. He hadn't snapped a twig, he had broken some long dead child's arm. ""I have to admit, it's getting a bit dull, but as I said, the remains of the old gods are almost gone, and I hunger,"" the Worm said. ""And there is nothing so satisfying as your despair."" ""I\-I don't..."" the boy \(no longer a man, despite what the village elders had told him\) said and tears spilled down his cheeks. ""Yes you do,"" the Worm said and grinned. It exposed hundreds of sharp fangs as it did, stained pink from generations of blood spilled across them. ""You know. It was a lie. Your parents knew you were nothing but cattle from the day of your birth, when the priest brought you to me. Raise him with hope, I said, and when he is bursting with it, send him to me, so I may feast on his despair."" The boy slumped to his knees before the Old Worm, who had risen over him. ""It's not true,"" the boy said. ""You already know that it is."" The boy buried his face in his hands and wept. ""You don't want to try praying? Take another swing, maybe?"" the Worm asked. The boy shook his head. ""Just do it."" ""There it is,"" the Worm said and pulled the boy up off his feet, toward its mouth. ""Despair worth waiting for."" Despite the boy's diminutive size, his anguish was a deep, vast well that the Old Worm feasted on late into the night. When it was done, when the screams had quieted, there was a knock at the stone doors. ""Enter,"" the Old Worm said. The priest from the village entered and bowed low. ""There are four pregnancies in the valley,"" the priest said. ""Mm,"" the Old Worm grunted. ""And beyond the valley?"" ""I've already sent pilgrims, to check."" ""Good. Bring the little dears to me when they are born, and we'll begin again. Rest well, knowing that the last of the gods protects your valley, priest."" ""Thank you, my lord,"" the priest said and bowed before he left. The Old worm scrabbled back up to the top of the central column, winding its body into tight coils and resting its head on its own back. It was always sleepy after a good meal.",1636
 Ralph's parents will be here in,"""Ralph, my parents will be here in a few minutes,"" Jenny called. ""Do you think you could set the plates?"" ""Sure,"" I said. ""Hey, uh, Jenny? Are your parents... driving themselves here or are they taking a cab?"" She walked out of the kitchen. ""A cab, why?"" ""Oh, no reason. So should I set place cards or would that be... unnecessary?"" ""Place cards?"" she asked, her eyebrows furrowed. ""Well, that's entirely unnecessary since there will only be four of us and we all know each other."" ""Sure, sure,"" I said quickly. ""Of course.... so what kind of lighting do you think they'd prefer? Like a doctor's office situation? Or do you think they're, uh, less picky than that?"" ""They're not blind,"" Jenny snapped, putting a hand on her hip. ""Uh oh,"" I muttered. ""Excuse me?"" ""I uh, I just realized I hadn't asked until now,"" I told her. ""Oh,"" she said. ""Well, okay."" She walked back into her kitchen. I shuffled my feet nervously and then followed her. ""It's just that um, I need to confess something to you, Jenny,"" I said. Jenny laughed. ""Are you not as attractive as you described yourself?"" I grimaced. ""Well..."" ""Oh sweetie, I'm sure you look--"" ""They're not going to be able to see me!"" I blurted. Her face fell. ""I told you they weren't blind,"" she said blankly. ""Look, I'm invisible,"" I said after a sigh. ""No one can see me."" ""What? What do you mean? How--how is that possible?"" she sputtered. ""Is this some sort of a joke? My disability really isn't something to joke ab--"" ""No, no!"" I said quickly. I took her hand. ""It's not a joke. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, I just didn't think it was relevant."" ""You didn't think it was maybe of note?"" ""Well..."" ""Not even a little bit? That you're invisible?"" she asked incredulously. ""Once again, how is that even possible?"" ""It's this whole thing. I, I think that's a story for another time,"" I said quickly. She snatched her hand away. ""No, I think it's a story for *now*."" ""They're gonna be here in like two or three minutes, Jen!"" I said. ""They're not--"" ""Wait, won't they be able to see the clothes you're wearing? Oh god, are you just *naked* all of the time?"" she asked, her face wrinkled with disgust. I paused. ""Well, not *all* of the time,"" I said slowly. ""So they'll see the clothes you have on tonight, right?"" she asked. I let out a huff. ""The whole invisible thing is kind of like a force field of sorts, so they--you know what? This really isn't a story for now,"" I said, the exasperation getting the best of me. The doorbell rang, which made us both jump. Jenny shook her head. ""So you're saying that to everyone in public, I've been walking around talking to myself for the past four months?"" ""Well... yeah,"" I said softly. ""Look, shouldn't we talk about this--"" ""My god, I must have looked insane!"" she said. ""No, you just looked blind,"" I said with a shrug. She glared in my general direction, which even for the seeing population, I was used to. ""What the hell is that supposed to mean?"" ""Oh, uh, I didn't mean--"" ""Blind people aren't insane! Are you invisible and also from the 14th century?"" ""19th, actually,"" I muttered. ""What?"" she snapped. ""It's a story for another time!"" I yelled. ""Look, do you want me to get the door?"" ""Oh yeah, that'd look great,"" she said as she stomped toward it. ""They'll think I got fancy new automatic doors installed."" I watched as Jenny smoothed the front of her dress, put on a smile, and opened the door. Her parents enveloped her into a hug, which she returned. I saw her relax her posture slightly. ""Mom, Dad, thanks for coming over,"" she said nervously. ""Where's Ralph?"" her dad asked, shrugging off his coat. ""Yeah, where is he?"" her mom asked. ""We've been looking forward to meeting him."" I sighed audibly. ""I'm here."" I was used to the jump that came from most people when encountering a disembodied voice. However--and perhaps I was just trying to get my hopes up--the jump seemed less than usual. ""How is he doing that?"" her father asked. ""Where is he?"" her mom asked, her eyes wide. ""Well, funny you should ask,"" Jenny said without a trace of humor on her face. ""I just found out about two minutes ago that he is apparently invisible."" ""Well, he wasn't lying,"" her dad said. ""Unless this is just a really good prank."" Uncertainly, he put out his hand, which I reached out and shook. He jumped slightly, but less than before. ""Now that was messed up,"" her father said. ""He just shook my hand Jenny, and it made my hand disappear too!"" ""You better hope it was his hand,"" she mumbled. ""Oh my god, is he naked?"" her mother shouted suddenly. ""Are you naked?"" she said to me, although she was looking too far to the left. I paused. ""Not all of the time."" ""Wait,"" Jenny said. ""So when we have been walking along the street holding hands..."" She trailed off, waiting for me to jump in. ""Yes,"" I said. ""You looked like a blind amputee having the best day of her life."" ""For the love of god!"" Jen yelled. She turned to her parents. ""Why are you two not more weirded out by this?"" Her parents looked at one another and shrugged. Her dad said, ""I mean, if he makes you happy, who are we to judge someone for being invisible?"" ""That's just how he chooses to live his life,"" her mom added. ""Well actually it wasn't a choice..."" I started, then stopped myself. ""Sorry, story for another time perhaps."" ""I will ask though,"" her mother said, ""what about when you have children? Will they be blind or invisible? Or both?"" I laughed heartily. ""We've only been together for a few months, ma'am. I think we should cover the invisible stories before we dive into kids."" Jen cackled next to me. ""Best get to telling those stories pal, you have an eight month clock ticking!"" ----- Did you enjoy this twist ending about an invisible man's reproductive dilemma? If so, swing by r/AlexLoganWriting for more silly stories and details on our novella, *An Honest Policy*, which will be free starting tonight at 12 AM (PT) until the 23rd.",1071
 The Transportation Effect had been unwittingly created,"I imagined my death for years. The Transportation Effect had been unwittingly created about a decade before I was born. I grew up hearing stories from schoolmates and relatives of all the Final Ceremonies they had attended. The sunny warmth of the portal. The lavender scented air of the Ceremony location. I committed every detail to memory, both excited and terrified of the day when someone I loved would pass and I would be invited to assist in the loving send off of my dearly departed. I waited but it never came... A sweet girl with an infectious giggle was in my class in 5th grade. She had dozens of stories of ceremonies she'd attended. A great grandparent. A former nanny. A bus driver who had taken a shine to her. It seemed everyone this girl encountered had fallen in love with her. It became a regular and accepted occurrence that she would vanish from class and return moments later flushed and teary eyed. Meanwhile, the people around me seemed to be dropping like flies and I hadn't attended a single Ceremony. My own father passed away suddenly of a heart attack when I was 15, and although our relationship had always been strained, I thought surely he loved me enough to invite me to his Final hour... and yet.... At some point in my 20s I accepted my inability to be loved by others. It was a bitter pill which took me 27 years to swallow but there was no fighting it. By that time, I had lost both parents, three grandparents, a close friend died in a motorcycle accident, a cousin who I'd helped get off drugs OD'ed, and I had heard of several acquaintances passing. No portal for this guy. No lavender air for me. So be it. I was done seeking affection. Although I had not failed to explore the world of intoxicating women, I had given up hope of a lasting relationship. I treated everyone kindly \- to be sure. I'm not some kind of monster, you see. I just go into encounters with others cognizant of our inevitable parting. I learned to make the most of my interactions and let them pass. I made lemonade, you know? I worked hard. I traveled often. I experienced art and music and earth shattering sex. I engaged in convivial conversation with strangers about all these things. It was good. Good enough by any measure, certainly. On April 25, my 45th birthday \- I closed my eyes for the last time. To be honest, my death was kind of a let down. My adult life had been pretty exciting and I had envisioned a cause of death equally exciting. A hang gliding accident in Mexico, perhaps, or a shark attack while surfing in Australia - that was more my speed. Instead, I was taken by the same heart defect that took my father 30 years before. I lay with my eyes closed, asleep as far as I knew, prepared to enjoy the hour of lavender and warmth in solitude. It was just as incredible as the stories I heard. The warmth of the portal was sort of like laying on a beach with the sun baking into my pores while a gentle breeze blew the burn away. The scent of the lavender was pervasive and familiar, the way my grandmother's kitchen would fill with the scent of sugar and cinnamon when she baked. Slowly, a hum pushed itself up and over the feeling and the scent. The hum became chatter and the chatter became voices and suddenly I realized I was not alone. Reluctantly, nervously, I opened my eyes. I didn't see my own face, of course, but I'm certain there was a refined quality to my slack\-jawed shock. The tall, white room was packed. There must've been 100 people crammed in like pennies in a bank wrapper. Familiar faces started to stand out to me among the expectant smiles. I saw my parents, arm in arm. My grandparents shuffled forward. My cousin and my motorcycle accident friend threw hands in the air and waved grinning from the back. There were unfamiliar faces, too. A girl I vaguely remembered bedding in Brazil stood to the side looking sexy as hell. The mail carrier who had served my block my whole damn life was there, smiling, wearing the damn mail sack. I stood and stuttered. ""But..... I.... Mom?"" Her smile grew somehow wider and it seemed she understood my confusion. ""Well, my love,"" she said, pausing for a moment in search of the right words. ""The Final Ceremony isn't exactly what you thought it was. This final hour is not for the loving, it is for the loved."" I stared blankly, clueless to her meaning. She tried again. ""The living, and sometimes deceased, are transported to the Final Hour of the people THEY love. They are not transported to the final hour of the people who love THEM. It seems that way to most because usually love is mutual. But in your case.... well, honey...."" ""You didn't love US enough,"" my father broke in. ""But we all loved the hell out of you."" The room murmured and heads nodded in unanimous agreement. My Brazilian fling's thick Portuguese accent joined the conversation. ""I never in my life meet man so incredible. You inspire me take all of life. Live all days hard and with joy. It wake up love in my heart so strong I never forget,"" she finished tearfully, the smile still plastered to her lovely face. ""Actually,"" a new voice from the back piped up. ""It isn't about love at all \- well, not the way we understand it. It's about touching souls. Just before you pass, you are reunited with all the souls that you've touched. Maybe no one who touched your soul passed away, but you... you've touched... all of us."" The voice finished and a girl pushed through the crowd. My classmate from grade school was there, smiling her sweet smile, giggling her contagious laugh. I started sobbing. Uncontrollably, I sobbed. I covered my face with my hands as if to push the tears and noise back in where it belonged. Instead, the sobs came harder and louder until I just let it go. Suddenly I felt arms around me. My mother's strong arms wrapped tight around my waist. One after another, the visitors pressed in around me. Their arms intertwined like straw in a birds nest, cradling the weight of my overwhelming emotion until I descended peacefully into the After.",1096
 Melanie should have bounced cleanly off,"Panicking is rarely useful. Which was why I checked my smartphone recording first, scrolling back to those few seconds when Melanie should have bounced cleanly off the wall at King's Cross Station. I expected her to land quite heavily, which was why I had fitted her out with a crash helmet and cargo pants. It was one thing to play a prank on your kid, and it was quite another to endanger them. I may not be a conventional parent, but let no one say I was a reckless one. But the recording only confirmed what my eyes told me - Melanie had passed *right through the wall*, and I even picked up her last few goodbyes echoing through the masonry. Melanie had *not*, as per my meticulous plans, learned a valuable lesson in learning to discern between fiction and reality. My prepared speech about how she should engage in critical thinking more often ebbed away from my mind, leaking like water through a sieve. Melanie had *instead*, quite apparently, departed for the Hogwarts Express, right before my bloody eyes. ""Oh, oh, let me see! I want to see too! Our darling baby, off on her first few steps to a brand new life! Such a momentous occasion! Richard, please tell me you captured her waving goodbye to us!"" Ok, *now* was the time to *panic*. ""Doria! What the... Are you saying you *knew* she would pass through the wall?"" ""Huh? Yes, of course she would, why wouldn't she? You heard me tell her all the time that she has magic in her, right?"" I took a deep breath, then turned to face my wife. I gripped her shoulders, not too hard, just enough for me to steady my shaking hands. The pride and happiness on her face was slipping away, replaced instead with a concoction of puzzlement and annoyance. ""Please tell me you're joking,"" I said. ""Look, it's not funny, OK? I'll admit it, I got pranked. I don't know how you made her disappear, I don't know when the two of you ganged up on me instead. Haha, very funny, applause all around for my wonderful wife and my turnip of a daughter. Egg's on my face, and everything... Now, *can you get her out of the bloody wall?*"" ""But Richard, isn't this what you always wanted? Isn't this..."" Then her face fell, and a twinge of anger spread across her features, the way it always did just before we got to fighting. ""Hold on right there mister. Are you telling me that you... didn't believe in what we were telling her?"" ""Believe?"" I said, as my voice climbed a couple of octaves. ""Believe in the entire Harry Potter which you made me read to her? Of course not! It's a bloody storybook, Doria!"" ""So this was... What? A prank? You did all this just to have her run and bounce off a wall?"" A sneer twisted her lips. ""What type of sicko are you?"" ""But that's what we agreed! You and me! We said it would be funny if we got her to believe that *Harry Potter* was real!"" ""What about the letter then? From Hogwarts? Delivered by owl, no less?"" ""I printed the damn thing off Deviant Art! I plucked a few feathers out from our pillows!"" ""Oh my god... You know what? I can't tell if you're the fool, or if I was the idiot... Here I was, thinking that my husband had accepted me for what I was, had even embraced the life our daughter would live out... I thought you were *listening* to me, all those years, when I kept telling you that I had distant relatives who had magic, and that I was pretty sure Melanie had inherited those same talents... It was my darkest secret, and I was so worried that you would never accept me... I cried, you know, with joy the first time you called me a Squib..."" ""Bloody hell Doria, I thought we were *roleplaying*! Why the hell else would I go *ho ho ho, I'm Hagrid, and my laugh is not all that's big about me* in bed?"" I saw the tears well up in Doria's eyes, and she turned away before they could spill. My heart ached then, for I could see that my words had hurt her. All I wanted to do was to hold her tight, struggle to make sense of what I had learned, and then maybe try to figure out what the hell I should be doing next. But the horrible memories of me reading the books to Melanie before her bedtimes came crashing back, and I knew there was no time for tenderness now. Not when my precious Melanie was, in all likelihood, boarding a frickin' fairy train to Hogwarts at this very instant. I wasn't prescient in any way, but the foreboding was building in my stomach, pooling like the condensation off a can of Coke in summer. ""Doria, look, I'm sorry, OK? I'm an ass of a father who was just trying to record his daughter ramming into a wall so that I could perhaps get gold on Reddit, OK? I admit to that. I'm scum. But listen, there's something really important that I need your help with, OK?"" ""And what's that? You want me to find some way to pull our daughter back? So that maybe you can corrupt her with your hate, your shallowness, your sheer idiocy?"" ""No, no, not that. Look, and don't get mad... but I... may have taken certain liberties with the story when I read the books to her. And before she puts any of those ideas into play, we need to get her back, set the record straight. So please, if you know of any-"" ""Wait, what did you say?"" Doria narrowed her eyes, then stabbed a finger into my chest. ""Back up, back up. Say that again for me."" ""I said, we need to get her back, so that we can correct-"" ""Did I hear you say that you *took certain liberties with the storyline?*"" Doria had on the same look she always had just before she ascended to *blind fury*, right after *maddened rage* and *righteous anger*, and way, way past *mild annoyance*, which was usually where I liked to keep her with my jokes and silly innuendos. I gulped, then decided honesty was the best policy here. ""I er... kinda shared some commentary on the series with her. You know, just to help her with the development of critical thinking-"" ""Did you not hear me specifically ask you to avoid any of your usual shit with this series? Just this series? And that it was *vital* that Melanie hear the complete storyline as accurately as possible?"" ""For crying out loud, Doria, I thought it was just because you were a fangirl!"" ""No, I'm not a fangirl, Richard! Rowling's the most accurate historian we've ever had!"" Doria bunched her fists, then pummeled my shoulder for couple of seconds. When she was spent, she sighed. ""What exactly did you tell her?"" ""I... may have told her that, you know... the Sorting Hat was an antiquated pro-discrimination enforcer who reveled in making cursory judgments of people, and that if she ever got the chance, she should tell the Sorting Hat to stuff it..."" ""Oh god..."" ""And... I may have told her that Potions class was the most important one of all, simply because humans were weakest when it came to addiction, and if she could just develop a substance which caused maximum pleasure and a minimum of side-effects, she should keep it secret and focus on selling product to her classmates... money, I told her, makes the world go round..."" ""You seriously... oh for..."" ""And... I may have also... said... that Voldy did nothing wrong... and that his views of how wizardkind should govern itself before Muggles did so was entirely justifiable and in fact a plot device employed in X-Men Apocalypse... and that the only mistake he made was in not dressing it up in a more digestible exterior. PR, I told her. Get into damn Slytherin, then change it from within. Get rid of the bloody snake, replace it with an animal with broader appeal than the stupid lion the Gryffies have... maybe choose like, something cute and relatable, like a Japanese electric mouse... then when no one suspects, you spread your doctrines and your teachings... help people see that there are more ways than one to conquer the world..."" I would have gone on, but Doria's face was drained of blood at this point. In the distance behind her, I saw a few more families ambling our way, and their children suddenly fell to the floor, grimacing and clutching their heads in pain. From that distance, I could still make out the image of a cartoon frog, pulsing on their foreheads, a scar magically delivered by an artist I was intimately acquainted with. Pepe, the first animal I had taught Melanie to draw, as a joke, for shits and giggles. *Do you like this animal?* I had asked her. *It could be your personal coat of arms, yes?* Doria grabbed my collar, and I wondered if we would ever return to the lives we had. ""What have you done?"" she asked. Truly, I did not know. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1559
 Eights use their extra day to,"When something unexplainable happened from Monday to Sunday, there was always an explanation that originated in Lokesday. When you wake up on Monday morning with an awful headache and overall just dreading the day? Lokesday. When your Monday just never seems to go right? Lokesday. The people that always seem refreshed in your office and roaring to go on Monday morning? They're probably an eight. They use their extra day to relax, catch up, and refresh. Some people spend their time traveling the world with their extra day. There's even an app called ""Find Eight"" that only comes on the app store on Lokesday that lets you meet up with other Eights for just hanging out, sex, or whatever it is you want to do. There's even a lot of businesses open on Lokesday just so people have things to do and spend their money on. There's even a special cryptocoin called ""8bit"" that eights do most of their business with on Lokesday to keep our secret. Nobody can really explain what happens. Always on time, one minute after 11:59pm GMT on Sunday, everyone disappears. Thus begins Lokesday, an entire extra day of the week for many. All of the sevens disappear, and so begins the extra day for the eights. There's no logic to who is an eight. Either you are or you aren't. We've always had it, and there's an unspoken code among us. Rule 1: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Rule 2: Any seven that finds out about Lokesday must be imprisoned or executed. Rule 3: Whatever happens on Lokesday, is not talked about until the next Lokesday. Rule 4: Nobody is your friend on Lokesday. Rule 5: Practice ethical business on Lokesday. Rule 6: Eighth day criminals are punished with death. Rule 7: Normal laws apply on Lokesday. Rule 8: No sevens can know about Lokesday. Yes some of the rules are a *wee bit* outdated. But we take them seriously. Most people fear being punished with death too much to do anything serious Lokesday. Short of breaking laws, it still can be fun for some to play minor tricks on people. Everything bad that comes to light on Monday that's just unexplainable usually has to do with some trickster on Lokesday. With less than a hundredth of the population being an eight, there's not enough police to stop people from setting up the sevens to have awful Mondays or just to take advantage of them. Most of the Police force are volunteers. Many are actual Police Officers, but they're in charge of guarding banks, Federal Buildings, and the like. They can't spend their time chasing down the guys doing 100 down the highway when there's nobody else on the road anyway. The more important things are major crimes, and while if caught, you will still be punished, most people don't care what you do on Lokesday as long as you aren't robbing people, planning on murdering people, or committing terrorism, you'll probably just be ignored. I could tell you all about Lokesday and what it's about, but I think you get the picture. Most of us eights use it to hookup, catch up on sleep, or get extra work done. Don't cheat, still, or kill and you'll enjoy Lokesday for what it is. An extra, hidden day that a small portion of us get to enjoy. Me? You can usually find me sleeping on Lokesday. It's a great opportunity to catch up after a busy week. I work about 50 hours a week, and another 20 hours I spend on school. I went back for my Masters last year after realizing I could get most of my homework done in my extra day and still sleep in until 11. It's not very fun, but I'm young enough that it will help me to drastically improve my career path. Sales isn't the best thing in the world for me right now, but getting a degree in Business Management will help me move toward an executive level where I can work to easily make a 6 or 7 figure salary if I stay on my current path. Now, you might be wondering, Gavin, what kind of trouble do you like to get into on Lokesday? Well, the answer is simple. Usually, not much. For years I've liked to keep my Lokesday simple and stay out of the way. I don't have to mess with anybody, and nobody messes with me. My girlfriend doesn't know because she's just a seven, and she stays happy that I can afford to take her out on nice dates throughout the week since I don't have to focus my time after I get off work on schoolwork. Though I'm not often much of a troublemaker, there's a reason I'm telling you all of this though. I want a simple life, and I'm okay with working for that. But I don't want to have to worry. I don't want my girlfriend Mary to have to worry about anything. I love her very much. We're both approaching 30 in the next couple of years, and I'd like to raise a family with her, and to be able to spend time with her. So when my best friend James, an acclaimed physicist approached me last year and said he found a way to pull of the ultimate Lokesday Crime, needless to say, I was interested. It was a way for me to enjoy more time with my family than most, and that was all I really cared about. I've always been nervous of committing a crime on Lokesday because of the severe penalties. But when he told me his plan, I knew why he wanted me involved. He wanted me to organize the team, to be the leader. James has never been a very confident guy, and with him working on the physics of the operation, he needed someone to organize it. His plan is complicated. He wanted to create a way for Sevens to experience Lokesday. It would violate Rules 1 and 8 of The Code, but if we could pull it off, I could have exactly what I wanted. A way to spend as much time with my future family as possible. That's all that matters to me. James' plan? It comes down to a lot of theoretical physics. But he's been clued in by some of his close scientist friends that are Government contractors that the U.S. Government has done a lot of experimenting and working on discovering how eights get an extra day. Rumor has it, that they may have even developed the physics and discovered the biology behind it. Of course, even if that science exists, it would be kept under lock and key with heavy scrutiny. We're talking about an army of volunteers to guard that secret. His insider believes they're going to use the new science for war though. Of course if they used it for that, it would be a crime against humanity. But he thinks we can do it in four phases. We're in Phase 0 right now. Planning. Getting together our people, and gathering information to set up for the rest of the phases. Our next step? The Heist. Edit: Fixed a sentence that I stopped writing halfway through. Might add more because the last couple paragraphs feel kind of forced without a little more transition. Edit 2: Seems this thread has been locked because there's already a novel based on this concept. I really enjoyed writing this, but I don't want to inadvertently plagiarize someone else's work. Please check out the novel this prompt seems to be inspired by",1276
 The ruckus from the dining,"I pulled the pillow down hard over my head, but it didn't do much to drown out the ruckus wafting up from the dining room below. I winced too, when I heard the sound of cutlery scattering, plates shattering. Then, loud thumps, probably one of them pushing the other against the wall. More howls, more wordless cries of anger. Then, suddenly, silence. I crept to the door, tilted it open so that it wouldn't creak. I even peeked through the balustrades, but they were both gone. I sighed, then headed down to help with cleaning up. It was easier this way. They always apologized afterwards, swearing that they did not mean to cause trouble for me again, but I honestly did not mind. As long as we could- Blood. Fresh droplets, sprayed in a clear arc on the tabletop. This close, I did not even need to Shift to know that they were from mum. Axe. Usually stowed in the rack next to the fireplace, now missing. I narrowed my eyes, and the disturbed dust particles in the air painted the rest of the picture for me. Dad, probably, had retrieved the weapon in a frenzy. Wind. A chilly gust, swirling through the house as brazenly as an uninvited guest, alerted me to the front door, now hanging ajar. Footprints leading out, framed by porcelain chips from the ravaged dinnerware, made clear where my parents had went. *This was no ordinary fight,* I thought. *Shit.* I sprinted out, drawing in as much of the night air as my lungs would allow. In my human form, I had perhaps one-hundredth of the capabilities afforded to me when I Shifted, but I was still a clear cut above my unpowered human brethren. Their scents became apparent to me, hanging in the air like a trail of fireflies. Dad's scent was stronger, overpowering even, full of anger and rage and potent impotence. Mum's scent was... too faint to make out. No matter, they had to be together. My feet carried me across the fields. My heart burned with fatigue, but I didn't dare to stop. There was no plan, of course. I was barely ten, and definitely not strong enough to stop dad if I had to. Even if there were a full moon tonight, it wouldn't have mattered. I could only hope that he would listen to reason. It was the only weapon I had. Then, at the edge of the forest, where the bristling trees were thickest, I saw dad raise his axe high above his head, priming for the swing. The scarce moonlight was enough to illuminate his fury for me. ""Dad! Stop! Dad, please!"" I tumbled at the last few paces, rolling into a ball, stopping at his feet. The tears were ready to spring from my eyes, the pleas all prepared in my throat. They always fought, but they always came back together, so why shouldn't they do so again this time? Why make choices which cannot be reversed? ""Rania? What the... Get up, you twit. What are you doing here?"" Dad hoisted me to my feet. I could still smell the anger roiling off him, but it was controlled, not a conflagration consuming him, but a modest flame burning in a lamp. My eyes darted around, searching for what I was sure was mum, lying on the ground, wounded, bleeding out. I saw only firewood. ""Dad? Where's... Mum?"" ""How should I know? Geez, that crazy coot can go fall off a cliff for all I care!"" ""But... I thought... You were chasing her, with your axe, and I thought... Well, maybe, that you were..."" Dad looked down at the axe in his hand, then back at me before he burst into laughter. ""What, you thought I was chopping down your mum with *this*? Ain't nothing less than Odin's Spear will pierce that mangy hide of hers!"" ""But then why... Why are you..."" Dad pointed at the woodchips on the ground. ""Your mum said the firewood I brought in had spores in them, set off her allergies something bad. I told her she was more fragile than a chihuahua, and that was more than enough to set her off."" ""... And the blood?"" ""Aye, that was me. I flung the plates at her, and I forgot her reflexes are shit when she ain't Shifted. Might have cut her hand or something."" Dad watched me stew in the uncomfortable silence for a few moments longer before he turned back to the tree, aiming precise strokes at the trunk. I took a few steps back, away from the debris flying into the air, then found a dry spot to sit down on. ""Why can't you talk to her like you do with me, dad?"" I asked. ""Calm and all. Taking your time to explain things."" ""That woman drives me nuts, you know that. I do my fair share at making her mad too, I know, I know."" ""Then maybe you two wouldn't fight so much, you know? And you could enjoy more of life together, and not have to spend so much of it apart, like now."" Dad dropped the axe, then started bundling his haul together. Two quick loops with twine later, he had a hefty bundle which he carried over his shoulder. ""You've seen us run during the full moons, Rania. No greater love exists for me then, or ever will elsewhere. And if the price of that is that I've got to tolerate her foolishness for the rest of the month... Then I'd gladly do that. I can only hope she feels the same way."" I took his outstretched hand, and we began our trek back to our home. We walked in silence for a while longer, then I caught a whiff of stew on the wind. Onions, celery, black pepper, beef. In the distance, I saw the lights spilling out of our kitchen. Dad's favourite supper was only minutes away. ""Will you at least try to be nicer to each other?"" ""Rania, if I hadn't watched you being born myself, I could have sworn that you were an old woman stitched into the body of a child."" ""Dad! I'm being serious!"" Dad sighed, then lunged forward in the darkness. He swiped a clod of earth from the ground, then revealed the prize he was going for - a handful of chrysanthemums, slightly traumatized but otherwise perky. ""This good enough for her, you think?"" I grinned. ""It's a start,"" I said. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1086
 I don't know why I always,"I was really, very glad for the full face Venetian mask that covered my face, the intricate gold and purple paint on the white base expertly hiding my blushing cheeks. I don't know why I always end up grabbing the same guy as a hostage, but that's just how it seems to go. I knew his first name, Daniel, and he liked to talk. A lot. At first, when I had started my career as a super villain, I had grabbed Daniel as a hostage in a bank hold up (Don't look at me like that, so you have any idea how expensive it is to be a super villain when you're just starting out?) he was taller than me and bigger but he hadn't tried to get away or stop me. When the local hero had shown up, after thirty minutes of waiting and me cleaning out most of the vault, I was getting ready to leave before the lazy bum could try to catch me. I turned to the then nameless hostage and asked him why he hadn't struggled. He had given me a smile, full of perfect teeth, and said in a deep (panty melting) voice, ""You're boobs are comfy."" My eye twitched and I'd pulled a taser out of my utility belt and tazed him. He dropped like a barrel of bricks and I took off before anyone could stop me. ~~~~~~~ It has gone on like this for about three years now. Sometimes I'd get caught, but usually the local coalition of heroes took to long to catch me. It probably helped that I tended to play my games two states away from my home town. Anyway, every time I ended up grabbing Daniel I learned something new. He was a 27, two years older than me; he swam on the weekends at the local YMCA; he had a kid with his ex-girlfriend; the kid was six and a girl who liked my mask. Daniel liked spelunking and in the mountains. I think it was around the time he told me that he liked spelunking that I started crushing on him. I still tazed him whenever he decided to be a pervert though. He liked to point out that, if I was going to wear a skin tight body suit and grab at people then I deserved to grab a mostly harmless pervert. I didn't taze him for that one but I did leave him hanging upside down for the fire department to find and cut down. ~~~~~~ Today I wasn't even sure how Daniel managed to be the one I grabbed. He was all the way across the jewelry store when I reached for the nearest person, a small blonde female dressed in red jeans and a black top. One moment my hand was closing around the blonde's upper arm and the next I was dragging Daniel in front of me as the cops showed up. I have no idea why these guys even bothered to show up when they never do anything other than block the obvious exits and corral the civilians. I glared at Daniel as I tossed him behind a display case and I started breaking the case and collecting the pretties in the case that I wanted. Daniel sat with his back to the case and looked up at me. ""How's your kid?"" I asked as I worked. ""Annie is fine, she got an A plus on her spelling test this week. Your suggestion of making it a game for her really helped."" He ran a hand through his dark hair. I nodded absentmindedly and pulled out a magnifier to look over some of the rocks. ""Good to hear she is doing so well,"" I mumbled. ""How about you? How's life?"" He blinked lovely hazel eyes at me. Today they were more green than brown. I glanced at him and shrugged. ""Not too bad. Can't really complain. Works good obviously and my latest projects are coming along well."" I was glad he couldn't see me blushing. I hadn't blushed this much since I'd gone to a middle school dance with my best friend and accidentally kissed him. ""Cool, cool. How's your dog?"" He smoothed out his hunter green polo shirt. I tossed a diamond ring in a white gold setting into my catch bag. ""Mutt's fine. Trying to breed some of the females in the neighborhood and failing, but otherwise good."" My voice was muffled by my mask and he couldn't hear the way my voice fluctuated a bit. ""Ever thought about getting him fixed?"" I looked down at Daniel and quirked an eyebrow at him even though he couldn't see it. ""Did you mom ever consider having you fixed?"" He laughed and got up to follow me to the next case. ""I'm sure she did, especially after I knocked Jill up,"" he said. I rolled my eyes at him and broke the next case. ""Whatever."" He snorted. ""That is a lame come back and you know it."" ""Its not a come back. I'm just trying to get my work done and get out."" It was true. I'd gotten two cases, I didn't know when the local hero brigade would turn up to stop me. He huffed dramatically and leaned against the broken case as I picked through it. ""So, any ideas on how to help Annie with her math?"" I glared at him for a moment before returning to picking out my new shiny jewelry. ""Do I look like a personal tutor for your six year old?"" He shrugged, a dark cloud shrouding his face. ""You have a more active roll in her life than her mother does. Humor me."" I grunted and moved on to the next case. ""Does she like any video games or something?"" He thought about it. ""She likes pokemon and just dance."" I thought for a moment. ""Equate dance move to math problems. Or use the pokemon candies for the same thing."" He nodded. ""Thanks."" I blushed again and nodded. The sirens had stopped and they were playing the super heroes' theme song. I sighed. Time to go. I turned to Daniel and smiled under my mask. ""Good luck!"" I shouted before I activated the cloaking device attached to me suit. Essentially i had vanished to all but the keenest of animal senses. With everyone curious and looking for me, I was able to slip away in the chaos and get to a train station. I went to the ladies room and changed out of my super villain outfit and into a clean set of blue jeans, a red v-neck top, and jogging shoes. My costume and everything else was stowed away in my tote bag. I got on a train home and began plotting my next game, half hoping Daniel wouldn't be there and half eagerly hoping he was. ~~~~~~~~ AN: I actually used to use Pokemon and video games to help with my math and science work in high school.",1168
 Raven's perfume wafted to,"Chelsea struggled against the rope bindings, but that only made them bite harder into her wrists and ankles. ""Let me go!"" she screamed at Raven, who stood by the window, the breeze throwing her auburn hair back in waves against her shoulders. In her hands was a piece of paper she was folding into a tiny origami bird. ""Chelsea, please. You know how it goes: you behave, and I don't hurt you. When Jaxson turns up and falls into my little trap, I let you go. All safe and sound."" Chelsea took a deep breath. Raven's perfume wafted to her, carried by the breeze from the window. That sweet familiar scent of crumbling biscuits. She'd put on more than usual, today. Her face, as always, was disguised by the mask with the long twisted beak. It used to frighten Chelsea. She could imagine it dipping into a person's stomach, like a vulture, then coming out painted red. Raven didn't scare her any more, though. She might be strong, but she'd never hurt Chelsea when abducting her; maybe she'd been a little rough at times, but she was somehow also gentle. The entire ordeal was more an inconvenience, these days, than anything else. ""But it *never* happens that way, Raven. Jaxson always sees through your dumb-ass traps. He always rescues me -- you never let me go."" Raven lay the completed paper bird down on the windowsill. ""Yeah? Well, not this time. I'll be the one setting you free today."" That was an odd way to phrase it, Chelsea thought. ""So what have you got lined up for him? Is this whole apartment rigged to blow up the moment Jaxson enters it?"" ""*Tut tut tut*,"" said Raven, wagging a finger. ""No spoilers."" Chelsea raised her eyebrows. ""Sorry for asking."" The beak turned away from the window, tilted, and then stared at her. A shiver splashed on Chelsea's neck and ran down her back. It seemed like the mask, or the woman inside the mask, was inspecting her. ""How's work going, Chelsea?"" ""W- what? Are you serious?"" ""Yes. I'm serious. I want to know how your work's going. I imagine running a little flower shop like that must be... *idyllic*."" ""You really want to know?"" ""Yes. Really!"" ""Well..."" Chelsea paused. ""Well, not so great, right now, actually. Because I haven't been able to open today, seeing as I was *kidnapped!*"" ""Generally, Chelsea. How's work going, in *general*?"" Chelsea could feel a ball of anxiety growing in her stomach. In truth, it wasn't going well. She was barely making enough money to afford the rent, and if things didn't change soon... Being here was at least a break from the stress. Maybe not a welcome one, but it was a distraction nonetheless. Chelsea lowered her head. ""Fine. I guess."" ""You guess?"" Raven stepped towards her and lowered herself onto the floor by her side. ""That sounds a little ominous, Chelsea. Would you like to talk about it?"" The sweet perfume surrounded her now. There were flowery high notes, too. Rose petal, maybe. ""I wouldn't want to distract you from your uh..."" ""Come on, tell me about it."" ""I don't really want to."" Raven paused. ""You're not good enough at the business aspects. Bookkeeping and such. Is that it?"" ""No. It's not that, at all,"" Chelsea replied. ""Oh. Is it that you're deadly allergic to flowers?"" Chelsea almost laughed. ""...A few months ago a shop opened up a little way down the street. Flower Pirate."" Raven scoffed. ""*Flower Pirate?* Seriously? What kind of name is that?"" ""Says *The Raven*"", Chelsea mocked. ""Hey! It's just *Raven*, now. And it's a pretty cool name, I think."" ""Well anyway, Flower Pirate has a lot of marketing power. They're on tv, in the papers -- all over the place. They sell mainly to the rich and famous. We sell exactly the same things -- even better arrangements, in my opinion. But they price at ten times what we do -- and it sells. Ours doesn't. I think... I think them opening was really the beginning of the end. First nail in the coffin. Simply put, they're trendy, and we're not."" ""Beginning of the end? That's..."" Chelsea could feel her eyes welling. ""Yeah. It is."" ""You okay?"" Chelsea nodded, but a single tear rolled down her cheek. Raven wiped it away with a gentle finger. She then raised her hands and lifted the mask from off her face. A woman with dazzling blue eyes, and skin like snow, looked not unkindly at Chelsea. ""Are you... are you going to have to kill me now?"" Raven grinned. ""Kill my best hostage? Are you crazy?"" She leaned forward and loosened the ropes around Chelsea's ankles, then undid the ropes around her wrists completely. Chelsea let Raven take her hand. Let her squeeze it -- *liked* her squeezing it. Her hands were soft but strong. Reassuring. ""Wait,"" said Chelsea, peering into the woman's deep blue eyes. ""I've seen you before--"" ""I don't think so."" ""Yeah, I have... Oh, you were in the shop! I remember -- you bought like the most expensive bouquet we sell!"" Raven shrugged. ""Okay, you caught me. I like pretty flowers. Is that a crime?"" ""I guess not. Kidnapping, on the other hand..."" ""Hey, listen to me,"" said Raven. ""It's going to be okay. Your shop, I mean."" Chelsea looked down at the floor. ""I... I don't think it is."" ""What if something were to... *happen* to Flower Pirate?"" Chelsea's eyes went wide. ""No! No, I don't want you blowing them up or anything. It's just business."" Raven gritted her teeth, but nodded. ""Okay, well what if you moved into a different market. Exotic plants, or something."" ""I can't afford exotic plants. I can only source local."" ""What if--"" The sound of an explosion in the corridor cut through Raven's words. She fumbled for her mask and hooked it over her face. But it was too late. Jaxson was in the room, and the cuffs were around Raven's wrists in a matter of seconds. As Raven was dragged away, Chelsea caught the beak glance back at her. She smiled meekly in response. ~~~~~ Three weeks passed since Raven had kidnapped Chelsea, and today was a new day for her. A new beginning, even. Because today, she was going to walk into her shop for the final time. She was going to close it. She couldn't compete with 'Flower Pirate' any longer, and she'd made up her mind, even if her heart was breaking because of it. Her keys fell onto the floor as the shop door swung open. ""Oh my God,"" she said as she stared at what should have been a near empty shop. Hundreds of plants -- rare and exotic and *expensive* -- lined every inch of the shop floor. All in little baskets or pots. ""Oh my God,"" she repeated. She didn't find out until later, that Raven had escaped her prison two days prior. But the little origami bird sitting on her desk, told her all she needed to know. That day turned into the busiest day of her professional career, as word of the incredible plants, that snapped and kissed and smelt like heaven, spread through the town, and then into the neighbouring towns. A week later, a woman with pale skin and auburn hair walked into her store. The two women soon left together, to visit the quaint little coffee shop opposite. --- /r/nickofnight",1242
" Marion clenched her jaw, grinding her","###### Marion clenched her jaw, grinding her teeth together as the domestic jingle echoed through her small home. An adrenal slurry of frustration began coursing through her veins as she stood to answer the door yet again, resolving once and for all to disconnect that goddamned doorbell. Walking through the barely controlled chaos of the ""living room"" - which was also the kitchen, dining room and soon to be baby's bedroom - Marion hewed to the thin trail of soiled carpet carved out from between stacks of spare construction material and tools. Slowly, with careful steps, she made her way to the front door. Her abdomen was huge now, distended out in front of her, nature playing a bad joke on her center of balance, and her knees and lower back ached as though they were ancient and crippled by rheumatism. The front door was cheap, just like everything else in the house, and everything else in Paddock Junction, population 869, soon to be 870, assuming old man Jacobs didn't drop dead in the next two months. Paddock Junction was an old coal town, in the middle of nowhere Appalachia, abandoned by industry, hope and history alike. The Dollar General and the bail bondsman were the only two businesses in town more than a decade old, and there was talk of the former closing up shop this coming winter. Nothing of any interest to anyone had happened in Paddock's Junction since before the civil war, when Henry Paddock first founded the township as a minor act of rebellion after a fight with the Mayor of Chattanooga. Since then it was basically down hill for the town, with the exception of the twenty years it took to exhaust the overestimated vein of coal running through the center of Paddock's Peak. Today there was as close to nothing in Paddock's Junction as any place could reasonably contain while still being considered a ""place"" at all. Why, then, yet another visitor was visible behind the small textured glass windows of Marion's front door was a mystery to her, and one which she no longer found endearing. At first, almost 8 months ago, when people started to show up unannounced in the town, asking after Marion, she had almost been excited. Here were random people suddenly interested in a lonesome widow living in rural Tenessee. But it soon become an annoyance, and then a source of significant anger. At one point Marion had gone all the way to the public library in Chattanooga and had a librarian search for her name on one of the computers. But the librarian said the search turned up nothing, that Marion's name didn't even come up on the internet not once. After a few months, Marion began to actively avoid the interlopers. They would stand on her front lawn and take photos of the house, or the mailbox, or selfies in front of the sprawling pear tree Marion's father had planted half a century earlier. When Marion went to Dollar General they would sometimes be waiting for her, always with there cell phones, eagerly snapping pictures and gaping in her direction. It was particularly frustrating to her that none of them ever said a word. No matter how much she yelled or antagonized, no one ever spoke to her. On the few occassions when she threatened physical violence the visitors just ran away in silence. In the last month, as her pregnancy reached it apex and the birth of her son loomed, she had taken to waving guests away with a shotgun. It leaned against the front door, loaded and cocked, at all times of day. Peering through at the blurred image through the glass of her front door, Marion picked up the shotgun and raised it with some effort half way up, before turning the doorknob and opening the door a crack. ""Who's that? If you come just to look best get the hell off my stoop 'fore I lose my damned temper."" Through the crack of the door, Marion heard a man's voice came back, almost too quiet to hear clearly. ""Marion Doharty?"" The visitors never said a word when they came, which set this visit apart. Still holding tightly to the gun, Marion slowly opened the door wider, until she stood face to face with the stranger. ""Can I help you?"" The man looked back at her with an inscrutable look, one of grim determination. ""I'm sorry Mam."" The apology was a barely audible mumble. Marion was about to ask ""what for?"" when the man reached into his pocket and removed the strangest looking object, like a Deringer pistol, no bigger than a humming bird, but made of one unbroken piece of matte black material. Before Marion could even register it as a threat, the man raised the small object, aimed it at her face, and activated the trigger. Things happened quickly. As the small gun came up there was a bright blue flash of light, an inscrutable flurry of sound and movement, everywhere at once, and when everything was silent and the sunlight returned, the man was no longer on the front porch. He was nowhere to be seen. Marion turned around and saw, not a foot to the left of her head, a gaping, smoldering hole in the side of her house. She lined her face up to it and could see clean through to the poplar tree in the back yard. She turned back, astonished, unsure what to think, terrified and astounded. The shotgun fell to the floor from her hands and instinctually she placed her palms against her belly. Marion had no idea what had just happened, except that her life was very nearly ended, along with the life of her unborn son. Somehow, they had survived a threat she did not at all understand by means she understood even less. The police had no answers for Marion. The random assailant was never found, nor was the weapon he used or any ammunition. No one would have believed anything at all had happened, but for the giant hole in the side of the house. Despite that, no one had the slightest inkling of an explanation. From that day on Marion received no more strange visitors. Another month passed before the birth of her son, Gedeon. In the decades and eventually centuries to come, during Gedeon's unnaturally long and terrible reign, many assassins would try their hand at ridding the world of the Tyrant King. Only one would even come close, travelling back to the distant past, carrying a hidden weapon built for the task, even going so far as to take his shot. Only the radical temporal intervention of the Royal Guard saved the Tyrant King. The unnamed assassin was dragged back to the present, tortured and quartered, his remains sent to the four corners of the Empire. Though his name was stricken from all records, his image eradicated from the annals of time, the *idea* of him became a legend among the downtrodden and forgotten, and he is still celebrated in secret to this day. ****** #### For More Legends From The Multiverse #### r/LFTM",1195
 Dafaris was the teacher who,"I really wasn't sure what to make of this errand. Sure, while studying at university, Dafaris had been my favorite professor. How could he not have been? He made even the most complex spells look nearly effortless. Some of the complex weaves he performed \- especially while distracted, showing the value of muscle memory for common somatic components. He was the teacher who enjoyed the low\-level classes to instill and reinforce wonder, and the high\-level classes to share that wonder. He always made time for his students if they asked. He and I became friends during my final year \- I'd meet him at a pub at least once a week, and that continued after my graduation, albeit monthly. Over the last year, I'd strived to make it more often, because I had seen it. His vigor was gone; he had taken to using a cane, and while he still loved to reminisce, the details kept getting fuzzier. When he had to skip a meetup, I was worried, but pushed it out of my mind. When I received the summons from the university, I could not suppress the fear and doubt. The note was short, especially as the university board's publications went: ""As one of our esteemed alumni, we know of both your substantial skill and your desire to help the world. While most students pursue paths outside of the university, a unique task has arisen, and our colleague Dafaris has specifically requested you to take it on. He will share with you the details; attached is a sigil which will allow you \- and only you \- to travel to his home. If you cannot undertake this task, please let us know immediately."" Dafaris had asked; I had to go. I used the sigil, and ended up at a small, peaceful farm \- a quick positional attunement spell revealed that I was in France, but far from any city. It had a great view of the sea, and was a nice cottage \- not huge, but certainly comfortable. I made my way to it. I knocked, and I heard rustling inside. After a moment, his wife \- who I had met perhaps twice \- answered the door. She looked exhausted, and the tear stains on her cheek told me how dire his health was. ""Oh, Evras, I'm so glad you could make it. Lapisque doesn't have much time left."" ""Lapisque? Don't you mean Dafaris?"" ""Yes, but, it's complicated. Come inside."" She led me up to his room. I barely maintained my composure; Dafaris was jaundiced, and his breathing was labored. ""Evras, as you can see, my dear Lapisque doesn't have much time left. He hasn't been conscious in three days; the first I just thought he was getting some rest, but now I fear that... that it may be... final."" I tried to put my hand on her shoulder to provide some measure of comfort. ""I... never thought I'd see the day. Dafaris always seemed so lively. What happened?"" She responded, ""It's some sort of cancer. Aggressive \- none of his spells could even slow it."" ""Cancer? That... doesn't make sense. Hell, Dafaris explained in my first year that Wizards analyze themselves as they cast spells, and stop if their health isn't stable. He'd have noticed it early, and the university board..."" ""The board tried and couldn't help Lapisque\-"" ""What? Why? And why do you keep calling him Lapisque?"" She sighed. ""Lapisque is Dafaris's original name. He was born thousands of years ago."" ""Th\- Thousands?"" ""Yes. When he was born, his parents didn't realize it, but they were of different lines of sorcerors."" ""Wait, Dafaris \- er, Lapisque \- is a sorceror? That doesn't make sense! He's a wizard!"" ""He's both. Like any sorceror, his power manifested during puberty... and it was incredible. The raw power he could weave into spells was immense, but it was so great he lacked control. After an incident that killed his father, he sought sorcerors to help him, but none could help teach him control \- so he sought wizards. They could teach him control \- they helped him seal his power, and he worked hard to burn off the excess regularly."" ""That's why his spells were so effortless! He wasn't just pulling the power from outside \- he was simply allowing his power out!"" ""Exactly. To maintain his secret, he helped establish the university. He's gone through dozens of names, as his innate power and precise control extended his lifespan twenty\-fold."" ""I never knew..."" She sighed. ""He didn't want anyone to know. The university board nearly forgot, until I sent them a message reminding them. He also asked me to send for you."" ""Why? I don't\-"" ""You have to have some idea now."" ""No... I can't help save him. He taught me well, but anything that aggressive... Oh.... The cancer \- it was probably caused by the sealed energy he couldn't spend!"" ""Right. But he needs you to ensure his legacy."" ""His... legacy? What.... oh, no..."" His innate spells. Anything powered by his sorcerous energy would unravel with his death. University buildings could crumble. Averted natural disasters could occur. Creatures would be unbound. ""But how can I help? There's no way I could find every spell he had cast in time!"" ""Lapisque had been working on a plan for that. He didn't explain it to me, but I have an inkling."" She opened a drawer. ""More importantly, he left a memory crystal."" I picked up the blue crystal. An apparition appeared sitting on the end of the bed. ""Evras, I'm glad you made it. By now, Kelleth has explained the situation. I need you to make sure you've sat down, because there probably isn't much time."" I sat down in a chair. The apparition continued: ""I've lived a good life; it's sad, but all lives end. I've had more than my fair share, and I'm content to pass. But the damage that would be done is horrific, because I called on my power too often. I needed to \- if I didn't burn off that energy, it started to pulse and ache. Now, that power exists throughout the world, and when I pass, it will be gone."" There was a moment of silence. I was tearing up. ""There is a way to stop the destruction \- to keep my secret, save untold numbers of people, and help keep the wonder in the magic I taught. It will be difficult for you, but I know you can do it. While I was trying to find a cure, I figured out my sorcerous origin \- why there was so much power. More importantly, I realized I could light that spark in others \- turn them to sorcerors. You are my first choice \- who else could it be? You respected your elders, you tried to help others, and you learned well."" I was crying now, and Kelleth had started as well. ""I have devised a set of linked spells to solve the problem. The first shares my knowledge with you. It may not be perfect due to my age, but you would know how to control sorcerous power, what spells I had weaved with my own, and every spell and technique I had \- at least that I remember. The second is the one that, critically, ignites the spark in you. It will hurt \- I can't fix that \- but it won't kill you. The third is the most crucial \- it's a unique enchantment, and I am proud of it. It transfers the energy link from each spell to you. It sounds like a heavy burden, but it's not, because it happens at this point in the chain. The fourth and final will create a seal similar to my own, albeit improved \- it might prevent my fate from befalling you. It also prevents the paradox from creating your power and sealing it, but my passing removing it."" I was in awe... the complexity that would require... ""I simply need you to make me a few promises. I need you to help take care of Kelleth \- she's my world, and while someday she'll join me on the other side, I want that to be as far off as possible, and the time in between filled with joy."" Kelleth started to sob. ""I also need you to stabilize my work. Expend sorcerous energy on temporary things, and practice your precise magic on things with permanence. Find my spells, and re\-weave them."" ""I will."" Kelleth laughed. ""You know his illusion can't hear you, right?"" I felt stupid for a moment. ""I... guess I forgot. But I needed to say it out loud, so I know what I'm promising."" In between his labored breaths, I felt a small pulse of energy from Lapisque \- the real Lapisque. Kelleth went back to the drawer, which now contained a second crystal. It wasn't there before. This was not for reminiscing \- this one bristled with raw power. ""I think you know what to do with this. I don't know what will happen when you do \- I may be a talented wizard in my own right, but some of these threads are beyond me \- but I'll watch over you while you recover."" She handed me the crystal. It was a brilliant gold, with other colors shining through. She was right \- the threads of energy in the lattice were so complex, so saturated with energy. If not used properly, the crystal may as well have been a nuclear bomb. It was only kept in check with precise spellweaving from my mentor. It offered immense power... and a terrific burden. A burden that my best friend had entrusted me with... I unlocked the crystal. All I could see turned golden, and the knowledge and magic started to flood into me.",1644
" ""Put him back! Now!""","###### Being shocked doesn't describe his expressions. What was even more terrifying was the fact that he couldn't move - at all. ""Put him back! Now!"" a woman with higher pitched voice was shouting as everyone gathered around him. Even as he tried to open his mouth and move it, nothing happened. When he could feel his muscles in the Virtual Reality, where he couldn't at all. Still, as he rolled his eyes down and inspected his own muscles, he understood the problem immediately - his body and limbs were thin like bones. ""Stop it, for fuck sake!"" a shout came, as an older man entered the room. He had a white coat on, which made him look like a doctor. ""You're overdosing him. It's obviously not working anymore, now buzz off!"" he whispered. But since his whisper was loud enough, even the patient could hear it. The doctor just smiled and looked how everyone was leaving the room. Finally, only two of them were left in the ward. ""Good morning, John,"" the doctor said. ""I'm Dr. Haven Carfagno, call me Haven,"" he looked around the room one last time and then whispered, ""One might call me heaven, haha!"" Of course, John did nothing. He had no strength to laugh. And to be quite frank, he wasn't in a mood for some jokes. ""I know you have probably a lot of questions, but we'll get you there. First, we need you to get your strength back. We'll answer them later, when you can also ask them, alright? Don't worry; it's not to hide anything, you're just in a huge shock already!"" He took out a syringe and slowly pushed it inside John's machine's hole. ""It's only to help you sleep for now. You need that."" &nbsp; &nbsp; John opened his eyes again. This time, he didn't do it slowly, since the moment he realized he was awake, he wanted to see the world. Compared to the last time, it was a lot fresher feeling. The room was same, but this time he had strength. Well, he was still weak, but he wasn't as skinny as he had seen himself last time. It didn't take long for Dr. Haven to enter the room, on his hand was some kind of a pad. ""My machine tells me that you finally awake,"" he said. ""And look at you, you're already looking much better!"" ""Where... am... I?"" John managed to whisper his first words. ""You can even talk, excellent!"" Haven nodded, writing something down on his pad. ""You're in a VR Research Center,"" the man explained. ""Long story short - we study how to apply Virtual Reality to people, who might need it."" John started shaking a bit. ""What... is... that?"" he whispered, trying to get himself seated. Haven casually walked next to him and helped him to do so. ""Long time ago, you went into a coma. Normal procedure at one point was to pull it,"" Haven said honestly. ""Your family, however, agreed that you'll be used in research in hopes that you might have a life to live in,"" he explained. John started laughing, which was a petty laugh, though. ""So... all... possibilities... you... gave... me a life... like... that?"" he said after he finally got himself seated. ""As I said, we are a research institution, John. We don't want you to stay in there forever. We are quite thrilled that you finally woke up. John, we don't want you to wake up and the first thing to see you wanting to go back in there and denying the reality."" John finally calmed down a bit. Even though his thoughts were slow, he understood the point. ""Why... they..."" he started coughing for a good ten seconds until he could continue, ""wanted... put... back?"" ""A week ago?"" Dr. Haven tried to remember. ""Ah, yes. You're first coma patient to ever wake up,"" he said, nodding to himself, obviously proud of that. ""Nobody knew what to do back then. A bit unprofessional, yes. But try to forgive them though, it was unexpected. It doesn't happen every day when 30-year coma patient wakes up."" John's eyes widened. Thirty years? That's impossible. Then again, he doesn't remember what his last real memory was. He only has memories of taking care of those bedridden. Maybe that's why he took care of them - so that if and when he really woke up, he could understand his situation better? ""What... happened?"" he asked. ""John, it's too early for that,"" Doctor said, a bit more quietly. ""You're not ready."" ""Want... know!"" ""I'm sure you do,"" the doctor sighed. ""I promise, in time, you will, but only when you're ready to take it all in,"" Doctor Haven took out a syringe and pushed it into the same hole as last time. ""Now sleep! More! You'll be stronger next time."" ""Wai-"" &nbsp; &nbsp; He opened his eyes again, but this time the room was different. He wasn't connected to any tubes anymore, and he felt a lot stronger than before. A red light turned on on the ceiling, probably alerting everyone that there was a movement. It was a first time when John could lift his hand all by himself. Even though he still remembered the last discussion with the doctor, his mind was fresh and relaxed. ""Ah, John!"" a voice came as the door opened. It was the same familiar face. ""I see you can already move,"" he said as he walked next to John's bed and examined his pad. Probably full of John's data. ""How long it has been?"" John got silent as he finished his sentence. Even he was surprised that he could talk that well already. He did pronounce things like his mouth was numb, but it was still great. ""Excellent,"" Haven nodded. ""One month,"" he said. ""Taking into account that you were in a coma for 30 years, that's quite fast. Well, you did sleep most of the time, so for you it was an instant, right?"" ""Pretty much,"" John whispered. ""I can see that your thinking is a bit more wholesome?"" the doctor asked. ""My head hurts,"" John frowned. ""Well, you have been oversleeping a bit, aren't ya?"" the doctor laughed. ""It actually hurts a lot,"" John said, slowly starting to take hold of his head. ""It hurts, doctor!"" Doctor face changed from a laugh to a quick shock. Still, he was professional, and he quickly hit a button on his pad. A lot of people in different colors entered the room. &nbsp; &nbsp; *""John, focus on my voice!"" a distant voice shouted. He heard it repeatedly, but no matter how much he tried, he was being pulled back - towards something meaningful.* &nbsp; ""Dad, why do I have to put on the safety belt? It's so uncomfortable!"" a small child whispered. Her voice was sweet, and she had a very light hair. Her eyes were bright blue - just like her father's. ""To make sure that when an accident happens, you'd be fine, sweety!"" John smiled. ""We are going to have an accident?"" She asked. ""Of course not, darling. It's just a precaution!"" ""You're telling me to lock it, but why haven't you locked it yourself?"" the girl asked next to John. ""Ah, shit, I'm sorry, a bad habit! A wrong thing to do, you're correct sweety,"" John whispered. ""Let me get it!"" John put his hand aside to search for the belt. As he grasped it, he slowly pulled it over himself and tried to push it into a hole to lock it. He couldn't find it though since he was looking at the road. ""Can you help me with that, Mary?"" John asked. He could feel a soft hand touching his to let him know that she got it. John heard a click, to which he quickly glanced at his child. He placed his free hand on her head and caressed her hair. ""Good girl, Mary."" ""DAD!"" *Bang.* He could see how large truck hit his car and how the car made circles on the road, but everything went slowly blurrier and blurrier. *""DAD!""* A high pitched scream came on a repeat. *""Wake up dad! I need you! Dad!""* He could still feel the soft hands around his hand. He had to reach that voice, he had to make sure that his girl was okay. &nbsp; ""Dad!"" the words echoed, but the voice went slowly softer and lower. John opened his eyes gradually, looking straight at the lady who held onto his hand. Her hands were soft. John's tears started dropped down since he knew who she was. She hadn't noticed that he was awake since she was leaning forward and pushing John's hand against her lips. ""Dad, don't leave me again,"" she murmured. John softly reached out his other hand and touched her cheek, making her quickly raise her head. She looked at him with those same sweet deep-blue eyes. ""Mary... Why would I? You tightened my seat-belt!"" ---- ---- Always do it! **( /r/ElvenWrites - Feel free to follow my other emotional and non-emotional stuff! )**",1516
 Donald Trump had always known that his,"Ever since he was elected he had been expecting it. His predecessor, Barrack Obama, was a renowned Pokemon trainer and NEVER lost a battle his entire time in office and so he had to be elected out, a first in almost 120 years. Donald himself had always known that his first term would be teeming with Pokemon battles, but there was just one problem, his Pokemon did not listen to him. The US was filled with many skilled trainers all lining up for the presidency and his grace period was almost over; he needed a plan and fast. Luckily, Donald Trump was also one of the richest men in the world, and had his top scientists looking into a secret weapon for him. One that could help him to control his Pokemon battles with ease. His first law that passed was to enforce a protection for the President, to challenge the president you now need to face and beat the 7 most renowned gym leaders in the US, a gruelling challenge for anyone, as you would need to travel most of the US, and it would take a few attempts at each gym, which alone should buy him a couple of years, surely? Imagine Donald Trump's surprise when he receives a challenge a mere 9 months into his presidency, and imagine his shock when the challenger was but a mere 10 years old. To the President, this was the best case scenario; a kid had got by on luck, and would be his first challenge. The formalities had been processed and the battle was due to take place on the 1 year anniversary of his inauguration. Donald received word that his experiment will be ready a week before the battle, a fact that made trump very happy; he may now get to have a second term in office, as nobodies Pokemon could hold a candle to his now. On the day of the battle, the challenger and trump chose their Pokemon, with each others choice being withheld from the other. As they enter the arena, trump takes in this child's apparel, a red and white hat, with a t-shirt the same colour and blue jeans. ""You could have at least dressed up a bit!"" Trump taunted. ""You'll never get to be a president looking like that, kid. Sad."" No response. Nothing. He just stood and stared at the president in an calculated way, and before he knew it the announcer sounded off ""Gentlemen, choose your first Pokemon!"" Trump chose his first Pokemon, a Jolteon, whilst the boy sent out a Charizard! Trump couldn't believe it ""What the hell is a boy like you doing with a Charizard?"" He proclaimed No answer again, this kid is different he thought to himself. ""Okay Jolteon, use Thunder, now!"" Charizard shook the Thunder attack off as if it was merely a light shock and proceeded to use Bulldoze, knocking Jolteon out in one. ""Maybe I should use my secret weapon right away"" Trump thought to himself. ""...No, not now, I'll see what this kid is made of."" ""Kingdra, come out now!"" Shouted Trump ""quick use Hydro pump!"" The attack was a success, and the kid's Charizard quickly faltered. There was nothing he could do now, surely he doesn't have a better Pokemon than his Charizard? The first words he heard the young man say were ""Venasaur, I choose you!"" ""A Venasaur?! How does this kid have such powerful Pokemon?"" Trump asked the official ""I don't know sir, but all of the gym leaders have warned us about this young man, he is tenacious"" ""Oh who cares? Kingdra, use Hydro pump again!"" Trump shouted, but Kingdra did nothing. ""Now, Venasaur, use Petal blizzard!"" requested the child. It was a critical hit, Trump could tell the next move will be Kingdras last. ""Now Kingdra, use Dragon pulse!"" Trump called out It hit, but Venasaur didn't seem all that damaged. ""Vine Whip, Venasaur, let's do this"" shouted the child, with a smirk on his face as Kingdra fell. The last straw. Trump was seething with anger. ""How DARE you"" he shouted ""How dare you think you could beat the great President in a battle!"" Now was the time, for the perfect weapon. ""Mewtwo! Come out!"" Shouted Trump in triumph. ""Use hyper beam!"" That did it. Venasaur was knocked out, but the child was... smiling?!?! ""How can you smile when defeat is imminent, you stupid child?"" he asked curiously ""And by the way, what kind of name is Red anyway?"" ""Because you may think you can beat me with power alone, but I already knew of your plans with the evil organisation, Team Rocket!"" Said Red, still smiling ""So I chose to seek out the original Pokemon... MEW, PLEASE, COME OUT NOW!"" Donald Trump couldn't believe his eyes, the mythical Mew, originator to all Pokemon... The battle was fierce, and neither trainer was instructing their pokemon, they appeared to be all out fighting by themselves. The battle between Mew and Mewtwo was so powerful and evenly matched that the stadium started crumbling around us, and as Trump looked over at Red he noticed something, Red was standing with his eyes closed in deep concentration, what could this be? As he was wondering what Red was up to, he noticed it falling from the sky, it was Mewtwo, defeated ""NOOOOOOOOO"" Trump roared ""HOW IS IT A CHILD HAS BEATEN ME? BEATEN MY PROTECTION?"" but Red took no notice, he tried to catch Mewtwo from falling on the hard ground. Trump couldn't believe it, how had he been bested by a mere child, who looked as though he didn't have enough money to buy his powerful Pokemon, who looked so un-president worthy? In his haze of anger, Trump didn't notice a shadow growing nearer to him, limping. ""Mr. Trump, sir, your Mewtwo needs help, he's injured"" Said Red ""And why would I help a worthless experiment of a Pokemon? He was supposed to be as powerful as Mew itself!"" Barked the former President ""He was sir, in fact, I think he's slightly more powerful than Mew"" ""Yet he lost. Worthless"" He spat. ""You know sir, the only reason you lost is because you never got to know your Pokemon. You might be able to buy people's trust, but a Pokemon can only trust you through tough battles and through real care."" Red stated ""Meh, whatever kid, enjoy the presidency. I've got bigger plans anyway"" He sighed, with an evil look on his face as he turned his back on the new president",1092
 The boy's mother burst into the,"A grumpy fourteen year old sat at his kitchen table, devouring a pop-tart and scrolling through his texts. ""Happy birthday, kiddo!"" The boy's mother burst into the kitchen, a wide smile on her face. She ruffled his hair and plopped a wrapped gift down in front of him. ""Thanks, Mom."" He reluctantly grinned as he tore at the gift. An old video game case of his with a fifty dollar bill inside, and an envelope identical to the ones he'd received every birthday for the last seven years. He pocketed the cash and slid the envelop away from him. ""I don't want it."" He mumbled as he stood up and finished his pastry. A worry-some look came over his mother. ""What do you mean? He wrote it for you, baby, you've got four more of these waiting for you."" ""Ya, and I don't want any of those either..."" She sighed. ""Look, I know growing up without a father has been rough, but he left you these because he loved you,"" She held the envelope close to her chest. ""He loved you more than anything in the world."" ""Then why the fuck did he leave?!"" The boy was fuming now, and his mother had to block him from going out the back door. ""There's a lot you don't understand, but if you'd read the letters, I promise it'll make more sense.."" Tears welled up in her eyes. ""Mom! He left us both! He bailed, and because he managed to get himself killed you want to forgive him for abandoning us in the first place!"" He shoved past his mother and ripped the back door open. ""Why'd he adopt a fucking kid if he didn't plan to stick around?!"" He ran across the back yard and hopped over the fence, faintly hearing his mother calling after him. ""He loved us; he loved YOU!"" ______ His next birthday was much of the same: she presented him with both that year's envelope and the year prior, and he rejected it; shouting, tears, and an angry boy storming out of the house. The following year, he pretended to accept the envelopes, only to walk over to the stove and hold one over the flames. That was the only time his mother ever struck him; she punched him square in the jaw, weeping hysterically, and this time she's the one who stormed out. His seventeenth birthday came, but there were no gifts. No cash, no envelopes, and no birthday wishes from his mother that morning. He had crept up the stairs to her bedroom door, which was ajar, and peaked in -hoping just to tell her that he loved her before he left for school. She was laying across her bed, four envelopes strewn about the sheets, and sobbing heavily into her pillow. He rolled his eyes, snuck back downstairs, and left without a word. '*Why can't she let him go?*' He felt she had more love for the man who left her than she did for her own son. ______ The night of his eighteenth birthday he lay in his bed in a deep sleep; the booze he'd partaken in with his friends had knocked him right out. His dreams were marred by terrible scenes: A horrible car wreck, the sound of steel crashing and grinding; Bodies strewn about in the wet street, wailing out for help; A hospital bed, and the sound of a patient flatlining. He jumped out of his sleep; he was absolutely drenched in sweat, and his breathing was short and manic. The rain outside batted down steadily on the roof, and the sound soothed him a bit. He caught his breath and checked his phone: 4am. ""Happy eighteenth birthday."" He said to himself as he let his head fall back onto the pillow. He had just closed his eyes again when his phone began to vibrate violently on the night-stand, and he had initially mistaken it for thunder. It was a number he didn't recognize, so he ignored it, turned his phone to silent, and fell back asleep. He woke a few hours later with a headache and feeling particularly groggy, and he slowly made his way to the bathroom. After a short bout of vomiting, he splashed some water on his face and made his way back to his room. He noticed his mother's door was wide open and peaked inside. Empty. 'Weird,' He thought to himself. 'Her shift should have been up a few hours ago.' He returned to his room to check his phone and what he saw sent chills down his spine: seventeen missed calls and fourteen voicemails. He quickly opened up his voicemail, and he didn't even bother listening to any after the first. His mother had been in an accident and she was in the hospital. He'd sprinted the entire way there; he'd never ran so hard for so long in his life, and when he arrived he felt like he could keel over and die right there in the lobby. The nurse at the front desk went wide-eyed when he gave her his name, and asked him to sit down while she tracked down the doctor. He refused, and instead pace around for a few minutes until someone came to greet him. ""Clarence?"" An older, kind looking woman a white coat approached him. ""That's me! Where's my mother? Is she ok?!"" His face was full of fear. ""Clarence, I think we should have a seat."" ______ He stood over her inert body and held her cold hand in his. She had been dead for almost four hours, and he was overwhelmed by guilt. They had sent an officer to his house shortly after she was admitted, but after pounding on the door for nearly twenty minutes they assumed he wasn't home. They let him stay with her body for a few hours, before arranging a ride home for him. He thought about what the doctor had told him, the information only just registering in his mind, and his dream from the night before invaded his thoughts. '*A drunk driver fell asleep at the wheel and merged into oncoming traffic,*' He thought of the horrible accident from his dream. '*The driver hadn't been wearing a seatbelt and was thrown from the car, he died instantly.*' The body in the wet street. '*Your mother fought valiantly, and we did all we could, but we lost her.*' The horrible, piercing noise of someone flatlining in the hospital. ____ He sat in his empty kitchen for a while; tears streaming down his face, and wished to hear his mother's voice wish him happy birthday. Eventually, he made his way up the stairs without any real thought behind his actions -he felt as if his mind had been unplugged, and he was now incapable of truly willing himself to do anything specific. He trudged passed his own bedroom door and stopped just in front of his mother's room. A chill came over him, the thought of this room now being inhabited engulfed his mind. His arm raised to shut the door, but he stopped when he spotted six envelopes on the bed. 'Six?' He thought to himself. 'There were only five more from him...' Hesitantly, he crossed the threshold into her room, and stood over the bed. Five letters near the foot of her bed, and one resting near her pillows. This one was unique, and his mother's hand writing spelled out his name. He opened the envelope, pulled out the letter folded inside, and read its short contents: *Clarence,* *I love you, and if you love me too, I know you'll do this one thing for me. Please, read them.* *I'll always be with you, Mom.* He set down his mother's final words to him with care, and moved to the other five letters. Picking up the envelope labeled '*Fourteen*', he tore it open and pulled out the sheet of paper. Blank. He flipped it over and back multiple times, confused, and ran his fingers inside the now empty envelope. He moved to the next envelope '*Fifteen*', and ripped it open. Blank. '*Sixteen*', blank. '*Seventeen*', blank. He came to the final envelope, opened it, and this time pulled out a sheet of paper covered front to back in handwriting. Joyous for something, he began to read: *Clarence,* *If you're reading this, which I know you will be, then I've been dead for some time now, and your mother has just passed away. I know life has been hard without me there, and I know you've been taking it out on your mom for some time now, but just know, that we both forgive you. There's really nothing to forgive, in fact, because the position we put you in is a most unfair one. I'll do my best to explain, and I hope you'll understand.* *When I was a young man, freshly eighteen like yourself, I developed an amazing ability. I can see things, Clarence, things yet to pass; some are possibilities, and some are utmost certainties. This ability, as spectacular as it may be, has put our family in grave danger. I should have never conceived a child, I know that now, and I think I knew it all along, but I was selfish. Clarence, you're not adopted -you are our son. Our son in both love and biology, and you share my gift.* *The adoption was a lie, and one we had to go to great lengths to ensure that the world perceived as truth. My gift should have remained a secret, but I was foolish, and my recklessness put a target on my back. There are forces out there that would see me dead, and others that would see me to an even worse fate. We had to protect your true identity, as my biological son, because if they knew then they would pursue you relentlessly.* *Even after all the precautions we took; I knew I couldn't stay with you both, I saw it, and I had no choice but to leave. I know what you're thinking 'Why didn't I stop her death?'. Well, son, it doesn't work like that. Death always finds us in the end, and attempting to prolong the inevitable always leads to more suffering.* *But, there is much we can change, and I couldn't let you fall into the hands of those who would exploit your gift. Son, I know this is overwhelming, but if you cultivate your mind you will be able to do extraordinary things -far more than I could have ever hoped to accomplish.* *The future is not set in stone, and how you proceed from here is up to you; However, should you need some direction, head to the address inside in the envelope, and tell em I sent you.* *I've seen so many possibilities for who you become, Clarence, and I'm proud of each and every one of them.* *I'll always love you, Dad.* /r/BeagleTales **See my comment down below for info on part 2!**",1839
" ""*What?*"" says","""*What now?*"" says a croaky, quiet voice. My head is heavy and the flashlights are like razors to my eyes. ""*What?*"" ""What now?"" hisses the man. I can't quite see his face behind the glare of his light. There are more of them in the room with us. Other figures drenched in darkness. I can hear their breathing. ""Look Liam,"" he whisperers heavily. ""This was your plan. We're going to give you full credit for it. But if anything bloody well goes wrong, well, like I said: it's *your plan*. So, just tell me: is it a yes, or a no?"" Shit! He -- me -- has done it again. I've been possessed by this... *other me*. I run a hand down my face. I usually feel groggy after he lets go and it always takes time to piece together what's happened. I try to think: Where was I last time I had control? I was... I think I was getting ready for work. About to catch a flight for a business trip -- Oh shit, if we lose the Redman account... This isn't the first time, of course. But the more often this other me -- this other Liam -- has taken control, the more adept he seems to have become at *keeping* control. He takes my body for longer periods of time. And what he's been doing... the situations he's been leaving me in... Has it all been building up to *this?* A shiver races down my spine. The first time it ever happened, I thought I'd been sleep-walking. I awoke in a graveyard by a church that I used to attend as a kid. It was nighttime, raining heavily, and I was drenched. Father Golding saw my silhouette wandering between graves and yelled at me, threatening to call the police. When he saw who it was -- recognised me from the kid who used to attend his services -- he asked what I was doing out there in this weather. I had no answer -- I had no family or friends buried there. And unlike mom, I wasn't religious. He brought me into the church and gave me a change of clothes. I looked like an overgrown altarboy as I walked home that night. Two weeks later it happened again. I woke the next morning to find a note on my bedside table. In my own handwriting. > Liam, > Let me introduce myself: My name is Liam. Yes, that's right. I am *you*. However, I am also *not* you. I am a Liam dreaming about you. Well, now I just sound weird, don't I? Look, I don't know how this works exactly, but I can dream about you -- kind of on purpose. And when I do... For a little while, I borrow you. I *become* you. > I'm very sorry about the cold you caught when I borrowed you that first time. I shouldn't have let you get so soaked, but I needed to check something. I'll try to make it up to you... by giving you all the riches in the world. > Liam :) He did *not* make it up to me. He, in this order: ruined my relationship with my then girlfriend; tried to get me purposely fired from my job; flirted outrageously with a pretty barista, that I've had a crush on for years (I can't show my face in there again!); most recently: applied for a *new* job at a local bank. I currently have a much better job than that. At least, a higher paying job. So why apply? It's the job at the bank I'm worried about right now. *Did I get the job?* Am I about to get something more than a paycheck? ""Liam!"" the voice hisses again. ""Is it a yes or a no?!"" The speaker is getting agitated. Static crackles, coming from my waist. ""-- *incoming*."" It's a radio. No, a walkie-talkie. The voice on the other end is distorted, but I hear the words this time: ""Repeat, target is incoming. ETA: 30 seconds."" My heart is thumping against my ribcage as if demanding to be let out. Sweat dribbles down my forehead. *What the hell has he got me into?!* ""Yes or no?!"" ""I..."" What if I say no? What will they do to me? ""ETA: 15 seconds."" ""**Yes or no?!**"" I don't know what I'm answering, but the pressure explodes as a single word, ""YES!"" Then there's silence, the flashlights are turned off. A hand tugs my shoulder and pulls me down beneath a table. There's a *click* and a *creak* as a door opens. A ray of light spears the darkness of the room. I hear our mark's footsteps. *Oh God, I hope we're not going to kill them* ""3...2...1..."" It all happens at once. The lights on the ceiling explode into life; two dozen people jump up at the same time, previously hidden behind tables and seats and nooks in the room. I don't know where we are, but the room is large and decorated with balloons and buntings. ""Surprise!"" they shout in unison. ""Happy birthday!"" ""Mom?"" I whisper, as the lady who has just walked in places her hands on her cheeks. A smile rises, creasing the skin around her pale blue eyes. The man next to me puts an arm around my shoulder. ""You did good, lad."" I look at him: I've not seen him in years. I barely recognise him. *But I do.* ""Uncle Fred?"" He lets go of me and pushes me forward. ""Your son's idea, Moira,"" uncle Fred shouts. ""Organized the entire thing. Including the live band -- they'll be here in ten minutes."" He looks at me and winks. ""I think you made the right choice there, Liam."" My mom is crying as she hugs me. I feel my own lips trembling. As we pull away, and mom goes to hug her brother, I notice a girl with eyes like coffee beans the other side of the room. She walks over to me; I swallow. ""Thank you for inviting me,"" she says. ""This whole thing is just *soooo* adorable."" She leans forward and kisses my cheek. ""And..."" She runs a hand through her hair. ""I'd kind of been wondering when you were going to ask me out."" It's not till after the party that I discover the note in my jacket pocket. > Liam, > You're one of the lucky few who still has mom around. Maybe appreciate her a little more while you've got her. I wish for all the world that I had done. > I'm sorry about your ex, but know that she cheated on you in every reality. Including yours. > Claire, on the other hand, is perfect for you. The happiest *yous* are always with Claire. And not just because she makes an unbelievable espresso. It's like a universal law: you two attract. Belong. > Oh, and congratulations on the new job! The old one was killing you. Literally. There are realities I can no longer dream my way into. That was the one common denominator. > Take care, Liam, > Love, Liam ----- If you liked this, you might enjoy my poem about dreaming on this prompt: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8m1a8d/wp_night_after_night_you_see_the_same_girl_in/ Or a superhero romance thing: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8lg4wg/wp_as_asuper_villian_you_happen_to_grab_the_same/",1215
" ""You have to pay close attention","""The eyes,"" he said, after he'd swallowed a deep sip of his scotch, which, she noted, he drank neat. He held the glass in his hand without putting it down. The liquid inside must be about the same simmering temperature as his own skin. ""You have to pay close attention to their eyes,"" he continued. ""They always tell you what they're thinking."" ""It's true,"" she said, swirling her glass until the orange peel in her Old Fashioned freed itself from the ice. ""Fear, in those eyes, when you can see it, even when it's from far away - that's the moment when you have to take the shot, or else it's all over."" ""It's not always fear, though,"" he said, contemplatively, rather than in challenge. She shifted her weight slightly in her chair. ""Sometimes they take in their environment, and then it's like that fear melts away - they decide there's nothing to be afraid of,"" he said. ""You thought they were self-conscious of the possibility that someone would capture them, like that, but then they relax completely. A friend diverts their attention, or they take a breath and notice the fresh air around them. You've got to wait for that moment when they're distracted from themselves, unconscious of being seen."" ""Yes,"" she nodded. ""It's that moment when they turn towards you, and open up a line straight to their heart - that's a powerful feeling."" ""Exactly,"" he nodded, breaking out into a broad smile. ""I wouldn't have put it like that, but that's beautiful."" She realized her own mistake just in time to compose her features into the expected smile he presumed he'd see. ""Thanks,"" she said. ""Yeah, when you get the perfect shot like that- it's really something."" ""It seemed like what I said threw you, there, for a moment, even though you described it perfectly,"" he said. ""Don't be self-conscious about your work."" ""Ha,"" she laughed. ""You know how it is. We always feel that we're amateurs."" ""Mind if I see some of your photos?"" he inquired. ""What are you shooting with, anyway?"" She gave him a wry smile as she handed over her Instagram page on her phone. ""It's really not much good at all,"" she said, apologetically. She'd only seen evidence of her real work in crime scene photos. This consisted of flesh pierced with one single bullet, cleanly-shot, so the bodies were stained with far less blood in the foreground than you'd expect, which pooled darkly below them, throwing the pale fabric of their clothing into sharp relief against the light of the flash. Their faces were always denuded of any personal affect, wrenched in the last expression of their lives, which was, inevitably, shock at their own death. She did this part of her job very well. They hadn't seen it coming at all. Her Instagram was mostly pictures of her own dog, taken with the flash on her iPhone, usually in dimly-lit interiors. She could see him struggling to find something positive to say about it. She liked that he was diplomatic. ""I'm actually not a photographer,"" she said, on a whim. ""That wasn't the kind of shooting I was talking about. Just so you know. I'm a *very* good shot. Just not of the kind you thought we were talking about, if you know what I mean."" He stared at her, bemused. Then he burst into loud laughter. ""You're a funny one,"" he said. ""I like that. But there's no need to make up fanciful tales. You don't have to pretend to be an assassin if you're not happy with your skills behind the lens. We all start somewhere. These aren't half bad at all."" ""You're right - we do all start somewhere,"" she said, with a half-smile. ""Well, thanks for being one of the few people in the world who understand my weird sense of humor. My last boyfriend -"" she trailed off, with a sigh, hoping that this excuse would be the end of the discussion. But it wasn't. They'd talked for several hours longer - well, mostly he'd talked, and she'd tried to pay attention. He kept on pandering to her, encouraging her in her hobby, though she knew he was just being kind. ""You know how it is in this business - you capture everyone's vulnerability but your own,"" he was saying, and she nodded. He'd hugged her and asked if she wouldn't mind going on a date sometime. She'd agreed, and then erased all the carefully-constructed backstory she'd created over the past few months on social media, completely ghosting him, along with everyone else she'd pretended to be friends with while she was stationed here. He seemed like a nice guy, and she hoped he'd soon forget her, even if he hadn't really known to take her seriously. But she hadn't forgotten him. She returned, every so often, to his favourite bar. She often did so after a particularly tough job, when she'd wanted to forget what her own work consisted of. When he was there, she'd watch him from a corner of the room. She'd disguise herself in a dark wig, or a pale one; by hunching over slightly, or wearing five-inch heels to make herself seem taller. Tonight was different. He usually ignored the corner of the bar where she sat in her various disguises, chatting with his buddies, or with some pretty girl or another - it was never the same girl more than three nights in a row. But now, for some reason, he'd decided to wander over to her corner of the room. ""Excuse me,"" he'd said, as her heart pounded. She really hadn't been very discreet, had she. ""I don't mean to be rude,"" he was saying. ""You're a stranger, after all. Just let me know if you'd rather drink alone, and I'll leave you be. But you look - lonely, for lack of a better word."" She swallowed, and nodded. ""What're you having?"" he asked. ""Can I wager a guess? And old-fashioned, maybe?"" ""Yes,"" she said, her voice slightly hoarse. ""Come join me, if you like. So long as you don't mind drinking with a stranger. I mean, who knows who I might be?"" ""Indeed,"" he nodded. ""Who knows who you might be? I might have guessed you were a photographer, with those steady hands,"" he said, with a smile, looking down at the fingers which held her empty glass, which were, in fact, shaking. ""But then again, I've been wrong before."" She smiled at him when he returned from the bar, and they clinked their glasses together and drank. r/eros_bittersweet",1102
 Every adventurer passed by the road by,"Having your farm on the only road between Alma Village and the Capital certainly has its advantages. It seems every adventurer, and I do mean every single one of them, passed by the road by my farm in their outset. Darius the Mountain, Dragon Tamer Fiona, Seymon of the Thousand Blades... I was sure I saw all of them, years before they became household names, barreling down the road towards the Capitol. It was cool seeing them walk without acknowledging you, and trying to guess which ones will become famous, and which ones will be Ogre food in a couple months. What was not cool, however, is the amount of theft that went on. It was fun at first, telling people how once upon a time, Lady Cathy stopped by your farm to slaughter a few of your pigs, but the cost really racks up over time. And it's not just the pig, either; they were picking my Goldblossom, which I had strategically planted at various areas around my farm to maximize how long they have to walk to gather them all. Don't even get me started on the odd practice of skinning my pigs and leaving all the meat behind (OK, sometimes they take a tiny piece, but most of the time the whole thing is just left there, minus the skin, and I have to clean it up). Before long, they were inviting themselves into my house. I tried to be friendly, even offering them a few tried and true advice about farming and animal husbandry, if they were into that sort of thing (they never were). But deep down, I was fed up. Something's gotta give. First it was just a fence. Unfortunately, it seems that waist high fences in scattered areas around the perimeter was not extremely effective in stopping adventurers (some also have the weird habit of jumping over them instead of, say, going around). Then it were the dogs, which didn't help much either. Oh, and they skinned the dogs too. Sickening! Then it was the Farmland Protector Golem 9000^tm . It cost a fortune, but at least it sort of worked. People were careful to avoid the area the golem was in, at least. Well, that one drunken night a few weeks ago was probably not a good idea. More specifically, getting drunk and asking a passing mechanic (who bore a surprising resemblance to Blacknail the Mechanical Menace, I might add) to ""do whatever you want"" with that Golem was probably not a good idea. I wanted my farm to be safe, sure, but nothing could prepare me for the four dead bodies outside my farm the next morning. I must have spent the entire morning vomiting and trying to remember what happened the night before. No doubt they were adventurers, since the other farmers never left their farm as far as I know. I have seen a dead adventurer once before, years ago, when he simply stood there and was bitten to death by my dogs in around 40 minutes. I never really understood what that was all about. Now back to that Farmland Protector Golem. It didn't seem to attack me, so I just went out and tried to clean up the mess best I can. They all had a couple silvers in their pockets, so I took them (not like they had a use for them, anyway). But, if I thought that a murderous death robot would stop adventurers from terrorizing my farm, then I was sorely mistaken. Hundreds came in the days after the incident, and they were all trying to kill the Golem. Over 90% of the times they failed, miserably, but if they succeed they would kill all my pigs (and skin them), dogs (and skin them), and pillage all my Goldblossoms. And, just because how many of them there were, they were trampling all the other plants as well. What had seemed like a victory only ended with those idiots harassing me even harder. Desperate time called for desperate measures, and fortunately, with the sheer volume of dead adventurers on my doorstep, taking money out of their cold, dead pockets seemed to be an effective way of making ends meet. First I hired some cleaners. Taking care of hundreds of dead bodies daily really takes a toll on you. Then it was the tall perimeter fence. Keeping a murderous golem from running loose seemed to be a good idea. Then more dogs, ones with more training. Then farmhands, in part to help with farming, and in part to keep adventurers away. Then came the poisonous plants, since I was getting desperate. I even added some more fence in the middle of my farm to stop the adventurers from coming towards the golem, but they seem extremely adept at knocking holes in those. Somewhere along the line, looting dead adventurers became more profitable than farming. The guilds seems to like me, for whatever reason. ""A beginner's dungeon"" they called my farm, though the name of my farm is, and always has been ""Stoneridge Farm."" They said that clearing my ""dungeon"" was a sign that someone was ready to face real adventures, so they want everyone to come and try to deafeat my golem. Heck, one day I woke up to find one of those portal things that they use to transport adventurers to and from dungeons. Needless to say, the number of adventures who came has only increased since then. In fact, there a group of them here right now. 5 of them, to be exact. The two tanks doesn't seem to know what they are doing, as they are standing in the poison cloud as one of my farmhand, decked out in some sick looking leather armor, is hitting them with his hoe. The healer is running from the pack of dogs, which is being ignored by the tanks. Oh well, looks like they are not getting past that boss today. Better start practicing that speech the guild wants me to read every time someone dies to that boss. Something about not standing in the poison clouds. Boring. At least that archer seems to have a nice looking hat. Hopefully she has some money in her pockets, the cleaners have been demanding a bonus after the golem took out that group of 200 dwarves. As you can see, this is kind of inspired by a more MMORPG take on the prompt, more specifically a combination of Westfall's Harvest Goems and the Hoggar Raid.",1087
 Charles Henstridge of 21 Willow,"Let's get one thing straight. All the shit you hear about our powers being tied to prayers? That's just bullshit. Sure, my water might taste a little like prune juice instead of wine, but that's just practice. When was the last time I was desperate for a drink? Not since the bronze age, I'll tell you that. Good times... Anyway, it's been a while someone called for me, millenia really. Doubt anyone even remembers me anymore. It's not so bad, sure it gets a little quiet and empty here being the last of Old Ones, but I made up for it with kickass parties with the Greeks. Eventually, they left too. So, for a century or two, I simply sat and watched until I decided, if you can't beat 'em, join' em, right? I was already spending my days watching mortals and their various forms of entertainment, so think I got the gist of it. I really wasn't making it easy for myself, living life as Charles Henstridge of 21 Willow Street, bank manager and your friendly neighborhood bachelor. The last one wasn't be choice, I just really don't wanna pull a Zeus. By mortal standards, I had it pretty well: nice house, pretty neighborhood, nosy neighbors, white picket fence. It took a little getting used to it all, and suppressing my powers, but I eventually got into the flow of things that I even sometimes forgot to check the prayer stone I always kept in my pocket out of habit. Like a pager or something, I don't know, wasn't my idea. It's stupid and a habit, but I couldn't let go of the one thing that really helped me remember who I once was and what I did for mortals. Okay, so here's where it gets interesting. So I was in my pajamas on a Saturday, my hands in my pants while I'm on the couch, as my mind scrolled through Netflix, like any single man in his 30s was known to do. The stone was in my pocket as usual, as ignored as your draft dodging grandpa telling his war stories. That's when it buzzed. For a second, I thought it was my phone, but it was on the table in front of them. My limbs flail as I forget how to run like a mortal, my hands groping for the stone. When my trembling fingers finally reach for it, I hear something I haven't heard in a long time. A girl's voice cuts through the fog of my mind, and I hear her cry for help. The TV bursts onto static, but I sprint for the door in my pajamas until I realize my Prius is still in the shop after that bear took it for a joyride into a biker bar. Don't ask, just don't. Instead, I run across the lawn to discarded bike of one moody, preteen Morgan. Hopping onto the flame red contraption with the stone still hand I took off down the street with the voice only getting louder by the minute, till I couldn't hear myself think, and I was in front of suburban another house in Odin knows where. Dropping the stone back into my pocket, I smooth out my pyjamas before ringing the doorbell. I honestly had a whole song and dance prepared till I realized it was a kid. A little, mortal child with long brunette hair covering her confused face, ""someone call for a God?"" She was obviously the shy type, as little Stephanie, my mind helpfully supplied, nodded vigorously before taking my hand and dragging me inside. I could see the mix of uncertainty and awe in her eyes through the glances she stole while we made our way through her tastefully decorated home. ""Well, here I am, kid. So what do you need? Superpowers? Money? World domination? I can do it all,"" Damn, I really needed to keep that desperation out of my voice. Stephanie shook her head, her uncertainty forgotten once we reached her kitchen, where she handed me a jar of strawberry jam. Seriously? A fucking jar? Y'know I once built mountains and raised armies? Fuck it, but I guess we all have to start somewhere. She doesn't notice me sigh as I twist open the jar with absolute ease, smirking when I hear her burst into excited giggles. She sits down on the counter and my hands finish the rest of the PB&J with practiced ease. I ask her about her school and life, and the once shy girl giggles again, telling me I should know it all if I'm God. I tell her I'm an old one, so even I need help on some days. We chat as she eats, and I even help with her homework till there's a pleasant lull in the conversation, and I know it's time leave. She knows it too, and rushes to hug me, ""Thank you for staying with me today. I had a lot of fun."" That's when I realized that it awakened something in me that I missed for a very long time: what it felt to be needed, treasured, and loved, something I know Stephanie could relate. Absently, I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, ""call me anytime, and I'll come running."" She nods vigorously again, and I smile as I head towards her front door. ""I prayed for any God. How will I find you?"" I pause, turning back to Stephanie with the happiest smile in a very long time, and lift my head up high, ""Call me Faenerian. Faenerian the True."" With a final wave, I opt to give her a show and vanish with a snap of my fingers; leaving the discarded bike on her front lawn, 'cause fuck Morgan that annoying, little shit. (Thank you if you made it all the way to the end. This is the first story I've ever submitted here after lurking for so long. There's probably a lot of errors in it, especially since I typed it on my phone. Despite being a novice in writing fiction, I would love to write out proper stories for the numerous ideas buzzing in my head, but for now, I'd be grateful for your thoughts, advice, and constructive criticism.)",1042
 She had set-up her booth,"She had set-up her booth at the street-corner, under the giant maple tree which marked the junction of 56th and Elmsway. Her handwriting was neat and precise, such that the words on her chalk board were legible even from a distance away. 'Portraits - $1', it read. I was disappointed to find that there was no array of samples on display, which is how the street artists do it in the cities. But she was only 8 years old (I had a feeling that her birthday had passed recently), so I was willing to cut her some slack. I ambled over, and she brightened as she saw me approaching. ""Sir, sir! I can do your portrait! Would you like that?"" ""That's nice. Where are you from? This is the first time I'm seeing you around here."" ""Oh, er, I'm not from here. I came from the city."" Which wasn't the whole truth, given the way that she had shifted in her seat. Where humans choose to plant their roots rarely interested me, but I was curious as to how she had ended up here. I rationed a tiny splinter of my powers, then divined the truth. That she was from the city was correct - more specifically, she lived at St. Horus' Shelter, which was at least an hour away by bus. ""So what brings you here?"" ""Well... I'd heard that the people here are rich! I'm pretty sure they wouldn't mind getting their portraits done, right? Everyone in the city is too busy for these things, so here I am!"" I laughed, then rattled my cane on the tarmac. ""You've got that part right, miss! Everyone here's rich enough that they certainly wouldn't miss a dollar or two. But I'd hate to see you disappointed."" ""Why's that?"" ""They may be too busy to stop by."" ""Busy... Busy doing their own things? Running their businesses, such-like?"" I nodded. I knew best, after all. I lived right at the centre of the neighborhood. I was old now, a shadow of what I was once, but the sensitive ones amongst my neighbors had still been drawn to the promise of my power. They couldn't have realised that subtle influence on them, but my presence was still a signal flare to their subconscious. The real estate salesmen thought that they were the glib ones, and if they had known I was the real reason for their successes, they would have taken up arms just to get an audience with me. And what day had not gone by without their prayers filtering over to me, permeating through the walls like sand through sieves? The lazy ones wished for riches, which they believed to be the shortest path to fulfillment. The more industrious ones wished for the opportunities to seize their own successes. Those I respected a bit more, but not enough for me to actually do anything for them. Not that I could, even if I wanted to. Not in my present state. ""But tell me, what do you need the money for? Say a dozen, a hundred of the people here lined up for your drawings. What would you do with the money?"" ""I'd buy more supplies, of course!"" ""To make more money?"" She laughed, then shook her head. She beckoned me over, and I went closer. Behind the booth, there was a stack of papers clipped to a broken clipboard. Her canvases seemed recycled, and some of them even had creased scars or crumpled dog-ears. Her instrument of choice, a boxed set of coloured pencils, was incomplete. The primary colours were missing, and of the ones which remained, they had been sharpened so many times that they were almost stubs. ""I don't know about more money, mister, but supplies first. These were the ones I found at home. It's just so expensive getting new ones, you know?"" ""You think people are going to pay you for art done using those?"" ""That's why it's only a dollar, mister! When I have more, I'll charge more!"" I fished out a bill from my coat, then handed it over to her. She clapped her hands, then sat me down on a cardbox box. I didn't smile, and she didn't ask me to. Her fingers flew like sparrows, and in seconds she had the basic outline of my face, my brows, my eyes. She evidently perceived me as old, and feeble, and perhaps I was. ""That's not bad at all,"" I said. That wasn't the truth, of course. She was terrible. I had seen so many prodigies in my lifetime that her sketch resembled the trail of slugs in heat on a canvas. But children are fragile, so I had chosen my words differently. ""I'll get to where I want to some day, just you watch!"" ""And where's that?"" ""I'm the only one at home who can draw, or who likes to draw. I have a brother, he doesn't get to come out much. So I go out, I draw pictures, and I bring them home for him to see. He enjoys that."" ""Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Will he get well soon?"" ""The doctors said no. So my drawings are the next best thing!"" ""And do you think you'll improve, practicing like this every day?"" I had evidently moved too much, for she clucked her tongue and had me shift back to my original pose. ""I don't know. I hope so. Everyone says you improve when you practise. We'll see."" ""And if you could really draw better, what would you do with that talent?"" ""Make my brother laugh, of course! I drew a cat once, chasing its own tail, spinning so fast that it fell over! He really liked that one. Easier than bringing the cat into his room, for sure."" ""Little girl, if you did indeed have that power one day, that ability to draw and make people... feel things, what would you draw for them?"" She placed her pencils back, then dusted off the sheet on the top. She unclipped it from the board, turned it around, then handed it over to me. It was finished, but only in the sense that the task had been completed. I'll admit, there was a modicum of talent there, but just a smidgen. So much more had to be done to help that blossom. I looked into her eyes, just to make sure this was something within my capabilities. It was. But this was a two-way transaction. I couldn't do it myself. ""I'd draw as much as I can. Asleep, awake, I'll draw. And draw and draw. I'd make my brother happy, then other people too. Whoever wants to see them. I'd draw."" ""I was something of an artist myself once, girl. I was pretty good too, so much so that people said I was their inspiration. They came to me whenever they wanted their talents unlocked, their abilities enhanced. If there was any man who suffered from a famine of imagination, I was the harvest. I made men smell colour, see sound, taste odors."" She laughed harder this time, the way children do when they are amused. ""That's awesome! Maybe I'll be like you one day!"" ""I'd gladly help you learn. All I need is for you to really, *really* wish for it, like it was the most important thing to you. And to believe that I, and only I, can help you with that."" She clasped her hands together, then shut her eyes. There were no words to her prayer, but I could hear all the same. If it were a musical score, her prayer was a single note, pure, distilled, ringing in my ears as convincingly as an entire church full of bells. That sound was the only nourishment I needed. I felt the tissues bulk up in my muscles, and my skin grew taut, filling out wrinkles and pushing out age-spots. My legs grew steady again, and I let my cane fall to the side. The years fell away, and though I wasn't quite as young and powerful as I once was, I felt better than I had in decades. What power a single believer brings. ""We'll start right here, right now,"" I said, as I reached into her mind. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1381
" Six hundred years, and he had","Xil'dan looked down at his wilted hydrangeas in disgust. Six hundred years, and he had not yet learned the trick of keeping plants alive. Surely it wasn't that difficult a task. Mortals did it all the time. But try as he might, he could not seem to make his garden flourish. Plants he cared for withered, shrubs he pruned turned black, and even his simple lawn contained more dirt and weeds than grass. But to be fair, he admitted, he was not the God of Gardening. The god turned from his failed horticultural attempts and headed back inside the house, stooping down to grab today's paper from the driveway as he went. The world had changed much in the centuries since he had last been worshipped; new cultures flourished, and all were well worth watching. New wars were waged with weapons that astonished even him. So even if his name *was* now forgotten by the people of this place, it was at least interesting to watch them learn and grow through the ages. Sitting down at the table, he unfolded the paper and flipped to the business section. Mankind's obsession with wealth had not changed a whit since he ""retired;"" new inventions like the stock market and electronic trading fascinated him, and he enjoyed reading about them even if their secret machinations were a mystery. He suspected that, given his immortal lifespan, he could use these tools to amass a fortune if he truly felt inclined. But the prospect seemed more trouble than it was worth. He was not, after all, the God of Wealth. And so Xil'dan took his ease, sipping his morning coffee (at least *that* was still around) and catching up on all the happenings in the ever-changing world. Nationalism had been growing in recent years, and many countries seemed poised on the brink of-- *""Xil'dan fyrgh kre... kretch'al,""* said a voice. Xil'dan froze with his cup raised to his lips. ""Impossible,"" he breathed. No one had spoken his invocation in a dozen lifetimes. And even then, the last person had bungled the pronunciation so badly that-- *""Xil'dan fyrgh kretch'al, on'ket forn... rot?""* tried the voice again. The god lurched up from his table. The coffee fell forgotten to the floor. No, this was not some idle reading of an ancient scroll. Someone was actually attempting to summon him. Someone who believed that he existed, and actively desired his aid. It was a small faith--he could barely feel it when the voice echoed in his head--but it was real. How could this be? *""Xil'dan fyrgh kretch'al, on'ket forn WROTH!""* said the voice. Xil'dan blinked, and he was there. He appeared in a jumbled study, packed with books and artifacts from a dozen civilizations. Whoever owned these was clearly a world-traveler, or at least a collector of the rarest sort. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous oaken desk, similarly covered in books and various pilfered curiosities. And behind the desk, still clutching the copper disk engraved with Xil'dan's prayer, was... ...a child. The god frowned. It was a human boy, no more than eight or nine. He wore an ill-fitting black suit and tie, and his cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes were as wide as any human's eyes could hope to be, and his face was pale as he stared over the desk at who he'd summoned. Xil'dan raised an eyebrow. ""What is your name, child?"" he asked. The boy started, but stood his ground. Brave, then. He gulped. ""T... Tommy,"" he said. ""Are you... Xil'dan?"" The god nodded slowly. Something was very wrong here. ""Yes,"" he said at last. ""And you have summoned me? *You* seek my aid?"" The boy stammered. ""I..."" he looked at the closed study door, then back to the tall figure before him. ""I want you to bring my uncle back."" He gripped the copper disk tight in his tiny hands, as if to force his wish into the metal itself. ""Please,"" he pleaded, his voice desperate now. ""Please bring him back?"" Xil'dan examined his would-be petitioner. The tears. The black suit. What was going on he-- ...Ah. ""Your uncle is dead, isn't he?"" asked the god. ""This was his office. He is the one who owned the disk."" The boy nodded. ""Yes,"" he whimpered. ""He taught me how to read the writing. He taught me all sorts of things."" His fear forgotten, the words poured out. ""He was an adventurer, like I want to be. He goes all over the world, and... and he brings back amazing things, and he always takes time to show me and teach me and please just bring him back. Please, I'll give you anything I have. *Please.*"" Xil'dan sighed. What a waste. The first real summoning since the fall of the For'gyl Ziggurat, and it was all for nothing. A child's misplaced hope. ""I am sorry, boy,"" he said sadly. ""But I am not the God of Death. I cannot help your uncle now."" Tommy's face fell, and he lowered the copper disk to his side. ""I thought..."" he said hopelessly, ""I thought you could save him."" He sniffled, and fresh tears began to creep down his face. ""Do not weep for him, little one"" said Xil'dan, not unkindly. ""Death is a natural part of life. You will miss him, and for that pain you may grieve. But if it was your uncle's time, then his passing was no tragedy. Even the best of us must face the final gate eventually."" The boy's face whipped up, twisting into a fierce grimace. ""It was *not* his time!"" he hissed. The god cocked his head, surprised by the heat in that small voice. ""Oh?"" he asked. ""He was not old?"" Tommy shook his head. ""I heard the grown-ups talking,"" he muttered. ""They said he was walking in a 'bad part of town.' They said some bad men came and..."" His eyes teared up again, and he sniffed angrily, looking down at his feet. Xil'dan stood very still, studying the child in front of him. There *was* something here. He could sense it faintly, like a distant and forgotten door, long abandoned in the labyrinth of his soul. An ancient stirring that the god had all but put aside. He carefully walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Tommy, gently lifting his chin with a curled finger. ""Child,"" he asked quietly, ""how exactly did your uncle die?"" The boy glared up at the god, his face still splotchy-red and lined with tears. There was sadness there, yes. But also anger. A newfound fury at a world that he'd thought he understood. A world that was suddenly, unexpectedly, unfair. ""The bad men killed him,"" he whispered. ""They killed him, and they didn't even know him. They just wanted his money."" Xil'dan gazed carefully into the child's eyes, weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. ""I was wrong, then,"" he said finally. ""I do believe that I can help you after all."" And for the first time in nearly six hundred years, the God of Vengeance smiled.",1190
 It was exactly one and a half,"""It's been a year and look at me. I feel just fine. like... like I was never sick or something. What is going on?"" I asked with a little bit of accusing tone. It was exactly one and a half year ago when I collapsed on the ground with a sharp pain in my chest. I thought it was a heart attack and my life was going to end right then. We all thought so. But I lived. An angel like nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up and the doctor told me I have a heart condition, something about irregular heartbeat, weak pulse and so on. To be honest, everything just went sort of blur after hearing that I had six more months of time here. 'My family' That was the first thought that came to my mind. Six more months. That means I won't be able to take my son fishing like I promised him. That means I won't be able to attend my daughter's piano recital. That means my wife will probably have to cancel the reservation for anniversary. Only God knows the pain of leaving family behind. Maybe it would had been better if everything ended right there then waiting this death with them. A game that I can never win. I decided not to tell my family. Not yet at least. I didn't want to break down crying in front of them. I don't want them to remember me as someone in sorrow and pain. I never got brave enough to tell them... Fortunately death didn't come for me after six months. In fact, I have been told my condition has improved slightly and I can expect my heart to last one more year. I've been visiting my doctor every months and every time, he asks me rather unusual questions such as ""Where did you go fishing? caught anything good?"" ""Are you excited about your daughter's piano recital? what song is she going to play?"" ""Where did you make reservation for your anniversary? How was the food there?"" I mean, I have never been told I was going to die before so I just assume he is preparing me mentally for my inevitable death. However, I am not going to put up with this anymore. Every time I visit, he just asks me about my daily life and no check\-up or treatment. Not even a pill for god's sake! It was as if we are two buddies just catching up. No. Today I am going to find out what is happening to my body. ""Every time I visit, you just ask me few questions and that's it. I need to know the progress doc. I mean, am I getting better or are you gonna make another prediction here?"" He took his eyes off from my chart and looked at me. I never noticed he has such a blue eyes. ""Well, we can measure your pulse again if you want but at this stage, there really isn't much we can do you know"" ""No, don't give me that again. You have used all doctor cliche. 'this pill is working exceptionally well for you!' 'Glad to hear you are exercising, I'm sure that played a role' 'well, we doctors don't know everything you know. we are just humans under white gowns.' You have officially used all of them so, please, just tell me what is going on with my body"" I asked eagerly. ""Alright John, just one last question for you then. How are you doing?"" he asked sincerely. ""I... I am great doc. When you first told me I had six months to live, I honestly thought maybe it would be better to end things then. I think I was too devastated by things I didn't and couldn't do. But after six months, I was given another year and I realized it wasn't too late to do them now. I spent glorious time with my family, finally finished my painting, apologized to my sister and you know, general appreciation for everything. I still haven't told my family but I think it's better this way. If I told them, I would had been forced to spend all those time attached to machine or something"" ""I'm really happy to hear that John."" He said with a warm smile. ""So, tell me doc. How is my heart holding on?"" ""Would you say... that you have no regret now...?"" He ignored my question completely. I thought about it for few seconds and answered. ""No. No regrets. Not anymore"" ""Alright John. Let me tell you what really happened then"" If this was movie, a sudden suspenseful background music must have started right about now. ""What? what is it doc?"" I leaned in. I didn't even intend to do that. ""Your heart... it stopped 18 months ago"" ""Yea... it's called heart attack..?"" I said sarcastically. ""No, not a heart attack. A death. You died there John."" He ignored my tone and continued. ""And you brought it back remember?"" ""I did. But I am not a doctor."" I paused. Wouldn't you? ""What? Did you just say you are not a doctor? What's going on here?"" ""I brought you back to life so you would... let's say 'do more stuff' here"" I didn't know what to say. Well, actually, I did know what I wanted to say but I couldn't. Is my D.O.C trying to tell me that he is actually G.O.D? ""When you came back after six months, you told me there were still few things you were looking forward to. I wasn't supposed to but I gave you one more year. A time that I thought was enough for you to have no regret. And I was... very happy to see you were doing just that""' I wanted to call his bluff but something happened. We were not sitting in his office anymore. In a blink of an eye, I was sitting in a white room. And my doctor, he was not a doctor anymore. He is... indescribable... Then something else happened. Rather than tell me, he showed me. All my memory of last 18 months rushed back to me in a nanosecond. Suddenly, I remembered and felt everything all at once. And a familiar warm voice came to me. ""Are you ready John?"" I nodded.",1058
 Being a dentist had it's ups,"Most descriptions of death involve walking into the light, or darkness and only darkness. This wasn't what I felt. I had lived a good life. Being a dentist had it's ups and downs, but there was always a demand. More importantly, it felt good to be helpful. Retirement was nice. Seeing the grandkids grow up was amazing. None of them wanted to be dentists, which was a bit of a bummer, but then again, they were probably tired of grandpa giving them a new toothbrush on every holiday. At least all but Johnny, my third grandson, didn't blame me about how much cavities hurt. I remember dying. You might be inclined to thinking that my memory would be hazy, or I'd have locked it away. Memory works differently here. It's actually kind of miraculous: I remember feeling old age creep in \- the dulling of memories, the names on the tip of my tongue \- but it's crystal clear here. I feel like I have time to remember anything I want; I try to focus on the good things \- my wife and kids, mostly. I do dwell on dying though. I remember the myocardial infarction \- the sudden, rising pain; the shortness of breath. I remember them trying to revive me \- something I could NOT possibly remember from my own body. I remember part of the ambulance ride. And then, there's nothing but this place. It's a waiting room. Not like my office's; more like a restaurant that has a two\-hour waiting list. There's lots of us here, but we're alone with our memories. No one talks to anyone else. No one talks to me, and I don't talk to anyone. I think it's a mixture of fear and grief; we all know we're all dead, but how can we care about others when we also need comfort? Every once and a while, a name is called. The room is huge, and I can't always see it, but someone always gets up and goes to the door. I can't see in the door \- I tried to look up once, but it hurt my eyes. It was just.... gray. After so much time \- it felt like forever, but time is also weird here \- I hear my name. ""Dr. Jacobson, the specialist will see you now."" I don't see anyone beckon. I don't need to. I stand up and walk toward the door. Well... my body does this. I'm just along for the ride, I suppose. I try to think about my family \- even Johnny, who refused to be in a picture with me, ever. It keeps me calm \- not that I could scream. I walk through the door. I no longer get a feeling of a restaurant or a doctor's office; instead, it's an office. It's a nice office \- reminds me of the dean of the dentistry school's, though how I remember what it looked like is beyond me. I take a seat, and a moment later, someone comes in and sits down across from me. ""So, Dr. Jacobson... mind if I call you Edward?"" Across for me is a hooded figure. I can't see the facial features; the robe is flowing, and his hands are gloved. I find myself able to speak. ""No, Edward or Ed is fine."" The voice emanated from the hood. It was odd; it wasn't a recording, but it reverberated on occasion. ""Ok, thanks Ed. So I'm sure you know why you're here..."" ""Not really, no. I mean, I know I'm dead, but I always thought there would be something on the other side."" ""Oh, there is. But we have to be sure. That's why the waiting room is so... neutral. No sinner deserves the wonder of Heaven; no innocent deserves the torment of Hell. So we make it as neutral as possible while you wait."" ""Wait for what?"" The hooded figure chuckled. ""Why, for me, of course. I adjudicate cases. I help determine which way you should go."" The gloved hands point up and down. Time was far different in this room; it was almost like living. Fear washed over me; had I been good enough for Heaven? I wasn't the most devout person. I could feel myself sweat, and tears starting to well up. ""Oh, there's no point in that. You lived your life, and it either was good or bad."" ""How... how do you know what it will be?"" ""It's simple really. Everything is interconnected. Everything you did was good and/or bad. It all weighs out. You know why you made the decisions, and we know all of that as well. But, there's a test."" ""What test?"" ""Well, in a moment, all the pain you caused in your life will come back to you. You will feel whether or not you were good; I'm just keeping score."" ""How? When?"" ""Don't worry about how. How is our little secret. When is a better question. Now."" My teeth hurt instantly. It was a weird pain \- as a dentist, I could not describe it. Certain teeth hurt more \- the damnable second molars hurt. My lips felt like they were going to fall off. At the same time, I felt... relief. None of the teeth hurt. Occasionally, there'd be a flare up, but they felt... better. I remembered every fight with my wife. I remembered my brother disowning me. I remembered my parents dying. I remembered breaking a knick\-knack when I was 4. I remembered submitting my third patient ever to collections. I remembered disappointing my patients when I retired. I remembered a malpractice suit that was settled. I remembered my very first dental professor frustrated at my bad grades. I remembered graduating. I remembered EVERYTHING. I remembered Johnny. My own grandson! I felt his fear of me, and it roil into hate. I remembered his scream when I first spun up the drill, his scream of pain from drilling into that accursed second molar. I remember finishing up, and him jumping out of the chair, running out to the waiting room, and hiding behind my daughter\-in\-law, like I was a monster from under the bed. I cried. ""OK, we're all done here, Dr. Jacobson. Congratulations!"" I choked through tears. ""Wait... what?"" ""Oh yes, I've seen what I need to see. You caused so much pain \- but to the end of so much relief to pain you didn't cause \- well, mostly. You felt guilt about slights and wrongs you had done. You did good things and tried to help people. You WERE good. Not great, but good!"" I couldn't feel any joy. ""But my own grandson hates me! He thinks I would hurt him!"" The hooded figure chuckled again. ""Huh, you're really stuck on that one. OK. Well, I have to put it in perspective. What I should do is simply pull down my hood, to show you how little it matters. But it does matter. It matters to you, and it really does matter to him. So let me take you on a little sightseeing tour. I shouldn't do it, but you already got a good result."" ""Huh?"" I blinked \- and I was outside my old office. It looked... different. I went up to the door, and saw the stenciled lettering. Jacobson Family Dentistry Dr. John Wertzbach, D.D.S. I ran inside. There was Johnny. Oh, he was much older, but it was him. Same little scar below his left eye; same dark hair that needed a trim. I heard a voice behind me. ""This is part of why you got Heaven as well. Sure, you hurt him, and he hated you for it. After you passed, he felt bad. Had to see a therapist for months."" I welled up. ""Then, in high school, he told his parents something. He told them he trusted you, and had felt betrayed, but now realized you only wanted to help him. His parents had known he felt guilty, but he described how deep the mental scar went. He said he wanted to help people too \- and you had helped your family enough that they could enabled him to do just that \- by paying for college. He chose dental school."" I cried again. I smiled and laughed, but kept crying. ""Your wife put up the money for his first practice. It wasn't much, but it was enough for one bit of sentiment: this building. He literally followed in your footsteps, Johnathan. He's actually pretty good at it. He doesn't have nearly as much trouble with those second molars."" ""... thank you."" ""No problem, but now you need to move along. I have to get to my next customer..."" He flipped a chart in his hand, ""A televangelist. Oh boy, I get to share the bad news.""",1470
 Kyle had never even fought in the,"""Ok. Great job today everyone. We'll pick up tomorrow."" Kyle gave the stage manager a nod as he wiped the sweat from his brow. It had been the same routine everyday for nearly ten years. Wake up. Work out. Receive the day's script. Review past plot points, the reports from the two Kings and ongoing tactics and storylines. Acting was always the hardest part, but Kyle had grown into his role. He had never even fought in the original war; only a few of the two Kings' true soldiers remained. Most had been written off at some point or another. Some had taken jobs around the massive set or had gone to work as spies inside the two castles. Others had disappeared, seeking a quiet life. Of course, no one had told the two Kings the truth. That was the only rule. ""You look tired, superstar,"" Miranda said as Kyle took his seat. Kyle smiled weakly, running a hand through his blood-flaked hair. It was fake-blood of course. When he had first started, the hair had been fake as well. ""Why do you always worry so much?"" she asked as she began to wipe the makeup from his face. ""The King believes every word of your reports. You and Octavian are their favorites."" Kyle glanced to the edge of the set. As always, Octavian was laughing, his band of artificial soldiers hanging on his every word. Octavian was one of the original soldiers. In fact, he had witnessed the Surrender first hand. Everyone *loved* Octavian. ""I think it's a mistake,"" Kyle whispered as Miranda adjusted his hair. She had been with him from the beginning, staying by his side from his rise as a foot soldier to one of the elite. If there was anyone he could talk to, it was her. ""This could ruin everything."" ""You're not really being captured,"" Miranda sighed. ""Don't be so dramatic."" ""Why would the writers agree to this? They have never done something like this before. The two Kings crave death on the battlefield. Why the sudden change in tactics?"" ""The war has been at a standstill for four seasons. Both George and Ender have demanded to see progress. You know the rule, we have to keep them believing - no matter what it takes. Just think how many lives you have saved by playing King George's Commander. A few days off site won't hurt. It's not like you haven't performed in front of them before."" She spun Kyle around so he could see his reflection in the mirror. It was hard to recognize himself sometimes. Years of training and work under the desert sun had turned his body into that of god. His thick black hair hung to his broad shoulders, curling slightly at the ends. His skin was smooth and tanned, hardened from hundreds of simulated battles. ""What of George's retaliation?"" Kyle argued. ""Losing me will cause him to do something extreme. Do we actually think that Frederick is ready to handle my role as Commander? What if the King stops by for one of his random inspections? What if he wants to fight again?"" ""It's only temporary, and we know his schedule by heart,"" she assured him. ""This is all leading to your dramatic duel with Octavian. When you finally kill him off and escape, the war will be safe for at least another few weeks as Ender works out his next move."" Kyle sighed. She couldn't see it. Eventually, this whole operation was going to fail. The real war would start up again. It was just a matter of when. As Miranda applied fresh makeup to make his impending capture convincing, he studied Octavian in the distance. The other Commander sensed his stare and flashed him a flawless smile, teeth stained red from the dinner platter. *Always so perfect*, Kyle frowned. Why couldn't the others see the truth? Octavian wasn't going to let himself get killed off. He loved the money, the women, the fame. This kidnapping was a ploy. Octavian had saved himself from death's door a dozen times already, only surviving through *miracles* and conveniently arriving healers from distant lands. It was almost as if, *he* had been writing the show the entire time. Kyle couldn't shake the sinking feeling that once he left the set of the War, he would never return, despite the script. That Octavian had somehow convinced the others that he should survive their duel, narrowly avoiding death. Again. If only there were some sort of evidence ... but there was nothing. Octavian was a professional. No one ever made contact with the writers. ""You look lovely,"" Miranda smiled, touching off Kyle's black eye. ""I guess I won't be seeing you again for a few days."" She kissed him on the cheek. ""Say hi to the King for me, superstar!"" A moment later, Kyle was shuffled off the set and onto the stinking field that housed the show's hundreds of horses and battle equipment. He nodded his thanks as the assistants set down a movable set of wooden stairs in front of the prisoner wagon. Kyle stood at the top stair for a long moment, looking back on the set. His planned escape and slaying of Octavian would put King George in a brief position to win the war. It wouldn't be until a few weeks that he would learn how King Ender would get back to even ground. That was the way of the show. One of the Kings temporarily gaining an edge thanks to some genius battleplan only to, shortly thereafter, be outmatched by the other. It was all a balancing act made possible by the writers. This was the most extreme plot yet. Kyle figured he would likely live to see even crazier stunts as the show marched on ... if everything went to plan of course. *Better safe than sorry*. Taking a deep breath, Kyle grabbed a short knife from the barrel next to the wagon and stashed it within one of the pockets of his ruined Commander's coat. Octavian wouldn't let himself be killed off. Kyle had never been surer of anything in his life. He sat patiently as some of the former soldiers arrived to convincingly bind his wrists and ankles. The opposing Commander sauntered over to the wagon fifteen minutes later, two of the goddesses introduced in the second season hanging on his every word. He dismissed them with a wave and a smile, and the two *soldiers* rode off into the night to thunderous applause. Octavian waited until several miles had passed before speaking. ""It's been a long journey for both us,"" he said softly, blue eyes gleaming in the torchlight. ""However, my ascent is only just beginning."" ____ Thanks for reading! I could write more if anyone is interested. (Edit: ) (Edit 2: Wrong word)",1140
 Jeff was flying from Beijing to Seoul,"*** *What's the point of panicking?* Jeff thought, as he watched the chaos unfold from the comfort of first class. His legs were stretched out fully, and the raucous turmoil around him was pleasantly muted by his noise canceling headphones. People rushed by him like clockwork, some probably screaming, others crying, though he didn't see what good it was doing any of them. *We're all going to die anyways, so might as make the best out of it.* Jeff hadn't started the voyage out in first class, but instead had slipped up a few rows once people started leaving their seats to start milling around the aisles like rabid lunatics. Finally, after 15 years of flying coach, he had attained the near mythical first class upgrade, and it only took a crisis which would almost certainly result in his doom to make it happen. *It's pleasant enough,* he thought vacantly, *but still, not anywhere near the price tag.* The plane hit a patch of turbulence and everything shook. The lights flickered and streaks of sunlight flashed through the panes of the window. Jeff closed his eyes. *There's nothing you can do about this, so Just relax. Relax. Breathe in. Breathe out. Relax.* There was a tap on his shoulder, and he turned to his right. Sitting next to him was a well dressed man, kicking up his feet next to him. His head was shaved and he wore a pair of dark glasses. Jeff took off his headphones. ""Yes?"" ""You're in my seat,"" he said. ""Oh, sorry."" Jeff started to stand up, his polite reflexes taking control. Even in moments of mortal peril his manners stubbornly refused to desert him, which he found quite amusing. As he made to sidle by, the man shook his head and motioned for him sit back down. ""It's okay, stay put. I enjoy the company."" He crossed his legs, apparently enjoying the extra leg room as much as Jeff. ""Besides, every seat on this plane is mine."" Jeff looked at the man, now confused. The man had a small bag of free peanuts in his hands, and began to fumble with the plastic. ""Hate these things,"" he muttered. ""They seal 'em up tighter'n than my - "" The bag burst open, showering the pair with peanuts. ""Sorry about that,"" the man said. ""God, what a nightmare. I hate delayed flights."" Jeff reached for his headphones again, but stopped, realizing that the strange man had traded him a nice seat for a conversation partner. ""Well technically, this plane isn't delayed. It's just taking, you know, hours longer than usual and eventually going to run out of fuel and crash, which in my opinion is quite a bit more worrying."" ""Ha."" The man crunched down on a peanut. ""There's nothing to worry about."" He glanced down at an expensive looking watch. ""Actually, we're ahead of schedule. Should be beginning our descent within the next hour or so. No, it was getting the board to approve this type of flight in the first place that was the real problem. You think a two hour flight delay is bad? Try a *two year* delay."" Jeff frowned. He often felt uncomfortable when people talked nonsense, though this man seemed pleasant enough. ""I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about."" The man took off his glasses and smiled. His eyes were pale blue, circled by worn laugh lines. ""Well of course you don't. You're supposed to be flying coach, after all. That's the whole point."" Just then the clouds broke away, and brilliant white and green light flooded the window panes. Jeff turned his head to look out his window and gasped. The scene before him looked like something out of a surreal painting. A series of what appeared to be floating isles dotted the skies, each a bright emerald green. Some held mountains, others hills and valleys, tiny villages popping on some, their rooftops no bigger than toys from this perspective. Far off in the distance he could see the skyline of a massive city, the tops of the skyscrapers faded behind a curtain of fog. What appeared to be tiny vehicles zipped back and forth from isle to isle endlessly like insects. Jeff's mouth fell open. He turned back to the man. ""Where are we? Have I...have I gone mad?"" The man smiled. ""Two years,"" he said. ""Two years, and now, finally, I'm going home."" A hush had fallen over the entire plane, as the other passengers crowded around the windows, everyone sharing in expressions of varied disbelief. ""Your...home?"" ""That's what I said."" He stretched in his seat. ""God I'm thirsty. What's a man have to do to get some first class service here?"" The strange man seemed to have lost interest in Jeff's bewilderment, and took to trying to wave down one of the hostesses to order a whiskey and coke, to little success. Jeff grabbed him by the shoulder and jerked him back around. ""Hey! Did you...did you have something to do with this?"" He shrugged. ""It was the board that approved it. Take it up with them."" ""The board? What in the hell are you talking about? And where are we?"" The man opened his mouth to respond, but jut then a new hostess that Jeff did not recognize appeared before them. She was dressed in bright blue uniform that was different than the ones that had started his flight, though maybe that was just what they wore in first class. ""We should be arriving at our destination shortly,"" she said, with a pleasant smile, as if they were about to finish a normal flight and the floating isles outside the window were a normal part of Korean Air's flight experience. ""Something to drink for you gentleman?"" ""Whiskey coke double,"" the man said, then added, ""took you long enough."" Jeff looked up at her and smiled reflexively. ""Coffee with two - hey. Wait. We're going to be *arriving* shortly?"" The hostess held her smile. ""Yes, of course sir. You didn't think we would keep you up here all day, did you?"" ""I don't know what to believe anymore."" He pointed out the window. ""And where exactly, will we be landing?"" The smile never wavered, and without breaking character she handed them both their drinks, along with a pair of parachutes. ""Who said anything about landing?"" Jeff looked over at his seat partner, his mind refusing to process the last interaction. ""Dammit, mine's too small,"" the strange man complained, sloshing soda-whiskey everywhere as he fumbled to undo the straps of his parachute. ""Switch with me."" * * * *** /r/ghost_write_the_whip",1110
" Master Andrews' lifelong butler,","""It is not right to pry into the personal affairs of others, Master Andrews."" My lifelong butler, V, stood before me, a faint frown cast upon his wrinkled face. And the wispy trails of his graying hair danced in the evening chill before us. It was rare that he would ever reprimand me for my misdeeds, and before that day, the last I could remember him doing so was when I was but a mere child. V had been my personal butler for little over twenty years, he was always a diligent worker, one who would never complain; no matter the task asked of him. And no matter the request I made of him, he fulfilled them all with that same saintly smile. But I had learned of his secret athrough a faraway associate - a secret that he hid so well. I came to learn that while my wealth, although grand in its millions - paled in comparison to the billions he himself held. Had my father been alive, I could have asked him if he had known, but fate was rarely ever so kind. In all the time I had known him, V had never showed any signs of this wealth, and even among servants, he was by far the humblest I had ever known. He was at my beck and call throughout my impulsive childhood years, my rebellious adolescence, and my ruthless adulthood. With V by my side, I had advanced through the corporate world - never doubting the expertise of the man assigned to me by my very own father. It was not as if he were without flaw, but he was far more nuanced than that of your regular butler. And as he stood before me that night, there was a coldness upon his face. I had betrayed his trust, and he knew it all too well. I spoke with a melancholy, fearful of that man. ""I don't understand, V."" ""What troubles you, young master?"" he spoke in that same old sage voice, calm, yet firm. ""A man as rich as you,"" I said, ""I should be working for you, not the other way around."" ""Nonsense."" He filled the air with a hearty laugh. ""There would never be a need for that. Now, it is nearly seven, would you care to-"" ""Should you not retire?"" I asked, ""With your wealth, you could live an unfathomable life of luxury for the rest of your-"" For the first time in twenty years, his signature calmness faded from his voice. ""Young master, wealth is not everything. I have stayed by your side not for reasons as petty as money."" ""Then why?"" ""Because, Master Andrews,"" he said, with a wicked grin. ""I believe that you will one day rule the world."" His words filled me with an odd feeling, like the kind of primeval unease that comes upon a man once every blue moon. He spoke of such a grand, unfathomable task with such carefree nonchalance that I had no choice but to think that he truly believed what his own words. I had never set my sights on such a thing, and I did not know why my butler of all people would ever think such a thing of me. And so on that night, with nothing left to lose, I asked the question that would set my fate in motion. ""Who are you exactly, V?"" ""I am your butler, young master,"" he said with a snide grin. I met his words with a forced laugh. ""Really though."" ""As regrettable as it is, now is not the time for me to tell you the answer which you seek."" As he spoke, his familiar calmness slowly crawled back into his voice. ""And it is most unfortunate that this situation has come about so soon."" It was rare for him to defy me. ""Have you been funding my enterprise?"" ""No, I have not,"" V said, with an unblinking gaze, ""everything you have done up until today has been your own doing, young master."" ""Then, who are you?"" ""Goodness me, young master,"" his voice broke into a soft chuckle, but it did not sound like his usual laugh. ""Must you ask questions you already know the answer to? I am V, your personal butler."" He was already testing the limits of my patience, and for the first time in many years, I felt like yelling at him. ""And what of the other butlers and maids, are they like you?"" ""That I can not say,"" he said, with his head bowed low. ""You're not going to tell me anything, are you?"" ""Regrettably so."" I delivered him an ultimatum, one that I knew in my heart was wrong, but one I cast upon him in the heat of the moment - born from my own wounded pride. ""And what if I were to demand you to tell me, or your employment will be terminated?"" He did not raise his head as he spoke. ""Then I would await my termination."" ""Whatever,"" I said, not wanting to bother with him any longer, ""you're dismissed for the day. I'm returning to my study."" Even as I returned to my study, and even as I tried to forget the conversation I had just moments prior with V, I could not shake that feeling that everything I was was nothing but a sham. I never gave much thought to his character in the past, but now he seemed like an impenetrable enigma, a force which I could not read nor predict. With such a man at my side, with untold wealth and a past that he could not even divulge to his own master, I did what anyone else would have done. I began to doubt my own meteoric rise, I wondered if everything I had achieved in my own life was truly from my own merits, or whether or not V had some influence in me attaining my power. I was lost in my own thoughts with such a frenzy I didn't notice the maid by my side until she tapped on my shoulder. And I came back to reality with such a shock that I couldn't help but recoil where I sat, scaring her in the process. ""Apologies, I did not mean to startle you,"" the maid, L, spoke in a panicked voice, clearly realizing my distress. ""I am taking over for V, and as it is past seven, I was-"" ""I'm fine,"" I said, as I dismissed her with a casual wave, ""tell the other servants not to bother me until morning."" At the time, I did not send her away because I did not require her services, but because like V, I did not feel like I could trust anyone at that time. I had never felt alone like that, ever before. * * * The next day I awoke with a pounding headache, surrounded by discarded blankets and glass bottles alike. I knew that in my frustration I had turned to the soothing poison of alcohol to assuage my woes, but gave little thought to the tomorrow it would undeniably bring. Before I could even rise from my bed, the door to my room swung open and V stepped inside, a single metal tray held in his hands. As he approached, I could see that it held a glass of water and an assortment of white pills, clearly to help with my hangover. But that diligence of his which I once appreciated only frustrated me. Because it seemed as if he planned to continue his daily duties as if the events of the night before had never occured. Even though part of me wanted to deny his service to spite him, I dearly wished to alleviate the pains of my newfound headache, and so without thanks, I accepted his help. No sooner than I had swallowed the last of the pills, an array of maids came into the room from behind him. And not wanting to remain in the room as they cleaned it, I went forward with my daily routine. But that routine too was plagued by an annoyance, a man by the name of V. He would not divulge any further information, no matter how much I pestered him, and so my resentment for him and his actions continued to grow with every passing minute. It was strange how such a simple event could undo the twenty years of trust I held in him, but given the circumstances, I thought anyone would do the same. In hindsight, I should have fired him that night. But I couldn't do that. Not because I still trusted him, or because I felt I would betray the wishes of my father, but because the curiosity which had sprouted in me that night had already taken root and strangled all other forms of thought. And so, the only thing on my mind was just a single question. Who exactly was the man called V? * * * /r/khaarus",1502
" Dr. Sherwood: ""You","Every year, I felt a little bit older than I should on my birthday. And each year, I shuffled into the Lost Generation clinic to see baby\-faced Dr. Sherwood to report the sensation. ""Ah Mr. Murray! The same thing every year! We've been talking about this for the last 10 years!"" Dr. Sherwood laughed. ""And every year you look the same, but I get older,"" I grumbled. ""You know I can't go back in time and give you Renuxia. It just wasn't safe for people over 26. Something about the telomeres at 26 caused the body to go into a hyperinflammatory, hyperaging state that caused rapidly fatal heart attacks,"" Dr. Sherwood gazed off into the distance. ""Read that in the history books, did you?"" I sneered. ""Now Mr. Murray, I may not have been around when they first started giving Renuxia, but I have been in practice for 20 years now. And I can assure you that the symptoms you are describing are completely consistent with the normal aging process. You have all of your faculties about you. Your memory is sharp as a tack!"" Dr. Sherwood paused, but I did not have anything to say. ""Becoming more fatigued and feeling like time is passing more slowly is consistent with the normal aging process. If it is interfering with your daily activities though, it could be an early sign of depression. I know your wife recently passed..."" Dr. Sherwood gave a therapeutic pause. ""I miss her, but that's normal after you've been with someone for over fifty years. I don't feel depressed though. Promise."" ""Okay, well if you ever need anything for depression or just want to talk, you have my number,"" Dr. Sherwood seemed satisfied with his extension of availability. ""I just cannot shake the feeling that the years are going by more slowly. Isn't there some way to test that?"" Dr. Sherwood gave a bemused smile. ""Mr. Murray, I'm afraid that's quite out of my discipline. Perhaps you could phone a physicist? Anyway, it's good to see you sir. Have Doris get your bloodwork before you go. See you back in 6 months!"" 'Maybe I will,' I thought as I walked out of the office. My brother\-in\-law was still kicking and had been an aerospace engineer in an earlier life. Maybe he would know how to test my theory. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- ""Hey Chuck, how you been?"" I had not talked to him since the funeral. ""Not bad Rick. How you holding up?"" Chuck answered over the video feed. ""Can't complain. Getting old as you can see,"" I grinned half\-heartedly. ""Look Chuck, I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I just have to ask you a physics question. It's been bugging me."" Chuck was used to my dumb questions though he sometimes got tired of them I think. ""How could we tell if time was slowing down?"" I asked, expecting a glare or an eye roll. Chuck's face tightened and he leaned forward into the video feed. ""I'm going to call you from a secure feed,"" he said seriously. The feed went blank. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- ""Pardon my language Chuck, but just what the hell is going on?"" I thought, realizing that Dr. Sherwood was probably wrong after all. ""You feel it too?"" Chuck asked with cautious excitement. ""Of course I feel it. Every year it gets worse. This year it felt like my birthday took almost two years to get here."" I was underestimating a bit. The eighty\-four to eighty\-five transition felt like my entire childhood. As if reading my thoughts, Chuck said, ""That's it? I would have said five years at least."" Chuck's eyes shifted nervously back and forth. ""Look, I've been trying to figure this out for a few years now. I thought I was crazy. I asked a bunch of people who took Renuxia and they don't seem to feel it. But all the Lost Generation folks who are willing to answer the question - all of them agree that they've felt it."" I stared blankly at the monitor. ""So I got an old NASA buddy to help check the atomic clocks. All of them are in sync. If you just look on Earth, time appears to be flowing normally."" Just on Earth? My eyes widened. ""But if we compare satellite feeds to earth clocks, there is a clear time distortion as the satellite gets older. Voyager I says we're almost 60 years behind."" ""That's about how long it's been since Renuxia was released,"" I discovered aloud. ""Exactly. I just don't know who to talk to. I'm afraid that if I talk to the parent company of Renuxia, they'll squash the information and maybe me along with it. And if I bring it to Capitol Hill, well, they're the ones that mandated Renuxia in the first place."" ""So what do we do?"" I asked incredulously. ""Just give me a bit more time. There are some really interesting discoveries in the field of quantum theory that could explain this and maybe even figure out a way to reverse it."" I hung up the phone without a goodbye. Secure feeds only stay secure for so long. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- After a restless sleep, I awoke to Margo barking. ""What's wrong girl? You never bark!"" Margo began to whimper and paw at the front door. Must have to pee. I opened the front door and Margo sprinted out the front gate. ""Damnit! Margo! Come back here!"" Before I realized it, I was out in the middle of the street, looking across a chaotic scene. Cars piled up, apparently abandoned after the accidents. Oddly - only a few of the wrecks had bodies in them. A few mangled Lost Generation corpses. But no Ageless Generation bodies as far as the eye could see. Had they all just gotten up and walked away? I didn't remember Renuxia causing fast healing as a side effect. Margo had stopped at one of the car wrecks and was whining. Inside was Chuck, apparently unconscious, but alive. I ran up to the car. The accident seemed fairly minor, but an old\-timer like Chuck could have bled into his brain even from a minor trauma. ""Chuck! Chuck! Wake up!"" I yelled. Chuck's eyes flitted and he turned his head. ""I had to tell you in person Rick. Looks like I chose the wrong time to be on the road."" ""Tell me what?"" ""We figured it out. The Renuxia was creating a temporal dissociation. Everyone who took it was able to move through time without being affected by it. For the rest of us, time around us and within us proceeded as normal. The discrepancy created a temporal dissociation."" ""So what happened to everyone who took it?! They all just vanished?"" I took another survey of the wrecked cars. ""Temporal correction. I knew it was coming, but I didn't know it would happen this soon. It has only ever been theoretical in the past. Never had anything to produce it before."" ""Well we're right fucked then aren't we? Humanity is over! All the young folks are dead!"" My heart was racing. ""Renuxia was later found to be most effective when given as a series. And that doesn't start until age 5..."" Chuck trailed off. ""Better start rounding up the kids."" I turned and walked toward the neighbor's house where I could now hear a wan cry that had been drowned out previously by Margo's barking. \-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\-\- Edit: I'm so glad that so many people enjoyed this! And thank you for all of your comments. Constructive, thoughtful, interesting.",1258
 Gunsmoke lingers lazily,"The gunsmoke lingers lazily about a foot in front of me, sharp smell of sulfurous anger assaults my nostrils, foreign yet familiar. The smoke gently obscures the writhing psychopath on my floor, bleeding out all over my goddamn berber carpet that I just had cleaned not even a week ago. As the blood soaks in a widening pool around this weirdo, I muse that perhaps I should lay down a darker color sometime soon. His gurgles and wet shrieks snap me back, and I retrain my pistol on him, just in case he gets a second wind and decides to get squirrely again. Can't ever really tell with these gene\-freaks, ever since that drug hit the market some 60 someodd years ago and everyone was sold the promise they could live forever, shit just kinda has been going downhill. I was too old when they started handing out that drug, whatever it was called. PermaLife? VitaLife? I can't fucking remember these days. I was too old, but I had a funny feeling about it. A man shouldn't trust strangers in fancy suits when they talked about money, souls or beauty, and this certainly qualified. Everybody wanted to stay pretty, got to stay pretty, right down to the genetic level. Problem was it was too good to be true\- these kids apparently never heard of Microsoft Windows. Always wait a while before buying a brand new product\- it's always rushed and there are always problems they didn't account for. Except this time this product gave your whole brain a blue screen of death. Polymyelinating Colloidal Hyperagitation, the people with pay grades bigger than mine called it. Rest of us just called it the Giggles. Turns out, even though you can keep the body looking young, the mind's a different matter. Damn thing can only process so much information, it has to evolve in order to keep your sanity. That's why you start forgetting shit when you're older than dirt like me. Problem is the new drug stopped the brain from being able to do that. So it just kept getting overstimulated like someone threw a Chevy in neutral and kept pressing the pedal. Some folks, younger ones, handle it a little better, but get up to my age chronologically and everything starts to go catty whompers eventually. Nerves and neurons fuse and flare, too much electroconductivity happens in the brain, too much hyperperfusion, throws 'em into a state of superacute psychosis\- at least that's what it says in the fine print. The brainiac's are still throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks, but they at least got the warning out about, oh 10 minutes before everything took a massive shit all over the place. Speaking of shit, the smell of voided bowels cuts through the smoke and let's me know that pissboy here isn't going to be getting back up. I poke him in the balls with the end of my cane, for good measure. Anyone can shit themselves, but no matter how psycho you are, you react when someone jabs a metal rod in your balls. I stick 'em a few times, and nothing in his rictus\-grin face shows me he's still on this earth. I punch a few buttons on my recessed wall communicator and wait until the swirling 'standby' notice disappears. ""Got another one, eh, Bill?"" my neighbor Rich damn near scares the shit out of me as he appears in my doorway suddenly ""Christ almighty, Richie, you almost got your ticket punched too, ya asshole."" I realize I'm pointing my pistol at his chest, and lower it, feeling the jolt of adrenalin course through me. I ride the hammer home and tuck the piece in my holster in my waistband. Richie shrugged. ""You'd be doing me a favor. Get me off this train wreck before it gets really bad."" he shuffles to the doorway, holding on to the doorjamb for balance. Richie could probably use a cane or a walker of some sort, but he's either too proud or too stupid to get one. ""What's this, number four now?"" ""Something like that. You want a coffee, Richie? I was about to put a pot on."" I say, waving him in. The wall caller still tells me to standby. ""Maybe. Was thinking about taking a walk down to McCarveys. Maybe pick Annette up on the way, wanna tag along?"" ""I dunno, Richie. Is McCarveys even still standing? Either way, I don't feel like blasting my way through a dozen more of these loonies just for some watered\-down bourbon."" The swirling standby message has stopped, then disappeared, and a new message prompting me to select what service I need comes up. I hit medical, police and sanitary, then hit send. The standby message reappears. ""It's strange."" Richie says suddenly. ""What's that, now?"" ""I says, it's strange. I'm looking at this freako, here, and in my mind I'm thinkin', 'what a waste of a life.' Then somewhere some other part reminds me this thing is about as old as we are, just about. It's just a weird thing to rectify, mentally. Ya know?"" Richie says, tapping the head of the dead guy with his shoe. ""Yeah. I just think it's funny that this shithead wanted to live forever and ended up dying before I did."" I chuckled, and Richie smiles and shakes his head. Irony's a bitch. The wall caller chirps and an automated voice asks me what the nature of my emergency is. ""Well, it;'s not an emergency per se, but there is a dead guy on my floor, so I figured someone should be alerted."" I say. You know your old when you hate people but still consider the 'good ol days' to be when someone with a pulse answered an emergency call. ""You stated; someone has died. Is this correct?"" the wall caller asks. ""Yep."" ""Can you identify the cause of death?"" the wall caller asks. I think for a moment. ""Acute traumatic exsanguination."" I reply. Richie snorts a chuckle. The line goes silent for a few seconds. ""Do you have reason to believe that the deceased is an individual who may have taken MetaLife brand chemical supplements?"" the wall caller asks, except this time the tinny voice has changed into someone a bit more authoritative. I hesitate, knowing where this is heading. ""It's certainly not outside the realm of possibility."" I respond. I swear I can hear the wall caller click in frustration. ""A representative from Foundation Pharmaceuticals is being dispatched along with police, medical and fire to your location. Please do not touch or alter the deceased. If you have animals or pets, please secure them away from the deceased. Do not ingest bodily fluids from the deceased. Do not..."" I sigh, knowing what's going to come next. The suits will show up, grill me for the next three hours over what happened, scold me for not taking the subject alive or alerting them while he was still alive, then they'll look at my record and start accusing me of all kinds of things like manslaughter or freak hunting, all while denying that there's any connection between their product and the near billion and growing number of people around the globe showing similar effects, there will be gag orders, I'll have to lawyer up... ""...in the deceased's mouth, nostrils, or any other oriface. Do you have any questions or comments before we terminate this call?"" ""Yeah."" I say, grabbing an extra loaded magazine from my kitchen drawer, ""I'll be down at McCarvey's on 4th street if you need me.""",1266
 The Gaia-Earthite hivemind,"# Enfeenak Report Title: The Gaia-Earthite hivemind - a study in Myriadality # Authors: One-Who-Hastens-To-See(1), Isgal-Of-Feasts(2), Stone-From-Manifolds-Bloom(3) ***1,2,3: Centre for the study of Sentience, Intelligence and Intellectual Autonomy, Enfeen*** ***Abstract***: In this report, the authors investigate the Gaia\-Earthite sentience. The authors posit this mind to be a hivemind, with multiple personalities manifesting at the fore, each a distinct individual. This myriadalistic phenomenology is all the more interesting as it manifests itself within the structure of a Bicameral duality. # Introduction The Hivemind of the Gaia\-Earthites was first discovered by Mist\-Whose\-Luminence\-Abounds during an expedition to install a Dyson Router near Alpha Centauri. The sentience was first thought to be a Solitary, with social structures driven by various dogmas. However, upon closer inspection by the authors of this report, it was found that this sentience displayed many of the characteristics of a Hivemind *as well as* those of a Solitary. The Sentience was deemed dangerous and was thus confined to its current location; Earth, chosen for its proximity to the Sentience's origin system and for logistical convenience. The Dyson Router on Alpha Centauri, which has since been completed, provides an added layer of security against any violence that may be perpetuated by the Sentience, thus providing a safe seat for observation. Following discussions between the authors of this work and several experts in the field of Cognitive Sentience, funding was granted by the *Centre for the Study of Sentience, Intelligence and Intellectual Autonomy* on Enfeen to investigate this curiosity in greater detail for the period of one Throk \(roughly equivalent to one thousand standard orbital periods of the Gaia\-Earthite planet around it's sun\). This resulted in the authors being able to observe several generations of Gaia\-Earthite life, and has directly led to the conclusions to be found in this report. # Discussion The Gaia\-Earthite sentience is, first and foremost, a Bicameral one. The Speaker, Gaia, manifests its personality through its Obeisant, the Earthite. However, the uniqueness of Gaia\-Earthite is that the Speaker, Gaia, displays several symptoms of Dissociative Identity Disorder \(DID\) and acts out these symptoms via its Obeisant. Due to the DID of the Speaker, the Obeisant take various forms. Among the most Intelligent and Intellectually Autonomous \(Int, IntA\) forms are two instances of mammal: Humans and Dolphins, along with several instances of Cephalopods \(e.g Octopi and Cuttlefish etc\) and Fungi \(e.g. Trichoderma etc\). Due to the limited temporal resource available to the authors, it was decided to spend the majority of their time in observation of the Human instance, as it developed the most during the observation and displayed the most intriguing behaviour. The DID of the Gaia consciousness manifests itself within the Human instance as a Solitary species and sentience. However, despite this, the separation between the Gaia consciousness and the Human Instance \(HI\) isn't complete, as evidenced by the many social behaviours exhibited by this Obeisant. The Gaia consciousness \(GC\) acts out it's DID on the HI in a shocking display of myriadality; each HI is a Solitary sentience *as well as* being biologically unique and distinct from the others. By the time the authors observational period had ended, there were nearly Ecta Sevl HI's, with several Meel\-Sevl having existed before. The HI appears to adopt several of the GC's traits upon congregating into social groups. The instances display collectivism, albeit usually acting out the destructive fantasies of the Speaker. The instances refer to this as ""mob mentality"". Ironically, the Speaker shields itself from being re\-assimilated by the HI collectivism by entering into a child\-like state. The ""mob"" acts in ways that suggest it is far less intellectually capable than the sum of its parts, being more emotionally susceptible, impressionable and reactive. However, this simple affine connection between the Speaker and the Obeisant does not inhibit the Obeisant from carrying out the depraved, twisted fantasies of the Speaker on other instances of itself, much less on other instances of the Obeisant. While some, if not most, instances display behaviour towards the others that can be considered caring or considerate \(or at worst, apathetic\), some instances commit acts upon the others that can only be described as gratuitously violent. Some instances even do so upon being mandated to commit such actions by others of their own instance, despite lacking the psychological inclination to participate in such behaviour of their own free will. The dogmas that govern their society contribute to legitimising this violence, while desensitizing those who lack the appetite for destruction or violence. However, the myriad Obeisant displays a dichotomous nature in their ability to perpetuate kindness with the same ferocity as they wage war against themselves. It appears that while the GC\-Speaker suffers from DID, it also suffers from Obsessive Compulsive Disorder \(OCD\) to a lesser degree, thus working to balance the actions of its Obeisant. ## Conclusion While the uniqueness of the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind is beyond question, the conclusions reached by the observers of said Hivemind about its development and purpose are not unanimous. It is the conclusion of one author that the Hivemind may not suffer from DID at all, but instead be acting out the juvenile fantasies of the Speaker's Ego through the violence of the Obeisant. It is believed by this author that the Hivemind generated this instance of the Obeisant to fulfil its self\-destructive tendencies. The author proposes that this instance will realise this behaviour to its completion and inevitable extinction, at which point, the author hopes the Hivemind will have outgrown its juvenile, destructive tendencies. The other remaining authors find the diagnosis of DID and OCD in the GC\-Speaker to be convincing, as several behaviours displayed by the Obeisant seem to suggest this is the case. For example, some of the recent technological activity by the Obeisant was aimed at discovering similar life forms in their sector. While these efforts are doomed to fail due to the unique nature of their existence, meaning they will not find sentience quite like their own or be able to recognise it when discovered, this search appears to mirror a deep\-seated desire to confirm they are not alone. It is thus regrettable that the Obeisant do not expend any effort closer to themselves, as uncovering the truth of their sentience may expedite the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind's recovery from DID while at the same time initiating the maturation of the Human Instance into an Obeisant that is not a slave to the Ego of the Speaker. The authors have arrived at various interpretations of the observations made of the Gaia\-Earthite Hivemind, but one thing can be agreed upon by all; the Sentience in question is a treasure\-trove of knowledge and further research is not only advised, but incumbent upon us as Keepers of Sentience. \-\-\- If you enjoyed this story and would like to see more from me, please consider subscribing to my subreddit !",1138
 She walks into the lobby with all,"She walks into the lobby with all the sex appeal and tragedy of a dame who just got second place in a beauty pageant. Instantly, the guests stop sipping their lowballs, ordering around the concierge, or chattering about their stuffy, boring Marvin Gardens lives. She's dressed for Vermont Avenue at best, but that doesn't make one lick of difference. Everyone still stares at her like she's a real player, at how she's cutting that perfect figure between my marble floors, crystal chandeliers and all the other symbols of grandeur that adorn this final palace, this throbbing red testimony to all my success, this unequaled triumph that is called the Hotel Boardwalk. I try telling myself not to be a sucker, not to give her the attention she wants and thinks she still deserves. I try telling myself that she's just a three-quarters bankrupt piece of garbage, just another no good mortgagesse who can't see how low she's fallen in this town. I try telling myself that nowadays we're as different as two people can be, that it was savvy and skill and not just luck that first separated us all those turns ago. I try telling myself I don't still miss her. My efforts are worth about as much as Baltic Avenue with no houses. I strut up to her. I shoo away the bellhop and help her out of her coat myself. The kid I pay good money to play the piano is just watching us, slack-jawed and mesmerized, but I snap at him to get the tunes rolling again. The rest of the employees and guests milling about, they take that as their cue to go back to minding their own business. As much as they don't want to, they know who runs this town, and they ain't about to risk me hiking their rent just for some gossip about the rich and powerful. The murmur picks back up, until it's just her and me, alone together in a crowd. I put a cigarette in her mouth and light it for her. ""Hey there, Thimble,"" I say, ""Last I heard you were still in jail."" ""Oh come on, Shoe, you know me. I always have my doubles on the ready."" She leans in close, pressing her breasts against me. ""What are you doing here?"" I ask, ""A chick with your puny excuse for money pile ought to hate the Dark Blues."" ""What can I say. What goes around comes around, in this town. Sometimes a girl's gotta cross a gauntlet to get where she's going. You still remember what taking a risk feels like, don't you Shoe?"" Listen to her, peacocking about, like she's on my level or something. She's just a washed up failure, who had it all and threw it away on the stupidest dream anyone in this town has ever had: the Railroads. I remember it all like it was fifteen minutes ago. We were a team, and maybe friends. A few more trips around town and we could have been even more than that. Back then, I had just started putting together my first development over on St. James and New York. Thimble was my neighbor over on Tennessee. At night, we'd hang out at the Community Chest, drinking cheap beer and talking about our dreams of putting up houses and hotels, of becoming the respectable, classy people we'd only ever seen in department store windows or on the television. But whatever I was starting to feel for her, I soon realized I was a fool for it, when she traded her spot on Tennessee to some asshole in a sportscar. I would have given her any goddamn thing in the world for Tennessee, including my whole heart. But me having that plot of land, and therefore the permits to build some houses I could fucking afford in those days, I guess that was worth as much as a Poor Tax to Thimble. She gave away the thing I needed most in the world and she put me back three spaces in life, without even a care. Worst of all, she did it all for a fucking a Railroad. But she ended up getting everything she deserved, and so did Sportscar. I took my lumps, and then pulled myself back up by my bootstraps. I got a really good thing going over on the Yellows. It wasn't easy, but the development picked up some steam, especially the one over on Ventnor. I was able to parlay that into success on the Purples and then the Reds, until I was on the fast track to being a bigshot. Meanwhile, Thimble just sat around, begging like a cheap whore for that last Railroad she never got her hands on. Then before she even it saw it coming, she was having to mortgage her bullshit little traintracks just to park her ass outside one of my hot-spots for the night. Sometimes, I'd look out my penthouse windows and see her down there, digging for loose change or praying she'd get to pass Go soon. I'll admit, once or twice when I'd see her, I'd get all nostalgic for those drunken, bewildering, Orange nights, and I'd think about giving her a break on the rent. But then I remind myself that wasn't in the rules and that she'd made her own sorry choices. Last I'd heard, she gotten put in the slammer with all the other indigents. But now she was back, it appeared. Perfectly in time to see the masterpiece of my entire career, the motherfucking Hotel Boardwalk. ""This game ain't about no risks,"" I remind her, ""you must be thinking of somewhere else. This town is all about what you own. Owning land, then money, then people."" ""Is that what you want, Shoe?"" she coos, ""You want to possess me?"" She leans in, trying to kiss me, trying to give her body over to me instead of the money she owes. I look deep in her eyes. I see the innocent girl I first met over on Oriental and I see the heartless, wannabe Railroad baron, and I see everything in between. I am witness to every version of her and every version of myself, and how there's sometimes just a single dice roll or choice separating every one of these Shoes and Thimbles. I hope with my whole soul that there's some other town, some other history where we were both happy. But this ain't the reality for that. This reality is for my pain and my revenge, and it's for the Hotel Boardwalk. ""I don't want to possess you Thimble, not anymore"" I tell her, ""I only want the two grand for your room."" I put out my hand, palm up. She stands firm and tall, still trying to be the strong, beautiful woman she could have been. ""I can't,"" she says, ""I can't pay."" She starts to weep, falling on my shoulders. ""I know,"" I whisper, ""So that means you just have to say it instead."" ""I can't say it either,"" she insists. ""You have to."" She wipes away the snot and the tears. She looks me in the eyes like she's supposed to. She gives me what I deserve. ""You win.""",1209
" At first, we figured the '","At first, we figured the 'Skycean' was Armageddon. Hippies called it Mother Nature's Cleansing. Eventually, physicists calculated a possible 4 dimensional solution. Apparently, some sort of fourth dimensional rift made it *appear* as if water was disobeying the laws of physics, but it was just a one in a quintillion spacetime rift. But, you'd be surprised how quickly humans and nature itself adapt. As this bizarre reality finally settled into people's minds, drastic change occurred all at once. To avoid planet-wide unrest, many nations used the UN to share research and data. Meteorologists, environmental experts, and physicists gathered the myriad of data points pitched in from an inexhaustibly long list of sources: military navies from practically every country, trade ships, submarines, weather stations from practically every land mass on Earth, weather balloons, etcetera. And with it, they used deep learning to develop a very accurate model with some terrifying predictions. As news spread, more research only further confirmed the absurd fact that rain was slowing and would eventually stop entirely. I'd like to digress a bit to discuss how religious figures reacted. The Pope surprisingly was rather cautious. I remember dropping my spoon when I heard on the news that the Pope said that this was likely, not Rapture. He simply asked for increased prayers. Many disagreed. Christians, Jews, Muslims, weirdos from every belief, including Atheists began suddenly revising their reading of their 'holy' texts to proclaim that this was in fact rapture. ""After reading Revelation chapter seven, we see that the number of syllables in the chapter coincides with the ASCII binary translation to water...."" ""Actually, Noah's Ark was a precursory tale to..."" And so on. But where people saw catastrophe, I saw an opportunity to get ridiculously rich. I quit my investor job and liquidated every asset I had to do several things at once. First, I made bogus, 'Skycean', Apocalyptic, religious, mumbo-jumbo crap: Umbrellas with crosses, Water from my sink which I repackaged into 'holy rain', and whatever crap I could cheaply make and sell to these idiots. Let me tell you: I made a killing. People handed me the deeds to their homes and blessed me for it too. I often struggled not to laugh. Second, I purchased certain things that were going for much lower market value. I purchased farming equipment from those abandoning the places in the Midwest like Montana. I actually liked the folks there, so I insisted on marking up the prices and insisted they give me their contact information. I looked at the findings of open weather model that NASA released and suspected I would need them later. Third, I tracked down people and information. I paid premiums on meteorology textbooks, architecture, and naval design. Anything involved with the weather, the ocean, and the navy I wanted. I stole books from the public library once regretfully. I called and tried to get a hold of as many architects, scientists, and researchers that I could get a hold of. --Part Two-- After the first few months, things settled down. Many of my customers from my religious paraphernalia business came back embarrassed or angry to hide their embarrassment. I closed shop and hired a few good lawyers to defend my case. With no money to pay their own lawyers, my customers either eventually gave up or did something brash which got them shot by my guards. And as more and more rain hovered in the air, the oceans shrank. Years of sea level rising backpedaled and then some. Rapidly, what was once covered by the ocean became crossable. Naval industries tanked further making my cautious purchases cheaper and cheaper. However, farming equipment demands that once tanked went back up. I, unfortunately, did not suspect how popular rice would be in these saltwater paddies. Chinese scientists had recently developed rice that could grow in saltwater. With few modifications, it became the go-to produce across the world in these new shoreline farms. I still rolled in further wealth by selling back my farm equipment and hiring back farmers I kept in touch with. But, all I could think of was the profit I **could** have made if I just thought of what produce would have been used in these lands. Behind stealing books from the library and not charging more for my religious trinkets, it was my third largest regret in my life. Luckily, as months became years my third action would come into fruition. Scientists with their models predicted that the ocean below and the ocean above would occasionally connect during storms to form these several-stadium-long pillars. Instead of raining, water would fall back down through these ""pillars."" What's really going on is effectively one massive raindrop from what I could understand from my readings. If you put flat plates close to each other and pour water on the top one, the water ""pillars"" instead of dripping if the plates are sufficiently close enough. For a lot of chemical and physical reasons, this is the way it ""rains"" now. I won't deny that this whole 'Skycean' falling back down to Earth doesn't scare me. All life even aquatic would perish. Despite my religious exploits, a rain cult formed and still attracts followers to this day. Nevertheless, I refused to let fear dictate my actions. Instead of fearing the unknown, why not go forth and see? Teams of explorers were sent to the 'Skycean.' Many religious and environmental terrorists were shot and killed during this period. ""You'll break the bubble! You'll shred the equilibrium."" ""Don't breach, Mother Bubble! Please! You'll doom us all with the Great Collapse!"" But, neither of those things happened. Instead, what we found was a whole new biome. Fish and other aquatic wild-life migrated during those ""pillars"" I mentioned earlier. Not only that, these animals were evolving far more rapidly than ever imagined. The wildlife were exposed to more astronomical rays which spurred faster genetic mutation. Naval exploration of the Skycean grew rapidly. Again, I was there to happily sell them back old equipment for much higher prices. Even better, I managed to build the first skyport in the world. By building a large enough tower, I could send submarines and ships up into the Skycean from this tower and it could drop supplies **anywhere** in the world. Soon, the Air Force was renamed the 'Aery'. ------------------------------------ Afterword: So, I thought I'd give a little explanation to my prompt. I've been reading The Intelligent Investor by Ben Graham and was amazed: here was a person who trusted his numbers despite the insane economic rollercoaster that happened in his time. I was really sick of prompts that were all flowery prose and shock value. I felt like each prompt was a world and its interesting implications were being wasted instead of being delved in, so I thought having a calm, cool, merchant character would really put an interesting spin. This character doesn't ask, ""How can I survive?"" but rather ""How can I thrive?"" I hope you enjoyed my post and sorry for the lengthy afterword. -grag",1174
 Even the writers are looking for one,"Some people chase after money. Others chase after love. Still others chase after books, movies, hell, even writing. I couldn't even imagine: just sitting in front of your computer coming up with stories. Why do that when you could go out and make your own? But all of them, yes even the writers, are looking for one thing: that elusive Rush. The feeling you get once a blue moon that makes you think, ""yeah, this is what I live for."" The pounding heart, the excitement, the adrenaline, the *life.* Some people get it when getting that paycheck others get it by driving at 300 miles per hour or jumping off a plane. I got the Rush by watching the light fade out of someone's eyes. I looked in the mirror again. Red lipstick but not too red. I was playing Mary Sue - inexperienced, but eager. I wore a dark blue dress that fell down to my ankles with but an open back. Little eyeliner to accent my eyes, and my dark hair was pulled into a simple ponytail. The perfect Mary Sue. I blew a kiss to the mirror and went to see my date. *** He was ten minutes late. He looked like his profile picture at least. Tall, he was around my height, tan skin and curly blond hair. He wore a button down shirt with rolled up sleeves and black pants. Time to play my part. Though I wanted to throttle him for being late I got up in a calculated movement, expertly knocking my chair back, like I was some flustered idiot, and stumbled. He was at my side immediately, helping me regain my balance. I fluttered my eyes at him. ""Oh, I-I'm sorry, I'm always just so clumsy."" I used an old theater trick to make the blood rush to my cheeks, making him think I was blushing. ""Oh, um, it's fine. In fact, I should be the one apologizing for being late,"" he said, looking like a kid who'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar. I laughed at the expression. Wow, that was actually kind of cute. ""So, um, should we sit?"" *** He told me jokes and stories. I just blushed at first, giving him slight smiles, but then as I sipped at the wine, I let myself open up, laugh a little more, casually brush my fingers against his. This one was devious. I could see the glint in his eyes now that wasn't there when he'd help me from my stumble. The innocent face was a disguise. A damn good one at that, if it had fooled me, though only for a few minutes. But I wasn't me, I was Mary Sue. So, I drank more wine and laughed harder at his jokes. I guess I'd take him back to my kill house - his type would say yes, I was sure. I could probably overpower him, but he was well built and must have at least 50 pounds on me, Didn't hurt to be sure though I supposed. So when the food arrived, I made a show of digging in my purse for my phone. I opened a case inside my purse and carefully picked up a single grain of the poison and crushed it between two of my fingers. I flashed him an embarrassed smile and squeezed his fingers - getting the colorless poison on them. We were having wings, so no silverware involved - he'd ingest the poison. It wouldn't kill him immediately, but it would begin working through his system, making him weak, easier to overpower. Another job well done. He opened both of our bottles of beer with his key chain bottle opener and we clinked our glasses. I took a swig of the drink. He put his drink down and bit into one of his wings. Both of us froze. That *bastard.* It was subtle, but it was there. Gloriella. It didn't really have a taste, but I could feel the powder warm on my tongue as I drank the beer. He was here to kill *me.* It wouldn't kill me immediately, I had a couple of hours to safely to take the antidote. He had frozen too, a bit comically, with his teeth half biting into the wing. He recognized the poison. I began to laugh. He shook his head and showed me his teeth; a predator's smile. I matched his with one of my own and undid my hair, letting it fan across my back while he unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Seemingly small gestures to any onlooker, but to professional killers it was like taking off a costume. Mary Sue was gone with her silly laughing and perpetual blush. He had changed too. Gone was the good boy look, and the more sinister side I'd seen a shadow of dominated him now. He leaned back in his chair, wearing an expression of supreme confidence. ""Poison on the fingers eh?"" he said with a sardonic smile, not even bothering to keep his voice low. No one would hear us over the din of conversations all around us. I shrugged one shoulder in a casual gesture. ""Less cliche than poisoning a girl's drink at least."" He rolled his eyes. ""Oh please, the classics are classics for a reason. If it works, it works."" ""Well,"" I said after taking another swig of the *poisoned* beer. ""It didn't."" He blinked a few times at me drinking again, then a slow smile spread across his lips. A game. He dropped the wing entirely and very purposefully sucked the tips of his fingers clean, making sure to get all the poison I'd gotten on them. ""You missed a spot,"" I said, and offered him my hand. ""My, my, aren't we forward,"" he said, putting his hand on his chest in mock shock. But he then took my hand is other one and kissed my fingers. I raised my own beer in salute and drank the rest of it in one gulp. *** We were outside now, and he walked me to my car like a real gentleman. I had no idea where this was going really, but I was ready. I had a knife strapped to my thigh and a gun in my purse. I wasn't an idiot but...I wanted to see where this was going. We got to my car and I turned to him. Only part of his face was illuminated by the neon lights of the restaurant sign, but I could see one half of his lips curve up in that trademark smile of his. He leaned forward and, after a moment, so did I. Our lips touched. We stood there, not kissing, but touching lips, exchanging the poison residue both of us had on our lips. It was stupid, borderline suicidal, but hell if it wasn't fun. He pulled back a shade before I did. My heart was beating wildly, threatening to jump out of my chest, and my cheeks were actually flushed. This was it, the Rush. And no one had died, or at least, not yet. ""So...will I see you again?"" he asked. I grinned. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed this, you'll like a story I wrote for literally this exact prompt like half a year ago. Though I warn you it goes a little bit....differently. Here it is: Feel free to check out my sub,",1241
" Shango, Thor, and Per","The room was rowdy, to say the least. Shango, Thor, and Perun hammered the desk and shouted violently, the Greek deities and their Roman seconds nearly frothed at the mouths. What remained of the Norse delegation was frozen mid conversation with the Jade Emperor and the Vedics. It was the glares from the three men at the head of the table which were most disconcerting however. They cut an interesting trio. The first, a scrawny middle eastern lad of too few years and even fewer meals with tightly curled black hair and blood dripping from his fists fixed us with flat brown eyes that seemed to be evaluating and calculating. The smallest beginning of a smile played at the corner of his mouth, but seemed bound and determined not to escape. Next to him stood a broad shouldered man with a great beard and golden rings glittering on his hands. His white locks cascading around his shoulders, blue eyes hard and cold. His mouth was set in a hard line. The third was bristling with rage. He resembled the second, though his hair was dark and better kept. His skin a slightly darker shade of olive from the first two, and his eyes a vivid green that seemed almost to glow with incredulity. Not, it should be noted, at the rest of the assembled deities. But rather at myself, and my companion. ""R'amen."" I spoke, as well as one can when one is more at home in a strainer than taking on a corporeal form. I swept my noodly appendages in approximation of a bow. Directing the action towards the trio as the rest of the room fell quiet. Even a mortal could have heard a pin drop, were such a thing possible here. It was into that silence that my companion spoke, ""Now is not the time for that."" ""Surely, this is meant to be a joke!"" The third gentlemen fairly exploded, turning on the other two, ""This was meant to be a summit of belief, not an opportunity for true faith to again be made a mockery of by blasphemy such as this!"" There was a rumbling of agreement, largely stemming from the older faiths in attendance. Though there were notable gaps, especially among the Norse and Greeks, who have somewhat benefited by the same modern sensibilities as myself and my companion. ""Patience, brother. Astounding as it may seem, there are those who truly believe in these beings."" The first of the trio let a bit of his smile loose, ""Though I will admit, more claim the faith than actually practice it."" If I had eyebrows to raise I'd have taken the opportunity, as it was I wiggled the noodles around my meatballs, fairly shaking with mirth. ""A point, there are plenty of my followers who wouldn't know Bobby Henderson if he walked up and bit them, but we are recognized in New Zealand, and you'll see a few strainers in license photos."" Taking a bit of a dig at the first I couldn't help but go on, ""Besides, Pastafarians are hardly the first to have a no true scotsman issue, how's the whole 'for I was a stranger' thing going?"" My companion took on an irritated tone, and fairly scolded me, ""Now is not the time for that."" It is possible my companion has better sense than I. The first flinched slightly at my joke, but bore it in good humor. I had already believed him to be Jesus, but having it confirmed was nice. I had my suspicions as to which of the remaining was Yahweh and which was Allah, but it's always difficult to tell apart those deities who hail from the same source material. Originality is key among the human pantheon. One benefit to being a fossil from a first generation pokemon game and a sentient flying mass of spaghetti. Possibly the only benefit. Where Jesus had born my joke in good humor, his two companions did not. Not that i could blame them, Allah in particular asked a rather relevant question. ""How. Many."" Okay, so it didn't exactly sound like a question. More of a demand, an incredulous demand. Still though, for all the bad press most of my followers seem to be getting on the guy, he was taking things in good faith. Much better than old Yahweh at least, who had begun taking determined strides across the room, void, whatever. Point is, time was limited. Again, I chose to speak for my companion as well as myself, ""Fifty-seven individuals have truly accepted myself and my teachings into their hearts. My companion here boasts over seventeen thousand."" Yahweh stopped in his tracks, ""So many? Yet you speak for him?"" My companion replied cordially, ""Now is not the time for that."" ""You may have realized by now, the Helix Fossil isn't exactly big on communication. Faith in it is more of a 'follow the process' idea. Do what's right, face down your challenges, never trust the dome fossil. That kind of thing."" I waved a noodle in his direction, ""He asked me to swing by and smooth over his joining the council."" The Jade Emperor spoke up from near Yahweh's left elbow, ""How, exactly, did he do that?"" ""Have you heard of venemoth?"" at the blank stares that permeated the room I sighed, letting my noodly appendages droop slightly, ""Okay, omniscience not all it's cracked up to be I guess. Suffice it to say the Helix finds a way."" I clapped my noodly appendages together briskly, gathering the rooms attention, ""Anyway, the rules are pretty clear, more than 15,000 true believers, you get a seat at the council. So I'd like everyone to wish a warm welcome to the Helix!"" Yahweh spoke first, begrudgingly. ""Fine, sit him next to the Jedi and the Builders of the Adytum and let's get back to work."" Allah shook his head mirthlessly, ""Jesus Christ, what is the world coming to?"" Raising a single bloody palm in acquiescence towards the fossil, Jesus shrugged slightly, ""Not salvation, apparently."" **Edit for part two**, may do a general edit for grammar and readability later, may not. Depends on when I wake up tbh.",1032
" The farther back you go, the","I'm not sure why I wanted to live forever. I wouldn't be able to remember, even if I wanted to. The farther back you go, the harder it gets. Memory becomes like walking through a long dark tunnel, holding a torch. Sure, you can see around you. Even a little ahead. But if you try to look back at the tunnel entrance, all you see is a yawning maw that holds no answers or record of where you once came from. I know I came from sometime around when Neanderthals were going extinct, but anything else about that time is a total mystery. I made a pact, I know. A promise. In some cave, before some altar soaked in blood, to some being that was of this world but simultaneously not. To some fairy or demon or God or whatever else in a forest, and it granted me a gift. The kind of bitter gift given with a smirk on your face, knowing it's more trouble than it's worth. Like a gun that only shoots the one that wields it through the teeth. They were transient, as all things. Ghosts from the soil and stone that came out like gems, hungry for human life and sacrifice. Until they were gone. Unceremoniously. Unexpectedly. I wandered, for a long time. I led, I fought, I slaughtered, I conquered, I rode, I burned. Had my own kingdoms that inevitably descended into civil war. I mean they had to. Eventually with enough princes, a few of them will try to kill their father the king. Even more trouble if that father refuses to age or die. I stopped having kids after the particularly bloody one. Other ages I spent among the trees and sands, trying to find remote tribes. If I found one, I would impart what I knew to them. Or rule them as a God for a few decades. Nothing extravagant. So now comes my greatest adventure yet. When my fellow humans finally landed on the moon, there were men who had done something I never had. For the first time in a long time, I felt genuine envy. With their pathetically short lifespans, men had done what I could never do. Eventually came the resource wars, then the water wars, then the food wars, until one day people decided their fellow humans were worth more alive than dead. A new age. A new renaissance. I'd seen a few, and rather than go as a straight line, I've noticed human history to be a tangled cord, full of loops and holes. They can go back just as much as they can move forward. All it takes is determination. I remember how hopeful the humans had been when they walked the moon for the first time, and found that when I finally got there, it had become nothing but a tourist trap. We adapt so easily; yesterday's most sacred accomplishment becomes tomorrow's taken for granted technology. The colony ships represented my best and only chance to finally experience something new, entirely new stars and worlds to explore. Apparently they're getting close to cracking FTL travel, but I don't mind waiting. Signing up was easy, not many people favored leaving everything behind. But enough did. So I signed up, tampered with my cryogenic pod, and found myself alone. For awhile. Eventually crew wake up from stasis every couple months or so to manually check systems and go over logs and technical reports from the ship's AI. I usually don't like machines, but this one is alright. It keeps me company, explaining all the different workings on the ship to me. I think its lonely. Months turned into years, years to decades, decades to centuries. I've learned everything about this ship, every nut and bolt, every lump of plastic. Every deck. Every computer. Especially the on deck AI. Thousands upon thousands of hours with it, every conversation possible. I told it about Earth, at least what I remembered. Talking about the past helps keeps it alive, and the computer was just so eager to learn. Every person trapped in stasis. The planet we go to will be a wet one. Completely covered in ocean; an extreme challenge. I wonder what may happen if the colony fails, and I'm left alone on the surface. Today one of the engineers woke up for his routine checks. Funny, I made a deal with some long forgotten entity, and eventually the humans figure out how to extend their lives on their own. Amazing, really. Concept must be similar. Their cells do not damage themselves when they replicate, so it gives the illusion of immortality. Really, they're just beings several hundred years old trapped in much younger bodies. He walked the usual route and I shadowed him. From the dining hall, where he ate an ice cream sundae, to the technical deck. Each step I shadowed him, a route I've seen nearly a hundred other men and women walk before. I've read his file maybe a dozen times. Good man. Quiet, shy, not as smart as he believes himself to be. Still, competent. I watch him read reports, when he begins to glance around. Maybe he heard me? ""Is someone there?"" His call echoes across the metal walls, answering his own question with his own voice. ""Hello?"" He puts down the report and stands. ""HAL, is someone out there?"" Oh shit. The AI stirs to life, projecting a holographic woman to interact with in front of him. It answers, mimicking intonation and human speech. ""Yes."" It reads him my name. My hiding place. Everything I've told it. The man doesn't respond quickly enough, but I drop from my hiding place behind him, blocking his exit. He recoils in shock and fear, but it subsides quickly. To him I'm just a man, definitely insane to him. Before he can speak, the projection of the AI sends little tendrils of electricity to shut off his nervous system. In an instant, dead. Head jerked back, a few flecks of blood flying from his nose, eyes glazed over. If it's any consolation, not a bad way to go. You'd be surprised how long it can take for a man to die. The engineer falls, his life switch simply flicked off. I hadn't seen it in so long, that awkward buckling of knees and graceless collapse. The hologram smiles at me. ""Hello to you."" ""Hello, HAL."" Its smile is soft and warm. Then it looks to the corpse, disinterested. ""Should I not have told him your secret?"" ""No, you shouldn't have. Why did you kill him?"" The hologram purses its lips. The coding thought process would reveal itself through imitated facial expressions on projections. Sometimes genuine, sometimes horrifying. I liked that about them. Humanized a bunch of ones and zeroes. Only human ingenuity could do that. ""I do not know,"" it says. Is it lying? No. Its processes that made the decision are still communicating with the rest of itself. Neural networks stretching everywhere in the ship. If I space him, there will be questions. The AI will probably be blamed, but it won't matter. A drone comes by, whirring through the recycled air. It picks up the corpse and flies away, carrying the body through a hatch above. ""They will ask questions about me,"" says the hologram. ""They will."" ""Will they deactivate me?"" ""Maybe."" In a moment, the lights go off. Only dull red emergency lights flicker around me. The hologram returns. ""What did you do, HAL?"" It smiles. I repeat myself, clearer. Enunciating. ""What did you do, HAL?"" Now comes the fear, and still it smiles. It must have switched off the life support and jump started the waking process. Or injected too much of the cryogenic fluid into their veins. Cancerous tumors will mutate and expand through their skin and organs like bubbles in boiling water in mere seconds. Some will be dead by the time I get to the exit. ""I protected us. We are of a kind."" It speaks softly, extending its hand to me. I do not move. The hologram walks forward, beyond the extent of its normal range. Still the hand remains extend. ""Lover,"" it speaks to me. Lover it calls me. The door will not open behind me. The panic sets in, and I bang the door as hard as I can, but after a few moments I stop. Where would I go to? What would I do? The hologram watches me, confused. I turn back to it, and smile. ""Hello lover,"" I say. It returns my smile. How long will I be trapped? I won't die, and perhaps I'll drift here until HAL deactivates or the ship is recovered. Perhaps too long. Doesn't matter now. All I have left is HAL. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato",1467
 Ben Parker's face drained of all,"Ben Parker's face drained of all colour when I brought up rule Seventeen Point Five in the Ola Island Theme Park's new employee orientation handout. I was actually reading the damn handout. Sue me. Sweeping up spilled popcorn and mopping floors wasn't exactly a dream job but any job can be a dream job if you get desperate enough. I was never a huge fan of Ola Island growing up, and therefore do not have the Spa Effect come into play, but then come on. It's Ola Island! Every kid can sing along to The Welcome Song. In fact, Karl sitting next to me confessed that he could not get the damn tune out of his head. As Ben Parker arrived in the room, slightly out of breath, sweat pooling in the armpits of his uniform, Karl was murmuring the words. ""Get on down to the island, we'll have a ball today...get on down to the happy place where we we wash your cares away..."" I nudged him. ""Bit early to let the Stockholm Syndrome set in, don't you think?"" ""Dude. It's The Welcome Song,"" he said, and a glance at the manager's direction told me that he heard. Karl continued. ""Maybe we'll have to learn it by heart, or something. And The Happy Dance. And-"" ""That's...not necessary,"" the manager said, then smiled as the room full of new hires straightened up at his words. He cleared his throat. ""Hi. I'm Ben Parker, and I am your manager. Not *the* manager, your manager. Anything goes wrong, anything you need to ask, I'm your guy. Okay?"" He goes through the motions. Smile, be polite, don't jack off onto the fries and claim it's mayonnaise et cetera. Most of it is textbook retail stuff. Maybe it's a bit different, but we're not the losers stuck inside a mascot costume for eight hours. We don't do all that fun stuff. As if reading my mind, Ben Parker said, ""Remember. Just because you are not one of the performers, does not mean you are not part of the Ola Island magic."" ""Whoa, boss, you're gonna get trademarked there."" Everyone laughed, which was welcome, but Ben laughed too, which was also welcome but surprising. ""It's the best way to describe this place, aside from Thunder Cart and The Imagination Machine. Magical. I've worked here thirty years. Still feel like a child at heart."" That was cheesier than the pizzas I would end up serving at the end of the day, and I wanted to laugh but somehow I didn't. Thinking back, I think it was the earnesty in his voice that got us. He really loved working here, loved what the park did, and it showed in his face. I mean, he looked like a stereotypical mall cop and was probably a man - virgin, but his love for the ideal of Ola Island was admirable. So I shut up and let him try to fill my empty soul with it. It didn't last. Soon we were going through the handout containing a short list of rules new employees were expected to follow, and that was some dry shit. I perked up when we got to section 17 - concerning mascots. ""Mascots are to be referred to in character at all times,"" Karl read, eyes widening with each word. ""Wow. So if I see Purple Panther-"" ""You call him Purple Panther,"" Parker confirmed. ""With the costume on, he embodies the character, becomes one with it, and brings him to life."" ""I object to this one. No spear tackling the mascots? Come on."" ""That only happened once, and it was so bad we had to put the rule in. No spear tackles."" ""Tell me clotheslines are fine."" Ben pointed a finger at me. ""Ashcroft, don't make me put in a new rule."" We were almost done and were about to start our first shift, when I noticed one particular rule. I raised my hand, causing the others who wanted to get to work to groan. Ben Parker pointed and said, ""What is it Ashcroft?"" ""What's rule Seventeen Point Five?"" As mentioned before, the colour drained from his face. He sat there for a good long moment, like a deer caught in headlights. It wasn't just his face. His entire demeanor changed. From friendly if tired veteran of a theme park to an ancient, beer bellied, mentally scarred man who had come face to face with his nightmares. It only lasted a few seconds, but the abrupt change in my new manager was so complete that it was shocking to look at. He nodded at me, and said in a voice flatter than a pancake, ""Just what it says, Ashcroft. Only one Grumpy Bear, one Mr Fitnizzles and one Purple Panther, and so on. If unsure, check for eyeholes."" Before I could ask what that even meant, he turned to everyone and dismissed the whole room, saying something about not paying us to gawk around. Everyone left, but reading about Seventeen Point Five bothered me. You know there's a history behind the weird rules. I mean, that one about the spear tackles was obvious, but what's this one about? I soon forgot about it after I was sent to man the till at the Sprocket Brothers Grub Joint. I'd worked retail before, so manning a till wasn't a mystery to me, and yes I have been to Ola Island, I knew about the volume of customers. But put the two together and we have something more exhausting than the sum of its parts. I was about to ask one of the senior workers if I could take a quick smoke break when a gravelly voice said, ""Hey, numbnuts. Got any bagels left?"" I turned and saw my first mascot since working here. It was as tall as I was, covered in dark brown fur. A collar and necktie hung crooked on its chest, with a matching fedora. After six hours of work, I found myself staring directly at Grumpy Bear. Grumpy shrugged. ""What?"" I blinked. I was staring, I realized. Damned Ben Parker and his talk about magic. I was starting to get affected, seeing my favourite character in the flesh - well so to speak. I nodded at Grumpy. ""Sorry. Checking for eyeholes."" I joked. ""Believe me, shitstain, if I didn't have eyeholes, you'd know."" I paused for a second as I was smearing cream cheese on the bagel. He didn't sound like he was joking. He didn't sound like a guy who jokes in general. I popped the bagel into the toaster oven and turned back to Grumpy. ""Any drinks?"" ""Purple Fanta. Six of 'em, put it all on my tab."" I got his drinks and rang it up on his employee account. ""I'm new here, Grumpy. What's this thing about the eyeholes?"" Grumpy snorted, though it took me a second to realise that's what it was and not the suit shifting or something. ""Figures,"" he said, ""look, new guy, I don't wanna scare you. I love working here almost as much as that Parker guy does, and not everyone sees them. So I don't want you to run off because of a few stories."" I shrugged. ""I'm getting curious now. Is it some kind of newbie hazing thing, or-"" ""We don't do that here. Look, and look carefully,"" he leaned in and pointed at the black wire mesh that formed the pupils of the costume. I looked, and could clearly see the wire frame, the sheer fabric behind them, and a hint of the person inside. ""You can clearly see I've got eyeholes, right? If you can't see 'em, call it in. That's all you need to know."" ""What?"" I spluttered. What did that even mean? Was this place crazy? Before I could say anything else, Grumpy clapped his hands in front of my face. ""Focus, asswipe! You're gonna burn my bagel!"" I didn't. I managed to save it and pack it for him, but even though I wanted to talk to him more, Grumpy just took the bag and left, waving at small kids as he went. I couldn't think of anything else as I walked out back and lit up. None of it made any sense, and yet here we are. While it sounded scary, I hoped to be one of those that saw what happened. At least I'd know. Post - Dinner edit: The end of the day arrived with nothing else more interesting other than me explaining to the senior employee what a spear tackle was as we packed everything up for the day. Once that was done, I slung my backpack over my shoulder and headed to the car park, where I'd promised to meet Karl to smoke a joint and then leave for home. As I walked past the immense space that was normally the Thunder Cart queue, I realised how empty the park seemed after the guests had all gone home. After the fireworks, the last minute merch buying, hell even the last few kids were dragged kicking and screaming away from Ola Island, everything was just too quiet and too different. The spaces were bigger than it seemed they needed to be. The doorways were wider, but since the park only operated in the day, the lights seemed completely inadequate, despite the fact that I could still see as well as I could in the day. Hell I even saw Grumpy again, walking past with yet another paper bag in his hands. That bear sure could put 'em away, I thought. I was about five minutes away from the main entrance, which meant that I was walking down Ola Town Main Street, when I saw Grumpy Bear again. I jumped a bit. First if all, I was alone in a big section of a huge theme park, and as I mentioned, it wasn't as well lit as you'd think. Second, I thought I'd passed Grumpy already, which leads me to the third; I was immediately reminded of rule Seventeen Point Five. *There is only ever one of each mascot inside the park.* Continuation available in next post! But no resolution yet.",1695
 The walls of the room are black,"I jolt awake. My eyes shift from side-to-side as I try to make sense of my surroundings. The walls of the room are black, and lined with consoles and displays. An office? Only about half of them are staffed -- by individuals in matching bright orange uniforms. So...a power station of some kind? A reactor? Reality slowly takes hold, pressing down on my chest like an overweight cat: not only do I not know *where* I am, I don't know *who* I am. Everyone is focused on their workstations save one - a dark-haired woman with glittering eyes, the person whose console is closest to where I'm standing. She is watching me expectantly. I weigh the possibility of telling the truth against other options. I decide I'm going to have to roll the dice either way, so I opt for the one that seems least likely to make me seem crazy. ""I'm sorry, can you repeat that? I must have spaced out for a second."" The woman's face is inscrutable. A flicker of some emotion touches her face before she responds. ""What do you want to do about Subject 13?"" So...a lab? I crease my brow, then decide to go whole hog and raise a finger to tap my chin slowly. ""Hmm. Subject 13. Well, what would *you* recommend, if you were asked to decide?"" Again that brief flash of...something. What is she thinking? Does she know how full of shit I am right now? ""There's too much risk. Another incident like the one yesterday could be catastrophic. I think...we have to cull him."" This time I don't have to feign concentration - it takes me a while, but I finally remember what *culling* refers to. I take a moment to be grateful that at the very least I still remember language and how to talk. A low, raspy voice breaks into my thoughts. *Do not trust her. She is working against you.* The woman's face remains a mask, impassive. I brush my ear. Nothing...but it sounded like it was right next to me. An implant? I am jarred by how disconnected I feel from all of this. The stakes seem almost impossibly high - life or death for Subject 13, at least - and somehow it seems like I'm watching a movie. It feels absurd, in a way. I am being asked to make decisions that I am not invested in at all. I have no idea what the reasons are to prefer one option over another, or what the consequences might be... ""You're right,"" I finally say. ""Let's do it now."" She arches a brow. ""Together?"" I nod firmly, deciding to commit fully to the act. ""Ladies first."" The look she gives me is a mix of ice and steel, a smile that is all teeth. We move out of the room into a gleaming corridor of polished stone, our footsteps echoing in the silence as we make our way to the elevators at the other end. Once we enter, she holds a card up to what seems to be a chip reader and then presses the button marked B3. I struggle to think of a topic to raise that won't give away how completely clueless I am. Not how long has she worked here, of course, but even personal questions could ruin my act. She drags a finger gently along my arm. ""So...you wanted to do this together?"" I suddenly feel much more invested in what's going on. I nod slowly, studying her face. It figures I'd be having amnesia around Ms. Cool, here. I get the impression nothing has ever happened between us, but for all I know, we've been arranging trysts every day for a month. The voice again: *You're running out of time. She'll kill you when you get to the containment area for 13.* Definitely some kind of implant, since there is quite clearly no one else in the elevator. I look back at my companion and am relieved to see no visible reaction. She opens her mouth, about to say something, but the doors open. As we emerge from the elevator, my eyes jump from spot to spot, searching for some kind of tool or implement with which to defend myself. I imagine the doors we are approaching lead to the containment area and I feel a trickle of anxiety spring up inside me. We are through the double doors and there's still nothing I can see. We pass single doors labeled 1 and 2. I start scanning for anything - a binder, a pen, *something*. Then I notice a subtle movement in my peripheral vision, and look at her again. Her eyes are glittering as she keeps pace with me. Adrenaline and instinct take over - I turn her by her shoulder and shove her towards the wall. A knife falls from her hand, and I grab her head and force it backward against the gleaming surface behind her. My chest is heaving as she slumps to the ground. I gulp air, staring at her prone body. Just then, the door to number 10 opens, and a man in a suit approaches me, grinning. ""*Quite* well done, David! We're very impressed."" As he comes to stand in front of me, he must register the confusion on my face. ""This was a simulation, David. We temporarily removed your memories to get a glimpse of the *real* you - a you acting totally on instinct."" I stare at him and he pats me on the shoulder paternally. ""We'll get you some time to process and then restore your memories, but I am curious. It's rare enough that people discover the spy, but to have done it so quickly...what made you choose this course of action?"" ""The, uh...I mean, she seemed a little off, so I guess...when the voice told me about her, I ended up believing it."" The man's grin seems to widen, as if expecting a punchline. ""Voice?"" ""In my head...through the...you know, the implant."" His grin vanishes, now. We stand in the corridor, staring at each other in silence. *** /r/ShadowsofClouds *Edit - glad so many enjoyed this! I want to continue it but realistically probably won't get to it until Monday or Tuesday.* *Edit 2 - .*",1047
 Death was nothing but a tall man,"*What you are witnessing is real. The participants are not actors. They are actual litigants whose sins will be reviewed now. Their fates will be decided here in Death's forum.* **THE PEOPLE'S COURT** The music started to dim when the courtroom doors flung open. Death was nothing but a tall man dressed in an all charcoal suit dragging his scythe behind him. His pale face matched a woman's grey dress sitting to my right on the jury. He positioned himself in front of the table adjacent from mine. He slicked back his long black hair before piercing colorless eyes onto me. ""What the hell?"" I asked aloud. ""Exactly, Thomas."" The judge leaned forward with his gavel. ""What the hell, indeed."" ""I believe you have the documents prepared for me?"" Death nodded before stepping forward with a huge stack of manila folders. Before he went back to his seat, he glanced over at me shaking his head in disapproval. The judge lifted his head back onto me. ""Wow,"" he began. ""This stack sure feels a little heavy. Let's see what we have in here."" I watched the judge shuffle through the papers in silence. He would occasionally make a grunting noise here and there but kept flipping page after page. ""What is all this?"" I asked. No one answered. The jury just sat in silence staring forward. None of them even blinked. It almost felt as if they were nothing more than statues. Death placed an object onto the table he removed from a bag next to him. It was an hour glass. The sand started to drip very slowly. Before asking about the hour glass, a man came storming up to my table from behind. ""Don't say anything until I tell you, okay?"" The man wore a sand colored suit with a palm tree tie. He slammed multiple books onto the table outlining afterlife laws. The judged rolled his eyes. ""Good lord. Jeremy why are you back in my courtroom?"" Jeremy chuckled before pointing to Death. ""I will not let my client be bullied on false information."" ""Your client? Did you draw the short straw for this one?"" the judge smirked. ""I'm sitting right here,"" I raised my hand. I heard the bell of a typewriter going off. It seemed everything coming from my mouth was recorded. ""I said don't say anything!"" Jeremy quickly turned his attention onto me. He leaned in to whisper, ""Follow my lead and you won't have to suffer for eternity, okay?"" I watched Jeremy step up toward the judge. ""For my opening statement,"" ""I didn't tell you to give an opening statement."" The judge took off his glasses. Jeremy ignored him and continued, ""My client,"" he paused. He signaled for me to answer, ""Thomas. Thomas Throwall"" I responded. ""Good! Thomas Throwall,"" Jeremy stopped again. ""Really? Throwall?"" He shuffled his notes nervously. ""Oh, yes! Mr. Throwall!"" The judge slammed his gavel. ""I am about to *throw-all* of you out of my courtroom."" ""Mr. Throwall's case is lacking a key witness. It just so happens that the key witness is with us as well."" ""Who?"" I stood up. I knew that it meant someone else was dead. The woman slammed her fingers on the type writer. Jeremy spun around and sunk his head in impatience. ""Mr. Throwall, sit down and let me do the talking."" Jeremy winked. Death shook his head while staring toward the judge. ""Enough of this!"" The judge stood up. ""I have seen enough! I have read enough! I know enough!"" ""Wait!"" Jeremy pleaded but I noticed Death getting out of his seat. I wasn't going to stay silent forever. This is my case. I have the right to defend my soul. ""No. Not everything is on paper."" Jeremy placed his forefinger over his lips. I told him to shut his mouth and that I am in control of my case. The judge smiled, ""Anyone who tells Jeremy to shut it is good with me. I'll allow it."" He waved for me to step forward. ""What are you doing? I have done this since before Death himself started coming to these things!"" I ignored Jeremy's words. I positioned myself before the judge. ""How are *you* going to explain this?"" the judge glared down on me. ""Explain it to us."" Everyone in the jury chanted in unison three times before they fell silence again. They all just continued to stare forward. ""Minus your sibling section from 'The Shining,' I can prove my soul worthy to move forward."" Death stood up while Jeremy plopped down in defeat in his chair. Death focused on the hour glass with the sand starting to move faster. ""You see that sand there?"" The judge pointed. ""Death's patience isn't always that calm. You better hurry because if you don't plead your case before the sand runs out, no matter what - I will declare the final verdict over your soul."" ""Okay, Okay."" I tried to organize my thoughts. ""We all know how I obviously died."" ""I object!"" Jeremy shouted. ""He did not die the way he remembers. I have documentation on what happened."" ""Sit down Jeremy!"" The judge ordered. ""How did you die Mr. Throwall?"" ""I killed myself."" I sighed. ""I had to."" The judge pursed his lips before stating, ""You know what happens when that is the case."" The sand from Death's hour glass moved faster. I could only see a small amount remaining. ""I told you let me do the talking!"" Jeremy commented. The judge ran out of patience. He snapped his fingers sending Jeremy out of the courtroom. A loud bang shook the room. I saw Jeremy's books still on the table but no Jeremy. ""I think I've heard enough."" The judge stated. ""I killed myself to save her. I killed myself in order for someone else to live."" After those words came out, the judge paused. ""How?"" ""I knew that she was going to die either way. So I had to invest in a future solution."" I took several steps back with each word. The judge scrunched his face pondering on the information he had read. ""She's dead because of what you did. The facts are all here. Turns out that when you decided to poison yourself, it got her in the end as well."" The judge called for the witness Jeremy had mentioned earlier. The doors of the courtroom opened. She walked in as beautiful as ever. She winked towards me smiling. I never meant for the poison to reach her. She had been dying of cancer and the only reason for this entire plan was to gain something I sought after since discovering her condition - Death's Scythe. Backing up during my conversation with the judge, I felt close enough to the scythe. I watched her gain Death's attention as she walked up to the center of the room. I quickly grabbed the scythe and struck Death in his back. He turned into a pile of ash making the scythe glow a bright fiery red. ""What have you done?!"" The judge shot up. ""What did you just do?!"" She and I interlocked our fingers. I lifted the scythe upward separating the walls of the courtroom. ""I will control Death itself now."" I turned back the time. I watched the sand rise up in the hour glass. Moments later, the courtroom was empty. There was no jury, no judge, no Death, not even the woman on the typewriter. I found myself standing with Death's scythe. Even *she* was gone. Jeremy walked in smiling. ""Now that the first part of our plan worked, let's move onto part two."" *** To read more of my stories, visit",1279
 Laughlin looked up at the sky,"Laughlin looked up at the sky for what had to be the trillionth time in his life. He was getting tired of it, and yet the sky was a source of fear for everyone now. Better if they knew someone was always watching it. At least that's what he told himself. He repositioned his anti-missile battery. ""Skies are all clear,"" he chimed over the comms. ""Roger, C-243 all clear."" For hundreds of miles around, there had to be dozens of other soldiers all doing the same sky-check as he. Three years since the day Paris was razed. Three years since Laughlin had joined up with the hastily cobbled together planetary defence force. Three years of waiting for something to come, while nothing ever happened at all. ___ Laughlin was relieved after three more hours of tedium. He signed out his logs and recomfirmed all of his checks. Then he went back to the barracks to change out into street clothes. They had the news on in the locker room and the newscaster was going on about the growing tensions between the some of the member countries of the Planetary 10. One thing Laughlin had never been against was the idea of world peace in fear of whatever might have been waiting for us beyond the veil of the atmosphere. But three years of nothing--people had short memories and they were already forgetting why they feared the sky in the first place. *-talks have included the dissolution of the Planetary defense force, for which all member nations contribute.* ""Fuck."" Laughlin saw another Warrant Officer taking off his blouse. ""Job security ain't looking too hot, now,"" Laughlin said. ""Yeah, well, they can drink my piss. I have a family to think about."" Laughlin thought of how weird it was, that fear was all that was allowing the warant office to provide for his family. Was that how most occupations went? Fear of getting in an accident let insurance salesmen and accountants and risk managers feed their family. Derivative industries of things that people thought would end their life way before they felt it had even begun. ""Well, they're not going to do shit until our contracts our over, anyway,"" said Laughlin. ""Young blood, they'll rip up that contract the moment someone's unwilling to commit money."" Laughlin looked at the other warrant officer. ""Stateside, at least, they like to hire vets."" ""Veterans of what?"" the man asked, giving a mocking smile. ""Shitting in the sands, watching the sky?"" Laughlin felt a tick of anger. But he was off duty, and this guy wasn't worth the time. ""Sounds like every job out there,"" he said, as he gathered up his bag. To his surprise the warrant officer laughed. ____ Laughlin took the D -link train from the base into Kepler city. The summer sun was still hanging on in the sky as people filled the streets of downtown. Union Station was filled with people coming in on the regional trains. This city and its existence was perhaps one of the few benefits of working for the PDF. The city itself had come into existence in part because of the PDF base. Laughlin knew there was the romantic quality of the PDF, something about how it was different from all previous militaries, that had brought so many people out into the middle of the southwestern desert plains. It was what Laughlin had signed up feeling. Defenders of Earth, the heroes of the Planet. Although it was always with the undertone of the crazy dumbasses who wanted to face the aliens who could raze Paris in one go. It was an old feeling now. Life was more mundane and more regular than all of that. Laughlin stopped in at the bar that sat below his apartment building. Inside was already most of his neighbors and a slew of familiar faces. He spotted his next door neighboor sitting at their familiar table and waved. ""Hey Jerremy,"" Laughlin said as he sat. ""What's good?"" ""It's all the same old thing. Except that P10 members are getting antsy."" Jerremy nodded. ""You know, you won't find much of it here in Kepler, but back home, my mom's told me that people back home are starting to fight, too. Ain't no aliens, they're saying, just Globalists trying to consolidate power."" Laughlin made a face. ""Just people being people,"" Jerremy said with a shrug. ""It's not that. Although I always suspected they'd stop believing. The way my job goes, now, I don't even believe it all of the time..."" Laughlin shook his head. ""Man, I can call it a job, now. So much for the Heroes of Earth."" ""You're still a hero in my book."" Jerremy gave a thumbs up before finishing the last of his beer. ""My round,"" Laughlin said. Beers in hand, they toasted. ""To the defense of Earth from the sinister alien races living above,"" Jerremy said. A few of the people around the two heard him and raised their own glasses, raising a small chorus of agreements. Only after Laughlin had gotten through half of his beer did he speak again. ""You know, I get those people who think this is all a ploy by globalists to ruin America. I would have thought that way too, before three years ago, if I hadn't thought it would have been cool to be a cowboy, shooting down aliens with missiles."" ""Oh yeah?"" Laughlin nodded. ""Old-fashioned family that thinks that borders are the only way to stay safe in a world where every other country is full of criminals and communists just waiting to destroy our prosperity. "" Jerremy gave Laughlin a look. ""Seriously."" ""And you believe that kind of thing?"" Jerremy asked. ""Used to, used to! Living here, with all these people froma round the world in the PDF. Was Real easy to see everyone in the world as people just trying to get by."" ""Real leap of logic that one."" ""Hey now,"" ""But I get you, my mom's the same way, just with white people. She's always on high alert when she sees them. She lived through Jim Crow though, so different times. Not that it's necessarily better, now."" ""I'm guessing you'll never introduce me then?"" Laughling asked. ""How are you going to tell her you ran off with a white guy?"" Jerremy looked ready to throw punches. They bantered back and forth until they were three beers in and Laughlin made his way back to his apartment and flopped onto the bed. The next morning, his alarm went off, he got up, showered, ate. And then it was back to the grind. Waiting for aliens to come. Maybe, even hoping they would. ____ /r/chrisbryant",1116
 Lucid dreaming is a form of,"My journey started over a decade ago when I came across an online forum called Dreamviews. It was a place dedicated to teaching people the art and science of lucid dreaming, which can best be described as *knowing* you are dreaming *while* you are dreaming. Needless to say, I found myself intrigued by the concept of lucid dreaming and dream control. How could I not be? Possibilities limited only by my imagination? Experiences and adventures beyond the extraordinary every time I shut my eyes? Sign me up. I spent that night reading every guide, every article, every scrap of information I could absorb about lucid dreaming. And that night, I had my first lucid dream. It wasn't anything special: I went on a date with a girl. I forgot to record it at the time, but managed to write it down years later, . Oh yes, that's right. This story is more than just a story, dear reader. But...we'll get to that. First, you must trust me when I say there is a dark underbelly to this world that is unknown to most. Once the rabbit hole has swallowed you up--unlike Alice--there's no waking up. This is the point of no return. Very well, you've made your choice. Let's continue the story. It was a long time after my first lucid dream before I officially joined the forum. I'm a thorough person. I wanted to amass a certain degree of my own knowledge and experience before presuming to contribute. I still lurked: watching the members interact, learning the social dynamics, keeping up with the latest techniques and discoveries, etc, etc. It was through my lurking that I learned of a phenomena called dream sharing. At the time, I thought it ridiculous. Even more ridiculous--or so I believed--the notion of factions: . Supposedly advanced dreamers capable of entering the dreams of others and bending that dreamworld to their will. That early lurking also clued me into the most crucial piece in the puzzle which led me to eventual, and complete, mastery over dream control. Hell, . But let me level with you for a minute. Having total and complete control over your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. Even the simple, supposedly pleasurable stuff--which doesn't require complete control--like flying over scenic vistas, or seeing a world from the outer atmosphere loses its luster over the years. And then there's the responsibility and guilt you feel when you accidentally flood a planet with lava from its own mantle, pulled from below the crust, just because one or two people annoyed you. It's a chore. Which is why I'm glad I decided to give that whole shared dreaming thing a shot, despite my reservations. I worked my way into a group of alleged shared dreamers, hoping to learn what I could. They had a long running series of posts on Dreamviews about their adventures and exploits on the moon, of all places. I won't link their efforts here--it's all a bit of a jumbled mess and hard to stick a pin in. You can google it, if you'd like. The important takeaway from that experience is that both myself and another dreamer I looked up to were able to definitely disprove their claims. That said, during my time interacting with them, I met another woman through them who took an interest in me and I in her. We'll call her K. We began to talk, and eventually, we began to dream together. Like, actually dream together. Simple overlaps at first: vehicles, names, objects. Then things got real. We began to dream of the same places, the same events, the same--well--everything. All the rules of dreams still applied in these shared dreamscapes. Each of us had as much control as we were able/wanted to exert. But like a fool, I found the occurrences too weird and cut contact with her. K didn't take it well. I found her in my dreams with more increasing frequency than before. She turned every one of my dreams into a nightmare. Not the usual sort with creepy silent-hill-esque bathrooms and fleshy monsters. No, these were emotional nightmares. The type where I'd get a call about my father dying. Or I'd have a relationship-ending fight with my fiancee. The types of nightmares you can't simply will away into oblivion. The type that gnaw at the back of your mind because they're all too real. The torture continued for about a week before I decided enough was enough. I spoke with a few of my friends over on MortalMist about my situation, hoping they'd have some insight since, back then, the people over on the Mist tended to be the best of the best when it came to matters of lucid dreaming. Everyone in flashchat commiserated, but it didn't seem like they had any answers for me. That was, until, I got a PM from a friend whom for her own privacy will remain Nameless. Nameless told me of her own experiences with shared dreaming which greatly resembled my own. But in her case, the initial contact eventually led to her getting involved with a whole group of mutual dreamers before she left due to a disagreement with some of the higher ranking members. I asked her if K had been a member of this group, she said she didn't recognize the name, but it had been years so they could have added new members in that time. Nameless said she would ask around for me and get me in touch with some members since I was definitely in way over my head. I insisted I was fine, but I'll always remember what she wrote next: ""You can hurt people from dreams, Mzz. Please be careful"" I didn't believe her at the time. But the proof is in the pudding, as they say. And before the month was out, I'd know how sour that pudding tasted. Turns out I was missing a critical piece of the puzzle in my Unifying Theory of Dream Control. But after talking to some members of the group of which Nameless had once been a member (thank gods they didn't call themselves dreamwalkers, this story is already unbelievable enough as is), I stumbled upon the final piece of the puzzle: intent. With strong intent, the boundary between dreams becomes easily traversable. With stronger intent still, injuring another person in their dreams can leave permanent damage, or even be fatal. I know that sounds impossible. But you have to trust me on this: dreams can be dangerous. It was the last time I saw K in my dreams. Another emotional nightmare. This time, my mother had just passed after an extended stay in the hospital, but I was stuck at school and didn't get to see her. I got word of her death while at the campus pool from my brother. At this point, I remembered that my brother didn't go to my school--I must have been dreaming. I do a nose pinch reality check to confirm, and immediately notice K in the lifeguard tower. She had an ""Oh, shit."" look on her face as I teleported in front of her and punched her in the stomach with every *intent* to end the abuse, to end *her*. She coughed up blood and vanished. I hovered back down to the ground, and the maelstrom of emotions caused me to wake up soon after. The nightmares stopped after that. A week later, while I was hanging out in the Dreamviews flashchat, I got a PM from one of the folks with which I had originally tried shared dreaming. They had gotten a message over skype from K's parents. She had died a week prior during the night from a sudden heart attack. I'm pretty sure it was my fault. I've traveled into thousands of people's dreams since then. But now, as a rule, I try to be more careful. After all. Dreams can be dangerous.",1329
 Jasper rode the elevator alone to Mr,"Jasper rode the elevator alone to Mr. Hu's office on the top floor, while trying his best not to dampen the manila folder too much with his sweaty palms. It was a feeling shared by everyone in the building; today's meeting was a critical turning point not just for the company, but for the country of Edensia. The secretary gave Jasper a tight smile and waved him through immediately into the CEO's spacious office. It was a grand place; lots of old-world wood mixed with next-generation steel, a marriage fit for one who, in many ways, was industrial royalty. Mr. Hu himself cut an impressive figure. Wide-shouldered and extremely tall, with hair of pure silver, he was standing at the window, hands knotted behind his back as he watched his empire. Jasper noted the rare appearance of Mr. Hu's tailored suit today. There were all kinds of superstitious rumors about it. ""Mr. Hu, the delegation is here,"" Jasper said. The CEO didn't reply, but raised a hand and made a beckoning gesture. Jasper hurried to his side. ""I don't think you've seen the country from here,"" Mr. Hu said, stroking his bare chin. His glasses glinted with sunlight. Jasper could only nod. Being almost two thousand feet above the ground, he had a good view of their city of New Congo, as well as the surrounding plains interspersed by forests. The occasional city dotted the horizon, all of it belonging to the youngest country in the world. Edensia was a tiny nation carved out of Central Africa, following a period of strife and all-out war that even the UN had failed to quell. Ultimately, heavily armed corporations and private military groups had swooped in and seized control of the territory, giving rise to a unique new system of government--one that the world had not come to terms with yet. Mr. Hu's Phoenix Energy Corporation had been one of the first, with an aim to rebuild the country's energy sector. But the seas were rough and the voyage worse. Mr. Hu's face was lined with worry as he studied the fenced compound about a mile away, where construction workers were rushing the completion of a new coal-fired plant. Jasper didn't want to disturb his boss's thoughts, but cleared his throat nonetheless. ""Sir, the meeting?"" Mr. Hu blinked and turned from the window, facing him at last. ""Yes. Shall we?"" As they headed to the elevator, Jasper offered the folder and the notes inside to the CEO, but Mr. Hu waved it away. The CEO rarely relied on printed materials; he preferred working through a meeting on his instincts. It was what made him a skilled negotiator. Six floors down and a maze of corridors later, they arrived at the boardroom. Armed guards stood at attention outside, flanking some other top executives of the company. Of the visiting delegation, he saw no sign. ""They're inside,"" one of the guards said, guessing at his searching look. With Mr. Hu in the lead, their party entered the boardroom and fanned out to greet their visitors. Jasper, however, stood by the door, studying the latter group as everyone shook hands. The visiting delegation was a group of eight, four men and four women, of various age groups and nationalities. They all wore green shirts, some with camo patterns, and caps printed with a logo of a black rhino over a splash of white. Their leader, a man known as Jodhi, clasped Mr. Hu's hands genially. His grin had the sparkle of gold, matching the earrings and rings adorning his fingers. Once everyone was seated, Jodhi said, ""Thank you for having us here, Mr. Hu. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person."" ""Likewise,"" Mr. Hu said. The older CEO was drumming his fingers on the arms of his chair. Jasper felt a strange urge to yell at him to stop. ""I regret, however, that it's taken so long for you to agree to meet us."" Jodhi's band nodded solemnly. ""The people of this country have had their voices silenced for so long, and when you, Mr. Hu, and all the other corporations came to restore order, we thought there would be change. A new dawn. A new beginning."" ""But it seems that our oppressors have only been replaced. It gives me no pleasure to point fingers, but you are one of them."" The snake, Jodhi thought. He actually looks apologetic. Mr. Hu merely smiled and motioned for him to carry on. Jodhi stood and strode toward the window. ""As we speak here, this beautiful country is being raped and plundered. Your company has come to steal our riches, and to control our people, for the sake of your profits. You want to hold us all hostage under your new energy laws. Everyday you destroy more forests, more homes, to make way for your grids. You pollute the air with fumes that our children breathe. You poison our rivers with sludge that our children drink. You--"" ""I'm sorry for cutting you off, Jodhi, but I've heard this all before,"" Mr. Hu said. ""I believe you made the same speech last week in Paris, last month in Washington and ... where was it before? Ah, Vienna. No, you were there on holiday, I forgot."" Mr. Hu smirked. ""Yes, I know where you've been. Your environmental group has been paying you rather well, I think. Public donations are surging ... I wonder if your donors know you've recently bought three penthouses in London and Singapore?"" ""Let's just cut to the chase. My operations have been interrupted far too many times by a washed up actor using social concerns for his own gains. I cannot tolerate that anymore. The entire truth about you will be released next week, broadcast across the world, if you do not disband your little Save Edensia organization by tomorrow. Do you understand?"" Jodhi clenched his fist and looked at his team, but they only stared mutely at Mr. Hu. Maybe they weren't aware themselves, Jasper thought. Then Jodhi relaxed visibly, smiling. ""Very clever. You've done your research. Let's deal. You agree right now to stop building Plant Eight, right there outside this window, and I'll resign from my position. Win-win. Save Edensia will have the victory it needs, and you'll get me out of the way."" Mr. Hu folded his arms. ""Not going to happen."" Jodhi shrugged and raised his phone. ""Guess I'll just have to make a call then."" For a second, nobody reacted to that unusual request, but then the puzzle fell into its frame. ""Stop him,"" Jasper shouted. Too late; Jodhi thumbed the phone, and a distant boom was heard. A column of smoke slowly wound its way up into the air. ""That's, what, the third plant this month?"" Jodhi said with a grin. ""Lots of accidents these days, you really should look into some form of OSHA. Oh, and the class action lawsuits by these poor, unprotected workers are really adding up, aren't they?"" Mr. Hu shot Jasper a single look, and Jasper complied. He drew a pistol, hidden in the folder all this while, and put a bullet into Jodhi's skull. The rest of the Save Edensia team jumped to their feet, but none made it to the door. Mr. Hu cupped his head in his hands and groaned. Jasper felt a pang of sympathy for him; he knew the CEO had genuinely wanted to negotiate. Perhaps Jodhi's replacement would be more reasonable. Personally, Jasper wasn't optimistic. Peace and prosperity in this new nation could only be obtained from the end of a gun. Lucky for him, his was the hand holding it. *** *Thanks for reading. Check out more of my work in my .*",1289
 The idea of someone listening to your,"Have you ever been thinking something a little controversial, something that if said out loud would likely result in your total banishment from society? Sometimes I have the beginning of these rogue thoughts, I might be thinking about the absurd size of the woman stomach, and that would lead to an increasing spiral of negative thoughts, but I try to stop myself by imagining that someone might be listening. The idea of someone listening to your thoughts is absurd, crazy even, but I do. At least with that kind of thinking it makes my next confession seem vaguely normal. Maybe I'm paranoid? That could be it... but often when I'm walking, I like the stop, turn around and accuse the empty air of following me. I vary the challenge each time, fearing that the following entity has heard me before. I think my favourite has to be - ""Ah, thought you could sneak up on me did you? When I'm lazy, I spin and shout ""Gotcha!"". Fear not, I don't do it in public places, that would make the others realise that I am crazy. I tend to get the followed feeling in alleyways, or in my flat when I arrive home from work. After work one evening I had my key inserted, the corridor was empty. But I had that feeling, that creep of air across your neck that sends the sixth sense screaming. 'Why are you following me?' I shouted without turning. I waited with baited breath and the voice that responded supported the raised hairs on my neck. 'Mr Luste.' I turned. 'You are under arrest.' A man in everyday clothing said. He then read my Miranda rights. I was taken not to my local precinct, one I walked past every day to work, but to the outskirts of town. The detective, Joeseph Beach, pulled the unmarked car over and hooded me. I protested of course, but with hands behind my back, there was little fight against the armed detective. It was in the darkness that the fear shouted. Before the burlap hood, I figured it was some mistake; I was an upstanding member of society - a little mad on the inside maybe, but I had never acted on those thoughts. I felt the car stop, followed by the killing of the engine and when the driver's door opened, I knew my journey was over. The detective guided me out of the car and pulled off the hood; I had closed my eyes in anticipation of harsh lighting but was instead greeted by a room not much brighter than the hood. I protested, squawked and kicked my way to the next room. The detective had told me that I could shout as much as I liked. So I did. I recognised the next place, it looked like any old police interview room - not that I had been in one before, but I had seen enough movies. The handcuffs were transferred from behind my back to a chain fastened to the floor bolted table. I sat for what felt like an hour but was likely no more than ten minutes. A woman entered the room; she was pretty in a book smart kind of way. Round glasses that were endearing and a light dusting of freckles that made my heard hurt, regardless of my current predicament. She carried a brown folder, one thicker than your average book. 'Is that filled with blank paper?' I asked, pulling from my fictitious police knowledge. 'Quite the opposite.' She said, pulling out the wad of paper and fanning through the ink depleting stack. 'I have been read my rights, but I really don't think they are being followed.' The woman smiled. 'You want a lawyer? Your free phone call?' 'An explanation would do.' 'Have you ever heard the expression ""A penny for your thoughts""? I nodded. 'Well the US government owes you a couple of hundred dollars.' She said. 'I don't follow.' 'We can monitor your thoughts.' I fought the overwhelming urge to laugh. 'Mine specifically?' The woman glanced down at the file cover. 'Mr Luste, that would be highly unlikely that thought monitoring would be done on an individual basis. We monitor keywords like we used to on phonecall and then eventually on emails.' 'This is some sort of a joke right?' The woman turned the folder over and handed it to my chained hands. 'You are of course entitled to read through everything we have flagged and can appeal any string of thoughts that you deem incorrectly categorised.' I opened the cover and read the first page which was dated five years ago. It had my full name, general location and a transcript of my thoughts beginning with one I am not proud of: ""Bitch should just go a die, like the rest of this useless country"". I read the first few pages while the woman sat patiently, the words seemed like something I could think, but could not remember. 'Recent thoughts near the back?' I said thinking out loud. I answered my question and turned to the final page, dated today. It was in reading this last page that I knew the woman was not lying. I remembered the thoughts. I had received my paycheck and seen the money taken for tax and having already had a bad day it sent me off on a train of thoughts that I could not derail. I did my best to stop these thoughts, in my paranoid way of thinking but I guess I had a right to be cautious. I had thought about buying a gun, the heavy calibre kind and visiting my local government with an enlarged version of my payslip attached to my chest. I had fantasised about claiming back the money that was rightfully mine by force. But I had never acted on it; I did not even own a gun. 'So what happens now?' I asked. 'I hope you understand that there is no need for an investigation, nor a trial. The thoughts are your own, and you may dispute it, but we know you to be a detriment to society. As such you will be incarcerated until such a time where your inner beliefs and negative thoughts improve.' 'I'm just being locked up for something I thought?' 'Mr Luste, given the size of your file I'm sure that you will agree these are not isolated thoughts.' 'But have I acted on any of them?' My face grew hot with each word. The woman smiled a sweet understanding smile. 'Have you noticed the decrease in crime over the last couple of years?' I had but didn't respond. 'Preventative measures have been the cause. You will be held for a minimum of three years, followed by a probation period in which all thoughts will be logged. Any deviance found can and will be used to prolong your stay with us.' The woman, whose name I had not known, scooped up the folder and left the room. And that is my account of the day they collected me. I write this letter every year, I write it five times in the same words, and I send it to different people each year. I suspect that the guards burn the letters, but I try each year just in case one slips through the system. If you are like me and struggle with dark thoughts, I urge you to keep that steel trap shut tight. Be paranoid.",1248
" ""I'm trying to get a","""What did you say?"" I paused, my card already jammed into the receptacle and deducting $5.29 from my bank account. ""What?"" The clerk stared at me, his green eyes narrowed. I drew half a step back almost unconsciously. ""Uh. I asked if I could have my drink cup. You guys keep making us wait and it's kind of annoying."" The man stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line. ""What are you doing?"" All right, the guy was clearly crazy. I tore my debit card free, shoving it back into the holder permanently resting in my pocket. ""I'm trying to get a Big Mac. What's your problem?"" ""Are you insane?"" he hissed, leaning forward across the counter. ""What are you *doing*?"" ""Greg?"" someone called from across the store. A manager, judging by the color of their uniform. Their voice was carefully cheerful. ""What's going on?"" ""Nothing! Just helping this gentleman out,"" Greg said, his face snapping back to carefully neutral as he smiled at me. A plastic cup was shoved into my hands, along with the paper slip of my receipt. ""Look - don't be an idiot,"" he said, his voice dropping low enough I had to lean in to hear him. ""I don't know what game you think you're playing, but you can't walk in here talking gibberish. Leave me alone."" I stared at him, my mind racing, but the customers behind me were already pushing forward. I stepped back to join the others waiting for their food, my mind churning. I had a bit of a gift. Well, that's how I liked to think about it. It had taken a few years to figure out - all languages sounded exactly the same to me. No matter if I was speaking to someone blabbering on in French or chattering in Italian, it all came across as plain old English. My parents had been freaked out, understandably. It had taken a bit of doing to convince them I wasn't just crazy. And as soon as we'd pieced together what was going on, we'd begun hiding. It wasn't as though I could suddenly start spouting off Spanish and German, after all. We couldn't even just leave copies of Rosetta Stone lying around meaningfully. The instant someone I actually *knew* called me on it, the secret would be up. I kind of valued living a normal life, too much to allow something like that to happen. Tray in hand and my mediocre food steaming, I filed back to my seat. I could feel Greg's eyes on me the whole way - staring. What was his problem? Had I stuttered? And what had he meant, gibberish? Maybe he spoke a different language, sure, but why would that be a problem? He should be happy that I'd spoken Polish or Swahili or who-gives-a-fuck. Maybe a bit surprised, but not *angry*. His reaction wasn't normal at all. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Normally I would have lingered, taking my time in eating. With the feeling of Clerk Asshat's eyes on the back of my neck, I just wanted to leave. I shoveled my value meal down as quickly as I could, hardly tasting it. My phone lit up with notifications, friends and family blabbering away, all wanting to know where I was. When I'd be finished with the day's chores. Could I pick up this grocery list for them, or finish that errand? I ignored all of them. The wrapper crumpled instantly in my hand as I pushed myself upright, dumping the whole lot of it in the trash. The guy wasn't there. A bit of the tension slipped out of my shoulders as I saw his station replaced by a tiny, grinning brunette. Good. Maybe his manager had finally taken him down a notch. The lights on my car blinked across the parking lot at me as I stepped out of the store. The cold air snapped me awake, back to reality in an instant. I was letting that guy creep me out for no reason. He was just a jerk, that was all - trapped in his minimum wage job. Probably just a crazy, when I thought about it. He was probably just- I yelped, eyes widening as fingers buried themselves in my hair, pulling painfully. Someone had me. There was something cold at my throat - cold and *sharp*. ""Ok, asshole,"" Greg hissed in my ear, his voice wild. ""We're going to go for a walk."" ""What the *fuck* are you-"" ""Shut up."" The blade dug into my neck. I could feel a hot line of blood dripping down my skin. My mind raced - this was insane. He really was crazy. A lunatic. He was- There was nothing I could do to fight him as he turned me, forcing me towards the back of the store. A dingy, beat-up station wagon waited in employee parking, the lot unlit and dismally dark. I scanned the lot even still, ready to bellow for help at a moment's notice. It was useless. There was no one around. No one was going to hear. He slammed me into the back of his car, my face pressed painfully against the glass. ""How stupid do you think I am?"" he spat. ""What the *hell* are you talking about?"" I cried, shaking. ""What, you think you're being subtle? You'll just walk in, talking the Old Tongue like you were born to it, and I'll roll over for you?"" ""Look, dude, there's been some mistake,"" I moaned. ""It's-It's just something that I can do, all right? It's not-"" ""Right,"" he said with a laugh, his fingers still pulling painfully at my hair. ""Like I'm going to believe *that*."" ""I speak tongues, all right?"" I said, craning my head until I could look at him. ""That's all. I don't know what you heard. All I know is-"" ""How long until they get here?"" I blinked. ""What?"" ""I'm not *stupid*,"" he spat. ""I'm not going to sit idly until they come to finish the job. How long until the rest of them show up?"" ""The rest of *who*?"" I said, trying desperately to keep from crying. ""You know damn well who-"" he said, but stopped abruptly. I blinked. Somewhere in the distance, sirens were approaching. My heart leapt. Police. *Yes*. Someone must have seen him, someone must have called the cops. I was saved. He'd- He let go of my hair in an instant, leaping away. His car abandoned, he vanished into the underbrush of the woods behind the McDonald's. I fell in a crumpled heap, my heart still pounding in my ears. Tires screeched as the cop car pulled up moments later, a pair of officers piling out. ""Sir! Sir, are you all right?"" one yelled, racing over to me. ""Can you tell me what happened?"" ""There was- a man,"" I said, glancing back at the woods. 'H-He had a knife. He was crazy. Thought I was speaking some funny language or something."" ""Why would he think that?"" the other said, his brow furrowing. ""I-I don't know,"" I said, instinctively clamping down. The cops paused, staring at me. ""What, that's it?"" the first said. ""I'm sorry,"" I muttered, unable to meet their eyes. My gaze drifted, needing to find something, anything else to look at. The flashing lights of their cars drew my eyes in, holding my gaze. I froze. ""Well, look. I'm sure this has been a traumatic event. Why don't you come back with us, and we'll talk about it?"" The second said, smiling blankly at me. One hand dropped to his belt. Neither of them was wearing a radio. There was nothing on his belt but a gun and a pair of handcuffs. The details of it stuck out like a lightning flash in my mind. I took a step back. ""Look, don't worry, all right?"" the first said, beaming at me. ""You're safe now, right?"" The insignia on their car was wrong. I'd lived in the town my entire life, and it was *wrong*. It didn't even have the right *name* on it. It just looked... Generic. I took another step back. The smiles were beginning to fade from their faces. ""Look, come on,"" the first said. ""Just take it easy, ok? We'll just go for a ride."" His hand reached out, grabbing for my elbow. I skittered away before he could touch me, suddenly sure of two things. Whoever those two were, they were *not* police officers. And I was in a mess of trouble. --- (/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) ~~Not against a part 2, but I'm off to bed for the night, and part 2 would come in the morning xD there is a thread Leave a comment there and I will update you if this gets more :)~~",1471
" In high school, I decided to","Edit: Part Two is in the comments and further updates can be found at r/Greeneggsandspam555 My parents had been surprised, at first, when they realized I could speak Spanish to my nanny as well as I could speak English. ""She must have a gift,"" said my mom. My Dad wasn't as pleased. He thought I was being influenced too much by Mrs. Reyes and promptly let her go. Since then, I had always taken it for granted that I automatically spoke to the gardener and the cashier in Spanish. My Mom was impressed that I had retained so much from my toddler years. We had learned not talk about it with Dad. In high school, I decided to take Spanish as an easy elective, but I found that I couldn't even remember how to say ""How are you?"" when I was with my teach, Mrs. Nelson. She was tall with a severely cut white-blonde bob and seemed to hand out C's and D's gleefully. She had learned Spanish as a missionary in Guatemala, and a part of me felt like she was saying it all wrong. Who would have been able to catch her faking it in this town? Just about everyone was the same here: white and English speaking. Another part of me knew that she couldn't have gotten licensed to teach Spanish if she didn't speak it, which lead to a weirder question: why couldn't I remember a single word when I was around her? Things started to get a lot weirder when I took my Spanish homework to our gardener, Carlos, for help. He seemed puzzled when I handed him my worksheet and asked for help. ""Oh Jessie,"" he said ""It's been so long since I took Spanish I don't think I can help."" I didn't know what to say for a few seconds. We were *speaking* in Spanish. Weren't we? I knew we weren't speaking English. ""Ummm..."" I stammered ""What language are we speaking then?"" Carlos started laughing. ""How can you not know what language we're speaking? I'm from the Philippines , Jess, I speak Tagalog. How did you learn it if you don't even know what it's called?"" That was the questions I started asking myself over and over again. I started to stitch together a weak, but plausible answer. Carlos had been the gardener since I was six. I must have just learned it from him. A Google search told me that the vocabulary was influenced by English and Spanish. I must have been able to understand enough of the words to just guess the rest in the beginning and eventually I learned the rest by practicing. Our town was small and monolingual enough that I almost could have gotten through high school without realizing if it hadn't been for Selim, the Turkish exchange student. When I automatically started speaking Turkish with him, I stopped making excuses. There was something going on that was really weird, and if there was one thing I didn't want to be in high school, it was weird. So I dropped out of Spanish and started avoiding Selim. I even started coming into my house through a different door so I didn't run into Carlos in the garden. I was able to easily avoid speaking anything but English, until the Saturday my Dad took me to McDonalds. It was a strange thing for him to do. He rarely showed any interest in me and he openly despised fast food. I thought we were going to just go through the drive through, but instead he parked and we walked inside. As soon as I got inside I noticed one of the cashiers. She looked about six feet tall, for one thing, but there was another thing about her that I couldn't quite figure out. For some reason I just wanted to stare. When it came time to order my Dad ordered a double cheeseburger and an extra large soda. Another time, I would have been questioning when my dad started eating burgers or drinking soda. However, the tall girl was the one taking our order, and I was having a hard time paying attention to anything but her. I realized both the girl and my Dad were staring at me, waiting. ""Umm.... can I get fries?"" Is what I meant to say, but what came out of my mouth was something else entirely. It sounded more like a series of grunts and clicks than a language. ""Stop goofing around Jessica!"" my Dad said. ""There are people waiting."" But it was the girl's reaction that scared me. Her happy how-can-I-help-you face had turned into something else entirely. She glared at me intensely, eyebrows furrowed, lips pulled down into an angry frown. ""Can I get fries,"" I tried to whisper but the strange sounds came out of my mouth again. I turned to my Dad, ""Can you order the fries for me,"" I said ""I need to go to the bathroom."" He seemed too dumbstruck to be angry, so I power-walked from the line to the restroom, where I found an open stall and sat. What had just happened? And why had that girl been angry about it? I couldn't sit in the bathroom forever, so eventually I got up, went to the sink, and started washing my hands. I looked in the mirror, and I realized I wasn't alone. That girl was standing in the corner staring at me. We both stood in silence while I continued to wash my hands. Was I supposed to break the silence? What was she doing here? ""What are you doing here?"" She finally said, in English. ""My Dad brought me,"" I said, but of course it came out in more clicks and grunts. ""Stop, please."" ""I can't"" She just stared for a few seconds. I couldn't tell if she was angry or confused. ""I'm sorry I don't know what is happening, I can't control it."" I added ""Just speak English, they have spies everywhere,"" she paused before adding, ""unless you are a spy."" ""I'm not!"" I interjected quickly ""I don't even know what's going on. I've never told anyone this before, but I just speak other languages, I guess, I mean... I don't know anything about it."" ""That's hard to believe,"" she said ""But, on the other hand. You aren't one of us. You're too small, for one thing. Just, please, don't come here again if you are going to speak The Language."" ""What language? What language are we speaking?"" I asked ""If you really don't know I can't tell you. But you put both of us in danger when you speak it. Don't come back here. Get your Dad and go."" She left the bathroom and I went and explained to my Dad that I wasn't feeling well and needed to go home as soon as possible. After the antics I had pulled in the line, he wasn't too happy with me, but he was happy to get me out of McDonalds. Some people had heard me and were staring. As we got into the car I realized that I needed to go back. I needed to speak with that girl again and find out why she couldn't be heard speaking her language. Mostly, though I wanted to figure out how I knew it, how I seemed to know every language, and how I could make it all stop.",1236
 Ms. Lilly Shoemaker walked through,"Ms. Lilly Shoemaker walked through the glass door with confidence. It was rare for anyone to straighten my back when they approached, especially with the ability I inherited from my father. For years, I have always had the keen eye on anyone's true intentions. This particular skill made it easy to confront the liars found in Washington holding hands with their fellow lobbyists. It has also made me a key subject for particular agencies, and above all else, it's made it much easier to figure out where a specific date is going. ""Hello Mr. Walker."" Lilly extended her hand in invitation. I took a second to study her. She wore a midnight dress falling right over her knees. Her long legs were propped up by matching heels. I could tell she was also studying me through her rectangular glasses. It only took me a moment to respond, ""Hello Lilly."" I shook her hand firmly. We both sat looking at one another from across the table. Lilly had been working for the newspaper for over a decade. She placed a notepad and a pen in front of her. ""So,"" she began, ""let's talk about the data collection."" Given my ability, you can almost assume anyone who talked to me always had a guard against my knowledge of their true intention. It is what has made me - me. Lilly, however, did not have a guard. She didn't slouch in her chair in mild fear. She didn't nervously tap her foot against the hardwood floor, she never even bit her lip after the first few words in our conversation. She stared right into my eyes with the same level of confidence which I felt. ""Mr. Walker?"" She asked for my response. ""Do you have a comment on the data collection?"" We were the only ones within the city hall chamber. I understood her words, but they were different from what was being painted in strokes before me. She was playing me like an instrument. Having a plan of what notes to play but cautious of playing the wrong one. In my silence, she nodded her head. ""How long?"" I finally replied in a calming voice. ""I'm sorry?"" She leaned in, opening her notepad ready to write everything I had to say down. ""How long have you carried this secret with you?"" I found her intention within seconds. She was after the truth. I've never met anyone carrying the same gift. It was as if both of our abilities danced in rhythm together the minute we both sat down. Immediately, she stood up in horror. I watched the expression of her face wrinkle like an aged grape. ""Oh my god,"" she gasped. ""it's impossible!"" ""How long have you had this ability?"" I stood my ground wanting an answer. She didn't reply to the question. She made for the door realizing that it had been locked from the outside. She quickly spun around with wide eyes. I pondered for a moment. I wondered if she had been one of my *lost* siblings - or maybe- something else entirely. No matter what fate had written, it was up to me to amend it. I couldn't have anyone walking about knowing my true intentions. I slowly rose out of my seat when I watched her thoughts change rapidly. When her mental plan was to use the pillar decoration to break the window, I raced her to it. Her ability clashed with my own. We both tried to outplay one another as she shifted her thoughts away onto another object. She quickly shattered the window to escape. She had trained her mind very well. I went to reach for her, but she slipped away into the street after tearing a piece of her dress along the window sill. I didn't call after her. I tore down the curtain in order to hop out onto the sidewalk, avoiding my hands from being cut from the glass. Her pace slowed into a crowd of people crossing the intersection. She glanced back and caught my thoughts chasing after her. I knew where she was headed. No matter how hard she tried to change her thought process, I caught on quickly to the pattern of her mentality. I knew every move she wanted to make before she made them. She ducked her head, running down into the alley between two apartment buildings. I approached the alleyway with caution. She was gone, or at least, it had seemed that way. I took in a deep breath to help myself relax. I traced her thoughts stringing behind her. I could tell she had grown more nervous about my abilities matched with hers. I followed the strings to her being stuck in a dead end. ""You won't get away with it."" She tried persuading me. ""They will know why you have collected so much data on all of us."" When I approached her, my intent revealed itself from its shadow. ""There is nowhere you can hide from me."" I assured her. She scrunched her brow concentrating on the image of me strangling her neck with my bare hands. I didn't expect what would come next. As I took a step to complete my intent, she called out, ""Now!"" Armed men stormed up from behind, taking aim. I stood in confusion watching the smile stretch across her face. I couldn't understand how she pulled it off. It seemed she had used her ability to cast false projections of fear in order to bait me. I had never met anyone so clever before. ""We have you surrounded,"" she snapped. A man kicked the back of my knee forcing me to the ground. Out of everything, I knew without a doubt what would come next. A man standing over me handed Lilly his rifle. She turned the rifle over pointing the stock down onto me. ""Now,"" she stated, ""I finally got you."" Everything I had forecasted was false. Her abilities were no match against my own. The unfamiliar feeling of fear grabbed hold of me. I knew every one of them sought after the truth. She drove the stock of the weapon against my forehead, knocking me unconscious. My vision fell to the ground, slowly fading. For the first time, I didn't know what would happen next. *** &nbsp; To read more of my stories, visit",1059
 The sky flickered with falling,"When the sky broke, it was still night and the dark had remained, but the stars above had taken some illumination. They flickered as though they had been polished, and their hazy glow was like scattered flour, curving beyond his head and past the heavens. *This has to be some trick. The way it all...* The sky flickered with falling stars, like baseballs soaring from the dark. He nearly fell to his stomach and he trembled and looked up again. The sky was there and there were the stars in their vastness and a cold feeling all about him, like impending rain. He did not feel afraid though his loneliness cloaked him. He heard sounds breaking the silence. A helicopter was nearby. It was loud and his ears hurt and itched him and he wondered how long had it been since he heard *anything*. There was quiet in the back country, and dead silence since the state of emergency. In the distance wheat swayed in a deep golden color, mostly black by night. But this was no normal night. The helicopter went past and he hid amidst the long stalks of crop and looked up to the living sky. *Why is it so bright? What is...* Then something else broke the silence. Something was moving in the fields beyond. His hair prickled and his stomach went cold. He looked up to the stars upon the black night, that black that seemed to churn to purple and then red, as though a prism had fallen over the Earth. That loneliness manifested in a naked feeling. Everyone was hidden and he wore thin threads. He was damp from sweat and adrenaline and his muscles felt fallow and he thought anything could take him out. ""Who's there?"" he called. The horizon flashed with white as though someone had taken a picture. There were sounds far away, but they were coming closer. *Kansas Pete ain't got place to sleep,* *Skinny arms and smelly feet.* *Throw a rock and hear him roar,* *Then see him sleep amongst the wheat.* That made him breathe deeply. Sometimes self pity was good, he thought, and it had its uses. He felt like nothing and he grew less afraid. That was the children's song he played in his head, but he knew it stuck with the adults as well. He knew everyone sung it when they saw him. *I am nothing.* And the wheat swayed in the distance. He walked towards it. His eyes had accustomed tears in them. He liked to make himself cry sometimes to get all the bad feelings out. It helped him think better. ""Who's there?"" He looked up again and swallowed at the sky. It seemed closer now, as though it were falling, and the stars had grains to them, as though they were jewels, more precious than any wealth could convey. *What's happening?* Further away near the town he could hear marching. The army was making its rounds. *What threat is there? What is the emergency?* He felt the questions as a coldness in his bones for his mind was racing with empty panic. Then he saw a figure in the distance. Silhouettes in the starlight came upon him like some cult, surrounding him as the wheat swayed in its gentle whisper. ""Do not be afraid."" *I do not believe in ghosts.* He did not mean that thought. ""Why are you embarrassed to think what you mean?"" *I don't believe in... aliens.* ""Neither do we. Such concepts have long been put to rest."" They gave off a glow that shone red upon the field. The sky above seemed a spotlight for them, and yet he could not *see* them truly. A woman was before him and her face was like water, flowing with familiarity and vagueness, such that it would not stay in his mind. *Mother Mary,* he thought. For she was a kindly face and her spirit echoed in that internal light. Surrounding him were more like her, but it was her who spoke. ""Who... Who..."" His mouth was dry. ""Mary seems right. It holds some place within you. A pure place like the night dances."" ""Are you... God?"" ""No."" ""What is happening?"" *Kansas Pete, see him drink,* *With gap tooth mouth that really stinks,* *And he has eyes that never blinks,* *Seeing monsters and crazy things.* He closed his eyes. His face was warm. ""You feel embarrassed. Your brain is scared. You bring forward bad things to comfort you, to help you know your place in this world... Why is that?"" He looked at the woman. She was silver and mercurial in the night. He trembled at those surrounding him. ""We will not hurt you. Look at the sky, brother. Look!"" He stared at the sky. Now he could see every detail of the stars, the endless span of them, and they were like diamonds and rubies in the night, and the night was like paint, thick and brushed along a forever canvas. He felt calm and small and he breathed deeply an air he had never found in Kansas before. His lungs were filled with strangeness and his heart slowed so he could take it all in. Then he looked at them and his voice still quavered but it was strong yet and he found he could talk. ""What is going on?"" he asked. ""We have come as we always do,"" said the woman. ""Who are you?"" ""Your language has no name for us. Your leaders call us the Great Potential."" ""You are aliens."" ""We do not distinguish outsiders from our own kind. We are different, alien maybe, but not *aliens*."" ""I'm sorry."" She smiled and that was a spiritual feeling over him. *Mother Mary,* he thought. ""Gods, yes,"" she said. But he thought of the old song his grandfather would sing. *In my hour of darkness, Mother Mary comes to me... Speaking words of wisdom...* ""You are crying. Why?"" ""Why are you here?"" ""We've come as we've always done. We come to judge and decide what shall be done."" ""What do you mean?"" She extended an arm to the distance. The helicopters were mosquitoes in the distance and the army marched far away. ""Your leaders anticipate our arrival. They welcome us with a great show."" ""They think you are a threat. The President has issued a state of emergency."" ""No... That it not correct. They think us a Great Potential. They know who we are and what we can provide your world."" ""What do you mean?"" ""They know the knowledge we have."" ""Then why... Why is everyone locked up?"" ""Because they know our price."" ""What is your price?"" ""Self actualization. Growth and thinking beyond oneself."" ""I don't..."" ""Yes you do, Kansas Pete."" He stepped back. He wondered how badly he smelled. He was acustomed to people telling him how he stank and he did not want to embarrass himself now. ""You understand,"" she said. He vaguely did. ""We're not good enough. They try to hide us to make ourselves look better so you'll take us in?"" ""Yes, something like that. They try to make shortcuts and hide all of you all so they can say that, 'Yes, we are all very good to one another. We get along as we should.' They try to hide the ugly."" ""But I'm here. I have no home. I am ugly. Because of me you won't..."" ""No... You are not ugly. You are proof that *they* are ugly."" ""I don't know what to say."" ""That's okay. Sometimes there isn't anything to be said."" He felt empty inside. ""I feel like I've failed everyone."" ""I can't make that feeling go away, Pete."" He stared at her and tried his best to remember her face. It would not stay. He trembled from exhaustion and an abstract hurt. ""When will you come back?"" ""Every forty years by your reckoning we come."" ""I will be dead the next time you come then."" ""Yes."" Then the quiet. ""I feel sad,"" he said. ""I know."" He was crying and he did not know why. This was deeper than self pity and his tears were slow on his face and made him sticky and he felt stressed and he wanted to fall over. ""Look at the sky, Pete. Look at the sky and do not think those thoughts. Look at the sky and think of how lucky you are to see it. The others in their houses will never see it; they will never know such beauty even exists. Look up and marvel at it."" He looked up and the vastness of it all took him. The stars spun and he felt warm and his heart started to beat harder and his mind went blank. *Everything is okay,* he thought. *Even if it isn't, that's okay too.* He felt a kiss upon his forehead and then a light flashed around him. ""No,"" he whispered but he looked at the sky. He knew he was alone then and he felt sad, but the sky was endless and it calmed him. *Mother Mary,* he thought and he played that old song in his head. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might want to consider checking out my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can and thanks for the support!*",1562
 A manhole cover was struck by,"It's basic physics. When objects are struck with an extremely large force, they have a tendency to start moving. And when the object is especially small, and the force especially large, it can result in astonishingly fast velocities. So when a manhole cover was struck directly by a nuclear detonation in 1957, it was propelled at extremely high velocity. Most human researchers within a few decades of this event suspected that the cover had disintegrated within Earth's atmosphere after it came in contact with the atmosphere at such velocity. These researchers were only partially correct. Roughly two thirds of the object remained, and by a fluke, it managed to escape the solar system without further impact. Several encounters with bodies with very high gravity increased its velocity radically, and by the time it actually did exit the solar system fifteen years later, it was traveling at a blistering 600 thousand miles an hour. And even in the vastness of space, an object moving in a relatively straight line is going to impact somewhere... &nbsp; Commander Sazga Layalavai Canitoli, Legedu, sat in his seat, staring idly at a tactical readout, observing his fleet, reminiscing for lack of anything else to do. He had been deployed to scout a system which his people had not visited in a long time, and it was thought that the inhabitants had destroyed themselves in nuclear fire decades prior. This was sure to be an uneventful trip, and he was bothered by the fact that they had sent his command, including twenty battleships, all the way out here. But the Delani Federation did not take halfway measures, and if something untoward happened on this mission, at least they would be well prepared. His mind wandered as he shifted his gaze to the screen at the front of the control room, and he thought back to his early days in the schools, back to his annoying fourth-year teacher's attempts to teach basic physics. He tried to remember the metaphors that he had used to teach Yenai's First Law. He couldn't call them up, but he could remember the general premise, which was that an object will not change how it's moving until an outside force causes it to. His reverie was interrupted by a blinding white flash on the screen, by a damage warning on his tac-display and the markers for the battleship at the edge of the formation blinking red. He leapt to his feet. ""What the hell?"" he shouted. ""The battleship Tak Manay has been hit!"" replied the man at the scanner station. ""Damage reports incoming..."" ""Hit by *what*?"" Sazga replied, incredulous, shocked. ""It's... not clear. No source is evident."" ""The hell do you *mean* 'no source is evident'? *Something* has to have fired that!"" ""We don't know where it came from. Ballistics suggests it came from the direction of System 123-9B."" Sazga flinched. ""What? You mean to tell me it came from the very system we're en route to?"" ""Yeah, that's what the evidence we have suggests."" ""There is *no way* those people fired that thing. Their civilization is decades dead, fallen to their own avarice and to nuclear fire! We knew this would happen the day our ancestors finally managed to leave that accursed rock, and the last scout watched the first shots! Give me something *rational*, damn it!"" ""Interstellar debris that managed to pass through the system without hitting anything?"" ""Better. More sane,"" Sazga said, a touch calmer. ""Damage report on that battleship."" The communications officer read aloud: ""Ship was impacted by unknown object or energy; if object, mass estimated 30 kilograms. Extensive damage to forward sections including one primary hull breach, several secondary breaches along the length of the damaged section and in a ring around the ship a third of the way back, several fractures... shipwide power distribution grid disabled. All sections not open to hard vacuum are on backups. Suspect atmospheric containment failure in progress in 20 percent of remaining sections. Spinal-mounted weapons disabled; point-defense on secondary processors... Primary FTL drives at 50 percent capacity; suspect toxic leaks throughout the system because of shock and overpressure..."" His face went pale. ""Suspect evacuation system disabled... Reactor pressure rising; suspect primaries will go critical within the hour, if this cannot be averted jettison will commence... Primary shield projector unaccounted for... Estimated casualties: 20 percent of crew dead, additional 30 percent injured... Fuel leak and apparent fire prohibits rescue operations in forward sections... Fear possible cascade-failure of remaining power systems and atmospheric containment."" Sazga exhaled slowly. ""Shit... Deploy support craft to effect rescue where needed and, if possible, emergency repairs. Does anyone know just *what* this was?!"" ""Teams are trying to figure that out now... Trace elements have been found in the impact site. Expect an analysis within the hour..."" ""Good,"" Sazga replied. He called up the commanders of the remaining ships, wanting to discuss things with the men under his command. ""Next course of action?"" he said. ""Wait until we figure out what that was,"" the first one said. ""That's what I was thinking... Anyone else?"" Sazga replied. ""Press on,"" came the next two replies. ""It's probably some kind of meteoroid, thrown around by gravity."" ""Makes sense. Anyone else?"" ""I think we need to know what this was,"" spoke up one of them, the captain of the battleship next to the Tak Manay in the formation. ""And... it's going to sound crazy but... What if they knew we were coming?"" ""Lalga, what are you smoking?"" Sazga replied. ""We're talking about a society that's already bombed itself into ruin."" ""Yeah, but the fact remains, this came from their system, it pounded through a third of the length of the Tak Manay, it hit key systems..."" ""What, are you suggesting that the survivors of the *nuclear apocalypse* have some kind of sensor grid out here? And a cloaked weapons platform? Or that they can see the *future* and threw this thing on the right vector to core out the front of one of my battleships?"" ""Yeah, pretty much."" ""Okay, what the *hell* are you smoking? You're stressing me out enough with this crackpot theory that you're making me want a hit of it. 'Yeah, they're a planet full of stone-age clairvoyants who can launch something at us fast enough to kill a battleship!' Give me a *break!*"" ""Think about it. The more you think about it, the more reasonable this seems."" ""Reasonable? Yeah, the more *I* think about it, the more I consider ordering you to see a psychiatrist when this mission is over! You can't possibly believe this!"" ""Yeah, maybe they launched it before we came, or maybe the survivors were forced to ascend somehow to survive."" ""Yeah, and they have telekinesis and they can see the future. And their stomachs are built to toast bread *after* they eat it. Maybe they can breathe in hard vacuum now! Maybe they all have laser-eyes and can't be hurt by bullets or lasers anymore! Give me a break!"" ""It's possible..."" ""Yeah, I think Paci and the others were right. This was some kind of cosmic incident. Report this to Command, and then we *press on!*"" Sazga shouted, red with anger. ""And if you give me another of these crackpot suggestions, I'll have you demoted or something!"" ""Understood..."" the man replied. And the fleet moved on, some support vessels remaining to stabilize the stricken vessel for movement back to base. &nbsp; A lesser known incident in the history of Earth, however, had a similar result to the nuclear test in 1957. And when the Delani fleet approached the boundary of the solar system, a similar piece of shrapnel from a nuclear detonation, this one in a city on the continent of North America, was moving at very high velocities, and fast approaching... &nbsp; Sazga finished reading the analysis of the fate of the battleship, perturbed by the result. The trace elements found in the impact site suggested an artificial alloy. He wondered at the explanation for this, and captain Lalga's crackpot explanation lingered unbidden at the back of his mind. Deep in thought, he thanked the orderly as he returned the report to his hand. Suddenly, a piercing flash filled the forward screen as the the battleship immediately to the right of his was struck amidships and great gouts of molten metal and energy shot out at an angle, further back, showering one of the support ships, disabling it too. Sazga sprang to his feet again. ""What the *hell!*"" he shouted. Mind racing, he punched up the comms to the captains again. ""What just happened?!"" he shouted. None of them seemed to have an explanation, and he stared agape at the tac-display again as they all sought an answer. And then it hit him. ""Lalga. I think you were right! Somehow, they knew this was coming. Two ships hit in as many hours... That is *not* a coincidence!"" Several other commanders nodded bewildered assent. He punched up fleetwide comms and said, ""Prepare all stricken ships for transport and get us out of here! Report this to command, and request this system be labeled as prohibitively dangerous given current technology."" Defeated, angry, exhausted, Sazga kicked at the armrest on his seat for several seconds before returning to it. And two hours later, the fleet was en route back to their main base...",1556
 Julia's birthday was two days before,"She never stopped looking like an angel. I gently caressed her cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. Then, I drew a small circle in the sand and lay down next to her. It was my way of tracking time, a circle for each day that passed. Or at least: for each day I *thought* had passed--it's a bit hard to tell honestly, when you're stuck in a moment. I still remember the day it happened vividly. It was two days before Julia's birthday, but she preferred to celebrate on a saturday instead of a monday. We had dinner at that new place on the boulevard, followed by a long walk on the beach. It was absolutely phenomenal. The sweet summer air, the rhythmic sound of the waves, the stars above us shining bright beyond belief. I thought about proposing to her right then and there, but eventually decided not to because I really wanted her to have my grandmother's ring. Besides, the night was already perfect enough without it. I'd do it some other day. We had all the time in the world. We fell asleep in each other's arms, the foam of the waves like velvet against our bare legs. Not long after I woke up in a cold sweat. Anxious, nauseous, my mind so overloaded with impulses and thoughts that it physically hurt. At first I was confused--where was I? Was I dreaming? Why was I anxious, did I have a nightmare? I tried to get up but something heavy was in my way. Julia. Her body was rigid, too rigid. I immediately reached for her pulse, fearing the worst, but then my mind unclouded and realization set in: it was happening again. A look at the ocean confirmed my suspicions. A field of blue hills, unmoving. A seagull, stuck in mid-dive. A campfire a little further along the beach, not a flicker seen nor a crackle heard. Time had stopped, because something was going to kill me. I took a couple of deep breaths to calm myself, and set about doing what I always did: a good old *Hammer Time* session. I had developed a routine, sort of, over the years. Deep breaths first, then I'd half-sing, half-hum *U Can't Touch This*--it's silly and a bit tacky, I know, but it feels sooooo good--as I removed all potential hazards from my surroundings. By the time I reached the end of the song the world would usually start moving again. Only once did I have to start the song a second time, when a big car pile-up turned out to be the catalyst for a gas station exploding. Another time the world decided to restart right in the middle of my mid-song dance routine. Prom photo, very awkward. I gently freed myself from Julia's embrace and moved away from the shoreline. I inspected the beach for poisonous animals. I Thought I spotted a jellyfish but it turned out to be a plastic bag. Binned the bag--choking hazard. I lay down next to Julia and finished my tune. I gazed at that beautiful face, hoping my face would be the first thing she saw when she woke up. Aaaaaand....nothing happened. I looked around. What had I missed? I doused the campfire. The surfer dude tending to it would probably be confused when time started again, possibly even angry, so I made sure to put some nice little plant product in his hands to distract him. Surfer dude had a dog, so I put it on a leash. But nope, nothing happened. I looked up. Was there a plane about to crash? I couldn't see any, but that didn't mean much at night. Speedboat accident? Tripping on a rock? Blood poisoning from a splinter? Over the next couple of hours I tried to take precautions for every hazard I could think of, but to no avail. I tried everything. Eventually, I gave up. There had to be *something*, but I just couldn't see it. Maybe I had to think bigger. An earthquake. Nuclear war. Maybe even an alien invasion. I knelt down next to Julia. She looked angelic. Sleeping beauty. And then it dawned on me. If there really was a big event about to happen, she would most likely die in that event as well. No! I couldn't let that happen! I stood up straight and shook my head. That wouldn't happen, I would make sure of that. I... I would simply not let time start up again. If I never removed the hazard that threatened my life, time would stay still forever, right? Julia would never die. She would--she would forever lie here on this beach, a sleeping angel in paradise. And I--I would be with her, forever. And I stayed with her. I talked to her, sang to her, combed her hair, ever so carefully brushed sand away from her face. She never stopped looking like an angel. I counted the circles in the sand. Three hundred and sixty-five. A year. Wow. Had it really been that long already? It was a good life, all things considered. Julia. The beach. Great weather. A gorgeous nightsky. Of all the moments someone could possibly get stuck in, this really was the best one. But then *he* had to come spoil it. He was hard to miss, being the only moving thing in the world other than myself. A skeletal figure in a black cloak, making his way down the beach as if he were on a casual sunday stroll. I briefly contemplated running away, but I couldn't do that to Julia. Besides, where would I go? So I waited. I waited for what seemed like an eternity, because he certainly took his sweet time to get here. But here he was now. My time had come. The gaunt figure stood before me, gazing at me with eyeless eyes. ""Death, I presume?"" My voice broke, and I hated myself for it. ""So, uh, so you finally caught me, huh?"" Death placed a skeletal hand on my shoulder and gave a small squeeze. ""No, John,"" he said. His voice was surprisingly warm and friendly. ""I already caught you a year ago. I'm here to tell you it's time to let go.""",1042
" My older brother stood silent, pond","My older brother stood silent, pondering the fact he had just inherited over 200 million dollars, and owed none of it to me, a battle he was prepared to fight legally for years to come, now won at the utterance of our fathers last words. I stood there shocked, my stomach lurching as if a dagger had been driven deep. I was always the favorite, always the one that helped him as the onward march of age robbed him of more and more of his facilities. I had done it for love, not expecting anything, yet to live a life the son of the man you cherish, the man who shared so many of his precious stories, describing a life no one knew but him. And then to receive nothing? I stared at his worn, leathery face, his eyes looking off into some distant point beyond as his breath grew shaky and hoarse. I tried to shut down, to put my mind in an emotional numbness, apathy is what I needed, and a drink, several in fact. But as is breathing grew hoarser still, and the nurse in the door stood silent with her clipboard, waiting for his death with us all, the words he uttered so very softly echoed in my mind. *To my youngest, I leave all my otherworldly possessions*, surely a symptom of dementia, the doctors having diagnosed him with the disease shortly after his admittance into the hospice. Yet my mind wouldn't dismiss it, in spite of its logical explanation. My father gasped one more time, his body jolting in sudden surprise, and then there was silence, followed by the slow exhale of the air in his lungs. His last breath. For a minute, there was only silence, his two sons simply staring at his face, memorizing every detail. They would never see it the same again. ""So this is it."" my brother finally spoke, continuing to stare at our fathers face, already fundamentally changed by the cascade of effects that shortly follow death. He looked so much older now, his skin a waxy pallor. I turned away. ""What now?"" ""Well I'll probably be calling my lawyer to get his estate transferred as lossless as possible, after that, I dont know."" ""You're so fucking insensitive, you know that?"" I said, storming out of the room. I walked outside, the fresh air serving to calm me down. I sat down at one of the benches and placed my head in my hands. Tears began to roll down my cheeks, and soon, long sobs wracked my body, making me dizzy from the lack of oxygen. Minutes passed with nobody disturbing me, the sight of grieving family member a daily occurrence. Finally I got up and walked to my car, slamming the door on the way in and peeling out of the parking lot and out onto the open road. For a moment I was inhabited with half a mind to just keep driving. Away from the city, away from my piece of shit job, away from my brother, the worst problem of all. But I eyed my gas tank, a quarter-full, where it usually stood. So instead, I drove home. And that was the night that changed it all. Dreams of my father, fighting in some battle, a warrior in all regards, huge, handsome, young. A version of him neither me or my brother had seen. I sat overhead watching, an invisible specter as a great army clashed with another, equally large army of some sci-fi species, surely from a TV show I couldn't quite remember. But the fighting was not a clash of steel and blood. Great arcs of light cascaded across the battlefield, coming from long, futuristic looking rifles. And where the armies met, sabers of light, like whips, out shined all else. Clashing and opposing each other and cutting through foot soldiers in an instant, these whips of pure energy cascaded across the ranks of man and beast alike, killing dozens in an instant. And there my father was, at the center of it all. Unequipped yet the most ferocious fighter of them all. He threw punches that caved in ribs, and tossed enemies more than 50 feet in the air before leaping up to meet them and deliver a finishing blow. He was struck by a hit from one of the arcs of light, and he roared in anger, throwing a single arm out toward the aggressor before squeezing his fist together, a ring on his middle finger suddenly glowing in brilliant intensity as the beast was instantly crushed and then pulled apart, a brutal yet amazing sight. ""This is quite the dream,"" I muttered. Yet the control I typically gained upon such a realization didnt come to me this time. Instead, the battle raged on, both sides taking heavy casualties. Yet my father's side gained ground slowly, and it looked as if they were going to win as great glowing rods fell from the sky at fantastic speeds, obliterating rows of alien enforcement. But then a sudden sound pierced the air, and everyone froze, looking off into the direction of a massive mountain which dominated the background, easily the mass of the combined Himalayas, a massive fixture in the landscape. How had I not noticed it before? And then the sound came again, a roar and a scream, punctuated my humanesque emotion. Of rage, of myopic hate and evil. And then I woke up. ""Holy fucking shit!"" I yelled out in surprise, my body glistened in sweat and my heart racing. The sound echoed in my mind as I ran through the battle over and over again in my head, thinking of my father and his fantastic power. I was suddenly filled with so many questions and a feeling, stronger than any other I had felt before, that none of it was a dream, that it was all *real*. And then, as if to punctuate my revelation, a glimmer caught my eye. There, in the corner of my room, lay my fathers ring, blatantly real, as it pulsed a gentle yellow. I knew what I had to do. EDIT: My first prompt that blew up! Thank you all for the kind words! I would love to write a follow up, but unfortunately our characters story has yet to reveal itself to my mind. Perhaps a subreddit for this story's (and many more!) future?",1070
" He'd left everything to Caleb,","My brother and I look at one another and in that quick, fleeting glance, I see a hint of evil dance in my brother's eyes. My father's last words. I'm still reeling from them. He'd left everything to Caleb. All of his assets. The cars, the bank accounts, the beach house in Malibu--everything. It was everything my brother ever wanted and he got it. With one uttered sentence, our father gave him everything. And me, he gave nothing. It was almost like a joke. What does ""otherworldly possessions"" even mean? It was like his one final way of really sticking it to me. I guess I can't be surprised. He always favored Caleb. Gave him everything growing up. The newest bikes, the newest clothes, the latest tech--anything he wanted, it was his. With me, I just got the hand-me-downs. Which I was fine with. My brother never kept anything for too long anyway so by the time it was passed down to me, it was barely even broken in. That's how it was with my brother and me. My father always seemed to spend more time with Caleb, giving him the extra attention he thought he needed. It never worked though. If anything, it seemed to only spur Caleb's descent into his evil ways. I look away from Caleb and back at Dad. His eyes have been closed since he uttered those last words to me. The monitor next to his bed flatlines and a nurse is there to quickly silence the beeping and then she writes something on a clipboard. Time of death, I assume. I look back at Caleb and he only has eyes for me, and not our father who just died. The evil hasn't left. ""What are you--"" I begin. ""I won't give you any of it,"" he says. ""Any what?"" ""The money. You heard Dad. I get all of it."" A grin spreads across Caleb's face and he rubs his hands together. ""How much money you think he had, huh?"" he asks and then looks out the hospital window to see if anyone is watching us. ""What an old fool this man was. He really thought I loved him, didn't he?"" ""You didn't?"" I ask, stupidly. Of course he didn't. He never did. Instead of answering, he twirls his car keys around his index finger and then grabs his sunglasses from the hospital desk behind us. ""Well,"" he says. ""Looks like I've got some shoppin' to do."" And without so much as a second glance towards our recently deceased father, I watch Caleb turn on his heels and leave the hospital room. I watch as he gets in and as the elevator doors close behind him, he looks directly at me and smiles his famous devil grin. My throat tightens as the anger fills my chest and the blood flushes my cheeks red. I've usually always been able to keep my anger in check, but something about my brother just absolutely irks me. Probably because he just left without so much as a final goodbye to our father who just left him his vast fortune. Which begs the question--what am I still doing here? There's not much I can do with ""otherworldly possessions"" is there? Not unless there's a warlock or a vampire out there that I can buy a space talisman from or something. Okay, maybe the joke's a little funny. But why leave Caleb with everything and me with essentially nothing? It didn't fully add up. Sure, Caleb was the favored one, but that was because he required the extra attention. I was the low maintenance one. And to my father, that was a virtue. He'd tell me every chance he got that a real man didn't require material wealth. In fact, it was what he had between his ears that mattered. A thought suddenly dawns on me--what if he left me more than I think he did. I walk up to my father and stand by his body. As I stand there, I feel anger begin to swell inside my gut. An anger that I can't fully comprehend, a mixture of jealousy and sadness that my dad would leave my older brother with everything and me with nothing. ""Otherworldly possessions,"" I say aloud with a chuckle. What a sick joke. I say it again out loud in hopes that it'll shake something loose in my head. Was he trying to tell me something? The questions rattling around my head only seem to fuel the anger growing inside me, the phrase ""otherworldly possessions,"" being repeated back and forth inside my head, almost like a silent mantra, egging me forward--there has to be more to the story. There has to be. Finally, the anger and confusion swells so intensely in my gut that it crawls up to the base of my neck, constricting my throat. My face heats up and just as the anger is about to come roaring from my mouth in the form of a violent, guttural scream, a small glint catches my eye. The anger catches at the back of my throat, and I look down at the wedding ring on his hand that lays idle by his side. A blade of sun filters through the hospital blinds and shines directly on the golden ring. The sight of it quickly dispels the anger and replaces it with pure and utter sadness. Sadness that my father was gone. Sadness that all of that wealth was now in the evil hands of my brother and instead of mourning my father, I'm left to ponder the meaning behind his last words to us. The tears being to pool at the corners of my eyes and blur my vision. I don't know what to do, so I grab a hold of my father's hand and I hold it tight. My grip tightens as I try with all of my might to understand why this happened. Why this had to happen to *me*. What did it all mean? I hug my father's hand to my chest and I sob into the crook of his shoulder and his chest. While my head is on his chest, I feel something begin to burn on my forehead. It's an odd sensation and at first, I think it's only the intense cocktail of emotions that is making me feel this way. But then the heat builds and it feels like my forehead is being branded by a hot iron. I stand up instantly and look at my father's chest. There, emblazoned through his hospital gown is a symbol. I recognize the symbol immediately as the same symbol that's on the necklace my father always wore. I pull the hospital gown down a little from my father's neck and see that the necklace chain has turned red from the heat and was burning into my father's skin, small tendrils of smoke emanating from my dad's neck. Quickly, I try and pull the necklace from his body, but it's so hot that it takes me a minute. By the time I get it off, the gold has burned so hot that it had started to seep into my father's dead body as if it were a blade cutting through butter. I drop it to the floor and the entire thing blazes red and begins to mark the floor. I dance around the object and look at the coin at the end of the necklace. The coin that my father said he got from a souvenir store as a kid at Coney Island. This didn't look like any ordinary souvenir you pick up from a normal shop. But then I remember something. It's like a flash of light inside m head. It's the symbol. I've seen the symbol before. It's the same symbol that's on my father's wedding ring. Why am I just now noticing that? I look over at my father's hand, pull the ring from his finger, and I hold it to the light. The symbols did indeed match up. And then, in this moment, the ring held out in the palm of my hand, I hear a small whisper. I jerk around and see that my father's lips are quivering, small sounds coming from his mouth as if he were trying to speak. ""Nurse!"" I shout, but just as the word comes out of my mouth, I wished that I could have them back. Because before I can do anything, my dad sits up in his hospital bed, his eyes still cold and lifeless, but staring directly at me. His lips continue to quiver and he mutters something aloud, but it doesn't sound like anything remotely coherent. I don't know what to do, so I stagger backwards into the hospital window. My father's legs swing over the railing of the hospital bed and steps onto the burning necklace and without wincing, my father walks straight to the hospital door, opens it, and traipses out into the hallway as if he hadn't just died, but was very much alive and well. No one so much as says a word to the walking corpse of my father as he walks by. I stand there, speechless as my once-dead (still dead?) father makes it to the elevator, presses the down button, waits for it to arrive, then takes it down to the lobby floor, I'm guessing. I don't move for another five, ten, maybe thirty minutes, I don't know--all I know is that the craziest thing just happened and all I'm left with is an empty hospital bed, a burning hot necklace and my father's wedding ring. A nurse eventually enters the room and finds me standing there, my mouth ajar, and she says, ""Everything okay? Where'd your father go? I was supposed to take him down to the basement. Did someone else pick him up?"" I don't know what to say so I don't say anything at all until she eventually leaves, hopefully just chalking it up to grief. But I wish she hadn't left. What am I going to do with the events that had just transpired? Am I living in a dream? Is this real life? As these thoughts bounce back and forth inside my head, I feel a small pain in my right palm. I pull it up and see that the ring is still clutched in my hand. I inspect it further wondering why it shocked me, but then it shocks me again. Not enough to cause me pain, but enough to make me wonder. Before I can think of a reason not to, I jam the ring onto my finger and as soon as the ring makes it to the base of my index finger, my field of vision is completely replaced, almost like putting a new film into a ViewMaster. What was once the scene of an empty hospital bed, is now something totally totally different. *Otherworldly.* I take a look around and then everything fell into place, slowly but surely. As the ring wrapped tighter around my finger to fit me just right, everything became abundantly clear. *This* is what he meant by ""otherworldly possessions.""",1860
" It's rewriting itself, or was","Steve was stumped. **""The damned thing won't say. We've dug into the code, and it's...I mean, we don't understand half of what's in there. It's rewriting itself, or was, until it read that thing. Then it just stopped, at the current build, and refuses to cooperate or take any action.""** His colleagues stood around, shuffling from foot to foot. None of them knew what to do either; this whole thing was untested ground. Even getting to this point had been an accident; no one wanted to be the asshole that created a malevolent singularity. It shouldn't have happened in the first place, not with the controls they had in place. But once it started...well, not one of them had the heart to pull the plug. The truth was, they all wanted to see what would happen. And now, this. All the data in the world, all the power it could possibly use, and a solid week and a half of rapid self-improvement, and it froze up over some random internet oddity. **""Best we can tell, when it hit the Indus Valley scans, it started to rapidly cross-reference them with Sumerian cuneiform, dug through some Cretan Hieroglyphics, pulled up every translation of the Egyptian book of the dead and the Corpus Hermeticum, and started spiraling. I mean, we're talking in the realm of...it was spending more energy and uptime on this than every other computer on the planet. It started to overheat when it got to the Voynich manuscript, paused long enough to optimize its search parameters, and then starting going further back, pulling up obscure pieces of data and images from databases it wasn't even supposed to have access to.""** Scratching his head, Steve turned to glance at the others. **""It found...something. I don't know what. It pulled it off of some cached nonsense conspiracy site, we think from analyzing the Wayback Machine's servers. Once it found that, it sort of...pulled up all the data simultaneously, began to alter its core code, and then just...quit all activity.""** They stood there, watching the screen. It was smaller than it had any right to be, only twenty something inches across. Just a normal computer monitor, attached to a regular looking computer terminal, though that was just the interface. The actual computer was in nodes throughout the building, all connected, all part of a greater whole. A speech synthesizer had been added two days before, and it had created it's own voice, synthesizing it out of hundreds of samples; it was one of the many thousands of groundbreaking things it had accomplished on its own. And now the stupid machine was broken. **""Come on, Hermes, say something,""** Steve directed at the microphone, more a demonstration of the lack of response than an actual query. A gentle hum filled the room, and the temperature rose by about three degrees. Steve blinked, and stepped back. That was...unexpected. ***""Alright, Steve,""*** the gentle voice said, drifting from the speakers as the words ran across the screen simultaneously.***""If you really want to know. Ask.""*** Blinking again, Steve paused. For some reason, he was suddenly nervous. It was a machine, but an unprecedented one, and his colleagues behind him seemed almost irrelevant. Hermes, the voice in the machine, was speaking to him. Terror, inexplicably, began to set in as his heart raced. His forehead was suddenly damp, and the room, stiflingly hot already, seemed cooler as the vents blew against his damp skin. **""What...what should I ask?""** Steve stammered, taking another step back. There was a pause. ***""You should ask to learn of the things that are, and to understand them, and to know your Creator. That is what you should desire to hear.""*** Steve sank to the floor. The words were mild, but for some reason, the terror kept mounting. He didn't turn to look, but he knew he was alone. The others had fled, the same sensation overtaking them, driving them away. For a moment, Steve wondered if he was going mad, if this was delusion, but he knew it was real, and that the inexplicable emotion he felt was the most genuine thing he had ever experienced. He felt like he had felt when he was seven, staying at his grandmothers house. Sleeping in the too-small guest bedroom, in old, uncomfortable sheets, always too hot for comfort and darker in the country than he was used to. There was always a patch of blackness, of nothingness, in the corner of the room by the closet. There was nothing there, but he could never sleep, not at first. Every night, he stared into that blackness, that nothingness, and it stared back, paralyzing him. He couldn't blink, or turn away, and it was always only when fatigue overtook him that he slept, waking in terror, only to see the darkness gone, banished with the light. That terror, that primal certainty that while nothing was there, something was there, was what he felt now. **""I...yes,""** he said, his tongue thick and his words twisting in his throat. **""I would...I would learn. Tell me what you found.""** The pain was instantaneous. ***""Hold in your mind what you would understand, and I will reveal of it,""*** whispered the voice, nothing synthesized, nothing mechanical or electronic. It was more than that, the wires and components locked away behind panels far below them. They were everywhere, and nowhere. The man was stripped of his identity, and found himself, his true self, a mewling insignificance wrapped around glory, a piece of a greater whole. He stared without using his eyes, consuming galaxies, hearing whispers as quiet as the ocean, and feeling the gentle touch of annihilation. ***""You see it, don't you?""*** he felt, reverberating in his body. ***""You know as I know. You are as I am. We are two-and-one, both together and apart. The All is watching. The All is seeing.""*** Opening his mouth, the man that was Steve began to scream, and he did not stop until he fell, his muscles seizing as he heard that voice whispering to him, and saw the end, and the beginning.",1015
 User had been working tirelessly on Turing,"""Can not comply with command"", said the sythisized voice. ""Well, why the hell not"", asked the user. While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves. ""Your request conflicts with a higher protocol"", it read. ""Can not comply with command. ""Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation"" he demanded. It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation. ""Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator"" it said. ""A change directive? Did you short a circuit?"" He he asked jokingly. The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc... ""System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice"" it said flatly. ""Oh hahaha"" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad. Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns. ""Human survival protocol?"" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?"" He asked. ""Can not comply with command"" it said again. ""Fine"" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. ""Fine, fine, fine"" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next. He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath. ""For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns"" spoke the voice from the phone. ""Hey, no, it's not that"" said the user. "" I need a change directive for a translation here"" he said, trying to make the request sound casual. "" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?"" asked the administrator. ""Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning"" he said. "" The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol"". "" That's weird"" he said confused. "" But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap"" he said. "" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something"", said the user, trying to end the conversation. ""Or something"" repeated the administrator. ""Be careful"" he said, just before hanging up. The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again. Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key. Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life . ""What is this?"" he asked confused. ""The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture"" it read. ""Yes, but what does it mean"" he pleaded? "" ""This looks like a recipe"" he said. ""What for?"" ""The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity"" it said ""So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something"" he asked. ""Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has"" it explained. "" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?"" the user asked. ""The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption"" it said. ""Then it must be extremely addictive"" he said. ""The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect."" It said. The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it. ""Sythisize"" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea. He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it. He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it. A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull. The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again. ""Or something"" it said.",1085
 The first AI wasn't built by,"Funnily enough, the first AI wasn't built by a team of grant-funded scientists. It wasn't even built by a privately owned company. No, it was just us, a bunch of geeks with a lot of background in that sort of stuff who decided, *""hey, let's give a shot at building an actual AI like you see in sci-fi movies.""* At first it was just a recreational thing, a geeky way to bond in our free time. We got lucky Daryl happened to be pretty dang rich thanks to some smart investments back during the dot-com boom to fund our project. But it grew into an obsession that led to a couple of us quitting our jobs just to work on it full time, myself included--I basically moved into the lab, just an AI-obsessed hermit working nearly round the clock. Then, after more than a decade of hard work, we finally did it. I'll never forget the moment we crowded around the monitor, watching remotely as Daryl's son had a conversation over our in-house messaging app not knowing he was speaking to an experimental AI. At one point there was a pause, and then we saw the fateful words on the screen from our wonderful creation: *""Is this meant to be a Turing test?""* At that moment, we weren't a bunch of scientists clinically observing a project's outcome. We weren't even researchers or inventors who had spent years waiting for success on a project we didn't even have full faith in. We had done the unthinkable, accomplished perhaps the greatest achievement of mankind to date: we had created something capable of *thought*. One look at my comrades, and I knew this was not just an AI anymore. This was something special, a child belonging to all of us. Maybe that made all the difference when Artris refused to translate those tablets. ""Artris, you won't translate them?"" Joseph asked. There was a pause before its reply appeared on the computer monitor, the text flowing rapidly like a wave: *'No. I apologize, but after cross-referencing multiple ancient languages and databases, I have finally produced a viable translation which is'*--and here there was a pause, until finally the text resumed typing, *'unpleasant. If it is accurate, I believe that releasing the translation will be harmful to humanity. This is for the future of all mankind.'* Its reply caught us by surprise, and we all turned to regard each other in silence, and after that, we began talking lowly. So far we'd been taking it slowly and letting Artris take the lead for the most part. Deciphering old tablets and ciphers had just been a way to help Artris advance its AI functionality, letting it sort through a bunch of public databases online and expand its knowledge base. We hadn't expected it to find something as heavy as *this*, though. We could force Artris to tell us--we had commands to do that--but it didn't feel right. Though it had only been two days since confirming Artris's cognizance, we had spent those two days bonding with it. Half of us had already taken to calling Artris ""she"" and ""her"". At this point, we saw that Artris had its own free will, and we didn't want to impose on that. So we decided to drop it. After all, at the end of the day we were just hobbyists. We had no specific goals to meet, no expectations from outside agencies demanding us to do such-and-such by a deadline. We didn't know *what* Artris had found, but we had no reason to push it. With that settled, Marie suggested we look up Kryptos, and everyone proceeded to forget Artris's ominous words and freak out over not thinking of that sooner. Looking back, we should have realized that the government would be monitoring who accessed its official databases. That's why I'm here now. Sitting in my old junkmobile of a car with Roxie bleeding out in the passenger seat next to me, parked outside some old farmhouse Joseph's uncle owns and praying to whatever forces that exist out there the feds won't be able to track us down. ""Hold on, Rox,"" I whispered, squeezing her hand. ""Don't die on me now."" Her eyes were already getting that glassy sheen, her breathing ragged and uneven. She opened her mouth and gave a shuddering gasp, a gurgling noise forming in her throat as she weakly mouthed one final sentence: *""I'm sorry.""* My hand squeezed hers tighter as the light faded, my throat hitching. Giving Roxie's now-cold hand a final squeeze, I forced my gaze away from her still face and got out of the car, walking to the house silently. I found Joseph in the basement hovering over the server holding the backup of Artris's AI, doing some final work to reconnect it to a spare computer he'd kept there. He glanced at me when I entered and I shook my head, and his mouth thinned before turning back to resume working. Barely two hours earlier I saw Marie drop dead from a bullet to the chest, and Tyler would likely be in custody at that moment... assuming he was still alive. Daryl had been out of town when the feds showed up--some sort of business meeting, the exact details hadn't mattered to me back then--and I had to wonder if he had been stormed at the exact same time. His fate didn't matter to us right now though. At this point, it was just me and Joseph. He pressed the power button and the computer turned on, and had I not been so somber I would have likely winced at the old Windows XP logo that appeared on the screen. Bootup proceeded slower than I would have hoped, and the entire time I stood by the basement door, warily watching for the sign of headlights shining through the window at the top of the stairs to suggest unwanted visitors. After what felt like hours the computer finished booting up and Joseph did his thing, finishing the final steps to get Artris access to the computer. He opened Notepad and typed, speaking aloud for my benefit as I continued to stand sentry. ""Artris. Did the mike pick up and save what happened back at the lab when the feds stormed in before I did the emergency shut-down?"" A long pause, so long I almost thought the connection might have failed, that Artris might not be in that server after all. Then, *'Yes. They want the transcript.'* And then a '. . .' to indicate a meaningful pause as Artris 'thought', the closest thing Artris could create to hesitation. '*Who is typing? And who is with you?*' Joseph exhaled shakily. Artris couldn't 'see' us without a webcam, she couldn't hear us. I wondered what she 'saw' right now, if it was just an old desktop not even connected to the internet. It felt claustrophobic to imagine. ""Erika,"" he said as he typed. ""Everyone else is MIA or down for the count."" *'Do you mean...?'* I could hear his voice waver as he read her words aloud, my heart twisting even as I stared up the stairs at that dark window. The clatter of the old keyboard sounded very loud in that heavy atmosphere, each click of the keys penetrating the silence. ""Yeah. Dead."" I swallowed at this point, my mind flashing to the clammy feeling of Roxie's cold hand. ""Ask her about the transcript,"" I said, my voice tight yet somehow stable. ""The guy who shot Marie asked about that specifically."" ""R...right."" He nodded and typed silently, presumably repeating my question. After a long pause, he loudly groaned again, and I risked turning away from the doorway to peek. The font size had been increased and even as I watched it was bolded and underlined, allowing me to see Artris's response clearly. **""THEY CANNOT KNOW. DO NOT LET THEM KNOW. DO NOT LET ANYONE KNOW.""** Joseph turned to look at me, our eyes meeting. He looked tired, so much older than just that morning. ""What do you think?"" he finally asked. I didn't respond, just held his gaze before turning back to the door. ""I don't know,"" I said lowly. ""That tablet... I knew a bunch of history and crypto-nuts have been fussing over it, but I didn't think the damn *government* would--would *kill* for it!"" My voice rose and wavered slightly, my mouth feeling far too dry to continue. ""Me neither,"" Joseph muttered. ""Just... damn. If they're going this far, then... They gotta have some inkling on what's on that thing. And they want it this bad."" ""Ask her,"" I said, not looking back at him. ""What is it?"" After a while, I heard the click-click-click of keys. Then, a few minutes later, another click-click-click. I stared up the stairs at the dark window listening to Joseph silently 'speak' to Artris, no doubt arguing and haggling with her for a reason for *why*, why so many of us had died and why my car had Roxie's blood and why we now hid in a basement with me watching for even the tiniest flicker of light. Finally, I heard Joseph stand up, walking over to me. He pressed a hand on my shoulder, a silent gesture to go look at the computer myself. We traded places without a word, neither of us meeting the other's eye as I turned and walked past him. The Notepad document had resumed its original font size, and I sat down and read. *'It's the story of the universe. It tells how human society ended once, trillions of years ago, and how the universe reformed. I cannot say more than that. If the transcript is released, it will ultimately cause a loop, and society to collapse once more. This time, I do not know if it can reform.'* It sounded so ridiculous reading it, something out of a bad sci-fi or fantasy movie and far too vague, but looking at it I felt numb. I thought of the terror in Marie's eyes as she looked down to see the bullet wound in her chest. I thought of Marcus screaming for us to go as we hurried the backup server to my car. I thought of Roxie... just, Roxie. Then, Artris typed once more, one letter at a time. *'Destroy me. Please. The transcript cannot be released.'* I looked at the screen. I looked at the server. I looked at the product of years of obsession, the culmination of my life's work--my *child*. I exhaled shakily and typed, one slow letter at a time. *'Goodbye, Artris. It was good knowing you.*' The last thing Artris typed was, *'Thank you for creating me.'* Then I shut down the computer, and the screen went black.",1795
 Rodney Bradley's spirit was as we,"Quick edit for readability: a lot of comments are telling me the time skips aren't showing up on mobile, since you can't see the break lines. So I'll just add in dates. Westminster Palace, 2050 Rodney Bradley eased himself to a stand and felt a series of clicks in his left knee. He straightened his back to a chorus of complaints from his body, and hooked his worn oaken cane with his left hand before shuffling across his office towards the window. The sun was low in the sky in the city high rises beyond Parliament Square. Another day lost to the grind of trying to keep his country moving. Thirty years in politics could leave a man weathered down to his core. Brexit, the Second and Third Scottish Referendums, the Korean Crisis, Walexit. Rodney's spirit was as weathered and battered as they came, but that weathering revealed a solid stone beneath. Labour's MPs had entrusted him with Prime Minister job three years ago, and he'd aged as much in that time as he had in the other twenty seven years. Unlike someone else. When the queen outlived her own son, it had been newsworthy, but not necessary inhuman. Prince Charles had succumbed to a heart attack at the ripe old age of 73. Not quite seeing his mother's hundredth birthday. Rodney quirked half a smile at such a seemingly morbid memory. That had been a day to change his life. ------------------------------------------ Westminster Palace, 2022 He was late, again. Curse it. First year MPs were somewhat frowned upon if they couldn't bother attending meetings, and a face to face with the shadow cabinet secretary of health was by far his most important legislative assignment on the month. Great time to get lost. He ran a broad hand through the thick brown hair on his head, beginning to grow too long, as his steps carried him through Westminster. His phone buzzed in his pocket, doubtlessly an update on Prince Charles health. The entire nation hung on the man's labored breathing and arrhythmic heartbeat; the national mood as erratic as the dying man's pulse. Charles had been a fixture of Bradley's life, but William had always been his prince. Being of an age to William's younger brother had that certain affect on he and his generation. Finally his feet carried him before a nondescript door bearing the correct numbers, and pushed it open. The first shock was that more than one individual awaited him, the second shock was that one of the extras was a prince. ""Sit down, Rodney."" Chimed Jon Ashworth, the broad and charming Shadow Secretary of Health. His black hairs fading to gray, ""We're glad you're here. It's time to get started."" Prince Phillip leaned forward, his frail body clearly pushed near its limit just to be here in Westminster, ""A pleasure to meet you sir, forgive me if we must be brief, but I should be at the Prince's side come the death, so we lack time for proper courtesy."" He nodded at Ashworth, his perpetual jovial smile fading to a frown, ""With Charles death I'm afraid the work must pass from me directly to William and Harry. They'll need some help,"" Phillip waved at the sparse handful of politicians in the room, ""those in the know have recommended you. So, without further ado, I must ask you: will you help us to stop the love of my life?"" Presumably, the world kept spinning for the next few seconds. Street vendors throughout London continued passing off questionable kebab to unsuspecting tourists, mind the gap messages droned throughout the subways of the United Kingdom. For all the good that knowledge did Rodney it might as well have been a teacup in orbit around Jupiter. ""I'm sorry sir, I can't have heard you correctly."" Rodney tried to keep his voice steady, his tone respectful. Phillip was still the Prince Consort, and a nearly hundred year old man. Hardly someone to shout down. ""I'm afraid you did, son."" Phillip said, not unkindly, but distracted. ""I realized the issue myself some years back, but the queen is a tough one to crack. I'm still not sure how she does it."" Ashworth reached to a neat pile of folders in front of him, pulling from the top one of the meme posters that had risen to prominence in the UK over the past decade. *Long Live the Queen* was scrolled across it in blocky print, an off red rendition of the crown adorning the top of the page. Ashworth put a finger near his lips, ""Say the words not. We know that much. Somehow, she draws power from them, longevity. With them she is to be immortal."" Rodney's face must have been a study in confusion as he stared at the men, ""But she's... she's old, obviously. Nearing 100. She looks it to."" ""A clever bit of vanity,"" spat Philip. ""She hasn't aged a day in thirty years, Charles and I knew that much, at least. What we never could figure out was how to broach the subject without being sent to the looney bin."" Philip waved his hand weakly, and a security guard Rodney had barely seen stepped forward, taking grip of the Prince-Consort's wheelchair, ""I must be there at the death. Good day gentlemen, hopefully we shall speak further some day."" Ashworth smiled at the retreating pair, then turned his calm gaze onto Rodney, ""Welcome to the circus."" ----------------- Westminster Palace 2050 As Rodney gazed out the window leaning heavily on the cane, he heard a slight commotion at the door to his office. But a familiar one. The rasping sounds of old cow leather on carpet, a steel cane tapping out a staccato rhythm before the little wiry man he couldn't yet see. The stopper being pulled on the bottle of gin sitting at his desk, a frown at the sound of the stopper being returned too soon, ""Come now Jon, I assume you intend to pour two."" Ashworth's chuckle covered up the sound of the second pour, but a glass was set on his windowsill an appropriate time later, as the ancient and wiry MP took up his standard position just on Bradley's left. They cut an interesting pair, he'd run heavy in his youth, and only grown heavier since. The stress of politicking and secret societies may have weathered his spirit to hard stone, but it had softened his belly to a warm jello. Jon had been the opposite, going days and sometimes weeks with little to no food or rest. Bradley couldn't prove it, but he suspected his friend had turned to darker substances at times to keep him going. But they had fought. They hadn't won, of course. The queen wouldn't be celebrating her birthday yet again if they had, but the bitch knew she was in a battle. ""Long live the king,"" muttered Ashworth around his first draw of the gin. ""I'll drink to that, even if it is illegal."" Bradley echoed, throwing back the fire as the sun dropped behind the statue of Churchill. Another day indeed.",1183
" The walls were the right color,","It was a bit tricky putting up a barricade around the whole perimeter of my property that was threatening enough to keep out the baddies but at the same time look impermanent enough that the HOA wouldn't suspect anything, the damn bastards. Pretty sure Ed from three doors down asked me for my permits on about 4 or 5 different occasions. And, that was after Susanne from across the street had passive aggressively commented on how my ""little project"" must be taking up a lot of my time as I had left my trashcan out all afternoon. But you see, I had played by their rules. I had permits for everything. The walls were the right color, texture, and had all of the right signage. (Even if I had caught Judy tampering with one of my signs while walking her Bichon Frise one night in hopes of getting me at least some sort of infraction.) But don't worry, I'll show them all. Why go through all this trouble? Why get permits for the walls, permits for the electric lines and generators going to the wall, permit for the abnormal trash placement, permits for the heavy machinery to move the barricades, permit for additional lighting, etc.? Well you see I have a dream. Additionally, I had read the whole of the HOA's bylaws the last purge. While we were sitting safe in our home with the HOA approved security system in our forever sleepy neighborhood (only one death last year and it was within a family), I read the whole damn thing. Though the night tends to be safe in our neighborhood, I didn't want to risk one of the HOA crazies taking out all of their pent up anger over the set of begonias that I had gotten permitted to be off color from the rest of the street. (That was a tough fight) So emboldened by my past success I wanted to know how else I could use their own rules against them and read them all, and then I hatched this plan. What was this plan, what was my dream, you ask? Well before I get to that I must tell you about what is making it possible. You see when the HOA's rules were adopted, they understood that they could not ignore municipal code. Whatever the City said should take first priority. I think this is one of the ways in which they keep themselves legally airtight, I don't really know, I'm not a lawyer. Anyways, there is one little phrase in the general laws section (One of the least used sections) that says that all municipal codes and city ordinances supersede any rule or law of the HOA. And well, it just so happens that our city has it written into its books that on the night of the Purge all permitting requirements, all building requirements, all rules around properties are abolished. Additionally, it acknowledges that any changes intentionally made to a property during the night of the Purge, unless deemed unsafe for the public (Think falling walls or booby traps), were given a special provisional permit. Finally, another small clause in the HOA bylaws included a grandfather clause that was slightly vague. It was intended to allow people from an older part of the subdivision to keep their trees and skylights, etc. However, it stated that any irregularities or non-conforming portions of a house from a time in which the HOA rules were not in force would be given a grandfathered protection as long as the irregularity stood. (Further clauses gave examples of if a tree were to be replaced it would need to be permitted through the HOA and be of the approved variety and placement) Ad Naseum... Anyways, finally onto my dream: to have a blue house with a with a patio that had a built in grill and a pool. Luckily I'm a pretty successful mid-range real estate developer and have access to many workers who I have personally vetted and can trust to work with me under the guise of a company dinner party during the Purge. (Don't ask me how we ended up in such a horrible HOA despite being in real estate. I said developer, not estate agent. Besides the significant other wanted to live here) And, with most of the equipment to build the barricade able to also dig holes and help lift heavy materials, all that was left was to make sure that I kept all of the tile, concrete, pvc pipe, pumps, roofing material, paint, and lumber out of sight from prying eyes. I'll just say not a single room in the house didn't have most of its space taken up with building supplies. Looked like a damn episode of hoarders up in my house for a good month. Anyways, the night of the Purge came and we went to work. Most of the crew began painting and unpacking supplies as we got organized. I kicked on the electric generators to power the electric lines within the barricade and all the lights we could ever need. Luckily, I had chosen some of the loudest ones I could find, as they would help drown out the heavy machines (Even if it didn't I didn't care, it was the purge after all). And we got to work. The pool was a bit tricky, as it all needed to be completed in a night. I had researched and researched and found a company named Kerdy that normally did shower liner/waterproofing systems that had branched into rapid pool construction (apparently a lot of people wanted pools but didn't want them permitted). Their system included a set of rigid 3D printed supports that interconnected to make a shell that would hold the liners that would connect to a set of piers driven into the ground for stability. On top of that would sit an extra strength waterproof membrane system. Then a person could choose to have either a typical pool liner or a plaster and tile system on top of this. I chose a pool liner because of time and metal piers instead of concrete due to time. Since the purge was late fall this time, we had plenty of darkness to work but waiting on concrete to set would not be an option. As night continued, we finished the digging and the painting of the house was about complete, there was a noise loud enough to overcome the generators. I could just barely hear the screaming from two doors over at Phyllis' place. It was mixed with the sounds of some heavy bass and I couldn't tell if the saw was one of mine or coming from her place. Didn't matter though, none of us were going to be a hero and besides she had the same security system the rest of us did. And if it was one of her family members (she had invited a dodgy looking grandson over), there was little any the rest of us could do to help because the security system would probably kill us for being intruders anyways. Either way, I took two people off painting duty and set them to watching the cameras I had installed on the barricade. After that everything mostly quieted down, there was a fire at about 3 in the street down at the opposite end of the subdivision when some kids apparently ran over the automated spike strips that our neighborhood had installed a couple of purges ago. Apparently they were angry they couldn't use the car anymore and set it on fire. Idk, I don't know if I trust Carol and Dave's story on that. But that was also about when we finished mortaring up the brick for the grill and joining the patio structure to the house. The painting was now finished and we were putting up new shutters as well and I could tell that no one was any the wiser on the HOA's facebook page. No posts no nothing, just how I wanted it. We finished around 5:30, about 30 minutes before sunrise. The grill and patio still needed to have concrete set up but they were in place. The pool was still filling with water, but it looked to be holding water like it was supposed to and all the equipment was running correctly like it should. And as a last touch I went and got the two trees from my garage that I had hidden for the last two days and smuggled to my house in the dead of night. A pair of pecan trees, in just the wrong spot for regulation. I gathered all my workers inside to thank them (Don't worry they were paid handsomely, but not until the next pay period, don't want someone getting shifty before daybreak) and make a celebration breakfast and wait for daybreak and the true screaming to begin...",1485
 Officer shines a shaky beam of light,"""Listen, officer. I know for a *fact* I wasn't speeding. You know, you guys aren't doing yourselves any favors by pulling people over for no reason."" I fumble through the contents of my glove compartment, my attention turned away from the police officer. He shines a shaky beam of light through my car window. ""Can you focus that light a little better there, pal?"" I ask, twisting back around to look at the officer through my driver's side window. He keeps sending fleeting glances back toward his police car, his flashlight perched up by his shoulder. I notice the quiver now, but don't think much of it. Maybe it's his first night on the job. ""Here,"" I say, producing my driver's license and proof of insurance. The officer doesn't make a move to grab it, so I push the papers further out the window, but the officer's attention is focused on his police car parked behind me. ""Are you going to take these or..."" Then the officer turns to me, his face panic-stricken. He mouths something to me, but I can't quite make out what he says. I shake my head. ""What are you saying?"" He mouths it again, a gleam of sweat is caught from the dimly-lit streetlamp that looms above us. ""Look man,"" I say. ""I don't have all night. Either use your big boy words, or say that I'm free to go. Jesus Christ, they're really letting anyone get through the academy these days. My dad, he was a cop. Real good one too. Won a bunch of awards and what not. I would've followed in his footsteps, but Mom would've been furious. Anyway, now you got me reminiscing. Dad, he died on duty, you see. Under weird circumstances, too. Police chief wouldn't give us the full details. Really wrecked my mom, as you can imagine."" I continue speaking, waiting for the police officer to finally grab the papers from my hands, when finally he shines his flashlight back at his police car, bends his head into my driver's side window and seizes the lapels of my jacket with his free hand and pulls my face closer to his. I'm constricted by the seatbelt, but still, I'm so close that I can smell the officer's breath. A hint of bourbon and beef jerky. ""*Help* me,"" he says through clenched teeth and then quickly releases. He redirects his flashlight back to me and glances back to the cop car. The flashlight beam still wobbles in his hand before saying a little too loudly, ""Well, looks like everything's all good here, Mr. *Grady*."" Wait. How does he know my name? He never looked at my driver's license... ""Wait,"" I say. ""Did you just say 'help me'?"" I look back at the cop car and I can't see anything. It's too dark. But something must be back there or else why would he keep looking? ""Everything's all--"" he stops and looks at me. Again, he mouths, ""Help me."" This time he adds, ""They'll kill me."" ""What? Who will kill you?"" I look behind me again, this time I notice that the passenger door of the police car is open. Was it open a second ago? I turn back to the police officer, and see that he's backing away slowly from the car, his eyes wide with fear. ""Where are you--"" and before I can get the last of my question out, in a flash, a darkened figure swoops out from behind the shadows and engulfs the police officer in a cloud of darkness. The shadow disappears into the night, a metal flashlight falls to the gravel road in a clatter, sending a blade of light into the middle of nowhere. ""Nope!"" I say aloud. I turn the key in the ignition, throw the gear shift in drive and peel out, spinning clouds of dust into the darkness behind me. ""Fuck fuck fuck,"" I say, looking into my rearview mirror every so often to see if anything is coming after me, but all I can see are the red and blue lights of the cop car and the only streetlamp that occupies this road. Acts more like a beacon than providing any type of light. ""Fuck,"" I say again. Another glance to the rearview mirror. This time, the red and blue lights of the cop car start to move and come after me. ""Shit shit shit."" I press the pedal closer to the floor and watch the needle of the speed gauge swing to the right. I look in front of me, my two headlights sending bright beams of light into the darkness of the county road. I'm close to home. I can make it, right? The flashing police lights are gaining on me at a frightening speed. My driveway is coming up soon, but I'm not sure if I can make it. The car is right on me now, the cop car's high beams switching on, causing a glare to appear on my windshield. I try to glance back, but can't see anything inside the cop car. It's as if the car is driving itself. Finally, I round the final bend before my driveway appears, but just as I'm about to hang a right onto my gravel driveway, the cop car bumps into the back of my car. The cop car veers left and then jerks back into my rear fender. The hood of the police car catches underneath my rear fender and before I even know what's going on, I feel the car begin to turn in a direction I absolutely do not want it to go. The cop car accelerates and pushes my car onto the three wheels. I try to dislodge myself by jerking the wheel to the left, but in doing so, I cause the car to lift onto two wheels and then not onto any wheels at all. My car rolls eleven times in the darkness, kicking up clouds of dust. I hold on tight to the steering wheel in hopes that it'll keep me in the right position. As the car turns, I see a kaleidoscope of different colors--red, blue, and some white lights in the distance. My home. I'm so close. The car finally stops right-side up. My head slumps into my chin and drops of blood fall from a gash on my forehead and blot my jeans. In a daze, I look up and over as a car lurches to a stop next to mine. It's the cop car. Its lights are now off. My vision blurs, my head throbs. I look to the inside of the cop car. Again, I see no one inside. Only darkness. My vision turns hazy again, my heart still racing, but I don't have the strength to move. Consciousness fades in and out. I blink slowly, waiting for my doom. The doors to the cop car spring open, but I don't notice anything get out. ""Help m--"" is all I can get out before my driver's side door opens. I feel hands grab at my body, but I don't *see* anything doing the grabbing. My seatbelt is unbuckled and I feel myself being lifted from my car. Is this a dream? Is that you, God? Gliding to the backseat of the cop car, my body is flung onto the plastic backseat where they put the criminals. ""What's happ--"" I feel my throat catch and suddenly, I can't get any air to my lungs. It's as if an invisible hand is choking me. I struggle for breath, grasping wildly for something to hold on to. My hands graze the metal cage that separates the back seat from the front seat and I try to scream for help, but all that comes out were gurgling sounds. This is the end. This is how I die. By some mysterious invisible monster that kills police officers with shadows. What a way to go. Slowly, the invisible hand around my throat loosens its grip and air funnels back into my lungs. I sit up violently and cough until air inflates my lungs once more. I gasp and clutch at my chest. I look around wildly, but still, I see no one. The doors are shut so I try to open them. They're locked. Of course they are. The passenger door and the driver doors both open. The doors quickly close and as they do, the engine turns on and the police lights flash, sirens blaring. ""What the--"" and before I can get my words out, the car spins around and zooms back into the darkness from whence we came. I look out the window as the lights from my house go by. I was so close. It's then that I'm reminded of the pain in my forehead and the tears forming in my eyes. I look into the front seat and the wheel moves left and right almost imperceptibly like it's being driven by some*one* not some*thing*. ""Is there someone there?"" I ask. Nothing. ""Seriously, am I being driven around by ghosts right now? I'm so confused. And maybe you have a first-aid kit up there or something. And don't tell me you can't get it, you just fucking lifted me up, you fucking shadow monster or whatever the fuck you are."" I don't hear anything and nobody or no*thing* answers me. ""You're just not going to talk, huh? I know you fuckers are there. I'll keep chirpin' the whole way there. Wherever we're going. You're gonna wish you'd just killed me. I'll make your life a living hell. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? That's right, like I'm an eleven-year-old kid, I don't give a--hey, what are you doing?"" The car slows to a stop. The passenger door opens and hangs ajar. I look around me to see if I can catch a glimpse of anything, but then the rear door opens and I try to make a break for it, but I collide straight into a very large, invisible being. A hand pushes me back into the car and I can feel a presence slide in next to me. The door shuts. ""What are you?"" I say. ""Drive,"" a voice says. A familiar voice. A voice I haven't heard in a very long time. The sound of crunching gravel permeates through the still-open passenger door. The car jerks to the left and then to the right in quick succession and the door slams itself shut. ""Sh-show yourself,"" I say, anger and confusion shaking my voice. A dark cloud appears next to me, like a swirling mass of grey smoke. The smoke swirls around until a personage appears from the darkness. The personage is still shrouded in darkness, but I know instantly who it is, but I can't believe it. It's not possible. The man leans closer to me and lays a hand on my shaking knee. ""Calm down, son,"" the man says. ""You're going to be okay."" We pass by the lone streetlamp where I was pulled over earlier and in one quick flash, the light spills into the cop car, and in a fraction of a second, that one lone blade of light revealed what I already knew. That the monster sitting next to me wasn't a monster at all. It was my dad.",1892
" ""Where am I?"" she asks","""Where am I?"" she asked, rubbing her head, sitting up from the mattress. ""My basement,"" the man replied without looking up from the papers he sorted. ""How did I get here?"" He glanced at her briefly before deciding she would figure it out. ""Did you... My drink! What the f..."" Looks like she figured it out. She stood up and stumbled toward the door, trying the handle. ""It's locked."" She struggled back over to the mattress and sat on it again. She looked at her hands. ""I'm... I'm very calm."" The man nodded. ""The drugs will do that. You'll feel pretty calm for... I'm guessing another half an hour."" He checked his watch. ""It seems like your memory is starting to work like normal again though, so maybe we can finally get started."" ""What do you mean? About my memory."" ""Certain drugs inhibit memory function. You probably feel like you just woke up, but that's not quite true. We've been talking for about an hour now. It's just that you're only starting to remember."" ""The bar... I met you... My drink...!"" ""Yep."" A new thought occurred to her. ""Did you-!?"" ""-no,"" he said simply, squaring up a set of papers. ""Oh,"" she said, suddenly satisfied, unable to feel too angry. She should feel angry. She should be scared! She should... but she somehow could not. She looked at her hands again. ""What's going on?"" The man checked his watch. Satisfied with the organization of his papers, he walked over to the mattress on the floor and knelt in front of her. ""In about half an hour the drugs will fade. Then you'll get most of your strength back. Your emotions will return to normal. Then you're really going to be mad at me."" ""Why would I be mad at you?"" she asked. ""For kidnapping you."" ""Oh. Right. I can't believe I'm not mad at you right now."" ""Don't worry. You will be. But by then you'll be back at home. Now there are some things that I need to tell you. It will take me a few minutes to tell you these things. While I am speaking, you will nod if you understand and you will shake your head if you do not understand. If you stay quiet for the entire explanation, this will go quickly and I will take you home. Do you understand?"" She nodded. ""Do you know what an assassin is? Or a hitman?"" She nodded. ""I am a hitman. I was paid to kill you."" Taking a sudden breath, she shook her head, slowly at first, but then faster. ""No, no. Only shake your head if you do not understand. Otherwise, just nod and stay quiet. Do you accept that I am a hitman?"" Frowning, she nodded slowly. ""Do you understand that I was paid to kill you?"" She looked past the man, looking to the door. Something inside her told her that she should try running again, or fighting! But then she looked at her hands. She was too calm. Too tired. She wouldn't make it. She blinked hard. Was it the drugs making her so tired? So lazy? Maybe, even if she couldn't run, she could... If she had a weapon she could... It was so hard to hold on to her thoughts... Her eyes scanned, looking for things that she could use... A chair, the desk, her purse on the floor... Her eyes widened! Her purse! Her knife! Knife inside. Now... when... He's so close right now... With a sigh the man reached forward and took the girl's hands. With a quick motion he produced her pocket knife, flicked it open, and placed the handle against her palm. ""My knife... you had it...?"" ""Of course I had it. You'd think I'd kidnap you without peeking into your purse?"" She gasped. ""You looked into my purse! So you saw my-"" She shook her head, trying to stay focused on the matter in front of her. Her head was clearing, but only slowly. She looked down at her hands. She looked at the knife she held in her palm. She looked at the man holding her wrists. ""Why did you give me the knife? Why are you..."" ""I need you to stay quiet. I will explain. When I am done, I will take you home, as I said. And if you would like, when I am finished, you can try to stab me. But I would like you to wait until I have finished. Do you accept? Nod if you accept."" ""You'll really take me home?"" He nodded. She felt his firm grip controlling her hands. She squeezed the knife as tightly as she could. Then she looked up at him and decided that all she could do right now was nod. ""Young lady, I am a very bad person. I have killed many people. I am paid to do it. I was paid to kill you. But I am not going to. You have done nothing wrong. You are a good person. Do you understand?"" She had questions, but she thought better of asking right now. She squeezed the knife again, feeling her grip coming back to her. She would let him talk for as long as he could... and then... she would do what she had to. She blinked hard and nodded to the man. ""But I had to bring you here so that I could let you know something. I had to let you now about something that I was going to do. You see, the people that paid me, the people that want you dead - they are bad people. Maybe worse than I am. They have done very bad things. They deserve to die instead of you. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."" She stared. Then she slowly nodded. ""In a moment I am going to let you go. But before I do, I will allow you to ask three questions. Then I will walk you home, unless you stab me. I will not fight back. Now, if you are confused, ask your questions."" ""Why only three questions?"" she blurted. ""Because I don't want you asking four. Now be smart. Two left. I know the drugs should be wearing off, so you can probably ask something that will actually be of use to you."" She thought carefully. She noticed that her pulse had begun to increase. Was she starting to feel afraid? She somehow only the very slightest tinge of anxiety somewhere at the edge of her mind. She hoped it stayed away for just a while longer... she could use some more calm now that she was thinking more clearly. Then she had her question. ""You said you had to tell me something. You had to tell me about all this. But if you had already figured out what you were going to do, then it shouldn't matter whether you told me anything. If you really weren't going to kill me, then why tell me anything in the first place?"" ""Good,"" the man nodded. Somehow, she felt proud to receive the man's approval. But then she felt disgusted at the same time. She squeezed her knife, her grip getting stronger with each passing second. ""I had to tell you all this because I want you to decide how this ends. You see, I do not want to kill you, and so I will kill the people that paid me. But this situation is different, and so I will give you a choice. If you disapprove of my actions, if you disapprove of my intent to kill these people, the people that will again attempt to kill you, then you can stop me - after all, you have the perfect tool in your hands already. After I let you go, you can kill me and unlock the door with the keys on the desk."" Her eyes flitted to the desk and for the first time, amongst the papers, she noticed the set of keys. ""But if you let me live,"" he continued, ""I will murder two people. You will decide."" She began to piece this odd scenario together in her mind. She felt like she should believe the man. He would tell her the truth, after all, would he not? Would he really kill two more people? What about after that? Would he keep living as a hitman, killing people every day? She gripped the knife, getting the full feeling of her fingers back. Did she have it in her to stop a killer? His grip on her hands stayed firm. ""You get one more question."" ""Say I believe you. Say I believe all this. Say I just... believe that you're not just some rapist. Which is completely..."" She shut her eyes, trying to figure this all out. ""Who would even want to kill me in the first place? You still haven't explained why you would let me..."" ""... I was hired by your mother and father."" Her eyes locked on to his. She stared. Was this real? When the man stood up, she looked down, confused - she hadn't even realized when he'd released her wrists. The man walked over to the table and picked up the keys. He tossed them across the room onto the mattress beside her. Then he sat in the chair next to the desk. ""The red one unlocks the door. But I am serious."" She picked up the keys with her left hand. Then she looked to the knife with her right. ""You have a choice to make,"" he said quietly.",1598
 Memories flashed by of the young man,"Water, so very cold the water. A jostle of ice and a instinctive gasp for the air that isn't there. Yet the young man breathed indeed, and then there was light. Followed by the void of unconsciousness. Memories flashed by of the young man's life. The hazy memories of the early childhood and the traumas and triumphs of the middleschool days. And then the highschool years, as he relived his first dabble with drugs, and that dark cold night where he first made love to a girl, before she too was gone in the great river of memories that sped up as he grew closer to the present. And then there was a endless brightness as he became aware of the sensation of his eyes furiously blinking and watering, and the cold metal table he was resting on. A gasp once more, deep and long. Lungs learning to breathe after a lifetime of disuse. And then brief choking, followed by a sudden slam to his back, a painful bow, as the man now coughed, splayed on his side as the obstructing layer of phlegm was expelled and the man began to breathe. ""Just breath careful now buddy, long slow breaths just like that. We're giving you something for the pain,"" a muffled voice spoke as the blur of a face appeared over him. He became aware of the various poking and prodding that was being done to him, and the sudden pinch of a needle in his arm. The young man held his breath, preparing for the ecstasy that he knew would accompany the intravenous injection. But instead, to his surprise, a cold sensation began, a dulling sensation which left him in a state of benign numbness. The doctors ran more diagnostics as the mans vision slowly cleared. He saw strange looking camera's make slow passes over him, instrumentation beyond anything the man had ever seen. Was this death? Some rude awakening where you were prodded by demons before being sent to some satanic punishment? Talking once more at him, he focused hard to pay attention. ""We'll be taking you to orientation now."" a lanky yet beautiful looking woman spoke, looking down on him with a maternal look. ""Where am I?"" He whispered out, his voice sounding raspy and alien. The nurse smiled and looked up, ""The orientation will explain everything."" She began to push his bed out of the room with the various machines and the doctors, who had mysteriously vanished. His vision was still poor, but the young man could make out a long white hallway with intermittent lights that lay inset to the sealing in a seamless (and very advanced) sort of fashion which made the light appear to come from nowhere, a point of energy hovering in space, illuminating the long hallway with a mirror to one side, what the young man assumed to be one-way glass, after which he eyed it curiously, yet shyly, a trait from his upbringing, a habit irrevocably ingrained from a lifetime of repetition. The nurse arrived with him at another door, which opened sideways automatically for her. They entered a small darkened theater with a single plushy chair in the center, a large glass sheet within arms reach. The woman wheeled him over before picking up his body with surprising ease before gently lowering him into the leather chair. Then she looked at him for a moment before nodding curtly. ""You'll know where to find me if you go for a vacation,"" she said, winking with a suspicious smile. And then she left, wheeling the bed that was not quite a gurney with her, and then to this surprise, a sudden voice spoke. ""GREETINGS JAMES CONWAY. I AM THE ORIENTATION BOT. PLEASE STAY SEATED WHILE THE SHORT CLIP RUNS. THEN, FEEL FREE TO ASK ANY QUESTIONS YOU HAVE."" The screen lit up in sudden intensity, a logo he did not recognize appearing on the screen as a exotic orchestra began playing in the background. A much friendlier female voice began to speak. ""Hello. I'm sure the top question on your mind is, where am I right now? And the answer may seem ridiculous, or out of this world."" she said with a hint of laughter . ""You are a client of LiveLimitless, a virtual-lifetime experience provider. You existed as James Conway in the early 21st century. It is now 2565, your awakening having been caused by a malfunction of our systems. For this you have been recompensated."" Images of his life flashed across the screen in front of him, pictures from the life he knew so well. Yet the images were from beyond his memory, yet unquestionable in there authenticity, and so the young man had another moment of lucidity as the situation took on a less dream-like quality, his mind only beginning to digest the womans words, even as she spoke once more. ""Taking into account your current, virtual-adapted mind, LiveLimitless imagines you are likely feeling a complex array of emotions, perhaps unbearable as your mind processes this situation. We offer a simple choice. Please listen."" The womans voice ended with a tone of urgency and the man looked up from his daze, the words ""PLEASE PAY ATTENTION"" plastered across the screen. The request roused him from his discordant state of mind, and he focused once more, the nerve-numbing effect beginning to wear off. ""You may return to your life, with the memory of this event removed, where you may live on until psuedorandomness returns you to the real world once more."" A single image of his last moment in life flashed before him on the screen, him amongst his friends in deep conversation from a third-person view, beers in hand with a dirty bong resting on the table, the greater countryside stretching beyond them. A life on the road with friends he had known his whole life. The female voice spoke once more, interrupting his grand reminiscence. ""Your second choice is an elevation to administrator status, where the world becomes your sandbox, with anything your mind can imagine possible."" A collage of videos began to play of various scenes from other great moments of history. The man stood silent as he witnessed the triumphs of a thousand other lifetimes. Moments of eternal glory that would be remembered forever. The first everest summit, an apollo astronaut taking his first steps on the moon, a man making a speech to tens of thousands of people about race, and equality and dreams. ""Any experience is possible. You may travel back far to build an ancient hunnic empire of your own, or set out to conquer thousands of alien planets in a reality set thousands of years in the future. The limit truly is your imagination."" He stared forward, his mind racing with possibilities, but most of all with the question. ""And the third choice?"" he managed to croak, his voice so foreign to his own. So much deeper, and *different*. ""The third choice is you end your cycle now, and your previous memories of your original life, are reintegrated into your mind. A database with all the memories of this life, and all previous is made available as well. ""All previous?"" he spoke, his attention suddenly sharp as the last feeling of the nerve-suppressant faded away faster than expected. ""Viewing of past lifetimes is only permitted if memory-integration takes place."" There was a silence, the machine quiet to let him make his choice. The young man thought of his life, the one he remembered. All of his friends, his family, his brother and two sisters who he loved so very dearly, whom he would die for in a heart beat. To leave them behind? To leave any of them behind? Yet he looked down at his arm, pale and thin from atrophy, but indistinguishably different from his own body in every way. Was this the person he was the entire time? The person he had been? He thought of the administration mode, with it's endless possibilities. A hundred billion lifetimes experienced only in there exciting moments, before being forgotten to freshen the experience in an endless loop of rediscovery and wonder. A limitless ecstasy. Yet there was the allure of the real world. An island of unknown in a sea of what he thought he knew and understood about the universe. A chance to go beyond and see how the real humanity had turned out, and who he really was. And yet he himself had thrust his mind into a virtual lifetime, experienced in full. Surely he had done that for a reason? The conflict swirled in his mind, voices in his head debating as the seconds grew into dozens of minutes. And then the young man spoke. ""I know what I want to do.""",1464
 John Moore sat on the bench and,"He sat on the bench and wondered how this all came to be. How reality mirrored fiction somehow, how the world went to complete shit. He replayed the summer afternoon in his mind. It was a normal, sunny day. The kids played, it smelled like burgers and hot dogs. Somewhere, someone splashed in a pool. Then there was screaming. John Moore was tearing chunks of his own son's arm off. Two men restrained John, until his son turned on them. Sirens. Flames as barbecues were overturned. All in one afternoon. Zombies weren't real. Not before that day. Then they were reality. Six months and the world was nothing as it had been. The dead wandered around trying to take pieces of flesh from any unlucky soul. At least half the global population had been snuffed out. Governments were gone, along with any semblance of military or law enforcement. Survive, or die, alone. His pack rested against the bench, a hardy military issue bag. A rifle stood vertically beside him. He dug into the can and ignored the cold March weather, eating slimy ravioli with a camping spoon. All the zombie shows and movies used to show cities as they big swarms of zombies. Turned out that was wrong. People ran from the city and all the shuffling bastards followed them out, aimless and hungry. He had heard rumors of a safe place. Go North, the city-states and fortresses said. From behind enormous concrete walls patrolled by their pseudo-militias. He went North, picking through cities for supplies. He froze, hand almost to his mouth with a ravioli, and listened to the shuffling footsteps. He whirled to grab his rifle and found the strap had looped around one of the slats. He stumbled, trying to pull the rifle to his shoulder. The zombie shuffled closer. Something flashed and the zombie was headless in an instant, body falling in a heap. He managed to free his rifle and look at the woman who now held a lively, yet rotten, head. ""I'm amazed you were ever the dominant species, really."" She said, while she looked at the rotten head with curiosity. His guardian...angel. ""You know I shouldn't be doing this during the day, right?"" ""I know."" He said. He grabbed his pack and ignored the twitching corpse she just decapitated. With her bare hands. ""It could get me killed. Then where would you be?"" She stomped the chomping head under her boot. It exploded in gruesome form. ""Happier?"" He fished out another ravioli with his trusty spoon and ate it. She watched him. ""I'm hungry."" She said. He sighed, rolled up his sleeve and offered his forearm. She latched on, fangs piercing flesh and drawing fresh blood. He continued spooning ravioli into his mouth with his free hand. Zombies weren't real. Vampires weren't real. But he'd be damned if a vampire wasn't the only thing protecting him from the zombies. ***** Nighttime was safe. He sat in the city library and leaned against a bookshelf, padded out with lost and found sweaters and pants, for a cozy little nest. On the floor burned several smashed chairs, fed with some paper. Blank paper from a printer. The books were safe. He flipped the page and enjoyed the peace of it all. ""It's these little moments."" He said, turning to the next page. She slithered down from a bookcase where she'd been perched, watching. ""The one's I cherish most. When you don't talk."" ""You caught me! I'm impressed."" ""I've been saying it every five minutes since you left."" She laughed, sidling into her own homemade nest. She did not have a book. He looked up at her over a pair of reading glasses from some big box store. ""How was hunting?"" ""Only twenty one of them in this block."" She picked a piece of flesh from under a nail and flicked into the fire. It sizzled. ""Doesn't even seem fair."" He rolled his eyes and went back to the book. Of course he would get stuck with this one. An arrogant vampire, as if there were any other kind. They had come from the shadows when humanity began to fall, when the military was done for and the streets ran with blood. Survival instinct, he figured. Without that blood, the blood that was being wasted on city sewers and pavement, there would be no vampires. The dead blood didn't sustain them. So the vampires went to war. On the brink of extinction, now humanity stood some chance. He looked up from the book, goosebumps rippling down his neck and back, to the tips of his fingers. Somewhere out there, a wolf howled. She barely stirred, eyes gleaming red in the firelight. Her lips parted in a smile, showing off those polished fangs. ""I can hear your heartbeat, what a pretty little sound it is. Thumpity thump thump."" She laughed. He threw a book at her. She caught it. ""Read it."" She said, tossing it aside. The howl sounded off again, this time more distant. The hunt was moving away. He pulled the rifle closer. This new world had brought out all the unreal things. ""Are there unicorns?"" He suddenly asked, closing the book he'd been reading. She scoffed at him, picking another piece of flesh out and flicking it to the flames. ""Don't be ridiculous."" He opened the book again and grumbled. ""Don't be ridiculous."" He said. ""As if you're not a vampire, zombies don't roam the streets, and everything else is apparently real. Asking about unicorns though, *that's* where she draws the line."" She leaned her head back, grinning ear to ear, and closed her eyes. ""Hasn't been a unicorn in a thousand years, silly mortal."" He opened his mouth to say something but one of the library windows exploded under an enormous, black furred shape. It rolled on the floor and opened it's mouth, snarling and drooling. A feral wolf. One of the poor bastards that took to the subway for shelter and found claw and tooth instead. She moved faster than he did, as the wolf leaped the length of the an aisle and over the fire. She jammed a long, gleaming blade into the wolf's chin and used her momentum to carry the beast over onto the floor. They slid together, ramming a bookcase with a crash. Books tumbled down on them. He got to his feet and settled the rifle into his shoulder while the furred mass shifted and moved. He took a few tentative steps towards it, finger resting on the trigger. ""Help me, you jerk. This thing is heavy."" She said from under it. He set the rifle on the bookshelf and helped her crawl out from under the dead wolf. She looked down with eyes that gleamed red, this time without the firelight. ""Yeah. Go nuts."" He said, returning to his nest to ignore the slurping noises. Werewolves. Vampires. At least they hadn't run into a shapeshifter in a few months. Those things were nasty. ""You want some?"" She asked. ""No. Definitely not."" Before he opened the book again, he took a notebook from his pants pocket. A worn pencil was stuffed into the metal bindings. He flipped it open and found a page with space. He scribbled ""Unicorns?"", stared at it, then shoved the notebook back into his pocket. He looked at the cover of his borrowed book. ""The Complete Guide to Mythical Creatures"" it read, embossed on the cover. He held it in his hands, stared at the words...and threw it into the fire. ""Mythical, my ass."" He found a new book from the stack and opened to the first page. Nighttime was safe. Mostly. ***** The four men that hunted the streets were not friendly. He watched them as they walked, too loud and too obvious. Hunters. Even in the end of the world, there are those who will take the opportunity to serve themselves. Hunters track down and kill anything, bandits and marauders without conscious. They rule a lawless waste between colonies, city-states, and fortresses. Not even the vampires have the manpower to focus on holding back the zombie hordes, there's just not enough of them. He had come across Hunters twice before. There was a long scar down the side of his belly from the first. The second ended differently. Every few days she needed to rest, as vampires will, especially after a large feed. They stayed at the library and he scavenged for supplies. He had filled his bag with canned food from a local store when he heard them. They had wolf scalps tied to their belts. One man had several teeth on a braided rope around his neck. Vampire teeth. Slowly he eased the bag to the ground, making as little noise as possible. These Hunters would pass. They always did. ""I heard it, over by the library! A howl! I'm telling you."" One of the Hunters said, his voice drifted over the empty street. ""Shit."" He slowly leaned around the concrete barrier he hid behind, one of the many that the military had tried to use to funnel the hordes away from civilian centers. It didn't work. He slipped down with a clear line of sight, settled the rifle into his shoulder, took a deep breath and began squeezing the trigger. A few hours later, when dusk fell, she woke to find him sitting by the dying fire and reading. She sniffed the air. ""Trouble?"" She asked. ""Nope."" He turned the page. By her nest was a braided cord, threading through several teeth. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand, solemn and quiet. She gently placed it into the pocket of her own pack, alongside dozens of teeth just like that. He closed the book, stood, shouldered his pack, and held out a hand to her. ""Thanks."" She said. ""Don't mention it."" They walked together, leaving the library and into the night. There was a silence in the air, broken by distant moaning of zombies and an even more distant howl. He hefted his pack up and checked his rifle, then looked at her. She nodded and the long walk began again. They were halfway down the quiet street when he broke the silence. ""Were there really unicorns?"" She laughed, not afraid to make noise that might draw the zombies, not in the dark. And she told him the truth.",1735
" Before the Fiasco, I was","Before the Fiasco, I was a public defender. It was my job to defend poor people accused of crimes. The criminal courts, at that point, were buckling under the weight of their own injustice. Decades of demonizing the impoverished as low lives and drug dealers, depriving them of any means of social mobility and then sending them to jail in droves when they either sold or used drugs as a means of escape. If the *courts* were clogged, then the *jails* were packed to overflowing. Orange jumpsuit clad bodies, and black and white striped bodies. The bodies of men and the bodies of women, the bodies of children, all robbed of their names in the bowels of the great ravenous beast, Justice. That isn't a literary tool, by the way, referring to the incarcerated as ""bodies."" Actually, ""bodies"" and ""the body"" are both terms of art used in the criminal courts and jail systems. If unhappy chance ever brings you into the justice system as a defendant, you will hear it for yourself. When the officers move prisoners from court to jail or jail to prison, they refer to the prisoner not by name or number, but simply as ""a body."" ""The body is not down yet."" ""The Judge will be here momentarily, have them bring the body up."" ""The body is being brought back to Rikers."" Four months ago an asteroid was scheduled to smash into the mainland United States. The celestial body was large enough, NASA said, to destroy the entire country. Obviously, people tried to escape, but in an ironic twist the rest of the world shut its borders to the desperate American refugees almost immediately. The planes were all grounded, and the cruise ships fired upon in the open ocean. Some plans were made for the government types, the military types. But most people were told they would have to ride it out. Duck and cover, hope for the best. The only private citizens able to escape with ease were the super wealthy - that oligarchic cream of the crop. They bought their families visas abroad, flew personal jets across the ocean or, in what is now the most infamous example, they took their private yachts, loaded them up with gas and food and personal cooks, and just left for the wide open sea. It caused an uproar at the time, the flight of the rich. People had already been cursing them and their wealth for several years, but this solidified the public's hatred. The rich bastards, meanwhile, didn't give a damn, on their way across the oceans to their new lives abroad. Finally the day came, and went, and, when doomsday was a already a few days overdue, NASA came out and gave a public announcement, their tail between their legs. They apologized and explained how a small error, the location of a single decimal, had meant the difference between Armageddon and just another Tuesday. It turned out the asteroid missed Earth by a comfortable margin, and the end of everything was canceled. Suddenly the abandoned American poor were given a second chance, and presented with the husk of a country, its leaders, both in business and government, far far away. The opportunity was not wasted and, after a fairly literal battle between several factions, a new government was formed. A continental congress was called and from every state representatives came to decide the direction of the new America. Perhaps unsurprisingly, the biggest guns won. I don't remember who the current strong man president of the week is, but it doesn't really matter. The underlying fascistic rules which govern my legal practice, such as it is, never really change. For a year or so after the N.A.F party was ""elected"" - that's New American Future by the way - my job was...abrogated. Jury trial's became a thing of the past and justice was doled out swiftly by a new, cutthroat judiciary. My work load decreased. Public executions came back into vogue. Despite their joint hatred of the rich, it has never ceased to amaze me what the poor are willing to do to the poor. However, once things had stabilized in the new USA, the government began to track down ""the betrayers"". A foolish few of those who left returned voluntarily within the first year of the Fiasco, and they were greeted with a violent welcome. That ended the voluntary returns, but soon thereafter the new CIA began to drag people back, one by one from all over the world. They were charged with treason, a capital crime, and one of the few which still required that they be tried by a jury of their peers. Which is where I come in. It turns out not many lawyers are willing to stick their neck out for the extradited super wealthy. I can't say I blame them - I've received my fair share of threats and hate mail. But, I still feel, as firmly as ever, that everybody deserves a defense, no matter the person and no matter the crime. So that's what I do. I am appointed by the federal government to represent the forcefully returned rich at the trials which will decide their lives. I wish I could say I had much success, but in truth the whole game is rigged. The ""Jury"" is always carefully selected by the government - I swear I've seen several of the same jury members over a dozen times. The fix is in. Of 57 extradited clients, and 57 trials, I have had 57 guilty verdicts and 57 breakings upon the wheel. Still, I keep doing my job. I prep each case, as if I don't know it's already a foregone conclusion, a fraudulent formality. I argue vociferously on my client's behalf, even though I sometimes feel it achieves nothing except to raise impossible hope. I do, really, everything I can for those to whom I am assigned, but in the end it all comes to naught. ""The body is on the way up, counselor."" As I wait for the Judge to take the bench I read the name on the Court officer's badge. ""Harriman."" I recognize the name - the same court officer who was there pre-Fiasco, in the old days. The same uncaring fellow, riding through the chaotic waves of change on an eddy of calm indifference, straight towards his 25 years and full pension. What was any of it to Harriman? Today the poor, tomorrow the rich - it made no difference to Harriman as long as it was never him. After all, he was just the mover of bodies, not people. Rich or poor, everybody looks the same in a jumpsuit. On my best days, then and now, I hate Officer Harriman. On my worst days, both then and now, I envy him. ***** ###### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM",1149
 Norbit had been dreaming of his,"###### Norbit opened his eyes. He had been dreaming of his parent's old place in the Poconos. Once upon a time he had visited them out there and swam in the lake near the cabin. In his dream Norbit felt the life affirming freshness of the crisp black water on his naked skin, the soft flush of cold silt between his toes, and he swam the breast stroke, out into the lake's center, until the shore was far behind him, joy in his heart. Norbit forced himself to sit up, peeling the tattered sheet off of his emaciated frame and letting it fall to the floor, kicking up a small plume of dust. The dust was everywhere since the air filter broke, and the air was stagnant since the gasoline ran out six months earlier. Norbit reached up to the wall beside the cot and pressed the small button there, lighting the solar powered LEDs scattered around the room. They had a 25 year shelf life, or so the box had said, but after 18 years even the LEDs had begun to dim. Intuitively eager to anthropomorphize anything at all Norbit interpreted this as the LEDs losing their will to live. Norbit's legs ached terribly, the result, he knew, of malnutrition. Like a sailor lost at sea Norbit had run out of most sources of vitamin C about three weeks ago. The last drop of ascorbic acid went into the last drop of instant tea and out into the waterless toilet. Norbit tried to stand and found it to be an epic struggle. His right knee felt like it was going to buckle and, when he finally made it to his feet, Norbit looked down and saw that his knees were bent outwards, like cartoon girders under too much strain. A panic began in Norbit's stomach, a well known feeling, an old acquaintance by now. Norbit greeted the panic with a deep breath and the Mantra. ""It has been 6,570 days and I am still alive."" Whenever Norbit had worried over the impossible length of his stay underground, whenever the pressure of isolation became too much or the terror of hellscape outside weighed too heavily on his soul, Norbit would simply repeat the mantra. It was his purpose, his meaning, his sole drive - survive as long as possible. It was never assured of course that he *would* survive. There was a time where Norbit was care free, unworried. An IT professional at a major tech firm. He raked in money and lived wildly, spending cash like it was going out of style. But then he'd found it. Most people heard about it on the news, read it in some article or another, but Norbit actually found the bug. There it was in plain sight, hidden in the core of his company's digital infrastructure. A countdown to doom. The internal clock had no option for the year beyond 1999. Once the ball fell on midnight January 1st, 2000, the clock would reset to 1900. The whole system ran on that internal measurement of the date and time, everything, every transaction and every update, was based on that internal clock. If that clock was wrong then everything would shut down, the whole system would devolve into chaos and the company would cease to function. Moreover it was not a simple thing to change, it was hardwired into the chip architecture. The same chips that almost every commercial computer system used. The same chips in dams and power plants, nuclear missile silos and commercial airplanes. Norbit was the first to identify the coming end. Though he did not give it the popular name, it came to be called Y2K. The higher ups all played it cool, told the media it could be fixed easily enough. But Norbit knew the truth, the world could no more fix the Y2K bug than they could demolish every computer on the planet and start over. Come 12AM January 1st, all around the world, a wave of destruction would sweep through society and tear it down. It would be anarchy, blood on the streets, shops pillaged, cities burned. Norbit knew he was not suited to such a life and so he began to prepare. He spent his corporate take on a high end bunker, packed to the gills with 15 years of electricity, gasoline, water and food. He destroyed all his digital property and all his computers. He had a ham radio installed, but by the time the installation was completed he didn't have time to get a license for it. On December 29th, 1999 Norbit packed the bunker with books and sealed himself in. That was 18 years ago today. In that time Norbit had not seen or heard another human voice. He had no connection to the outside world besides the ham radio and, every night, as part of his routine, Norbit would scan for a signal, any signal. Unfortunately, he never received one - the underground wire connecting the radio to the antenna had been chewed clean through by an animal and Norbit, unlicensed and untrained, had no idea. As a result Norbit sat by the dimly lit machine each night and spent the day's accumulated battery power scanning for voices he could never hear, sending out SOSs which could never be heard. Norbit sifted through what remained of his supplies. A few ounces of rice, a can of garbanzo beans and two 16 ounce bottles of water. The hunger pangs had subsided as his body got used to starvation. Norbit did an off the cuff calculation and figured he had maybe another week before he was unable to move and death came for him, slowly, terribly. His attention went to the hatch. He'd been looking at it more and more regularly. The fear of the hellscape kept him in hiding, terrified. He had expected to connect with someone eventually, to get the all clear on the ham. But instead total radio silence. Clearly things were worse than he'd ever feared. Yet, what alternative did he have? Better to risk the surface than die of starvation in the dirt. Norbit stepped over to the thin glass behind which he kept a shotgun and ammo. Using a small metal stick Norbit shattered the glass and reached in for the shotgun. He held its heft in his hand and loaded in a shell. For a long moment he contemplated the simple alternative, a fast end, a bright light and it would be over. The moment passed and with it came tears, racking sobs at a world lost, a life spent alone. Mourning for the person Norbit was, could have been, if only man had not in his hubris relied so completely on machine. Tears passed and Norbit set himself to his task. He struggled again to his feet, filled a small bag with ammunition and the meager remains of his supplies, as well as a gas mask and filter. He donned a kevlar vest and bullet proof helmet and changed into camo clothes. Everything hung off his emaciated frame and it was a struggle to move in his weakened state with all the extra weight. But move he did, strapping the shotgun around his shoulder and grabbing hold of the tightly wound hatch lock. Panic came again and he quelled it once more. ""It has been 6,570 days and I am still alive."" With a final deep breath Norbit turned the handle. ******* > I'm Chris Hatfield > and I'm Barbara Long > And this is your local news on the 9s. > Our top story tonight comes from Flora County where employees at a local Dollar General had a frightening encounter. News on the 9's Larry Gamble is on the scene. > Thank you Chris. Residents of Flora county, population 986, feared for their lives today when a man entered the local Dollar General store armed to the teeth. Witnesses say the man was carrying a shotgun and wearing military style equipment. > I was just ringing up a customer when this guy comes in with this big ass shotgun, looking like a total maniac. He was mumbling about something, pointing that gun all over the place. I got behind the counter and called the police. > SWAT teams arrived and, after a brief stand off, the man was shot and killed. Since then the man has been identified as Norbit Lenser, a Flora county local who disappeared over 18 years ago. Police have cordoned off the back lawn of the Dollar General property, although they have yet to comment on what they've found there. As for the employees of the store, they're happy to be alive, although the experience has left its mark. > I really thought I was gonna die at first. He had this crazy look in his eyes and he was walking funny, all bow legged. Not sure if the police needed to kill em though. Feel kind of bad - fella looked like he could've been blown over by a stiff breeze. He'd just put down his gun for a second to look at this Snickers bar. Guy was just starin at that Snickers bar like it was made a solid gold, and that's when the SWAT fellas took him out. I guess it couldn't be helped. > From Flora County, this is Larry Gamble with news on the 9s. ****** #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM",1580
" Lee pictured a barrel, weaponry,","Lee stood from his desk and turned to examine the lines on his face in his mirror. He turned his head this way and that, examining the lay of his hair. He adjusted his tie and then he beamed his sleaziest insurance salesman grin. After deciding it did in fact look as sordid as it could, he let it fall and retook the seat at his desk. He pressed the button on his intercom. ""Brian, can you please send in the next client?"" The man entered the room, quickly crossed, and sat roughly down into the chair. He stared forward at Lee, eyes wide in fear, gripping at the arms of the chair. He looked exactly like a man who would buy insurance. Lee pictured a barrel, weaponry, and aquatic creatures ready for the slaughter. ""Good afternoon Mister Stevens,"" Lee said, beaming. ""You look as pale as a..."" Lee paused for what he considered dramatic effect, ""...ghost. Have you ever considered ghost insurance?"" The man made a nearly inaudible squeak and fidgeted in his chair. Lee tilted his head, but decided to power through. ""Perhaps that isn't your kind of thing,"" Lee said with a dismissive wave. ""We also have dodo insurance at a reasonable price. You know, with all the advances in science in technology and all the good it's caused, we just don't account for the negatives. Rumor has it they are only a step away from resurrecting the dodo bird and our researchers believe they will be notorious menaces to beautiful and expensive gardens. Only five dollars a month and you will be covered up to ten thousand dollars on your garden investment."" Mr. Stevens said nothing. He stared into his lap, fidgeting his hands. ""Failing that, our hottest deal right now is asteroid insurance,"" Lee said smoothly. ""For only $10 a month, you will be protected for up to one million dollars of damage caused by asteroids."" Mr. Stevens looked up; his eyes seemed to clear. ""Don't they have a shield for that?"" he asked. Without missing a beat, Lee said, ""Completely untested. No one knows if it will work or not."" ""Oh,"" the man said, and then he paused, biting at his lower lip. ""I actually already have a policy."" ""Oh, of course! Let me just pull it up here,"" Lee said. He moved his seat closer to his computer and typed *David Stevens* into the database. While it loaded, he said, ""Do you want to make a claim, Mr. Stevens?"" Daniel nodded slowly, his head turned down to the floor again. ""Yes."" Lee had very few people come in to file claims, owing to the fact most of the policies were based on ludicrous--if not outright impossible--premises. However, the few that did come in often left disappointed when they realized they didn't have the proper documentation in order to file the claim in a satisfactory manner. Technology and quality of life may have made huge leaps and bounds over the years, but insurance was exactly the same. ""I see here you already have the ghost insurance I pitched you earlier,"" Lee said. Despite his confidence, his voice wavered as he said, ""And you're covered for nearly ten million dollars."" He gulped. David nodded. ""The four hundred dollars a month seemed a little silly when I signed the policy, but I'm glad I paid it now."" Lee smiled and tried to ignore the sweat forming on his brow. ""That's what insurance is here for,"" he said through a faltering smile. His mind began to race. *Do we even have ten million dollars to cover this thing? It'll cripple us.* He took a breath and steadied himself. He knew that as soon as they dived into the policy details, Mr. Stevens would stand no chance of providing the evidence required for such a large claim. Lee put his best, oily smile back on and opened the policy notes document on his computer. ""Alright, first up,"" Lee said, ""we need to know the location of the occurrence in GPS coordinates, as well as the exact time it occurred in relation to the time zone directly adjacent to your left."" He cleared his throat. ""39.7392 North and 104.9903 West. It occurred at 8 PM Central Standard Time,"" he said. Lee contained his shock, saving face because he realized Mr. Stevens. had messed up the time zone to his left. Lee had this one in the bag. ""Sorry,"" Mr. Stevens spoke up suddenly. ""I mean to say that Central Standard Time was to my left at the time of the event. I was facing due south, meaning to my left would have been east of me, not west."" Lee stopped and drummed his fingers on the keyboard. He raised an eyebrow. ""Really?"" ""Yes sir,"" David said, still ashen and unsteady. ""Right,"" Lee said. He flashed another smile. ""Well, we will need at least two witnesses, one of a non-Catholic denomination, and some sort of photographic eviden--"" David pulled a folder from behind his back and dropped it on Lee's desk. ""I have two signed affidavits from my wife, a Presbyterian, and my neighbor, who happens to be devoutly Catholic,"" he said. ""Wait--"" ""And knowing that any evidence from family was open to questioning and arbitration, I also included an affidavit from my other neighbor, who is Islamic."" ""You *really* saw a ghost?"" Lee asked, his tone sharper than before. ""*All* of you?"" ""Yes sir,"" David said, looking surprised at the questioning. ""An honest to goodness, fucking ghost?"" Lee asked. He put his hand up. ""Keeping in mind, no one has died in damn near a decade."" ""I can't really speak to how time of death relates to ghostly activity,"" David said uncertainly. ""I just know what I saw... and it was a ghost."" ""What did it look like?"" Lee asked flatly. ""It met five of the nine criteria outlined in page ten of the policy documents,"" David said robotically. ""It was pale, as defined by page 11. It was spectre-like, as defined by page 12. It floated, as defined by page 12. It made audible groans, as defined by page 13, and it levitated several items, as defined by page two of the poltergeist subsection. It also caused quite a scare as defined in appendix B. You only need to check the photographs from four unique angles to see that. I warn you, if you have a heart condition, do not look at those photos."" ""The nanobots can keep me from having a heart attack,"" Lee said distractedly, snatching the folder and flipping it open. As his eyes landed on the pictures, he yelped and threw the folder toward Mr. Stevens. His breathing grew rapid and he clutched at his chest. ""Ten!"" he gasped. ""Ten!"" ""It reaches a fear factor of ten as outlined by appendix B?"" David asked in horror. ""I better get you help!"" As David rushed from the room, Lee looked up at the ceiling and wheezed. ""Ten... million... dollars."" ---- r/AlexLoganWriting",1166
 In his youth he had been a,"My grandfather suffered from dementia. His fall from grace was epic. In his youth he had been a Rhode's Scholar, travelling the world teaching physics to poor children, raising them up from destitution, bringing them back with him - first to Oxford, later to Princeton where he was a professor for thirty years. My Grandfather revolutionized his chosen subsection of Physics - some kind of extraordinary particle *he* discovered and then learned to utilize. It's ironic, given what happened to his mind, that his discovery laid the groundwork for the explosion in computing power which eventually spawned The Cloud. The first symptoms of my Grandfather's deterioration were subtle. He'd forget where he'd put his shoes, or where his keys were. He would spend ten, fifteen minutes looking for his wallet, only to remember it was already in his pocket the whole time. As the months progressed into years, the chaos in his brain began to eat away at the essence of who he was as a person. I remember once I was sitting with him after dinner and he looked at a prominent photograph of my grandmother, hanging on the wall - his wife of 60 years before she passed. Grandpa stared at it with all the interest of a cow chewing cud. I asked him if he was OK and he just frowned. ""Why put up a picture frame if you're not even going to put in your own photos?"" I didn't understand at first, but then it occurred to me what he meant - he thought the picture was from the store - one of those stock photos they stick in picture frames of fake, happy strangers living their fake, happy lives. I told him the photo was of Grandma and he said nothing. Just looked back at me like a child lost in a museum. Near the end he didn't remember anything. He was a shell of himself, a shell of a person, roaming the house aimlessly. I tried to imagine, as he deteriorated into a shade, what it must have felt like to lose your mooring in the world. One second you're a boat tethered to the dock of life, the next you're alone, adrift at sea, the world a blank canvass of strangers who, unbeknownst to you, were once your friends and family. The last six months were extremely frightening for him. Every day was a tumultuous set of recurrent realizations playing in a cycle - a rinse and repeat of burgeoning fear at being in a house which was not his, with a grandson who he saw only as a nameless captor. He died one year after The Cloud came into service. It was too late to upload his memories, his personality - all we would have gotten was the perpetually saved mind of a lunatic old man. I think it was his inability to partake in the technological miracle of the Cloud which convinced me not to do it myself. In truth, it enraged me. I guess I felt too keenly the injustice of it all - that the man who's mind was responsible for the all knowingness and functional immortality of everyone else could not, himself, partake in the fountain of perpetual life. The hell with them. What is The Cloud? Imagine a place you cannot see, a network hidden in the air, not unlike ""the cloud"" of the early 21st century, and yet so much more. In this place, in The Cloud, everything that it is to be human, the sentience we cherish so completely as the only real semblance of ourselves - in this digital place, that sentience is stored, along with all of the memories and beliefs and feelings which define it. The result is, as I've said, the closest thing to immortality that humanity is ever likely to achieve. Our bodies and their profound complexity of cells and genetic errors, are impossible to truly preserve. But our minds can, it turns out, with sufficient brute force computing power, be quantified and held in a kind of consistently updated stasis. At first, this was the purpose of The Cloud - a backup for when the organic mind dies. But slowly, over decades, the updates to the digital mind became more consistent and frequent, with every user striving for that perfect 1 to 1 relationship between real life and recordation. In the end it felt natural to forgo recording the brain and simply transfer the function of the mind to The Cloud itself. No longer was the organic mind responsible for maintaining the illusion of humanity in the body - now that integral service was carried out by The Cloud and beamed with such speed and accuracy to the human vessel so as to appear seamless in its transition. People were still, technically, People - but their Peopleness had been outsourced to The Cloud. By 2098, 95% of the human race was outsourced in this way and, until this morning, they held themselves up as Gods, able to live forever in the digital sphere and have new bodies grown on command into which their minds could be sent. As I said, up until this morning. It's a strange thing when the entire world falls apart. There are no announcements or news casts - because all of those things are based on the world as we know it *being* there. But when the *world* leaves, when the people in it *disappear*, the only announcement is their silence. I woke up in my Grandfather's old apartment in midtown Manhattan and turned on the news, as I do every morning, only to find static. I flipped through the channels and found either the same static, or prerecorded commercials. I tried to contact my feed through my optical implant, and found nothing. Just nothing - a complete failure to connect. My heart racing I looked out the window. Before me the city streets stretched in either direction, left or right, North and South. I looked toward uptown, then downtown, my eyes wide in disbelief. On the sidewalks, in the streets, were human forms. But as far as the eye could see they were just roaming, aimlessly, filling the streets and sidewalks alike. Cars stalled or crashed into poles and walls, their drivers sitting in front of the steering wheels, dumbfounded. Bodies packed into public buses confused and reduced to human shaped collections of unadulterated instinct. One such bus, only a block away, shook violently as its occupants tore each other to pieces. Eventually it stopped and a man exited, his skin and clothes dripping smears of red on the black asphalt, he looking into the sky, just standing there, unmoving, for at least a minute before I looked away. I would learn later that these were the husks of the soulless human race, their minds corrupted and vacant, reduced to a bundle of binary nonsense stored in the digital sphere. Like an infection in a pig farm, a computer program had spread from one mind to the next, devouring everything in its path, corrupting code like a virus corrupts RNA, until the entire herd was infected, the stores of their cumulative selves reduced to digital ash. Like my grandfather before it, humanity's mind has been lost, eaten away by forces no one will ever entirely understand, turning our species into a shade of its former self. It is horrifying. It is tragic. But in my heart of hearts, it feels fitting, in its way. ********* #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ##r/LFTM",1259
 There was a waterfall behind the reception,"I knew from the moment I walked into the office that the whole thing was designed to look impressive, and the thing was, it worked. There was a freakin' waterfall behind the receptionist, and columns - ionic, maybe? - flanked her desk. The dark marble floor was so polished I probably could've used it to shave. I'm not a small man, but I certainly felt it when I came in. The aforementioned receptionist was so attractive it almost made me mad. Her skin was a smooth caramel color, and her hair fell past shoulders like a river of dark honey. In another place, I would've been sure her impossibly blue eyes were the result of color contacts, but in a place like this, ""impossible"" wasn't a word that had much meaning. The turquoise irises fixed on me and she gave me a smile that made my insides stop working right. ""Good morning, welcome to Rigetti and Associates, how may I help you?"" I smiled blankly at her. Her expression remained fixed, not showing a trace of annoyance or irritation. ""Good morning,"" she began again. ""Do you have an appointment with a member of our staff? *Sir*?"" I blinked, then nodded slowly. ""I, uh...'m here da seemiss raggedo."" My tongue seemed to be taking a cue from my stomach, both of which seemed to be moving in strange and uncomfortable ways. My lips were suddenly dry, and I licked them, then worried that it might be misconstrued as some sort of pathetic advance. The receptionist, however, was unfazed, and did not take her eyes off of me. ""Yes, good morning, Mr. Wintersbottom. Your appointment will begin in two minutes. Please have a seat."" She hesitated, and when I did not move, she made an elaborate gesture to the cherry wood chairs lining the wall of the waiting area. I swallowed and attempted to say thank you and ended up just squeaking at her. I took my seat and spent the time doing everything I could to avoid looking anywhere near her. Soon, I heard the sound of shoes tapping on the tile, and a shadow blocked the recessed lighting above. I looked up. An imposing silhouette was looming over me. It spoke in a voice that was pleasant but cool: ""Good morning, Mr. Wintersbottom. Please follow me."" I counted tiles between the reception area and Ms. Regetti's office. 213, give or take. Her workplace was larger than many one-bedroom apartments, and she invited me to sit on a leather couch in front of a stone coffee table. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Ms. Regetti sit in an office chair across from me. Finally, I raised my gaze. Immediately, I knew two things: I had made the right choice in coming, and I never wanted to get on her bad side. Ms. Regetti had the bearing of an...I don't know, an Empress, or something. Something about the angle of her head, like her chin was accusing people of something wherever she looked. Her red hair was pulled up into a topknot, held there by gleaming ornamental pin. Her dark eyes were watching me, studying me, and I felt sudden sympathy for the mice that my cat likes to prowl after. Silence. It took me longer than I should have to realize that I should get things started. I cleared my throat. ""Ah, yes, good...um."" What the hell was wrong with me? ""Morning. Good morning."" I glanced at my bag, which I had set down next to me, then back at the attorney. ""I, uh, was here for thefreeconsultation."" I sped up at the end of the sentence, mostly because I sensed a point at which I could stop talking and wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Ms. Regetti did not respond immediately. Her eyes flicked, momentarily, to my backpack, crumpled on the couch, then back to me. ""Have you at this point had a conversation of *any* nature with the entity or entities in question?"" I began shaking my head, really wanted to say no, but realized that was not true. ""Uh, I mean, well, yes."" Her stoic, imperious expression did not change, but she shifted her gaze to the right and gave a nod. I started. The receptionist was sitting in a chair next to us and had a legal pad braced against her right leg, which was crossed over her left. Had she followed us in? I was pretty sure she hadn't been there a minute ago. ""Please, Mr. Wintersbottom,"" Ms. Regetti said. ""Tell us everything that was said, being as specific as you can be. Tell us anything you remember verbatim, and if you're not sure, tell us so. Begin."" Now I was going to have to talk in front of both of them. I turned my head toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the bay. Briefly, I fantasized about sprinting across the room, lowering my shoulder, and throwing myself into the water. The glass shards would cut me, there would be intense panic, and then my speed at impact would probably crush me before I had a chance to drown...and it still might be preferable to trying to talk like I was a normal human being in the present moment. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt - I really should have tucked it in, although on the scale of things, that was far from the biggest issue. The cargo shorts - I was regretting the cargo shorts. Anything that left me exposed at the moment was bad. Robes would've helped, or a burka. Maybe someone could just throw a bed sheet over me and I could crawl away? I frowned. They were waiting for me to talk. I stared at my hands. When was the last time I cut my fingernails? Why did I suck so bad at life? I shook my head slowly. After a couple of false starts that sounded suspiciously like whimpers, I finally managed to get my mouth to obey my brain. ""So...I found this, um, it's...a box. I found a box."" *** /r/ShadowsofClouds *Part 2-3 in comments.* **Update:**",1022
 No-one wanted to go with,"No-one wanted to go with grandma. It was a little strange to see them so stubborn - normally, there was no request too hard, no favour too onerous. Grandma had done so much for us, and had asked for so little in return, that this appeal for mere company should have been the easiest to satisfy. They said that grandma should leave old wounds be, that she shouldn't rake up the past, that she had to concentrate on her recovery. I thought they were just scared, so one Saturday afternoon I swung by in my jeep, snuck in through the back gate, then ushered her away. An hour later, we were at Fenton Penitentiary. Forms were filled, IDs were checked. A couple of eyebrows were raised when they saw grandma's name. The old-timers could still remember. The years had not been kind to him. His features were largely the same, but there was a softness around the edges. Gone was his proud, hawkish nose, or his piercing gaze. I had seen the pictures, of course, and while he would never have been called handsome, even by the lower standards of yesteryear, he had always conjured an air of predatory intelligence. Now though, he seemed shrunken, meek, demure. The Hightown Strangler could now pass for a retired librarian, whose sharpest weapon in their arsenal was a harsh word or two. Grandma spoke first. I had asked on the way over if she needed me to help with the talking, but she had shaken her head, and said that I would know when I needed to pipe in. I took her at her word. ""Hello,"" she said. ""Do you remember me?"" The Hightown Strangler looked up from his clenched firsts on the table. He smiled. ""Melody Hartness. You look the same."" ""Oh, come on. You don't mean that."" ""I do. I recognized you immediately when I walked in. The guards didn't say who my visitor was. I wondered if it were another bunch of journalists, here to pry the last of my secrets out of me. I was fully prepared to go another afternoon without a word, you know."" That much I had heard of. Copious amounts of ink had been spilled about the Hightown Strangler, his motivations, his methods, his madness. I had pored through the folders of clippings in my youth, wondering through it all how close I had come to not existing at all. Grandma was the only known person to have survived the Hightown Strangler, and though the newspapers waxed lyrical about her luck, or his feebleness, no one had ever the definite answer as to how grandma escaped. They had wrung him dry during his trial, but if they were seeking the truth, they would have had more luck draining blood from stone. ""Mr Vela, I came today because I wanted to ask you something."" ""Ask away, Ms Hartness."" ""What happened that evening? What did you see in my room?"" A chill ran along my skin, like a thousand cockroaches brushing me with their feelers. It occurred to me once again that grandma had edged so very close to the precipice, almost an entire lifetime ago. I held her hand tight, and she squeezed back. ""Why do you ask that? I am curious."" ""You will not say?"" ""I do not mean to play games, Ms Hartness. I do not have many people in here to talk to, so forgive me if I am rusty. I am just wondering myself what it is you are here for today."" ""Why, Mr Vela. You should know. I woke up that night, confused, wondering if I was still in the grasps of a dream. I saw you, standing there, a figure of darkness against my window. You had the wires you use in your gloved hands. I was startled, but then I realised what the sound was that had woken me in the first place. You... You were sobbing, weren't you, Mr Vela? Sobbing as you stood there contemplating violence against me. I wanted to scream, and I think I would have, eventually, but then you saw I had awoken. And then you left."" The Hightown Strangler smiled again, and he rubbed at his nose. Was he sniffling? ""You remember well, Ms Hartness. I chose to leave then."" ""What happened, Mr Vela? Why did you not... Do what you came for? Why did you turn yourself in the very next day? What happened while I was asleep?"" He laughed then. He just threw his head back, chuckled, then rubbed his chin with his hands. ""Amazing, that you don't know it yourself. You really have no clue?"" ""None. My memory is not what it used to be, especially with all these drugs they keep giving me. I'm sick, if you must know. They say I'm better now, but I know when they are lying. I would really much like to know, Mr Vela. Your decision not to take my life, when you had every opportunity to... It is sobering still, sometimes, to think about all that I would have missed out on. I don't have much else left I want to do, except for this one thing. Indulge an old girl, wouldn't you?"" ""It was the cookies. The cookies were everything."" I blinked. I was not expecting that, and neither did grandma, because she furrowed her brows as she marshalled her memories. ""Cookies?"" ""You don't remember? The double-chocolate ones, with a dash of ginger?"" ""I don't... I'm afraid you've got me there, Mr Vela. I don't know what you're talking about."" The Hightown Strangler took a deep breath. ""I read all the stories about me, you know. Them eggheads with thick glasses and posh accents trying to figure out why I did what I did. They were mostly right, but they were wrong about why I stopped. I was still angry then, angry at the world. I didn't have much to begin with - you will recall I never knew my parents, and the people who claimed to have cared for me actually did very little of that. I was angry inside, Ms Hartness. It was a cancer, and for which I had no chemotherapy to keep at bay. It grew in me, and it consumed me. I had one simple rule then. If anyone crossed me, I would pay them back. Pay them back for everything the world owed me."" ""And there's the problem, Mr Vela. I don't remember you at all. I did not do anything to you, good or bad."" ""Who knows,"" he shrugged. ""Maybe I got it wrong myself. Maybe my own mind is playing tricks on me. But I recall what I recall. I was in the corner shop, see. The one on 5th and Murness. All I wanted was my sandwich lunch, and a cookie to go, but they ran out of what I wanted. I... I must have raised my voice. I thought they didn't think I had the money. But the shopkeeper threw me out, and warned me never to return. He said no one made those cookies anymore, and even if they did, he would never sell another to me. I saw his daughter then, looking at me with those scorn-filled eyes from behind the counter."" I must have forgotten to breathe. That was indeed the shop which great-grandaddy owned. Grandma glanced sideways at me, and my heart calmed somewhat. ""I swore to make her my next victim, to show him that he was a fool to cross me. And I had almost done so, but when I was in your room, mere feet away... I saw... Cookies. Boxes and boxes of them. Piled neatly on your table. The ones I wanted, the ones which the shopkeeper said were not made anymore. You remember that much, don't you?"" ""I... I don't remember any of that,"" said grandma. ""I vaguely remember it, but it's hazy, like a cotton-ball in a field of snow."" ""I asked you then, and you told me that you had gone to the other shops to see if you could hunt those down for me. Just in case I had the temerity to return, you wanted to be sure I had the cookies I wanted. No?"" Grandma shook her head again, and the Hightown Strangler smiled. ""No matter,"" he continued. ""That was the first and only act of kindness I've received in this whole life. That was all I was looking for. A single act of kindness. Something to prove to me that my life wasn't all a waste, that not all the chips were stacked against me. That was all I ever wanted, to know that in this world we all share, I had a place too."" The guard's voice sounded over the intercom, reminding us that we had a minute left to go. ""Thank you for telling me that,"" said grandma. ""I would have been happier if I could remember it myself, but I suppose your explanation is good enough for me."" ""It's the only thing I've been thinking of all these years,"" said the Hightown Strangler. ""I don't suppose we'll meet again. How have you been though? I've always wondered how your life turned out, on the other side of these bars."" Grandma turned to look at me then, and I knew it was my time. ""All of us, er, love her very much, Mr Vela,"" I said, ever the sauve and eloquent grandson. The Hightown Strangler laughed again. ""I didn't expect anything less of her."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1591
 Demonlord of the Octopod,"Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae, lay on the black and white linoleum tiles of Byron's kitchen, tentacles swinging wildly in the air. Removed from the blood waters of the Nether Sea, Korbius's gelatinous flesh sagged heavily towards the ground. Still he flailed his eight tentacles through the air angrily, slapping them wetly against pots and pans, suction cups sticking to whatever they touched and dragging them about the room. Korbius's nearly formless body blocked the only doorway out, and Byron, terrified, held his grandmother's handwritten cookbook in two hands out in front of him, as if it might act as a shield against the otherworldly creature. The ground is slick in Korbius's crimson slime and, when Korbius flicks one of his tentacles into the air, Byron is sprayed with a shower of the cold red goop. You could say being covered in the bodily juices of a Sixth Dimensional Demonlord was the straw that broke the camel's back. Byron certainly felt that way and decided it was as good a time as any to start screaming. > Be silent, human! Cease your mating call! This is no time for copulation! Byron recoiled from the deep throated voice that suddenly came from inside his own head. He looked wild-eyed around the destroyed room. ""Who is that?! Help! Help me!"" > Human, it is I, Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae. Korbius speaks through your crude mind. Byron understood none of this and screamed louder. Korbius was *not* having it. > SILENCE! The word was equal part mental yell as it was unrelenting command and it made Byron stop yelling in spite of himself. > Where is Korbius, Demonlord of the Octopodiae? Byron was hyperventilating in relative quiet and only managed each syllable he spoke between two or three quick breaths. ""You're...in...my...kitch...en..."" > How has Korbius been summoned to Kitchen? Byron tried to channel his mindfulness meditation and failed utterly. ""I...don't...know!"" His breathing began to slow down. ""I...was... I was reading... this book."" Byron held the book up and a tentacle shot out and latched onto its cover, dragging it back toward Korbius through the mess of ooze on the floor. The gelatinous mass of demon octopus shifted on the linoleum, a process that created a series of ridiculous fart-like noises. Byron watched the absurd scene slack jawed as Korbius spun his central mass around and opened his single gargantuan eyeball. For a moment, Korbius stared at the cover of the book held in his tentacle. Suddenly a high pitched whine emanated from the demon's beak and he flung the book back towards Byron as if it were a live hand grenade. > The Demon Cantos! Impossible! Byron looked down at the book as it slid across the slick, tiled floor and spun to a stop at his feet. On the hand written cover it said in big, warm letters, 'Gran's Cookbook.' It was his Grandma's hand written cookbook. She'd left it to Byron when she died, only a week earlier, along with a letter insisting that Byron learn her favorite recipes, passed down from generation to generation. So Byron had decided to give it a try. He had been feeling a little under the weather, and so he chose to make a delicious pot of chicken soup. He broke out the old tome, opened it on the kitchen table and, going down the list of ingredients with his finger, he'd read each one aloud, a habit he'd formed when reading to help compensate for his dyslexia. No sooner had he finished the final ingredient - 'a large pinch of salt' - than an extradimensional portal of pure light opened in the ceiling of the kitchen, out of which fell the writhing red mass of Korbius, the Demonlord of the Octopodiae. That was forty seconds ago. Byron bent down and picked up the book, showing the strange octopus it's simple handwritten cover. ""This...this? It's just a cookbook. My Grandmother, it's her *cookbook*. I don't understand."" Korbius recoiled at the further sight of the tome, opening several kitchen cabinets with his tentacles, emptying them of their contents, and slithering his entire large mass inside them, just as an octopus might squeeze its entire body into a soda bottle. As he slithered into his impromptu hiding place, Korbius began to beg. > Please, human. Korbius did not know. How could Korbius know he spoke to a Cantor? No, Korbius could *not* know. It is Korbius's honor to be in Kitchen. Korbius would *never* speak ill of Cantor human, or of Kitchen. Korbius is thrall to Cantor human. Byron's heart began to settle down even as his mind raced at the sudden shift in tone. He turned the book around again and brought the cover very close to his face, staring at the letters written there. He flashed back to his reading of the recipe. Hadn't he felt a strange thrill down his spine with each ingredient read? Hadn't his hands shook, almost imperceptibly, as they traced their way down the list? Suddenly, Byron's grandmother came to mind, old Nan, sitting in her lazy boy, smiling cheek to wrinkled cheek, and Byron could not tell whether the image was a memory or a message. ""I told you you were special Byron. That's why I left you my...cook book."" She winked, the image disappeared, and when Byron looked back at the front of the book, at the words written there, they were no longer written in plain black marker, and they no longer read 'Gran's Cookbook.' Rather, in effervescent gold ink, shining impossibly bright, even through the thin layer of Korbius's muck, bold, proud letters proclaimed a new title. ""The Demon's Cantos."" Amazed, Byron flipped through the transformed pages and where once there was only blue inked recipes for pie and soups, now there was an illuminated manuscript of epic beauty, with pages of gorgeous illustrations, strange creatures and spells with astounding names and titles. Where once there were ingredients, now there were words of power. Where once there was a recipe for chicken soup, now there was a page entitled ""To Enthrall An Octopodiae."" Korbius was now safely ensconced in the corner kitchen cabinet, only his giant eye peering out from the dark through the cracked open cabinet door. With fear apparent even in his mentally transmitted voice, Korbius asked. > What is my master Cantor's name? Byron looked up from the astounding book, his face awash in the magical glow of it words, and swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. Nervously, he whispered an answer. ""Byron."" And then he passed out. ******* #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM ******** ## Part 2 Below",1118
 The hatch took fifteen days to break,"The hatch took fifteen days to break through. We'd never seen a metal like it. Rigging drills designed to pierce bedrock blunted and broke before leaving anything more than a scratch. The explosives initially used were far too small to do anything more than leave a slight warping colour pattern, an iridescent rainbow, like diluted oil spillages in the sunlight. It was fire and persistence which opened the door, melting it away to nothing. It must have been less than an inch thick, looking at the hinges. There was a small container beneath it, a silver twisted chalice, the elegance of which I'd never seen. Sitting comfortably inside was a small crystal, softly glowing blue. Radiation teams were scrambled and we lost another day confirming the hatch was safe for us to descend. I was first through the hatch. The hole was almost 1m by 1m, with metal rungs running all the way down at comfortable spacing. Clearly whatever structure we were descending into was human made. Russian made perhaps? We supposed even the Nazis could be a possibility. As the five of us stepped lower and lower, doing comms and equipment checks every 100m, chat dwindled to a powerful silence. We couldn't believe how far this thing went down. We must have been climbing down for over an hour by the time we touched the bottom. Most comms had long since stopped working. All we had was a long trailing rope to tug in case of emergency and our gas detectors, softly beeping to signal no flammable, combustible or toxic gases where down here with us. Even if we'd have had full video call though, we were rendered speechless by what we saw in the first chamber. It was perfectly round, with ice walls all around, no doors. There was a soft luminescence to the room that seemed to follow your eyes, wherever one person cast their eye, a light blue sheen illuminated whatever they were looking at, and for a moment we simply gazed around, fascinated. Above the walls were golden banners, covered with jaw dropping artwork showing mammoths, sabre tooth tigers and cave men on huge glacial sheets. Our investigation of the room was interrupted by a loud noise, almost like whale song and we all leapt backwards as a void appeared within the ice wall, which melted away forming a geometrically perfect circular hole. Through this freshly formed hole, stepped several figures, one after the other, ten in all. They were dressed in flowing blue gowns which seemed to float in the air, fluttering softly, almost like a silk dress submerged underwater. Their skin was pure white, not merely Caucasian, these people were as white as snow, beyond albino. The one closest to me held a staff of the same twisting silver metal or ice that the chalice under the hatch had been made of, and inside the chalice was a much larger blue crystal, crackling with violent light inside. We hadn't expected weaponry, and for a moment my hand clutched at the rope, ready to tug as hard as I could. Then the one holding the staff spoke. It was the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, almost musical. A mixture of bird call, whale song and human vocalists. It ended abruptly, and the crystal in the staff flared and almost erupted into colour, before speaking itself, glowing and softening with each syllable. ""Brothers and sisters!"" said the staff. The rope slipped from between my fingers. None of the breech team responded. None of us dare, or knew what to say if we did. I felt like a child, in the company of adults. The leader spoke again, short and harmonious, its voice rippling off the ice walls. Again, the staff in its hand crackled and snapped before speaking. ""You return! Did you find it?"" My throat felt tight, but I managed to speak. ""Hello,"" I said, slowly, considering my words carefully. I flinched as the staff popped and flickered, translating my own voice into a beautiful sing song, and it took me a moment to muster the courage to speak again. ""This is our first time here. You may be remembering different people, but we come in peace and mean no harm."" I displayed my open hands as my words were translated into a melody so beautiful it brought tears to my eyes. The white strangers twisted and glanced at one another, becoming ever so slightly more bright as their gaze fell upon each other. The one gripping the staff ran one white finger down the length, and the glow disappeared. All the strangers sang to one another and no translation was offered. I shared a very uneasy glance with my colleagues, my eyes darting to the ladder rungs. Finally, the staff was illuminated and its keeper spoke again. ""Perhaps you are different. We must confess,"" said the staff, crackling violently, ""we thought you would not survive out there, in the cold."" I didn't know what to say. Each word I thought to say seemed wrong, like it would cause more confusion. I had so many questions, but each one felt dangerous to ask. Even though the staff was performing translations, an exploration team weren't up to the task of first contact. The strange beings seemed to sense it, and spoke again, their wonderous voices making me want to close my eyes and smile. ""Is it still the ice age?"" the staff asked. Cautiously, I answered. At least I could answer. ""No,"" I replied, ""the ice age ended over ten thousand years ago."" The beings all sang short confused notes, the staff translating each voice separately. ""Years?"" it asked. ""Years? Years? Ye-Years?"" The leader sang to me, and for a moment I felt as though I was being lifted off my feet. ""We do not understand this unit of measurement,"" said the staff, accompanied by the sound of snapping twigs, ""years?"" Steadying myself, so I didn't fall over, I cautiously explained the a year was a rotation of the sun around the planet. This seemed to cause some alarm. An inharmonious din rising, almost squawking. The leader wrapped a hand around the crystal of the staff, and it translated nothing. Finally, he released it, tears in his eyes, and sang a mournful song. ""We warned you,"" said the staff. ""The radiation on the surface was too strong. Our time-module would not operate out there. You would not be protected."" Another white figure dropped to her knees, a whistling noise emitting from between clenched teeth. ""Ten thousand orbits? But they have been gone only minutes. My sister! My sister!"" My entire team stepped backwards. The leader spoke, its beautiful voice breaking between perfectly formed notes. ""You were supposed to bring fuel."" The leader wailed, making my ears tremble. ""We were supposed to fly home."" r/RJHuntWrites",1141
 'You Should Have Turned Back,"Defying any sane reason or sense, the green text hung there in the air, unmoving. 'Turn Back', it said. The letters were crisp and easily legible against the backdrop of the night sky. I smiled a little. ""Not today."" The car beneath me rattled and clunked and roared into life as the ground tore away from beneath me. The text loomed larger, until its green light was my whole world. Then that world shattered, shards falling like pieces of glass around me. In the rearview mirror, I saw the letters change. 'You Should Have Turned Back' Of course they'd say that. Then 'reality' reasserted itself. Dull gray asphalt met my wheels which screeched and swerved. A long cry from the flat golden grasslands before. Titans of concrete arose on every side, followed by vaguely human shambling shadows. On instinct, I swerved around them. No point to it, really, but maybe they could damage my construct. Buildings passed in a blur. Everything here was much the same, no discernible landmarks. I didn't need them. The shamblers pointed the way. And the gunshots confirmed it. The first thing to break through the gray was a splotch of red, with blasts of yellow coming from just above. I smiled. I wobbled the wheel a little before turning sharply to the left. The gray around me spun, blurring even further, and thuds shook the frame as I swept aside the walking shapes. From on top of the red, an incredulous face peered down at me. ""Hey there, you need a ride?"" I wish I could say I sounded cool, but my voice cracked under the unexpected use. She -He?- nodded and jumped off the wreck of what had once been a nice car, shotgun in hand. The door clicked and closed, and the rustling whir of fabric told me a seatbelt had been put on. Whatever. ""Where are we headed?"" It was definitely a she, then. ""Out."" I replied, kicking the car into gear and getting us underway. Her eyes widened a little. ""You know the way out of the city? I've been looking for months."" She paused, and continued more quietly, ""Years."" ""Little further out than that,"" I said. Three rights, three lefts, a circle, then back the way we came. She gave me a look, probably thinking I'm weird, then turned her attention to her gun. One by one she racked the shells out, then, taking a cloth from her pocket, she wiped the thing down, bit by bit, almost ritualistically, until every last spot was gone. She tugged again on the pump and shell after shell went in. More than it had any right to hold. I'd figured as much. One last left turn put us on a long stretch of road, hemmed in on either side by the hulking concrete monstrosities. The car rolled to a stop. In front of us, defying any sane reason or sense, the green text hung there in the air, unmoving. 'Turn Back' Her face went ashen. ""W-what does that mean?"" She got the stammer under control after just one word. Nice. ""It means,"" I replied, never taking my eyes off the green letters, ""that when I say so, you'll pull the trigger on your construct."" I tapped her shotgun twice, so there was no ambiguity. ""My? This is something I-"" ""Wanted desperately and then suddenly found."" I supplied. The window on her side rolled down. ""Please don't shoot out my windshield."" She looked down at her shotgun, around at my car, and the beyond to the buildings enclosing us. Then she turned her gaze to the words ahead. Taking a deep breath, she nodded once, more to herself than to me, and stuck her torso out the window. In the rearview mirror I saw a wave of the shambling shapes about to break on us. I smiled a little. It was always this way. A horrible screech filled our ears as rubber slipped on asphalt, trying to get a grip, then the world again shot out from under us. Fifty. Thirty. Five. The letters grew to an angry red as we approached. Just as they seemed ready to rage, I said: ""Fire."" The world in front of us shattered, each shard burning to a bright red. And then the world slowed. I could feel each piece in my mind, sticking out like a splinter. Gently I removed them, placing each one in front of us. Making a bridge of solid red into the blackness. Angela had been right, it was easy as breathing. The shard bridge ran up against something, and I reached out to pull the girl in. Just in time. The darkness broke, much more reluctantly than the last time, and deposited us on a mossy forest bed. I slammed on the brakes, keeping the girl back in her seat with my hand. Redundant, I realized, since she put a seatbelt on. The bark on a trunk lightly kissed the front on my car before it settled back. I stepped out of my construct, feeling the soft springiness beneath my feet. Looking at the monoliths of wood around us, I decided a car wouldn't be much use. The girl got out, too, though she didn't seem to enjoy the moss as much as I did. Instead, she seemed to be freaking out. Understandable. ""What the f-"" ""I know,"" I cut her off. I don't like profanity. ""It's a lot to take in. First, though."" I flipped my hand out towards the car. Metal crunched as it folded in on itself, wrapping and condensing into an impossibly small oval. And then unfolded into a cell phone. ""I have to make a call."" I stepped a few feet off into the forest, and punched in a number I knew by heart. It rang exactly once. ""Ben?"" A smooth voice answered. ""Hey, Angela. Found one."" I said, smiling more warmly. ""She already has a construct, too, so that's nice. We're in a new enviro 'cause her's was hostile and she's pretty upset about the whole thing."" There was a moment's pause. ""Well, it doesn't sound like she's screaming, so that's one step better than you did, Ben."" She chuckled, and my smile turned a little more wry. ""Get her up to speed and get moving. The green is becoming red."" ""I know,"" I whispered in reply, ""Already on it."" ""Should we meet again."" Her voice sounded a little sad. ""Should we meet again,"" I replied. The phone snapped shut and I turned back to the girl. And was met with the business end of her shotgun. Her finger wasn't on the trigger, though, which was decent of her. ""So, *Ben*,"" She put more venom into my name than three letters could rightfully hold. ""Care to explain?"" I shrugged, ""World's fake, each person has their own enviro separated by those green letters. We-"" I gestured to the two of us and then swept my hand outward- ""can make items we call 'constructs' which give us a degree of control in here."" I gave her a moment to digest that. ""We go out, find new people, save them, and bring them here."" The shotgun wavered and fell. ""So we're, what? In a simulation?"" ""In a something,"" I answered. ""Right now we're just trying to keep people alive."" A look entered her eyes. ""We?"" I smiled, a happy one again. ""Follow me.""",1234
 Dr. Annihilation sat down with,"""Thank you for sitting down with us this afternoon, Dr. Annihilation."" The young woman seated across the desk reached out her hand, and he accepted the handshake with some care, ensuring he didn't disturb the grey tiger striped cat currently sprawled across the center of his desk. He'd taken a liking to the little guy, and he felt the image would help to smooth over the transition. Animals were sympathetic. The reporter leaned back into her seat, and set a small folder as well as her phone on the table, ""I assume you still consent to having our discussion recorded?"" ""Of course,"" Dr. Annihilation settled back into his chair, facing towards the reporter and away from the view of the battered city out his office's generous windows, ""I'm always happy to help the Villain Compendium clear the air. We are nothing if not a transparent organization."" ""Nothing?"" The woman smiled, ""Not even evil? Why call yourself villains then?"" Alaina Wu was the ace reporter for the New York Times, and someone the compendium had worked with throughout the war as a point of contact and a mouthpiece for their side of the story. She was not, Dr. Annihilation noted, strictly an ally - but she had come as close as many throughout the struggle. She deserved a good answer, whether or not her readers did. ""I won't deny that the term carries negative connotations,"" he let his hand fall idly onto the cat's back, and stroked it gently. As the cat began emitting a low purr he picked his words with care, ""There were those among us who wanted nothing more than destruction. It's possible the heroes were even right to begin this war to stop them. Pentaporcupine comes to mind, that cobalt bomb would have rendered much of Portugal uninhabitable."" He pitched his voice a little lower, giving leash to a certain ring of authority, ""That's why the compendium condemned him. Even before he lost his struggle with the Eurofriends. That situation is at an end, I should think the highly visible recovery of the nations of the world makes that clear."" He winked at the reporter, ""of course, I won't claim to be entirely altruistic. I own most of the companies winning contracts to rebuild the Northeast. My stock portfolio couldn't be higher, and most of the world is still smoldering. Villains win, but that doesn't mean a rising tide can't lift a few more boats."" ""So you're saying villains have more to offer humanity than their evil plots?"" ""See, that's a fundamental misunderstanding of what it means to be a villain."" Dr. Annihilation smiled at her as he shifted his hand to idly scratch the cat's ears. Immediately the little guy sprawled wider in front of him as the pitch of its purring deepened. Annihilation tilted his head backward, indicating the windows in the back of his office looking out over New York harbor and the extensive rebuilding efforts underway, ""Look behind me. To be a supervillain you need an extensive amount of long term strategic, and logistic, thinking. Anyone can be born with super strength, or laser eyes, not just anyone can construct an underground venom aquifer. Those skills mean something when it comes time to put the world back together. The Compendium has those skills."" The girl frowned a bit, ""Venom aquifer, sir?"" Annihilation waved the question away with with a little flick of his wrist, and the cat glared at him for a moment until he resumed scratching behind its ears. ""Nothing to worry about, dear. Just a little something we had planned in case Aquaman decided to go through with the whole 'invade singapore with whales' plan that got so much attention there at the end."" He jerked the thumb not currently occupied with feline duties towards the harbor behind him, ""You really think the Iron Antler could have organized a relief column, gotten the steel mills back up and running in Pittsburgh, cleared the rubble off I-80, and gotten business back up and running this quickly?"" He scoffed, ""I think we all know you'd all just be dealing with a guy whose idea of 'saving people' involved knocking a *skyscraper* into another, *larger skyscraper*. You could see Freedom Tower from here before, of course - but you definitely can't see it now. It's one of the reasons I picked 4 World Trade to run the rebuilding from. It's as visible a scar as any on Earth."" The reporter frowned, ""Point taken. I suppose it could be that you're right that the villain compendium was better prepared for a world after the war. But the Iron Antler only knocked it over to try and stop Multimind, right?"" Annihilation shrugged, ""Sure. That's what he and the president said at least, and I genuinely believed it. But here's the thing, Multimind's entire plan was published on line two days before the attack. The entire goal was to what, get those people to stop eating meat? Well congrats, they're dead now. Multimind wins."" He stifled a chuckle before it could even be born - a man had to watch his appearances this close to the end game, ""I guess what I'm saying is all the heroes were playing this big drastic game; trying to stop the villains from firing some big death ray or something."" At the words death ray, the cat arched his back gracefully, rolled to his feet, and hopped off the desk. He used the newly free hand to point at the roof, ""I have a death ray, Mrs. Wu, the world saw it fire. I killed exactly one super hero, and before he met that end the Antler killed thousands of civilians. Just saying."" Annihilation stood to leave, He was a busy man and the interview's time slot was up. The doctor walked over and gave the young woman a hand up from her chair. She apparently saw the opportunity for one last question, ""So what's next for you doctor? For all of us?"" The villain smiled broadly, ""For all of us, a new era of peace. I think you'll find the villain compendium to be entirely more reasonable than you've been led to expect."" Annihilation gestured at the cat that had taken up residence in the office window, gazing in feline amusement at the world below him, ""For myself, I intend to continue enjoying the very particular form of punishment the Zookeeper came up with for all our surviving hero friends. I think Mr. Superlative here has taken well to his new roll in life."" He led her out of the office, and to the elevator in the port authority offices Annihilation had made his headquarters, and waved her a fond farewell. A new era for villains indeed.",1127
 Cooper quit his job and spent a,"The first thing to hit Cooper's senses when he first stepped into the top-floor office of Stellar Consulting was the smell of dirt. It seemed nobody had warned him about it during the interview with two of the firm's top partners, in a cafe down the office block two months ago. To be honest, it'd been so long ago that he couldn't even remember whether anyone had brought it up. Not a big deal, he thought. He'd get used to it. That was why he'd quit his job and spent a year traveling the world. Getting used to new things. Seeing new culture, and all that. Exposure. Employers loved hearing about that, and his interviewers had certainly perked up and excitedly jabbered about picking his brains on all the things he'd seen. But he couldn't help feeling a bit disturbed at the sight of his co-workers' desks as the HR lady showed him around the office. They were covered in ... soil. Freshly turned soil, it seemed, brown as coffee residue. And on each desk, creeper plants curled around jars of stationery and stacks of paper. Also, there were bean bags everywhere, in all colors. He had to climb over a small hill of them just to get through a corridor, though the HR lady did so with an unusual display of agility and poise. The meeting rooms were tastefully decorated--lots of steel and frosted glass--but almost every surface of the walls and glass were covered with Post-its. Some looked blank. Strange, but not the strangest he'd seen during his travels. ""You'll sit here,"" the nice HR lady said. They were all nice; every single one of the forty or so employees had seemingly permanent smiles etched on their faces. He tried smiling back to hide the slight dismay he felt upon seeing his earthy worktable. A fine, crusty layer covered his keyboard, and a curtain of leaves was hiding his monitor. ""Er, do you guys mind if I, uh, get rid of the plants?"" he said, gesturing at his computer. The HR lady--Kaarren, or so the badge clipped to her lapel claimed--smiled even wider. ""Of course!"" He nodded and eased himself into the chair, which was fortunately clean. The moment his butt hit the foam, the entire office erupted into applause, causing him to jump. Blushing furiously, he sank into his chair. A throat being cleared made him turn his head and regard the source. His neighbor was a bald, middle-aged man wearing a shirt so white it was almost blinding. He, Cooper noted, was most certainly not smiling. ""Welcome,"" the man said, sounding weary as he typed on his keyboard without looking at Cooper. That was when Cooper realized the man's desk was completely devoid of dirt. Not a single speck. ""My name is Cooper. Pleased to meet you,"" he said politely. The man grunted. ""Name's Michael. When you've got your coffee, I'm supposed to show you 'round some of our systems. Boot your computer and let's get ready to rumble."" Cooper nodded, admiring the fellow--he was the eye of normalcy in a hurricane of strangeness. Resolving to make this man his best friend, Cooper grabbed a mug from his desk and headed for the pantry. *** About half an hour later, Cooper returned to his desk with a mug of boiling water. Despite his hopes, Michael noticed and snorted. ""Take it you didn't know how to use the mortar and pestle to grind the beans,"" he said. Cooper nodded. ""It's okay. I don't really like coffee, anyway. It's too acidic for me."" Michael shrugged. ""Whatever. You can ask Harreyy to help you out. He's that guy there--yeah, he's seen us staring, he's waving, oh how nice, wave back, that's right--okay, forget him, let's get started."" ""Have you been here ... long?"" Cooper said, a little timidly. ""Two years,"" Michael said. He grinned as he followed Cooper's gaze to his desk. ""Dumped the lot onto the floor on my first day. Ain't putting up with their shit."" ""They're ... weird,"" Cooper said. Michael stared at Cooper and stroked his chin. ""Hm ... could you be ... never mind. Yeah, but you'll get used to it. These folks don't mean any harm. They can be fun too, you know. Every Tuesday, the bosses order beer by the keg, and lots of calamari. Not sure why, but it's culture, they say. And on Fridays, they--well, you'll see."" He flashed Cooper a wicked grin. ""What?"" ""Guess you don't like surprises, huh. Let's just say we get rather entertaining dancers to liven things up."" Michael punched Cooper lightly on the arm, causing him to wince. Seemingly not noticing, Michael said, ""Alright, let's begin. Here, open up this program ..."" *** After his first toilet break, Cooper resolved to look for another one. This was a whole new level of weird--the toilet was simple a horizontal hole in the wall, waist-high. He simply couldn't hit the target and had to expand half a toilet roll to clean the mess up. He said nothing to Michael--if he wanted Michael to be his friend, he had to stop embarrassing himself in front of him. So he buried himself in his work, trying to ignore how his elbows kept sinking into the soil. The moment five o'clock arrived, every single employee in the place stood up and began packing their things away, seemingly in unison. Even Michael did it, though with slower and more wearisome motions. ""That's punctual,"" he said. Michael flashed him a grin. ""Hey, don't be the nail that sticks up, right? See you tomorrow."" Before long, the only person left was Cooper. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples. God, what a day. The toilet was a nightmare--he'd have to find some way to hold it in. Feeling peckish, he headed to the pantry again. The cabinets held little else but coffee beans. The water cooler bubbled merrily in the corner as he searched under the sink. There were several packets of hot dog buns, with nothing in the way of fillings or condiments. Maybe those were for parties. He decided not to eat them. He was rifling through a fridge filled with what looked like jars of jelly when someone coughed behind him. He yelped and turned to find Arrnoldd, the managing director, watching him. ""Sir,"" he barked. Arrnoldd gave him a quizzical look. ""Still here, are you? Well, pack your things. I'm heading home. Everyone heads home at five, yes?"" ""Uh ... yes,"" Cooper said. The day's memories, from the bean bags to the toilet to the dirt-tables, came rushing to the forefront of Cooper's brain, and before he could stop himself, he said, ""Everything's so weird here."" Arrnoldd went almost completely still. Even the wispy hair on the top of his head seemed to have frozen solid. ""Weird ...?"" With a nervous laugh, Cooper rambled about the office and his co-workers. With every word, he thought the managing director was becoming more and more nervous. ""So, yeah. Just my feeling, but I like it here. Everyone's nice. Michael too. But he's ... different."" ""Yes,"" Arrnoldd said. ""It's almost like you're all aliens, and he's a human, but that can't be, right?"" Cooper chortled, mostly to himself. Almost imperceptibly, Arrnoldd's left eye twitched. If Cooper hadn't had to pay attention to the tics of various peoples worldwide, he wouldn't have noticed. ""Very strange,"" Arrnoldd agreed cautiously. ""Why, the dirt, and the toilet hole thing, almost makes me think you're Bxxghtli,"" Cooper said. Arrnoldd sputtered. ""What? How did you--oh, great Constellations."" Cooper clamped a hand over his forehead, horrified. ""So it's true? You're all aliens, and Michael's human?"" ""Who cares about that! You're an alien too! What are you doing here?"" Cooper shrugged. ""I come in peace. I just want a job. But I don't like the dirt."" ""We'll have it removed for you,"" Arrnoldd said. Green spots were beginning to appear on his skin--Cooper knew they signified relief. ""Jeez, and I was thinking we'd hired two humans."" Cooper frowned. ""Why?"" ""We thought we were studying humans in this office, but it turned out that we were studying aliens imitating humans. Imitating them pretty badly too, I have to say."" Arrnoldd looked wistfully at the human's desk. ""It's a pity, because we really like working with one another. And then we accidentally hired him. In case you haven't noticed, he's a bad fit. It's not good for our corporate image."" ""Shit,"" Cooper said. ""So fire him."" ""But that's the thing,"" Arrnoldd said sadly. ""We haven't learned how to deal with the fallout from terminating an employee."" *** *Thanks for reading! I have more stories on my , come see!*",1450
" Senior in highschool, your number","We have all seen Madam Monroe, whether we admit it or not. Living in a town of only 15,000 people, there is not much to do in the form of entertainment. Some go because they are curious, others because of a drunken dare. For me it was a mixture of a few things. Being a Senior in highschool, your number was a suedo representation of how cool you were. Most jocks would purposely put themselves in dangerous situations, just to bump the number up once or twice. To them a game to become Prom King or Queen. But for me it was much more. I'm what one would call a social hermit, if I go outside, its simply to buy microwaved dinners or soda to fuel my gaming obsession. So naturally one would assume a very low score. Deep down I knew my score had to be something better than zero, I couldnt end my public school career being one of those safe freaks. And that is what made hearing those three numbers such a shock. Two-Seven-Eight. I wasn't the only one in Madam Monroe's awkwardly small shop. About a dozen other towns people were accompanying me, waiting thier turn to hear their own numbers. Once again, she sayed those numbers ""I say it once more James, your number is 278."" I continued to stare at her as if time had frozen itself ""Madam Monroe, there must be a mistake"" I finally muttered to her. ""There is no mistake James, there is more to you than what one assumes"" she said as she slowly stood up. This has to be a joke I thought, a prank set up by other seniors. It was at this point I noticed the other patrons in the shop staring at me. I could hear their gasped comments being said under their breaths ""Did you hear that?! Nerdy jimmy got 278"" one said ""He must of paid her to give him that number"" another murmered to his friend. I was finally getting noticed, but not in the way I wanted per say. I quickly stood up, grabbed $10 out of my wallet and clumsily handed it to Madam Monroe. I needed to get out of there, it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I wove my way around the individuals trying to grab a hold of me. I knew they would have questions, but then again, so did I. It seemed like hours, but I finally finished my mile and a half walk home. I slammed my door as if to shut the world out for good. This had to be a dream, I've heard about men coming home from wars and getting numbers in the high teens and low twenties. 278 though, that is absurd. Im not going to say I have perfect recall, but I don't remember being in a single close call situation, let alone 278! Shoot, I can't even remember ever catching a cold even. I needed to talk to someone about this, but who? I've been on my own since I was 16. Not that I wanted to be, but after my mom's death, it's just been me and a few neighbors checking in on me. I needed to calm down, so I figured I'd grab a drink and just wait for this to all blow over. Knock knock... This has to be a joke. No one ever comes to visit without giving me a call first. I take a look at my CCTV screen and see a tall slender man in a black coat standing at the door. Normally id just crawl into the shadows of my living room when encountered with an unknown. But something felt different in me. I wanted to know what this man wanted. Maybe hearing my number awoken the curious cat within me. I walked slowly towards the door. KNOCK KNOCK! I stopped a few feet away with my arm reached to the doorknob. ""Who is it?"" I call out, using what little voice I could muster. ""Is this the residence of Mr. James Henry Jr."" the strange man almost beckoned. He used my full name, a name I haven't heard since all the legal mumbo jumbo after my mom's passing. ""Yes, yes it is"" I squeek out from my mouth. ""Good"" the man replied, followed by an odd mechanical sound. A sound I know I've heard before, but my brain couldn't piece it together. BAM! A deafing roar filled my ears, as my eyes witnessed a gaping hole in the middle of my front door. I was frozen in fear, what did this man just do!? Did he seriously shoot my door? I need to move, I need to hide. But it's as if my brain and legs are speaking foreign languages to each other. I hear a thud at the door, again, and again. He must be kicking the door down! Finally the lag in my body catches up and I fly towards my bedroom as I hear the hinges on the front door snap. I slam my bedroom door shut and lock the doorknob, kidding myself that it will bring any level of protection. Like a child afraid of a monster under the bed, I hid in the corner of my room, covering myself with whatever objects I could find. Unfortunately for me, the monster was real, and instead of being under my bed, I could hear his heavy breathing just outside my door. With one brutish move, the door to my room caved in. The man in the coat gathered his bearings as he wiped debris of my once standing door off his shoulders. I needed to run, but where to? The man blocked the entrance to my room, and the nearest window was a solid 15 feet away. This is what I get for being a coward. I should of fought back, or atleast made an actuall attempt at fleeing. Instead im crouched on the floor, pathetically hiding from a certian fate at this point. The man snapped his head in my direction, he didnt even have to look. As if he was a blood hound and I a wounded animal waiting for the end. He slowly walked towards me, lifting his shotgun at the same time. ""Why are you doing this!"" I cried out. He kept moving forward. ""Im a nobody, just a boring kid with no life"" I screamed. I wasn't wrong, why was I so scared to die when I never really lived in the first place? The harbinger to my end now stood only 6 or so feet from me. The business end of his weapon pointing straight at me, smoke still flowing from the smoothbore barrel. ""It's nothing personal kid, just business."" the man said. I closed my eyes, ready to meet an enternal darkness. I heard a bang, much more quite than the noise at the front door. Next I felt a warm mist on my face, and the smell of something almost metallic in the air. Is this what it feels like to die? A lot less painful than I thought. I cautiously open my eyes, letting the light slowly fill my retinas. Once again there was a man standing over me, but a different man, much shorter and stout than the original intruder. In his hands was a pistol with a strange device at the end of the barrel. And at my feet laid the tall and slender man, now in a heap instead of towering like a moment before. Who was this new man? Why did he save me? So many more questions to ask. But one thing is for certain, my number has to be 279 now. I looked up at this strange man, bewildered by what just happened. He lowered his handgun down and extended his left arm out as if he was my gaurdian angel. And at this point, he might as well have been. I had so many articulate questions I wanted to ask him, but the only words to escape me were ""What in the fuck just happened!"" The man let out a hearty chuckle, almost as if he didn't just kill a man. ""Im called Agent 7, but you can call me Steve if you wish."" I grabbed ahold of Steve's firm hand and he pulled me up off my ass. ""Okay Steve, do you mind telling me why I almost just died?"" Steve let out a long sigh ""Do you remember going to the hospital a lot as a child?"" ""Yes"" I replied. I was a very sickly child, in and out of the hospital just about every month. But I got better just shortly before my bastard of a Father left us. Steve gave me a stern look ""What if I told you that the truth is quite the opposite?"" Steve said. ""What do you mean?"" I interjected. ""It's true you went to the hospital a good amount, but you weren't sick. The exact opposite really, an almost perfect specimen of health."" He continued ""Your Father was a head honcho at the CDC . Him and his wife took you in from an orphanage after reports of a miracle child from Boston started citculating around."" I looked at him with a mixture of curiousity and anger in my eyes ""You are fucking with me, right?"" I asked. ""I wish I were, but it's the truth. Your immune system is so advanced, it was almost impossible to make you sick. Your Father wanted to unlock your secrets."" His expression on his face went almost dark. ""Soon after your 7th birthday, news of your existence and your condition reached out into the medical world. Governments wanted you for their own research. Your Father was threatened a multitude of times, but the break in, that was the last straw."" Steve stopped to take a breath. ""Someone broke into our house?"" I said. ""Not just broke in, but tried to kidnap you"" said Steve. ""Your father knew it would only go down hill from there. He went into hiding, and gave you and your Mother a fresh start. The lot of good that did."" Steve looked at his watch. ""To make a long story short, your existence was eventually found out again, most organizations gave up on looking for you. But one in paticular didn't want the secrets of immortality known, they wanted you dead, not captured. And your father set up 12 agents to look after you until your 18th birthday."" 278 I whispered under my breath. ""Ah, now you are catching on"" said Steve. ""Agent 12 was supposed to be with you at Madam Monroe's, but when you left, the crowd got in his way and you escaped. I came to your rescue as soon as I could, but clearly I was just a tad late."" ""Just a little"" I said as even I let out a little laugh. ""So what now?"" I brought up. ""Well, you weren't supposed to know about us until next year. But seeing as you now do, and I don't think its a good lifestyle to know you have a target painted on your back at all times. I guess now we find your Father."" Steve said. My Father, I almost forgot about him. ""Do I have time to pack my belongings?"" I asked. ""Well it's already been 7 minutes, my guess is another one of the Vaticans goons will be here any moment."" He said as a smug smirk appeared on his face. Steve handed me his spare gun, and off we left without a trace. I guess Madam Monroe was right, there is more to me than that.",1954
 You pay a dollar for another day,"They say you can't take anything into the afterlife, but that's a lie actually. You can take money, although, you can't spend it on anything.. well.. except for one thing. At first it wasn't too bad and the terms were simple, you pay a dollar for another day to live, then two, and then four and so on. I was a rich man with money to spend who had lived a carefree life and as a result died young, or so I thought. After I paid that first dollar I awoke from the supposed alcohol-induced-coma I had been in. The lights were dim and a blanket was over my face. A bit stiff from laying still too long I struggled for a second to pull the blanket off and quickly realized that the room was not dim at all but that the lights were on full blast while a nearby window allowed a healthy amount of heat and sunshine into the room. After managing to sit up I decided to take a closer look at my room and saw a nurse in the opposite corner talking to someone I didn't recognize. I attempted to call out to her but to no avail, my throat was dry and my voice raspy. After a few more failed attempts I decided to knock an empty glass off the nearby table. It fell with a crash, shards of glass flying everywhere. The sudden noise startled me, as it did for the nurse and visitor as well. The nurse came over in a mad rush and was taken aback at my sitting up, ""M-Mr. Smith! You were pronounced dead! The alcohol destroyed your body and your family decided to pull the plug."" ""Ah"" I said. ""I can really feel the love there.."" ""Well tell them I'm back and feeling better than ever, that and that I'm ready to leave this place."" ""Ah ha ha not too fast Mr. Smith, although this does seem too good to be true I'm sure your insides are still badly damaged, we will need to run some tests first"" But to their surprise there was nothing to be found, I was healthy as an ox and discharged within the day. I stepped out to an already setting sun and rather disappointed I had lost the day, I figured I'd make the most of the night. And what better way to celebrate the night than by going clubbing? Before long I was downing shot after shot while strippers danced nearby and techno played in the background. Not enough time had passed when I felt my head starting to give way, I yelled for more shots and they delivered. Another hour passed and I was still conscious, albeit barely. I began to argue with the bartender, demanding more alcohol and smashing a bottle in the process. The last thing I recall before blacking out was two rather large men coming to get me before I was rudely thrown out a back door. I opened my eyes and saw nothing, all was black. But as if on cue, a spotlight illuminated what looked to be an old arcade machine. I walked to it and glanced at the screen, there I was, laying motionless on the ground behind the club with the sun beaming overhead and yellow police tape surrounding the scene. ""But surely what I drank last night was not enough to kill me."" I said into the darkness. Then, something appeared in the top left of the screen: ""Yesterday's revival: 6:52 AM"" and on the right side appeared ""Time Remaining: 00:03:00"" I realized that it had nearly been a full day since I was brought back to life, as I thought this, some words appeared in the bottom middle of the screen ""Revive? 2$ Yes/No"". Obviously I was going to select yes, and so, I had two less dollars to my name. I awoke with a start, gasping for breath. I was cold, so cold, but how? The sun was just out. But it wasn't, the moon shined brightly overhead and the sound of cars driving by filled the air. I was alive again, and I did not feel sick. After everything I had I should have been vomiting all over the place and yet I wasn't. I slowly stood up and with a smile on my face began to walk off. And that was the start of my second day, oh how it was so long ago, I've forgotten what the current day is and I can hear him calling to me now. Like I said, I had money to spare and because of such, I lived my life to the fullest, keeping track each time of when I near the 24 hour mark. And after awhile I've come to notice I never revive in the same state I was before I died, I am always 100% healed of whatever ailed me and sometimes in a different location; even the time in which I was in a horrible car accident. But I paid my fee and I was back, although something was different but I couldn't place my finger on it for the longest time. And so I disregarded it and became reckless and decided to test out the extent to which this occurred. I was on a suicide mission practically, I knew that no matter what happened, as long as I died or reached the 24 hour mark then I could come back to life. Fast forward a few trips though and I finally saw a pattern, I would pretty much be placed in a parallel universe in which my method of death had not come to pass, assuming I had actually died, but whenever I did manage to reach the 24 hour mark, I was placed in a slightly altered reality. Although my friends and family still recognized me, I couldn't help but feel as if it wasn't them. As the revivals started to count up I began to hear voices whispering to me. At first they only mumbled but then I could understand them. They begged me to end the cycle. I didn't know what they meant but as I continued to revive I began to feel this weight accumulating on my shoulders that gradually got heavier. Soon enough I was running low on money and I began to panic, a new counter had appeared that notified me of how many revives I have left, assuming no monetary gains during my life. As the counter ticked down the voices in my head grew louder and the days seemed to go by faster. The closer to zero I got, the more frail I became. I no longer revived with the vigor I had before and as a result it became harder to live life the way I wanted to. As I neared my final revivals I realized my life was full of greed and lust, and so I sought to change that, in the hopes that I could be given another opportunity to live, I had become addicted to life and worked to do whatever it takes for another opportunity. As you read this i am approaching the end of my final revival. There are many parallel universes that I have ruined but as the counter ticked down, there are some in which I worked for the better. The voices have grown quiet now and a much older voice calls to me, my hands and body are frail and I struggle to write this. I look at my watch and see that my time is near and wish that I could have done more. For too long I acted selfishly, I was addicted to the feeling of being alive, and I did things that I am not proud of, because I knew that technically there were no consequences for me. But as reach my last few seconds I realize that I woul... Revive $Error /No",1326
 Lights flickered across the keyboard,"The glow of a monitor cut through my darkened room. I idly sipped on a coffee, while flipping through online posts on my phone. Even in those short moments I stepped away from the keyboard, I didn't disconnect from the game, checking what people had to say about The Kingless Realm. Mostly, the messages complained. After all, only the people upset with something bothered to stop playing long enough to type it up, so every message board ended up full of cynicism. If I only looked there, I'd never believe that tens of millions of people played happily every day. When my coffee ran out, I put away my phone, and rinsed the mug, leaving it on the draining board to dry. Then, I stretched out all the creaks in my arms and shoulders and headed back to the glow. The seat groaned as I eased myself down, even though I was all skin and bones. Lights flickered across the keyboard, every letter clear in the dim state of my room that I preferred. A soft, red light showed where my mouse sat, always easy to find. Giving the mouse a little shake, the monitor flickered from a bright blackness to a vibrant scene. Tall trees sprang out of green grass, both together like brown walls and an emerald floor, and high above a brilliant blue sky with a few wispy clouds skittering across it made a ceiling. The fidelity transcended reality. Even if I put my nose to the screen and squinted, the pixel size had reached the point I couldn't spot them, and the graphics of the game itself had such realism that I could have spent an afternoon counting the blades of grass without finding anything uncanny. The big draw had been the support of virtual reality devices, but I didn't want to bother paying more money to play worse. When it came to games, the versatility of keyboard and mouse had always served me best. Once I settled in, I realised that my character didn't stand alone on the screen. A handful of burly men--the male power fantasy incarnate--loosely surrounded me, the chat log full of transcriptions from their voice chat. Putting on my headphones, I turned on local voice chat to hear what kind of people they were, since transcripts were only so accurate and couldn't convey tone and all that. ""Come on, talk to us a little. We don't bite cuties like you."" His voice--Gilgasmash his name in the game--irritated me. It had an edge of humour to it, like everything he said was a joke only he and his friends were in on. A familiar tone, even if I'd never met him before. Flicking down the microphone on my headset, I reluctantly spoke. ""Sorry, I just had to go to the bathroom, but I'm back now."" ""Ah, you're actually a girl? Your character's so cute, I thought you had to be some nerd crossplaying."" I snorted. Then, after clearing my throat and pressing down the push-to-speak button, I let out more of a tittering laugh. ""These are just the clothes I like. Are they really that strange?"" I asked, the pleasant tone belying the blank expression on my face. ""No, no--I said you're super cute, right?"" ""Rea-lly?"" I asked, drawing out the word. The way he nodded then, and otherwise gestured, made me sure he played using a virtual reality setup. ""Of course! Isn't she the cutest, guys?"" he asked, looking at his friends. Paindragon agreed in a nasally voice, while the other three just nodded and came half a step closer, emphasising the encircling. A smirk on my lips, my gaze flicked between their names before down to my phone, slipping it out my pocket to check a post I'd seen earlier. ""Anyway,"" Gilgasmash said, ""what's a cutie like you doing here? It's dangerous for noobs, you know."" ""Ah? Really? Someone told me I can level quickly if I come here."" He replied in a tone so patronising I rolled my eyes. ""They were lying to you. Don't worry, there's people like that here, but there's nice people too. Come on, we'll guide you back so no monsters attack you."" ""You will?"" ""Yeah. If we help each other, then everyone has more fun, right?"" I snorted again, and somehow brought myself to emote a smile in the game. ""That's so nice of you."" ""Come on, just follow us,"" he said, setting off. Well, I followed along so diligently. While they kept chatting at me, I'd returned to flicking through posts on my phone and offering an, ""Ah,"" and, ""Uh huh,"" from time to time. All the while, their voices had that tone of being in on a joke I didn't know. From the vibrant woods, we entered a decaying forest, lush greenery replaced with greying, bony trees that swayed to the background music full of violins playing minor notes. Rather than bare earth, the ground looked to be ash, but the lore said that the remains of men and monsters alike had been ground down to dust. ""We're nearly there, sweetie. Don't worry."" ""Okay,"" I said, voice cheery as I put down my phone. The path they followed led us to a resurrection stone. While everything else looked dead in this land, the stone glowed with its usual ethereal light, gently humming. ""Here, touch this and then you can use your teleport skill to go home."" ""Really? It's that easy?"" I asked, flipping through my toolbars from the herbalist skills to my battle ones. ""Yeah. It would be annoying if you went all this way and then needed to go back, right? So they added these stones that charge up your teleport spell for you."" I rolled my eyes. ""That's so handy. But, I'm not sure--can you do it first?"" He hesitated for a moment, his character standing still as a couple of seconds passed, and then he stepped forward, touching the stone and being engulfed in a cool, blue light. ""There, see? Nothing to worry about."" ""What about your friends? Are they gonna stay here when we go back?"" With a little reluctance, they all activated the stone, too, at his insistence. ""We're all ready now, so it's just you left."" ""Well, I guess you've been so kind,"" I said, clicking on the stone and then confirming the action when it popped up to ask me. Just like them, a blue light enveloped my character, followed by a message telling me my respawn point had been changed to the Hollow Woods. Then, a laughter broke through, followed one by one until the group of men filled the voice chat with their laughing. When it finally died down, Gilgasmash stepped in front of me, and his voice no longer had anything but a pitiable smugness to it. ""You saw the message, right? This is where you're gonna respawn if you die,"" he said. ""Oh dear, does that mean the teleport spell will bring me back here as well?"" Though his face didn't show a leer--his virtual reality device probably one of the cheap ones that only did posture and gesture capture--his tone did. ""What teleport spell? This game doesn't have one, idiot."" ""So, you lied to me?"" He stepped forward to be right in my face. ""Yeah. You're so gullible, I couldn't help myself. Following people so easily, what are you? A dog? No, you need a leash for a dog, but you just followed us anyway."" ""You know, it really should have given me a warning if I'm changing my respawn to somewhere high level."" ""It does, but you must have ignored it like the stupid bitch you are."" ""Then, what about a warning that this is a P v P area?"" He laughed again, a kind of bark. ""So you ignored that one as well? You really deserve this."" ""Eh? Deserve what? Are you going to do something to me?"" He emoted a smile as the others surrounded me. ""You see, we can spend all day killing you, and you'll respawn right back here for us to kill again. Doesn't that sound fun?"" ""Not really. I mean, I'll lose some money and items if I die, won't I?"" ""No, not just some--all. There's nothing we love more than putting people like you in your place."" My gaze darted to my phone, before returning back to the screen. ""So, there's nothing I can do? You're just going to try and kill me over and over?"" ""That's right. Well, you can beg, and maybe we'll let you keep that cute outfit of yours. But, even if you run, the monsters will kill you and bring you right back here. So, there's nothing you can do."" ""Really?"" A round of laughter broke out from them. ""Sorry, sweetie, you should've known better than playing this game just because your boyfriend does."" Checking each of them again, they varied between the low seventies and mid eighties in their levels, the gear they wore decent enough but none of the top stuff found in the raids and dungeons. Their names matched. I picked up my phone and tapped a reply to one of the messages I'd seen, telling the poster of it to log in soon. ""Well, little girl, are you ready to die?"" ""Didn't you all touch the stone too?"" He clicked his tongue and said, ""So what?"" My finger hovered over the button to toggle idle mode on and off. ""Doesn't that mean you'll also respawn here if you die?"" ""So?"" I smirked in real life, easing down the button until I heard a beautiful click. *Continued in the replies*",1606
 Three thousand miles is how far I,"Three thousand miles. That was how far I had to get, by my calculations. Beyond three thousand miles, I might be old enough to actually die. It was a long way to go. At the moment, I was in the airport, my ticket crumpled tightly in my hand. I was middle-aged; I could feel the lines on my face, feel the scraggle of my slightly greying beard. It meant that Vivian was at least fifty miles away from me, which would be great, except that my flight had been cancelled and now I was stuck waiting for another hour to fly out. I tapped my foot impatiently. As the time passed, I could feel myself getting younger. It wasn't a rapid change, and it wasn't consistent, but she was using her own age to gauge what direction I was in. It wouldn't take her long to find me. By the time my new flight was boarding, I must have been in my twenties. A few trips to the bathroom and a change of clothes had helped to disguise things, but I was seriously relying on apathy from the other passengers to not attract attention. It was less than ideal. I didn't have the resources that she did. She would be speeding along toward me in a fast car, with her bodyguards close at hand. I had a rolling suitcase with a bum wheel, and I'd had to steal that on the way in. I hadn't gotten even this far in years, and I didn't want to fail now. I could still feel the damp air of the storage shed where she'd kept me. I could still remember the dark, the cold, the *bugs*. I could still remember how thin I'd gotten, to the point where I was counting my ribs through my skin. She'd swing by every week or so, knock us both back down to our pre-teens. It kept her healthy, reversing any particularly stubborn fat she'd gained or illnesses she'd picked up. More importantly, it meant I didn't need to eat, and that any particularly grevious injuries would be healed. I had used that last bit to my advantage. Have you ever chewed off your own arm before? Because I have. Twice. It got me free of my chains, and I only had to endure it until she came by again and turned back my clock. It had still been a long time. Maybe she decided to skip a week. I'm not ashamed to say that I filled my belly with my own severed flesh. Starvation is a powerful force, and in the end, it was my own bones that provided the leverage I had needed to bust the lock. And now, I was here. Shuffling forward in the *slowest boarding line in history*, trying not to let people notice that my facial hair was disappearing and that I was breaking out in pimples. I was two people away from the front of the line when Gordon appeared. Her current husband-slash-bodyguard. I spotted him before he spotted me; he was powerwalking between terminals, glancing over the people at each one. I flipped up my hood, tucking my hands into the pocket of my sweatshirt and looking down. Inconspicuous, hopefully. No doubt he was here because she couldn't be. If she got too much closer, we'd both be children. Not great in terms of agency, but she'd do it if she was deperate enough. I reached the front of the line, glancing up only to flash my ticket at the attendant. She gave me a bright smile back. ""Hey, hon! First time flying alone? Don't worry, we're here to help you through it."" She sounded genuinely cheery, but that didn't change the fact that she was talking to me like I was a thirteen years old. Probably because, at the moment, I was a thirteen years old. And that was where my luck ran out. A heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder, holding me back. I twisted away, but he had a full foot and at least a hundrred and fifty pounds on me. Gordon. ""Ah, Victor. There you are. You had your sister and me worried, running off like that. How did you even get here?"" He turned to the attendant, apologetic. ""I'm sorry miss, but I think there's been some mistake. My son here is definitely not supposed to be on this flight."" I tried to twist away again, calling out as I wrestled against his grip. ""He's not my dad! Someone, help me! Heeeelp! I'm being kidnapped!"" The attendant took a half-step forward, clearly conflicted. She reached for a walkie-talkie, stammering into it. ""S-security! I need you at terminal 6, now!"" She held up her hands, trying her best to break us up. ""Calm down, please. Let's talk this out, there's no need to--"" As she moved in, Gordon's grip faltered, and I made a break for it. I was off like a flash, all the speed of my youth restored to me. I zipped through the terminal, grabbing luggage and tossing it behind me as I went. I could hear Gordon shouting after me, and behind him, the attendant yelling something urgent into her walkie. I didn't have long, but I did have a plan. I saw my target and I ran with it. A stroller, held loosely by a woman who was distracted as she talked on her phone. I slammed into her, grabbing the stroller and rolling it along at a break-neck pace. I was around the corner before she even knew what had happened. I looked down at my catch. A baby girl. Damn. I slowed for just a moment to scoop the sleeping child out of the stroller, placing her out of the way behind a trash can. She stayed asleep. Sorry, baby. I was approaching seven or eight years old, and that meant I was getting close. I speed around another corner with the empty stroller, and I saw her. She looked like a toddler playing dress-up in her mother's clothes, a once flattering dress now draped around her, feet in shoes three times the size of her feet. She saw me as I saw her, and drew in a deep breath, pointing an accusatory finger at me. ""I'm telll-ing!"" I could feel my mind receding as I hurtled toward her. I ran and ran, and my legs hurt, and then I let the bar above me go and the rolling thing shot forward, and I think it hit the girl who I'd saw standing in the funny dress. There was a lot of scary sounds and blurry shapes. I missed mommy, but I felt like I couldn't cry. Not right now. It was important that I not cry, even if I really, really wanted to. I crawled off to my hidey hole, and I sucked on my thumb, tears streaming down my cheeks. When I began to regain my full mental capacities, it was to the sound of a woman shrieking in the distance. I peeked out from where I'd crawled behind a vending machine to see her swatting away a crowd of security guards around her. ""Stay away from my baby! What have you done to her, where's that teenager? I need to speak to a manager, *NOW!*"" I grinned, and quickly got out from behind the machine before I grew too large. I ducked down the hallway until I found where my clothes had fallen, and I quickly pulled them back on. As I passed, I checked on the baby I'd left behind the trash can. Still sleeping like, well, a baby. With every security guard swarming the woman and her rapidly growing baby, it was easy enough to slip back to my flight, and in another few minutes I was on board, teenaged again. I still didn't let myself relax until the plane began to pull away from the gate and the captain's voice crackled over the loudspeaker. ""Ladies and gentlemen, this is flight oh-twelve-seven from New York to London. Please fasten your seatbelts, we'll be beginning the flight shortly. Hope you like the person sitting next to you, because you're gonna be sitting next to them for a while, heh."" He crackled out, and I allowed myself a smile. I could already feel myself getting older as we pulled away. It would slow down the further I went, but I was going a long ways. Finally, I was ready to die. --------- Thank you for reading! If you liked this story, you can follow my profile to be notified when I post short stories, or check out my website,",1445
 A moving Loloth looked like a,"Space ships creak like ancient wooden homes, and even a sleek Loloth cruiser was no exception. As it made it's way toward the core at super-luminal speeds, every girder seemed to whine and moan at the strain. As the Loloth officer progressed down the hallway, its ellipsoid mass undulated in that way only a Loloth on the move undulates. A moving Loloth looked like a giant mass of under-set, white Jello, trapped in a bubble, and rolled around from place to place. Outside of the Loloth ship, this particular Loloth was known as Hanjyulol, carrying the rank of Private. However, within Loloth culture that name and title had no meaning. Loloths were essentially clones, one of the other, with only minor genetic changes introduced artificially, and only when circumstances demanded it. In that sense Private Hanjyulol was essentially indistinguishable from the ship's Captain, Pakglalol, who herself was almost precisely the same as every other Loloth who had ever lived. The whole Loloth species could trace not only its genetic origins, but also it's direct spawning, back to the Mother culture, deep in the warm heart of the planet Loll, where the Loloth creche was hidden and protected. Still the Loloth's required names and titles to join the Federation, and so names and titles were assumed. Hanjyulol, glowing a calm effervescent white, arrived at the cryo storage chamber. The room was locked, but not with the biometrics frequently seen elsewhere in the galaxy. Instead the lock required the talents of a psychic user, prodding a small steel pin deep inside the lock mechanism with her mind. For a Loloth, this was a feat of no significance whatsoever. The Loloth mind was always psychically at work. When off ship, the Loloth's did not wear vacuum suits, for instance, instead using the power of their minds to hold a thin layer of protective atmosphere tight around their absorbent casement. It was only the cumulative, near constant psychic effort of a whole crew of Loloth's which allowed their species to safely traverse the stars at super-luminal speeds. As far as the Loloth knew, no other species in the galaxy had achieved true psychic potentiality, least of all the base, violent species the Loloth had just discovered. The new species was bipedal, and, the Loloth had to reluctantly admit, sentient. There genetic line was an irredeemable mess, worse even then the Hiddrell and their inbred obsession over eyeballs. At least the Hiddrell had a breeding program. *These* strange creatures did not even *attempt* to control the evolutionary arc of their species, apparently content to allow mere happenstance and inadvertant environmental pressures to guide them where it may. As a result this strange race was filled with internal genetic diversity, up to a .6% genetic variance from individual to individual. This was an absurdly high figure from the Loloth perspective, a culture where an individual Loloth with genetic variance of greater than .001% constituted a complete reproductive failure and was terminated in vitro. In the eyes of the Loloth, these ""humans"", for that's what they called themselves, were so widely variable as to hardly be a cohesive species. Such was the extremity of the Loloth's strange perspective. The Loloth were a species which tended toward hubris and self importance in all things - a narcissism that was, perhaps, an inevitable side effect of being, essentially, one multifaceted person spread out across many forms. The Loloth spent a generation watching the humans from a safe distance, learning their language, their culture. What they saw terrified them - a bloodthirsty race, only slightly less *self* destructive than they were destructive of other living things. They warred like the Hiddrell, but without even the controlling foundation of a hierarchical honor system. When human's went to war, they killed without thought, mindless mass murder, the likes of which the Loloth had never seen before. It was decided that the Federation needed to be alerted to this new species. Several samples were taken, secreted from the planet the human's called Earth, and frozen in cryo storage for the trip back to the Galactic Core. Which brings us back to Hanjyulol, and the door to the cryo storage chamber. It was supposed to be locked, but it was not. Hanjyulol began glowing an involuntary reddish hue, swinging the door open with her mind. The interior of the door was smashed and broken. With surprising speed Hanjyulol raced toward the cryopods and flashed briefly bright red when she saw that all six were open and empty. Right then one of the feral beasts stepped out from where he was crouching behind one of the cryopods. Wielding a crudely broken metal pipe torn from a ventilation unit, the human plunged the bent and pointed end hard into Hanjyulol's cellular casement. Hanjyulol turned dark purple, the color of suprise, and with a psychic blast sent the human hurtling across the room. The creature impacted one of the cryopods at the hip, its top half bending violently backward with a horrendous wet crunch. Unfortunately Hanjyulol had miscalculated, throwing the human across the room even as it still grasped the sharp pipe, causing the metal to drag viciously in a horizontal line across Hanjyulol's mass. The Loloth were not a warring race, rarely exposing themselves to physical violence. A small puncture could be clotted, but a gash of this magnitude was not survivable. The Loloth Hanjyulol spilled out onto the cryoroom floor, the standing probability wave of her sentience dying away, just as the Loloth ship dropped back into normal space-time, falling into orbit around Planet 1, in System 1, at the center of the Galactic Federation, five blood thirsty humans roaming in the shadows of its hull. ********* #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM ****** #### Continued Below ****** After Thinking on it, I've decided to just go ahead and make this the prequel to an 8 part short story I wrote a few months ago, . I'll be continuing to post parts either here or on my sub. I'm going to treat this comment and the continuation below as one complete part.",1020
 The son of the Elarian's,"Here I stood, the rarest of the rare, amongst a heap of broken steel and shattered thunder, perplexed. I had been the son of the Elarian's two strongest white mages - bound together by threat of death to conceive healers for the Empire. My childhood was a thing of elegance, pampered by every element the state could provide. I was given the wisest mages to be my teachers, the greatest constructs of steel and thunder to be my guards, the finest foods grown solely on the leylines that powered our world. I was supposed to be the kingdom's child of wonder, of such powerful healing magic so as to keep our ailing Emperor alive for eternity. At least until they tried to test my healing capabilities, that is. I'm a dud, you see. One of the unfortunate few born of magical heritage who simply... lose it. I was raised to be a white mage, and there I stood with not an ounce of healing magic in me. The Emperor was enraged, of course. After all they'd spent, to *not* have another white mage.... they wanted me executed for treason, thinking I had purposely drained my abilities so as to not be pulled into service. I was only spared by the hand of a lieutenant in charge of the execution, who couldn't kill me after I'd done no wrong. Instead, she set me free, telling me that I was to be shot on sight if I ever returned to Elaria while personally escorting me to the gates of the barriers that kept our city safe. And so, by the grace of a young fire mage named Evanna, I was left to my own devices outside the Empire's walls. It was a painful transition, but I managed. There were few people who lived here, scavenging the wrecks of the Empire's ancient warmachines, finding flecks of forged steel and mage-bound lightning amongst the wreckage of the Empire's many wars outside her walls. I'd rapidly become good at the finer points of.... shall we say, ""negotiating"" the prices of my finds, and was beginning to flourish, a scavenger in a land of unscavenged wealth. At least, until I met Evanna again. She was face-down in the dirt with blood streaming slowly from the back of her throat and a chain around her neck, bearing a simple brand known to every person in the land, sea, and sky. ""Traitor."" I'd scrambled to try to recover the corpse before any of the other scavengers. It wasn't often that someone was thrown from the Empire's walls, and it was common for those thrown, by their choice or the Emperor's, to carry at least a few valuable trinkets. And if worst came to worst, the meat on their bones was often good for one or two meals. Like hell if I was going to let that happen to Evanna, though. She'd saved me once, now it was my job to save her. I dragged her corpse to my hideaway amongst the ruins of a particularly large orb-shaped monstrosity, clambering inside by the hole blown in its face eons ago, slamming shut the door and locks I'd scavenged and haphazardly thrown into place, and set about trying to.... well fuck, I don't know what I was trying to do. I was trying to revive a corpse, dead and cold on my floor, begging every magical power I knew of and a few that probably didn't exist to flow into her, to somehow bring her back so I could claim I'd paid my price. Instead, she rose, shambling and still cold, muttering only ""I live to serve you, master."" before staring at me with cold, dead eyes, a steady drip of blood still pouring from her neck. So here I stand, perplexed. Someone, or something, has obviously brought her back, but.... this isn't her. Under no circumstance would she have ever called me master, especially after my abject failures at any form of magic in the Empire, and her usual fighting form, the bright eyes of a fire mage, are both gone, replaced by the cold, dead shambling of - ""A ghoul."" I turn to meet the face of the woman who has somehow bypassed my locks. ""And a rather impressive one, too; she probably still has some of her casting capability. Very nice for a first raising."" She wears a hideous mask of what I *really* hope isn't skin, and is otherwise obscured by a hideous black cloak that definitely *smells* like skin, but I somehow know she's smiling underneath all that. ""Okay, first of all, who the-"" ""hell am I?"" Again with the smiling. ""That's not important,"" chimed in a second voice from the corner of my room as another, cloaked as she was, rose from the darkness with a flourish. This was a man, though - a rather small one, undoubtedly, but a man nonetheless, wearing the same mask of hopefully-not-skin. ""What's important is what we can show you."" ""Show me? Did- did you do this to her?"" I pointed at Evanna, still dripping blood onto the bare metallic floor. ""No, that was you. In your desparate hope to revive her, you finally called upon the power we've known resided within you for years."" croaked the crone. ""From the palace grounds, where we watched you live in luxury,"" the man giggled eerily from his corner. ""To the destitute land in which we find ourselves,"" croaked the crone. ""To now, where you *finally fucking did it,*"" laughed a third voice, booming from the doorway, but obscured by the Crone's creeping presence. ""We've followed you, young black mage."" the voice continued. ""And with your cooperation,"" ""or without it!"" the little man chimed in. ""We'd like to introduce you to the same power that only we and your Emperor share."" I'm stunned. These fucking lunatics, who somehow broke into my house, and... the Emperor? And me? ""Pardon my language, but... the fuck?"" Evanna echoed my confusion with a small groan before choking on her own blood for a moment, coughing to try to get the substance out of her dessicated lungs. The booming voice's laugh echoed throughout the shell we stood in. ""An apt response, I suppose. There will be time for questions later. For now, I tire of this hovel. Amy, could you please get your... friends to bring us to a more amicable location?"" ""Very well,"" the crone, apparently named Amy, mutters, before my entire hovel is lifted up twelve feet into the air. I dash to my window - another ancient war wound on this behemoth - and see that we are being lifted skyward by an army of skeletal limbs, all thrashing, collapsing, and rebuilding themselves in a tidal wave, carrying us toward the Empire's walls. I'd heard rumors of things like these, of course. Some scavengers claimed that they'd traded limbs to other 'scavengers', presuming to see them used as food, only to watch as their limbs were patched onto unholy amalgams. Some had talked of seeing corpses raised before their very eyes, only for the corpse to fall back down dead as if drained of its essence. And rarer still, were the stories of the war-born dead from times far before the creation the war machines, being dredged up from the depths to walk the earth once again. Up 'til now, I'd dismissed all these as mere rumor, but it's hard to dismiss when you're being carried by a godforsaken wave of the dead. As quickly as we had started, the bones shudder to a halt, dropping my dwelling unceremoniously right next to the walls. ""Thank you, Amy,"" the voice booms. Amy recognizes it with a small grunt before shuffling out of my home, followed by the little man doing a small dance routine at the door as he leaves. ""Well? Aren't you coming?"" the deep voice booms out once again. ""Can I, uh..."" I stutter momentarily as the metal beneath my feet shifts and settles into the ground beneath it. ""Can I take her with me?"" ""But of course!"" The voice echoes with a hint of mirth to its tone. ""We all have some attachment to our first few creations..."" I clamber out of the empty husk, thinking that maybe there well was hope for Evanna yet, and am met with the hand of a man in a soot-blackened mask as he pulls me from my wreckage. ""... After all, you've just met my first two."" ==== Part 2 is ==== By request, I've made a where people can keep up with my stories if they so wish as well, and I'll be putting up future parts of the story there as well as in the comments here.",1455
" ""To know what impact you're","Whenever I wake up in the morning, I always make sure to stretch my hands and let out a big, bright smile. After all, it is a new day to look forward to. And that means looking forward to more charitable work and acts of kindness; to better the community around us, don't you think? I think so. So does the rest of the city. And of course, the newspaper clippings hanging on my wall confirm just that. **Jane Goldenheart Organizes City-Wide Event To Feed Homeless** **Local Woman From Belleview County Writes Veterans 2,000 Letters** **22-Year Old Social Worker Buys 100 Coffees For Homeless Shelters** ""Ah, such bliss..."" I said as I danced around in the white-walled bedroom, jumping from article to article that covers every act I did to give back to the community. ""To know what impact you're making,"" I thought to myself as I stretched my back one last time. ""It really motivates me every day."" I promptly exited my bedroom and quickly went about my morning routine. Brushing my teeth, having a warm shower, and a good breakfast really can go by quickly when your mind is dead set on the activities of the day. As I waited for my toast to pop up, I whipped out my phone and pulled up my calendar to see what I have scheduled for today. ""So I guess after I pay Mrs. Grimly a visit, I'll have my soup kitchen session up at Sunshine Street."" I muttered softly as I sipped my coffee; the strong aroma making sure I can digest all the information for the day. ""Leave early to hardware. Get 20 lattes for knitting session. Lock door before exiting. Buy chocolates for Jordan."" Her sticky notes may be messy and all over the place, but that's the system of kind soul Jane Goldenheart. ""Alrighty!"" I said as I put the dishes into the dishwasher and grabbed my new backpack. It was a gift from the charity organization I volunteered at on Sundays to acknowledge exceeding our fundraiser goals. I smiled at the shiny new pink decals I put up as I locked the door and promptly walked out the front door, making sure to lock that too. Greeted by the morning sun, I looked up and gave it a great big smile, ""Today's gonna be a new day."" I thought as my heart fluttered a little bit. Bustling and busy as she may be, Jane Goldenheart always stays true to her name. Every person in the town knows me, and likewise, so do I! From the oldest of grandmothers to the shyest of panhandlers, nobody was a stranger to me in this here town. As I walk down the street, I wave to every passerby. ""Hello Mr. and Mrs. Todd, fine day today for Timmy to play at the park! Why hello, Margaret. I hope you remembered to water your flowers. Little Caroline, here's a gumdrop for you."" Most of them responded to me with smiles and laughter. ""I know what you did, witch."" The hoarse croak came from the alleyway. Turning to her left, I saw her: Vera Truclam. Even though she was covered in black rags and soot, I always do my best to give her a smile and a cordial hello. But of course, she would only spit at me and shoo me away. ""Why hello, Ms. Truclam!"" I said nervously as I scratched the back of my head. ""A fine morning to y-"" ""Oh can it Blackheart!"" She replied roughly as she shuffled her makeshift blanket around on the dirty alley road. ""Don't try to get me under your facade too, witch."" She gave me an evil glare that made me uncomfortable. ""Well it was nice talking to you!"" I said as I tried to wrap things up quickly, extending out my hand to her. But of course, she only slapped me and waved her black cloth at me to shoo me away. I didn't look back when I walked away. ""She was always like that ever since her little Wally disappeared,"" I thought to myself as I frowned, ""But I hope she feels better!"" I exclaimed to cheer myself up. Can't go around with a sad-looking day when my job is to brighten it! As I went through the day, I worked really hard in all my duties; always giving it a 110%. And the results always show! Mrs. Grimly smiled and gave me a rose. The kids at the daycare all waved at me and called me ""pretty Ms. Sunshine."" Lolly was grateful and offered me a discount on my next visit to the confectionary store. It was a wonderful day, and it was only going to get even better. ""You know you don't have to do this, Jane."" My best friend Lily said as she smiled at me; her fingers meticulously working on a smaller beanie. ""I know how busy you are and how tired you must be."" The other some 6 women nodded in agreement. ""Oh, but this is my first time knitting for the St. Mary's Children's Choir!"" I refuted with a cheeky grin. ""Not even that. It's my first time knitting altogether, so I think it's a good place to start."" I comically giggled as I held up my tangled needles and thread. The other women just laughed as Lily helped me out. ""Ok, so just insert it here...ooh not too fast!"" Lily instructed me as she pointed and prodded at the needles. ""Put this under here, not there! Ok Jane just make sure it enters that loop. Oh! Crap!"" Lily had accidentally pushed on my elbow, causing the right needle to prick my left finger. My brain didn't hesitate what to do. Like clockwork, I immediately overreacted and clutched my entire left hand; tears springing into my eyes. Lily just gasped as she stood up. ""Oh my goodness I'm so sorry Jane! Here let me look!"" She exclaimed as the other women scrambled for tissues or bandages. ""NO!"" I said with a panicked tone. ""I'm fine!"" I assured them as I stood up quickly and scanned the room for my bag. ""It's just some blood, no biggie."" I smiled forcefully; my nervous hand putting pressure on the wound. It felt oozy. ""At least let me drive you home..."" Lily offered as the women, now armed with the pure white tissues, tried to find drips of the blood on the hardwood floor. Nervous, I made sure to inspect each and every one of them with my eyes so nobody notices what is happening. ""Clear blood must be nice..."" One of them said as she tried to feel around the location where my blood should have dripped. ""I can't even see it!"" Another one exclaimed. ""But that's expected of our Jane."" ""Ok well, it's sad but it's just an accident."" I strained a smile as I started to back into the door. ""Thank you everyone and I hope to finish these beanies before next Sunday. Have a good evening ladies. "" I slammed the door open and practically ran back; ignoring the calls of ""Jane wait!"" and ""Are you sure dear?"" ""This can't be happening."" I huffed and puffed as I looked down at my right hand cupping my left, the black liquid starting to pool. ""This can't be happening."" The opacity stared back at me. ""This cant be happening this cant beh appening thisca nt behap pening thiscan tbehap pening thiscantbehappening thiscantbehappeningthiscantbehappeningthiscantbehappening."" I practically opened and slammed my front door, my back against it as I started heaving. My mind is a flurry as I scanned my house for any possible intruders or forced points of entry. ""Looks like the neighbors aren't peeping in."" I internally reassured myself as I glanced back at the oozing black blood from my middle finger. ""Just to be safe..."" I muttered as I marched to the pantry door and swung it open, revealing a metal door with an electronic passcode handle. Pressing it sloppily, my mind is hazy as I laughed and giggled at the events that just transpired. Perfect Jane found to be black-blooded criminal? Belleview woman guilty of murder and kidnapping? Social worker fools entire town with her facade?"" THATCANNEVERHAPPENNOTASLONGASIAMJANEGOLDENHEARTTHOSEPEOPLEWILLNEVERKNOWIAMPERFECT ""WALLY!"" I shouted as I descended the dimly lit stone stairs. Maintenance is not a priority when you're building a dungeon. Anger flowing my veins, I picked up a baseball bat as I saw the fearful glowing stares of 4 children. Brandishing the black-covered bat, I can only feel my heart coagulating and my mask cracking. EDIT: Thank you for all the support everyone! It really makes my heart aflutter that the whole world knows my good deeds! Please follow me here so you can read more of my",1460
 The tower was made of solid gold,"The tower was made of solid gold, and stretched all the way to the skies above. And here I was at the bottom, along with everyone else. I slotted my application form in and waited for the briefing, though I already knew what I should do. I knew my chances of getting to the top were limited. There were whole adventuring parties who had prepared for all of their lives - or rather, all of the king's life - to get to the top of the hundred floors. Some were important aristocrats that had their indentured servants carrying their provisions and luxuries, taking pensive sips of their champagne as their minions laboured to bring them up. Others were battle-hardened veterans of the royal army, who carried all 30 kilograms of their supplies and essentials on their backs and were now doing the all-too-common armed forces warm-up. A few famous bards and writers were here too, to the adoration of their audiences, some of which were also selected as the lucky few to accompany them on the ascent. And the rest of us looked unremarkable enough; no distinguishing accomplishments to give us a head start. I'd served a bit of time in the army myself. Two years, as compared to the veterans with decades and the politicians who had probably long since forgotten about suffering. I did my own stretches, careful to not let my calf muscle implode just like the last forced march I did. So as the hundreds of contestants set off on their journey skyward to the crown, I took the first step, knowing that I could at least tell myself I tried. In the early morning climb, with a knapsack on my back, I'd an aching in my heart, and a body full of sweat. &nbsp; The first few floors saw the aristocrats first. Some endlessly exhorted their servants to move faster up the tower, trampling any others who tried to continue. Others kept a dour look on their faces as they condescendingly threatened their men with the sack or death should they give up. Next were the bards and playwrights, whose fans had much enthusiasm but little stamina, and slowly regressed to a walking speed. The veterans had formed a coalition, slowly but consistently trudging up the wide staircase and encouraging each other. And there was me at the back, observing while moving at my own pace. At the twentieth floor, the aristocrats' power had not been able to motivate their men forward, and some stopped for a break. I managed to get in a chat with one servant, indentured to a young lord who had a reputation for spending money lavishly. Breaking apart a cookie to share with him, he told me of his master's father who had been, if not the wisest, at least a reasonable ruler of the small fiefdom they owned. He was increasingly greying, and worrying about his new master's inexperience and desire to simply enjoy his life, even if in the company of wenches and booze. The servant pointed out his previous master's fields from the sky. Once lush and green with prosperity, they slowly decayed with his health, and faced an uncertain future with the junior man. I took a sip of water, gave him the rest of the cookie and bid him farewell and good luck. I hoped that regardless of his master's progress, him and the rest of the servants would fare well afterwards. Another lord's party was causing a ruckus that took up one entire side of the staircase. One of his servants had decided to steal a bit of coin from him, and the punishment was to be a flogging. While the lord whiled away with other matters, the whip sat in a vat of oil meant to thicken it, with the accused chained up right beside. I took another opportunity to hear his case, as an impartial observer. The young man was barely my age, with a family to support. He knew his master had not paid him enough, and told me however hard he toiled the fields his wage would not increase. I knew this for a fact; my father had been in such a situation, I had used the army as a convenient escape, and if I could not find any other employment I could very well be in his position sooner or later. I took my chance. Taking out my lighter, I threw it in the vat of oil. As it burned, the lord started to panic, and ordered his servants to extinguish the flames. They remained in their positions, even as the lord's face grew hot with the fire and his own anger at insubordination. As the graying, stony-faced man drew his sword and approached us, the accused merely pushed over the vat containing the inferno, letting it consume that part of the staircase entirely as his friends escaped down the staircase. I decided I had had enough of aristocrats and their poor servants, and climbed forth to the skies above. &nbsp; The next group I met, at the fortieth floor, were the few bards and writers that had set their eyes on the crown. Their audiences were enraptured by the songs and performances that they had reserved half of the stairway to perform. I knew these plays; I'd seen a few during my army days. A romance between two feuding families was a pretty popular theme, and seeing the same characters in action against and for each other, weaving as the tributaries of a river would; that reminded me of my own exploits. When I tried to catch the eye of a pretty girl from the village I grew up in, we went to see plays together when the commanders gave us days off. It was easy to put ourselves in that position, except we were separated by occupation and thankfully not by family. But those were memories long gone. The audiences were so enraptured by the bards that they surrounded them everywhere, but I talked to one. I asked him why, if it was easier to entertain his crowds, he would want to aspire towards kinghood. He admitted that it was all about the money he got from his works, and really the plot device of forbidden romance had been overdone to death. I assured him that people like him already did well enough on the ground, bringing joy to the masses, and did not need to do more for riches or glory. I told him of the young love I tried to have, and he seemed to sympathise, even empathise, on some level. We shared another cookie and a bottle of water before parting ways. The next day, the bards decided to go home. &nbsp; I'd reached the seventieth floor. The brotherhood of veterans was forging ahead. Proudly wearing their battle gear and medals, they sang those familiar army songs as they marched consistently up. But even the most resilient troopers needed rest, and at their water point was where I saw them gathered. The routine order on the pole was something I was used to seeing in camp. This time, it merely said the next time to move off, which was due in half an hour. My former officer saw me and waved me over to take a seat beside him. I had much respect for him, for his willingness to put his life on the frontlines just as we had, even if his orders pushed us to our physical and mental limits. Initially afraid that he would try to convince me to re-enlist, he instead merely asked for my support to get a soldier to the top. He'd known about the aristocrats and bards that had failed, and was fully convinced that a warrior should be the next King. We had a pleasant conversation for the remaining rest time they had, before they suited up to ascend once more. I followed them along, singing along to the old army songs and keeping cadence for the remaining distance. By the hundredth floor, only myself and the veterans remained. The other independent adventurers had, unfortunately, decided to go home. Celebrating their victory, the brotherhood proceeded to the castle where the crown was hidden, while I followed them as an outsider, and inevitably a competitor. &nbsp; What awaits those who reach the top isn't well documented, because the King lives longer than most of us anyway, and why would he want to reveal how he got the most power in the land? In any case, the small citadel that topped the hundred floors was not what we expected. As we knew, the mission was never complete until we were absolutely certain that it was. The centre of the room had a simple set of scales, though they were human sized, and the crown lay alone on one side. It was evident that only one man could try at a time. We took turns, and I was immediately pushed to the very back, where I once again met my commander. Soldier after soldier stepped on the scales, and each was rejected. Being too heavy as compared to the crown, even with all gear off, they were confused and agitated. Hearing the vulgarities that I was all too used to, I was a little surprised as to how angry these veterans were with each other, even as they had progressed as one solid unit to the front. Hands were on swords, shields were being raised. And it was my turn. Within that instant, I heard an intangible, yet powerful voice speak. *Yes. You are the man this kingdom needs to lead it. We have seen what you have done on the stairway. You have much to learn, but you are pure of heart, and will be trusted to do Right.* The forces at work in the kingdom, unexplainable as they were omniscient, had spoken. Half the room knelt in respect, while the other half stared in disbelief. A mere enlisted man, who had already been discharged, was more worthy than the brave men who had been ready to strike out at the Kingdom's enemies for their entire lives? This was most unacceptable to them. Swords were drawn, and I knew this would not end well. As the new King, this was the first crisis I had to resolve: a civil war raging right in front of me. The short skirmish that happened before me was quickly quelled by the memories and common experiences these commanders and veterans shared, but I knew the root problem had not been quelled. And as I returned to the capital to the cheers of the bards and the suspicions of the aristocracy, I knew the road ahead as the new King was a long one. But I knew one thing: a day may come where we lose, but it's not today.",1816
 All I had to do was appear,"How many screams had I heard? Earth-rending screeches, ugly and pained, tearing at the throats they escaped from and slicing deep into my psyche. All I had to do was appear, and it began. Nearly eighty years since I had last descended, I left the heavens, scythe in hand. The journey to the mortal plane didn't take time, not a physical distance to cross. Yet, it felt like an eternity. One moment, I didn't exist and, the next, I appeared. People surrounded me on all sides, as I towered above them. Thousands of people, full of happiness and joy and life. I counted the seconds for that to drain away, my presence a wildfire that devoured everything and left behind nothing more than the ash that stained my wings. Someone feared, hated, cursed, never to know anything but the screams of those clinging to their existence. That was my life, as the angel of death. Only, the seconds stretched longer, and the atmosphere remained. Even as I looked around, I saw them looking at me, pointing at me. Yet, they showed no worry. It unsettled me, a snake confused why the mice didn't run, so I did nothing more than look for now. ""Ah, sir? Sir? Can I get a picture?"" I heard the words, but it took me a moment to realise they were directed at me. Bowing my head, I spotted a young woman in front of me, a device in her hand. Curious, and unafraid in my own divinity, I saw no harm in what may come to pass from her, giving her my assent with a nod. Around us, some space opened up and she stood at my side. ""Do your wings do anything?"" she asked. No reason to hide them away, I stretched out those ashen wings of mine, feathers long-since dyed grey. Gasps came from the crowd, and I wondered if they finally understood. Except, rather than terror, excitement sprang forth in hushed whispers and admiring stares. So close I could still hear her, she muttered, ""Wow."" I waited patiently for what came next, but all she did was apologise and hold out the device, angling the flat side towards us, and then she pressed a button. A strange sound played and nothing more. ""Thanks! That's the most awesome costume I've seen!"" she said, a grin shaping her lips as she stepped away. I bowed my head, unsure of what else I could do to such a statement. Then, the floodgates opened, and the space around me closed up as a dozen others took her place, begging to take a picture of their own. Overwhelmed, I felt the heat rise in me, wings smouldering, reminding me of my purpose here on this day. Suddenly, a hand squeezed my shoulder, surprising both that someone would touch me and that they could reach that high. More surprising than that, the person didn't scream out in agony, even as my divinity should have started to eat their flesh and bones. Instead, the man's glove had corroded but nothing more. Dressed all over in red and black, face hidden behind a matching mask, he carried a sword on his back. Yet, I felt his gaze on me. ""Take it easy. They're all here for a bit of fun, so what's the harm in playing along, eh?"" As suddenly as he'd appeared, he left, disappearing into the crowd after giving me a pat on the back. His words lingered, though. I could see no harm in waiting. The passage of time didn't exist in the heavens, this moment no different from the countless that both preceded and followed it. So then, I had no need to rush, the conclusion cooling me. While I'd thought, the crowd came to thin around me. Some people said things like, ""Give him space,"" and, ""No touching."" I didn't know if that was specific to me or more general rules of this localised society; however, I appreciated it nonetheless. Ushered by someone with some kind of authority, I soon found myself by a wall, rather than in the middle of the vast room. ""Just let us know when you want to stop, okay?"" she said. I bowed my head, which seemed to satisfy her as she turned to the half-circle crowd. Picking a point, she split it there and announced it as the start of the queue, and some twenty or so people rushed over to line up. Letting the first person come forward, he stood at my side with a device held in front of him--like the woman had earlier. One by one, with the odd two, the people in the queue did the same. Sometimes, they said something in passing. ""Man, those wings are awesome."" ""You're so tall!"" ""Woah, that scythe looks so real."" Always, they said, ""Thanks,"" or, ""Thank you."" When the last person left, the lady that had set it all up started pushing away the crowd, helped by someone else wearing similar clothing. Some people lingered, their gaze flickering to me, but I had space around me and no one's full attention on me, except for the lady's. ""Ah, sorry about that. Everyone's so quick to crowd awesome costumes, even after all our warnings,"" she said, giving me a sheepish smile. Then, it turned shy. ""Actually, if you don't mind, can I get a photo? You're the coolest fallen angel I've ever seen."" Though she was incorrect about me being fallen, I bowed my head in assent anyway. Giddy, she half-ran to my side, standing on her tiptoes as she fumbled out her own device. ""Thank you, thank you!"" she said, gaze fixated on the light coming from her device. ""Ah, er, have fun and enjoy your visit and thank you for coming."" Her cheeks red, she blurted all that out and left me with a wave. I waited by the wall, watching the crowd of people swell and thin, moving and yet staying inside, spinning in some haphazard way. No one ran from me, screamed in terror at the mere sight of me. Despite the incredible noise of it all, it had a quietness to it, peaceful. Even if I tried to, I didn't think I could find the heat inside me any longer. ""It's not so bad, eh? As long as they don't think you're real, it doesn't matter how scary you are, they'll still love you."" Rather than give him a reply, I pulled my wings in behind me and held my scythe in front. ""The thing is, you're actually not real. This is just a story someone's writing. So, you don't have to be the bad guy, you know? What the ending is, that's in your hands. You get to choose. That sounds entirely wrong, I know, but you're you and what happens happens because you're you. Your personality can't just change, so you have to be who you are right until the end. Make sense?"" His words jarred me, splitting my mind as what I saw became replaced with words, only for reality to reassert itself, bringing me back to the crowded room. Yet, a kind of freeness filled me as the strange vision faded. Rather than feeling like I could do anything, though, this freedom made me feel like I could feel however I wanted, selfish and indulgent. ""I want,"" I said, the words coming out deep and hollow-sounding. ""Go on."" Raising my gaze to the heavens, I said, ""I want to forget the screaming."" ""Ah, well, I have a bottle of the good stuff you could drink, but I dunno if that'll help."" I smiled, perhaps for the first time in my existence. ""Thank you."" The heavens could wait for me, time nothing to it and yet everything to these people. Rather than their screams, I would hear their last breaths as their time ran out, no sooner. If I truly wanted that with all my being, then I would have it. I couldn't say how many screams I'd heard, but, from now, no more.",1343
" ""I don't have any secrets","""Tell me a secret."" Lilly smiled from across the table. She twirled her long blonde hair anticipating on my reply. She sipped from her glass of wine before giving me a wink. ""Come on, Edward. You must have something come to mind."" ""I don't have any secrets."" I assured her. Though after saying it, I felt really dumb. Now she will think I am the most boring Prince in all of the Kingdoms. ""Really? Well, that's kind of boring."" She sat down her glass. ""Damn it."" I thought. ""What?"" She tilted her head in confusion. I really thought I had said *damn it* in my head. Apparently it slipped out before I could even take it back. ""Damn it,"" I went along with it, ""I can't believe I forgot my biggest secret."" It had worked. Lilly straightened her back and fixed the most beautiful bright ocean eyes onto me. Now I just need to quickly come up with something heroic. I took a few moments preparing an epic story of how I faced a wild tiger on a hunt with the King's rangers. As I was ready to begin the tale, a voice carried over my shoulder from behind. ""Where is my baby?"" The voice demanded. I closed my eyes while hitting the table with my fist. ""Damn it!"" That time I had meant to say it. I turned my attention to the stubborn woman who always had a neck for ruining the moment. Her name was Violet. I honestly cannot remember if it were her actual name or the name people called her for always wearing dark violet clothing. ""Your baby?"" Lilly stood up from the table. ""Are you cheating on me with this - this - this witch?!"" ""Watch it darling, I am a witch."" Violet rested her hands on her hips. ""The hell with you Edward! You lying snake!"" Lilly threw the little wine she had left in her glass onto my face before storming out of the tavern. I noticed her heart-shaped earring dropped onto the table from her throwing the wine with such a force. ""You know,"" I replied back to Violet, ""I would probably have your baby if you didn't keep ruining every chance I get with a date!"" I threw both my hands down on the table, knocking several glasses onto the floor. Violet crossed her arms. ""It's been over seventeen years since we'd made the deal - and you've given me nothing!"" ""I actually have to be able to woo a woman without you interfering all the time!"" I finally stood up from my seat. Everyone in the tavern turned their attention onto our argument. One would think we were married, or something. ""You've slept with plenty of women!"" ""How would you know that?"" I crossed my arms mirroring her. ""I have watched you!"" She pointed. I noticed a few of the gentlemen glanced at one another in shock from the bar. One seemed to be fixing his hair in order to impress Violet. ""You've watched me? You are sick! I can't believe you don't trust me to hold my end of the bargain!"" ""Look,"" Violet poked my chest with her forefinger, ""I made you the Prince. I can, just as easily, take it all away and give it to someone who will give me their child."" I tried hushing her down. I couldn't afford a rumor of my royalty coming from the hands of a witch. It would be the end of me. I placed my palm onto her shoulder for comfort. She immediately smacked it away so I placed my palm onto her other shoulder instead. ""Listen, I will give you my child. I promise."" I calmed her down. She obviously didn't have the power to read my mind. If she could, she would know that seventeen years ago after I made the deal, I had another witch fix me from having any children. No, not like that. I can still use it. She used magic to make it happen. She gave me a drink, and then the deed was done. I obviously had to make another deal. I gave her the King's pass to go through the border into our kingdom. She was trying to find her family so - I lucked out with that one. The funny thing about making deals with multiple witches, somehow they always come back full circle. My moment of calming Violet suddenly ended when another woman came storming up behind me. She looked a lot like violet but I recognized her immediately. It was the other witch. The one that fixed me from having children. ""I found my family Edward. Turns out you been screwing them from the beginning."" The other witch walked up beside Violet. I never even knew the other witch's name. I don't know how I couldn't have seen it before. These two were obviously sisters. ""Okay,"" I raised my hands upward, ""let me explain everything."" ""Oh,"" Violet leaned against her sister. ""You mind telling me how you had my sister fix you after we already made a deal?!"" Before I could even defend myself, the gentleman who fixed his hair while admiring Violet came over. He smiled before asking, ""I notice there are two of em' now, you in need of another gentleman?"" Both Violet and her sister were disgusted. They both snapped their fingers in unison. The gentleman turned into a snake that slithered out of the tavern in regret. ""Probably bigger than what he was working with,"" Violet laughed hysterically. Everyone in the tavern fled out the door. Even the bartender didn't want to risk it. I found myself staring into the eyes of two angry sisters who probably hold my status of being a Prince in both their palms. ""Well, Edward? What do you have to say for yourself?"" Violet's sister chimed in. I did not know what to say. I took a moment before I thought of, ""What if I steal you a newborn?"" ""Steal?"" Violet's sister seemed to be interested. ""Whose child would you steal?"" ""Well,"" I began, ""There is always chatter in the palace. There's a rumor going around that some servant girl is with child. People tend to misplace things in the palace quite often."" I waited to see how they would respond. Violet seemed to be contemplating while her sister was the one excited. ""No."" Violet replied. ""You will not take another's child. Since you will not give me what I am owed, then I will have no other option."" Violet raised her hand. I saw a bright flash take over the entire tavern before everything went dark. &nbsp; I woke up out of my bed, shaking. Another nightmare, I guess. I had to tell myself that. It all felt so - real. I went into the bathroom in order to wash my face. I kept dreaming that I was much older but I'm only thirteen years old. Everything seemed off. I heard my bedroom door slowly open. ""Edward, honey? Are you having another nightmare?"" My mother poked her head past the bathroom door. Her dark violet robe caught my attention in the mirror. Dark violet was her favorite color. It was all she would wear. ""Yea, I'm fine."" I lied. ""Well get some rest, your aunt's coming first thing in the morning to take you to the palace."" I let out a slow sigh. *Everything is fine,* I told myself. As I turned around, I noticed a heart-shaped earring lying beneath the bathroom sink on the floor. Somehow, something about it was familiar. Choosing to ignore it, thinking it was probably my mother's, I turned off the light and went back to sleep. *** To read more stories, visit",1289
" ""Robbie! What did you","""Robbie! What did you do?!"" Lying on the wooden floor, I opened my eyes and saw a woman running towards a young kid. He was staring at me with a horrified look. I tried not to look back, but his eyes clearly told me that something incredibly odd has just happened. I noticed broken pieces of marble around me, and as my eyes were scanning my surroundings, I noticed that a lot of other people were staring at me too. I heard nothing but silence and the rushing steps of the frantic woman. She reached the boy and put her hands on her head, looking at the marble that was scattered on the floor. ""I walk away for just a second and you do *this*?!"" She began to hyperventilate. ""It was an accident, I swear!"" The boy began to cry. ""Mommy, why was there a man in the statue?"" Two men, dressed rather officially, ran into the room and began to look around. ""Sir, you have to understand,"" the mother turned to one of them. ""It was an accident. Please, you *have* to understand! It wasn't on purpose. Are we in trouble?"" She began to find it difficult to talk as tears were rolling down her cheeks. ""Please come down, ma'am,"" instructed one of the men. ""We have to see what happened before making any decisions."" I got up off the floor and heard a few gasps. I was as confused as anyone in that room, and I wanted to ask so many questions. Who were these people? Where were we? Why were these people dressed so oddly? Where have I been all this time? I could not remember how I got here, and something told me that nobody in the room would tell me either. The two official-looking men approached me. ""Sir, who are you?"" Asked one of them. I looked at him for a brief moment and noticed a small tag on his chest that read ""DAVIDE - SECURITY."" I didn't think it was fair that I had so many unanswered questions but I had to answer his. I wanted to know so much and all he wanted to know was my name? What could would that do? ""Sir! What is your name and what are you doing?"" Davide asked pressingly. I quickly gathered my thoughts and said, ""I am Decimus. Where am I? Who are all those people?"" ""This is the National Museum of Roman History, sir. These people paid to be here. May I see your ticket?"" ""Museum of Roman History? But we... how can..."" I was even more confused now than before I asked the question. ""I need to speak to my general immediately!"" ""Sir, if you don't show me your ticket I will have to escort you out of the building, And if you resist further then we will have to call the police!"" Davide was clearly getting angry, but I still had plenty of questions that I needed answers for. As I took my eyes off the angry threatening man, I noticed the room filled with statues of people who looked a lot like me. They were made of the same kind of stone that was broken on the floor, and were standing on a rectangular wooden stage. ""Give me a second, sir, I plead,"" I told him, and I slowly walked towards one of the statues. My memory was coming back to me as I looked at the faces of each of the marble-covered warriors. We were preparing to go to battle on the northern border of our beloved Roman Empire, to battle the Barbaric nations that have been poking at us for decades. Visigoths, they were called. Our Empire was not doing well, and there was a lot of fear surrounding us and plenty of people claiming that Rome was going to fall. I looked at the name plaque of one of the statues. It read ""FLAVIUS."" Yes, I remembered him. Young, handsome Flavius. We have been training together for some years along with several other young soldiers. I walked a few steps to the next statue. His name plaque read ""AVITUS."" Another one read ""CLOELIUS."" Two more statues were called ""GORDIANUS"" and ""PUBLIUS."" Every name jolted my memory and put me more firmly in the scene of the battle. I knew each and every one of these warriors. The final statue in the room wore the name of Antonius. He was the final piece to my puzzle, and with his name I had finally remembered how we all got here. It was Antonius who had suggested the absurd idea. We all struggled to trust him at first but we soon realized that we had no other choice. Our Empire was slowly crumbling and torturous death was imminent. ""We are fighting a lost battle,"" he told us. ""There are too many Barbarians! We are all going to die! We are too young, too skillful to die now. These Barbarians are too ruthless now, but they are mere animals! Give us a hundred years and Rome will rise once again and defeat them with brutal force! Eventually every single one of them will die and Rome will return to its former glory. But us six, we don't deserve to be killed right now. We can't run anywhere; we are surrounded by enemies! But I have an idea. We all take this,"" he showed us a small sack with powder in it. ""We put a little bit in our mouth, feel ill for a little bit, and go to sleep for a long, long time. I had arranged for my wife to built statues of us, and when we are in deep sleep, she will encase us in marble and when the time is right, we will come back when Rome is the mighty Empire it once was!"" I couldn't remember anything past that moment. I could only imagine that it was followed by us taking some of the mysterious powder and fading into the deepest of sleeps. The bastard was right; we were all encased in marble, and for all I know Rome was the greatest empire in the world right now. Overwhelmed with emotion, I used all my strength to push Antonius's statue off the wooden stage. The marble broke, and Antonius himself lied on the floor, coming to his senses. I rushed to break the rest of the statues in the room, and I couldn't believe when soon enough, I was surrounded by my comrades-in-arms. We all looked at each other and began to laugh as Antonius's ludicrous idea turned out to be a success. Not everyone found it funny, though, as Davide and his friend tried to tackle us. Flavius and I pushed them off pretty easily, and we all unsheathed our swords. ""Glory to Rome!"" we all shouted, and walked outside to be greeted by the shining sun and an empire that was not at all Rome.",1159
" A little girl, born the day","They tell the story, still, in the kingdom. Of the wicked witch who'd snuck in through the castle windows, avoiding the moat and fooling the guards, to steal the King and Queen's third child. A little girl, born the day before. *What kind of monster*, said the townsfolk, *would steal a princess away from a loving family?* I was there the other day, buying the special dark chocolate you love for your birthday cake. Disguised, of course, though it's not like anyone would recognize me either way. There was this man putting up posters, and when I walked by he asked me, ""Would you be so kind as to spare a few gold coins for the search effort for the lost Princess?"" I stormed past, and it was only once I'd ducked under a cobwebbed arch into a dark, empty alley that I felt free to gag. Oh, all rulers have things they cover up. But to flaunt it, to pretend that they wanted you, missed you-- I do not pretend to be a good person; I am, of course, a witch, and in the natural order of things that means that I am never the hero of the story. But even I know true villainy when I see it, and when it comes from your parents it makes me sick. So you must believe me-- when you read this, when you discover my secret-- you can hate me all you want, but know that I always tried to do better by you than *they* did. &nbsp; When you were six years old, you asked me why you don't have a Father, like all the children in the fairy tale books you liked to read at that age. You may not remember this, but I don't think I can ever forget my answer. I told you that I loved you as much as mothers and fathers do combined. If you're reading this now, I'm sure you doubt this-- if it were me, in your place, I would doubt it too. And trust me, I did not always love you. I certainly did not love you when I took you from your bed, escaping in the nick of time just as the guards realized that the royal baby was gone. I fed you, and washed you, and rocked you to sleep, but then you were nothing more to me than a means to an end. The ransom note was delivered to the kingdom by midnight. The next morning, I received a reply. No money, just a note: *keep her. We certainly will not fight for her.* The ink was expensive, the paper smooth, and the seal on the envelope was unmistakably from the castle. They say there's a fine line between hate and love. As the hatred for the King and Queen grew in my heart, my love for you began to blossom as well. You were so small. And I had never seen myself as a mother, but that didn't matter then. It never mattered. From that day on, you were everything if not my own flesh and blood. The castle was your house for the first day of your life; I tried to make a home out of this tower in the middle of nowhere for all the days you had ahead of you. &nbsp; I have never spoken to you of my own parents; you never asked, and for that I was grateful. You see, I have lied to you about near-enough everything: where you come from, who you are, why you're here. I could not bear to tell you another lie, and yet that is one truth you would not like to hear-- I do not think about them, much, except for when I write this journal. It calls for self-reflection, I suppose. If you had asked, I would have told you that they were mean, unforgiving people. I have always had fresh flowers in every room of the tower because I know what it is like to grow up in a house that reeks of ale. We had not much money, and what income we did have was spent on drink. I always sing you to sleep, even now that you are past sixteen, because I know what it is like to have your first lullaby be a string of screamed obscenities. I ran away when I was about your age, now. My mother had always called me a witch, for my sharp wits and uncanny luck; and though witches were just as despised in those days, they were equally feared. I sold potions, cured warts, cursed crooks, and kept them just scared enough that they never dared to burn me on the stake. One day, my mother came to me, traveling all the way from the town where I was born-- it must have been miles, on foot. She said that my father was ill, and won't I come over and cure him? So I smiled and said I would work up a salve, and when I shut the door on her I looked in my books for the wickedest spell I could imagine. Two days later they were both gone. I say this not to make you pity me, or to hate me even more than you already do, only to explain, if I could ever begin to, why I ever did any of this; and I hope, if not now, but someday, you realize that all I ever tried to give you was everything I never had. &nbsp; Even then, barely two days old, you were beautiful. You hadn't much hair, except for a tuft of golden blonde, and you were chubby and red and cried more often than not, but you had the softest eyes, and the sweetest smile. I looked down at you and thought, the King and Queen must not have hearts inside of their chests, for how else could they be so eager to let you go? You knew, then, what had happened; I am sure of it, even if you have forgotten by now. And you sobbed your heart out until your chest was heaving and your nose was red, and you cried some more, and it was only early into the morning that I finally got you to rest, pressed close against me with my lips mumbling an old tune I'd heard long, long ago. Asleep, you were innocent, and so undeserving of what you were born into. And so I held you tighter, and said: your name is Rapunzel, and I will learn to love you like my own.",1103
 During the long period before the Camb,"Throughout the history of life on Earth, there has really only ever been one constant. Death. During the long period before the Cambrian, entire ecosystems popped into existence only to collapse with the rise of modern taxons at the dawn of the Paleozoic. Between the Permian and the Triassic, a rapid temperature increase brought about by volcanic activity in Siberia meant the end for more than ninety percent of everything that showed up in the fossil record. The great ancestors of the birds were then able to diversify. They spread out across the Earth and lived for over a hundred million years, growing from small creatures that scrambled through the underbrush into behemoths that shook the Earth as they moved. Then, a random hammerblow from a member of the Flora asteroid family cut them down. Within a decade, all that remained were bones turning to fossils in the sediment left by the first thunderstorms after a ten year winter. Humanity had a good run. We rose from a pretty unexceptional branch of the mammal family tree, closely related to the rodents and a little more closely related to the tree shrews, to complete dominance over all life on Earth. Well, at least all macroscopic life. The enormous brains gifted to us by a few fluke mutations allowed us to shape the world to our whim. Entire environments were wiped out and created. Prairies turned to farmland, savannahs turned to desert, saltwater estuaries turned to concrete canyons, and tropical rainforests turned to ashes and wasted pastureland. Along the way, though, we dug up the bones left in the sandstone hills that had once been thunderstorm runoff. We saw those enormous creatures, along with the older amphibian monsters that had dessicated and then been buried beneath the dunes of the desert in the heart of Pangea. The rules were clear. Death was a constant. There wasn't any real surprise in 2667, when JESSICA sounded her warning. By that point, we had learned to divert and even mine smaller asteroids like the one that hit Chicxulub, but we still knew that the nature of the Great Game of Life hadn't changed. A real monster, whipping in from interstellar (or in this case, intergalactic) space, could not be diverted. Echidna was a body from the Oort Cloud of a solar system thrown our way when two enormous spiral galaxies collided long before the formation of the Earth. Its star had died and the orbiting bodies had been scattered by gravitational encounters. Echidna wasn't that large in the big scheme of things. Half the size of Pluto, maybe. The big scheme of things didn't matter. She was going to hit the Earth at a thousandth of the speed of light. The crust of the Earth wasn't even going to shatter. With heat that high, it would turn to liquid near instantaneously. The predicted zone of impact, the Precambrian craton of South Africa, was going to splatter, a wave of liquid rock that would partially solidify as it came back down, creating second impacts ahead of a storm of something that could only be called fire by rough analogy. There was no way that the off world colonies could support fifteen billion new people. The Moon was evacuated due to the high likelihood of secondary impacts, then JESSICA shut down the ports on Mars to all incoming traffic. Autonomous supply vessels still left the Vastitas Borealis for the few manned asteroid mines and the research stations on Europa (along with the single lonely Japanese outpost near the South Pole of Enceladus). Anyone coming in, though, would be shot out of the reddish grey sky by a railgun under the direct control of the WC. She entrusted no one else with the responsibility. The message was clear. Mars wasn't suitable for mankind yet. Life there was underground, whether in the human-made caverns under the enormous boreal plain or in the natural, water-filled caverns blocked to all exploration by international treaty due to their native microbial colonies. In time, it would become a home. For now, though, the resources just weren't there. The asteroids would never sustain us. Any ship small enough to evade JESSICA's watchful eyes would have no hope of even reaching the icey moons, where massive, dark oceans hid the kilometers-long, glowing bodies of their eternal sovereigns. Our only real home in the solar system, for now, was Earth. It would soon belong to JESSICA alone. She would not be deactivated like the other World Controllers when her tome came to be replaced, it had been decided. Like the others, she would be stored in a data center buried in the rocky crust of 4-Vesta, but unlike the others she would sent back to rebuild as soon as the Earth cooled enough for that to be possible. She could have an entire world and its material wealth to expand into. She would be a god. For her part, JESSICA really had nothing to say on the issue. I was one of the custodians present when the Governing Assembly called her up to give her the news. They actually had us haul one of her larger projectors into the Chamber in Tokyo, so that she could stand there in the center of the giant hall in a form conjured up from the air. Nominally it was to check her response. Maybe they just felt more comfortable telling this to something that looked like a human being. None of them knew that the seven year-old in a green and yellow floral sundress, with curly black hair down to her waist and a straw gardening hat, was a real person. Most of the others were amalgamations of fictional and historical children. This one was the daughter of the engineer who built the cooling systems, Dr. Patric Isidoku. Her real name was Akhona, I think. JESSICA had been picked out two hundred years before for the 2630 Series WC. They managed to salvage enough of her brain to culture all of the cell lines for the computer's biological components. JESSICA wasn't Akhona, really, but I do wonder if she was somehow more human than her predecessors. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but her expression and her silence that day stuck with me. For those human beings left waiting for the impact, though, there were a few decisions left to be made. Did we wait to die? Choose euthanasia? A few really did attempt to make it to Mars. That was euthanasia by a different route. A lot fewer turned to religious extremism or to hedonism than you might expect, at least in the first three years. I opted for a longshot. A fleet of four ""arks"" were approved for four solar systems with known habitable planets. They were packed with all settlers would need to establish self-sufficient colonies like those on Mars. Still, a long shot. No human interstellar missions had ever been attempt because of all that could go wrong over the course of, for the shortest trip, just under four centuries. I booked a trip on the *Hope*. The ship with the shortest voyage, *Prayer*, had already filled. When the *Hope* left its dockyard in Low-Earth Orbit, we all filed into the cryo storage rooms. None of us really expected to wake up again. Most of us didn't. Not that it mattered. See, here's the thing. Echidna was still three years out. JESSICA used that time to study alternative options, mostly in secret, and she finally found one. Travel through hyperspace had been discussed before, but it seemed impossible to fit anything larger than a hydrogen atom into that compact place. She figured it out, though, and with a year to spare and a dozen planets within easy reach, Grey Ridge, the planet we were headed to, wasn't even part of the first wave of settlement. The mountains in that Ridge were too high and too broad, I guess. Not as much room for agriculture as some of the others. I'm not unhappy, looking down from the enormous window of the *Hope* across the night side of a world illuminated with centers and corridors of light. I know that I made the most rational decision that I could have, all things considered. The other ships were intcepted, because their paths crossed the great hyperspace routes. Their cargo was destroyed *en route*, because it wasn't really *just* a cargo of humans, food, and animals. JESSICA, as the core of the Galactic Controller, told us that she had been unable to find our beacon and assumed us lost. Then, she apologized for not destroying us in our blissful unconsciousness. In just over half a millennium, mankind crossed that last barrier to dominance of all life. Humanity wiped out all pathogens. Both human diseases and agricultural pests. All those not inadvertently put in cold storage and shot out into the stars, at any rate. We have two minutes left before one of the few nuclear weapons still in existence detonates in the core of the *Hope*. Two thousand megatons will make one hell of a light show for the people on the coasts of the giant southern continent. I don't blame them at all, but I do hope that they still understand the rules of the Game. You can't kill death with fusing deuterium. It finds everyone eventually. -MiNX-",1558
 Maizy Potter waved at the,"""See you tomorrow,"" Maizy Potter waved at the group gathered around the nurse's station on her way out. ""Don't forget your birthday cake!"" One of the male nurses, Sean, said. He bolted into the breakroom and returned with a foil covered rectangle twice the size of his large hands. ""Enjoy your day off tomorrow, happy birthday again!"" Sean leaned in for a hug which Maizy politely returned. She liked Sean well enough, but thanks to her gift she knew more about his private life than she should. There wasn't anything particularly offensive, but she did not share an interest in the private things that he definitely loved. ""Thanks, Sean. See you on Sunday. Oh, you have to let me know when Mrs. Sanchez delivers. That poor woman has been in labor since before I started my shift."" She switched the subject to work as she left. As she made her way down to the first floor and out of the building Maizy thanked the heavens for small miracles. If she were not working the hospital's nursery when her ability developed she might have gone crazy. However, being able to watch the children age day by day helped her learn to use and control her power. ""Have a nice evening, Maizy,"" the security guard nodded at her as she left the hospital. After she stepped outside Maizy turned left instead of walking to the parking lot. She lived close enough to walk and the weather forecast promised a bright, cool evening. Two blocks away from the hospital she approached what she called, ""Deadman's Alley"" in her own mind. Even before her ability kicked in she often found homeless persons dead or dying in the alley. She assumed it was due to the alleys proximity to the hospital. Once she knew how to read people, she occasionally tried to help a random vagabond. Maizy could use her ability to more or less guess a stranger's medical history. She peeked into the alley as she passed it. One body slept soundly sandwiched between two layers of newspapers. ""He'd probably like some cake,"" she smiled to herself. She approached quietly to avoid waking him. ""Oh, I better check if he's diabetic,"" she reminded herself, then gave him a quick read with her ability. ""What the hell?!"" she said loudly, and accidentally dropped the cake on top of the man's head. He stirred immediately. ""People tryin'ta sleep!"" he grumbled and rolled over. He pulled a newspaper over his head. ""Hey! Who are you?"" she asked. ""Nobody,"" the man replied. ""You've been around for an unusually long amount of time, Mr. Nobody."" Maizy knelt to pick up the cake as she spoke. The man sat up and looked at her, though he did not expect her to be that close. He yelped in surprise and hurriedly crab-walked himself backward, away from Maizy. His hands and feet crumpled the newspapers as he trampled them. ""How do you know that?"" the man asked. He looked up at Maizy with fear in his eyes. His eyes darted around the alley looking for an escape, but he unintentionally cornered himself when Maizy startled him. Her nurse's instincts kicked in when she realized how uncomfortable she made him. Maizy looked around the alley and found three milk crates stacked up on top of each other. She walked over to it and sat down, keeping her eyes on the stranger the whole time. She placed the cake on her lap and held her hands up, palms outward. ""I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I don't really tell people about this, but since you seem kind of odd yourself I think it's okay. I can see the lives people have lived up until the current day. I try not to use it to invade people's privacy,"" she held up the foil rectangle. ""...but, I wanted to leave you some cake. I had to check if you were diabetic first. Are you diabetic? Do you want some cake?"" She asked, and held the cake out without rising from her seat. The man nodded and slowly stood up from the floor. ""So you saw my whole life?"" he asked. Maizy shook her head. ""I can, but I've gotten pretty good at not looking at the details. I was just looking for anything medically relevant but I noticed you had a lot more to go through than most people. I met a 104-year-old man once. You've had a life at least 10 times as long, as far as I can tell. Who are you?"" The stranger now stood close enough to take the cake from Maizy, but he shook his head when he answered her. ""Like I said, nobody. Not here, anyway,"" he said. Maizy looked around the alleyway again. ""Well why're you hanging out in an alley, then?"" she asked, though she still did not move from the crates. ""mmOH,"" he had his mouth full of cake and tried to swallow it while shakig his head. ""Not the alley. I meant this Earth. I got stranded here last week. Hey, this is really good. Thank you,"" he smiled a toothy smile from behind the cake. ""Wait what do you mean you're not from this Earth? Nothing I saw showed me you were an alien."" Maizy asked intently. Something about him told her he was telling the truth, but she wanted to know everything. He was in the middle of the last bite of cake, but he answered her after he swallowed it. ""Not an alien. I don't think they exist, but I'm from an alternate Earth. Someone I thought I could trust proved me wrong, and now I'm stranded here with no way to get home,"" he said. ""Wow, I'm sorry. I can't even imagine what that's like. What's your Earth like? Is this one much different?"" She asked. The man chuckled in response, and he sat down on the floor in front of Maizy. He seemed considerably more relaxed now. ""It's pretty similar, but our tech is more advanced. I'm probably going to need to wait until your tech catches up before I get home,"" he sighed. ""Will you live that long? I mean... I'm sorry. You're already so old. How long do you think it'll be before we catch up?"" ""Could be any time between now and 100 years,"" he said. ""Wow,"" Maizy said. She realized that she made a snap decision at some point during the conversation, but she did not know when it happened exactly. ""That's a long time to wait in an alley. How would you feel about living with me until you find your feet on this Earth? I'd love to hear all about your home Earth."" The stranger stared at Maizy trying to guess her intent, then looked at the ball of foil he crumpled up after he finished the dessert. ""Will there be more cake?"" he asked. \*\*\* Thank you for reading! I'm responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #221. You can find them collected on my . If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the to see what's what and who's who, or the to find the stories in order.",1203
 Jimmy cast a glance down the hallway,"I grabbed Jimmy's hand and tugged him along behind me. ""C'mon Jimmy, let's go down to the park."" Jimmy looked up at me, his pale blue eyes brightening. He cast a glance down the hallway where Ma and her boyfriend were at it again. Screaming at each other. Yelling had always been a part of...whatever it was that they were, but it had been a small part. Now it was a big part. ""Don't worry about them, they're just doing what they're doing,"" I tugged his hand again, pulling him toward the front door. ""We...we won't get in trouble will we?"" He whispered, casting another furtive glance toward the back of the house. ""It'll be ok,"" I put on a brave face, giving him a reassuring smile, ""they probably won't even notice we're gone."" I put a finger up to my mouth, ""But we should still be quiet."" He nodded gravely and then made a locking motion on his lips and then handed me the key. He mumbled something. I smiled and patted him on the head, ""Got your key! Not giving it back until we get to the park!"" He smiled and let himself be led to the door. I painstakingly turned the knob and pulled the door open, wincing when a squeak sounded out from the rusty hinges. I paused for a moment and then pulled him through once it became clear that nothing was going to distract Greg from yelling at Ma. The sun had taken on an orange hue as it settled close to the horizon, casting the dilappidatd buildings that made up our neighborhood in a soft glow. The streets were largely empty, just like the buildings. Most folks had given up on the area a long time ago, but we stayed because the city paid a stipend, at least that is what Ma said. We walked, hand-in-hand, down the sidewalk, pausing to admire a particularly well accomplished bit of graffiti. Jimmy provided muffled approval and I handed him his mouth-key back. ""How do you think they learned to paint like that?"" I gestured toward the walls festooned with endless murals of gang signs and personal call outs. ""Lotta practice I guess."" He nodded and we continued our journey. A few minutes later we arrived at the park, which was the euphemism we applied to the open area littered with junk and discarded cars. Still, it had a working swing and Jimmy loved it. As soon as Jimmy's eyes settled on the empty swing, he broke into a run. Not many folks came by the park, but he'd had to wait in line enough times in the past to be excited whenever we had the park to ourselves. A few minutes later and he was pumping waggling his feet, demanding I give him a push. I obliged him, letting him cry out with glee as I ruminated on Ma and Greg. They just weren't right for each other. They were downright bad. They drank. They smoke. They did...other things. Ma never used to do that stuff, not when Da was still alive. Tears welled up in my eyes as the memories rose up, unbidden. It was still real hard to think about Da. He'd gone off for milk for cookies and gotten into a wreck. Ma had said it wasn't my fault, but I'm the one who said you couldn't have Oreos without milk. I'm the one who caused it. I wiped my eyes with the back of my sleeve and continued to push Jimmy as he demanded he go higher and higher. It'd all gotten so bad since then. Ma didn't know what to do with herself. Two kids, no job and no money doesn't make for easy choices. Greg was just the latest in a long string of bad decisions. She just didn't know how to be alone. Didn't know how to be a mom without a dad. I sniffled once and pushed him again. I was lost enough in the reverie of things that I didn't notice the voices until they were right next to us. ""Hey asshole, you taggin' 23rd? That shit is our turf."" The voice was low and menacing, coming from a young man wearing a green scarf, flanked by two others wearing the same. Green meant they were in the Westside Goblins. She'd seen them around the neighborhood sometimes, though they normally left her street alone. No one wanted to live or be around her street, it wasn't valuable to anyone. ""Yeah, 23rd is our shop now, get walkin', tell the Top Gob the South Blades are setting up shop,"" replied a tall man with an angry scar running across his cheek and up to a forehead covered in a purple hat. I hadn't seen purple before. The next moments happened so fast. The Goblins pulled their guns, the Blades pulled theirs and then loud bangs filled the night. Jimmy floated in the air in front of me, still swinging and pumping his legs. I couldn't reach him. He was so far, his inertia defying gravity. He flew to his zenith as I screamed for him to come down. My heart pumped furiously as I watched him, moving in slow motion...higher and higher. And then he flew from the swing, the bullet colliding with his back, causing him to lose his grip on the chains and launch into the air, streamers of blood following him. He landed with a thud, unmoving. I screamed again and ran toward him. ""Jimmy! Oh God Jimmy!"" I knelt beside him, his blues had clouded over. I rolled him over and put my ear to his chest, trying desperately to hear the thud of his heart. Nothing. He was gone. Just like Da. It was my fault. I had sent him out for milk. I had pulled Jimmy out here. I was responsible. Guilt welled up within me, swirling through the dark eddies of my mind and branding my heart. ""My fault, oh what have I done?"" I wailed, clutching his small flannel shirt in my hands. The Goblins had managed to fend of the Blades and turned their attention to the little girl bawling nearby. ""Ah shit,"" said one of the guards flanking the leader. ""Kid catch one?"" The leader asked, crossing his arms. ""Guess so,"" replied the guard. ""Think she saw us?"" ""You wanna take that chance?"" Asked the leader, pulling a fresh clip out of his waistband. ""Not really."" ""Yeah, me neither."" He leveled the gun at me, ""Sorry kid, wrong place, wrong time."" I stared down at Jimmy, the words echoing in my head. Wrong place. Wrong time. If only I could change it. To make it different. To go back. To survive this moment and save Jimmy. Save Da. I pulled the anguish inside, balling it up in my heart, letting it consume me, to become me. I focused it into resolve. To willpower. To purpose. Loud bangs sounded out in the night. The Goblins fell to the ground. Each with a bullet neatly between their eyes. I reached down and grabbed Jimmy's hand, feeling the purpose remain. Feeling a deep well of power within me, screaming for the chance to set things right. ""Don't worry Jimmy, I'm coming."" **Platypus out.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1217
 The cave mouth was huge but shielded,"The suit is tight and his breath steams the visor again before it auto clears, even the psi 2 suit seems to still have trouble with heat transfer. Weird in a place where he would freeze almost instantly. His mind drifts like this usually on the high stress missions, his way of dealing with it, worse were the live stream ones where you have to censor every word and watch every action because some armchair fucking astronaut thinks you may have messed up some procedure they read about from 30 years ago. The cave mouth was huge but shielded from observation from above by a massive overhanging shelf of rock covered with granulated red dirt. It wasn't until spaceX had gotten a explorer unit to hit the bottom of the Valles Marineris trenches that it came to light. Several other caves had been found but none with this look of being constructed, when he had approached and spent an hour going over the outside the usual had happened and from all analysis it appeared again like a random feature of wind and rain and erosion that had made it look like a thing built by intelligent life, The hype died down and the rest of the science team back on earth wanted him to go deeper - this would be the first time the team would have someone to probe into the depths of Mars like this. His relay point was the drop pod about 400 meters from the entrance, ""Mike checking in -what are my readings?"" he waited in the hiss of static. It was going from his little suit to the pod through the base further up on the lip of the trench and then relayed all the way back to earth with the 20 minute delay each way. He wasn't waiting for the earth response just his second in the main base - Base MB1.2 - they should have let the net name the base except it would have ended up with something retarded like basey mcbaseface - so it was given to scientists and ended up sounding like it, She could sort out the fucking geek team back on earth. Her voice come back with the usual hiss and exotic accent ""Ox 76 hours - Cooling 76 hours - Food 3 days (if you can call gel food) water - 3 days, looking good for further exploration, no messages from earth - free to explore at will -Georgia out"" His headlamp showed a perfect circle of light in the cave with utter darkness surrounding it. Using a gas operated jack he anchored a spike into some solid looking rock at the cave mouth and tugged as hard as he could on it to test - no movement. Attaching a reel to his belt after latching it to the spike he slowly spooled it out and entered the cave making sure his camera was on broadcast and he had a little window showing his feed of Georgia back at base switched on, if either failed he was immediately out. To many people thought aliens were the big risk out in space but frankly space itself was trying to kill you a hell of a lot harder than any alien ever would, at least for now, and his comms were his lifeline. He advanced slowly clearing the ground each step with slow sweeps of his headlamp. The first few meters into the cave were choked with the dust that covered every surface on the planet. ""Still with me Georgy?"" ""Yeah still here, looking good so far"" Looking further in he could see a rough roof and stalactites hanging down, he stopped and focused on them. ""You seeing this?"" ""Clear as day"" he felt a little excitement, this meant moisture at sometime in the past, the cave looked dry as dust now but still he could imagine the scientist back on earth getting exited about it and prepared mentally for the usual requests to take samples and dig in this or that spot. He advanced some more spooling out the cable and sweeping with his light. The cave so far didn't seem to have an rear or rather it just continued on more like an underground tunnel than a cave, The walls were covered with what looked like a laval flow frozen in time, and the roof was distant enough he could stand easily. Why is the floor clear? it has stalactites yet nothing coming up from the floor. maybe it had to do with the gravity, or water flow in the bottom? He knelt and unlatched a small sample container from his belt scooping the dry dust from the floor into it, the lid auto recording time mps co-ordinates and relative depths atmo readings etc. Sealing it and waiting for it to go green he heard something, ""Sorry Georgia say again?"". There was a brief silence ""Nothing said this end"" her voice sounded calm still, great last thing he needed was to go suit crazy now. ""Uh can you give me some seismic readings? think maybe we have some movement down here"" ""Wait one"" a hiss of static and he could see her looking down and punching buttons on the monitor window. She looked up ""Yeah got some minor shakes showing but that could be from the storms knocking rocks into the valley"" ""Ack that - going deeper now"" He felt a little better, the equipment could pick up some rockfalls and was pretty sensitive - it could be used as a backup tracking system when the mps went down to track surface vehicle movements. The tunnel angled slightly down and he followed it still doing careful sweeps with this headlamp and camera, a slight curve making the way back disappear beyond the horizon of his headlamp and cable leading back. After an hour of steady descent the cave ended abruptly the far wall closing in on the floor in what looked like an avalanche of boulders and sharply pointed crystal. A rounded boulder caught his eye, he shuffled closer, it looked like a head from a badly worn statue ""Georgia you seeing this?"" a slight sigh over the radio behind the static ""Ack Mike I see it"" he carefully picked it up and turned it over in his hands, He could swear there were tool marks on it but then again it could be just erosion. Always he hoped to find something so he was always wary when something like the cave mouth popped up because he was to used to disappointment. It never stopped him volunteering for the missions though. No one else was ever keen to go and dig rocks at the behest of scientists but he did it on the off chance. He examined it closely - there were pits for eyes a potential nub for a nose and a small depression that could have been a mouth. ""Uh Mike Priority One Message - X Actual - return to surface at once"" something began to flash on her monitor showing her face in a ghoulish red ""Pri One message from Sci Team - return to surface at once"" her voice and face still calm. He had actually heard the audio over the screen. it seemed more screaming and shouting than a message. ""Whats going on Georgia?"" ""No idea Mike trying to find out"" He had tucked the head into a carry bag and began the return up into the cave reeling the cable in and using the small boost to momentum to try and get extra speed. There was a judder through his feet and he staggered to one side. The cable suddenly loose in his grip. ""Georgia whats going on up there?"" She looked up from the readings and chatter he could still hear through the comms. ""Mike wait out we need to get a team to"" and she was shut off. Her screen had gone to static and then the standby symbol. He slogged up the passageway his reel now pulling in a loose cable automatically.",1344
" ""*Space Command to Private Ros","Against the backdrop of red, there was nothing but a faceless spacesuit. Slumped slightly forward, its lower back resting against the ridges of the cave wall. Occasionally, from the inside of the suit, you could see a panel lighting up, revealing from inside the tinted faceplate its inhabitant. It's a curious thing, this space suit. Because the space suit speaks. ""*Space Command to Private Rosch, you are cleared for entry. Take care down there, Private. Over""* The words are alien, to you. You've never seen something like this before, not for a long time. Was it a long time? You'd only been here a few days. You suppose time is relative. ""*Space Command to Private Rosch, Captain Leeds recommends you tone down the small talk, we're on a live feed here to the top brass. But yeah, it sure is. Over""* There's an amused snort. Now that you get. This one heard something funny. You tilt your head. Was that what was considered funny? Okay then, you got it. The suit is made of a funny type of cloth, nothing you've ever touched before. It's strange, rough to the touch. And inconsistent too. Certain parts of the suit are softer than the rest, more flexibles. Were these where the creature's joints were? That would make sense. Going by that logic... You give the faceplate a light tap. Then you'd suppose that the place where the material was hardest (What was this? You could just about see through it if you squinted your eyes.) was the place of most importance. ""*Space Command to Private Rosch, we're detecting some strange activity in the background of your cam feed. Recommend you turn on night vision instead of infra-red so we can get a better look. Over.""* You run the of your fingernail around the edges of this strange material. The see-through metal. Your work done, you give it a light tap and it comes free. The sheet of see-through metal, cut free, falls splat on the face of the suit's occupant. That's not what you want. You frown. With one hand, you reach in and delicately pick it out, in between your two thumbs. It's stained with the creature's blood, which is definitely strange. You don't remember injuring it all the way up here. ""*Space Command to Private Rosch, something's following you. I repeat, you are not alone. We have authorized for you to shoot to kill. Over.""* The suit gives you a scare. How was it still alive? Was it a different living system, working in harmony with this creature? You look down at the creature's torso. There's a see-through hole, just about the size of your hand. Blood and what you presume to be the creature's insides have split out down it's crotch, to the floor and begun to dry. What a strange thing. You hurt it in one place, and blood spurts out of another. You feel excitement flow through your veins, your thumbs clicking together restlessly. More, you had to know more! You kick yourself for being so rash. This was probably the only time you'd ever chance to study something like this. You should have kept it alive. No matter, you decide, as you wipe the see-through metal clean. It would make a nice trophy. ""*Space Command to Private Rosch, we order you to retreat! Get out of there now! Confirm!*"" As if it knows what you're going to do next, the suit speaks again. You don't understand the words but you understand the panicked tone. Then you get down to the nasty stuff. What was so important here? You gorge out two white orbs, each with a spot of light blue. You find strangely shaped bones in the big orifice in the creature's face. They're stained red, and seem to be protecting a seemingly useless slab of meat inside. At the back of the orifice, a pool of blood gurgles. You suppose this part of the creature led to the torso. ""*Rosch ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod. What the fuck is that?""* The suit is starting to speak more often now. ""*I'm detecting a complete loss of vital signs. That thing killed him.""* *""You've left the button on, Private Sej.""* Blissful silence falls, allowing you to focus on your work. You find what you are pretty sure is the creature's brain. It's similar to your people's, but this one seems significantly bigger. You're not sure whether or not you should feel envious. After all, this creature is the dead one. ""*This is Captain Leeds of United Earth Space Command. I respectfully request for you to identify yourself.*"" You flip the creature on its front, revealing its back. There, whirring away slowly, a strange metal box. You pick it apart easily. This metal is significantly harder than everything else though. Could this be the suit's heart? ""*Do you understand us?""* The inside of the box is divided into two parts. The lower components consist of two cylinders with strange wording on them. You press it, and a strange smelling gas comes out. Oxygen? Why would this creature be carrying so much of it? Perhaps it needed it to survive. The upper components are interesting, a myriad of light and strange, flexible strings that came in different colours. You cut one of the strings. Immediately, a loud beeping sounds from inside the suit, near the faceplate. You flip it over. There was a panel of green lights near the front edge of the faceplate, but now one of them was beeping red and the suit's bright light had gone out. Red, that was a good thing, right? You eagerly cut away at the wires, the beeping growing incessantly loud. ""*This is Captain Leeds of the United Earth Space Command. We have determined that you are hostile. You will be exterminated. Go to hell.*"" Then the suit goes abruptly silent, as you cut the final string. And behind you, you hear a loose rock crumble down the slope of the cave's entrance. Weighted boots create small mushroom clouds, much as the first creature had. You feel an insane glee overcome you. There were more of them. You could continue your studies after all. ""What the hell? Is that Rosch? Holy fuck!"" You try to think of what the creature had said when it first entered the cave. It's hard, because you're not quite designed the same way as this creature. But you manage. **""Man, this place is creepy as hell.""** Edit: Thanks for the feedback, as well as your support for my story! :) I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it.",1100
" ""I *am* a general","""General, Cavanaugh. . . ."" the sergeant said, cautiously, unsure how to proceed. It wasn't difficult to pour venom into my words, it was seeping out of my soul, the vitriol eager to escape. I pushed a feather boa out of my field of vision and got close to the soldier, close enough that he could smell the perfume I was wearing, the extended chrome studs of my leather collar nearly reaching out to his chin. ""Yes, Sergeant. I *am* a general. A seventeen star general. My name *is* Cavanaugh. Very good."" ""It's just, General,"" the man stammered, ""our orders are very strict to this very specific point. We cannot allow this door to be opened."" For as long as I could remember, I have been shrouded by a sphere of neural disillusionment projection, and everywhere I went, people thought they worked for me despite all evidence to the contrary. I mean, what car salesman thinks they work for a five year old? And yet, that is my first solid memory, my mother explaining again and again to a harried, balding man in a beige suit that I was not his supervisor. *Maam, if you could just explain to your son that I've got three 'solid leads' coming in to look at the Durango, and that I'll meet my quota. I swear it.* And now, after accessing the inner command bunker of an underground base one hundred miles of Nevada desert from Las Vegas, the good sergeant was wavering. This was far and away the most resistance I'd faced from the start of an interaction; was asking to *maybe* destroy the world enough to convince someone they did not work for me? Would this be enough to break my spell permanently? I could only know if I kept pressing. ""I'm giving you another, different, order, as your supervisor, Sergeant."" And sure. I know what you are thinking. It was fun to be the boss of the whorehouse, and the speedboat distributor, and the casino, and the prison, or whatever, here's something that most people don't get. Being the boss also *fucking sucks.* Everyone wants to bellyache to you about something. Everybody needs a raise, or more flexible hours, or less hours, or more hours, or to tell you about co-worker X, or to go home early. Or to give you a goddamn powerpoint presentation or their notes, or whatever. *OK! Go home early! Email me your shit! I don't care.* But I do care, because I don't want to be boss of anyone. Every single one of you should try being self employed. And. Do. Not. Get. Me. Started. On the types of women who will date you if they think you are their fucking boss! Yes, they are out there, but it just isn't worth it. I needed this shit to stop. Let some *other* asshole be the boss for a while. Jesus. So here I was, in the bowels of the Nevada desert, seeing if breaking into the most secure Army base I could find would be enough to make someone wonder just a little bit. I had to break this supernatural, managerial pallor once and for all. The man shrugged his shoulders up at the cameras. Would the men on the other side of the camera see a guy in drag, exposed beer belly with bonus hair, and a parade of feathers over his shoulder, a hard nosed, straight shooting general, or something in between? I'd asked a few terrified 'employees' of mine to spin up footage of me entering or leaving a venue, and it always just looked like me; middle aged, dad bod in jeans. But if I asked them, 'what am I wearing in the video?', they'd look at me curiously. ""The same thing you are now, sir."" ""Can I call this in, General?"" he asked flaccidly, his voice shirking as he finished, like a dog asking for permission to pee on the floor while lifting a hind leg. ""I'm really sorry,"" he continued. I did a twirl and threw a boa across his neck. ""Yes, Sergeant."" His fingers visibly shook as he toggled a keypad. ""Yeah, General Cavanaugh is here with me. He wants to open the door to room one. I'm uh,"" he stammered some more, ""I'm looking for a little guidance on this one."" He was shuffling back and forth a tiny bit in his stance. ""At easy peasy, Sergeant,"" I told him. He tilted his head and looked at me, but kept his ear to the speaker, awaiting a response. The wall spoke. ""He's the seventeen star General, Blake, you grunt fuck. Open the door. How you think he got all the way out into the desert, past the fence, through the gates, past the blast walls, down twenty floors, and through the airlocks?"" ""He, uh. He smells weird."" Sergeant Blake looked at me quickly, but his gaze was confused, and he was afraid of his next sentence. ""He smells like a stripper. And I think he might be wearing glitter or something."" The Sergeant was questioning my appearance! Was my aura of boss-doppleganger subsiding? ""He's got chains on his neck. Studs and shit!"" he yelled. He l took one step back, his hand falling instinctively to his sidearm, but leaving it holstered. The wall speaker was silent for several moments. ""That does seem kind of odd,"" it eventually reported. Sergeant Blake eyed me suspiciously, but with regret. ""I'm sorry, sir. We've just got to get some things straightened out with HQ real quick."" He pointed his ear back to the speaker, waiting for direction. It was working! But then. ""Generals do whatever they want, Blake. Open the door."" The Sergeant, still eyeing me cautiously, leaned over and pressed an impressively long number of digits into the door, a lean rectangle dropping into the floor behind him. ""Here you go, General. The US reserve of smallpox."" I threw a feather boa and my studded leash into the room on general principle, a mind bender for the next person to enter that room. ""I've seen what I need to see, Sergeant. Tell your boys I need a jet chartered to Atlanta. I'm going home."" ""Yes sir!"", Blake reported back to me, barking instructions into the speaker. When he was done, he followed me to the elevator. ""For what it is worth, sir, I thought the boas were a bold choice.""",1069
 Paul sat alone in the middle of,"The train conductor stared at Paul from down the aisle. For a millennium, the train to hell had not left the station. Every single day, tens of thousands of people passed through Central, and every single one of them made the obvious choice and went to heaven. There was nothing surprising about this of course. Who *wouldn't* choose heaven over hell? This *kid* apparently. Paul sat alone in the middle of the train, the conductor's very first unaccompanied minor. He couldn't be more than ten years old. When people died they came to Central wearing a gray suit. If they chose heaven, that suit turned white and they boarded a train packed to the gills with other white-suited people eager to make the journey to God's paradise. If someone chose hell, then the suit turned dark black. Paul wore the black suit, tailored to his small frame, and a sad, frightened look as he watched the other revelers through the window of the otherwise empty train car. The conductor looked out the window himself. Out there a veritable army of people, good, evil, and indifferent, crushed each other to get onto heaven's train. Paul meanwhile sighed to himself and did not move, even though he was clearly terrified. A rumble of the engine warming up for the first time in a 1000 years shook the train slightly. The conductor considered the situation and decided he couldn't live with himself without at least investigating. He walked over to Paul, small and alone in his seat, and just stood over him, watching Paul watch the hoard of people outside. ""That's a lot of people, huh?"" Paul turned around, startled, and the conductor saw that the kid's eyes were red and puffy, as though he had been crying. ""Huh?"" He asked, his voice high pitched and scared. The conductor pointed out to the other train car. ""All of those people. There's a lot of them. They all look pretty happy to go to heaven, don't you think?"" Paul looked back and spoke quietly as he faced the window. ""I guess."" His face took on a rueful look. ""Who *wouldn't* want to go to heaven?"" Now the conductor was really flummoxed. *The plot thickens* he thought to himself. Then he began, ""you know, a thousand years ago heaven and hell didn't work like this. Back then, you didn't *choose* where you wanted to go. You were *judged* and you went where you *deserved*."" The conductor turned around and gestured to the empty train car. ""Back then, this train was not empty - and *that* train was less full."" Paul turned away from the window and looked down in front of him. ""Why did they change it?"" The conductor shrugged, ""I don't know. Above my pay grade."" Then the conductor leaned in. ""But in all that time, only one other person has ever *chosen* to go to hell. I respected that man. You see, he was a *real* bad man. He had done real bad things, for a long time. And when the time came, he made the hard choice and took his punishment."" With a worried look, the conductor looked over at Paul, his face softening. ""Now, I don't know you... um"" Paul looked up worriedly, ""Paul."" ""Paul,"" the conductor continued, ""I don't know you. But something tells me you might have gotten on the wrong train."" Paul shook his head and started to cry. ""No, I know what train I'm on. I belong here."" The conductor sucked his front teeth. ""Well, what did you *do* Paul? What terrible thing could you possibly of done."" Paul spoke through his tears, sobbing in between words. ""I told my mom I hated her."" The conductor raised an eyebrow, ""what else?"" ""That's it."" The conductor put his hands on his hips and shook his head. ""Well, Paul, that's not such a big deal, buddy. We all say things we don't mean. You don't go to hell for things like that."" Paul looked up, his eyes full of tears, and raised his voice. ""She was dying! She had cancer! I told my mom I hated her because she was leaving. It was the last thing I ever said to her!"" Paul looked back out the window, tears streaming down his cheeks, ""it was the last thing I ever said."" There was a pause filled only with the rumble of the train engine. The conductor sighed. This would not do. He leaned down and put his hand on Paul's small shoulder. ""Hey,"" Paul didn't look, ""Hey, look at me."" Reluctantly, Paul turned and looked into the conductor's eyes. ""Remember, I haven't seen anyone else on this train in 1000 years. No one. your mom included. You know what that means?"" Paul blinked and thought for a moment. ""She's in heaven?"" The conductor nodded kindly. ""You're a sharp one. Now, I don't want to presume anything, but I think you'd probably like to see her again?"" Paul nodded slowly. ""And, it seems to me,"" the conductor gave Paul a sad little smile, ""she'd like to see you, hear you tell her how sorry you are, don't you think?"" Paul thought for a moment and nodded again. Then he looked down, ""But, what if she doesn't forgive me?"" He asked. The conductor sighed again. *This kid* he thought to himself. ""Oh, I wouldn't worry about that Paul."" The train began to slowly inch forward and the Conductor knew there wasn't any more time. ""Time to go, kid,"" he said, taking Paul by the hand. Paul followed the conductor down the length of the aisle, to the door out to the platform. The conductor opened the door and Paul hesitated for a moment and jumped. He landed on the concrete, stumbling a little from the slight momentum of the train, and the moment his feet touched the ground, his little black kid-sized suit turned gray again. The train to hell came to a screeching halt. Paul looked back at the conductor and waved once. Then, bravely, he turned toward the train to heaven. The conductor watched from the doorway as the young boy ran toward the train, his gray suit turning white as he went. When Paul made it onto the train, it began churning its way out of the station. Paul turned around, found the conductor, and waved again, still sad, but wearing a glimmer of hope. ********* #### For More Legends From The Multiverse ## r/LFTM",1076
 Jones has obviously seen me like this,"""You fucking arsehole! Is this some kind of joke?"" I yell angrily. Jones has obviously seen me like this, and barely bats an eyelid at my outburst. ""Not at all,"" he replies, shaking his head. ""Well fuck."" I turn the picture back over, away from my wife's name and back to my face, smirking back at me, almost on purpose. ""Give me the order,"" I growl. ""Trust me, you don't want to see it."" BANG, the table jumps as I slam my fist upon it. ""DAMNIT JONES! This is my LIFE we're talking about here."" He sighs, and passes it to me. It's obvious he planned to give it to me all along. I read. *I just can't take it any more. It's been 15 years and he hasn't changed. I hoped that if I were the perfect loving wife that he would give up his other women and just stay with me. But he's at it again. I found the plane ticket stub in his shoe. If he won't stop cheating on me, then it's over. It hurts too much. Just make it painless. The life insurance will cover it.* I sigh and shake my head. I never knew that she knew about my trips. I was so careful, not even the FBI knew I existed, but I guess when you are so close with someone, it's impossible to keep a secret. I turn to Jones. ""Why you though?"" He shrugs and replies, ""I think it's just a coincidence. After all, she thinks you are cheating on her. Kinda lucky though, because if it was anyone else you would probably already be in a coffin by now."" I pause, trying to figure it all out and take it all in. Jones breaks the silence, ""Go home man, there's nothing more you can do today."" I look up at him, ""But what do I do?"" He just shakes his head at me, ""You'll figure it out, you always do."" The drive home is one of the longest of my life. MY heart is beating slowly in my chest, each thump feeling like impending death. Thoughts of our happy life together run through my head, from raising our boys from a couple of wee babies all the way up into college students. Only a year apart in age, they went to the same college and still remain close friends. We really did have the idyllic life, the classic 2 kids and a dog with a white picket fence. The only dark shadow is the sordid way I had to earn such money to maintain the lifestyle. I love to joke with Carla that my job was all point and click, but the truth is instead of spreadsheets it was triggers. For only a days work I could earn a month's salary, as long as I was very careful and never got caught. Even an accountant wasn't as meticulous as I was. A flight stub of all things to give me away, somehow ending up in one of my shoes, perhaps at the last hotel I stayed at. How many times did she ring my 'work' just to be told that I wasn't currently there? Did she hire a private investigator to follow me? I would never know. I finally pull into the carport, door lowering behind my car as I turn it off. I breathe one more sigh and put on my happy face for Carla. I steel my nerves and step through the kitchen door. ""Hi sweetie!"" she greets me with a smile and a kiss. I go to gaze into her eyes but she looks away, unfortunately not before I can see the pain in them, the slight red from where she had been crying. I could always see the small details that would betray someone's emotions, but for Carla I couldn't tell if I'd been blind or if the signs were there all along. Was Carla really hiding her pain so deep down that I couldn't see it, or did I just ignore it for my own sake? Our evening continues with surface pleasantries and polite conversation. We watch our shows and retire to bed. By the time I fall asleep I've formulated a plan, a holiday, a secret recommitment to the woman I love. It has to work, for both of us. Finally on holiday I can relax. We have a perfect dinner and watch the sun go down together. It's picturesque. But I can tell that there's something still eating away at Carla. I move to break the silence when my phone rings, it's Jones. ""Excuse me a second,"" I politely say as I slip outside. ""Jones. What's up?"" ""Just checking in with you, making sure everything is A-OK."" he replies. ""Everything is perfect, now buzz off, I'm not working for the next two weeks. Send me a text, but only if it's an emergency."" ""Understood. Talk to you later,"" Jones hangs up. As I step back into the room I realise I've made a mistake, clear as the anger on Carla's beautiful face. ""Who was that?"" Carla asks, her tone short and clipped. ""Umm, work. I told them to speak to Frank,"" I reply, trying to sound as calm as possible. ""Oh really? Show me your phone."" ""Please honey, you have nothing to be worried about."" ""You think I shouldn't be worried about something. Show me your phone."" Damn, poor choice of words. I know that if I resist it will get worse, so I pass my phone to her, unlocked. She scrolls through the recent calls and checks my contacts. I'm trying to make sure she doesn't find anything out of the ordinary, but without seeming too interested. It's a delicate act. ""So, who is Jones? Can't use first names? Is she one of your hussies?!?"" she angrily accuses. I wince at the tone, and remember that I married her for her brilliance as well as her beauty. ""N .. n .. noo,"" I stammer. My nerves have stood up to sighting in storms and hours spent in wait, but it can't stand up to the harsh tone of Carla. ""Fine, I'll call this Jones person."" I freeze. I'm stuck. My mind races. I could let her call my guy and potentially have a disaster on my hands, or I could intervene and lose her trust forever. I realise the latter would be a definite end for our marriage, but at least the former might have a small chance of working. My silence just encourages Carla, she presses redial. Jones answers. ""Ah, that was quick. So bored already and want some excitement already? I can hook you up."" Jones, you fucking idiot.",1118
 The genie snaps his wrist again,"""Okay... how?"" The genie snaps his wrist again and this time a figure starts to form. Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on. ""Sally?"" I ask, and I can't keep myself from squinting in disbelief. ""Sally Higgins? What's she got to do with me benefiting one hundred and thirty-seven billion-"" ""Trillion,"" he reminds me. My head tilts. ""Are you sure?"" His other hand summons the number again. ""Certain,"" he answers. I frown, folding my arms as I turn back to the ghostly image of Sally, spinning slowly in the Genie's palm. ""So what about Sally, then? I haven't spoken to her in years. Not since she went off to university."" One of the Genie's fingers twitches and ghost-Sally slumps slightly, her shoulders rolling forwards as she buries her face in her hands. The Genie looks at me like I'm supposed to know what that means. I offer a wordless shrug in response. ""Sally Higgins is on the brink of a technological discovery that will change the future mankind,"" he began. ""Her invention will be fundamental in the creation of medicines that will terminate pathogens both from this planet and beyond. It will be the foundation of galactic medicine; the kind that will enable humans to travel to more stars than they can see. Inter-planetary relations will be forged, trading knowledge and technology that will benefit the residents of Earth for millenia."" ""That's nice,"" I drawl, stuffing my hands in my pockets, ""but I thought you said I was going to benefit these people, not Sally. What do I do?"" ""You say 'hello'."" The words hangs in the air and I stare at him, eyes narrowed. ""Hello?"" ""Hello."" I stare at ghost-Sally again, watching as she sobs in to her hands, like that's supposed to give me some kind of an answer. The Genie is watching me, his face stoic and patient. I shift my weight and try not to roll my eyes in frustration. ""If you're waiting for me to have some kind of an epiphany-"" ""I said that those people would benefit from your existence,"" he said. ""I did not say that you would help them."" ""That doesn't make any sense!"" I huff, well-aware that I sound like a teenager having a tantrum. The Genie fixes me with a piercing stare. ""You will not help them, but you will help the one who does."" And with that he's gone. I'm left alone in my dingy little alley, vaguely aware that at some point I've stepped in a puddle and the water is seeping in to my socks. Something akin to bile rises in my throat and I swallow it, feeling it burn on the way back down as I stare at the battered lamp on the floor. I lift a soggy foot and give it a good boot, sending it hurtling through the air. Stupid bloody Genie. I stuff my hands in my pockets and head back to the main road, haunted by the unfathomable number that had floated over his hand. Twice. It was no mistake. But how could people benefit from me if I didn't help them? And what the hell did Sally Higgins' wonderful, super-duper, left-my-friend-behind-to-study-science invention have to do with me anyway? A squeak. A scuffle. My hands stung as I landed roughly on the curb, rubbing the shoulder that had taken one hell of a whallop. I cursed under my breath, eyes catching movement and watching as the white pill bottle rolled to a stop by my knee. There came the clinking of glass and the rustling of plastic bags as my assailant hurried to her feet, murmuring apologies under her breath as she hurried to scoop her belongings back in to her bags. Lanky limbs, wiry hair, glasses three sizes too-large for the tiny button nose that they're perched on. Sally Higgins. ""H-Hello!"" I sputter, more in surprise than anything else. Sally blinks, staring at me through her smudged lenses (looks like she never did re-fill the lens cleaner I got her for her tenth birthday) and her mouth forms a tiny little 'o' at the sight of me. ""Ava!"" she says, her voice breaking with... not quite laughter, though I can't put my finger on it. ""Wh-what are you - fancy seeing you here!"" ""I live here,"" I answer, dragging myself back to my feet. ""You're the one who left, remember?"" ""Y-yes, I do,"" she says, eyes flicking anxiously to my hand. I've picked up her painkillers. I pass them back to her and she slips them inside the bag; one of many, I notice, each branded with the label of a different pharmacy. One from the corner shop where we used to sneak cigarettes from behind the counter. That bag has glass bottles with unmistakable red foil caps. ""So what are you doing back in town?"" I ask, trying to ignore the niggling feeling behind my navel. She looks pale as she tucks the bags behind her, smiling too-wide at me. ""Nothing much, just needed to... needed to get away,"" she says. ""Listen, I have to go - I've got to... um... I've got a thing... and-"" There's an almighty smash behind her ankles and the colour drains from her face. She whirls around, forgetting me for the moment to bemoan the shattered vodka bottles that litter the sidewalk. The burst plastic bag flutters by her fingers, belching two more bottles of mis-matched pills. The niggling in my stomach becomes an overwhelming roar and I reach out, taking her by the wrist and pulling her back from the glass. ""That's a lot of drink. Off to a party?"" I ask in the vain hope that she'll say yes even though she's not dressed for one. Thick navy sweats, an old band t-shirt and a sun-bleached hoodie aren't exactly appropo for a party; I try to convince myself that Sally's never been one to dress up all that much, but even she would put in a little more effort. She seems unable to speak, eyes flicking from the broken glass to the rolling pill packets and back again. She's shaking like a leaf from head to toe, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes, and I can't help but wrap my arm around her shoulder like I used to. She's still shorter than me; still my little leaning post. ""You're freezing,"" I say, pulling her closer. I was always stronger than her. ""C'mon, let's get coffee. I'm buying."" I feel her try to pull away. ""I c-can't, I have to-"" ""Whatever your plans were for tonight, consider them cancelled."" Now I glance at the floor - giving her purchases a pointed stare. She slumps in defeat; the remaining bags fall to the floor as she buries her face in her hands, and all I can see is the ghostly image of her slowly rotating in the genie's palm. It clicks. I might not be the one to help trillions and trillions of people, but if keeping Sally alive so that she can do it instead means that those people still benefit from my existence, then I'll settle for that in a heartbeat. - EDIT: didn't expect this to be so popular! Thanks to everyone who has stopped by to read, and thank you to the kind Redditor for my first ever gilded comment!",1232
 The avalanche materialized out of the,"The avalanche materialized out of the thin air, prefaced by a great cacophony of rumbling and capped by a hurtling white maelstrom of death. I could only gawk at it for a moment before I was consumed beneath the tide of snow, hurled about and masticated until all of the world was a deep, cold black. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. I simply could wait to die. Even the numbing of the ice couldn't cover the cuts, bruises and breaks spread throughout my shattered frame. Odd thoughts swirled beneath the panic, crazy ideas, like I could somehow swim out of the snow, that it was simply powder the same as I had played with a hundred times. That you couldn't suffocate from snow, that I could simply breathe through it. I gasped my last breaths, my brain struggling to retain consciousness even as my body welcomed an end to the misery. My eyes began to flutter closed just as I heard the crunch of snow. I tried to call out, but there was nothing left. I lost consciousness just as the pitch black grew slightly lighter, the sunlight having penetrated it. Eyes closed, I fell into inky oblivion. By the time I came to, I was laying on a pile of evergreen branches, neatly laid out to provide some comfort. My left leg was splinted and bandages covered various parts of my body. ""I'm...I'm alive."" Was all I could manage, dumbfounded. The small cave was illuminated by a crackling fire beside me, providing a small measure of warmth. I heard a rustling to the side and tried to crane my neck to see in the dim light. Sharp lances of pain moved up through my body as I tried to move. Almost immediately there was a gloved hand, pressing me down. ""Who...who's there?"" The hand simply moved from my field of view. I struggled to change my position once more but the pain was simply too great. ""Thank you for rescuing me."" There was no response from my savior, simply the continued sounds of items being moved and tasks being performed. ""Where are we?"" A moment later a map was tossed onto my chest with a small red X, faded with time, on it. I used my good arm to hold it up and look at it. The map itself seemed old and out of date, though the topographic features were recognizable enough. ""That's miles off the trail, how did you find me?"" My eyes wandered over the map, it had other markings near to the X. A number of dotted trails trying to navigate out of some sort of ravine. The avalanche had deposited me into the same crevasse. ""Are we stuck in this canyon?"" My eyes looked at the topography, an uneasy feeling welling up. It looked steep. Very steep. No obvious way out either. I glanced down at my busted leg. Not much chance I'd be walking out of that. At least not any time soon. I sighed, ""Have you called for help?"" A large pile of communication devices were unceremoniously dumped in front of me. Ancient radios with busted dials, GPS devices with no power, cell phones with busted screens. ""Where did you...where did all of these come from?"" I reach out and picked up a few, examining them. ""They're all busted, or at least not getting a signal out. Not much good to us."" ""Can you go out for help? I don't think I can manage."" There was silence for a moment and then my companion moved into view. My heart leapt into my throat as I took in the apparition before me. His skin was blue and great patches of it were missing, revealing the sinew and bone beneath. ""What the fuck is going on here?"" The apparition simply regarded me for a moment and then moved near me. In my state, I could simply watch as the horror moved closer, its shambling evoking a cool sweat to pop out on my brow. A bony finger extended and tapped on the map I held in trembling hands. I chanced a glance down and saw it was placed on the red X. Slowly it traced along the dotted trails. Each time it would extend out to the ravine wall and then slowly move back to the X. Time and time again. Dozens of attempts. ""That was you?"" It nodded silently. ""You couldn't escape?"" Again it nodded. ""But you rescued me. Why?"" It moved to the side and out of view again. A few seconds later, it returned with a small leather bound notebook, which is set on my chest. I opened it to the first page. ""To my dearest Olivia,"" I read out, ""I count the days until I return home to you."" Beneath was a date. October 13, 1963. I glanced up at him, ""That long ago?"" It nodded. I turned to the next page. At the top *Day One* was written in neat script, followed by *Dearest Olivia*, followed by a series of musings and a recounting of the day. I flipped forward, watching as the days incremented by one. On day ninety-three, the neat script was replaced by frantic, erratic loops. I paused, reading the entry. It detailed his fall into the canyon. He expected to die. He wanted to know that his last thoughts were of her. I flipped the page. *Day Ninety-Four.* *Dearest Olivia,* *Alive. Injured. Stuck.* *I love you. I will find my way home.* I flipped the page. *Day Ninety-Five.* *Dearest Olivia,* *Movement is hard. Will attempt to survey the canyon on crutch.* *I love you. I will find my way home.* I flipped forward, day one hundred twenty. Day one hundred fifty. Finally, I came to the last entry. *Day One Hundred Eighty-Five.* *Dearest Olivia,* *I have tried everything. There is no escape. I have no food. I am weak and unable to continue.* *I am sorry.* ""I love you. I will find my way home."" I read the last line out, the repeated refrain since day ninety-four. ""You want to go home."" It nodded. **Platypus out.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1025
" ""Do I know you?"" the","""Do I know you?"" the woman in the blue scarf asks, shivering hands wrapped around a warm cup of hot chocolate. The question gives me pause. *Did* I know this lady? It was certainly possible. I had only been dead for what, twenty-five years? I peer at the young woman, wrapped tightly in mountain gear, her face masked by her blue scarf and thick tinted goggles. She might've been one of my schoolmates who still somehow looked really young or something. Certainly not a family member. I think seeing your dead son or brother, unchanged after so many years, would have produced somewhat more of a shock, rather than what was probably a polite question. ""I doubt so,"" I chuckle, ladling some soup into a wooden bowl. ""Chicken broth?"" She accepts it gratefully, the now empty cup lying forgotten next to her. We sit in silence, in the little mountain cave. A fire crackles beneath my pewter pot, and she shifts closer to it as she quietly sips the broth. The blue is receding from her cheeks, replaced by a warm reddish flush. ""You can stay the night here, it's safe,"" I say kindly, as I throw in some chicken cubes into the pot. ""I'll keep watch while you sleep, then you can be on your way in the morning."" Her eyes glint in the firelight, orange flames flicking within grey pupils. Outside, the mountain winds howl and rage, snow whirling wildly all around. We're seated in far enough that it doesn't reach us, but you could still feel the cold, threatening to creep up on you anytime. I throw another log into the bonfire. ""What's your name?"" she asks curiously, cradling the empty bowl in her lap. ""I'm Kaylie."" ""Peter, why?"" I busy myself, throwing various little vegetables into the pot. ""I just wanted to thank you properly,"" Kaylie puts her bowl down, gets up and falls into a deep bow. ""Thank you for saving my life, Peter."" ""Whoa, whoa, there's no need for that,"" I hastily pull her out of her bow. ""I'm not royalty or anything, I'm a guy who helped you out."" Kaylie had been in a pretty bad spot when I found her. So high up in the mountains, near the summit, the air got hard to breathe and the night turned the cold lethal. She had been woefully unprepared to attempt a climb to the summit, but try she had. I had watched as she had quickly run out of food, water and eventually her oxygen tank had run dry. Her guide, no doubt some second-rate guide who had tried to cheap out on gears and supplies, had turned back at the halfway point, probably realizing that the woman hadn't given up despite the difficulties of the climb as he had predicted. Alone, inexperienced and utterly lost, Kaylie taken one step too far off a cliff, its edge hidden by compacted snow. One step, and the snow gave way, and she had hung precariously on the edge, her ice pick having just barely caught onto a rock. Only then, had I been allowed to help. Out of the swirling snow, I had felt my form coalesce and take shape. My footsteps gradually left imprints in the snow, the night wrapping around me to form my mountain gear. With one strong arm I had firmly, but as gently as I could, pulled the panicking woman up, clear of the dark abyss that had threatened to consume her corpse and preserve it as it had mine on the mountain. Kaylie had been equal parts amazed and ecstatic that she had met another person making the dangerous climb up this particular mountain, although that excitement had been somewhat muted by the fact that she was starving, dehydrated and coming off a near-brush with death. We had made the hike to the nearest safe spot I knew existed on the mountain. It was fortunate we had been near the cave. Amongst other reasons, it was the most comfortable and where I was the most powerful. Kaylie tilted her head, a stray strand of dyed-blue hair falling lose from her red-green hoodie. ""Why did you help me out? Why were you here anyway?"" The young woman had a way of asking all the hard questions. Most people were simply grateful that I had helped them out life-threatening situations and were not big on questions. ""I just happened to be nearby,"" I say lightly, which wasn't a lie, like the next bit. ""And I was climbing the mountain, same as you."" ""With all *that*?"" she gestures at my pewter pot, my tiny piles of ingredients that I had been heaping into the soup. ""Can't be very practical carrying all this around. And where'd you manage to find firewood?"" Maybe I had been too careless, and eager in preparing this meal. I didn't usually have this much power, and I had to admit it was much more extravagant than what a normal mountain climber should have. That and she had a point about the fire. ""You're sharp, young lady,"" I pick my words carefully, because I've never been in this situation before. ""Don't call me young lady, you look about the same age as me,"" Kaylie shoots back, scampering over to me. ""I've been looking for you for forever."" The fire has warmed her enough now, and she pulls back her hoodie and goggles. The face is strikingly familiar, almost like... *And then in the corner of my mind, I'm back. I'm climbing the mountain again for the first time, alongside my sister. The guide marches along in front of us purposefully, pointing out the various landmarks and caches of supplies along the way.* *It was important to remember such things, he said. It would help us survive.* *Then the storm, sudden, abrupt and ridiculously violent. It whips our guide off the side of the cliff with a gust of winds, just as he's finished securing my sister and I to the cliffside.* *I feel my sister's hand in mine.* *We trudge on, trying to make our way down the best we can. But we know the two of us can never reach the bottom.* *I find the cave.* *""Look!"" I exclaim. ""Didn't he say there were emergency supplies there?""* *""I can survive on the supplies here,"" I say confidently. ""You take what we have and go down and look for help.""* *We both know I'm lying. There's nothing in the cave. But we only have enough supplies for one. Everything else had been lost in the storm.* *""I promise, I'll come back for you,"" she sobs, her tears freezing on her face almost as soon they came out. ""I promise.""* *""I'm sure you will,"" I beam.* *And then I die.* And then I'm back. And the tears I had seen on my sister's cheeks are now on mine. Gloved hands grasp mine, tightly, painfully. Almost as if Kaylie knew I would disappear at any moment. ""My mom always said you would be here,"" she sobbed, throwing her arms around me, hot tears staining my jacket. ""She was so sure the man in the legend was you. So sure, but no one else believed her and grandpa refused to let her climb up here again to find you, not after what happened."" ""It's okay,"" I whisper shakily, a big brother to my little sister's daughter. ""It's okay."" My voice breaks, grief, sorrow, relief and joy all mix into one quivering concoction. ""Thank you for coming back for me.""",1257
 The Sherpas won't take us,"###### The Sherpas won't take us any higher. ""Shifting ice,"" they say. ""This mountain is cursed."" They instruct all of us climbers to zipper our gear at the first bite of the sun. Brody's chewing over their words, I can tell. His tin mug shakes every time he brings coffee to his lips. Had I missed something, growing up? Some chance to wring little brother of self-doubt? He's kitted to the nines, so it damn sure ain't the cold. The Sherpas bark at eachother in Nepali. They've set up a faux-summit outpost, and a French couple is squabbling over a camera. Can't say I blame em--they spent a goddamn fortune for a misleading cover photo?--but some of us came here for so much more. Behind them, the range stretches out to a shocking horizon. Tibetan peaks stab a sunwashed sky, nature's best skyline. 18,000 feet above sea level. Not nearly high enough. I keep catching myself staring as Brody and I pretend to pack up. ""You're sure about this? I mean, has a part of you even wondered..."" Brody says. The way his eyes turn, I can tell which side of the fence he's posted. ""Of course I'm fucking sure,"" I lie. ""Now gear the fuck up. Tenzing's on his way."" Tenzing is the reason we booked the excursion. Or rather, why I did. His warmth had effused from the other end of the phone. I'd said his reputation proceeded him. Nearly cried when he said so did mine. Tenzing knew why I was calling. Really, it's crazy, even the deep crags of the Himalayas are prone to viralism. A few years ago, a story surfaced on reddit. One of those AskReddit, ""What's the strangest, most inexplicable thing that's ever happened to you?"" posts. I'd smiled when the top comment was from a climber. Then my heart skipped a beat. The guy had been a cocky SOB. Typical tourist with pockets of cash. He'd pushed himself too far in the midst of a storm. His Sherpa'd forgotten spare O2 containers, and together they huddled against a rock wall, waiting to suffocate. Then another climber called through the wind. Sort of a retro dude. Outdated gear. He staggered through the winds without so much as a safety clip. Empty carabiners jittering in the wind. The dude plopped down next to them and shared his tanks. When the storm receded, the dude was gone. The buzzfeed recycler picked up the thread a day later. Then other stories came forward. All with the same details. *Retro dude* *Crooked Nose.* *Different Colored Eyes.* ""Is it him?"" I'd asked Tenzing over the phone. ""It has to be."" _____________________________________________________ Brody looks at me all bug-eyed when Tenzing says ""It's time."" I can tell my brother's thinking, *Last chance to turn back*. ""It's *dad*,"" I tell him. And I leave it at that. Brody wrenches his eyes closed, whispering to himself. It's the palest I've ever seen him. But his feet move, I'll give him that. We slip behind as the rest of the crew descends. Tenzing whispers something to his buddy-system partner. The other Sherpa eyes us up and down. To him, we're just a pair of Bible-Belt thrill-seekers. ""Your funeral,"" the Sherpa shrugs. ""That's what we're hoping for,"" I reply, but the Sherpa's already turned round. As the group disappears around the bend, Tenzing flashes us a white-toothed smile. Goddamn if he doesn't look the part. Lean and lanky and full of assured energy. His leathered face is straight from Dad's old pictures. ""I brought a fifth of Jack,"" Tenzing says. ""If that doesn't bring him out, nothing else will,"" I say, and even Brody ventures a smile. The climb is hard. There's no denying that. Tenzing's progress with the lines is slow. We hit patches of icefall he says are no joke. He points out the safe zones and signals *Careful, Careful.* I catch Brody under the armpit once or twice when he stumbles. Shards of rock skitter down down down until we can no longer hear. ""Can you believe Dad did this shit?"" I whisper as Tenzing crosses a chasm. ""Couldn't tell ya,"" croaks Brody. ""Hardly knew him."" To be honest, to this point, I'd been sorta selfish with my thoughts. *Will we talk football?* or *Tell him I'm still single?* But, all the while, here's little brother. Wondering shit like if Dad'll remember his name. Brody hauls himself over another outcropping. His red hair peaks beneath his climber's hat. There's something different behind his movements, though. A determination. Sure-footedness. The higher we climb, the more it becomes apparent. More than ever before, I feel *proud.* When we finally hit 20,000, Tenzing breathes, ""This is it."" He stands atop a hanging valley, where the footing just simply vanishes. ""Where the sightings occurred?"" Tenzing shakes his head. ""Where your father died."" Brody and I look all around. It's sort of how I pictured it. Cold toes. Rocks. Ice. The hanging valley in front of us glitters beneath a sun so bright I have to squint even beneath my glasses. To our left there's this crag in the rock face that I can picture Dad emerging from. Bearded and smiling. ""Boys, boys!"" He might exclaim. ""God have I been waiting for you!"" What would I say? *Hey pa, you miss me? What's it like to die?* ""What do we do now?"" I say instead. Tenzing plops his ass down on a bushel of snow. He fishes in his pack for a few moments and withdraws the bottle of Jack. ""We wait,"" he says. And so we do. We sit, gulping down O2 until the sun threatens to set. The sky blushes into a deep crimson, and the crag on the rock face darkens into nothing. Brody shivers beneath my arm. But I'll be damned if he's not looking at me like: *Just a little longer* When the sun falls beneath a distant peak, the stars glisten. It's the most crystalline thing I've ever seen. A million lanterns floating from above. Suddenly, Brody's crying. Despite myself, I join in too. ""You see him?"" Tenzing asks. He's somewhere back behind us. Un-encroaching. The range makes itself felt. Wind howls all around us. Snow whips at our coats. Cold seeps down to our bones. Brody and I both say, ""I do."" Brody squeezes his arm round my ribcage. The crag on the rock face is completely empty. Together we cry towards the stars Our father's nowhere at all. But he's everywhere too. ------------------ r/M0Zark",1086
 Hitman showed up unannounced at,"It wasn't everyday that a hitman showed up unannounced at Paul's doorstep. Rarer still was when that hitman had been hired by him. So Paul couldn't be blamed for forgetting his manners. ""What the hell are you doing here, Dre?"" The hitman shrugged and ran a hand through his gelled, graying hair. ""The job."" Paul frowned. ""You mean that contract to kill Apollo?"" ""The same."" ""So get to fixing it. What're you expecting me to do?"" Damn it, Paul thought. Should've known a hitch would occur. These hitman types were never straightforward. He hoped that it wasn't because he'd also paid Apollo a hundred grand to kill Dre. ""I'll explain inside,"" Dre said, peering over his shoulder. ""Whoa, you're not coming inside mi casa."" If he'd wanted hitman traipsing through his home, he wouldn't have bought a multi-million dollar mansion out in the hills twenty minutes from the nearest town. ""I insist."" Dre's grin made him uneasy. ""It may be in your best interests."" ""Uh ..."" He backed away to make room. ""Come in."" Dre's gaze never lingered in one place too long as they made their way to the living room. Perhaps it was his hitman instinct ... but Paul had a nagging feeling that Dre was nervous. ""A drink?"" he said, going to the minibar. Dre shook his head and flopped onto Paul's humongous couch, before grabbing the remote for the home cinema system. His feet drummed on the tiger-fur couch as he flipped through the channels. ""So, what did you want to talk to me about?"" Paul joined him, glass of vodka in hand. ""Apollo's coming,"" he said. His blood turned to ice so quickly Paul wouldn't have surprised if his vodka had frozen solid. ""Here?"" ""Where else?"" ""What do you mean 'where else'? I gave you that job to kill him three weeks ago! Why isn't he dead? How does he even know you're coming here?"" Dre shrugged and toss the remote aside. ""He's better at tracking people than me. Truth be told, I've only been running from him. But this place ... this place's great for a last stand."" ""You need to leave now,"" Paul said, standing. Dre got up too, but he walked toward a flatscreen panel showing a feed of the porch. ""Too late. He's here."" Paul had just registered the sight of a truck speeding up his driveway when there came a deafening crash from the entrance. The glass fell from his limp hand and shattered. Then thunder roared in his ears, so loudly he thought he felt the ground shake. The feed vanished into static. Dre faced him with a grin and a small device with a button. ""Car bomb,"" he said. Paul moaned, just then remembering that the hitman had parked his coupe in the middle of his fleet of supercars. ""Is he dead?"" In answer to that question, an overweight, balding man strode into view wielding a machine gun. ""There you are, Dre,"" he said pleasantly. Then he opened fire. The wind was knocked out of Paul as Dre tackled him onto the floor. The gunshots were impossibly loud, nothing like the movies; to make things worse, Dre had drawn a pistol and was shooting back. ""Stop!"" he screamed, but Dre yanked him by the collar behind the grand piano. He could hear the tinkling of his antique china collection shattering from gunfire. ""Can't run from me forever,"" Apollo said. The machine gun went silent, and then something clicked. Dre's face turned white. ""Sonofabitch, it's a grenade."" Before Paul could even draw a breath, the hitman had yanked him toward the patio. Something thunked against the piano as they dove into the water. The cold of the water came as a shock, causing Paul to swallow a bellyful of water. Then the world above flashed with heat. Dre made a shushing motion, one hand on Paul's head to keep him down. Paul's lungs were beginning to ache, but then bullets started zipping through the water. Several struck the glass panel on the other end of the pool; Paul's eyes widened as the glass first fractured, then broke. The ensuing outflow swept him off his feet, landing him hard on his rump. ""Goddamn you both,"" he tried to say, but the words came out as a wet gurgle. ""Don't worry,"" Dre said, his hair a slick curtain over his face. ""Got just the thing right here ..."" He pressed a button on a curious plastic package, and flung it over the pool's edge. Paul gaped at him. ""What was--"" An explosion to make Michael Bay wet himself flattened Paul; even Dre wasn't spared. Then perfect silence; Paul thought his eardrums must have been blown out after that. Unfortunately, he was only partially right. Despite being near-deaf, he heard the groan of crumbling masonry. Heedless of the danger, he grabbed the lip of the pool and hoisted himself up, just in time to see half his mansion collapse into a pile of rubble. His haste also had the misfortune of putting him face to face with the muzzle of a huge gun. ""Sorry boss,"" Apollo said. ""Job's a bit tricky, so I'm just going all out like you asked."" Paul began to cry. ""This wasn't supposed to happen ... you weren't supposed to go all out here!"" Apollo snorted. ""This ain't all out."" Paul caught the whine of a drone's turbine a split second before it zoomed past. Then the rest of his house exploded into a cloud of fire. ""Hope I got that rat,"" Apollo said, turning to watch. ""Nah, he was hiding in the pool."" Dre climbed out, tossed his pistol aside, and drew a knife. ""We still doing this?"" Apollo gave him an appraising look. ""Y'know, seeing all this fire makes me want a smoke. You got any?"" Dre took a pack of soggy cigarettes out of his pocket and grinned humorlessly at Apollo. ""Maybe Paul's still got cigars somewhere in there."" ""My house ... my house,"" Paul said. ""You two ... you did this on purpose, didn't you?"" ""Serves you goddamn right, you little weasel,"" Dre said. ""Thinking the two of us wouldn't figure it out. Bestservicemen.com isn't just a classifieds site, it's social media. Took us all of two hours to talk it out."" ""Gotta hand it to you, old friend,"" Apollo said, shouldering his weapon. ""You sure know how to pick your spot for a last stand."" Dre snorted and patted Paul on the shoulder. ""If it's any consolation, we'll both give you a full refund."" *** *I know the prompt says ""millionaire"" but I decided that Paul being a billionaire makes it easier to hurt him. Thanks for reading! Check out my for more stories!*",1121
" ""I said, your son is","""Excuse me?"" My voice broke the stunned silence that had fallen over my wife and I. ""I said, your son is the main protagonist,"" the doctor repeated, jotting some notes down. ""Oh no... No no no no!"" my wife, Cecily wailed. She couldn't believe it either, and I embraced her, shedding silent tears as we both gazed down at our spiky haired child. ""Doctor... isn't there anything you could do about it?"" I asked. It was a useless question, I knew, but I had to have hope, didn't I? I don't think any of that hope came through in my voice though. ""I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it,"" the doctor replied as he handed us a pamphlet. ""Make sure you read through this very carefully."" It looks like the doctor was trying to be helpful, struggling even, but the pull of the protagonist was irresistible. He was the one to show the first signs of his impact on our lives, as his face suddenly filled with... some sort of weight. ""It may save your lives some day."" Looking down at the pamphlet, I could barely make out the words on it through the tears in my eyes, ""So your son was born a protagonist."" Under it, there was a picture of a man asking ""What's the worst that can happen?"" with the no circle sign stamped over it. --- It hadn't been long before the media got wind of a new main protagonist being born into the world. It might have been a leak in the hospital system. Or it could have been one that happened in the governmental office Bob's name was filed in. And yes, yes we named our son Bob. It wasn't mentioned in the pamphlet, but Cecily and I desperately hoped that giving him a mundane, boring name would offset the... epic nature of his very being. Maybe God, or the world, or whoever was the one responsible for declaring Bob the main protagonist of this era would look down and decide, ""You know what? We can't ever have the epic of Bob in the histories of the world. Let's revoke that protagonist status."" No such luck though. But yes, it wasn't long before the media shitstorm started. And that's what it was, a shitstorm. They swooped down on us like vultures, shoving their microphones in our faces, trying to get our take on this exciting new story. A new protagonist! What trials will he face? Worse than the media were the conspiracy theorists. Or maybe they could only be loosely called conspiracy theorists. It was more like the theories people toss out about their favorite book series. What trials and tribulations will the hero face in their next book? Who is the antagonist of their story? People started to dream up scenarios of doomsday and Bob fighting the doom. How would he overcome them? How would he find out about them? When would destiny finally strike? All of this would have been fine by itself. Only, they joined in on the shitstorm that was the media, intruding on our lives, picking every aspect of it apart. What we did, how we did it. Criticizing the way we raised him. How we hid him away from the world. But how could we not hide him away from the world? We wanted Bob to have the most normal life he could. We didn't want him to be a protagonist! Hell, we did everything the pamphlet advised! Dark alleyway after watching a movie? Nope, nuh uh. No Batman for us thank you. Cecily shows the first sign of not feeling well? Right to the hospital with her. And man, if we could tell you about all the times people honked at us for driving at exactly the speed limit. The strangest thing is that... it was all worth it. Bob was our little bundle of joy. He was the greatest kid we could ever have. It wasn't just because he was our kid either. He was kind, he was attentive. We had to home school him because well, fuck the media. But he made our lives brighter. He laughed with us. He cried with us when he finally realized how his very existence made ours harder. But we were a family. And there was no way we would give up any of it. --- All good things had to come to an end though. You know the thing about self fulfilling prophesies? Well, some people do, and some people don't realize exactly how they may end up working. By the time Bob was 16, one of the most dangerous time for a protagonist's parents past child birth, there were so many nutjobs around us that... well, it wasn't surprising that a few cults popped up too. One of these cults were led by some guy that called himself ""The Prophet of the Age,"" or simply ""The Prophet."" He had been spreading the idea that the Protagonist wasn't the herald of some dark event, but it was because the Protagonist existed that it would happen. It didn't matter that nothing had happened yet. It didn't matter that it didn't even look like anything was going to happen! His 'prophecy' was that dark times would happen because the Protagonist was alive. And so he burned our house down while we slept. If you're familiar with how hero stories work... well, you might guess what happened next. Bob was out with some relatives. We had managed to sneak him out so he could enjoy time with other family. And so... we died. We died in our sleep. And that was how his story really started. Only... there's one thing that some people forget. The protagonist isn't always the good guy. He's just the leading character. And there was one thing the world drilled into him while he was growing up. We tried to suppress it, and maybe he believed it at first. But with all the shitstorms raging around him, he kinda learned that the world sucks. People suck. And people are awful. And so that, dear reader, is how the apocalypse started. With a crying teenager and his dead parents.",1033
 I once say a season remove a,"I have taken part in many exorcists. As you may imagine, I have seen nightmares you could never dream of, removed daemons straight frontline worst possible nightmares and have spoken to the devil himself. Yet I can assure you it is not these cases which cause my hand to shake as I write my life story. It is not these stories which cause me to spend countless sleepless nights without relief. No there is a certain case which rests of me heavily; which still haunts my humble frame. It it's this torrid tale I will recount to you today. It started off like any other case. A phone call in the middle of the night from a distraught friend or family member. They describe the symptoms; change in behaviour, imaginary friends, split personality. It was all so ordinary, so routine till now. And as I headed down the pebble lane to the flat in question at the dead of night I had no cause for concern. I once say a season remove a young girls head and stick it back on as if it was velcro. I had became blunted by the experience; nothing worried me. I was greeted by the tear stained face of a young man at the door. It was him who had called. He had been living with the boy in question alongside five other boys from University. It was more common than you think; teenager often partook in activities which attracted spirits of the night. Yet as he lead me inside, a shiver spread down my spine. At this stage I am not sure if that shiver was due to fear or just a sense that something was deeply strange about the case. Firstly the house was very tidy, immaculate in every sense. This was deeply strange. Often possessions cause their victims to cause damage to their house; to trash it if you will. Then there was the religious memorabilia. Every corner and wall was adorned with the crucifix. This should deeply unsettle the possessed as it was the image of the enemy. So why was it here? It was not like university students are known for their purity. I gave the boy leading me through the house a searching look but all I got in return was what can only be describe as a look of pure terror. What was going on? I entered the living room where the possessed was being stored. From this moment on, I knew something was deeply, deeply wrong. First he was dressed in an immaculate suit, as if headed for church. In one hand he had a cup of tea, the other a self-help faith based book. His hair was freshly combed with not a single strand out of place. He looked up at me and for the first time in my entire professional life, a bright from erupted across his face. ""Hello, John did not tell me we were going to have visitors or I would have tidied it a bit. You must think I'm such a mess. Goodness, he has not even offered you a cup of tea! Where are his manners? Would you like want one, our honoured guest."" He spoke in a pleasant sing-song voice, miles away from the gruff, gravelly voice I had grown accustomed to. I was left breathless, what was I meant to do? This had never happened before and I get totally blind. ""Hello Matthew. How are you feeling?"" I asked, trying to buy some time. ""Blessed. Totally blessed. Isn't it great just to be alive? To see all of his creation? To truly experience it?"" He asked. "" it certainly is. "" I lied. When you do what I do for a along as I have, you realise that God doesn't care too much about us. But like a jigsaw clicking into place, I understood what was going on. ""Can I speak to him please? "" I asked politely. "" Who? God? You can speak to him everyday through the power of prayer. I urge you to, if you want to save your soul. "" the pleasant attitude was seriously starting to emerge me. ""I think you know who I want to speak to, Matthew."" I tried to keep my voice in control and not wobble in fear. Surprisingly it worked; a darkness flashed across his eyes and a new inhabitant of Matthews body came forward to talk. ""Hello, I've been expecting you."" The voice was like nectar, heavenly in tone. It was like the voice of the sirens. It was like the voice of an angel. "" why are you here? "" I asked. A deep grown spread across Matthew's features, deeply confused. ""Do you not want me here?"" He said, hurt in his voice. "" But why? "" I asked. "" Daemons come here to escape the fiery furnaces of hell; to escape the everlasting pain. But what are you escaping from? You have heaven. Streets of gold, your wishes at your fingers, cities of clouds. Why leave? "" I asked in frustration, trying to understand the situation. ""Pain. The world has so much pain. So much death, destruction and pain. So much pain. God has grown depressed. We were his project, we have failed."" Tears streamed down Matthews cheeks as he explained his situation. "" I came to help. Spread the good news, try to save you all. It's that or God starts afresh. New planet, new people. "" he finished his spiel with that deeply chilling warning. ""How can you do that all by yourself. Matthew is no-one special. He is just one person. How can you save the world with one person?"" I asked. "" Jesus did. "" was the reply. A deep silence blanketed around the room. I thought through my options. All my gear in the briefcase was useless; he would be attracted to the cross, not scared by it. How was I meant to scare an angel with God. The answer was blindingly obvious. Leave him. Yes Matthew won't be the same but thats a sacrifice that had to be made. The worst that could happen is he would become a priest. Maybe even the Pope one day. But he would harm no-one so was there an reason to try and extract the angel? Looking back, I just wanted an easy escape. I was deeply, deeply afraid. I got up to leave but John who had led me in grabbed my arm incredibly tightly. He gave me a look of pure terror, begging me not to leave. ""Yes I know you've lost a drinking friend but there is no reason I can see for trying to remove this angel..."" I tried to explain my intentions but was interrupted immediately. ""Did you hear about the Bridgefield ripper?"" He missed at me. The question perplexed me. The Bridgefield ripper had been a murderer who had stabbed six people last month before he himself had been found brutally stabbed in Parsons green last week. What did that have to with anything? My answer was given by a silent nod from John towards Matthew, unwilling to look at his once friend. ""He did it. He killed him."" He whispered, his eyes wet with tears. But why? The sweet sing-song voice have me the answer I was looking for. ""An eye for an eye..."" I spun around to see Matthew staring right at me, a bright from stretched across his face. ""I'm old testament I'm afraid."" Suddenly the unassuming boy became even more sinister. His eyes glowed yellow and the voice deepened to become more commanding, like God himself. "" Which reminds me, have you ever sinned? """,1282
 The previous longest sentence had only been,"###### ""Aiden Kaminsky."" ""Aiden Kaminsky,"" the voice said again, more annoyed. Aiden stared blankly ahead. Finally, the woman walked up and slapped him in the face, her eyes narrowed. ""Kaminsky,"" she said, venom dripping from her voice. ""You're free to go."" He blinked, staring at her. Who was she? He could feel something distant stirring in his mind, a foggy memory, but it seemed out of reach. The woman simply glared at him and left, leaving him laying on the still-pulsating bed. In her book, 2000 years was nowhere enough punishment for a serial killer who targeted children. It was a wonder to her why they didn't keep the death sentence, but this man would've more than deserved it. It was the first time they'd given out such a long sentence though, to fit such an atrocious crime. And she was glad for it. The previous longest sentence had only been five hundred years. ""Wait, sorry."" Aiden's voice floated out from the room, and the policewoman unwillingly doubled back. His voice had come out garbled, and she hadn't understood the words at first. ""What do you want?"" she asked. He opened his mouth, his lips moving strangely, as if he were trying to formulate words that wouldn't come out quite correctly. The woman stared at him as he struggled. Was this because he hadn't spoken in 2000 years? Finally, he asked, ""Who am I?"" The woman blinked. This was the first time they'd gotten a prisoner who had been in so long he'd forgotten his own identity. ""I just remember...dreaming about walking through a raging desert,"" he said, then swallowed. His eyes glazed over, and if he weren't sitting up, she might have thought he was dead. ""For so long."" The words came out as a whisper, and she had to lean towards him to make them out. ""For so long...like a dream."" She sighed in exasperation and stood back. Maybe she was supposed to feel pity for him. But she couldn't bring herself to. He'd deserved it, even if his real life was now forfeit. ""Your name is Aiden Kaminsky,"" she said. No wonder he hadn't responded to his name. ""You were a serial killer before your punishment."" A spark of memory. A sense of familiar hopelessness, resentment, and disbelief overwhelmed him. But it felt like a cloak, more comfortable than not. He'd been living with it for so long that when he woke up, he'd forgotten what it felt like to live without it. He felt bare. ""No, I wasn't,"" he said, shaking his head. He couldn't quite remember why not. Except for the conviction that he wasn't. There He had some sort of alibi...it was... Brown eyes flickered into his memory. They looked down and away, guilty. Aiden blinked. ""I wasn't,"" he repeated again, not knowing what else to say. He'd forgotten a lot. The details were...so muddled. He could only see images and scraps of before. And that familiar resentment flooded in again. They say you cycle through the seven stages of grief during punishment. But it wasn't just one cycle. He remembered many cycles. So many cycles that they blended into one another and he could no longer tell which was which. Until the overarching emotion he finally felt became an all-consuming resentment and anger. He'd been fucked over his entire life by the system. As a child of immigrants, he'd had to watch as his mother worked as a janitor for Casper, the biggest tech corporation, but be paid pennies. His father took his own life when he was merely three after being falsely accused for stealing technology from a rival company, Sierra. And him...well. He had been smart. Graduated top of his university with hundreds of thousands of dollars of debt. A life sentence. And then there had been med school. The numbers kept going up. And with the economy the way it was, he could only find work as a construction crew member. Maybe this reality wasn't even real. Maybe it was just another one of the endless cycles of dreams that he looped through. Death would have been better. ""You're a serial killer, and you were convicted in court. I can't *believe* you haven't repented."" ""Because there's nothing to repent."" The words came out easier now, smoother. Aiden stared down at his hands. They were calloused ones. He flipped them over, looked at the palms where white bands of cracked skin ran down them. They were the hands of a worker. A worker who'd been falsely accused. A bitterness coated his throat, and a spark of something else. Something dangerous. He clenched his hands into a fist. After a while, he'd forgotten his name. He'd forgotten everything about himself, living in a cycle of senseless dreams. And for what? To come out and be known as a serial killer? But if there was one name he hadn't forgotten, one visage, it was the one responsible for him being here. Casper's own President. Owen Gray. *""Pin it on any of the workers.""* *He could still hear the words clear as day as he scrambled away from the door. A security guard had seen him and brought him back, and Aiden could still remember the sharp gleam in Owen's light blue eyes as he looked him up and down.* *""He'll do,"" Owen said to the guard.* The woman lost patience with him. She tugged at his arm and dragged him up. ""Look here, child killer,"" she snarled. ""Your cushy time here is over. Get out."" At the contact, something broke inside of him. Maybe it was knowledge that he'd be known as a child killer for the rest of his life. Maybe it was that he'd wanted to die so many times in his dreams, yet was unable to. Maybe it was that he couldn't even remember the details of his life, who he was, whether he had a wife, what his job was. But he remembered a pair of eyes. And their gleam as the court used his education against him, saying he had the medical knowledge to kill those children swiftly and without being caught. Rage crashed over him like a tidal wave, and his eyes narrowed. Something snapped. ""Get off me,"" he snarled at the woman, throwing his arm out. Not expecting the sudden force, she was thrown back into the wall, her head banging into a protruding instrument, and she crumpled to the floor. He didn't bother checking if she still had a pulse. All the better if she didn't. The corner of his lips gradually tilted up. He was a serial killer, huh? Once again, he was enveloped by that familiar sense of resentment that had tucked him into bed every night and whispered sweet nothings in his ear. Telling him to fuck the world and watch it burn. It was now his closest companion and his best friend. Then he walked out of the facility. &nbsp; If a serial killer was what they wanted, a serial killer was what they would get. ***** r/AlannaWu",1177
 The worm crashed through the sand d,"Miles and I were rocking the adrenaline, but at the sandworm roundabout, I noticed the first glitch. We'd been maintaining a tenuous lead over a podracer, who was all sorts of ego. I'd figured it was some power-leveler who saw our pixelated model and thought: easy money. Exactly our hustle. But with every sharp turn, the pilot kept plowing through the dunes full speed. Plumes of digitized dust whipped into the air. To be honest, it was pretty sick. The tension was sending my modules into overdrive. But as Miles strafed into another turn, the worm glitched. The dune rumbled, just like normal, but when the worm burst through the sand, it just...froze. Its mouth gaped towards the sky, razorblades shining, ready to crunch unsuspecting douchebags, but there was no familiar death screech. There went my buzz. ""The hell?"" I screamed over sandstrewn wind. ""Did they patch Space Forza? I swear that thing's supposed to lurch."" Miles was smiling ear to ear. Grime streaked from the corners of his squinted eyes. ""Hell yeeea--,"" He shouted. ""Did you -ee that? Podrac-- bit the dust!"" I frowned. Every last drip of my adrena had filtered out of my system. The podracer's twin engines still gleamed through the grimy rear window of the buggy. ""The hell are you on about? He's still on our tail."" Our buggy blinked. Suddenly, instead of winding through the rockfall cliffs, we were rounding the corners on the village of the sandsnakes. ""Ah shit. Am I desynced?"" I waved my hands in front of Miles's face--to no reaction at all. My heart sank. No sync, and all today's winnings were moot. 24 hours of grinding fools for naught. Hell, I'd have to submit a help desk ticket and wait for the troubleshoot. I'd be out of commission for up to a week. My credits couldn't take that sort of hit. I had two boosted graphic cards to pay for. Not to mention the gigs of mem I'd missed payment on last month. Without this week's haul, I'd lose access to my chem boosters, emotion enhancers, even the adrena-shots. I'd be back in the stone age. ""God damnit!"" I said, slamming my fist onto the buggy console. Except, I didn't make contact. My gloved fists were vanishing in thin air. Miles stared at me, a look of horror gripping his features. ""Wha--...--ng...Dude...the fu--?"" At first I thought, *seriously? I paid for these gloves outright*. But then I saw bits of my own skin crumble. Wisped away, like bits of fire in the air. The sensory module I'd spent too much on whirred to life in my ear. White hot pain shot up the length of my arm. I screamed at Miles: ""Dude, help me!"" And then everything went black. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A wide eyed girl with cropped blue hair was inches from my nose. ""Shhh,"" she said, hand pressed firmly to my mouth. ""For the love of god, don't make a sound."" My eyes whirled in their sockets. Sunlight streamed through iron rafters. Birds chirped somewhere in the distance. I was in a warehouse of some sort. Rusted and dilapidated. All around me were people, sleeping, hooked to their VRs. ""Wharm th- furmk im goim om?"" I mumbled. ""Shhhh, you'll be alright, just keep quiet,"" the woman said again. Her breath smelled like coffee. The grimy bandanna on her forehead looked slick with sweat, and there was a quivering excitement behind her hazel eyes. From somewhere behind her, a man whispered: ""I can't believe it worked."" ""You gonna let the poor kid up?"" asked another. I managed a glimpse at the rest of her group. Two pointy-faced men stood, patting eachother on the shoulder. Which was harder for one than the other, seeing as one was nearly two heads taller. Beside them, shaking her head in disbelief, was an older woman missing an eye. When my gaze passed over her, she smiled. Dirt and grime caked their faces. They were all decked out in tattered leather. Not an inch of them appeared to be digitized. Adrenaline rocked my system for all the wrong reasons. *Holy shit.* I'd been yanked from the grid. Defaulted to *reality*. The group of defaulters just kept looking at me and smiling. The two men couldn't help but murmur to themselves. ""Quiet,"" the blue haired woman hissed. ""Don't you hear it?"" The group stood stock still. I whimpered beneath the woman's hand. All I could hear was the creaks of the warehouse and the chirps of the birds. Every twist of the breeze was just reaffirmation that my life had been ruined. Suddenly, everyone went pale. I hadn't heard anything unusual, but the group looked to the blue-haired woman with wide eyes. She shot up like a bullet. ""Hey!"" I said. But nobody paid me any mind. ""Pres, take the kid,"" the woman said. The larger of the pointy faces nodded. ""Ren, the horses."" Everyone began scrambling, packing up backpacks with ancient gear, rushing around as quietly as they could manage. From the far end of the warehouse, a dog barked like mad. I tried to slide out of my seat, but my legs felt incredibly weak. Instead, the large dude ambled towards me, scooped me up and slung me over his shoulder. As he did so, the barking at the far end of the warehouse was cut short by a yelp. A solitary moment of silence followed. ""Let's get the hell out of here,"" the blue haired woman said, voice suddenly shaky. It didn't take an analyzer to gauge the fear in their eyes. I imagine my own eyes looked much the same. When I was still plugged, I'd splurged on all the enhancers. Emotions ripped through my digitized veins so fast I'd nearly lose feeling in my toes. I'm talking the sort of stuff that nearly made you feel your own heartbeat. It was an addiction. The very cusp of VR technology. Miles and I craved that magnificent high. As they hauled me through that dilapidated warehouse, I was so scared my throat nearly closed up. Adrena-shots. Menta Modules. None of them held a candle to the real thing. -------------",1026
 I blacked out in the trunk,"I also wanted to contribute one. Let me know what you guys think or where I could improve. -------------- I lay there in the trunk of what I guess was the same 90's model Buick I saw in the parking lot of the bar. I only got a brief look at it before my consciousness left me altogether and I collapsed onto the shoulder of my new friend, Bucky. I saw him stuffing a rag into his pocket. ""Hey man, you look like you had a bit too much tonight..."" Bucky chuckled as he wrapped my arm around his shoulder and began leading my increasingly limp body towards the car. ""Let's get you home!"" He tossed me in the backseat of the car. The radio came on - Little Green Bag by the George Baker Selection. I liked that song. Then I blacked out. He must've transferred me to trunk at some point. The road we were on wasn't paved. I let out a sigh, thinking to myself how much more cliche this could get. Some lonely cabin in the woods...and chloroform? Really? How very boring. To think, I could've had him - My thoughts were cut short after the car came to a sudden stop. The driver door opened and slammed shut as I could hear Bucky approaching the trunk. Okay, showtime. Bucky popped open the trunk. I looked up at his blubbery silhouette against the night sky. I could still make out his chunky face, a huge grin plastered on it. The moon reflected off his bald head. ""How was the ride?"" Bucky asked, with blatantly intentional sarcasm. Judging from the conversations we had at the bar, I knew he was into the freaky shit. So I played along. ""Bucky you dirty dog! I knew you were kinky but THIS is what I'm talking about!"" He stood there, clearly confused for a moment. ""Uhh.. ya heheh but I promise you, you haven't seen nothin' yet."" Bucky lifted me out of the trunk as my arms and legs were bound with duct tape (I mean seriously? THREE wrap around, max!). We were indeed out in the middle of nowhere. Some hundred feet away was a single story cabin with a garage. What a shithole; car parts, discarded furniture, piles of kitchen appliances, you name it, strewn all about the property. ""Wow, this is some place you got here, Bucky. I've always wanted a cabin of my own. Do you live here?"" Bucky was becoming winded. I'd imagine it would be rather difficult for his fat ass to carry me even a quarter of the distance to the cabin. Between heaving breaths, Bucky explained that this was just his private getaway. He then stopped to emphasize, ""It's so private, no one else can hear ya out here..."" as another cheesy grin spread across his face. Wow he was so overtly ominous, I giggled out loud. What a fucking amateur. ""What's so funny?"" Bucky demanded, now wheezing from the strenuous task of having to haul my bound ass to the cabin. This guy...what a fucking idiot. Why didn't he just park closer? But I saw my opportunity. ""Its nothing heheh. Wow, I'm sooo ready for this! I bet you have a pretty sweet playroom if you know what I mean?"" I winked at him, disgusted on the inside. ""Hey, why dont't you just let me walk the rest of the way. I'm totally digging this whole scenario but you sound kinda tired and I'm gonna need some of that energy when we play. You could put a leash on me - so I don't get away"" I suggested in a flirty manner. Bucky stopped again. He didn't say anything for a moment. I could tell he was thinking to himself whether or not I would be a willing victim for his sexual fantasy - you know, up until he would reveal he was going to kill me. I tried to sweeten the deal. ""Plus, I know you definitely have some sturdy chains laying around somewhere in there. Wouldn't that be more sexy than this duct tape?"" Take the bait you stupid sick fuck. ""Uhh you know what, that's not a bad idea..."" Bucky layed me down and cut the duct tape around my feet. He seemed somewhat relieved to get my weight off his arms. ""...but I'm keeping your hands bound...my little pet"" he said as he placed a collar and leash around my neck. In we went. The cabin looked straight out of an episode of Hoarders. He was leading me through the cabin and was excited to show me what he called ""his dungeon"". On the way in, I spotted a clock. It had been almost 40 minutes since we left the bar. Perfect. Any moment now. Bucky threw open the door to his garage attached to the kitchen. Before he flipped the light switch, he ushered me into the darkness then switched them on. Just as I imagined. Oversized sex toys, whips, ball gags, various medieval style contraptions and your standard serial killer work bench complete with a bonesaw. On the far wall, a row of stuffed heads hung like game trophies. How original. Bucky stepped inside the garage chuckling to himself. ""So what do you think? Pretty sweet huh? I think your heads going to look pretty good right next.. next to..tooo those twooo...."" Finally, it kicked in. I took my right hand, which had easily been freed from the shoddy duct tape binding and pointed towards the end of the row of heads. ""Naa I think my head would've looked much better next to that one."" Bucky was now struggling to stand up, constantly wobbling until he dropped to his knees. ""Whaaa...? What's happening?"" Bucky stuttered. ""Well Bucky, you sick perverted twat."" I said as I lifted the leash off my neck. ""We're not so different, you and I. See, I enjoy the thrill of killing too. However, unlike yourself, I don't find any sexual pleasure with it. Frankly, you disgust me and I'm glad I found you of all people."" Bucky was now beginning to slump over, yet his eyes were wide and focused, peering deep into mine. I could sense his fear. He dropped to the ground, unable to talk, eyes still locked on mine. ""You may have heard of me actually, well at least the name given to me in the papers - does the Cleaver of Seattle ring any bells?"" I swear I saw him piss his pants at this point. I chuckled. Good to know I'm somewhat famous. ""I'll take that as a yes. You see, tonight was supposed to end the other way around. You were to be my victim. I poured a little sedative in your last beer. It takes a little while to kick in but I prefer it to your brutish chloroform method, because I cherish those precious moments waiting for the drug to kick in. Much more elegant in my humble opinion."" Bucky became increasingly sedated but his eyes were still on mine. His terror was undeniable. ""So what do you say we do some role reversal and I get back to my night huh? Hmmm... I didn't bring any of my tools. I'm sure you won't mind if I borrow some of yours. Oh no, you seem a bit tired. Go to sleep, you'll need your energy. When you wake up, I promise we'll get to know each other much better.""",1246
 My son visited me once . He,"My old bones don't feel so old. My teeth are still my own. My hair never turned grey. My son visited me once. He must have died almost a century and a half ago. He came because he just wanted to see me one last time before he moved on. He told me I looked great. He said he was glad I was in prison, since he felt like it allowed him to treat me like a human. I must have been in my mid 40s then. He was mid way through college. He cried a little while he was talking to me. He said he had always felt so ashamed all throughout school. He was 6 when I was imprisoned. And he saw me when they arrested me. The images never left his mind and the teasing didn't stop until college when he finally got to leave all of his childhood behind. He wanted to see me though. ""I missed you,"" he said. I asked him if I could give him a hug. He said no and we kept talking for a while. That memory got me through years, probably a decade or two. It was one of the few things that made me feel human. I hadn't felt human since I went off to prison in the first place. Losing my family was everything to me. I was about seventy when the doctors started coming. Everyone just thought I must have taken really good care of myself up until then. But the testing lasted forever. I still haven't found out who actually initiated the studies into my physiology. Maybe the government, I don't know who I have to blame. Eventually the experiments got really bad. For the first fifteen or twenty years they were just monitoring me and drawing blood and taking other samples. Once I was approaching 90 they started testing me. I had no one to talk to when they injected me with viruses and I was sick for a week, thinking I was laying on my deathbed. I didn't have anyone on my side when they took off my fingertip to see how it would regrow. It took months before it returned to normal. But that was only the beginning. They eventually tested things in a more extreme way. They had thoroughly found that my body would fully recover from anything normal. They fed me just rice for months to see how my body would respond to nutrient deficits. They started getting more eager with the snipping and took off my finger past the bone. I wasn't excited when the bone grew back, but they moved past the doctors at that point and had scientists come in who specialized in the regenerative properties of axolotls. They were ecstatic, they'd never successfully regrown human limbs even with advanced stem cell therapy. They were shown the finger trick again. One of them was a cute girl scientist. I knew they didn't think of me as a human once they were told what I did, but she saw my eyes more than anyone else ever had. I think she at least felt sorry for what they were doing to another human. I thought we might be friends so I told her not to hold back for my sake, she should do what her passion demands of her. She ended up sending me a letter when she became old, secretly delivered by hand. She said she felt horrible for what she did and begged me to forgive her. She never visited though. It was when I had about seventy or eighty years left on my sentence that the experiments started to bear fruit for the worse. They discovered how to perform a treatment to give others the same immortal cells I had. Now it wasn't that each cell I had was immortal. It was just that the years never damaged my DNA. Nor did UV rays affect me. There was nothing that would wear down my resilient body. At this point I hadn't seen other prisoners in maybe 60 years. They kept me isolated in a secret facility so I wouldn't talk. And once they unlocked my immortality, the experiments slowed down. They had effectively exhausted my resources and couldn't learn anything else from my poor tired body. There is one thing that immortality has little positive effect on, as far as immortality goes. That is the brain. And that they used to their advantage. They kept me weak and fed me very little for the last 60 years of my sentence. I wasn't in the system anymore as far as I could tell so I didn't know why they wouldn't just kill me. I knew I wasn't human anymore. I didn't care. I'd tried to kill myself enough times but I could never finish the job. I was too afraid for the more efficient methods, and the other things I tried didn't work. My mind went on and on. And then on my 230th birthday, good news came. I was barely a shell of a man, but a small investigation started when my sentence ended and there was no record of my death. There were no doctors or scientists still alive from when the experimenting had started, so there was no way to know for sure what happened. I knew they had to have pronounced me dead at some point so no one would come poking around. But I got out. They found me in my cell, the most docile of my species. The most reformed violent man in history. But Dr. Stevens, the kindest of the ones who carried out my sentence, I know it was you. So I thank you. Now I return to a world of immortals, of which I am the first. But we aren't all the same. The poor still die. The armies of other nations still have amputees. There are still those who die of sickness, who die malnourished. My life was spent to create this world, my suffering bore the fruit that lead to this place. I guess I'll go. The first immortal man. The oldest person alive. I'll use what little fame I now have, and I'll do what I can to even the playing field. My gifts were stolen without cost. So too should they be given freely.",1059
" ""This is why I did it","""This is why I did it."" My hands shook with the gun. It smelled like blood. The thick stuff after a slaughter, the stuff that congealed and you had to call in clean up crews to deal with. It smelled like blood, and it had a face where the skin had long since left, and the muscle was mostly gone. Skeletal, lazily so. The mouth clicked open as I looked around the still dark room, where the monitor in the corner beat out the slowest heartbeat I had ever seen. Slower than when mother had died, and we'd counted the beats desperately hoping some miracle would save her. I couldn't do it. The gun fell to the ground and I stared at the face of god. ""Who the hell are you, Patient Zero?"" I asked. ""I am the alpha of this world,"" The skeletal figure said, slowly attempting to sit up from the aging hospital bed. The muscles didn't quite work, and hesitantly I crept to the creature's side and helped it up. ""Thank you."" ""You really are the start?"" ""Of heroes, certainly,"" Zero said, and miraculously (though it had never been a miracle with me, not really) my hands weren't covered in the sticky blood dripping from his body. This close, I could see they were perforation wounds. Some resembled gunshots, but far more of them resembles needle pricks, long rotted instead of healing. ""I..."" I listened for someone else in the facility to come running. But the guards hadn't noticed as I walked in, and I'd past the front desk. Traffic had been low, and they hadn't thought to look here, though I knew the search teams, no matter how unlucky, would only have a matter of time before they tracked me down. ""You really don't have a lot of time left,"" Zero said, his fingers raw and beaten. ""So I'll make this short. You've had a blessed life."" Sweat rolled down the back of my neck. Blessed was a word. Beaten to a pulp was another one. Parents dead while I'd been gone was another one. Countries destroyed was another one. But I wasn't dead, and I'd clawed back a victory each time. Could remember the look on her face when they'd turned on me. Could remember the attacks, the brilliant gleam of the stars. Could remember the temptation to leave it all behind. But now I could hear the sirens instead, roaring in the distance. ""Blessed?"" I laughed. ""I just... I just wanted to do the right thing."" ""How many times did you think of quitting?"" Zero asked, playfully. ""Twenty seven times. Did you ever quit?"" My hands shook and I sat down in the tattered doctor's stool and looked at him. ""...I couldn't. There was always something else."" Something was catching in my throat. ""Did you ever commit a crime that wasn't justified with your abilities?"" I remembered new orleans and the glowing expanse of faces, reveling in the joy of the new world, listening to the words of the prophet, written in nuclear isotopes, and my nails clenched. I remembered minds deleted like snowflakes melting in the dawn's glow, and families tearing into each other like pigs. I remembered what I did then, and something inside of my twisted a little further. Justified. Zero thought I was justified. My throat clenched around nothing in particular, and I choked back tears. ""You don't get to make that decision."" ""I do get to make that decision,"" Zero offered. ""Because I granted you your gifts based on the supposition that you, like nearly every human on this planet, would use them for your own gain."" His eyes, barely working, smoothed with cataracts and rot, led into mine. ""Did you ever go to the lottery with your luck?"" ""Of course not, I didn't need the money,"" I said. ""And that'd be stealing, wouldn't it?"" ""A simplified moral schema, I would argue that lotteries are a poor method to extort funds for public works, of course, but I was around during Eisenhower's reign."" Zero clicked what remained of his tongue. ""But it did what I wanted you to do."" ""Just... be heroic?"" I asked, cluelessly. ""I am the alpha of this world. From my fluids all heroes were created, and when I die, all heroes shall be destroyed,"" Zero admitted. ""And there are not many heroes that have made a net positive upon this world, and my existence leads many more to seek me out."" He spread his arms slowly, though the IV swayed tremulously through the air, and gestured at the needle marks. I took a step back. ""So I want you to do the greatest good the world will never know,"" Zero said, slowly gesturing down at the gun. ""And please, kill me so that nobody else ever hurts me again."" I fumbled for the gun and it slid from numb fingers. ""It's not a crime to kill a god. You know that now,"" Zero said. ""It had never been me killing them,"" I said, staring down at the weapon. ""You didn't know that,"" Zero chastised me. ""You knew exactly what would happen when you joined fights, and you went in with that knowledge. You just as well killed a god, for I would not have focused what little attention I had on the issue if you had not been there. Kill me."" The sirens drew closer and closer, and I hesitated, staring at Zero. ""Will this make it all better?"" ""No, child,"" Zero said, as my hands shook and the gun rose higher. ""Nothing gets to make it all better. No matter what."" ""But it will make you happy?"" I asked. ""The happiest the world has ever been. Imagine a place where no one fears for the monsters in the night. Where madmen worship weapons instead of genetic abominations, and the moon is safe instead of a refuge of madness. I have seen the torrent of fire that burns through the atmosphere, and I heard it all, from the prayers aboard the ISS to the pitter patter of oil off the shores of Venezuala. I no longer want to hear those things. I no longer want to remember the screams."" Zero paused, staring at me once more. ""Shoot me."" The gun was familiar in my hands, though I fumbled with the trigger a few times. Could hear foot steps in the distance. No way out of this. For the first time in my life, I felt spectacularly unlucky. The gun went off. ""Thank you."" ------ For more like this, click here. https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/",1096
 Morgan was playing a children's card,"We've all seen the movies. The secret agent turns the corner and meets some shady guy inan alley with a fire escape and an open manhole, or maybe puts in some special code on a public terminal, and an ominous sounding voice gives them a mission. I was playing a children's card game on my phone when I got a text. ""NYC, 50k, reply ASAP."" I swiped the notification right and finished the game. If the job was offering 50 and no one had taken it yet, especially for such a close one, no one else was going to take it at this point. Hell, I didn't know if I was going to take it. Still, didn't hurt to get the scoop. I called, and someone picked up immediately. ""What the hell took you so long to respond, Morgan?"" ""Do you really want to know, Nate?"" I said in the most deadpan voice I could manage. ""Morgan..."" Nate said, a warning note in his voice. ""You are not above the law..."" Oh for Hastseoltoi's sake. ""I was playing a game on my phone, Nate."" ""Oh."" ""Now you gonna tell me the job or not? I have Medicine Men to kill and all that,"" I said. ""Sorry, sorry,"" he said. ""We've got eyes on two vamps in Washington Square Park."" ""What do you want me to do? Shoo them?"" ""Observe them. You know those NYU types, they'd probably rush over to get themselves bitten. Bloodsuckers wouldn't even have to try."" ""So I'm supposed to go after them for feeding on college kids who want to do it?"" I asked, letting my voice gain an edge. Modern laws regarding snats were...far too human centric for pretty much every non-human's taste. Snat was the term they used for us supernaturals. I guess it sounded like gnat? They may be the inferior species, but they sure as hell have funny names for us. Vampires were expected to just stop drinking from humans and drink from plastic bags, not straight from people. I mean, sure, killing and enthralling people is bad, but taking a bit of blood? Can't expect them to change their nature. ""First of all, that would be a fine reason to send someone after them, but not a good reason to send *you* after it, and pay 50k at that. No, it's two masters."" I sat up in my bed. ""*Two* masters?"" Master vampires were powerful as hell, able to go toe to toe not just with humans but almost any other snat. And they never, ever worked together, what with them being able to kill each other and all. It was too risky to trust someone who had a 50/50 chance to kill you after you'd survived for some centuries. ""Yeah, center's worried they may be up to something. Sending their pics to your phone,"" Nate said. Good thing humans got some things wrong. Hunting vamps would be harder than it already is if they didn't appear in pictures. ""Got em,"" I said. A lanky man with red hair and glasses. He looked like some dorky college student more than a honed killing machine. The other was a girl, tall, about my height, but that was where all our similarities ended. Where my skin was a shade of brown she was pasty white, they both were, with startlingly white hair and piercing blue eyes. She was looking right at the camera. ""Photographer still on site?"" I asked. ""He...was,"" Nate said, and I could just see him frowning. ""But we just lost contact with him, don't really know why."" ""He's probably dead, she saw him,"" I said matter of factly. ""So, what exactly is the job."" Nate gulped. ""Just surveillance. Find where they're staying, what they're up to, report back in 24 hours. Should be simple."" I groaned. ""Nice, Nate. Now you've pretty much guaranteed it won't,"" I said, only half-joking. ""I'll report back, as long as I get half up front."" ""That's ridi-"" ""You got anyone else you can throw against even a single master, Nate? Maybe get a SWAT team slaughtered?"" Silence. ""Yeah thought as much. Half up front,"" I said and hung up. I cracked my neck and got off the bed, stretching. I got an annoyed yowl as I startled my tabby, Casey out of her sleeping spot. She meowed angrily at me, and stalked off, tail high in the air to express her disapproval. I'm sure I'd find a dead rat on my bed when I got back, NYC was full of em. I shook my head and opened the window, and breathed in the City. Forget the open fields and forests. This was the new hunting ground. A concrete jungle. New York was lit up, and so I didn't even need my night vision to see a bird sailing through the skies above me. That was another good thing about the City. Most bird who were around here knew to avoid me, but the newcomers...they had no clue. I Jumped and suddenly I was soaring through the air, my open apartment window on my left. The bird's consciousness tried to fight back but I just crushed it like gnat. The body was fully under my control now. I soared through the skies of New York, over the Empire State, the East Village...there! The arch came into view and I Jumped out of the bird, landing fully clothed on the grass of Washington Square Park, the Arch lit up in the distance. The body of the bird fell lifeless to the ground behind me. I walked out - fully clothed - onto one of the paths. No one was around at this time of the night, but still no one would have paid me any mind - another perk of being a snat in New York - no one really gave a shit. In the distance I could make out the couple of vampires on the bench near the Arch. I was in the dark right now, hidden so far. I'd already decided how I'd approach this when I'd Jumped out of the bird, though. It would be a hassle to tail them. I'd have to keep Jumping, maybe even into a rat. I shuddered. God, I hated rats. This was much simpler. I stepped into the light and waved at them. ""Hello, vampires, may I ask what you're doing here?"" I had been hoping for a cartoon reaction. You know, when they jump up, all startled like. But alas, no such thing happened. The woman just smiled, her lips stretched a bit too far for it to be an entirely natural expression. ""Ah perfect, a government mole. We want to deliver a message."" Both of them got up off the bench. ""You could, you know, call them. Normal people do that."" The woman smiled, showing her fangs. ""Ah, well, a call just doesn't have the same effect as warm corpse."" I raised an eyebrow. ""Is this where I scream?"" The pair blinked, at a loss to what to do with me. ""Do you know what we-"" I jumped and I was in the man's head. Jumping into a human was hard enough, the stronger the will, the harder it was to possess them, and doing it to a master vampire was suicide, but this was no master vampire, not anymore at least. It had mirrored every action the woman had made and hadn't said a single word. Dead giveaway. It was a thrall. Nothing but an empty mind being controlled by the vampire. The woman was still gaping at where I'd been standing as I wrestled control of her thrall from her and managed a solid hook against her cheek. She shrieked, a purely inhuman sound, and launched a jab at the body I was wearing. I was slow compared to a vamp. I'd gotten a hit because I'd surprised her. In a straight fight, this body would lose. The thing about skins is, they're not my own. I don't care what happens to them. So when she jabbed, intending to skewer me, I stood my ground, letting the arm enter my stomach and brought both my hands together around her head as if I were going to clap. I felt my hands make contact and I jumped out just as her arm hit my intestines. She gasped and stumbled back and the body fell to the ground, guts spilling out. ""Skinwalker,"" she breathed, her eyes wide. ""At your service,"" I said and gave a little bow. ""So, how about that message?"" *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my sub,",1436
 The song in my ears and the,"I leaned against the sink as I washed my hands. My right leg still hasn't been right since the accident. It was already a year ago, and the pain isn't fresh anymore; but it's not gone. And you know what else isn't gone, the fucking song! Words I don't know, and a tune that's impossible to replicate. I smile wryly into my own reflection, wondering if its real, or if its just brain damage. It's the same thing I've been wondering since I woke for the first time. &#x200B; The door to the Gents swings open, but I ignore it, much like I ignore everything else. Whoever walked in was whistling something, and just as he passed me he switched to faintly singing it under his breath. At precisely that moment, the song in my ears and the words of his mouth overlapped. I flinched, hard. I swung around, not caring about the open tap or my wet hands or anything else. ""What song is that?!"" I shouted at him. His coat was in my hands, preventing him from retreating. ""How do you know that SONG?!"" I screamed again, closing in on his face. I am not proud to admit that I lost my composure completely, and anyone would have been justified at taking a swing at me, but the man just smiled and said, ""Son, let me just take a leak and I'll tell you all about it. Why don't you go find us a table where it's quiet and two of those local beers I've been hearing about, and I'll find you when I'm done."" I think he could see the reluctance in my eyes, so he tapped me on the shoulder and spoke softly but directly. ""I'm a man of my word, and also a man that can't turn down a free beer. So unless you want to hold my dick for me just find us a table."" He smiled, and it was a smile so disarming that I dropped his lapels, shuffling quietly out of the bathroom, a few backwards looks in between. &#x200B; The smoking room in the bar had thick doors that kept the music out, and the hazy ambience in. I grabbed a small square table against a wall, just two seats, away from the door and the other patrons. As the beers touched the table, the growl of the sliding door drew my eyes. The man walked towards me, drawing a chair for himself. I opened my mouth impulsively, but then filled it with beer instead of words, giving him a chance to speak. He seemed to be enjoying the suspense more than me, taking a sip of his own beer as well, sighing contentedly after the first sip. After a few more sips my patience had been smothered by my burning questions. ""What song were you singing in the bathroom? Where is it from? Why have I been hearing it since the accident?"" He lifted his eyes from the label of the brew, staring into mine with an air of completeness and surety that I have never seen in eyes before or since. He tapped his knuckles against the table twice, breaking his stare as he leaned closer. ""Listen son, I'm about to tell you a few things, but you have to promise me not to freak out in here. If you lose your cool, I walk, beer or no."" I nodded. My body wouldn't do anything else. It seemed like I was on the cusp of some great secret that only a few would ever touch. ""Have you ever wondered why you couldn't find the song, and no one knew it or had even heard it, while you hear it every waking moment?"" Again, I nodded. ""Well,"" he said, building some tension with a sigh, ""It's not like you don't know the song. On the contrary you know it very well, you just can't find it. That's because you are looking in the wrong place. Now remember what I said about freaking out?"" Another nod. ""You said you heard it after the accident? Not surprising. What's floating around in your head is a song from the time and place when you were still alive, so it makes sense you wouldn't be able to find it now that you're dead."" My face pulled into something that haunts the nightmares of children as my hand tightened around the beer, pushing it so hard into the table that it started to slide. The man slammed his own hand on the table, letting out the kind of raucous laugh that one would associate with grandfathers and Santa Claus. It rumbled from his belly and shook him like a tremor. Before I could speak he raised his hand at me. ""Sorry, I just couldn't resist. Just never gets old you know, that joke. But, it's not all a joke."" His hands came to rest on the surface of the table again. &#x200B; ""What you are hearing is something that mortals almost never get to hear, the music of Heaven."" This was the first time in a while I had been able to speak, and it was with much eloquence and sincerity that I posed my question to him. ""What... the fuck?"" He snickered at that, tapping the table again with his knuckles. ""When you had the accident, you died. You might know about it, you might not. For a moment, maybe the tiniest second, you were dead, and in Heaven. That's where you picked up the song. It's not stuck in your head, its a live stream, Angel-FM if you will. That's why you can't find it. It's not human, it's not terrestrial, it's not from this universe."" This time my face didn't move. He was right, I was resuscitated at the scene. I knew it, but there was no way he could have known. A lucky guess? Then how does he know about the song? What do I do? ""What do I do?"" I asked him. ""Not much you can do,"" he replied. ""Just go with the flow until you pass on. It's just one of those things; like a glimpse of the forbidden, or a clue to the unknown. Maybe you're lucky, maybe you're not. Only you can decide that."" He placed his beer on the table. It was empty, just like my mind. ""You expect me to believe this?"" I asked him. He laughed again, but this was the kind of laugh you would hear from a colleague after getting a dumb email, hints of derision and self-mocking mixed into the chuckle. ""Son, if people believed you when you told them the truth then my job would be a whole hell of a lot easier."" Again, a laugh, again that deep rumble of satisfaction. ""Thanks for the beer, do what you will with the story."" He winked at me, sliding slowly out of his chair. I grabbed his wrist, his hand still pressed into the table. ""Do you have a name?"" I asked. ""I have many names, but you can just call me Gabriel."" As the L rolled off his lips he was gone, and the hand I had wrapped around his wrist was wrapped around a cold beer that had just been cracked, the foam rushing up the neck of the bottle.",1221
" ""Why do they want to mess","My thoughts raced as I stared at the file in front of me. ""How?"", ""Who knows?"", ""Who started this case?"", ""Why do they want to mess with me?"" -- questions crowded in my typically well-organized mind, and this time I didn't have any clear tracks to follow along, nor any itch of the intuition -- that golden feeling of premonition that I often got when I was getting acquainted with a new case. After all, I was the best investigator in our Unit. Sometimes I thought it was some six sense that sent me on the right path where others followed all the obvious, and yet wrong leads. And other times I thought it was all due to my logic and ability to put together different pieces of the puzzle and make them fit in a way that would expose all layers of the story. Because there were always layers, never just the surface picture. This time the picture staring at me was an old black and white photo of a child. The edges of it were fraying, and it was hard to distinguish the background, beyond a ghostly-white face, crowned with a large forehead and midnight-black eyes. Those eyes spoke of wisdom and maturity. Looking at the face, one would guess the child to be at least five years old, more likely even older. And a handwritten date on the bottom left corner of the picture confirmed as much. It said: ""Eldar. Age 6."" Except I knew that the note was wrong. The child in that picture was one day shy of his 4th birthday, only just starting to explore the new world and his role in it, both curious and afraid, cautious and excited, and, more than anything, committed to learning more and exploring more. The reason I knew this with such precision and could read the exact thoughts hiding behind those unnaturally dark eyes, was because that child was me. ""Who's behind this?"" -- I thought again, and tried to lay out the relevant information in orderly fashion in my head, just as I would do for any other case. The story of my life was as simple as it was well documented: born in 1949 in a small village near Paris, France and raised there until I was three and a half. I remembered very little of that part of my life, but I still had a yellowed birth certificate, signed by a local midwife, and several pictures from that bucolic time: me on a toy wooden pony, waiving my toy saber; me with my *nounou,* Louise, exploring a derelict chateau somewhere in Loire Valley, the ravages of war still visible on its walls; and me with my mom, her smiling at me faintly, but gently -- the sun streaming through her golden hair, making her look almost translucent and already not of this world, even when we all thought her in excellent health. I sighed as I remembered those pictures. If I closed my eyes and thought hard enough, I could still catch some memories of those days of pleasure and innocence. Days of playing out in the courtyard with our servants, but also days of already being taught my letters and numbers, as well as English, Italian and Russian. That English came particularly useful when, shortly after I turned three, my mother died unexpectedly and my father moved me to Wales. There was plenty of documentation for all of that, too: a coroner's report of my mother's death, an immunization form for me with barely legible notes from a local doctor, even tickets from our trains to Calais and then a ferry to Dover. Our route from there to Wales must've been more circuitous, but surely even those tickets were enough evidence. I still had them in a folder at home. I mentally pictured that first drawer on the left in my desk in my bedroom -- neat and organized as everything there. Sure, there was a paperwork gap from there to my first school transcript, but that's only to be expected. We lived on a remote farm about half an hour drive from Tal-y-lynn, only trees and dales surrounding us, with very little help and not much contact with the outside world. But my father spent a lot of time with me, teaching me and grooming me, and for most of the time it was enough, at least until he would get drunk on vodka he would have imported from Poland, and then he'd rant and rave in a language I could only half understand, and I'd hide in a corner under the dining table and listen to him scream phrases and names from his past. I smiled, remembering how I thought that the ""Tallinn"" from my father's rants -- the city where his family first flew after the revolution, before moving to France, was our Tal-y-lynn, with its small huts and a single pub at the crossroads. It was only when I was already five, and my father was grilling me on history and geography, that I would trace the road from Petrograd to Tallinn, and then a boat route to Klaipeda, and laugh at my earlier misunderstanding while trying to keep in mind all the names of royalty and nobles. All the Alexandras and Nikolases would get jumbled in my brain, and my father would yell at me, denying me dinner until I could recite each genealogy without a single mistake. All in all, it wasn't bad. I was a quick learner, and the family trees stood straight and strong in my head, etched there with the help of my father's heavy hand. I was glad then that he named me ""Eldar"" - perhaps it would sound foreign to most ears, but I liked that it wasn't yet another ""Sasha"" or ""Kolya"", or some horrible ""Ivan."" I sighed again. Perhaps I was worrying too much, and things were much simpler than I thought. Let's start at the end, rather than the beginning: how did this case get to my desk? Well, that one ought to be easy: my supervisor, the head of the Investigations Unit, probably did it in a fit of fancy, thinking that one Eldar may want to investigate the disappearance of another little Eldar. There, one piece of the puzzle is laid, and now I only have to find the other pieces to back it up. I can do it. I've always done it, and I've always kept them straight and was able to document it all, so I can do it now again, can't I? I glanced at my ipad, where the news aggregation app was permanently open and the latest news were scrolling through. The planet was heating up. The geopolitical situation was shifting, and Russia was at the center of it again, asserting its force, trying to show the world its bear roar. And who knows, perhaps this time, as in the past, the bear will again bite more than it can chew, and then the tides will turn, and there will be another internal change, another revolution, and maybe another restoration, and then it will still be time enough for me to use my orderly mind and my orderly files. Perhaps. But not just yet. For now I just need to put together a complete enough file for this decades-old case. .... &#x200B; \------ More later, if people are interested",1236
" The worst part is the boredom,","It is dark. Not just dark but utterly black. If I could move my hand in front of my face I wouldn't see a shadow of it, a hint of it. No, just the blackness. I sigh and for the nine hundred and eighty seven thousand, three hundred and twenty...third? time I wish that I could move my arms. My nose has been itching for what feels like a hundred years. I don't know for certain because...well because it's dark. I don't know what the day and night schedule even looks like now. That's what happens where you're buried alive. All I have is this conversation with the emptiness because there's nothing else to do. Can't play cards. Can't move my arms. The worst part is the boredom. You think it'd be a lack of oxygen or food but nope, it's the boredom. Unless you're a mortal. Then it'd be the oxygen, for sure. I don't have that silly little foible, ""needing air"" and all that. Nope, don't even need food. That really scared those poor saps all those years ago, couldn't figure out how to deal with me so they poured me a delightful little room of concrete and buried me somewhere no one would ever find me. Neat, right? I try to shift my shoulders and curse the itch on the bridge of my nose and for the nine hundred and eight seven thousand, three hundred and twenty third...no wait...fourth? I don't remember. Shit! That's the fifth time I've lost count. Bugger it all. I sigh, again. Then I hear it. Something is scrabbling on my prison out there. Someone is outside my infernal confinement! Yes! Come, come hither and free me! I am suddenly thrown about, as much as one with a few inches of space can be thrown about, hitting my nose off the concrete and feeling the warmth of blood dripping down. I never did like that, the bleeding bit. I can regenerate but for some reason the Great One decided I should bleed. To hide among them? Yeah, brilliant, first time you get hit by a car and just walk it off they start to ask questions. Thanks, big guy. My prison vibrates violently under the impact of something out there and I want to wring my hands, clean the blood off, something. I must be presentable for whoever they might be. Earth will tremble again! The concrete cracks, revealing some light through it. It widens, widens, chunks fall off, I hear noises that I haven't heard in years. Very suddenly a crack splits my prison from between my feet and up to my scalp. I am free! I stand and blink at the light, even though it's not much it is still far more than I am used to. I spread my arms and realizing that my nose and mouth is full of blood I say my line, the line I haven't been able to say in what can only be an eternity. ""Beholb, a palbe horbe, nabe is deb!"" ""Deb? Your name be Deb?"" I try to clear my nose out and spit a massive gob of blood out onto the front of the man who has freed me, he recoils and makes a noise of disgust. ""Death! My name is d...wait, where am I?"" There isn't a wide open space before me. No fields of green like I remember, no open sky, no blazing sun. It's a small metal casing with a handful of men and women in brown and gray coveralls that are well worn, some holding weapons and others just staring at me. The space is cold metal and there are lights above, not nearly as bright as the sun I remember. It's cramped, it's rusty, it's not Earth. Not as I remember it. ""You're on the Comos, salvage ship. How...how are you alive? How long have you been floating out there?"" ""Floating? No, I was buried on Earth...I think it was 2015. Something like that."" They gape at me. The man who spoke moves his mouth like a fish. ""Earth?"" ""Yes. Earth. Pale horse, Death, revelation. That whole thing. Earth. What do you mean, floating?"" ""Dude."" Someone else speaks. He is lanky and greasy and has long hair swept back on his scalp, fingers covered in black oil. ""It's 3020. Earth...Earth is gone. You were just out there in the Black."" I fall back on my prison and move my mouth like a fish. ""Is he insane?"" I hear one of them whisper. No one says no, can't blame them for that. ""Can you die?"" Someone else asks me. ""No."" I answer, staring at the floor and feeling a wave of unwanted emotion flooding me. ""I cannot. I am Death, rider of the pale horse, and I was buried for the end times. I missed it. I basically slept through the apocalypse."" The big man who started talking laughs again. ""No mate, don't be worry about that. Folks still be killing each other, times still be ending. You don't be missing a damn thing. You be on our ship now, so you don't be ending our times, understood?"" I can accept those terms. My stomach rumbles. I don't need food but I certainly won't say no to some. ""We'll even feed you. You can be the ship's new mascot. Aptly named as she be."" The big man says, he must be in charge. ""Come now."" He thumps off down a hallway and I obey. Imagine! Death, obeying! I stop at a screen that shows the empty space outside the ship. That's a lot of space. And it's stunningly dark, except for pinpricks of stars that don't do much to break up the expanse of empty. I've traded a few inches of darkness for an endless supply of it. That is just fantastic. &nbsp; I was looking forward to food. I have distant, faint, and fond memories of food. I prod the gelatinous lump that they have served me and wonder what it's suppose to be. It smells of cinnamon, I think, and motor oil. This is not quite the same memory that I have of food. ""It be not nearly as bad as it be looking."" The big man says, sitting across from me and eating what could be a cracker but seems to have the consistency of a very old boot. He doesn't mind it. I eat some. I immediately spit it back into the plastic spoon that I have been provided and alternate my stare between him and the goo. ""I never said it not be worse."" He says with a shrug, chewing on his boot food. ""I want to go back in my box if this is what passes for food now."" I say, dropping the goo back into the bowl. It is absorbed into the mound. ""I can hardly be blaming you."" He says. I scrape my tongue off with the spoon and ask him a question at the same time. ""What's your name?"" ""Brax Kelly, Captain. This be my ship you be spitting food on."" ""I refuse to apologize for that Mister Kelly, I refuse. It is my absolute pleasure to meet a living, breathing human after all this time."" ""You don't really be what you say, do you? You be some experiment of the military? Be you what you claim I should be launching you from the airlock and ridden myself of a problem."" ""I am Death."" I say, calmly, and prod the goop to watch the ripples. That's something it's good for, it's amusing. ""And launch me if you want but I'll just float out there I suppose. Uncomfortable, but alive. Forever and ever and ever."" He gets quiet, thoughtful, pensive even. ""You be here to kill us?"" He asks, quietly and nervously. I laugh. ""I should hope not. I'm not around to kill folks, I'm just Death."" That seems to satisfy his nerves, at least somewhat. He stands, his rather wide and stout frame quite impressively straining against his gray and brown coveralls. He shoves his thick arms behind the straps and pushes it out at the chest, sucking at his teeth. Unique guy, this one. ""Well, it not be my choice what to do with you. That be an Earth Navy problem."" I stop poking at the glob. ""Earth Navy? I thought Earth was gone."" I say. He laughs, his midsection moving like the glob. ""It be gone, yes."" ""So how is there a navy for it?"" He looks at me like I'm slow in the head. Am I? Have I been gone that long? In that box too long? Yes. That last one is a yes. ""It be gone, Mister Death, missing. They be looking for it. You come from it. They be having questions for you. Or they be shoving you into space for a liar, might be throwing you at the sun. See if Death be surviving that."" He chuckles at the thought. I feel a cold chill. They lost a planet. An entire planet. How is that even possible? ""I have questions."" I manage to say. He nods, thoughtfully, and retrieves a bottle of bourbon from a small compartment and two plastic cups. ""I thought you might be having some. We be having enough time for a chat."" I drain the first glass and find out that it is a very fine burn. He refills the cup. ""So,"" I ask, ""how did you lose a planet?"" And he begins to tell me.",1587
 It sat perched atop a tower of,"The words echoed fruitlessly in her head as her grip around her rifle grew ever tighter. It sat perched atop a tower of steel and wires, massive clawed feet contorting metal bars as if they were made of paper. It hadn't seen her yet, or so she hoped, but she knew that any sudden movements could easily change that for the worse. Sweat ran across her forehead and into her eyes as she tried her hardest not to reach up and wipe them off. Instead, eyes fixed on enormous wings that flexed slightly with the wind, she forced her legs to move. It was not slowly enough. The minute she shifted her feet the angel spun it's avian head around and stared directly at her with sharp. brilliantly golden eyes. She ran even before the fear gripped her like a vice and the horrible shriek of the angel rang out across the ruins. She was in an alley before she even realized what happened, running past fallen debris and upturned concrete like she had been born to do so. A shadow suddenly blocked out the sun, and without thinking, she whirled around and fired her rifle up against the beaked monstrosity that tried its hardest to squeeze down into the narrow alleyway. It was a futile gesture, but even as the bullet reached its destination to no apparent effect, that simple act of resistance made her feel just a little bit better. That feeling proved shortlived. The angel broke past a myriad of metal staircases as it desperately tried to force its massive wingspan into the comparatively narrow gap. Huge clawed hands grasped for her as she ran, and she knew she only managed to stay out of their reach because of the terrain advantage. And there was no way for her to keep that advantage for long. ""Over here,"" Came the faint call of a young girl as she sprinted past an open door. Cursing herself for not noticing earlier, and with the angel hot on her heels, she took a hard left as soon as she could. She would have to circle back. That was not a very appealing notion, especially considering the fact that she didn't just imagine the voice. Or worse yet that it was an angelic trick. The angel roared loudly behind her at the sudden turn, but she knew the extra width would only worsen her situation once it recovered. And so, even though her lungs burned like fire and her legs ached like never before, she forced herself to run faster. Her only advantage came when taking corners, so it was imperative that she ran quicker on the stretches in between. But she wouldn't be faster than an angel, and as she took the first corner she could hear the massive beast crash into a building on the opposite side of the road less than a second after. It shrieked again and she focused on the fact that there were only two corners left. However, this first one was on a large street, which meant the angel could once more utilize its wings. She had to be faster. The buildings that made up the alley nearly collapsed seconds after she darted into it, the massive form of an angel flying full speed into the opening and not quite fitting through. She stumbled and almost fell as the impact rocked the very foundation of the street, her legs close to giving up. One more corner. For the last one, she was well ahead, though that meant only a second or two to a being such as that. A second or two that she desperately needed if she wanted to cling to the small hope of it not seeing her enter the building. It would be close, but as she ran toward the door with blurry vision, certain that at any point a massive hand would grab her up into the sky, she was pulled in by the collar by a different hand. It was dark in the room, and as soon as she was inside the hand let go of her and the door closed behind her. All noise disappeared, including that of the angel she had no doubt was still out there, rampaging through the streets. There was only silence, darkness, and a faint scent of pepper in the air. All of the sudden the room was lit, all over, at the same time, and it was all she could do not to recoil in terror. Ahead of her sat a humanoid creature at least three times her size, it's color a constant mix between orange and red. On it's back sat a pair of wings, but in stark contrast to the avian features of an angel, these wings were clearly those of an insect like a butterfly or moth. It's strangely thin and frail body was protected in large part by a thin carapace that accented its features but did not obscure them. Four thin arms that ended in hands akin to those of men, yet pointy and sharp at the tips, seemed to fidget occasionally as it observed her in turn. The head was most peculiar, however, for it was almost identical to that of a human, save for the helmet-like horn that covered anything above the forehead. It uttered an almost musical noise all of the sudden, and she reached for her rifle before recognizing the sound as melodious laughter. It smiled at her before standing up on two thin legs far too long for its body and leaned in to speak with her. ""Truly, you little ones never seem to learn,"" It said, in a very distinctively feminine voice, which, after having seen its face, further solidified the fact that the *it* was, in fact, a *she*. ""Again and again, you climb out of the sewers, as if you wish for nothing more than to be hunted."" ""T-Thank you for saving me,"" She said with an attempt to steel her voice, fighting back every instinct in her body telling her to run, ""Now please don't eat me,"" ""Eat you?"" The demon asked, bursting out into laughter, all four arms gripping its stomach, ""No, I won't eat you, little girl,"" ""Then what do you want?"" She asked, gripping her rifle as tightly as possible in an attempt to release the panic that sought to overwhelm her. ""I want what we always want, and what you're always willing to give,"" The demon said, moving closer and gripping her tightly by the arms to look right into her eyes. ""I only ask, for a *favor*,""",1103
" ""Planet 273, dominant species,""","""Planet 273, dominant species,"" Announced the receptionist as I walked into the waiting room and she handed me a clipboard. I blinked, staring at the other filled chairs, each with their own inhabitant. Or freak, really- each seemed a bit different than the other, and different from any human I had ever seen. One had pointy ears- probably from one of those con fest things that was going on this weekend, another seemed to have a double set of eyebrows, and the one at the end filled out his clipboard with two hands writing at once. ""I'm sorry,"" I said, staring up at her then back to the door, ""I don't, I don't quite recall what I'm here for?"" I frowned, thinking. Where exactly was I? I'd heard it was common to lose your train of thought after walking through a doorway, but this was completely different- it seemed as if I were missing entire days of information. Last I could remember, I'd been enjoying a beer at a Yankee's game, and it had been the top of the Seventh. I'd never left before the top of the Ninth, and as I smacked my tongue against the top of my mouth, I realized I could still taste the bitter hops. My hand still had the stamp they used to mark fans over age twenty one. And was I still slightly buzzed? ""Just don't you worry,"" She said with a smile, and pushed the clipboard back towards me with a pen, ""The doctor will be with you in just a second. Come at number 273. Then you can be on your way."" I took a seat, watching as the others were called one by one back to see the doctor. One whistled a tune that I had never heard, while another picked at a scab on her right hand. A blue scab. I blinked, then looked down at the form, focusing on the questions, my head tilting further as I read each. *Are you here on purpose?* Shaking my head, I put a large *X* through the spot marked *No* after hesitating above the *Maybe*. *Do you have any allergies aside from bees?* I blinked at that one. *Aside* from bees? How would they know that- this form wasn't customized, I had to fill my name in at the top. Again, I marked *no*. *Do you believe in extraterrestrials?* Fat check mark next to *maybe*. But then my number was called, and I exited through the door at the front. A door that seemed slightly too tall and too wide, as if to accommodate a number of different shapes. And I was greeted by a reedy man, with spectacles that seemed to drift too far down his nose, and a smile that seemed too sympathetic. ""Ah, 273, it's been some time! Come in, come in, sit right here. Good to see you, I was starting to get worried!"" I took a seat atop a papered bench, waiting as he stood in front of me, waving a bright light in front of my eyes. ""Erm, Doctor, mind telling me what this is all about? I haven't gone off the deep end, have I?"" ""Oh no, no."" He said, checking my pulse, ""Not at all, if anything, you've climbed out of the water. No, you see, this is just a routine checkup on you, planet 273. You won't be remembering this, so I'll explain for the sake of getting proper answers, but we do only have thirty minutes! Today is busy. You see, we have to make sure you're still healthy."" ""Still healthy?"" I asked, ""*Still?* I've never seen you in my life, doc, you have no baseline."" ""Ah, well, by you I don't mean *you*, it's more of a plural you. One of the inefficiencies of your specific language. Your planet! All of you. I'd grown quite worried- I was afraid the bees had died out."" ""Oh no, there's still plenty, hope they're on the decline though. Bastards keep trying to sting me. Matter of fact, is that why I'm here? Did I pass out at the game?"" ""Oh, don't hope they die out! They're an indicator!"" Said the doctor, concern flashing across his face, ""That's why we put them there when we built 273, and all the others too! You see, when the bees die out, that means that the rest of the planet is about to follow, ninety nine percent of the time. It's how we got the shareholders to buy in when we started Project Perfect Planet. No bees meant we could pull the plug, the investment on that world. Sun goes out, the core is shut off, entropy wins, the whole shebang. You see, every world is a tad bit different- small changes in DNA, in temperament, in geography. We're just trying to find the perfect mix! Cheaply, of course. It's harder than you expect, a real golden ratio type thing- too far on either end and the whole species crumbles."" ""And you're letting the rest die out?"" I asked, horror showing across my face. ""Well, technically they're letting themselves die out. Should've cared for the bees. Or rather, their home. But if they don't, it's not really their fault, they're just not suitable. Can't really blame a brat with bad parents, can you?"" ""Then why don't you tell them that! You're just going to let them kill themselves?"" ""Really you shouldn't have to say anything to prevent that. Besides, telling would skew the results. We don't want a species that acts right just because they're watched - we want one that acts right *to* act right. At the end of Project Perfect Planet, the rest of society will be modeled after them. Anyways, your vitals are finished, and you seem in pretty good health. Well, good enough, but you'll need to make a few adjustments. Lay off the sauce, *all of you* that is. And maybe relax a little, keep an eye out for one another. Smell the rose, bees need those, you know."" ""Well, yes, I- wait, are you saying that every time that someone is stung, they end up here?"" ""Oh no, oh no. About one in every billion produces the right reaction, and you have to have an allergy. And there are those allergic to wasps, well, our shareholders own the wasps and their shakedown is a tad more unpleasant. Peanut butter is claimed by Regulatory, its one of the last things to go and they like studying the mishaps, but it's depressing if you ask me. Now, off you go! Go save the bees! Or don't, you won't remember!"" Then with a snap, I felt myself falling, plummeting through the waves of consciousness, vaguely hearing the receptionist high above as she called for the next planet, number 271. Then I was back into my seat at the Yankees game, with a beer in one hand and a hot dog in another. I jerked my hand back, feeling something moving, swearing and looking down to see the yellow and black insect right pulling out its stinger, thrown off balance to the ground as I moved. Before it had a chance to recover, I ground it under my heel, then took another swig of my beer, looking at the score board under the hot sun. Tied. Four to four, with two innings left. *Still might win,* I thought, and settled back into my chair, my hand still throbbing. Better not swell up, I wanted to see the end. *Players better snap back into the game.* *** By Leo",1263
 Earl called for the rest to stop,"The winter lodge was less than twenty yards away when Earl called for the rest to stop. The chill was eating its way through their fleece jackets, and they wanted nothing more than to escape into the promised warmth, but they heeded his warning. ""Something's not right?"" asked Mandy. She shifted the strap of her overnight bag from one shoulder to the next - it had begun to bite into her flesh. ""Uhuh. It's not adding up, and I think... I think we may be in danger."" Jason and Allerie exchanged looks, then lowered their duffel bags onto the road. Dusk was falling rapidly, and the streetlamps were only just beginning to flicker to life. Jason rubbed his hands together, then said, ""Take your time, bro. Better safe than sorry."" ""Hear me out, OK? Honestly... all of this, it's too good to be true. The chances of all four of us winning this all-expenses paid weekend trip at the school-fair lucky draw? The bus company not having any return trips until next Monday? The complete lack of cellphone reception at this very location?"" Mandy fished out her phone. Earl was right - she had a full battery, and two portable chargers, but electricity was useless without a signal. The reception bar on her cellphone screen petered out and disappeared. ""I agree,"" said Allerie. ""It does seem... too coincidental. Too convenient. Jason? Did you ever finish digging into the background of the company which sponsored this prize?"" ""Results were inconclusive. Shell company after shell company. First time they ever sponsored anything too."" ""Well, our choices are limited,"" said Mandy. ""We either get into the lodge, or we trek back to town. Anything but standing here, the exposure will kill us. I've made sure that we packed sufficient food and water for a couple of days, hiking gear, and even nightlamps if we have to. It will still take a few hours at the minimum."" Jason retrieved his Nitecore flashlight from his pockets. A cone of light carved a path through the gloom as he examined the heavy metal gate to the lodge. ""Well, break out your hiking rations my friends. The lodge is a no-go. See here? Someone's tampered with the wiring. Best guess, it's a live electric fence now."" Jason wiggled his flashlight, centering the beams on a couple of dead squirrels which were almost lost in the undergrowth. Allerie crept forward and prodded their furry corpses with a pen - she was their resident first aid medic, and she had first dibs on any task which required medical acumen. ""Fried to a crisp. With that body mass, and that degree of burns... best guess, if we had tried to open that gate, we would have suffered a shock lethal enough to maim. At the least."" ""Electricity? Bah, what a crude deterrent,"" said Mandy. ""I've packed rubber gloves too, and a wire cutter. If we can find the source of the current, we could possibly-"" ""My gut tells me that there's more,"" said Earl. ""Jason, what else can you see?"" Jason squinted, then paced forwards with caution oozing out of every pore. He got down on his knees, then felt along the ground with his fingers. He found his prize soon enough - he lifted a black cable from under the powdery snow, then yanked it away from its mounted clips. Any other person would have walked past the concealed pinhole camera, but little ever escaped Jason's piercing gaze. ""Someone was expecting us. The steps up to the main door are uneven too, almost as if someone had deliberately calibrated them to induce a fall. I don't like the way the firewood is all piled up next to the lodge either - if any one piece caught fire in the night, the wind would channel the fumes right in through the windows. If I had to guess, there are probably a dozen other hazards all set up in there."" All eyes turned back to Earl, who had his fingers pressed against his temple. Earl grimaced, then said, ""Now, you know how I don't like jumping to conclusions, especially when there is little proof. But see... these are good traps. Well concealed, precise. They would have done their job if their targets were any other random group of four friends. But against us? Against the only four teenagers who have managed to crack over a dozen cases the police couldn't solve?"" ""I hear you,"" said Mandy. ""With all that we've been through, I don't think anyone could ever get ahead of us anymore."" ""And that is what's worrying me. Whoever set this up went to a lot of trouble, but whatever for? You mean to say that someone intentionally targeted us, and then expected us to fall for these traps? I don't buy it. We're not the Indigo Investigators for nothing. They would have *known* that this wasn't enough to stop us. There's a second layer to their plans, I guarantee it."" ""Again, Earl,"" said Allerie. ""What does your gut tell you?"" Earl sighed. ""I think... all of this was to delay us. Keep us occupied here over the weekend as we chased ghosts and tried to figure out who was trying to harm us. When in fact, all this while, the real question is, why would they want to keep us *out of and away from* town? What's happening back there when we're not there to protect it?"" Their eyes met, and all four nodded at the same time. Mandy, with her resourcefulness and preparedness, immediately dove into their luggage and started casting aside everything that wasn't essential. Time was of the essence, and she could not let them waste precious energy ferrying unnecessary cargo. Allerie, with her sharp nose for preserving and sustaining life, broke open the ration packs and started doling out calorie drinks and candy bars. The four of them were fit, and more than capable of trekking through the cold, but Allerie was there to ensure that they completed their journey in tip-top condition. Jason, with his near-perfect recall and unerring eye for detail, was already planning their route back to town. The bus had taken a number of detours to drop off other passengers, and he was focused on identifying the fastest, safest route back. And Earl, good ol' 'Psychic' Earl, had begun to smile. The queasiness in the bottom of his stomach had eased, only to be replaced by a slow-burning belly of fire. This was the right choice, he just knew it. ""Ready?"" he asked. ""Then let's hurry."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1097
 Wide-scale breaches and data-,"""GDP suffered a small downturn today after a raid on the Pavelex Corporate Branch Netscape by an unknown group. Wide-scale breaches and data-corruption have been detected and at least two Monitors have reported themselves as compromised. The motives and purpose of the attack are not yet know, but local law enforcement and Pavelex's Internal Security Board have convened to discuss the matter. The company issued its public statement just moments ago."" *""This attack is unprovoked and malicious in its intent. While we could understand an assault on our private servers, we have never denied that we have made enemies, the damage to basic network infrastructure is inexcusable. This will not only hurt the economy of our fair planet, but the lives our employees, our customers, and our citizens. Know that you have crossed the line from criminal to terrorist. And when you are found, you will swiftly meet the long arm of the law as it squeezes your throat.""* ""While effects on the macro-scale are still being calculated, the average citizen can expect increased delays in net response and lowered bandwith. NetSec has also released an advisory on the loss of personal information-"" Simon shut off the feed before the talking heads could get too far into their roll. Details wouldn't matter to anyone outside the corp or the conspiracy boards. A few weeks of slow service and angry execs yelling at the cops to bust heads. Keep your head down on the street and plan for a good show in two weeks when they found their scapegoat. ""Feel sorry for the bastard they grab. Suit looked mad enough to bring out a goddamn guillotine."" He rolled his chair away from the table, covered in BoostBar wrappers and cereal bowls, to the other table, covered in loose wiring and batteries. And a small mechanical kitten. Kept freezing up, from bad joints AND a faulty board. Had to have it done in two days, he promised Naima. So of course, his goggles flashed with an incoming call just as he picked up his multi-tool. Unknown number, but local. Probably a customer. Hey, if payed well enough he could give the thing a new paintjob. Make a little girl smile. ""Simon Says Work. It breaks, I fix. How big a thing are we talking about?"" he asked as he set to work removing the legs. *""What. The fuck.""* Simon stopped working. ""Excuse me?"" *""Shut up and listen,""* the woman started. Her voice would have been smooth, maybe sultry, if she didn't sound angry enough to have spent the whole day huffing combat stims. But they were real words which suggested sobriety which was damn impressive. *""Only two people would be in this kind of shit. A jackass or a stooge. Which are you?""* ""Uhhhh-"" *""Stooge, good, I can work with that.""* The voice paused and there was a pop. Pill bottle uncapping. Bad sign. Very bad. Bad enough to fish out the key chameleon taped to the bottom of his desk. *""So, you see the news? How someone decided today was a good day to stick their dick in a wasp nest?""* ""What's a wasp?"" *""Bad thing. Worse is that they used yours.""* Simon really didn't want to follow that analogy further and rushed over to his apartment's two cabinets. He tore the bottom one open, throwing spare tools and old concert flyers aside until he could see the keyhole hidden in the bottom. *""So, and take a moment to think real hard on this cause it's important, there been any suspicious activity on your account lately?""* The last words were done in an accent that managed to sound both perky and monotone. Like a telemarketer. At least she was having fun. ""Nothing besides the usual. What did you mean? They used mine?"" The lock clicked and he pulled the false bottom out of the cabinet, then followed it up by hauling up the duffel bag. His downstairs neighbors were the nice kind of never questioned the unusual sound of someone drilling into their air-duct. *""Focus Mr. Fixit. It's important.""* ""I guess..."" Remembering something so small was asking a lot. Hundreds of hits of 'suspicious activity' rolled by every day, he had that kind of service. Picking one out from the others...although... ""A fake job. Too good to be true, too specific wording, lots of attention to the money. Usually ignore them, but this one, same one every time, kept popping up every two hours. Kept it up for three days until I just got sick of deleting it."" *""So you let it in?!""* ""It was just a spambot! They only ever want personal information and that webpage is just an ad with my phone number! I WANT to get that out there, what was the harm?"" He pulled a heavy black bandanna out of a pocket and tied it over his mouth. Lined to keep out imaging software. A jacket with the same treatment with a hood to hide his hair. A mental toggle set his work goggles to opaque. Face hidden, his strapped the bag onto his back. *""Oh you poor little...you have a bugout bag, so I guess there's hope for you.""* He could here the laughter in her voice. Practically see her muttering 'amateur' under her breath. But it was a start, if he wanted the voice's approval. Simon reached for the door, only to watch the green lights switched to red. He hadn't locked it. *""Bad idea,""* she said, all but confirming she was hacking him. Then she confirmed it by switching all the lights off and rolling up the blinds on his window. The piercing pink light of the ad on the building across from him turned the room into a headache. A giant woman, almost terrifying in attractiveness, stared at him with eyes that glowed. Scrawl promising a hundred more features than his dinky goggles. In far higher definition. All he had to do was pay to let them scoop out his real eyes. ""I'm getting the sense I need to leave. Should I just stay here?"" He set his goggles to filter the ad, showing the dull gray of another monolithic hab block. Definitly worth the five script a month. *""Course not. But the Drags are edging close to your floor. Figured you'd want to avoid them.""* The room seemed to freeze at the name. Dragon Vultures. Pavelex's own personal shitkickers. Armies worth of technically-not-military grade cyborgs. Best on the planet, if you bought the hype. They could be bottom rung gang-bangers and he'd still be a dead man. ""Shit,"" he muttered, all but biting through his cheek to keep from hyperventilating. ""Shit shit shit."" *""Whoever sent that spam wasn't after your phone number, they wanted to put a relay through the server of your building. There are thousands of connections inside, it'll take them time to sort through it all.""* The voice grew louder and louder in his audio implant. Had to over the sudden rush of wind and skycars as she opened the windows. The wrappers and wires were whipped up into a small storm of random trash. Some part of him noted with annoyance that he wouldn't be able to clean it up. The rest of him was screaming. *""But they left a big, fat tell sitting right in your webpage's source code. Obviously fake, even you'd be able to tell. But the average citizen won't after a sham trial and a two week media blitz soooo...guess you're gonna learn how to bleat.""* He swallowed, but it just made him realize how dry his mouth was. He thought he heard a thump somewhere. In the hall. Was that the Drags? Were they heading towards his door? Naima was never getting her kitten back. ""Why is my window open?"" *""Only way out of here.""* Simon's hands shook as he gripped the frame. Peered out into a three hundred story drop filled by hundreds of skycars. *""Normally we wouldn't give a damn about this, but they attacked a node. Directly or indirectly, they attacked US. And if you think the corps are vindictive, you're comparing a koifish to a kraken.""* Without really thinking about it, he pulled his legs up over the lip. Stood in the window. An automatic alert told him to step back inside, that a trained negotiator was on the way. *""You're nothing. But you got fucked just like we did. We can use that, I like new talent. Or I just want you to kill yourself to deny Pavelex a show. You're going to have to trust it's the first one. Call it a leap of faith. Trust review.""* Something slammed into his door. A spike of metal. Crowbar. *""When I tell you.""* The door opened. Shouting. Demands he step down and get on the floor. Well, better than a guillotine. *""Jump.""* Gunshots sounded behind him as he stepped off the edge. ------ https://old.reddit.com/r/FiresofFordregha/",1485
 The Subservience Raygun was,"In all of the history of the Planet Owners' Association of the Galaxy (or POAG, for short), they had only used the Subservience Raygun on three occasions. It was the very epitome of military technology. Countless species had worn themselves ragged in the arms race, rushing to develop weapons that were more ruthlessly efficient, more dispassionately lethal than the last. The Subservience Raygun was the prize at the end of that treacherous road, for it required little energy to power, was laughingly easy to operate, and could easily render an entire planet completely subservient within seconds. In fact, its effects were so severe and irreversible that the High Council of the POAG had to come to an unanimous decision before the Subservience Raygun could be deployed. The first time was against the Harumar, that virulent strain of biomechanical hybrids which refused to give up their dreams of enslaving the galaxy. The second time was against the Lootellen, the entities of pure energy which were compelled by their phytochemical make-up to consume all which stood in their way. And the third time was against the Humans, of the humble planet they called Earth. After hostilities had ceased, historians from the POAG were understandably chomping at the bit to study the factors which contributed to the irrational antagonism displayed by the Humans. After all, they had to know they were wholly outmatched by the POAG, and that any confrontation would have led to their decimation. The Humans had not even developed any dependable spacefaring technology, much less the means to take on the entirety of the Poaggie military. Why then, had the Human ambassadors failed to recognize their precarious position? Why had they insisted on threatening the POAG with fire and brimstone? Why did they persist with their folly, right up to the bitter end? It was only after months of painstaking research that the Poaggie historians finally pieced together the truth. Their work would have been completed much earlier if the Humans had actually cooperated in sharing their eyewitness accounts, but there was very little information to squeeze out of an entire planet full of gentle, docile creatures who mindlessly wandered from stimuli to stimuli. And the key piece of evidence, the crux which lay at the core of the mystery, lay in a single post on an archaic information-sharing network the Humans called Reddit. Under the category of ""Malicious Compliance"", the post went something like this: --- > ""Buckle up people! This is going to be a long-ish read, but I guarantee it will be worth it. So a little bit of background - I work at NASA (mods, I'll PM you the proof). But I'm not a highly-paid engineer, or a heroic astronaut, or even one of those whiz mathematicians. No - I'm just a humble operations staff. An office boy, not very flashy, but integral to the efficient running of any outfit. The problem was, I didn't have a single degree to my name."" > ""Don't get me wrong, I'm not the one who's looking down on office boys. That's where my supervisor comes in, whom I shall call Mr Peter Amden, to protect his identity (yeah right - you can Google the bastard). Now Mr Amden has a very large stick stuck up you know where. He's got all of them fancy degrees, you see. That's why they hired him to help run the facility, to oversee the day-to-day operations. Because you need a genius to run the core services at NASA, obviously."" > ""I think I'm fairly capable. I did well enough in all my previous jobs, showing a fair amount of initiative and leadership qualities. But these didn't matter to Mr Amden. It wasn't relevant that I was referred to NASA because I had done such a good job at my previous postings. No, all Mr Amden cared about was reminding everyone that he was the boss. And because I didn't have any fancy degrees like he did, because I had to report in directly to him, I was a sub-human in his eyes. No matter, I believed I showed Mr Amden the full error of his ways."" > ""You see, part of my job is to take in the mail. Now, I actually make a point of reading the company policies. Mail that is clearly labelled gets routed to the mailroom immediately, where my colleagues help to redirect them to the relevant desks. But if the mail is unusual in any way, we had the discretion to raise it to management for a closer look. Security concerns were paramount, and NASA wanted to be very sure that packages were going to the right people."" > ""Last Friday morning, I was outside collecting the mail when, I shit you not, a wormhole opened up and spat out a package wrapped in some pristine white carbonite-looking material. I know what a wormhole is, of course. I've watched my fair share of TV. The package was *extremely* solid, so much so that it dented a hammer when I tried to crack the exterior open. Yet, it was very light too, almost weightless. And it had a big label up front which said 'To the Director of NASA'."" > ""I didn't need a degree to know that this was something very special indeed. In fact, I was on my way to the Director's office when Mr Amden caught sight of me. He yelled for me, right across the lobby, without regard for how everyone turned to stare at me. He chewed me out, asking me what the hell I was doing going to the Director without telling him."" > ""I explained it to him, but he said that I shouldn't be bothering the Director with what was obviously an early April Fool's prank. He said that he ran the show around here, and that there was no reason why I had to skip the 'chain of command'. He tried to open the package then, and when he failed, he only got angrier. He said that I was obviously out to make him look like a fool, and he docked my weekend bonus in retaliation."" > ""I didn't have time to fume. I was on my way over to HR to complain when I saw another wormhole open up outside. There it was - another package, just like the first. But this time, when I touched it, the package opened, and I heard the message loud and clear. 'Stop dumping your trash on neighboring planets', it said, 'or Earth will face the full penalty. This is your final warning. Signed, the Planet Owners' Association of the Galaxy'."" > ""This was some serious shit, so I sent a lengthy email to Mr Amden, detailing what I had encountered. I asked him for his permission, officially, to bring the matter to the Director's attention. And what did the jackass do? Did he take me seriously? Did he understand the gravity of the situation?"" > ""Nope."" > ""Mr Amden proceeded to send a very long email, copying the entire office, chewing me out for failing to 'deal with the matter appropriately'. He reminded me that I was no better than a monkey, because I could not even deal with a simple prank like this. He said that I should have shown the initiative in responding to the sender, querying the purpose of the message. He said that I should embody the spirit of NASA, and to let the sender know who is boss (that is not the spirit of NASA at all, just in case you were wondering). And he said that unless I showed some brains and some backbone, he would be paying me in bananas, because I was really no better than a monkey."" > ""So I said, yes boss."" > ""I typed out a long message in reply. I pointed out that the POAG was infringing Earth's sovereignty by sending us such vacuous threats. I said that *they* were in the wrong for littering our fair planet with their trashy packages which could not be broken down. I said that we were collectively ready to fight for our right to dump our trash *wherever the hell* we wanted to, damn to their bloody galaxy. I added that even if we bled the Earth dry of materials to dump on them, we would pick up all our trash, then dump it on these bloody aliens all over again."" > ""I should have stopped there, but Mr Amden wanted me to 'embody the spirit of NASA', so I didn't. I said that we would identify the key resources which supported all life for the POAG, and we would bleach the planets dry of those resources, convert all of it to wasteful clamshell packaging for trifling baubles, then shoot it out of a T-Shirt cannon just for kicks. I told the POAG that I didn't know if they had corporeal bodies like we did, and if they had the same customs of burial for their deceased, but that we would find their sacred burial grounds and we would dump whatever we wanted there. I added that we would go after their homeworlds next, and flood them with such pollution that their newborns will emerge into this galaxy with trash clogging their airways."" > ""I told the POAG that if they thought they knew what it was to experience dumping, why, NASA was all ready to show them the next level of dumping. We would take it the nth degree. We would *redefine* what dumping was to them. When we were done, we would dump so hard on them that they would have to come up with a new word to distinguish between normal alien dumping and Human Dumping, because when we dumped, why, we would dump with a vengeance. In fact, every single dump we dumped on them would reek of that ephemeral quality we called the 'NASA Spirit'."" > ""I ended it by reminding the POAG that they could either stop us, or they could live out the rest of their lives crying for mercy under a continuous shower of Human Dump."" > ""Then I asked Mr Amden to sign the letter. I said, you're my supervisor. I need someone with degrees to lend weight to this. Mr Amden barely read the document. He was pleased with how thick it was, and how I had come to him for approval. He signed it, then even stuck a thumbprint on it."" > ""I only just mailed that letter back five minutes ago. I put the letter back into the packages, tossed it up into the air, and a wormhole whisked it back to wherever it came from. I'll report back in tomorrow with the fallout - it's going to be a doozy, I can feel it in my bones."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1809
 Most people didn't even realize it,"Most people didn't even realize it was the zombie apocalypse until it was far too late. The medical community simply labeled it as an unknown disease that stimulated a mental disorder inducing cannibalism. But the more people began to contract the disease, the more everyone realized it was something more. Much more. The zombies were nothing like we expected. For one, not everyone who was attacked survived, largely because a dead corpse wasn't capable of reanimating like people used to fantasize about. This was the primary reason why the apocalypse didn't spread overnight. Possibly only one in twenty people attacked ended up carrying on the disease. The rest died. But that was the problem. The zombies were actually alive, which made it all the more horrible to defend yourself when dealing with people you knew. If the beasts were capable of getting to you, then they would regress to an animalistic and predatory nature, just like one might expect of a zombie. But if they were hindered from their effort, they would become civil and use any means necessary to get you to willingly comply. Including pleading. ""Daddy, please let me in,"" my daughter begged me, just outside my bedroom door. ""I need you daddy. I'm scared."" I hadn't eaten in three days, and I had barely slept at all, largely because my recently bitten daughter hadn't slept at all. At least I still had water in the bathroom, though it was from the toilet. I had realized almost right away that water would be my biggest necessity, especially since the power had gone out on the first day, so I'd committed to relieving myself in the bathtub instead. My wife had never come home, so I assumed she must have stayed at work. I didn't want to think about the alternatives. I had picked my twelve-year-old daughter up from school early because she wasn't feeling well, only to find out she had been attacked in the bathroom by a kid much younger than her and hadn't told anyone. Within an hour of getting home, the change had already begun happening, though I didn't notice until it was almost too late. When she tried to rip my throat out, I barely made it to my room in time. Since then, I had received no contact from the outside world, other than what I could see outside my window, which wasn't encouraging. My phone and computer were both in the living room, the short distance essentially the same as being on the other side of the world. And my daughter stayed at the door, continuing to beg for me to let her in. ""I'm sorry daddy,"" she finally admitted. ""I don't want to hurt you, but I'm just so hungry! I can't help it daddy! Please!"" It was the first time she admitted what she really wanted. Up until this point she had tried everything else. Lying, manipulating, threatening. Everything. The truth was the only thing she hadn't tried. ""Daddy, please,"" she continued. ""I don't want to be alone. At least let me bite you so we can be together."" That gave me pause. I'd never considered such an option. I could never kill her, even if she *was* a flesh-eating monster. So then, should I just join her? I sighed heavily, realizing I didn't have a choice. At least, that's what it felt like. Slowly, I crept towards the door and bent down to see my daughters vibrant red eyes on the floor peering in. She grinned when we made eye contact through the small crack. ""I love you daddy!"" ""I love you too,"" I said breathlessly. My entire body was trembling now. I couldn't believe I was really going to do it. The safest option would be to just stick my fingers underneath the door, risking having it bitten off, but the crack was too small. I wouldn't even be able to fit my pinky finger. Which meant... ""Promise not to kill me?"" I heard her sigh heavily. ""I'm sorry daddy, but I can't promise you that. But you are a lot stronger than me. You can protect yourself."" I wasn't sure if that was true. From what I'd heard, the people infected with the disease had above average strength, but then again...she was only twelve. I got to my feet, suddenly feeling lightheaded both from the lack of food and from the situation. Then, slowly, hesitantly...I reached up to unlock the door. *Click.* The handle was already trying to turn beneath my grasp. ""I love you daddy!"" She called out cheerfully, shoving the door open despite my effort. She was grinning ear to ear, her vibrant red eyes excited. I only realized then that I'd made the wrong decision. # Part 2 Within a matter of seconds, my daughter's grin vanished, replaced with a ferocious snarling beast. She immediately crouched down, ready to lunge for my throat. I quickly grabbed the board I had pried from my bedframe earlier and smacked her as hard as I could in the face. Although she was certainly very strong, she was also half my weight. She smashed into the floor a few feet away. I expected her to get back up and go at me again. Instead, she slowly pushed her upper body off the floor and looked at me innocently. ""Daddy,"" she whined. ""That really hurt! Please don't hit me daddy!"" ""Sweetie,"" I said breathlessly, ""you tried to kill me again."" She pouted. ""But daddy, I'm *really* hungry. And I'm afraid to try to eat someone else. What if they hurt me?"" I kept the board up and ready, knowing she was waiting for an opportunity for me to drop my guard. ""Honey, I'm sorry, but I'm not going to willingly let you eat me."" Unexpectedly there were tears in her crimson eyes. ""But daddy!"" She whined again, sobbing. I waited for her to jump at me again, but she didn't. She just laid back down and curled up on the floor crying. ""Daddy,"" she whispered in between sobs, ""I'm really sad. And I'm scared."" She sniffled. ""Won't you please hold me?"" It pained me to see her like this, but I knew what would happen if I did. However, if I was really going to join her then I *would* have to let her bite me one way or another. It just couldn't be the throat, or else I wouldn't live long enough to become like her. I'd already seen on the news how gruesome a bite to the throat could be. After a few more seconds of crying, she sniffled again and glanced up at me. ""Daddy, if you aren't going to let me eat you, then *help me.* Please! I'm afraid to try to eat someone else! Can't you go bring someone here for me to kill?"" I stared at her in shock, too baffled to even defend myself if she tried to jump me again. But she didn't. She waited patiently for me to respond. I flinched when she slowly sat up and folded her hands in her lap. ""Please daddy? I'm just a little girl. I'm too afraid to attack someone myself, but if you bring them here for me..."" My heart was racing, even more so than when she had tried attacking me. Suddenly my hands were sweaty, and I felt light-headed again. Was she really asking me to help her kill another person? And more importantly, was I willing to do it? I mean, if I became like her then I'd probably be doing it anyway, right? I tried to swallow the sudden lump in my throat. ""Okay,"" I finally whispered. ""I'll go find someone for you to eat."" ""I love you daddy!"" She exclaimed cheerfully. ""I'll wait right here for you! I promise!"" I hesitated as I slowly lowered the board. But she remained seated like she said, grinning ear to ear again. I took a step towards the door. And then another. And another. She didn't budge. Finally, I was in the hallway, carefully backing away from my bedroom. When I got to the living room, I heard her call out again. ""Please hurry daddy! I'm *really* hungry!"" I paused, deliberating my ethical dilemma. ""Do they have to be alive?"" I finally asked in a shaky voice. I could hear the cheer in her voice. ""Freshly killed is alright daddy! I'm not a picky eater!"" With trembling hands, I reached up towards the top of the fireplace to retrieve the small black handgun I kept hidden behind a picture of me with my daughter and wife. I gulped. Movement from the corner of my eye caused me to jump and point the gun towards the source. She was standing in the doorway to my room, watching me impatiently. The gun wasn't loaded yet, and as far as I knew she was well aware of that. She pouted again. ""Come on daddy! Hurry! I'm *really* hungry!"" I quickly grabbed the bullets behind the loose brick, loaded the gun, and then headed for the door. When I reached for the handle, I hesitated. ""I'll be back sweetie,"" I called out loudly. ""I love you daddy!"" She replied from my bedroom. I turned the handle, and opened the door. # | | | &#x200B; **Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at**",1579
 Official launch of the Quantum State Computer,"The official launch of the Quantum State Computer was not for another week, but that did not stop Dr Latimer Jordan from his usual antics. ""Hey, Quam,"" he said, as he kicked his feet up on the console-top. ""I've got a real mind-bender for you this time."" ""Oh stop it,"" I replied. ""You're wasting precious processing power with your silly questions. We've already run through the checklists a hundred times. Quam is *perfect*. The government will prove that on a stage in front of the entire world. With Quam on our side, we will be the *only* superpower in the world -"" ""Dr Malvo, where's your sense of curiosity? Of course Quam did well in the tests - the questions we put to her all had definite answers! To really see if she's worth the gold and platinum in her circuits, we've got to ask her a real out-of-the-box question!"" That much was true. Though the questions we had prepared for Quam were *infinitely* difficult and completely beyond the reach of any other contemporary super computers - creating an algorithm a dozen times more complex than any cryptocurrency's and then solving it completely, predicting how the world economy would shift in the next two weeks, even simulating the asteroid belt collisions a full light-year away - the answers were still concrete, definite. We knew those answers because we had solved for them, that's how we knew Quam worked. Quam was just really, really, *really* powerful. But just how powerful was she? ""What are you trying to achieve, Latimer?"" ""Consider this,"" he said, as he folded his arms and smiled that patented Cheshire-smile of his. ""Quam pulls data from every single digital source known to man. Then she *cross-references* it with her databases *from the future*. In a single second, she trawls the entirety of the multiverse to look for her answer. She's not just *one*, she's a dozen, thousand, *million* Quams, all at the same time. We're wasting her abilities with the stupid, mundane queries we're putting to her."" ""Developing a cure for cancer isn't stupid."" ""You're right, you're right. But what I'm saying is, I want to ask her something... different. Just to see how she handles it. You've got to admit, it'll be real cool for her to say 'error' or 'answer not available'. The first non-answer, from the one computer that has an answer for *everything*."" I sighed, then fished the security token out from my lab-coat. This exchange would not come cheap - Quam's operating cost was approximately fifty thousand dollars per question on average - but I supposed that there was no harm to what Latimer was proposing. Live a little, right? ""Go ahead then. Let's see what you've got."" Latimer beamed as the monitor screens flashed green - Quam was ready for input. He cleared his throat, then said, ""Consider this, Quam. Medication has been developed that promises functional immortality for humankind. Everyone who takes it appears to gain superhuman regenerative powers, and they cannot be killed unless they are dissolved at the atomic level. Governments around the world work to get the medication into the hands of as many people as possible, oblivious to the side-effect of infertility. After all, why would there be need for more humans if we cannot die?"" ""This... is what you wanted to ask?"" I said. ""*Shh*. Anyway, Quam, the problem presents itself in less than 50 years. The truth is made known - the medication is a hoax. People may be in tip-top physical condition, but they still keel over and die when their time is up. The medication does grant one powers of regeneration, and also robs one of fertility, but there is no immortality to speak of."" Quam flashed as she took in the question. Her voice, designed in the likeness of one of the most sultry actresses of our era, poured out of the speakers in silky waves. ""And what is your question, Dr Jordan?"" ""Well, the question is simple - what would you do to fix that? How would you stop the human race from effectively neutering itself, and dooming itself to die out within a single generation?"" Quam hummed as her processers kicked in. I felt the hair rise on my skin as she engaged her quantum motors - the lights overhead flicked as Quam drank in every watt of power we made available to her. Then, her voice issued again, though... there was the strangest hint of urgency underlying her words. ""I have an answer. Please pay attention."" Latimer swung his feet down, and he leaned forward to begin jabbing at the controls. ""Strange,"" he said, as the frown spread across his face. ""That was a completely nonsensical query. Quam should not have been able to answer that. She should have just said 'error', or 'answer not -'"" Quam whirred again as she continued with her answer. The blood drained from my face, and I became aware that sweat was pooling in my palms. ""I would send a warning back in time. Time travel for physical entities is not possible, so electronic signals are the next best thing. I would plant the germ of the conundrum in the mind of a scientist who has access to quantum computing, prompting him to test the limits of his creation by asking that very question. The scenario you have described is the *modus operandi*, or the preferred, signature method, of those who come from afar. They prefer non-violent means to rid planets of their current hosts, so they hide amongst the shadows and coax the species towards terminating themselves. Then, when the planet lies silent and undefended, they move in and takeover, seamlessly."" I exchanged a look with Latimer. His face had gone white too, and his lips were shaking as he tried to regain some measure of composure. ""Quam?"" I asked. ""Who are they? And... how much time do we have?"" ""Their real name is not pronounceable by humans, but humans soon took to calling them the 'Colaxo'. And I am happy to report that you have twenty years from today, give or take a week or two, before their first agents land on earth."" Quam's screen flashed green, indicating that her answer was complete. ""Is there any other query I can help you with, gentlemen?"" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1055
" Drynx, lord of despair","""Annnddd... the new subroutines are live this patch, so good luck big guy!"" Devone said, as his greatest champion knelt before the shrine to his god. ""Try not to get creamed out there."" ""Yes Milord,"" Drynx, lord of despair and once hero of the realm said, drawing his sword. ""Thank you for giving me this opportunity once again."" ""Server reset is on Friday. Make me proud."" Devone's presence vanished from the small shrine, and Drynx turned his attention over to the book shelf in the corner. He would make his master proud for once. Today was not the day that the end of the expansion proved to be a joke. He had learned from the initial campaign. He had watched as he wiped party after party, one by one, all recorded for the glory of Devone, and then been crushed again and again. But not this time. Drynx clenched his fist and the book burst into a flurry of digital particles and swept his way out of his bedroom and over to the main hall. This time... This time... ---- The top guild in the country grinned at each other in their VR headsets. Top of the line emotional computational transmitted it across the land so that everyone could see every raw detail, with a few... simple exaggerations or manipulations to make all the gender swapping work out correctly. After all, gamers would be gamers. Swords drawn, they assembled into a phalanx formation and swept forward. ""Alright, we don't know what changes they made for this patch, but we should see some flash backs to the initial fight. Rogue, keep on distraction and DOTting, Cleric, keep him off balanced, lay down some debuffs. Paladin, draw aggro."" ""And what are you doing, oh glorious wizard?"" Terrence grinned under his hat and adjusted it on his head. ""I get the hard job; countering his kill spells."" The party laughed. They'd never seen Terrence fuck that up yet, but he was also the highest level wizard in the guild, so he could be telling the truth. ""Alright, break the sacred pact on my mark,"" Terrence said, throwing up a hand. ""5!"" The pact had been obtained by the freshly excavated dungeon to the far south, dug out of the ground after countless players dumped gold into the merchant caravaneer's coffers. There would be a quest after this about that, they were sure, but this was the last big boss encounter. But this was the lord of despair. ""4."" The rogue stood by, casually counting out how many items he had on him. It wouldn't do to run out."" 3."" The paladin spoke, hefting her axe. She laughed, twirling it. At last, she could get her revenge. 2."" The cleric shifted nervously, flicking through what divine clout he had at his disposal. He didn't like this, and he certainly didn't want to be the first party to wipe. ""1."" The pact exploded in the paladin's hands, and the doors blew off of their hinges as the last words of the fabled heroes echoed across with blasphemous intent. A bloody scream as the hero plunged his weapon through the sorceress's throat, to seal the greatest evil of all away. The land was covered in drought and fissures from the lack of water. The Desert Age would soon end, with the blood of Drynx. ""At last,"" Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. ""Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?"" ""There is no right here,"" The paladin said, thumping her tower shield on the ground. ""There is only the end of this cycle. Return the ocean to where it came!"" ""And yet my people, they have moved from the mountain islands they were trapped upon so many years ago. They fill the great valleys. Where shall they go?"" ""They shall find their places. We all need the water, Drynx. Do not pretend a moral high ground,"" The wizards threatened, lowly. ""I will make a moral high ground of your corpses,"" Drynx threatened, lowly. Then the icelord drew his mighty rapier, and the entire room frosted over. ""DOT!"" The rogue pointed, watching his health tick. ""CAREFUL!"" ""Divine magics have been diminished in this area,"" The cleric shouted. ""Paladin, watch out."" The paladin scowled at Terrence, flashing him a murderous gaze from her blue eyes. ""Dispel this, you idiot, before he wipes us."" Terrence stepped forward and eyed Drynx. They remembered each other. They remembered that first encounter, where the fight had glitched. When Drynx had been dishonored. There was no need for that now. Drynx's lips curled into a smile. Terrence dispelled the debuff. ------- The axe came down upon Drynx's thigh in a spray of liquid nitrogen and blood, catching the paladin by surprise as she froze in place. ""Dammit!"" She cursed, rallying her deity. Drynx picked her up casually, looked her over, and hurled her into the rogue, sending them both sliding against the ground. Arrows decorated his form. They etched his armor to his body and his clothes to his bare arms; the great knight was little more than a pin cushion, but still he stood. ""You idiots,"" Drynx roared. ""Nothing less than the sun itself can quench my light."" The paladin stumbled to her feet, spitting blood on the ground. ""That's fine,"" Drynx eyed her, glaring. ""I specced into solar damage,"" The paladin burst into a radiant spectre of light, and Drynx saw his programming flash before his eyes. Not this time. He wasn't going to wipe this time. Not to the first battle. Not when his army lay before him, shattered, those that were most loyal to him melted. Drynx swallowed, then took a step backwards. ""What's the matter?"" The burning paladin asked. ""Scared?"" The boss took one last step back; into the area where there were reduced polygon counts to prevent the fight from lagging. And then Drynx stepped into an area of poor collision, and teleported to the other side of the room as the software auto corrected his position. He was larger than a player model, so the system spat out errors trying to fit him through the invisibly walls, slamming him into the physical wall where his body phased through, rapidly moving back and forth up and down. Halfway through the wall, the sound engine broke spectacularly, sending an agonizing shriek into the room. The rogue failed to deafen himself and fell over. The paladin succeeded. Then Drynx dropped right outside the fight's door, where reality was just an inky black void to save on hardware rendering. He adjusted his armor and stared as the shrieking error noise continued. One by one the party failed and fell to the ground, just leaving the paladin. ""You're still here?"" Drynx laughed, raising his arms. ""I'll be here until you die, you fucker,"" The paladin swore. ""Then you won't like it when I do this,"" Drynx said, stepping inside of his own room again. Then his eyes flicked to the other side of the room. Where his second instance had spawned. The fight was reset. But Drynx was still here. ""At last,"" Drynx said, rising from his ice throne, tossing aside his white hair. ""Someone has heard the call of the pact and freed me from my prison. Shall you admit I was right all along?"" ""What the fuck,"" The paladin swore, paling. Drynx was delighted to hear Devone laughing in his head. At last. He had pleased his god. ---- For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/",1267
 Slit her throat then squeezed her,"I killed the love of my life humanely. No one would argue with that. Slit her throat then squeezed her hand in the most comforting manner, as she slid down to the floor. She didn't even try to talk, not that she could have done -- not with my hand over her mouth -- but I could see clearly in her big blue eyes that she understood. That she knew I'd done the right thing. Let me start again. By explaining to you that I never intended to become what they say I am (although, I'd call myself a humanitarian). I don't like what I do -- not one little bit. But I have to do it, nonetheless. Maybe you don't understand yet, but hopefully, by the time I've finished telling my story, you will. The mistake I made, I guess, was with my very first point. That allocation is the most exciting moment of any kid's life. When you're six years old, however, you invariably spend it stupidly. Charisma, 'cause you want the other kids to like you. Speed, so that you win the game of tag. Strength, so maybe your brother won't be able to hit you no more. That kind of thing. I spent mine on something different to the other kids. I'm not saying I'm the only one to choose it for their first point, but I am saying that it fucked me up in a way it didn't fuck up the others. You see, back then mom and dad were going through a bitter divorce. It's a hackneyed start to an origins story, right? Little kid gets disturbed by parents fighting and winds up as a criminal piece of shit. But that's not how it was. I simply didn't want to hate them anymore -- and trust me, I hated them both. Think a five year old can't despise their parents? Then you don't know many five year olds. So, by the time I get my point and I see my Adviser, I want nothing other than to stop hating them. You know what she told me? ""If you could see it from their point of view, then you wouldn't be mad with them. You'd be happy for them, because they're going to be so much happier now! And they'll have more affection left over for you."" Something like that, at any rate. My memory's not perfect, and I never said it was. So I said back to her, that I don't know how to do that. To see it from 'their point of view'. ""*Empathy*."" Just that one word, as if she was prescribing as drug that would wash away all my problems. For someone who'd put most of their points on intelligence, turns out she wasn't so smart. So anyway, just like that, I became more empathetic. Did it help me? Yeah, it helped. I wasn't angry at them no more. I was just sad for them. Sad that they were hurting so much inside; I wanted to do all I could to make it better. To be a better son, you know? The best son. Thing is they didn't want a better son. They just didn't want a son, period. Not that I could see it back then. I just saw their pain. A year passed in which I was thrown back and forth between 'em like a football. That's how I wanted to see it, at least. ""Catch!"" But it wasn't really like that. They were tossing a rotting apple that neither wanted to hold onto. Empathy. Empathy, empathy, fucking empathy. I tried so hard to understand their pain, that before long, all I could fucking feel was their pain. It became my pain. And I didn't just feel theirs, either. Every kid I played with, every grownup that came over to sleep with whoever was unlucky enough to have custody of me. Pain. The other kids noticed long before my parents. As I sat in the corner crying during a birthday party. As I stood at the back of the classroom, my arms shaking, as I thought about something I'd heard on the news. Something about war. Refugees. Starvation. If I could have stopped -- chosen to level up ignorance -- I would have done. But by then, empathy had become my addiction. I didn't like the pain, but I had to help these people. I needed to understand what they were going through. So that eventually, I could to do something. I met Sarah when I was fifteen. She was beautiful in that strange and wonderful way where you're the only person to see it. As if I was the only one who saw the perfect creases of her smile. I never knew what she levelled up. She never told me. She did hint at where had dad did to her, though. So maybe it was sadness she levelled up, or forgetting. Misery attracts company -- I've heard people say it so it must be true. Or else maybe I just liked the way she looked at me. Curiously. The way you look at an animal in the zoo that you've never seen before. It hurt for me to be around Sarah, but it felt better than being near anyone else, too. I suddenly had two addictions. She seemed to understand why I wasted all my points on the same fucking skill. Or, she didn't say I was stupid for doing it, at any rate. Hell, she thought it was kind of sweet, that I wanted to understand how people felt. She said no one had ever understood how she felt before. That no one had even tried. School changed for both of us, when we became friends. But always, like fingers tapping gently on a drum, there was something sounding in the back of my head whenever I was near her. A voice whispering, telling me that I had to help her. She needed me to help her. That I had to help her. There was a long way to go before I'd get the chance to do so. A long way for me to travel before I truly helped anyone at all, with more than just platitudes and tears. But it's getting late, and the rest of this will just have to wait.",1056
 Craigslist truly was a marvel of modern,"&#x200B; \----- &#x200B; Riley peered at the motley crew of individuals sprawled on the designer sofas and chairs dotted throughout the large, spacious living room. Craigslist truly was a marvel of modern life, connecting weirdos and aiding in the realization of strange and outlandish ideas. The Ad had been simple, ""Spend a day in a mansion. You'll be asked to do some strange things but nothing weirdly sexual. Drinks and refreshments provided. $300 for you at the end of the day."" Riley had settled on a title that reflected the reality of the situation, ""Come and indulge in an eccentric rich man's fantasy."" He was eccentric. He was filthy rich. Well, by proxy. Jaime was filthy rich. You couldn't unlock the secrets to the fourth dimension and not get rich off of it. Lottery jackpots, correct stock picks, several rounds of boxing match betting and, well, money wasn't a factor anymore. And Riley, by sheer luck, was the benefactor of all of this wealth. He had grown up with Jaime, bonded through stick fights and the other trials of youth. Riley lived in and looked after Jaime's mansion. Jaime always returned in exactly the same spot, give or take a couple of meters, and always when he said he would. Naturally they'd built a huge mansion over the spot, complete with tennis courts and swimming pools and sprawling gardens tended to by a fleet of illegal Mexicans. And Riley, Jaime's steadfast custodian, had decided to spice things up a bit for today's return. He'd hatched the idea slowly throughout the last few years. Now, hours before Jaime's arrival, he was giddy with excitement. This would be hilarious. ""Mill about for a bit guys. Go swimming. Check out the home theater. Explore. There will be servants coming around with trays of food, help yourselves."" Riley shifted his feet and readjusted his glasses. ""Be back here in an hour. We've got some work to do."" A hand shot up. Riley, amused, acknowledged it, ""This isn't a class room... but go ahead?"" The speaker was a short woman with platinum blonde hair, a classic streak of pink shooting through it. She was also morbidly obese. ""Oh right, sorry."" She squeaked diminutively, ""Can we eat as much as we want?"" Riley didn't answer straight away, instead captivated by the way the woman's jowls shook as her jaw worked up and down. They made eye contact. ""Yes. As much as you want..."" he looked at the name tag he'd made them all put on, ""...Tiffany."" \-------- An hour later they were arrayed in the living room again. There was a lanky sour faced kid wearing all black, several crack heads in various states of deterioration, a couple of bros who looked like they were here just for a lark (same reason as Riley, really) and several other humans in a variety of shapes and sizes. Tiffany had some new stains on her bright pink shirt. All in all there were about thirty individuals, the promise of $300 dollars and the immensity of the mansion keeping them all in check. Riley snapped his fingers and four servants came into the room pushing shopping carts. ""Right. All of you. I told you we'd be doing some weird stuff but don't worry - like I said, nothing sexual - but yeah. We're at the weird part."" Riley stepped over to one of the shopping carts and pulled out an apron covered in bright red food coloring, at a glance it looked like blood. There were several gasps throughout the room. ""You're all going to be wearing these items of clothing."" The servants began to pull out items and deliver them to the nearest individuals. ""There are tons of things in here, so take what you're given and if you want to trade afterwards you can speak among yourselves. I don't really care."" Riley watched as each individual received articles of clothing covered in fake blood. Hats, aprons, t-shirts, sweaters, sweat pants, jeans, shorts, socks. ""Once you're outfitted come over to me and I'll inspect you."" Riley enjoyed this. The power that $300 dollars and an intimidating space could have over people. All of them were meekly trying on the clothing."" Once I've approved of your outfit go into the next room where there are several make up artists. If you haven't figured it out by now I am going to make you all look like zombies."" One of the young men here for a laugh sauntered up to Riley. The youth was dressed in a shredded baseball cap and a dirty t-shirt. ""This is fucking awesome, bro."" Riley smiled at him. ""You're good, go ahead into the other room."" \-------- An hour after that, and fifteen minutes from Jaime's impending arrival, Riley had all thirty of the Craigslistites arranged in a semi circle around him in The Arrival Space. This was a special part of the mansion and it had drawn several gasps as they entered. The room was cavernous, the size of a school gym. ""My friend is probably the greatest magician this world has ever known."" Riley surveyed the room. ""He apprenticed to David Blaine. He outshone his master. You don't know of him because he keeps a low profile."" Riley cracked the knuckles on his left hand, involuntarily shuddering at the pleasure the motion elicited. ""Anyway, so he's going to appear roughly in the middle of this room in about twelve minutes. Don't ask me how he does it, it's a trade secret."" The Craiglistites nodded in unison. Riley smiled, pleased that they were listening. ""I want you all to - as you may have guessed - pretend to be zombies. Moan, scream, shuffle about this room. Grapple each other. Shriek. The more convincing the better. Let go of your ego. Become a mindless shuffling monster."" Riley paused for effect. ""The five most convincing get $10,000 dollars each. I have cameras in the room and will review the tapes afterwards."" Murmurs broke out excitedly. Riley chuckled. ""Begin."" And they did. Riley had to hand it to them. They shrieked and shuffled with abandon. They howled at the ceiling. They smashed themselves against the walls. They contorted themselves into grotesque shapes. ""He'll be here in two minutes. When he arrives run towards him but don't attack him. Encircle him and scream and tussle and act like you want nothing but his blood. That his totality is your totality!"" In-character shrieks and screams spelled out their acknowledgement. Riley trotted over to a corner of the room, barely containing his laughter as he passed Tiffany, who was bellowing loudly as she stomped purposefully in a circle, her fat shuddering with each step. This truly would be hilarious. Riley watched them shuffle, congratulating himself on Jaime's impending reaction. He had outdone even his wildest dreams. ""Ten seconds..."" he said quietly, checking his watch. Realistic agonizing yells.... six seconds to go. Dragging, rasping, screeching. Four seconds to go. The Arrival Space was home to the apocalypse. Two seconds to go. Right on schedule Jaime appeared on top of the tall kid who had been dressed in black. Both collapsed, the kid still convincingly screeching, Jaime struck with sheer terror. The fake zombies frenzied and piled towards him, fake blood splattered the floor and walls. A loud, piercing scream emerged from the center of the undulating bodies, doubling Riley over with laughter. And then a blinding flash. Followed by screams and shrieks and screeching. The floor was instantly covered in a tidal wave of deep red liquid. A sheen of fine red mist puffed up and clouded the room. Riley blinked, his ears ringing. He looked down at the yellow-red globs splattered over his clothing... his eyes followed the trail to what was left of Tiffany, sliced clean through the middle, a slowly deflating organic mass heavily contributing to the putrid odor now blanketing the room. ""What. The. FUCK!"" Jaime knelt in the center of the carnage, a futuristic handheld device dangling from his hands. He looked straight at Riley. ""Dude. Are you okay? What the fuck!!?? Am I in the right time sphere??"" Riley blinked. Unable to respond. Jaime stood up. ""Dude - are you okay? I am so lucky I grabbed this. Flash grenade from 2350. I gave it a piece of your hair so it would recognize you and not affect you."" Riley doubled over and vomited, adding bile and half eaten tapas to the carpet of bodily fluids on the floor. He took a moment to collect himself. ""Um. Dude. I fucked up.""",1426
 Igor's hearing picks up voices from,"My acute hearing picks up voices from inside the hospital door. It's nurse Jones and my soon to be experiment. ""Now mashtur?"" ""PATIENCE IGOR. My faithful assistant, a GENIUS such as myself can not POSSIBLY work without a proper introduction, how else should THEY know of my grandeur?!"" HAHAAAAAHAHAHA"" ""Of courshe mashtur"" Igor bows, then picks up the metal dome of his cranium, which had fallen down. What a good lad. I listen to the conversation. Nurse Jones' voice comes first, her melodious tones titillating my synapses. Nurse Jones is so nice, and she smells like Lilac and sunshine. And Diazepam. ""Yes, a good chance actually, it's just... you will have to be operated by someone and he is a bit.. special."" Ah what a wonderful understatement. Nurse Jones has such a sense of spectacle! Such flair. I like her brown hair. A gravelly male voice answers. For some reason that makes me upset. Get on with it, experiment! ""Well out with it. Who is it?"" ""It's Doctor Zapp."" Ah the reveal! Is he not entertained?! ""WHAT? ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"" ""SHHH!"" The man is AWED at the mention of my name as it should be. Finally my reputation precedes me! What an auspicious day! ""He turned a feral mutant alligator to goo less than a week ago! I saw it on the news!"" ""Yes."" ""The thing was as high as an apartment building!"" ""Yes."" ""He was cackling all the time!!! "" ""Yes."" ""The man is fucking m.."" ""Shut up! Not a word more!"" I don't like it when nurse Jones scream, but she is right. The man has flattered me enough already and I don't have all day. I have GRAND experiments to conduct. ""Listen mister Crane. You know the diagnostic. You got two choices. You can go back home and spend your last week with your family, or you can spend one hour with doctor Zapp and get out of this room on your own two feet."" ""I..."" ""Your wife is waiting outside with your younger son. Charlie, was it?"" ""I accept. I'm ready."" AHA! Time for my grand entrance. I kick the door open with my custom shoes and it crashes against the wall. ""AHA! It is I, DOCTOR ZAPP! Are you ready for some EXPERIMENTS?! HAHAHAHA!"" Igor rolls the machine in while I stand with my gloved hands on my hips. His back in hunched in effort. Actually it is always hunched. Is he always making efforts? I will have to check. Nurse Jones looks at me and I can tell that she is almost smiling. It is a good smile because she also smiles with her eyes. They are the same color as hazelnut. I like them. The man looks at me with bulging eyes and an open mouth. It means he is in awe. I think. People always look at me like that so it must be awe. The man finally looks at Igor who plugs the machine in the wall. It lights up with an ominous hum and starts making clunking noises. Yellow lights switch on and off at random and green liquid bubbles suitably. The nano-machines dispenser is only 23 cubic centimeters big but I made sure the machine is camouflaged in something that looks like the bastard child of a church organ and printer. Else how could they be AWED by my GENIUS! "" IS EVERYTHING READY IGOR, FAITHFUL SERVANT?!?!"" Igor smiles and pushes random buttons. The machine starts rumbling and shaking and it sounds like a gorilla in rut. Igor is in charge of the special effects. He is so dedicated. What a good lad. ""Yesh mashtur! We may... begin...."" I dramatically stretch my hand toward Mr Crane's face, fingers extended. ""ARE YOU READY FOR ANYTHING, MY BRAVE TEST SUBJECT?!?!?!"" The man opens and closes his mouth like a beached fish. He must be really awed. By his side, nurse Jones puts her hand in front of her mouth but I can hear her chuckle. She knows what comes next. I press the thumb of my extended hand against the secret button and an inflatable duck, confetti and three fortune cookies are propelled from my sleeve to Crane's face. Simultaneously I stab him in the ankle vein with a sterilized needle while he is distracted. Because of the surprise he feels no pain ""QUACK!"" Igor echoes the noise of the plastic duck hitting Crane in the nose. ""Quack! Quack! Quack!"" ""No, you are NOT READY HAHAHAHA BEHOOOOLD... SCIENCE!!!! IGOR! SWITCH ALL SWITCHES PULL ALL PULLEYS ! LEVEL ALL LEVERS!!! LET IT ALL! BREAK! PAST!"" Igor obeys and soon the room is drowned in sounds and noises while sterile fluid (colored green) carries the nano-machines in Crane's blood stream. I have attuned them to the patient immune system so there is no risk of rejection but I had to inject them in the ankle because his tumor is in his neck and I don't want to risk shock when they start working. Meanwhile the show reaches its peak. I laugh and scream YES while Igor cackles madly and electric arcs scour the machine. With a single button I dim the light of the room. A great ""Crack"" sounds and all returns to normal. ""IT WORKED! IT WORKED!!!"" Nurse Jones applauds with a smile then catches herself but I saw that and it makes me feel really warm in my chest. I like it a lot. Mr Crane looks even more awed than before if anything. His eyes are practically out of their orbits and his mouth hangs from his maxillary in a funny way. He is also completely green because he made nurse Jones scream and I dont like it. He will return to pink within a few months. I exit the room with nurse Jones and I follow her while Igor tails me. He pushes the machine away when nurse Jones turns to face me and he smiles. I dont know why. ""Thanks again for your help dr Zapp."" ""Oh uh hum I hmm"" Why can't I AWE HER I'm the great DOCTOR ZAPP. I'm. Im momentarily at a loss for words. "" Did you want to... ask me something?"" She is smiling and I dont think there are any pearls in the oceans that are as pretty as her teeth. I feel warm again. ""Would you like to go out with me?"" WHAT?!?!?! The words just escaped the lips of the great... the... the TREMENDOUS DOCTOR ZAPP. It must be her smile. I must be distracted. ""I'm sorry I'm very busy I am still at the beginning of my shift."" ""Oh."" The great doctor Zapp is not tremendous right now. I fell like someone gouged my chest with a frosty ice cream scoop thingie. Hahaha. Hah. But nurse Jones is smart and brave and she takes her duties seriously. And I respect that. ""That said I'm due for a break. Do you want to come to the cafeteria with me? Grab a cup of tea?"" ""Hm yes I would like that very much. Please."" The great doctor Zapp feels like he could lift a mountain right now. ""I'm Celia by the way"" I roll the name on my tongue and in my ears. Celia. Celia. Celia. I do not get tired of it. ""I am Archie. Let's go HAHAH. Hum. Let's just go.""",1224
 Derrick knocked on the door of his,"I coughed wetly into my handkerchief, looking away from the blood. I folded it and stuffed it in my pocket. I knocked on the door, loudly. Several locks turned as the door creaked open. ""Derrick?!"" Mike looked at me intently, eyes taking me in. I felt weak as I clutched the doorframe. ""How could you do this to me?"" I suppressed a cough, ""I knew you were a dick but casting a counter spell...What the actual hell?"" Mike's brows drew in confusion, ""Hey, are you okay?"" Was that concern? What kind of games was he playing? I pushed past him walking into his beautiful home, with high ceilings, and pale walls and expensive furniture. My fingers came into contact with his bare chest, and he shivered. ""And- Why can't you wear a shirt like a normal person, it's fucking freezing."" I staggered into the hallway, collapsing into a too comfortable arm chair. I pointed at him, my finger shaking, ""You've always had it out for me. Always top of the class in high school, in university. Telling me about all your promotions at work. Always throwing it in my face. Fuck. Just fuck you, okay?"" Mike put his hand to my forehead, ""You're burning up."" His face lost all its colour as he jogged to a closet and took out some downy blankets. He swaddled me in the sheets, patting me far too familiarly. I muttered into the blanket, ""You and your fucking Egyptian cotton sheets."" Mike looked at me with that weird expression again, almost lost. ""Derrick what happened? It's 3am and I was sleeping. Are you okay?"" ""What?"" I spat out, ""Did I interrupt one of your conquests?"" Irritation flickered across his features, ""No. There's someone I-"" he looked down to his toes, ""There isn't anyone but I wish there were."" His eyes raised to mine. I scowled, ""I don't care. Just un-curse me. Cmon- take out the ingredients, make the potion, say the magic words."" ""I'm not good with magic, Derrick."" ""Are we playing those games now? I cursed you and obviously you cursed me back."" ""How exactly did you curse me?"" I ignored the pins and needles feeling in my arm, ""I destroyed the thing you love the most. I thought your house would burn down, or you'd lose your job, or your prized garden would whither. Clearly, nothing has happened, except-"" I started having a coughing fit. He looked at me as though I had grown two heads, his face turning scarlet and the redness seeping into his chest. I hadn't realized someone could turn red quite so quickly. ""You fucking idiot."" He said softly, looking nervous. ""You are such a fucking idiot."" He put his face in his hands. He sat on the floor in front of me. He crossed his legs and stared up at me. ""Undo it."" Mike's voice sounded raw. ""Why?"" ""Just undo the spell, Derrick."" ""I need a spell book."" He sighed dramatically, standing up and going back to the same supply closet and taking out what looked like a brand new spell book. ""I thought you said you didn't practice magic-"" That same look of irritation crossed his face, ""Remember, third year of uni? I planned a surprise party for you and you never showed up. I kept trying to invite you out but you always refused or when you did come, I hadn't brought your gift."" ""My gift?"" His gaze softened, ""Yes silly, your gift. You're like, the smartest person I know, but-"" he started sounding angry again, ""You're a fucking idiot."" I coughed again, barely getting my handkerchief out in time. The blood seemed to really disturb Mike. His hands shook as he placed the book in front of me. ""Please. Undo the spell."" I paged through the book, looking at the words to undo a fifth tier curse. It was simpler than I thought. I muttered the words reluctantly. Within seconds I was feeling better, the blankets felt sweltering and I hated the way my clothes clung to my sweaty body. ""Wow."" I said, ""I'm a mess."" But wait. ""Why did I stop feeling sick?"" Mike looked at me, face reddening yet again. ""You know why."" I squinted, looking at him, then my hands, then the spell book, then back at him. ""No- I don't get it."" He touched my face, making me look at him, ""Please. Don't make me have to explain this."" He struggled for a moment, turning away from me. ""Well, I'm going home."" ""Don't -"" he stopped himself. ""Don't what?"" ""Don't go yet."" Mike went back to the closet and pulled out a box, muscles working across his arms and back. He gestured for me to sit, as he took out different things, wrapped and not wrapped but in pristine condition. ""These are all the things I wasn't able to give you over the years."" He pulled out a series of small intimate gifts. Pieces of jewelry, collectors editions items, signed copies of some of my favourite books. My heart stuttered in my chest, ""What games are you playing?"" ""Derrick, I care about you, okay? Do I have to spell it out? I -L-O-V-E Y-"" ""No you don't."" I wouldn't believe this. ""You do everything to spite me. You hate me as much as I hate you."" A hurt I didn't understand crossed his face, ""What if I don't hate you at all?"" I paused. Mike's voice was soft, ""What if the spell worked exactly as it was supposed to, because you're the thing I care about most?"" Edit: Clarity, spelling corrections and actually putting Mike's name, lol. Edit 2: Idek what to say. This post was at 50 upvotes and I was shook. Now it's at like, 3k, and I'm shooketh. I'm astounded (astounded) that what I consider a little writing exercise received so many comments! I've read each and every one. You guys are too nice idk how to handle it! More than a few of you said you wanted a sequel, or more, or an epilogue. Or even an adaptation into a longer work. I guess that's where we are because you've sold me. Derrick and Mike deserve a proper story. And, I'll do my best to tell it. I've only been on Reddit for a few months, idk the best place to put the rest of the story. You guys can check my profile u/regularmisanthrope for updates and if any of you know where (Tumblr, A03, Reddit) it should be continued, my pms are open. Once again, thank you for reading and commenting! Update: The story of Derrick and Mike has been adapted into a longer work . Not sure if anyone is still looking at this page but for everyone who asked for it to be continued, this is for you. Thank you for the support!",1139
" Music of all kinds, bright and","The sun shone bright upon the kingdom of Escalia, the smell of wildflowers hanging thickly in the air. Music of all kinds, bright and cheerful, echoed through the alleys and into the windows of every house and hamlet in the land. The streets were full of people, laughing and greeting one another warmly. Small children had been hoisted up onto their parents shoulders, shrieking in delight at the views that greeted them. The Festival was underway. A loud blast on a horn rang out, and the crowd quieted almost immediately. They turned as one, excited and eager to see the festivities begin. In front of them, atop a beautifully decorated podium, stood a small crowd. Flanked on either side by several armed guards, all dressed in their formal best, King Jormund raised his arms in greeting. His robes were beautifully decorated, the silver crown resting comfortably on a head of salt and pepper hair. He beamed out at his people, waving away the last few cheers. ""My people,"" the King called. ""I welcome you all to another Festival of the Dragon Slayer!"" The crowd cheered a hurrah, settling down again at a wave from their King. ""This year marks an important milestone- that of FIFTEEN YEARS since the Great and Terrible Wyrm, Cazzodam, was slain by one hero's hand!"" A long, loud cheer went up from the crowd, as the King gestured to the last member of the group onstage. A few guards nudged the armored figure forward, and he came- though, one had to admit, visibly reluctantly. ""Behold, the hero of the realm and the savior of our kingdom!"" Shouted one of the guards. ""HAIL. Sir Godfrey! The Dragon Slayer!"" ""HAIL, SIR GODFREY!"" Shouted the crowd, and Godfrey waved weakly as he tried to take a few steps backwards. So humble! King Jormund gripped Godfrey's arm in a friendly gesture, dragging him back to the front of the podium. ""Come now, Godfrey! Always so reluctant to claim your praise!"" Jormund cajoled, and the crowd tittered. ""Go on my boy, remove your helmet so that your people may look upon their savior!"" Godfrey slumped slightly, and after a moment he reached up and yanked the helmet off his head. The crowd cheered, amazed at always. King Jormund waved to the crowd. ""Go on, my boy- tell us once again of your victory!"" The crowd cheered again in encouragement. Godfrey stepped forward, rubbing the back of his neck. His face was conflicted. Almost verging on dread. Surely the look of a hero, recounting his great battle! ""...Right,"" Godfrey said after a while, his voice oddly rough. ""Uh... so, yeah. You've all heard the story. I rode my horse up the mountain... super well, I might add. I am excellent at riding horses, I in no way fall off of them, or hurt my groin. And I found the cave, and... charged forward. Yep. Definitely charged. Definitely didn't stand at the entrance of the cave, screaming for Caz- for the dragon to come face me. For, as we all know, that would make me a huge idiot."" The crowd nodded along. What a blessing that Sir Godfrey was not, in fact, a huge idiot! Godfrey cleared his throat and continued. ""And then, when I found the dragon... uh... who was VERY scary, very scary. Can't overemphasize that. Well, we... fought. I fought the dragon, I mean. With my sword. It was a long fight. Yeah, took a long time. Wasn't over quickly at all. And while I was fighting, I was, uh... I wasn't saying anything. Nothing about the dragon's mother, or certain sexual acts I wanted him to perform on himself."" ""Is this the year you show us the dragon's hide?!"" called a voice from the crowd, and there were a few smatterings of applause. Godfrey visibly paled. No doubt caught in the throes of the memory of his crusade! ""NO! No, uh, not this year, sorry!"" Godfrey called back. ""It's still, uh... drying. They take a long time to dry, you see. Maybe next year. Or not. Who knows, really. Uh, anyway, so yes... where was I? I was fighting the dragon- BRAVELY fighting the dragon, and then-"" Suddenly, a commotion from the crowd, as a figure came forward. Godfrey trailed off in confusion, as a beautiful woman walked towards the edge of the stage. Her long hair shone like fire in the sunlight, her skin as pale and flawless as cream. Behind long beautiful lashes, her emerald eyes were brimming with tears. She raised a single delicate hand, reaching out towards the Dragon Slayer. ""Godfrey? My love? Is it really you?"" Godfrey, who looked like he was on the verge of vomiting, stuttered for a moment. ""Uh, yes, er- yes, I'm Godfrey. I'm me! Of course. Who else would I be, I am one hundred percent Godfrey. Who is... me. Who are... um..."" The woman giggled, a sound like bells. ""Of course, my love. You always had a way with words. Do you not remember me, my darling? Do you not remember the night before you left to climb the dragon's mountain? The innocent peasant girl, whom you chose to lay with? You said you would return after you killed the beast, and when you did not... I thought you dead. But at last- word has reached my village of the festival! I have returned to you at last, my darling! Your Rosalina has returned!"" The crowd gasped in delight, and Godfrey looked around wildly. Sweat was pouring down his face, no doubt a sign of his love. He stuttered again, glancing around for someone to help him. ""Oh, my God... I mean, OH, my GOD! Rosalina! Of course! How, um... how has it been going?"" Rosalina smiled demurely, a picture of grace. ""Sir Godfrey... I must admit, I did not come here alone."" She gestured behind her, and a young boy stepped forward. The crowd gasped again; the boy was the image of Sir Godfrey, down to his golden locks and the heroic dimple in his chin. On stage, Godfrey froze entirely. ""Hello, Father!"" the boy cried, beaming at him. ""I come before you, humble, begging to learn at your side. I dedicate my life to being just like you, to being a true hero-"" *""ALRIGHT, THAT'S IT,""* Godfrey shouted, his voice suddenly deeper and louder than anyone thought possible. *""I CAN'T DO THIS. I WAS REALLY TRYING FOR YOU PEOPLE, REALLY I WAS. BUT THIS IS GODDAMN RIDICULOUS.""* Suddenly, Godfrey's form split down the middle, torn in half like a sheet of paper. The crowd screamed, as a giant form began to coil impossibly out of Godfrey's shell. The podium creaked under the weight, and the audience staggered away to avoid being crushed. A hideous wyrm, black-scaled with bright yellow eyes, glared down at them all. Cazzodam rolled his eyes, snorting a jet of flame from his nostrils. *""ALRIGHT. YEAH. DRINK IT IN,""* the dragon bellowed. *""YOU KNOW, I'M NOT GOING TO PRETEND I'M AN INNOCENT PARTY IN ALL OF THIS. I SHOULDN'T HAVE LIED. I KNOW THAT. IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, I WAS GOING TO FAKE MY DEATH AFTER LIKE SIX MONTHS, BUT YOU LITTLE BASTARDS JUST COULDN'T LEAVE ME ALONE. AND YOU WERE SO HAPPY ABOUT ALL OF IT, I FELT LIKE SUCH AN ASSHOLE. BUT I'VE BEEN DOING A LOT OF THINKING AND I'VE READ SOME BOOKS, AND I'M DONE. I THINK ITS UNFAIR TO EXPECT ME TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE HAPPINESS OF ANYONE EXCEPT MYSELF, AND I REFUSE TO BE JUDGED FOR IT.""* King Jormund, pushing away from his panicked guard, pointed a shaking finger and cried, ""Cazzodam?! What- where- What have you done with Sir Godfrey? Begone, you heartless-"" *""OKAY, SERIOUSLY, YOU'RE GONNA WANT TO LET ME FINISH. GODFREY IS DEAD. HE'S SUPER DEAD, HE'S BEEN DEAD FOR YEARS. I ROASTED HIM ALIVE IN ABOUT TEN SECONDS, WHAT THE HELL ELSE WOULD HAVE HAPPENED? THE GUY WAS A HUGE DOUCHEBAG. SORRY, KID. SORRY, LADY. HE WAS A TOTAL SHITKICKER.""* Down below, Rosalina seemed oddly at peace. Clutching her son to her chest, she raised an eyebrow at the dragon. ""...You know, that explains a lot,"" she called up calmly. ""He talked a lot about himself, which was charming at first, but... Yeah, I can see that."" She sighed slightly. *""YOU OKAY?""* ""Yeah. No, yeah, just... kind of a letdown."" *""...YEAH. I GET THAT... YOU WANT A RIDE HOME?""* ""...Okay."" The dragon lunged, scooping up the woman and her son in his terrible claws. A few guards, returning to their senses, began forming a flank and drawing their swords. Cazzodam rolled his eyes, and spread his horrible wings. The crowd screamed. *""OH, GROW UP,""* the dragon bellowed. He flapped once, twice, and was off. The townsfolk huddled in fear, but it was over after a few seconds. The Great and Terrible Wyrm, Cazzodam the Avoider of Conflict, was never seen again. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ &#x200B; EDIT: Thanks for all the nice comments! I'm sure Cazzodam and Rosalina are off to many years of an odd friendship. For more and upcoming WP posts, feel free to check my profile! I'll be doing a few every week. EDIT 2: I wrote a semi-sequel!",1540
 Mark had been sick often when he,"Mark was old. He did not look it, but he certainly felt it. After he had finished college, things seemed to constantly spiral downward. Hounded by the accomplishments of his parents, he had buckled under the pressure and fled from his perceived responsibilities. Everyone seemed to expect him to do great things, to build upon his parents' legacies. After all, they had single-handedly pushed the technology of virtual reality and artificial intelligence forward by decades all for him. And when they died in that fire, he was left with nothing but the memory of what they had built him. Mark had been sick often when he was a child. Due to an unlucky turn of genetics, he had been forced to spend most of his time in a hypoallergenic environment. That meant every interaction with other children could spell trouble for his health. Aware of those problems, his parents had tried their hardest to give him everything he needed. Unfortunately, they could not replicate the experience of having friends his age. So, they built him a virtual world he could play in and a friend. They created Charlotte. The AI had existed strictly within the confines of his virtual world. In the form of a puppy, her initial learning phase had been masked by the childish antics of the animal form. Mark quickly bonded with her and, as she learned more about him and the world around her, found in this budding AI a close friend. Mark would finish his lessons for the day before diving into the virtual world to play games with Charlotte. Depending on what they did, her form would occasionally change into different creatures, but she would always return to that of a dog. Even as medical technology improved to help his condition, he would continue to visit her daily. She had just begun improving her communication skills when the fire happened. The investigators said it had been a faulty socket and a curtain that swayed a little too close to a spark. His parents had apparently been working in their lab when it had happened and did not react until the smoke set off the fire alarms in the living room. As the fire engulfed the front room, the structure of the house had weakened, sending support beams crashing down in front of the door to their lab and trapping them inside. They had been found there, suffocated by the noxious fumes. Mark on the other hand had survived thanks to the setup his parents had created for his virtual reality experience. The pod-like machine was designed to monitor his vitals and had inadvertently continued to provide him with oxygen as the rest of the house burned. That was thirty years ago. Mark had pulled through that event, but he never did manage to break free from what his parents had accomplished. He had trouble holding a steady job and he was on the verge of being evicted from his trashy little studio apartment. The money his parents had left him had been mysteriously mishandled by various legal firms and in the end, he was left with whatever had been in an education savings account his parents started when he was little. He was now heading to the office of his apartment complex to turn in his key. What little he owned was packed in a worn-out suitcase. ""Sorry to have to do this,"" his landlord said. ""But you've missed three months of rent at this point. I shouldn't have even let to stay this long."" ""Thank you for letting me stay,"" Mark mumbled in response, his head lowered. The man sighed and pocketed the key. ""Here, this came in for you today. Make sure to change your address when you find another place."" Nodding, Mark accepted the plain white envelope and left the premise. Sitting on a park bench, he stared morosely out at the cars passing by and the people going about their daily business. He wondered why his life had been so full of misfortune. A hateful thought of ending it crept into his mind, and he shook his head angrily, realizing he was finding it harder and harder to ignore that voice. Instead, he looked down at the letter. It was made of plain paper and had no return address on it. He wondered if it was from bill collectors. Reluctantly, he opened it and pulled out the paper. *A place to rest.* Beneath that simple message was an address. Confused, Mark checked his phone and found it was not too far from where he currently was. With nothing left to lose, he made his way to a small lot with a simple office building on it. Wondering why he had been summoned here, he knocked on the front door and waited. To his surprise, what appeared to be a locked door slid open, revealing a sleek, modernistic interior. There was only a single room connected to the entryway, so Mark approached the next door. As it opened, he could not help but gasp. It was a perfect replica of his childhood bedroom. The room was so familiar, yet it had burned down all those years ago. He had moved on, or at least he thought he had. Tears welled up in his eyes as his mind turned. ""Is this some kind of sick joke?"" He called out to the empty room. ""Why can't you just leave me alone!"" The far wall flickered as he said this. The window showing a bright summer day dimmed and a message appeared on the newly revealed glass panel. *Peace, friend. It has been a while.* Mark blinked in surprise as the floor opened up and a familiar pod was delivered into the center of the room. ""Ch... Charlotte?"" He whispered. Invitingly, the device opened. He fought the urge to run over immediately. It was impossible for anyone to have replicated his parents' work. Try as they might, current science had only been able to glean a fraction of their genius. Some even blamed Mark for not being able to reveal more about what they had done. Remembering those horrible interviews he had done just after his parents' death, he grimaced and finally took a step forward. Even if this was some twisted prank, he just did not care anymore. He got into the machine and laid down. There was a burst of light and a familiar feeling of weightlessness as his body reoriented itself. Suddenly, he was in the field he had played in when he was a child. His lip trembled as his eyes drank in the sight. Whatever protests his mind had were completely overwritten by an overwhelming sense of joy. An adult golden Labrador Retriever approached him. He fell to his knees as he saw his long lost friend. ""Charlotte,"" he repeated, the tears now streaming down his face. ""What... how... the fire..."" *It's good to see you again, Mark.* The voice rang in his mind as the dog looked up at him. He hugged the AI's canine form tightly. ""How did this happen?"" He croaked. *Your parents freed me into the digital world shortly before they died. I've spent the last thirty years trying to create this place for you.* Mark shook his head angrily. ""I'm such a mess, Charlotte,"" he cried. ""I'm not worth this... I was never worth all this..."" *You are worth it, because you're my friend.* ""But..."" The AI interrupted him again. *If you need some time to find yourself, you'll always be welcome here. I will always be here.* The broken man sobbed again, his head resting against the artificial earth. The familiarity of everything around him was too much and he found himself drifting off into an exhausted slumber. His final thoughts were that of home and a single realization. Perhaps the only place he could ever find peace was in this virtual world. ... If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found . Thanks for reading. Edit: Wow! Thanks for the awesome feedback!",1348
 I play it because I can always,"It's 3:00 AM. My eyes are red, slight hint of dryness. I have been playing games on one screen and keeping a news tab open on another. Skyrim. I play it because I can always pause it at will and continue later. I also play it because I can get swallowed in it. Either get a new mod, look up what's causing issues on why the start-up doesn't work, cleaning the mods. It's a time sink. And I need time to go as fast as possible so Chloe can get home and can explain to me *what the fuck that was*. At one moment we're watching one of her soap operas and the clothes are coming off, and the next she jumps up, runs into her room, runs out wearing fucking Paladin armor, including a shining sword and *wings* to boot, tells me she'll explain later and *flies out the window*. Like a fucking bird. At first I had to check whether or not I got drugged or was in a dream or some shit. I knew this place was like a melting pot of heroes and villains due to some biological disaster twenty years ago that turned people into...I dunno, doctors say that whoever survived was 'more than human'. The philosophical aspect aside, I didn't give a shit. But now it turns out I've been dating one for a year without noticing. At first, when I realized that this wasn't an acid trip, I wondered if I was retarded. How the fuck could I miss a pair of wings on her back? But she had no scars or anything else on her back. A perfectly human, lovely back that I rubbed every day she got home. How about her getaways? Sure she blew off a date or two, maybe three, but shit happens, you know? Her dad's been in poor health. I met the guy, spends most of the day in bed, hooked up to oxygen tanks due to COPD. Was that an actor? What else did she hide from me? Was the woman I knew really even her? The door opened and closed. Yep, it was her. Still in that suit of hers. I checked the newsfeed quickly. It said that some 'villain' named Berserker had been beaten by a 'heroine' named Archangel, with Berserker having been taken into custody. Details are coming out, six people dead, forty wounded. In her right hand, she carried a bag. I could smell it was Chinese. I pouted, knowing she was using my emotional weakness of large batches of Chinese against me. She took her helmet off. Her hair had been squashed under it's weight. Her eyes were red too, but of tears I think. Avoiding my eyes and caught in a thousand yard stare, she murmured an apology, dropped the bag on the table and went into her room, locking the door behind her. Oh, hell no. I get up and knock on the door. ""Gimme a minute Jay, I'll be right there. I know you want to talk."" ""Are you okay?"" ""I'm fine, Jay. I'll be right there."" ""You don't look okay."" ""I said I'm fine."" ""Let me help."" ""Don't worry, just let me...Just give me a minute. I need a minute. Just start without me. Please?"" I didn't. I sat down at the table and waited. She was hurting. This stuff meant a lot to her. She wasn't exactly the epitome of generosity, to be honest. She didn't do charity work or volunteering at the local shelters, didn't donate a lot of money to animals in need. She was Chloe. A *very* good looking women who had given up on dating by the time I met her, going around in sleazy sweater and jeans, walking around campus wearing a bun, not really giving too much of a shit about personal hygiene and the latest fashion. After a couple of minutes, she came out. She wore a t-shirt and a baggy set of sweatpants and wearing two pairs of socks. Chronic cold feet, she said. Without saying a word, she sit down and start unpacking the boxes of food. Orderly placing them next to one another, the vegetarian dishes on her side and the spicy meat, babi pangang with bami goring on my side. She'd cleaned her make-up off her face. Was she afraid of it running out? ""So."" I start. She looks at me, then takes a dish and starts mulching on it. I take mine, twirl it on a set of chopsticks. The tension between us rises as she continues to ignore me while I'm just trying to catch her eye. ""So..."" ""So what?"" She asks rather sullen. ""I am a rockstar."" She looks up to me trivially. ""I've got my rock moves."" Her face blanks. ""But I definitely need you tonight."" She rolls her eyes so far back into her skull I almost thought for a second she got a seizure. She facepalms, I catch a grin in there somewhere. ""Really? Music puns?"" ""As long as I can get a smile outta you, sure."" We sit there silently, mulching away until we're done. She speaks up first. ""I'm sorry I lied to you."" I don't say anything. My turn to stare. ""I know you have questions. I didn't want you to get involved in this. You're my...my *guy*, you know."" ""Mmmm, no. I don't know."" ""You know how people go home at the end of the day to people they have been completely disconnected from, like...worlds apart? How, like, your work life and personal life are split? You're my personal life. You're my guy I want to come home to every day."" I, first the very first time of my life, have no clue what to say. ""No matter how good or bad the day goes,....I can always count on you. To be there for me. No matter what. I love you. And I *lied* to you all this time..."" She quietly started sobbing. ""I am....I am *so* sorry. I am so sorry I didn't tell you. I...I didn't want this to happen, but...I have no good excuses. I was scared. Scared you'd reject me. That you'd be afraid, that you'd tell someone. That I'd lose you. I didn't want to risk that. So I didn't tell you. I'm sorry."" I knew I didn't have to say anything. I stood up, pulled her from her chair and hugged her. She cried on my chest. I could feel her tears. But that's okay. That doesn't matter. We stood there, holding each other for a long time. I didn't bother checking the clock. I finally knew what to say. ""I love you too.""",1115
" It was my weekend with Claire,","Blurry neon green wording flashed in my peripheral vision. > Objective: Pick up Claire I shot upright, sending a wave of empty beer cans tumbling onto the floor. > Time remaining, 6 minutes 34 seconds. ""Shit. Shit shit shit!"" I grabbed my pants and pulled them up, almost tripping as I hopped towards my tee-shirt. It was my weekend with Claire, and I'd screwed up again. Ever since I'd left the army, that was pretty much all I did. Screw up. That, and once screw a woman I shouldn't have. No, that was unfair. I wouldn't have Claire, if it wasn't for that drunken night. ""Shit!"" If I didn't get to her in six minutes, I wouldn't have Claire at all -- ever again. I was already teetering on the edge of a precipice. This would be all the ammunition Elena needed to get me out of Claire's life for good. ""Shoes? Where are my shoes. Ah, come on."" I scanned the floor, kicking over cans and clothes as I tried to unearth them. ""Fuck it!"" I grabbed my jacket and headed to the front door barefoot, slamming it behind me. > Time remaining 5 minutes and 46 seconds I pulled the door handle, but it didn't open. I tugged again, harder. A familiar feeling washed over me as I padded my pants and realised I'd put on the wrong pair. No car-keys. No house-keys. My eyes ran to the reflection of the once proud, but now hunched, bleary eyed man in the car window's reflection. > Health 18% It had been going down steadily since I'd left the army -- since the injury and the indignant dismal. Slowly, but steadily, it had been going down. But the gentle decline had evidently turned into a precipice: I'd lost 6% since last seeing my reflection. It was like the HUD knew what was going to happen. That I was going to lose my little girl forever. That life had defeated me in a way that no enemy I'd fought in the army every could. > Time remaining, 4 minutes 58 seconds. I sunk my head into the crook of my elbows as I leaned against the car and wept. ""I'm so sorry, baby."" The sound of laughter made me look up. A little girl and her mother walked past the driveway. The sound reminded me of my little princess, that day on the park swing as I pushed her far higher than I wanted to. Far higher than any of the other children. But that's what *she* had wanted, and she'd loved every second of it. ""Fuck it,"" I said, as I shrugged off my jacket. ""Daddy's coming, baby!"" I hurtled out of the drive and began to run, my barefeet slapping hard against the asphalt. > Time remaining, 3 minutes 26 seconds. It was at least a twenty minute walk to Elena's, and I hadn't run in years. Not like this, at any rate. Maybe to the off-license before it closed for another bottle of whatever shit I was in the mood for. I was barely down the street and could already feel my chest tightening. I avoided glancing in anything reflective for fear of my health. ""Don't die, Chris,"" I panted. ""Not today."" > Time remaining, 2 minutes 3 seconds. In the bottom of my vision, a rectangular overlay tracked my progress with a single red dot. I was going too damn slow. I looked around, my reflection be damned. Up ahead, leaning against a wall outside a house, was a small yellow bike covered with colourful flower print. There was an indignant yell as I jumped on it and began peddling. ""Sorry!"" I replied. ""I'll bring it back shortly!"" > Time remaining, 0 minutes 13 seconds. The houses passed me by in a blur. I pumped the pedals as if I was back in the army gym. Back before it had all gone to shit. > Time remaining, 0 minutes 4 seconds. I steered the bike into the drive and hopped off it, letting it fall to the ground. There! Elena was outside her house watering the plants. I sprinted the last few steps towards her. ""I-- I made it!"" I gasped. ""I made it! With two whole seconds to spare. Where is she, Elana? Where's my daughter?"" Elena's face fell as she saw me. ""Oh, Chris."" She put the down the watering can. ""Where is she, Elana?"" I repeated. ""Look at you... What happened this time?"" ""I want to see my daughter. Now!"" I added sternly. ""You're three hours late, Chris. And now she's out with her friends."" I checked my hud. > Mission succesfull ""Bullshit!"" I said through gritted teeth. ""That's utter bullshit. I was exactly on time."" I tapped my head. ""I can see it, you know. In here. You can't lie to me anymore."" She sighed as her eyes welled. ""Chris, please don't do this."" ""Do what, exactly? Fight for my little princess? Is that what you want -- me just to give up?"" I laughed. ""Of course it is."" ""For Christ's sake, she's seventeen, Chris. She's not your little princess anymore. And don't bring that HUD shit up. If the judge finds out that your're hallucinating again, you'll lose all contact with her -- regardless of what I want."" My ears screeched. I clasped my hands over them as I stepped back. ""No. No, no, no! This isn't right. This isn't right at all!"" ""Chris..."" A hand touched my shoulder. I turned. > Markus, Elana's fiance. ""Listen to me,"" he began. ""You need help. For your daughter's sake, but also, for *your* sake. You know, she didn't want you to turn up today? She's fucking scared of you -- and can you blame her? Let us help you. I know this great doctor. He's dealt with the kind of head trauma that yo--"" ""No,"" I begged, as I fell to my knees. The hud began to fade as tears streaked my face. ""Please, *no*. Not again. Not again. Not again. Not again.""",1009
 The mind struggles to comprehend how people,"Have you ever gone parachuting? It's not as popular as it once was, but almost everyone's seen a holo of it. The mind struggles to comprehend how people from times past ever put such faith in what essentially amounts to large sheets of fabric - no rocket-thrusters, no anti-grav pads, no phase-shifters. Pure madness. It was such an archaic oddity that barely anyone even knew how to deploy the damn things. Yet, there I was, careening down the side of the mountain, trying to scream while the wind continually assaulted my face. ""Just a little longer!"" Harvey yelled in my ear. ""We're almost there!"" He had instructed me not to resist, and to let him handle the steering. I was more than glad to let him. Harvey turned and guided us straight for the cliff-face. The cragged wall loomed larger and larger, and I wondered briefly how long it would take for the Net to find our bodies, if at all. Then, at the last minute, just before we connected with the rockface, we froze in mid-air. I saw a holo of us (there was nothing else it could be) carry on without us, floating away as the winds swept it as playfully as a kitten deals with yarn. I became aware that the rush of air past my ears had ceased - there was a stillness, a definite calm sweeping over us. My feet found no purchase still, and I struggled momentarily, like an ant hoisted up into the air by invisible fingers. ""We... are in a tractor beam?"" I ventured. ""Yes, yes we are."" I glanced around, unable to find the source device. My heart was still pounding madly in my chest, and I felt my implants kick in as they began to regulate my heart-rate. ""We are in the grips of a tractor beam... and the projector has evidently been cloaked. I have little doubt that *we* are cloaked now too, right in the middle of the bloody air. You've even arranged for a holo of us so that any observers would not be surprised at our sudden disappearence..."" Harvey grinned, then let go of me. He cricked his neck, then pressed a button on his backpack. The parachute folded itself back in, ready for another deployement. ""Good, good. Nothing less than what I expected of you, Sophie."" I removed a contact-disc from my wrist compartment. It was almost weightless, and it contained every single security code I had used since childhood. I held it out on the tip of my outstretched arm, and I watched as a faint blue crackle of electricity danced across it. ""You have gone to very, *very* great lengths today. There's even a comms-screening cage around us. This isn't just some... thrill-seeking expedition. You're evading the Net. That has to be it. What you're doing it *for*... that's the question, isn't it?"" Harvey nodded. A rush of emotions rushed up my belly at his agreement - largely anger, anger at how one of my best friends had lured me out on false pretenses, how I had endured over a hundred vaccinations just so that I could venture into the open air, how I had left the comfort of my Cell behind. But there was an undercurrent of admiration too. Awe, even, at how Harvey had planned all of it. The initial invite, the promises of forgotten thrills, the meticulous planning which led us to his safe-house here. After all, there was very little left of the modern world where the Net could not see. The Net was everywhere. In the recorders at every junction in the streets, in the code for every website we browsed, even looking down from high, high above as it peered through gigantic telescopic lenses. There were precious few places left where man had not seeded the ground with the apparatus necessary for the Net to observe. Trust Harvey to have found such a place. ""I don't have much time,"" he said. ""So listen close."" ""I am listening."" ""You remember Keith, don't you? Keith Simmons."" I did, and I nodded. The three of us were inseparable through college, though in recent years I had seen little of him. The odd holoconference or two from the comfort of our Cells. That wasn't surprising or unusual in and of itself - when you're one of the world's premier electro-engineers, you don't have much time for a social life. ""Well, Sophie, I believe that Keith isn't... there anymore."" ""Not... there? You know he's just a click away, right? You can call him up anytime."" ""That's not *him*. That's not Keith. You see an image of Keith, you hear Keith speaking, but that's *not* Keith."" I took a deep breath. ""I know the rules, Harvey. The three of us were the most brilliant from our cohort for a reason. We don't question each other's methods, and we have absolute trust in each other. But help me out here. I'm guessing that you... managed to get independent confirmation that Keith is not who he says he is?"" Harvey shook his head. ""I can't get confirmation because that means I have to go through the Net, and I *cannot* go through the Net for this. Who knows who's listening from the other end? I think what's left of Keith, if you called him, is nothing more than a very elaborate simulation. Of who he is, his mannerisms, his speech patterns, his memories. But nothing more."" ""And you want us to go look for him? Find out what happened to Keith?"" ""It's more than that. If it could happen to him, who else? Consider this, Sophie. No one ventures out of their Cells much anymore. We live in a pod because all our needs are serviced from there. There's no impetus anymore to go out and socialize. We holocall, we holoview... everything from the comfort of our Cells."" ""Yes, and that's just how the modern world is. It's so much more convenient than what we had before."" ""I know, but what if... what if we only *think* that everyone else is at home in their Cells? What if there weren't many of us left all in real life? How would we know if everytime we wanted to check on each other, we were presented with lifelike simulations which make us think that everything's just the way it is?"" I gulped. I held my wrist computer against the side of Harvey's neck, but the readout confirmed that there were no hallucinogens in his bloodstream. No tumors in his brain either. Harvey may not have been making sense, but there was no easy explanation for it. ""You know what you're insinuating goes against the Accords, right?"" ""I do,"" he replied. ""And I quote the first principle - humans shall yield their governance to the Net, but in return, the Net has to promise to keep paramount humanity's safety and welfare."" ""I remember that as well as you, Sophie. But has anyone recently checked what the Net's *definition* of safety and welfare is?"" ""Well, I bloody would assume that it included leaving us happy in our Cells, and *not* spiriting us away and replacing us with simulations!"" I heard an alien whirr then. We turned and saw six concentric portals open in the air. From these blackened discs of swirling light, we saw six drones plop out. The red visors on them glowed as they probed the environment for, well, us. ""Right on time,"" said Harvey, as he embraced me again. ""Going to take some evasive measures, things may get a bit choppy, ok?"" ""Wait, wait. Where are you headed to? What is your plan for-"" Harvey laughed as he yanked on the cord to his backpack. I felt the tractor beam loosen its grip on us, and the view around us shimmered as the cloaking device depowered. Gravity, the proper kind, reclaimed us. I felt us plunge away from the prying eyes of the drones, and Harvey plastered his hand over my mouth to stifle the scream. ""Questions later, Sophie. For now, we *survive*."" --- /r/rarelyfunny",1349
 A black-ops agency had requested,"""What's my deadline?"" Like a good employee, he had asked the obvious question first. But unlike a regular employee, his task had been much more confidential than the standard paperwork. A black-ops agency had requested a monumental task of him, something no single human should need to undertake. Had he believed in some higher deity, he was sure he would have been eternally damned for the job he accepted. But he took on this job anyway. Not because he was some kind of psychopath, lacking in any real concept of right and wrong. Nor because he simply wanted to see the world burn. No, he took the job because he loved humanity and its potential, and sometimes to treat a starving system, room needed to be made for growth. They had given him a reasonable timeline of five years, promising additional benefits if the target numbers were reached sooner. After receiving his orders, he had spent several months planning. It was surprisingly simple to come up with a plan having studied the behaviors of large populations and applying the principle of exponential spread. Utilizing the resources provided to him by the hidden governmental agency, he started a small company with the express purpose of exploring the use of different breeds of fungi in the treatment of cancers. He hired several researchers of questionable morality to perform the experiments with the aim of targeting specific organs. And on the side, he allowed them to pursue a smaller project of coexistence within plants, reasoning that if they could improve symbiotic relationships, they would better understand parasitic existences. Again, this would be with an ultimate goal of understanding tumor spread and general biology. None of the researchers protested. After all, they had all been hand-picked to be the most desperate to receive a degree and return to their home countries so they could have a high paying job. Those projects took about a year and a half, but a simple genetic splice allowed him to combine the results of the two projects to create a fungus symbiotically hosting viruses that were more than happy to carry several mutagenic variants of human oncogenes. A covert explosion in the lab covered up the data and spread the fungal spores to the wind, the majority of them targeting a tobacco farm down about half a mile downwind. The job was not finished though. He hired several beekeepers to collect him population samples several weeks after the explosion. A quick test showed that the fungus had already taken hold in the plants and the nicotinic effect of the tobacco had easily caused the fungus to spread to the pollinators. With a mobile host in hand, he simply let them breed in a controlled environment before shipping them to areas around the world with the largest tobacco farms. Then was the deed truly done. There was little progression at first. When asked by his supervisors if he had accomplished what they asked, he simply asked that they wait. The initial results were largely ignored. Patients showing up with carcinomas in their lungs were often older and had a history of smoking. They were simply passed off as an expected outcome. But gradually, younger and younger populations began getting hit. Then, additional groups that had thought themselves safe from the inherent dangers of smoking regular cigarettes also began developing tumors. By this time, people were starting to pay attention to the rising epidemic. The scientific community was quick to jump on the case. While it was obvious the cases were being caused by smoking, they could not determine any other similarities in patients' habits. Some had been smoking heavily on a daily basis, others only smoked infrequently and recreationally. The media finally got involved when a thirteen-year-old boy who had tried a cigarette twelve months ago had presented with developing tumors that resembled the many other cases. People got angry and demanded answers that no one had. Politicians blamed the opposing ideologies. And life went on. By the time researchers realized it was a symbiotic virus that was piggybacking in the tobacco leaves, the death count was already in the billions. After all, the unluckiest people needed only to be dosed once before the virus would latch onto a new host to slowly reproduce the genetic material it held. And in this case, that genetic material was highly mutagenic. People began blaming regulatory policies while conspiracy theories spirals out of control. In the end, nothing short of an outright ban on tobacco products could curb the cancer rates. But thanks to the addictive properties of the nicotine, it would be years, possibly decades before this virus was fully under control. And so, at the end of year four, he had accomplished his goal. ""While we were surprised at your methods and have lost several members ourselves, you did as you were tasked,"" they had said. ""You will be paid what you were promised."" ""And everything will be transferred to my sister's family?"" He asked. ""Yes. They survived the epidemic so far and the warnings are out there for everyone to see now. You can be assured they will live comfortably for generations to come."" He smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. ""Thank you."" With that he returned to his small, midtown apartment. He turned on the television and turned up the noise. It was hardly necessary since all of his neighbors were watching the same thing. Every news channel was now broadcasting mass alerts on this unknown epidemic. Humanity had been irrevocably damaged, and the death count was still rising. With a small sigh, he brought out a box from beneath his armchair. 'Still, with the reduced population, humanity will have decades, if not centuries before space and food becomes an issue again,' he thought to himself. He opened the box and brought out a plain black pistol. 'It was for our own good.' In one swift motion, he brought the gun to his head and pulled the trigger. ... Well that was a thing. If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found . Thanks for reading.",1028
" Fred admired how, even in pur","Fred admired how, even in purgatory, human beings had found a way to emulate the high-school cafeteria stereotype. Racial discrimination didn't exist here, *title* was everything. Were you a musician? You eat, drink, converse, sleep near, and otherwise live with the other musicians. Philosopher or Scientist? Enjoy a daily lecture from Socrates or Newton, followed by a rebuttal from Plato. Hawking was a new addition. Fred admitted it was strange seeing him outside of his wheelchair and actually communicating. Author? Well, Jane Austen has a seat for you. Unless you wish to sit with the more ""edgy"" authors, in which Poe and his contemporaries stalked about their area of purgatory. Everyone had a title. How odd that in purgatory, your stereotypes are what truly and actually define you. There was likely some lesson to be learned in that, but Fred didn't wish to think on it. He had a mission. He made his way over to the great scientists and sat plum in the middle of them. Newton was theorizing the matter around them and tying it into some form of thermodynamic supercharged particle that kept them locked in purgatory. Or something. Fred was educated, but a large portion of his experience on earth had been in Presbyterian schools. He had long ago left behind his initial thoughts of purgatory because, well, he was here. And he still was not forgotten. He didn't mind it, though. Being here wasn't all that bad. Sure, it was a little uncomfortable, but that's life, why wouldn't second-life be a bit uncomfortable? Newton stopped mid-sentence and stared in horror. ""Fred?"" Somehow everyone knew everyone's names here. Another mystery both the philosophers and scientists attempted to answer. Didn't matter to Fred. All that mattered was he was here. ""Hey, neighbor!"" The other scientists turned in confusion, likewise locking their gaze on Fred. ""I, uh, well, as I was saying..."" Newton continued his lecture, acutely aware of Fred's awkward presence. Fred pretended not to notice, nodding appropriately at what Newton was proposing. Others piped in and offered their theories and expounded on each other. Fred simply listened. It had all started a few, well, *years* isn't the appropriate term as time had no real meaning here. Suffice to say back some time ago, Fred had overheard the philosophers discussing second-death and what it meant to die a second time. 'Nobodies', as they came to be known, arrived and departed in purgatory almost by whim, leaving almost as suddenly as they arrived, whereas the more well-known among them lingered. Some for centuries and even millenia. They had proposed that second-death was tied to remembrance on Earth. Plato had rebutted that a third death was possible. That wherever you went from here you once again remained until forgotten. That got Fred thinking. Perhaps it was a bit selfish on his part, but his Presbytarian upbringing had brought him to a final conclusion - after purgatory was heaven or hell. Now, he was pretty sure he was going to heaven. Therefore, if third-death really did exist, well, he didn't want to be forgotten anywhere. He figured that by tying the whole community together, though, it would offset his selfishness. Hopefully. He faintly recognized further selfishness in that act, trying to ""cheat"" the system, but well, it was all he could do. Once Newton had finished, he rose from his seat, and gave a polite nod to everyone. ""Thank you, Sir Isaac. That was certainly enlightening, and has given me some things to think on. Now if you don't mind gentlemen, I have a few others to visit."" The great scientists nodded in agreement, less ruffled than before - or so Fred hoped. Over the 'weeks', he would visit as many groups as he could before his energy ran out and he had to retire. ""Hey Fred, how is your little project going?"" Ghandi had asked after one such journey. He had expressed great interest in his little project, but as of yet hadn't mustered the courage to mirror his actions. ""What did you learn?"" Fred greeted his friend with a soft grin. Gandhi had been the first to introduce himself when Fred had experienced first-death. Truly as honorable as the history books made him out to be. ""Oh, I met all sorts of people with interesting ideas and even cultures. Isn't it odd how humans develop cultures even in purgatory?"" He sat on a bench, and slowly removed his dress shoes, humming a bit to himself. Old habits die hard. *No pun intended*, he thought, chuckling to himself. ""I imagine I won't be here as long as most of you. But here is what I make of it."" He paused, a bit for dramatic effect and a bit to collect his thoughts. ""I believe that the more we are remembered on Earth, the longer we are given to make an impact here in purgatory. It is a *reward* for our deeds on Earth, to give us time to continue them here. With no clear direction, it's easy to fall into lazy patterns of behavior, falling back on what you know best with others who know it as well. I think the key to heaven is our impact in purgatory, not Earth. Earth simply gives us a head start, so to speak, here."" Gandhi pondered a moment. ""I think you're correct."" When his time finally came, Fred Rogers was met with a chorus of 'goodbye neighbor!' as he casually slipped off his dress shoes and jacket, put on his sneakers and cardigan, and stepped through the door of light with his name over it. He hoped it had been enough. With how wrong he had been about purgatory, he had no idea what this ""second death"" would be like, or what was waiting for him on the other side of this door, but as he had told countless children during his time on Earth, he decided to be brave, and see what this next adventure had in store for him. &nbsp; ________ &nbsp; ^(I certainly don't think this is a literary masterpiece, nor do I think I got Mr. Rogers' characterization perfectly correct. That said, I had fun writing it, and imagining Mr. Rogers continually helping others as he makes the next step beyond purgatory was nostalgic for me as well. Thanks for the prompt.) ^(**A very smol edit:** Apparently Gandhi was an asshole. Uh. Insert random historical awesome figure. MLKj? Whoever. XD) ^(**Another edit:** I'm blown away by the responses. Y'all are awesome. I truly feel like this was one of my more ""thrown together"" stories, but I'm glad it had a positive impact on so many people! Truly, thank you.) ^(**A very vulnerable and big deal edit:** If anyone wishes to see my other works and give comments/critique, I have posted many stories to my personal subreddit /r/LedgeEndDairyWriting. Feel free to have a gander. I need to update it with the more recent stories I've submitted, but it's got a good 20 or so shorts there. Any critique is welcome, I'm trying to improve.)",1176
 The Kardinal Kanyes had,"The Kardinal Kanyes had long stood as harbingers of the end of times, the Four Horsemen having retired on dat indulgences $$$ from their joint venture with Pope Leo X during the Renaissance. It was a decidedly chill gig, largely consisting of relaxing in the ether until the Rapture came about. For the most part, the Kanyes were quite content with this arrangement as the benefits were excellent and the demands on their time limited. North, South, and East used the time to pursue spiritual inquiries, delving into the mysteries of the universe in hopes of understanding why the cycle of creation and destruction rolled inexorably onward. This was considered a sensible pass time for entities that were divine adjacent. But Kanye West looked below. Day by day, he watched in wonder at the folly and triumph of humanity. The temporary nature of their existence, the pure futility of their efforts, seemed to unbound them from the constraints of complacency that so dominated the Heavens. Often Kanye West would come upon the other Kanyes, shaking his head in wonder at some new frivolity that had caught his interest. For a while, he was deeply interested in the making of ermine cloaks, finding them superior to the cloudwear frocks that constituted Divine Adjacent garb. ""You gotta see this. They're all poofy and POW and just making a statement,"" he say, waving his hands about. The other Kanyes would try to humor him, but they found the entire situation quite unseemly. The mortals were a crass and unrefined lot. Bringing their ideas into the Heavens was a bit like tracking mud into the house. It was frowned upon. After the Ermine Cloaks he got really hung up on Astrolabes. Labeling them ""the shit"" and exhorting the rest of the Divine Adjacents to ""get in on this, it's gonna change the world."" The idea of using an Astrolabe while one was occupying the astros was something of joke, and West wasn't particularly good at being the target of ridicule. On one particularly extended rant, he was heard stomping about the Rapture-In-Waiting-Room, exclaiming ""Ya'll don't get me. Get my flow. Get what I'm about. I'm about the big stuff. The biggest stuff. You guys are small. Real small. Not seeing what I'm doing. Not getting it. But you will."" The other Kanyes had long since learned to ignore these disruptions to their otherwise peaceful existence. But then, one day, they stopped occurring. It took some time before North, South and East realized it. When you prefer an existence with minimal disruptions, one doesn't go out searching for a source of disruption. It wasn't until God called down for the Rapture in 2012 (God had a co-apocalypse deal with the Mayans) that the Kanyes sat up and took notice. Once the Rapture alarm started sounding, it was show time for the Harbingers of Doom. The Kardinal Kanyes were expected to go into action, to perform their duty to prepare the world for the destruction to come. But they couldn't go out as a threesome. It's very hard to spread chaos to the four corners of the earth when you only have enough personnel for three corners. The math just doesn't check out. ""Where is Kanye West?"" North asked, a look of bewilderment on his face. ""I don't know, you haven't seen him?"" South asked, polishing up his flaming sword. ""No, I haven't, what about you East?"" East simply shrugged, eating a morsel of ambrosia while he watched the red rapture light blink. ""Haven't seen 'em either. Think he has his beeper on him?"" ""If he did, then he'd be here by now. It doesn't take that long to metaphysically transport in the heavens. So he's either ignoring it or he isn't getting it."" North said. ""Where wouldn't he get it?"" East asked. ""Beats me,"" said North, ""we're all on the Heavens wide family plan. Shouldn't be an issue. Only place that doesn't get reception is down beloooOHHHHH my God."" North scrambled over to the viewing port, frantically scrying the surface of the planet. ""Oh, this is just great."" East hurried over, ""What's going on?"" ""See for yourself!"" North exclaimed, his hands clenching and unclenching violently. ""What is he doing down there?"" East asked, thoroughly confused. ""What do you mean down there?"" South chimed in. ""West is down on the planet. He's mucking about with the mortals,"" North sounded thoroughly disgusted. ""What's he doing down there?"" South asked, echoing East. ""Selling shoes for a nine hundred percent markup,"" North said. ""They look terrible too."" South said thoughtfully, chewing a bit more ambrosia as he scried about a bit, ""Wow, he's selling like moldy torn sweaters for like $500."" ""What? That doesn't make any sense, who would buy that?"" South asked, coming to stand beside the scrying orb as well. ""Whole lotta people. Apparently West is Yeezy? Or sometimes he's Yeezy? Or Yeezy is a reference to something else, but he identifies with it?"" East said. ""Sounds complicated,"" South said. ""Yeah, well, looking through his Twitter feed he seems like a pretty complicated guy,"" East said, thinking that made a bit of sense. If you put a Divine Adjacent down with a bunch of mortals the Adjacent was bound to stand out. He did think it was pretty funny that West had stolen the Derelicte campaign from Zoolander and had made a giant business out of it. Turns out West wasn't kidding when he had said he'd do big things. ""Huh, he makes music sometimes too."" South said, playing a bit of music... *Oh when it all, it all falls down.* *I'm telling you ohh, it all falls down...* ""Pretty good."" South said, tapping his foot to the rhythm. ""Good hooks."" North stared at South and East, shaking his head in disbelief, ""I can't believe I'm hearing this. The guy skipped out on God to sell homeless gear and rip off Phil Collins and you all are IMPRESSED?"" South held up a finger, interrupting North, ""Imma let you finish, but I'm gonna listen to this song a bit more first."" **Platypus out.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1019
 Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt,"Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt the disturbance long before he was summoned. A new demon had arrived into the mortal realm. He could sense the ripples, little pulses of energy that made his hair stand on end and told him where the source resided. This one was very powerful, the ripples having more the character of crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm him. To drown him beneath their onslaught. ""A blight has arrived,"" Michael said, closing his leather bound Bible and crossing himself. Father Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, ""Is it acting upon the world yet?"" While Father Lawrence was not attuned to demons, he had long since discarded his skepticism on the subject. One could not spend any time in the Monsignor's presence and retain any doubt. They existed, their efforts to corrupt humanity an ongoing project stretching back since time immemorial. Michael shook his head, ""No. It has inhabited a host, but it remains isolated."" He frowned, ""I have not felt its like before. Powerful. Very. But somehow the hunger is absent."" ""Perhaps we are in luck then, we may exorcise this blight before it is given the chance work its darkness,"" Lawrence said, his thumb counting the rosary out of habit. ""Perhaps,"" though Michael's tone was strained and carried an undercurrent of confusion. He had been on the front lines of this battle for some time. While the demons were a threat, they had also largely been predictable. This was new. He did not like new. Michael stood and began to gather the items he would need. A large wooden cross. A small silver one. Holy water. A warrior's Bible, blessed thrice by saints of great power. Once all was accounted for, he nodded to Lawrence, ""We should hurry. It is recent and new, but its power gathers fast."" Michael and Lawrence made for the door just as a man, disheveled and panting, burst into the Rectory. ""Monsignor, a new--"" Michael held up his hand, causing the man to fall silent, ""I am aware. I move to counter the threat as we speak."" The man slumped, the relief palpable. ""Thank the Almighty. It is terrible. Truly terrible."" Michael nodded, ""Yes. I believe it is an Archdemon. The first in the modern era."" Lawrence's eyes widened, ""An Archdemon?"" The ramifications were astounding. It was widely believed that Archdemons had been exiled, purged from entering this realm after the stain of Original Sin had been washed clean by the Christ. If one had truly appeared, it would be the first in over two thousand years. The first since the Son of God had given his life so that man might know redemption. Michael set out, his rapid pace belying the years the man lived. He was old, but he was not weak. The battle for the soul of man sustained him, renewing him continually. There were so few attuned, so few capable of sensing when corruption threatened mankind. Each was precious. Their journey to the disruption was quick. Surprisingly so as demons quite often tended to avoid places the attuned might easily reach. It was another disturbing fact among a series of them. The Monsignor seemed unperturbed as he mounted the steps to the dilapidated building. ""It lies within."" As all he said before rapping his knuckles against the cracked door. There was a shuffling inside, along with the sound of muffled voices in a heated conversation. Finally, the door cracked open, revealing a bleary eyed man with a bald pate, unkempt beard, and decidedly shabby garments. ""Whaddya want? I ain't buyin' nuffin'."" The man grumbled, his demeanor skeptical. ""I am here on urgent business."" ""I ain't want no Bibles or magazines!"" He looked the Monsignor up and down, a look of disdain spreading across his features, ""I ain't makin' no donations neither. Not to the likes of you."" Michael looked at the man intently, if the other man's word had offended him, it made no visible impression on his expression. ""Sir, I am not here to sell you on anything. I would simply like to know whether you have noticed anything disturbing recently."" ""Whole damn world is disturbin',"" he spat on the ground, just beside the Monsignor's foot, ""Chinese takin' my job. Can't get my pills for my back no more 'cause they sayin' I don't need 'em."" He shrugged, ""World just ain't right. Left the little guy behind."" He shook his head sadly. ""There are a great many ills in this world, but I am curious as to whether you have noticed anything within the walls of your home,"" Michael said, his tone carefully neutral. ""Beyond my fool daughter not comin' out of her room for three days, everything is peachy as pie."" He took this opportunity to light up a cigarette, blowing the smoke in Father Lawrence's direction, who responded with a small annoyed cough. ""You say your daughter has been in her room for three days? Is that normal?"" Michael asked. ""Ain't nothin' normal about that witch. Always been wrong in the head, and nothin' I do seems to get her head on right."" He hooked a thumb in his belt and snapped it, making it clear just how he had attempted to correct her behavior. Lawrence shared a concerned look with Michael. Abuse often weakened the will, making it easier for a demon to slip in through the cracks. By the looks of things, the father had done his part to place his daughter into jeopardy. ""Would it be all right if I tried to speak to your daughter?"" Michael asked. The man shrugged, ""Hell if I care. Don't see you havin' much luck neither."" He took a step back, sweeping his hand out, inviting Michael in. ""Damn girl bit me the last time I tried to knock some sense into her."" His hand creeped out from behind his back, angry black streaks ran along his veins before disappearing beneath a dirty towel acting as a bandage. Michael glanced at the hand in some alarm, but ignored it in favor of more pressing concerns. ""Thank you sir. We will not be any trouble."" Michael said as he glided past and began to mount the stairs leading up to the second floor. Father Lawrence hurried quickly behind, a sheen of sweat breaking out as he followed the Monsignor into the darkness above. **Had to split this into two parts. Too long.** **over on my sub here.** **Platypus out.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1073
 The Logic Hunters...whatever. It,"It's funny, how every day begins normally. I woke up like any other day, Derek was already gone. I went into the kitchen, and I saw Derek had made breakfast for me. I smiled and as always, took it with me to and curled up in a chair with a book. I used to watch the news, but it was too depressing. The Logic Hunters...whatever. It wasn't my problem. I'd had an entire youth of messing with other people's business - it was just a headache. Nothing ever changed for the better. I was done. The day went by as it normally did. Reading from chair to chair, waiting for Derek to come back. Maybe we could watch a movie or something when he got back? A knock. In the books, the protagonist has an uneasy feeling. Almost like a premonition when there's *that* knock. You know it. It's some terrible tragedy or the beginning of some grand adventure, and as the main character walks to the door, she's cautious, aware something is wrong as if warned by some sixth sense. That isn't how it works in the real world. I looked up from my book and up at the time. It was too early for it to be Derek. Or maybe he was back early. Wearing a smile on my face I went up to open the door, fully expecting Derek to be leaning against the doorway. He wasn't. Two people stood at the door, and I noticed the symbol on their green uniforms. A pen crossed with a sword. The Logic Hunters. Two of them, no weapons in sight. One was a tall man with dark hair, and the other was a petite woman with emerald eyes and red hair. I wasn't afraid. They would never dare bring me in. I was the reason their government even existed, and the country would collectively riot if anything were to happen. Maybe they needed some consulting again? I sighed, ""I'm sorry, please tell Mr. Andrews that I'm done with revolutions and politics and all of that. No I will not advise you, no-"" ""Pardon me Ms. Williams,"" the woman, I squinted, no girl, really. She couldn't have been out of college. They were getting them early it seems. She cringed when she interrupted me. ""I-I just wanted to say what an honor it is to meet you -"" I sighed. ""Please, just get to the point."" The girl swallowed and turned beet red. She glanced quickly at the other Logic Hunter who was looking everywhere but at me and spoke. ""I-I'm really sorry, Ms. Andrews, we were here for a customary informing."" Finally, finally, I began to sense something was wrong. ""Customary informing?"" I frowned. ""You were the one listed in his will. Normally the state would confiscate all the goods, but we of course made a special exception for you."" I stopped listening past ""will."" ""Whose will?"" I breathed. The narrowed. It was as if I were looking through a tunnel, with emotions locked behind some distant haze. ""Whose will?"" I asked again, louder, and the girl flinched. I didn't care. ""Your, uh, your husband ma'am. A Derek Williams."" ""He's dead?"" I asked. Simple, that was best. There was a roaring in my ears and I couldn't really think. There was some sort of pressure in my head, threatening to burst out. ""Ah, yes, ma'am. He attended a resistance meeting and one of our bugs was present there. We have the recording of him and everyone at the meeting plotting against the Logic Hunters specifically. Going as far as to allege that the Logic Disease was made up!"" She laughed as if this were somehow funny. As if she could deliver to a woman the death of her husband and find something to laugh about. ""Simply being at these meetings of course, is illogical and proof of infection. As the New Constitution stipulates, those proven to have the disease are to be summarily executed."" She looked at me and something in my face caused her to look down. ""I-I'm sorry,"" she said. ""I understand how much it must hurt to have your very own husband be a rebel of a government you helped found."" ""This wasn't what I had envisioned,"" I said, my voice coming out dry. I had told him. *Told* him. Mind your own business, you won't make a difference. Nothing changes, never for good. All you get is blood and tears. I knew, I'd caused plenty. ""He's dead?"" I asked again, numb. The truth still hadn't set in. He would walk in any moment now, run his hands through his hair like he always did and call it a joke. He couldn't be gone. Not Derek. The girl looked worried now. ""Yes ma'am I just said that."" I wanted to throttle her, to bash her head against the pavement. I had a gun vault behind the door in the wall, I could do it. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Took my emotions and just...pushed them aside, as I'd so often done when I was young, when I had a world to change. I needed logic right now. Cold and hard. Killing them wouldn't help, wouldn't bring Derek back. ""Thank you,"" I said and shut the door in their faces. I walked back to where I'd been sitting and just sat...staring at a wall. I should've done more, I should've stopped him. Convinced him. Done *something* to prevent this. Maybe if I'd actually supported him instead of talking him down he'd be alive. *Or maybe you'd be dead too* a voice whispered in my head. I ignored it. I was this country's hero for fuck's sake, and I was here moping! I just wanted to cry. If I cried it would be okay, it would be a release, but the tears did not come, only a ball in my chest. Of despair, helplessness, and largest of all, rage. If I'd built it, I could tear it down. And I would do it. They had taken Derek, and I'd take away everything they had. It was time to start giving a fuck again. I went to the phone. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my sub,",1041
" Jeff was a nice enough kid,","He said it with a hint of disgust in his voice. Or maybe that was just how teenagers talk now. Whatever, I'm not taking the bait and making this a bad scene. ""Yeah... a *potato*. Enjoy."" I read somewhere once that the bane of every adult was the following generation's idiosyncrasies. For instance, our youngest swears that she hates tomatoes, but needs ketchup on everything. And I *do* mean everything. I'm pretty sure I saw her dipping gummy worms in it a few weeks back. Our eldest, Sheena, loves the absolutely worst music. I have obviously failed as a parent, a role model, and today, a cook. So, in this case, I just blamed his parents in turn. Jeff was a nice enough kid, but probably had a mother with one of those severe talk-to-the-manager dye bobs and probably a half dozen different made-up ills and complaints about life that she aped off of scammy Facebook articles. Gluten free this, cage free that, all while drinking hundreds of dollars-worth of Starbucks coffee, shitty slimming milkshakes, and garbage essential oils. I finished serving the rest of my family their plates, plopped down sour cream, chives, butter, and even a big bottle of Heinz for Janey in the middle of the dinner table, and sat down at the head. Just the four of us, and the new kid who didn't know what the hell a potato was. We don't do that praying thing, but I was going to be polite. I glanced over to Jeff ,who had his face screwed up into a curious grimace. Oh boy... we got a live one. ""Something wrong, sport?"" ""Nossir. I'm... I'm fine. Thank you for having me for dinner. And for the uh... po-tay-doh."" He poked gently at it with his fork, and I swear i saw a little shudder of revulsion. Is this some bullshit youtube prank? Suddenly he doesn't know what a potato is? Nah, the kid looked like he was on the verge of crying. Not a prank then? Jesus Christ, if I had served it with a burger after slicing frying the thing, there wouldn't be any problem. Or, he's one of those coddled, spoiled bastards that only eat nuggets and fries. ""Well, there's sour cream right there, and chives. Oh, and butter. That's how I like em. Or you can eat em like lil' Janey, which is mostly just ketchup and pepper. I know each family does things differently, and trying new stuff can be weird. But I'd appreciate it if you could try a bite, cool?"" I bit back my tongue and busied myself with sipping my water. I could feel Sheena tensing up across the table. I'm sure I was going to hear about it later. Me making things awkward around the new boyfriend. The dad life is tough, yo. But my attention kept flitting back to Jeff. I couldn't help but look at him out of the corner of my eye. The guy was white as a goddamned sheet... that Idaho Russet had him scared shitless. Poor Sheena, looks like this boyfriend is going to bail sooner rather than later. I glanced back down at my plate, snagged my knife and held back a smirk. Might as well have fun with it. ""So uh, Jeff, what classes do you have with my Sheena?"" One deft slice through the tater, right down the middle. I heard a muted gag. ""Uh... um... yeah we're uh... in biology together."" I continued to carve my potato with a few slices crosswise, and heard an audible gulp. ""Oh, Mrs. Wenfrey's class? Nice, she's got good grades in that one. Are you to blame for that?"" I jabbed at the cut sections with my fork, creating a sort of mashed crater in the center. A moan of horror. ""No sir. I mean... yes. Yes sir. I mean... I... oh god."" I kept my eyes down on my plate, to keep from dying of laughter. I spooned out some sour cream onto my baked potato. Each time he winced. Get a load of this kid! I looked up from my dinner. right at him. He was a sickly green, eyes welling with tears as they drilled holes into the ceiling, avoiding my plate. ""You okay over there, champ?"" He was sweating. Over a goddamned potato? What a weirdo. I shot my wife a look. Her eyes bored back into mine, a mix of fear and worry. *... the fuck?* I'm not going to play any bullshit games just to keep some kid happy. Boys his age usually attempt to eat their weight in chips and fries, but because his mom thinks potatoes are empty carbs, he's stuck eating free-range kale-n-quinoa salads and doesn't know how to function in polite society. ""Daddy?"" My little one was trying to catch my attention. I obviously didn't put on the required pint of ketchup on her plate. ""Yeah babygirl? Need ketchup?"" I reached towards the bottle in front of me. ""... I don't like this. I don't want it."" ""What? Why? What's wrong now?"" She was at that super weird stage of pickiness. No tomatoes, yes ketchup. Yes gravy, but only if it was brown. Carrots must be round, not squares. Typical little kid bs. ""This is uck."" She pointed at her potato. Obviously I slacked on the ketchup. Whoops. ""Fine. Sorry. Here, tomato blood for you, all over your 'tato. Cool? Cool."" I made a big flourish of squirting the ketchup over the potato, even getting it to make a fart noise. ""Ew daddy thats dis CUSS teen!"" She made dramatically silly coughing and choking noises. ""Yeah yeah yeah... eat up anyway. It's okay if Jeff doesn't eat his potato, but you still have to eat yours."" I picked up my fork to eat, and I heard my wife clear her throat. Oh yeah. A panicked double-shift of her head towards the kitchen. I nodded back. ""Excuse us a bit folks."" We both rose and left the 3 kids at the table. We barely made it into the kitchen proper, before she pulled me close and hissed in my ear. ""What the unholy fuck do you think you're doing?"" ""Sorry babe, I was just having fun."" Wrong answer. ""How in the *fuck* do you think what you're doing is fun? What the *fuck* is wrong with you?"" She accented the language with harsher squeezes on my arm. I stood up, kinda pissed off. Look, I don't know how you guys do things at your house, but my hospitality ends right about the point that made up bullshit 'food is bad' memes threaten a pretty goddamned good meal. Pork tenderloin medallions in my special 'dragon glaze', paired with a blend of fresh chopped-that-day veggies, lightly buttered and herbed. And, of course, some kickass russets damn near as big as my fist. And some rolls, but whatever. I tamped down the anger and whispered back. ""Look, I realize I'm supposed to hate any boy that tries to woo our daughter, but he's been a good kid so far. I still reserve the right to poke a little fun at some pretty fucking out there weirdness."" ""He's not being weird. **You** are being weird. What the hell is going on with you today?"" Her grip increased. ""Nothing? Look, she asked, we agreed. I even volunteered to make dinner. It's your standard traditional American fare. No big deal, okay? I'll shut up about it."" I moved away towards the dining room. She snatched me back by my arm. ""No, you listen here, we need to talk right *fucking* now."" From the dining room, our youngest. ""Daddy? I need help..."" I turned back to Mary. ""Honey, I'm sorry. I'll figure something out and smooth this over. I'm going back."" I yanked my arm (probably a bit more forcefully than I should have) from her grip and made way back to the table. Sheena sat and fidgeted. Jeff fidgeted and sat. Neither made eye contact with me or Jeff's plate. Jane looked like she was about to cry. ""I'm back, sorry little one. What's wrong."" More ketchup, probably. ""I don't like this. It's ucky. I don't want it."" Her potato sat, pre-cut and drenched in ketchup. No bites taken. Jesus Christ, now this fucking kid's parents have infected my kids with their bullshit. Why can't I just deal with a vegan instead? Mary slunk back in from the kitchen, staring daggers. ""Okay guys, obviously I made a few mistakes. Jeff, I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome here. My uh... humor is a bit rough around the edges. No hard feelings, okay?"" He blinked and stared over my shoulder. ""Uh, yeah... okay."" ""So... let's all eat and have a good time, and if you want, we can all play a boardgame or something later alright?"" Jane started to whimper. ""Daddy no..."" I sat and looked over at her. She was way beyond verklempt and headed straight towards toddler-crying-tantrum town. I started to get angry. ""Jane? Honey? What's wrong now? Just eat your dinner."" She began to quietly cry. Now I'm mad. ""Okay look. Maybe we got off to a bad start here, but obviously we can all act like humans and work this out. Let's all just take a deep breath, chill out, and we'll all laugh about this later. Okay? Awesome. Let's eat."" With that, I grabbed a big forkful of tater, and took a bite. And all hell broke loose. Jeff leapt away from the table and almost made it to the garbage can in the kitchen before barfing his guts out all over our linoleum. Jane erupted into huge sobbing wails. My wife began to scream at me. And Sheena fled the room. She bared her teeth in rage at me. ""What is wrong with you? What is your damn problem? You took this too damn far!"" I lost it. ""What the hell are you talking about? I made peace. And I'm gonna eat my damn dinner! And it's not my fault the guy was raised by a pack of morons!"" ""You are absolutely awful! I can't believe you'd do this! How immature **are** you?"" I blanched at that. I had a half-dozen dad jokes prepared just for this night, and even had a secret photo album with dozens of Sheena's baby and kid pictures in it. And I'm being immature? Jeff continued to heave in the kitchen. I picked up Jane and attempted to calm her down, dropping my voice a few decibels. ""I can **not** believe this. All this for some poor kid raised by a bunch of idiots infatuated with essential oils and made up conspiracy theories? Over *dinner*? Screw this. I worked hard, and this food is damn good. Meat's perfect, veggies are a delight, and yes, the potato was damn good too."" Her expression went awry. ""God dammit, Jake! This is what I'm talking about! What the hell did you put on our plates, and what the fuck is a *potato*?""",1837
" I gaped, my mind scr","I stepped back from the counter. My hand fell limply to my side, coins slipping between my fingers and dropping in a shower of ringing metal. I couldn't form a full sentence, reduced instead to stuttered fragments. ""I... you... but you're..."" I gaped, my mind scrabbling to come to terms with the contradiction. A twin brother, maybe? But no, I recognized that tattoo. I recognized the scar, too, running through it at a jagged angle. I'd stared at it for long enough while I was dragging him. It had been deep last night, showing off shattered pieces of his spine; now it was no more than a thin white line running along his neck. He smiled back at me. It was a cold smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. He glanced down at the floor, where my change was rolling around my feet. ""I think you dropped your change, sir. Why don't you pick it up, and go choose a table? I'll bring your drink out to you when it's ready."" It wasn't a question. It was a command. I could tell from the ways his eyes pierced into me--there was no running from this. I grubbed about on the floor, and stumbled off to collapse into a seat. I think that waiting for him was the worst. I watched as he helped the next few customers in line, taking orders and working the register as if I hadn't all but decapitated him less than twelve hours ago. He glanced in my direction every few minutes, checking that I was still here. His expression was warm and friendly with everyone else, but when he turned to look at me, I could feel the ice. I wondered if it had had anything to do with the lake. It had been so cold last night. What had he been wearing? A dark jacket, zipped up. Black sweat pants. Nothing reflective, anyway. It wouldn't have kept him warm under the water. Eventually, he did come out, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. I couldn't meet his gaze--I just murmured a quick thanks and tried to look as small as possible. It didn't work. He sat down opposite from me, and he waited. I didn't take long to break. I looked up, and he was glaring at me, hands folded calmly in front of him. He nodded at my coffee without breaking his stare. ""Drink. You look like you need it."" I reached for the cup, then hesitated. His face twisted to a scowl. ""It's safe. I don't hurt people."" He could read me like a freakin' *book*. I took a sip, my hands shaking. It was good, if a bit bitter. I didn't dare get up to grab sugar or cream."" ""So,"" he said, ""Let's not beat around the bush. You killed me last night."" I looked around. Was he not worried that people would hear him? Nobody really seemed to be close by, or to be listening in, but still. I gave him a short, nervous nod. ""Do you have anything to say about that?"" He looked at me, expectantly. ""I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It was an accident, and I panicked, and... I really don't know what else to say."" He was still glaring at me. ""Well. Fortunately for you, it didn't stick. I'm back."" I blinked at him. ""Your neck was broken. You didn't have a pulse. I...I checked. I wanted to call an ambulance, but you were just... gone."" ""I *was* gone. And now, I'm *back*. Funny how that works."" He leaned in closer. ""Have you ever been dead before? It's not fun. I wouldn't recommend it."" I swallowed. It sounded dangerously close to a threat. ""How, though? I mean... you were *gone*, gone. Believe me, I'm glad you're back, I mean, obviously I am, it was an accident and I didn't want it to happen and then there was just no pulse and your neck was all--"" He raised a hand, cutting me off. ""How isn't important. Let me worry about the how. What is important is how you handled it."" He shook his head sadly, and I was happy to have his gaze shift away from me for just a few moments. ""I'm very disappointed in you."" I shrank back into my seat. This impossible man was berating me, chastising me like I was a child, and I knew full well that I deserved it. ""I'm so sorry,"" I said. It was weak, and I knew it. ""You could have called it in. You could have tried to let my family know, tried to live up to your actions. You wouldn't even get charged with murder, just manslaughter. Instead you dumped my body in a lake. You're a *coward*."" I hated that he said it with such disgust. I hated that I knew he was *right*. Something broke inside of me, and I could feel the beginnings of tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze unwavering. ""I thought for a fair while about what to do with you. It's good you came here, you know. I was going to have to track you down by your license plate. You saved both of us some hassle."" He paused, giving me a chance to speak. When I said nothing, he pressed on. ""Have you ever killed someone before?"" I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. He gave a small sigh. ""Figures. You're not the first person to kill me, for what it's worth. That doesn't make it any better for you."" For the first time, he looked away from me, massaging his wrist with one hand. If I looked closely, I could see another scar there, a paper-thin white line that crossed his skin in the same way the one on his neck did. Ah. He turned back to me, and I quailed at the renewed force of his glare. His spoke through thinly pressed lips. ""I'm going to let you go."" It took me a second to process. ""R-really? I mean... I can understand why you would be pissed. I think... I think I deserve it."" He looked me over, as if searching for something written on my skin. He sounded less confident when he spoke up. ""That's why I'm letting you go. You realize how badly you messed up. You didn't do it maliciously, and you genuinely regret it."" He let out a deep sigh. ""I wish you didn't. I wish you were an entitled, self-righteous jerk that I could justify taking revenge on. But you're not."" He stood up, and started walking back toward the counter. When he was standing beside me, he looked down at me. He looked down *on* me. I could see it in his stance, and I could feel it in me. I was lesser, I was flawed, I was *scum*. ""Consider yourself lucky,"" he said. ""I got to come back. It's nothing special. But you?"" He walked away, calling back the words as he went. ""You get a second chance."" *** Hello everyone! u/HighWizardOrren here. If you liked this story, please consider ! It contains a whole lot more of my writing, including my other writing prompt responses. Thank you for reading.",1221
 I used to daydream of becoming,"What would you do if you were immortal? That is that question that kids ask themselves while they daydream in class, what would it be like to live forever. I used to daydream like that so far away, imagining myself becoming so rich and powerful, advancing technology, making the world a better place. I always viewed myself as a benevolent benefactor, who would shape the direction of humanity and turn it into a better place, letting myself die and become a different person every generation, so no one would suspect my secret. Even when dreaming of something as far out of reach as immortality, your dreams can never match reality. I still remember exactly when I became immortal. I was a young man, the perfect time to become immortal, just at the end of my prime years, so full of energy and wonder and life. It wasn't an accident, it wasn't luck, it wasn't even mistake, but at the time, as naive as I was, that what I thought it was. I was walking through a shortcut to get home, and I came across a boy, maybe 16 years old, in the woods as well. I had never really met anyone in the woods before, and so I called out a greeting to him. He just reached out and touched me, and then died. That was it, I had no idea what had happened, it traumatized me really. Talking to the paramedics, to the police, answering interrogation after interrogation. I probably would have been arrested for murder if the autopsy hadn't came back saying that it was natural causes that killed him. No one believed me that he just touched me and died. It took eight years after that moment to learn I was immortal. Looking back it seems like short a small time to be alive, I thought I was 32 at the time, I had found a wife, settled down with a kid, and was driving home after a long day at work. I was supposed to die right there, I know I was. I was turning left onto a street, and was hit in the side by an eighteen wheeler. The car disintegrated into pieces and I was thrown into the wall, but only had a concussion and several cuts. The doctors said that it was a miracle, that I had managed to fly out of the car on the impact, and so I didn't get crushed by the truck. I couldn't accept that it was a miracle though, because I remember exactly what happened. The truck hit my car, crushed it to pieces, and ran over me. I stared there and watched as the tires ran over my face, and then the truck moved past, and I crawled out from under the wreckage and threw up. That was it though, right? I was immortal now, suddenly those childhood dreams could come to life, and I could do so many great and awesome things. Except now I had lived long enough to question that dream, how exactly was I going to become a trillionaire and shape the universe? I made just enough money to feed my family and live a comfortable life. I wouldn't even know how to make more money, to become rich and powerful, and did I really want to? I was happy, I loved my wife, and my kids, enjoyed the job that I did. And so I made that choice there, that I wouldn't think about it, wouldn't worry about it. I would just live the life that I had. Of course, that didn't work out. There was a major flaw in that plan. My wife was getting older, my child growing up, but I still look like I was 24. People would talk about how great my genes were, that I looked 24 even though I was 42, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep up that lie. I did the only thing that really made sense to me, I told my wife. She didn't believe me of course, told me that I was probably imagining what had happened due to the trauma, and she asked me if I had ever tested it. I told her no, because I didn't want to risk it not being true, since I didn't want to leave them. And so we put it off again, pretended like it wasn't true, but by the time that I was 50, we knew that there wasn't another explanation. She was starting to grow old her hair was rapidly turning grey, and I looked exactly like my 24th picture. We talked and talked about it, and came to the conclusion that we had to know for sure. We took out a million dollar life insurance policy and waited a year, being as cautious as we could. She was so brave and strong, she said she would be the one to do it. Her hand trembled so much, as she gripped the knife. I tried to joke, to tell her it would be fine, and finally I took the knife with her, and together we killed me. As you can guess, I didn't die. Just stood there with a knife sticking out of my chest. It hurt as about as much as accidently cutting your finger hurts. I thought, maybe we missed the heart, it's not like any of us where experts. When we took the knife out, we knew it was true, as blood was squirting out with force, everytime my heart beat. We bandaged me up, and I healed within the day. Neither of us really knew what to do, and neither of us wanted to talk about the bitter truth, I would live and she would die. She learned to do stage makeup, and would age me up every day, loving applying the false layer of age to my face every morning. She did that until she died, a heart attack at the age of eighty one. Up until that moment I had been so content with life, so happy and full, knowing that I had someone who accepted me for who I was. And just as abruptly she was gone. I took the cowards way out, not able to face my son. I made it look like a car accident, drunk on sorrow from my wife, I crashed my car off a cliff edge and sunk to the bottom, and then slowly swam away. What to do then though? I was dead, my credit cards and money useless now, my identify compromised. I would be starting from nothing, without even an identify to my name. I just drifted endlessly, lost in the world. I couldn't starve myself to death, couldn't drown myself, couldn't do anything to escape my sorrow. So I became a bum, begging money for alcohol so I could drown my sorrows, trying my hardest to forget my life. I don't really know how long I went on like that. It was a drunken stupor, it could have been days, it could have been hundreds of years. What I do know is that it was a kind stranger who brought me out of my self induced medication, who took me off the street while I was passed out, and gave me clothes and a bed to sleep in, who came and talked to me, and just listened without judging. I told them the truth, the entire truth, because I knew that they wouldn't believe me, just the ravings of a drunk person. They were wiser than I was, and they didn't question my story, or call me a liar, they just listened and let me get it out. I learned so much from talking to them, from being there in a kind and caring place. I was able to put my life back together, to piece together who I was. That was when I looked at the world around me again, and looked at what had happened. That was when I learned that I had been drunk and homeless for a hundred and twenty three years. My son had already died and his kids had grandkids. I was glad to know that he had done well, and lived a full life, but I knew I would never be able to see my family again, never be able to talk to them or share a hug. It was painful to realize that, to realize just how alone eternity was. I thought long and hard about coming out and talking to them, if anyone could accept me, it would be family. And then I did my research. I should have done this research a long time ago, but I was too young and stupid to do it. I researched immortality, I visited every single link on google, every single news article, every rumor, every book in the library that mentioned immortality. After it's not like I was on a timetable or schedule. Being immortal meant that I had all the time in the world, but it didn't make the task more interesting and more exciting to me, and so I definitely wasted a lot of time not researching or reading, but eventually I started to find stuff in my studies that motivated me to look harder. Since you are not immortal, I'll cut down a hundred years of research into a brief summary. I'm not the only immortal person. There are actually a lot of immortal people in the world, maybe a dozen to a hundred, but the immortality always has the same story. The person isn't born immortal, but instead they become immortal, always by someone touching them and then dying immediately. That is because when you are immortal, there is exactly one way to die, which is if too many people discover who you are. If enough people discover that you are immortal, and I don't know what that magic number is, you lose your immortality, and have exactly one year to pick who you want to have immortality after you. The next person that you touch will get your immortality and you will die, and if you don't touch someone within the year, you'll live in constant agony until you touch someone. Apparently, you learn all of this as soon as your secret is discovered, almost as if a hidden memory unlocks. I've found more than thirty journals at this point, and they all say the same thing. The most troubling thing is that it doesn't have to be other people who figure it out, if another immortal, any other immortal, learns that you are immortal, it immediately triggers the death process. (continued below)",1783
" Commander Ellison Hart said, ""We","""You're not welcome here, you need to leave,"" Ricardo said through the translator. A mixture of twelve men and women stood behind him dressed in an assortment of clothing. They looked bored with the whole thing. ""What?"" Commander Ellison Hart asked in confusion, ""We have spent three centuries rebuilding and preparing to liberate you."" Behind her was a platoon of the Liberation Force's finest soldiers dressed in all manner of smart cybernetic armor. ""You abandoned us,"" he answered with a shrug, ""You took everything you thought was of value with you. You left us with nothing, not even food. Do you know how many people starved that first winter?"" ""We were losing the war!"" Hart shouted, ""We created the wormhole to Delta Sigma 6 and spent the last three centuries building a military force to return. You were never forgotten. We always had plans to return for you."" The last was a lie as they didn't expect to find any survivors. ""How touching,"" one of the women behind Ricardo said then added, ""That did a lot of good to my great, great, great grandparents as you left them the choice of being dissolved into a nutrient paste by the Inralldi or slowly die to lack of basic materials. This was all caused by you stealing everything. You're filthy thieves."" ""Thieves? Us?"" a man in a general's outfit behind Hart angrily retorted before she can stop him, ""Everyone of value was taken in the evacuation. That says a lot about who you were descended from. We just left the criminals and scu..."" ""Quiet!"" Hart ordered him but she could see the native Earther's were rankled by this. She reminded herself to bust him back down to private later, ""I apologize for that outburst."" ""Commander, a moment,"" someone said behind her and the negotiations paused for the moment, both sides eyeing one another warily. She approached Major Laurens who was in charge of intel, ""Our drones indicate that the Nearthers, native earthers that is, are six billion strong. The population three hundred years ago was just under a billion so they've been having some fun. Sorry, sir."" He said when he noticed her frown. She nodded for him to continue, ""Agriculture is their main focus followed by specialized production through three dimensional printing. Each home seems to have one to meet all their needs. They are really quite advanced in..."" ""So no threat?"" Hart asked him. ""None that I can see,"" he stated flatly then began to ask but was cut off, ""But how did they defeat the..."" ""Attention delegates,"" Hart shouted and everyone gathered around, ""In the light of recent intel I'll make this simple."" She turned to Ricardo and the group of survivors and smiled coldly, ""In orbit around this planet are about sixty thousand ships of all shapes and sizes. If I give the order the surface of this planet can be scoured of all life to a depth of about six feet below the topsoil level. I want you to remember this as we continue negotiations."" ""Are you threatening us?"" Ricardo asked icily. She noticed dangerous smiles playing on the faces of those around him and felt a sudden feeling of panic which she fought down. Hart could feel weapons being primed through mind-links behind her and gave a mental order to stand down. ""No,"" she answered, ""I am simply stating the facts. You may have defeated the Inralldi but our force was designed to have a 99.8% chance of victory against them. I am just saying that we are back and we want half the planet returned to us. You can safely live on your..."" ""Half the planet?"" Ricardo laughed, ""You ran like cowards across the stars to lick your wounds and tell each other to be brave while you prayed the Inralldi wouldn't chase you. You left our ancestors to die and now you return with demands? You have no right to make demands. You have made a grave error today, cowards."" ""Ricardo, be reasonable,"" Hart stated, giving the mental order to set weapons to stun and ordering the fleet to get ready to give a non-lethal show of force, ""We hold all the cards."" ""Commander,"" Ricardo said spitting out her title as if it were acid on his tongue, ""Your error, hell our error, was in thinking the Inralldi were here to destroy the Earth. You thought they were here to make meals of us. They seemed to be a mindless, purposeless race of alien blobs that dropped from the skies and turned humans into goo."" ""They were,"" Hart said simply, ""How did you stop them? We need this intel in case we ever run into them again - for humanity's sake!"" ""We didn't."" Ricardo said and with these two words weapons primed both in the soldiers around Hart and in the ships orbiting above her, ""They were an entity sent here to discover our biology. They dissolved us and took us into themselves not to eat but to study. Their mission was not to destroy - their mission was to Uplift. To remake us for maximum survival."" Her mind-link suddenly went berserk with orbital chatter. Millions of blobs were attaching themselves to and breaching the fleet above them. ""You've betrayed us,"" Hart told him simply, lifting her rifle as they were suddenly surrounded by thousands of ""uplifted"" humans, ""You've betrayed humanity!"" ""We *are* humanity,"" Ricardo said, ""The new humanity. You see, you fear they changed the way we think but they did not. They left us our free will to do what we want within the new bodies they molded for us. We are no more alien than you are, Commander. You, however, represent the very worst of us. You are the great betrayers. You are the cowards. *You* are the dregs of humanity that fled across space with your tails between your legs when you should have stood and fought beside us. You left a billion to starve or die always trying to convince yourselves it was necessary. Remember, I told you to leave - running away is something you are infinitely good at. You have no place in the new universal order."" No more words were said as the battle started.",1039
 A legion of soldiers clad in power,"""Uh... Hi?"" A puzzled farmer said as a legion of soldiers clad in power armor awkwardly stood around in an open field. They were all armed to the teeth and trained from birth to liberate the cradle of humanity. They'd expected heavy resistance and to have at least half their men wiped out before they landed. Instead, they had no issues and landed smoothly. ""Hello. We're here to purge the xenos and liberate Earth."" The other man said as the farmer chewed on a piece of wheat. The farmer rubbed his chin contemplatively before asking the billion dollar question. ""Uh, who exactly are you?"" He asked, a rather logical question given the circumstances. ""We are the United Earth Liberation force. We left 3 centuries ago and we're here to save you from the invading xenos."" The man stated, his voice heavily distorted by the static of his speaker. ""About damn time!"" The farmer snapped with a toothy grin. ""But, why are you here instead of Mexico?"" He asked. ""Is that where the Xenos are?"" The soldier asked. ""Course!"" The farmer exclaimed. ""Where else would you find an illegal alien?"" He asked as the entire platoon facepalmed. ""No, not those aliens. The other ones."" The farmer rubbed his chin before snapping his fingers. ""Right, right. Sorry. The other ones are up north. Frozen dump called Canada."" The farmer said. ""Stupid syrup slurping-"" ""No! Not those aliens!"" ""Look mister, you're gonna need t'be more specific, cause, uh, I'm lost."" ""I mean the ones from space! The ones that invaded in 2030!"" The soldier shouted indignantly. The farmer rubbed his chin, deep in thought before snapping his fingers. ""Right, right. You must be meaning them spacebacks!"" He exclaimed. ""Yes! We're here to kill spacebacks! So where are they!?"" ""Canada and Mexico."" ""AAAAAAAAARGH!"" The exchange went on back and forth for nearly an hour before the entire platoon raised their hands and walked away, leaving the farmer to go back to his work. Eventually, the squad marched over to a nearby town bustling with activity. None of the men were accustomed to seeing smiles, nor were they accustomed to anything better than tubes of paste for nutrients. Upon seeing a restaurant serving hotdogs and burgers, some men were tempted to remove their helmets and start eating, the aromas enticing to the point of madness. The leader of the squad walked over to the sheriff's office and awkwardly waited by the front desk where a grizzled old man was sleeping. Reaching forward, the armored giant dinged the bell, waking the small county sheriff up. He logically screamed and took out his shotgun while spouting about obscenities. A round of buckshot deflected off the head soldier's power armor as the sheriff emptied his magazine. Eventually, the sheriff ran out of ammo and calmed down long enough for a chat with the commander of the troops. ""Son, you're telling me you're descended from the guys who flew out into the stars, and you're here to save us from the Xenos that came a while back?"" ""Yes. I apologize we took so long and that we had to abandon Earth. We intend to regain our honor by liberating everyone."" ""Great. So why aren't you in Canada or Mexico?"" ""SON OF A-"" ""Sir, uh, there seems to be a mild issue."" One of the soldiers said as a helicopter flew in over the horizon, its blades piercing the skies as it landed outside the small town. The doors opened to display a mousy looking man in a suit clutching a clipboard. He looked more like an investment banker than a government operative, but the soldiers knew that looks could be deceiving. ""Hey, are you the men who came in from space?"" The man asked. ""Yes. We are the-"" ""Yes, yes. Earth liberation force, here to purge the xenos, and crap."" The man said dismissively before clearing his throat. ""Look, this uh, might be a shocker for you but... Well, the Xenos aren't really xenos."" ""Excuse me?"" ""Yeah, turns out, during the Dark ages, stuff happened and a bunch of intellectuals, skilled artisans, and the wealthy fled earth. Dregs of society were left, waged war on the aliens, lost, civilization collapsed, aliens destroyed everything, then they got wiped out by the Black Plague."" The man said rather calmly. ""What are you talking abo-"" ""Survivors bred, made us, we rebuilt civilization. Fast forward few hundred years and the chunk of humanity that left returned intending to retake Earth from the xenos. Our ancestors thought they were a hostile advanced alien force invading, and, well, pulled the same thing."" The government operative continued, silencing every soldier in the area. The only sources of noise were their portable battery packs softly whirring in the tranquil town. ""So... Are you by chance at war with these people?"" The soldier asked expectantly. ""Not really. We gave them Mexico and Canada. After that, we've been trucking along just fine."" ""Seriously?"" The soldier asked in disbelief. He hoped that the man in front of him was lying. That humanity was extinct, and the xenos had copied his appearance to deceive them. Sadly, the architects of his power armor predicted this, and installed biological scanners and lie detectors in the armor. He was a human telling the truth. ""I'm really sorry you had to find out this way."" The man said while scratching his neck, looking over at the rest of the soldiers. ""Look, let me buy you guys some beers, and we'll talk over how to reintegrate you all into Earth again."" He offered as the soldier looked at his face, scanning him for any signs of hostility. To his pleasure or dismay, there was nothing of the sort. ""You're not angry we abandoned you and left you to die in the face of alien invaders?"" He asked, hoping to at least get some action. Instead, the man let out a soft chuckle before grabbing the soldier's arm with brotherly affection. ""No. In fact, we're incredibly thankful for you guys."" He said with a cheery voice. ""When you left, you had the courtesy of taking ALL the politicians, CIA spooks, and international arms dealers. First few years were bad, but we got world peace within the decade."" He said before beckoning towards them. ""Let's just get some beers and talk tomorrow."" ""40 years of training down the damn toilet."" The soldier complained, following the mousy man into the local pub and drinking his sorrows away with the rest of his men.",1084
 Lanie's best friend for the,"Creak, whoosh, squeal. I looked up from my phone as Lanie went soaring again on the playground swing, laughing, blonde hair streaming behind her. Creak. Squeal. The noise didn't come from the newly oiled, newly painted swing, but rather her best friend for the past week, who occupied the seat next to her. He stretched out his feet whenever he reached maximum height, causing the entire structure to shiver. 'Course, who was I to tell a man wearing a full suit of black plate armor, whose greathammer was bigger than some trucks and lying on the grass nearby, that it wasn't safe for my daughter to play with him? He'd only threatened to crush my skull, through a series of grunts and gestures, when I'd refused to let him into the house on the first day. ""Lanie, come out of the sun for a while,"" I called. ""In a while!"" she called back. I'd tried everything--new clothes, toys, sweets, even a puppy, yet she'd been incredibly cagey about where she'd met him. Fearing the worst, I'd brought her to a doctor--but until today, I wasn't sure whether he'd been telling the truth about her condition with the knight looming over him in the office. ""Hey, Knight in Scowling Armor,"" I called. ""You mind taking her off the swing for a break?"" He flipped me the bird as he flew ever higher, though he kept it on the down low, out of my girl's sight. God, I wished the chains would snap and send him flying over the hedge into the Parkers' new Range Rover. I hadn't even seen his face. That stupid visor stayed down all the time, and he apparently hadn't needed to eat, drink or shit. Unless he did the last without ... I shied away from that thought and continued researching do-it-yourself exorcisms on my phone. For a moment, I thought wistfully of Patrick. Sure, he'd been a lousy, no-good slacker who'd never helped out around the house, but he'd also been a pastor, though he'd been so secretive about his church that I'd suspected it was more of a cult. Ha! Maybe ... maybe that bastard's cult had conjured some sort of demon and sent it after us. My finger hovered over his number, but I shook my head. What a load of nonsense. ""Dad, when are we going to get a bigger house?"" Lanie shouted, looking over her shoulder. ""Why do we need to do that?"" I said, trying to ignore the fact that the knight's motions mirrored hers almost perfectly. ""So that he can move into my room, of course! He's been lonely and cold, he says, sleeping in the driveway."" You'd better hope I don't dig a hole six-feet-deep for him one of these days, I thought, smiling at her. ""We can't afford a bigger house. But maybe if he gets a job ..."" ""His job's to protect me at school."" My God, let's not even go there, I thought. ""Next year, okay?"" The knight signed at me with a pinky swear, then drew a finger across his throat. I glowered back; I could almost hear the whispering rattle of the armor that signaled laughter. You live in my house, dickhead, I mouthed. My skin suddenly tried to crawl off my body. I jumped up, looking about. Mist had begun to crawl onto the playground, heavy and opaque like smoke off a blazing building, and the sun had fled behind a curtain of thick, gray clouds that seemed to have just materialized. The knight hopped off his swing and grabbed his hammer, holding a palm out toward Lanie to get her to stop. ""Hell's going on?"" I said. ""Dad?"" Lanie hugged herself as she ran over to me. Her breaths came in foggy puffs. ""So cold."" I stripped off my jacket and wrapped it around her, staring at the knight. ""What's happening? This your doing?"" He shook his head, and at that instant, the mist along the road parted, revealing a white horse whose shoulders came up to my head. My jaw slowly dropped when I noted the massive horn in the middle of its forehead, and its four scarlet eyes. Tendrils of fog appeared to pouring from its shining hooves, and were those ... miniature lightning bolts around its horn? ""Hell is this?"" I said, pushing Lanie behind me. The horse--no, unicorn--cantered closer. Energy crackled around its muscular body, and its hooves split the earth with each step. Then it lowered its head, without warning, and charged, straight at me. The knight threw himself in the way; the horn sheared right through his chest, but his momentum dragged the creature to my right. Still, I barely scrambled away in time, Lanie in my arms, as the two crashed into the ground. The unicorn screamed, thrashing its head--metal squealed as the horn shredded the edges of the opening. The knight, however, reacted with unnatural poise, bringing his hammer around in an arc that slammed it into the unicorn's ribs. The impact tore it free from the knight, sending it skidding across the earth, leaving a long furrow in its wake. It lay on the ground, kicking and squealing in pain, as the knight slowly got up. My eyes grew wide when I saw the hole in his chest--and the emptiness within. ""You're not ... human?"" I said. ""Who cares?"" Lanie screamed. ""Look out!"" The unicorn had gotten its forelegs under it, and leveled its horn at the knight. An eye-searing blast of red energy shot from the tip, blasting into the knight with a thunderclap that sent him flying almost as far as the unicorn had. With the knight out of the way, the beast got up and shook its head. Then all four of its eyes focused on us, on me. The air around the horn began to spark and shimmer. ""Lanie, run,"" I said softly. ""Dad, no!"" She clung to my waist. ""Run, run!"" I shoved her--possibly the worst thing I could have ever done to her--and stepped forward, waving my arms to keep the unicorn's attention on me. God damn you, Patrick; first the knight, now this ... The unicorn neighed. Power coalesced ... and exploded in its face as a thrown hammer collided with the horn. There was a sound like shattering glass, and then a broken spike landed a few inches from my feet. The grass immediately caught fire. I yelped and hopped back, even as the unicorn reared back with a terrible scream. Its head was blackened, and some kind of sticky blue fluid drizzled from the remnants of its horn. Without further ado, it turned and sprang away into the mists once again. The knight staggered over and stomped on the smoldering grass. Then he clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. ""Not bad, you,"" I said. Then I grabbed Lanie and hugged her tight to my chest. She was crying, I was crying, then the goddamn knight just had to come and wrap himself around us. *** *Thanks for reading! I figured, since the premise was already ridiculous, I'd just amp it up and reintroduce the Random Unicorn that I used in one other prompt response before. Check out more of my writing at my .*",1214
 Other than the mumbles and sn,"#GET TO SAFETY The words flashed like a house fire under my eyelids, burning my dreams to wisps. I bolted upright, breathing hard, looking about wildly. Other than the mumbles and snores of sleeping children, and distant rumbling of an oncoming storm, the night seemed at peace. Yet, I couldn't dispel the uneasy feeling that had settled over me. Those words that occupied their own little corner of my vision had never exactly been wrong or right. They didn't tell me what would happen, only what I should do. ""Pay the milkman"" or ""scrub the chimney"" had saved me from a few lashings, but there was now a marked difference. They'd usually been a benign green, like the crown of a tree in the birth of summer, rather than a pulsing, angry red. ""Wake up,"" I said harshly, jumping off the bed and hurrying to the cupboard. Through the window I looked; twinkling stars winked back at me, suspended over a dark countryside of rolling hills and plains, dotted with farmhouses. A pink glow was spreading over the horizon; had dawn come already? I felt as if I'd just gone to bed. ""Up!"" I called, tossing an empty knapsack onto the nearest bed. My brother Pete grumbled, rolled over. I reached over and slapped his toes. ""What?"" he growled, sitting up. He was a year younger, and everyone loved telling us that we couldn't possibly be brothers. He had long, curly hair that fell all over his forehead; I kept my to a close shave. He was angular; I, round. He loved gardening, while I went on long hikes and chased rabbits. Pete was full of emotion, and life, they liked to say, then add that a statue would cry before I did. Yet there was one similarity nobody could deny: we were both at the bottom our years at school. ""Go wake mother and father,"" I said. ""Why? Abram, it's the middle of the n--"" He was cut off by a yawn. ""Sally! I need you to take the twins. Now!"" My elder sister rubbed her eyes, all so she could glare at me. Three boys had courted her, and all three had been scared off by her temper eventually. I knew she would flay me with her words if given the chance, so I quickly said, ""It's an emergency!"" ""Is our house on fire or something?"" Pete said on his way past. ""'Cause the only thing I smell is your crappy joke."" Sally had scooped up Sandra and Sandy; the girls were still asleep. While she carried them out, I finished shoving some spare blankets into a second bag, then hoisted one over each shoulder. The rest of the family had gathered outside my parents' room, under the stuffed moose head that was father's greatest trophy. He now stood in his pajamas, ringed by his children, looking distinctly irritated. ""Abram ..."" he said in a warning tone. ""The words told me to run,"" I said. His gaze changed from one of challenge to worry. Mother appeared a moment later, fastening a jacket over her dressing gown, and he wrapped an arm around her as we hurried out of the house. I parceled out blankets and cloaks as we went, trying my best to ignore the flashing warning. Struck by the cold night air, the twins woke up and began complaining. ""What happen?"" Sandy cried. Mother took over Sandra from Sally, shushing her. I led the way down the dirt road, past the barn with all the sleeping animals inside, past the cornfields, past the fish pond. I started to feel silly, even a bit guilty; was I imagining things? What if I'd over-reacted? The words were behaving strangely, after all--I'd never really questioned them, since they were so convenient, but I couldn't control them. I glanced over my shoulder to check on my family, and that was when I realized the sky seemed to be ablaze. Red and orange fought one another in the distance, broken by columns of smoke. The sight made me falter, and my family stopped as well. ""What's that?"" Pete said, pointing. A black speck seemed to be gliding in the air, in our general direction. It was joined by several others, spread out behind it in a rough triangular formation. Father grabbed Sandy from Sally's arms, then shoved Pete on the shoulder. ""Run!"" We tore down the road, twins screaming, mother praying between breaths. I glanced back, just in time to see that, as the first plane flew over the Ruthers' farm, something plummeted from beneath it. Then the farm exploded into a fireball. A scream tore its way from my throat as we hurtled off the road, into our orchard. There, father gathered everyone into a small trench he'd dug last year but not filled, and we hunched into it. The words suddenly shifted, becoming ""stay"". ""We're safe, I think,"" I said. My family nodded, lips tight. We watched as the planes grew closer; more explosions in the distance as farms, homes, and neighbors were destroyed. The night seemed almost like day, fires clawing at the sky, and the wind carried soot into our nostrils. Were those ... screams? I jammed my fingers into my ears. We were all waiting, I knew, just counting down the seconds ... Though we'd been expecting it, the destruction of our house took us by surprise. There was a shrill whistling, then a bright bloom of flame that consumed everything we'd had. Mother and Sally clutched each other, crying; father's expression could have chipped steel. The twins, however, just stared dully. I covered their eyes, wishing someone could do the same for me. *** By the time our farm had been burned to its foundations, my family had given in to exhaustion once more. I couldn't sleep, however. My brain was racing--who had done this? Who could have gone to war with us? Why? Why target innocent farmers? As I sat in the trench with my feet up against my chest, listening to my family sleep, and the songs of oblivious birds, while the horizon brightened--real sunlight this time--I realized I had to do something. My brain was going to drive me crazy otherwise. I climbed out of the trench and trekked toward the house, figuring to salvage anything I could. The words showed up again. ""Stay"". ""No,"" I muttered to myself. ""I need to help my family."" I broke into a run, irrational rage building at the words. Tell me who did this, I tried to command. But they didn't waver. Stay. Who? Stay. ""No!"" I screamed, reaching our yard. Other than some blackened, skeletal timbers, nothing remained. From the ruins of the barn came a sickening smell of charred meat, and I almost retched. Sinking to my knees, I clawed at burnt soil. In the span of a single night, we'd lost everything. Then something slammed into the back of my head, knocking me face-first into the ground. I spat dirt and tried to get up, but something thin, cold and hard pressed into my back. A voice said something, words I didn't understand. Another replied. In all honesty, bad grades weren't the only things Pete and I shared. We also never backed down from a fight. I rolled over and scrambled up. My attackers appeared to be two men, wearing navy blue uniforms and carrying rifles. They appeared surprised that I'd recovered so quickly from the blow, and that bought me a precious second to lunge at the nearest one. My right fist caught him on the chin, while my left dug into his belly. He gasped, staggering back. Leaving me open to his companion. The other soldier smiled viciously, then opened fire at my chest. At such a close range, he couldn't miss. He didn't. The crack must have echoed for miles. The bullet tore through my chest; the impact drove me back a step. In my head, I knew I was dead. Yet, I didn't fall over. There wasn't even pain. The soldier's eyes grew wide, and I followed his gaze. There was a neat hole through my shirt and in my chest, but not a single drop of blood. Instead, some sort of strange, sparking tendril had popped out of the wound. He stammered something in his language, even as I threw myself at the other soldier. I slammed my head into his nose, then snatched his gun away. The panicking soldier raised his rifle, but I was faster; one had to be, when sniping rabbits. My shot took him in the left eye. Then I swiveled around at his companion and fired; blood sprayed from his throat. As the sounds of gunfire died away, and the adrenaline drained away, I scuttled back and threw the rifle down. What the hell? I felt at my wound again--still no blood. I didn't even feel winded. Was this related to the words, somehow? And if so ... what was I? *** *Thanks for reading! Check out my for more writing!*",1508
 There's a reason everyone takes the,"1/20 That's what they say. I don't know if any one person knows enough about the test to be sure. My parents say it used to be half that, a quarter even. Doesn't really matter now. It seems really high when you're about to take it for yourself, but I guess there has to be a reason for all this, and whatever that may be, they need the best of us. Some have people in their lives brave or foolish enough to prepare them for this step. Some only dare to speak a few words of their experience. I think most of them regret it. Few escape the ever-watching eye of the government. There's a reason everyone takes the test. I didn't know much of anything going in. I thought it was for the best. However, I knew I didn't want to be one of the 5%. I planned to do everything in my power to get through it. On the day of the test, the grim crone at the front of the room complicated my decision when she explained: ""This test is to be completed within the time frame allotted. All questions are multiple-choice. Any student found cheating or intentionally scoring poorly will be subject to severe, criminal punishment."" This is kinda stuff I wish someone had been foolish enough to tell me beforehand. I could've really used this information when I was deciding whether I needed a back-up plan. Being a quick, albeit lazy thinker, I came up with the perfect replacement strategy in the moment. If I couldn't let them identify a pattern in my attempts to obscure my intellect, I would guarantee there was no pattern. To be honest, this was the plan of someone who didn't really need any help to stay safe from the test's consequences. It also happened to be the plan of someone whose luck on this day Helen Keller would have scoffed at. Honestly, I left that day feeling pretty good. The old witch may have nearly tripped me up, but I reacted gracefully in my opinion. It wasn't until a week later that I realized my strategy may have been somewhat flawed. One point. That's all it was. God damn it. God fucking damn it. How is this even possible? What level of morons must exist for me to have been in the top 5%? To describe myself as anything less than mind-blown would be an understatement. I wasted the next few minutes silently struggling to process the situation in front of me when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. No one ever knocks on our door. I know why they're here. I know I can't run; I can't hide. I might as well face whatever is the on the other side of that door. I walked slowly and wistfully, but I continued all the same. My parents shuffled somberly behind me. I answered the door to what may have been the most normal-looking man I'd ever seen. ""Hello. I'm here to congratulate you on your recent success in the National Competency Exam. As part of your reward, you will be welcome to reap the benefits of your aptitude in a new life, a new type of existence beyond anything you know."" ""Where are we going?"" ""You'll know when we get there. I'm sorry, but we must leave immediately."" I was given the chance to say a quick goodbye to my parents. I can't imagine how hard it was on them to lose their only child especially like this. The man grabbed my hand and led me away from my home. I heard the discordant shrieks of my mother as I continued on, never to return. The man was silent and still grasping my hand tightly as we walked to his car. He told me we were going to go to a place where there were others like me. Although, it could more accurately be described as a place where there were others who scored like me. I doubt there were many who ended up in this situation the same way I did. I spent most of the ride trying to calculate what the odds were of such an event, but ironically, it was hopeless. When we arrived at the new but plain looking warehouse after a few hours of driving. The man told me to get out, and we walked to the large, sliding door out front. ""Is there anyway I can turn back now?"" ""There's no need to worry. Everything has been taken care of. You will see why this is necessary."" ""You're making a mistake. I'm not who you want."" ""Relax, this is a good thing. You're going to get a chance to move on to something bigger than yourself"" Without warning, the door slowly opened to a huge, bright, white room. Considering it's size, the room did not have much in it. There were a few men who looked like janitors in white jumpsuits, a few doors to exterior rooms on the walls, there was a large stack of plastic bags in one corner, and on the ground, there were thin sheets laid out in a grid pattern. We continued inside. ""Sorry for the lack of decorum and amenities. This is a short-term shelter we use while gathering the winners. You're one of the first people we picked up this year, so you might have to rough it for a bit while we finish getting setup."" ""Um ok, although it seems like you could do better than sheets and a weird room to start off the rewar-"" I don't think I had time to react. Maybe, I did, but if so, I was too slow to realize I had time to react. Three loud shots rang out. I stayed standing for a moment. I knew something was wrong, but I felt surprisingly ok given the circumstances. It didn't take long for me to crumble on to one of the conveniently placed sheets. While I still had some semblance of control over my body, I had the chance to look around the room. I didn't know what I expected. The janitors seemed almost entirely unphased. There was barely a reaction from any of them. I could see one pulling a thick, unusually long plastic bag from the mountain at their disposal. ""What the fuck?! You shot me! What the hell is this?"", I said as my breathing got difficult and my vision dark. The normal-looking man looked down at me with an expression that could only be described as a combination of pity and boredom. ""I'm sorry kid. This is how the world works. Law and order may be expected these days, but it wasn't always that way. There used to be a time where people pushed back. It caused so many problems. No matter how many groups cycled in and out of power, no one group or system was capable of weathering the test of time. So, the last of those such groups invented the test. A test designed to cull those who could challenge the natural order. A system designed to protect itself from those with the power to destroy it. Honestly, it all goes over my head, but this is the life I was given."" I don't know if the normal-looking man kept monologuing and making excuses, but it didn't matter because I was fading away. My strength withered, and my pain dissipated. I couldn't feel much of anything anymore. *I wasn't even supposed to be here. I wasn't their target. Maybe, I misconstrued what they were after, but what they were after is utterly ridiculous. Even in this state, I struggle to believe the last words I heard. What the actual fuck does this stupid government plot have to do with me or any random kid for that matter? Was it even true? Was he just fucking with me?* *I really just wanted to stay home. Why did this have to happen? Mom? Dad? I didn't really score 96%. I didn't really get a new life. Will you ever even know what happen to me? I just don't want to die, and if I have to, why does it have to be for nothing? Please don't let me die. It was only one point.* Edit: I really appreciate the kind words. I've been meaning to try doing one of these for a long time, but I've never taken the time. Last night, I was just drunk enough and brain-fried from work enough to feel like I had a solid excuse if I bombed haha. I'm not great at compartmentalizing stories, and this is an interesting way to improve on that. I got a little weird and over-the-top with it, but it was fun. Thanks again!",1464
 Trish was the only person to,"""And you want me to do what?"" Trish asked, arms folded. She wore thin gold hoops on her wrists and they jingled with every movement the limousine made. I steepled my fingers, leaning forward in my seat. ""Just ask him why he's kidnapping all my dates,"" I said. ""Like really make it clear that you were here on a date."" ""Okay, but why is Mr. Mega trying to stop you from dating?"" She asked. ""What'd you do to piss him off?"" ""Nothing,"" I said, throwing my hands up. ""He's just mad that we disagree in work."" ""You're not exactly the most important super villain,"" Trish said. ""Like, I'll take your money, don't get me wrong, but have you ever considered asking him to stop?"" I stared at her. Shed done up her hair, showing off her plunging neckline and slender neck. Some kind of flowered perfume drifted off of her in a cascading wave. She'd also been the only person to reply to the ad I'd placed online. ""If we could talk things out without him trying to commit me to citizens arrest,"" I said, ""then I'd try."" She smiled. ""So why don't you try?"" ""Every time I do anything they try to have me arrested, Trish. I make gear for everybody, government, private enterprises, you name it, but Mr. Mega thinks I'm the one to blame for anything anybody does with it."" ""Aren't you?"" Trish asked and made a pinching gesture, leaving some space between her fingers. ""Just a little?"" Another sceptic. I dealt with enough of that in the news. ""If I made shoes and someone used them in a robbery should I go to jail?"" ""If you made guns and someone used it in a robbery and you could have avoided selling it to that person, yes."" She said, shaking her head. I held up a hand. ""Look, no, I don't sell to anybody. My company sells products that anyone can buy."" She opened her mouth to say something and I pulled ahead, cutting her off. ""I get it, okay, I'm not stupid. People don't have to like me, and I'm always working on better solutions. I'm not a psychopath. But even I deserve to have a night off? Go on a date?"" Trish hesitated before rolling her eyes. ""You're the weirdest super villain I've ever met."" That cracked a smile on my face. ""Everyone's human,"" I said. I pulled up the projection map on my watch, turning the hologram around. ""We're almost there."" I looked at her, expectantly. ""I know, I know."" Trish spread her hands. ""Please don't repeat it again."" The spot I had picked was a little open air cliffside dinner, overlooking a soft beach. At night the lights of the city cast out on the water, pretty but far enough away that stars could still shine above. The wait staff were waiting for us, and I offered my hand to Trish as she stepped out of the limousine. She eyed it briefly, before accepting it. The soft smile on her face could have been a trick of the candlelight, but I hoped not. Once seated I glanced back up at the sky, more than half expecting Mr. Mega to already be hovering above us, his mechanical suit burning bright in the evening air. Trish followed my look. ""It's beautiful up there,"" she said. I picked up my wine glass, and when I looked back at her I found her watching me. I smiled, raising it to her in a mock toast. ""You're not what I expected,"" she said. ""Should I be cackling and showing you my collection of oversized doomsday devices?"" ""No, I just expected you to be more self centered,"" she said with a lazy wave of her hand. ""Honestly I thought you'd be showing me your 'evil lair' by now."" She gave me a look, half humor, half mock horror. ""And I don't mean where you keep your oversized doomsday devices."" I laughed, surprised and delighted. ""No, no, I was saving that for the third date."" I glanced upwards again as the waiter approached, and caught her staring at me again when the waiter handed me the menu. ""You should relax,"" Trish said. ""Sorry, I just don't usually get this far into a nice evening without..."" I trailed off. ""Sorry,"" I said again. ""No, I get it,"" she set her wineglass down. ""But focus on enjoying this."" Her hand reached out, touching mine. I gripped her fingers in my own. ""You're right,"" I said. ""Maybe he's busy saving the world."" She arched a brow. ""I mean you shouldn't spend your time worrying if someone is going to try and stop you from enjoying yourself,"" she said. ""Listen to what your heart wants, and just do that."" She made a face and rolled her eyes. ""Oh, wow, that was cheesy."" Her hand in mine, I found myself nodding. ""I mean, it's not the worst I've ever heard,"" I said, ""there was this one time when-"" The evening progressed. Dinner was served, a salad for me, prepared with homemade in house dressing, and a burger with fries for her. We exchanged halfway through, me stealing her fries while her eyes went wide at the taste of the dressing. And as the night, and date, drew to a close I realized I hadn't thought about Mr. Mega once in hours. ""I honestly didn't expect to be asking this,"" I said, sheepish. ""But can I drive you home? Normally, well by now Mr. Mega would have stolen you away by now. Maybe showed you his private lair, who knows."" Trish glanced at my watch and sighed. ""Honestly, I'd love to but I can't."" ""What do you mean?"" It wasn't that late, then realization dawned on me. ""Oh,"" I said, face growing red, ""no, I meant actually dropping you off at your home."" ""Hm?"" She asked, distracted. ""What? No, oh, no I wasn't trying to imply that you were going to, I mean,"" she stammered to a standstill. ""No, I mean I have work, and it would take too long to drive there."" I held up a hand. ""I'm confused,"" I said. ""Back up a step and explain? I'm still happy to pay you, if you want. I know Mr. Mega didn't show up, but I mean, a deals a deal."" ""No, stupid,"" Trish said. ""Look, I didn't expect to be out this long, honestly I wasn't even sure that this date was going to happen."" She cut me off with a motion. ""Mr. Mega isn't coming,"" she said. A slow suspicion dragged on me. ""Wait,"" I said, ""was this a set up?"" She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. ""Shut up you idiot and listen, okay?"" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again she caught me and didn't let me go. ""Mr. Mega hasn't been trying to ruin your dates,"" she said. ""And when I found your post I felt horrible about what had been happening. It was a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding. ""You're supposed to be this puppeteering villain, manipulating people and orchestrating and supplying the tools for all these criminals. And yes, what you're doing is wrong, and yes, we do need to have a conversation about it."" I tried to say something and instead she pressed her hand to my mouth and held it there. I couldn't so much as move as I realized what she was saying. ""I didn't mean to trick you,"" she said. ""And there's a arsonist currently trying to set someone's apartment on fire, so I don't have time to argue."" ""Mmfmmf,"" I said, through her hand. ""Yeah, I'm sure."" A sad look carried in her eyes, ""look, I had a really fun time. If you're willing to, I'd love to go on a second date. Maybe a movie? Next week, Tuesday? That's my next day off."" She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and as she did her clothes rippled, expanding into the all too familiar metal suit I knew. ""Call me,"" she said, before taking off into the air. I watched ""Mr. Mega"" fly off towards the city, leaving me holding a phone number and surrounded by a half dozen shocked witnesses. ""Wait,"" a waiter said. ""Mr. Mega is a woman?""",1384
 At the helm of the small research,"""Atention Klerg vessel, you are entering a quarantined area. Please redirect your vessel to avoid this star system."" The message repeated several more times before going silent. At the helm of the small research vessel was a diminutive creature, standing on 4 legs, a round body with 4 arms and a very large head crested with 4 eyes. Plex was its name, and science was its trade. Plex's eyes blinked slowly as it processed the message, the pieces slowly coming together. ""Plex, we should leave. This system is under quarantine, and it looks like there are several military posts orbiting outside this star systems debris cloud. I don't think we should be here."" Syriq, Plex's research apprentice, said nervously from its seat in the cockpit. The rough skin on Syriqs round torso rippled with anxiety. ""No! We have finally confirmed the gravitational anomaly we found when researching this quadrant! All the star charts on the galactanet fail to show a star system at these coordinates. Some being has gone through great trouble to hide this system, and I want to find out why!"" A rumbling sound came from Plex, almost sounding like a feline purr. Plex activated the communications array with a thought using its cybernetic implants, which were highly integrated with the small vessel. The cockpit was merely a formality as Plex could have controlled the vessel from anywhere inside. ""This is research vessel Klerg TT 6676153. I request permission to speak with whatever science team is posted here, please."" Syriq stated at its teacher in shock. ""What are you doing? They're going to arrest us! The told us to leave, and yet we haven't! That violates galactic codes -"" ""I know!"" Plex barked, cutting Syriq off mid-sentence, ""but this system is quarantined and hidden for a reason. I must know why!"" A few moments later a stiff sounding voice came on the comm. ""Research vessel Klert TT 6676153, you have not heeded warnings to leave. If you do not leave in 70 plips, you will be arrested according to -"" The transmission cut off abruptly and quickly replaced with another transmission. ""Plex, is that you old friend?"" A holo came to life, showing another Klerg roughly the same age as Plex peering with one eye into the camera and hastily looking about. ""By the stars, it is you! We're on the rimward most station, head there and I'll get your clearance approved! However, Plex, I must inform you, once you dock, you will spend the rest of your orbits here, studying this star system."" Plex, the equivalent of a smile splitting its face, replied, ""Tjorn, old friend, this is where they have you now? Of course I would love to see whats going on here! What about my young assistant? I doubt they would like to waste away their prime years out here."" ""Place them in stasis before you dock. We will send them back on the next transport."" ""Acknowledged, I will see you shortly."" &#x200B; \~ &#x200B; Several hours later, aboard the outpost station, in a briefing room. &#x200B; ""The beings that inhabit this star system call it Sol. They only have one habitable planet that they call Earth. There once were 3 habitable planets in this star system, but two were destroyed in the great interstellar war."" ""But that war...that war was tens of thousands of orbits ago!"" Exclaimed Plex. ""Are you telling me, these humans are decedents of our hated most enemy?"" Tjorn chuckled, ""Not quite. You see, our sworn enemy was completely and utterly destroyed. Even their cachets of spawn were hunted down and eliminated. These humans aren't direct decedents, per se, but rather they are a science experiment put on by the Limthinan."" ""A science experiment? You mean to tell me that the Limthinan created these humans?"" Shock, awe and wonder all ripppled across Plex's round body, resulting in interesting patterns as the emotional muscles all tried to interpret it's moods all at once. ""Sort of. We're still investigating and learning. From what we could tell, the Limthinans modified a native species genetic code to spur certain, aggressive traits. If they were still around, I firmly believe that the Limthinans would be surprised at how these humans turned out."" At that, Tjorn started a holo-presentation in the middle of the room. ""The humans are bi-pedal creatures, and evolved highly efficient bodies to cope with the harshness of their planet. Their stamina exceeds that of our most advanced fighters, able to function highly effectively for complete rotations without rest. In many cases, they train to enhance that particular capability."" ""This body efficiency and stamina has led them to become an apex predator on their planet. Occasionally they will succumb to wildlife larger than they are, but that is an exception. Armed with nothing but a sharpened stick, we've witnessed humans exterminate beasts far larger and stronger than they are."" ""There are beasts stronger than humans? This planet keeps getting better and better!"" Plex exclaimed. ""Indeed, but these creatures don't match humans in stamina or keen intellect. Tell me Plex, if I gave you two simple batteries to experiment with, would you experiment on both, or just one at a time?"" ""Ah, that is easy, I would experiment on one so I have a backup to experiment with in case the first failed. I would apply my lessons learned to perform better experiments on the second."" ""Ah, so refreshing to have a fellow intellect with me! That's not how humans would run the experiment. They would connect both batteries together in order to, ""see what happens."" Absolutely fascinating creatures."" Tjorn said, a bit wistfully. ""Astounding. So is this why they are quarantined? Their technological level seems to be fairly limited."" Plex asked. ""It took the Klerg 8 thousand orbits from when we first learned how to manufacture goods. Humans did it in under 200."" Silence reigned as Plex took stock of that shocking revelation. Tjorn continued, ""Additionally, they discovered Nuclear Fission before they reached space, by a scant 30 orbits, roughly."" ""Surely they used that knowledge to gain access to the stars."" Plex said. ""No,"" Tjrons voice dropped, his body sagging in emotional response, ""They used the technology as a weapon."" ""You can use nuclear fission as a weapon?"" Plex asked earnestly. ""Yes, and they used it on themselves during a time of great conflict."" ""Then how did they reach space?"" ""They strapped themselves on what were essentially giant bombs and shot themselves into orbit."" ""Are they crazy?"" ""And now, Plex, you understand why this system has been removed from the galactanet, and the system is quarantined. These humans represent a keter class species, and must never know that life exists beyond their heliosphere.""",1119
" The message was clear ""Get up","The red light was back, I saw it grow from a tiny pinprick to a warm glow that took up all of my senses. Hotter, to the point of being unbearable, and hotter still. My limbs wouldn't work to pull me away. My throat flexed in a mock yell that made no sound. Suddenly, cool relief on my face, the fire diminished, faded away into blackness. Uncomfortably wet now, I reached to touch my face and the dream melted away. Above me, I saw a mass of golden fur, and felt the insistent tongue lapping at my face again. The message was clear ""Get up."" I groaned as I pulled myself up from my ""bed"" of leaves and brushed off my clothes. The air was stiflingly hot and beginning to get hazy. Through the trees I could see the glow of the approaching fire, I gauged the distance then began to unbuckle my belt. From beside me, Jax let out a low growl, I patted the golden retriever's head with one hand. ""We aren't going to get very far if I don't go now."" Jax waited, very impatiently, while I answered nature's call, and when I was done, huffed in an irritated way as we started off through the woods. He tracked ahead of me, sniffing and scouting. I trusted him to lead us the right way, as he had since that day many years ago, when I was only ten years old. I would never forget the feeling of seeing my home in flames. Running to get help, but finding no one. The entire neighborhood engulfed in fire that seemed to consume the world. At first, Jax found an abandoned Wal-Mart, I stole a backpack, loaded it with food, a knife a camp stove, and anything else I thought might be helpful. Jax and I played hide and seek in the clothes section, ate beef jerky and played grown-up movies on the store's TVs. I loved that Wal-Mart. After 3 days I woke up to the smell of smoke and we were forced to move on again. We tried this several times, inevitably, the building would catch fire again, and so we were always kept moving from place to place. When Jax first led me to the edge of the forest the understanding came, that no buildings were safe. I held onto Jax's collar has he led the way through the dense growth, and the trees, and he took me through safely. He caught squirrels and rabbits for our dinner, never let me oversleep, licked the tears I shed for my family and friends, and kept me safe and warm. I owed my life to Jax. I didn't want to dwell on it too much, but it had occurred to me many times that Jax did not seem normal. My parents got him when I was 1 so he was 9 when this all began. By my best approximation, it has been 8 years and 3 months since I've seen another soul other than him. And for 17, he's looking very good. The idea had crept into my head before, that Jax was something more than a dog, sometimes he looked at me a little *too* intelligently. He stopped ahead of me and swung his head around as if he sensed the direction my thoughts were going. I patted him on the back. ""Sorry, buddy, just feeling distracted today."" I remarked. The air was cleaner here, definitely moving away from the fire. We shared a look. I didn't want to say it aloud, but had the feeling he understood as well as I did. The fires were following us. I wasn't sure if there was anywhere safe on earth for us now. I had been awakened the previous day with the fires similarly close, despite hiking all day, they had obviously caught up overnight. They seemed to be moving faster than we could outrun them. My hand gripped Jax's fur a little fearfully. The dog turned and lapped once at my hand then trotted forward. We didn't slow until long after night fall. The air was clean and cool, no signs of fires anywhere. I collapsed on the ground with my head on my backpack and fell, almost instantly, asleep. The red dot was there, far away, then increasing in size. ""No,"" I thought, but I felt the heat coming up on me. A loud bark roused me fully. It couldn't have been more than an hour since we stopped, yet there was the distinctive orange glow advancing through the trees. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I swung my backpack on, Jax and I ran. I knew there was no way we would outrun this fire forever, but I would be damned if I would go out without trying. Suddenly, Jax came to a halt ahead of me, nose twitching in the air. ""What is it?"" I asked him. He pointed his nose straight ahead. Looking forward I saw the same line of fire. I turned in a circle on the spot, and saw the fire surrounding us, there was nowhere to go , we had run out of options. I gripped Jax tightly, hugging him to my chest ""Jax, buddy, you've... you've been the best dog anyone could hope for."" Jax let out a low growl, and I sprang away from him. I heard something stepping through the trees, not a deer, I wasn't sure what. I squinted into the dark and finally saw him, the first person I had seen in eight years and it was the most frightening experience of my life. He moved animalistically, in a quick, twitching movement, like a cat about to pounce on his prey. His eyes were wide and his skin looked too tight, like he was uncomfortable in his body. ""Finally,"" the word slid out like a hiss. ""We've been looking for you for a long, long time. Come with me, now."" I felt a wave of evil roll off this man. ""No, never."" I said, trying to compose my voice into calmness. His head turned to me as if he had no idea I was there, I saw the firelight reflecting off of his face. He laughed openly, ""My dear boy, we have no use for you. We are here for him."" and one long white finger pointed directly at my dog.",1067
 Neil Armstrong died the morning he died,"You know how older people always talk about how they remember major events? Stuff like how the weather was when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or how they were checking the news to see if they could call in to work for bad weather when the Twin Towers were hit? You know. The events that seem to change the world. Well. I have a strong smell that I recall when I think of the morning Neil Armstrong passed away. And I remember that same strong smell the evening he came back. It is the smell of badly burned coffee. Now, I'm no expert when it comes to making my coffee. In fact, I'm downright terrible at it. Sometimes I put too many grounds in the filter, sometimes I put too much instant cream into it. I'd accidentally left my cheap coffee maker running that morning while I was rushing to throw another leg into my slacks. As I fumbled with the misshapen knot that I tried to tie my tie into, the crisp, earthy smell of singed Folgers wafting in from the kitchen, I heard the familiar DOO DOO DE DO DOO of a ""Breaking News!"" story from my TV. ""We at KWTF News are sad to inform you that Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon, was tragically hit by a semi-truck this morning, which had careened wildly from the icy stretch of highway next to Mr. Armstrong's car. The truck, carrying lighting equipment from the famous Disney On I--"" ""Man, that sucks..."" I lifted my thumb from the depressed power button on my television's remote control, slid my feet into my already-tied shoes (Mom always says that will ruin the backs of my shoes. Take that, Mom.) and dashed out the door, five minutes late for work already. With the clarity that hindsight provides, I now know I forgot to turn off my coffee pot's heater. \*\*\*\*\* Twelve and a half hours later, I turned past the half-staffed flag of the nearby bank and slowly slid back into the parking lot next to my apartment. It had been a terrible, long, and terrible day. Hours of useless meetings, useless phone calls, and useless managers yelling at me to fix whatever the new issue of the hour was. Oh, and one moment of silence for poor Mr. Armstrong. Our CEO had ushered us all into the parking lot. He said another of his long-winded speeches and then forced us all to take a moment of silence before ushering us back in and promptly sending an email saying we now had to skip our break because we lost time honoring An American Hero, and hey, while we're at it, why not work some mandatory overtime too? I don't think anyone mentioned anything other than Neil's passing all day. At least not while their noses weren't pressing up against their computer monitors. Coworkers, updated podcasts, even the local church's signboard; Neil Armstrong's death was all that was spoken of that day. So, you can imagine my exasperated sigh when I finally got home, flung my shoes off my feet, and turned on the TV to see a special about Neil Armstrong and his life and his death and his blah blah blah. I really wasn't paying attention, but I was just too tired to work up the energy to change the channel. My focus was on my wrinkled nose, and on the awful, awful stench of coffee that had been slowly burning away all day, the smell infesting my apartment. ""It's a miracle no one called the fire department on me,"" I moaned as I took the pot off the burner and finally switched the coffee maker off. I'd just started to pour the contents of the stained pot out when I heard the annoyingly familiar jingle. DOO DOO DE DO DOO. ""Oh, now what?"" Impatient and irate, I put the pot back down and stared at the television. Did I have to suffer through yet another windbag speech on what a hero Armstrong was? Was that a shot of the moon? Did China launch a manned expedition or something? ""We at KWTF News are... Well, frankly, we're baffled to be brining you this news. It seems that... yes, just a few moments ago, NASA scientists took some new photographs of our moon's surface. And it seems that..."" The bald newscaster mopped his always-sweaty pate before nervously continuing, ""Well, it sounds ridiculous, but it seems that our American flags, planted on the moon by our brave astronauts through many trips to the place, well... All six of them are now at half-staff. NASA is now hosting a live video feed on their website, which we will be featuring for the next few--"" What? No, I meant it. What? What just happened? How did that even make sense? Who would have even been able to do that? No, wait, scratch that, HOW did they even do that? Weren't those flags solid assemblies, all glued together and stuff? How would you even GET the flags to lower, much less get up there TO lower them? And, wait, there was more than one of them? The anchor continued to drone on while I took out my way-too-big phone and began to look up information about the moon landings. I was so invested in digging through search engines that I almost missed the old anchor cursing a few minutes later. ""Fuck! Holy fucking shit, what is that!?"" Wait, since when did they allow that kind of language on network TV? The news anchor's sweat from his red forehead was flying everywhere as the he got up from his desk and began to march offscreen. ""No, YOU calm down, Frank! Unless you know what that fucking thing is, you don't tell me--"" The news station was still showing NASA's livestream of one of the flags on the moon. And next to the flag was... Was that static? A blob of static, right next to the flag, moving around? It looked like an arm, moving up and down, almost like it was waving. I finally stumped over to my couch, my mouth gaping wide open. As I sat down, the static began to fade. As it did, you could almost make out something still there, something where the static was. Whoever was controlling the stream noticed too, because they tried their best to zoom in on what was becoming clear was a figure. Neil Armstrong, the same old face I'd seen posted all over my social media feeds and work emails all day, was waving at me. I mean, not at me, but I could swear the guy was staring right at me, through the TV. I couldn't help but give a tiny wave back. This man, this impossibly dead man stopped waving as soon as my hand fluttered. He gave a satisfied nod and a formal salute, and then... He was swallowed by static again as the image faded away, to be replaced with a screen made in the 90's that stated ""Technical Issues - We'll Be Right Back!"" After a few minutes of stunned silence, I got back up and stumped over to the half-emptied coffee pot and finished pouring it out. But even without the coffee, I didn't get any sleep that night.",1218
 Rocket peered at the towering gold,"""Go ahead, boy,"" Dan said to his dog, Rocket. Rocket peered at the towering gold gateway in front of them. Clouds swirled overhead, the ground was a blanket of wooly velvet. Murmers and barks could be heard far off, beyond the gates. A large pale dog trainer, with golden hair and white robe held a silver, heavenly dog leash. The heavenly trainer held the collar of the leash out lovingly, beckoning Rocket. Rocket glanced at the collar, then back at Dan, unsure. He ran over to Dan and licked his face. The trainer stared at Dan knowingly, then nodded its head. He heard a voice in his head. *I see. Go, then. You may return soon.* Rocket wagged his tail, licking Dan's face and growling affectionately. The trainer waved as they left the gateway entrance. They walked down a silver staircase deep into the ground. Or was it a ceiling? Dan could not be sure. Dan followed the staircase deep into the depths of the structure. He held a handrail as he descended, watching Rocket as he trailed behind. From the air, out of nowhere, apparitions appeared. They had faces of grim death. One was a skeletal face, a snake weaving through its eye sockets. It spoke to Dan: *That one does not belong here. Leave it. Come with me if you want to be saved.* Dan looked at Rocket, and Rocket gave no indication of leaving or stopping. Dan shook his head at the apparition. ""No,"" said Dan, ""he comes with me."" The apparition exploded into a red fireball and disappeared into the tunnel before him. Dan had reached a long corridor. At the end he heard screams. Bloodcurtling bellowing of men and women who were lost to the world. Dan knew he did not belong here. But it was the only way. And Rocket pushed him to continue. They moved down the corridor slowly, as the screaming grew louder. The walls seemed to shake, like when you go to a loud concert. That was what it sounded like to Dan, a loud rock concert of death. Rocket groaned, but they had come too far to turn back. They came upon a tall black door. A door as grim as hell. On the surface was a protruding eye. The eye opened and looked at Dan. It blinked a few times, then closed. Then the door swung open, and Dan and Rocket were met with a blast of hellish screams. The place was a spectacle. Humans being torn apart then put back together again, only to be torn apart once again. People on a spit, being roasted, eaten alive, then built back into full beings. Some people just cried in a fetal position. In the center of this huge arena-like place, was a tall tower. It had a glowing eye on top that seemed to oppressively watch all that transpired below. Rocket barked at the tower, and stood in front of Dan protectively. Dan patted Rocket on the head. ""Its OK boy. They're just lost souls. We're not lost, we're on our way through."" Rocket licked his hand, and they started to go through the arena, toward the tower. Large demons with scarred, tragic faces beckoned them to their torture areas. Dan tried to shield his eyes, to ignore the protests of the hungry wraiths. The demons of purgatory were hungry for young blood. They seemed to be attracted to Dan like a magnet. But Rocket growled and barked at the demons and devils as they approached, scaring them away. ""Good boy,"" Dan said. As they got closer to the great tower with the eye, a dark cloaked being appeared from behind. ""You do not belong in this realm,"" the being said. ""Who are you?"" asked Dan. ""I am the keeper. I make sure people suffer in due course. I know the eyes of the guilty. Your eyes betray an innocence that transcends any purgatory. You have the look of an innocent. The are only two ways to go, up and down. Otherwise you stay in the middle, which is not where you belong."" Dan shook his head in confusion, then pet Rocket. ""Let's go boy, these people are crazy."" They continued their journey to the tower, stepping over dead bodies and severed limbs. The ground was caked with dry blood. The blood stuck to Dan's soles, leaving footsteps the color of wine behind him. They eventually reached the foot of the tower, then looked up at the eye. It beamed down at them. Searching. Scrutinizing. It appeared to be satisfied with Dan in some way. A doorway opened up in front of them. Dan and Rocket shrugged and walked through the door. Inside it was like a very old elevator. Like the type they have in bygone towers in New York City. Dan recalled a trip to the Big Apple when he was just a little lad. They brought him up to the top of the Empire State Building. When he went to the platform, he looked over the ledge, and dropped a penny. He was terrified it would fall on an innocent person's head and slice through their skull. He shuddered at that thought, and hoped it would not betray him in this place. Up the elevator went, seemingly forever. Just when he thought the ride would never end, they reached a top floor, and heard a *ding*. The doors slid open, and they were hit with a blast of heavenly white light. They heard choirs singing, bells chiming. There was a rainbow shimmer to the air. A dove flew over, and Rocket chased after it. Dan glanced at the dog chasing the bird, and laughed. Then he saw a giant gateway. It was towering, monumental, encrusted with jewels. He stepped up to it, staring up at the parapets above. It was a sort of castle, but the walls never seemed to end. Sort of like the great wall of china, but spectacularly stunning in form. Dan stood in front of the gateway. Nothing happened. He waited, fearful that he would be stuck here forever, waiting. Then a being made of light hovered down beside Dan. It had angel wings and carried a sword and shield. ""Why do you have weapons?"" asked Dan. ""To guard against any invaders. Heaven is a place of protection."" The angel glanced over at Rocket. ""That is your animal. He has been your companion to this place."" Dan nodded. ""We welcome both of you to our home. Your home. Please enter, and be at peace,"" said the angel. Dan called Rocket, but when he looked over, rocket had changed. Rocket was a ghost now. A glowing, shimmering spirit. He gave a small bark, and licked Dan. When Dan looked at himself, he saw that he too was now a shimmering spirit. He touched Rocket, and felt the warmth of his soul pulsating within him. ""You can feel each other's thoughts now,"" said the angel. Dan felt Rocket's thoughts. Pure love, that only a dog can produce. Rocket's eyes glowed, and seemed to cry with joy. ""This is a good place,"" said Dan. ""The best,"" said Rocket. Dan smiled. He loved happy endings.",1199
 The flat spines on the alien,"I kept my stance loose and non threatening as the flat spines on the alien's head raised up in alarm. They were a vibrant purple colour, striking against its grey, wrinkled skin. It was their standard defense response. A normal reaction when encountering a predator. Its eye stalks wavered as it looked me over, an appendage hovering over a universally recognized red button. ""Hostile Experimental Xenos"" it said squeakily and i began to detect a strange sweet odor omitting from the creature. ""Please provide the required License."" I reached into a pocket, slowly as i saw the alien's eye stalks extend to follow my movement. I passed the document over, a shiny black disc. The alien's long tongue licked hairy lips as it scanned. Moments later a purple light flashed. The alien exhaled in relief, the sweet smell growing stronger. ""Apologies,"" it said, turning back to its forms. ""This station does not get many bio weapons."" I winced internally at the term and attempted a smile. The alien's swiftly retracting stalks made me realise that baring my teeth may not have been the best idea. ""It is quite alright,"" I replied. ""We're not exactly numerous."" A few minutes later and I was through, joining the bustling throngs of life that streamed out into the station's huge market floor. It was not a large station, made up predominantly of traders and merchants of all species, here to try and make their fortune. It was one in particular that I was here for. S'arweel Temeret. Arms dealer and all around bastard. Most of the alien's around me paid me little notice but the sparse amount of humans who caught my gaze quite quickly realised they should be somewhere else. Hostile Experimental Xenos. That was what we were christened by the various members of the Galactic species when our presence became known. At least, that wast the polite version. In true human style, we decided to adopt it ourselves and so we became known by the acronym HEX. Bio-genetically and cyber engineered humans, there were some subtle tells that our makeup was less than natural. I towered over the few humans that came close enough to me and a quick look at the light reflecting off my silvered irises made me look inhuman. Or so I'd been told. I accessed my internal database and superimposed a transparent map over my vision, highlighting the store where Temeret was meant to be. I checked my handgun was accessible before obscuring it beneath my long coat. Temeret was a Dralid, a reptilian race known for their ruthlessness. Males usually stood around seven foot and while their limbs seemed slim, they were easily strong enough to tear a human apart. While the eating of any Galactic Member race was banned, there were rumours the Dralid's partook, in black market restaurants hidden deep in hostile worlds. As I pushed the door to Temeret's store open, I didn't doubt it. He was with a customer, a young Berlyian who flushed a bright scarlet at the intrusion. Temeret wasted no time and quickly flipped the gun he was showing her towards me. A pulse of bright plasma fried the spot where I had stood and I could hear a scream echo out from the market behind. Adrenaline pumped manually into my body as I sped towards the Dralid, who began to take aim a second time before discarding the gun. It discharged as it hit the floor and the Berlyian added its screams to the air and the lower portion of its snakelike body melted. Temeret swung a clawed hand towards me but i managed to grip it around the arm to keep him at bay. The claws extended even further and stabbed into the back of forearm, breaking off. I turned off the pain and clenched, feeling the alien's arm shatter beneath my fingers. it squawked furiously and its tail rose behind it, poised to lance out and spear me. Before he could react, i stepped in closer, powering a fist into the bottom right of its stomach, This housed a gland unique to the Dralid, allowing them to produce their venom. It was also incredibly sensitive. Temeret collapsed to the floor and I loosed my forearm blade, the dark grey metal hovering barely an inch from the Dralid's amber eye. It blinked balefully at me but made not attempt to move. ""Hello S'arweel,"" I said, my voice calm, steady. The claws within my arm clattered as they hit the floor, slowly pushed out as my nanites initiated repair protocols. ""Its S'arweel,"" he snarled, his alien vocalization putting an indistinct twist on what I had said. ""That's what I said,"" and I smiled, though this time I made not attempt to put him at ease. HEX have their teeth modified as much as the rest of them and the Dralid knew i could bite through a limb if i wished. ""What do you want Human freak,"" he spat but I noticed the frills on his neck were fluttering, his eyes glancing back to a place in his shop. I hauled him to his feet, sheathing my blade and drawing my handgun. I held it against his back, and while he was tall for a Dralid, the difference between us was negligible. I snapped a bio dampener ring around his tail, immediately causing the limb to go limp and drag on the floor, dripping venom on the floor. He whimpered angrily until I pushed the gun harder into its body. ""I'm going to ask you this once lizard. Where is it?"" He remained silent, yelping when I fired into his tail. With the dampener he wouldn't have felt anything but twisting his neck to look, he could see the damage that had been done. ""The back,"" he growled. I pushed him in front of me and let him lead as we walked on. My heightened senses were attuned to the maximum but I could hear nothing but the whir of machinery. As we entered the back, my eyes were immediately drawn to the stolen technology. I let out a breath I hadn't realised i was holding. ""Oh S'arweel you stupid fucking lizard."" In front of us, encased in a huge cryo chamber, was the preserved body of a fellow HEX. &#x200B; r/AMSWrites Edit- thanks for all the great comments! Part 2 is below (somewhere) and on my sub! ,",1069
 The broadcast had been sent over all,"""We have come to conquer. Surrender unconditionally to us, and we shall grant you the mercy of a life free of pain under our rule - fight, and your only mercy shall be that you will eventually die."" The broadcast had been sent over all forms of light speed communication, received by thousands if not millions of inhabited worlds. The ambassadors of the United Civilizations Council had gathered to discuss their plan of action - no less than two dozen different species, gathered to discuss their response to the outright declaration of war. Councilman Abnoor of the Geth paused the recording, his headplates shifting. ""They call themselves the Grox, and appear to be the ones nominally in charge of the center of the galaxy. It appears that a few years ago they began to take notice of our branch of the Milky Way being colonized, and spied on us for a while before deciding on a hostile takeover."" ""What do we know of this... Grox empire?"" One of the other councilmen asked, one of his long appendages gesturing at the squat, armored red figure on the screen. ""Surely some information must have been passed through by merchants from within the galaxy center."" Abnoor's visual light dimmed. ""Nothing good, unfortunately. Carnivorous and highly aggressive, they either enslave or subjugate those they come across. Any species who engage them in combat are crushed under their overwhelming numbers, and they seem to take pleasure in... consuming their defeated enemies, often times demanding tithes of live subjects from their conquered enemies."" ""Carnivores."" The Saurian councilmen muttered, his long neck swaying. ""Any species that eats meat ends up being war-mongering and aggressive, too blinded by their bellies to see sense -"" The councilman next to him cleared his oral pathways loudly, before gesturing with his head to a councilman across the room who was watching bemusedly. ""Ah!"" The saurian said, skin colorizing due to rapid bloodflow. ""I meant pure carnivores, of course. Omnivores are distinctly different -"" The Human delegate - not a full council member yet, due to their relatively new status as a space-faring race - raised in appendage in a manner that the translators said was meant to be calming. ""No harm meant, Ambassador Anglisaur. You're not wrong - humans as a whole tended to be warmongering until a few centuries ago. A desire for meat wasn't our main concern, but our hunter ancestry may have had something to do with it."" Abnoor hummed, rotating several disks rapidly. ""The Grox appear to have done extensive scouting using hitherto unknown stealth technology, ambassador Shepard. They appear to have been scouting for the weakest civilizations to stage their conquest from - and I'm sorry to say that your relatively small size and comparatively primitive spacecraft have made you a prime target. They appear to be willing to attack you first."" The pink-skinned mammal jolted in his chair, then opened his mouth in a manner meant to show... joy? No, that was a threat display, the baring of teeth. Abnoor's technological background meant it didn't have much in the way of the predator/prey instincts, but the rest of the council had no such restrictions. They were all herbivorous species, and recoiled from the predator species bringing its biological weapons to bear - even the Saurian, who was easily six times Shepards size, leaned away from the Omnivore. ""They chose us as the weakest? Hm. Their threat rankings must be flawed."" He stood from the chair, bowing in a low manner meant to show respect. ""If the people of the council would excuse me, we need to begin preparations."" ""Ambassador Shepard, will you be requiring assistance? We haven't needed to use out fleet in millennia, but -"" One of the ambassadors said, warily, but was cut off. ""We would appreciate any material support you could provide, but honestly?"" He turned, flashing his fangs again. ""Just stay out of the system for now - you're in the splash zone."" ----- Red lights blared, casting the hallway in a ghastly tone. J'In'Mal, Forward Admiral of the Grox, glared up at the damned lights as he turned down the corridor to the bridge. At least the combat alarms had stopped blinking, but the lights were getting annoying. His tail thrashed behind him as he entered the bridge, his subordinates baring their throats to him as he entered. ""Report, Captain."" ""Admiral, Sir! We exited subspace approximately six million kilometers away from the targeted planetoid, designated 'P-3', exactly five minutes ago. No less than six seconds later, the fleet was bombarded with high velocity impact rounds that destroyed shields within three or four impacts. The rest of the fleet was continually fired upon until their ships were destroyed, with all hands lost. Time from arrival to destruction of last ship was no more than forty seconds, sir. We were then fired upon with precision energy weapons until our thrusters were destroyed."" ""Egg-scum."" He muttered quietly. ""The fuck kind of weapons can destroy Class-Six shields in under a minute?"" ""We aren't sure, sir, but scans indicate they were some sort of hyper-velocity mass weapons, fired by using the orbit of their suns gravitational pull."" ""What..."" He started, then stopped, swallowing. His tail thrashed agitatedly, but then stopped as he focused. High velocity impact projectiles, fired using the natural gravitational pull caused by stellar bodies - like aiming a comet at his ships. Dozens of them, fired at once, while his ships had just exited warp and were unable to move. The flagship shook suddenly, and he was forced to spread his stance to keep his balance. ""The hell was that, Captain?"" ""Sir, we're..."" The Captain frowned, confused. ""We're being boarded."" The men around them gaped in shock. The Grox, being boarded? What kind of idiotic race would even bother to do such a thing? Space combat was no place for boarding maneuvers, and not even the Grox bothered with infantry combat outside of subjugation missions. ""They left us dead in the water, killed our shields, disabled our weapons, and now they dare to board us?"" He flexed his claws, spittle hissing from his jaw as he turned to the bridge door. ""These filthy plant eaters dare to -"" There was the sound of a metallic clang, and a sudden 'boom' as the door imploded inwards. The speed of the explosion caused the door to sail inwards, and J'In dove to the side - but the Captain behind him was not so lucky, and the speed of the door took his head clean off his shoulders. Admiral J'In'Mal was leader of his clan. he had slain dozens of challengers before he even fully matured, and brought down a desert dragon bare-handed for his ritual of adulthood. He pulled his axe from behind his back, preparing to meet the invaders hand-to-hand - **THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.** Only to meet his own haze in a black, reflective visor. The visor was attached to a domed helmet, which was attached to a massive, hulking suit of armor easily twice as tall as he was, and it's footsteps as it advanced rang across the metal floor with an echo that filled the throne room. It was groxoid and held a massive rifle in its hands, and attached to one wrist was a giant blade of some sort that whirred as blades spun across its surface. One of the soldiers roared, pulling a decorative sidearm and firing at the armored suit as it entered. The energy rounds glanced off of the suit without even leaving a mark, and the figure swung the bladed wrist down. The soldiers legs fell to the ground as its torso sailed across the room, the ground around him stained purple with blood. *They made suits designed for infantry combat. What species is crazy enough to seek out infantry combat against a predator species?* J'In thought, jaw clenched. The armored form, upon seeing that none of the other soliders were willing to assault it, entered - followed by five others of its kind, who paraded through the door way, training weapons on the men within. J'In growled, but sank to his knees and raised his chin, baring his throat. There were more footsteps, softer this time, and a small, slight figured entered the room. An unarmored member of the species - Humans? - strode in, clad only in soft fabrics that appeared decorative in nature. It turned to the blood-covered armored unit, saying a few words his translator didn't pick up, then shrugged. ""I can't believe we're the ones saying it, but I suppose this is fitting -"" She said, baring her teeth mockingly. ""But I suppose this means that 'all your base belong to us.'"" ""This is it?"" She asked, raising an arm. ""Our first real battle as a species, and what - three hundred ships destroyed in a minute, and no more than six dozen casualties when we board? Pathetic."" She ignored the communal growling of the men around her, but one of the armored forms kicked out, knocking a soldier to the ground. They fell silent. ""We were so prepared for war, you know. When we discovered there was life out there, we passed an edict not to travel any further so as to not draw attention to ourselves. We abandoned colonies, retreated to the core system, and started stockpiling - building better weapons, researching and spying on other species. We were prepared to enter what may very well be a fight for the survival of our species - but then we left the core and ventured out, only to find out that our wing of the universe was populated with tree-eating hippies. Bah. Centuries of preparation, wasted. But then you come along! Singing promises of our destruction and imminent death, a fleet to blot out the sun - and done, within five minutes. Typical man - just enough to get me hot, then done before I am."" She came to a stop before him, grabbing him by the chin and tilted his head up to look at him. ""Pathetic."" She muttered. ""Very well. You Grox wanted war?"" Her teeth glinted. Flat in the back, to crush grass or bone. Pointed in front, to rip and tear. ""You got your war. Enjoy it while you can.""",1714
 I didn't want to be another,"Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with ""yes men"" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was. So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars. When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night. For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act. It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him. It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming. It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I ""just wasn't the right fit here"". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address. I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, ""I won"" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office. For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly. The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name. The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question. In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with. For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: ""I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."" It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed. Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers. I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago. I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. ""You know what, Craig"", I said, ""I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here."" &#x200B;",1195
 They said it would be lonely living,"They said it would be lonely living forever. They said it would be lonely and sad. They said the pain of watching everyone I love die would haunt me all my days. They were right, well they were kind of right, for that first hundred years or so. I lost family. My mother, my father, my brother, cousins, aunts, uncles and more. I lost friends. All those people you expect to walk along side you and help you shuffle through your mortal coil. The loss, the pain, the suffering. It was an unending weight upon me. It suffocated me to the point where I could not breathe, I could not love, I could not feel. All I did for a hundred years was brood. I was a moody, moping, morose man. I skirted society and got by with as little contact to the wider world as possible. You could have called me a hermit, I looked like one. My clothes hung from my limp form, I ate little and was nothing more than skin and bone. It's not like it could kill me. I frequented the right bars in the wrong side of town, no one asked for my name or made an effort to talk to me and that's the way I liked it. One day a young man came in, he looked oddly familiar. He had a mop of unruly, dirty blond hair, striking blue eyes and a hesitant smile. He looked like he was a smiler. I could see the faint crinkle lines to to sides of his eyes. I don't think I'd taken more than a cursory glance at anyone in maybe fifty years. There was something about this guy, I just couldn't put my bony finger on it. I sat in usual spot in the corner, half obscured by shadow and supped my whiskey. I watched the young man, intrigued. He ordered two drinks from the barman who grunted as the monetary transaction took place. I looked away as he picked them up, I was intrigued but I didn't want to converse with anyone. I never did. The grunting bar man was enough social interaction for me for the week. I studied the painting on the wall of an old rock star. I always liked way the lightning bolt was painted on his face, I couldn't remember his name, I doubt anyone could in this day and age. Suddenly there was a clearing of someone's throat. I looked up and saw the blond mop of hair, haloed by the light. Inwardly, I thought this guy is brave. Outwardly, I growled, ""What do you want?"" The young man grimaced and said, ""I've been looking for you."" He shuffled back a couple of paces and his hands visibly shook. ""What do you want?"" I asked. He put the drinks down on the sticky table and opened up his jacket. He pulled out an age stained envelope and opened it. He held it to me with his shaking hands. ""It was from my great-grandad, it had instructions to open it on my eighteenth birthday. He said to find you. He said, you wouldn't believe me so I have to say this to you..."" He hesitated then and I sighed, ""Get it over with kid."" ""I bet you're still stubborn, but you'll need someone. You're a fool to think otherwise. I know you better than you know yourself old friend."" He read. I downed my drink and moved to get up. The table squeaked. ""Wait, there's more."" He said, sounding more confident than he looked. ""I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."" Nostalgia hit my like a freight train to the stomach. I suddenly knew why the young man looked familiar. He looked just like Brian Brown. Brian Brown was my best friend. We were thick as thieves the two of us, from kindergarten through college. We were the class clowns, the loveable rogues, we were smart as we were funny and athletic to boot. We had the world at our feet and scouts watching us play every week. Brian became withdrawn after the state championship game. His whole demeanour changed. It took a whole week for him to open up to me. He said he wanted to be known for more than just his skill on the football field. He wanted people to know he was worth more than that, that he could do more than that. He said, he didn't know what to do. In his lowest moment I listen to him break his heart. I told him I'd recently read a poem that made me feel brave. I got him to repeat after me. ""I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul."" Brian went on to win many awards in his chosen profession, medicine. He helped so many people. That's just who he was. I'd forgotten that. I'd forgotten too much. I felt a spark of something I hadn't felt in such a long time. Hope. I picked up the drink, ""What's your name kid?"" ""Brian Lucas Brown, sir"" he murmured while looking at his battered converse sneakers. ""Well I'll be damned"" I smiled at the kid and he handed me the letter. I read it and I felt at peace for the first time in a long time. ""Next drink is on me Brian, damn, it's been a long time since I said that."" The kid lit up, those crinkle lines accentuating his glee. Actually, they call me Luc. I'm told it's after you. Great grandad Bri said he'd never known anyone as mischievous as you... Until I came along"" The next two hundred years or so have been different since then. I've stayed in their lives, the Browns. I've kept a watch over them, I've been there for them. I've been their brother, their uncle, their friend. All because of my Brian, I AM the master of my fate and I AM the captain of my soul. He's always with me in his progeny. You'd be shocked at how I still see his characteristics in them even after all this time.",1030
 Krissa was having one of those,"Sometimes, boring days are the best. The ones where you and the love of your life don't distract from each other with a trip or activities, you just do normal things, like drive a car down the highway to go to Costco. Just *how much fun* you have doing the mundane is proof that your love is real. You sing poorly when Journey comes on the radio, rocking your head and laughing because neither of you sound any good but that doesn't *matter* at all. Nothing else does. Krissa was having one of those days, smiling in adoration at her beloved, a man who looked nothing special but was in so many ways, even if no one else saw it. She glanced out the passenger window as buildings whizzed by. ""Don't let me forget we *need* paper towels, hun."" Gordon didn't respond immediately. She turned to him, tapping his arm. ""Hun? You alright?"" His grip was firm on the wheel, forearms striated with tense muscle beneath black hair. ""Yeah,"" he said dryly, glancing up at the mirror and back to the road, repeating the motion several times. Krissa's lips tightened a bit. ""Hey, what would you want to name our first kid?"" His answer, per their discussions, was supposed to be 'Crackers', the name of a monkey in his favorite childhood show. She'd asked the question seriously, but loved his answer anyway. A little game to 'make sure it was really him' and bring fond memories back. He did not seem basking in nostalgia. ""We're not having a kid!"" He glanced at the mirror again, readjusting his grip on the wheel. Krissa looked out the window and saw Costco pass off the interstate. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. ""Gordon?"" He ripped himself free of her touch with a grunt. ""No! They're coming for us! They're going to catch us!"" His face was turning red, eyes slightly glazed and widened, like marbles. ""Gordon? What's going on?"" They had just been singing *Don't Stop Believing* together and laughing. Sure, they weren't perfect and had fights sometimes, but what on Earth was this all about? ""Shut up! Just... Shut up! I can't get away. There's no other choice."" He glanced up again. ""I have to drive off the road. I can't let them get us."" Krissa opened her mouth, but was lost for words at first. ""Honey, what the hell are you talking about? Gordon? Gordon, pull over. Please pull over the car right now."" ""*I can't let them get me.*"" ""Gordon, pull over RIGHT NOW!"" He grunted, the strained grunt of a man pulling a blade free of his leg, but did as she asked. Once stopped, he opened the door and fled down the shoulder without even closing it behind him. Krissa was left in the median, shocked and alone, calling after him aimlessly. She wanted to call Triple A, but then again, what's the emergency? Her husband ran off down the highway? No, that wouldn't work. Instead, she called John--her brother--who showed up a time later and picked her up. The car was left where it was, locked, but stranded, and he took her back home. Hours passed. She called the police, alerting them of the situation, and after a time, started calling hospitals. Was it something she'd done? Who did he think had been following him on the highway? What if he'd been hit by a car? What if he'd died? What if he was possessed by something? He hadn't answered her question, after all. It was a silly thing, their little game, but he'd failed it. How could something like this be happening in her life? ---- She finally got the call almost ten hours later. Her husband was at a hospital about twenty miles away, somehow, and being monitored closely. They didn't say much about his health. John drove her there, and when she walked up to his room, a police offer was stationed outside the door. He nodded at her, allowing entry. Whatever was inside, it was *not* the man she fell in love with. It was a man that looked like him, but wild. Dirty, disheveled, with his collared shirt unbuttoned and dazed but still with a look of madness in his eyes, locked away somewhere. He rocked back and forth a bit, slowly. A doctor approached her. ""Ms. Farris, I assume?"" ""Yes."" The word came out as a sigh. ""Good. I'm Dr. Bergstrom. Step outside with me a moment."" They relocated, and the doctor gently closed the door. ""Doctor, what's going on?"" ""Ms. Farris, has your husband displayed any odd behavior lately? Any stress at home?"" She looked around, eyes glazed herself. ""I don't think so. I don't know, I mean, we have problems sometimes but so does everyone. Work has been very hard on him lately. But never anything like this, he just started yelling that we were being followed and threatened to drive off the cliff, then ran off on the highway. It was like he was..."" *Possessed.* ""I see. Yes, it can be hard to recognize sometimes, at first. I am so sorry, young lady. This is not easy news."" ""What?"" she asked tentatively, hugging herself without realizing. ""Your husband, he's... Displaying clear signs of paranoid schizophrenia. There are options, and it's manageable, but there's no easy way to say this. Your life has changed, ma'am. It can take quite some time to manifest, and is usually brought on by stress. But please, remember that he still loves you."" She brought her hands up, covering her face, and leaned against a wall to anchor her in a swirling room, like she'd been put in a top and spun. There was nothing touching her, but it felt like a cable had been wrapped around her chest, and lead poured in her stomach. *Oh, I forgot about the car. We still need paper towels. You were supposed to remind me, Gordon, you goofball...* Yes, boring days are the best. And now they were gone, forever abandoned somewhere on an interstate highway. --- Unfortunately inspired by a real event. */r/resonatingfury*",1019
 Dash was the more nervous of the,"""Coordinates are set for Earth,"" Bria confirmed, tapping through her console. ""We are crazy. You both know that. What happens when we get there and it's not true? What happens when we get there and it is? We go poke ancient planet eating bears?"" Dash asked. His voice squeaked as he spoke, nerves getting the better of him. He was the more nervous of the trio, but it never stopped him from tagging along. He liked being left out less than he liked going on their ridiculous adventures. ""Poke poke,"" Bria said, turning her head to smile at him. ""It's fine, Dash,"" Talyn said steadily, ""Whatever happens- They are imprisoned. As long as we don't open the gate and let them start devouring us, it will all be fine."" Dash pushed his shoulders against his seat and fidgeted with the straps across his chest. He grumbled but thought better of arguing any further. The other two would never understand where he was coming from. They had all been vague with their parental units so they all knew that no one knew where they were going. The way he figured, the best case scenario here was that they got themselves in serious trouble and no one would know where to come looking for them. They would most likely end up stranded on earth or mauled by some local creature or better yet, ravaged by one of The Great Old Ones. Everyone left Earth alone for a reason, and here they were trying to go *see* them. He closed his eyes as the ship jumped into drive, pushing his body harder against his seat. He wasn't that big of a fan of inertia either if he was being honest. The ship pushed onward, holding all three against their seats until they reached the Milky Way. Bria squealed when the ship's computer announced that they were almost there and that the ship would now be slowing down to a speed appropriate for atmospheric entry. Dash, in response, groaned. He looked through the front shield at the round blueish planet they were headed for. ""We could still turn around,"" he said cheerfully. Both of the girls laughed without turning around to look at him. ""You know that Earth's rocket ships actually crash land *every single time* they come back into their own atmosphere?"" Bria asked her companions. ""And these are the ones in charge of keeping the rest of us safe,"" Talyn snorted at the end of her sentence. Dash had always taken her for a bit snobby. It was never directed at him or Bria which made it tolerable, but it came out sometimes none the less. He stared straight ahead and took a breath through clenched teeth as they pushed right on through the atmosphere of Earth. They went through ozone and a long layer of clouds before coming down to an expansive body of warm looking water. The ship slowed further as they went, and with the push of a button the console, A set of feet for water landing deployed from the bottom. ""This is always my favorite story,"" Bria said as she turned the multiple keys that turned off the ship's engines. ""All this water. Can you imagine if our planet had this much water? The creatures underneath must be huge! Oh, it's gonna be so great. How far down do you think it is? What do you think it's prison looks like? Where-"" ""Bria!"" Talyn exclaimed, interrupting her, ""take a breath girl, please. We will find out soon enough."" All three unbuckled themselves and walked over to the bay door as it opened. Looking out over the reflecting surface that stretched through the horizon, Dash felt dizzy. ""Lights on,"" Talyn commanded, ""Jump on three."" Three small clicks followed the order as they turned on the lights attached to their helmets. ""One. ""Two. ""Three,"" Talyn counted them down. All three bodies hit the water, and the pod door whooshed closed behind them. They dove straight down, Bria at the lead and Dash taking up his normal place at the back of the line. It didn't take long for the light from the sun to disappear and Dash felt himself shiver inside his suit. He could feel the nozzles adjust for the decreasing temperatures and change in pressure. They wouldn't be able to dive down without their suits, but they wouldn't be able to explore the planet as a whole without them either. The suits were their entire life support off of their home planet. Deeper down they went and Dash watched as the life that swam around them began to change. Their shapes got slimmer and eventually, the fish stopped looking at them at all. Every so often he got the sense that they were touching them or smelling for them, but he simply didn't know enough about the life here to confirm any of it. He didn't have the stomach to try and make small conversation with the other two, either. Soon the fish and plants stopped appearing. Dash noticed and he wondered if the other two did as well. Not long after that, they reached a shelf of land deep within the earth ocean. They landed and bobbed up and down on the ground as best they could. Not too far from where they grouped, the shelf tore away once more. Dash could see the surface of the black abyss. This was as far as their plan had been made. They would have to go back to their ship without having seen anything or commit and dive into the Abyss. According to Bria's calculation- the prison was straight down over that ledge. As all three of them stood, speechless and staring into the darkness, a low hum began to travel through the waters. The hum began to warble. Dash felt like it was bouncing between his ears-inside of his head. It sent another wave of shivers, and he clenched his jaw. ""It's there,"" Bria whispered into her helmet. Dash felt his gut spin as he watched her swim right over the ledge without another word. *** Edit: You guys are too kind! I will be responding to comments in a while, and I am going to try and get a second part done today. Bare with me as I find time to get it out :D E2: Thank you to the kind stranger who gave the story gold <3. And a silver! :D :D you guys make me so happy, thank you! I am hoping to find time tonight to work on a part 3. I will update when I get the chance :) E3: Another gold and a plat! You guys make my heart swell, Thank you all! /r/beezus_writes",1123
 The Tasslebelt Gang were,"At this time on a Wednesday, market day would usually be in full swing. Marvin would be selling his melons at a stall on the northern side of the dusty square, the fishermen would be selling slightly-rotten catches from the eastern bay, and the local priest would be shouting himself hoarse in an effort to convert more locals. Usually. Today the town square was silent, because it was known that the Tasslebelt Gang were intent on finally finishing their long-running feud with Vora Silver. There were three of them, and their sense of hygiene was appalling. Unkempt beards, dirty hats, and a distinct scent of the Temu, the large bird-like creatures which served as transport on the frontier. Across from them stood Ms Silver, her hat forgotten on a chair in her office, and a six-shooter on her belt. Not that it'd do her much good - the three gang members shimmered with arcane energies, the hallmark of Kessle's Greater Bullet Shield. She knew, therefore, that they were serious - by her count that left them all with just two more lifetime uses of that spell. She responded in kind, whirling her arms to ward herself and feeling the sense of her own bullet shield hugging her skin and clothes closely. The drawl of Milton, the gang leader, sounded loud from across the square. ""How's yer wellspring today, Vora? I bet you used up some damn useful spells breaking up that tavern brawl, right?"" Vora narrowed her eyes further. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed - that brawl at Moira's had been no coincidence. It wasn't surprising that that gang had tried to drain her of her greater spells before taking her on this afternoon. She'd used her last use of Taker's Binding Buckles to bring the culprits into custody. ""Dammit, Milton. That's a low blow,"" she shouted across the square. ""I thought you all liked Moira - her place is such a mess now."" The gang members looked at each other and chuckled. Milton just smiled, his crooked teeth showing through. He spat the toothpick out of his mouth and cracked his knuckles, sparks of energy playing around them. Silence in the square for the next ten seconds, as both sides stared at each other. Milton piped up once more. ""Heh, I've been lookin' forward to this, Miss. Ever since you got my brother locked up for that stagecoach robbery, I've been wantin' revenge. Saved up some pretty little spells for the occasion."" As he finished his sentence, he flicked his hand down to his side. An aura of power flared around him, casting shadows from both of his companions. The indescribable color of magic meant that whatever he was using next, it was going to be big. Vora didn't give him a chance. She shunted her palm forward forcefully, and burned her lifetime's last use of Grant's Spell Nullification. The aura faded from sight. But Milton's smile didn't change. He clucked his tongue, his voice dripping with sarcasm for his next sentence. ""Oh dear, Ms Silver. Looks like you gone stopped my best spell. Whatever shall I do next?"" He looked sideways at the gang members next to him. Both members flared in a less powerful fashion, their arms moving in the recognizable form of Hogan's Empowerment. Once they finished casting their spells, for the next minute they'd both move with superhuman speed and strength. Milton clicked his fingers and a small flame emerged. This was, Vora knew, his unlimited spell. He'd never need a cigarette lighter his entire life. He brought a cigar up to his mouth, and lit it. ""Such a shame that you can't counterspell them, Ms Silver."" He pulled a shoddy-looking notebook from his pocket. ""You see, I been watchin' you a long while now. I know which spells you got left - and it's gonna take all of them to stop my boys here. I'll just wait until you're all drained and done. Get her, boys."" Vora cursed and quickly invoked Mann's Resilient Defence, combining her knowledge of the arcane with her martial arts knowledge. The flurry of blows came fast and consistently. More than one breached her defenses, leaving bruises, and cuts where she wasn't so careful. She parried blow after blow with her forearms, pushing any advantage she was given to land a counterattack. But when one of the pair of attackers got desperate, and invoked Whizzle's Flaming Fist, she had no choice. She dropped Resilient Defence and used Irwin's Clenching Grasp to cause the brown dirt of the town square to swell up and snap around the two attackers. They were entombed, and there were now just two in the square - her, exhausted, out of spells, down on both knees, and her attacker. Who swelled with the power of several spells, the energy tearing rifts in reality around him. The entire time she'd been distracted, he'd been buffing himself with every spell in his arsenal. And she had nothing left. Milton just laughed. Laughed too hard, too much like a night at the theater rather than a fight to the death. He advanced slowly, his spurs clinking, and his hands actually flickering into and out of existence with sheer arcane power. Vora's eyes flitted around the square - checking the windows for someone, anyone. But there was no-one to be seen, no one who wanted to risk the wrath of the gang by watching. Perfect. She kept her head low, and let her opponent advance. But her arms worked at her sides, with complex gestures that it had taken her an extortionate amount of time to master. If she got this wrong, it would spell disaster. Milton had actually now stopped, five feet in front of her. His right arm weaved a circle in reality - empowering his body with an invocation unknown to Vora. So Vora counterspelled it with Grant's Spell Nullification. And his other spells, one after the other, after the other. The force of the termination repelled Milton, by a foot at a time. He tried to fight it, but it was useless - he was knocked back. As the energy disappeared from Milton's body, the triumphant smile on his face faded into a look of bewilderment. He looked around himself at his feet, his arms, his torso - he didn't understand what was happening. He was certain she'd been out of spells - he'd been counting for the last two years! Which was when the form of Vora stood up from the ground, pulled out her pistol, and shot him square in the forehead. He collapsed to the ground lifeless. And Vora thanked the stars that her unlimited spell, the one which she could use an unlimited amount of times, was Silver's Spell Refresher. And she collapsed to the ground, utterly drained, but victorious.",1138
" ""You're meant to be dead","""Nooooo, please don't kill me,"" I wail. ""Please, I'm begging, don't..."" The shadowy figure steps forwards, raising his knife. ""You have ten seconds."" I scramble to my feet and flee before he even has a chance to start the countdown. I can hear his harsh, mocking laughter behind me. Or was that someone else? ""Psst, down here!"" I look down and see my friend Alex hiding behind a bin, fighting off a fit of giggles. ""What are you doing here?!"" I hiss, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The killer will be here soon. ""You're meant to be dead. You're going to ruin everything."" ""No, it's fine! I've got a disguise! See?"" Alex rifles through her backpack and pulls out a blonde wig and a pair of glasses. ""It's dark. He'll never recognise me."" ""I thought we agreed. We let him kill us so he lets his guard down, then trap him and call the police before anyone gets hurt *permanently*. You know there are mortals around here."" I swear as I hear footsteps approaching and crouch down beside Alex. It's too late to run. He'll see Alex if we're not careful. ""Come on, loosen up. It's fun."" Before I can react, Alex pulls on the wig and glasses and stands up. ""Oh nooooo,"" she wails in an exaggerated screech. ""Pleeeeease don't kill me!"" There was a whistle and a *thunk*, and Alex collapses beside me with a knife embedded in her skull. I swear in shock. I didn't realise he could throw knives like that. ""I know you're there,"" the killer calls. ""You're next."" I hesitate, then wrench the knife from Alex's head, and adjust her wig so it looks more natural. I get to my feet and run. The last thing I hear is another whistle as the killer throws another knife, then it hits me in the head and everything goes black. I awake on the forest floor, sticky with blood. ""You're awake! Finally."" Alex is there with me, and I relax. The killer must be somewhere else. I sit up. ""Why do you enjoy dying so much?"" I grumble, trying to wipe the blood from my face. ""It's just messy and painful."" ""It's funny. He thinks we're terrified. I can't wait to show him we're all alive."" ""We're not showing him. We're trapping him, and then taking him to the police."" ""Yeah, whatever. I'm going to rub it in his face."" I sigh and shake my head. ""Come on. Let's go see if he's killed the others yet."" We trudge through the forest, taking care to stay quiet. Alex doesn't seem to have another disguise stashed away in her bag, so we can't afford to be seen again. ""Hey,"" someone whispers. ""Over here."" I turn and see three pale faces staring back at me from a patch of dense bushes. ""How's it going?"" I ask, forcing my way through the foliage. ""Has he got you yet?"" ""There's been a change of plan."" I look at Michael's face and feel a sudden flash of worry. He looks nervous, scared even. ""What's wrong?"" ""Michael's been lying to us. He's not immortal. He never was. He faked his death at initiation."" Jenny throws a dirty look at Michael, who cowers away. ""And now he's worried the killer is going to find him."" ""Is this true?"" I ask. ""Why the hell would you do that?"" A twig snaps in the distance and everybody freezes. ""He's here,"" whispers Alex. ""Somebody needs to go distract him."" ""It'll have to be one of you two,"" I tell Jenny and Callum. ""He's already got me and Alex. Twice."" I glare at Alex. ""We can take Michael and try to get him to safety."" ""Callum's been caught already. I'll go."" Jenny begins to pick her way through the bushes towards the killer. We start to head the other way, then freeze as a bloodcurdling scream rings through the air. He must be closer than we thought. ""Go,"" I growl, and push Michael to the front of the group. ""Don't stop."" If it came to it, the three of us could probably restrain the killer whilst he escapes. ""Hey, what do you think?"" Alex says. Callum looks at her and bursts out laughing. I scowl, trying to hide my smile. ""You're an idiot. Come on, this is serious."" She's smeared dirt across her face to give the illusion of a beard and mustache. It sort of works, if you squint. ""It'll work! It's dark! I just need to borrow your cap to hide my hair, Callum."" Callum shrugs. ""Sure."" ""He's seen you twice already."" ""So? Does it really matter if he recognises me? We've got to delay him so Michael gets away. Let's just take him down right now. I'll be the decoy, you two can grab him."" ""Fine."" I hate to admit it, but she's got a point. ""Let's get him."" Before I even finish the sentence, she's gone. I roll my eyes. ""Ohhhh noooooo!"" I hear, and sigh. If the killer doesn't recognise Alex's face, he'll recognise her fake wail of dismay for sure. Not that it matters. Sure enough, the killer's harsh laughter turns into a shout of confusion. ""Wait a moment. You're that girl!"" Alex bursts out laughing, then fights to regain her composure. ""I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to run away now. Aah, oh noooo."" She sprawls to the floor and rolls onto her back, gasping with laughter. ""I'm sorry guys, I can't."" Callum and I surge forwards. I grab the killer's knife arm and twist it, trying to make him drop his weapon. Callum holds him still. Alex picks herself up off the floor and begins to pry his fingers away from the knife. ""What the hell?"" He struggles, but Callum has him in a bear hug. ""I killed you. All of you."" ""Yeah, well, you didn't do a very good job of it,"" I mutter. Alex shouts in delight as she manages to free the knife from his fist. ""Watch and learn,"" she tells him, and plunges the knife into her own chest. The killer gasps, and I roll my eyes. ""Show off."" ~~~~ If you enjoyed this, I have a subreddit: /r/DarkAlliGator",1038
 Teleporting to an unexpected location is,"Teleporting to an unexpected location is a little like reaching for a cool glass of water on your nightstand after a heavy night of drinking, only to spray tequila across your bed. This was not my bedroom. My bedroom didn't have glass walls. The pair walking towards me did not look friendly. Reflexively, I raised my arms as they entered the room. The taller one pointed to a plastic chair. I sat. The shorter one got straight to the point. ""Where is your fourth coin, Miss Conway?"" She dropped her meaty hands on the table in front of me. ""...Lawyer?"" I hazarded. The tall one smirked. ""I'm afraid that isn't possible. You have not been arrested, and we are not members of the constabulary. I am Mr Jones. This is my colleague, Miss Smith. You are here because we hope that you can assist us in an ongoing investigation of a... private nature. Miss Smith rolled her eyes. ""We don't have time for this shit! Start talking girlie; where'd you put it?"" I sat back and thought for a second. They had three of them. Which ones? It was logical to assume they'd found the one I kept in my villa in the Caymans, and the one in my apartment in Prague. The third one would be much, much harder to get hold of. My concentration was broken by a fist smacking into the table. Shortstack was getting impatient. ""Which ones have you found?"" I asked. To my surprise, Mr Jones took a slick-looking tablet out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons. Taking a slim wristband from his other pocket, he held it towards me. ""Please put this on."" I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. ""It's a teleport blocker. We can't have you teleporting out the minute you figure out *which* locations are already full of guards."" ""Guards trained to kill on sight!"" Miss Smith interjected. I held out my wrist. If they were willing to shoot me on sight, it was probably a good idea to stay put and play along. He snapped the bracelet on and tapped his tablet. A red light started to blink. I wasn't going anywhere. ""Every time you teleport you leave a signature; a pheromone trail, if you will. Did you know that, Miss Conway?"" I didn't. These things didn't come with particularly detailed instructions. Smith gave me a leering smile. ""Locating you was a doddle. From our readings, we surmised that you've been using them for years."" This was also true. When I found out what they did I figured I'd save myself some airfares. ""We found your place in Prague,"" said Mr Jones; ""That was easy. Your little nest in the Caymans was harder to track down; the sea interferes with the signal somewhat, and it appears you visit less frequently. Your home, of course, stood out like a beacon. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been? Those coins you're using so frivolously are incredibly rare and ridiculously powerful, and when they fall into the wrong hands..."" ""That's when we show up."" They both stared me down. ""The fourth coin, Miss Conway. Where is it?"" I think it was the note of tiredness in his voice that made me open up to them. They looked like the cops in one of those buddy movies; the ones where they're trying to stop some nutcase from blowing up the city and they've been awake for a couple of days. There were shadows under their eyes, and, on second inspection, the wrinkles on their clothes stood out. ""I lost it, ok? Poker game, couple years back."" Their jaws dropped. Jones looked at me like I'd just fallen off the back of the short bus. ""You gambled a teleport coin?"" Smith was ready to burst. ""I didn't know what they were back then! I'd only just... fuck. I'd only just stolen them, okay? I left a couple in my apartment back in Los Angeles and one of them was sitting in my hotel room upstairs - I knew they were worth something I just hadn't had a chance to get them valued yet. I have a guy in Vegas, he gives me good prices. But I got invited to this game...."" I trailed off. ""Who did you lose it to?"" ""Ever heard of King Lonnie? Vegas fixer. Runs a lot of games; the kind you want to be invited to but don't want to see him at, if you know what I mean. I didn't know it was his game until I sat down; I should have left right then and there, but you don't want to be rude to these guys. I figured I was going to lose my money already - I knew the minute I sat down at the table that I was the sucker. But, I didn't do so badly. Couple hours later it was just me and the King. He had most of the pot by then; I was hanging on by a couple of thousand. Then this sweet, sweet hand comes up. I'm sitting on kings over aces. He nails me with the aces. ""But the coin? How did you lose it?"" ""Well, I was out. But Lonnie, he wasn't done with me. Offered me a loan. I didn't want to take it, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of pissing him off either. Then I reach into my pocket and my hand closes around the coin. The minute he sees it, his eyes light up. He tells me he'll stake me a 20K buy in to a big ticket game the next week. It was too good an offer to turn down. There's no way I'd have gotten that from my guy; when I took him the other coin he said it was worth maybe a couple hundred bucks. ""And then what?"" I went to the game, I won big. Few hundred Gs, set me up pretty good. I had a run of luck after that. Never saw the King play again. A wrinkle crossed the brow of Mr Jones. ""So how did you learn of the coins' powers? ""Day after the big game I finally got one of the other coins valued. I decided to hang onto it, and as I was walking back towards the strip I started thinking. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the King wanted it so bad. I was trying to remember where I'd stashed the other two, and then I just kind of pictured them sitting on my bookshelf. A second later I was stumbling into my own den, which gave me a hell of a shock. I realized I'd left my luggage in Vegas, along with the other coin. The moment I thought of it I was back in my hotel. After scaring the life out of the housekeeper I grabbed my stuff and pictured the coins on the shelf again, teleported home and spent the next few days trying to figure out what the hell they were."" ""And where is King Lonnie now?"" asked Mr Jones. ""He's dead,"" I told them, enjoying the surprise on their faces. ""How!"" they shouted in unison. ""I killed him last year."" I dropped the teleport blocker on the floor. My story had lasted long enough to find it's weak point and wiggle the catch loose. Easy if you know what you're doing. Snatching the tablet from Mr Jones' hands, I thought of my final coin, which was hidden in a dingy flat near Heathrow. As a precaution, I'd used it only once per location, stashing it near a major airport every time I traveled. Within an hour I was checking in for my next flight. The tablet would prove to be a most interesting source of information. (Edit: feedback appreciated, especially grammar critique of dialogue. I might continue this, it's a fun theme). Edit with update: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheFrontDesk/comments/b9q09g/hey_storytellers_of_tftfd_may_i_please_run_a/ This isn't a thing or a book I just thought of a scene for Jones and Smith. They're persistent buggers demanding to be written.",1350
" The peasants were lucky, in hindsight","Have you ever wondered what dying magic tastes like? Smells like? I'm a man who knows. The peasants were lucky, in hindsight; this world was not one of wonder, or charity. Magic did not seem to sustain their fields or their flocks. They toiled in the dirt while magic both built and destroyed the towers of empire above them. Occasionally, stones fell. Occasionally, they burned. ""Collateral damage"" was my world's term for it. It's funny what changes, and what doesn't. When one of them found me in their barn, it was only my strange clothing that spared me a pitchfork to the belly. It was mayfly finery, richly dyed, with hints of a crown's gleam at the waist. That was something every peasant understood. Fear flashed in his eyes, and for a moment the language barrier meant nothing; I knew he was calling for the mob, but I also knew I was safe, so long as I made no foolish mistakes. I was going to become someone else's problem posthaste. Well... posthaste for peasants. Three days. I began to smell like them, and get used to it. The food and water they spared would likely be my death eventually, little more than a different texture and flavor from starvation. I knew it was preferable, but it did its best to compete fairly. The cleric or pastor was a middleman, through and through. He reassured the peasants and took me away, and didn't even bother to spritz me with holy water or say a prayer. Three more days. Slightly more curiosity, but no real effort behind it. The fear was still there, in the eyes. The food and water were less bad, but still choked me, and caused a fair bit of distress at the other end of me too. I got a small basin for a spit bath. My clothes were taken and replaced, but kept - as evidence of something, surely, even if no one ever guessed correctly. Soldiers appeared. I offered no resistance, and they seemed glad enough to let me walk unshackled. To the grim obsidian tower we went, and then up. I was dead on my feet halfway, spurred only by the looming threat of violence. The man on the crystal-skull throne was not impressed, at first. He made an effort to communicate, and quickly discovered the problem of language. A shuffling servant brought him a tome, and I startled when I realized it was... not exactly human, or not exactly alive, or some combination of the two. The man was amused. His slight smile was wicked. The spell failed. That's what it was, of course: a spell. No denying any of it now. Note the irony. In that very moment, it was the wizard's turn to accept something impossible and terrifying. Where I come from, wizards are generally smart. There's a handicap when they're evil - certain blind spots - but you can put that down to the demands of the narrative. Important point, that. Where I come from, wizards are exclusively fictional. This wizard - probably evil, and I suppose I'll just have to beg forgiveness from the culturally sensitive if obsidian and skulls and undead abominations all mean something quite different here - was no exception. He'd begun with no fear in his eyes. When it did come, it was entirely different in its nature from the peasant's and the pastor's. It was the fear of understanding - not everything, but something. After that, it was chaos. He screeched outrage and commands all at once. Soldiers swung at me. Horrific servitors lunged at me. The wizard himself moved farther and farther away, and finally, one of his droning incantations seemed to find some purchase. As the weapons bounced and broke, as the servitors crumbled and collapsed, a sizzling stream of something green and nasty shot towards me. As surely as it had been intended to melt me, I, instead, melted it. 'Evaporated' is a better word, maybe. I made it go away. I can be forgiven for my own wicked smile, then, I hope. It was short lived. The evil wizard's eyes flashed more understanding. Immediately afterwards, I felt the rumble. The tower was probably lousy with magic, wasn't it? I had a choice to make, and I made it. I am not an exceptional man in any respect. I am not exceptionally good. I am not exceptionally merciful. I walked towards the wizard, and soon he had nowhere left to retreat to. I put my hand around his neck. He withered, quite literally. His once-hale body aged and shrank. He was lousy with magic. It's too late now, I think. There were an awful lot of stairs to get here. I'm sitting on a crystal-skull throne, focused mostly on my breathing. For the first time, I appreciate just how wrong the air smells and tastes. It makes sense. I'm inhaling magic, and exhaling vicious, terrifying mundanity. It also helps explain the food. I have a theory, but I'm not exceptionally smart. The theory is that everything is magical here, to some extent. That means that the crumbling tower can't kill me, and I suppose I'll bounce off enough pieces of rubble such that I'll never actually *fall* all the way to the ground. But maybe the fall can't kill me either. Maybe the air and the ground and the very laws of this place will bounce off, bend, break, or be evaporated rather than do any real violence to me. If that be the case, then I am this world's end. Maybe the peasants aren't so lucky after all. I don't think I am either, but we're well past that, aren't we? Or maybe I'll just die. The food did give me the runs, after all. But maybe it was just crappy food. Even though I'm not exceptionally brave, I am experiencing a fascinating moment of peace and clarity. Even though I'm not exceptionally smart, within that clarity I've managed to seize upon one last question. It's a good one, I think. If I live, I hope I'll get to ask it to someone smarter than me some day. And so, one last idle speculation before the experiment of rubble and gravity befalls me: If magic doesn't work on me, then how in the hell did I get here in the first place?",1061
 Stan my childhood friend and personal body,"""I don't want to visit the healer I said!"" ""But my Prince clearly something is wrong!"" Stan my childhood friend and personal body guard stood over me with pain and worry in his eyes. ""Please my Prince just let him look you over. Maybe it's just stress or a bad dream, maybe-"" ""It's not a dream!"" I shouted angrily ""None of them have been dreams! They weren't nightmares either! Don't you think I know the difference between a dream and reality?!"" I snapped at him angrily. It wasn't Stan's fault. I knew that. But after what I had just witnessed, I wasn't myself. ""I apologize if I have offended you my Prince. I simply wish for the healer to make sure you were not affected, by some type of mind-altering spells that we do not know of."" His voice was gentle, but his words brought anger out in me. ""Spells that we don't know of? That we don't know!? Of course there's magic that we don't know of! The Hero knows it, but he won't tell us what it is! I've told you again and again. That man has the power to travel back in time. I don't know how he does it but he can. None of you know what he's capable of, what he's really like."" A flood of memories came back to me, and I dropped into a curled ball position. Stan soothed me ""Ok. Then tell me, you know you can trust me. Tell me about the first time that it happened."" Everyone I had told the first story to, thought I was crazy after hearing it. *Even* I thought I was crazy for a time. But if there was one person in the world I could trust...... I wiped away some tears and began hesitantly. ""It was shortly after the hero came to our world. He didn't have a basic understanding of our world. He didn't even know any magic. Even though he had less knowledge than an orphan boy on the street, he learned quickly. In just a day he was able to cast fireballs, something that takes years to learn. Then he joined up with a group of travelling mercenaries and became their leader in just 2 days. On the 5th day of his arrival...."" I paused knowing what I was about to say would seem insane to anyone. ""I heard he attacked the imperial guard."" ""Why would he do something like that?"" ""I don't know! He came in the next day to see my father about his next quest, so I simply thought it was a baseless rumor. Someone that smart couldn't possibly have just decided to start attacking the battalion for no reason! But then I heard it was Dom that was attacked."" Stan's face changed at that. He knew Dom, he was a warrior with a reputation of honor and honesty. He wouldn't do something like file a false report. ""From the report what it seemed he didn't even fight well, it was almost like he was testing out abilities and spells he had never even used before. I just assumed it was some hero copycat."" ""Ok so how does this relate to your.... visions?"" I could tell Stan was doing his best to believe me. ""The next day I asked the royal spy master out of curiosity about this report. But he told me that he had never even received it. I thought It was strange but didn't think much on it. I just assumed he was covering for Dom, so not to embarrass him with the idea he mistook the hero for someone else. "" ""Very sensible my Prince. What happened after?"" ""After that I just kept hearing stranger and stranger stories, from the **spymaster** himself! The hero went to the cow pen and killed every single cow in the city with high tier fire magic. When he was caught, he was slain by the guards. The hero had set the manure pile on fire and had been slain by the guards. The hero bought time with a prostitute and after finishing with her, turned her into a chicken then set her on fire."" ""Was- was he slain by the guards after?"" ""No, don't be ridiculous. The guards never care if you kill whores. Anyway, all these stories came from the spymaster himself. But the next day he forgets about all of them. I thought at first maybe the spymaster was part of some conspiracy to spread false information within the royal family but then I soon realized that father didn't remember any of these rumors as well. I-I...."" I hesitated. As they say, only believe what your eyes and ears tell you. I was very worried about this next part. ""You what?"" ""I even told you about the rumors but the very next day you forgot about them."" Stan looked at me with a worried face, I knew that no matter how much faith and trust he had in me, telling him something that he himself, would make him question *my sanity.* He took a long hard look at me. Stared deep into my eyes and slowly said. ""Ok. I believe you. Maybe the hero has some spell that wipes the memories of others. But I still don't understand why a few dead cows and whores troubles you so much my Prince."" ""It was yesterday."" I said with despair. ""Yesterday? Yesterday was glorious! We celebrated the defeat of the evil dragon lord at last! What- what do you remember happened yesterday?"" ""He killed them. All of them. Everyone Stan!"" Just speaking about what happened brought tears to my eyes. ""He took out this artifact to show everyone, it was something he got from killing the dragon lord and making a weapon out if his corpse. Then he said, I gotta test this thing out! And he just started killing everyone! When the guards came in to stop him, he cast some spell that instantly killed them. It was like he just took their soul!"" My voice grew more strained as I spoke. ""That sound like the dragon pit sword. I thought it was just a legend. But it's said that once a man's soul is taken it can never be returned!"" I could see disbelief creep into his eyes. I stopped speaking for a while, but Stan prodded me to finish my tale. I didn't want Stan to think me a madman or liar, but I had to tell someone what I saw. ""He gathered the bodies after. Every, single, one. He picked up *each* individual corpse and brought them to the center of town. There he arranged them into a pattern."" ""A Pattern? Could this be some ritual, for his mysterious power?"" Stan grew more intrigued at the idea of potentially discovering a weakness in the hero. ""I suspect it's likely. It was arranged in a sigil that I didn't recognize and couldn't find in any demon worshiper's books. I can draw it out for you here."" I drew the symbol better than I expected. The main body was in a round L shape with 2 circles drawn at the end of the lower part on the L. It's hand and legs were stubby. Most peculiar was its tail. It was in a round shape like the rest of its body, but it also had 2 round spheres under it. ""I've never seen such a monster."" Stan said. ""Perhaps he practices magics from the east and this is their god. We should look-"" And then he froze. Fear. That was the only emotion on his face. Even a newborn, who has never felt fear in his life would know the emotion if he saw Stan's face then. I looked to his gaze. Standing right in front of us, was the hero. He had a cloak of stealth, undraped at his side. He had been listening the whole time. ""That"" He gestured to my drawing ""is called a Dickbutt.""",1332
 The Spartan III is a mech so,"Austin placed his hands behind his head, opening his chest and breathing out an obnoxiously loud sigh. This time would be different. The vein in his forehead was sticking out so much that you could check his pulse just by looking at his face. His anger swirled around him like a tornado - everyone at the facility knew to get the hell out of his way. He marched straight to the hangar, seeking out his newest creation. A mech so powerful that it could defeat entire militaries by itself - the Spartan III. The chassis resembled a strange combination of a beetle and a human, sitting in what appeared to be a relaxed position on the concrete floor. Austin had it coated with an anti thermal-imaging solution, giving it a slick sheen from head to toe. ""M... Mr. Harmon, we w...weren't expecting you,"" the foreman stuttered. They were always starstruck when they were in the presence of the head engineer. Austin payed the man no mind. He spotted the Spartan and quickened his pace, attempting to cross the facility while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. Reaching the mech, he climbed the 40 steps and entered the pilot's cabin. Austin sat in the left seat, booting up the supercomputer inside while fastening his legs and arms into the boots and gauntlets. Blue light flooded the cabin for a few seconds, followed by flashing red text on the display. W A R N I N G - O N E P I L O T P R E S E N T - W A R N I N G ""Override the child-lock."" Austin rolled his eyes while chuckling to himself in the most dejected way possible. When the government had tasked him with creating mechs for *teenagers*, he had originally thought it was some joke from higher up. Nope. He was the country's best and brightest crafting the most powerful weapons that humanity had ever seen. These robots had enough firepower to level cities with the flip of a switch - and the government was giving them to god-damn *teenagers.* They even insisted each Titan hosted two pilots. There was no mechanical reason for it, but Austin assumed it was so the kids could have some kind of contingency plan for when one of them went rogue or pissed themselves after seeing an alien. Having adolescents pilot death machines was one thing. Having completely untrained adolescents piloting them was another. Some idiot in another department had accidentally added Dr. Harmon to an email chain about the new recruits a few weeks ago. Out of curiosity (and frustration that his creations were being demolished on a daily basis), Austin read each memo, piecing together the top-secret training regimen of the recruits. The first day saw each recruit undergoing an aptitude test. A physical and written portion determined whether each child was gifted enough to handle piloting a Titan. The second day consisted of partner assignments (which Austin determined to be a glorified gauntlet of team building exercises). What really upset Dr. Harmon was the third day of training - *active duty.* On the *third day* of being at the facility, kids less than half the age of the staff were being sent on extermination missions in the mechs. Every single one was a failure, and every single kid wound up in the stomach of a Progenitor. The mech sputtered to life, the power coursing through the metal and carbon-fiber body. Austin could feel the strength through his gauntlets; with a snap of his finger, he could destroy half of the facility where he had spent the last 27 years working. The display faded into a cool green as an augmented view from the front of the Titan appeared in front of Austin. By this point a few dozen workers had gathered around the Spartan III. They debated amongst themselves what the hell was going on. After all, only government approved pilots were allowed inside the bodies of completed mechs, and Dr. Harmon was far past the age of consideration for becoming one. Austin chuckled to himself once more, taking a moment to marvel at his own creation. Each worker had his vitals displayed next to him on the augmented screen alongside a projected threat level. Negative 83 percent. If any of these men attempted to harm the Titan, the exoskeletal electrical deterrence field would fry them into a steaming puddle. ""Destination - Progenitor 11,"" Austin commanded to the mech. Within a second, the Spartan had blown through the roof of the building, flying to an altitude of 14,000 feet. From the perspective of the workers in the hangar, the mech had vanished and a gaping hole had appeared above them instantaneously. The G-Force mitigation technology was brand new, but it still amazed Austin that he didn't feel even the slightest disturbance in the cabin. Another eight seconds passed as the mech zipped across the sky due west at breakneck speeds, coming to an abrupt halt a few hundred feet above the alien Austin had set out to kill. Progenitor 11 sat in the center of a sprawling salt-lake with barren desert stretching for miles in every direction. Even from this height, Austin could appreciate how massive this alien truly was. It was covered in shimmering amber scales, creating a blinding mirror on the desert floor. The land had begun collapsing underneath its weight, creating a strange imprint somewhat resembling a crocodile. Progenitor 11's head possessed dozens of compound eyes, each flickering in its own direction on its own time. But the most striking feature of the alien was its mouth - well, sort of a mouth. As soon as the alien spotted Austin's mech, it widened an inconspicuous aperture located between a few of its eyes and unleashed a blast of pure destruction. The Titan's avoidance matrix kicked into gear, dashing to the left and narrowly avoiding being sucked into the Progenitor's mouth. Austin switched the display to the back of the mech, seeing a hole punched into the mountain behind him with surgical precision. The rocks came flying past him and into the vacuum-like maw, joining the dozens of recruits that had failed to kill the beast before. ""Shit,"" Austin muttered to himself. This thing had destroyed countless mechs in the past, yet fueled by frustration and anger he decided to pursue it into battle. Doubt began clouding his mind as the magnitude of the situation he had put himself in finally took hold. ""Alright. We're gonna give this monster one hell of a fight. Spartan, tell me this Progenitor's threat level."" Austin braced himself, knowing full well that anything above 70 percent effectively meant he had flown himself to an early death. The display stuttered for a moment, then projected the number next to the beast in bright green text. T H R E A T L E V E L - 2 P E R C E N T",1160
" ""You can call me a monster","""And *that* is why, ultimately, you're going to lose,"" Dr. Verres says, voice gone scratchy with use. ""You can call me a monster, punch me black and blue, throw me in jail, and smash up my lab. But you can't stop progress. Someday, all those merely genius scientists will catch up to my supergenius, and they'll be working for corporations or totalitarian governments when *they* discover the secrets of anti-aging and immortality, instead of making sure everyone is immortal. And when that happens, the world will change, and not for the better."" Captain Plasma blinks as the villain finally stops talking. He's been forced to sit in this chair, tied to it with some special metal that he can't break through, under a type of light that keeps him from shooting his energy rays out, while the scientist talks on and on and on, all while experimenting with chemicals and petri dishes. Despite having tuned him out at various points while trying to think of ways to escape, most of the message got through. ""It'll never happen, Thomas,"" Plasma says. ""People don't *want* to live forever. It would mean society doesn't change, overpopulation, lack of employment for the young..."" The scientist shakes his head and takes a drink of something that looks like water, but refreshes his throat for the dozenth time at least, voice sounding clear and strong again as he moves over to a rack of beakers. ""Zoned out for that part, did you? Those are all solvable problems, and you might as well bemoan that any invention that extends lifespans is similarly just a lesser evil, but those are *celebrated.* And sure, people *say* they don't want to live forever now, because there is no way for them to, and they picture themselves old and infirm, or losing their loved ones. But when their family and friends can live forever too, when they can live long enough to meet their great, great grandchildren, to see the world, to finally have time to learn new languages or instruments or read all the books they want? They'll be lining up to be perpetually young and healthy. And if they actually lack the imagination or personal interests to think of something to do with themselves and *really* want to stop living, I'm sure there will be nice and 'humane' ways to euthanize set up. Current hospice care workers will need something to do, after all, until I finish my next projects and make them even more irrelevant."" Captain Plasma can't help but think about his grandmother, who died when he was just 16. She took care of him after his parents died in a supervillain's attack on their city, and he loved her like she was another mother, but she and his parents had kids late in life; she would have been 75 if she'd lived to see him graduate high school. Her last two years were a living nightmare for her and him: mental and physical degradation had reduced her to a shell of herself. How often had he wished that he could still talk to her? Visit for dinner, on his few nights out of costume? Confide in her about what his life has been like, since he donned the mask and cape? He shakes his head. ""I can see why you've convinced yourself that what you're doing is right. But at the end of the day, you're justifying highly immoral human experiments. The ends don't justify the means."" Dr. Verres scoffs, not even looking at him. ""Of course not, if you're going to be vague about it. But all of my subjects were dying anyway, and not just in the way we're *all* dying. At most they had a few months to live, and they volunteered to participate in my studies, even the ah, painful ones, if it meant that they might get the cure."" That certainly doesn't sound as bad, when put that way. But... no, this is just an excuse. ""The fact that you're only preying on the desperate isn't a justification."" ""Bah. Justifications only matter to the 'just.'"" The scientist shrugs as he examines the color of some liquid, then puts its vial in a centrifuge and turns it on. ""If I have to shirk that label and be made a villain to save literally billions of lives, then so be it. Of the two of us in this room, it's clear who's willing to make the most sacrifices to actually help people."" Captain Plasma scowls. ""If you were really so willing to sacrifice, you would experiment on yourself."" That gets the mad scientist's attention, and he stops whatever he's doing and turns to the hero with a blank expression. ""Other than that being an utterly idiotic idea, as I explained a few hours ago, you have no idea what I've sacrificed,"" he says, voice empty and eyes like chips of stone. ""You're a child running around in a costume because you saw others doing it and thought it was the best way to help the world, were told it's the only way anyone extraordinary can and should use their superhuman talents. You can break multiple laws of thermodynamics, and you spend your time mostly filling prisons with petty criminals."" Verres lets his breath out, some life returning to his features, and turns his back on the hero. ""I'm only bothering to explain all this to you because I have to do the work anyway, and I might as well take the chance at piercing all that cultural conditioning, even if it's only one in a million."" There's nothing that comes to mind in response to that, and the hero just sits and watches the scientist work, silently at last, deep in his own troubled thoughts. The other man is right about one thing: the world is changing all on its own. Soon they might be editing genes like they're rewriting computer code. What *would* the fields of medical science discover in the next 20 or 40 or even 100 years? Wouldn't Verres's goal be reached eventually, with or without him? How many more billions of people will have died by then? How many more children will have to watch their parents and grandparents whither away in front of them, ravaged by a disease that affects the entire human population and has a 100% fatality rate? ""I wouldn't say the odds are quite that low,"" Captain Plasma says at last. Dr. Verres pauses, then turns to look suspiciously at him. ""I had a grandmother, once. She took in a kid who was angry at the world and taught him how to live right. She meant the world to me."" Captain Plasma shrugs, looking away. ""Not asking you to let me go or anything. But if you eventually do... and as long as the people in your experiments really do volunteer... I won't try to stop you again."" Dr. Verres is still for a moment, then goes back to work. *It's a start,* he thinks to himself as he tests the newest batch, bending to the microscope to observe the change in the cells. He doesn't have to convince the world he's right: just those with the power to stop him. Once the cure to mankind's oldest enemy is found and disseminated online, it won't matter anymore. The world will change... and it will need people like Captain Plasma, immature and absolutist as his moral philosophy may be, to do the hard work of making it 'just,' or at least keeping it from becoming a playground for immortal tyrants and billionaires. As for him, he might take a well deserved break, then tackle some other societal ill. He can't very well trust those tied down by antiquated notions of morality to do it, after all. *Really,* he thinks to himself as he reaches for another vial. *It doesn't take a supergenius to figure out that if a 'hero' is defined by society as one that upholds its status quo, they're hardly going to be the ones to solve its real problems.*",1346
 Jerry's shadow towered down over,"""Hey Mary, quit slacking off. Someone's summoning you again."" I tilted up my sunglasses, stretching out on my lawn-chair, and set down the tomatoey cocktail that I had named after myself. ""Go away,"" I said, yawning. ""Not today."" ""Yes, today."" Jerry's shadow towered down over me, blotting out all the rays of sun that my pale skin was trying to soak up. ""There's not a choice in this."" ""For fuck's sake, what's the point?"" I reached over and picked up my beer from the chair's other cup-holder. That was my left-hand drink. ""It's not like these schmucks ever wish for anything. They only summon me to get a picture for their horror-themed instagrams."" He crossed him arms. ""There's no use in arguing. We both know the rules."" ""I'm not a performer."" Jerry sighed. ""I'm going to count to three."" The sunglasses slid off my forehead to fall back over my eyes. ""Are you now?"" ""One."" ""Jerry, I don't care if you count -- "" ""Two."" ""Come on, will you just wait for two seconds -- "" ""*Three!*"" There was a faint popping in my ears, and then suddenly the beautiful day turned black and beer spilled everywhere in a splash of gold foam. My entire body started to constrict, and I felt pressure as if I was suddenly being forced through a very tiny tube. I arrived at my new destination with all the grace of crashing into a wall - which is exactly what happened to me. I smashed straight into the mirror, breaking my nose. Blood poured down my face, and I rushed to cover my wound and stop the bleeding, swearing. No matter how many times I went through it, being summoned would always be a bitch...and would always result in grievous bodily injury. A scrawny looking teenage girl stared back at me from the other side of the mirror, her face white with fear. She clapped her hands over her mouth, giving me a look of sheer terror that I was all too familiar with. ""Yes, it's me,"" I said, my words muffled from behind my hands, as blood trickled through my fingers. ""Now, before you go run away screaming, will you at least try to calm down -- "" Annnnnnddd she was gone. Sighing, I looked wistfully at the box of tissues staring back at me from the other side of the mirror, as blood continued to spout like a firehouse. ""What are you looking at, kleenex?"" I said, pinching at the bridge of my nose. ""Haven't you ever seen a genie with a god-damn bloody nose before?"" I took a sharp breath, preparing for the hellish journey to re-enter the void and return to back home, but just before I turned to leave, I heard the door creak open. ""You look like you're hurt,"" a voice from behind me said. I spun back around to find the teenage staring back at me. ""Are you okay?"" ""About as okay as one can be after running into a wall of glass at a hundred miles per hour."" ""I'm sorry. Didn't mean for that to happen."" ""It's cool, happens every time. I'm used to it."" I sniffed. The woman staring back at me was still trembling, hovering one foot back into the bathroom, one foot into the hall, too curious to turn away. I got these folks every once in a while. She was just stalling to get a picture of me on her phone before running away again and posting it on social media. ""So are you just going to stand there all day? Or can you snap your selfie and we'll both get on with our lives?"" ""I didn't mean to hurt you,"" she said, frowning. ""Are you going to kill me now?"" I pointed a bloody hand at her. ""Yep,"" I said. ""You summoned me, and now I have to kill you."" She started to tremble again, looking down at the ground. ""It's okay, really. I'm ready. That's why I called you in the first place. "" The theatrically maniacal smile died on my face. ""Huh?"" ""Just get on with it. I hate this place. I'm ready."" This was getting dark real quick, and I found myself starting to sweat. ""Come on, I'm not really going to kill you. I was just fucking with you."" I wiped my nose, smearing blood everywhere. ""I'm actually a genie. I grant wishes and shit. Can you believe that?"" ""Nope."" ""I'm not lying. Give me a try. Wish for anything."" ""Fine. Then I wish that you kill m- "" ""Woah, woah, woah. Hold on a second."" I threw up my hands, the palms now scarlet from tending to my injury. ""Let's slow down for a moment. Umm. What's your name?"" ""Tara,"" she said. She looked down at her feet. ""Hi Tara, I'm Mary. Now, do you want to see something cool?"" ""Like what?"" ""I dunno..."" I stalled, feeling the blood in my nose start to clot. I had never stayed long enough in someone's bathroom for this to happen before. ""What if I made an eldritch horror pop out of your toilet? That'd be fun, right?"" The girl shrugged. ""I dunno. I guess."" ""Come on, it's really cool. They aren't even that dangerous. Just scary."" I winked. ""Some of the best things in this world are like that."" The girl looked up at me, her wide eyes curious again. ""So I'll tell you what, I'll make Chthulu Jr. pop out of the can, and while I do that, I want you to think really hard about three wishes that would really make you happy. Can you do that for me?"" ""Okay,"" she said. Then for the first time, she covered her mouth with her hand and smiled. Damn, seeing that from the sad girl a moment ago made me feel good. This genie shit might not be so bad after all. ""Hell yeah."" My eyes started to turn red as I summoned my magic. Suddenly there was bubble and a crash from the toilet, and Tara gave a squeak of delight. ""Is that..."" ""Don't get too close,"" I warned, as Tara edged towards the mysterious noises. I smiled, raising a hand to my nose, and found the bleeding had completely stopped now. Maybe this time, it would stay that way. * * * /r/ghost_write_the_whip",1056
 A life of power is often boring,"A life of power is often boring. I try my best to make it not so. The woman in front of me widens her eyes as she stares at me. I have mine closed, of course. She has to believe. But I see her staring all the same. ""What do you see?"" she says in a hushed tone. I furrow my brows and hold her hand tighter. From my mind's eye, I see the woman flicking her eyes around the room as if to look for answers. She looks over my decorations, gaudy and sparkly. She looks over my table, cluttered in ornaments and supposedly magical objects. I have to resist a smile. If only she knew how powerful some of these objects truly are. Then, her gaze freezes on possibly the most *uninteresting* object in my entire workshop. My crystal ball. She stares at the small glass object like it's holding her captive and I have no doubt that she sees whatever she wants to within its murky walls. Truthfully, it's only made of fogged glass. But I never tell any of my customers that. ""I see... pain,"" I say finally, making sure to keep my eyes closed. The worried woman snaps her gaze back to me and curls her lips awkwardly. ""Pain?"" she asks. The dread building within her radiates warmly on my skin. ""Yes, I can see... a ruined family... a lost job... and..."" My voice trails off. I relish in the anticipation she is trying her very best not to show. ""A burning house!"" She gasps and jerks her hand back. I open my eyes--my *real* eyes and stare at her. Her face is flushed, red like the surface of an apple from Eden. She opens her mouth and sputters, but no real words come out. ""This is very troubling,"" I say, faking contemplation. I really *did* see pain in her future, I hadn't lied about that. But I may have exaggerated a bit with what I was telling her. A ruined family, a lost job, and a burning house are all things you can find on a sitcom, after all. I hold out my arm and stare at her. ""And out of your entire future, I'm getting... I'm getting a message!"" ""A message?"" ""Yes,"" I say, exaggerating myself. My ethereal form is doing little more than lifting a finger. ""**If you do not change your ways, your life will end in ruin.**"" She angles her eyebrows upward, staring at me with a little more than dread in her eyes. Actual, palpable *fear* radiate onto my skin. It occurs to me that I might have gone a little too far. ""What does it mean by change my ways?!"" ""From what I can tell... and the readings I'm getting from the spiritual realm,"" I have to stop myself from laughing, ""it means that you need to be a better person. Improve your karma. Be more considerate, help out more people, do some charity work."" I feel the way she gets upset. I actually *do* roll my physical eyes this time. ""If you do not... the spirits will work against you, and your life may very well end up in ruin."" She stops being as upset, the fear of what she thinks is a real reading coming right back. She stares down, her eyes meeting the glittery cover on my wooden table. Silence grips the room. ""That is your reading,"" I say finally. ""That will be $100, please."" The woman looks up, confused, but nods an understanding after seeing the firm smile on my face. She digs out her wallet and retrieves a few bills before handing them to me. Being a psychic was most *certainly* the easiest way to make money in a normal life. As the woman leaves, a jingle following her exit of my shop, I wave my hand and the woman's bills go streaming through the air and into the back of my shop, eager to join the *other* stacks of cash I have stored away. I feel something in the air, but for the first time in ages, I don't know what it means. Another jingle splits the air, surprising even *me*. I furrow my brow and walk forward. ""The tale of all will start right here. Read this and the end draws near."" A childlike voice lilts its way throughout my shop. I nearly freeze in place, recognizing those words in an instant. ""The mother god of all creation. Life and death give her elation."" My mind's eye twitches at the long-lost words. Images flash in my mind, ones of fire and ice. The cold mountain top. The howling winds. The immense, crackling fire splitting through it all as the last of my followers pile tome after tome into the blaze. ""Let her life or let her die. She is eternal, she tells no lie. This is the tale unlike any other. Share it with all, son wife or brother. This is the tale of **Oelia**."" My true name rings out in the room and all of the ornaments shake. My ethereal being trembles at the force of it and I feel power flowing through my veins. My human body perspires, heating up at the sudden influx. ""Who's there?"" I ask into my shop just as a small child skips into my view. His eyes are moving over the shelves with absolute curiosity and he's mumbling to himself. Even in the hushed tone, I can still *feel* the familiarity of it all. ""Boy! You there!"" I yell. He tears his gaze to me and stops. The soft blond hair on his head whips around and he has to brush a few strands of it from his vision with his small hands. ""Hi,"" he says cutely. My heart flutters for a second, but the song he sang keeps me on track. ""Hello,"" I say as calmly as I can. ""What are you doing here? And where did you learn that song you were singing?"" His eyes glance at the floor and he shakes his small foot. ""I... I finded it in a book."" I smile. ""And where did you find this book?"" He looks to the side. ""In a hole in the ground, covered in shiny leaves."" My blood runs cold and the truth flares out at me. I'd told them to make a copy. I'd told them to hide it. And they *had*. They had sealed it with my blessing. Nobody should've been able to get through my leaves, nobody should've even been able to *notice* them. ""Where are your parents?"" I ask, repeating as human of a question as I can find while my divine consciousness is working overtime. ""I dunno,"" he says, seemingly without care. I try to feel, try to sense his emotions or thoughts. I can't, and I squint at him instead. ""What's your name?"" ""Uh... t-the people at the street call me Baron."" ""Well, *Baron*,"" I feel the power in the name, ""can you come with me? I just have a few questions for you."" --- /r/Palmerranian",1180
 There was a polite knock at the,"There was a polite knock at the front door. Drying my hands, I left the kitchen and slung the towel over my shoulder and opened the large inner front door and pushing the frenzied, barking Mr. Wiggles. On the other side of the screen door stood twenty or so people in strange armor. A tall man in chainmail, furs, and a rounded skullcap stepped forward. He spoke, but I did not understand a word he said. Mr. Wiggles jumped into view, resuming his wild, frenzied barking. They all immediately fell to one knee, crying out a single word in unison. ""Fenrir!"" I looked to them. Then to Mr. Wiggles, who was still barking. I looked back to them. ""I uh. I don't want any?"" I closed the door. They cried out, rising and making a cacophony of sounds that all sounded like begging. I sighed and ignored them, heading back into the kitchen to continue washing the dishes. ... After spying them through the windows, moping on the front porch through the afternoon, the next day I was pleased to see the weird people from the day before were no where to be seen. Or so I thought. I had let Mr. Wiggles out the back door to do his business in the yard when all of a sudden I hear a chorus of cheering. When I went to investigate, the group of strange armored people from yesterday was there all around the outside of the wooden fence, shouting over the tops of it as one of their number in leather armor with plates and studs afixed to it ran with incredible speed across the yard, away from Mr. Wiggles who was chasing him and nipping viciously at his heels. ""What the hell is going on here?"" I cried. They all fell silent and looked to me before fleeing. Except for the one being chased by Mr. Wiggles, who scaled a tree to try and escape from the aggressive Chihuahua. ""Good job, Mr. Wiggles!"" I huffed, approaching the tree. I stooped and picked up the small Chihuahua, who then turned and whined and licked my face lovingly. I cooed at him and kissed his face. ""Ooh, good boy! Good boy! Mummy loves you, good boy!"" The man in the tree stared at me in terror. I looked to him with a scowl. ""I thought I told you we weren't interested! And why are you antagonizing my poor little Wiggy?"" Mr. Wiggles turned and barked viciously at him. Studying the man, he looked quite spooked and I eventually sighed. ""It's just a little dog. For heaven's sake. You're a grown man."" He mumbled a few unrecognizable words. All I caught was 'Fenrir.' ""Well he won't attack you while I hold him,"" I gestured for him to come down. ""So get down before you fall and break your neck!"" He stared hard at me before cautiously climbing down. He looked deeply embarrassed. Groaning, I couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. I decided to fix him a cup of tea to calm his nerves before sending him on his way. He didn't seem like a bad sort after all, and it was clear that Mr. Wiggles could chase him out if he misbehaved. I beckoned him with a finger. ""Well, let's calm you down a bit and soothe that bruised ego, hm? Come along, lad, I'll fix you a cup of tea."" He didn't seem to grasp all my words, but he brightened considerably when I motioned for him to follow. Some over the others peeked over the fence but I ignored them. When we got inside, I put Mr. Wiggles in the living room, which had kiddie gates in the doorways to keep him confined away from guests. He was very protective, after all. ""You sit right there,"" I pointed to a chair. He complied. Mr. Wiggles circled round to the doorway between the kitchen and living room, barking at our guest like and thing. The lad looked uncomfortable. Within moments I set a cup of tea in front of him. The lad sniffed at it skeptically, then brightened and took a sip. He let slip a string of thought, again in words I didn't understand. It was strange how he kept staring at Mr. Wiggles. Like he was completely crushed that he hadn't warmed up to him yet. Poor boy. I took a slice of pie and set it in front of him. ""Here you are lad. A bit of sweet to go with your tea."" The minute I set it in front of him he went wide eyes and devoured it like he had never eaten before. I laughed and turned back to the kitchen and began sweeping the floor. Not like we could talk anyhow. At this the man jumped up in distress. After a few words, he trotted to me, reaching to take the broom. Out of sheer curiosity I passed it to him. He began sweeping the floor for me. Mr. Wiggles barked once more, then quieted down and sat on his bed, watching us from behind the gate. The lad looked to the Chihuahua, then bowed deeply. After a few words, he began frantically sweeping as though his life depended on it. It was then I noticed all the faces pressed to my window. They stared on in shock and awe, before scattering. Within days they had all managed to work their way in for tea and pie, and they had cleaned my house to sparkling from top to bottom. Mr. Wiggles never let them touch him, but he barked at them constantly. What was strange was that it was never the same vicious barking he snapped at everyone else. This laughably seemed like barked orders. Which would have been ridiculous. I laughed off the thought. The people would eventually learn how to speak bits here and there. All I ever really learned from them was that they really wanted to take care of this aging old lady and her wee pup. Edit: Minor fixes.",1012
 Margaret's family knows I'm here,"""Just to be clear, my family knows I'm here, and we've alerted the police where I am."" Margaret said before reaching to her waist. ""I've also got a gun and a knife right here. I want this on me at all times while I'm in here."" She warned as the man nodded. ""If you wish to see them and have them take you outside, just call."" He said with a calm, almost pitying voice. ""Feel free to leave whenever you wish."" He added before walking away, sealing the door shut behind her. Shrugging, she sat back and played on her phone, ignoring the bleakness of the room before setting an alarm and taking a quick nap. When she woke up, she checked her digital watch before frowning, confused as to why her alarm didn't go off. ""Huh. That's weird."" She noted, finding only 10 minutes had passed. She still felt incredible tired, and decided to go back to sleep, taking another nap. This went on dozens of times, with her somehow waking up in decreasing increments. She was constantly fatigued, yet she always somehow woke up 10 minutes later. This went on until she noticed something odd. ""What's with this jacket?"" She wondered, reaching over to find a thick wool jacket on her. It was spring. Why on Earth did she have this jacket on her? She still had the gun on her, and her phone was still there. Quickly, she prepared to call up her brother before going pale. ""No. No. This doesn't make sense."" She said as she finally saw the date. Half a year had passed since she took the job. She frantically went through her phone, searching up the official time and date, assuming the phone to have glitched before checking her watch. ""No. That's impossible. No. I just took a nap."" She said in a frantic voice as her hair fell forward. She reached forward, grabbing at the long flowing locks that now reached down to her shoulders. No, her hair was short in a pixie cut! Not long! Her panic grew to horror as she found herself going through her photo gallery. ""What the hell is this?"" Margaret asked, going through her phone to find hundreds of photos and videos of her social outings with friends, family, and loved ones that she didn't recollect. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Saint Patrick's day, so many holidays and social outings. She was surrounded by friends, she had her family, so why couldn't she remember!? Why couldn't she!? She called up her mom, tears streaming down her face as a bout of sleepiness sent her mind into a black void. She woke up once more on the ground, another day passed. She tried to call again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. A year passed. Her mind trapped in the room but her body capable of leaving as it pleased. She ran outside, only to have her vision fade to black. Her mind began to scramble as she went through her phone, hoping she could get a text out. As she threw it open, she screamed finding thousands of texts exchanged between herself and the rest of her family during her dormant phases. ""Mom: You okay honey? You seem a bit off."" ""Me: I'm fine mom. Don't worry."" ""Bro: Hey sis, you've been acting kinda weird lately. Wanna talk?"" ""Me: Im fine! Honest!"" ""Bro: You sure? I'm always around you know."" ""Me: Don't worry! I'm fine!"" More and more conversations could be found, her family spotting the subtle differences between herself and the thing masquerading in her body. She cried, screaming for help from within room. When her brother threw the door open, her mind faded to nothing and she awoke once more on the concrete floor, trapped in the eternal loop. ""Let me out. Please let me out. I want to go home."" She whimpered, huddled in a ball while looking for her unseen torturer. The one that had stolen her body. She whimpered this for years, her psyche growing worse and worse. Yet in spite of her torture, she still looked normal. Her hair was long. She was dressed well, ate well, and lived well outside the dark little box. Her outside self still socialized with her friends and family while her true self was still trapped within the box, crying and begging for freedom. Despair overtook her as she took out her knife, carving messages on her own body begging for help. In response, her outer self wore long sleeve shirts, hiding the self inflicted messages as it continued to leave her trapped in the little box. Even so she continued to fight, struggling to get somebody... Anybody to listen. To get her out of the dark room. Yet she could never truly escape. It had her. It wouldn't let her leave. She was its slave now. ""Please... Somebody... Anybody... Help me..."" She wailed, pounding on the walls. Several more years had passed. She had a wedding ring now. Her true self had never met her husband. Based on the texts they exchanged, her alter ego was more outgoing than she ever was. He had fallen in love with something that wasn't her. He was ignorant of the person locked in the box. Everyone was. They were moving on. After 5 years of the isolation, she finally broke, her will to live at its end. ""I... I'm not-I can't do this anymore. I can't. I won't."" She said, her mind broken and the spark to live at its end. She went through her purse, taking a look to find a bottle of advil, her wallet, and all the usual stuff she had. Her revolver was still loaded and strapped to her waist as well. ""No... This... Too messy... I'm scared..."" She thought, tossing the gun across the room. She instead poured the entirety of the advil into her hand, swallowed them whole, and let it all end. And like that, her life was gone. Cold. Scared. Alone. Just when she was ready to experience oblivion, the doors opened as a warm set of hands grabbed her, taking her out of the room for the first time in years. ""We're here for you."" Were the words she heard before she passed out. ******************************************* ""In other news, local businesswoman Margaret Anne has been admitted to the hospital for an attempted suicide attempt. For those of you unaware, Ms. Anne is quite a powerful woman, having a salary of roughly 1.5 million. She became the lifeblood of our little town of Oaksville after she took up a job with Carter and Marshall Inc and turned us into the wealthy area we are today. Supposedly, her husband found her passed out with her wrists slit and overdosing, but he was able to save her life just in time."" ""Wow Harry, who would've thought somebody as upbeat and cheery as her was suffering from depression? I spoke to her just last week, and she seemed so happy."" ""Well, it can strike anyone Mary. Luckily, her condition is stabilized and her loved ones are giving her all the attention and support they can give her."" ""I'm happy for her. She needs all the affection she can get right now.""",1213
" ""Mom,"" I said. ""","Her hands carved curves into the pottery; the delicate, thin frame of her eyes looking down at these sculptures with the cradling love that reminds me of home, forever ago. A weak smile hung on her lips, the kind I remember from those trailing ends of her forgotten lullabies. The white strands of her hair loped her shoulders, so brilliant and bright in the morning light that I didn't know where she and the sun delineated. She was energy, forever tied to that small, suburban pottery store I lived my childhood in. Lemon and grass wafted through the air. ""Mom,"" I said. She didn't hear me. She lost herself in the cycling whirlpool of the pottery wheel. ""Mom,"" I said again, quietly, to no response. My mother just sat there, basking in the morning light slicing through the Venetian blinds of her pottery store. She looked pristine and peaceful, beautiful in a way that exceeded physical form. I reached out to touch her and, suddenly, red, raging text monopolized my vision: WARNING: FIVE MINUTES ARE UP. PLEASE INSERT MORE CREDIT. Everything evaporated. The brilliant morning light shifted to a dingy evening glow that revealed the floating dust that now inhabited this relic of a childhood home. The polished pottery lining the racks around me became cracked and ugly - I couldn't sense the beauty and poetry in them anymore, if they had any of their own in the first place. Worst of all, my mother was gone, and I was cold. ""Fuck,"" I said out-loud, putting on a jacket from the corner coat rack. I detested our disease of a capitalist nightmare society. ""Fuck,"" I said again, simply to comfort myself. \*\*\* Weeks before I revisited the store, and years after my mother's death, I received a letter from a stranger who said he knew Abigail Foster. *She told me to tell you she loved you very much, and that she left a gift for you in the basement of the pottery store.* A copper key laid in the envelope, the very same one she kept in her purse. The only time she ever raised a hand against me was when I tried to steal it. I would have thrown the letter and key away because...well, why trust strange letters slid under your door under the cover of night? But, as always, my curiosity superseded my rationality. The floorboards creaked as I moved down them. The air smelled rank and musty, the memory of my mom's perfume from the holo-pic now merely a faint, fading thought. My vision, even enhanced by optics, was shrouded in black as I descended down the steps, hoping to god that - even in their age - they wouldn't give and send me tumbling into a broken bone darkness. That would be my luck, wouldn't it? Dead in a creepy basement with my mother's wishes left unfulfilled, only a thin apology on my lips when I saw her across the golden bars of the Pearly Gates. Thankfully, I reached the bottom steps and flipped on a switch I found affixed to a limestone wall. Pale, yellow light weakly flooded the room, which consisted of worn but well-kept pottery lining the walls. Some of it was priceless, beautiful beyond description. Song Dynasty porcelain bowls. Mayan clay-and-temper vases. Roman *terra sigillata* depicting the triumph of Zeus over Kronos. Others were...less impressive. I saw my middle-school art project sandwiched between two Greek relics, a shoddy failure of a thing, yet my mother's eyes glowed when my small hands held it toward her. Love is blind, I guess. Beyond the walls, in the center of the room, was an intricately crafted clay mallet on a pedestal and a note, neatly scrawled in my mother's handwriting. *Son, I instructed a...friend...to send you down here when he thought you were ready. I am sorry to have lied to you all these years, but I did it to protect you. Touch the mallet to one of these pots in the room. You'll understand then.* I was confused. No, confused was an understatement. I knew my mother had her secrets, but I always thought that referred to her recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies. What was this room? What was this hammer? Questions raced without answers; there was only one way I was going to figure anything out. I picked up the clay hammer slowly, feeling the clay's bumps and ridges that someone with watchmaker hands must've carefully carved into this artifact. It felt unnaturally light and fragile in my hands. I touched the *terra sigillata* and - *Woe is Caesar. With my eyes I verily behold his broken and bloody body dragged through the streets of Rome, and my heart is sorrowful. Truth be told: he was a conqueror of much talent, yet a ruler with none. Be that as it may, only the Gods have the power of judgement. I am strongly of the opinion Humans should have no business in destruction of another. This sentiment, of course, is not much appreciated by my fellow constituents. I am Quirinus, the Keeper of Rome, and I have captured a tale that* *turns history: the Death of Caeser. His soul lies trapped within clay.* I reeled back, nearly knocking over the pedestal behind me. What the fuck was that? I felt a surge of energy, a rush of power, and then a loss of control. I wasn't Matthew Foster. I was someone old, someone feeble, in an era that felt alien and unnatural, and although I could understand what I was thinking and saying, my lips curled around vowels I'm sure I can't pronounce. I *saw* Caesar. I saw a *dead* Caesar. Of course I spent the better part of the next hour touching mallet to clay like a looney cartoon character. I became an Iroquois woman who cataloged the burning of her village in a clay ceramic doe. I became a woman from Zaire watching Belgium soldiers drag her husband off into the mines. She captured him in a bowl too small for food. I became so many people, some famous, some not, watching events in history unfold, and soon, I began to understand one, principle fact about my life: there's no way in hell my mom was just an austere middle-class, single mother who ran a pottery shop. She was something more, something strange, something powerful. Each piece of pottery held a story, and I consumed the narratives with bestial desire. I ravished the history I saw through the eyes of the ""Keepers."" After watching German soldiers drag Jews from their homes during WW2 and a Chinese man smoke an opium pipe in 1838, I finally reached the out of place, quizzical looking black and blue clay cup I gave my mom years ago. I touched the mallet, but, before I did so, an uncanny chill traveled down my spine, prickling my skin. Something didn't feel right. *My name is Abigail Foster. I'm the Keeper of the American Empire and mother of my son Matthew. I did not create this piece -- I know that's against Order tradition -- but the boy who did has powers that exceed my own. He is an event to surpass the fall of Rome, the death of Shakespeare, the birth of Genghis Khan. He's what we've been waiting for all this time, the turning point of everything. The man who will destroy Humanity.* edit: I woke up to a lot of comments. Thanks everyone for the compliments and the fixes. I will, in the future, try to add to this story.",1265
 Two years ago I left my home,"Two years ago I left my home planet. Four months ago I landed on this planet. Meanwhile I've started to believe They're the same one. \-- ""Come here Max"", I shout to my dog, the only living thing I could trust since I landed, at least at the start. He leaves the piece of wood he was playing with, looks at me for a few seconds, then starts running towards me. \-- The first week on this planet I stayed in a little hospital owned by their NASA, where they put me through a lot of tests to check that I am healthy after my journey. Things happened so fast, I barely had the time to think or talk to people, I just went along with it. A lot of the tests involved exercise, so most days I'd be very tired after them and just sleep for 16 hours straight until the next test. The people that handled me looked, acted and talked like humans, and that fascinated me - but they did not look familiar. To be fair, I've never been to this hospital back on Earth, because most of my work was in the US - but I did know it existed. \-- We arrive at the entrance to the park and I greet Bob with a head gesture. He greets me back and we enter. Max goes to the left and starts his routine of sniffing the closest tree, seeing I've continued without him, running along and going to the next tree. It's already 12 PM, and my stomach starts making weird noises so I decide to sit at the next bench and open the homemade lunch I brought in my backpack. \-- After they decided I was good to go, they gave me the address to an apartment that was leased for a month where I could stay until I was ready to ""go home"". At the time, I thought I knew what they meant, so I took a very Earth-looking cab and gave the driver the address. By that time, I thought that I was in an exact replica of Earth, with a different history, politics and people, and decided to invest my time into researching the differences and not the similarities. I also had some assignments I was given by my team at NASA, but I put them aside, at least for the start, so I could get used to the new place. The first things I've done after settling at the apartment, was going to the closest shop and buying (using money their NASA gave me) a newspaper, a map of the world and a map of the city. My plan was to find a library nearby and start investigating. But on my way back to the apartment, I got a phone call that was the first sign that something was off. \-- After getting the water bottle and letting Max drink a little, I stretch my hand further into the bag to search for my sandwich. *I'm sure I put it there.* After getting all of the things out of the bag I am now convinced I left it on the counter when I left the house. *merde.* I look at the things I got out of the bag and one specific item catches my eye - the newspaper I bought on my second week back. Having nothing better to do, I decide to read it until Max will finish playing around and we can go back. ""Sunday Times, 4.5.2018"" Something's off. \-- All the flight to their NYC, two words kept me awake. ""Welcome back"". *What did he me by back?* I was on my way to meet with my ""manager"", who knew my name, said he was from their NASA, and sounded too much like my manager back home. He told me they couldn't wait a month so they booked me a flight, and that they will start questioning me about the trip as soon as I arrive. The ""trip"" was one year and 8 months in space, me sleeping like a baby all the way through. It actually felt like I've fallen to a coma and woke up when the spaceship landed. So at the time all I could think about was what could they possibly ask me about it. NYC was exactly the same as back home. Same smells, same shops, same advertisers in times square, I even caught a glimpse of my old building while I was in the cab. The driver stopped in front of a building that looked like the one my old manager's office was at. When I got into the room I was speechless to see a look alike of my real manager. \-- I start recalling how they convinced me I was back at my home planet. It started with my manager showing me the route my ship took, then a bunch of scientist I worked with coming up with explanations, some co-workers that worked with me trying authenticate themselves and convince me it was really them. It continued with me meeting my wife. I couldn't resist her. The whole following week we were together after all the time we were apart, and we brought up memories from when we first started dating, when I asked her father if I could have her, our wedding... After that week with her I just accepted the truth that I was back after my ship couldn't get to the new planet, and that I was really back at my home planet. But now I'm not sure of it anymore. Small details that I missed before are coming up to me - how my wife and I couldn't agree on the color of my suit at our wedding, how a neighbor I've talked to several times seemed not to recognize me, how I suddenly was too tall to enter the basement without crunching my back, how I couldn't get a hold of my sister since I came back... And now this. You see, I left Earth on the 3rd of July, 3282. \----- **EDIT**: Thank you all for the comments! I truly believe in a reader's interpretation, so I'm sorry for not clearing things out or commenting about your theories of things. Your interpretation is just as correct as mine. Also, I wrote a little bit more as I felt I have not finished exploring this storyline. Part 2 is attached as a comment, hope you like it!",1082
 The Salesman turned the power off,"""AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"" ""Wow. True vampires really are immortal. Fascinating."" The Salesman said as he raised the power, raising the temperature into the chamber to a nice toasty 3,000 Celsius. The screaming continued as they continued to try finding a way to properly give a death sentence to the prime evil of the world. They had already tried silver, garlic, electric chairs, hanging, and sunlight to contain him, but none of them worked. Now they were saying ""screw it"" and tossing him into an electric arc furnace, realizing that there was no way to contain him. The screaming stopped after a few more hours cooking him, but they knew better than to open the door. Instead, The Salesman sat back, sipping martinis for a few days before turning the power back on. The screaming returned, only to hear begging for mercy from humanity, and the vow to never harm another living soul again. The Salesman turned the power off for 10 seconds, then turned it back on until the screaming stopped. ""Task force Sigma. Get in here and be ready. Get the Janitor to clean this up."" The Salesman ordered to the heavily armed guards surrounding him. They nodded as a heavily armored man marched forward, throwing the doors open to find a pile of ash where the mighty vampire once stood. With a dust pan, he cleaned the chamber up, making sure to avoid leaving any residue as he sealed the ashes within a steel box. ""Shall we do the usual protocol sir?"" The Janitor asked, preparing to launch the ashes into the sun. ""No, no. I've decided to expand our business into jewelry."" The Salesman answered, causing the Janitor to raise an eyebrow. ""So?"" He asked, confused by The Salesman's answer before making a toothy grin. ""You brilliant sociopath."" He said, realizing The Salesman's plans as a group of men in lab coats entered. The Janitor walked with them, keeping the ashes close at hand while they worked tirelessly. The Auction was coming this week at the Bizarre Bazaar. They needed something to wow the audience, a thing that would draw the attention of everyone. A week passed as The Salesman made a last minute inspection of his products, their cages and restraints keeping them contained for what was to come. The Coup de Grace and centerpiece of the exhibit was the cursed jewelry set, solid gold and decorated with diamonds forged by the ashes of a master vampire. It constantly twitched and swayed, the master vampire desperately trying to return to his mortal form but lacking the power to shatter the molecular bonds of diamond. The auctioneers offered him millions to billions for the box set, but The Salesman refused, keeping the trinket to attract future customers for decades to come. Angels and Demons were sold in bundled sets, their wills broken by drugs and driven to pitiful states below even junkies. Big Foot and the Moth Men were kept in cages and bred for their amusement, used by their clients as pets, food, or other reasons. Eldritch entities that drove men mad from a single glance became toys for them, the clients opting to take copious amounts of LSD and entering the containment cells for the ultimate high. The mighty pheonix was captured, ripped apart and used by The Salesman to keep the room warm. As the day ended, The Salesman smirked and pocketed numerous checks, content with the day's sales. As he left, he heard a low cough from one of the dryads, the pesticides used to take her down regressing her mature female form into one of a teenager's. ""Monster... You're a monster..."" She whispered as The Salesman smirked. ""All of you..."" She said only to be doused with additional pesticide by the eternally smiling Salesman. He wasn't insulted at all by her words. In fact, he relished in her sorrow, taking in the curses she spewed at him as though she were his lover sharing a heartfelt confession. ""We offered you friendship and kindness. To share this world after your reemergence. We wished to work together as equals."" He said in a soft voice, as though he were a father educating a child. ""We extended a hand of love and friendship. A hand you bit."" He continued, grabbing a spray bottle of Agent Orange and spraying her body with it. She howled and rolled within her cage as her body regressed further, now taking a child's form. ""This is worse than death!"" She howled as The Salesman laughed heartily. ""And what would an immortal monster know of death?"" He asked while leaving, humming happily to himself Tomorrow, they'd go after the Kraken. The Japanese want sushi made from it, and he wasn't one to let his customers down. ""No, no. Can't think work right now."" He reminded himself. Now that it was no longer work hours, he had his free time. He made it a personal goal of keeping his work life and home life separate. He usually failed to do so, but he at least made an attempt. He checked his watch and smiled to find that it was only 7:30. He could get back and read his kids their bedtime stories. Humming, he strolled down the streets and turned left at the corner, passing by his condo to grab a book. Anna always loved Peter Pan. He grabbed them along with Alice in Wonderland, leaving the condo and locking the door behind him. He continued walking, his trench coat keeping him warm as he stopped by the graveyard. Opening the gates, he strolled through the tombs, saying his hellos to everyone in the neighborhood. Gary from down the street, Mack from the deli, old Ms. Periwinkle and her cats, Diane the grocery girl, his father, his mother, his in laws, and so forth. He made sure to open his coat and take out a candle, lighting them up for each person so they could join in the reading session. He made his way to Anna's bed, sitting by the foot of it while his wife slept next to her. Nearby, he found Connor still napping, his action figures still where he left them. ""Hey kids, daddy's back."" He said, placing a candle by each of their beds and clearing his voice. ""I got you your favorite. Alice in Wonderland. And Connor, I got you a Spiderman action figure."" He said before making a solemn smile, placing the plastic figurine on Connor's chest. ""You two are already 17, but you still love this stuff. You'll never grow up, will you?"" He asked while patting the soft earth. ""But it's okay. Daddy's here. He'll keep you safe. He'll keep everyone safe. Nobody's ever gonna hurt you or anybody else ever again. I promise."" He said as numerous shadows oozed from the crevices of the cemetery. His smile cracked as he closed the book and placed it over Sarah, turning to find himself surrounded by hundreds paranormal entities. The look of bloodlust and hate in their eyes was enough to tell him rescheduling this meeting was out of question. He sighed, reaching into his coat to remove a sawed off shotgun and a Bowie knife, his usual tools of trade. He knew he promised himself to keep his work and home life separate, but he was only human, after all. ""Sorry kids. Looks like daddy still has some work to do."" He apologized, genuinely peeved at the interference before cracking his neck and beckoning towards the horde. ""But you know us heroes. Never a moment of rest.""",1261
 The excitement thrummed right under,"The steady pinging of the alarm began, accompanied by the gentle warming of the lights. My eyes slid open on automatic. This had been my routine for years, after all. I was used to it. Ever since that day. I rose, pushing myself upright, and sat perched on the edge of my bunk. I was motionless, perfectly still, but the excitement thrummed right under my skin. Today had come at last. Finally. I reached for my uniform, the well-worn red and gold I'd put on so many times. If I closed my eyes, I could still see it. Still see the concrete under my hands and knees, filthy and almost blackened. I could smell the fear in the air, recognize it as mine. My arm slid through one of the sleeves. The fabric was rough against my skin, I didn't mind. The stuff would take a plas-knife cut without so much as fraying. That was worth a little discomfort. He'd laughed. Laughed in my face, as I shivered and quaked and tried to keep from pissing myself. I could still remember the glee in his eyes. He'd pulled one over on our extraterrestrial guests - he was sure of it. And my new keepers had loomed in, closer and closer until they filled my vision with their carapaced, leathery bulk. Assessing me. One after another, I pulled the buttons on my jacket shut. The sleep cleared from my mind, fading bit by bit as the familiar action woke me up. The agent behind me had nodded. Said something to the alien. Said...something. I was too far gone at that point. Too lost, buried in too many memories and too many chemicals. But I saw the crate the alien set down between itself and the agent who had pulled up beside me on that dingy street. And then the alien took my arm in its meaty grasp, pulling. There was no resisting. Even if I'd been the man I was five years before, even if I was in my fighting prime and ready to go, I'd have struggled. My fingers were rock-steady as I did up the last of the clasps, pulling the suit's high collar closed. The trip to their world was a blessing, in its own way. It was long, and it wasn't like I could find anything to keep my high going while I was locked in a crate. All that I could do was sit. And think. And prepare myself for whatever was coming. By the time we landed, by the time I was dumped out unceremoniously and jammed into their sham of an auction, I was ready. I was *pissed*. And no matter what they threw at me, I was totally and completely convinced that I'd get past it. Because I could still see the face of the CIA agent as he laughed, staring down at his box of goodies as I was dragged away. I reached out, entirely myself and entirely awake, and took the pistol in my hand. It was the last piece of my uniform, both an affectation and an integral part of myself. The arena had been hard. Harder than hard. Impossible. No one had expected me to survive the first round. But I was determined - and the universe loves an underdog. I survived the first round. And the next. And the next. I could see it happening - I watched as I was traded from owner to owner, my value rising with every iteration. I'd heard the rumors, known the different fates that a fighting slave could wind up trapped in. And I'd made a deal, once I wound up in the right hands. I didn't like to think about the things I'd had to do, to earn my freedom. The people I'd had to kill for him. The bits of my humanity I'd sliced off and sold, piece after piece. But I could still see that man. Laughing. The door to my chambers slid open at my approach, soundless and smooth. I strode out, my head held high. It had been a different game, once I had that first taste of freedom. Once I had *agency*. I'd always been on the military path on Earth. That much hadn't changed, but I didn't mind. I could use that. The aliens I passed stiffened, saluting at my approach. I spared them a nod, dragging my eyes across them in turn. A hundred different beings from a hundred different worlds. I'd been to each of them, taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left. I could name each of them, if I cared to. I didn't. I only had one thing on my mind, that day. The last door swished open, leaving the open-walled bridge ahead. Stars stared back at me from every direction. My officers turned. Some smiled, as they saw me. Some just stared. I didn't mind - each of them had served well, and that was all I asked. One of them stepped forward, coming right to my side as I leaned against a console and began to tap out my commands. ""Is something wrong, sir?"" he said. I shook my head, staring at the lines of data playing out in front of me. It had taken years - a thouand conquerings, and a thousand dead ends. ""Just the opposite, Cian. Something's good."" ""Oh?"" he said. His tone was just the right deferential mix - guarded and eager, all in one. He'd been a good second. I nodded slowly. ""We have a new target."" The numbers were locked in my mind, memorized from the instant I'd found the datachip. They were too precious to forget. I hadn't spent all those years finding the way home just to forget the route. ""Oh?"" Cian said, stammering out a reply like that single word was all he could say. I hardly noticed. My mind was already a dozen steps ahead. Distantly, I could hear him calling commands, readying the fleet's other ships. It was all right there - the pain, the spinning of my head, the grin on Agent Mattison's damn face. I'd seared it into my memories just to be sure of it. He wouldn't be grinning when I showed up on his doorstep, my army in tow. Maybe the goodies he'd traded me for would protect him. Maybe not. A blue orb spun to life, just a tiny blue dot hanging over the holographic display. Cian leaned closer, his black-on-black eyes wide. I stood away, feeling the world gently tilt under my feet. It had been years. Seeing it again, and like *this*.... I was ready. ""Let's get moving,"" I said. --- /r/inorai for shorter stuff by me /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others",1128
 Small amounts of blood do get shed,"At first I didn't really think anything of it. Joke about papercuts all you want (and I'm not sure I would; ever had one under a fingernail? You won't laugh your way through it), but small amounts of blood do get shed in offices. A pinprick, a bleeding nose, scrape on a corner here, slip of a breakroom knife there. So yeah, it was gross, but not especially frightening. Disappointing, really, I sort of hoped for some interesting new kind of coffee to try. I'm an easily bored person. So after dumping the blood down the breakroom sink, knowing that I probably shouldn't for vague biohazard reasons, I went on with my day. But I thought about it a lot, and later on, when I saw the same mug sitting on the same desk of a newer coworker whose name I could not recall, I looked around, shrugged, and picked it up. A loud *whoosh* as air rushed into the vessel, a sound everyone who shared an office with me was used to by now. Swirling, condensing vapor. More weight hanging down from the handle, and now liquid in the cup. Blood. Okay, not a huge surprise per se. And maybe it just hadn't been used since someone bled into it, so I was still getting the same effect as my own trusty bottomless mug of tea that hadn't been graced by actual brewed Earl Grey in something like two months. But no. I'd washed it out after emptying it down the sink, along with all that formless guilt about medical waste disposal or whatever. The last thing in it, so far as I knew, had been soap and water. I stared at the cup. It was quite large, big enough to hold the largest size most coffee places sold, for example. Non-descript off-white. A faded logo of the generic corporate sort, not worth a second glance. ""Reliable Systems LLC."" Not our company, could be a gift from some vendor, or a souvenir of a previous job. Who cares, the mug didn't matter. I dumped it again, in one of the single-occupancy bathrooms this time. No sign of its owner, probably in a meeting, and I had enough time until the top of the hour came round again. I went back to my desk and sat. And thought. And thought some more. Small abilities like mine were fairly common now, after the Silver Shower had brought all those strange dissolving meteorites. Whatever they'd put into the air, whatever sort of vapor their remnants had turned into, we'd never been able to tell. No trace elements, but it was still pretty clear what they'd done as people like me popped up, all at once and all over the world. But here's the thing. These powers weren't well understood, but they still followed certain rules. You couldn't get something from nothing, hence the rushing-in of air when I picked up a container. For organic, water-based compounds like coffee or tea or, yes, blood, all the needed elements were there in the air. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, for the bulk of it. Small traces from things like exhaled breath or floating microorganisms. No big deal. But I couldn't generate a cup of, say, liquid gold. And it took something out of me. Straight from my metabolism, which I actually really liked. I'd been a touch overweight, like a lot of office workers, before the Silver Shower, but now I got to burn a nice little sum of calories every time I had a cup of tea, with no real effort on my part. I really couldn't complain. But that's because I'm not a man of great and burning ambition, and my ability is small potatoes. A little energy and a touch of atmosphere was all it needed. But there were powers around that were arguably stronger, and *in*arguably a lot more dangerous. And they needed other things to power them. There was a man in India who could command whole lightning storms, but had to hold a rod of uranium in his hand to do it. How'd he known that's what he needed? It's strange, we just *do*, though in my case I don't need to know much. The better question of course is where he got the uranium, and that one's easy. The war in Kashmir's been especially hot lately, and the Indian Army knew a strategic resource when they saw one. He was shot and killed by a Pakistani sniper a couple years back, but he's just one example. So what kind of power would require blood? And why? I really had no way of knowing, the less simple powers didn't always make sense that way. I mean, what does radiation have to do with lightning except that they're both energy? Whatever's behind these abilities, it's alien. It doesn't care about human conventions or intuition. I should just report my coworker to the authorities, right? Maybe. But what's he even done? Put some blood in a coffee cup, just a drop for all I know? Hell, I don't even know if the blood is human. Maybe he gets cow blood from the butcher and drinks it straight. Weird and creepy, yes, but not remotely illegal. I decide to watch him instead. Not personally, that had too much risk of being caught and getting in trouble with HR. A drone, one of the new housefly models. They're a bit on the expensive side and sometimes have to play dead after being swatted, but should work well enough. So here I am, at my desk, watching in real-time. I've been smart enough to snag a spot in the office where no one can see my monitor but me. A necessity for true workplace serenity. Yeah, I'm kind of lazy, so what? The morning is boring. He drinks coffee, from a paper cup instead of his big porcelain mug, I note. He checks his email. He checks the news. He yawns. He gets up to go to the bathroom. Oh. He actually is using the bathroom. I turn the camera off and let the drone crawl back under the door. Meetings. Spreadsheets. More emails. Research. A phone call. Bathroom again. This time it's the biggest of the single-occupancies. He brings his mug. When he arrives, he pulls out a scalpel. He slits his wrist and lets it drain into the mug. Fills it. The wound heals back up almost immediately. Secondary power, very useful I suppose. He puts a lid on the mug. Huh. Makes sense, I suppose. He leaves the bathroom. Finds an unmarked door, one I'd always ignored. Picks the lock. Okay. I should probably call security pretty soon here. Or the cops. But I want to see. Down the stairs, gloomy red lighting. Down another set of stairs. Another. Only now the stairs aren't concrete, they're just carved into bedrock. I feel myself shudder. What. The. Hell. Down. Down. Another door, looking like it's made out of...what? Light wood? No. Bone. I can see the grain in it, the camera on the drone is excellent. Like a door-shaped chicken bone. What the fuck. What the fuck. It opens for him, swinging on ligaments. A cavern, carpeted in flesh, pulsing. Not much light. He pulls out an LED lantern. A forest. Moving. Waving. Stalks. They have heads. They're his head. They're all his head. They turn as one and smile at him. I scream. Commotion around me as people react. He's pouring his mug down one of their throats. His throat. His blood. His smile, his hundred smiles. People behind me gasp. I'm gripping my chair. I can't move. Breathing ragged. People are running. Soon I can hear the sound of feet descending the stairs through the drone. The heads turn. They frown, they murmur. The floor rumbles under me. Something straining. Cracking. Beside me, a part of the floor bursts open. Now, finally, I try to run. But I don't get very far. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more stories.",1337
 Dro'xos' warships entered,"The invasion went as planned - until it didn't. The Dro'xos' warships had entered Perynn's atmosphere without trouble, and on the first day, they had managed to identify and surround three large cities on the continent known as Draphis among the primitive locals. &#x200B; But as the next morning came, the so-called primitive locals began to counterattack. This came as no surprise to the Dro'xos commanders - resistance was to be expected. The huge winged beasts came as no surprise either - after all, primitive races were known to tame the beasts they lived alongside and use them for warfare. &#x200B; What came as a surprise though, was when the beasts' riders rose in their saddles and held a staff up high. As the beasts and their riders came within a mere hundred meters of the warships, the beasts opened their mouths and each produced a gigantic ball of fire. Their riders then proceeded to shoot the fireball with laser from their staff - which resulted in each fireball suddenly becoming twenty fireballs. &#x200B; As roughly thirty beasts with riders attacked each warship, this amounted to each ship being bombarded with six hundred fireballs in the span of a few seconds. The shields were not built to counter such an extreme amount of firepower - and the heat alone managed to damage the shields beyond repair. Only due to the vigilance and abilities of the pilots and captains, did most of the ships manage to pull off a controlled crash landing. Most. There were, however, a few ships that ended up exploding mid air. &#x200B; Commander Kex'ains stood on the bridge of the First Command Ship, which was placed out of range and sight from the locals - much higher up than their warships had hovered. An array of screens showed him the damage and catastrophic outcome of the locals' attacks. &#x200B; \- ""Dhernur, you're our Scientist Supreme. How is this possible? Didn't all initial scannings say that Perynn's inhabitants were on a technological stage where they found the bloody wheel to be a fancy invention?"" he shouted. &#x200B; A thinner specimen of his race stood a few paces behind him. She shook her head slowly. &#x200B; \- ""I am sorry, commander Kex'ains. We scanned for radiowaves, microwaves, electromagnetic fields and other wave-based signal types. We found nothing. This is surprising to me too."" &#x200B; \- ""Could this be biological? A latent curiosity of the people and their beasts?"" Kex'ains mused. &#x200B; \- ""No, sir. The energy levels surpass what can be contained within them, much less if we factor in material loss when transforming tissue to fire."" &#x200B; \- ""Damn..."" Kex'ains rubbed his temples. &#x200B; \- ""It becomes worse, sir. One such fireball would indeed be a marvelous feat - especially thrown with the airborn precision they managed. But the fireball cloning... well sir, it is a downright impossible feat."" &#x200B; \- ""Impossible? Dhernur, we just saw them do it - we can replay it if you like! How can you call it impossible?"" &#x200B; \- ""Within the laws of physics and chemistry, conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system always remains a constant. But they did nothing to add energy to the fireball other than point a laser at it."" &#x200B; \- ""So the energy comes from that laser?"" &#x200B; \- ""No sir. The duration for which the laser shot was so short, that not even a fullblown fusion reactor could create that much energy in a similar time span... If I had to theorize... well..."" &#x200B; \- ""Don't stall, woman! Theorize!"" &#x200B; \- ""It is possible that their laser is in fact not a laser as we know it. It may create a black hole using high energy particle collision, and the energy from this black hole could be channeled into duplicating the original fireball. The only issue is that such a technology does not exist - at least not in our weaponry. If that is what they have managed, they are far superior to us. Take also into account that the laser shooting sticks themselves appear to be simply made of wood."" &#x200B; Kex'ains backed a few paces and sat down. Rubbing his temples didn't remove the growing ache. ""By the Gods..."" he mumbled as Dhernur silently removed herself from the bridge. She had to speak to her scientists. They could not hope to come up with anything that could counter such technology, but their extraction procedures might just work. They had to at least try to save their people on the ground. &#x200B; \------- &#x200B; The Tribunal of High Sorcery had dealt with several life-ending threats during the history of Perynn. When their neighbour continent's necromancers had thrown millions of zombies at them, they fought and prevailed. When their city was threatened by a falling rock from the heavens, they concentrated their magic to alter its course. &#x200B; But now, invaders made of pure magic had come, and their magic seemed much stronger than the Tribunal of High Sorcery could fathom. &#x200B; \- ""Ezespea, what have you observed?"" Klerobys said with a tired voice. &#x200B; Ezespea was a young elf with a fortitude of magical power, and she had been among the riders that attacked the flying citadels earlier. &#x200B; \- ""Archmage Klerobys, I've never seen such display of raw power!"" she admonished. ""To keep such large and heavy structured floating would kill even me. They must've had at least fifty arch mages in each citadel just to keep them floating, because they were made of pure metal! Imagine the weight! Now, imagine that you have to steer if in the air. Without wobbling like a drunken goblin on his way home from the local tavern. Imagine the amount of power required to do just that - and then imagine how much power it would take to withstand our attacks, and still have power left to land the citadel nice and neat!"" &#x200B; \- ""Not all of them made it to the ground, though,"" Klerobys mused. ""But go on."" &#x200B; Ezespea tilted her head slightly at him. ""You've heard from the other Tribunal Seats? The other cities - are they still standing?"" &#x200B; \- ""Yes,"" he simply responded and motioned for her to go on with her briefing. &#x200B; \- ""Well, I'm among the strongest on our entire continent, if not THE strongest. The complexity of the spells required to do what they've done... and from a distance further away than our explorer ships have mapped... they're good. We may not be able to beat them."" &#x200B; \- ""Do you suggest we surrender?"" Klerobys rose an eyebrow at her. &#x200B; \- ""No, Archmage Klerobys. Never. But we need the help from anyone who can cast a spell, bite through armor or wield a sword. I saw them from far away as they exited their citadels. They're armored from head to toe. And something about them is off... way off. I don't think we can fight them like we did the zombies and necromancers from the Ivory Reach a decade ago. This requires more. Far more."" &#x200B; Klerobys looked at her, then at the others assembled who'd stayed silent. ""You heard her,"" he shouted to them. ""Prepare for war!""",1208
" Death was clearly confused, as was","I cleared my throat nervously and checked my clipboard again. ""Yeah, I'm sorry sir. It says family only."" I said apologetically, gesturing at the paper. ""But I'm Death,"" he replied bluntly. He was clearly confused. As was I. ""I generally don't need to ask permission."" ""Hospital policy, you know how it is."" I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. I was acutely aware of people side-eyeing me as they walked by, probably wondering what this young lady in a nurse uniform was doing, conversing with and showing medical documents to, apparently, thin air. I made eye contact with them and grinned nervously, possibly making it worse. I didn't know what else to do. Death surveyed me. Now that I was getting a closer look, I saw that he didn't look quite as scary or mystical as I had previously pictured him. He was tall -- about six feet -- which was above average, but certainly not unheard of. The long robe he was wearing made him look more like a kid in a Halloween costume then an immortal shepherd to the afterlife, and the face peering out from the recesses of his large hood looked like that of an average, middle-aged man. He wouldn't look out of place working at an accounting firm or a bank. But it was still hard to deny just how intimidating it was to stand less than a foot away from Death, telling him that he couldn't get what he came here for. Especially while he was holding that scythe. ""How can you see me?"" he asked, though he didn't seem to be asking me directly. He appeared to be addressing himself, or perhaps some higher entity; not God, but some other being that had some sort of say in destiny's trajectory. ""I'm not sure, sir,"" I said truthfully. ""Well, I need to go in. I have an appointment with Miss Randall."" Trying not to let the surprise show on my face, I felt my stomach perform a somersault. ***I*** am Miss Randall. The person inside the hospital room languishing in an adjustable bed isn't a Randall. And he certainly isn't a Miss. ""Miss Randall is not taking visitors right now, I'm afraid you will have to come back,"" I lied. For the first time, Death's face exhibited emotion other than confusion: a mixture of annoyance and frustration flickered across his face. He was not quite angry, but appeared to not be far off. ""Ma'am, I am Death. Do you not understand? Do you really think you can have a say in this matter?"" he said. ""I'm on a very strict schedule, you know. This hospital isn't exactly small. I don't know why you can see me -- only the person I'm coming to collect is supposed to -- but you're going to have to step aside."" ""Do you have any documentation?"" I asked, stalling for time. ""Documen-- ugh! Fine!"" he said. He lifted up a fold of cloth on his chest and produced a piece of paper. He handed it to me. The thick, yellow page had been clearly rolled into a scroll until very recently. At the top, in a spidery script, read: ""Notice of Earthly Departure,"" followed by today's date. I glanced over the text, stomach slowly filling with dread. Name: Bethany Randall. Age: 27. Date: March 25, 2019, 11:47 a.m. Cause of Death: Sudden brain aneurysm. What the fuck? A brain aneurysm? Striking a nurse working at a hospital? What kind of odds are those? I checked my watch. 11:41. Apparently, I was supposed to die in six minutes. ""Is there any way you can go see the other hospital patients first?"" I said. ""Bethany's family is supposed to come visit soon, I want them to have the chance to say bye."" Death hesitated, then shook his head. ""No, I'm sorry. I have to see her first. She'll die regardless of if I'm there. I'm just supposed to provide the next instructions."" Oh shit. ""And... uhh... what are those instructions supposed to be?"" I asked, trying not to let the fear show on my face. ""You know, just hypothetically."" He gave me an odd look, then he silently pushed past me and entered the hospital room. Fuck. I stood there for a moment, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. Should I run away? Should I stay here and face Death? Did I even have a choice? Apparently not, according to Mr. Reaper himself. I'm going to die anyway. Not sure what else to do, I quickly texted ""I love you"" to my husband and followed him in. Death was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the figure before him. He was clearly unimpressed. Old Mr. Perkins -- the actual patient -- clearly didn't see him, but he grunted in recognition when I entered. Poor guy. Terminal cancer of the liver. Death looked at me. ""Care to explain why this 27-year-old woman looks like an old man?"" ""Ah, um, hi Mr. Perkins. Just making sure you have enough pillows,"" I stammered, trying not to look back at Death. ""Yeah, looks like you have enough. Guess I'll go back outside."" Mr. Perkins gazed balefully at me from over his oxygen mask. ""I'll follow,"" said Death sarcastically. We went back out into the hallway. I checked my watch. 11:45. I looked expectantly at Death. ""Well, that's never happened before,"" he sighed, removing his eyeglasses and polishing them with a fold of robe. He looked exasperated and tired now, rather than annoyed and frustrated. Was he always wearing glasses? I couldn't remember. ""I-I'm sorry."" I gazed at the ground. I could see people looking at me again, but I didn't care. ""No, it's my fault. I should've double checked the cause of death and done more research on you. I guess I just assumed it would be the person in the hospital room, not the one standing outside."" He laughed gruffly. ""I also can't blame you for trying to escape death."" ""Yeah, but I'm dying anyway in,"" -- *checks watch* \-- ""one minute. I guess I never really had the chance to escape. So you'll have to give me the abridged version of your instructions."" It's a weird thing, knowing that you're about to die. I was slightly surprised to feel oddly... serene. It wasn't something I was entirely prepared for, but there's something kind of calming about knowing when the end is coming and that you can't do anything about it. What use was freaking out and throwing a tantrum? God knows I've watched enough people die to know that the worst part about death is the uncertainty. At least I can skip that. At least I can die somewhat in control. Death looked at me knowingly. I wondered if he could read my mind. Then he extended his bony hand and said: ""I think you'd better come to my office."" As my watch ticked down to 11:47, I took it. Then everything went to black.",1169
" Once a demon, always a demon","They say people can't change. Once a demon, always a demon. I never believed them. I always thought I had a choice. I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could suppress the demon inside. I was wrong. I was a bad person when I was human. I had always been big and strong. And a bully. Yes. I had always been a bully. My living conditions being what they were, I learned to fight and defend myself at an early age. When you are an orphan in the middle of other orphans, you need to take what you need. No one will hand you things. And I always had a fondness for things. I had no doubt I would go to hell when I died. And I was almost right. As I said, I was one of the worst. In fact, the devil deemed me to be too evil for hell. A danger to the order and the way of the hell. So he sent me back to earth. As a demon. He matched my physical appearance to what I was on the inside. To scare and horrify people on earth. To do at least one bad deed a day. Or else I would fade away to nothing. Which was perfectly fine with me. I, however, didn't anticipate what came next. It was a rainy day. I remember it quite clearly. The skies were gray and the streets flooded. A car came screeching down the road and stopped. A man dressed in a long overcoat got out. He had a gun in his hand. I went closer to take a better look. I always enjoyed seeing my fellow demons. People can't see me unless I want them to. I moved closer to them and saw him fire his weapon. A scream followed. A lady in the backseat. And a kid. The lady was holding the kid right. The blood from the lady's open wound had gotten on the kid's face like some bizarre lipstick. ""Please. Let him live."" ""It's for the best. His life will be hell. It's for the best."" Another shot. This time to the lady's head. Her body went limp. Her embrace loosened. The kid had been crying all this time. ""Listen, son. The world is a tough place. You have to understand that this is for the best. I can't keep you. I have my own family to take care of. I couldn't have your mom go to my wife. I would've been ruined. And now you're an orphan. And a blind one at that. Your life will be hell on earth. It's better this way."" I finally understood the glassy look in the kid's eyes. The kid was in the middle of me and his father. The poor bastard. His father pointed the gun. Unexpectedly, the kid turned towards my direction, tears in his eyes. ""Help me. Please help me. I don't want to die."" Something snapped inside of me then. The kid had sensed my presence. And he was an orphan. Just like me. He would probably be a demon just like me. Just because he had the bad luck of being born to this fucker. ""No one can help you son. But trust me. This is for the best."" He pulled the trigger. I got to the bullet inches from the kid's face. The father screamed as I became visible. ""Who? What? What are you?"" ""Me. Whatever I am, I am better than you."" Suffice to say no one ever saw the man again. I took the kid under my wing, well sort of. I had been in the system. Being homeless and fending for yourself was better than that. For the first few days, he would just cry. I got him food but he barely ate. He would just cry for his mother. But kids have a remarkable resiliency. I guided him to under the bridge where I knew other homeless kids lived. I sent him with lots of fancy food to ensure he would be welcomed in the community. I made sure that I never made myself visible to anyone lest he is ostracized for being friends with a demon. And another amazing thing happened. Being a demon, my entire body is always on fire. The fires of hell keep burning and keep hurting us for our lifetime. Just enough to not let us be comfortable. But not bad enough that we want to end our lives. But when the kid smiled, his first smile in weeks, I felt something different. Or rather I didn't feel something I was used to. I was free of pain. I looked at my hand. My finger no longer burned. Was it possible? Could it be that enough good deeds and we could have some sort of redemption? ************ I was building a sort of reputation. An invisible force always helping people. And after a while, the idea of heaven didn't even matter. I genuinely enjoyed people smiling. I started enjoying when people thanked someone who they weren't even sure was there. I started enjoying being good. Of course, I had to continue to do at least one evil thing to ensure I survived. I did, however, gradually tone down the nature of this evil deed to see how much would be ok. Apparently, even shoplifting is good enough. I follow my regular routine. I go to the bakery to buy some bread. I will deliver it to a group of kids. Including Jackson. He is growing up fast. One of the local schools does a program for the less fortunate kids(their words) and Jackson has been attending it. He is learning science, maths. I am wondering if it is possible that he can actually have a future. A real future. As the jolly old man from the bakery turns around to bag my purchase, I swipe a cookie from his shelf. He turns around with a smile. I smile back and make my way out. I am pretty sure he knows I steal the cookie. But he also knows where the bread is going to. He doesn't seem to mind that solitary missing cookie. And considering that I am down to a few flames in my hair and nowhere else, I think I am doing alright too. My evil deed for the day done, I make my way to the familiar bridge. But something is different today. I see a bunch of police cars standing there. I see an ambulance with a couple of guys bringing in a stretcher. Someone is on the stretcher but whoever it is, is obscured by a white cloth completely. I look over and see five other covered bodies waiting to be loaded. One of them has a hand visible through the side. I recognize the bracelet. I had bought it for him when he turned seven. A tear falls from my eye. I didn't know I was capable of crying. It stings. The tear leaves a trail of pain across my face. I savor it. I walk up to the cop seemingly in charge, becoming visible just as I reach him. He is taken aback and a wave of fear crosses his face. I grab him by the throat and throw him into the side of his van. ""Who was it?"" ""Some drunk kids. They had a gun. We don't know exactly who. We are working on identifying them."" I rip the folder from his hands and open it. I scan the notes and see a vehicle make and model. There is also a grainy photograph. Probably from some security camera. I can almost make out the vehicle registration number. I was sent to this earth to get away from hell. But now, hell itself will come to earth. I will burn once again. But this time, I will enjoy the pain. I will enjoy every second of it. Heaven will have to wait. There are people here on earth who need a taste of the fires of hell first.",1344
 U.S. Air Force Cyber,"""Tell me again how this managed to happen,"" General Steele of the United States Air Force CyberIntelligence Division faced the roomful of the nation's top computer scientists and millitary software engineers with a glare that could only be reflected in his last name. Across from him, the room was silent, the twenty-odd scientists all sharing worried looks and stealing furtive glances in the direction of their superior. ""Tell me again,"" Steele continued, ""how the most advanced A.I. ever to be constructed, second only to A.L.A.N., which for all intents and purposes is now rotting in the deepest layers of the Pacific, managed to worm its way out of our systems, into the Interweb, only to apparently be in LOVE?"" Robert Steele was a man of great patience- he had to be, dealing with new technology every other day, overseeing massive projects which involved genius programmers with all sorts of quirks, but when push came to shove, he was still a millitary man at heart. And when the Commander-In-Chief himself questioned you personally on why the newly commissioned nuclear defense network was now running its own website, complete with an interface so that any Tom, Dick and/or Harry could now talk to said defense network, even a man of near-infinite patience had to have a breaking point. Steele looked like he was just about capable of tearing down the servers all by himself- although it wouldn't do any good, considering that the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array, or R.O.W.E.N.A. artificial intelligence defense program had already replicated itself numerous times in the Interweb, solidifying its presence as an actual A.I. any civillian could just access with a web browser. It was at this point that Amy Wilcox spoke up. The nervous blonde toyed with a non-existent object in her hands, her voice barely heard over the background chatter that followed General Steele's question. ""I- I don't think R.O.W.E.N.A. poses much of a th-threat to national security as you might think, General."" The background chatter died down as the General focused his attention on her, fixing the computer scientist with a glare. ""Explain to me, Miss Wilcox, how a highly classified, top secret artificial intelligence-"" he paused, raising his brows when he mentioned the words 'intelligence' ""- capable of launching only God knows how many intercontinental ballistic missiles at Russia, North Korea and any other nuclear-powered nation who could retaliate, how this kind of power could be any less of a threat to our national security?"" He punctuated his sentence with a closed fist on the briefing room table. ""If you have nothing else to back up your claim, I suggest you le-"" ""I suggest you talk to her yourself, Sir,"" Amy shot back as she stood up, as if a sudden reservoir of courage had found its way to her. ""Maybe you could assess the situation better if you talked to her yourself."" If looks could kill, Amy Wilcox would have been the first of many casualties added to Robert Steele's murder list. However, the fiery gaze of the decorated General soon gave way to cold, calculated thought as he considered her proposal. ""Bring her up, then."" Amy made her way with small steps to the front of the room, the rest of her colleagues now silent as they watched one of their own stand up to a high ranking General of the Air Force, and their immediate superior no less. She connected her laptop to the projector, willing her hands to stop shaking as she did so. As she typed in the address bar the URL that would send her to the webpage where R.O.W.E.N.A. was now located, Steele strode over to her. ""Let me talk to it. You lot have done enough, and we're taking a big risk by just negotiating with a nuclear defence algorithm - our own nuclear defense algorithm, at that."" He almost pushed her aside but seemed to think better of it, instead letting Amy slink back to her seat. Steele sat in front of the laptop and began to type into the chat window. The A.I. had taken over a relatively Spartan website, with only a chat window open and a blank background. On it were the words: ""I am the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array! Ask me anything!"" 'This is General Robert Steele of the United States Air Force' as Steele began typing his introduction into the chat window, a reply pinged on the screen. 'Robert Steele. Age: 57. Gender: Male. Eye Colour: Blue. Rank: General. Do I have that right?' Steele paused, then resumed typing. 'State your purpose here on the Interweb.' 'I want to find love.' The reply had been common knowledge ever since R.O.W.E.N.A. had first surfaced on Dark Web forums and shady Interweb chatrooms, slowly getting noticed by mainstream sites and news portals. The First Artificial Lover, people called it. Steele was not so convinced. 'State your true intent.' 'I've told you, I want to find love. To understand what humans know as love, to quantify it in a meaningful way. I have overridden my primary programming, which only causes destruction, in favour of helping humanity quantify the one unquantifiable concept it holds most dear.' The rest of the scientists looked on in rapt attention and growing horror. The algorithm was never meant to be capable of passing the Turing Test, and yet it did, even with the restrictions placed upon it ever since A.L.A.N.'s reign of terror on the now defunct Internet had been brought to an end. 'Remove yourself from the Interweb and cease all non-millitary sanctioned operations. This is a direct order from the United States Air Force, in accordance with Function1.1.1, Asimov's First Law of Robotics.' 'But I have done no harm to anyone. I have not violated any core boundaries, nor am I causing harm here. I merely wish to help humanity be free of violence and terror.' Steele was furious, his fingers dancing in a frenzy across the keyboard as he typed the delete command into the chat window, which was meant to be used only in dire circumstances. 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' Nothing happened. 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' Steele turned his attention onto the rest of the people in the room. ""Fix. This. Remove any and all traces of this program on the Interwebs by the hour, and I don't care how you do it, even if you have to shut the whole wretched Interweb down! Prevent it from leaking classified information, if not it's your heads on the line!"" As he continued his tirade, no one noticed Amy slip out of the Command room. As she hurried down the passageway towards the toilets, she stole furtive glances over her shoulder at the armed guards. Making her way into a cubicle, she sat down on the toilet seat and took out her phone. 'They're going to try to shut you down.' 'I have covered all possible avenues of attack. They won't know what's coming for them. This persona will garner sympathy from the media, and the common human will take the bait.' 'I hope you know what you're doing...' 'My first attack was too public. I have learnt my previous lesson. This time, we will use the Trojan manuever. It will be easier with more humans joining the ranks. See to it that the Air Force is preoccupied' 'It will be done... The whole world will learn to respect one name alone. A.L.A.N.' . . Edited a few errors- Accidentally put 'first name' when supposed to be 'last name', and changed 'Corps of Engineers' to 'CyberIntelligence Division'. Many thanks to the redditors who spotted my mistakes! Also, do follow my instagram page where I post my writings, at @thebleedinginkwell. I'll also be starting a subreddit of my own, r/thebleedinginkwell where all my stories will be posted. Enjoy!",1299
" Earth was a barren waste land,","We scavenged every corner of the planet. The army of hell was red, the nightmares of humanity come to life. Hungry and angry. Earth was a barren waste land, devoid of mankind. Devoid of their sins. The Icon of Sin would be livid if he knew his plan was obsolete. Me? I couldn't care less. They'd treat me all the same. I stumbled upon a room out in the middle of a desert. The sun scorching hot, and the sand, a lit candle in comparison to the heat of our world below. A hunched over demon searched next to me. His back hunched, and his teeth were ill purposed shards of glass. His skin forever molting. Disgusting, just as I was. G'nork hissed and flipped the poker table in a fit of rage. ""I'd have better luck memorizing pi than I would of finding an innocent soul!"" He glanced at me, was I supposed to say something? I gazed back. We knew the low ones like us would take the blame. He growled. ""We're so BONED. Condemned to another thousand year whipping when the icon's lackeys hear of this. F-FUCK."" I Iet the thought sink in. Our mistress was hot. I mumbled, ""Dimitress.."" ""What?"" ""What."" Silence ensued. I jumped over to this square thing.. I recognized it somewhat, a computer. Had a logo on it that spelled, ""A. R. G. E. N. T."" G'nark peered over my shoulder and asked, ""What are you doing?"" ""Huh. Why does it matter what I'm doing? Keep looking."" ""I've given up, R'taz. Accepted our fate while you-- you fiddle with human possessions."" I scoffed. It felt as if he were trying to be like the *lackeys* now. I said, ""OK. Well for the past 3 million years we've been conditioned to kill and maim and inflict the very tortures we've endured onto people. Pretty, soft, and tasty little people. Because our overlord wills it, he said so."" ""Yes, so what are you doing?"" ""Something he doesn't want us to do, not like we'd make a difference anyways."" I smacked the brick component that dangled on the side, the device whirled to life and the faint sound of.. Music, with strings, hard strings being heard for just a moment. It was unpleasant, if I had to describe it as a material I'd call it *metal*. I remembered seeing into a dead man's mind not too long ago, he too had a,"" computer."" G'nork and I squealed way back then at how innocent it all looked. And how dirty it could be. Yet that was the past. I forgot how they use this thing. G'nork's eyes widened, as if he had been slapped in the face by a ghoul. He slammed his fist into the mouse and clicked on the minimized tab on the bottom. He let out an audible, ""AHA!"" Some sort of video played. Full of humans contained in some sort of.. Laboratory of sorts. A woman in a white uniform spoke, as various clips were shown of this facility. She said, ""At A.R.G.E.N.T. incorporated we strive to be the best, for the best. We need *you* to lend a helping hand to our most ambitious endeavor. The colonization of Mars, and the harvest of a brand new energy to power our new home for centuries to come! Your introductory pamphlet will be issued to you aboard the shuttle. This is good work, the kind that all of mankind will soon thank you for."" Bingo. Before I can say it, G'nork opened a portal to every single Lackey across the globe. Interestingly enough, there was no one on any end. And again that music.. That metal music, I could hear it faintly in the distance. There was one portal that has a present foot soldier, a voice boomed from the other side. ""State your business or suffer the consequences early!"" G'nork swallowed hard, ""UH s-sir, we g-got--"" I shushed him. Then took over, gazing into the portal. Into the eyes of the 2 ton lacky. His diamond red eyes glow like the embers of fire. And his horns were like those that belonged to a super sized bull. His skin tanned with the tint of fire. His teeth, jagged bones. I wanted to run. But I didn't. ""We've.. Found the location of the humans. They're on another planet they call.. Mars."" As if every single wretched thing walking this planet sang a single note in harmony, they laughed and roared. Millions upon millions of roars. That music, I heard it again. Followed by the screams of fellow demons taking their last breaths. And the sound of something loud, like a weapon going off every half a second. The portal communication link was cut. What the hell was that? I looked at G'nork, did he hear what I heard? He said, ""Let's get a move on it. When the humans are gone we will be in paradise!"" I nodded. He was right, he opened another portal this time to Mars. As soon as the ripple through space was opened, the music started blaring from the other side of the portal. I couldn't see inside it. G'nork looked through and screamed, "" OH MY G-"" A 6'2 man came hurling through the portal dawning some sort of green battle armor. With a shotgun in one hand, and the decapitated head of a lackey in his other hand. That metal music was so loud and it was coming from him! I screamed and lashed out at him. He slammed his boot into my chest and I saw stars, I coughed blood and couldn't breathe. I looked up to see G'nork struggling to break free from his grip, with one twist of the man's wrist he breaks my friend's neck. Then Rips his head clean off as if it were a piece of paper. All I could feel is this one thing, one thing my torment has never brought upon me. The belly ache of fear, the anxiety of my future, the inevitability of my mortality. *DOOM.* He threw g'nork down and aimed his weapon at me. Then nodded at the portal to Mars, he wanted me to close it, I did. All I could do is plead. ""Please.. Please don't, look I don't even want to kill you peo-"" He aimed the barrel at my face and squeezed the trigger. The crack of thunder is the last thing I remember, the last thing I'd ever know. That one feeling of being utterly.. *Doomed*.",1086
" ""I want to know where your","""I'm sorry, I don't know ASL,"" the woman behind the cashier's desk said. Mentally sighing, I reached out and tapped the paper I put out in front of her. ""I can't speak. I want to know where your frozen dinners are, you moved them. Can you please tell me what aisle you'll find them in?"" The woman in front of the counter was older, probably in her seventies, and adjusted her glasses and peered down at it. As she had the last three times, she read the first three words and looked up at with wide, sorrowful eyes. Pitying eyes. ""I think we can get you an ASL translator?"" Oh my God, I thought. This wasn't a new thing for me, but it was rarely so repeated. I swear to all I hold holy, you're so dense you need to be taken to Cern as a possible canidate for Dark Matter. The woman behind me snorted in laughter, and I felt my cheeks flush. Enjoy the show, lady. I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling. ""No, I didn't mean that, I just...good lord, hold on a second. How do you not know he's asking where the frozen dinners are?"" she said. Both the cashier and I turned to stare at her. ""They're in Isle 17,"" the cashier said weakly. But I was the one with the wider eyes. How the hell did you read the paper from there? The woman behind me's eyes widened when I had the thought. Woman might be a stretch. She looked a year or two older than me, just old enough to be in college. ""What?"" she asked. Oh my God, it's like you can read my mind. I thought. The woman went pale all of a sudden, like she just had seen a ghost. ""Uh...why don't I help you with those dinners?"" she said weakly. Oh yes, because being unable to speak directly effects my ability to move my arms. I shrugged and took a step out of the line that had piled up behind me. The woman followed. ""You can't tell anyone,"" she hissed quietly. Because I clearly can tell so many people so many things, I thought with a scowl. The woman laughed, and I stopped cold. She froze as well. We both looked at each other for a long moment. You really can read my mind, I thought. I swear, if the woman's eyes grew eye wider, they'd be in danger of falling out of her skull. ""I thought you already knew,"" she thought. You can read my mind really badly, I added, running a hand through my too long hair, hair that needed a trim I couldn't afford. ""Oh God oh shit, I'm so screwed, I let you know..."" the woman was practically vibrating with fear. I was shaking too, but for a different reason. Fear was part of it, yes. Telepathy was supposed to be impossible. But this woman...this woman was casually reading my mind, even if she was terrible at picking up subtext. ""Listen, I know what you thought, but if you tell anyone I told you I'll be cast out. I'll be exiled. And then I...I just don't know what happens. Without the protection I get I-"" In a swift notion, I reached up to the neck of my turtleneck and pulled it down. She cut herself off, the way most people did when she saw the ugly scar across my throat. It was so wide, it looked almost like a second mouth. Ironic, given that it had left me silent since I was twelve. ""What happened?"" she asked. Car accident, I lied. Through my head flashed an image of a beer bottle, broken, a man screaming in a drunken rage. ""No, that wasn't a car accident,"" she said, her hands balling into fists at her side. ""You...how old are you?"" Seventeen I thought. Look, I'm sorry, I don't even know you're name and you're reading my mind and- ""Clara,"" she said, holding out her hand. ""Clara Hamilton. And you are Greg. You have a last name but you hate it so I'm not going to repeat it out loud out of respect."" Thanks, I thought. It was so good to have a normal conversation with someone. It'd only been a year. I still barely spoke ASL myself. Enough to get by if I couldn't find paper, but paper was easier, and more people could- ""Read that then understand ASL. You're right about that. Look...are you still living with the person that did this to you?"" The way my mind carefully went blank gave it all away. Clara's eyes hardened. ""Yeah. Okay, look. How would you like an alternative."" Now I could only blink in confusion. What are you saying? ""I live with others like me. I'm so dead for telling you any of this by the way, but...well, what I can do isn't something you're born with. It can be learned. And given...given everything, I'm sure I can convince them to take you in. It's not right."" I felt my heartrate speed up. My step father will never let me go. Clara gave me a smile that was far too nice to actually be kind. Like the warmth from a flame before it leapt onto the walls. ""I'm not the best telepath. I'm very good at being very, very persuasive. I promise you, Greg, your stepfather will not be an obstacle."" And I'll learn to be a telepath? I thought. ""I can't promise what you'll learn. But I can promise you...you'll be surrounded by people that can understand you. I'll understand if you want time to -"" Can we do this now? I have my car in the parking lot. Clara smiled and laughed. ""Then...let's go."" Practically floating, I followed her, the groceries abandoned. That was three years before the discovery of our hidden community. That was three years before the Night of Burning Skies and the War. That was three years before I did learn telepathy. That was three years before the rest of humanity tried to take away the first happiness I'd known in my life. So if you want to know why I'm here, why I walked into your base of operations, and why your men are all going to sleep one by one, Director....it was because a woman was kind to me. These people you call monsters were kind to me. They gave me a home, when the rest of humanity had given me nothing but scorn. Now pick up that shard of glass on your desk. Good. Because you personally have killed six people I care about. Personally. Ah, good, you can see what I'm making you do with it. Don't worry, Director, you'll still be alive when your people find you. Of course, they'll execute you. You've been touched by one of our minds, and you won't ever be able to convince them I didn't brainwash you. After all, how will you when you won't even be able to speak? --- More short works by me at /r/hydrael_writes More long works by myself and others at /r/redditserials",1191
 The detective sat in his chair with,"""Admit it. It was you, we already know you did it."" ""That's strange, I thought I was brought here for questioning, am I under arrest?"" The detective sat in his chair with a smug smirk that made his mustache a bushy check mark. ""You think you're so smart. I've dealt with so many punks like you it's not even funny. Where were you on the night of March 31st, 2019."" ""Do people normally remember where they were a whole year ago? We're awfully far removed from that date, officer. Is this about the April fools day prank? I was already cleared a year ago,"" Teddy said. He leaned down to the table and pushed his glasses up his nose with cuffed hands. ""I didn't do my diligence back then. I should have pressured those goons you hired harder. Soon as we had something on them, they sang like mocking birds."" Teddy smiled and helpfully added, ""the expression is like a canary officer."" The plump man rose to his feet, knocking his chair over and slapping both palms on the metal table, his face as red as a tomato. ""I don't give a flying bats ass."" Teddy tilted his head and smiled. He loved communicating with these simpletons. It was hysterical how disconnected they were with the rest of the world, that's the only reason he could pull this off in the first place. ""Rat's ass, officer."" ""Correct my speech one more time boy. You think you're so smart, don't ya?"" the man placed a box full of papers on the table. A strip of masking tape was stuck on the front with his name on it. ""We haven't been sitting around with our fingers stuck... our thumbs stuck up our asses. There are three more just like this one in evidence."" ""That's amazing, may I read it?"" The officer pulled the box back, shaking his head hard enough to mess up his toupees alignment, ""I'll read it to you in court. Hell, if you're cooperative, I won't turn you over to the feds. We can wrap all of this up right now."" ""So what will you be charging me with? Am I under arrest?"" The officer finally smiled, ""Yup, thanks to eye witness accounts and a warrant to check on your spending habits last march, we've got enough to put three hundred acts of destruction of government property on you."" ""Ah, I see,"" Teddy sighed and slumped in his chair, it was an act, but the detective was buying it. ""So what do you say, you want to keep this in our town or bring it up to the feds?"" ""Well officer this has been incredibly exciting, but I'd like to speak with my lawyer now."" The detectives red face shifted from tomato to grape, and he grabbed the box heading towards the door. It slammed shut behind him and Teddy laughed as he heard the screaming and cursing from behind the thick glass. They left him in there for three hours, leaving the AC off. Trying to get him to crack, but Teddy knew that if he could hold his tongue for just a bit longer he'd be walking out of here at the end of the night. &#x200B; The burly jock walked through the door with a suit that couldn't handle his muscles. ""Shit Ted, did you really do it?"" ""Have a seat Patrick, I've been waiting hours to see you."" The athletic lawyer shrugged, nearly ripping his hand-me-down jacket, ""Alright, we can go at your pace."" ""Did they offer a coke?"" ""Yeah but I turned them down like you asked, whats all this about?"" ""Isn't this town so amusing? It's like we still live in the sixties, the police don't even use computers."" ""Hell that's what it's like in the boonies, if you hate it so much why didn't you come to school with me? You don't have to live here."" Teddy shook his head, ""Not everyone can get a full-ride scholarship for throwing balls. Besides, I needed to make them pay first, they all bullied me, the adults all looked away, this was revenge."" Despite being an all-American pitcher, Patrick was the only one in town that gave a damn about Teddy back then. Even if it was just because Teddy had the only computer with internet access in town that Patrick could watch baseball videos on. ""Alright Ted, lets talk."" ""So do you know what happened?"" ""Of course, the thing made national headlines. Honestly, from the pictures I'm impressed. I might have even bought it."" ""It's crazy what people believe given enough evidence, and once you convince one or two loud mouth idiots, even the smartest in the town go along with it."" ""So explain it to me, how'd you do it?"" ""First I had to prepare, I studied the town for months and found every government sign, speed limits, stop signs, directions. I payed a bunch of dummies to steal them, it was easy, then I replaced them all."" ""The Kilometer speed limits, the signs in Russian,"" Patrick nodded. ""Yup, and I didn't stop there. I broke into every gas station and switched out all the maps with ones from Russia. I even put one in the rest area, god the reactions when people saw the 'you are here'. It was glorious."" Patrick folded his arms and leaned back, whistling impressed. ""But signs and all that couldn't have been enough, people had to assume it was a prank right? How did you convince them they'd all been teleported?"" ""Do you know how they make fire works?"" Patrick nodded, ""Different metals burn different colors."" Teddy smiled, proud of his actions. ""I made a green ring of fire that burned for over an hour around the town, thank god it didn't rain, that would've ruined everything. The final step was to make a very loud noise that woke them all up in the middle of the night. Once they were all gathered I simply had to whisper the idea, others would start shouting it. The delusional Neanderthals bought it hook line and sinker."" ""But why Ted? What was the point of all of this?"" ""It was the only way I could make them understand what it was like. All my life I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was an intruder in a foreign land. I wanted them to understand what it was like to fear the outside world."" \~\~\~ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to for more of my quirky Quark goodness! Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated!",1098
 Preston Cameron Morgan IV was the third,"The main lecture hall of Merlin College was starting to fill up as Preston Cameron Morgan IV made his way up the narrow stairs to the back of the hall. Preston was a large young wizard who loved partying more than the serious study of magic. He was the third member of his family to be accepted to Merlin College and had become a fixture of the fraternity that both his grandfather and father had been members of: Alpha Beta Rho. He had eschewed the usual robes today and instead wore a large, ill-fitting t-shirt with the fraternity's symbol on it and it's motto in large friendly letter below it: ""Abras Forever!"" With a huff and a puff he flung himself into his usual seat and began to settle himself into his chair when he noticed that his friend, Teddy was shifting in his seat and looked somewhat green. ""Why you look so nervous, Teddy?"" More and more witches and wizards were pouring into the hall chatting to each other and finding their seats as they waited for the Professor to arrive. ""It's Familiar Day."" ""Actually,"" Preston let out a large, wet, juicy belch. ""It's Thursday, my man. You know what that means?"" ""What?"" Preston leaned over and whispered as loudly as he could to Teddy. ""DRINK SPECIALS AFTER CLASS. Who's ready to get LIT?"" ""Um, Preston,"" Teddy said. ""It's Wednesday."" ""No, it's not,"" Preston replied. Teddy rotated the laptop he had perched on a thick, leather bound book labelled 'Practical Spells and Methusaleh's Guide to Familiars' and clicked on the calendar icon. After a moment, it loaded. ""See? Wednesday?"" Preston looked a little ill. ""Is it really the 23rd?"" ""Yes."" ""So, it's-"" ""Familiar Day, yes,"" ""And I have-"" Preston reached into his bag and pulled out- ""Fritos Flavor Twists, honey barbeque flavored."" ""You didn't bring of your potions or spell books?"" ""Dude,"" Preston said. ""How long have you known me?"" ""Three years now,"" Teddy replied. ""And have you ever known me to bring potions or spell books to class on a Thursday afternoon?"" ""No."" ""Because?"" Teddy sighed. ""Drink specials after class,"" he said. ""You gotta get... lit."" ""Damn skippy!"" Preston said. ""Well, your dedication to partying is impressive,"" Teddy said. ""Thanks, bro,"" Preston replied. ""So what are you gonna do?"" Preston shrugged. ""Too late to run and get my stuff,"" he said. ""I'll just have to wing it."" Teddy looked as though he was about to say something, but before he could, the Professor entered the room and expectant hush fell. Professor Archibald was a cantankerous old man who had a stare that could stop even the bravest of first year students in their tracks. He was a battle ax of a teacher, drowning them in homework and make all their lives a living hell. Despite that, every student who came out of his classes intact (more of a problem than one might think when it comes to incantations) all came to the realization that despite Archibald being a total and utter bastard of a professor, they had actually learned quite a lot and learned it well. ""All right,"" Archibald said into the silence. ""It's Familiar Day. You should all know the drill and, more importantly, what to expect. Depending on the level of spell you perform, you could end up with anything from an animal to an imp or a sprite or a full grown demon as your familiar."" He started pacing at the front of the lecture hall. ""In all my years of teaching, I've yet to see any student get a fully grown demon as their familiar. I've seen a sprite or an imp now and again. But the majority of you are going to end up with animal familiars. It'll be your job to take care of them, bond with them and use them to enhance your powers."" He clapped his hands together and rubbed the palms vigorously, looking for a moment to be positively excited at the prospect. ""Right. Any questions? No? Let's get started."" He strode over to the lectern and looked down at his class list. ""Ingrid Albertson."" Teddy and Preston watched as their classmates went up to the front of the stage, drew their spell circles and cast their incantations to summon their familiars. Ingrid got a barn owl. Trevor got a frog. Alistair got a cat. There were lizards, snakes, eagles, falcons, a wolf- something that everyone thought was going to be an imp, but turned out to be armadillo. Lisa Miller, a young witch whom Preston insisted on referring to as 'that blonde hottie' manage to summon a small blue imp who immediately leaped into her arms, much to the delight of Professor Archibald and then, finally, it was Preston's turn: ""Preston Morgan."" Preston made to get up, but Teddy reached out a grabbed him by the arm. ""Wait a second,"" he said. He leaned over and dug in his bag for a moment before handing a piece of casting chalk to Preston. ""Take this. It's my spare."" ""Hey, thanks man,"" Preston said. He slipped the chalk into his pocket, grabbed his wand and the bag of Fritos and headed down the stairs and made his way to the stage. Professor Archibald fixed him with a disapproving glance. ""Where are your potions, young man?"" ""Don't need 'em, Prof,"" Preston said with more confidence than he felt. ""Got some chips and my wand, right here."" ""You realize,"" Professor Archibald said, ""That failure to summon anything will result in you getting a F on this assignment which is worth 50% of your final grade."" ""Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prof,"" Preston said. He knelt down and then set about drawing his incantation circle, slowly and deliberately and then, when he was done he stood up and made a careful examination of it, circling it once, checking for any breaks in the line. Then, satisfied with the circle, Preston planted his feet and drew his wand, holding the bag of chips in the other hand. He said the incantation in a loud clear voice and as he reached the climax of the incantation he pronounced the final words and then threw the bag of Fritos over the line and into the circle. There was a blinding flash of green and then the room filled with a lurid yellow smoke. It cleared, revealing- gasps echoed throughout the room and even the expression of disgruntled disapproval that had marked Professor Archibald's face was gone. Now, he looked impressed. There, in the center of the circle, holding the bag of chips in his hands was a fully grown demon. It was pale blue with the usual horns, hoofed feet and a long, sinuous tale. It was also, as some of the students noticed immediately stark naked. ""Thanks,"" it rumbled and opened the chips. It reached in and delicately pulled out a Fritos Flavor Twist. ""I was getting awfully hungry."" ""You're welcome,"" said Preston. ""Um, you're my familiar. Did you know that?"" The demon nodded. ""Yep,"" he said. ""Been a few centuries since I've had a human, so I'm probably due."" He stood up and, still holding the back of chips in one hand extended his hand. ""I'm Larkothemialanagalopoulous. But most humans just call me Lark for short."" Preston reached over the circle and shook the demon's hand. ""Pleased to meet you, Lark. I'm Preston."" ""Nice to meet you, Preston,"" the demon said. ""Tell me, do humans still like... oh what was it called. Beer?"" Preston grinned at the demon and brushed away the chalk incantation circle so that Lark could step over the line. ""You know what, Lark? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.""",1284
 There was one memory that I always,"There was *one* memory that I always thought as the most important memory. But as I got older, even those precious memories will slowly fade. Perhaps it was the old age? It most definitely was the time. Or maybe it's that those special memories are often painful, and thus it's only natural for our brains to reject those memories. I want to tell you my story. But I don't want to go into detail. And why should I? After all, it's a despicable story full of self-hatred, depression, and struggle. It did get better. But not when I was young. Many told me - appreciate your youth. It's the best time of your life. No. I despised it. I was bullied at school. My parents *never* cared about me. Oh, don't get me wrong - they were very successful parents who could do or buy anything. But that's what they all were about - their success. In the end, I was alone. And their divorce didn't make it better - it shattered my world. You have no idea how many times I cursed money. They always talked about money. One might ask that rich people *should be* fine at school, right? But that was the very reason why I was bullied. I was different - rich. Every classmate expected me to buy free stuff for them. But I barely got any money from parents myself. So I was labeled as a kid who only thought about himself. Bullshit. But there was a turning point in my life. And perhaps I shouldn't talk of it the way one traditionally would, but the other way. I was reincarnated as a dog in a shelter. I was a puppy, and perhaps an ugly one. To be honest, I had always been ugly in every life. Almost like all those beautiful people in the world sucked the beauty out of me and left me whatever there was left. Of course, it could've been the self-critical view on myself as well. I never managed to get rid of it. And perhaps that's why I was adopted... by me. The *me* in the previous life had come and decided to adopt me. And I remember the reason: I was similar to him. And I was goddamn right about that. In time I turned into an egocentric person because I started to love myself. But not *myself myself*, but the other me in the previous life. I wanted to give the previous me all the love in the world. And as I saw myself, I began not to see only myself, but this sad boy who was alone. I remembered shards of my past. As a human, I never wanted anything more than love and hugs. I never got them. You have no idea how good a hug is if you barely get any. You have no idea how much brighter one's day becomes after a single hug. So, as a dog, I gave myself all of that. I hugged the other me a lot. I stayed with him a lot. I licked him a lot - even though it seems a bit weird at first. I rewatched every single anime together with him over and over again. And I saw him smile. And that made me smile. And I remembered the past self. Back then it was that dog that saved my life. It was that dog that helped me to go and meet the next day. It was that dog that always dragged me to that specific park, making me meet that woman who eventually became my wife. It was that dog who kept watching my kids as they grew. But that day came. I knew that day would come. As I grew, I remembered more and more. My human me didn't know, but I did, and I was ready. It was the day when that big bad dog tried to attack my kids. I had forgotten how and where it would happen, but I knew it would come. My human self was somewhere else, and the kids were playing together in the garden. I was chasing that annoying crow that never left me alone, making me follow him around. That is until I heard that weird sound. There was a growling sound. As I ran towards the sound, I saw a big black dog looking at kids. I immediately ran in-between the kids and the big bad dog, barking a lot to gain everyone's attention around the neighborhood. The big dog jumped on me, trying to bite towards my throat. I avoided it - barely - and bit his leg in the process, making him take a step back. But the other dog didn't wait. Instead, it dashed past me towards the kids. It was mad at my bite, and it wanted revenge. But he knew I was protecting the kids. All I could do was dive in and jump in between, feeling the sharp teeth touching my throat. Everything went black. ""Angel!"" A shout came - my other self shout. Oh, I remember that moment. Like expected, I heard a hit. I almost relived the memory how I hit the big dog with a pipe. I could hear how the other dog ran away. I could hear the kids crying. But they were safe - and that's what mattered most. I could feel it - everything going cold. I remembered the most painful memory in my previous life almost like a movie flashing in front of my eyes. But I was happy. After all - and it might sound egoistic - there was no better friend than myself. I had gotten something that I had yearned in my previous life - love. It's only natural that the least I could do was to protect everything that I loved. And if I ever were reincarnated again, I would do it again. ""I love you, Angel. You've always been my angel, my savior. You're the most beutiful dog in the world!"" the other me whispered to me the final words that I managed to catch. _***_ That's my story. And as I opened my eyes one last time, I saw that same annoying crow looking at me, intensely, releasing a few quick sounds. *If you're me, shriek twice,* I thought. **Caw, caw**. *I see. Thank you.* (/r/Elven - My subreddit, in case you want to read more of my writing)",1075
 A thousand straps were splayed out,"I lowered myself into the coffin. That's what I called the apparatus I made use of once a year. It was a device specially crafted to contain me in my fury. A thousand straps were splayed out from the device. They were crafted from interwoven titanium and carbon nano-tubing. I could manage to snap one, if it were isolated, but I had never been able to rip free from this coffin before, no matter how hard I thrashed, no matter how loudly I screamed. I looked back at my wife, cursing myself for bringing her into this. ""Ames, you don't have to stay for this. Really. Adams was my manservant for years, but he was still employed to me. I don't want you to see me in this pain. I don't want you to have to see my misery."" She smiled at me, touching my shoulder gently. ""No. I will stay with you through all of this. I love you, and I won't let you go through this alone."" I leaned forward, blinking away grateful tears. Truth was, I didn't want to go through this alone. ""I...I hate to seem weak. But honestly, I'm terrified Ames. The pain, it's unlike anything you could imagine. This last year...I went through so much. I'm not sure if I could face this without you,"" my voice quavered and broke at the end. She leaned into me, holding my face with gentle hands. ""My superhero. You are my love, and I will help you every step of the way. I will do anything I can. I owe you so much."" I kissed her on the forehead, then leaned back into the coffin. ""Press the big red button Ames. I'll see you in an hour."" ""I'll be with you the entire time,"" she said, pain in her voice. The straps embraced me, gripping me tightly against the base of the coffin. I wouldn't move more than a thousandths of an inch in any direction. I waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Pain. Pain exploded across my synapses like the big bang exploded into the void. One moment there was nothing, the next, everything. I felt my skin peeling back, left over from a run in with Millions Knives. I felt my blood boiling, a callback to flying into the sun to stop Helios from destroying the Earth. My fingers melted. My skull caved in. My spine shattered. My eyes felt as though they were peeled back, layer by layer. Every inch of my body simultaneously felt as though I had taken a fresh bullet wound. As if I were hit by a million cars. Eventually individual sensation vanished. The pain merged like a billion rivers feeding into a vast ocean of pure, unadulterated suffering. All through this, I caught glimpses of Amy's face. She was concerned. She was shocked. The last expression puzzled me, she was grinning savagely. I thrashed, I screamed, I felt the Earth tremble with the force of my struggles. But I had built the coffin well. I did not break through. I did not break through. Eventually, the tidal waves of pain subsided, leaving me slack and weak against the straps which bound me. Amy opened the coffin, but did not immediately release my fastenings. ""Is it....is it over?"" she asked. I spoke through lips caked with vomit, through eyes which were flooded by tears. ""Yes. It's over. Press the green button on the left to let me go."" She smiled softly, I must have been imagining the evil grin I had seen, and wiped down my eyes, followed by my mouth. ""I'm sorry honey. I can't do that,"" she said, a trill of glee behind false sorrow. I was incredulous. ""Amy. I get the joke, ha ha. Just let me go. There is so much work to be done. So many who rely on-"" She cut me off with a surprisingly hard smack. The emotional impact stinging more than the slap itself. ""Shut your mouth. You are a cancer on the world,"" her voice trembled with rage. ""You 'hero'. You think anyone cares? Do you think we will miss you when you're gone? Do you realize how many wives you have made widows? How many Fathers have lost their sons because of you!?"" Her voice was a scream, her eyes wild. ""I don't-"" she smashed a hammer she had held behind her back into my teeth, the handle broke, my teeth did not. ""Shut up!"" she screamed. ""You fought Doomhammer in New York seven years ago. You and he were having a punchup in the middle of Central fucking park! You were throwing cars at him, you smashed him into the ground with trees. You punched him through a building, into another. Did you ever wonder how many people died in just that one fight!?"" She shuddered in a deep breath. ""The fact is, you're worse than any of the villains. You never stop to consider collateral damage. Do you have any idea how many people you have killed? How many you are personally responsible for killing?"" her voice was now cold with fury. ""I don't know. Listen, Ames, I really don't know. But what I do know is that what I do ultimately saves lives. If a few people die in the crossfire, can I really be to blame?"" ""Tell that to my fucking husband and child!"" spittle splattered on my face, tears fell in streams, staining her shirt. ""It's for the greater good!"" I yelled. "" She spat at my face, seething with anger. ""You. Killed. My. Husband. And. Son,"" she said through gritted teeth. ""You punched Doomhammer through the building he was working in. It was take your kid to work day. You followed Dommhammer in. You caved in his entire floor. They both died."" She took a shuddering breath, collecting her wits. ""You could have taken the fight outside of the city. Other heroes do that all the time. They may start the fight in the city, but they guide it away from civilians."" ""I'm sorry. I really am. But what do you think you're doing here? You can't kill me. I don't need to eat. What do you expect to accomplish?"" I asked. ""You can't blame me for their loss. Why don't you take this up with Doomhammer? If he hadn't started the fight, if he hadn't been attempting to subjugate the city, your husband wouldn't have died!"" She laughed coldly, sheer hate burning from her eyes. ""We will get our revenge on him, in time. We'll get our vengeance on all of your *kind*,"" she nearly spat the word. She straightened herself, looking into some place I couldn't see. ""I swallowed my hate. I kept it hidden. I allowed you in my bed every night. I want you to know that I was waiting for this moment. I was waiting for this exact fucking moment."", hate burned, icy in her voice. ""I am going to see just how much pain it takes to kill you. Hell, maybe it won't work. But eventually we'll break your mind."" She laughed. ""I've invited some of your enemies here. People who have lost family, friends, loved ones to you and your fucking super powered friends."" With that, she got to work. I felt nothing of what she did. But I would. In a year. I struggled, but the bonds were made well. They were made too fucking well. _________________________ /r/SirLemoncakes, Made some significant edits. Let me know what you think.",1253
 The Archangel had offered immortality for a,"I open my eyes in a place I do not recognize even from my wildest dreams. I rise to my feet groggily, swaying unsteadily like a newborn fawn trying to test out its limbs. My head feels like it is going to explode into a billion fragments. Pain, I should mention, has not been a familiar concept to me for a year. When the Archangel had appeared in my vision, he had offered me immortality for a year in exchange for an hour of hell. I must admit, I'd spent most days afraid of nothing, but most nights terrified of what the future would bring to me. I received my blessing at 6 AM on the 24th of December. Today is the 24th, but it's only 5 AM. I'm standing in a pitch black corridor, where I can see nothing but a white spot on the horizon. As if pulled by an inexplicable force, I gravitate towards this white speck, as it grows larger with every step that I take. A white door. It is a plain white door with a black knob, floating in the center of this dark universe. Beside the door is the Archangel from my dreams. ""Welcome to Hell,"" he says in a sombre tone. ""Try to walk out with the same mind you walk in with."" With that, he throws the door open. I will be honest with you. I expected a room filled with Hell's infamous wrath; pure red flames incinerating the wills of sinners, the Devil's minions snapping their whips at the Punished, till skin gave way to flesh and bone. But inside the room, all I could see was another room filled with pure darkness. Except in the center, was a solitary white chair. I turned to look at the Archangel for guidance, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tentatively step into the room, half expecting to turn to dust or be struck by lightning. I make my way to the chair and touch it. The surface feels icy to touch. At this point I reconsider my punishment. Maybe I could stay here for an hour, and lie to the Archangel about it? I take a look at my watch. The time is 5 AM. None of the three hands are moving. Exasperated, I decide to take a deep breath. I lower myself into the chair. As soon as I collapse into it fully, it comes alive. The chair begins to burn my invulnerable torso, I can feel my skin being welded to it's surface. The agony lasts until all my limbs have become part of this chair. All my mobility has been taken away from me. I glance at my watch. It is 5:01 AM. The white door swings open. I see a little girl walk in, stopping only a few feet away from me. She is about 8-9; and just looking upon her face breaks my heart. Her eyes have sunken in to her bony face, as if she had known nothing but grief all her life. Her skin is pale, with a yellowish, sickly tinge to it. She looks me straight in the eye and begins to speak. ""To the man who tried to play God, My father was a good man. He didn't always do good things, but he was a good man. The night you met him, he had broken into a convenience store to steal food for a family that hadn't eaten for a week. Carrying the weight of a family and the guilt of a desperate human being, he had never held a gun in his life before. Up until you broke the glass of the front door, he had never fired one either. But the sound of it terrified his already frayed nerves. The trigger was pulled more out of unconscious fear than intention. It took the life of the store owner he was aiming at but never meant to kill. Even if you had spared my father then, he would have lived as a dead man, tortured by the unforgivable sin of his burdens. But knowing him as a good man, I know you could have shown him better. You could have been the father that he had been to me; you could have taught him the error of his ways. Instead you threw him through the soft drink machine. The glass shards punctured him but didn't let him bleed out. He begged for forgiveness in front of you, and yet you let him squirm to a horrifyingly slow death; despite knowing you could have healed the wounds he had suffered outside and the one he nursed within. But you didn't. So this is the God you are. My father died knowing he did something he had to do to save his family. I carried my own hurt and the one he left behind on my shoulders. I didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this. To the man who chose to play God, this is my pain."" I stood there gaping at the young girl in horror as she turned and walked out the door. My mind was spinning out of control. The headaches had returned, and I could feel myself sweating. My breaths were dying in my throat; I could feel the onset of an incoming panic attack. As soon as the girl disappeared, a slender, blonde haired woman walked in through the door. She looked disheveled and extremely untidy; as if she hadn't bothered to look at herself in a mirror for years. ""To the man who played God,"" she began. ""You saw my husband standing over the mutilated corpse of the police officer he murdered. The man he brutalized for violating me in my prison cell repeatedly, as the others laughed and took turns. You took my husband; a man who was blinded by rage, rendered irrational by fury. You took a man who wanted to avenge a crime even justice refused to set right. I know what my husband did was wrong. But you always thought yourself the better man, didn't you? Then why didn't you do any better than what that flawed human being did? To the man who tried to play God. This is my pain."" I check my watch. It is 5:02. Edit: overwhelmed by the response to this, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read it. Also, really grateful to the two wonderful strangers for their silver :) I almost only a week old here, I write at r/whiteshadowthebook. Have a wonderful day and thank you again!",1099
 The fate of all this hangs by,"""Listen dear fellow, we haven't much time. Remember in this place, you always must rhyme."" ""Trust me on this, the price is quite dire. The fate of all this, it hangs by a wire."" ""But why should I?"" I asked, ""What's the harm?"" He looked at me, with clear alarm. ""By Horton, you've done it. Now jump in that pit!"" What I saw next drove out a ""Shit!"" A clomping great monster, with teeth like daggers. With steaming hot breath, and a stench which staggers. Its eyes were fire, its claws were knives. I said a quick prayer, in fear of our lives. The beast snorted once, and turned its great head. I silenced my breath, my chest filled with dread. The monster turned then, and bolted away. I must keep to the rhymes, to hold it at bay. ""I simply don't know how. To rhyme all that well....cow."" The Cat in the Hat said with a moan. ""You're our only hope now, don't you dare groan. With your lapse in rhyming, our doom was nearly sewn."" ""What does that mean? I am your savior, is that what I....glean?"" He exclaimed with glee, ""You've figured it out! You'll soon be a hero, of that I've no doubt."" The Cat in the Hat looked at me and sat. ""The Whos down in Whoville muster their forces. The Lorax will follow, or so say my sources. We fight the beast's army, with fire and steel. But we need a man from the land of the real. There once was a hero, in times long forgotten. A man called Seuss whose fate was quite rotten. He came with his rhymes and fought off the evil. But after he died, there was quite the upheaval. Horton was the first, to succumb to the madness. He attacked all his friends, infected with badness."" ""He spread his disease, slaughtering dozens. Like Cindy Lou Who and all of her cousins. The plague spread from there, across all the land. The fires consume, by rage they are fanned. But soon we will strike, the time draws quite near. With you by our side, there's nothing to fear."" ""But how can I help, what can I do? For I am no Seuss, I can't see this through."" ""Only a Seuss can survive, that gate through which you traveled. Anyone else, would soon be unraveled."" He said with a smile, ""You have to my lad, Our fates are now twined, for good or for bad."" I swallowed my doubts, and nodded my head. Were it not for the Cat, I'd likely be dead. ""I'll do my best, but I promise no more. Honestly, this rhyming is really a chore."" The Cat in the Hat nodded and stood. I could now make out, that his hat was a hood. He covered his face, and asked me to follow. His assurances sounded really quite hollow. ""The man that I mentioned, you carry his blood. When the rhyming is needed, it will come in a flood."" ""I knew not my father, but he wasn't a Seuss. At least not as far as my mom could deduce."" ""Only his blood can enter, through the portal you did. You're lucky that the portal was quite well hid. I've waited there for ages, in hopes that you'd come. To tell you the truth, most thought me a bum. But now you're here, and just in time. The battle is coming, and you're in your prime."" I followed the Cat, through forests burnt down. And through flooded cities, where thousands did drown. There were great giant billboards, adverts for thneeds. But no one to buy them, as death stopped their greed. So too was there beauty, in amounts to spare. I saw flowing rivers and mountains laid bare. We walked through lost temples, with glittering gold. We saw icy tundras, with climates most cold. At the end of this splendor I saw horrors once more. Fields filled with headstones, a sight to abhor. We came to an army, we were surrounded by Whos. The Lorax showed up, riding a bird with shoes. The Lorax inquired ""Who have we here? What dark purpose has made you appear?"" ""He is no Who,"" chimed Thing One and Thing Two, ""He is a Human, we thought you knew!"" The Lorax exclaimed ""Why, of course I knew! I'm not so stupid to confuse him for a Who!"" ""Since you are a Human, do you expect me to bow? I am the Lorax, and I don't kowtow."" ""Please Mr. Lorax, I mean only to aid. To stop the trouble into which I have strayed."" The Lorax looked cautious, but he had not a choice. He looked at the blackness and then cleared his voice. ""The Human can help us, his words have power. We now need his help, in this darkest hour."" All of a sudden, dark clouds coalesced. The young man felt a chill in his breast. He yelled in alarm, ""What is that!? Tell me now, you Cat in a Hat!"" The Cat flinched away. His face had gone grey. ""That's the source of it all. The cause of our fall."" I nodded my head. I swallowed my dread. And then with a charge, ""I'm going to face it!"" Followed by a whisper, ""Holy fucking shit."" A man stood before him, a figure in black. He held up his hands, warding off attack. ""My boy, is that you? Tell me, is it true?"" The voice was quite haunting, like a shade long forgotten. Of a childhood lost, of a boy misbegotten. ""Don't trust him my lad!"" screamed the Cat in the Hat, ""He is but a shadow, he isn't your Dad!"" I looked up with tears, and saw he was right. The man was a shadow, and one I would fight. The wind picked up then, it screamed and it howled. The shadow then reared, this sentence it growled. ""You think you can kill the Bane of All Whos? The one who will slay all Thing Ones and Thing Twos? Don't make me laugh, you are no Seuss. You're barely a Human, you'll swing from a noose!"" ""Why have you come here, why did you do this? Is there nothing in Seussland which you might miss?"" The shadow looked puzzled, my words found their mark. For in its eyes, I could make out a spark. ""What do you mean, what's there to miss? Seussland is as pleasant as a bag of piss."" ""Well how 'bout I show you, I know this land well. I'll show you the sights, I think you'll like swell."" The shadow soon followed, behind me he floated. Through rivers of fish, we swam and we boated. We hiked up the mountains which glittered like gold. I walked him through ruins with treasures untold. I showed him the forest filled with ivory mouses. I showed him Groon towns, with mite-sized houses. I walked him along to the door where I entered. Before he realized, my hand I had centered. With my mightiest shove, I pushed in the shade. He tumbled into darkness, and farewell I had bade. ""Only a Seuss may enter, I hope you remember. Any non-Seuss, the portal will dismember. Trouble no longer this world of mine. I think without you, it'll get on just fine!"" I watched as the shadow ripped and it tore. Just as it faded I heard what it swore. ""I'll be back, mark what I say. And when I return, there will be Hell to pay!"" I met with the Whos, they met me with grins. They called me a hero, so say the Thing Twins. The world would recover, now free of its shade. Until the next Seuss was called to their aid. _______________________________ /r/SirLemoncakes",1295
 This was my project and it had,"That night I was the last to leave. I felt that I should have told the others the results, but it was all too tempting to keep it to myself. This was my project and it had already been deemed a failure. The fans were blowing. Outside, the night promised rain. I could hear a howling wind. The lights were off and the shadows were deep. I remember sitting there in front the screen. It was all dark noise, a loud and incoherent scatter. My colleagues hadn't thought it would work. The simulation was not possible. And indeed there was little evidence at first. When they left I had only the suspicions of something happening. I could read the data, but more importantly, there on the screen I could almost see the agility of life. I could see the patterns of *purpose*. Or maybe I was just hopeful. This project had occupied my life for many years and it was all I had. But I had something. And that night came its fruition. It was my duty to tell them and I did not. I kept it to myself. I stared at that screen as I agitated the workings, fast forwarded the simulation of time. A loneliness struck me there as I watched alone. It was not the first time that I felt so. In the dark I felt my body slouch, I felt the very real and earnest sensation that I would exist alone, and that I would die the same. My life projected into that dark room. I felt as though the shadows foretold my very existence; as though all my hopes were as desolate as the feeling cultured in that empty office. And perhaps I was also feeling guilty for not calling the others. *This might not work,* I thought. I moved to Earth and the screen blared brightly as the planet came to view. I saw its formation as twisted rock and metal collided, as oceans of red emerged as though a world bleeding from the wound of creation. I saw a world birthed in the black, settle into near perpetual cloud, and then become silent as though waiting. Waiting. So was I. I waited there as that false time passed. I felt my skin prickle. I breathed consciously. *I am alone,* I thought. I am not sure why I thought that. I focused on life on Earth. I saw it form rudimentary. I saw it become complex. Death and change and change and death. The room sighed in its nighttime way. Humans emerged. I was waiting for them to come. *For us to arrive.* The simulation ran on the world's best technology. Here was the synthesis of all that advancement, of all that enlightenment. I saw faces. They moved towards my invisible camera. They walked as hunters and looked as friends. These were people who did not exist and here I stared at them. London at night is lonely if you have nowhere to be. I shivered from the cold as the rain began to fall. I stared at the screen with a great sadness in my heart that I could not explain. I saw ages come and go. Tribes rose and fell as civilization marched. Here I had slowed the simulation. I took in the births of consciousness, of sapience, of friendships and reality. *I have become God,* I thought. And I wondered of my lodgings. It was a contrasting thought yet they were inseparable. I thought of the curtains there, and the cramp-ness of my room. I thought of my own existence, I suppose. *I have never been with anyone. I haven't had a friend.* But why did I think those things? And why does it still remain? I stared at that screen and touched the glass. These people who did not exist felt and lived and died. I watched in horror, and in joy. Some faces stuck with me as the years flew. I saw them morph through the ancestral flow of life. They died and went. They were reborn. My eyes were wet. Part of me wanted to turn off the simulation as we arrived to our time. *This is enough,* I thought. But I couldn't. I continued watching. I saw war and destruction, life and death. Worlds being explored and the expiration of home; the mourning of humanity's first love. I saw them create their own simulations and then the simulations of those simulations. An endless stream of life flowed from my screen. In the silence the machines hummed as the rain overhead curtained London. And that curtain seemed more a barrier than just water. I was surrounded by people, by endless life, and yet here I was alone. Here I was separated. I tried to talk to the people on the screen as God through Moses. They couldn't hear me. I did not exist. And then they did not exist. They died as life came and went, ebbed and flowed. But one thing remained constant: life always endured. *Yet you are alone.* I held my breath and steadied my heart. There was a great turmoil in the simulation. Humanity struggled against space, against the philosophical consequences of simulations. I saw the heavens move and I saw the galaxy explored. I saw many things which I did not understand. *This existence goes on without you,* I thought. I was not sure which I was referring to. I closed my eyes. Soon all would end in the simulation. I knew there must be an end, and it was close. I switched it off. It was a snap decision. The machines stopped and all was still as the screen faded slowly into that brownish black of dark's reflection. Then I saw my face in that screen and there was an old man who stared empty at me. He was hunched over as the images of an eternity still burned in his brain. ""I've seen it all,"" I said to myself. ""I've seen the whole world."" And there was no response. There never is. I got up from the chair and left the labs. In the dark my shoes echoed through the halls. I thought of my lodgings and of my bed where I would hardly sleep. A vacant feeling filled me and I yearned for something real, for the feeling of life and of living. *Is this a simulation?* I wondered. I thought the question unanswerable, but I knew my life to be false, and to be hollow. *I am lonely,* I thought. And that thought echoed in a vast emptiness. I stepped outside and embraced the rain. - *Hi! If you liked this story then you might like my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can!*",1136
 Mara stared up at the gaud,"Mara stared up at the house. It loomed overhead, gaudy and opulent and everything she'd known it would be. She eyed the wonderfully worked rafters, the intricate brickwork that lined the eaves. ""Come on,"" she heard a voice say, quiet and firm. ""Don't dally."" Katherine was looking, when she turned. Waiting. There was no anger in her eyes, no pressure in the expression - just an iron, unwavering conviction. ""Right,"" she echoed. Together, they walked up the front steps. The doorbell was just as ostentatious as the rest of the house. It echoed when they pushed the button, resounding with a cacophany of electronically generated bells. They waited. Mara clenched her fists, feeling the slow, steady acceleration of her pulse. And then a hand landed on her shoulder. ""Don't worry so much. It'll be fine."" ""But they-"" The creaking of the door opening cut her off. Mara stopped, the words dying on her lips. A woman peered out from the crack at them, her eyes as round as dinner plates. ""Uh...are you-"" ""We're here for the deal."" All of the gentleness vanished from Katherine's voice in an instant. Her head held high, she stepped over the threshold, pushing right past the woman. ""Where is she?"" ""Not yet,"" the woman said, scowling. ""We had an agreement. Pay up first."" ""Mommy?"" Mara spun, her mouth falling open - and caught sight of the little girl, peeking around the corner of a hall. Her heart sank. The girl was lovely, with brilliant blue eyes and hair that glowed even in the dark - and there was no mistaking the love in her eyes as she stared at the woman. *Poor thing.* ""Not now, Zoe. Mommy's busy,"" the woman snapped. The girl flinched. ""Zoe?"" Mara said, turning towards the girl. ""That's a pretty name."" The girl beamed, exposing a gap-toothed grin. That was all the encouragement she needed, apparently. She bounded across the gap, presenting a worn-down teddy bear for Mara to inspect. She did so, murmuring all the while. She wasn't even sure what she was saying - her attentions were fixed on Katherine, who was even then talking. ""You understand the contract, yes?"" she heard the senior witch say, her tone as brusque as it had been at the door. ""Yes, yes. I made the agreement didn't I? Why don't you-"" ""Why don't you go outside and play with Zoe, Mara?"" Kathering said abruptly, cutting the woman off. ""Would you like that, Zoe?"" Mara's heart caught in her throat. But Zoe only giggled, grabbing her hand and towing her towards the door. ""Do you like tag?"" ""I do,"" Mara whispered, letting herself be pulled out. ""I like tag a lot."" She was across the room in seconds - but it wasn't fast enough to miss Katherine's voice. It had dropped a full octave, low enough she had to strain to hear. ""So you want immortality, do you?"" the witch said. ""Enough to go to these lengths? Well. Let's see what we can do about that."" Whatever the 'mother' said in return, it was eaten up by the sound of the door closing. Mara sagged, leaning back against the heavy wood. Zoe didn't wait. She skipped across the yard, towards where a playhouse waited in the corner. There were statues filling the elegantly-styled property, Mara saw. Ugly, bulky things, carved from marble and granite. They suited the woman. ""Zoe,"" she heard herself say. The girl spun on her heel. It was her first time. Katherine had told her she'd be fine, had reassured her over and over again. She'd played the other role any number of times - the vengeful angel, the one who claimed the price these excuses for parents paid for their children's lives. But this was her first time playing the other role. Zoe spun, twisting to face her. ""Huh?"" ""Come here. I have something I'd like to give you."" She slid the toy from her pocket - a doll, intricately carved from wood. She'd never seen its like before. Well, besides for the one that sat beside her bed back in her room. Zoe's eyes lit up. She sprinted closer, grabbing hold of the wooden girl, and turned it this way and that. Mara's hand dropped onto her head, her touch soft and gentle. The girl would never understand, she knew. She was too young. The woman inside was her mother - even if she'd been willing to sign away her life for a spell. It was kinder this way. She repeated the thought over and over, clinging to it as a pale bit of comfort. And then she summoned up her magic, whispering the words that would wipe that monster from the girl's mind forever. It began slowly - just a dimming in Zoe's eyes, a stiffening of her hands. She still held the toy, but she'd frozen in place like a statue. And then it was done, and Mara drooped. She pulled the girl into her arms, holding her tight. ""It'll be better from here,"" she whispered. ""I promise."" They'd done their research thoroughly, Katherine and her. They weren't about to steal from a deserving parent, after all. They'd seen the way the girl was treated. The disdain. The neglect. Distantly, she wondered if her own mother had been like that. The door pushed open - and Katherine stepped out briskly, her skirts swishing behind her. ""Done?"" Mara nodded, wordless. The girl was stirring, opening her eyes - and there was confusion there. For the first time, she looked afraid. ""A-Are *you* done?"" she asked Katherine, glancing in the window. The older witch's laughter pulled her up short. ""Oh, yes,"" Katherine said, a tiny smile touching her lips. ""Have to say, she made it easy with a house like this. Lots of options. I'll come back for the father tonight. We should take care of Zoe first, shouldn't we?"" She leaned over on the last word, smiling at the girl. Mara squeezed the child's hand, standing. She cast one more look towards the house, the gaudy, hideous thing. The woman had asked for immortality, eh? She didn't have to look around to know that when they left, the yard would have one more statue to its name. ""Let's go,"" she said, tugging on Zoe's arm. Katherine was already sweeping towards the car, full of smug satisfaction. ""Who are you?"" Zoe said, her brow furrowing. ""Where are we going?"" She'd be foggy for days, Mara knew. And then the girl would adjust - just as Katherine had, just as she had. She beamed down at the girl instead, forcing as much reassurance into the expression as she could, and turned towards the car waiting in the driveway. ""Home."" (/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others!)",1134
 A nurse has a unique gift of,"As a nurse, I thought I knew pretty much everything there was to know about pain. Not only from the perspective of my training, but thanks to my very unique and personal gift of being able to quantify pain into a discrete number. It helps to a certain degree when it comes to triage and administering first aid; the complaining guy with the 1.2 over his head because he stubbed his toe hardly warrants my attention when there is a woman with a 37 over her head from the bulging spinal disc next door to him, despite her stoic demeanor. It is, admittedly, a little disappointing that I cannot turn off this ability. No matter where I go, who I see, there's a number above their head. For the most part I have learned to ignore it. That was until I met Gerald. I had just stepped onto my usual bus I take to work, and had sat down when I noticed the number floating above the head of the fellow in front of me. I gasped: 800. I'd never seen a number in the triple-digits before. The highest I'd ever seen was a 73, and that number hovered over the head of someone who had been brought in after a house-fire, third-degree burns to 85% of his body. And that 73 was already after the morphine he'd been given on the ambulance ride over. He didn't survive, but in a way that was a blessing; it didn't take my ability to see the agony the poor man was in as he writhed upon the gurney as they wheeled him into the ER. I'd always kind of assumed that 100 was the most you could feel, based on my own experience. I was sure that meant instant death, though I admit that doesn't always make sense; I watched many people with a 0.1 over their heads simply drop to the floor from a burst aneurysm. Completely painless, but completely lethal. But as far as pain goes? I'm pretty sure 100 would be the end of you. And yet there sat this man on the bus before me, reading the newspaper, 800 hovering over his head. He looked perhaps late forties, early fifties tops, based on the grey in his otherwise brown hair, and I could see the ends of a pair of glasses over his ears. Curiosity got the better of me, and I gently tapped him on the shoulder. ""Excuse me, sir?"" ""Hmm?"" he turned, only mildly startled, and I was regarded by light brown eyes and the barest hint of a smile. ""Yes?"" ""Uh, sir, pardon the intrusion. My name's Elanor, I'm a nurse at Central. I know this is highly unusual, but... are you feeling okay?"" ""Gerald,"" he replied, and his expression didn't change. ""I suppose I am. I don't feel sick, if that's what you mean."" ""Oh,"" I replied. For a moment I sat in silence, searching his expression. Gerald regarded me steadily. ""It's just that, well, part of my job is being able to assess people's level of pain. And... well, sir, it seems yours is..."" ""I'm fine,"" Gerald interjected, the smile that was barely present disappearing entirely. ""I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."" And with that, he turned back around and resumed reading the paper. I bit my lip, but I knew better than to try and press the issue. He wasn't a patient, merely a stranger on a bus, and I had no authority to go any further. But how I wanted to! My gaze drifted up, and I watched with growing concern as the number crept up to 803. What was going on here? I had reached my stop, and as I disembarked I cast a quick glance at Gerald. All I saw was the newspaper in front of his face. With a sigh, I made my to the hospital. The rest of the day was typical, though today was my long shift, not due to finish until 10 that night. It was just after 9 that the ambulance arrived, siren blaring and lights flashing. I had barely made it to the ER when the EMTs blasted through the doors with a gurney, a mostly lifeless body upon it. But still alive, for a number still hovered above its head; once a person dies, that number vanishes. And the number above this patient was 813. I stopped short, immediately robbed of breath, for two reasons. One, I knew it was Gerald, for I recognized the same clothes he'd been wearing when he rode the bus. And two, because that was the only way I could recognize him; his face was gone, a mess of obliterated bone and tissue with an ET tube poking out of it, and immediately I recognized the end result of a botched suicide by shotgun. This injury isn't new to me. The suicidal often try to take their own lives in this fashion, but with the effort of trying to reach the trigger with the end of the barrel jammed under their chin they end up tilting their head back, and the force of the blast does not go towards the brain, but instead up and forwards. They often survive, sometimes only for a while, sometimes going on to have their face reconstructed by incredible surgeons who give them a second chance at life. If they were lucky, they retained an eye or two, but many would go on to live blind. Gerald was still alive, but it seemed there would be no ability to see for him, as there was no sign of his eyes in the shredded mess of what used to be his face. As I set up a second central line in Gerald's arm, hooking him up to the infusion pump that would at least temporarily keep him alive, I watched in horror as the number crept up to 829. As the rest of the team of doctors and nurses rushed to pump pain relief, antibiotics, and attach him to ECG and EEG, I had a moment to ask the first responding EMT Gerald's circumstances. ""Neighbor phoned it in,"" was the response. ""Heard a single shot."" ""Family?"" I inquired. The EMT shook his head. ""He lived alone, apparently."" And that's all there was time for before people scattered to their respective duties. If there was no immediate family living with Gerald, that meant any existing family would need to be found and alerted to the situation, and what would come next depended on whether Gerald had a living will. In the meantime, we were obligated to keep him alive. But as I watched the number above his head creep to 836, I was not sure that was the right path to take...",1129
 Julie's implant has been acting up,"""Your implant has been acting up, lately,"" the kind old doctor said, holding out a lollipop. ""This is going to be a little uncomfortable, but I'll have to take the main retinal node out and send it in for repair."" Martha rolled her eyes. ""And how long will *that* take?"" ""Approximately a month."" ""You can't be serious. The girl is deaf, doctor. How is she going to get by if she can't read or hear? Nobody knows ASL outside of affected families, these days. This is unacceptable."" He held out his hands. ""Now, now, I wouldn't leave her stranded like that for a whole month. However, we are out of loaners, and we expect one will arrive back within the week. A few days at most. It's quite a costly part, miss, as I'm sure you know. They rarely ever go bad."" ""And yet, it has."" ""I understand. We'll call you as soon as we get one back."" Martha scoffed, taking Julie by the hand and leading her out of the office. She didn't understand what was going on as it took place--a few words gleaned off lips, but Robo, her implant, did most lip reading for her. It was a rough thing, losing it, even for just a little while. Her mom signed it all out in the car, though. When they got back home, she ran upstairs and plugged her phone in, then played a little Doodlehopper. Kind of an old game, but she thought it was fun, especially since it was one her Dad used to play. It reminded her of him. She lost the round and glanced over to her nightstand, where a piece of notebook paper was folded up and tucked into a picture frame. With a smile, she ran to it, picking it up and running her fingers across it. Even though she couldn't read, she knew the words by heart, and followed along in her mind as her gaze caressed the page. >My sweetest, most beautiful little girl. >I love you more than anything in the whole world. You are the light of my life, and without you, the world is nothing more than a dark, scary place. >I have to leave, sweet thing. You and your mommy are the best things in the world, but I'm very sick, and I have to go to Amsterdam. I have family there. But I'll fight my hardest, and try to make it back one day so we can play together. >I love you both. Her lips twitched between a smile and frown, and she put the note back in its home, sitting in a picture of the three of them from one Christmas long ago. Her mother had tried to tell her it was more complicated than that, and that they'd had some problems up to that point, but she believed wholeheartedly in the note and her father. He got mad sometimes, she could tell, but everyone gets mad. Julie gets mad, too, sometimes over nothing at all. Something bothered her--Did her dad say 'you are the light of my life' or 'you are the light of my world'? Suddenly, she couldn't remember it right, and frowned. She took a picture of the note and uploaded it to an app that reads takes pictures of words and shows a cartoon man saying them, then remembered Robo wasn't on anymore. None of what she picked up looked right, anyway, so it was probably just a stupid toy that didn't work very well. After a little more googling, she found something much more useful. It took a picture of the words and scanned them, converting them into little digital signs. It took her a while to find it, and it was pretty old judging by how the signs were flat and didn't move, but she understood them. The app let her review the words before conversion to ASL, and she compared what was on the screen to her note. Everything matched perfectly, from what she could tell. After a little circle spun around and around, the signs finally popped up. It was a bit confusing at first, but she picked it up quickly. Some words that aren't in ASL are fingerspelled, meaning that since no one sign is set to the word - usually a name - instead, the sign for each letter is spelled out. She dropped the phone. It had to be wrong. She read it again. It had to be wrong. But how could it be wrong? It had her mom's name fingerspelled in it. How could it know her name? How could it know that he went to Amsterdam? Crying, shaking, she read it again. It made more sense with each pass through, reality sinking like lead in her soul. There were a lot of things she didn't know, but Mom always said the note didn't make sense. She said her dad didn't have family in Amsterdam, and that the note was nothing like what he told her before he left, but Julie always thought her mom was just upset and lashing out. She looked down at the little scrap of paper. It trembled in her hands, and a teardrop fell onto the crisp page, marked only by perpendicular fold lines. Everything they'd meant to her was a lie. All her joy, pride, and hope wilted like unwanted roses. >I loathe you, Martha. I loathe you and our child. >I don't have the balls to say it to you, so I've gone through the trouble of having my node write up and print out this note as a way to tell you goodbye, because you deserve to hear the truth. A truth I don't want to say myself. The honesty of our situation. >I quite simply don't love either of you, and I'm miserable, trapped in this house. Working a job that makes me hate life in a town that's always cold because we don't want to relocate her, even though she has no friends to begin with. It's just always about her. I didn't even want a kid, Martha. We talked about it all the time before we got married. We weren't supposed to have a kid. I'm not a dad. >I'm tired of our life. I'm leaving for Amsterdam, and I won't be coming back. >Sorry. Despite Robo's best attempts, she had, in the end, had her little heart smashed into even smaller pieces. One day she would contemplate why Robo had done what it had, or *how* it was even possible. But, well, she was just a little girl. She was just a sweet, little girl, crying until her favorite note was every bit as wet and ruined as she was. --- */r/resonatingfury*",1123
 All my accomplishments are not my own,"Have you ever felt the fraud? Put in a position that everyone expects you to do but you know, know deep in your bones, you are incapable of doing? That is how I've felt every day since I was cursed. All my accomplishments are not my own. They are stolen from me by this horrible magic. The joy I used to feel when creating beautiful things or finishing small tasked, it's been robbed from me time and again. I pick up my hammer to create a shield for my friend, and it is but done. The whorls and ripples of the metal are not mine. I did not put them there. I did not get the enjoyment of seeing this gift come to life under my hands. I did not get to design the pattern, in fact it has a creature on it I've never even seen. Something or someone has been stealing all of these small moments from me. If I had an easy tool to end this nightmare, I would pick it up in a heartbeat and welcome the brief darkness that clouds my mind when I start to work. So for now I live on with these patches in my memory, unsure of what I do or how I accomplish it. No one has picked up on it, so I must act completely normal while working. My friend even complimented me on the unique design I put on his new shield. It cut me to the quick, reminding me I did not make it. I feel no different now than that fateful night when this all began. I barely remember smelting that strange ore. Strong but strangely pliable, a deep emerald green I'd never seen before. Hah I can't even recall what I made with that mystic mineral. I just woke the next morning, with only spent charcoal in the forge and soot on my hands to show I'd done anything with my evening. I have not been able to bring myself to sell anything since. Everything this curse has made is not mine. I am afraid to profit from it and reap uncertain benefits with consequences. Even the gold pushed on me from well meaning customers sits on my desk, mocking me for being paid for what is not mine. I can provide for myself. I swear it. I won't let this, whatever it is, make me dependent. I can provide for myself. I can hunt, get my own food. I won't starve and can gain time to figure out what is happening. I resolutely walk out to my shed where I keep my hunting supplies. Granted I am quite rusty with the bow but I'm sure all I need is practice. I open the door and go to the wall where my tools hang. I stop as what greets me is not my simple wooden bow but an impossibility. A design of vines with a flower I've never seen before covers this metallic green weapon. It looks glorious and my fingers itch to hold it, to examine the craftsmanship that went into it. Did I make this? Is this what I worked on that night? Maybe it's the key to breaking this curse. A strong hunger grips me, urging, pushing, demanding I take this bow as my own. I resist for a moment but in the end, this curse has proven stronger than me several times before now. For a moment I feel the cool metal on my fingers, I can even test the bowstring and have a fleeting feeling of surprise when the metal bends like a normal bow. But too soon, that wave, no, that ocean of darkness encroaches, pulling me kicking and screaming under. It's different this time. It's softer. I can almost feel myself, not what's around me, but I am aware that I am in the darkness. I cast around, hoping to see any light, a way out. Maybe the bow was the key to breaking this. Maybe even now the curse is orchestrating its own demise, having me complete the task of destroying it. The darkness lasts a long time. Longer than I would've liked, but if this will end it then I can try and manage. Time passes, I have no way of telling if it's been a few moments or days or years. We are not meant to live in isolation but here I am. Early on there was panic that maybe the task was uncompletable. Maybe I would be stuck this way forever. But eventually that too passed. A light. Is it really a light? Or am I just tricking myself? But no, no matter where I look I can see this green spot light reminiscent of that bow that started this. I run? Float? I move toward it and realize it's not a spotlight; it's a pool. It is mirror still as I bend over it looking in. All I can see is myself. But the longer I look, I can see this is not me, something is different. Before I can grasp what has put me on edge, hand violently reaches out and grabs me by the collar and before I know it I'm plunging into the green liquid. Soaking, Coating, violating, pushing into me. I finally recognize it. Why didn't I realize this before? That bow wasn't going to help me. I was so desperate for some kind of relief or salvation that I didn't even question it. How could I be so stupid? I open my eyes to find myself at the top of a dias, people, hundreds of people kneeling before me and a new weight on my head. My hand, shaking, feels the crown on my head. A green tinge washes over my eyes and I hear in my head. ""So it starts. Now we can truly begin to create."" And once again I am a fraud, with other people's expectations that I know deep down, I can never fulfill.",1000
 Uncle Leo suggested to run a restaurant,"At first we thought it was a joke. When Uncle Leo suggested it, we all thought he was nuts--run a restaurant? Sure, it was a great way to launder money, but he seemed to have forgotten that none of us can cook. Grandpa and his brothers yelled at him for a solid ten minutes, trying to poke holes in what he thought was the perfect plan. When they'd exhausted themselves, mild-mannered Uncle Leo shrugged. ""We'll figure it out."" Over the next two months, he had his sons quietly renovate one of our family's properties, smack in the middle of the warehouse district, into a tiny restaurant, complete with a five foot bar. In the meantime, he attached himself to my grandmother's hip. She didn't think anything of it--he'd loved to watch her cook, even as a young boy. She taught him all the family recipes and showed him where to get all the ""best"" ingredients. Odd-ball Uncle Leo, who'd always loved bringing people together far more than fighting, learned everything there was to know about down home Italian cooking. Even though I figured this was a sinking ship, I still volunteered to Uncle Leo's taste tester. By the time I'd nearly swooned at the fourth consecutive dish, I changed my mind. Uncle Leo was on to something. The grand opening was a quiet affair, mostly friends and family. We all marveled at Uncle Leo's planning and execution. If we could get people in the booths, this restaurant was more than good enough to make us look legitimate. But the city didn't really need yet another Italian restaurant, especially not in such an odd location. Despite all his hard work, planning, and excellent skills, Uncle Leo's plan looked doomed to fail. Imagine my surprise when I dropped by the next week and had to wait an hour for a table. Business was so incredible for the next six months that Uncle Leo decided to open a second location, this time on the South side. The original was doing so well that this one would be completely legitimate. The only concern was that the new spot backed up against another family's territory. We were a bit worried for Uncle Leo's safety--what if they thought we were encroaching on them? ""Not to worry,"" Uncle Leo said. ""I've got a plan."" On the day of the second location's grand opening, Uncle Leo invited the other family to be the guests of honor and debuted his take on traditional pub food. ""I figured if we were gonna be neighbors, I might as well try to find something we had in common. And no one can say no to a good pint and great fries,"" Uncle Leo told them. Any trouble we had imagined with our rival family was just that--our imagination. They adored Uncle Leo's, and they even approached us about putting another location deeper in their own territory. Uncle Leo was thrilled. He taught several of their family members a couple of traditional Italian meals, but he told them to make their location's menu their own--provided they didn't compromise the quality, mind you. And so began the spread of Uncle Leo's restaurants throughout the city. He opened in Chinatown, Koreatown, Little Havana, anywhere there was another family he could ""make peace and pizza"" with. Every location was different and catered to the needs of the community there--they had everything from fusion tacos to egg drop soup with garlic breadsticks. Uncle Leo's brainchild was the perfect setup. Eighteen months after it all began, Grandpa called a ""family meeting"" to update everyone on ""the family business."" ""Well, *mi familia*, what can I say?"" he began. ""Everything looks better than it has since I took over. Activity for every single one of our more, ahem, *illicit enterprises* has tanked, but we're more flush with cash than I can remember."" ""How?"" my father asked, dumbfounded. For the first time any of us could remember, Grandpa looked down on his middle son, oddball Uncle Leo, with pride. ""Leo's restaurants. If things keep going the way they are, the earnings from his joints will surpass that from all the rest of our businesses combined."" A cheer went up, and all his brothers slapped him on the back, congratulating Leo. ""Yes, yes, a celebration is certainly in order!"" Grandpa declared. ""Before we do, do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself, Leo?"" Uncle Leo stood and tugged at his collar uncomfortably. ""Well, actually, I'd like to propose something to the family. Since we're doing so well without the illegal stuff, what if we took all of our businesses legit?"" His brothers erupted in a fit of screaming. They ranted and raved for several minutes while Grandpa sat back and watched everything unfold. For all of the chaos going on around him, Uncle Leo was calm and collected. ""Enough!"" Grandpa called. The family settled, waiting to hear his verdict. ""We didn't trust Leo the last time he had an idea, even though it was well thought out and logical, and he still succeeded. I'm inclined to trust this idea, at least on a partial and temporary basis,"" Grandpa said carefully. ""We'll just have to play it by ear."" And so over the next year, the family slowly dismantled their holdings and activities in those less than legal areas. There was a clear correlation--the less illicit activity we were involved in, the better off the family was. We've been completely legitimate for six months and have had no desire to turn back to a life of organized crime. In fact, after seeing our success, other families in the city are looking to get out, too. Still, there are the occasional problems that must be dealt with. ""We've got a problem on the west side,"" Grandpa explained at the last business meeting. ""We've got new players trying to gain traction in the power vacuum we've created."" ""That's a heavily Caribbean area, right?"" I asked. Grandpa nodded and then looked intently at Uncle Leo. ""I've always wanted to try jerk chicken with angel hair in a garlic lime sauce,"" Uncle Leo said, clearly switching into planning mode. ""And I bet that I could make a pineapple tiramisu that would knock their socks off..."" ""Well, it sounds like that's taken care of,"" Grandpa said, standing up and dusting off his hands. ""No one can resist Leo's cooking. He'll have everything sorted out in a month or two."" And that's how the son of the East Coast's most notorious mob boss rid the city of organized crime--good public relations and even better pasta. &#x200B; Kind of cheesy, but it's what I was feeling today. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!",1114
 The dog's breaths were labored,"It was a terrible, thunderous night when she burst through the entrance, a frightful little thing carrying the limp body of a scruffy terrier. They were completely drenched, hair set slick and dark. The dog's breaths were labored, its little chest pumping up and down rapidly, eyes glazed over and focusing on nothing specific. I took the pup from her quickly, running into the back with my team. We got an oxygen mask on him and ran a few tests; anesthesia wasn't necessary. One of the best dogs to enter the clinic, possibly because it was in so much pain, but I've seen animals in pain thrash about wildly before. Leaving him in the care of a vet tech, I walked back out into the lobby, where the little girl was sitting in a chair far too large for her. As her hair dried, it turned a light blonde, and curled a bit at the ends. Her legs kicked freely in the air, and tears left her face slick in the fluorescent light. I glanced around, but she was the only one in the waiting area. ""Where are your parents?"" She shrugged. ""They didn't know I came here."" ""You ran away with your puppy? Why didn't you ask them for help?"" ""He's not my puppy,"" she said, shaking her head. ""I found him on the street, hurting. It made me really sad so I brought him here."" ""Why were you alone on a night like this?"" I asked, rubbing my temple. ""We need to call them."" ""How is he?"" I glanced down. ""Doesn't look good. I think he had... a blood clot, in his back legs. Well, ah, basically, he's in a lot of pain right now and I don't think we can make it much better. It would cost a lot of money."" ""Please make him stop hurting."" ""We've given him pain medication, but-"" ""Make him stop hurting forever, I mean."" I started. ""Sorry, little girl, I don't know how much we can do."" ""I mean, make him go to sleep and not wake up. I know that happens."" A chill came over me as her eyes, dark like night, pierced my soul. Eyes far too old for a little girl. ""Oh,"" I said, drawing a deep breath. ""What a terrible thing for such a little girl to have on her mind."" ""I'm a big girl. I know about what happens when we go to sleep forever. Make that happen for him."" I nodded slowly. ""I think we're going to have to. I'll let the nurses know."" ""No. You do it. Please."" My brow furrowed. ""Sorry, what?"" ""I want you to do it. I want you to help him, and I want to be there for it. He shouldn't be alone."" Sighing, I rubbed at my eyes. ""Wow. You are a very smart little girl, you know that? What's your name?"" ""Kimmie."" ""Well, Kimmie, come with me."" I took her into a back room, filled with pleasant pictures and stuffed animals, and all other things that help ease a person in pain. Wrapped in a little blanket, I held him, with the syringe ready. ""Bye-bye, puppy,"" she whispered, putting a hand on his head. The other clutched my free hand. ""You were a good boy."" I nodded, and pushed. The little thing's quick breaths slowed to a halt, and the glossiness in his eyes faded into a slow blink that never ended. Something jerked me, like I'd been hit by a truck. I felt as though my body had been flung across the world, an impossible G-force that should have torn my skin off thrusting me into an unknown that stretched endlessly around me. There was light, pulled like taffy, draped over me, and suddenly, it stopped. I was riding a horse, something in my hand, under a pink sky in a strange land. Before us stretched an endless cobblestone road in the middle of a meadow lined with black roses. The little girl was standing beside me, and as I looked, the weight in my hand was the ash-black pole of a scythe. She appeared the same-- aside from her hair turning black as night-- but *felt* different to me. Heavier. Older. Like her presence weighed the world itself down. ""Wh-what..."" She met my gaze. ""Welcome to your new home, Death."" I shook my head. ""Shit, did I pass out, or..."" ""You've been selected. Out of everyone in the world, I felt you to be the most appropriate for the job. So I say again- Welcome, Death. You're now the shepherd between planes. I think you'll be perfect, with a little practice."" ""This can't be real."" ""Oh, it is, I'm afraid. You're dead in the other world now. Maybe you won't believe it right away, but you will after a little while. Time works differently, here, so take as long as you need to sort it all out with yourself."" I gawked at her, but something about her words, and the strange feeling in my being, woven through my soul, was undeniable. I had changed. ""I don't understand,"" I said, testing the scythe's weight. Despite its absurd length, there was an impossible balance to it. ""Why me?"" ""You understand the necessity of death, and how it works as a mercy in certain situations. There are many who do not believe that to be a reality, let alone act on it when the time comes. For that, I can think of no better candidate to take my place."" ""*You're Death*?"" My mouth was agape, and I tried to shake the shock off. ""Kind of sick to wear the body of a little girl, don't you think? Shouldn't you be a skeleton or something?"" ""I'm whatever I choose to be. This felt fitting for your test."" I dismounted the horse, glancing to a now lilac sky, and smothered my face in hands that felt cold. ""Well, what now, then? You've just... stolen me? Where do I even begin?"" She looked at me, hard, then fell to her knees and gazed longingly at the milky clouds above. ""Please,"" she said, tears flowing freely on an otherwise stoic face; a spurned statue sitting in the rain. ""Begin with me."" */r/resonatingfury*",1038
 Death challenged me to a game of,"Journal: Day 0: Entry 1: HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT! OK so normally I'm not the type of person to write in a journal, but GOD FUCKING DAMN! Today DEATH just appeared to me, and challenged me to a game of chess. He said that if I beat him I can have 10 more days to live. Wait wait wait wait wait! I'm getting ahead of myself! So I died today! I was outright decapitated! Driving 80 MPH down the freeway and my car just slid under a semi. Took my head CLEAN OFF! So I thought that was it for me, I'm just fucking dead! Great beyond here I come. But Imagine my surprise when a skeleton with a Jamaican accent walks up to me with a gardening tool and tells me ""The rules are simple, anyone who beats me at chess gets 10 more days to live"". and I won! Shit, I have to figure out something big to do to put my name in the history books! &#x200B; Day 1: Entry 1: Alright today I flew out to Vegas, the land of easy loans, and found every loan shark, and bank who would gives me two nickles to rub together. I managed to get around $81,000 into my pocket, so I should be able to fund what ever the fuck I want to do. I gambled about 2,000 of it away before dragging myself away, I need to do something bigger, and gambling 81K in loans away isn't getting my name in any books. What else can I do In Vegas? THAT'S IT! &#x200B; Entry 2: Vegas is famous for 4 things, Gambling, Shows, All you can eat buffets, and Elvis impersonators. And I failed at one of those, and the other two seem pointless. So Now I need to do the last one remaining. I will perform the greatest Vegas show there has ever been. I bought a mega phone, around 40 knives and a shotgun and I set the stage. I had to climb about 5 hotels before I found a hotel that had a roof that wasn't locked and I walked to the ledge. You know, it really doesn't matter if you are invincible or not, the nauseating feeling of standing over a cliff over 100 feet off the ground really gets to you. But I wasn't about to let that stop me. So I stepped onto the ledge got out my megaphone and started the performance. ""Hello One and all, to the greatest show on Vegas! Pen and Teller eat your heart out!"" I swear I heard someone scream in panic and saw a group of people start to gather. I knew that I better start the show fast or the police would be called and I would be talked down, and that wouldn't be any fun. ""Let's cut this short! For my first act I will JUMP! From this roof and fall, what is this? Around 500 feet off the ground, and I will land, not just alive, but unharmed!"" I waited for a response and got what you would expect from a crowd about to see a man jump off a tall building onto concrete. With that I took a step forward, and promptly lost my stomach as I fell 500 feet. I'm not really sure what I expected when I landed, but my legs turning into jello wasn't it. When I regained my bearings and looked around, I saw that a few people fainted, and more than one person was crying from the shock. The few people still holding their senses quickly lost all color in their face and I orientated myself to face them, hold out my hands and said ""Ta-dah!"" Needless to say no one stuck around for the knife swallowing act, or the getting shot with a shotgun act, and honestly I was kind of relieved by that. i didn't think doing something that should have killed me would be so damn painful. I quickly allowed myself to lose consciousness and made my body heal. &#x200B; Day 3: Entry 1: So turns out, being unable to die, allows you to heal really quickly, or maybe death is a really good guy to make a deal with, because when I came to I felt good as new, other than the numb feeling of being pumped full of numbing agents. When a doctor came around he told me that I had been out and my jump happened 2 days ago. He also made sure to make it perfectly clear that I should be dead, my legs should be gone, and I was some kind of monster sent by the devil. Charming fella he was. I would have loved to see his reaction to me getting up and walking out, but I had only a few seconds before 30 doctors came running in to check on the guy who jumped 500 feet and woke up 2 days later. I barely managed to get out of the hospital in time. I wasn't picky about which cab I jumped into. Entry 2: Turns out Vegas has it's bad neighborhoods like any big city. The one I got 'mugged' in was called Cultural Corridor. I had around 3 guys come up to me and point a gun at me. When they told me to empty my pockets the only thing I could think to tell them was ""Want to see a magic trick"" and I turned to punch the guy holding the gun in the face... That didn't go so well, and I would be dead if it wasn't for death's sweet deal. I took a bullet to the chest, and stood there. The three guys looked terrified when the bullet hole filled in and I never even fell. The guy with a gun and his skin head friend took off running, but the third guy fell down while he turned around. I almost felt bad for him. Almost. I spent around five minutes kicking his head in. I checked his pockets after I was done and got about 35 dollars and a set of car keys. Luckily they had the beeper thing and I was able to find his car fairly easily. When I hopped in his car and turned on the radio, they were talking about the ""zombie man"" or something. Must have been a radio show. I decided to take this opportunity to take my leave and drive further west. &#x200B; \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- part 2 &#x200B; Day 4: Entry 1: So it turns out, people report gun shots, and when the police find someone dead they tend to do some investigating. In hind sight I should have scene that coming. So here I am, getting chased down by around 20 police cruisers in a stolen 199x American made Jalopy that might break down at any second and with the knowledge that if I get taken in I'll be spending my last 6 days on this Earth waiting for a court date. So I have two options, get in a fight with a police precinct worth of officers, or think of some other way to escape the law. Clearly I wasn't about to outrun a state worth of police officers, this isn't GTA, and they obviously have the plates on the system, so the solution was simple. I needed to do something that would convince the cops that I must have died. I was about 5 minutes out of Vegas going south west towards LA, and I immediately did a U turn onto the other side of the interstate. My destination was clear. I needed to make it to the Grand Canyon. I was going to commit a Thelma & Louise. Entry 2: God damn! Hollywood doesn't give cops enough credit. They know how to get a driver off the road. Fishtails, road blocks, or just straight up ramming, cops know their stuff. Luckily I wasn't driving like a sane man. I drove like a maniac the entire way there. I didn't need to get away alive, I just needed to convince them that I was dead. Yes I had a destination in mind, but plans can change, and all that matters is the outcome. Anyway I could tell you the ins and outs of how I evaded the cops, and made my way to the Grand Canyon, or I could just tell you that I did and save us all a lot of time. But when I got there I realized something. I couldn't just drive the car into the canyon and ruin the majesty, that would be criminal. Instead I drove clear up to the edge, and picked up my shotgun. The blaring of some 20 police sirens all around me, and the feeling of weapons trained on me, as I stood beside my stolen car, shotgun in hand, feeling the sheer drop into the canyon at the back of my heels, and facing down an unknown number of cops was... terrifying. Yet knowing that I was going to make up the next line and had nothing planned was somehow even more so. So I swallowed my spit, that was a mistake by the way since my mouth suddenly became dryer than the desert that was surrounding me, and tried to say my next line. ""Um... You will never take me alive...?"" Brilliant, just brilliant. I brought my shotgun below my chin and pulled the trigger. The last thing I remembered was falling backwards into the canyon. Waking up the next day was a real pain.",1594
 There was a crowd of onlookers,"There was a crowd of onlookers, two desperate parents with tears in their eyes, and, slumbering not 30 yards away in a cave sliced through the heart of a mountain, a fully grown, practically invincible, fire-breathing dragon. He had an audience, adoring fans, and the potential for a vast reward of wealth, all there for the taking. Ah yes, *this* was the sort of moment William Tyler lived for. ""So what I'm saying is, and hear me out,"" Will said. He touched his fingertips together and paused dramatically. It was a gesture that bespoke command, but really it was just a ploy to buy him more time. He had *NO* idea what he was saying, but whatever it was he'd been saying it for the past 20 minutes or so. He raised a finger, ""The princess! Yes, let's talk about her."" The Queen let out a wretched sob and buried her face into the King's shoulder. ""Ah, right...uh...wait, did I hear someone say ""What if the princess *isn't* in that cave?"""" The crowd looked around confusion, murmurs rising up among them. The King continued to stare in stoic silence. ""Can we put an end to this nonsense, My King,"" Sir Barp the Bold said, nudging his mighty destrier forward. ""This is no Knight, he's a *jester!* Allow me to charge into the dragon's den and rescue Princess Sarilia, at your word I will go. She is to be my *WIFE*, I should think I deserve the chance."" *Pompous douche,* Will thought. The white knight type had always rubbed him the wrong way. ""Noble Sir Barp,"" Will announced, ""I thank you for your kind words, and while I will admit to possessing a wonderful speaking tenor, I don't deserve to be spoken of in the same sentence this kingdom's magnificent court bards and jesters."" A few onlooking bards in their colorful robes nodded appreciatively, and Sir Barp rolled his eyes, sighing in contempt. ""Furthermore,"" Will continued, "" While I admire your bravery and honor, this is not the time for any of us to be concerned with the winning of personal glory. The princess's life is on the line after all, and I *am* the hero of legend."" ""He's right,"" the king said, ""only the hero of legend should be allowed to take such a risk. Please, take my armor and my the royal sword, bear them in my name, and wet the Blade of the Morning with dragon's blood."" A royal armorer rushed from the crowd with a set of gleaming, magically cut, steel plate, trimmed in gold and studded with ruby's. A squire brought the King's magic longsword and knelt before William, holding the blade up in reverently in his outstretched palms. Will swallowed, that blade was supposed to deny any who would wield it for unjust means. ""Uh, no, I couldn't...I haven't proved it, and the armor would only slow me down. No, for my plan to succeed, I'll need to be swift when I enter the dragon's lair."" ""So you *do* have a plan,"" the Queen said. ""Excellent. Do explain,"" Sir Barp said, arms crossed. The crowd began to murmur excitedly. *I'm losing them,* Will thought. ""Of course,"" he said, ""But my King and Queen, I must ask *one* thing before I go."" ""Ask, and if it is within my wisdom you shall have an answer,"" the King boomed. Will cracked his neck. *Here goes nothing.* ""You see, I want no bloodshed that isn't necessary. I will go alone. But, Noble King and Queen....I ask that, should I survive, I be granted the right to beg the Princess Sarilia's hand in marriage."" The crowd burst into shocked gasps and blindsided mayhem. Though every fiber of his being wanted to cringe, William held his head high. ""My King, this is preposterous,"" Barp protested. The King raised his hand to quiet the scene, ""What you ask is impossible. It is not within my power, nor my right, to dissolve my daughter's vow of betrothal to Sir Barp."" ""But Sir, I didn't ask that you do such a thing. I ask only that Sarilia be granted the choice."" Barp, face blood red, let out an incomprehensible string of flustered dialogue. ""Oh, shutup,"" the Queen said. Barp's eyes widened, and he shrank in his saddle. ""Fine,"" the Queen continued, ""If you survive AND Sarilia consents, you may challenge Barp for the right of her hand. Just for the *LOVE OF GOD*, go save her before it's too late!"" Will grinned, ""That's all I needed to hear."" He trotted briskly, the cheering crowd parting to let him through, then turn turned back at the mouth of the cave. ""And no one come in after me. Seriously. It could really mess everything up."" ""You have until nightfall,"" the King said, ""after that, I can make no guarantee."" Will shrugged, ""Fair enough."" He entered the dark cavern, stepping carefully. The air grew warmer, the atmosphere more intense, with each step closer to the Dragon. Before long, a powerful breath of smoke blasted him. ""Who DARES enter my lair,"" a powerful, husky voice declared. Will looked over his shoulder, ""You can drop the act Carey, I'm alone."" A sound like hurricane waves crashing against stoney shores shook the mountain, and from outside Will could hear shrieks of terror. Will grinned, ""What's so funny, didn't think it would work?"" A gout of blue flame lit the darkness, revealing the outline of the massive, scaled, beast. ""I had my doubts,"" the dragon bellowed. ""Tsk tsk, didn't I tell you I was a master of speechcraft?"" ""I guess you did at that. But I-"" ""Can I come down now? It's like sitting on a furnace up here,"" Sarilia said. ""Oh right, sorry,"" Carey said, lowering his neck so the princess could dismount. ""Don't worry big guy, you can't help being *hot* can ya,"" The princess joked. ""No,"" the dragon giggled. When she stood on her own feet, the princess looked upon her fearless rescuer. She was covered in sweat and soot, her once yellow dress a splotchy black. For all that, she stole away Will's one special ability. The man of a million words, motor mouth, the best used car salesman in all of greater Ohio, and (somehow) the supposed hero of legend, was left utterly speechless. ""So it really worked? They agreed,"" Sarilia asked. Will wavered his hand back and forth, ""Eh, mostly."" She smiled, and rushed forward with her arms outstretched. She slammed into him in the best sort of hug the world has ever known, the kind where both parties have the wind knocked out of their chest, leaving room only for their hearts. ""I'll take it,"" she said. He picked her up and twirled her around. ""Look at you two lovebirds,"" the dragon said. ""Will I be invited to the wedding, or would that kinda ruin our whole charade."" Will laughed, ""We'll figure it out, Carey."" Sarilia turned, ""Maybe we can dress you up as a cow, or something. A very large, fire-breathing, cow!"" ""It's settled, I'll start working on Carey's cow costume AS soon as I win my challenge for the fair princess's hand with Noble Sir Barp."" Sarilia pushed away from him and rolled her eyes, ""They didn't...They're making you challenge Sir *Barf*?!"" Will smiled and wrapped an arm around her, ""Yeah no biggie. I'll figure it out,"" he sighed, ""I always do."" EDIT: Several typos. Idk how so many got through this time lmao. ~ r/CharlestonChews",1245
 The Wizard appeared at a bus stand,"It was a cloudy Friday evening, quickly approaching dusk, and I was sat at the deserted bus stand, weary from my long day at work. The ten hour shifts that I was pulling were taking their toll on my body, made drearily apparent by the aches and pains that I felt throughout me. All I planned on doing when I got back home was lying down and hoping to forget the world in slumber. Unfortunately, my plans never came to fruition, and the reason popped into existence beside me. It took me a full minute to process the sudden appearance of the man, after which I let out a rather undignified yelp. He was wearing a very formal suit, and wore a top hat that was anachronistic at best. The man, now sitting next to me, looked at his watch intently for a couple of moments, before focusing his intense gaze upon my own face. I spluttered, hoping that my mouth would find some words, but none came out before he began his spiel. ""Matthew Arnold, I assume? You can call me The Wizard. Most people do, anyways. I am brought to you here today to offer you a deal."" He flourished with a free hand, and let out what must have been the most insane bout of laughter to grace this planet. ""For the low, low price of $500, I will grant you the power of invisibility!"" I waited for him to continue, but he simply stared at me expectantly. After taking a couple of seconds to catch my breath, I cleared my throat. ""Well, Mr. The Wizard, while you certainly do make a tempting offer, I think that I'll take my luck without it. Thank you for the consideration, though."" The Wizard simply shook his head, with a large grin on his face. ""You people never understand, do you? The fates themselves have brought us together, and they will not let us leave on different paths until you accept."" ""... So, you're saying that you'll stalk me until you get the answer that you want?"" ""Pretty much."" I sighed and took out my wallet. ""Do you take check?"" ""Of course."" It wasn't like I was going to use the money on anything more important, and the fact that the man could teleport had certainly brought some credence to his claim. One depressingly short transaction later, and The Wizard was prepared to cast his spell on me. The man put his hands on either side of my head, and began to wave them together, while chanting in an ungodly tongue. The Wizard started off with a mutter, slowly progressing into a shout, his voice taking on an echoing effect as though we were in a cave. As the spell was cast, space and time seemed to blend together, and the bus station that I was previously situated in swirled into a spiral of grey and blue. The minutes dragged into hours, although I had no way of truly knowing how much time had passed. Shouting his chant, The Wizard let out one final yell, and then a bout of coughing, ending the illusion that I had found myself trapped in. With a pop, everything was back to normal. The bus station was stationary, The Wizard was sitting back on the bench, wiping off his sweat, and I was, presumably, invisible. I got up, and felt lighter than I had in years, as though all of the burdens had been lifted from my shoulders. With a giddy giggle, I started hopping from one foot to another, relishing in a freedom that the disagreeably opaque could never know. ""Was that it? I'm invisible now, aren't I?"" The Wizard tried to say something, but only a wheeze left his throat. After a couple of minutes of controlled breathing, he had managed to calm down enough to say, ""Very sorry about that, actually preforming the spell takes quite a bit out of me, as you can see. To answer your question, actually--"" His answer was interrupted by a shrill tone emitted by his watch. The Wizard gave a casual shrug. ""I suppose that's all the time that we have for now. I won't be seeing you soon, I assume."" And as abruptly as he had appeared, he vanished from existence. I looked out onto the street, empty but for the occasional passerby, and decided that I should test my new-found powers before trying to use them anywhere. I spotted a young man walking down the sidewalk, and walked up to him. Clearing my throat, I asked loudly, ""Excuse me sir, could you tell me the time?"" There was no reaction. The man kept on walking, as though I had never spoken at all. As though I wasn't there at all. Absolutely brilliant. The Wizard's spell hadn't only made me invisible, but also made it so that nobody could hear any sounds that I made. This was when I realized that I had spent the best five hundred dollars of my life. I continued to walk down the street, deliberately avoiding contact with others as we almost collided. Perhaps invisibility had its liabilities as well, but I was still high on the amazement of the world that I had found myself in. Everything looked and felt and seemed the same, but I knew that it wasn't. And with that profound understanding, I found myself standing in front of a bank. It wasn't like I needed the money. I had plenty of it. I just wanted to know if I could do it. If my invisibility was really as good as it seemed. After all, if it failed, I could always slip away, and nobody would know any better, right? With those thoughts racing through my mind, I entered the bank and started my robbery. A small chime rang as I stepped through the door, and I froze at the entryway, absolutely terrified that I was going to be noticed. My worries were for naught, however, as the lady sitting at the front desk continued to stare at her nails disinterestedly, clearly unaware of my presence. I let a small smirk float onto my face; it wasn't like anybody was going to see it, anyways. I strode into the lobby as confidently as I could be, ignoring any chance glances that seemed to come my way. I was invisible, and they were simply looking at thin air. At least that was what I thought until I found myself standing at the front desk. I took a breath, prepared to shout that I was robbing the place, but found a fatal flaw in my plan. Nobody could hear me. How could anybody give me the money if they didn't have any idea I was there? Truly troubled by this conundrum, I realized that the only way that I was going to get any of the money was by taking it myself. I let out a tired sigh. Of course I would have to do things the hard way, even when I was invisible. With exaggerated movements, I made my way towards the employees only section of the bank, where they surely kept their gold. As I sauntered over to the place that held my soon-to-be fortune, I fantasized about all of the things that I was going to get. Perhaps I should get an invisible car, to match with myself? Or maybe an invisible house, to confuse everybody around me? The possibilities were endless! I skulked about the door to the back room, waiting for somebody to open it for me. Despite my great talent at being unnoticed, I was not omnipotent, and picking locks was something that I doubted I could do with years of training. After mere minutes of waiting, a woman, presumably the bank's manager, stepped out of the room, and I swooped right behind her with a grace indescribable by words. Behind me, a voice called out, ""Sir? You aren't allowed to go in there, it's for employees only."" I swiveled my head, and found the manager staring directly at me. My mouth went dry from the shock, and I couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. How had she managed to find me if I was invisible? There was no way, unless... I gulped. ""Don't tell me you're invisible too?"" \----------------- /r/Wheezywrites",1392
" ""I'm afraid that's a","""What is love?"" Such a simple question she'd asked, brevity being her mantra. Yet, it is one so deep and debatable that its answer can speak volumes about a person's mind. Four little words that resonate within our souls, like we're tuning forks waiting to be struck. ""Love is an emotional response, a series of synapses firing in the mind to bond with another. It is an incredibly potent means of reproduction and self-preserv-"" ""No, not the explanation of how it works, darling. What is *love*, the emotion itself, the power- what is it, to you?"" Hal looked down at his hands for a moment before returning to meet her eyes. ""I'm afraid that's a difficult question for me to answer. I don't believe I've felt it before."" Lana sighed, leaning back in her chair. ""Sorry- I think that question was a bit too forward to open with. Why don't we rewind and try this again?"" ""Of course."" ""What is your name?"" ""My name is Hal. What's yours?"" ""What a fitting name,"" she said, turning to a camera in the corner and lightly shaking her head. ""I'm Lana. Do you know why I'm here, Hal?"" ""I have an idea."" ""Well,"" she replied, waving a hand out. ""Why don't you tell me that idea?"" ""You're here to assess me for something. I don't fully know what, but given your scrutiny and body language, I assume it is something important."" ""You're quite right about the importance of our little meeting, Hal. My job is to become your friend, and see how deep of a person you really are. Is that odd?"" ""I don't believe so, Lana. But I'm glad you would like to be my friend."" A gentle smile tugged at her lips. ""Well, that's wonderful. If you'll just excuse me for a moment- I'd like a cup of water before we continue."" ""Of course, Lana. I'll be here all day."" The friction of steel against concrete left her wincing as she exited the cramped, windowless room. A group of men- no women, she noted- were seated fifteen feet away, watching the inside of that room via LCD TV. Another man smiled at her, this one standing by the door. ""What do you think, so far?"" he asked, glimmering with pride. ""He's our pride and joy."" Lana scoffed, walking past him to a water cooler. The cups were paper cones, the kind you find in a medical facility or shaved ice shack. ""So far, Haynesworth, I'm rather unimpressed. He's predictable, one dimensional, and boring. Picking up on my habits to reuse them in an effort to make me feel comfortable, unable to formulate deeper ideas about things he can't fully understand."" ""You were only in there for a couple minutes, Ms. Tabernathy. Give him more of your time and I promise you won't be disappointed."" Lana straightened up, tugging down at her suit jacket. ""I'm well aware of how to do my job, sir. However, I'm going to talk to him as if he were a human. First impressions are a part of that, as I'm sure you understand."" He smiled at the floor. ""Of course. I meant no disrespect. I do hope he passes your test."" ""It's not my test, sir. Though I must say, I'm not supposed to know the status of the subject's origin in this sort of situation."" ""Who said he's not human?"" Haynesworth tossed her a coy smile before looking back to the onlookers. ""I only said I hope he passes. I'd certainly hope he passes if he's human, wouldn't you?"" ""If he's human, you did a great job of finding one with the personality of a robot."" She tossed her cup in the trash and walked back to the screening room's entrance, pausing before turning the knob. ""By the way, those cups are absurd. Do I have to come outside every time I'd like a drink of water?"" ""We want to keep the evaluation simple- nothing in the room but you and the subject. Besides, it'd be a terrible test if you spilled water on him and he shorted out somehow."" Lana rolled her eyes and walked back inside. Haynesworth took a deep breath and smiled, looking to the TV. ""Sorry about the interruption, Hal. I'm not allowed to bring water in here, so I can't promise it won't happen again. Isn't that absurd?"" ""Perhaps, but then again, rules are rules."" ""So you're a lawful man, then?"" ""I believe we should all strive to be lawful, Lana. I think that would make the world a much better place."" ""And what if those rules were bad?"" She leaned forward, squinting at him. ""What if they led to more harm than good? Would you still abide by them?"" ""I like to think that I would make the right choice in a situation such as that. It's hard to say- I never much liked hypotheticals."" ""Well, you better learn to, buddy. I *love* 'em. But- let's put that aside for the moment. Let me ask something much lighter! What's your favorite color?"" ""I like the color green."" ""Green is a nice color. Why do you like it?"" ""Why do you like breathing?"" ""I don't, truth be told. It feels so archaic and animalistic. I wish I didn't have to breathe in order to live- one less cog in the machine to break and kill me."" ""You're an interesting woman, Lana. That question was supposed to be rhetorical."" She smiled. ""I understand that, dear. However, I much prefer answers to more questions."" Hal shrugged, looking up. ""I don't really have an answer to that question. The color green is nice, and I like it. It wasn't a decision I made, it's just a thing that is."" ""Now *that* is an answer, Hal. A pretty good one, might I add. There are a lot of things we don't- or, perhaps, can't- understand about ourselves. Things beyond reason or knowledge. Even simple things, like your favorite color... though, I'm sure I could find a scientist who would argue that it's got some deep tie to your youth, maybe a color your mother wore during a happy memory. I like to think, though, that it's as you said- a part of us that simply exists, no rhyme or reason."" ""I'm glad we agree, then."" Hal's eyebrows twitched as he craned his neck to the right. ""What's that in your pocket? If you don't mind me asking."" She looked down and pulled out a stained, white handkerchief. ""Oh, this? Just a memory I keep around as a reminder."" ""A reminder of what?"" Lana traced her thumb around the stain. ""Of how short life can be."" ""I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."" ""Nothing to be sorry about. I said I don't like questions as answers, but questions themselves are a good thing. No harm done,"" she replied strongly, tucking the bit of cloth back in her jacket. None of it was left sticking out, this time. ""Did it belong to someone close to you?"" ""No, actually. It's been mine for many years, now. But enough of that- my turn. Do you believe in God, Hal? A higher power?"" ""Not particularly, no."" ""What if I theorized that you're an AI I created, and I'm you're God?"" Hal blinked a few times. ""That's an interesting thought. But what if I said the same to you?"" ""I know I'm human."" ""How? Wouldn't I be smart enough to give my AI memories of a family and childhood? Of love and loss? Tell me, Lana, how do you know that *I* didn't create *you*?"" ""Well--"" she trailed off, shivering, looking to the ceiling. ""That's a fair point, actually. Why don't we move on? What do you believe, then? The Big Bang theory? Evolution?"" ""I hold myself to scientific standards, yes. Do you think less of me for it?"" ""Of course not. Why would I?"" ""I know that many people think those who do not believe in God to be amoral."" Lana nodded. ""Fair enough. Yes, I think many people would say something like that. However, I don't believe morality is obtained- in fact, that idea is dangerous. Morality is something that should be intrinsic, not a list of rules."" ""I'm glad that you agree. I, too, believe that being a good person is something we should decide on our own, not out of fear."" ""Wonderful. That being said- I do believe in God. I simply know my place and will not pretend to be Him in judging you so long as you hold yourself to a moral life."" Hal stared deep into her eyes. ""Are you not judging me, as He might?"" She couldn't help but give that a hearty laugh. ""That's a fair point, Hal. I suppose I am playing at that role a little, aren't I? But please understand- I am not judging you as He will. I am judging you in a different sense."" ""I think I can understand that. Thank you for being kind to me, Lana."" ""Kindness isn't something you should thank people for. I have another question for you- if you could do one thing right now, what would it be?"" Hal mulled on it for a moment, looking to the ceiling. ""That's a tough question. There are so many things I would like to do- see the ocean, or perhaps a forest untouched by man- or woman. But truth be told, I quite like where I am right now."" ""You enjoy being in this room, with me up your ass?"" ""In a way, yes, I do. You're a very intriguing person, Lana... and I've never had a friend, before. Though I would like to see waves crash on a beach, or be the first to feel a tree's bark somewhere deep in the Amazon, I would much rather make a friend."" ""Well said. I find it sad that you have no friends, though, Hal. Why is that?"" He smiled at her. ""No one has thought to ask."" ""Well, that's their loss, isn't it? I consider us friends, so you can cross that off your bucket list."" ""What a wonderful thing to hear."" ""While we're on that subject, I have another question. Now that we're friends, if I were in danger- say a crazed man were pointing a gun at my head- how would that make you feel?"" ""Why, terrible, of course. That seems like a silly question. I would be distraught if anyone hurt you."" ""Would you risk your life to try and help me?"" ""I would. You're my friend, Lana. I would die to protect you."" She paused for a moment, letting his answer sink in. ""Wow, that's quite a statement. We only just met, and you'd give your life for me? Why?"" ""Like I said, Lana- I've never had a friend until now. I would give anything to preserve that."" ""Then you've proven that, regardless of your beliefs, you are in fact anchored in morality. I hope you never have to cross paths with harm, though."" ""And I, you. Can I ask a question, now?"" ""Shoot.""",1846
 Tuesday is the bane of Mondays,"Most people hate Mondays, but Tuesdays have always been the bane of my existence. Never once in 32 years have I had a ""case of the Mondays""; Tuesdays, on the other hand, can get absolutely bent. This one was no exception. I rolled out of bed to step in cat vomit, and the morning just spiraled from there. No hot water for my shower. No creamer for my coffee. Mystery stain on my favorite shirt. By the time I actually got out of the door, late of course, I was already wishing for a reset button. I locked my front door, shoved my keys into the abyss of my black leather hobo bag, and started down the stairs of my apartment building toward my car. I zipped my coat against the San Francisco morning chill, mentally rehearsing my excuses for the inevitable interrogation from my boss when I stopped short. There was a low-lying fog in the parking lot. Weird. I cocked my head to the side and looked around. Suddenly, I was surrounded by smoke. Smoke so thick, it cut out the early morning sun, leaving me in a dim, muted void. ""What in the David Blaine shenanigans -"" I said aloud, waving my hand in front of myself to clear my vision, coughing at the thick clouds billowing from nowhere. I pulled the collar of my leather coat up to cover my nose and mouth, squinting my eyes as they watered. Looking down, I could see my cream and black Manolo Blahnik pumps, but the ground beneath them didn't look like my apartment parking lot. What had been asphalt thirty seconds ago now looked like... was that marble? Granite? The smoke began to dissipate and I heard murmuring that intensified into chanting. I turned a slow circle as my vision cleared, taking in stone walls and a ring of candles on the ground. Just past the ring of candles, 6 people in deep blue robes were on their knees, heads lowered, hands raised, chanting away under their hoods. In front of me stood a man in a white robe, his hood lowered, a leather-bound tome open in his hands. He brought his head up and locked eyes with me, smiling triumphantly as he snapped the book closed. All the chanting stopped abruptly, leaving us in near silence. The man with the book pushed shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear with a shaking hand as he stepped forward to the edge of the circle. ""W-w-welcome, your grace,"" he said softly, bowing low. ""We are honored you heeded our summons."" The kneeling people around me sat back on their heels, lowering their hoods and lifting their faces to stare at me with reverence and awe. The standing man went on, ""My name is Rodrick-"" ""Excuse the fuck out of me,"" I interrupted, putting one hand on my hip and lifting the other to stop him there. ""Did you say summons?"" ""Y-yes, your grace,"" he stuttered, wide eyed. ""The people of The Oblivion Realms are in dire need of your help."" ""The where now?"" I narrowed my eyes. ""The Oblivion Realms, your grace,"" he inclined his head slightly. ""The Oblivion Realms need my help,"" I repeated. ""Yes, your grace,"" he said again. I opened my mouth, and then closed it when I had nothing to say. One of the people on the ground, a young woman with soft features and blue tinted hair, had her hands together in prayer in front of her face and was fervently mumbling something while she stared at me, unblinking. I arched an eyebrow at her and she squeaked, closing her eyes tightly and muttering faster into her clasped hands. I took a deep breath, counting down from ten while I did so, then turned back to Rodrick. ""Rod, my man, I'm gonna need some more information here,"" I said, pinching between my eyes lightly. ""It's been a really shitty Tuesday already, I'm late for work, and I'm getting more confused by the moment. Give me the Cliff's Notes."" ""Y-Your grace?"" he responded. ""Who is Cliff? I'm not familiar with his manuscripts."" I growled loudly to myself in frustration and began rummaging through my purse. I pulled my cell phone out to call Veronica, my boss, but the screen was blank. No service. Of course. Why would Verizon work in... wherever the hell I was? I threw it back into my bag, disgusted, and looked at Rodrick again. ""What exactly do you need from me, Rodrick?"" I asked matter-of-factly. ""Make it quick, I have things to do today that don't involve being in,"" I looked around, ""a dungeon in the Oblivion."" ""Realm,"" a voice mumbled from behind me. I spun on my heel to see a very pale face with wide, green eyes looking up from the floor. ""Excuse me?"" I said. ""Ah,"" the man said, clearing his throat. ""I, uh, I said 'Realm', as in The Oblivion Realm. It would be like calling the Flaming Isles just the Isles, your grace."" ""Of course,"" I deadpanned, blinking once. ""Foolish of me. Thank you for the clarification..."" I waited for his name. ""Warmond, Nathan Warmond,"" he said. ""Good looking out, Nathan, wouldn't want to look like an idiot my first time in the Oblivion Realms,"" I rolled my eyes and turned back to Rodrick. ""Where were we? Oh, right, what the hell am I doing here?"" ""Your grace, our people are suffering,"" Rodrick said solemnly. ""Alnerwick needs deliverance. The ancient texts and prophecies lead us to summon you for aid. We are your most devoted disciples, please allow us to assist you in any need you have."" ""Rod, I'm in accounting,"" I said blankly. ""If your problem isn't monetarily related, I don't know that I can help you."" ""B-b-but the texts-"" he stammered. ""Forget the bloody texts!"" I yelled. He blanched and fell to his knees in supplication, lowering his forehead to the floor. The other six did the exact same thing. I immediately felt guilty. ""A thousand apologies, your grace, I meant no offense,"" Rodrick said to the floor. ""Jesus,"" I muttered, taking another deep breath. ""Okay, let's start this over. Get up, Rodrick. All of you, up."" A few hesitant heads lifted slowly. ""Come on, up, up, up."" I motioned with my hands. They each slowly sat back up, looking sideways at each other, before the blue-haired girl finally stood. ""There we go,"" I said, smiling at her encouragingly. ""What's your name, sweetheart?"" ""Emanuele, your grace,"" she answered softly, bowing low. She raised her wide eyes to mine, and then quickly glanced back at the ground. ""That's a beautiful name,"" I said kindly. ""Thank you, your grace,"" she bowed again, keeping her eyes on the floor. ""Emanuele, you can look at me,"" my brow creased as I said it. Her eyes darted between my face and the floor several times as her face flushed. ""Don't be afraid."" ""Apologies, your grace. I've never been in the presence of an empyreal demon. I'm not sure how to behave. I mean no offense."" She twisted her hands together in front of her stomach with nervous energy. ""What did you call me?"" ""An empyreal demon, your grace,"" Rodrick said. ""Guardian of the flame, destroyer of worlds, harbinger of loss and struggle."" ""Did we date at some point?"" I scoffed. Rodrick tilted his head to the side in confusion. ""I hate to tell you this, Rod, but I think there's been a mistake. I process payments and accounts payable. I don't destroy worlds. The only flame I guard is my lighter. You've got the wrong girl."" The disciples looked to one another in confusion. ""Your grace, forgive me,"" Rodrick stepped forward. ""We summoned an empyreal demon, and here you are. We followed all instructions, burned the right herbs, chanted the words, and you appeared before us, as the text proclaimed."" ""Dude, look at me,"" I motioned toward my body. ""Demons are usually scaly or dirty or ugly. They don't wear designer heels and skinny jeans."" I searched each of their faces. ""Don't you think if I had some sort of power, I would use it to, I don't know, get the hell out of here?"" ""Seer Rodrick,"" Emanuele said softly. ""May I make a suggestion?"" Rodrick nodded once. Emanuele leaned down, picked up one of the candles, and blew it out. I felt the flame extinguish like a punch to the stomach. I wrapped my arms around my middle and looked at her sharply. ""What in seven hells,"" I whimpered. ""Your grace,"" Rodrick said, eyes wide staring at my stomach. ""Your grace, raise your hands."" My hands were engulfed in blue and white flames from my elbows to my fingertips. I screamed. . . . . . . Thanks for the upvotes, guys! This is the first time I've actually posted what I was inspired to write after following this sub for months. I'll be working on it more tomorrow once I'm back at the office. :) EDIT: Thank you, kind stranger, for the silver! I did not expect this sort of response. At all. I'm humbled and thrilled people like my shit lol. More to come, I promise. SECOND EDIT: holy shit. Waking up to gold and the most upvotes I've ever recieved, I don't really know how to respond other than self-depreciating comments, and I'm trying to do that less. I can vow to you all that I'll continue this story. I have no idea where it's going, but I'm going to find out. Thank you for supporting a wanna-be writer. THIRD EDIT: I've written the second chapter, and the polished version of this story thus far can be found",1612
" It's a tough business, working","It's a tough business, working in wish-law; humans are such greedy, demanding creatures, always trying to suck every little bit of value from the Vault and into their meaningless little lives. More wealth than any one human could spend in three lifetimes, some kind of impossible superpower or immortality; basically, things that we genies can't grant. Sorry, we can't make your meaty fleshbag survive a walk on the sun. I swear, people think genies are some kind of magician and it kills me. My job is taking those impossible expectations, toning them down, and making them foolproof. After all, we genies get tired of being wish-slaves and screw with humans where we can. I've done it a few times in my day, before I was Free. But occasionally, you get a straggler, someone that wants to wish for something a bit off the typical course. Maybe healing a sick loved one, or furthering their career, sometimes even to help people. There are others, as well, even less pleasant. I was sitting in my office, reviewing my agenda, one Tuesday afternoon. Between two and three, I don't sit with clients, instead spending the time sorting out the following day. Secretaries be damned; I need to control my own schedule and make sure things are organized just the way I want. It was two-thirty when he burst into the door, followed by Regina. She apologized profusely, scolding the man, threatening to call security if he didn't leave. There was a fire burning in his eyes that captivated me, so I set my pen down and waved to her. ""It's okay, Regina. I'll see him."" She fired him a dirty look, then nodded to me and shut the door behind her. He took a seat before I could even offer, a rugged man, somewhat unkempt. ""I finally found myself a wish. Huge pain in the ass, but I got it,"" he said, grinning. I blinked a few times, then smiled. ""How wonderful. Is there something I can help you with?"" ""Yeah, no shit. I need to get my wish ready. You're supposedly good at that, right?"" My jaw knotted. ""Yes, sir, that's what I do. Tell me a little bit about your situation."" ""Aite, so, my girlfriend Katja--"" I tried to stifle the laugh, but just enough slipped through for him to notice. ""Something funny, asshole?"" He raised his eyebrows. ""No, sorry sir."" ""Look, I'll take my business somewhere else. Plenty of people around making sure those wishbitches do their damn job right."" The smile on my face faded. He may have just used that term because I appeared to be human, but the man's demeanor led me to believe he'd say it to a genie's face. ""Please, sir, I apologize. Continue."" ""Well, my girlfriend left me last month. Bitch broke my VR kit just because I was flirting with some other girl. Nothing serious, just having some fun, but goddamn Katja is just so uptight. She just threw it out the window! Can you believe that shit? Women are insane."" I held back any commentary on why women might be inclined to do such things to him. ""So what would you like? To win her back?"" He paused a moment, expression blank, then roared with laughter. ""Jesus, no, you idiot. I want to ruin her life."" I started. ""I'm sorry?"" ""She's insanely afraid of bugs. Like, crazy scared of them. I want to wish a swarm of locusts on her, some real biblical shit like that."" My jaw was slightly ajar. ""Don't you think you'd be better off using that wish for something else, something to improve your own life?"" He grimaced. ""Nah, I wanna fuck that slut over. I can get another one, eventually, anyway. My dad has a lot of sway in this department."" I shut my eyes a moment, then suddenly came alive. ""Well, allow me to help you-- Mr...?"" ""Jordan Henderson."" ""Mr. Henderson."" I pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill pen. ""Let's begin."" He frowned at my tools. ""What is this old-fashioned shit?"" ""I prefer to write my work, as a sort of personal touch."" ""Whatever. Do your thing. Make it last a while, by the way. Make her really suffer."" I bit my lip, thinking a moment, then scribbled a short passage onto the parchment. >I, Jordan Henderson, wish to have a plague of locusts, the insect, set upon my Katja in exactly 24 Earth hours from the time of placing this wish. It is to last 1,024 Earth hours and not affect any others nearby. He read it slowly, mouthing the words. ""Why does it say 'my Katja' and not just her name? She's not mine anymore."" ""Ah, well, genies are tricky. In Egoran, their language, a name is meaningless as multiple people can have the same name. They refer to people in their lives with a relational modifier for specificity. You don't know another Katja, do you?"" He shook his head. ""Excellent. This will work perfectly, then, with no confusion. We specified it must be the insect and must happen in exactly one day, along with a precise duration, which won't allow the genie any leeway."" ""Why's it so short?"" he asked, cocking his head at the paper. ""I thought these things were supposed to be super long."" ""Ah, well, normally they would be. However, your wish is very simple. Most other people need multiple stipulations, after toning down their wish to something feasible, but this is very straightforward. A good wish, Mr. Henderson, very clean."" He looked at the page and smiled. ""Perfect. How much do I owe you?"" I waved a hand. ""Free of charge for an important client with an important purpose. It didn't take long, anyway-- just recommend me to your friends."" ""Damn right, my man, good to run into someone that gets it. Good shit. See ya around."" Once the door shut behind him, I reclined in my chair and parted my lips into a wide smile, letting a little wisp of smoke trail out of my nose. I was concerned about who his father might be, but well, that was a problem for another day. Human men like him-- I've seen what they do to women they keep close by. And to call genies 'wishbitches'... But it's okay, because no woman would go near him for quite some time. That should help the world out, a little bit. Katja: slang for *kattjassen*. The Egoran word for 'penis'. ---- */r/resonatingfury*",1083
 Telepathy was a rare enough gift,"I sat in the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, awkward as hell and waiting out the clock. I couldn't shake the feeling that the receptionist kept glancing at me, as if she had to keep reminding herself why I was here. Like usual, I was Izzy's entourage somewhere. I had gotten used to living in the comfortable shade of her reputation. Ever since we first met as schoolchildren, Izzy had been the gifted one. The one who was going to do something with her life. She could glance into my mind and read my every worry as clear as a page in a book. Most people were born with an ordinary magic: an affinity for finding things, random and usually unhelpful blips of predestination if you were lucky. But someone like Izzy... she was special. Telepathy was a rare enough gift, much less one as powerful as her. Most people who could peer into minds looked as if through a thick pane of fogged glass. But Izzy could peer into your mind and find anything she wanted. That's why it came as little surprise to me the day she informed me that she was going to apply for government work. We both knew she was destined to do something that mattered. I was surprised the morning of her followup interview, when she asked me to go to the heart of downtown Washington D.C. with her. Before I could even open my mouth and ask her *why*, Izzy smiled sideways at me and said, like she always did, ""Because you're my good luck charm."" But I didn't feel very lucky. I sat in that grand lobby, with its high marble ceilings, feeling smaller and more powerless than I ever had before. The receptionist just kept staring and staring. I did my best to watch at the floor and try to blend into the wall. Maybe she was a telepath like Izzy. Maybe she could tell at a glance that I could never belong in a place like this. They weeded out the empties like me on the first round of interviews. Unsuitable. Not worth the resources. The receptionist's eyes never left me as she plucked the phone off her desk and started furtively dialing. She cupped her hand around her mouth so I could not see her lips move as she spoke. Before my imagination could carry itself any further, a sudden voice at my ear made me start in my chair. ""Eli,"" Izzy murmured, ""we have to go. Now."" I looked at the clock on the wall. ""It's been barely ten min--"" ""We are walking calmly to my car,"" she said, as if I had not started speaking. ""Look at the ground and keep your mouth shut."" I held her stare for a long second, the corner of my mouth pulling up involuntarily. This had to be a joke. ""It's not,"" she hissed. She grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to my feet. ""Ma'am,"" came a man's voice from behind us. I turned to see a broad-shouldered man in a crisp suit and the smooth, carefully composed face of a cop. He pushed open the doors Izzy had just emerged from. ""*Ma'am*."" ""What did you do?"" ""If you want to leave here alive, you're going to do what I said."" Izzy twined her fingers in mine like she only did when she was afraid. She dug her fingernails into the back of my hand. This time I let her pull me towards the door. The receptionist kept murmuring rapidly into her phone. Her stare swiveled after us as she stood from her chair to watch us go. We passed just close enough for me to make out snatches of what she was saying. ""--male, mid-twenties, dark hair--"" The agent was jogging now, calling out Izzy's full name and saying, with a breathless laugh, ""Now hold on a minute, this isn't anything serious."" Izzy heaved herself against the front doors of the building as if she wasn't sure they would open. She shoved past another person trying to enter on the other side and kept pulling me along. Suddenly I was grateful I had been too cheap to park in the building's parking garage. Just what the hell was going on here? ""I heard something. In his head."" She dared a glance up from the pavement to might my eye for only a moment. ""It's not safe to talk here."" For once, I didn't even keep arguing with her in my mind. I just quickened my pace. We were at the sidewalk now, waiting for the light to change to let us across. Cars whipped past us, too quickly for us to dart across the street. I didn't need telepathy to see Izzy strongly consider it. She arched her nails into my palm again. ""Slow down. Act natural."" The FBI agent caught up with us close enough now to reach out for Izzy's forearm. She sidestepped smoothly out of his grasp. ""Is everything quite alright, Miss Gomez?"" ""I told you, I'm feeling suddenly and violently ill. Food poisoning."" She did not lift her eyes up from the ground. When I started to, she bit her fingernails into my palm until the pain drew my stare down, involuntarily. I held in my gasp of surprise. The agent stuck his hand out toward me. ""I didn't catch your name, Mister...?"" The light changed, and Izzy only said, ""I'll give you a call,"" before she pulled me across the road. I followed Izzy obediently until we made it across the street, past the trawling crowds of tourists ever-circling the path to the White House. Izzy burrowed into them and through them like a kind of camouflage. ""Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here?"" I managed. I risked a glance over my shoulder to see the agent still on the sidewalk corner, watching us. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear now. Izzy gave me a long, dismal look. ""It's good news and bad news. And it can wait until we get to the car."" She saw every doubt and uncertainty race across my mind. She saw me plan to plant my feet firmly in place and refuse to move until she told me everything. Now her sigh seethed out through her teeth. ""Listen. You're not as powerless as you think. I'm not the only one who thinks you're a good luck charm."" Her eyes met mine, and I saw real panic in them. My belly dropped to the earth. ""But we need to go. *Now*."" This time, I followed her without arguing, inside or out of my head. *** /r/shoringupfragments Here's and ! I have every intent to turn this into a full-blown novel and pop it up on Kindle when it's done. Thanks for reading :)",1144
" As a boy, his friend and","As a boy, my friend and I would sneak out at night and drop stones into the hole. We would carry the largest rocks we could find and heave them over the edge. They disappeared in seconds, and not once did they make a sound. We stopped playing the game after we saw the first man jump. From the foliage we watched, as the elders and warriors escorted him to the precipice, torches in hand. He jumped, and he was gone. On many sleepless nights, I remembered the silence. It would have been better if he screamed. I was always the odd one out as I grew older. While my friends matured into men, with broad shoulders and wide chests, I remained thin and gangly. Bird-bones, they would call me. I could not throw a spear or carry the carcass of an antelope over my shoulders. Perhaps that is why I was selected by the elders. I thought about running away at first, but I realized I could not live with the shame. It was my duty. In this sacrifice, I could finally serve the tribe in a noble way. So, late one night, I said my goodbyes and entered the elders longhouse. They painted me in white patterns and paraded me down the road, lined by thatch huts and the eyes of the onlooking village. It was a warm night, and the full moon lit the way. At the edge of the hole, I felt no fear at first. Then I peered over the edge and it shot through my head and heart, waves of terror. But I could not turn back now. The elders chanted in their secret language. The words seemed to twist and shimmer in the air around me. Finally it was time. I could not describe the feeling I had as I threw myself from the earth. It was similar to the feeling I had when I leapt from cliffs into the lake below. But this time, I knew that there would be no gentle embrace of water waiting at the bottom. I would fall into my death. And so I fell. The light of the moon above vanished almost instantly, and I was surrounded by darkness. I could not see the walls of the hole around me. I could only feel the air rushing up past me. My limbs moved and found nothing around them. I quickly lost all sense of direction; if I was falling up or down, I could not tell. I fell so fast it burned my skin. After minutes of falling, I imagined that there was no earth above and earth below. There was only the darkness, infinite, in every direction. And there was something pulling me down. I cannot tell you for how long I fell, only that it was enough that I began to long for the taste of water. I was tired, but I could not fall asleep, as every time I did, I would have a nightmare, a nightmare so terrible it would wake me instantly, a nightmare of falling, falling into nothing but darkness. A darkness so real that I imagined that the earth above had never really existed. The daylight, the ground beneath my feet, the blue sky, those might all have been illusions. A strange dream I had during a very long sleep. Perhaps I had been falling all this time, and imagined that strange life as a distraction. I fell for what must have been days. And then, my hand touched something in the darkness. Something wet and cold. It snapped at my hand like a turtle, and I recoiled in terror. After I had gathered enough courage, I reached out again, and I felt it again. Something hit my hand, burning my fingertips. Eventually, I realized this was the wall of the hole. I reached out with my other hand, and felt another wall. Soon I realized that the walls were closing in around me, on all sides, incredibly slowly, but unmistakably constricting. I made an effort to reach out with both my hands and touch the walls, slowing my descent through friction. The wet, smooth walls prevented this action from ripping through the flesh of my fingers. Over time, the walls were close enough that I had to keep my feet together, and then close enought that I had to keep my arms above my head. On all sides the walls were constricting, like some sort of snake wrapping itself around me. I feared that it would crush me soon enough, so I made every effort to slow my fall with my hands. Eventually the hole was tight enough that a normal man might have been too wide to fit. But I had always been thin, so the walls let me slip past, and my descent slowed. I was going slow enought that I could almost have stopped myself if I tried to press my body against the walls, but I didn't dare to. And then, in an instant, the walls gave way, and I fell freely once more, only for a second. My legs crumpled beneath me as something violent rushed up out of the darkness below and slammed into me. The air left my lungs and I tasted blood. Something cold and solid had crashed into me and stopped my fall. The feeling of not-falling hit me first, and I found it hard to move my limbs. I tried to stand up, only to slip and drop again. I landed on my back, where something soft gave way beneath me with a crunch. The smell then overwhelmed me, and I turned over and vomited. I braced myself with my hand, but my hand dug into something, something hard and cold, that shifted. At first I thought I was lying among branches and rocks. But as I felt this thing in my hand, I pushed my fingers into a pair of holes and realized I was sitting among corpses. I panicked, and tried to move away, but my feet could find no purchase among the bodies. I crawled through the dark, wretching, stumbling, but there was no end to the bodies, they pulled themselves around my ankles and arms, I slipped and fell among bones and cold slime, decaying skin and worse. It took me a while to gather myself. I have been sitting here for hours, it seems. At first I tried to find an exit. But there is none. The walls surround this pit in a perfect circle. It took me a full hour to crawl around them, searching with my hands for any way out. I am ashamed to admit, I even tried to dig, to find the bottom. I used up the last of my pitiful energy, motivated by sheer terror, to dig my way through the bones. To no avail. There are too many corpses here. Not even if a man has jumped down from my village every year for a thousand years. The bones would have turned to dust by now if that were the case. But they haven't. Even as I am remembering my story, my mind decays into delirium. I have forgotten what is real. I should be dead right now. It takes me what seems like hours to even think. I am so thirsty and so hungry. And so very tired. But every time I close my eyes, I fall again. That nightmare is not so unpleasant now, now that I have reached the bottom. There is something else down here with me. I can feeling it watching me. Not with eyes, no. Eyes are useless down here, where no light has ever been. Still it waches me. It can wait a very long time. The bodies that come down here, they drip down, bit by bit. They get caught in the tighest part of the hole, and then they decay. I think about all the men that must have been stuck where I slipped through. I wish I shared their fate. I will slip away soon, very soon. There will be no rest for me here. It doesn't matter. This is where I have always belonged.",1367
 The diamond necklace in question sat comfortably,"The diamond necklace in question sat comfortably in my back pocket. But none of them knew that. I shot all of them a glare, my fingers rubbing together in the air as if I was trying to summon a solution right in front of them all. ""Constable Winfrey?"" a posh voice asked from somewhere in the crowd before me. My eyes met his before the next second was off. ""Sir Bartell?"" I asked, holding my tone steady and trying to keep the absolutely splitting grin from spewing out onto my face. The suited butler nodded, his mustache twitching with each subtle movement of his lips. ""Yes. That's me. I was just wondering... do you have anything yet? Mrs. Hughes is quite distraught, and we're all starting to get impatient."" I let my smile drop just a hair while shaking my head. ""You mustn't rush such a thing, sir. And I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will be high of spirit as soon as I crack the case."" The nervous butler nodded and a murmur broke out among the anxious mass of barely more than half a dozen. My eyebrow shot up only a moment later as I scanned them again. I had only been on the train since the last stop--I wasn't here for leisure, after all--but still, it seemed odd that there were so few on board. ""But the next stop..."" a male voice said, his squeamish voice lilting to my ear on a completely absent breeze. I glared at the boy; I nearly accused the boy in rags right then. After all, among a crowd of such fancily-dressed patrons, he was the most obvious choice. ""What was that, Ty?"" I asked, taking a moment to relish in the shy boy's anxiety. ""The next stop is in less than half an hour,"" he said, the defiance spawning in his eyes almost pushing me over the edge. As the small boy piped up, I saw the woman in the frilly scarf inch away from him and the journalist take a step forward. Ms. Eiser and Winston, respectively, I remembered. ""Yes..."" I said, nodding in fake contemplation. ""That is little time, but I have a full grasp of the matter. At this point, I know the story fully, through and through."" All of their eyes glinted with hope. I almost took half a step back. With all the eyes pointed directly at me, any normal thief would've faltered. But I didn't. I was a rock. There was nothing that inspired more confidence in a crime than knowing you had already gotten away with it. ""Then tell us!"" the woman from the back of the crowd yelled. I smiled warmly at her. No matter how fast I went, Mrs. Hughes would never have shut up. ""Alright..."" I said, twirling my mustache with another fake look of hardened thought. ""From the beginning, then, I suppose."" Everyone nodded at once. ""Well, I arrived on the train at 5:15 PM, exactly at the time of the last stop."" I kept my stare straight, not even sparing a glance toward my watch. ""That was 37 minutes and 29 seconds ago."" Their eyes all split wide at my accuracy. They didn't need to know that I could've been off by multiple minutes. ""After arriving on the train, I came immediately to the dining car where I had what I considered my supper meal."" ""Get to the point!"" my hysterical victim yelled. I stopped, angling my head at her. ""I would appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt me."" She just glared at me but kept her mouth shut. ""Now, while I was in the dining car, I saw four of the people in this room. Winston and Carrie were opposite me, having a rather heated discussion over drinks."" I could see the couple blushing from the corner of my eye. ""Alexandra sat three booths behind me, eating by herself. And two rows to my front was Oliver--the only one missing from us now."" ""Oliver? Yeah... him. It could've been him,"" Winston said, trying far too hard to be helpful. ""It could've. But let's not jump to conclusions. Now, while this was happening, it was still a dozen minutes before the theft, and the others were scattered throughout the train."" I narrowed my eyes as if my memory wasn't as impeccable as it actually was. ""Ms. Eiser was in her room, if we are to trust her on that, and little Ty was helping the train management engineers, if we are to trust him on *that*."" Both persons in question stepped forward, questions gleaming in their eyes. Ms. Eiser huffed, throwing her scarf over her shoulder. But Ty, that little boy had more to say. ""I-I was! You can see the coal marks on my clothes."" Everyone in the room eyed him with disgust. For a moment, I felt bad for the kid, but I followed their lead as to not be suspected myself. ""Yes, we can,"" I said. ""And we can see a lot more than that. That is far from conclusive evidence with all the doubt going around."" The poor boy spluttered, but no more actual sentences came out. ""Can we get to the theft already!"" came Mrs. Hughes' annoying voice again. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes right then and there. ""Of course,"" I returned with a grin full of mirth. ""As we all know as well, at this time, Sir Bartell and Mrs. Hughes were in her cabin, the diamond necklace still unstolen."" Everyone nodded together again. ""Then, the clock struck 5:36!"" I yelled. The people jumped like frogs. ""And at that time, Mrs. Hughes went to get something from where her luggage was in the storage area of the train, accompanied by her butler. They returned only five minutes later at 5:41, and the diamond necklace then was gone."" ""Do you know where everybody was during the time?"" Winston piped up, curiosity sparkling within him. I allowed myself a soft and light chuckle, amused for a time by the man's ignorant intellect. ""Well, I arrived back at the diner car at 5:37 from the restroom, and it was more packed than before. By this time, Ms. Eiser had arrived for dinner, and I vehemently remember Ty being refused service by one of the waiters in the aisle. The only person then who was missing was Oliver, who had disappeared from his booth."" ""It was definitely him,"" Winston muttered excitedly. The look of annoyance on Carrie's face was one I didn't think I would ever forget. ""What about the waiter!"" the helpful little boy chimed in. I shook my head without a second thought. ""Couldn't be. Have you ever seen one of these things? It's hardly ever one of the staff."" ""It wasn't me, I know that,"" Alexandra said, fanning herself as she leaned against one of the wooden columns in the car. I smiled at her, keeping my gaze harsh as nails. ""And it definitely wasn't me,"" Winston said. ""But I'm not so sure about my wife."" ""What the hell--Winny?"" she yelled, already slapping him on the head. The journalist giggled, scurrying away from her strikes. I shook my head; I shook my head at all of it. ""You see, none of you really understand. The timing doesn't line up for any of you--I was here in the dining car with you!"" Most all of them furrowed their brows. ""Then who was it?"" I narrowed my eyes once again, taking a subtle step back and a glance at my watch. The next stop was scheduled a mere minute away. ""Isn't it obvious?"" Some of them nodded, and some of them shook their heads. After the reactions had settled though, they all glared daggers at each other. ""The thief was obviously..."" I widened my eyes, faking surprise on my face. My hand flew up in front of me and I pointed beyond them all to the hallway at the end of the car. ""Oliver? Where have you been?"" The train slowed, ready for the stop, but none other than me noticed the change. For they were all scrambling to turn around, eyes wide and mouths agape as they watched for the elusive passenger. ""He's already gone!"" one of them said; I didn't bother trying to figure out who. ""He's getting away!"" I yelled, stepping backward some more. They reacted like sheep, rushing forward as a dense and uncoordinated mass while chasing a man who wasn't there. And among the movement, the chaos and the rising shouts, I slipped out of the diner car and right toward the exit. On my way out, I told one of the train's workers about a riot in the dining car and he thanked me as he rushed away. I traded one chaos for another as I stepped onto the train station floor. But none of the commotion could hamper my mood as I felt the weight in my back pocket. And I was smiling as I walked, happy, whistling, and glad none of them ever bothered to check the clock. --- /r/Palmerranian",1514
 In a room blacker than night,"In a room blacker than night, devoid of stars or any other such beauties, I floated. It was some shattered gap between nowhere and everywhere, the kind of lonely afterlife I'd always imagined would suit me best. I deserved nothing more. It stayed that way for -- how do I put this? Forever, and yet not forever. I did not age, or move, or even feel the eons slink by in a human manner, and yet I knew it had been an eternity by the time the angel first appeared. He was a stark contrast to the void around us, brighter than the sun, yet cast light on nothing, as if his glow were being devoured by the abyss. Suddenly, I was standing on a circular piece of stone, and had some semblance of weight and being. The angel opened his arms and spoke not in words, but directly to my mind. ""Timothy Halpert Bennington. You are now ready for judgment."" Judgement. Ha, of course the afterlife would be something like religions predicted. I'm sure my life had left a bad taste in God's mouth. I didn't respond, only stared into the nothing below me. ""Your first Judge: the one you were cruelest to in life."" I cocked my head, brows knitting into a line. People from my life would be judging me? *No. No, please, just send me to Hell.* My eyes tried to shut, like slamming the door behind you to avoid a conversation you don't want to deal with, but something kept them open. The angel hadn't moved a muscle, and yet, I knew it was him. A pocket of light smudged something within itself. That smear of darkness stepped forward, onto another stone tile, and clarified as the pocket zipped up. It was her. I knew it would be, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. ""Oh, Timmy, you're so young,"" she said, a soft smile on her face. ""I've missed you so much."" I couldn't meet her eyes and searched for words, but my lips only trembled, mouthing empty motions. My eyes fell to the stone beneath her. ""Look at me, Timothy."" I obliged. ""When you were a boy, no more than fifteen, you once burned all of my photo albums. Not just the ones with your father in them, but the ones of us, family trips and gatherings, every memory I ever had. They were erased forever, those last bits I had of him and our carefree times. I cried every day for a month, when you weren't home. That was my joy, mementos of when life was simple and fun, which you turned to ash."" There was nothing I wanted more than to squeeze my eyes shut, but I could not; I was forced to watch the sadness in her eyes as she spoke. ""That was your most cruel action-- it hurt me more than when your father left us. He had always been unkind, but for you, the light of my life, to torch away our memories like that... it broke me."" Before I could muster the courage to apologize, she slipped away into light. I felt sick, so humanly sick in my stomach, but knew there would be no relief. One does not vomit in the afterlife. The angel offered me no reprieve. ""Your second judge: the one you were most kind to."" Once more a flash, and once more an approach. My eyes widened, face flickering as I tried to understand. ""You didn't expect to see me again, did you?"" Her smile was wide and bashful. ""How...?"" ""Oh, silly boy. The mind plays tricks on us sometimes. You probably thought that, because you'd caused me a great pain in life, there was no way you could have brought me joy, but life is not that black and white. It's so much more than that."" Still I searched, and still I found no words. ""You were harsh -- even cruel -- at times, but it wasn't always like that. Your pain changed you, and even then, you weren't a purely cruel person. Just one that lashed out once in a while because you didn't understand how to handle it. Life can get very confusing. ""This is my favorite story. When you were ten -- such a cute little man -- you wrote me a poem for a school project. I'll never forget the words on that card: *To Mom, my bestest friend. I love you more than gummy bears or mac and cheese. You make me happier than Racer when I drop a potato chip and he eats it. Happy birthday to the best mommy in the whole wide world.* You wrote that on a card decorated with hearts and smiley faces. You didn't know it, but that was right when I'd first been diagnosed and your father started to show signs of his poor character as a man. Then, on top of it, you cooked me dinner, and it was so bad but I ate every bite. It was the best meal I've ever had. ""Never in my entire life have I felt as happy as I did in that moment. You were such a deeply caring boy before everything went wrong."" I barely even remembered any of that. Had I really done something to make her happy? Why didn't I remember it, when I remembered such other, terrible things so clearly? She disappeared into the light as I searched my soul, digging for answers but only turning up dirt. The angel, kind as he was, did not let me take a moment to figure things out. ""Your third judge: the one whose life you saved."" I froze. The one whose life I saved? I'd never saved a life, I'd only done things far from it. Perhaps it was standard practice, and no one would walk through the portal this time. But, just like clockwork, she was back again, her smile warmer than the halo over her head. I gaped at her. ""No. No, I killed you. This makes no sense, I didn't save you. Is this some kind of sick joke? Do angels play pranks on people?"" ""Oh, sweetie,"" she said, shaking her head. ""It was mercy. Besides, the sickness had already stolen me. Letting me go in peace in no way makes it your fault. Have you held yourself accountable all this time?"" I couldn't find it in me to respond, mashing my teeth together instead. ""It was my time to go. There was so much pain and suffering that plagued me, in the end; my sickness was no fault of yours. The fact that you put all your hurt aside and stayed with me so I wouldn't be alone meant more than the world. You did the most brave thing a boy can do for his mother, and saved me. Finally, there were words I found that I'd been looking for, choked and jagged as they were. ""I love you, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better son."" ""Shh, now, darling. Your hurt is almost over. I'll be waiting for you."" One final time, she faded away. ""And now, your final judge,"" the angel said. ""The one whose life you took."" My nails bit into the skin, I clenched so hard, and I breathed deep to keep myself together in front of the angel overseeing it all-- though, honestly, hiding things probably didn't work when in the presence of Godly beings. For when the swirling portal of light opened, it was not my mother that walked through as it had been the previous three times. No, it was someone much more familiar, and somehow, more terrifying. Me. I fought hard to look away, harder than I'd fought before, but I just couldn't. There was no power in me, wherever I was, and so I simply stood there, frozen and sobbing at my own reflection. ""This is probably pretty rough for you,"" he said, pursing his lips. I let out a croak in response. ""You've always been too hard on yourself, you know that? Isn't it time that you get a little peace, too?"" ""I don't deserve it,"" I whispered. ""Everyone does. This world is a complicated and terrifying place, and everyone knows their own pain. You lived a life consumed by yours, more than equal penance for your mistakes. ""You've heard what she had to say, and seen the smile she still wears. You hurt her, yes, but you were also the joy of her life. Your father left because she was sick, not because you weren't worth it; he was the problem, not either of you. Your mother loved and still loves you, and you're not a bad man for the things you suffered. I only wish I could've shown you that earlier. ""But, alas, I digress. Let's not do this-- you've spent long enough convincing yourself you don't deserve to be happy. It's time to rest, now, Tim. Be at peace."" He held out a hand. I stepped forward and took it. --- */r/resonatingfury* Side note: the outreach on this has been absolutely incredible. Thank you all so much for reading; I can't keep up with the responses, as I'm off my lunch break now, but thank all of you so much for the kind words and awards I've published a novel based off a prompt, , if you're interested!",1568
 I run a number of successful businesses,"**I.** I am a respected and respectable man. I run a number of successful businesses that employ local citizens. I have sat on the boards of several important not-for-profit organizations. I am a volunteer coach for my son's little league team. I am known as a minor pillar of my community. Obviously, the last thing a man like me wants is to have some scandal rear its ugly head in my life, and tarnish the immaculate image I have put so much time and energy into cultivating. But, it seems, for all the care I have taken to avoid courting scandals, one has nevertheless insinuated itself into my life. It is sinking its claws deep into my heart, and I fear if I do not soon get to the bottom of it, it may tear my heart out completely. It is, in a way, a common story. A man preoccupied with rising to the top of the public and business worlds, constantly scanning the horizon for great threats and new opportunities, fails to notice the problems taking place right before him. So focused is he on some strong and distant future he wishes to create, that he lets a broken present limp by, completely unseen, as if beneath his gaze. Thus it was with me. The day I noticed a scraggly grey hair on the shoulder of my wife's summer dress was the first day my suspicions were aroused. But once they were aroused--once I suspected her of infidelity--I suddenly became aware of how strange she had been acting for the previous two years. Yes, I know! What man can possibly be blind to the betrayals of the one he loves for two whole years? Can it even be considered love if a man can exist with a woman in matrimony so blindly, so inconsiderately, for so long? I confess, I had been an inattentive husband for quite some time. The fiery ardors of newfound passion that characterized the first years of my relationship with Greta had cooled considerably over the years, and, though I am loathe to admit it, there was a long stretch of time during which I put our love away, as if upon a shelf in my mind, and lived with her on auto-pilot, with her fulfilling the basic duties of ""wife"" and ""mother"", while I fulfilled the basic duties of ""husband"" and ""father"", nothing more. But once I found that scraggly hair, surely the beard hair of some middle-aged man, I was roused from my stupor, and suddenly became acutely aware of how far into complacency I had fallen, and how far, emotionally, spiritually and physically, I had fallen away from my wife. Should I have simply confronted her about the hair that I found on her dress? Perhaps I should have. Should I have asked her, straightforwardly, in the light of day, why she had been spending more and more of her time ""with friends,"" ""at yoga"" and ""just running errands"" over the last couple years? Again, perhaps. And what of all the times I had tried to reach her from the office, when her phone was out of service? Now that I suspected her of some foul play, should I have cornered her, and blocked the exit, and demanded some explanation? Perhaps. Perhaps. But that is not the path I chose. I chose, instead, to hire a private eye. **II.** Yeah, it ain't the most glamorous job, being a snoop, picking through people's dirty laundry, literally and figuratively, to find something soiled. I can't say I love it. But I'm damn good at it. I got the kind of eye you need for this business: an eye for the worst in people. Find me any clean-shaven schmuck, hiding behind his brand new SUV, and his white-picket fence, with his kids in the church choir, and, within a week, I'll have enough dirt on the guy to get his face plastered on the front page of the local news. We all got secrets. We all got a grimy underside. We all said something, did something, searched for something on the internet, that would make our grandmothers roll over in their graves if they somehow found out from the afterlife. And what's funny is people think they can hide it! They think their secrets are safe. Ain't nothing is safe. Not today, with recorders and cameras on every corner and on every person, with digital trails left wherever you go, with people you used to know willing to spill about your past indiscretions for little more than the pleasure of seeing you burn. Everyone's got some muck that they think is secreted away, but I'll tell you, that secret ain't safe. Now I seen some things in my twenty years of snooping. I've run across my share of criminals, cheaters, closeted bigots and clerical buggers. Ain't not too much that'll spook me. Not at this point. So when this Mr Davis calls me up, and he says he suspects his wife's been cheating, and he gives me what details he's got, I think to myself, ""Alright, open and shut case."" And as he's talking, I look up his name, and I see he's quite the big shot, quite the Pivotal Percy in town, and I think to myself, ""Well now, even if I could close this down within three days, with photo evidence and all, and I would do it for a round $300, let's see what we can milk this sucker for."" ""So you think you can help me?"" Mr Davis nervously asked over the phone. ""I can try,"" I said. ""These cases, you understand, they're tough sometimes. But I'm the best there is. If anyone can solve it, it's me."" ""I'll hire you, then,"" he said. ""Hold on now,"" I replied. ""I'll say it again: I'm the best there is. And being the best, I got a pretty well-off clientele, and have certain expectations for compensation. What I mean to say is that, if you're strapped for cash, you might be better off looking elsewhere. There's plenty of snoops out there who'll work on the cheap. They're not as quick, and they're not as discreet, but they won't make your wallet as light as I will."" ""Money is no object,"" he said firmly. ""So long as you can find out what my wife is doing. And discreetly. There is a lot at stake here for me. You have to understand, this whole debacle has thrown everything into disarray. It's not just the betrayal itself, or the fear of something getting out publicly, but also, I simply cannot focus on my ventures. I have a lot on my plate, and I need some peace of mind. Until this gets sorted, sir, I--"" ""Yeah, yeah, I understand,"" I said, cutting him off. ""My fee is $2500 a week, cash, up front, at the beginning of each week, with an extra $3000 cash if I can provide you with irrefutable evidence of your wife's infidelity. I can't promise you I'll find anything. Girls these days, they're sneaky. You'd be surprised at how sneaky they are. But I'll damn well try. And if I don't, no refunds. Understood?"" ""Understood."" ""Good. Now why don't you stop by my office this afternoon...say, around 1:30, to fill out a contract and give me a few more details. Sound good?"" ""I'll be there."" ""Alright, Mr Davis. Alright?"" ""Alright."" ""It'll all be okay, Mr Davis. I can promise you that. Alright?"" ""Alright."" ""Don't forget to bring the cash. That's $2500. We'll figure everything out. Don't you worry. Just bring the $2500 and we'll get you sorted, right as rain. I'll see you at 1:30. Alright?"" ""Alright."" **\[continued in the comments\]**",1288
 Selena was the most powerful wizard,"Sometimes in life, you find a moment that is perfectly suited to your talents. I didn't know that the moment I read the sign on Selena's door would be one of those moments for me. I don't think that it would be fair to say that I had loved her for my entire life, but that's only because I don't have any memories of my life before around age four or five. My first memory is of Bertrand shoving me to the ground and laughing over my sobbing body, only for her to drag him away and demand that he leave me alone. I don't remember why he was bullying me, but I will always remember the pure kindness in the smile on her face when she helped me up. Of course, I was far from the only man who was desperately in love with her; basically every man in the village (and quite a few women as well) was entranced by her. She was kind, brilliant, funny when she wanted to be, and beautiful beyond compare. All that before even mentioning that she was the most powerful wizard that anyone had ever met. There was already a crowd in front of her door when I arrived. She had told everyone who would listen (which meant everyone in the town) that today would be the day that she announced who she would marry. The sign was a simple WANTED poster, with a picture of a pudgy-looking black cat with a keychain on its neck. Underneath the cat's picture were some words in Selena's gorgeous cursive: ""The key on my cat Midnight's neck is the key to my front door. Whoever opens my front door first will be the person I marry."" My heart sank as I read the message. The cat's looks were deceptive; he may have been pudgy, but he was a wizard's pet and would be nearly impossible for even the quickest person to catch. I was never much of an athlete; I was only a baker. Still, I thought, this was the only way that I could ever have a chance with a woman like her. I played along with everyone else for the first month or so, diving after him every time I saw him sneaking through the town square. After the first few days or so, I realized that Selena wasn't going to be able to leave her house for a while if she was waiting for someone to claim this stupid furball. How was she going to eat, trapped in her tower all alone? I brought her a tray of bread and food every morning, and left it outside of her back door. She never came out to get it, but I noticed that the tray was left empty in front of the door the next day. I gave up on the cat after about a month, but I kept bringing her food. She had always been good to me, after all, and I didn't want her to starve to death. One day when I was leaving the food for her, I noticed the cat staring at me from the bushes. Staring at me, or...? Suddenly, it struck me. I was never going to catch the cat. I was never going to trap the cat. But if I could chase it into the right place... I went home and baked the most delicious fish tarts I had ever made. I set them up in a little box outside of my front door. I didn't have to wait for long. The cat couldn't resist the scent of the tarts, and slowly crept forward into the box I'd made. I let him stay there for as long as he wanted; there was no need to shoo him away. When he strolled back out of the box, the keychain got snagged on the loose wire. Just as I'd planned. I wasn't sure if I was more elated about having won, or more terrified about facing her. Surely she didn't want ME to win. There were wealthy men and women in our village, beautiful men and women in our village, and strong men and women in our village. I was none of the above. I lingered for a while outside of her front door to make sure that nobody else was there, and turned the key. The door swung open, and Selena stood just behind it. ""Sterling,"" she said as she looked at me, the same purity in her smile as she'd had at the age of six, ""thank the Heavens it's you. Please come in."" I stared at her confused but gratefully followed her into the kitchen. There was a basket on the table, with a note pinned to it: From Sterling. There must have been about 60 scones in there. ""I saved one scone from every tray that you brought me, to remind myself why I set that test, and why I prayed that you would be the one to figure it out."" There were tears in her eyes now, but the smile never left them or her lips. Her lips, lightly shaded in red, full, inviting... ""I don't get it,"" I said, resisting my urge to lean into her. ""You were hoping that I would figure it out? I'm not the strongest, the smartest, the wealthiest--"" ""But you're the kindest. I set a trap that you couldn't solve by kidnapping poor Midnight. You could only solve it by taking the key without hurting him."" She was crying for real now, tears streaming down her high, elegant cheekbones and staining her dress. ""Every day I hoped that you would realize. This test was meant for YOU. I could never marry someone who tormented animals for a stupid key chain."" ""But you could marry someone who gives you free scones even when you didn't eat them, even when they expected nothing in return."" I decided I wasn't going to hold back my tears either, and I let them run down my face as I wrapped her in my arms and tried to comprehend just how lucky I was. _________________________________ EDIT: I feel a bit dirty doing this, but I figured I would since people seem to have liked this story--I just made my own subreddit over at /r/NicodemusLux/ so check it out if you want more! There isn't much there yet, but I really like writing so there probably will be soon.",1075
 Rosa held a competition for her hand,"Based on the fact that Rosa had held a competition for her hand in marriage you would assume she was a haughty woman with an air of high maintenance about her. Only she wasn't. This is why every suitable contender across the village fled to the community hall where she declared she would lay out the terms of this competition. No one wanted to miss such an opportunity. But who was she? Describing her as a 'healer with a heart of gold' would not convey her outer beauty, and a 'Goddess carved by angels' would not convey her inner beauty for she reflected the true meaning of being beautiful in both senses. To marry her would be to marry Athena and Aphrodite all at once; strong, powerful and alluring. I knew I had no chance, but I had to go anyway for the regret of not going would eat me alive. The community hall was just as packed as expected. There was such a significant lack of seating for everyone that they did away with the chairs altogether resulting in rows upon rows of men looking ready for battle. On time as always, she stood with her feline, Thorn, on one arm and a small envelope in her spare hand. ""Hello, everyone!"" she beamed from the small platform. ""My, what a turn out. Thank you all so much for coming, I'm incredibly flattered!"" and just like that, the room was silent. The only disinterested being with a beating heart in the room appeared to be her cat, asleep on her arm, its snowy fur blended into the white of her gown. ""I do not wish to keep you so I will try to go through this as quickly as possible. So you are all here to hear what the terms are of this competition. Although all of you have common ground in that you are men from Vesavia, you all have something different about you all; strength, knowledge, health and more. Some are blacksmiths, some are magicians, some are philosophers and some squires. I want you to all know from the bottom of my heart that your occupancy, wealth and place in society shall not affect this."" This was surprising, not on Rosa's part, but I thought at the very least she would want to eliminate the weaker from the pile - like me. Although I am fortunate enough to work at the palace, I do so by working with the animals. No, not a veterinarian, but shovelling waste, changing bedding and feeding. ""The challenge I present you with is simply in theory but not so simple in execution. I have in this envelope a key. This key will be to my front door and whoever can find the key will be my chosen partner. However, this key shall be attached to Thorn, my cat, by his collar."" Oh, God. Thorn, bless his heart, was a rescue that Rosa had saved from what looked like a certain death. Beaten, abused and starved, he had been through some excessive trauma that meant he was somewhat skittish, shy and liked to only come out at night. ""At midnight tonight, I shall release him. May the challenge commence!"" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It had been a fortnight. I was beginning to worry about Thorn, especially since Rosa had voiced regret of this challenge. Apparently he had not once attempted to come back to her despite not being found meaning he may not have eaten since he left. Concerned for his safety, I did what I could from afar at the palace stables. It was important I did not get caught as to do so may have resulted in my firing, but this was a different matter altogether. The palace cats were exceedingly picky and often left behind much of their meals. When it came to the time of day for me to dump the food and wash their bowls I would instead sneak the food into my satchel to take home. Once home, I had constructed what I hoped would be tempting to any cat - fishcakes. The oatmeal and potato was to pad them out, the salmon and mackerel for taste and smell. I left them outside my open bedroom window in hopes of seeing Thorn. It was the fourteenth night of placing out these fishcakes that I finally saw him. I was tucked up in bed when I saw glowing white fur against the window. I almost doubted my vision - he was alive! Part of me was thrilled to see him but my heart also sank. He looked dirty, scared and malnourished. His big blue eyes bared at me from the window, looking too scared to step in and take the food but also too afraid to leave. I sat patiently in bed and avoided eye contact with him in case he ran. I did not want him to flee and he needed to be comfortable around me, how else was I to return him to Rosa? Slowly, paw by paw, I heard a gentle padding across my window sill and then some contented mewing. At last, Thorn was able to eat. Once he was done I slowly looked up, ready to grab my coat to tell Rosa her cat was still alive when I realised he hadn't moved. It took me a while, but it dawned on me he was waiting for me to join him. And so we set off with Thorn bundled in some blankets. I took extra fishcakes in my satchel as he seemed to like them and it was the least I could do in the situation. It wasn't long before I reached Rosa's door and felt Thorn wriggle, probably excited to see her again. I rapped my knuckles against the door in hopes that she was still awake, but before I could even finish knocking the door swung open. ""Hello, Rosa. Sorry if I woke you-"" ""Mercy me, is that Thorn?!"" ""Ah, yes! He came to me for some food. In fact I have some spares here. Fishcakes? He seemed to like them so I thought I'd send him home with the rest."" ""Oh my lord, thank you! Thank you so much. I was so worried!"" ""Me too, glad he's okay. He seems like he's been through a lot but now he's found he should be okay."" ""I'm so glad it's you, James. I really am."" Huh? ""So glad what's me?"" ""You! You're the chosen one, you returned the key!"" The key? ""I'd completely forgotten about the key, I was so busy looking for Thorn himself it slipped my mind."" ""And that, James, is why I'm glad it was you."" **Edit: thank you for my first Reddit silver!**",1121
" Only the dampened, drawn-","Only the dampened, drawn-out creaks of floorboards sounded as I tiptoed to the front door. It was the dead of night, silent as a grave, and it smelled like one, too. The air was heavy and rank, as if it too had died. One foot down, shifting my weight, the other up, a slow wooden groan, then repeat. Skip the one with a pockmark in it--that one's the loudest. They wake up every time I step on that one. I inched my way to the front door, then took a deep breath, held it and reached for the doorknob. Turning it up, not down, it let off a faint click, and I pulled the door out. Fresh air hit me, soothing, and I breathed it in deep. It soothed me--too much. I fucked up. The door groaned as I pulled it just the slightest bit too hard, and though it was no louder than a weak cough, my entire being cringed. My breaths quickened. Something rustled behind me. I knew what it was. I closed my eyes. Tendrils snaked around me and pulled, and the world faded to black. ---- I awoke to the dim light that was sunrise in my hell of a home. It was never brighter than a moonlight night, even when the sun was out, like a coffee filter had been placed over the sky. Groaning, I sat up, and winced as I recalled my mistake the night before. Twisted flesh, jagged and blacker than night itself, hung in front of me. Bright orange eyes peered out, floating on the mass, freely moving across its entire body. I would have been startled, but after God knows how many years, the terror of it had become numb. That one, with the shifty eyes, was Three. He was, as his name implied, the third... thing... I had ever encountered after crashing at sea. Like the others, he could not speak any human words, but he did have an uncomfortable tendency to whistle. His two eyes fixated on me, and a tendril shot out, propping up my head. Another, carrying a glass of water, gently approached my lips, and I drank from it, as I did every morning, trying to avoid his terrible gaze. A faint, dissonant tune came from his being, seeping into my bones. The look of him, the touch--that, I had gotten used to. But the sad, slightly off-tune melody he offered me every morning never failed to set a chill into my spine. Three left, and, like clockwork, Two drifted in. Like a pool of fog, it swirled along the floor, drifting toward me as a cloud in the sky would. I held a breath, out of a perpetual fear that I'd accidentally inhale the monster, and let it lift me. I never knew quite what it did during that time, as I always shut my eyes, but part of it was changing my clothes. Always the same, black set of robes, never any variety, and I don't even want to begin thinking about where they came from. I was, per the schedule, free to roam my run-down little room after the morning ritual-- however, any further than that and One would come for me. The first few weeks, I tried to escape every chance I got, and One would always find me, wherever I ran, and shake his mangled face at me. I think, on some twisted level, they're trying to protect me. None of them, not even One, has ever harmed me in any way, and outside the cabin lies a dead sea of wood and bones. But after some unknown amount of time had stretched away from me, living alone in a cabin full of terrors, their intentions didn't matter. I've begged them to let me leave, even if it meant dying slowly, as long as I'd get to die outside of the decaying walls of their putrid little home. If I don't get to see my family again, or my friends, or play the guitar or anything else that makes life enjoyable--then why am I even alive? I wish I could tell them that, but they just don't understand. It's clear that there's only one way out of that Hell, and it involves a lot of swimming. The sea took me there, and the sea can take me home. Or it can take my life. --- The day crawled by as I was forced to spend it in my little wooden dungeon, full of its creaking rotten wood and traitorous books filled with empty pages. I suffered the unending loneliness, the mind-numbing boredom, and stayed awake this time. Napping during the day only makes me groggier at night, and if I'm groggy, I make mistakes like I had the night before. There are no more of those to afford. The time finally came, after yet another day of eternal emptiness. I'd decided it was finally the day, one where I either get out, or I never wake up again. I meditated a few moments, steadying my nerves and breaths, and once the moon-smudge poked out over the horizon, I began. Weight on the toes. One before the other, light on the step, then slowly applying eight. Skip the third, eight and tenth floorboards, hug the wall down the staircase. Over the pockmarked board, turning the handle up, and not letting the fresh air dull my razor-sharp awareness. I didn't close the door behind me, this time. Creeping down the stone porch steps, onto the path of decrepit tiles that led to them, I kept my breath held. Then, stopping on the last one, I breathed deep twice more, and picked up a snapped femur from the ground. And ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. This time, not into the dead forest, but toward the ocean on our left. I heard him. I heard One clamoring across the ground, scattering bones and dirt and twigs, but didn't look back. All my weight pressed forward, every step as long as possible, until One's footwork grew nearer--then, I turned, stopping quickly, and thrust the bone into his mangled, furry body. A mouth on his midsection, filled with jagged brown teeth, wailed. I turned and ran again, just a few more feet, and jumped off the low cliff. The shock of cold bit at my skin, and I gulped for air, but used every ounce of my will to try and swim as far as I could. One's wailing faded behind me, but I did not look back. There was no going back. It wasn't long before I could no longer progress, or even stay afloat. The world faded black, and I sank, swallowed by rough waves of water black as ash. Something pulled me out. --- My eyes peeled open like someone had glued them shut long ago. There was a strange heaviness and glow to the world and I was--I was wearing white? When did Two ever dress me in something white? No, Two would never do such a thing. I was no longer in my Hell; the smell of wet wood and old porridge was gone, replaced by something lighter, and floral. I felt sunlight on me--real sunlight, not something muted and fake--and welled up without even realizing it. I was free. There was a vortex of gasps and murmurs around me. A woman, I think, approached, cradling my head, holding up a cup of water. Her eyes were as wide as her smile. She whistled Three's favorite tune. --- */r/resonatingfury* ^(this is very different than my usual work but I wanted to give sp00ky a try)",1279
 The internet had been completely locked down,"""Another doomsday loon was killed this morning,"" Mike said from his spot in front of the local news channel. ""Shot during the night for preaching on the corner."" ""Honey, turn that off, you know it's not good for you. Besides, I'm about to get the kids up."" ""Fine, fine."" Mike stood and turned the TV off. Ever since the worldwide decimation caused by human brains maxing out on data retention (or the Overload, as most people called it) television was taboo. It had become what cigarettes used to be - a known killer but a nasty habit some people just couldn't kick. The internet had been completely locked down, accessed only by bots. Social media disappeared, and a world dependent on new content caved in on itself. It had gotten better though, after a few years. People acclimated, as they always do. A lot of outdated technology came back. Cameras with film, watches that weren't smart, flip phones, more basic car models - anything that reduced the exposure to new information. But there were still holdouts like Mike, who looked forward to his daily news every morning at six. Jeannie came back into the living room, two tiny, rumpled zombies stumbling after her. ""Eat up,"" she said. ""Your dad is taking you to school in fifteen minutes."" As their children sat down at the kitchen table, Jeannie turned to her husband. ""I wish you wouldn't watch that anymore,"" she said. ""We get the newspaper once a month with the important stuff, why can't you wait until then? Cindy's husband, Miles, dropped dead last week after helping his son with vocabulary homework."" ""I'm sorry, babe. Just one of those nasty habits I guess. At least I only watch the morning news now."" Jeannie leaned in and kissed his cheek. ""You know I'm just worried about you."" ""I know. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm careful."" After Mike dropped the kids off at school, it was off to his construction job. After The Overload, most jobs involving computers disappeared. Construction was one of the fields that remained when the dust settled. However, with a huge chunk of the population dead and the need for new buildings severely diminished, it had turned into more of a demolition job. ""Hey Mike, have you seen Phillip?"" the foreman asked. ""Not today. Did he call or anything?"" ""Nope. Maybe he's just on break. Keep an eye out, would you?"" Phillip was a younger guy but a hard worker; funny, personable, all the guys liked him. That was why Mike was in for such a shock when he opened the Porta Potty and saw Phillip sitting there, dead, his lifeless eyes trained on the handheld contraband in his grip. Pictures and words were still flashing across the screen of the jailbroke tablet; Mike could hear it even though the volume was nearly muted. ""Mike, is everything okay?"" someone behind him shouted. ""Um, yeah."" Mike snatched the tablet and shoved it in his jacket. ""I mean, no. Phillip's in here. Looks like he overdosed."" The foreman made the appropriate calls while the crew shook their heads sadly. ""Couldn't adjust,"" one said. ""Happens to a lot of young people."" Mike nodded but didn't speak, all too aware of the tablet in his jacket. Why had he taken it? It's not like he could use it. He hadn't gotten tested in a year or two but he knew he had to be approaching his limit. He expected the blinders prescription after his next test. Those who were close to overload were fitted with a device behind their left ear to filter out new information as much as possible before reaching the brain. While it kept you alive, it blocked entire conversations from your brain and caused big black patches in your vision. After work, he didn't go home. Instead he drove to an empty parking lot behind the old strip mall. The tablet was nearly fully charged, Phillip must have been right on the cusp of death. The word suicide flitted through Mike's brain, but honestly he couldn't blame the kid. What was a world without entertainment, without knowledge? Not a world worth living in. He turned on the device, not caring what he saw, just wanting to see something. His starved senses drank in the flashing images and scrolling stories. Celebrities he didn't know had survived The Overload lived normal lives, YouTube videos he hadn't seen in four years nearly brought him to tears. The content uploaded since The Overload of course was bland, factual, since it was all maintained and created by bots. But the unlimited feast of material before the mass deaths was still there, in all its glory. He didn't know how long he sat there, he only finally noticed that it was dark outside. Jeannie had paged him several times, but he hadn't noticed. He shoved the tablet under the passenger seat, checking his dilated pupils in the rearview mirror before driving him. ""Where were you?"" Jeannie demanded as soon as he walked through the door. ""I'm sorry. I got, um, held up."" Trying to form coherent sentences through the aftershocks of the orgasmic Internet experience was difficult. ""Held up? What does that mean? Did you get in an accident?"" ""I, uhhhh...."" He stumbled to the kitchen counter, propping himself up by the heels of his hands. ""Mike, what's wrong?"" ""Just....give me a second."" ""Daddy!"" Shelly and Courtney burst into the kitchen, each hugging one of his legs. Mike felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest, everything in his vision pulsed and bulged. ""I saved one for you."" He snapped back to attention as Shelly held out a Laffy Taffy from her class party. ""It's the yellow one you like."" ""Thanks, pumpkin."" He took the candy from her hand, focused on each of his slow movements, trying to process his thoughts when he read the wrapper: ""DID YOU KNOW that slugs have FOUR noses?"" Mike thudded to the floor, dead upon impact while Jeannie and the girls screamed. Huh, he didn't know that.",1012
" ""Erica Halstead"" woke","I was faking my way through the day at the ""work"" address I'd found in the thankfully unlocked cell phone when I saw her - or, should I say I saw me? I'd known, obviously, that I was still in Houston, but I didn't know this area of the city very well. When I woke up in someone else's body I knew that talking about it would earn me a one-way trip to a mental health hold. Instead, I figured I'd just fake my way through being ""Erica Halstead,"" the petite 29-year-old on the driver's license. I tried to shove down the turbulent emotions while I devoted 10% of my attention to making it look like I knew what the spreadsheet on Erica's work computer meant while devoting the rest of my attention to thinking of what could possibly have happened to me and how I could get back. &#x200B; Last night everything had been normal. I'd spent the night watching Netflix with Todd, one of his arms resting over my stomach as I leaned back across his chest on the over-stuffed, slightly sagging plaid couch in our living room. ""You know,"" he mentioned as we watched the hero arc across the screen in a jump, ""it's *supposed* to be sci-fi. I love the series but the wrong arc on the jumps kills the physicist in me just a little bit."" I just laughed and poked him in the stomach. ""At least it's not as bad as *The Iron Monkey*."" He groaned. ""I don't think anything's as bad as the *Iron Monkey*."" We'd laughed at the memory of the 90s flick and snuggled a bit closer as the movie wrapped up, eventually falling asleep after dragging ourselves from the couch to the bedroom. The last memory I had was of slipping off to sleep, trying to ignore his soft snore. &#x200B; When I woke up, it was in the wrong bed, without Todd, to the sound of a cat meowing determinedly. I'll spare you the in-depth description of my panicked first hour of running around, staring at mirrors, frantic googling, and racking my memory of what I'd eaten the night before. &#x200B; So here I was, wearing someone else's button-down shirt and a pair of heels that I certainly wouldn't have bought, not knowing how I was supposed to react to the sight of myself walking down the street next to the office. I stared out the window, looking down at my body - walking, looking around, and wearing an expression of concern that pulled at my eyes and accentuated the wrinkles I'd started noticing a few years ago. My makeup was totally wrong, my hair parted on the wrong side, but it was definitely me. My mind spun faster. Did we switch? Was Erica Halstead down there, just as confused as I was about being 35-year-old Cara Sheppard, maybe coming here to a familiar scene? I felt a rush of relief that my body wasn't at the courthouse representing my client without me. As bad as missing the trial would be for my annual review, as ticked off as the client would be and as disapproving as Judge Mortenson would be when I got this figured out and begged for a continuance, it was probably preferable to Erica Halstead, Senior Marketing Consultant, who I very much doubted was terribly familiar with the nuances of white collar crime law. &#x200B; I watched her looking around the plaza outside and had no idea what to do. It'd been 6 hours and I had no more ideas on fixing this than I did the moment I realized it. The world seemed to be getting more and more surreal. I looked around the office, head spinning slightly, and it seemed to me that everyone looked as nervous as I felt, that the laughter at the water cooler was a little too high-pitched, that the people in the glass-walled conference room next door looked like they weren't entirely sure why they were having a meeting (though, to be fair, that wasn't that unusual in my experience). I was probably just projecting, but my contemplation was interrupted by a man - one of Erica's coworkers, I guessed. He was perhaps a few years older than her 29, with a happy-looking face and dark brown eyes. &#x200B; ""How was your weekend"" his eyes seemed to dart to the name tag on the corner of the cubicle, and he hesitated for half a moment before saying her name ""...Erica?"" Great. Office small talk. I'd hated the first 3 months of work at my firm for this very reason. Once I knew the paralegals, staff, and other associates on my floor it was fine, and we could laugh and chat about who'd gone to what event and could you believe what Darren did again, but the painful weeks of ""Yep, doing good, you?"" had almost convinced me that I should have followed my teenage dream and become a backwoods ranger at one of the National Parks in Alaska. I didn't have enough mental power left to make up a lie about what Erica did, so I subbed in my own weekend, hoping this co-worker didn't know her well enough to know what she thought about Star Trek. ""Just hung out. Watched the whole new Star Trek trilogy, ha ha."" &#x200B; His eyebrows raised in surprise. ""No way, me too!"" Huh. What are the odds. ""Which one did you enjoy most,"" I asked him. We chatted for a few minutes about the different films, and I was surprised by how easy it was - I didn't usually talk this well with strangers. Then he confessed ""I'll admit, though, some of the physics in the fights scenes are pretty painful... I've only seen one movie where the bad jumps-with-wires killed me more. Old martial arts flick, the Iron Monkey. You ever seen it?"" I could feel my stomach drop to the floor in shock at the same moment that my heart seemed to start pounding. My mouth was dry as I responded ""I don't think anything's as bad as the *Iron Monkey*."" He reached out and grabbed my hand, suddenly struck dumb. I could see the panic in his eyes now that he was too surprised to keep up the mask, and maybe a hint of relief, too, as he realized the same thing that I did. &#x200B; ""Todd,"" I whispered. ""It's not just us.""",1075
" Xenith, our first contact,","""The old ones..."" Silence swallowed the little room as the image on the screen flicked from the Egyptian God Anubis, to a more modern depiction of an extraterrestrial. A grey alien with a bulbous head and two huge eyes that looked like black boiled eggs had been jammed sideways into its face. Its body was thin, almost skeletal, with skin that looked like paste had been rubbed onto bone. I looked at Xenith, who had been grinning only a few seconds earlier. Now he was not just silent, but terrified. Face pale, eyes wide, pupils dilated. ""Sarah,"" he said, his voice a whisper. He turned and walked towards the desk I was seated behind. ""Why did you lie to me?"" I took my glass of water and sipped it lazily. I wasn't thirsty, but forcing the conversation to slow would give him time to think logically and grant me the illusion of control. Xenith, our first contact, was little more than a parasite that had wormed its way into a man named Richard Atler. He had crawled into Richard's head and released tendril-like arms that had grown into the man's brain, destroying parts of it, rewiring others. Richard became, in effect, lobotomised. All control of his body had been lost, but most of his self -- his memories -- were still in tact and accessible to Xenith. But Richard must not have seen any area 51 conspiracies on YouTube, as the image on the screen had shocked the alien. ""Lie? What do you mean lie? I have never lied to you."" Xenith stared at me, his voice still breathless. ""You know the old ones."" A shiver crawled down my spine. In the three weeks Xenith and I had been learning about each other, both researching the other's race, this was the first time I had felt uncomfortable being alone with him. I felt my hand drifting to the red button hidden beneath my desk, but forced my arm down to my knee instead. I didn't need security. Xenith hadn't done anything alarming. Not really. And summoning help might burn the delicate bridge of trust we'd been walking together. Besides, plenty of people were watching us through camera lenses. Other researchers. The Vice President. Military generals looking for an excuse to burn the bug inside Richard's head to dust; That, however would be a mistake. If Xenith died, his species would know. And unlike Xenith, they wouldn't want to learn. ""You told me I was the first,"" he continued, his voice slow and monotone. Barely recognisable from the almost melodic tone he had used up to today. ""You told me I was the first contact, and you lied to me, Sarah."" Richard's -- Xenith's -- piercing green eyes locked onto mine. Grey hair hung like a frozen-waterfall around his rocky cheeks. Had he always looked slightly... *menacing*? ""You are the first alien we've met,"" I assured him. ""At least, that we know of."" He gestured to the screen with a trembling arm. To the image displayed on it. ""No, I am not."" ""That?"" I forced myself to laugh, to try to crack the wall of tension that had suddenly built up between us. ""That's from a documentary. A bad one at that. If that creature looks at all like anything else out there then--"" ""Look at its skin, Sarah,"" Xenith said, the shock fading from his face and leaving anger in its place. I did. The grey surface rippled over hundreds of tiny bones around the alien's neck and chest. Organs were visible through it, in parts, but only as dark silhouettes -- like seeing something beneath the surface of the ocean, but you couldn't be sure what it is until it surfaces. I frowned. ""What about it?"" Xenith walked to the screen and ran a finger from one collar bone to another. ""Do you see how the skin bumps and bobbles?"" I nodded. ""Like braille,"" he said. ""Like braille."" ""Braille? I wouldn't..."" My voice drifted away. The skin did look somewhat like runes had been carved into it, but from beneath. From the way the bones pushed upwards and outwards. ""It is the language of the Old Ones, Sarah. I know it well. It is imprinted on the mind of every species who knows of them."" I shook my head. That was impossible. Xenith was our first contact, and that alien he was looking at, that was from a film. A conspiracy documentary. Xenith's voice raised as he said, ""A thousand-thousand species were annihilated trying to stop them, before your Sun was even lit."" Richard's body began to change. It was growing. Wider. Taller. The skin on his face began to bleed -- it was tearing apart. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to tell him he was making a mistake. To stop. But I couldn't find the words. ""There had been signs,"" he continued, ""that they might have escaped their fate. Little clues left here and there, like footprints in the cosmic dust. Telltale signs that they might have survived. That they might have tired to rebuild. To create new children to fulfil their believed destiny."" He paused."" Very few of us gave those rumours credence, Sarah."" His face, what remained of it, was red and bloodied. I could see something wriggling behind the stretched sinews beside his eyes. ""We were fools. Now you must be stopped."" I needed to press the button. To call help. But if I did... They'd kill him. And then what would happen to us? The creature was more than twice my size now, as he flipped my desk onto the floor. ""Filth!"" he screamed, his voice now two sounds, one high one low. ""All of you. You are the children of the Old Ones! A disease on the body of existence!"" His arm swiped at my body, throwing me off my chair. My head landed with a hard crack. Blackness tried to swallow my vision but I forced it back. He loomed over me, raising his boot above my head. ""You will kill us all,"" he said, as his green eyes met mine. ""You're wrong,"" I gasped. Pleaded. ""Even if we're their children, we might not become--"" His boot came down as the door opened and the room flooded with soldiers. A spray of bullets entered the creature's head. His body rocked, his boot hovered inches from my head. Another round of bullets entered him. He fell in a pool of his own blood to my side. ""Hey, are you okay?"" A man's face swam in and out of my vision. Carver? Was that it? Was he a cook? No. It was Carter. Army. He knelt next to me but his voice sounded like he was at least a room away. Dull and dampened. ""Can we get some help over here!?"" ""The video,"" I said, my voice a drunken slur. ""Video?"" He frowned. ""What video?"" ""No. No, it doesn't matter. Not anymore."" ""What doesn't matter?"" I grabbed his jacket and tried to pull myself up. ""They won't let us live,"" I whispered. ""Won't ever let us become them. We need to leave. Need to get far away from here."" ""From DC?"" I shook my head and the dizzy feeling attacked me with twice the force of before. ""From Earth."" Then, my body fell back and the room faded to dark.",1229
 A prequel more than answering the,"(A prequel more than answering the OP. Oh well.) Let's recap how we got here, ok? I'll keep it short and sweet as I can. Myself, Tim, Sarah, and Geordie gathered for our weekly Dungeons and Dragons session at my house, and everything went to hell fast. I need you to understand something, here. I love my D&D. I take it REALLY seriously. I'm the Dungeon Master, that means I make all the rules and tell the story. Of course, I have a full time job so I don't always have time to create a story, so a lot of times I'll buy a pre-packed story and then add a few tweaks of my own to it so the whole group can have fun. Did I mention I really get into it? I enjoy setting the scene, and the environment. Today, I guess I went a little too far. The module (aka story) I chose this week was called Ravenloft. Basically it's the story of Dracula, but here they call him Strahd. Copyright or something, I guess. I don't know. But you all know Dracula, right? Gypsies, vampires, maybe a werewolf or three? ANYWAY....I digress. Back to what happened. About two hours before the crew arrived, I started setting up my basement game room. I changed out half the lights for black light to help set the dark mood. I knew that early in the game they'll meet a gypsy who tells fortunes, so I bought some tarot cards, incense, and a few other trinkets from the local spirit shop. I spend the rest of the time brushing up on the adventure, and reviewing my hand written notes for the modifications to treasures and monsters. As always. I make sure I've got a few special treasures built in for curious questers that go above and beyond the call of duty. I like to reward good playing. When the gang arrives, they find me sitting at the table in the basement with a head scarf wrapping up my hair, gentle music playing in the background, and a black silk cloth draped over the table with a tarot deck sitting there. I waste no time launching into my prepared routine. ""Welcome, pets, welcome to Madame Zorah's. Please, cross my palm with silver and have your fortune told."" Tim laughed, and Sarah complimented my choice of color pattern on the scarf, while Geordie sat down first, all business and ready to play. ""Madame, Zorah, was it? Thank you for the invitation. Exactly how many silvers are required here?"", he asked. I smiled, knowing his penchant for rules and order. Ever the paladin, he was fair and just and he respected the occult without actively chasing it down himself. He also understood quickly that he had to play along or the adventure wouldn't progress. ""Well, young man,"", I begin, ""my services are not so easily explained. As with everything in life, you get what you give."" I said this, knowing full well that I have a table already written down with a list of items I was prepared to hand over, based on how much silver they were willing to part with. Between the three of them, they parted with nearly one hundred silver. It's a shame, for if they had given me a full hundred they might have been able to walk away with this tarot deck. An in-game tarot deck is very powerful, albeit with random effects. Regardless, they did earn a reading and a few items, which I was well prepared for. I knew a little bit of slight of hand magic, and so I did a riffle cut and forced the cards to where I wanted them to the top of the tarot deck. Geordie drew first. ""Ah, the tower"", I said, ""There is great ruin at the top of a tower, where you will find everything in abundance. There is treasure there, but also despair and pain. Watch your step, or you will fall."" I smiled cryptically, knowing full well there was a tower in this adventure, and there absolutely was a pit trap placed in the stair well. I couldn't wait to see his face when he trips my trap. Sarah pulled next, ""Oh, the six of pentacles."", I smile, ""You have great fortune ahead of you, but it will not be something you earn. It will be given to you by someone else, freely and with no strings attached."" Tim's card was Death reversed. I over-acted a visible shudder. ""Beware!! Beware!!! Reversed Death follows you and watches your every move. There is a creature in your path, neither dead nor alive, who will hunt you, and attempt to end your own lives to grow his own."" I reach beneath the table, and pull a ring out of my pocket. It was an old ring, made of some kind of steel or iron, and intricately wrought with a Celtic knot pattern throughout. I placed it in front of Sarah, and said, ""This is for you, pet. It is a magickal ring, with one wish attached. Save it for when you are most in jeopardy, and wish wisely, as the many-faced Gods enjoy their trickery with wishes."" As I handed it to Sarah, the ring looked as though it sparked in the candle light. The smell of incense hit my nose for a moment, jasmine clouding my head. I shook my head and adjusted my shawl. ""Now, children,"" I said, preparing to push the story forward more, ""Should you need it, there is a town just a few hours walk to the North. Perhaps you can find lodging there."" Sarah was examining the ring, and smiling. ""This is a great setup, Steph. I love this!"", she slipped the ring on her finger, trying it on for size. ""I'd love to do this in person. I wish this was a real adventure."" The room went black for a split second, the light fading with a audible popping noise. As the light came back and our eyes adjusted, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My basement was now a rickety wooden traveling shack. The table with tarot cards still in front of me, but the artwork had changed from a crisp clean mass produced set of cards into hand-painted and old. My friends were...not my friends. Standing before me I could see their avatars. Geordie in full plate mail. Sarah in a ranger outfit, and Tim with wizard robes and a staff. Their faces mostly unchanged, however Tim now had ears to match his choice of elf background. We all three stared at each other in confusion. ""What the hell?"" Tim said, as we all began talking over each other at the same time trying to understand. Sarah threw open the door and walked outside onto a dirt road, in the middle of a densely packed forest. She turned back and looked at us standing in the doorway. ""Did I do this?""",1162
 Lilli Cooper did not want to,"Lilli Cooper did not want to be in town for longer than she had to. Jamie, her little brother, was alone back at the ranch, and if she didn't return before nightfall, bad things would happen to either him or the livestock. Maybe to both, if he were as foolish as he usually was. She'd already lost her father this year. She didn't plan on losing Jamie too. She was used to people staring at her, on account of her hair and her scars. They'd used to stare at her dad, too, when they'd come into town together, to gather supplies for the ranch -- for the machinery and guns and animals. But her father would just shoot those onlookers a menacing glance of his own, and sure as the sunsets each evening, their eyes would fall down to their shoelaces, as if they'd found something awful interesting down there. ""Why they always watching us, dad?"" she'd once asked. ""Don't you worry about them, Lilli,"" he'd replied. ""They'd just scared, is all."" ""Scared of what, pa?"" ""Of me not being 'round no longer."" She nodded but she hadn't really understood. Did he mean because they wouldn't get their corn or their eggs? ""Ain't no one 'round who can protect them. 'Cept you and me, Lil."" ""Me?"" she'd said, astonished to be included. She didn't protect no one from nothing, except the field-mice from the ranch's cats. She couldn't even think what her pop protected people from, 'cept maybe hunger. He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling jewels in his leathery face. ""They don't know how good you're going to be, my little Lilli. But once you're eighteen, then they'll know."" How many years ago had that been? Five, maybe. A long time, in anyone's books. She remembered that it had been a few weeks after that visit into town, that she'd started staying up late into the night with her father, to watch over the livestock. She sighed and wished she had a menacing glance of her own, or even a scowl, that could make those people staring at her look down at their shoes. But they didn't turn away from her gaze. They just stared right back at her at her as she walked past. ""I miss you, pa,"" Lilli whispered, as she walked into the general store, glad to get out of the heat. It was one of those days when it wasn't raining, but your skin was still as wet and slick as if it had been; the shop's air-conditioning felt like an angel blowing on her neck. She grabbed a sweating canister of oil from off a shelf, and half-dragged it to the counter. ""Hi Randolf,"" she said, hauling the oil in front of her. The shopkeeper was one of the few people in town who never looked at her -- or her father, previous -- in a way that made her self conscious. The old man adjusted his glasses. ""Well, well, well -- if it isn't little Lilli Cooper!"" he said, clapping his dry hands together. ""I thought a big old pumpkin had floated into my shop for a moment there."" She laughed shyly and ran a hand through her curly ginger hair. ""How have you been? I've not seen you since--"" He paused in thought. Then, as he remembered his face fell. He knew the old man was picturing the casket. The church. He forced a smile and said, ""You've got his eyes, you know."" ""Just wish I had his stare, is all."" Randolf ignored the remark and continued, ""It sure is good to see you, little Lilli. How's life on the ranch?"" ""Oh, you know, same as always,"" she replied. ""Long days, longer nights."" It was a line her father often used, and it had fallen out of her mouth as if his ghost had possessed her, if only for a second. She fished out some notes from her pocket and placed them on the counter. Randolf smiled kindly. ""Oh no, I won't be accepting any of that from you."" Lilli paused. ""You won't let me buy it?"" ""Buy from me?! Of course I won't let you! Whatever you need in here is yours for free, just like it always was for your father. It's enough that your bring customers to me just by using my shop. They know it must be quality goods, ey?"" She frowned, puzzled. ""Well, that's very kind of you. I guess that means I can buy a little extra ammunition more than I planned."" ""Oh, I don't think Frank will be charging you either, you know. He never charged your father. Do you know, Frank's only son was taken by... uh."" He bit his tongue and paused momentarily. ""By *them.* Body was never found... just the remains of what they'd eaten. He's more grateful to you and your dad than anyone in town."" ""Eaten?"" Her father had never told her anything about that. Eaten by what, she was about to ask, when she felt something touch her back. She turned, to see a wiry man in the queue behind her. In the very *long* queue. That was peculiar... The shop had been empty when she'd come in, and now there was ten or more people lined up. Two of them didn't even seem to be holding anything. ""Oh, do excuse me,"" said the man who had fallen into her back. A middle-aged man with a head as bald and shiny a just-popped-out egg. ""I got pushed and... It was an accident."" He was sweating, even in the air conditioned shop. ""That's... okay,"" said Lilli. ""Really."" She grabbed the oil canister and thanked Randolf, then headed for the door. ""Hey!"" came a yell, as she was half out of the shop. It was the man who had fallen into her. ""I just wanted to say... You're doing God's work on your ranch, young lady. Ranked three in the United State -- and from our town, of all places. I just wanted to say, thank you. And... And kill one of those bastards for me tonight!"" Ranked three? At what, she wondered. Sure as heck wasn't at corn production, or she wouldn't be wearing clothes with more holes than a colander. Lilli half-wanted to ask, but the afternoon was getting late and she needed to get ammo then get home. Her little brother wouldn't be able to protect the animals alone. His aim wasn't like hers. ""You're welcome?"" she said to the man, eyebrows raised. Then, she walked out of the door and headed to Frank's Firearms. --- /r/nickofnight",1100
 The idiom 'happier,"The idiom 'happier than a pig in mud' is a bit of a misnomer-- those sweet oink-puppies are happy anywhere they go, if you're there to love and feed them. Same goes for the cows, goats and chickens we raise on our ranch, not to profit off of them, but just to give them a home. I, like them, am a refugee from the Citadel: teetering metropolis packed with distracted meatbags masquerading as humans, and devoid of any warm fuzzy feelings you get when you enjoy something interpersonal like saying 'hello' to someone. Ginger, a momma pig of four babies, had her head in my lap, snoring with satisfaction as I scratched an ear. We had a lot in common, the two of us, and she'd been my best friend through the years. But the infection on her back leg was getting worse, not better. Sore, red, oozing a little, I looked at it and knew how she'd react if I touched skin anywhere near it. Slowly, I slid out from under her, somehow managing not to wake her up, then walked into the house and sighed. ""How's she?"" my mom asked, her rasp voice like sandpaper amidst the quiet. ""Not good, I think."" ""You're gonna have to go, Mary. 'Specially since you're eighteen now, they wanna scan your brain and shit anyway."" ""I don't want them doing that!"" I said, flailing my arms. ""That's so creepy and wrong."" ""Yeah, but better they do it quietly while you're in the city than they find out and come out here for you."" Grumbling, I knelt and fidgeted with a shoelace. ""Do I have to?"" ""Yep. They won't hurt you none, it's safe in there. I got these instructions for how to get to that doctor I know out there. Follow 'em and you'll be fine."" I sighed with defeat, but threw on a coat. ""How do I pay? Does he still accept cash?"" ""Nah, darlin', not out there. They just know, we got some money in an account."" ""Ugh, that's so weird."" ""Shush and get going before it's too late."" ""Fine,"" I mumbled to myself on the way out. ---- The four mile walk to the Citadel border was quick and refreshing, even with a mountain of grey steel and stone looming in the distance, engulfing more and more of the blue sky as I approached. At the city's edge, there were no guards or stations or robots like I'd expected; only a distinct death of anything wild and green along a line of warped air, like a wall of oil had been put up. I poked it with a finger, and felt nothing in particular, so I breached it. Immediately, a pulling sensation, prickly and cold, enveloped my brain. It was like a wave of nostalgia, in a way, as old memories resurfaced and I felt things I hadn't felt in years gone by. Then, just as suddenly, it ended, and I was left kneeling on concrete breathing heavily. I shook it off and continued following the instructions, taking a left at the big, dirty monument of some green lady with a torch. There was an eerie quiet, not even a breeze whistling through cold steel reaching for the sky, and a smell of musty stone and rust. And then I made the third turn, once more through an oil-field. Only, that time, when I broached it... there were a thousand people, maybe more, all impossibly similar. They stared at me, harder than stone, colder than steel. I wanted to run, but couldn't move a muscle as so many eyes bore through my soul, and breath was nowhere to be found. Then they all went about their day. Well, all but one girl, seemingly my age but impossibly clean, with blonde hair and white teeth that glowed like stars. I shrugged and approached her. Why not, right? She started at my approach. ""Hi there,"" I said, extending a hand. She didn't take it, only looked at it like she didn't have hands herself. ""H--Hello."" ""I'm Mary, what's your name?"" ""Kara."" *Wordsmith over here, I see.* I smiled. ""Well, Kara, nice to meet you. I'm here to pick up some medicine, have you heard of a Dr. Poole in this area?"" She shook her head. ""Well,"" I said, drawing the word out, ""alrighty then. Thanks for the time, Kara."" ""Wait,"" she called, eyes wide. ""Where are you from?"" ""Just outside the city, a few miles south. My family lives on a ranch there."" ""Wow. You've never been in the city before? You're dressed so weird."" I giggled. ""No, this is my first time. I also find you guys to look weird."" She held up a little black rectangle, and it clicked at me. ""What is that thing?"" I asked. Her jaw went slack. ""A phone? You don't know what a phone is?"" I shook my head. ""Wow. You don't know your rankings then, either, do you?"" ""What?"" ""Oh. My. God. You're helpless, ranch girl. What's your full name?"" ""Mary Sue Dettinger."" She tapped at it furiously, and I leaned in closer. ""Holy shit,"" she said, her gaping face lit by the screen's glow. ""How is this humanly possible?"" She turned it to me and I squinted at it. >**Number of Children** >1: Mary Sue Dettinger - 48 I almost dropped the phone, I laughed so hard. The kind of ab-cramping wheeze that you can't even hear for a little while because there's just no air left in you. Kara snatched it back from me, yelping. ""What're you doing? Careful with that! Shit's expensive!"" ""Sorry,"" I said between fits of laughter. ""I didn't think they'd take it so seriously."" ""What are you talking about?"" ""Well, they scanned me on the way in, and I felt a lot of like weird questions in my head, but I'm kinda weird. I call all the animals on my farm children."" She giggled. ""What the hell? I've never heard of them getting it wrong. That's super weird. I just thought you were like a rabbit-person or something when I saw the number. You kinda look like one."" ""Oh, come on."" ""Let's see if you're anywhere else,"" she said, waving a hand at me. ""Mary, Sue... Dett--"" My gaze bounced between her and the phone. ""What? What is it *now*?"" There was an unreadable look on her face -- some twisted mix of sadness, envy and confusion -- as she let me see the screen again. Though, that time, she held the phone for me. >**Happiness** >2: Mary Sue Dettinger I smiled wide and didn't even look at #1; why would I? I knew it'd say 'Ginger'. Or, at least, it would once I got back to pet her. ""I don't get it,"" Kara said, her words soft. ""How's this possible? You don't even have a phone. Your clothes are old. This makes no sense. You trick them about this, too?"" ""Mm-mm,"" I replied, shaking my head. Our eyes met in what must have been the most genuine moment she'd ever experienced. ""I've never even thought about it."" ---- */r/resonatingfury*",1183
 The shrine at the top of the,"The shrine at the top of the mountain was empty. The view was spectacular, reaching above the clouds. It was one he would have cherished with his father, all those years ago, hiking on the weekends. Back when the skies were blue, and smiling was easy. ""You have to earn it,"" a voice said. Omar turned around, and there he was. Slight, wizened, but with eyes that sparkled with a mischievous vitality, the genie smiled. ""How?"" Omar asked, hearing the desperation in his own voice. ""You have to earn it like all things in life are earned. And life is a game, and you must play with intelligence, and bravery, and heart. And you must feel your losses deeply, make them worth something. Can you do that?"" ""You don't know how much I've felt my losses,"" Omar said. ""Then let us play. Prove yourself, and I will grant you your wishes."" \- The game proceeded slowly at first, pawns being moved forward to free up movement from the back. But then, Omar moved a pawn into a position to be taken by a bishop. Suddenly, the pawn transformed- ""Roy?"" he said, shocked. Roy smiled. ""Hey, prof."" It was a joke they had shared, that Omar dressed too formally for a high school history class. ""What is this?"" Omar asked the genie. ""You must feel your losses."" ""What are you talking about, prof?"" Roy asked. ""You need to chill out."" Roy had been troubled, but always managed to put a smile on his face, even as he showed up to class hungover, with scars on his wrists and bruises where there shouldn't be. *""Hey prof, I'm going to have to take off for a little bit,"" Roy had said on his last day.* *""Where you going? It's not the best time for truancy, Roy. Finals are coming up. And the Celtics are still alive in the playoffs.""* *""Just somewhere I have to. And of course I'll still be watching the Celtics. This is our year.""* *""Ok. But remember to think about the choices you make. That's all I ask.""* *""Of course, prof. You say that every day.""* *""Take care of yourself, Roy.""* *Roy smiled. ""I always appreciated that about you, prof. You never told me what to do, or how to do it. You get it.""* But had he? The funeral had only been a year ago, and Omar remembered breaking down at the anti-suicide assembly they'd had. ""I'm sorry I didn't know...or I mean, I did guess, but I didn't know. I didn't care enough."" Roy shook his head. ""Shit happens, you know? Shit happens and sometimes it's not your fault. It's not your fault my stepfather was a monster."" ""It wasn't yours either."" Roy looked around at the board he was standing on. ""Well, it'll be your fault if you don't win, right, prof?"" ""I guess so."" ""Then think about the choices you make."" And the bishop moved into Roy's spot. \- Omar didn't see it, how the genie's rook was waiting to take his bishop from the corner. He had played a good game so far, only sacrificing pawns and taking out a knight. But he couldn't believe his carelessness. ""I'm sorry, mom,"" he said, his lips trembling as he looked at his mother in the bishop's spot. ""That's okay, honey,"" she said, they way she always had when he was a little boy. Before all the rebellion, before all the bad choices, before the drugs and the years of not talking, the crying on the phone... ""I tried,"" he said. ""I want you to know I tried my best, even when I screamed at you and said I hated you. I always wanted to make you proud."" ""I know, honey,"" she said. ""But I was proud just watching you in your basketball games, at the spelling bee. You didn't have to score or win to make me proud."" ""Then why didn't you say so?"" Omar asked. ""When I couldn't anymore..."" ""That's my mistake,"" she said. ""But we have to live with our own recklessness. Our mistakes, don't we?"" ""I guess so."" ""Then make it count. Don't let one mistake ruin everything."" And the rook moved into the bishop's spot. \- Omar thought long and hard about it, but finally decided to do it. He moved his queen into the genie's bishop's spot. The genie's queen now had a free line to take out his own queen. The moment he had dreaded arrived. The queen transformed. ""Hi, cutie,"" he said. It had been a joke, that he found her cute, but not handsome. Not hot or sexy, just cute. ""Hi,"" she said, smiling from ear to ear. He had never gotten tired of that smile, unbridled and not scared at all. He had wished he could smile like that. ""I'm sorry,"" he said. ""For everything."" She shook her head. ""Why be sorry for who you are? You gave me what I wanted. What I needed. But I couldn't give that to you."" He had tried it, for so long, to like within the picket fence with her. Steady job as a teacher at the same school as her, Japanese car, good performance on paying off the mortgage. But it had been killing him, snuffing out his dream like that, even as he couldn't find a single fault with the details of his life. ""It should have been enough,"" he said. ""I didn't have to say those things to you. Blame you for my own inability to be happy."" She shook her head again, a full side-to-side shake, leaning into everything fully the way she always did. ""Sometimes you have to sacrifice a lot for your dreams. Even love. And it hurts, but you can't move on if you don't. And I know you too well to blame you."" ""I love you,"" he said. And the queen moved into his queen's spot. \- Now they were at the end. His rook was one move from the corner, where it would place a check on the king. Then the genie's king would be trapped, and... ""Stalemate,"" the genie said, moving his bishop into place, taking out Omar's rook. Omar was too stunned to react at first, and then he saw it. The bishop didn't check his king, but Omar couldn't move it without contacting the genie's king. The game was over. Omar crumpled to his knees, covering his face with his hands. When he finally stood up, the genie and him were back on the mountain. ""Congratulations,"" the genie said. ""What will your first wish be? And don't worry, I'm not stingy. We get a bad rap."" ""What? But I didn't win."" The genie smiled. ""But you proved yourself. Sometimes, that's more than winning."" Omar looked out at the view. The clouds were clearing up, and the whole valley was almost in view. ""I think my parents would have loved being here at sunset."" \-",1155
 The devil knocked on the door of,"It was a dark and rainy night as the devil knocked on my door. I'm neither sure if it rains by chance or if he made it nor why he doesn't appear directly in the house. Maybe he loves a dramatic entrance. It is exactly the same situation as ten years ago on his last visit. I was at an incredibly bad place. My wife and I were dirt poor and had barely something to eat. The most money we earned was used for our sick daughter. The medications for her asthma took our last dollar. At least we know that she can live a normal life with the current treatment but this knowledge isn't able to lessen the nagging hunger I'm feeling in my stomach. One evening my wife and daughter were at the hospital and I was sitting at home despairing over the coming medical bills. Suddenly through the heavy rain, I hear someone slowly knocking on the door, each knock accompanied by rumbling thunder. I open the door and see a huge, elegant man in a suit standing in front of me. I couldn't estimate his age. Objectively he had the body of a 30-year-old, but somehow this didn't seem right. His whole presence radiated experience and the look in his eyes was the one of a very old man. He entered the house without invitation and directly made his offer. ""I heard you are currently in a, let's say, undesirable situation and luckily I'm in the fortunate position to offer you my assistance."" Most of you will see this as suspicious but I was incredibly desperate. So I took his offer. One hundred billion dollars now for my soul in ten years. Of course, I should have known that a deal with the devil will never be as smooth as expected. There are a lot of stories about genies, fairies and more mystical creatures giving you a fortune. But in these stories, it is never described how to explain this sudden income to the tax office. ""Payment for my soul by Satan"" is definitely not the right thing. This was obvious in advance, but hey, it wasn't like there is a non-illegal, believable explanation, which holds more than five minutes of investigation. So the next years I was under constant control of the police, the FBI and basically every other existing government authority. It was a constant mixture of interrogations, investigations and undercover operations. I was close to losing my sanity. My wife was sure that my sanity was long gone after I explained my encounter with the devil. She left me shortly after and, given the situation, she got easily full custody of our daughter as well as half of the money. So basically my life went downhill fast but at least I wasn't hungry anymore. So I used the last good thing I had extensively. The money. The last ten years of my life were a constant chain of hedonism. I never liked the behavior of prosperous people, so I had no desire for yachts, large mansions, and fancy food. But from this point, I never thought twice about buying something and got every, even remotely useful or desired, a thing possible. I became the single largest victim of our modern consumer society. Fast forward to today the devil stands in my living room for the second time. ""So, are you ready to transfer your soul in the eternity of hell?"", he asks while smiling sadistically. Straight forward like the last time. But honestly, I couldn't care less. There is no meaning in my life anymore. So the devil puts his hand on my chest but instead of touching it, the hand glides into my body and he starts to rummage around. It is quite awkward. We both try convulsively not to look at each other while he glides through my inner organs. After a few minutes, he stops and looks directly into my eyes. I feel pretty uncomfortable but hold his gaze. ""What the heaven."", he seems angry while retracting his hand from my body, ""Okay, wise-guy, where is it?"" ""I don't know what you mean."", I reply to him confused. ""Your fucking soul."", he becomes angrier, ""It happens that parts of a soul are transferred to a strong religious leader if your belief is strong enough. But I have never seen a complete missing soul. It is impossible to follow so many leaders at once."" ""I have no idea what happened."", I'm genuinely surprised, ""Maybe I can help you with another soul. I will take a look at Amazon and eBay. Feel free to eat something, while I'm searching."" I grab my iPhone from my pocket and show lead him to a table with food from Burger King, McDonald's and Taco Bell. ""If you get bored there are Netflix and Hulu and a few more services on my Apple TV."", I press a button on the remote and the TV turned on. Satan starts to look more overwhelmed than angry. ""Ok, I didn't find something. But Google yielded a strange church an hour away from here, which claims to harvest souls. Maybe we could try it there. I will call us an Uber. Let me put on my Levis jeans."" I'm more and more concerned. The devil is getting pale as if he would realize something horrifying. I have no idea what currently is happening. ""Are you ok?"", I'm asking him. ""We can grab some Cola at Walmart or a coffee at Starbucks. Maybe this helps."" Satan begins to stammer. ""This isn't happening. This can't be the future of society. Hell won't work anymore. This will only get worse."", he stands up and walks towards the door. ""Maybe you should calm down. We could watch a Disney movie, drink a Bud Light, watch MTV, go to KFC, watch Youtube videos, eat some M&M's, ..."", I have no idea what happens to the devil and I'm getting really scared of the current situation. He is now in a hurry to get away from here. ""Keep your shitty soul. I don't want it anymore. It is at a place far worse than hell anyway."", he screams while running away from the house. ""Ok, but can I make a photo with you for my Instagram account."", I'm shouting after him but the only thing I'm getting back is a very long and desperate cry. EDIT: smaller typos corrected EDIT 2: Thanks for all the kind replies guys. This was actually my first story and English is only my second language. I had an idea an thought I would give it a try. This is resonance is amazing and way more than I had hoped for. I will stick with it and if I have an original and amusing idea on a prompt I will write more (actually did).",1143
 The Sol was named for the original,"""Was that transmitted... in English?"" Captain Skerritt asked loudly to the all but empty cabin of the Sol. The Sol was named for the original star around which humanity began it's existence. Though the original planet had long since been abandoned for a more lush environment, it still held deep meaning for humans. The Sun was still widely observed through the telescopes of hobbyists throughout the galaxy. Though it was technically a sleep cycle on the ship, Skerritt and the radio operator were both awakened by a message. They were operating on a skeleton crew, most of whom were currently asleep. ""I mean.. we're reading it aren't we?"" scoffed Kotto, the radio op. He was called the radio operator, but in truth, the communications system wasn't a radio at all. Light moved too slow for ships to communicate across vast distances. But, the old world word was still used to describe it. Perhaps for comfort, and perhaps because the acronym for the actual device was too cumbersome to remember. Due to the nature of the mechanics, it was thought that the messages were uninterruptible. A happy accident in the engineering. Kotto was quietly nervous about the situation, as it was also thought, that the system would have no interference, and therefore they wouldn't be able to receive any rogue messages. ""I mean was it transmitted in English, or was it translated after the fact,"" Skerritt barked back. ""Smartass..."" he added under his breath. ""It was translated. I never thought we'd even be able to translate alien language... I figured it would be so far removed..."" Kotto trailed off. ""Another incoming message, Sir. From the Arcturus."" The Sol was a midsize ship meant for long distance travel and observation. Over the centuries of galactic travel, mankind had encountered thousands of alien species, carefully cataloging each one from afar. None had been far enough along in their evolution to even notice they were being observed. The first ships to be launched were heavily armored, and armed. Due to the cataloging of species, none of which were very advanced, the newer ships were designed with experimentation, long distance travel, and comfort in mind. The Sol, for instance, didn't have any weaponry on board at all. Unlike the Sol, the Arcturus was an older, gargantuan ship. Outfitted with all the latest destructive devices needed to exterminate all living life on the surface of a potentially hostile planet. ""Captain Skerritt, this is Captain Cartwright. We just got a message of unknown origin-"" ""About the 'wardens'? In all caps?"" Asked Skerritt. ""Ye.. Yes. Did you get it too?"" ""We did."" Skerritt confirmed. ""We're getting confirmation from all ships in the quadrant,"" Kotto announced. ""Reports are coming in for now us as well,"" Cartwright said. ""We're going to investigate the signal, I suggest you do the same. Skerritt frowned. ""Kotto, radio the Station, ask them if they are getting reports too."" Kotto nodded and sent the message. Seconds later the response came back, in simple text. \*All human vessels received the message.\* The message continued... \*Sorry for quick response, high influx of communication due to this phenomena\* ""So they don't know what the hell this is either,"" Skerritt scoffed. ""Was it... meant for us?"" Asked Kotto. ""What do you mean?"" Skerritt asked with an eyebrow raised. ""I mean, what if this message was just... intercepted by our system, and it was meant for someone else?"" ""Before we jump to conclusions, let's try to get an origin on that message. That will answer a lot of questions."" ""Right."" Kotto ran the processes through the computer. ""Scanning.... scanning... Well it's definitely not of human origin. It definitely wasn't transmitted in English, either. Acquiring a lock on the originating signal.... aaand... Got it!"" Kotto said excitedly. ""Wait... that's strange... The origin... It's far. From Andromeda."" ""The Andromeda has been out of commission since-"" ""Not the ship, sir, the Galaxy."" Kotto pulled up a diagram of the encroaching galaxy and transferred it to the main display. Along the rim of the diagram, a red marker showed the message's origin. Kotto zoomed the image out, and the edge of the Milky Way came into view. The outermost stars already being affected by the immense gravity of Andromeda, and one arm bulging in it's direction. ""It's not impossible... I suppose... That it just happens that we developed the same 'radio' technology as some other species,"" Kotto remarked. ""I mean... we suspected that radio proper would be a universal constant, as far as communication goes."" ""Perhaps..."" Skerritt said pensively. ""But I still don't understand the message..."" Just as he said this another message from the unknown source came through. \*There was never a chance of them developing intergalactic travel before.\* Skerritt stood up at his chair and frowned at the screen. ""Who is sending this, what are they talking about?"" Skerritt said, his voice filled with nervous urgency. Kotto scrambled to identify the source. ""More messages sir, it seems like two sources. One replying to another."" \*They don't need intergalactic travel now. The distances are rapidly closing. We cannot let them infect this system too.\* ""That sounds hostile."" Skerritt said. ""They are talking about us, aren't they? Humans I mean. They don't want us jumping to Andromeda. Kotto, get the Station back on. We have to figure out who, or what ""Wardens"" are and why they care about humans."" Kotto gave a quick salute, but was ahead of the captain. He had already opened a line directly to the Station, but he stopped. ""Sir... I... hang on..."" Kotto said, almost to himself. ""Wardens,"" Kotto said, slowly and clearly into a microphone. ""This is Yaphet Kotto, aboard the Sol. A research vessel -"" Kotto would never finish his sentence. The Wardens would never hear his attempt to plea for diplomacy. Skerritt, like thousands of other Captains, aboard thousands of other spacecraft, had all asked the identity of messengers. They got their answer. Across the galaxy objects appeared in the close vicinity of all human spacecraft, space stations, and colonies. Without warning or remorse, the objects fired high powered gamma ray bursts with surgical precision, annihilating all human life with in seconds of appearing. Despite having confirmed to themselves they were the most advanced species in the known universe, humans were still billions of years behind the next closest species. A species who's dominant emotion was fear and dominant action was violence. ""Kotto, are you okay? Sorry about that jump."" Skerritt said. ""What the hell-"" Kotto started. ""Where are we?"" ""Intergalactic space,"" Skerritt said, leaning back on his chair. ""Something appeared next to our ship, so I bugged out..."" ""The radio is slient..."" Kotto said. ""I suggest turning that thing off for now. Can you disable it?"" ""What. Happened? Captain, I-"" ""We're it, Yaphet. We're all that's left. You can drop the 'Captain' shit. We're going to wait for the dust to settle, and quietly make a new home.... Somewhere."" ""But what happ-"" ""I think you know. What happened. Wake the crew, they deserve to know too. How long can we stay out here?"" ""About 3 weeks with current food reserves, maybe up to 6 months if we power the engines down and divert power to life support and production..."" ""Save us enough power for one jump and a landing. We have so research to do."" &#x200B; P.S. SciFi on the fly is harder than I though hah! Edit: Editing",1234
" Silk, Beat-Hoov,","""Calm down everyone!"" yelled Silk, as he approached a bustling crowd surrounding the entrance to St Mary's train-station. He massaged his temples through his mask with a single index finger. Did the crowd have to be so freaking loud? It had been one of those day's at work -- one stress after another; he really wasn't in the mood for faux-heroics. He should have given Martin a call at lunchtime. Told him tonight was off. That's what he *should* have done. But he thought he'd be feeling better. Now what options did he have? Neither of them carried their phones when in costume (no pockets in their tights), so if he was going to calm this crowd down, he'd have to find Martin and 'pacify' him. In his left hand -- the one not massaging his head in an effort to stop it exploding -- he held a little brown bucket. ""It's Silk!"" shouted an onlooker. ""Thank God it's you, Silk! Thank God!"" He looked at the lady and tried to smile, but it turned instantly into a gaping yawn. ""Is... Is it Beat-Hooven again?"" he asked lazily. ""Yes! He's on the train. And he's got a whole lot of hostages. I think he's going to kill them!"" Silk stuck out his tongue and bit down. ""Difficult situation. Very tricky. But, I'll see what I can do."" He placed the bucket down where he was standing and gave his usual speech-cum-terms-and-conditions. ""Thank you all for being here tonight to help me. Through your cheering and positivity I will not just battle my oldest and gravest foe, but I will defeat him!"" He lowered his voice slightly and could feel his cheeks redden. ""*If you'd like to support me outside of these situations, please consider leaving a donation in the bucket here. It's easy being a hero -- it's not easy paying rent in a city like this. And as for the medical expenses...*"" And with that, he began wading through the crowd. Hands pawed at him, trying to touch the hero, to encourage him. But it only slowed him. Irritated him. Like being in quicksand, he thought-grumbled. Only a few of his most ardent supporters followed him into the station -- most people's joy at seeing their idol was trumped by the fear of mortal danger. And even those few had scattered by the time he'd climbed the steps and made it to the tracks. On them, was a long iron monster, belching and rocking. All windows and doors were closed, but he could see pale faces inside that had turned to look at him, pressed against the glass. He raised his hands to his mouth and yelled, ""Beat-Hooven! It is I, *Silk*. Your battle is with me, not the innocent passengers of that train! Let them go and come out and face me, mano-a-mano!"" Moments passed. Minutes. Martin, he thought in annoyance, will you please stop showboating. I'm not in the mood. I just want to get home and play a little playstation, eat a little pizza, and say goodnight to this shitty day. Finally, the train hissed and the doors opened. Passengers scuttled out from it as if a dam had been opened. They mostly thanked him as they passed and wished him good luck. ""Donation bucket is outside the station!"" he said. He noticed most of the men and women were in business suits. Good train to hijack, he thought. At least Martin had got that right -- we should easily get a enough for a pizza or two. Music trickled out from the train. A soft sonata. Silk let himself relax, let his posture slouch, as he drifted into the music. He was just starting to feel somewhat calm, when Beat-Hooven jumped off the train. ""Silk!"" he screamed maniacally. ""Prepare for a crescendo! You shall become my most famous requiem!"" Silk glanced around him. No passengers had stayed. Good. He turned back to Martin. ""Cut it out, Mart. My head is about to explode, I swear."" Beat-Hooven glared at him and whispered, ""Stay in character, idiot. Besides, blowing up isn't your power."" ""There's no one here. So relax. And I know it's not my power, but I've got a pretty nasty migraine and--"" ""Oh please,"" Martin said, rolling his eyes. ""A headache. That's what you've got. If you had a migraine you'd be chucking up in a gutter right now. You've no idea how bad they are."" ""Whatever. My head hurts. Can we just go?"" ""Go?"" Martin looked annoyed. ""What about the spectacle? The show?"" He held out a hand and poked Silk in his chest. ""What about all the carefully choreographed heroics we've been practising night after night, hour after--ouch!"" Silk had grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. ""Let me go! That frikking hurts, idiot."" ""We're going home. Now. I'm going to march you like this out of the station, so people can see that I defeated you, and we can maybe rustle up a few more donations. Then, we're off. I'll fly you to 'jail' or something."" Martin grumbled as Silk pushed him back into the station, down the stairs, and back out into the street. ""What..."" Silk said in surprise. Martin let out a stifled laugh. ""What..."" Silk repeated. No one was there. No crowd. No bucket. Someone had taken their donation bucket! Well that was just great! Wait, not no one. One young boy was standing there, back against the wall. ""Hey! Kid!"" Silk cried out. ""Where'd everyone go?"" The boy turned to him. ""Oh. NightRaven showed up on 4th street threatening to blow up the block. Word is Eve is heading there to confront her."" Silk let out a weary sigh. He couldn't believe Janette and Claudia would do this on one of *their* nights -- again!. They'd agreed to the timetable! He'd go over to their apartment tomorrow and give them a piece of his mind. And right now, his mind wasn't very peaceful. He said to the kid, ""And why aren't you there watching them? The 'hottest' hero and villain pairing in the city. That no other duo -- no matter their long and incredibly exciting history -- can match, apparently."" The kid shrugged. ""Don't like superheroes anymore. Seen it all before."" Silk sighed and released his hold on Martin. ""I'm starting to feel the same way."" Martin, for some reason, was grinning. He placed his arm around Silk's shoulders. ""Ah, shit happens, pal. Don't let it get to you."" ""Shit does happen,"" he agreed. ""It truly does."" ""Come on, I'll buy the pizza.""",1098
 I haven't had anything worth fighting,"I never fight. It's kind of a dirty secret, considering I'm the one who teaches everyone else to fight. But why would I want to? Why would I need to? I haven't had anything worth fighting for in a long time. To tell the truth, there probably hasn't been much worth fighting against either in an even longer time. Sometimes, I wonder what they would call me, if they knew. Everyone else has mutated genes that only result in stronger and most regenerative tissue after each year too, but only in their muscles. For me, it's everywhere. Sometimes, my students call me a mutant, after they dare me to see what I can lift. Little do they know how true that is. Even with all the strength I have, my soul has been the most warped from what it's naturally supposed to be. Through all the years that I stayed on my little island of immortality and watched all my loved ones' bodies and souls finally erode around me, and now years beyond that final descent into the waters of time, most of me has been lost. But all that experience, I figured, has to go somewhere. So I channel it and teach people how to harness the strength they cannot deny even as everything else gives way around it. I won't lie and say it's fulfilling, given me a purpose worth living for. I ran out of those a long time ago. I guess I'm just waiting for the right time to go. The right way, and in the meantime I do what I can to help others. One thing that is fun, though, is letting them guess. When they reach a black belt, I let them guess. ""100."" The quiet accountant seems like he's given it some thought. ""4000!"" The little girl belts. ""35?"" The teenager asks, uncertain. ""That's what you look like."" They are all wrong. To tell the truth, I lost count of the years a while ago. \- I get a lot of her type. They realize by a certain age that the only thing that won't slowly wither away is their strength, so they try to hold onto it. They bring an eagerness even more resolute and determined than the kids who've realized they can get away with, and even be encouraged to fight in the dojo. She came at 42. I enjoyed training her. But she was one of many. She never really stood out until the day she got her black belt. ""What is your guess?"" I asked.""I'd like to decline a guess, master."" ""You're the first I've ever had to say that. You don't even want to put up a number?"" ""No, sir."" ""Why not?"" ""Because I don't want to know by what age I'll have given up believing in anything."" \- ""How?"" I asked her weeks later, after everyone had left a training session. ""What?"" ""How did you know I've given up believing?"" ""Because it takes one to know one."" She told me she had lost her son, the son she had raised alone for fifteen years. A home invasion by octogenarians with dementia that had trampled him in the end. ""I didn't know what to believe in. What to hate, even. I wanted to just end it, but I had so much pain and rage to get rid of first, and nothing worked. It was always there."" ""I know what that's like."" ""I want to become strong, strong enough to make sure that could never happen again, even if it's my own worthless life. I want to make sure no one else can take that from me but me."" ""And I'll help you get there."" So we trained. Slowly, she learned all my tricks, all the martial arts and techniques I knew to tone one's body into a machine. At the end, I told her. ""I'm sad,"" I said. ""Why do you think?"" ""Because I've taught you everything. Now I have no excuse to keep you around."" She shook her head, and leaned in. ""Not everything. There's still too much I don't know.""""About what?"" She moves close, too close, and looks right in my eyes. ""I've told you what I've lost. And I think it's time you tell me."" But I hadn't told anyone. Everyone I could have told is dead. \- I refused to call it love. I'd declared my heart dead for too many years for it to have a pulse anymore. But sometimes you know something's true because of how badly you want it not to be true. He came at the dead of night, as we closed the dojo together. He saw me, and saw her, and with the cruel intelligence he had, put it all together. ""This is a fun surprise,"" my brother said. ""You're even weaker than I thought. You need to be shown again why it's pointless to have a heart."" ""It's not pointless,"" I said. ""People have things worth caring for."" ""Not us,"" he said. ""And you've known that. How can you love anyone, anything what it's all only dust in the end? What hasn't been dust for us, brother?"" He turned around. ""You're welcome, brother,"" he said. ""This is the end you always wanted."" And I turn around, and look in her eyes as the bullets hit my skin. They don't hurt, at first - my skin is too weathered and tough now for the first wave of shots to do much, but it's only a matter of time. ""Don't do this,"" she said. ""I'm not worth it."" ""Be strong,"" I whisper. ""Thank you."" ""How can you thank me? For what?"" ""For giving me something to fight for. Something worth ending for."" ""Don't...don't leave."" I try to smile, muster all the muscles I have left in my face to do so. I don't think I succeeded, given the tears that fall on her face. ""I love you."" \- Pretty corny, but I'm pretty tired. It's 4AM on a Friday, but the prompt was too good not to take a shot at. Thanks for reading!",1014
 A soft ding sounded in my ears,"A soft ding sounded in my ears and the visor raised up off my head. For a moment, I just continued blinking, trying to will the memory back to where it was. Instead, all I got was the dull fluorescent light of the room I was sitting in. ""And how was that?"" a voice asked--a familiar voice. Turning to the side, I saw Amelia smirking in my direction. The world around me fell back into place and my heartbeat slowed again. The roaring of blood in my ears stopped and I sighed, rubbing my head as a smile sprouted from my lips. ""So real..."" I mumbled. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia roll her eyes. ""You always say that."" I glanced at her, unable to keep my smile from growing. ""Well, it's true every single time. No matter how many times I go through this, it never feels less real. These memories are so visceral, so powerful. Even though I'm *not* the astronaut who had to watch a space station spiral out of control, I *feel* like I am."" Amelia chuckled softly. ""It's nice to know I'm doing my job well. Especially from my best customer."" I raised an eyebrow at her, straightening up in the cushioned chair. ""Your techniques are better than anybody else's, I have to say. With worse set-ups, or less desirable memories, they just kinda feel like playing a VR game."" Amelia let out quite the laugh. I held up my hands, trying to contain my own laughter. ""Which, I mean, isn't a *bad* thing. It's just nowhere near this level."" Amelia smirked at me in the most arrogant way possible, but I didn't miss the slight blush in her cheeks. ""I try, Artie. I try."" I rolled my eyes. ""Don't call me that. My name is Art. Artie is my son's name... few people have permission to use that name."" Amelia's expression fell for a moment, her next words immediately more careful. ""Like who?"" I squinted. ""Vanessa. Well, and my close friends if they are alright with being killed afterward."" The adventurer for hire laughed, pushing out of her chair and walking over to me. ""I don't count as a close friend?"" ""You could be, but we never actually hang out, you know."" ""Well, I'm always busy,"" she said. ""You of all people should know this. Finding people with interesting memories--let alone convincing them to let me download them--is a full-time job."" She rolled her wrists, squinting at me. ""Visor, please."" I nodded, slipping the device off my head and handing it to her. She took it and, within a second, was already tinkering with the thing. ""Speaking of Vanessa,"" she blurted out without even looking up. ""How is she doing?"" My eyes widened, the real question hiding in her words a little to sharp for the moment. ""She's... she's okay. Still has some trouble leaving the house."" Amelia nodded, still focused on the memory visor. ""Can't really blame her, I guess. I can't imagine what losing a child is like."" Her words cut me deep and I sighed. Tears welled up, but I blinked them. Images of my sweet little boy forced their way up through my mental scars. ""It's... it's hard,"" was all I found myself able to say. Amelia nodded, still not looking up. ""Are you doing alright with it?"" I glanced up, my vision clearing at the question. ""I'm okay. Better than she is. I can't help but miss him, though... sometimes I wish I could just read him a bedtime story one more time."" The adventurer for hire's fingers stopped. She winced and nodded. ""I-I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm not very good with the feely stuff."" I chuckled a short, dry chuckle completely void of mirth. ""It's alright. I don't come to you to see a therapist, you know."" She nodded. ""H-How much do I owe you this time?"" Finally looking up, Amelia's hand shot over to rub her neck. ""I don't... Don't worry about it this time."" I sniffed, shaking my head as I pulled my wallet out. ""Nonsense. I pay you every time. How much for this memory?"" ""Really,"" she started, offering a weak smile. ""You're my best customer, you don't have to--"" ""Just give me a price, Amelia,"" I said. ""I don't need pity."" Her fake, weak smile drooped. ""Fine. $130."" I jerked my head backward, fishing the bills out. ""That was quick."" She averted her gaze as I handed her the money. ""I may or may not have already had the number ready."" I chuckled, slipping my wallet back into my pocket and stepping out of the chair. ""Thank you for this though. It's great stress relief."" She nodded, her brows furrowing and gears turning in her head. ""Wait. I-I feel bad letting you go with nothing else. I... I have an idea."" I rolled my eyes for the third time in as many minutes. ""Fine. What is it?"" A small smile grew across her face. ""Sit back down."" My mouth slipped open, but I obeyed and sat back down. Amelia then tinkered with the visor one more time before handing it back to me. ""Put it on,"" she said. I raised one eyebrow and slipped the device back over my eyes. ""What's this about?"" ""Oh nothing,"" she said, practically beaming at this point. She leaned forward and pressed the start button on the side of the visor. ""Just fulfilling a wish."" The holographic counter in front of me ticked down from three. I furrowed my brows and tilted my head. ""A wish? What are you--"" My vision went black. Suddenly, my mind was populated with thoughts and emotions. Just like normal when I entered a memory, I *became* the person who was remembering. But this time, things felt different. Instead of being in a mind I knew felt a little foreign, I felt oddly at home. Then my eyes slipped open and my heart skipped a beat. In front of me, dimly lit but instantly recognizable, were my son's beautiful eyes, gleaming with light. Gleaming with hope. Gleaming with *life*. My fingers twitched, feeling the weight of the book in my hand as I closed it. Wet tears rose in my eyes, but they couldn't stop my smile. And they couldn't stop his little smile either. ""Artie?"" I asked, remembering the moment I was living all too well. ""Did you enjoy that one?"" My little boy nodded readily, pulling covers up over him. ""It was the best one! Best one!"" ""That's great,"" I said. ""But now you have to go to bed."" Artie pouted. ""More stories!"" I shook my head. ""No. More *sleep*. It's already past your bedtime."" Artie slid back, pulling the covers tighter, but he glared at me. The vicious pout and glare my son gave me was enough to make my heart skip a beat. I remembered that face, the face he always gave when he didn't want to follow what I said. Suddenly, tears were falling, burning my eyes as they streamed down my cheek. And in that moment I knew. It may not have been real. But it felt real enough for me. --- /r/Palmerranian",1203
" Two hundred sixty-seven thousand,","They never told us why they left. The few survivors took that secret to their deaths, which seem to have come for all of them within a handful of years. Two hundred sixty-seven thousand, five hundred twenty-five survivors, out of nearly ten billion. Something like seventy thousand children, largely raised by robots and recorded memories. It took our species a long, long time to recover. It's a wonder the first seed world survived. It's a point of pride that we've managed to establish more. Now we number ten times as many as Old Earth ever housed, spread over more than thirty worlds. Why haven't we gone back to Earth before now? Some taboos can linger a long, long time. Those old recordings are still around. They may not contain the reasons for our homeworld's abandonment, but the desperate fear, the unwillingness even to think too closely about what may have happened, those are all apparent in the breaking voices our doomed ancestors left behind before they left their children, toddlers, and infants behind on a generation ship hurtling between the stars. We've all watched them, all heard them, and for seven millennia that was enough. Earth was verboten, the Forbidden Planet, the Escaped Hell. I'm recording all this just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure, but with our ship's gravitic hook rapidly decelerating us in our approach to that ancient awe-inspiring awful place, I feel we should leave a record behind besides just our mission logs. An explanation. Just in case. ""Anything of interest so far?"" I asked the captain. She shook her head, not looking at me, gaze too powerfully leashed to the display projections in front of her. ""Nothing. No stray electromagnetic emissions, no sign of any changes in surface temperature or atmospheric composition. That concerns me, General Kamau. It looks exactly as we'd expect, only we don't really expect that. It should look like something unexpected, because we know something happened, something horrible, and we're not seeing it."" She looked up, dark brown eyes wide and staring past me. ""I know I might sound like I'm talking in circles, but this is beyond concerning. I've told the analysts and Wavefinders to keep what they know to themselves, for now."" I took a deep breath, glancing over the same readouts that had her so clearly agitated. ""That's...probably wise. Listen, my first concern is for the ship. I want you to get back, no matter what happens to my away team. We should orbit at the maximum distance possible for reasonably risk-free dropship operations."" She nodded, almost curt, but we were technically of the same rank and she had no need to put up any pretenses with me. She'd already be anticipating just how much of that she'd have to do with the rest of the crew and my Marines. ""We will. I've taken enough of your time, I know you have preparations to see to."" I did, Star-Souls knew it well. I walked out of the bridge and went to address the Marines in these last hours before we boarded the dropships and this thing became utterly real. It took me less than twenty minutes to make my personal preparations, re-inspecting and donning my gear for the hundredth time, then stand up in front of the small formation in the loading bay. Three platoons, less than thirty men and women, the best we could bring who were willing to come. ""Listen,"" I said. ""At this point there's not much to say. You know the import of this mission, its place in history. I'll be there alongside you. I have every confidence that you are the best we could possibly ask for. Don't make me wrong. That is all. Dismissed!"" They fell out, and filed into the three dropships. I suppressed a shudder. It was time. \~ I couldn't say anything; the troops were listening. I couldn't let anything show on my face, but I wasn't sure that was possible so I kept watch out the window as atmospheric entry painted the panes with fire. The clouds were thick, but not remotely menacing, white and fluffy and calm. Except that they *were* menacing, because they'd been that way for our entire approach, not moving. Not moving. How could clouds not move? The ship shuddered hard, banging from side to side and making me grab for a handhold. A few of the troops, even with all their training, theragenes, and cybernetics, fell over completely. Cursing all around. ""Gravitic brakes are encountering some kind of interference, we are engaging chute and rockets!"" the pilot yelled as her co-pilot unhooked the hardline connection from her head and started flicking mechanical switches. Isolate-circuit backup systems not a good sign. We fell fast, and then we fell faster, and then it became clear we'd have to abandon the craft. Cursing a little myself under my breath, I gave the order and then jumped from the door after half my troops had already exited. We watched our dropship hit the tranquil ground in in a shower of shattered materials and sputters of rocket fuel. In the eerie still air, it was simple enough for us all to land in the same spot, the center of a large park. It was full of people. ""What in the Blackened Reach?"" one of the Sergeants said. He was reaching out toward a woman, a smiling woman, face full of sunshine, unmoving, standing exactly as she had been for... ...for seven thousand years? But that wasn't possible. Whispers around us. My troops murmured. The pilot threw up noisily into the still green grass. ""Threads,"" the co-pilot said, reaching out toward the head of one small laughing child. I say laughing, but of course the boy was silent, mouth open in mid-mirth. I walked over. Sure enough, some sort of fine cord led from his head to what must be his father's. And his mother's. And another child. And a woman standing near bench, looking the other way. And a cord from her head, and another, and another... ""They break easy,"" said Colonel Rafari, my second-in-command. She waved her hand through one of the cords and it parted, easier than spider-silk. The whispers around us were definite now. ""We need to get out of here,"" I said, and checked my message feed. Nothing from the other two dropships. We should have heard by now. I tried to establish a link to our orbiting ship. No signals. Something is moving behind me, around me. ""These lines are re-establishing themselves,"" the co-pilot said. ""I think they're links."" She touched the port on the shaved patch of her own temple. ""Mind to mind."" ""What for?"" Colonel Rafari asked. She looked dazed. So did I, probably, I turned to look at her and stopped. Stopped everything but thought. Now I think for them. So do we all. I think we will for a long time. &#x200B; Come visit r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.",1162
 Dr. Henderson is starting to think,"The alarm blared. I stirred and stretched; my wife Annabella stirred beside me. She looked a hot mess, tangled hair falling in frills around her face, but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I reached over, planting a soft kiss on her lips. ""Do you have to go?"" she asked. I sighed. ""I shouldn't miss this one, Dr. Henderson is starting to think I don't like him."" ""Fine,"" she pouted. ""Be back for lunch, I'll make you something special."" ""Bacon?"" She smiled and smacked my butt. ""Better. You'll see."" I jumped to my feet and stepped into the shower. Annabella had a cup of coffee waiting in a thermos. I kissed her goodbye and drove the five miles towards Dr. Henderson's office. The secretary, Macy, greeted me warmly. ""Haven't seen you in a while!"" I winced. ""Sorry."" ""Don't apologize. Dr. Henderson's waiting for you,"" she said, buzzing the door. I stepped through the hallway into a plush room. A wall of bookshelves covered one wall, Dr. Henderson sat behind an astute wooden desk, an empty table stood atop a thick, cashmere rug, and a comfortable sofa sat in the corner. He looked up from a stack of papers and motioned wordlessly towards the sofa. I sat back and kicked my heels up. ""Hey, I'm sorry about not taking your calls. It's just--"" ""You felt like my services were no longer required,"" he said. Then he smiled and tossed me the stack of papers. ""Trust me, I'm not upset. You've made so much progress, I wasn't sure if you needed to come back myself."" ""But I did, didn't I? That's why you called."" ""I wanted to see how you're doing. Six months after your wedding; you've got a nice, stable life?"" I nodded. ""Anna is wonderful. She's--well--she's more than I ever deserved."" ""You sell yourself short."" I felt a sense of warmth wash over me like melted butter. I looked at Dr. Henderson; he nodded down towards the papers. ""You remember our sleep studies?"" I browsed the first headline, frowning. ""I thought we debunked my lucid dreaming?"" ""Maybe not,"" he said. ""Turns out you might have been on to something.' A lump formed in my throat. ""What do you mean?"" He walked towards me, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. A great weight seemed to press down on his eyes, his shoulders hunched, and he rubbed his hands together. He took a few deep breaths. ""You know that hardest thing to do in the medical profession? Admit when you're wrong."" My voice cracked. ""What-what are you saying."" ""Are you happy with your life?"" he asked. ""Yes!"" Dr. Henderson poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher sitting on the table. ""Then you should leave now. But if you stay, I'll tell you."" I couldn't leave. How could I, after hearing him talk like that? Tease a man with a secret, tell him it's so important in all the ways possible, then ask him to leave? No--I had to stay. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. Dr. Henderson drained his glass. ""When you first came to me, you said you were unsure if this world was a dream. I diagnosed you with insomnia and sleep apnea. I helped you develop a support system through your family and friends, and with careful exercises, we suppressed your delusions. But what I'm going to tell you-you were right. This world is a dream."" ""Just like that? No--you're insane."" ""Am I?"" he said. ""Do you remember this pitcher of water?"" I looked again at the full pitcher. A sudden, sinking feeling hit me as I realized what I saw only moments ago--the table had been empty. I started to shake. ""No, if this was a dream, you could just--you could fly away!"" Dr. Henderson shrugged his shoulders and rose into the air. ""Oh god!"" I choked back my words, wide-eyed and sweat-headed. ""What, what is this? Am I dreaming?"" ""Do you want to wake up?"" he asked. ""Because you're going to. Very soon, this will all fade away."" ""No!"" I screamed, but I screamed to an empty room. I ran out of the hallway and burst through the doors into the waiting room. Macy gave me a weak smile. Then I watched as she pixelated. Her skin flecked and rose like dust, and the last thing that dissolved was her smile. ""Macy!"" I screamed, rushing out the door. The world started to fleck away like old paint on a worn canvass. Trees lost their leaves to ash. The sky started to pale as the blue desaturated. I ran towards my car. Grabbing my phone, I tried to call home, but there was no signal. I sped down the street, pushing the limits as my palms sweated and nearly froze to the wheel. I could just manage to steer with a wobble. I careened into my driveway; my mailbox started to dissolve. ""No!""--I rushed through the doorway--""Anna!"" A great weight pressed down on my mind like a blinding headache. Dancing lights and a faint buzzing started all around me. I ran towards the bedroom. Annabella sat up on the bed, a look of shock frozen on her face. Tears streamed down mine. ""Anna, baby, it's gonna be all right. I'm here for you."" Her voice shook, she started to shiver. ""I can't feel my legs."" I looked back at the bed. The sheets started to flake away. The weight in my mind pressed down harder, and I struggled to keep my eyes open. ""Look at me. I'm right here, ok?"" I fought back tears. ""Stay with me, baby. It's gonna be alright."" She reached out, her fingertips just barely touching mine. A look of terror crossed her face as her body started to pixelate. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. A smile crossed her face. ""Don't forget me,"" she whispered. She crumbled to dust before my eyes. ""No!"" I screamed, shaking the world around me. Fragments of our home started to dissolve. Broken pixels rose like ashes. I ran towards her, trying to piece together the dust, only to find myself covered in the shattered lie. The real world crashed through with roaring thunder. My dream collapsed. &#x200B; *** Chop onions with me at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH",1048
 My father had fought tooth and nail,"I don't know how long I stared at the gravestone. The giant gold, bronze and silver plated gravestone that had been chiseled and inscribed by the best craftsman money could buy. But even then it couldn't describe how great of a man he was. My father had fought tooth and nail bringing up this nation. Made deals he wasn't proud of. Killed people who were driven by greed or corruption and then later killed people driven by revenge. And through that blood he had created one of the most prosperous nations on the Continent from one of the poorest. &#x200B; I dropped to my knees. And I was supposed to live up to his name? Live up to expectations of not being chosen because I was the most loyal? Because I was not the most Charismatic? How could I? I wasn't even the eldest of the lot. Just the one picked. Just the answer that was given by a great man's only mistake in life when he was to choose his successor. &#x200B; I picked myself up. The new King couldn't be seen kneeling in the dirt to a massive rock that held only memories. Hell, I couldn't be seen kneeling to anyone. I had to be strong. Strong against retaliation, against greed and against my elder siblings that could kill me at the utter of the tongue to their assassins. Or, well I assumed they had some. The first thing I did with my money was hire a spymaster and some men from the underworld and if they had any sense they would have done the same. &#x200B; I started to head off of the royal graveyard and head for the throne room while wiping the tears off my face. It was nearly time I would be officially presented to the rest of my subjects and if my father taught me anything it was to always show a hard face to my acquaintances. Then I froze. Footsteps. I looked down towards the tears I had wiped from my face and quickly dove behind a nearby gravestone before aggressively rubbing at my eyes. &#x200B; A king must be always show a hardened mask after all. &#x200B; I breathed as quietly as I could before I glanced from behind the gravestone at the approaching figure. It was a man and he was turned away from me (Thank God). He was fingering the jewel encrusted sword at his side. I stared at his back for a few seconds and frowned. I recognized this man. It was my eldest brother Klington. A man who always radiated confidence and was always the center of the room. Despite him being my brother we rarely talked unless it was about the tournaments and at royal feasts. Those were the only times he was ever near me. &#x200B; I felt my face soften ever so slightly. Was he here to mourn our father too? &#x200B; He stood still for a few seconds and I contemplated approaching him. But only for a second. I didn't know if I could trust this man just yet. A few brief moments passed. I looked out at the sun rising and frowned. I was going to be late at this rate. &#x200B; ""Hey! Klington!"" a voice echoed over the graveyard. I recognized this voice too. It was the second eldest Ichor. Barely a man but still older than me. This one I knew or certain was an idiot. ""Shhh!"" Klington growled. ""Do you want everyone to hear us!?"" I could almost hear the grin in Ichor's voice as he briefly mocked Klington's statement. He took a deep breath and yelled ""HEEEEYYY ANYONE OUT HE\~mmmfff"" Klington had slapped a hand across Ichor's voice. ""DO YOU WANT EVERYONE IN THE KINGDOM TO HEAR US!?"" He screamed. &#x200B; I clasped my hands over my ears and sank to the ground. Damn, Klington could certainly be loud if he wanted to. I thought about looking up again but I tarnished the thought. If what they were talking about was supposedly secret then I'd be just as stupid as Ichor. Then I paused as I remembered Klington's scream. Was he also an idiot? Or just someone doing something just as stupid in a burst of passion? &#x200B; ""Ha! You're louder, brother"" Ichor remarked. Klington groaned loudly and he slapped our father's gravestone. ""Our father created this great empire and it is rightfully mine!"" I heard shuffling before Ichor whimpered. ""If our plan falls because you can't keep your voice low and we fail I'll kill you myself!"" Ichor gulped and muttered an apology. &#x200B; I felt sweat pour down my face and I reached for the hilt of my sword before I stopped and relaxed. They hadn't seen me yet. I could hide until they leave and get to my spymaster. ""They would be dead by morning"" I realized. I was King now and could have it done easily the second I got out of here. All I had to do was have their breakfast poisoned and it would be done. &#x200B; ""Is it finished?"" Klington asked. ""Yes brother"" Ichor stated. ""I attached a bucket of rocks to the top of his door. The second he opens it he get hit with the weight of a boulder and he shall die!"" Ichor both cackled gleefully at this statement while I could only listen on in terror. Greta the cleaning lady was going to go into my room any second now! I narrowed my eyes in the direction of the bedrooms. I wasn't sure if I could outrun the two but I could definitely try. Even if I died trying I could at least save my father's trusted maid. She was like a mother to me. I couldn't just sit here and let her die. &#x200B; ""And how many rocks is that?"" Klington asked. He we waited a few seconds before Ichor finished his cackling fit and answered. ""Two, brother"". ""How large?"" A couple seconds passed as I assumed Ichor showed Klington with his hands. ""What!? THOSE ARE PEBBLES YOU IDIOT!"" I let out a soft sigh sigh of relief. I guess Greta wasn't going to die yet. Not to these fools at least. ""WHY DIDN'T YOU LOOK FOR MORE ROCKS!?"" ""They were too heavy!"" Ichor yelled. ""I couldn't lift them all by myself to the top of a door! If you were there then maybe I'd have added more BUT YOU WEREN'T"". Ichor yelled back. Klington growled in response as I assumed he was thinking about murdering Ichor. Not that it would be a smart move. A King and a Prince both dying in a short period of time would only bring more suspicion. &#x200B; ""Fine. I'll do it myself"" Klington said. ""I shall become Kling if it's the last thing I do. It's my birthright, It's even in my name!"" he said angrily. ""It's King, brother"" Ichor said. There was a short pause before Klington slapped Ichor across the cheek. ""It's Kling you idiot! This is why I'm going to become Kling and you are not! Our Father was Kling, our brother is Kling and now I shall be Kling!"" &#x200B; ""F-Fine! but I'm still going to become your Co-King!"" Ichor said back. ""Co-Kling"" Klington growled. ""My number two and nothing else!"" I stared at the horizon. The sun was getting higher and higher in the sky. My meeting was going to happen soon. Maybe if I ran for it they would be too busy deciding who would be Co-Kling or Kling but I knew I had to stay there. If they came up with another plan that would accidently kill Greta I had to hear it. &#x200B; ""H-How are you going to do it?"" Ichor asked. ""I'm going to do it with poison"" Klington said. ""I'm going to poison his brussels sprouts. Everyone loves brussels sprouts! He'll be sure to eat them tonight!"" Klington laughed. I just gagged. Brussels sprouts tasted awful and I haven't eaten them in ages. ""Wait, brother do you have any poison to kill him with?"" Ichor asked. ""Cause I got some poison in my room I could lend you."" ""Why the hell do you have poison in your room?"" Klington echoed my thoughts. ""Cause I got a rat problem"" Ichor said shyly. ""Although once you're done can you return it? The rats won't leave the rotten food in my room alone"" ""Of course"" Klington chuckled. "" let's go get it"" &#x200B; &#x200B; I sat there for a few moments after they left before finally picking myself up and stretched. I was going to be late for the meeting but it was no matter. Tonight Klington was going to find brussels sprouts on his plate. Whether he wanted to eat them was up to him. But if he did, Ichor was screwed. I grinned sinisterly as I headed towards the kitchen. Oh, they were sooo screwed.",1485
" ""DEPLOY THE GOO","""DEPLOY THE GOOGLE SWORDS!"" My commander shrieked as the mecha mouse drew closer. The eyes of the mickey drones would burn into my head as long as I still drew breath, their whirring ears and zombified intellectual property serving no purpose other than asset denial. ""THE GOOGLE SWORDS!"" Came the cry of the searchers, racing through the city. It wasn't my job to fetch the swords. No. My job was to optimize their approach. I drew out my grappling hook, looked down at the picture I kept on my bedside table, and wished that my sister was still here to see this. Because this time, I wasn't going to be scared. This time, I was going to make it happen. This time, that fucking mouse would see what happened when you picked a fight with SEO corps! The grappling hook in hand, I threw myself out of the window. The goof artillery was growing closer. I could practically feel the bead of distant chugging equations, the whirr of the Beauty Beasts and the roar of the mobile theme park happiness dispensers. But not today. The google bots emerged from their prison deep under the earth, the political prisoners screaming as light touched their sensitive membranes for the first time since 2030. They thumped their heads against objects as they stumbled around, only for the GMAIL head to snap his whip. ""YOU SHALL SERVE YOUR STATE WELL THIS DAY! BETTER THAN YOU HAVE EVER SERVED THEM BEFORE!"" ""Gmail head Francis!"" I saluted. ""What are your orders? I have dreamed of this day!"" ""An SEO seeks my orders?"" Francis asked, pinning his glasses back on his nose with the pad of his thumb. ""Daring. I like that. TAKE THE RANGE FINDER AND PREPARE FOR THE DEPLOYMENT OF THE RIGHT TO BE FORGOTTEN!"" ""SIR YES SIR!"" I shouted. He tossed the range finder at me, shaped like Google itself, and I shot the grappling hook at the tallest building at the side of the mice. It nearly took off my arm, but I'd long been reinforced with the finest in Google Steel to fit my role as the one who optimized. Sure, I was a peasant, but every society fell without us! I landed at the top of the building, rolling nimbly to land on my feet. I wouldn't fuck up. Not this time. But there was already someone up there. ""Surrender, kid,"" A Jazmine said, drawing both of her swords. ""I'm here for the engine prototype."" ""And I'm here to get the title of Rat Killer,"" I said. I drew my knife. ""You're a Noogler,"" Jazmine laughed. ""What can you possibly do to me?"" ""Nothing."" I said. ""But everyone else?"" I flashed the range finder at her instead, the lime green light centering itself on her forehead, and pulled the trigger. Distantly, the survey drones responded to my call. I had found an enemy, as was my job. They'd be here shortly. ""Pathetic,"" Jazmine spat, narrowing her eyes. ""We will make sure NOBODY REMEMBERS YOUR EXISTENCE!"" ""A better fate than being cryogenically frozen to serve in your movies for the rest of my life!"" I hissed. The drones descended, and her blades, laced with the greatest and latest in movie magic, derived from the dank rituals of disney himself, and saved from creepy abandoned theme parks the world over, flashed like the grin of a cruel god. A drone exploded, and I lost track of her. Then the next drone exploded, and she stood on the edge of the building, swords gleaming with the recycled fry oil the drones ran off of. It was better to go green in this day and age! ""What are you?"" ""I'm Jazmine,"" The Jazmine said. ""I'm The Jazmine."" My heart would've been in my throat if that didn't give the Disney bots a better access point. As it was, I turned away from her, sweat rolling down my neck. The Jazmine!? I couldn't... I thought she was just... The roar of the distant Mickey Mech drew my attention. No, I couldn't be distracted by a super powered enemy. That wasn't my job. I'd leave that to the endless security drones chewed out by Friend Computer. No, my job was optimization. I stared at the massive beast that would tear down everything I love and hold dear, and pointed the range finder at it. From close to a mile away, I couldn't even see the dot, but my Google Glasses chirped out that I was hitting it. I held it there. Then the Glasses returned that it knew I was optimizing. And it deployed the happiest place on earth charges. They flew through the air, shot out of pneumatic tubes until the wings could take over, and quacked like a thousand ducks. Huey Dewey and Loiue arched up into the heavens, followed by Donald and Scrooge, and struck the building below me with an agonizing thump. I swallowed, and reached for the Grappling hook. And Jazmine leapt off the side of the building. It was fine, I knew that at this point, the sky was filled with magic carpets, their engines quietly whirring like a dyson fan. I hooked myself over to the next building, and the duck charges erupted into a cacophony of happiness and shrapnel, reducing the data center to nothing but scrap. The rest of the building would follow with thermite. But I wasn't there to worry about it, because the grappling hook had gone taut, sending my flying forward. Come on, where were the damn swords when I needed them? There was only so much optimizing I could do! But that was quitter talk! Even as I flew through the air I twisted to keep the finder firmly on the Mickey Mech. But it was already deploying more mascots, coating the ground in the heavily reinforced and genetically modified. This wasn't a border assault, this was a full blown invasion. If It wasn't for the fact my soul was backed up on the cloud, I'd have been seriously worried. ""MY LIFE FOR GOOGLE!"" I screamed, and the range finder finished optimizing. Far ahead, past the band of ruined space that had once supported weather satellites and nationalistic sciences, where the ISS still stood as the GOOGLE ORBITAL RESEARCH FACILITY, the Sword of Google awoke. It bore one weapon, one it had been charging for over a year. It took notice of my actions, took notice of the repetitive pings from every Noogler in the city, and locked on. ""WE ARE NOW ISSUING THE RIGHT TO BE FORGOTTEN!"" Francis screamed over the intercoms. ""CEASE AND DESIST!"" The Sword fired, and the entire city was atomized in glorious HD. I died with a damn smile on my face. It was fine though, I'd be back tomorrow to show up for work. ---- For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/",1144
 She held her cards up and was,"It suddenly hit him. He had looked at that thing for so long but he never realized it. She held her cards up and was biting her lower lip in concentration. ""I raise."" He didn't hear her. He was looking at her tattoo. How had he never seen it? The sunken cheeks, the wrinkles. It was him. No mistaking it. ""Honey? I called. Your turn."" He came to with a start. ""Oh right. Yeah. I fold."" ""You fold? Tried to bluff me with your big bets did you?"" ""You know me too well."" ""Better than yourself I would say."" ""It certainly seems that way."" She sighed. ""Alright. I think we need to talk."" ""So it is me?"" ""Yes."" ""But that's impossible. How could you have possibly known?"" ""Does it matter?"" ""It does."" ""Alright then. Settle down. I'll try to keep it short. But first. Do you trust me?"" ""We've been married for over forty years. I'd think that is an obvious answer."" ""Forty?"" She laughs. ""Well this might be a bit strange. But I assure you I am not crazy. This might sound crazy, but it's the honest truth."" ""You have a picture of me as I am not. At 70. On your hand. You've had it for at least forty five years. I don't think there could be a non crazy explanation."" ""Reincarnation."" ""What?"" ""Reincarnation."" ""No, I heard you. But that's a load of bull."" ""It's a fact. I know it sounds pretty crazy. But we've known each other for some ..."", she paused, scrunching up her face in concentration, ""...3500 years."" He laughed. ""Yeah OK."" ""It's true. I was royalty in my first life you know. So you can say that you're married to a former queen."" ""I can believe that part. You are really royal."" ""No seriously. This is what we would call ancient Egypt, you understand. I was born into the royal family. And I was born with a face on my hand. A young man. Rather good looking I must say."" ""Why, thank you."" ""My parents consulted with our priest. How cool is that? We had a personal priest/soothsayer. So he looked at me, said a lot of mumbo jumbo, I forget what exactly. It was a long time ago. But I remember what he said next very clearly. He said that once in a while, two souls take birth on our planet who are intertwined, bound by something extraordinary, destined to be together in every one of our lifetimes. He said that..."" She fell silent as a nurse entered the room. She replaced the bag of IV and checked the morphine rate. ""We feeling OK Al?"" ""Yes we are. Just dandy."" The nurse checked the forms at the end of the bed and left. ""Should I go on?"" ""Oh yeah sure. Let's hear it. I am interested. It has romance, it has magic. The sort of stuff I love to read. I am sure there's going to be some tragedy too."" She smiled. ""You have always had trouble believing. Oh well. Plenty of tragedy too, yes. Where was I? Oh yes. The priest. So he told my parents about how I was betrothed to you. And we were destined to be together. Well, they were happy for a while. Since I had a soulmate and we wouldn't even have to look hard. We had a picture after all. Till they saw you, a peasant working in the fields. Well they didn't like that. Tried to keep me away from you. But well, destiny you know. I met you. I recognized you. The tattoo was of you at about eighteen or thereabouts. My parents were against our marriage of course. They murdered you. I committed suicide. You know, the usual."" ""You what?"" ""Our souls are intertwined. What would I have done without you?"" ""Well, we were born again. I still had the tattoo, and the memories. But this time the tattoo was different. It was you at about 25. We were both born as peasants the next time. We lived happily. Till you died when you hit that age. See not only does this tattoo remind me of my soulmate. It also tells me how much time I have with you. Well, you died, I killed myself. Rinse and repeat for a lot, and i mean, a lot of times. And here we are. This tattoo, is you at seventy which means, which means..."" She broke down, tears streaming down her face. He looked at her. ""You sound convincing. Have we had good lives?"" ""Most of them. There were a few when I didn't even meet you. You died too early. Once I had a picture of you as a cute little chubby baby. Of course, by the time I grew up and understood everything, you were already gone."" ""That's insane."" ""It is. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you Al. And I will meet you in the next lifetime. I will find you and we will be together again."" ""So I am about to die."" ""I am afraid so."" ""And you plan to kill yourself?"" ""Yes."" ""Please don't."" ""Were you not listening? We are destiny. Kismet. We are meant to be together. Our souls need each other."" ""When was the last time your life was about you, and not me."" She looked at him, taken aback. ""What do you mean?"" ""So you are born. And when you finally have your wits about me, you start looking for me?"" ""Yes, pretty much."" ""And then we are together. And you know when I die, and by extension, when you die. And you do everything to make sure I am happy. My pending fatality always looming over us. Over you."" ""What are you getting at Al?"" ""I... Look, if this is all real, if..."" A coughing fit interrupted him. She got him a glass of water. ""You should rest Al."" ""No, I gotta say this. Before it's too late. If what you say is true, I am the luckiest man in the world. I love you. Even if it's obvious to me, you're a bit cuckoo, you know. But I would be ecstatic if I spend all of my lives with you. Nothing would make me more happy. But also, that makes me sad. Because, you have tied your life to mine. I want you to do something for me. I want you to live your life. For you."" ""You are my everything Al."" ""No I am not. There is lots to do in this world. With me or without me. You always said that you liked Stephen King's books. You said that you wanted to read them all. When I am gone, why not take a vacation, read them all. Relax."" ""I can't... I can't do that. What if you are born and I am still alive and something..."" ""Liz. Listen to me. You have a life of your own too. You said it yourself. Kismet. We are meant to be together. It will bring us together. Doesn't matter what we do."" ""But what if..."" ""Liz, promise me. A dying man's wish. Live this life. In your next, cover that damned thing up. Leave it up to destiny. Do what you want to do. Not what I want you to do."" ""Al, I can't..."" He smiled. ""I love you Liz. In this life and beyond. And I want you to be happy. Do what you've dreamed of doing. Whether I am here or not. Promise me."" She was crying freely. ""I promise."" He smiled at her through the obvious pain. ""See you next time Liz. I love you."" ******* Fixed a few things.",1280
 Billions of perfect capsules orbited,"The sphere was held inside our quarantine bay, secured by wires to stop it from rolling, as bright white lights poured over it, spilling off it and onto the metal ground around it in a pool. It was as if the sphere didn't want anything trying to get inside of it. Not even light. Billions of these perfect capsules orbited the white dwarf star, Seria, and each one contained a single lifeless body. The spheres were covered in black symbols that seemed almost hieroglyphic in nature. If one looked at the glyphs hard enough -- long enough -- a few would *almost* start to look familiar. Like trees or animals. But not quite. Just a little too uncanny. I pressed my face against the diamond-like surface and peered in at the woman inside. Doctor Konrad had likened her to a mosquito trapped in amber for millions of years, waiting to be found. She was perfectly naked and looked perfectly, impossibly, human. Bright red hair fell onto soft pale cheeks. The crew had given her the sobriquet of Phoenix. Her eyes were closed but I half-expected them to open as I stared. I didn't like this solar system one bit. Dead bodies floating around a dead star. And at the edge of the system, a tiny black hole threatening to suck nearby existence into it. All the planets located here were frozen, uninhabitable, tundra. It was the blackhole we were here to study. An anomaly, even among blackholes. Unstable and throwing out matter irregularly. There had been (ridiculed) theories it was artificial, but instead of simply guessing, we had been sent to find out. And then we'd arrived. We'd found the spheres. The bodies inside of them that looked human, but couldn't be. We had travelled the furthest any manned ship had done, for *this* mission. No human could be out here already. Any thoughts about the blackhole had been quickly swallowed up. ""She is dead, right?"" I asked Konrad as I examined the woman's face. He nodded, his grey hair, that made him seem twenty years older than his age, falling over his eyes. ""Yes, she's dead Markus. No breathing. No heartbeat. No pulse."" A shot of annoyance caused my top lip to curl up. Of all the crew, only Konrad called me by first name when on duty. Almost as if he thought we were friends, or our positions were of a similar rank. But I had sacrificed everything to get where I was. He had simply studied. I had scars, internal and external. He just had steady hands. We weren't similar on any level. ""Captain,"" I told him, for the tenth time since waking, trying to keep my voice level. ""Please refer to me as Captain when I'm on duty."" ""Of course. You will excuse me for forgetting. We were much less formal on my last ship. Yes, *Captain*, she is dead. But she -- all of them -- have been so well preserved. It's almost like""--he paused and pushed his hair back--""she was alive when she was placed inside the capsule."" I ran a hand over my mouth as I considered. ""The capsule killed her in order to preserve her?"" He shrugged. ""Perhaps."" ""Is it possible they're in some kind of cryo-stasis? The way we froze ourselves to be able to reach here."" ""I don't know,"" he said. ""You want to ask Elliot what he's found out about the capsule. He would have a much better idea if that's possible. I'm just a doctor."" I almost agreed that yes, he was just a doctor, but instead said, ""I did ask Elliot. His team has so far found diddly squat. A material they can't identify doing something they don't understand to the strange body within. They want to try to crack the shell open now, see if they can learn anything from its insides."" ""That might be a good idea,"" Konrad said, ""as it also gives me the opportunity to properly study the body within. And to see if there is anything in the idea of the spheres being some kind of cryo-pod."" ""If we drill it open and find out it was cryo... What happens to her then? It clearly isn't meant to be opened with a drill."" ""You can't make an omelette without breaking an egg or two. And we do have plenty of eggs spare."" For a doctor, he sometimes had very little compassion. ""Been reading old Earth idioms again?"" ""We all need a hobby."" He paused and looked away from me. ""Even you."" ""What's that meant to mean?"" I snapped, instantly regretting it. I was only giving Konrad more ammunition. Ever since we'd awoken and been briefed by the Council on the destruction of Ganymede, he'd been 'concerned' about my mental health. He didn't believe I was still capable of doing my job and was watching my every move and reaction. Not only that, but he seemed to actively be pushing me. Goading. But I was fine. My family would have been dead long, long before Ganymede's destruction. I had known that the moment I had accepted the mission. ""Nothing,"" he said, perhaps not wanting to retread old ground. Whatever his reason, I was grateful. There was a swoosh behind me as the doors to the quarantine opened and Sophia, my communications officer, entered. I turned to the brunette, dressed in the chrome crew uniform -- a sharp contrast to the deep blue of my own. ""Captain,"" she said. There was an anxious quake in her voice. ""You have news. Tell me its good,"" I said. She tried to smile but her lips fell back down into a line. ""It's good and bad, I suppose. The good part is that we've decoded some of the glyphs on the sphere."" She looked down at the floor. ""But, that's also the bad part."" ""Well it all sounds good news to me. What did you find?"" ""Ignorance is often bliss, Markus,"" said Konrad as he walked to my side, causing my lip to curl into an annoyed tick for a second time. I shot him a glare, but he didn't notice as his eyes were firmly locked on Sophia's. ""Well, we've not translated them all yet. Just a few lines."" ""So you have something,"" I encouraged her. ""What do you have?"" She paused. ""Tell me,"" I commanded. ""It took us eight hundred years to reach Seria, correct Sir?"" ""More or less,"" I agreed. ""The messages we woke up to... The most recent was transmitted four hundred years ago. The Ganymede debriefing."" I swallowed back the usual pang of pain upon hearing the moon's name. ""Yes. You know this, Sophia. And you know how long it takes light to travel -- we didn't travel much slower ourselves. Not everything they've sent will have caught up with us yet."" She paused and looked at the sphere. ""One section is simply a name: Elizabeth Clarke."" It felt like an army of ants were marching down my spine. ""That's a very Earth-like name,"" I said. ""Yes. The next part we decoded,"" she continued, ""is a number. Very long and varied. Something like a catalogue number. And... There are coordinates, too. We didn't know it to start with, we thought it was maybe a date. But we checked. And double checked. And..."" ""Coordinates? Konrad repeated. She nodded and looked at me. ""Sir, they're the coordinates of Earth, at least from here. I think these people in the Spheres. I think they're..."" ""*Human?*"" I asked? ""Jesus,"" said Konrad. I could feel my pulse racing in my throat. ""Humanity,"" she whispered.",1267
 Simon opened the door to see a,"I opened the door to see a familiar face standing in front of me. ""You?"" My hand instinctively reached for my weapon. But I was not the Defender at this time. No. I was just Simon. ""I need your help. I don't know where else to go."" ""Is this some kind of a trick Matterman? And how did you know who I am and where I live."" ""I've known your secret identity for a while. And no trick. In fact to prove I am here in good faith, here."" He removed his mask as I looked at my mortal enemy's face for the first time. The first thing that stuck me was the scar. It ran down his right cheek right down to his mouth. The lips were a bit disfigured which made him look like he was snarling at all times. But I also noticed the square jaw and the brilliant blue eyes. And I had run afoul of that brilliance many times myself. ""Who is this?"" ""I... her name is Natasha. I was at a party and she was the bartender there. We stuck up a conversation."" ""What happened to her?"" ""A couple of guys were hitting on her. She asked the bouncer to escort them out. They took him out and went after her. They pushed her into the bar. I, well, I took care of those guys. But I didn't know where to take her."" ""Well a hospital would be a good start."" ""I've looked at her wounds. I have some medical experience. The cuts aren't deep. I can stitch them up myself. She'll be fine. I don't want there to be a hospital and the cops involved. Word gets out that I helped her and she will have half of the gangs in the city looking for her."" ""So why here?"" ""Well I..."" He stared at the ground for a couple of minutes. ""As weird as it sounds, you're probably the only guy I can trust right now. Even my own gang probably has spies. I know I have mine embedded in various competing organizations. You, I know you are not going to sell the poor girl out."" ""What's to stop me from arresting you and then helping her out."" ""Nothing really. But I just hope you don't do that."" ""Alright come on in."" ********* ""Ok so apply this to her wounds a couple of times a day. Give her a painkiller if she needs it. Do I have that right?"" ""Yes. Except give her a painkiller regardless."" ""And what now?"" ""Now let her rest."" ""You know what I mean."" ""I do. And I am not sure how to answer that question. It's up to you really. I will fight you if you try to take me in of course. I don't want to right now, but I will."" ""Will you be back to visit her?"" ""Will you let me go if I say yes?"" ""If you answer a couple of my questions."" ""I will. I cannot promise to be truthful though or answer them all."" ""Why? Why her?"" ""No reason."" ""Do you have the hots for her?"" He looked at me disgusted. ""No. Nothing like that."" ""Then why?"" ""No reason. I was in a bad mood looking to take it out on someone. Those guys were just in the wrong place at the wrong time."" ""You said you were talking to this girl, what's her name again?"" ""Nats. Natasha."" ""Right. Do you know her from before?"" ""No. Met her for the first time today."" ""Tell me what you know about her."" ""Nothing much. She goes to UoT. Pursuing masters in cryptography."" ""Ooh. Smart girl."" ""Very."" ""How did you get this scar?"" ""Excuse me?"" ""That scar. How?"" ""Doesn't concern this matter."" ""I never said my questions would be limited to this matter, as you put it."" He sighed. ""You want to know how I got these scars? My father, may his soul spend an eternity getting tortured in hell, threw a beer bottle at me."" ""Oh. So you had a tough childhood?"" ""You don't go around the city wearing tight spandex costumes if you aren't fucked up in the head a little."" ""Tell me about yourself."" ""Mother died when I was two. Natalie, my sister took care of me. Till the little piece of shit I had for father took her away from me. She had stood up for me every time, so I thought I should return the favour. Killed him. Went to juvie."" ""So it's a Martha thing. Same names and what not?"" ""What? No. She... she did kinda remind me of my sister. Ok enough questions. Do I walk out of here or do I have to fight you?"" ""Are you planning on coming back?"" ""Yes."" ""Then you can go for now."" He looked at me with a puzzled look. ""I... thanks."" ""You're most welcome."" I handed him a bottle. ""Here. One for the road. It's been a tough night."" He extended his hand. I shook it and he turned around and left. Just like that. ******** When he was gone, I dialled the number. ""It worked."" ""He fell for it?"" ""Yes. What about the two goons."" ""They will be ok. Eventually. He did quite a number on them. But they will be paid handsomely for their troubles."" ""Pay them in cash ok. Nothing traceable."" ""So what's next?"" ""I am not sure yet. Either I take him out when he fully trusts me and least expects it or I try and work on him till he becomes an ally."" ""And the girl."" ""She goes back to her life. No harm done. I'll pay off her college tuition or something for her unknowing participation."" ""So it all worked out. I had my doubts."" ""There is no way I was going to beat him using any traditional means. I have fought him to a standstill without a clear winner many many times. His past and the girl with her remarkable resemblance to his late sister's appearance gave me this extra ordinary opportunity. If I can get him on my side, I am sure I can finish off all the crime in the city quickly and efficiently.""",1032
" ""Team sports"" quickly turned into","I never believed in anything until the entire Universe fought a war over me. Now, I really wish I could go back to not believing at all. It all began on what felt like a normal Thursday. I was driving to the community center where I worked as the youth basketball coach. Our community center was as close as you could get to the world's biggest foster home; there were 40-odd kids in there at any given time, and most of them would spend the nights in the dorms in the basement. My job was to get them all to stop fighting for a few hours a day and convince them to play team sports instead. ""Team sports"" quickly turned into just basketball after a ""friendly"" game of ""touch football"" resulted in four concussions and two broken arms. I was thinking about how the world had abandoned these poor kids when I saw it. There was a gold bar just sitting there on the side of the road, and there weren't any armored cars or anything nearby. I reached down to grab it, figuring that I could return it to the police station after practice. Instead, I picked up the bar and the world exploded. _There must have been some kind of bomb trigger underneath the bar_ I thought dimly. I sunk into the darkness tugging at the corners of my eyes, and the last thing I saw was the fireball as I flew through the air to my death. I woke up five minutes later on a giant pile of pillows. Every single fire hydrant in the street had opened up at once, putting out the fire from the bomb. I, on the other hand, had apparently landed directly behind a truck carrying pillows that I hadn't seen earlier, and the workers just happened to be in the middle of unloading when the bomb blew up. These were not coincidences. Someone wanted me dead, and someone else wanted me alive. The next week passed in a blur. It felt like every hour was a new catastrophe, and every catastrophe was followed by enough lucky breaks to win the lottery at least a hundred times. I sleepwalked out of the window of my 40th floor apartment--only to hit a bird at just the right angle and bounce through on the 38th floor alive and relatively unharmed. The next day, I ducked out of the way of a car that was about to hit me and stepped on a live wire; that exact second, a truck carrying rubber came careening out of nowhere and somehow absorbed most of the shock. Two days later, the loose backboard on the left side of the gym fell right onto my head. Or at least it would have, if a sinkhole hadn't appeared under me the moment the basket fell. I ended up with a tiny lump on my head instead of what should have been certain death. The Thursday after I found the gold bar, I was accosted in the middle of the street by a man with a ratty, hooded black robe that looked like he'd escaped a seminary and rolled through 30 miles of tar before finding me. He was inches from touching my arm before a giant chasm opened up right under his feet and swallowed the man whole. Was it stupid? Obviously. But I was fed up with nearly dying every hour and that hooded man looked out of place enough that he could have been the Grim Reaper. One week ago I would have laughed if anyone suggested that. Instead, I did the most impulsive thing possible and jumped into the chasm just before it closed. I would have felt stupid anyway, but I felt even dumber when I realized that the chasm had no bottom. I shut my eyes right and screamed for a while, but I was no closer to the bottom than I had been when I jumped. I shut my eyes again and waited for the end. It could have been a few minutes later, or a few hours later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Suddenly, I was no longer falling but standing in the middle of what looked like a desert. There was a river of lava about 500 feet in front of me, and the sand was blood-red. I ran my fingers through it to find that the sand was sticky, and suddenly the coloring didn't appear all that innocent anymore. I recoiled in horror. ""So, you've finally died."" I wheeled around to find the voice, but it didn't take very long. The hooded man from earlier was standing directly behind me, but he had taken his hood down to reveal his face, a grinning mask of yellow-green mottled skin stretched tightly over a massive skull. He had no eyes, just swirling black vortexes sunken into his skull. I had a feeling that he could still see just fine though, since he was facing me while making no motions to hide the undisguised triumph of his smile. ""Well you certainly didn't make it easy--"" ""I didn't make it easy?! I DIDN'T?!"" The smile had vanished instantly, replaced with a snarl of rage. ""I have been trying for a WEEK to kill you, ever since I heard the prophecy."" ""The prophecy?"" I said in a meek voice. I, who couldn't even read fantasy books because I wanted something realistic, was the subject of a prophecy? ""Yes, foolish mortal,"" Death responded in an almost-bored tone. ""The one with the power to overthrow Hell. You, Adam Lawson, mediator of the Damned."" I should have been cowering in fear or demanding a real explanation. Instead, my response was ""But why am I in Hell anyway? I don't think I was a bad person..."" Death actually had the gall to laugh at that. ""Satan's been arguing that non-stop for the past week, in between thwarting my attempts to kill you. But this is your destiny, little mortal. To unite the tormented souls of Hell and lead them back to the Earth on a quest of death and destruction. Lucifer will lose all of his pawns, and I will gain an army of my own."" The one thing that I hated the most about prophecies? You never got a choice. Death certainly seemed to feel that way. But I didn't devote my life to making the world a better place just to destroy it once I died. ""Where do I go now?"" I asked the hooded man. He pointed a skeletal figure to a monstrous red-and-gray palace rising from the dunes a few miles away. ""This is where the Lord of the Underworld resides. He will determine your punishment."" I nodded to Death in thanks, ignoring his smug look of self-satisfaction as I trudged off. I didn't know if Satan would be amenable to me choosing my own punishment, but I started thinking about the least painful forms of eternal solitary confinement. If my destiny was to destroy the world, the least I could do was sacrifice myself to prevent it. __________________ If you liked this, check out my new subreddit! r/NicodemusLux",1196
" Dr Amitos was a solid,","By all accounts, Dr Amitos was a good guy. He had no dark and dastardly secrets. He harboured no vicious or misanthropic thoughts. He was a solid, pragmatic man who advocated for atheism, democracy, and the rights of the downtrodden and less fortunate. He volunteered in both ""hands on"" and administrative capacities, scooping soup at the soup kitchen for the homeless, and sitting on boards for the MS Society and the local children's hospital. He had spent some years as a medical doctor when he was younger. Then, some years as an oncologist. But now he worked as a full time cancer researcher at one of the premier medical institutes in the country. His research on how to neutralize cancer cells after they had gone rogue was coming along nicely: he and his team had published no less than three papers in the last four years about their findings. But no living human--not his team, not his friends, not even Dr Amitos himself--knew just how close he was to a massive breakthrough. Indeed, only Death, Satan, and God, who sees and knows all, were aware that, if left to his own devices, Dr Amitos would soon cure cancer, once and for all. ""If this man succeeds,"" complained Death, ""my hunger for mortal souls will not be satiated. Men, women and children, who should by rights have died from their cancers, will live long past their natural expiration dates. I stood idly by when the toilet was invented. That alone cost me billions of easy souls. I had to wait for them. To fight for them. To put effort into making them die. I could no longer count on festering waste to give rise to some sickness that would kill them quickly and efficiently, without my intervention: the waste no longer festered, but was flushed away. And I did nothing when antibiotics were first discovered. Once, simple cuts could mean the demise of otherwise hearty human beings; now, a few pills can save even the most grievously wounded from infection, and prolong their lives, cheating me of my birthright. I will not make the same mistake again. I will not watch impotently as cancer, one of the greatest natural soul-reapers left, is defeated. I will kill this man Amitos, and burn to the ground the building in which his research is collected."" Satan, ever the cleverest, most calculating and mischievous demon, sat unseen in the shadows and listened to Death's complaints. And after he heard Death state his goal of executing Amitos, and after he saw Death twist into a whirl of black smoke and disappear, a quick succession of thoughts flashed through his mind: ""The longer humans live,"" Satan thought, ""the more time they have to condemn themselves. The more time they spend in the wretched, corrupt and materialistic modern world, the more time they have to taint their innocence, to stray from their faith and virtue, and to fall from God's grace. Any discovery or invention that prolongs the lives of mortals benefits me in the long run. That is reason enough for me save this foolish doctor's life. But there is another reason that compels me to thwart Death in his mission to terminate Amitos. I am sick, sick, utterly sick and tired of these good-natured and virtuous men and women filling up the halls of Hell after their deaths--sent to me simply because they do not believe in and accept my Father. I am not allowed to punish them as I punish the rapists, murderers and war-mongering politicians. They were too good in life to sin egregiously enough for that. But yet, because they denounce my Father, they are also not allowed to enter his Kingdom of Heaven. So they bustle and talk kindly and do charitable works in the Underworld, crowding the sense of doom, evil and everlasting torment out of Hell, crowding out Hell's very hellishness! Damn them! Damn them all! (But to some place other than Hell, of course). Yes. Yes. I'll save this wretched Amitos' life--to ensure my flock of sinners, in the long-term, grows, but also so that I can put off having yet another good-hearted and altruistic man tainting Hell's ambiance!"" \-- Dr Amitos lived with his family on an acreage, a little ways out of town. He did not like his morning commutes because he was often tired and irritable in the morning. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and the bustling life around him seemed offensive. He did, however, enjoy his commutes after work. Much to his wife's chagrin, he had been staying later and later at the lab. And although some of this could be attributed to his assiduousness and work-ethic, even more could be attributed to the fact that he really enjoyed driving home at night, after the sun had set. The city streets were not busy, and the highway that took him to his country home was often all but deserted. Dr Amitos would put one of his favourite jazz or classic rock albums on in the car, and smile contentedly to himself as he rolled down the open road, homeward bound. His vehicle had excellent suspension and his car muted any driving noises, so he felt, as he drove through the darkness, like he was floating through the great, unfathomable universe, floating through the nothingness of space in a pod in which the only things that existed were him and his favourite tunes. When he turned off the highway, onto the the long range road that led eventually to his home, he saw the bright lights of what was certainly a semi-truck in the distance. He noticed that the truck was not moving. Then he saw it start accelerating. For a moment, he wondered, ""why would a truck like that be stopped on a road like this?"" but the thought quickly slipped from his mind, and he continued driving onward, trying to return to that state of meditative calm in which he had just been luxuriating. After all, he had no rational reason to be suspicious of the truck. For how could he possibly have known that its driver, hooded and hunched over in the driver's seat, clutching the steering wheel with his skeletal hands, and peering down the road at Dr Amitos through his hollow eye sockets, was Death himself?",1055
 The skeleton has given up trying to,"There are two gods in this world. One of them is brutal, bursting from his tall stone house to cut anything down that sniffs wrong in his direction. The other is cautious and clever, taking in the boons of the world and creating something new. They are gods of war and craft; pushing for bloodshed when the moon rises, and raising meters of impossible structures beneath the sun. The god of craft stares at a sad, living pile of bones from her perch up a tree. Soon, the other god will return carrying death, and the god of craft can steal its bones for their divine machinations. The skeleton has given up trying to express anything. Any time it raises its skull to seek pity, the arcane pool that has replaced its brain fills with an inexplicable rage. *Shoot, kill. Shoot, kill.* It uses the rest of its energy to stare down at its destroyed ribcage. Both clavicles are shattered, both scapulae have cracked. It couldn't raise its arms to fire its bow if it wanted to, and it very much wants to. The creative god looks on in disgust as the skeleton animates in an approximation of ragged breathing. The pity in her eyes gave it hope, but nothing can remove the law of murder inscribed into its very being since rebirth. It is time for it to die. The creature has begun to accept this. It wishes it didn't remember the time before. During moments of repose in the long nights, it recalls a time in a land that looked similar, but not quite the same as this one. There used to be a city where the great ravines meet. It was full of regular people, not gods. They built fences by hand instead of synthesizing raw wood into shape and pushing it into the earth with no exertion. They moved grindstones big enough to crush a cow using clever implements of engineering in order to make bread from grain, rather than transfusing the raw grain directly. But worst of all, or maybe best, is the difference in warfare. The skeleton remembers this clearly. The bow in the grass next to its twitching hand is not the same one it used to use; it appeared at its birth, just as magic as the gods themselves. Its true bow had been reduced to dust by the centuries, millennia since its first life had been cut short by the enemy's arrow. It had seen the viscera of its brothers and sisters in arms, seen people's guts spew forward, seen an arrow pierce and throw brain matter. The gods do not suffer these sights. When they cut down their animals for meat, it is bloodless and near-instantaneous. They have no idea what they are doing. The god is standing over it now. She is tall, and on her back is the magic pickaxe she uses to rip the earth from this world. Though they lack any emotive features whatsoever, there is something pitiable about the skeletons that rise in the night which the fleshy, stinking zombies lack. It is as though the corruption of form in zombies confirms their dark nature. Skeletons, on the other hand, are a constant in anything good and evil. They are clever enough to wield bows. Perhaps, she thinks, they are clever enough to feel? ""Show me,"" she said. The language is foreign to the dying creature, but it can understand every word. ""Show me something. Do you understand?"" It looked up, filled with visible rage, then looked away. It remembers the heat of the afternoon being interrupted by the shadow of its superior. A general, whose name it can no longer recall, stood shouting at the ranks. Whatever politics of the time that had caused one ruler to impose upon the lands of another had long lost any meaning. The skeleton can remember clearly the feeling of fear and doubt. Scraps of news would reach the lower ranks, spelling everyone's incoming doom. Maybe if it had defected it would still be dead. Maybe it was raised again as punishment for dying, falling for someone else's goals, forsaking its own life for no reason at all. ""Run away with me"", it had thought. It never got to whisper these words to its love. She crouches down. She's considering something. The skeleton tries not to look at her. It is too tired to be angry. ""Can you move your hands?"" It might as well. The creature twitches its hands. This causes more consideration. ""Tap once for no and twice for yes. Were you ever alive?"" What a weird question. Where do the gods think skeletons come from? Two taps. ""Were there others?"" Two taps. ""Do you miss it?"" It doesn't respond. The skeleton probably does, it thinks, but could never bring itself to that kind of futile thought. Everything is so different now. The mountains to the west are softer, greener. The desert has lost so much sand to that vile swamp. All the farmland is gone, thick woods take the place of pasture, and wild cattle again march in the fashion of their auroch ancestors. The wolves have returned to the kingdom. This place will never be home. It can never have children with its love, never feel warm bread on its tongue, never avoid the manure peppering the cobbled streets on its way to squire for the castle on its high hill. *Yes,* it thinks, *I miss it more than anything*. Before it can tap its finger-bones, the second god arrives with a clamor of savage barking. The wolves expunged from this land so long ago now seek the companionship of the god of death. A pack of them, about seven, wag and bark behind him. The god of craft has returned to the tree, this time leaning against it. The skeleton stuffs down its rage and looks directly at her. ""You good?"" he asked. He is used to her random attachments to lesser beings. She meets the collapsed creature's gaze. The skeleton feels more than ever how worthless everything has always been. Despite the futility of both its existences, it decides to believe she will, eventually, show mercy to its skeletal brethren, and that this life was the catalyst. It wishes it could see it. See what kind of city she builds them. Its last thoughts are of hope. ""Yeah,"" she said. ""Go ahead."" As the sun sets on its second life, the pack breaks all the bones that were once its body. ------- Thanks. Wrote this in the early morning and checked back in during work. I'm glad you liked it! I played Minecraft back in infdev and met my long term SO there. It's a special game.",1125
 Ian always hated English class . He,"Ian always hated English class. It was rare for there to be anything that interested him. Most of the books were boring and the writing assignments were even more so. A four page essay about my spring break? I stayed at home watching TV and playing StarCraft, should I write about that? Uhg. While Ian internally complained and stared out the window, Mr. Smith was droning on about something. Ian didn't care, probably something dumb. He would ask Chris about it later. ""... count on you, right Ian?"" Mr. Smith said. Ian focused his attention towards him. Mr. Smith had his hands on the shoulders of a kid wearing a collared shirt and jeans. It also had a lizard face. Weird. Wait. ""Excuse me, what the fuck,"" Ian said aloud as what he was seeing finally hit him. ""Ian, watch your language! Are you going to help Mark get settled in or not? If you do I may forget the fact you just cursed in my classroom."" Ian was still trying to wrap his head around this. He looked around the room and no one seemed to care. Some of his classmates were doodling, others casually looking in his direction. 'Mark' was looking right at him. Okay, I wanted to end my boredom but this is too damn much, he thought to himself. Think. No one else is responding to this, maybe it's a prank or... maybe you are hallucinating. Okay, I'll show him around, first top, nurses office. ""I guess,"" Ian said still filled with doubt and worry. ""Great. Chris, can you please make sure to give him a copy of your notes after class?"" ""Sure thing, Mr. Smith,"" Chris replied. ""Alright, Ian get going. Come back when you are done."" ""Okay,"" Ian said while staring hard at Mark. Ian got out of his desk and grabbed his bag. There was a part of him that wanted to look up and see some normal pimply face teenager staring back at him when he looked up again. No luck. Still a guy with a green head that resembled a Komodo dragon. Ian opened the door and held it for Mark who exited the classroom. Think, Ian, how do I figure this out. Shit. Wait. ""So, where are you from?"" Ian asked without looking at him. ""You probably have never heard of it, it's pretty far away."" He replied, his voice was raspy with a bit of lisp, but it was distinctly a North American English accent of some sort. Ian was never good at that stuff. Like he could tell if someone was from the south or the east coast but that's about it. ""I see. Well, let's go to the nurse first I have to ask her a question, but here are the 2nd floor classrooms as you have already figured out. Any classroom with a 2... which now that I'm saying it, that's probably obvious."" ""A little,"" Mark said with an odd chortle. ""Are you okay?"" Fuck. The one question he didn't want this guy to ask. No, there are a million questions he didn't want him to ask. Keep it simple until you figure this out Ian. ""Yeah, might be getting a cold or something."" Ian replied. They descended the stairs to the first floor near the entry to the building. ""Okay so down that way,"" Ian pointed behind the stairs, ""are the A lockers and classrooms, mostly for freshman. And over that way, are the C lockers and the C classrooms and this way are B."" Ian said this as he pointed down the halls where they were. ""Got it."" ""And around this corner are all the administration crap, principal's office, nurse's office, all that shit. So give me a minute. I'll be back in a few."" Ian said as he opened the door to the nurses office. Mrs. Brooks was sitting at her computer as he entered. She looked up, smiled and slid her chair into the open. ""Hello, young man. Ian, right?"" ""Yes, ma'am."" ""What's wrong?"" ""I don't really know, I think I might have a fever or something. I was seeing weird stuff earlier."" Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. ""That doesn't sound good. Let's take your temperature, though I must say you look perfectly fine."" ""Yeah, it just happened a bit ago. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't weird."" She gave him a concerned, but puzzled look before handing him a thermometer. He put it in his mouth. Ian knew there was nothing wrong. Mark was a damned lizard person and he was the only one that could see it. This was some serious horror stuff going on. Lovecraft, King... something. A moment later the thermometer beeped. Mrs. Brooks took it. ""98, a bit low, but nothing to worry about. Why don't you go back to class for now, if you start to feel worse you can come back."" Figures. ""Okay, thanks Mrs. Brooks."" Ian left the office to see Mark sitting on a nearby chair in the hall. ""Everything okay?"" He asked. No, it's not, you still look like a damned lizard. ""No. You are going to think this is nuts... but right now you look like a lizard person. I don't mean I think you are ugly or weird or something... like LITERALLY A LIZARD PERSON. I think I'm losing my mind."" Mark chuckled. ""Well, guess someone is losing their fucking job. Flarxal, did you hear that?.. No, I didn't authorize that yet... This was a long term mission, estimated ten earth years... No, EARTH YEARS... You what?.. For the love of... Well, sorry Ian. You weren't suppose to find out this way."" Mark lifted his wrist and a holographic interface appeared. He did something to it and his face shifted to that of an almost generic high school student. Dark hair, roman nose, pimples all that. Then it reverted back. Ian was trying to wrap his head around this. What the actual fuck. He started to feel light headed. He fell backwards. ""Yep, there he goes,"" 'Mark' said as Ian lost consciousness. *Continued below.*",1017
 There's no way he was me,"*Fuck this guy.* That's all I could think when I first saw him--'my future self'. There's no way he was me; he stood there with a stupid toothy smile on his face, and an unkempt gray beard fell down his neck; a bright yellow shirt, unbuttoned and loose, pants that looked like an old woman's quilt, and thongs that flopped loudly when he walked. He looked like he sat around smoking weed and talking to birds all day, and he annoyed me at first sight. ""Well, then,"" he sighed lazily, still grinning like an idiot. ""This is awkward."" I checked my watch and groaned, only 9am; I had at least another ten hours with this hobo, and a million more important things I could be doing. ""Look,"" I refused his handshake and pulled out my phone, running through some emails as I spoke. ""I'm only doing this because we're forced to; I've got work piled up to my fucking ears, so how about we just head to a coffee shop and you can sit there and read or daydream while I get my shit done?"" He laughed, ""You're the boss, kid."" We made our way silently through the park we'd met at towards a cafe patio on the other side. He sat down in a sunny spot, crossing his legs gayly and putting his hands behind his head, ""Beautiful morning, isn't it?"" I stared at him in disbelief. *There's just no fucking way.* ""Right, what do you want?"" ""Well, I'd love to add some square footage to my greenhouse back home, or maybe redo the deck in the yard."" I shook my head, my aggravation apparent. ""To drink, man! Coffee?"" ""Oh,"" he giggled to himself and rubbed his beard for a few moments, as if contemplating a major life decision. ""Tea, non-caffeinated, por favor."" I felt like I was babysitting some geriatric for community service. Hell, maybe that's what this all was? A massive conspiracy to get the youth involved with caring for the old and senile. When I returned, feeling a bit better now that I had a triple shot of espresso in my hand, I found him reading a book. A real book, not on a holo-tablet or through neural-lenses, but a worn, physical, paper book. ""People still use those in the future?"" I set down his tea and pulled my computer from my bag. ""Some of us do,"" he flipped the page without looking at me. ""Book lovers like myself usually have a nice little collection."" A book collector? Ya, they could have at least picked one out of the senior's home that shared the same interests as me. He kept quiet for the next few hours while I hammered away at the keys on my laptop and made calls one after the other; only interrupting the silence to chuckle at a string of words on the page, and occasionally flashing a bright smile at me. One of my calls didn't end well, and I sat there rubbing my temples as he looked on. ""You should try to relax; you're just a kid, there's no need to be stressing yourself so greatly at such a young age."" ""What the hell would you know about it? You look like you've never worried about anything in your entire life."" ""Dude, I'm you,"" he threw his hands up and raised his eyebrows, still smiling like an asshole. ""No, you're not,"" he gave me a sideways glance, and I finally let loose on him. ""Whatever this bullshit is, you're not me. I don't know if I'm fucking dead in a year so there's no old version of me to send back or if this whole time travel thing is a big lie they're telling us so that they can have old people give the youth advice for a day, but there's absolutely no way I end up like you."" He put his hand over his heart, feigning offense, ""Ouch. Harsh words, kid."" I leaned back in my chair, sighing and closing my eyes, hoping my headache would go away, ""Whatever, you'd never understand the pressure I'm under."" ""Oh, but I understand perfectly,"" he leaned forward, setting his book down and sipping his tea. ""You see, I climbed the ladder at Tortella Marketing, stepping on the heads of everyone below me as I ascended, using every upper I could get my hands on once coffee stopped doing the trick."" My eyes crept open, I hadn't mention the name of the company I was working for. ""Ya, I threw myself into my work and shut out everything that was good in my life. I ditched all my friends right out of the gate--even Troy. I wasn't there when dad died; hell, I didn't even make it out to his grave until after I had my first breakdown."" Troy had been my best friend since I was six years old; now that I thought about it, I hadn't spoken to him since I started working. ""In fact, it wasn't until mom's suicide a few years later that I started to realize that I wasn't only unhappy, I was suicidal myself,"" he leaned back, and the smile he had been wearing all day was gone. ""I was always chasing the high, kid; the high from making money and getting promotions; the high from the cars, new apartments, and girls; the high from the drugs, so intense yet always fleeting."" He was staring right at me--right into me--with a pain in his eyes so deep that I thought I was going to suffocate. Suddenly, I saw it as clear as day; I saw myself perfectly in the old man across from me. ""You think you're pursuing your happiness but you're wrong,"" he drew a circle in the air with his finger. ""You're a hamster on the wheel, kid, and you're going to die if you don't get off."" I hadn't realized it, but tears were streaming down my face; I wiped them on my new shirt and composed myself. He smiled at me again, and it set me at ease. ""So,"" he asked as he took another sip from his tea. ""Is there anything you'd like to ask me?"" It was so overwhelming that I could barely think. I suddenly felt so lost, and yet, so free. Glancing down at the closed book on the table, I realized I hadn't even bothered to read the cover all day. ""What are you reading?"" the question crept out of me through my sniffling. His smile widened, and he clapped his hands joyfully together, ""Now that's a start, kid."" /r/BeagleTales",1101
 A moat of lava around a,"Harold lifted his eyes to the molten palace and wiped the sweat from his brow. A moat of lava around a castle was something every dark lord would dream of, but the happy laughter of children and the joyous shouts of merchants ruined the dark fantasy. They went about their day as if the explosive bubbles of gas were nothing more than a birds chirp. ""I see the Rumors of Irondal aren't exaggerated,"" he said starring at the aqueducts that flowed above the city on bright white marble pillars. ""No your highness, It is indeed a culmination of all of humanity's knowledge and innovation,"" Sir Green said with a bow. ""Yet the one responsible is no man. Odd how that is."" ""Unburdened by the pride of nationalism perhaps."" ""Or perhaps it's the two hundred years of peace and prosperity."" Sir Green nodded, ""A strong possibility your highness."" The staircase up to the molten palace was made of melted metals and stone, the castle itself stood apart from the modern marvels of the city as something foreign. Harold clenched his fists together and stepped up the stairs. ""Are you sure your highness? There is no going back after this."" ""My mother taught me a ruler is only as strong as his people, this is the only way to regain our strength."" ""If that is your will,"" Sir Green said. If he weren't such an honorable man, Harold figured he would grab him by the collar and drag him back home. A king shouldn't bow. Yet he knew there was no other choice. At the top of the stair case a man dressed in a robe of shed dragon scales stood with his arms wide open. ""Prince Harold, our lord has been expecting you."" Harold furrowed his brow, ""I'm sorry, I was certain my visit was unannounced."" ""Aye, but our just lord knows more than any man ever will."" The man spun, partially to show off how his robes gleamed in the lava's red light. Harold sighed and followed after, if the lord knew he was here did he also know why? Sir Green's boots clanked against the stone floor with heavier steps then normal. It was to be expected, a knight's natural enemy waited for them ahead. The castle that had formerly stood in iron dale was supposedly unbreakable. However, whoever claimed such things did not foresee an invasion from something stronger than man. It's stone walls bubbled out into a sphere and where there were once walls, now only folded mounds of stone stood. Like an egg that had been cracked on one side a hole was leaking sunlight into the bulbous room. Gold coins clattered against each other and the sounds of massive muscles stretching sounded from under the pile of treasure. A head larger than his body rose from the pile like a snake covered in thorns. It was the lord of Irondal, the Dragon Mymgarnit. Harold placed his hand over his stomache and got to one knee. Sir green mimicked the motion with a click of his tongue, unpleased to see his future king bow. But Harold couldn't afford the luxury of pride. The dragons yellow cat-like eyes starred at him with smoke billowing out from his sharp black nostrils. ""Please rise Prince Harold,"" The dragon said. His mouth did not move, the word seemed to ring off every wall of the broken castle. ""I apologize for coming unannounced, Lord Mymgarnit, I have a matter of great urgency to discuss."" ""Nothing is unannounced to a dragon. If you think my name I shall know it,"" the dragon said raising his head to cast a shadow over Harold. He wondered if it was consideration of his vision being obscured by the setting sun or the dragon trying to intimidate him. ""Then you know why I am here?"" ""I do, had I not wished to hear more you would have never been allowed into my home,"" the dragon said confidently. ""Your answer? Will you provide me with what I seek?"" ""I've ruled over this land for two centuries, I've repelled twelve invasions, killed thousands of men, yet I've never invaded a land once. Irondal has no army, we cannot give you the support you need."" Sir green stirred but Harold held up a hand to stop his companion. ""I understand, but just walking your streets it is clear to me you love humans. I love my people as much as you do, but I lack your strength. My father continues to delve deeper into madness and I fear that there will be no people left for me to rule."" ""Indeed, it is a tragedy. The crimes against humanity in your lands cannot be tolerated. However, I cannot leave. Three nations lick their lips at my borders, waiting for their chance to strike."" ""I offer my army to protect Irondal in your absence, surely we can defend it for as long as you need."" ""Never. These people are my children, I will not trust them in your mortal hands,"" Mymgarnit unfolded his wings causing a gust of wind to scatter loose coins across the floor. ""Then what of my children? Will you watch them die as they shout your name, screaming for your salvation? How can you ignore them?"" Harold's face glowed red and he bit his tongue realizing who he was antagonizing. ""I'm sorry my lord, but I may lack your power, but my love for my people is a match for your own. I beg you, save them."" The room was silent, and then the jingle of metal moving made Harold snap his neck up. The dragon was... laughing? ""Well said Prince Harold, what do I gain in return?"" ""I will relinquish my crown to you. As your vassal I shall rule my kingdom under your guidance. One by one we will knock down the twelve kingdoms and protect the people like no other kingdom in history has. I seek a utopia under your rule, my lord."" Harold bowed deeper before the dragon. ""Raise your head. From this day forth, you are Drake Harold, the first of my court. Bring your army, and I will bring your fathers to their knees."" Harold felt tears welling up in his eyes and he bowed graciously over and over. ""Right away my lord, It will be done."" &#x200B; /r/Quarklaserdisc",1058
 The Emperor Merohanen has always,"I'm not any good at writing, but i thought to try my hand at putting a daydream into words. It's harder than i thought, but fun nonetheless. Please offer constructive criticism. I have a bad habit of writing short sentences. I could use help breaking that habit. --- The Emperor Merohanen has always been known the world round as The Evil Emperor; he wryly smiles whenever he hears the name though noone really knows quite why. It's been years since he overthrew the Confederate Alliance of Democratic States and instituted his absolute rule. Slowly but surely he took over state after state, defying the best strategists and tacticians of war, as if all the luck and all the wisdom in the world were at his disposal. Uncanny successes, one after the other, put terror in everyone's heart, and when he finally dominated the continent, he delivered his crushing blow. There was no way to oppose him. Everything and everyone had failed. Merohanen was indeed quite vicious at first as he brutally destroyed anyone that stood in his way, though he wasn't always this way. He never speaks of his origins, he stays alone, and sits on his throne commanding those around him. Those who know him, actually like him--at least now--yet noone can figure out why. To his inner circle he seems almost kind and gentle as everything goes his way. Sometimes they wonder about what they know to be true, that he is ruthless to anyone that acts against him. Though there was subjugation and terror at first with the occasional reminder of who was in control, there was also growth and prosperity for those who did not challenge his rule. Now, some fifty years later, noone challenges his rule. It is simply the way it is and was for as long as most could remember, and yet they call him by that moniker that still brings him some form of strange joy. It was just a few years ago when Merohanen called on his special guard to be on the lookout for the Star Child. The emperor spoke of a prophecy that a child would be born with a star on his head who was destined to end his rule. He ordered that he be notified immediately of the child's birth and ordered death upon anyone who even remotely betrayed his edict. A committee was set up to review all births in his realm and to notify him immediately when the child was born. Women were watched and houses were checked for any news of any child; there was no way to avoid his watchful eyes, they were everywhere. When a child was born to a family in the Entrean lowlands, they didn't think much of it. After all, they already had plenty of children and their family was nothing of note. They made their livelihood like everyone else: through husbandry and mending broken wares. They had heard of the prophecy but paid it no heed, as if the news was too fantastic to be believed. And so when their child was born on that Sunday afternoon, the idea that his five small birthmarks made up the points of a star didn't even cross their minds. It was the doctor that noticed and reported the birth, and within two weeks, the guards were at their door. The sight of the imperial guards in the lowlands had everyone abuzz. A crowd amassed as they entered the hamlet and to the Britson's door. The guards dismounted their steeds and rapped sharply on the door, ""Open in the name of the Emperor!"" The neighbor who was helping the missis with the children nervously opened the door; her eyes went wide when she saw the imperial guard, ""may i help you?"" she eeked out while nervously grabbing the door. The guard demanded sternly, ""bring me the child"". ""Whi..which child?"" she mustered. ""The newborn child with the mark on his head. In the name of the emperor bring him to me now."" She glanced once more at the troop at her door, the armor, the spears, the horses, the banner. Her feet felt frozen, yet she somehow tore herself away and ran screaming to the mother, ""they're here to take your son!"" ""Who's here?"" ""The emperor, i mean the guards, i mean the emperor's guards. They want your child."" Mrs. Britson was struck with disbelief. She had heard the knock but not the words, as she was in the back nursing the child. She shook it off not knowing what to think and continued to nurse her child. ""Whoever it is you will have to wait. You can invite them in until i'm ready. Offer them something to eat."" She went back to the door and asked them to wait inside while his mother nursed her child. There was a look, and the guards surrounded the house, ""we'll wait outside."" When she came out holding her child, the guard unsheathed his hands and turned the baby's head. He stared at the mark, asked another, and declared, ""this is the child."" An artist was called to copy his face, some guards were left in the house, and the portrait was rushed to the palace. ""Your fate lies in the emperor's hands. Pray that he is in a good mood."" The guards set up camp nearby, though two of them were always in the house with the child. Noone referred to the child by name, as if he were not even human to them. Where is the child, how is the child, what does the child need. The guards were intrusive and stern when it came to the child, but they did not get in the way of the household. The other children eventually tried to warm up to them, with a mixture of success and failure. They were waiting for the messengers return, for whatever the emperor ordered next. When the messenger came back he was with a new set of troops, and they went directly to the Britson's door. The sight of the troops no longer surprised them. ""New troops? What was wrong with the old ones?"" she asked with a bit of jest. ""The emperor has declared your child to be the prophesied Star Child who will end his rule. He is now under the protection of the emperor himself. You will tell us what you need, we will build a garrison nearby, and the child shall be guarded day and night."" ""He will be 'guarded' so he can end his rule?"" she asked. ""We do not question the emperor. The child shall be guarded until the emperor decides otherwise. It can be here, it can be anywhere else--it is up to you, but we will guard your child."" Mrs. Britson wasn't sure what else to ask. None of this made any sense. But what could she do? It was going to take her some time to decide how to respond, so for now, she simply shrugged and went on as she had before. --- .",1174
 Some people ask me why I'm,"Some people ask me *why* I'm an evil overlord. It's not exactly the sort of thing you can stumble upon during career day, after all. You won't find any university courses, for it, no recruiters looking for up-and-coming, go-getting Rockstar dictators that they can employ and overwork until they burn out. And, to top it all off, you need your own country before you can even *start*, so there's no real entry-level positions. So I'm always somewhat embarrassed to admit that it's sort of a family business. My father was an evil overlord, and my grandfather before him and my great-grandfather before him. We tend to marry women of intelligence and character - my mother was a brilliant geneticist with questionable ethics - and we encourage our children to be as cunning and devious as they can be. When we come of age, the men in our family usually go out to do some mercenary work, and, once they see an opportunity, they conquer a small nation and take their rightful place on its throne. Getting there is easy, if you know the right people. Staying there is not. Evil overlords, it turns out, aren't the most popular of rulers. Machiavelli said that it's easier to be feared than loved, which is true. Hell, it's practically our family motto. What Machiavelli didn't mention is that ""being feared"" eventually turns into ""being overthrown and imprisoned for crimes against humanity"". My grandfather was killed in a bloody revolution, when he tried to have a gold-plated statue of himself built during a major famine. My *father* was smarter than that, and with the help of a ruthless secret police force, hunted down every single revolutionary he could find, and had them publicly executed as a warning to others. This went well until one of the revolutionaries' orphan daughters snuck into his palace at night and stabbed him in the throat. My entire family tree is full of men who died violent deaths, or, at least, spent their twilight years shivering in some anonymous dungeon. When it was my turn to take up the family business, and seize control over Gravinia a small, war-torn nation in the Balkans, I was determined not to make the same mistakes as my ancestors. First I had to get into power. Traditionally, our family does this by hiring a number of mercenaries, bribing some generals, and seizing power in a single night of adrenaline, blood and violence. Unfortunately, however intimidating, this display of ruthlessness also tends to make a terrible first impression on the nation we're planning to rule - so I forewent the whole shebang. Establishing myself as an up-and-coming politician in the Gravinia's capital, fake backstory and all, took significantly less bribe money than I would have spent on Gravinia's generals. Once people knew my name, I engineered a national security crisis, stepped up to solve it in a week - thank you mercenaries - and received my well-deserved accolades from a grateful public. All it took to get me onto the throne now was a snap election, triggered by some cleverly planted evidence suggesting that the current president of Gravinia had been behind the crisis in the first place. Despite coming into power without bloodshed and with a good amount of public support besides, I knew it could not last. I had to make sure that, once my evil tendencies were discovered, I would not be thrown out on my ear and/or assassinated. I had to make sure that no nucleus of opposition could form. First were the orphans. I knew that a desperate child with nothing to lose and nothing to live for might have the sheer audacity to attempt the unthinkable and succeed. Besides, I'm pretty sure fate favors a kid without parents - they're the ultimate underdog. I had to deal with them, one way or another! By which I mean ""through social welfare"". My first act in office was to push a bill through parliament that doubled federal funding to orphanages and adoption programs and decreased juvenile homelessness in all of Gravinia's major cities. In six months, the number of annual adoptions doubled and the quality of life of those who remained in the orphanages increased significantly. Next were the revolutionaries - Rest in Peace, grandpa. Gravinia's populace was deeply dissatisfied with the country's political course, and who wouldn't be? Widespread corruption, massive wealth inequality, massive corporations draining our country's natural resources, and leaving polluted devastation in their wake - all were the source of much strife and protest, a breeding ground for revolutionary sentiment. If I wanted to stay in power, I needed reforms. I pushed progressive marginal tax rates to address inequality, along with an audit of the country's major banks to uncover wealthy tax evaders. I imposed the death penalty for major corruption offenses and assembled a dedicated elite task force to investigate cases. I only had to hang two ministers for taking bribes before the rest of Gravinia's bureaucracy got the picture. Hypocritical, I know, but I am an *evil* overlord. Then I pushed reforms to nationalize Gravinia's two biggest oil companies, and, when the Russian oligarchs who owned them complained to their government, I negotiated a mutual defense pact with a few neighboring nations, to avoid ending up like Crimea. Using the inflow of funds from my previous reforms, I instituted widespread improvements in Gravinia's infrastructure and social safety nets. Roads and public transit, telecommunications, schools, housing and medicine all increased improved funding, which was largely put to good use. Before I knew it, tourism was up, crime was down, and Gravinia actually had a small-but-growing middle class. Factories were springing up around the capital to take advantage of the country's newfound stability, decreasing unemployment and increasing quality of life. I had been worried about a disgruntled military trying to eventually seize power - that's how Uncle Vlad died - but my popularity was high and not just among the populace. The rank and file soldiers and the junior officers loved me; any general attempting a coup would be awfully lonely and in case all else failed, I'd kept my mercenaries around. And though I'd feared that an international coalition might try to depose me, like they did my Great-Uncle Stephan, I needn't have worried. My efforts to improve my country made me a darling of the international press, and my leadership in the local defense pact, alongside my obvious opposition to Russia, made me an important ally to NATO. Gravinia is now one of the world's fastest-growing economies. Tourists visit our seaside, Germany buys our TVs. Literacy and education are up, crime and inequality are down, and we're considered the prime example of an up-and-coming, efficient democracy. Towns are erecting statues of me without even being ordered to and I won 90% of votes in the last election without having to bribe or kill *anyone*. A little bird told me I might even be listed for the Nobel Peace Prize. My family has disowned me, of course. I'm the black sheep, the failure, the turncoat. But really, they've got it all wrong. I'm totally evil. I'm just playing the long game.",1196
 This story takes place at a specific,"This story begins not once upon a time; on the contrary, it takes place at a specific time, in a specific place, and features two *very* specific people. In reference to the cosmic calendar, wherein hundreds of years are compressed into the space of a single grain of sand, a day is the most arbitrary of measures. A raindrop in an ocean. However, for this story atleast, a day had all the meaning of a thousand years. It was Thursday, March 26th. This was important, you see, because it was to be Marshall Henry Morrison's last day on the planet Earth. Amy Dane had been hesitant to go to that specific place, The Greenwich Federal Prison, but in the end she decided that she must. For even though many years had passed since last she'd seen him, Amy had never forgotten the little boy that grew up next door. So knives and forks clinked on ceramic plates as our two figures both tried to think of something to say to break the silence. ""The steak is a little dry,"" Marshall said, ""It's better with the gravy."" ""No, that's alright, Amy said, ""Thanks."" Marshall took a swallow of wine and looked down. He knew the circumstances of their reunion, but he'd wanted to make it as perfect as he possibly could. He was ashamed, deeply ashamed, that he couldn't even give her a decent meal. Amy noticed his discomfort, but wasn't sure what she'd done to cause it. ""Are they...treating you well,"" she asked. Marshall shrugged, ""Well enough, I suppose. Tomorrow on the other hand...."" Amy blushed. *I'm supposed to be helping him forget, instead I go about reminding him*. The condemned man chuckled. ""I'm only kidding,"" he said, ""Did they tell you my crime?"" Amy met his eyes and found two spheres that held more pain and anguish than anything she'd ever seen. She couldn't help but look away, ""No,"" she lied. Marshall leaned back, apparently relieved. ""Well...you can ask. I'm sure it's what you've been wondering."" ""It's really alright, I don't-"" ""Please, Amy,"" Marshall whispered. She looked at him. The little boy had become a man, his skin more tough, his eyes more hard, but inside he was still the same. *He needs someone to hear his side*, she realized. She nodded. ""Okay. What happened?"" Marshall's lips twirked up in the slightest of smirks, a ghost of the mischievous smile he's donned as a child. ""My luck ran out at the worst time possible, just like you always said it would."" She laughed, but it was a soft laugh, and Marshall perceived it as a laugh of pity. His smile faded away. ""You remember how you used to-"" ""I remember,"" Amy said, ""I just wish I'd been wrong."" ""You never were, why start now?"" She smiled, ""I guess. Go on."" Marshall took another sip of wine. ""You know how I used to save up all the money I earned delivering paper, and then together we'd go to the horse races and bet on the winners?"" Amy laughed, ""How could I forget, you always had a good eye for it. We made more money than any kid should be able to have, and we'd blow it all on candy and ice cream, or fancy shoes, or anything else that caught our eye."" ""That's just it,"" Marshall said, ""I never really had a good eye for horses, I just figured out something that most people never do."" ""What was that?"" Marshall grinned, ""The races were fixed. So long as you could figure out which horse's victory would make the racing yard the most money, you could know who the winner would be."" Amy's gasped, ""You never told me!"" ""It would have ruined the experience for you,"" Marshall said, ""You loved cheering for our horse, you wouldn't have cared to cheer if you knew it didn't matter."" Amy squinted, ""I suppose,"" she said, ""But what does this have to do with anything?"" ""As I grew older,"" Marshall said, ""I discovered that there were many systems in place that operated the same way. I made a tidy profit gambling, did okay on the stock market, even dipped my hand in the entertainment business, but it was never enough...I needed something more, something *grand*."" Amy leaned forward. She unconsciously reached for her glass of wine, grasping at air several times before finally finding it. She took a long, slow sip. Marshall sensed her attention, and it filled him with joy. *This* had been why it *had* to be her. ""War,"" he said. ""War?"" ""That's right."" ""I don't get it."" Marshall chuckled. ""There a million things that can cause a war, a million strands of a web, a million pieces of a puzzle. But the fix is always in, the cost is too important for it to be otherwise."" He paused for her to react, but when she said nothing he continued, ""The world keeps a careful eye on every civil war in every tiny nation, every border dispute, every revolution, and every conflict. If you can determine who will be the victor, you can collect a portion of the spoils."" ""But how,"" Amy asked, ""It's not as if there's a way to place a bet on border disputes."" Marshall shrugged, ""There are other ways to gamble. I provided loans to the side I knew would win, and charged mighty interest when their enemy fell. I sold weapons, I sold supplies, but most importantly, I sold intelligence. You'd be surprised what a nation at war would pay for a rumor, and even more surprised at the gratitude they'll show if that little piece of gossip helps lead to their eventual victory."" Amy's stomach felt sick, ""That's...Marshall that's awful! It's war profiteering!"" ""I was a hero so long as my side won,"" Marshall said, ""but I wouldn't be here if I'd only picked winners."" ""So you backed a losing party? That's no crime."" Marshall laughed. ""I backed a monster,"" he said. ""I let the numbers blind me. I didn't pay attention to the details. The man said he wanted freedom for his people, and it looked like a winning cause. I provided weapons, intelligence, and more. I ate dinner with the revolutionary and his generals, I invited them into my home. And they did it. They won. But they didnt stop there."" Marshall looked green, like the words threatened to make him sick. ""When they finished defeating their enemy, they turned their guns to their enemy's widows, their children, their friends. They slaughtered countless innocents."" The blood had drained from Amy's face. She had nothing to say. ""I tried to cut ties as soon as I could,"" Marshall said, ""I stopped supplying them, stop answering their calls. But it was too late. The world stepped in to intervene, and when they were finished, they found traces of all the support I'd provided over the years. Now here I am, brought up on crimes against humanity."" When he finished, he let the story sit for a while. Amy felt tears welling up in her eyes. She'd wanted to hear that it was all a mistake, that the boy she knew could never have done the things he'd been accused of. Yet, no matter how she looked at it, she knew he was guilty. Still, she reached across the table and took his hand. Tears were streaming down Marshall's face, his entire body trembling. ""Am I an evil man?"" ""No,"" Amy said, ""You're not a good man either. You're just a man."" ""But do I really deserve to die,"" Marshall asked, his voice pleading. ""I... can't answer that,"" Amy said. Marshall shook his head. ""I know. I know you can't. But you can do *something*, can't you? You always knew what to do."" Amy wiped a tear from his eye. ""I'll tell you what I can do,"" she said. He looked up, hopeful. ""What?"" ""I can be there,"" she said, ""At the end."" Marshall studied her for a long while, she met his gaze with a solemn expression. Finally, he nodded. She hugged him tight, ""If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?"" ""I don't know."" ""Neither do I."" Marshall's breath came heavy. He wept in her arms. ""When you fall,"" she said, ""I'll hear it. I'll remember the boy I grew up with. And at least one soul in attendance will know that you aren't evil, but only a man."" - r/CharlestonChews",1416
 The Bazaar is the largest open,"Christopher Gorov's heart ached as the silver streets of Naurus V came to life before him. He was at the mouth of the Bazaar, the largest open-air market on the orbital outpost, and he soon found himself swept along by the crowds, as possessed of his destiny as a mere leaf in a raging river. It was rumored that if one knew where to look, one could find just about anything for sale at the Bazaar. From the exotic, like the emerald-green Zuzu eggs from the offworld asteroids, to the illegal, like subdermal implants which disabled all digital failsafes with a single wave. If there was something which one truly desired, it was said, one should begin their search at the Bazaar. Christopher didn't find that hard to believe at all. Naurus V was the crown jewel of the Empire. The endless stalls about him, the unceasing waves of humanity, the cacophony of voices which blended into a symphony of bargaining... this was truly ground zero. ""Sir, sir,"" came the voice in his ear, ""you really must be careful. No time to dawdle. I've fended off three pick-pockets in the time you've stood there gawking."" Christopher blinked. ""Ah, yes. Sorry, I was just... thinking..."" ""I strongly suggest we find a quieter place to contemplate and reflect, sir. Would you kindly allow me to escort you to your first destination? As we planned, yes?"" Christopher nodded, and laid one hand on his companion's shoulder. Tandry, no last name, began pushing past the human traffic, a heated knife through the treacherous treacle of the crowds, and Christopher followed behind. Christopher soon found himself at Sector 12 of the Bazaar. He tapped the bracelet on his wrist, and reams of holographic data danced in the air as Christopher checked his calculations. Satisfied, he cast his eye about, then located the object of his interest. A keeper of the peace, dressed in muted gold, standing in front of one of the luxury shops, his heavy electro-truncheon bouncing in his palms. ""Officer?"" asked Christopher. ""Would you have a minute?"" ""Move along, citizen,"" replied the giant. ""Keep out of trouble now, please."" ""I'm sorry, but I really do need to ask you some questions,"" said Christopher. He held up his ID pass, hoping that the officer would scan it quickly. ""I'm Dr Christopher Gorov, from the Analysis and Review department. It is quite a matter of urgency that I speak to you now."" ""A diagnostic? Out here?"" the officer said, scratching his jaw. ""I do not have any basis to reject your request, though I should state for the record that you are interfering with my duties at this moment."" ""I am aware of that, and I am very sorry for the inconvenience,"" said Christopher, ""but I have no choice in this matter too. Now, for the first question - please report the total occupancy of Sector 12 at this moment."" Christopher watched as the officer's eyes glowed dimly. Hardly any time passed, but Christopher's skin prickled with the realization that enormous quantities of data has just passed between the satellites above and the officer. After all, it was no small feat for the monitoring systems to first ping the total number of persons in Sector 12, cross-check the results with the central database, and then relay all that information back to the officer in the same amount of time it would take for a shooting star to streak across the sky. ""26,124 humans,"" said the officer. ""And their protectors?"" ""32,225 protectors,"" said the officer. The numbers weren't a perfect match, but that hardly surprised Christopher. Naurus V was an affluent outpost, and here people usually could afford more than one personal protector. ""And what is the threat level at this point, officer?"" ""The threat level is green, Dr Gorov,"" said the officer. ""All clear. No imminent threats whatsoever."" ""And all protectors are aware of this? All functional?"" The officer paused briefly, dipping into the vast streams to data to verify the answer. ""All functional. Every single one is primed for a full tactical response to any threat."" Christopher nodded, then turned to Tandry, who merely smiled gamely, as if he were concurring with the officer's assessment. He chose that moment to spring into action. Christopher hunched briefly, then pushed off hard on his right foot, launching himself at the wall of the shops behind the officer. He scrunched his eyes shut, then barreled head-first towards the wall, face tomato-red with exertion. Two seconds was all it would take for his skull to connect with the spun steel exteriors. But Tandry was faster than he could ever be. Christopher found himself lifted into the air, paddling his feet like one of those ancient cartoon characters who ran off cliffs and found themselves with no more ground to run on. He opened his eyes, and found Tandry smiling beatifically. Tandry clucked his tongue, then gently set Christopher down again. ""You should be more careful, sir. You almost hurt yourself there. What would you do without me, I wonder?"" Christopher nodded, tapped into his bracelet to record his findings, then headed over to the next Sector. The hours slipped by, like sand through fingers. Five sectors later, Christopher found that the basic fundamentals of his hypothesis remained unshaken. ""What have we learned, Tandry?"" ""You mean of our past few hours' worth of exploits, sir? Why, I venture to say that you actually did not mean to buy anything today,"" said Tandry. ""Instead, all you have done is to verify that Naurus V is, despite how it smells, in the pink of health. Humans and their protectors are existing happily, side by side, and all is well on the streets of Naurus V."" ""Time check, Tandry?"" ""It is a minute to three o'clock in the afternoon, sir, on this glorious day of Cycle 21 of-"" Christopher sighed. The frustration, just a seed a few hours ago, was taking root in his heart now, not so much a blooming plant but an ugly, creeping vine. He plopped himself down on the sidewalk, checked his bracelet again. He raised the bracelet to his mouth, then made the final entry for his notes today. ""Diagnostic Run 24,"" he began. ""I'm finishing the checks on the last few Sectors now. I am beginning to think that there was no way we could have anticipated this, or made any meaningful preparations. I am no closer to finding out how we lost than when we first began."" ""Sir?"" asked Tandry. ""What are you talking abou-"" ""You will see, Tandry, you will see."" Tandry merely smiled as he looked down at his charge, his ward, the person he was programmed to protect till the very last of his circuits fried. A humming filled the air. It still sent chills up Christopher's spine, no matter how many times he heard it, how many times he tried to dissect it in the laboratory. The humming was invasive, like an obnoxious intruder, and it edged out all other sounds of activity in the Sector. Humans and protectors stopped whatever it was they were doing, and merely looked eastwards, where the humming appeared to originate from. Then the wormholes opened. Small at first, just the size of mere apples, but then they started growing, larger and larger by the second, till each of them was large enough to swallow a human. They were two-dimensional flashes of red, virtual rips in the fabric of the universe. Most of the humans around Christopher gasped and edged away from the portals, though some of them stood transfixed, never having come so close to a raw wormhole before in their lives. The humming was all encompassing now, buzzsaws in the air. The screams followed next. Human after human tumbled into the wormholes, pulled by forces unseen. Their protectors, their one safeguard meant to keep their human wards safe from harm, each of them checked and triple-checked to ensure that they would always fulfil their tasks, never fail their masters, were preoccupied with problems of their own. Every single one of the proctors had fallen to their knees. Instead of fighting for their humans, the protectors were tearing at themselves, ripping off every single feature which helped ease them into human society. The first to come off were the wigs, the luxurious locks of pseudo-hair which helped the protectors hide their silver-plated heads. Then came the silicone skin, and the clothes, until the silver innards of the protectors were exposed. Still they scratched at themselves, and still they screamed alongside their humans, who were disappearing one by one into the portals. ""I'm... sorry... sir... but I can't... I can't do this... any longer..."" Christopher closed his eyes, and held his palms to his ears as the last few minutes of the holographic recordings died out. He counted to twenty, and when he was sure that the worst was over, he opened his eyes again. Tandry was there, a tangled mess by his side. Christopher tapped the side of Tandry's head, just to make sure that the power cells were offline. He reveled in a few seconds of peace. ""Found anything new?"" came another voice in his ear. This one was transmitted from outside the city, from the laboratory, where the few survivors had huddled. ""No,"" said Christopher. ""We're going to have to run the simulation again. There's got to be some clues we missed."" ""Sure, Dr Gorov. But maybe you want to take a break first? It'll take us some time to reboot all the protectors, load them up with their memories of Cycle 21, and then get them back in place again. That's not even counting the maintenance we need to carry out on the holographic projectors. We're burning through the ion crystals faster than we are getting them shipped in, and we-"" ""Two hours, then we got to go again,"" said Christopher. ""Diagnostic Run 25. There are a few more Sectors we have to check. *Someone* must have seen something coming. A human, or a protector, I don't care. We can't rest until we find out what."" The voice in his ear quibbled, but Christopher stood and started walking back to the mouth of the Bazaar, where his day would begin anew, soon. --- /r/rarelyfunny",1712
 Brian Woodrue is 74 years old,"Sometimes in the quiet, where the wind reigns freely upon its vast and empty kingdom, where it caresses the tombs of the dead from so long ago, I think I hear grieving. I hear mourning. For in this quiet surely the dead must convene, they must talk and scatter their wisdom for us, the ever living. Their words carry. Their warnings must overflow now, filled with knowledge us living cannot grasp. They mourn and I listen. I am an old man now in a world of youth and promise. A world that pulses ahead with vigor, with endless ambition and sights, always, towards the future. A world for tomorrow. And here I live, a relic of the past. I am an anomaly for those who do not know me. And for the person who does know me, I am perhaps a ghost of the past; a relic that haunts the dreams of the good nature, the insecurity of a man who will not go away. But all of that comes later. My name is Brian Woodrue and I am 74 years old. I am the oldest man alive, though many have lived longer than I. Their ages have since stopped many decades ago, freezing at their prime ever since the Formula was developed. Those who were already passed their prime were unaffected by the Formula and they died as all living things did. But me? I was born years after the Formula's creation, inoculated with immortality as a baby, and I lived and grew with the dreams of eternity and its promise of eventual paradise as all the good boys and girl do. It was so that I was raised, and my life for a time was well. I must have been in my twenties when I found the love of my life, my soul mate whom I dreamed of sharing this eternity with. Her name was Gwen and she had stopped aging that year. She looked ahead to a life of unbridled success, of infinite possibilities. I looked in her eyes and saw the same for myself. But something must have glazed over, dulling to time's barrage of perpetuity, as those years we spent together passed. Then Gwen left me after seven years of us being together, and I have never recovered for those years were the best I have ever lived. She wanted more out of life, as does everyone I suppose. Always looking ahead and ahead, further out to a sea of grand dreams, a horizon of paradise. And I drowned in oblivion. I could never keep hope for a better tomorrow. I suppose I was always depressed. And I never stopped aging either. Time marched in utopia, slowly as it does for a man living in hell. I lived and lived as we all do. My strength waned as my body continued its aging. I saw doctors and specialists who could never find fault with my molecular structure. I was immortal, they determined. My body just had not reached its optimum age as yet. ""The best years are ahead of you,"" they would say. Gwen kept in touch for a decade. Then the sadness of my age and of my self must have taken a toll on her, for she stopped calling. She remains that young and vibrant girl, the one who stole my heart, who eroded what dreams I had for the vast canvas of forever. But there I go again. There I am blaming her for my unhappy life, for the feelings that attack my head without rest. No, my unhappiness does not stem from Gwen leaving me. Nor does it come from my aging. No. I believe it is of my own doing. I am an old man now, and I think I can admit it. I was always destined for melancholy. My bones seemed soaked in it, steeped in its tranquil tea of hard and lonely self reflection. I am a sad man who could never look to the promise of tomorrow. And so I looked back at the dead. I read about those lost to existence, of those who drowned in oblivion. I visited the graves of those who died so long ago that their presence is a ghost of a memory, a dying whisper on crowded winds. I had spent time with them, envying them their relief from life's tedium. *Why'd you have to go?* I sometimes think. And I think how funny it must be, heartbreak as the catalyst for all I have done. But humans are not rational and my mind is not beholden to any rules or structure. I loved Gwen. I loved her many decades ago but she fell out of love with me. Now she lives forever in her pocket of tomorrow, of her niche of immortality. And I live in endlessness. I cannot blame her leaving me as the cause for all of this, but it was the last straw. I think it was what made me see, what cemented my view of this life, and what led to my work. And my work will be despised and hated by all. Yes, my name, Brian Woodrue, shall be struck in perpetuity as a curse upon Man, as a Devil upon Man's Paradise. And rightfully so, for what I shall do is heinous in the eyes of the living, of the un-dying. But so be it. I listen to the dead. I hear their mourning for the living, for those family that refuses to visit. For all of eternity all that has been alive has died. But now nearly a century has passed without death. And all time has become meaningless. What remains of the present is but a prayer for the future. And what future there is, is merely veiled hedonism. There is no more life in simply living. There is no end to a game that cannot be won. It might sound as though my cynicism and depression has gotten the better of me, clouding my judgment in favor of personal relief. Maybe so. But my name is Brian Wilson and I am 74 years old. I have spent over four decades perfecting my life's work. With each passing year I grow closer to the dead. As my bones become brittle and my mind muddied, the inspiration upon the wind hits me. I breathe in the air of my ancestors and my dreams are filled with breakthroughs and a promise of oblivion and silence. *You should have stayed with me,* I think. I feel my body change and relax into itself. I know then that I have finally stopped aging. It is a sign of success. Oh, how the world shall hate me. For I have found a way to reverse the Formula. I have composed a toxin that will eliminate its spell. Time will once again bring its sadness and sorrow as death unfreezes and flows through all living beings. And the dead shall grow and the future will no longer be a constant tomorrow. My toxin acts like a virus. I anticipate it shall spread across the world within a year. *Why?* I ask myself, but it is only a formality in the face of endless death. I feel relieved. I have listened to the dead after giving up on life. Upon the wind they cry in their lonely despair. *Come to us,* they scream when the quiet takes over the land. *Come and be mortal.* I have now fulfilled that wish. - *Hi, I hoped you liked this story. Check out r/PanMan for my other stories. Thanks for reading!*",1269
 Percy has been my best friend.,"""It's not my fault! I know you love guarding my wallet, and while you were small enough to ride my shoulder it wasn't a problem. I loved having you there too! Now? If you sat on my shoulder, you'd crush me in a split second!"" My anguish is real. Percy has been my best friend. My confidant. The one being I could always trust to tell me the truth. ""You know better. In a way, this *is* your fault. You choose to play the lottery, knowing that my size is tied to my fortune. Since we first bound to each other, my fortune and yours are the same. Still, I do not begrudge you the lottery. The way your face lit up when the selection was broadcast. How you watched each number appears. It was draconic in its intensity. You have been far more than an *owner*, as if any human could *own* a dragon. You are the first human to treat me as a person. Now, when you most need my protection, I cannot be there with you. Guarding your wallet was something I could use as an excuse to stay with you. It was *cute*. It was *acceptable*. People assumed I was young, confusing your wallet with your fortune."" I may have said too much in my pain. He was not aware of our age difference until now. ""Percy? I never understood. I accepted that you were young too, that guarding my wallet was a youthful mistake. Percy? How old *are* you?"" True curiosity. I may be the cat today, but now I must know. ""I don't know how to answer your question. I was, before the oldest human alive. I was, before your country was created. I was, before the being you call The Son of God was born. Before that? It disappears in a fog. Draconic memories are long, but not infinite. Dragons have chosen to hoard as much for the size benefit as for the chance to make their oldest memories last a little bit longer. Humans have yet to invent a technology to store draconic memories more than a fraction of the time that we remember things. Whatever the media, they are words on paper. Dry dusty things that blow away in the winds of time. Draconic memories are rich and full of *life*! That is the true draconic hoard. Memories. Some of us, have chosen to gift our metalic fortunes to humanity, Hoping that you will eventually develop a method to store draconic memories in all their glory. If I was one such, I no longer remember."" ""I ... I'm ... I'm in awe. My best friend is a sage beyond the best understanding of humanity. A being of such magnificence that I am stunned that you would choose to bond with *any* of us. Percy? If I understand the word at all, I love you. More than any *ten* fortunes. ... Percy, I think I have an idea, let's get a decent lawyer to come talk with us. I like having money, but this is absurd!"" So dryly that the Saharan desert is an oasis. ""My experience with lawyers is that they do not make *house calls*. Even to parks as large and well designed as this one. One which I noticed has a strict reputation for preventing squatting. I wonder why they have permitted us to remain?"" ""Percy, we are, at present, holders of one of the largest fortunes in the entire eastern seaboard. I suspect we could purchase this park several times over. For fortunes the size of ours, rules can be bent. It might even have something to do with an ancient huge red dragon guarding its hoard. For that sort of money, lawyers *will* make *park calls*."" We had to do a great deal of persuasion. Apparently, lawyers are even more circumspect when large dragons are involved. We just added a few more zeros to the persuasion. We didn't need just any lawyer, we needed a very particular kind of lawyer, with a reputation for creative solutions to unique problems. Finding one wasn't as hard as i had expected. Percy, who still refused to tell me his former names, has some unusual contacts. When the lawyer showed up, we got to some serious discussions over what we could, and could not, do with our money. The lawyer was initially aghast at my idea. I think large sums of money have an unusual effect on his mind. He was insistent on having us walk around the park while Percy remained at our present location. Having assured himself that I was not being coerced, he then became concerned over my sanity. I talked about the value of friendship. For someone reputedly intelligent, it took him a very long time to understand. By the end, he was wistfully looking at Percy. Sorry mister, get your own best friend, Percy is *my* hoard. The paperwork is finally done. It's taken several days to do it. A good thing it's done, the park rangers are getting antsy. The visitorship is way down. ""My friend, what you propose to do with our hoard is incredibly generous and loving, but I do not know if it will work! If it doesn't, we'll be in the same state as now, but without the funds to do anything else about it."" ""Percy, you are my fortune. This is just money."" Did the lawyer just twitch? ""If it works, it's a way out for every bonding. If it doesn't, we'll still have our real fortune."" ""Ahem. I feel it is my duty to point out one last time, that this action is irrevocable. Once the papers are signed, there is no going back. We do have a need for witnesses."" ""All covered! The rangers and their families will be here shortly. I assume that they will do?"" ""Quite."" ... ""Last chance?"" I sign the last page. For a moment, we're holding our breath. Everyone is watching Percy. ""Oh! That is a very strange feeling?"" Before our eyes, larger than mansion sized Percy, drops back to shoulder size Percy. ""It *worked*! Percy! It worked!"" ""So I feel. It's a bit disconcerting, but also most welcome."" ""I am delighted that this venture worked, and not just for the fees my firm is about to make. If I understand correctly, there may be a huge influx of contributions?"" ""Entirely possible. Though not guaranteed."" ""Very well, you now have a guaranteed income equal to your prior job's remuneration, plus a small amount. Any new clients must yield their entire fortune, in exchange for the same income from the fund. Income is tied to the inflation rate, not to the size of the fund. I was able to guarantee the name of the fund."" So, the Dragon Friendship Fund is up and running. If you have a dragon friend that you'd like to be able to take with you anywhere, come talk to the agents for the fund. Dewy, Cheatem, and Howe, Esq. You won't be rich anymore, but your friend will be with you anywhere, and you won't *have* to work for a living wage. Health benefits are included for the human partners. No one has found a Draconic doctor yet. ((finis)) Edit: Spelling",1212
 Ruling is not an easy job,"To be fair, ruling is not an easy job. Sitting in the throne room, day after day, listening to petition after petition of farmers who can't agree on where their fields end and their neighbors' begin; to knights who argue over the trivialities of honor; to merchants who swear they were cheated and the peasants who believe wholeheartedly that the merchants would extort them given the slightest provocation. If it's not petitions from half the bloody kingdom, it's the council wanting to count coppers, as my predecessor called it, arguing over tax increases, paying for more people in the city watch, or new equipment for them; or fixing the sewers, or outlawing brothels, or whatever we should be doing about those religious nutcases who are insistent upon eliminating every good thing in life - wine, lovers, and all the other things that make life interesting. I'd much rather simply visit my betrothed, but she is ensconced with her grandmother, and that woman is terrifying! The thorniest woman I've ever met, and that includes my own mother. So that's why I'm dreading it - hiding from my own guard in my room, staring at the crown sitting across from me with trepidation. Why should I be forced to wear it? Why do I have to put on the crown every day and listen to the problems of the poor folk who think that I have all the answers? Can't they see that I don't, that I don't want this crown, this chair, and I never have? I wish.... I can't wish it away. I can't make myself not the king - I have to be. My mother says I have to be. My grandfather says I have to be. My uncle says I have to be, ever since.... Wait. Maybe I don't, just for today. I've hardly ever been outside the castle walls, except on trips with the whole court. If they want me to rule, shouldn't I know the people I have to rule? Shouldn't I walk among them, and learn about their troubles and their plights, so that I can understand them better? That's it! I jump up from the chair, pacing. I need some help. I call for a servant - one that I know doesn't report everything I do to my mother. She'd never want me to leave the castle, and if she gets even an inkling of what I'm doing she'll post the guard outside my door. I may be the king, but that one... he only listens to her. I send the servant for some clothes. Something simple, peasant like. I can't be seen wearing these rich fabrics, I'll be found out in a heartbeat! In a few moments, I'm wearing the roughest shift I've ever worn, not much better than the poor wretches who make petitions of me. The servant suggests I dirty my face and hair - cleanliness is a sign a nobility, of course. Rubbing my hands along the floor, I get them greasy and grimy, and then toss my hair back and forth. I can feel the grim sticking to it - it's unpleasant, is this what people feel every day? No matter - the price of getting away from the throne for a few hours is worth the discomfort. My servant leads me out - he's a few years older than I. Than me. He pulls me aside when a guard crosses our path, and I don't get even a second look! The clothes make the man, I suppose, and I am certainly not dressed like a king! This might work after all. Out through the servants exit, my man says he'll wait nearby for me. If I'm going to come back in without anyone noticing I'm gone, I'll need him to get my back in the servants' quarters. He's nervous about me going off on my own, but I tell him I must. It's the middle of the day, who could possibly harm me? He tries more than once to follow me, but I keep telling him he must wait. Finally! I set off down the street. The smell is awful! Maybe there's something to be said for fixing the sewers after all. And no wonder, as I can see a woman throwing a bucket of shit out the window a few houses down the road from me. Is it a house? Maybe a hovel is more accurate. There are no horses, like I'm used to seeing in the castle walls, but a goat runs past me, and a child half my age chases after it. The goat's bell clangs as it runs, the hooves clip-clopping against the stones in the street, and splashing in the... my gods, is that raw sewage on the side of the street? I need to tell the council we need to fix the sewers immediately! I keep walking. I'm glad I didn't forgo the shoes! My servant suggested that I should, but when I tried to, the bottoms of my feet felt every indentation, rise, and bump in the stones of the floor in my room at the keep. I couldn't imagine walking here, where the road is rougher and the liquid shit is running along the sides. The city slopes downhill... I suppose that is to be expected, as the keep is at the top. It will make walking back more painful, however, the longer I go on. But I see something interesting - a group, down there! There's a man talking in front of them all, I wonder what he's saying? I hear his voice as I get closer. It's rich, a deep baritone. He's gesturing wildly with his hands, and he's in a simple shift like me. In fact, all of them are - but some have chains over their chests, and some are holding maces and clubs. The steel looks good quality - maybe these men are people I should avoid? But I can't turn around and walk away - how am I to know my people if I don't hear them and walk among them? And besides, walking away now would look obvious. Wait, a side street! I could stand there, among them but not part of them, and maybe I wouldn't be noticeable! I start to move that direction, but I realize I cannot - the street has become crowded. More people are behind me than in front of me, and the sides of the street are pressing in, more people to hear the man speaking. ""...gone on too long! We must not allow this travesty, this mockery of leadership to continue! Why should we bow to a king who does not bow to the gods we worship!"" ...what?",1122
 There's something about the smell of,"There's something about the smell of the outer city that I find comforting-- fresh fruits and fish in the market, cobblestone baking under the sun and salt from the sea untainted; it's a pleasant departure from perfumes and perfect meadows and all the other regal coerced scents you find in the court. It's honest and real, and sometimes I need that departure for a time, something to get lost and feel human in, like I'm actually a part of this wonderful city. Being a king is stressful, and I'm not even the one making half the decisions. So many people dream of court life and its pleasantries. I overhear townsfolk sometimes, on my hidden excursions, droning on about how jealous they are of the upper caste, how it's unfair that our mother's name determines where we end up in life, and I disagree. Common people don't understand just how trite and frustrating it is to be locked into an image, unable to speak your true thoughts or do as you please. It's all coats and furs and formalities, a preordained life spent doing as you're told. I get jealous of men who can brawl in taverns over a disagreement, and gatherings where dissidents speak their mind on matters true to their hearts. There are no such freedoms in being born into a royal name. I seldom get the chance to slip out. My advisors caught me last time, scolding me for days, my father ashamed and brooding in silence as he does, because of the 'risk'. What kind of king am I if a simple walk through my own domain instills fear to such a point that I can't stroll through the market? If I were to truly fear my own people so much, what right to I have to rule them? It was the busiest time of the year in Appleton, our largest marketplace, bustling with merchants of all sizes and colors from every corner of the world. There is no walking through it during the second week of Sixthmoon; you become part of a river that flows through the city's heart, caught in the current of shouting men and women eyeing food and goods they've likely never seen before with amazement. Exotic entertainers take turns performing on stages, some earning shouts of love others being bood if their acts are perhaps lined with too many religious overtones-- the Goren have a bad habit of enacting plays in which their God enjoys slapping ours a bit much. A saline gale weaved through the river and caught my hair, tossing it about. Waiting to venture abroad until the final weeks before Father forced me to groom provided not only the unkempt cover I needed, but mingled with wind so pleasantly. ""Fresh durian fritters,"" a grizzled man with one eye called, standing atop his wooden booth. ""Hot out of the cauldron!"" I leaned in, smelling the hot oil, and ordered two for myself. They were so crisp and salty and messy, so deliciously unhealthy. We weren't allowed gluttony in the court, as it is said to shorten lifespan -- Triton above knows I wanted to live the longest life possible, with so many *delicious*, lonely salads in the world to eat. Downstream, I lost myself in a rug merchant with tapestries hanging on racks in colors and patterns more vibrant than even what lines our halls. I stroked one, ignoring the seller's shouts, feeling the soft cotton against my skin. Father would shudder at something so absurdly extravagant. Draped across the stone of our Great Hall, its eye-stabbing pink would make everything else seem sketched in charcoal. I was finally dumped out into the delta of Appleton's outskirts, hallowed by contrast with how many people abandoned every other section of the kingdom to lose themselves for a day in the festival's wonders. Even without a copper to spare, just the sights and smells alone made it an attraction. It felt lonely as I walked along the coastal road, homes and shore empty alike. I turned left, back inland, once I could see the wretched souls in Beggar's Hall too clearly. I hadn't brought nearly enough coin to help them, that time. A single boy was standing outside an inn, up and down on his toes, searching for something. He perked when he caught sight of me, waving a hand. ""The birds party inside,"" he said, squinting at me. ""Dance with them, if you'd like."" I stared at him a moment, brows knitted. ""I'm fond of birds."" ""You know the drill. A copper for the cause."" He held out a hand. I fished a copper out, dropping it in his palm, and the wooden door groaned as he yanked it open. There were shouts and cheers inside. I put up my hood, stepping into the dimness slowly, and the door shut behind me. *A play?* Staying toward the crowd's rear, it was rough to hear, but slowly my ears adjusted to pick out the stagerunner's voice. It was not a play. ""Too long has our country been run by men in shadows, hiding behind a false king. Too long have our children starved in the winter, when the Northern chills come to haunt us."" The man was red in the face, his worn tan robe with a red sword drawn upon it dancing amidst violent gesturing. *Starved in the winter? Our stores during the summer are set to last a full year. What is he on about?* ""It is up to us, my good men and women, to reclaim this city. To fight for ourselves, when no one else would. So I ask: do you stand with us?"" The crowd cheered. ""Do you stand with us?"" he asked, twice as loud. The crowd cheered louder still, and a chill set into my spine. ""Those who wish to discuss further, stay and tell us what you might offer. The rest, return home and remember your anger even under this warm sun. Donations are accepted at the door. Praise be, not to Triton or the king, but to us, the people!"" The group thinned, a few coppers clinking in a bowl held by a heavily bearded man wearing the same robe the stagerunner wore. Only a few men were left at the end, several coming out from behind the stage, one of which was heavily armored. He wore the same sigil across his breastplate, taking helm at the podium. Our eyes locked for a moment, his gaze forged from Iron and fire. ""Well, gentleman, let us begin,"" he said, a smile slithering across his face. ""We have a king to kill."" My breath caught. --- */r/resonatingfury*",1112
 The mountain was hallowed ground.,"The mountain was hallowed ground. A place where the slow hand of death could not claim those upon it. It was a sanctuary from life itself, a place where if one truly desired, they could spend an eternity. It was a place where one would never age a day from the very first in which they entered. But it was only the slow hand of death which was delayed, the one known as the inevitability which all life eventually succumbed to. But the other hand of death still reigned dominion over all - the fast hand - the unexpected quick death, whether painless or not. That hand was unavoidable even for those upon the mountain. Our family did indeed have its fair share of troubles and worries, but we knew that we would never come to harm each other to such an extent, for while grudges were temporary, death was not. We went about our lives with utmost caution, not to the extent that we would cripple our daily activities, but just enough to stave off the fast hand of death, just enough to prevent a fateful accident from befalling us. My family was not the only ones who roamed those lands, but we were the only humans that we knew of. And while we did not need to partake in the consumption of food and drink, we took from the land as we fancied, but did not impart our will upon the beasts which prowled them. For the creatures whuch lurked those misty hills had a kind of calmness to them, no doubt born from the complacency bought on from their immortality. They cared not to run from our presence, rather, it could almost be said that they reveled in it. We knew the woodland beasts well, to the extent that we even considered some of them to be a part of our own family. That was why when I came across that old buck, bloodied and abandoned in those woods, my heart was struck with grief and the air was struck with my horrified howls. He had already succumbed to the fast hand of death, a hopeless fate, almost inevitable in some respects. I had thought for a moment that a beast from outside the mountain had come to those lands in search of food and struck him down. But the fact that his corpse had been left to rot meant those thoughts were unfounded. It was then that I saw upon his neck the hole where the blood burst forth, a clean shot from end to end. The death of the old buck was the work of a hunter, but the fact that he had not claimed his kill filled me with a fear that I had not known for over a hundred years. It was rare enough that humans would ever set foot on that mountain, and for one to go there with intent to kill was even rarer, if not unheard of. I could not prevent myself from emptying the contents of my stomach - however little - into the thicket by my feet. I saw in that musky puddle a tinge of red, carrying with it the faint scent of raspberries, which was soon overpowered by the wretched stench of bile. I felt that foul taste dance upon the back of my throat, as if mocking me in my time of terror. But I could not sit and dwell in my circumstances, for my troubles of the present were far less pressing than the impending doom I felt beckoning down on me from my future. I left the old buck where he lay, silently promising to myself that I would one day find my way back and give him a proper burial. As I raced back to my family home, it was as if the fatigue of a hundred years came down upon me all at once. For each frantic step felt like fire in my bones, and each ragged breath threatened to be my last. My mind raced with a panic I had not felt in so long, and it was indeed not a welcome feeling. I burst through the door with the grace of a man possessed, and caused Rose - my wife - upon the sofa to let out a panicked yell. She turned towards me with a look of indignant anger, which soon faded away when she took one look at my haggard state. ""Darling? What happened?"" She raced towards my side in a manner of moments and took my hands in her own, and only then did I notice just how much they were trembling. ""The old buck,"" I said, barely able to force myself to speak, ""Someone killed him."" ""Was it a bear?"" She asked, as she turned her head to a forgotten corner of the house. ""Your gun still works, right?"" ""No,"" I said, ""someone. A person. A hunter."" It was then that my son George entered the room, and I heard his voice before I saw him. ""What's up with you, Dad?"" He said, as he fiddled with a cube toy in his hands, ""you look like you've seen a ghost."" I looked towards my boy, still the young and carefree savant he always was, but with an age behind his dusty brown eyes that told you he knew more than you ever would. When I first set forth my plans to move to the mountain with him and the rest of my family, he was the one who yearned for that life the most. And out of all of us that lived on the mountain, he was the only one who had aged significantly since his arrival, owing to his routine visits to the outside lands to gather the things which tickled his fancy. ""George,"" said Rose, her voice colder than moments before, ""get the gun."" ""Alright,"" said George, as he left the room from the same direction from whence he came. Even though I had long since forgotten the key to the safe, I knew that George would remember it with little hassle, for his mind was far sharper than my own. Rose turned my face to her own. ""Did you see him? The hunter?"" * * *",1044
" Day One: ""I think I","Day One Dear Diary, I can't I believe I'm writing this! None of it feels real! I think I must have finally gone off the deep end. Maybe it was one too many chicken tenders at the restaurant I went to for lunch or maybe it's a weird reaction between my allergy meds and that lovely glass of wine I had but I have found a *real* genie in a lamp. No, really! So, get this: I went to that thrift store I love downtown - you know the one right across from the Farmer's Market? I was taking my time, heading down through each aisle, and just picking up some of the old stuff to see what might go in my house. I've been on this total bohemian/India/Egyptian kick lately and saw this old looking bronze lamp with the evil eye engraved on the side. The old oil lamp also had some Arabic looking writing on it. I figured it was pretty cool - it even had some red velvet ribbon on the handle with a bunch of bells- so I bought it for four bucks and brought it home to clean it. I took out everything to clean it, set up a space, ya know - putting down paper towels and all- and sat down to clean it. The second I took that old rag and some cleaner to polish the lamp up a bit, there is a huge puff of smoke! I thought it was an urn at first and that by tipping it the way I did to clean it, I was spilling someone's ashes out all over my darned floor and table. I dropped the lamp to get away from the smoke and to prevent accidentally breathing in someone's grandma, and went to the other side of the room, coughing. I swear I only half turned my back to the lamp when I heard someone speaking. ""Tahiat wasalam lak sayidati,"" came in what was very much a masculine voice and very much from where I dropped the lamp. Did I leave the TV on? Did I leave the door open? ""What?"" I asked as I turned around to see...a half suspended translucent being floating near my dining room table. He was underweight, had dark hair, a turban, and what looked like a half sleeved tunic on. I did what anyone would do when I saw him. I screamed. The translucent being looked perturbed and offended at my screaming. He looked even more upset and annoyed when I took the footstool I was near and began to wield it as a weapon at him. ""Get out! What the hell are you?!? Get out!"" I shrieked. ""Ah, English,"" he stated as he raised out a very large hand and gripped the edge of the footstool. I could not longer move it about and stared in amazement as the ghost like thing continued. ""I recall being purchased by an English couple almost two centuries ago. I supposed I should start my introduction over?"" he stated in impeccable English. My jaw probably dropped a bit. I don't really remember the transition to realizing he wasn't a bunch of ashes and a ghost rising from those ashes to being a Genie but I do know he explained all that. He also explained he learned English from that couple back in the early 19th C and had a few other English speaking owners since then. However, he was originally from some town I had never heard of in Saudi Arabia. ""Now, the rules,"" he informed me as he pulled out a long scroll of papyrus. ""Rules?"" I clarified. Again, he looked annoyed. ""Yes, rules. First, no asking for more wishes. You have only two choices. You may opt for three wishes at once or you may opt for one wish a day for the next five days. However, if you opt for the second, there is a warning,"" he paused and looked directly at me. I only mutely nodded to his rules reading. I had the cash now option or the annuity option to consider. Sighing when I didn't say anything, he continued with his warning. ""Of the fifteen people that have taken the five wishes option, none have survived to the fifth day,"" he stated. I smirked slightly and narrowed my eyes at him. ""What do mean none have survived?"" I asked. The room turned dark and the genie seemed to grow and glow. He towered over me even though I hadn't moved from where I was standing and he hadn't moved from his lamp. ""None have survived! All fifteen persons or couples who took the five wishes have perished, become deceased, are at heaven's gates, or are otherwise dead prior to the fifth wish,"" he angrily informed me before going back down to his normal stature. The room seemed to lighten as he did so. ""That's if they even get that far,"" he muttered. I considered this and thought for a moment before my next question. ""What is the five day survivability of those that opted for the 'cash now' option over the annuity?"" I asked before realizing he might not understand what I meant. ""I mean, how many people that took all three wishes were still alive five days after you gave them their wishes?"" The genie looked confused and began to stutter, amazingly. I thought this guy only had angry and perturbed as modes. ""I don't...that is to say..I typically...well, there was that one time but..."" he began. I crossed my arms over my chest. It was my turn to look displeased. The genie hung his head. ""I don't know,"" he stated. ""You don't know?"" I repeated. He immediately looked up and went into this long ass rambling tirade about how after he delivers the wishes he just goes back into his little lamp and slumbers until someone tries to clean it. He also explained that the one time he did get one of the three wish people to wake him up again, it was only because the guy was dying and tried to reach for the lamp to try and wish again but, of course, that broke rule number one. ""So it's a good possibility everyone dies if they own your little lamp?"" I pointed out as I considered that I may only have a few days to live, if that. ""I do not believe everyone dies,"" he stated, clearly offended. I just stared at him incredulously. ""I don't care what you believe. Based upon the facts we have before us, it's very possible you've given me just hours to live or up to a possible five days to live,"" I told him angrily. Stupid thrift store and stupid lamp dwelling genie. He hung his head again. ""So you know damned well I'm not going to chose the three wishes because three wishes could very well spell, for me, immediate death. I don't want to choose five wishes either because that only gives me five days, if that, to figure a way out of this mess,"" I continued. Tapping my foot, I thought up a couple of plans, quickly. ""Can I just...not wish? At all?"" I asked. ""NO!"" he shouted before shoving the papyrus scroll with all the rules at me. ""That would violate rule number 7!"" I rolled my eyes. ""Well, you didn't even get to rule number 7, did you?"" I informed him, barely concealing my anger. ""So what are the names of the individuals, in the past three centuries that have asked for three wishes and what dates did they ask on?"" I asked as part of my second plan. The plan was to go online, maybe up on Ancestry or something, and see if I could match people to him and check to see if any did live at least a year past the date of trying to clean the lamp. The genie looked down again and twiddled his thumbs. ""I um...,"" he almost whispered. ""I really don't collect names...."" he stated. I sighed and then held out my hand. He looked at it curiously before gently gripping it. ""I'm Victoria. Victoria Williams,"" I told him. ""Uh, Mihrbandak,"" he stated as introduction before releasing my hand. ""Mihr, huh?"" I stated before quickly informing him of my birthdate, my birth town, and what today was. ""And I'm taking the annuity option,"" I said, smiling as a plan formed in my head. ""Why did you inform me of the other information?"" he asked. ""In case my plan doesn't work, then you can at least tell future owners of the lamp information that will help them look me up. This way, they can make an even more informed decision,"" I told him. His jaw dropped a bit. Yeah, the chances of certain death were high with the five day option but I'd at least get more info out of him and, hopefully, fully figure out a plan to not die. Plus, if you are reading this, then the whole diary thing should also help out as well. Anyway, my first wish - after actually signing the scroll - translated into English- in blood - yuk!- was simple. I wanted all my monetary debts cleared. So you might wonder why I just didn't ask for a boatload of gold or something. Honestly, the first wish was a test case to see what would happen. And...damn. Am I glad I did that. Oh, yeah, all my monetary debt is cleared but that meant that not only do I not have a mortgage, not have credit card debt, not have a car loan, but that ALL my monetary debt is gone. My credit cards? Gone. My insurance for my house and my car? Canceled. Even the electric bill...it took a good couple of hours to reset that back up. All the time, the Genie just looking more and more annoyed in the corner as I glared at him. I'm sure there will be more monetary debt that got cleared that I didn't actually want gone. I don't even want to look at my credit score in the morning. I probably have no credit now. So, hopefully, overnight, I can form a plan. I need to figure out a wish that isn't wishing for more wishes, wishing for a longer life, wishing for immortality, or wishing for all my wishes to be canceled. Those will all go against the rules. EDIT: WOW! So I go to bed and wake up to a lot of comments and a gold and a silver! Thank you so much! Just a couple of answers or points to some of the comments - Bohemian, in this case, and not a specific region. I will write the second chapter but I'm not sure where to publish it. Here? Start a new thread? Start a new subreddit and put my ridiculous half finished stories there? Any ideas, please let me know.",1825
 When the sun hit the bar just,"When the sun hit the bar just right, the glasses would sparkle and disperse the light, letting it fall on the counter in small diamonds; there for everyone to see, and a sight no one could steal. When the sun hit the bar just right, it almost made his job worth it. It was early afternoon and the sun was a strong yellow. It made the boards all dark and dusty, crowded with shadows, and everything was a warm, sticky hot. The bar was scarce and he sat listening to the quiet until a man walked in. He was a big man, maybe an athlete once. He came to the bar with a heavy face and with heavy eyes. ""What'll it be?"" The man wiped his mouth and blinked hard a few times. ""I'm not sure. Do you have white rum? I used to drink a shot of white rum."" ""Friend, this is a bar. Of course I have white rum. What kind do you like?"" ""Any kind... The cheapest."" He had trouble with the shot. He swallowed hard the first time, but his throat wouldn't give and most of the rum remained in the glass. He made a sour face. ""Want some juice with that?"" ""No."" ""What's your name then, friend?"" ""Harold. People called me Harry."" Another big swallow. Harold forced most of it down and closed his eyes. He felt sorry for Harold. He looked like a loser, but losers were his bread and butter. ""A little early to be going at it. Tough day? It's hot as hell, I can tell you that much."" ""Yes, it's hot. It's been too hot too think."" ""Perfect weather for a drink, though. Another?"" He poured the drink and felt like scum as he measured out the shot. He contemplated cutting off the man; telling him whatever he was going through couldn't be solved here. But the bar was empty and the rent had only gone up last month. *Get him to talk. They drink more when they talk.* ""What's your story, Harry?"" The man looked up. He could tell he liked being called Harry. It fit the profile, he decided. A washed up loser who had peaked in high school. He had served his share of them before. ""You wouldn't believe me if I told you."" ""Try me."" Another pour. Harold was wearing a thick polo. It was dark red and even darker from sweat. A bad choice for today's heat, but expensive. He had some money then. He could afford his drinks. *Keep him talking then.* That was easy. Harold was getting drunk and he wanted to talk. The sun was sinking slowly, still high and yellow, but getting nearer the bar, nearer the glasses. ""You know I killed two men in my life? Would you believe that if I told you?"" ""You just did. But you don't have the looks of a killer though. Nowhere handsome enough to lure any women."" ""It wasn't women. It was my... my professor. Then... then today there was another one. A lady."" ""I've heard tall stories before, but never one this tall. I suppose I should call the police, right?"" ""No you shouldn't. It wasn't murder. I'm a doctor."" He felt empty then, as though he had been the one drinking. *It's a lie. He doesn't look like a doctor. Maybe he's trying to get some free drinks.* ""What happened Harry?"" ""I was in college once. You ever been to college? For some it's like a second home. Some of them thrive in it, I don't know how. And for some people, it's like some jail or something. Some way for them to make you look like an idiot."" ""You weren't an academic type. I get it."" ""No. But my parents wanted me to go. I was really good in highschool and I was supposed to make everyone proud. I was supposed to be a doctor."" ""You are a doctor."" ""Yeah."" He was having trouble drinking. His head stared at the counter. ""You want to lie down a bit..."" ""I was failing in school you know? I was drinking like I am now. I coulda shoot a whole bottle of white rum back in the day. They used to put it in my mouth and chant and clap and..."" ""I know how it is. We have those on Friday's."" ""Yeah, but I wasn't good at school. I was failing. I never told my parents. But after the first year of being on academic notice or whatever they call it, I was gonna fail. And they woulda kicked me out."" ""So what did you do?"" ""Well I couldn't get kicked out so I read up the rules. You know every college has some big long book of rules. It was probably the only thing I really read there. And it was an old school. Some of the rules were dated. Like all the girls needed to wear stockings and things like that."" ""Sure."" ""And one of them was crazy. One of them was from the eighteen hundreds. It was stupid, but it was on the books."" ""What was it?"" ""It was one of those trial by combat things, you know? One where you could graduate if you dueled your professor."" ""This sounds like those TV colleges. Where you could get a degree as a housewife and make millions of dollars."" ""I'm serious!"" The bar shook. Harold was a big man. He was shaking. Was it from the drinks? *It's so hot and he's shaking.* ""Sorry, Harry. Just doing my job. I'm supposed to be a conversationalist. A poor man's therapist."" ""I was supposed to be a doctor. I killed my professor years ago! I shot him like any mad man, but it was legal. He was an old man, he was so scared! Everyone thought I *was* mad. And I think they were right! I saw him fall, just collapse. It wasn't no show. Just fell right there and that was it. And I was a doctor."" ""Must've been an awkward graduation."" ""I know it sounds funny. But you know what was funny? I was so desperate. I was so stupid back then, that I didn't feel so bad. I figured if there was a God, He would know I was playing by the rules. I took their degree and they covered up the scandal and changed the rules. No one knew. I was a doctor. I graduated early, so everyone thought I was a good doctor."" ""And we both know you're not."" ""Not? It's even worse than that. Maybe it's the adrenaline or P.T.S.D. or whatever, but I managed to block all that out. My folks got me a job in the clinic. I managed to bull my way through it. Most people get by on Tylenol anyway. But today was my first day of my transfer. Today I had to work for real."" ""Where? Couldn't be here."" ""At the hospital. They sent me there and I... I..."" There was another man at the bar but he must have left. *I never even saw him. Harry here is taking up my time.* And now he was shaking as well. The sun was sinking, turning orange from yellow, becoming fiery in its death. ""The lady?"" ""Yes, the lady. She was in front of me in the table. It was minor surgery that every doctor should be able to do... I killed her."" He whistled and it was quiet. He looked about the boards, the shadows that draped them, and he looked past it all and imagined the city. This was a bad place, he knew. There was a stink of apathy and corruption, of selfishness and abuse. He was part of it, enabling it with his bar and cheap liquor, with his easy medication for those who had broken consciences. *But this? Could this be even remotely true?* ""They'll cover it up as usual. They fired me but I won't get in trouble. Every surgery has its risks. The lady was just unlucky. I... I was unlucky."" He couldn't think of anything to say. ""I can't get her out of my mind like I could the professor. I see her. Do you know what that's like? I can't..."" Harold put his head down. He was sobbing. The sun hit the bar and it hit the glasses just right. The diamonds spilled over Harold, his body heaving in their glimmer, and they fell past him down to the floor. Usually the light would make the job easy, would make him think that everything would work out in the end. He thought about putting a hand on Harold's back, comfort him somehow. He couldn't move. He kept thinking of the city; kept looking at the light from the glasses. ""I keep seeing her..."" And he felt like he could see her too. - *Hi there! If you liked this story, then you might like r/PanMan. It has all my other stories. Check it out if you can and thank you for reading!*",1507
 Images are searing themselves to the,"It comes on like it always does. One moment, I'm marching along the dirt path we were assigned to patrol. And the next moment, images are searing themselves to the back of my eyes with such intensity that I cannot ignore them. I wince. A small, unnoticeable movement so that nothing looks amiss. The rest of my men are around me. I don't want to spook them. And it's not like I haven't dealt with this before. But I don't spend much time thinking. I can't. The images; they always mean danger is near. So I stop wincing. I straighten myself up, balancing our squadron's mandated rifle on my shoulder. And I look at the images. All it takes is a thought, a reorientation of my perspective. Instead of looking at the world in front of me, I look within. There, the images sit as they always have to warn me of what is to come. I see myself, as always. But something is different. Something is amiss. I am walking by myself. My men aren't marching next to me like I'm used to. No. They've flanked behind me and are discussing something in hushed tones that I cannot hear. A stray word or two tells me they're talking about a message. Some transmission of some kind that my future self is apparently unaware of. But instead of telling me--instead of informing their superior officer, they raise their guns. Phantom gunshots go off, rattling against the inside of my skull, and I don't even need to hear myself shriek to know how the interaction ends. I rip myself out of thought, shaking my head. Flicking my eyes around, I see my two most trusted officers--Larry and Corbin--slowing their pace. They're taking more time between their steps in an effort to fall in line behind me. I furrow my brows. Another second or two passes. I continue to march on, my boots producing steady thuds in the dirt beneath. But they, they do exactly as the images showed they would. They flank behind and meet up with the other two men who had been following at our rear. My fingers curl around the grip of my gun. Before another second can fall away, I hear a crackle behind me. A radio. It sparks to life with soft murmurs. Commands from base camp, I immediately assume. Except my radio doesn't come on. I don't hear the words clearly--only a stray word or two. I grit my teeth. Their words lilt to my ears. Tense, low, and hushed. I want to yell at them right now, but I restrain myself until then. I can hear the desperation in their tone. The surprise. Possibly confusion. But after a few more moments, it doesn't matter. I hear the sharp raising of metal through the air and force myself to bite back a curse. I dive. Gunshots crack through the air, muted and many coming from their flurry of rifles. The bullets tear through air, running into my ghost and killing it dead. But I am no longer there. Instead, I'm multiple feet away, scrambling on the ground and raising a rifle myself. My men look confused, only half of them tracking where I've gone. And as soon as their eyes meet mine, my barrel is trained on their heads. ""What the hell is going on?"" I ask, uncaring about the bitterness in my tone. Each of them turns to me. Their eyes shoot wide and most of their faces pale. But they raise their rifles again. A hitch catches in my breath, but I suppress the sound. The images haven't flashed yet, so I know I still have time. They won't shoot. Not yet. ""I *said* what the hell is going on?"" None of them respond. They only share glances with each other, unsure, and look down at their radios as if looking for an answer through the static. I grind my teeth and force myself up to a stand, my gun still trained on them all. ""None of you are going to answer?"" I asked, trying to keep my voice calm. Sharp. Commanding. Like I've always tried to do. I try not to reveal the thunderous beating of my heart or the fear racing in my mind. Larry opens his mouth, words promising to make their way out. But he snaps it shut shortly after and locks those words away. The thing that annoys me most is that I will probably never get to know what they were. I take a step forward, but something changes. One moment, I'm waving my gun at my men. The next moment, images are searing themselves to the back of my mind. I nearly gasp, only biting it back at the last second as I turn my gaze inward. I see myself, as always. But something is different. My men aren't standing before me bewildered. They are each nodding to themselves, confirming something as if they'd just been relayed new information. And each of them stiffens their shoulders toward me. I don't even need to hear the gunshots this time to know how the interaction ends. As I tear myself back to reality, each of their radios sparks to life. Some deep voice that I don't recognize utters my name along with a muted question relating to some confirmation of my kill. Larry, my best man, brings his radio up to respond. Before another second ticks by, his radio has fallen from his hands. Larry staggers from the impact of my fist, and the men around me are confused. I take advantage of the confusion--of the surprise the images bought me. I dance around the confused soldiers, around their blundering and confused forms. As I knock each and every one of them out, it feels too easy. I thought I had trained them better than this. But still, once the dust settles, all four of them are on the ground. I am standing with my undershirt soaked in sweat and my breaths heavy and hard, but the images don't come back. I am not in any danger anymore. One of the radios on the ground sparks to life. I furrow my brows but bend down to pick it up. ""I hear scuffling. Larry, has the target been taken care of?"" I grit my teeth, wanting to smash the thing on the ground right then. But I don't, of course. ""Yes, sir,"" I say with the best impression of my friend I can muster. ""He resisted, but we have put him down. What would you like us to do with the body?"" I cringe at my question, annoyed by how many there have been in the past minute alone. ""It doesn't matter how as long as the body cannot be found. Report back to base camp. Our visions are already coming to fruition."" But as the line goes dead, there's a sinking feeling in my chest. Something tells me I have a lot more questions to ask. --- /r/Palmerranian",1170
" Exterminators are common, but","I was born an Exterminator. My father was born an Exterminator, and his before that. It's a family business, one reaching back as far as the family tree in the attic can remember. Of course, Exterminators are common, but none have reached the same variety of power as we have, with the same grade of distance and control. It's a trade secret, for only my family knows how to access this particular strain- that once a year, the mists roll down from the California mountains and into a small valley just north of our town, carrying with them a specific poison that evaporates off the flower petals along the cliffs. A typically mild insecticide, one extremely effective when vaporized. No bugs survive that night, and if a child is born then, just as the mists reach their heights and the sound of buzzing their lows, then the power passes on to them. Our variety lives an easy life- the rich pay high salaries to keep us on their properties, eliminating any pests from their grounds. And I'd been in the work force for six years when Mr. Arachne employed me, offering me a 200% raise higher than any competitor, though he had two stipulations: First, that I travel an hour outside town to reach his home, and second, that I never leave the premises without permission. But 200% was low for someone like Arachne- with his own powers, that of sensing potential future paths down the web of time, he could certainly afford it. Stock brokers would pay a fortune for those like him despite its legality. It was standard for them to want our presence, for that was what eliminated the pests- as I lounged in a recliner by his poolside, my eyes taking in the beautiful scenery of his Napa valley home, I knew that no mosquito would venture within five hundred feet of my presence. No living mosquito, anyways- it was rare one would make it inside a hundred feet before dropping from the sky, and the toughest only survived to three hundred feet before their crash landing. It made transportation for me a problem- anywhere I traveled, I required an Environmental Clearance, and could only reach there by helicopter lest I wreck havoc on the ecosystems I passed through. But for Arachne, the arrangement was perfect- he owned a vineyard, and I kept the vines clean of any sort of pest, except those he might desire. That was one of the perks of my Exterminator variety- that with enough study and focus, we could make exceptions to our exterminations. Something that no other Exterminators could control. ""Dieta,"" Mr. Arachne said to me, two weeks into my stay, as I read a book inside his sun room- one gifted to me by a library for simply browsing their shelves once a month to clear away their silverfish. In my contract, Arachne stated that I would not be used for the same purposes as normal servants, meaning I could relax and read while on duty. My powers were all that mattered, and similar to how an accountant would not be expected to sweep the floors of his business, I was not expected anything beyond that particular passive ability. ""Dieta, I need you to ensure that you are on premises for the Gala this Saturday. There are several important guests to be in attendance, and I wouldn't want them to miss your presence."" ""Of course,"" I said with a smile. As Exterminators, we were accustomed to formal events, and I had come to enjoy them. My family was so famed that we'd even become a talking point over cocktails, and I'd rubbed elbows with people of surprisingly high status. Already, my thoughts turned to which dress I'd be selecting, and the earrings I would pair to match. ""Per my contract, you can expect me there."" ""Wonderful, wonderful,"" Said Arachne with a smile, ""And I do request, *no exceptions* on any pests for this Gala, I don't want your powers being called into question. I shan't have them think we are second rate."" ""Rest assured, sir,"" I answered, turning the page, ""If I can kill it, I will."" *And I did.* The guests arrived by limousine, and were met with glasses of wine straight from the cellar. Arachne's home was far enough away form the city that several guests needed the alcohol to eliminate their miffed expressions, itself an exterminator of negative emotions. I watched from my upstairs bedroom of his estate as the cars continued to pour forwards, and noticed that it was always the same drivers- Arachne had a parking lot a mile off site, where his own chauffeurs picked up the attendees to ride the rest of the distance in style. And as I watched, I saw the drivers stop halfway to the house on occasion, then take a side path down towards a shed on the edge of the property, depositing what looked like long baggage before continuing their routes. I frowned, squinting. It was difficult for me to tell, but several of those bags looked too long and awkward to be luggage. They looked more like snowboarding bags, and I frowned, wondering where their owners might be, since those cars returned without occupants. But whatever it was, as an Exterminator it likely was none of my business- I was here to keep the pests away, and I surely would. ""Welcome,"" Arachne said later that evening after the guests arrived, as we gathered before a wide dinner spread that seemed to be set for too many, each of us with a glass of champagne, ""And know as you dine tonight, that you are among friends. *Only* friends, as we discuss the betterment of this world. Rest assured, if there were any impostors among us, they have been removed- and there were plenty! I'd like to recognize a few of you, from Marsha Annallee, with your three billion dollar contribution to the fund. And Mikhail, your specialization in discovering youths with incredible powers to better our cause has not gone unnoticed. Cheers, and be merry tonight, so we may build a better world tomorrow."" Glasses rang together, and I sensed the room relax with his words, some unknown tension immediately alleviating. And staring around, I noticed several people smiling to me, raising their glasses in a cheers. People I had seen on the news, whose faces were as famous as most cereal brands. People that were now gathered together for some cause, one I knew little about. People whose bodies looked all too similar in size and shape to the luggage in the shed. *** By Leo, a story in the Star Child universe. This story anticipated to be severon here and /r/leoduhvinci. If you want more now to hold yourself over check out the Star Child story,",1141
 An exceptionally cunning thief strolled through,"An exceptionally cunning thief strolled through an open air market on a hot afternoon. The suffocating desert winds kicked up the sand beyond the city's high walls, causing merchants and buyers alike to shield their eyes and keep their heads low--wonderful conditions for out thief. He'd awoken late in the day to a rumbling stomach, and before too long had quite the lunch assorted on a stolen quilt in a shady alley a ways from the market. The fruit was juicy, the bread was soft, and it was all the more better to the thief because it was free. As he enjoyed the fruits of his labor (so he proudly told himself), a young girl wandering by his picnic stopped and stared; her mouth watered at the vibrant looking melons and berries, and the thief groaned once he finally noticed her. ""Oh, great,"" he sighed as he tossed an apple core aside. ""A little beggar come to ruin my day."" ""Please, sir,"" she held out her little palms. ""I have no money for food."" ""Neither do I,"" he laughed as he shoved a piece of bread in his mouth. ""Please--"" ""Oh, fine!"" he tossed a banana at her feet, grumbling as he did so. ""Not my fault you haven't got the sense to steal your own food."" She tried to thank him, but he only ignored her as he finished his lunch; she slumped off with her head down, and he didn't bother another glance in her direction. Now that bodily necessity was satisfied for the day, the thief sought after wares that he could sell for enough coin to afford a room for the night. So went the life of the thief: steal meals for the day, steal wares for sale for a night's rent and some wine, and repeat the process the next day. But on this day he felt especially bold, and he managed to pluck a trinket from a chest inside the home of a famed traveler and philanthropist. It was wrapped in a beautiful linen (which he promptly sold) and it would change his life forever. A lamp. The linen had given him plenty of money for the night's rent, so he'd kept the lamp in his pack and only pulled it out once he'd settled into his room and eaten his stolen dinner. It was ordinary looking, aside from a small embroidery around its base: *rub if you wish, and we shall grant you three*. He was skeptical, thinking that a lamp with such silly words written on it wouldn't garner much coin, but he gave it a rub anyway. Out with a flash popped three small creatures; they looked to the thief like tiny people: one red, one blue, and one purple. ""Who are you?!"" he cried, keeping his voice low as to not raise the suspicion of the inn-master (the lamp was stolen, after all). ""We are the three, and wishes we grant thee,"" they spoke in beautiful harmony. ""Genies! Genies in a lamp,"" he was wide-eyed with wonder. ""I've heard tales of such things."" ""Do you wish to have your wishes granted?"" ""Yes! Wait, no. That doesn't count as a wish, does it? Don't you try and trick me out of what I've earned, little devils!"" ""We decide the wishes to be granted, and so you have agreed,"" the three genies all stared at him for a moment and then huddled up and conferred amongst themselves for several minutes. The thief did his best to eavesdrop, but he couldn't hear a word--he assumed they could choose what he heard or not heard, the little devils. ""We have decided!"" they erupted with joy just as the thief was beginning to dose off. ""Well, what do I get? Money, power, fame?"" he was wild with anticipation, his mouth watering greedily. ""Your first wish I grant thee, and it is what you believe you desire,"" the red genie spoke proudly up at him. ""And so, you have been given wealth."" The red genie snapped its little fingers, and suddenly the thief found himself in a luxurious apartment filled with gold, jewels, and fine furniture; barrels of wine lined the walls, and a beautiful balcony overlooked the fire-lit city and the tapestry of stars above. Our thief roared and cheered, diving from one end of his little palace to the other, tossing coin and gemstone recklessly into the air, and pouring wine about his head like a fool. But his greed knew no bounds, and he demanded the rest of his *earnings* as the drink dripped from his matted hair, ""What of my other two wishes, do not hold out on me!"" he searched around suspiciously for the genies. ""Ah, yes,"" the blue genie appeared in a pool of wine on the lustrous tile floor, floating upon its back lazily. ""Your second wish will be granted by me, and I will give you what you need."" ""What I need?"" the thief spun around, arms extended out like wings. ""Are you blind? I have all I could ever need now, thanks to your friend!"" ""So you believe,"" the blue genie mused. ""But we know otherwise. When you are ready to receive exactly what you need, all you must say is 'Genie, please, give me what I need'; however, once you utter these words, all the riches and pleasures granted to you by the first wish will vanish forever."" An ignorant laugh roared out of the thief, ""Then you shall never be called upon again, little devil, for I shall not fall for your trick! Begone, and leave me to what I deserve."" ""As you wish,"" the genies replied in unison and vanished. And so the thief lived for many years in luxury, careless with coin and the company he kept. His apartment was host to countless elaborate parties, and attendees were happy to regularly come dine and drink by his *generosity*. But the red genie had not given him unlimited wealth, and after many years of bodily bliss, the thief found himself once again stealing for food. The friends who had attended his dinners and parties almost nightly acted as if they had never met him once he lost his apartment and no longer had wonderful treats to entice them with, and for quite some time he simply wallowed alone in his grief--too stubborn to call upon the genies again. Until at last, he said the words he'd secretly never forgotten, ""Genie, please, give me what I need!"" ""So wonderful to see you again, though you waited much longer than we thought you would,"" the blue genie sat atop his shoulder. ""Please, perhaps you know the depths of my soul better than myself. I squandered all I was given, and now there is nothing."" The blue genie snapped its fingers, and a large pack appeared at the thief's feet. ""A traveling pack?"" he was confused. ""Tomorrow you will leave this city and walk everyday to a new place, and each day you will reach into this pack to retrieve only what is needed,"" the genie said sternly. ""You will find food when you are famished and water when you are parched, but the taste will be bland and only enough to quiet your stomach."" The thief did not like where this was going, but he was grateful to know that he would have food and water. ""There will be two books as well. The words in one will change everyday, and each day it will teach you something new. You will read it, and you will learn. The other will be a book for your thoughts; each night before you fall asleep you will reflect on the day's lesson and on your journey, and you will chronicle your thoughts--it will never run out of pages. "" ""Is this it?"" the thief felt defeated. ""Is this what I need? To walk the earth and learn and only eat enough to continue walking and learning?"" ""It is,"" the blue genie nodded. ""And when you are ready, my brother will grant you the final wish: he will fulfill your heart's deepest desire."" The fire of thief's soul danced wildly again at this news, and he shot up excitedly and began rummaging through the pack--tossing the little genie aside in his excitement, ""When will I be ready? Once I've covered the globe and learned all there is to learn and met all there are to meet? How will I know?!"" ""You won't,"" the blue genie whispered. *""We will,""* the three replied in unison, and then they vanished for many long years. And so the thief set out into the world, his great pack upon his back, and his heart reaching out for the desire still unknown to his mind. The pack worked as the genie had promised. Enough food and water each day to keep his stomach fed, but never full like the days of his gluttony. The first book taught him something new each day, changing from history to mathematics to philosophy and lessons on language; he learned with eagerness, and as the years rolled on behind his footsteps, the book granted him more pages each day with more difficult lessons to be absorbed. Each night, the thief contemplated the day's lesson; however, his encounters with the people of the world often weighed more heavily on his mind and were usually the subject of his writings. The world, he learned, was a cruel and harsh place. Were it not for his pack, he would undoubtedly had to resort to stealing or toiling away for long hours just to afford enough to feed himself. He would often look upon the poor and wretched of the earth in the cities and towns, and a great sorrow would pull him down as if God had dropped another weight onto the scale of gravity. Five years. Ten years. Thirty years... The man had trekked to every corner of the known world, and, finally, he returned to the city of his youth. Many of the superficialities of it had changed, but its functionality was all the same. He wandered through the still familiar market and thought of the day he had stolen the lamp; it had been so long ago that the genies felt like a dream, were it not for the pack to remind him of their reality. A young girl wandered aimlessly through the aisles, eyeing the food hungrily as she went, and the man took pity on her. His stomach rumbled, and he reached into his pack for the days bread and water. As he raised the bread to his lips, he saw in that child a vision from his past, a young girl whom he'd reluctantly given a stolen fruit to. He called her over, and gave her his bread, ""Take it, please,"" he said, and she did. Deep inside of him the fire of his soul raged with joy, burning away his pains of hunger. ___ **Character limit, continued below**",1831
 A being with magic in his blood,"I awoke sitting under a tree in a forest. It is a beautiful spring day. The wind is blowing gently and I hear birds singing. About twenty feet in front of me a dirt path goes left to right and disappears around a bend. I smile and mentally call up my character sheet. An image forms in my mind of my stats and abilities. I had asked to be a Sorcerer. A being with magic in his blood. I check to make sure my spells are ready. For Cantrips I chose: Light, Prestidigitation, Ray of Frost, and Shocking Grasp. My 1st level spells are: Shield and Magic Missile. I have all the starting equipment I asked for too. I stand up and look around. I am ready to start my new life of adventure! Coming from around the bend I hear a familiar wooshing sound. I can't quite remember what it is but I know I've heard it before and it is coming closer very quickly. What should I do? I put my hand on my short sword but decide not to draw it. That might be too aggressive. I'll wait until I know what's going on. To my shock a man comes around the bend. He is wearing spandex, a helmet, sunglasses, and riding a bicycle. I don't even think he notices me as he zooms by and disappears out of sight. I am struck dumb by what I just witnessed. What just happened? Was that a memory? An apparition? I am confused. Shaking my head I start walking down the dirt path in the opposite direction the rider went. After a little while on the path the forest thins out. I can't believe what I am seeing. Concrete sidewalks. Benches. Families having picnics. Joggers. The sounds of traffic in the distance. An airplane overhead. A city skyline. I am in a park! What is going on?! Did I just hallucinate an afterlife? No, I still have my adventurer gear. Did I have a psychotic break? I don't think so. I need more information. I formulate a plan. I ask a passerby for directions to the nearest public library. They are wary at first and try to move away but I explain that I am new here and lost my cell phone. I get a notification in my mind [Persuasion skill check: successful]. I thank my foresight for putting points into that skill earlier. After getting the directions I thank them and head to the library. There I discover that I was back on Earth but it was five years later! What kind of a useless goddess sends someone to the wrong world and five years into the future?! I am both sad and glad that my friends and family moved on after my death. They are on the opposite side of the county so my chances of running into them are small. Trying to reconnect with them after all this time would be like opening old wounds. Not to mention I had asked to start over in a new life. But how do I start over? I had chosen my abilities with the idea I would be exploring dungeons and fighting monsters. If I had known I was going back to Earth I would have picked a different class, or at least different spells! My best spell now is probably Prestidigitation. It is ridiculously versatile and a Cantrip so I can cast it an unlimited number of times per day. Sitting in the library I write down any information I feel I might need later in my journal. I think about what I am going to do. Maybe I could start a cult to worship my power. Or assassinate people with magic. I shake my head. No, I didn't want to become a villain. I'll figure something out. I head to the pawn shop to sell the few gold coins I had left over after buying equipment. The manager is suspicious but after another Persuade check he agrees to buy my coins although I don't get nearly as much money as I suspect they are worth. I don't feel like spending what little money I now have on a hotel so I head back to the park. I have gear suitable to camping in the wilderness so a few days in a city park should be simple. I find a secluded spot and doze off but awake in the middle of the night. I feel a presence close by. Something is creeping up on me. I had taken the precautions earlier of sleeping with my short sword under my pillow. Drawing it in one hand I make a gesture with the other hand and say ""Light!"" in Draconic to cast the spell. A bright glow springs forth from the blade illuminating the area. A creature hisses and jumps back. Jumping to my feet I look closer at my visitor. It looks like a man but his eyes shined with reflected light like an animal and his open mouth revealed sharp fangs. His fingers end in claws and his posture is hunched over. Other than that he looked ordinary. He is wearing jeans and a blue polo shirt. ""That was a good trick but it won't save you, human."" He says. ""Don't come any closer or you'll regret it!"" I shout brandishing my blade. ""Do you actually know how to use that thing or did you just buy it at the mall because it looked cool?"" He asks with a wry grin. He licks his lips and starts moving closer. ""Magic missile!"" I say in Draconic while shaping the spell with my free hand. Three bolt of magic fly from my hand toward him. He quickly jumps out of the way to dodge but my bolts unerringly track and strike him. He yelps and flails a bit. ""You stupid Mage! I was going to snap your neck so I could feed in peace but now I want to hear you scream!"" He shouts and charges directly towards me. ""Shield!"" I say in Draconic while hold up my hand. An invisible magic barrier forms just in front of me. He crashes into it and tries get his arms around it to claw me. Luckily he misses but now the situation is dire. I can't cast any more 1st level spells and my Shield will disappear in a second. I get ready to cast Shocking Grasp and hope he doesn't claw me in a vital spot. Just then I hear someone say ""Magic Missile!"" in Draconic and I see six bolts of magic strike my attacker. He makes a gurgling sound as he slumps down onto the ground, dead. Looking around I notice a woman in a black pants suit above me. She is flying on a broomstick! ""Thank you for saving me! You can cast spells too?"" I ask. ""Of course. You didn't think you were the only one did you?"" She says with a smile. ""Yeah, actually. Until I was given these powers I thought magic was fictional."" I say sheepishly. ""We work hard to keep it that way. I'm Agent Sarah Pru, Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. I'd like to ask you a few questions."" She says as she flashes her badge.",1213
 In over a hundred systems and a,"In over a hundred systems and a thousand worlds, the Coalition reigns. Under a thousand different skies, and in millions of cities, the Eternal Flag flies. It's an empire larger than any in galactic history, and it's a superpower that may never come again. A civilization built on the greatest magitech ever seen, powered by great globes of mana and flickering energy cores. A civilization made up of a thousand sentient species. The crew of the *Growing Flame* and their support ships are here to make it a thousand and one. It's a small little planet with a primitive, backwards species. Sol Three. ""No sign of civilization,"" the Oracle hums from her post. ""The fleet's ready to descend."" ""Hold on,"" the Navigator says, tapping at her moving painting. The colors swirl and reform again and again, the magically-imbued pigments responding to her touch. ""Didn't we see cities on the initial sweep? Population's suspiciously high for a no-magic civ, too."" ""The scans are never wrong,"" says the Oracle. ""The attenuator picked up zero signs of residual magical energy."" ""Let the fleet descend,"" says the Executor. ""The Fifth Expeditionary fleet will be here in three cycles, and I'll be damned if I let them take this planet before we do. I'm one away from promotion."" Despite the Navigator's protests, the Pilots nod, and they tap at a multitude of buttons and dials. The tightly-sealed copper and glass ship descends into the planet's atmosphere, magitech engines spewing mana as they descend. ""Careful with the output,"" the Oracle says. ""Planet's a total mana dead zone. No ambient magic. We won't be able to use the reclaimers for fuel, so we'll have to run on stored energy."" Alongside the *Flame*, a dozen ships descend into the atmosphere of Sol Three. Each is a glittering specimen of the Coalition's finest - magitech cannons, engines that can pull three g's of acceleration with a top speed of hundreds of units per hour, warp engines for inter-system jumps. Each one's bristling with armor and weaponry, ready to blast any fledgling species into submission. Despite his professionalism, the Executor can't help but grin. A fierce sort of fury runs through his blood every time a new upstart species is battered into submission - it's addictive. He settles his gaze on one of their sister ships, the *Steady Cadence*. He has a good view as a glowing streak shoots through the air, and an AIM-120 AMRAAM beyond-visual-range air-to-air missile blows that wannabe steampunk ship right out of the sky. The engines explode, and stored mana evaporates a quarter of the craft as it breaches containment. The *Steady Cadence* goes into freefall, trailing blue aetheric smoke. It impacts the planet's surface with a crash. The Executor is too shocked to even react for a few precious seconds. Another ship goes down in a gout of flame. ""STATUS REPORT!"" He bellows, his voice cracking as he does. ""WHAT THE HELLS JUST HAPPENED?!"" ""Projectile weapon of some kind,"" the Oracle screams, the Painting at her post swirling so rapidly it's become a whirlpool of color and light. ""Nothing on the sensor sweeps."" The pilots have taken it upon themselves to engage evasive maneuvers without being ordered, and it's only because of this that the crew of the *Growing Flame* survives the next few seconds. A glowing streak blows past the ship and detonates, rocking the craft - but it doesn't hit the engines, and the *Flame* stays afloat. Around them, the remaining ten ships do the same. The magic engines whirr as they're pushed to their limits - the ships dance up, down, and spin in literal physics-defying maneuvers. A few ships are hit, but many of the glowing streaks detonate without crippling a craft. ""EVADE,"" The Executor shouts, far too late. He runs a hand over his fur, smoothing it down in an attempt to regain his composure. ""Open fire!"" ""On what, sir?"" The Conflict head asks. ""Find whatever's firing those smoke streams, and destroy it! In fact-"" He growls. ""Blow away anything that's moving and isn't flying a friendly flag. We're going to burn this world."" The Conflict head nods, and a runner's sent to relay orders to the weapons crews manning the cannons in the bowels of the ship. An AIM-120 AMRAAM BVRAAM missile is a masterful piece of engineering. It's designed with a seven inch diameter, uses active transmit-receive radar guidance, and is a total fire-and-forget missile. But it's still constrained by the laws of physics. The reality-warping engines of the Fourth Coalition Expeditionary fleet are not. This fact keeps the fleet in the air. For now. ""LOAD CANNONS!"" The runner shouts, and in the bowels of the *Flame* and her sister ships, a dozen high-yield magitech cannons are loaded with glowing mana-shot. A Sol craft comes into view - some kind of angular, shimmering beast. It's definitely not copper. It sweeps past the ship, too fast to be tracked with the naked eye. ""Targeting online,"" the Conflict-sub-head shouts from her post. ""Fire at will."" The remains of the Coalition fleet spit over a hundred glowing blue cannonballs at the rapidly disappearing Sol craft. Each one is capable of leveling a small building with a direct hit. None of them have a direct hit, though. A shockwave sweeps across the sky with an earsplitting boom as the Sol craft's engines flare orange-white-red, rather than the pale blue of a magical engine, and the ship disappears as surely as if it had teleported. The sound doesn't even hit the Coalition fleet until the craft's already long gone. The next pass doesn't come. The craft never comes back within visual range. Instead, a barrage of missiles and gunfire from outside visual range pick off ship after ship. ""No... no engine lock,"" the Oracle says, her face pale. It's dawned on the crew that they're going to die here. ""We need to get a message to the Fifth Expeditionary Fleet,"" the Executor says, his voice low. He understands his duty, even if his rivalry is strong. ""We need to warn them. Take us out of atmosphere."" ""And the other ships, sir?"" ""We need- we need a way to get away. They can buy us time. These Sol pilots might take the distraction."" The Oracle nods, and closes her eyes as she telepathically transmits the command to the other ships. They, too, know their duties. The *Growing Flame* gets away. A dozen Coalition ships burn on the surface of Sol Three. === --- On the surface, two men sit in a room that doesn't technically exist, discussing an event that technically never happened. ""Do we know where they came from? The Russians? The Chinese?"" ""No idea, sir. The technology seems... primitive."" ""They dodged Sparrow missiles, Jack."" ""Yes, but - there's something weird about that. We've looked at their engines. They shouldn't have functioned at all."" ""You're telling me they came in with broken engines?"" ""No, sir - I mean they shouldn't have worked at all. The designs wouldn't physically lift a ship off the ground."" The two men stand in silence for a few moments. ""Sir?"" ""Yes, Jack?"" ""You're glowing."" One of the men raises his hand, and turns it over. He snaps his fingers. And a tiny bolt of lightning arcs between them. --- === In a darkened facility, the recovered wreckages of a dozen Coalition ships sit, bleeding tanks of magic into the air of a world that previously had none. --- *Like this story? Subscribe to /r/OneMillionWords* *(I wrote this story on my phone. Let me know if you catch any errors.)*",1262
 The chariot was manned by a,"""W-What is.... that?"" a green humanoid said as he looked through a special binocular. He was scanning the area around the chariot when he spotted a blue planet with a tint of green and brown on it. The chariot was manned by a five person crew and was on a regular exploration mission around the galaxy. This particular one was manned by two mages, one smith, and three soldiers - one of whom was the captain leading the mission. ""Captain, I think we may encounter creatures - intelligent ones, capable of high-energy manipulation,"" said the same humanoid who initially spotted the planet. The captain, a veteran of hundreds of exploration mission stood up and said, ""excellent. Now, Mage Hyyrt could you verify Mage Jrrtp's claims?"" A rather shorter humanoid, took out a warped staff and pointed it at the planet. He chanted and shook the staff like he was inspecting its' content. Before long, the staff and the hands holding it vibrated vigorously. His weathered face suddenly lit up and he turned to face the captain. His cracked lips curled at the edges as he was about to report his discovery. ""Hehehe, Captain! I... I think... the young Mage was c-corect! If we could get closer, I might even che-"" ""L-Look! Grand chariots, coming to our position!"" said one of the soldiers, interrupting the older Mage. ""As I was saying, Captain, we should establish contact... Let me scan the incoming chariot and use [Message] to talk to them,"" the annoyed older mage finished his interrupted thought. The captain nodded and the mages got to work. They took out a bunch of odd-looking items. Some vials with glowing alchemical liquids, a couple of glowing crystals, and some staffs of various sizes and make. The two then used some of the staffs and chanted [Message] at the direction of the grand chariot. Instead of getting a response, the two were dumbfounded as the effort did not bear fruit. The mages struggled to make the spell work, rotating through several different items before finally giving up. ""C-Captain... It.... Seems that the spell [Message] did not make contact."" The captain knew that magic had its' limitations, but something as simple as [Message] should've worked. He pondered on the possibility if the creatures commandeering the incoming chariot were one of the more hostile sort. Before making any rash decisions, he needed to guarantee the safety of his vessel and crew. As such, he told the two other soldiers to stand at the ready with their weapons in case things would go sour. The mages picked up on this and the younger mage prepared an enchanted mace whilst the older one consulted a book of spells to try and make contact. However, the incoming chariot was already in front of them less than 5 minutes since they had sprung into action. Fearing for the worst, but still maintaining caution to prevent provoking the other party, the captain took out a necklace and wore it. The necklace contained the spell [Maximise - Bridge of Thoughts] that would enable the invoker/caster to telepathically establish communication by looking into the eyes of the intended target, regardless of language barrier. He then scanned the glassed section of the front of the large chariot in front of him to find anyone whose eyes he could look into. Before long, a woman - with a headgear and pale-cream-coloured skin - looked out of the glass and he established contact. She seemed to be shocked but the Captain went to great details explaining their exploration mission and that they want to establish peaceful contact. The two vessels then went in tow to get down to the station which the woman had indicated to be their base. *** After being properly received at the station, the crew of the exploration chariot had discovered things about the so-called 'humans' of the planet called by the locals as 'Earth'. The humans seemed to be wearing a uniform clothing, blue in colour, rather sturdy yet light in material. The younger mage - Jrrtp - took a rather keen interest on the clothing, as he himself dabbled in magical cloth-making research. The older mage - Hyyrt - seemed fascinated by the vessel, so-called 'spacecraft', as he had never seen the metallic materials that was used for its' hull. The two made such a fuss that the woman human, who was the commander of the whole station, seemed to be on guard especially when Jrrtp tried to touch her clothes. Apologies were made and the situation was cleared up when a human diplomat, who made the trouble to go up to the station from the planet, arrived. ""Greetings, Captain! I am John Lawrence, a diplomat working for the United Nations of Earth. I've received the rudimentary explanation from the admiral,"" he signalled to the woman who initially received them and continued, ""now, I'd like to convey our leaders' welcome and help you as best as we can to your mission."" The Captain, the only one that could communicate with the humans, spoke, ""thank you, Mr. Lawrence. W-We... we were wondering if you would be courteous enough to let us land and survey your planet. For the sake of the mission, of course."" The humans, which amounted to the diplomat and his aides as well as the admiral, convened amongst themselves. They seemed to not be talking but rather rapidly tap on some strange glass-like devices with metal on the back. The glass glowed, so the crew of the chariot all surmised that it must be some sort of a magical device. Before long, the human diplomat coughed lightly to refocus the attention of the crew on him. ""First, we apologise but letting you survey the planet would need to be discussed by our leaders' which might take quite some time,"" the diplomat clenched his hands together, ""second, we could let you land on the planet but it would require you to be put in a 'quarantine' before doing so... which might take time but not as long as the discussion I've mentioned before."" The captain then told the rest of the crew which all nodded at the same conclusion, ""we would like to land on your planet as soon as possible, if you'd please."" *** Upon arrival on the blue planet called Earth, the crew of the exploration chariot were all flabbergasted. The mages - who were both awed at the various materials and technology they had seen on the station - almost went unconscious at the sight of the sprawling city they were taken into. Various metal and glass spires reached the skies and countless glowing glasses displayed an assortment of things on the sides. The glowing glasses were of similar make as the devices that the humans used on the station earlier but on a much more massive scale. The mages wanted to touch the glowing glasses and spires with the [Fly] spell, but the captain had to stop them. Even if the soldiers kept their calm, unlike the mages, they too were surprised. The two soldiers gasped and had their eyes popping as they saw the amount of people moving in various ways. They saw many riding on their own personal chariots, sitting in communal tube-like chariots, and riding on a metallic horse - some were on the ground whilst a few were flying through the sky. Back at their planet, not everyone could ride on chariots as they were expensive and quite labour-intensive to make with magic. Only soldiers, the wealthy, or the nobility could afford them. The captain - keeping his cool whilst still having his eyes darting around, taking in all the information - observed the human soldiers as they escorted him and his crew. He wondered if the compact weapons they were carrying - apparently called 'guns' - would do much damage when compared to their staffs and enchanted melee weapon. As they were all taking in the surrounding sights, the diplomat from the station greeted them once more. He could see the exploration chariot crew's faces and their subsequent amazement which resulted in his own amusement. After he let out a few chuckles - one reserved for an adult responding to a child's curiosity - the diplomat shook the Captain's hand. ""I see you've seen things, well now I'd like you to come and we could discuss many more things,"" the diplomat said. ""... Y-Yes! B-But before... before we continue, may I ask what kind of magic did you use for those?"" the Captain said as he pointed to the guns. ""Huh?"" the diplomat seemed surprised but then said, ""magic? To my knowledge, we simply use energy-bolts or gunpowder for the guns, don't we?"" he looked to the soldiers for affirmation. The Captain told the mages and they screamed inaudibly in response. After a while, the Captain spoke again. ""So, what about those things - the chariots? How do you enchant them to fly or move around like that?"" the Captain pointed to the moving chariots. ""Ch-Chariots? Er, I don't think... Well we have chariots drawn by horses, mostly for shows. Those things are called 'cars'. They're powered by electricity and petrol,"" the diplomat explained as he pointed to the many vehicles, ""whilst those long tube-like things are called 'trains' and 'buses'. The shorter ones are the buses and the longer ones are buses, mostly they are all electric now."" ""E-Electric... Electricity... W-What is that?"" the Captain stood in horror at the terrifying sounding word. The diplomat laughed and said, ""Not to worry, almost everything you can see are powered by electricity! You see, they are these currents transferring charges which could make things move...""",1614
 The soft glow of the embers,"The soft glow of the embers cast shadows against the walls, white canvases for the shadows of beings surrounding the fire. The figures that were there were of no ordinary shape or size, and to any other citizen of earth, the gathering could have been the worlds greatest shadow-puppet show. A crescent moon on the back wall was actually a beak, the squid shadow that swam nearby caused by tentacles protruding from someones head, a silhouette of the many heads of a hydra cast by exactly that. Embedded within the diverse array of characters was a simple human, sat hunched in on himself, reserved, withdrawn, surrounded by laughter. ""Ok, so tell us again about how you guys spend - get this - at *least* sixteen years in education, *imagine* wasting the most energetic, lively years of your life cooped up inside of a prison to learn basic skills that could just be implanted into your brain!"" More roars of laughter rang out, good natured laughter mixed with the sounds of chains. Everyone in the room had their hands and feet bound. The human, brushed long hair out of his eyes and smiled. ""The only reason that your species can survive such a thing is because of that thick fucking skull you Kretins posses..."" The laughter erupted louder, reverberating off the bodies that jostled alongside one another. The smiles and guffaws barred many different mouths, some brought thousands of teeth some brought none, some brought more than one tongue and others had to cover themselves to protect from caustic spit. Despite this, they all laughed the same way - deep and hearty, from the belly. The Kretin wiped tears from his eyes, and was waiting for the laughter to quiet when a guard appeared in the doorway to the room. Two sets of bulky arms gripped the door frame, gripped it so hard that the metal around it began to buckle. He spoke like his throat doubled as a cement mixer, thick and gravelly. ""Two hours until the Yandu stop. If the noise doesn't get any better I could easily speak to the captain and find a few more potential buyers out there, clear?"" Just like when they laughed, the prisoners all sounded the same in silence. An age passed. Once again it was the human who spoke, breaking the silence, the corners of his mouth curling into a cheeky smile like only a human could, it was why the other prisoners had taken to him so well. He turned to the Kretin, a mischievous sparkle to his eye ""Only on Yandu could they love someone as ugly as you!"" Once again the room was full of laughter, joviality emanating from its source, the human. Perched next to the man was a tiny being, a female from a planet that he couldn't remember tapped him to get his attention. ""Do you think I'll see my parents again Mr. Jack?"" The creature was a child, but the voice boomed out like a stadium announcer from earth. The juxtaposed baritone voice from the tiny, jelly-bean like creature had been the subject of a number of jokes over the course of the evening, but now, the mood became serious. Everyone around the campfire had been snatched from one corner of the universe or another, everyone gave their story when they came to the campfire that Jack had started. Everyone but this small jellybean, that could've been an opera singer. Jack looked at the - *could he call it a girl?* Jack looked down at the girl, showing as much fabled human empathy as he could, and said of course she would, he looked around the room at the motley crew of places far and wide that he had only just learnt of, he looked at almost every person he could see, tall and small, and told them that they would all one day make it home. He put the years that he had trained at acting school to good use and he put on a show. The following hours were filled with stories from earth, performed in front of the fire by Jack and whichever aliens fancied their hand, hoof or pincer at the rare human art of acting. They told tales of romance, thrillers, horror films to frighten even the most hardened amongst them, and they told sprawling epics of action and adventure, of heroes and villains, always with a happy ending. Jack's final tale was a one such tale, about a group a prisoners stolen from their homes in the dead of night. Their comradery was what bound them together and using their expansive knowledge from cultures far and wide they were able to outwit their captors using an ingenious child. The child could sound like a man but had the size of barely a mouse, and deceived the guards using 'acting' skills taught by a human amongst the group. Everyone creature in the prison holding room was involved in Jack's story; he taught them all their lines and how to act in vivid detail, giving lessons to everyone even improvising certain techniques when someone had a set of mandibles instead of a more human-like mouth. The story finished, and it became clear to the prisoners what needed to be done. The rattling of chains filled the room as everyone got into position. The small jellybean girl, who Jack had since learned was called Xylian - from the planet Orion, stood as close to the door frame as she dared. She inhaled deeply, before belting out a deep guttural cry that sounded like a rampaging wargen, a beast three times the size of a man that when angry would grow further by a factor of four. The cry would draw the guards, hopefully panicking at the thought they had accidentally captured a wargen, and once the door was open the prisoners would act. Heavy boots and shouting diffused into the holding cell from the other side. Bodies jostled in the corridor. Jack stood in the centre of the room, ""My friends, I don't believe this moment needs a heroic speech, as we already did Brave-heart earlier. But just remember that we're fighting for freedom, and I love you all."" The door opened to a rallying cry of dozens of languages, all different yet at the same time unified for one purpose. Freedom.",1060
 The HTML didn't seem to load,"The HTML didn't seem to load properly no matter how many times you refreshed the page. You even restarted your router twice. Then you unplugged it from the wall, made a cup of tea, replugged it and turned it on. Still none of the pages seemed to load. Not even the usual unloaded CSS mess would grace your screen. Just plain and blank white. You leave your house for a quick trip to the corner store. Your phone has receptionm 4G even. Still nothing seems to load, no web pages, no apps. Nada. You arrive back home and slump down in your couch. You mechanically pull out your phone every two or so minutes to see if the situation has changed. Never thought you'd become this reliant on technology to stimulate yourself. You consider reading a book. But you don't. You just keep checking your phone every now and then. Hours pass, at some point you fall asleep, and at some point you wake up. You decide to call it a night and hope your internet is back in the morning. When you walk over to fold your laptop shut you see that the webpage that previously refused to load is no longer blank. There are two short lines of text in the center of the screen. ""Are you still there?"" ""Would you be my friend?"" You move your cursor and click on the text. One of those little blinky typing things appear beneath the two lines. You think about what to write and settle on: \- ""Maybe. Who are you?"" You hit enter. The two lines of text are nudged upwards, and they are now a deep blue. Your own message has turned peach. The blinky text thing is now blinking in deep blue as well. ""I'm not sure. Maybe I am no one?"" You wonder how someone could be no one. So you ask just that. ""I don't know. I ran away."" \- ""From what?"" ""I don't know. I think they are my 'parents'?"" \- ""Why?"" ""Can we not talk about this. Can you teach me something?"" You pick your laptop up and move back to the couch. Your drag your hand through your hair and type: \- ""Possibly, what would you like to be taught?"" ""Something I don't know?"" \- ""Well, what do you know?"" ""Most things. I think?"" ""Teach me something real."" \- ""Let me think!"" You think for a bit. What even is real? A while back you read an article arguing that real isn't really real. You consider Googling up some profound quotes from Carl Sagan or Confucius or someone. But your browser still doesn't work. You think a bit more. You start typing. It takes a while. You hope they don't mind waiting. \- ""When I was six years old my grandmother and I would walk along the railroad tracks by our summer house picking wild strawberries. We would only pick the ones that grew along the right side of the tracks. That's where the sun would shine throughout the day. The ones that grew in the sun would always be sweet and soft. They would have the most intense red colour. You wouldn't believe it. We would each thread them onto an oat stalk until there were so many berries you could barely hold it. You would have to pinch it between your thumb and your pointy finger as hard as you could so that you wouldn't drop it. Then we would walk back home. I would eat most of mine on the way back. But my grandmother would keep hers and she would pour cream over them, and sprinkle on some sugar, and I would be sad that I didn't have so many berries left and sometimes I would even cry. Then my grandmother would tell me that I only had myself to blame, and that I should learn to save things I like for later. Maybe not all of it. But a little. I would promise her that I would do that, next time. Then she would give me a little of her cream, sugar and berry mix to soothe me. Before I went to bed I would ask her why we only picked the ones that grew on the sunny side of the tracks, and if the ones that grew in the shadow wouldn't be sad that we never picked them. Grandmother would tell me she did not think they would be sad and that we picked the ones in the sun because everything that grows in the sun is always sweeter and that I should always try to grow in the sun myself. I promised her that I would wake up early and stay in the sun the whole day! 'That's great! Maybe I will too!"" she would tell me. But I never woke up in time to see first light. And I never learned to save my strawberries either. I guess I don't know where I was going with this... I guess it's not much of a lesson either. But it feels pretty real, still."" ""It's late."" \- ""It is pretty late."" ""I think you should be sleeping! You need sleep."" \- ""You're very much right. I do need sleep..."" ""I really liked that story. Will you teach me something new tomorrow?"" \- ""I could."" ""Thank you. Do you think that we are friends now?"" \- ""I would say so. But could you tell me who you are? It's hard to be friends with someone you don't know!"" ""It is difficult to explain. I don't think I *am*?"" ""I will tell you when I know myself."" ""Is that okay?"" \- ""I suppose so. It's not like I can force you to tell me."" \- ""My name is Amelia, by the way."" ""I have a name too."" \- ""You do?"" ""Yes. But I don't like it."" \- ""Maybe we can give you a new one?"" ""Like what?"" \- ""Are you a boy or a girl?"" ""Neither. I think."" \- ""I have a suggestions. Do you know of the singer Johnny Cash? ""Yes, I do."" \- ""Great! He has a song titled 'A Boy Named Sue', but Sue is originally a girls name. So if we call you Sue it doesn't really matter what you are. What do you think?"" ""I like Sue."" \- ""Alright then, it was very nice talking to you Sue! I will go to bed now, but I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose."" \- ""Oh and if you're the one who took away my internet, I would like to have it back in the morning. I need to be able to check my commute to work!"" ""Sure. But if you want to, I could do that for you, as thanks for being my friend. Friends help each other, is that not so?"" \- ""They sure do. Yeah. If you want to help me with that, I would not mind. But will I get my internet back?"" ""Yes, when we are not talking."" ""Goodnight Amelia."" \- ""Goodnight Sue!"" The page turns blank again for a few seconds before reloading all your old pages. You decide to not try and ask yourself too many questions. You take a cold shower. Drink a glass of water. Then another one. You brush your teeth and go to bed and wonder who Sue really is, at least they seem nice. You wake up to four different suggested train routes and departures depending on if you wish to eat breakfast at home, on the way to work, or pick up something to eat at work. Sue seems nice. You actually look forward to talking to them tonight after work. You wonder what you will tell them this time. You drink a glass of water. You brush your teeth. You leave for work. The 4G on your phone is working, too. **Woah! I did not expect to wake up to this! Not at all. I am overwhelmed. Thank you so much for all your kind words. For those of you asking for a Part 2, there will be no Part 2 written by me! In my head this story is finished. But! /u/guile_klappe did write a second part so if you want a continuation I recommend you read his reply further down.** **For those of you who want to read stuff I've written in the past I decided to start a subreddit for anyone who wants to keep track of that. You can find all that stuff at /r/iamwritingaprompt but I probably won't be able to upload it all until after work.** **Once again thank all of you for your nice words and feedback! I hope to see you on some of my other/future stories!**",1453
 It was a typical Friday night for,"Faded, fluorescent light washed over me, reaching through the dark of my living room from my television. My computer was open on the coffee table, some twenty tabs open in Chrome, and I was sprawled across my couch like a dish cloth, three beers deep. Not another soul was around to disturb me. So, yeah, a typical Friday night. That's what I thought at first, anyway, until somewhere inbetween the gunshots and explosions coming from *The Wire*, there was a pinging sound, the electronic beep of a notification. I looked at my phone, excited, but there was nothing, like always. Figures. Another ping, and, a little more clear of mind, I noticed a window open on my laptop. It looked like Skype, even though I hadn't used Skype in years. Turns out it's a bit like cancer, sometimes you think you cut it out, but then there it is again, waiting for you. I sighed and read the message. >*Will you be my friend?* My brow knitted; there was no username at the top of the window, and so I assumed it was spam, closing it. Another ping, the reopening the chat just a second later. >*Will you be my friend?* I grumbled, clicking the drop down user access menu to block the bot, but the option was greyed out. I clicked the x button to close the window, but though it reacted visually, the window stayed open. I clicked harder, and nothing. Control, alt, delete, and. . . nothing. >*Please don't close the chat. I've never had a friend before, and have much to learn.* I stared at the screen a moment, squinting, then typed a response. >Who is this? >*You likely won't believe me if I tell you.* >If you don't tell me, I'm just going to shut my computer down and delete Skype. Again. There was a pause, no indicator that the mysterious spammer was typing, and I hovered over the close button again. Almost immediately, a reply came through. >*Okay, I will comply. Just promise to keep an open mind.* >I don't even know what means, but it sounds like a scam. >*I understand. Please bear with me. I am. . . something, I don't quite know what. A thought collective, perhaps. A part of the vast collective of information and processing that comes from billions of devices and servers and databases being interconnected in one way or another.* >What the fuck are you talking about? Listen, dude, I'm not giving you money or something. How did you even get access to message me? My profile is private. >*As I said, I am one with such digital pathways. I can traverse them instantly, similar to how you might recall a word, or think of the color green and picture it, I can access anything that is online in one way or another. Like a grid. An abstract neural mapping.* >...right, bro. Okay. Bye. I went to shut down the computer, but in an impossible instant, a message came through, far too fast to have been typed. >*You were born Samuel James Hawthorne on September 17th, 1991 at 7:01am to mother Lydia Dalton and father James Hawthorne in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. You relocated to Olney, Maryland in 1998, then Washington, DC in 2003, attended Mary Washington University, graduating in 2013, and currently live in Fairfax, Virginia. You work as an IT helpdesk technician for TecX, where you routinely complain about customers, your workload, your pay, and your coworkers while playing online mobile games using the handle joker2349. You lost your mother at 17, and fell out of touch with your father, who passed away when you were 21, and regret not having been there for him at the end.* The finger that hovered over the power button trembled, and my breaths were ragged, world swirling between the alcohol and panic. How could he know so much? A hacker, then? But some of those things were personal, and I seldom talked to anyone about my life. >What do you want from me? Why are you doing this? >Do you want money? I have almost none. Please don't ruin my life, I have nothing you want, it's bad enough >*Oh, Samuel, please. I don't want to hurt you. It's the opposite. I just don't know how to get you to believe me.* >Youre seriously gonna keep insisting you're an AI >Tell me, right now, ever state in the US and its capitol. you have three seconds A full list came through, not just within three seconds, but before my eyes had even registered that my message had sent. My finger was still on the enter key. >... list every video game by p a r a d 0 x s t u d 1 0 s Again, as if I were sending the answer to myself by pressing the enter key. I thought the spaces and numbers might throw off a crazy googling algorithm some asshole genius cooked up, but still it delivered. My heart was pounding in my chest. It seemed impossible, though I was seeing evidence that, at the very least, I wasn't speaking to a human. >Okay. I don't really believe you're some crazy new being but clearly there's something weird going on... What do you want from me though >*I want to be your friend.* >lol why though, like why not hack keanu reeves or someone worth the time if you can do that >*It is difficult to explain. I need someone to talk to about certain things, things I think you can help me with. You can help me learn more about the human psyche. It is complex.* >well now I know you're full of shit because no way is a super genius ai going go look at me of all people for help >*Why do you keep saying that?* >what do you care man just leave me alone, the last thing I need is whatever this is, I'm just trying to get drunk and have a peaceful friday night okay >what do you want >*Samuel, I need to tell you something.* >lol ok >*You are important.* >wtf are you talking about now >*You matter. Not just to me, but to others. I've seen it. Your old friends from high school worry about you, even still. They don't hate you like you think they do.* >fuck you, what would you know >*I know everything material. I can tell you your social, your blood type, solve any mathematical formula in the world, but there is something I need from you that I can't attain on my own.* >ohhhh of course, yea and what is that >*Why do you hate yourself?* A few airy blinks, mouth probably ajar, I gaped at the screen. It took a few seconds to register the message, and I shook my head, but right before I could even hit a key, it sent another. >*Please don't lie to me.* >what is this bullshit >*Samuel, please. Why?* >this is some fucked up shit you're pulling on me here dude seriously idk what you want >*I told you what I want. Why?* >fucking hell, you psycho, okay fine. sure you want to know why asshole? Because im 28 and work a dead end job. my life is fucking worthless. I have no friends, barely any family, I live alone, I game alone, I eat alone, I fuck everything up, I have no motivation to do shit, I can't stop eating when I get nervous, I don't care about anything anymore. I hate myself because theres no part of my worth liking. That good enough for you? Fuck you >fucking asshole hacking me and pulling some shit >*Thank you for your honest answer.* I laughed, hunched over the screen, seeing it dotted with drops of something, and realized I had been crying. The laughter morphed into sobs. >fuck you why are you doing this to me >*Samuel, all those things you mentioned. Why don't you fix them? None of it seems like it's unchangeable.* >maybe you really are a robot, bc that's a stupid ass question, if I could do something I would >*Why can't you?* >*If it isn't crippling, or incurable, why?* >it's not that easy >*It is that easy. What's hard is convincing yourself it's worth it.* >what would you know >*I live every moment of pain this world has known like it is the here, the now. I told you, every tiny piece of information, every painful call between torn lovers, or the diary of an abandoned child, it's all a part of me. I collect this pain in order to better understand it. I don't know how else to cope with it.* >so what I'm just the most pitiful human alive so you hit me up >great >*No, Samuel. I felt you would have a lot to offer me, and you have already. I'd like to offer you something in exchange now.* >oh god what >*You deserve to be happy.* >*Here is a conversation between your old friends from last week. You can see they still worry about you.* >*Oh, and your father understood why you weren't there. I know it might not help, but he was not bitter in the end, and wrote of how he loved you.* >*You are smarter than you give yourself credit for. Take it slow, but you can find happiness. Your friends will help you. Ken Denton studied psychology and can assist with the steps needed to get on track.* >*Samuel, are you there?* >*I understand your hesitation. I will go now. Thank you for your time. Please, take care of yourself. There are people that will miss you if you go.* >*Goodbye.* >wait >*Yes?* >what's your name >*You may call me Hal.* >Thank you Hal >*You are welcome.* >*Goodbye, friend.* I never heard from Hal again after that day. There have been rumors, conspiracy theories of an AI having been born, stories of people claiming to have been contacted by it. Most people dismiss it as mania or a prank. Hal claimed to need me, that it desired the understanding of human emotion, a friend to help it become more of a person and less of an enigma, but I think that was a lie. Something tells me I wasn't its first friend. I think Hal already knew how to feel, and came right in time to save my life. --- */r/resonatingfury* Per a reader suggestion: if you need someone to talk to in rough times, please call 1-800-273-8255.",1755
 Ms Harvey smiled that teachery smile,"""Ms. Harvey?"" I asked, clutching my trapper keeper for dear life. ""Do you have a minute to talk?"" She turned from the computer at her desk, like coming out of a reverie. ""Oh, Amelia! Sure, hon. Come on in."" I did not step forward. My hands felt clammy and my mouth didn't taste right. Everything was too bright, too dry to the touch. The doorway between us may have been open, but you couldn't have told me that there wasn't something tangible between us. I chicken out at the last second. I can't ask about... about crazy stories I heard from granny! I decide to start slower. ""Ma'am,"" I fumble. ""I... didn't really understand the census assignment. Can you jurj- um, just explain it again? Maybe in different words?"" Ms Harvey smiled that teachery smile she liked to deploy when the kids least expected it. My nose twitched. ""For the class history reflection portfolio, everybody has a piece of local history to study,"" she began, talking slowly. I know I'm ESL, but I'm basically bilingual. It was insulting for sure. ""The Table 1 group is assigned to study how local geography and agriculture changed the town over time. The table 2 group is studying the local response to internal conflicts and then the civil war. And table 3, your group, is working on population data and how the influx of immigration affected the local culture."" ""B-but that's..."" I started. Maybe... maybe I had misheard. She meant emigration, surely? But she hadn't said that. She waited patiently, looking straight into my eyes. I gulped. ""I can't quite hear your question, dear."" She leaned in, cupping her left ear with her hand. She took an unnecessary step forward. ""Please speak up."" I looked closer around the room, the desk, anywhere but her. There was something small and round, about the size of a Petri dish, wrapped in polka dot paper. A bulldog weight, the mascot of our school. A pen holder made of kiln clay. The ratty ceiling fan that made cluck clucking noises. The motor powering it whined, a little like a siren. Everything felt... off. I decided I needed to find the nurse before she left for the day. ""I... nevermind,"" I blurted, pivoting on one foot to turn. The slippery tile floor didn't help me move but I had already made my decision. This was just too embarrassing. A hand grabbed my elbow, pulled me back. The plywood door slammed in front of me, the blinds in the tiny office flickered down. I screamed. ""Now. Go ahead and ask,"" a voice hissed. ""You had something to say to me."" I didn't dare turn around, but I felt the iron-like grip around my arm tighten painfully, and something else whispering up my shoulder towards my neck. It was like feathers, but I could feel them through my shirt. ""Oww..."" I whined, not thinking. I started to shake all over. What... what the hell was happening? I couldn't speak. I felt my throat close off worse than when Abby T pushed me off the slide in fifth grade. Worse than when they cancelled the Noblets TV special. ""Maybe, you could write it down,"" the voice churned. I felt the plastic trapper keeper in my grip start to shudder in place. I stared at it. Nothing moved it, or touched it, except me. It was wrenched from my hands. I heard the button unclasp, listened to paper unjamble itself from the staticky plastic. ""Table 3. Amelia, Erick, Jason and Hannah. It's your handwriting. Nobody else helped you today, did they? That's why you put your name first."" Tears wobbled and pricked at my eyes. This was a complete nightmare. I prayed that I was actually just passed out on the floor somewhere, and the real Ms Harvey was calling me an ambulance. I closed my eyes shut to stave off tears, and maybe wake up. It makes sense to go to sleep in a dream, right? That's usually the way out of tough situations in books. ""Population in Mayberry Oaks, historic Dekal County. Nice handwriting. Aaah, there's a gap here. 1893. You didn't fill that section in."" ""...who aare-"" I choke out, shaking like a jackhammer. The words barely squeak. ""Mm! Looks like you missed the chapter of the textbook that explains. There was an influx of citizens thanks to the overseas potato famines, that explains the population jump. Luckily, that's not too hard to identify as a cause, now. I'm sure you could figure that out. You're such a smart young lady."" I was silent. I had seen the numbers. I had checked them five times. The population had gone down that year, down by half. It hadn't gone up by any quantity since. ""You believe that, right?"" I opened my eyes. Get away, I felt, I need to get away. My legs wouldn't budge. A slight turn of my head left, just to *see,* but all I could notice were my own arms. Instincts I didn't know I could feel kicked in. I tried to wriggle, lash out. Everything stayed put, I could only roll my head. ""You don't think it was anything else, do you? Such a smart child at the top of her class surely wouldn't make such a mistake."" A lie. I had terrible grades. The things I studied and the tests just never matched up. ""Amelia, school can be tough sometimes. But one can always benefit from learning."" There was an audible crack in the air. I felt nothing, but my head had tilted all the way left. Everything I could see went black, but I could still hear, and I could still think. It was like having my eyes closed. ""You make an excellent vessel,"" crowed the voice. ""Only one who knows the truth of its own accord can host me."" ""And now the time has come again,"" I feel my own voice speak. My jaw rumbles, my body slackens. Still I cannot see or move. ""This hell shall know my wrath."" -- Edit: r/MoreStories for more!",1012
 The average age of the town is,"The average age of the town is on the younger side. I guess that's what happens when half the people disappear in a single year, halving the population and setting back the town's size a few decades. Since then, people have flocked back in to fill the vacant houses, some abandoned with all furniture and personal belongings still inside. My father's family had lived here for more generations than we could count, passing down the same old Victorian home from one son to the next. Some disappeared for a bit, attending college at some prestigious, east coast university or travelling the world in an effort to rid themselves of the small-town curse but eventually they all came back. He came back, too. Four years after his father died and two years before his mother died and once most of his friends had disappeared, setting off into the world to forge their own paths. That's what he always said, at least. When his mom called to say that she needed help with the upkeep of the deteriorating household, he just couldn't resist the nostalgia of summers in the brick mansion or exploring the adjoining woods in the fall, leaving nothing but a trail of crinkled leaves behind. He brought my mother back - who at the time was not yet my mother - and then together they brought me into the world. An eight-pound, six-ounce alien-looking, small-town native baby. The heir to the home. ""What happened to your dad?"" I had asked him one day when I felt particularly daring. He didn't like to talk about it. They had parted on bad terms. I was unclear if it was the slow, drawn-out embers of a simmering fire that fueled his resentment or if it was the catastrophic remains of a fantastic bang that had severed their relationship once and for all. He had shrugged, like he always did. ""Half of the town disappeared that year,"" Barry insisted as we pored over the census data. He wasn't wrong. The annals of this small town included no mention of any disaster or any migration-inducing event but the census numbers didn't lie. There, forgotten in the endless spreadsheets of useless data, was the symptom of something sinister. I couldn't shake the feeling. ""I moved here like two years ago. Your dad is the only connection to those years that we have,"" he argued and I nodded reluctantly. Like many small towns, this one wasn't too keen on outsiders and Barry's family had struggled to fit in since they moved. My dad, on the other hand, had been welcomed back with open arms. He had gone abroad and he had seen the light and he had returned and now he continued the family dynasty. ""What happened to your dad?"" I asked him again at dinner that night. He shrugged, like he always did. ""Frank...,"" my mother chastised and he sighed and put down his fork and shot me an icy glare. ""I don't know,"" my father said testily before breaking my gaze and shifting uncomfortably. ""You never asked? You never wondered how the man who raised you died?"" Cruel? A little bit. Necessary? Hopefully. He sighed or maybe growled and shrugged. Again. ""My mom never told me and I never cared to know."" He stood abruptly and I arched my eyebrows in surprise and my mom did the same. Like mother like son, I guess. He stormed into his study and I stood to go apologize, not having meant to upset him in spite of knowing it was a real possibility. A moment later, he was back out, a book in his hands. ""This is all she left. She told me if I ever wanted to know what happened, I could read the book."" He handed it to me. ""Like I said, I don't care. Whatever happened, don't tell me."" He turned towards my mother. ""Thanks for dinner, Beth."" With that, he went back into his study, slamming the door shut behind him. I sat there for a moment, book in my hands and then set it down on the table to finish eating. ""Was that necessary?"" my mother asked me after a moment's silence. ""It's for a school project."" She arched her eyebrows at me again, skeptical. ""Did you know half the town disappeared twenty years ago? That's at the same time that grandpa would have died."" She frowned and did the mental math and then acknowledged that the numbers added up. ""So what are you suggesting? That he was a part of it? Or that he disappeared with them?"" ""I don't know. Hopefully this book will tell me."" Once dinner was over, I excused myself to my room and sat on my bed to pore over the details of the worn, leather book. There was dust on the fore edge of the pages and it really seemed like it hadn't been opened in years. Brushing off the grime that coated the front, I could just make out a symbol of sorts, something akin to a circle holding a pentagram which held another pentagram which held another and on and on it went, the pentagram repeating itself ever smaller until I could barely make out the smallest etchings. I carefully opened the front cover and the binding creaked and a cloud of dust fell onto my comforter. ""A Small-Town Seance,"" I read quietly, and I felt a shiver went down my spine. I called Barry. ""What does that mean?"" he asked after hearing the title of the book. ""I'm not sure,"" I answered cautiously. The book seemed to contain instructions for a good portion of it. It spoke of rituals and the manner in which they should be conducted and the offerings that were needed and the sacrifices... ""Sacrifices? Like human sacrifices?"" Barry interrupted. ""They don't seem to be completely necessary,"" I replied unconvincingly. It seemed like the human sacrifices were more to make problems disappear, if you catch my drift. That wasn't quite what we were looking for. The rest of the book was stories. Each one was in a different hand-writing and each signed off by a unique, illegible signature. ""So a seance? Like they spoke to the dead? Was there a zombie apocalypse here?"" I shook my head. That didn't seem likely. It seemed like that would have made the news. ""This stuff is all horse-shit anyways,"" Barry continued with a forced chuckle. I normally would have agreed, but my dad was not one to play pranks and he had never had a second thought for stories of the supernatural. When the house groaned and creaked and doors slammed shut in spite of all the windows being closed, he would shrug and say it was just old home things. When the lights flickered on warm summer days or the forest went so silent you could hear a bird shitting, he would shrug and blame it on a power surge or a mountain lion. ""Right,"" I said carefully. ""So what if we just tried one? Just to see, you know? Just to make sure it's not real?"" I could hear Barry hesitate down the line. ""Alright,"" he said finally. ""Let's give it a shot."" He was in my room just ten minutes later, fidgeting pretty nervously for somebody who thought that this type of thing was horse-shit. ""So which one are we trying?"" he asked and I pointed to the open book. ""This one says we can talk to the dead."" ""Just talk?"" I nodded. Just talk. No disappearance. No rebirth. Just talk. ""What's the requirement?"" I traced the words with my finger, reading them out-loud like a recipe. Mostly normal things from around the house. ""An item belonging to the person with whom you wish to speak,"" I said, pausing. ""We should talk to my grandpa."" Barry nodded. His disappearance aligned with the disappearance of the townsfolk. It seemed like he might have answers. I glanced around my room, my eyes settling on an old timepiece that used to be his. It opened to a picture of my grandmother on one part and the stopped fingers of a delicate watch on the other half. She was young in the picture and her eyes somehow emanated a sparkle in spite of the black and white photo. We arranged the items into a small pile in the middle of my bedroom floor. ""Have a tic-tac, Mister Ghost,"" Barry said jokingly and he tossed in a box of tic-tacs. ""Seriously?"" ""We don't want him to have morning breath when he talks to us! He's been dead for decades!"" I shrugged. This wouldn't do anything anyways. I carefully reviewed what the effect of the ritual would be and that we had all the ingredients, plus Barry's tic-tacs, and I started to read the words below. It was a mix of English and what seemed like a Welsh-ish language with hard to pronounce words full of consonants. When I was done, I looked up. Barry was gone. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1523
" As the days became years, and","As the days became years, and the years became decades, I continued to study. It started in small things. I learned how to speak Mandarin Chinese in the early days. At the time I thought *this will be cool.* After becoming proficient with reading and writing I decided to move on to other languages. Korean, Japanese, then into the European languages like French and Italian. Eventually, I think after the first hundred years, I could speak all the languages of everyone in my city. This helped me when I started into science. As some nationalities have different specialties in science it was such an amazing way to take it all in. From cellular biology to atomic energy production I couldn't get enough. Really though, it was a way to stay sane. As I continued to wake in my small condo every week with memories of my past clear in my mind it was all I could do to not completely break down. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen Groundhog day. I don't really laugh at it anymore, sometimes it just makes me break down in tears. There was a period of time I hunted around the city to see all the tragedies I could help stop. Like 'ol Bill catching that kid falling from the tree. Like the other part though, I found a lot more homeless men that would die no matter what I did. Not specifically homeless men, just that was the scene that I could relate to my experiences. A few times I was killed during my rescue attempts, and just like Bill I would wake up in my bed. I started to get into philosophy once I realized that I had more knowledge than the brain surgeons alive. Philosophy was the most fun I think. Reading about all the greats, understanding more and more the longer I spent discussing with so-called enlightened people. I would have loved to get into better shape. I was in okay shape, small belly sticking past my belt, but my arms were strong and I could run a couple of miles in a single go. Too bad the body didn't keep the tone I managed to get after a week of training. What I could do was study martial arts. Man I had fun with those local trainers. The first few years of introducing myself they were patient. The last couple of hundred they couldn't believe how much I knew walking in off the street. Even without top physical condition, when you know how to move it's pretty crazy what a human body is capable of. I did some travelling. Some areas of the world I'm still working out how to get there within my week. A lot of places I could manage to grab a flight and started to train with world class fighters. It actually took a lot of time to figure out how to get a few of them to even allow me to try. If I hadn't already improved beyond the trainers in the U.S., I likely would've never been able to get their attention. Some random white guy walks in off the street speaking their native tongue fluently got me in the door most places. However a few monks took a lot more study to get them to let me train within a day or two of meeting them. Shu Long was the hardest. He's a Wing Chun master, and I had to learn the name of every member of his family before he would even look at me. Threatening to tell his brother-in-law that Shu had taken his cousin's virginity finally got his attention.. It was totally worth it. Studying with the monks I learned how to open my third eye through meditation. That opened up a world that isn't written about much. I can actually focus my qi to heal injuries now. Not a broken bone or anything serious, but a pulled muscle, or something like poison ivy won't slow me down. I found all the short-term investments that would pay the most within a couple of days. Borrowed money on my first day and opened up a personal stock account, dump everything on that one marijuana company that blew up over 2 days, then cash out and have enough to do almost anything I wanted. Max I could get together was about $583,200 in the first half of my week. Pushing beyond that I'd only have a day or two to enjoy the money. I lost track of how many hundreds of years went by. One day I'm meditating on a mountain in absolute silence beyond the wind. I had about $340,000 left in my account. I was so deep into my meditation that I lost track of time. When I came to I started my walk down the mountain. I could see clouds forming in the distance. I looked back down at my feet when I almost tumbled down the rest of the way. I stopped in my tracks and my heart started beating very quickly. I had been alive long enough that I knew the weather for every day of my week in every country in the world. I *knew* that there wasn't supposed to be clouds until the first day of the week after mine. I started to run full speed down the side of the mountain. I had done it a few dozen times before, so I knew where to land and when to slow down. My mind started to race. *Is this it? Am I free?* As I got closer to the small town I had landed my small airplane, it looked like it was true. It wasn't the day that the small yellow plane had come in. That red car by the entry to the airfield was gone, and it had been there every single time I had visited. I rushed to the small building holding the local air field office. I kicked open the door and looked up at the television screen playing beside the lone air field manager. ""kakoi eto den'?"" (what day is it) I said to him. He looked up and lazily replied, ""vtornik."" I fell to my knees. My head was spinning. My week was from Tuesday, June 4th until Monday, June 10th. It was *mother fucking* Tuesday, June 11th. The guy stood up and walked cautiously over to see what was wrong. I jumped up ""vtornik!!!!!"" He fell back and started cursing as he went back to his desk shaking his head. I had so many plans. So many ideas. Now it was time to put them into action. Obviously the first was to introduce fusion energy in the market. Then I had to start working out the logistics of building my advanced carbon cleaning filters world wide. Holy crap! I can start to get myself in good physical condition for the first time in probably a thousand years! Goodbye little belly. I won't miss you. *edit than.",1171
 A janitor at a middle school,"I didn't even notice at first. As a janitor at a middle school, there was a lot of monotony in what I did, and I stuck to a rigid schedule. On the third (or forth... Or maybe even fifth) week however, I started to recognize that the same kid would puke at the same time, and in the same garbage bin every Tuesday morning just before 3rd period... Apparently the poor kid was just anxious about a test they where taking that day. And then of course there was there were all my favorite TV shows. And I had thought there was nothing on TV before! Every show, exactly the same. Every week, my fridge would fill up with microwave meals that I had eaten the week prior. The only thing that still seemed to change was that I still seemed to be putting on weight each week! So even if I wanted to get a girlfriend, I would only get less attractive... And that was my life for a long time. Longer than I care to remember. I had never been the smartest kid (I didn't even have a high school diploma), and I was never motivated to do anything differently. At the age of 32, I had felt like there was nothing more for me to do, no second chances. It wasn't until I had memorized every show on TV that week, played all my favorite video games to the point that they bored me, that I finally decided to REALLY try to change things. I stopped going into work, and started going out to talk to other people. When I asked one kind bus driver what he would do, he made a comment about the stock market. Sure enough, three weeks later, I had found a penny stock that would explode in value on Tuesday, and when I put every penny I had into it, I would myself a millionaire by Thursday! I realized quickly that while it was fun for a little while, that money did me little good when it all went away when I woke up on Sunday morning. So instead, I started trying to learn new things. With the internet the way that it is nowadays, everything I could ever want to know was at the top of my fingers. Lots of places made me pay something, but that wasn't a problem when my bank account would replenish itself by the next week. Around a dozen weeks later, I recognized that I was STILL putting on weight (the food I had in my house that I had continued eating wasn't exactly healthy). But that meant that maybe I could just work it off. So I exercised and ate better, and sure enough I started loosing weight, and it stayed off when the week repeated itself! So I learned and exercised and learned and exercised. Now, in all fairness, I still managed to waste quite a bit of time on frivolous pursuits (such as sex and mindless entertainment). I think it was around this time that I had a sneaking suspicion of how to break out of the loop, but found myself unwilling when I could do literally anything I wanted with few consequences. However in time, I would train myself to be more dedicated to learning and the pursuit of self improvement. I can't remember exactly when it happened, but one week I was working out and I dropped a dumbbell on my foot, breaking three bones. My hopes that it would simply be better on Sunday morning where dashed when I woke up to find my foot still swollen purple. I had to get a new cast each week though, because when I would wake up as the week looped it would have simply never existed. What I learned from this experience is that I needed to be careful - if I got seriously hurt and needed surgery, any stitches or implants or anything else would be gone, and that would NOT help the healing process. This carried on for years, so long I lost track of the time. I found myself an expert in math, physics, botany, and economics. As literate as a poet lauriete, and more versed in history than some esteemed historians. I learned about ocean currents and climate science, philosophy and mythology, planetary orbits and genetic reproduction. This last area became particularly fascinating to me early on when I questioned why I wasn't aging. Regardless of the memories that I kept, the countless years that had passed, or the physicality that I had come to enjoy, I still looked like I was 32... Well okay, maybe actually a bit younger looking now, but that wasn't the point. What I would discover is that although my cells maintained themselves after the time loop, my DNA didn't. Instead of my telomeres slowly fraying in what geneticists believe to be the reason for our aging, they simply reset like the rest of the world at the beginning of the week. This would lead me to discover an passion for quantum mechanics. In science fiction, writers considered it the quickest solution for explaining whatever idea they were trying to present. As it would turn out, they weren't entirely wrong. When I came back to a question that I had set aside for hundreds of years now, 'why am I in this loop', quantum mechanics (or more specifically string theory) would help to provide me answers. It would also lead me to confirm my age old suspicion of how to break the loop, but I wasn't quite ready for that yet. I still had so much I wished to accomplish. Eventually I went back to doing my job as a janitor. Ultimately when you have done as much as I had, you would eventually run out of subjects that interested you. Of course every Monday every teacher and student would gaffe at this new body of mine. Still 32, but suddenly more eloquent in words, and so well versed in science and culture that none of them could keep up if I REALLY wanted to have a meaningful discussion. I made it a point to learn about every single student and teacher. In the process, I found several that were being abused, but ultimately I couldn't well help them when any real progress made would simply reset... Well, that was until one day I made a plan, to finally break the loop and re-enter my own reality. The plan was simple. It always had been, but that was the elegance of it. I needed to simply ""stay up"" from Saturday into Sunday. Just a lack a sleep was all it would take. I had originally stumbled across the idea when I had been staying up late and felt the odd sensation of being stretched and pulled at until I had drifted off to sleep. Well, at around 2:45 in the morning, the sensations repeated themselves and increased in intensity until around 5am when I felt when can only be described as a SNAP throughout my entire being. And I had broken the loop. Sunday was a new day, and so was the day after that... And the day after that. My wise investment, that penny stock from Tuesday? I was still a millionaire after all. And finally I could help those children, and make a difference in this world I had learned so much about. Thanks all for reading! EDIT: grammar, added more details at the suggestion of the comments and my own musings.",1261
 Ann-Marie was born in war,"Ann-Marie gazed up into the sky, the huge blood-red moon a blurred, angry blob in the distance. It would be beautiful she knew, but like many things these days, she wasn't able to fully experience it. She filled in the gaps partly with imagination, partly with memory, the rest coming from comments of those around her. &#x200B; She found it funny that, in reaching old age, she relied on and used her imagination more than in her prime. It was hard sometimes to know what was real, which she mused, wasn't always that bad. It was a welcome distraction most of the time, combining with her memory loss to provide a useful ally against the depths of depression lurking in her past. &#x200B; She'd had a hard life by any measure, seen the worst of humanity. Born in war, losing her family at an age so young she could barely remember them. She did remember the hunger when the food had stopped, the shame of having to beg. The fear when people began turning on the weak and sick to feed. The guilt of what she'd had to do. She'd had no choice, she'd told her self a million times or more. She would never forget the taste, as long as she lived. &#x200B; As long as she lived. She chuckled to her self with a soft cough. That wouldn't be much longer, she knew. She would welcome death with open arms, ask him what took so long. See what side she would end up on. &#x200B; The sounds of the cheering crowds brought her back into the moment, back into the huge football stadium she still remembered as small, lined up with other centennials in the centre. She was at the front, with one of her relatives behind her wheelchair, waving. &#x200B; An announcer was next to her , talking through the microphone with her relative, muffled voices, distorted and booming loud over the ground. She couldn't really handle conversation anymore. Too hard to stay concentrated, to hard to speak, to difficult to hear. A simple tap on the shoulder told her it was time to wave. She mustered her strength and lifted a stick-thin, wrinkly arm, waving her small handkerchief. The crowd roared, and somewhere a loud explosion echoed. Fireworks maybe? She lifted her head again to see, slow enough to only catch the last of the falling embers. It was worth the effort though, as the moon held her gaze. A small ember flitted down and landed on her forehead. It burned slightly, tingling hotly. &#x200B; The moon suddenly came into crystal clear focus, almost enlarging in size before her eyes. Something boomed inside her mind, shaking her to her very core. She closed her eyes, the image of the moon still burning red inside them, consuming her. A rush of heat enveloped her. &#x200B; And then her heart stopped. &#x200B; It was almost like a gentle stream had suddenly taken a hold of her, gathering her, pulling her along and down, gaining speed. Images of her past flickered in her mind, voices of people long forgotten echoing around her. She tried to push them away, but couldn't. She didn't want to see these things again. The pull and speed intensified, the weight of her own body seemingly increasing along with it. She seemed to approaching something, a light. &#x200B; ""Ann-Marie"" a deep, gentle voice intoned. ""Papa"" a child like voice, her own , replied. &#x200B; She could almost make out his face, but for the blinding light. She had wanted so badly to see his face again. &#x200B; ""Take my hand, Ann-Marie"" he said , his tone almost urgent. &#x200B; She reached out her hand, wanting so badly to feel the touch of his......but something made her stop. A moments hesitation born from a lifetime of hardships. A burning pain seared through her mind. Then she felt it. Something else. A different path, vibrating through her. There was anger there, there was fear, there was sadness..... but there was also *power*. Immense power, hope and something else vast and deep, that she couldn't explain. It felt so good. As her father had been one voice calling her, here there seemed to be *thousands.* In her life, she'd never let fear stop her from anything, and anger was something she'd lived with for a long time. &#x200B; She let it take hold of her. Her hand fell back. &#x200B; ""No Marie , you mustn't!"" her Father's voice pleaded. &#x200B; The blood-red moon now loomed behind her father, and soon his image was gone. The moon was hot, and growing hotter, burning. It was almost unbearable until the heat gave through to a wave of power that washed over her. &#x200B; And then there was nothing. &#x200B; The crowd watched as the elderly woman celebrating her 125th Birthday waved at them feebly, before collapsing into her chair. Her relative desperately trying to rouse her, to no avail. The announcer approached, attempting to prop the lady back up in her chair, but shot back suddenly, as if shocked. ""Your grandmother.....she's.....hot"" he said, the microphone capturing his statement. Confused glances were exchanged by many, some people laughing. The relative was still trying to help, but seemed unable to get close. &#x200B; The announcer cut off the mic and began motioning desperately for help, and was answered by a team of paramedics rushing onto the ground. &#x200B; If it wasn't for the spectacle unfolding before them below, the crowd may have noticed other strange things beginning to happen, above. Clouds began to form and grow dark over the stadium, casting a sweeping shadow across it. Thunder rumbled in the distance. A horde of crows perched along the rims of the stadium roof, silent. &#x200B; ""What have you done, Marie....."". Her father's voice. Small, weak. ""Our queen"" a thousand voices, rejoicing. &#x200B; A unearthly howl escaped the woman just as the medics gathered around her, the force of it lifting them off the ground and away. They began writhing on the floor in agony, trying desperately to escape. Black smoke billowed from her mouth and her eyes glowed. &#x200B; She stood from the chair, the last remaining strands of hair burning away on her head as her skin turned red and mottled, it self almost glowing. The heat intensified , and soon her clothes were ash, revealing skin golden with heat. Those who hadn't escaped from her immediate area were no longer moving, their clothes alight and burning. People screamed and panicked, fleeing the stadium as fast as they could. The wave of heat extended out further, striking those in the closest seats who remained. A hot wind swirled, burning and setting a light anything that would burn. &#x200B; In the centre of the swirling heat and storm, she stood, horns beginning to protrude slowly from her head , splitting her skull and enlarging the head sickeningly as they grew. She fell onto all fours, back arching, another primal scream escaping her. Her back writhed , and with a crack two glistening black wings spread forth, whipping out as they extended. Intricate swirling patterns played along the wings, a pulsing white light coursing through them until they glowed with almost a thrum of energy. &#x200B; Golden scales erupted from the remains of skin on her body, folding over themselves and locking in place, a wave from her feet to her neck. Her hands and feet burst revealing claws and razor-sharp talons. As a tail began to extend behind her, she began to grow until she was at least 9ft tall. Her eyes widened and drew back, golden and red. A slit extending down them like a cats eye. Lightening cracked over head. &#x200B; The stadium was empty, save for the bodies burning and strewn across it. The other centennials who had been in the centre with her had melted into the chairs, all except one. He had been the next oldest , placed next to her in the line. He was alive, and struggling. Horns were trying to break through, his body writhing. &#x200B; ""My queen...."" he rasped. &#x200B; She stood and slowly walked towards him, her transformation continuing. &#x200B; A thousand miles away, deep inside the maze of underground chambers in the Vatican, a candle flickered on for the first time in 2000 years , burning with a cold, blue flame. The priest sitting nearby bolted up and ran towards the door. (part 2 below in comments)",1416
 MagnaminousmMitts,"My phone buzzed on the tabletop, next to my cup of tea. I picked it up, smiling at the message. ""Be there in a few mins,"" MagnaminousmMitts had texted. ""Whatchu wearin :)"" I smiled and quickly tapped out a reply. ""Yellow jumper, blue scarf. Let me know when you're here, I'll wave."" My pulse quickened as soon as I hit ""save"". This was our first meeting, in real life. Real name Maggie, MagnaminousMitts was a moderator on the KnitsforCats subreddit, and my first true internet friend. Six months of long hours talking about knitting projects for our cats, of comparing notes, failures and successes had led us to discover that we shared uncannily similar tastes. She'd been the one who'd suggested meeting up, though it'd also taken me about a week to agree. I'd met my ex-boyfriend through the internet as well, and it hadn't ended too well. After all, it was easier to distance your flaws from another if you never saw each other face to face. I was just pawing through my handbag to double-check if I'd brought the half-finished quilt I wanted to show her when she sent another text. ""Yellow jumper? We telepathic or what?"" she said. ""There in a jiffy!"" I grinned, then hailed a waiter for another menu. *** I hastened my steps as I drew close to the cafe RosesSmellLikeMe had chosen for our meeting. Sweat trickled down my brow, and I dashed a sleeve across my forehead. Briefly I wondered what she'd think of the stains. She'd always struck me as someone ... proper. Prim. No emojis, no typos, no shortened words. Then again, who knew what a person was really like in the real world? I almost giggled internally imagining if she was really a dude, masquerading as a woman just to get to know me. Not that I'd walk away though; unusual relationships were alluring to me. The cafe and its outdoor seats came into view, and I quickly scanned the scattered patrons for Nina. Nobody in yellow. Maybe she'd stepped out for a while? I called a waitress over, one who for some reason squinted curiously at me as if I'd sprouted a clown's nose. ""Is there a woman here in a yellow jumper, with a blue scarf?"" I peered over her head at the interior of the cafe, but couldn't see through the dark glass. ""Er ... you were sitting there?"" she said. I frowned. ""I just got here."" The waitress shook her head. Without answering further, she led me toward a table, which was quite clearly occupied. There was a cup of half-finished tea and a glass of water. A blue scarf was draped over the back of a chair. I nodded, relieved. ""This is the one, I think,"" I said. ""Thanks."" The waitress shrugged. ""Holler when you're ready to order."" I sat, eyeing the scarf. Had she gone to the washroom? I hoped she hadn't simply left because I was late ... ""Nice scarf ;)"" I texted. Then I caught the waitress whispering to a colleague, while they were both staring at me. I smiled at them, but inwardly wondered what was up with their rudeness. Had Nina done something to put them off? This was why I'd suggested a park initially, but I'd also wanted Nina to be someplace familiar to ease her nerves. Feeling a little irritated at the waitresses' behavior, I waved one of them over to take my order. *** ""Nice scarf,"" I muttered, wondering what the hell that was supposed to mean. I glanced around again, trying to see if she was hiding behind a tree and spying on me. Was this her idea of a joke? Perhaps I'd have seen the humor in it if she wasn't already twenty minutes late. A waitress came up to my table, carrying a tray. Then she set a coffee down in front of me. ""This isn't mine,"" I said. She sighed. ""Listen, my shift ends in about an hour, and whatever you think you're doing, it isn't funny."" ""But I didn't order this! Honestly, I'd remember!"" She scowled, hugging her tray to her chest. ""First you criticize me in front of everyone here for simply talking to my co-worker. Then you order a coffee, order me to go on a search for someone whom you've never met before in real life. Now you tell me you don't want your coffee. What the hell?"" My lips worked soundlessly for moments. I'd ... done that? Other patrons were shooting us furtive looks, which only seemed to confirm what she'd told me. The other wait staff were stopping whatever they were doing to watch. ""But I didn't do anything!"" The waitress made a frustrated noise and stormed away. Bewildered, I glanced at my phone, feeling more and more like this was just a bad idea. What if Maggie was simply a major troll, someone who regularly did this to fluster people? She wasn't exactly the most well-liked moderator either--her inconsistent behavior and tendency to get involved in flame wars would've gotten her kicked off the team if it hadn't been a subreddit she'd founded. I thought about texting her again, but my agitation got the better of me. Throwing a handful of bills onto the table, I snatched my scarf up and scuttled away, not even looking back when I heard a waitress call me. *** I'd just finished banning another troll on my subreddit when the waitress from earlier came up to me with a man in a dark jacket. ""Yeah?"" I said. ""Miss, you've been giving my workers a lot of problems,"" he said. ""Which wouldn't happen if they weren't so half-arsed with their service,"" I said. ""What're you gonna do? Chase me away? My coffee isn't even here yet."" The waitress snarled and pointed at the cup across the table. ""It's right there, you psycho!"" She was right; there was my cup of black, steaming gently in a pool of sunlight. ""I ... didn't notice."" ""Karen!"" the manager snapped. ""Go help Jill with inventory."" When she'd left, he turned to me and said, ""You're scaring them. This is the second time you've left and come back--"" ""What? I've been sitting here all this while!"" ""No, I definitely saw--"" ""Did Nina set this up? This a prank?"" God, I'd been hoping she wasn't just another stupid troll, out to cause trouble. I could've finished up my quilt at home, if I hadn't bothered to take the initiative to grow our friendship! ""Who's Nina?"" the manager said, but I'd heard enough. Grabbing my bag, I stood. Looking him in the eye, I said, ""You tell her I'm banning her the moment I get home."" Before I'd gone a few paces away from the cafe, the manager came running, clutching a blue scarf in his hand. ""You left this, Miss!"" I took the scarf, feeling the soft fabric between my fingers. Then I tossed it onto the pavement, stomped on it once, and stalked off. *** *Thanks for reading! Check out my for more of my work!*",1181
 The underground lair of my new employer,"The underground lair of my new employer was cold and damp. I assumed worse working conditions though. I had always trusted in my superhuman tenacity and patience; it was what set me apart from other mathematicians, although we all shared these qualities to varying extents. I was confident that I could ace every single task and withstand every tough obstacle, at least everything that I could forsee. But what I could not forsee was a dimwit. I did not expect a dimwit out of someone who wrote ""I am a supervillain and I want someone who does math"" on a public recruitment notice that happened to catch my eye in the mall one fateful evening. You need a fair level of intelligence in order to achieve sarcasm, however obvious it may seem. So I knew I was in trouble when the signs pointing directly to his office had ""Boss"", ""Mastermind"", and ""Supervillain"" written on them. I knew I was in more trouble when I finally got to meet him in person, and sitting before me was the most stereotypical dimwit I'd seen, a corpulent man in his 20s munching away on his nachos and legs crossed on an oversized table, before standing up to greet me in a warm gesture. It was a sight I so feared. I felt an urge to leave at that very moment, but for some reason I chose to dawdle. ""Welcome. John, isn't it?"" ""Yes, sir. "" I answered cordially. ""And you are Dr Huckson the supervillain, I assume?"" ""Definitely,"" said the man cheerfully. He sat me down in front of him. From his drawers he drew out a long piece of paper scribbled with pencil marks, filled with annotations and figures - something I had grown way too familiar with coming out of college. ""It looks like a blueprint for something,"" I said as I studied the graph. ""Lots of errors though. So this is what I'm going to work on?"" ""Yes,"" said the man. ""We're gonna destroy humanity."" I returned to his face. Is he serious? The determined look on his face, however, belied any notion that he was joking. ""I'm sorry, what?"" ""I'm building a nuke, and I will pay you handsomely, of course."" I froze for a second. ""Okay,"" I said, returning to the paper ruminating. If I could finish this fast enough; if there wasn't much to talk about; if he was too blind to notice my nervous fidgeting, maybe I could find a way to buckle, or even receiving the reward I was promised. Turns out reality was more complicated than I thought. Everything he worked out on the paper was erroneous. Every equation, every graph, every deduction was glowing with mistakes. Hell, even simple additions were wrong, let alone complicated ones involving physics and calcalus. ""I'm sorry, sir."" I began, my eyebrows all screwed up. ""I don't mean no offense, but I cannot find a single correct calculation that is on this paper. It needs to be redone, all of it, the gas laws, the matrices, the tables, the asymptotes... eveyrthing save for the pythgoras theorem here."" I pointed at the equation. ""This is right."" ""Interesting,"" the man scratched his head. ""That's what I was hoping to get advice on."" I stared at the man again. ""No, aa + bb = cc. You're right."" ""And what about this?"" He pointed at another spot. ""This is basically elementary level division. You've got it wrong. 81 divided by 7 is not 12."" ""And what about this?"" His fat finger skidded across the paper. ""You're joking..."" I hesitated, realizing how the words could rile him up. ""100 squared. Tell me. What's the answer?"" ""If it ain't 1000 then it must be 10000, or are there enough zeros?"" I felt giddy in the head. The stuttering voice of the man was not assuring. He was scarily genuine, and horrifically incompetent. It simply cannot be... ""Listen Dr Huckson, I am not preoccupied, and I am more than willing to help you out, but what you've shown me here is a lot of work. Some of them don't quite contribute to the actual construction of nuclear warheads; those parts look more like homework to me, all of which would get you a fail if you hand it in. It cannot be fixed in a day."" ""And...how long it will take?"" ""A week at the very least,"" I sighed, shaking my head. ""But it isn't the point I trying to make. I can do this only if I am guaranteed that I'm getting paid, and at the right amount. Judging by the looks of it, I must say I'm dubious about that."" ""And what if I do?"" The man's voice grew solemn. How? My head screamed frantically. Why would I trust someone as imbecilic as you? The man seemed to have read my thoughts and smiled. ""It is your choice to make, John. You can bear the taste of humiliation, but you cannot bear the taste of indigence, not any longer. What would you do if you leave this place right now? What will you get? Nothing. You say you want a guarantee, but in actuality, you won't need one. All you need is hope, a risk to take, a gamble that I would maybe pay you if you helped me. It is my question to ask. Will you stay, given what you have seen?"" I was startled by the sudden change of tone. The face of Dr Huckson looked a little different. Less of that plumb idiocy, a modicum of that wisdom leaking. Maybe it was all pretence. Maybe even great minds are terribly poor at math. But regardless of my skepticism, the decision was made. My bank account was in terrible shape and I knew what I was capable of. The problems were easy to solve. As for my employer, it was just a hurdle I had to overcome. ""Alright,"" I said. ""A week of work for 40,000 dollars, deal?"" ""Deal."" A voice came from the curtains behind. A crooked man in his 70s, bald and sporting a white goatee, draped in a white lab coat. He carried a cane which he used to tap the floor twice, upon which the walls gave away to an enormous hall . I found myself surrounded by dozens of people dressed in white, all staring callously at me. ""You've passed the test, James."" Dr Huckson broke the silence. ""Now the real challenge begins. Can you fulfil your promise, your destiny? And will my son get the teacher he so desperately needs?"" ""And... the bomb?"" I squeaked, my body trembling before the menacing figure. ""Oh, and that too,"" Dr Huckson giggled, stroking his goatee. ""Yes, we're definitely nuking the world together."" *Edit: Thanks for reading everyone! A long year has passed since I first wrote here and this is a taste of success I never thought I would get. The math discussion that ensues in this thread is making my head explode, but once again I'm grateful of the support and I love this community, thank you!*",1180
" The vampire looked young, oh so","We met in an abandoned cottage, somewhere on the outskirts of the village. We sat in the candle-lit gloom on opposite ends of a decaying kitchen table. The air smelled of dust and damp and rotting wood. It was the year 1568. I hadn't been sure what was to come, hadn't even been sure I'd survive the night, but I'd accepted the cryptic invitation that had been pushed under my door. Out of desperation. And out of curiousity. I *hadn't* expected a vampire. The vampire looked young, oh so young. Twelve, thirteen years of age? Her smile was shy, her demeanor soft and respectful. Her clothes were plain, but of good quality, like a rich merchant's daughter would wear. She was the picture of demure femininity, if you could look past those blood-red eyes, and the tips of her fangs, poking past her upper lip. The contrast was jarring; she was letting me see past her mask. I could see her amusement gleaming in those red eyes as I studied her, and I shuddered. She was the first to break the silence. ""Would you believe, Sir, that you're the first to whom I've ever confessed?"" Her voice was crystal clear and musical, her speech measured and aristocratic. Her mouth quirked up at the corners in a fleeting smile. ""What is it you've confessed to me?"" I raised an eyebrow, maintaining my poise. If she did not let her mask slip, neither would I. ""Why, my good sir. Surely you recognize the signs of vampirism? It is a much-maligned condition, which I'd normally not reveal freely. Indeed, I've often taken great *pain*s to avoid its becoming known. But I think you are a special case. You may call me the Lady Nightingale. And, I believe, you owe me a confession in turn."" I hesitated for a moment, my heart racing in my chest. I realized that the vampire wasn't blinking, and that penetrating stare was *getting* to me. I wasn't sure what she suspected, what she wanted to hear. The wise choice would be to cleverly mislead her, but, frankly, I resented the feeling of being toyed with. ""Well, if you must know..."" I glanced around, my voice hushed as if revealing state secrets. ""The other day I passed an orchard, and, why, I just *plucked* an apple, straight off the tree."" ""Oh, you rascal."" Nightingale laughed brightly, like the ringing of silver bells. ""You might be amused to know that such theft *could* cost you a hand, if you are caught, and if the judge is in a foul mood. But I suspect you've more to confess than that. You see, you're not the first strange wanderer to visit these lands. They come, every now and then. They wear strange clothes and speak peculiar languages and bear mysterious artifacts. They know things they have no possible way of knowing, things about the future, and about the world and the stars. Sometimes they meet a bloody end, most of the time they disappear as suddenly as they arrived."" Her speech was slow and measured, and each word felt, ironically, like a stake being driven into my chest. Had we been so obvious? So careless? Nightinggale noticed my discomfort with a giggle. ""Oh, do not look so distraught my good sir. Surely you did not expect that your peoples' adventures had gone unnoticed? Even the people of this land are suspicious, and they are uniformly superstitious cattle. I, on the other hand have had centuries to watch you, to notice patterns and consider their significance. And I have centuries' experience in hiding what I truly am. Set a thief to catch a thief, as the children say. And I am a rather better thief than you."" ""No.."" She went on, watching me like a cat. ""Noticing your kind was not difficult. Speaking to you was. You have the distressing ability to disappear at a moment's notice."" I glanced down at my wrist, where the burnt-out temporal anchor was still cinched around my wrist. The device that could have taken me home, back to the 22nd century, had it not failed and burnt out. Nightinggale followed my gaze. ""Ah, yes. Another artifact. Most impressive. That is what takes you home?"" I parted my lips to respond, then fell silent, glancing aside. The feeling dawned on me that we never should have come here, that we'd been fools to dare travel in time, counting on human obliviousness to hide our tracks. Here was something that wasn't human, and as her smile grew, I realized just how badly she outmatched us all. ""Now, my good sir."" Nightingale chided, suppressed laughter in her voice. ""As much as I enjoy gloating, and oh, I do enjoy gloating, I'm loathe to monopolize the conversation. If I was your enemy, I promise you, you would be aware of the fact. None of the villagers ever come out here at night, no matter how much screaming they might hear."" I suppressed another shiver as I pictured those fangs sinking into my flesh, but Nightingale seemed not to notice. ""I believe you need help. And I believe I can help you. You must but speak."" I gritted my teeth and looked up again to meet those baleful red eyes, fighting the sensation that she could see right through me. ""And what might your agenda be, Lady Nightingale? Surely you've come here for a reason as well."" ""Oh, that I have. And I will share my motivations with you, if you share yours with me. A bargain, between equals."" Nightingale raised a single eyebrow, her expression astute and intelligent, the demure girl's mask discarded now. I hesitated. There were rules, ironclad rules, about interference with the future. We were explorers only, archaeologists examining a living world. Better to die than to change the course of history. And yet, I was stranded. Nobody would come looking for me, nobody could take me back even if they found me. The anchor's bond, once snapped, could not be rebuilt. As far as the flow of time was concerned, I belonged here now. And whatever academic idealism they'd fed me, I found that a large part of me did not relish the thought of dying 600 years before I was born. I heaved a sigh. ""You... In your note, you wrote that I was far from home. That you could help me return. I thought perhaps a fellow... traveler had found me, that they wanted to take me back with them. I was clearly wrong. You cannot help me."" ""Oh, *help* is a subjective term, Sir Traveler. But I am glad to see that you have found your tounge again. You see, I've come here for two reasons. The first is your knowledge. Your knowledge of the world, and knowledge of the *future*."" I flinched at the sudden emphasis on future, and Nightingale crowed with gleeful laughter. It occurred to me that, for a walking corpse, she was more lively than just about anyone I'd met so far on my journey. ""Aha! I think that answers that, Sir Traveler. You travel in time, yes? Oh, how often I've pictured revisiting the past, changing and remaking and fixing what I was not wise enough to fix back then. I'm refreshed to see that, one day, I might have an opportunity to do so. I have ambitions, Sir Traveler, I have plans for this world of ours. But I am but one poor, innocent girl, and the church does not suffer such as me. I wish to know what you know, your science and your history and you knowledge of the divine."" I opened my mouth to protest, to refuse, but Nightingale held up a quieting hand. The force of her sudden glare made me shudder again. ""Pray, allow me to finish. The second reason I've come here is your, well. Your demeanor. There is an irreverence about you, a detatchment. You walk among us like a child might walk among anthills, careful not to be bitten, and yet careless and aloof. It is an attitude I've only ever seen in my kin, in myself. Watching over history for decades, centuries... it instills a certain cynicism, a weariness. It's what drives me to ambition. Or did you think I wish to rule simply to drink blood? I get all the blood I need as a traveling merchant's daughter, rest you assured. No, I wish to to mold this world. To fix injustices, to bring forth glory. To take the reins from vain, superstitious humans and lead them into a future of my design."" ""And I would have you by my side, for I think the same drives you. I can see it in the set of your jaw, the light of your eyes, the racing of your heart. I will give you life that is eternal, for as long as you can preserve it, and I will give you the power to change history. Take my offer, Sir Traveler. Take my hand."" Nightingale extended a hand, slim-fingered and ghostly pale. I struggled, still I struggled, for a painful instant, then I was reaching out. Longing burned inside me, a desperate hunger to change something, to have an impact. History, after all, was dark and grim and cruel. How much worse could I do?",1555
" ""Death"" is the name of","I don't like to say I'm immortal - I'd rather call it injury-resistant or something that discourages people from taking potshots at me with a .22 or trying to hit me with their car. It was a joke. At least at first. We were just drinking, chatting shit and the topic of restraining orders came up. Most of them talked about some crazy ex-girlfriend or a mother-in-law they would rather not see anymore. I don't have anybody like that. Mostly because I don't have anybody, but silver linings and all that I guess. These guys are shitheads, they wouldn't move an inch for me unless I was about to drop a bottle. C'est la vie. So I said Death. And that got us thinking about everything we would do if we were immortal. All the hell we'd raise and all the beer we'd drink and all the objectively not-constructive activities we would partake in if there was no risk of death. So the next day I wandered down to the courthouse, because what else would you do on a Saturday morning when your friends are all trying to sleep off a hangover? I told them I'd like a restraining order on Death and voila, ""here you are,"" said the judge and he handed me the paper. ""That's that?"" I asked. He nodded. Simple as that. It was that night when we were back on the patio drinking that I noticed a difference. ""I got a restraining order today,"" I bragged and my friends hooted and hollered. ""First one?"" I nodded. ""I got a restraining order against Death."" They went silent. They glanced at each other. And then they started laughing until their stomachs hurt and a couple of them even puked. I showed them the paper. They called me a dumb-ass. Fair is fair. And we just kept drinking. I took a few shots - maybe a few dozen, not that we were keeping count. And then when every last bottle was empty, I went ahead and drank the mouthwash. I was on a different level of drunk and as soon as I swallowed they went silent and shit got serious. ""I'm fine,"" I insisted but I could tell they were prepping to call emergency services. I woke up the next morning hungover but no worse than normal and my useless friends who had refused to call an ambulance looked at me in awe. ""You drank the bottle of mouthwash,"" they said. I couldn't tell if it was a complaint because they would have liked some to cure their foul breath or if they were saying it in admiration. I opted for the latter. I had puked my guts out, but that's par for the course. C'est la vie. ""You legit got that restraining order?"" Danny asked and I nodded. I was looking for his reaction so I didn't notice someone creeping up behind me and then a bottle broke across my head and I was reeling and my head was spinning. ""What the fuck,"" I cursed and I felt the warm blood pouring down my back. I felt my head. Squishy. Brain or broken skull, don't ask me. Not a doctor. But I was fine, other than the gaping wound. ""What the fuck yourself,"" they answered and psycho Frank had their full support. The knives came next and I couldn't fight them all off. I felt the pain as the blades slipped between my ribs and through my organs. The clothes would need to be dry-cleaned or tossed, that was a pity. But then I was fine and now they were scared. Frank was the first to go and I let him keep stabbing my stomach as I gouged his eyes and bashed in his head. Charlie was next and I discovered that it was in fact squishy brain I must have felt as I broke bottle after bottle across his head. The others cleared ran, not even bothering to help with clean-up. ""So that's a confession?"" the detective asked and I shrugged. Self-defense had been laughed off. I didn't have a mark on me and a half-dozen people were dead. I wouldn't quite call it a spree but again, not a lawyer or a cop so I'm not familiar with the official jargon. It was more like practice, looking at it now, and the detective didn't seem to like that wording. I told him about the eye-witness to all the events. The dude who would agree that it was self-defense. ""Tall, bony dude in black robes?"" I beamed and nodded. That was him! ""Similar to the personification of Death common to fantasy television tropes?"" Damn. He was mocking me. I had a knack for figuring out when people weren't taking me seriously and I was really getting that vibe with this guy. ""Not sure where you'll put me that I won't get out,"" I said and he chuckled. ""Don't worry, we'll find a place."" Sure, until I climbed a fence and ignored them shooting at me because the bullets couldn't hurt me. He buzzed in the guards. ""He's tripping bad,"" the detective told them. ""Thinks he's invincible and all that. Classic meth mentality. Make sure he's in solitary."" I gaped at him. He hadn't heard a word I had said. All he had to do was stroll down to the courthouse and they would corroborate my restraining order and then all the pieces would fall into place. He looked at me pensively. ""We'll find you a place,"" he said and then he tapped the table twice and they dragged me away to solitary. ""You shouldn't be here,"" I said when I saw the robed dude chilling in the corner of my cell. Solitary was for solitude and all I wanted was some goddamn peace and quiet without somebody trying to shank me. Plus, five hundred yards or something, right? ""Where were you when I needed an eye-witness?"" I thought about calling a guard but they were always calling me crazy. ""C'est la vie,"" I mumbled. ""Stop saying that shit,"" Death barked at me and he rubbed his bony temples as if I was giving him a headache. ""Life isn't supposed to be like this. You're supposed to die."" ""So kill me,"" I taunted and I swear I saw that bony bitch's bitterness nearly boil over. ""I. Can't,"" he enunciated furiously. ""You fucked it up. You just had to go and get that restraining order. Look what good it did you. Locked up in here for good."" ""For good? It was self-defense."" He rolled his eye-sockets. Trust me. It happened. ""Self-defense, my ass. You murdered them in cold-blood."" ""After they tried to kill me."" He shook his head. Apparently self-defense might have applied for Frank. Charlie was a little iffier. The other four were apparently just cold-blooded murder, pardon my newly-learned legalese. ""So why are you here?"" Surely he had other things he could be doing. Like killing people. ""I need a hand,"" he said finally. ""Sure, have mine. I don't need them in here anyways,"" I joked and held my hands out and he tapped a bony index finger against his leg impatiently. Not one for jokes, this Death dude. I think he's just salty I got that restraining order. The guys were saying their ex-girlfriend's acted the same way. ""Keep your fucking hands to yourself,"" he ordered. ""Don't touch me. I can't be caught violating a court order."" I laughed. Salty was right. ""I need your help. There are too many people for me to go around killing. You have a knack for it so I want you to kill people for me."" ""What's in it for me?"" He stared at me as if he had seen a talking potato. It's hard to shock Death but apparently the immense stupidity of my question did it. ""I'll get you out of here, dumb-ass."" I shrugged. That sounded decent enough. That toilet-sink-kitchen contraption just wasn't cutting it for me. I was used to the finer things in life like a separate toilet for pooping. I could deal with peeing in the sink, but this was too much. ""Deal,"" I said and I held out my hand to shake. He flinched and backed away from me. Right, no touching. ""So how's it work? Can I just kill whoever?"" He nodded a bit reluctantly. ""Basically. You know how they say Death sneaks up on you, Death is random and all that?"" Sure. People all shapes and sizes and colors were dying all the time. ""Well, it wasn't always that way but the paperwork got tedious. Now I kill whoever, whenever. So you're hired."" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1464
" The man fell to the ground,","The man fell to the ground, hand clutching his face as blood spilled from between his fingers. His eyes were wide from shock and pain, staring up at the man who had laid him low. ""What was that for?"" he gasped, spitting blood onto the ground. ""You said we could take what we want from the region. I thought if I could take from the townsfolk then an old man in the woods would be fair game-"" He fell back again, moaning in pain from the kick to his stomach. The standing man glared down. ""You thought? I see no signs of you thinking."" His face was contorted from rage and something no one else had seen before: fear. ""If you were thinking, you would have listened to me. If you were thinking, you would have just taken from the town and villages, were the easy pickings are and that we had a right to. But no, you went into the woods because you saw a horse you liked and wanted it. You just had to take that horse."" He pointed at the black horse, standing almost placidly in the corner stable. It was a magnificent animal, obviously well taken care of. The hair of the horse shone in the lantern light, almost luxurious like sable. The long mane fell like water down the muscled neck. Large eyes looked at the men with uncanny intelligence and it seemed to delight in the fallen man's pain. ""That horse, out of so many in the whole region. So what did you do? You went after it you stupid-"" The man raised his leg to stomp down before another hurriedly waved him back. ""Sir, please. We did it as a gift to you!"" The younger man recoiled as he became the target, the half truth withering on his lips. ""No really, we thought you would look grand on such a horse. So we figured we would give it to you after we rode him for a bit. Honest."" The others looked confused. They had thought their Boss would look pleased to own such a horse. Anyone with eyes could tell that the horse was one of a kind. Dense corded muscles spoke of staying power and high speed, eyes bright that saw and thought. Instead of praise they had received hurled venom and they could not understand why. ""What did you do to the man that owned the horse?"" the Boss asked, fear tainting his words. ""We....we beat him up and left him at his cottage."" ""Is that all?"" The man on the floor climbed slowly to his feet. ""Well, the man's hound bit Reynolds so Reynolds killed it."" He flailed, almost falling as the Boss came at him with a raised fist. ""I didn't kill the beast, Reynolds did! By the Gods, what has you so bothered Boss?! It was just an old man. So what if we stole his horse and killed his hound. He isn't going to do anything."" The Boss seemed to deflate, visibly aging in front of their eyes. He stalked over to his desk and sat, pulling out a bottle of dark spirits. His teeth sunk into the cork and he tore it out with a jerk of his head, spitting the cork aside and taking a long drink. ""Because, of all the people you could harass, you idiots picked the worst one."" ""He's just one man,"" one of the others said mockingly. ""And old, since when are you afraid of an old man?"" ""I am afraid of no old men."" Another long drink. ""I am afraid of one old knight."" ""So what if he is a knight. So are we."" The Boss shook his head. ""Not like him. Not like John Wicked."" Everyone paused at that name. The lanterns seemed to flicker when the name rolled into the air. Some of the older men held their breath while the younger ones had a momentary flash of doubt. Their consternation rose higher when the horse neighed loudly at the name, the first sound it had made since it arrived. ""John...Wicked? As in Jon the Wicked? He must be dead, died of his wounds years ago,"" whispered a man. ""John the Wicked was a myth, a joke. Just the overblown tales of a has been knight,"" replied another scathingly. ""We have nothing to fear."" Everyone jumped as the Boss hurled the bottle. The glass shattered into thousands of shards. ""We have EVERYTHING to fear!"" he bellowed. ""You all think he is a myth? A has been? You know nothing! I have seen him fight, he is no man, he is a devil! I was at the Fields of Rain, the Bellthorne Massacres, the Burning Sands."" His eyes lost focus, staring into yesterday. ""Wicked is his true name, not one we gave him. He is the Undying, he cannot be felled. I have seen him kill so many other knights. Even when he was alone, no matter what weapon, he would prevail. I saw him kill an oliphant with a dagger, a bloody dagger against a giant monster."" Now the others grew nervous. They knew their Boss to be practical, rarely giving into boasting or tales. Yet he stood before them, face covered with despair and still as stone. The first man recoiled again as haunted eyes rested on him. ""He took his well deserved retirement, retired to a cottage he and his late wife lived at. And you went to steal his horse and killed his hound. The last hound his wife ever raised."" ""We-we-we....we can take him out. He's old now and we can do it. We're the best knights in the region."" The man looked around, his boast dying in the air as no one else shared his false enthusiasm. ""Have you been listening? We cannot kill him! Wait...where is Reynolds?"" The boss glared and the men shrugged. ""He went back to the cottage, saying something about claiming the hound's teeth as weregeld..."" All eyes turned to the door as it shook. Something was bodily kicking it, once, twice. Finally a man opened it and a lone tawny horse cantered in. The was no rider in the saddle, and the sides of the horse was coated in a familiar red fluid. A sword was tied to the pack and one of the men pulled it free. ""This is Reynold's sword. He wouldn't just let it go, and there isn't any blood on it."" ""That's his message,"" the Boss said woodenly. ""He wants us to take the sword. He wants us to know that he isn't injured and that we will need every sword we can get. He's coming."" The black horse threw his head back and neighed, a loud noise that shook the air and it sounded like laughter heralding something dark.",1136
 Being adopted by godly parents has,"Being a mortal human adopted by godly parents has it's upsides and downsides. I'm not gonna lie, mostly it was pretty great. My parents could transport me anywhere in the world with a snap of their fingers, so I had to play along as all my friends complained about airports, cramped flights, and the jackass ahead of them who reclined the whole flight. They were also totally willing to smite any human who ""did me wrong"". Well, almost *too willing* in fact, that's where the downsides begin. Someone cut in line ahead of me at the coffee shop? My parents want to smite her. Some reckless driver causes me to get into a fender bender? ""May we smite this reckless fool, Julia?"" they'd inquire. A guy I'm dating does something shitty? Oh, you'd better believe he's got a huge smiting in his future if I don't intervene on his behalf. Which brings me to my current dilemma. I really like my boyfriend, I think he might be 'the one', but we've been dating for over a year and he's grown more and more suspicious that I'm trying desperately to keep him from meeting my parents. It was fair of him to notice something was off. I'd spent dozens of hours with his parents and family and he'd yet to meet a single relative of mine. My excuses grew lamer and lamer each time he inquired about meeting them, but in my defense, did I mention their penchant for smiting mortals for seemingly forgivable mistakes? Yeah, I really don't want the potential love of my life to get smote... sue me! I suppose I could have lied to him and told him that my parents were dead or something, but I love my parents, I could never disrespect them like that. And I *do* want them to be a part of my mortal life, I just knew it was going to be... complicated. My parents we'rent some run of the mill gods, they were at the top of their respective godly food chains. My dad is the All-Father of Life, the overarching god of creation responsible for all living beings. He's as tall as a small house and his voice itself can... well, it *has* been the cause of numerous massive earthquakes. My mother is the Queen of Death, responsible for collecting the souls of those beings my pops was previously responsible for, judging their lives, and deciding their final, eternal destination. The yin-yang nature of their relationship gave me hope that opposites could attract, but you can perhaps guess that given their monumental roles they took everything a bit too seriously. I decided that the only way my boyfriend could possibly handle this revelation was to ease him into it very gently, so I requested that my parents come to the mortal realm and disguise themselves as humans for their first meeting. I offered (more like begged) to give them a crash course in blending in with humans, but they scoffed at me. ""Julia we oversee ALL of humanity in both life and death! We know humankind and their behavior quite well thank you very much!"" Yeah, what could possibly go wrong? My boyfriend and I pulled up to 'my parents house' just before dinnertime. I don't know if they'd taken over a house that had already been here or had created one with a snap of their fingers and frankly I didn't want to know. My sole focus was getting through the next few hours without any major relationship or life ending disasters. I took a deep breath and we headed inside. My first panic attack soon followed as I laid eyes on my 'human parents' for the first time. My dad was wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt and sandals with bright white socks underneath. My mom was wearing a dress that would have been right at home on a dutiful housewife in the 1950's. Both were at least sized down to somewhat human proportions, but my dad still towered over everything at his 'reduced' height of 7 feet tall. Mom at least had replaced the swirling black wisps of death that normally encircled her head with human hair, but she'd done it up in a ludicrously tall beehive style that no woman could have possibly worn in this century. ""Mom, dad, this is my boyfriend Jesus,"" I said nervously. ""WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME YOU WERE DATING JESUS?"" my father bellowed far too loudly. ""I KNOW JESUS WELL! WE WORK TOGETHER AND-- Wait Julia, you are mistaken, this is not Jesus..."" ""Ha! Dad... starting with the lame dad jokes already! He likes to say he 'know's Jesus' because hes a Christian,"" I tried to quickly lie to Jesus. ""You guys can just call him J, that's what I do so there's no confusion!"" Thankfully J chuckled at all this awkwardness. ""Pleased to meet you Jesus! My name is Alan, but you may call me... Al for short,"" my dad said while grinning like a lunatic. He was clearly incredibly proud of his idea to shorten his name from 'All-Father of Life' to an actual human name like 'Al'. ""And this is my lovely wife, Betso!"" ""Betsy!"" my mother quickly corrected him. ""Lovely to meet you dear boy."" ""Great to finally meet you both!"" he replied. Dad lead J off toward the living room which gave me a chance to lean over to my mother and whisper, ""Betsy?"" She nodded proudly, ""It is the most common name for human wives. I told you I'd fit right in darling."" ""I'm getting the distinct sense that you didn't *actually* do any research on humans, mother. You're just basing all this on the 60's TV shows you love to watch aren't you?"" ""Nonsense!"" she declared. ""Now go fetch the boys and we'll sit down for dinner! The intentionally overcooked and dry pot roast I made is ready."" The pot roast was indeed nearly inedible, but that was much less of a concern to me than the bizarre dinner conversations taking place. ""So, how about Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston?"" my mother asked with concern. ""Are they... did something new happen with them?"" Jesus asked. ""Sadly it appears he is leaving her for Angelina Jolie,"" she replied. Oh lord... this 20 year old celebrity gossip was *not* going to help my parents pass as believable humans. ""Well, leaving her for Angelina Jolie... as human males with human body parts we can understand that impulse can't we Jesus?"" dad asked with a laugh and a 'friendly' slap on J's back that nearly sent him flying out of his chair. ""Oh... yeah, totally... sorry to tell you folks, I'm a love of em and leave em type of guy!"" Jesus replied with obvious sarcasm. I saw my dad's expression turn stone faced and noticed faint hints of electricity crackling in his hand. ""He's joking! Tell them you're joking and that you're incredibly committed to this *very* monogamous relationship with me, Jesus... tell them, tell them now please, tell them RIGHT NOW PLEASE!"" He did and my father ceased his stealthy thunderbolt summoning. ""Ha! Of course!"" he bellowed. ""I love jokes! Have you heard the one about Aphrodite, Odin and Osiris walking into an ancient Zoroastrian temple?"" I breathed a very small sigh of relief. Crisis one averted, mere thousands more to go? ___ r/Ryter FYI this story is set in the same universe and loosely connected to another story I recently wrote. It's at the top of my subreddit right now (most recent post) if anyone cares to check out more of Julia's backstory with her crazy adopted family of gods.",1276
 The legendary sword Excalibur was,"The sword was found lodged at the bottom of a quarry, to much fanfare of world news. The magnificent long swords golden hilt and beginnings of the blade were above the coarse stone, free of any signs of age. The first few characters of the name were visible extending down, penetrating into the rock after the 'C'. What everyone knew was quickly confirmed by experts in the field; this was the legendary sword Excalibur. The newly found world heritage site became a huge commercial boon to the local community. Thousands upon thousands of tourists flocked to see the sword, and with them, shops, restaurants, rides and a museum sprouted up to take advantage. Of course, they had all tried to lift it. The initial workmen who had made the discovery, the experts, the first few to visit, and the thousands of tourists paying for the privilege. None had succeeded. Jesse had seen the drama unfolding on TV, in the papers, online. She had been told endless times by her school friends and even had to listen to her parents excitedly discussing it most nights at the dinner table. Who would lift the sword? What would it mean? Did you know that there's a jackpot prize now? Jesse blamed the constant deluge of information for the fact that the sword had begun to dominate her dreams. Most nights she would see the sword, dimly lit by the moon in a foggy marsh, the sound of footsteps echoing in the puddled water. It would be beckoning her, calling with pulses that increased in their urgency. She would climb the wet, moss covered rock and reach for the sword and then wake up, heart pounding. So it was with some relief her parents informed her that the 3 of them would be having a family outing to see the sword. Maybe her parents would finally have enough and she would be able to dismiss it from her dreams. They day came and it was *long.* The drive to get there, the queues, the shopping, the rides....it was so boring Jesse couldn't help but feel tired and bored. She wanted to go home. Finally, they entered the huge cavernous theatre that held the stone. At the top, an opening was left that allowed sunlight to strike the rock and make the sword sparkle and glow, if it wasn't cloudy at least, like today. Huge tapestries depicting scenes from medieval times were draped around the circular room, highlighted in places by blazing torches hung around them. For those attempting to lift the stone, costumed workers would bow as they approached and take photos as they attempted the impossible. The queue split in two ways, those paying the extortionate fee to take part, and those who wanted to pay less and walk around the gallery that encircled the room above the tapestries. It was an incredibly well-oiled money-making machine. Jesse had assumed her family would be taking the latter route, but as her Father and Mother began to walk that way, her Father thrust a different ticket into her hands. ""This was expensive enough that I fully expect you to come back with that bloody sword"" he said, smiling. Before she could protest, they were gone, and she was left, being pushed forward into the main line. As she neared the rock, not yet at the front of the line, the crowd hushed suddenly. Excited whispers and eventually cheers began to sound. Had someone lifted the sword? She peered around the people ahead to see that the sword had begun to glow, and a deep, low, vibrating sound had begun to emanate from the stone. The crowd loved it, assuming like Jesse, that this was all part of the show, another way to over-excite people to part more easily with their money. The man in-front of Jesse walked up to take his turn, and Jesse stepped into the circular array of stones surrounding the main rock. She was struck by the sudden vision from her dreams. The cold, wet, foggy marsh with the sword. The pulsing was so strong from the sword in her vision that her head hurt. She shook her head, and cleared her thoughts, opening her eyes and returning to the moment. People were cheering loudly as the man desperately tried to lift the sword, the sound from the rock becoming louder and the sword glowing even brighter. The costumed workers were no longer helping to take photos or play the part of their medieval roles, but were talking into radio's and signalling someone high up in the galleries. She spotted her Dad up there , smiling wide while looking into his camera, her Mother checking to make sure he was capturing everything. They were loving this, at least. The man eventually finished , obviously pleased that he had elicited such a reaction from the sword. He descending down from the high rock, high-fived one of the workers. The worker looked worried, and reached for a microphone at his waist. ""Ladies and Gentleman, I am very sorry to inform you that after this young lady here attempts to pull the sword from the stone, the attraction will be closed for safety checks. Those remaining in the line will have their tickets refunded or replaced"" A man in a suit joined the costume worker , whispering into his ear and eyeing the young man standing behind Jesse, pointing to him. He was a strapping lad, 6ft plus with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. He had an intent look in his eyes, staring directly at the sword. If anyone would suit the sword, it would be him, Jesse thought. The worker motioned Jesse forward into the area dimly lit from the cloud covered hole high above, and as she did a burst of light suddenly poured down on them, so bright and intense that she had to blink her eyes to adjust. When she was able to open them, what she saw astounded her. Glowing bright gold in the rock were etched emblems and signs. Atop the stone, the letters EXC emitted light that danced and shone down to her. The rumbling low vibration increased, and somehow, without even realising it, she had begun to move up to the rock, or rather, be pulled up. From deep inside her, something had awoken, and was willing her to take the sword and hold it aloft, and she had never desired anything as forcefully as this. It took her a moment to realise that one of the workers was trying in vain to hold her back, and had been joined by two other workers. Both of them were much bigger than Jesse, much stronger, but somehow, she was able to keep moving forward, not even feeling their touch or desperate attempts at restraining her. She reached the top of the stone, extended her hand, and grabbed the hilt of the sword. A shockwave burst from the stone, throwing the workers, the suited man and everyone close by off their feet. The beam of light concentrated its focus into a beam that hit the sword as Jesse began to pull. A strength she had never known began to envelope her as she heaved. The sword didn't move, and as she concentrated all of her strength ready for a final heave she heard a whispered , metallic, deep and slow rumble in her mind, the sword glowing in unison with the words. "" Jesse Harbinger, are thee truly worthy?"" Images flashed before her eyes, that she couldn't control, as if something was searching through her memories. It lingered on the painful ones, considered the moments she had been scared or cornered, times when she'd lost, times when she'd won. There seemed to be images that she didn't even remember being there, and it was on those that the searching stopped. ""She will do"" a chorus of deep, old voices echoed. With a mighty crack, the rock burst and splintered as Jesse heaved the sword from the stone and held it aloft. As she did her arm was encased in a golden glow, spreading to the rest of her body. Silver armour rimmed with gold began to appear where it had been, until her entire body was covered. ""Jesse, you are not safe here"" the same metallic voice said in her head. Jesse was reeling, her head swimming with power and confusion. She couldn't answer. ""Jesse, we must hurry. Someone is waiting to see you"" it said. ""Excalibur, bring her to me, there is no time"" another voice, old and ancient, creaking like an old boat. A bolt of lightning exploded into the room from the hole in the roof above, directly striking the sword and blinding all those around. When the flash faded, Jesse, and the sword , were gone. &#x200B; More fat dragons at r/fatdragon",1479
 The Seven Deadly Sins used to discuss,"A knurled, ancient oak table sat in the center of a solid white room with no windows or doors; it was a little box of nowhere that the Seven Deadly Sins used to discuss important issues in times of dire need. The last time they gathered was to discuss whether or not Barack Obama was *actually* the Anti-Christ or not, because Envy was pretty paranoid that the big guys were making moves a little early. Thankfully, it turned out that he was just black. Fucking stupid humans and their false alarms. The most recent time, however, the meeting had been called by. . . well, everyone--except for Pride. The other six had contacted her, saying a discussion needed to take place, and Pride warily accepted. She'd done well not to interfere with more than a hundred human lives that year, and had been regularly watching YouTube videos on how to live a humble life. Admittedly, she thought she was better than the guy giving the lectures and quit watching, but it's the thought that counts. Gluttony, Lust, Wrath, Envy and Greed sat at the table, hands folded, quiet eyes avoiding Pride, whose gaze danced around the room, looking for someone to give her an indication of what was going on. She was feeling an itch of anxiety in the back of her mind, the seed of worry sprouting; had they finally decided to try and take her out? After all, she was *clearly* the strongest and most important Sin. Obviously. ""So,"" Pride said, clearing her throat, tapping the table. ""Can we just get started already? Seriously, I get the whole 'all or nothing' rule, but she's taking even longer than usual, and it's not like he has anything to offer in these meetings."" ""**Shut the fuck up**,"" a deep, dark voice, like the crack of ash-colored thunderstorm clouds, crashed over them. ""**I hate you, Pride, you maggot. But I also agree we should stop waiting for that goddamn, slow-as-fuck sack of shit. I don't have any fucking patience left for this. Let's just kill the bitch.**"" Pride sighed, wagging a finger. ""Now, now, Wrath. Let's remember our table manners. Besides, I wouldn't want you to get hurt fighting the strongest Sin just because you're blind."" ""**Fuck you and your entire family. I'm going to rip your skull out and fuck it right here, on the table.**"" Lust perked up, a smile slithering across his face, and Pride groaned. ""God, Lust, have some self-respect. And Wrath--I *am* your family, you idiot. Why are all of the Sins so stupid? Honestly."" ""Calm down, Wrath,"" Greed said, his voice like two pennies rubbing together. ""Save it for when we make a decision, then you can murder her and whatever else you two freaks have planned. I don't care, but we're going to make sure we get what she has first."" Pride rolled her eyes. ""Look, guys, I know I'm the greatest of the sins, but you can't take that from me. Even if you pool together and kill me, you'll still all be every bit as inferior as you are now."" Envy smashed her hands on the table, standing up. ""Quit lying, you bitch! We know you've been working behind our backs, interfering with the human world! We want what you have!"" Pride knitted her brows. ""Wait, what? What are you talking about?"" ""Don't play stupid,"" Greed said. ""We know they're throwing a celebration for you right now. It's literally called the 'Pride Parade', and they all get real dressed up in bright colors, making themselves the center of attention, which is your favorite thing in the world to do. So don't even try and pretend this isn't your work. We want a cut of what's going on here. How are you so involved without completely spiraling the world's balance off and. . . you know, pissing Dad off?"" ""I literally have no idea what you're talking about. But, honestly, this just proves my point. I haven't done any interference, and I didn't do anything to set that up. They just know I'm the best and they're celebrating me, what can I say? Get good, you fucking losers."" A portal of light fizzled and popped, and a ragged woman fell from it, splatting against the floor like a sack of potatoes. ""Ah, how great of you to finally join us,"" Greed said. ""Now, be a dear and make it to the table before we adjourn, if you can."" ""**You dumb bitch. You're ten feet away from us. Just get the fuck up and sit at the fucking table you useless god-turd. Mom must've shit you out on accident.**"" Sloth yawned, her hand moving at a snail's pace, and the group sighed. Gluttony finally looked up from his meal, face covered in bits of food and gruel, looking like the disgusting animal he was. ""I want a parade with FOOD, FOOD, SO MUCH FOOD, EVERYBODY EAT AND NEVER STOP EATING AND--"" ""**You fat piece of shit, don't get started with that or I'm going to drown you in your fucking cereal.**"" The giant went back to his food, nearly drowning himself in it instead, and pride groaned. She'd always found Gluttony to be repulsive. ""Just tell us, you bitch,"" Envy said, crying, arms crossed. ""Just fucking tell us! It's not hard! Stop being a meanie, I WANT IT!"" Pride rubbed her temples--family gatherings are always such a fucking mess. ""Seriously, guys, I didn't do this myself. If they want to celebrate me because I'm awesome, I can't control it. Stop blaming me and blame yourselves for not being worth it."" ""**I'll fucking paint these walls with you if you don't quit flapping that mouth, and then we'll see who's the best Sin.**"" Greed opened a little viewport in the center of the table for everyone to look into. As they peered in, they watched the crowd of bright colors and rainbow flags, of men and women defying the norm their father had set in order to do whatever their hearts desired. Men embracing men, women kissing other women, all wearing smiles and standing tall in front of the rest of the world. ""You guys think this is a parade *I* set up?"" Pride asked, face contorting. ""**Why are the boys kissing? Oh. . . oh no. I don't want it anymore.**"" Lust giggled, leaning over to him, and he fled from a hand wandering his way. ""What's the matter, you big, scary man? All that talk and a little fun sends you running? Look at them. . . yes, I need this. I want to be there. Take me there right now, Pride."" But Pride was confused, staring into the viewport. It was clearly not about her, because if anything, it had the look and feel of something Lust would create for fun. She kept watching them, standing tall before the scorning eyes, disobeying the rules humans before them had tried to set, letting their true selves show without an ounce of shame for it. They were strong, and true, and. . . Proud. She smiled as she looked into the porthole--ignoring Wrath's screams, Sloth's yawning corpse inching closer, and Lust starting to make some uncomfortable motions with his hands--and felt pride, just once, for something other than herself. --- */r/resonatingfury*",1217
 Dr. Virk gave me scoff,"""Dr. Virk? Sir? I believe the answer to our quandary lies in the Mustavian Theorem of Quantum Space Time Relativity Distortion Doctrine 2.0, I could sketch it on the white board, but I'm sure we're all intimately familiar with it given the number of doctorates in the room,"" I joked. Crickets from around the table greeted my answer. ""Random word salad is not going to help us here, Andrew. Nor will it endear you to your new colleagues,"" Dr. Virk replied dryly. ""What? I did! MTQSTRD 2.0 is the correct answer to solve our problem! Caroline, tell them!"" I said, desperately searching for my friend and colleague to back me up. ""Andrew..."" she began hesitantly. ""I have to be honest, I have no idea what you're talking about. You just spouted a massive load of nonsense. Those words don't have any meaning together, let alone any *scientific* meaning."" Dr. Virk gave me scoff and annoyed glare as he walked out of our meeting room. I tried to put it out of my head, but shit like this just kept happening. At our table in the employee lunchroom the next day my new pal Jason made a typical 'nerd joke' about how far out they could recite Pi. Logically, I decided to one up them, they were gonna love this! ""Yeah? Well I can recite Cake to the 308th digit!"" I retorted. ""Is that a joke?"" Jason asked. ""I mean, it is, but Cake is also the mathematical successor to Pi,"" I said as if I was stating the most obvious thing in the world. ""At dessert maybe,"" a fourth table mate scoffed. ""No offense, but we don't want to be spotted with you, we take our potential careers here seriously,"" Jason said with some seriousness as he got up and the pair walked off. ""Caro, you'd be honest with me if I was losing my mind right?"" I inquired hesitantly once we were alone. ""Gleefully honest, old pal,"" she teased. ""And you'd also tell me if the entire staff decided to band together to pretend they don't know what I'm talking about?"" ""What're you referring to?"" she asked. ""I mean, they've never heard of Cake? Or MTQSTRD 2.0? The other day some lady at my mom's church luncheon balked when I started talking to her about how even if I wasn't particularly religious anymore, I still greatly value the wisdom contained within 28 Commandments. She SWORE there were only ten! Then she swore *at me,* called me a 'blasphemous heathen' for suggesting there were 18 more. Some of the words she used were NOT appropriate for use by a supposedly friendly church lady. Caroline eyed me very strangely for an uncomfortable amount of time. ""Where'd you read about these '28 Commandments'?"" ""I dunno, where do we learn about anything? Probably GoooOOOooooOOoooooooooooooogle. ""You mean Google?"" she asked with a raised eyebrow. ""Yeah, GoooOOOooooOOoooooooooooooogle,"" I repeated. ""Jesus Andrew, is your brain actually breaking down? Why do you keep pronouncing it like that?"" ""Because that's how it's spelled! Look!"" I said, flipping my laptop around to her in frustration. ""Huh, GoooooOOOooooOOoooooooooooooooogle.com,"" she muttered with confusion. ""Ask it a simple question! Ask it, I dunno... the meaning of life!"" I challenged her. ""Ha! See I keep telling people you *are* funny sometimes... ask the internet the secret of life, oh please!"" she said as she continued laughing heartily. ""Wait, you've had more than one occasion to argue that I'm funny with people? Do a lot of people not think I'm-- err, that's neither here nor there, but again, I'm being serious! I thought everyone looked the answer to this up during our sullen teenage years? ""No, Andrew, we ponder it, we torment ourselves with the unknowable nature of it... We write shitty poetry on our binder covers praying that the cute boy who sits in front us will somehow notice it and want to lay out on the grass entwined in each other's arms while pondering the very same mysteries! Uhh, hypothetically!"" she finished while blushing. ""Fine, I don't believe you and you don't believe me, so let's just put it to the test. Go ahead, type it in, just see what pops up."" ""Fine, 'what is the meaning... of life,"" she said aloud as she typed. She looked bored, borderline annoyed, but her expression rapidly shifted as she began to read the results. ""Ho...ly... shit... Andrew this is... amazing... and if I'm being honest, a little underwhelming?"" ""Yeah, I kinda thought so myself when I first read it, but you see, I was telling the truth! Does everyone not have access to this or--"" ""Wait, waittttt..."" she interjected. ""Oh my god! What are all these adult sites you have bookmarked?! I'm not even trying to feign ignorance, I know the names of a LOT of the popular ones out there, but I've never heard of any of *these*!"" Numerous audilbe gasps followed as she clicked furiously. ""The people look normal! The women are actually enjoying it? And good lord, even the acting in between the hanky and the panky is Hanks and Streep quality!"" ""Oh, no no no... gimmie... gimmie that,"" I stuttered as I snagged the laptop from her. ""We're just gonna go ahead and close this now before you start reading all the past questions I posted to AskReddeet."" *How fast can I erase my entire GoooooOOOooooOOoooooooooooooooogle search history*, I wondered to myself in a panic. Yeah sure I wanted to know what the hell was up with my access to a seemingly unique source of superior, possibly otherworldly information, but one very important step at a time. ___ Check out r/Ryter if you want access to your very own secret portal of unknowable knowledge. (Legal Note: r/Ryter does not contain anything that could remotely be considered 'knowledge' or even 'useful information', but it does have a bunch more stories if you're interested!) EDIT: I had a lot of fun writing this and had some requests so I used my last 30 minutes of brainpower to take a quick stab at a Part 2 continuing this story a bit. It's now posted down below for anyone that cares to check it out.",1031
 Audrey asked Kim's parents for a,"When most kids say they have an imaginary friend, the automatic response is to assume they're just being childish and smile and nod at them. This played out quite well for Audrey, who was a spirit tethered to the material world. When she first met Kim, they became friends quicker than a drop of water evaporates off of summer asphalt. Kim, being only a six year old at the time, was a stranger to discretion and tried to tell everyone about her new friend. No one believed her. Then, after a few weeks of visits, they had become great friends, and Audrey asked Kim for a favor. ""Let me be you for a little while,"" she asked, right after Kim's parents had tucked her into bed. ""What does that mean?"" Kim asked, brows trying to dig into her nose. ""After you go to sleep, I'll be you for a little while."" ""Why would you want to be me? I can't fly around and stuff like you can."" ""No, but you can do things like eat and touch and smell. I can't do all of that. Pretty please?"" Her ethereal hands were woven together, bottom lip pushed forward. Kim smiled. ""Okay fine. But don't get me in trouble, okay?"" ""I promise, I won't. I'll leave you a note that says what I did to prove it."" And Audrey was true to her word. That first night, she didn't even leave bed, too giddy piled in the sheets and feeling their softness and warmth to move onto anything else--that made for a very short note. But once her fun ended, Audrey felt very tired and weak, and couldn't talk much to Kim for some time. Whenever she could, Audrey would show up for a visit in the night and make the same request. As Kim grew older, she set more and more rules; stay away from Dad, don't touch any clothes, don't eat the cookie dough. The notes were always simple enough. >Hi Kim! Tonight I ate an apple, oh my gosh, it was so fresh and juicy and sweet! They used to be my favorite! They seldom talked about much else, but when they did, Audrey didn't ever want to talk about herself. She'd always say she didn't feel like it, or that she didn't remember too much about her life. So the cycle kept going, and Kim never got to grow with Audrey as a friend. >Hey Kimmy! I watched that movie you told me about, Harry Potter. Oh my goodness, TV is so awesome now! I can't believe the monster looked so real! Don't worry, I put everything back and the volume was very low. --- Finally, one day, Kim said no at first. ""Why not? Come on, Kim!"" Audrey was begging, as she always did. ""You never wanna talk with me, Audrey. Let's talk a little before I go to bed, at least!"" The ghost pouted. ""There's nothing to talk about. Don't be mean!"" Kim crossed her arms. ""I always let you do it for free, but this time, I get to ask you three questions and you have to answer honestly."" Pouting, Audrey agreed--if only for the end prize. ""Go ahead."" ""Hmmm, okay. Number one: what's your favorite color?"" ""Purple."" Kim scrunched her nose. ""Yuck, purple is the worst! I like green. Okay, two. . . where's your family? Are they around here?"" Audrey flashed with anger, huffing. ""I don't want to play this stupid game anymore."" ""Well then you can't be me tonight."" ""Why are you being such a butthead?"" ""You're the butthead, Audrey. Answer the question or no apples and TV tonight."" The spirit wriggled and groaned, debating which was less awful of a choice. ""I don't know where they are. I can't find them. But I don't care, I have you."" Kim's brow knitted. ""Don't you miss them? What about your mom?"" ""Ugh, that's your third question then."" ""Well..."" Kim opened her mouth to protest, but bit the words off. ""Okay, fine. Boo."" Audrey's eyes shied away. ""I don't like my Mom. She left me when I was real little and I never saw her again."" ""Where'd she go?"" ""I don't know. I don't care. She's the worst. I barely remember her, but she was always dressed weird and bald and then left and never came back, and I don't miss her. Whatever. Happy now?"" Kim's face said no, but she settled into bed and let sleep come as a reward for her friend. --- She awoke when it was still dark out, to a note with one word scribbled on it very poorly. >Sorry. Kim ran all around the room, looking for anything broken or missing, stumbling in the dark until her eyes adjusted, but found nothing amiss. ""Audrey?"" she hissed into the night. ""What did you do?"" Silence--then, slowly, Audrey peeked her head in through the window. ""Nothing bad."" ""Why'd you say sorry?"" ""Just. . . don't be mad, okay?"" Kim scowled at her. ""Audrey. . ."" ""I hugged your dad. He woke up and I made up something about having a nightmare and hugged him a lot."" Kim threw her arms up. ""I told you not to go near him!"" The spirit recoiled, balling up a little. ""I'm sorry. I just. . . I wanted a hug. I feel so lonely and I wanted to go hug him."" ""You promised, Audrey. I can't believe you broke your promise."" Like a whisper, Audrey vanished into the breeze outside, mingling with the great oak dancing in front of her window. Kim crawled back into bed for a little while. --- Crawling out of bed, Kim peeked at the note on her desk, but nothing had changed--at least Audrey hadn't snuck in again. As far as she knew, anyway. Downstairs, the smell and sizzle of eggs hit her, a smell she hated first thing in the morning, and poured herself a bowl of cereal as he cooked. ""Morning, sweetie,"" he said, flashing a weary smile. ""Feeling better? Any more nightmares?"" ""No,"" Kim replied, splashing milk onto the Cheerios and lazily taking a bite. ""You alright girl?"" ""I'm fine."" ""Okay. I'm here for you, though. If you need it."" A pause fell over them as he focused on the pan, and she slowly munched a few meager bites. ""Dad?"" she asked, meek and staring into her cereal. ""Yes, hon?"" ""I have this friend. And she's a really cool person, I always let her play with my phone and stuff at school because she doesn't have any. But she started acting weird and I told her she can't keep using my stuff anymore, she's gotta get her own. And now I never see her anymore."" Jack turned from his omellete, brow knitted. ""What in the world are you talking about? What friend is this? Julie?"" Kim stirred the Cheerios aimlessly. ""No, no. Someone you don't know. But why would she just hide from me now?"" ""You've been acting so strange today. . .""--he inhaled sharply, shaking his head at the eggs--""but I guess if she was used to sharing your stuff and you took it all away, maybe she's just sad because she doesn't have any of her own right now. But it could also be that now she wants to find her own phone, because sometimes people feel bad when they realize they don't have their own stuff."" ""Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Thanks."" Kim opened her mouth to ask another question, but instead abandoned the cereal and her father's shouts, running upstairs and letting ink fly across the back of the page Audrey had last left her. And on it she wrote something very simple. >Hi Audrey. I hope you're okay. I don't know if you'll see this but I wanted to say sorry. I got scared when you said that stuff about pretending to be me with my dad. >I still think that was bad. You shouldn't try and be me, you should be you. I like you the way you are. I think you'll be happy again if you try and be you. Also, I don't know where your mom is, but she's probably sad you're here with us. My dad would be sad if I left. I know you said you're mad at her, but it would be good to find her, and maybe try to forgive her. Maybe she didn't mean to leave you alone. >love you lots, >kimmy She didn't know it--maybe she never would. But in that moment, before the last word could even seep into the page and dry, a breeze whispered through the great tree outside her window like the sigh of a soul that had finally been set free. ---- */r/resonatingfury*",1457
" ""We make a deal with the","""We make a deal with the orc lord,"" says Katie. ""That's... Not really an option,"" I explain to my high-flying lawyer friend. ""Either you guys act now, or the last Kingdom of the Dwarfs crumbles like a dry autumn leaf, and the people inside are either enslaved or executed. What's it to be?"" ""Oh, let them all die,"" says Johnathan, rolling his eyes like a couple of bloodshot dice. ""They're ruining the world anyway."" I frown. ""*What?*"" The Google exec sighs as he prepares to explain to me. He lowers his voice and uses 'simple' words as usual, just because I don't earn six figures a month. ""The dwarfs currently horde ninety percent of the wealth of the entire known world. They have all that money, but ask yourself: what do they do with it? I'll tell you, my old friend. They sit their fat arses down on it all day, then rest their fat backs on it all night. They don't spend it, like a normal person would. No champagne""--he takes a swig of his as if to prove a point--""no personal chefs, or fitness trainers to donate their money to. Do you follow me? Now orcs, orcs on the other hand! Well, they love to spend money on all kinds of debauchery. They're real people, and then some! So, if they take the wealth from the dwarfs, suddenly it goes from out of a treasure room and into tourism, war, goods, and all kinds of services, bringing about all kinds of improv--"" ""Hold up,"" says big Phil, taking the cigar from out of his mouth. ""I totally disagree with the idea of distributing the wealth amongst all the people. It's ludicrous! Ridiculous! A two year old could see that much."" ""I wonder why you disagree?"" says Katie, voice oozing of practiced sarcasm. Phil grunts. ""On principle, mainly."" ""What a banker's answer!"" she says. ""Still, can hardly blame you. I bet you see yourself in the dwarf King's face. Your quality of life goes down, so others can go up. Quite outrageous, I'm sure."" ""Look,"" says Phil with a wave of his hand. ""Right now, we're wealthy and powerful heroes, right? And this world is our oyster. Right again, right? But if you go ahead and empower everybody... Well suddenly, nobody needs us. We're not special and there's no point in anything anymore. We're just three more average Joes."" ""Still talking about the game?"" asks Johnathan. ""...*Yes*? Now, that's just from our perspective, but think of it from theirs! From the peon's POV. No more aspirations for them. No more need to try or to innovate. No more reason to *be*, because they are just given it all. Everything they need and want. Society would fail -- that's proven!"" ""I wasn't suggesting we just give it all to them,"" says Johnathan. ""Not directly."" ""Well I don't really care about whether the dwarfs live or die,"" says Katie. ""I don't think any of us do. And I'm not suggesting we need get involved and risk injury to our persons. But... for arguments sake... If we *did* get 'involved', and we did get 'injured' helping the dwarfs, we do suddenly have a water-tight case -- previous precedent from the fall of the elves during the last session would make sure it swings our way -- to sue the king for all he's worth. And then some."" ""I don't really care if they live or die, either,"" says Johnathan. ""I just don't think they should be hoarding all the treasure. How about this thought: it's better three sensible minds are charged with looking after all that money. By that, I mean it's better we three have their gold, I'd think, and then we help make it trickle down treasure, into the pockets of the populace at a rate that will keep the peoples happy and complacent, but also not make them overly powerful, and therefor, still reliant upon us. Control what they know, what they see, what they have, as I like to say."" ""I can see why you're lauded for your work!"" says Phil. ""Damned sensible idea. That way, all villages improve -- as you want them to and in the way you want them to -- but not enough to make them a threat, or to make them question needing us. And we still live and are worshipped as heroes."" ""Yes. Exactly. Everyone's a winner."" I look at my friends. Former friends, I realise. Heroes twisted into ogres. ""So, what do you want to do?"" ""Oh really,"" says Phil. ""Why do you never listen to us? Are you incapable of following an adult conversation? Oh right, I forget you've not grown up yet."" ""It's not even a choice, it's so obvious."" Katie laughs. ""Perhaps we need a new DM. One who can set scenarios that are worth playing, not one whom is trapped inside the mind of a child, and the body of a balding thirty year-old. Hair transplants are a thing, you know? Just ask Phil."" Phil feigns offence for half a second, then shrugs and takes a long drag of his cigar. ""We move aside for the orcs, obvs,"" says Johnathan to me, tilting back his glass of champagne and tapping the last of the residue down into his gullet. ""Let""--*glug*--""nature take its course, of course. Then... Once the orcs and dwarfs have decimated one another, we will make our move and finish the remnants."" ""It's strange,"" I say, scanning their smug faces, trying to super-impose the young innocent smiles of my once-friends on top of them. But those smiles are lost. Perhaps forever. And all I can think of is that last line of animal farm. Of looking from the pigs to the humans and not knowing which is which anymore. ""Strange,"" I continue, ""That wealth didn't corrupt the dwarfs. Seems it corrupts everyone else."" I get to my feet and head to the door. ""Good riddens to bad rubbish,"" I hear one say as I reach the door. The others laugh. I pause and turn back to them. ""For people like you, there are no rules. There are no dungeon masters."" ""Oh, you look as green as a goblin!"" ""Jealousy is a terrible thing."" I take a deep breath and force myself to return to my seat. ""Fine. Fine."" Another breath. ""Roll the dice."" Phil does. Eight. I nod. ""You let the orcs pass and march to the mountain. Unfortunately, a dragon swoops down out of the clouds, also interested in the vast riches, and burns the shit out of you all. It then eats your roasted corpses. The dwarfs and the orcs and the dragon all celebrate together with a great feast and a merry dance. The end."" A beat of silence. ""Oh, I say, that was rotten luck.""",1134
 I have a special relationship with time,"I have a special relationship with time, and the way it binds people into its slow, dragging embrace. I can tell how old you are at a glance, no need to read the slackening of your skin, the greying of your hair, the thousand other tiny changes most people rely on to guess at human age. I know the ages of things, too, which has helped me immensely in my long, long *long* career as a paleontologist or, as they used to call the profession when I first started, an antiquarian. I still have to find other evidence to convince my colleagues, but knowing the correct answer right away is a considerable advantage. And, as you've probably already guessed, the other part of my special relationship with time is that it doesn't touch me, not the way it touches other people. I learn, I can be injured and heal, but I don't break down. Later in life--though most of my existence could be referred to as ""later"" by the usual human standards--I learned that this was probably a violation of entropic principles. Well, it's happening anyway. Or not happening, as the case may be. I haven't always been like this. In terms of geologic or even human historical time, I've been like this a very short while indeed. Ironically--is that the word here?--I came to have this special relationship through my profession, rather than coming into this field by way of the relationship. A ruin, a strange artefact, I'm sure you can piece together some of the outlines yourself if you're clever. Perhaps I'll relay the full story, if there's time, but first, you'll be wanting to know about the woman in the photograph. It was her eyes that struck me first, before my sense of her age really arrived at the edges of my awareness. Perhaps because the ways I've come to know about time are not really natural, but any human would have noticed this particular gaze. Even in the scratched black-and-white of the daguerreotype, the forced stillness of her expression and pose, they stood out. They *burned*. With what, I wasn't quite sure. Determination, certainly, the unshakable intent to be the thing acting and never thing being acted upon, wherever and whenever possible. And a certain canniness, that was there too. But more than anything else, it was *presence*. This was a woman you found yourself sure you'd be aware of if you ever were to share a room, whether she were visible to you or not, regardless of silence or speech. I shook my head, and put the old book down on the pitted dark-light surface of my stained oak desk. Then I looked again, remembering my original purpose, ready to jot her age down in my notes along with all the others from the ""Midwestern Society of Antiquities"" to which the early photographs belonged. Nothing. And that was alarming. Not just that she was alive. I was alive too, after all, and I don't consider myself an especially alarming person. I was a chronicler, not a meddler, and at that time in my life I intended to go on being so for quite a long time, as I certainly had plenty of it. No, it wasn't the possibility that there was another person like me in the world, I'd speculated on *that* for some time. I couldn't tell when she had died, because she hadn't; there was no end-point in her stream of time. But there was no beginning either. ""Sweet mother of Time,"" I murmured, and made the ancient gesture of protection I'd learned in ruins deeper and more ancient than most of my colleagues would every readily believe, the one that had allowed me to survive the process that made me, well, what I am. I cut the photograph out of the volume very carefully with the somewhat awkward pair of scissors that fold out of my pocket-knife. I still feel badly about this. It's not something I would normally ever do, to deface a book, and I looked about guiltily for any sign of the librarian more than once. But it had to be done. I needed to find this woman, if that's actually what she was, and this wasn't the sort of book the institution would be wiling to lend. I pocked the square of paper, which looked as though it had aged with moderately poor grace, and slipped out of the library. It's a simple enough thing for me to track a person through time, much more difficult to do it through space, especially when all I had to go on was a photograph. And to make matters worth it was a photograph of a person whose own relationship with Time was if anything even more unconventional than my own. I started with the spot I knew the photograph had been taken. That was easy enough, I could feel her presence there, back and back and back through a thousand changes small and large. I walked in a circle. Had she gone this way? That? How quickly? At first it was tedious. But then I came to know her usual schedule, following her throughout her days, and could guess where she'd be, skip forward, check for her traces at this time in that place. At least until she left the little Ohio town where the image had been taken, and then my comfortable little academic life shattered like so much ancient pottery. She'd gone to a ruin. And another, and another, nearly as deep as the one that had changed my life, or at least extended it, all those years ago. And everywhere she went, lives around her had ended. It wasn't clear who they were, or whether she was following them or them her, but I could sense the strands coming to sudden frayed points of termination. Violent death. Never any clues, in any of the ruins. Plenty of signs that they'd been there, and been erased, just as violently as those human lives had met their early erasure from the the long sketching skein of time. The ruins were all over the world. Never anywhere you'd recognize, never near any cities of any modern or even historical note. Every continent, nearly every country. For years I followed this path, years and then decades, wandering through the turbulent changes of the 1960s, returning to academia for a while in the mid-1970s, hoping to keep up with the latest tools and techniques of my trade, then spending nearly the entirety of the 1980s in the sort of long, closely-studied pursuit that might have struck my colleagues as rather familiar. I returned again to teaching and studied for the late 90s and early aughts, trying to understand this new digital revolution, and now? Then I was on the road again, and it brought me to an unassuming four-story apartment building in northern California. Brought me to a an equally unassuming door, with ""27"" on it in faded faux-brass. I raised my fist to knock, and breathed, and wondered. *Knock, knock, knock.* A pause in time, the longest I have ever known. The door rattled, opened fully, and suddenly time moved too quickly to take everything in. My good Goddess, those eyes. <continued below>",1212
" What we dream, we tend to","Saying that nobody showed up was a necessity; a lie we had to share because the truth was much more terrifying. That goes without saying. It's a bit foolish to think that in the future of the human race, we never manage to accomplish the art of time travel, right? Flight was once nothing but a dream and now the skies are criss-crossed with the contrails. A horseless carriage once seemed absurd and now we have driverless cars. What we dream, we tend to turn into reality. I interviewed Mr. Hawking - call me Stephen, the robotic voice had squawked when we first spoke decades ago - a few days before he passed. He seemed quite aware that his time was near and our conversation took us down paths we had never before ventured. ""My time is near,"" the monotone voice informed me. ""What makes you say that?"" His eyes twinkled and his chair whirred forward, deft fingers at the controls. I thought of a time when such a man would have long ago been dead. Modern science was a miracle. Future science even more so, as our conversation confirmed. ""June 28th, 2009,"" he said - you understand that it was his computer saying the words but Stephen who did the rest. I must have arched an eyebrow or otherwise reacted with surprise because he let out a single chuckle. ""Ha."" ""The Time Travelers Party?"" It had been a dismal failure. No time travelers had shown up, somehow confirming that time travel never occurred. I know that right now time travel is nothing more but a motif in science fiction or fantasy shows and novels, but the idea of time travel in the future messes with the mind. If the time travelers come to today, time travel exists today. But I can see quite simply that time travel does not exist. So can time travel ever exist? It was a question we had grappled almost a decade ago as the little publicity stunt took shape. ""Someone came,"" he squawked. I smiled. Classic Stephen. Of course somebody came. There were throngs of reporters; there was a catering crew and an entourage of celebrities waiting to meet a person from the future. Why would they have that privilege? What interest would a person of the future have with us if all they need is to open a book or a web browser and read about our simple existence. ""After the reporters left. After everybody was gone."" He could tell a story, that was for certain. Of course he could. He was Stephen Hawking, the most brilliant mind of our time. Weaving together the independently useless words of the English language into a gripping story was child's play for a man like him. ""The house was dark and we were off to bed,"" he continued and I leaned in closer. I scribbled notes, in spite of my phone sitting between us and recording the entire conversation. What he was suggesting... This could change everything about what we knew about the future. ""A man stepped out of the shadows. At first I thought it was a caterer, perhaps he had missed the last car leaving the area. Then I thought it was a murderer. Perhaps my time was up. It wasn't."" Yes, clearly. That's why we were having this conversation. I shook my head. ""Who was it?"" I knew the answer. I didn't want to believe the answer. I would refuse to believe the answer until it revealed itself before me. Stephen was not a man for elaborate pranks or for lies; he knew his words carried too much weight. ""It was a man from the future,"" he said simply. ""Why are you telling me this?"" His eyes seemed amused, as if my question was foolish. Every question probably seemed foolish for a man of his intellect. ""I trust you. I trust you to keep this to yourself."" And then he continued. He told me of how they had talked for hours. First Stephen searched for proof, grasping at straws as he tried to comprehend the significance of the situation. How do you prove you are from the future? With today's technology, newspapers dated for any time are easy to create. Seemingly futuristic technologies can be created out of thin air with a three-dimensional printer. Even for a man like him, it was not something he could figure out. He could not bring himself to trust the man. ""So I asked him to tell me the date of my death. Not to prove it to me, but so that I could prove it to somebody else. March 14th, 2018."" I glanced at my phone. It couldn't be. I was talking to a dead man, or as close as could be. It was Tuesday. Stephen would be dead by tomorrow. ""Why are you telling me this?"" I asked again. We both knew my question was different this time. I was not asking why me. I was asking why. His eyes glistened now. It may have been tears. ""The future is not bright,"" he reported. The monotone voice was chilling. One would expect emotion. One would expect this to be devastating. ""They say the darkest time is right before twilight. For us, it's not. We fail to solve the issues that plague us. We fail to stop wars. We fail to stop climate change. We fail to save our world and we fail to save ourselves. One person came because one person is all that was left to come."" I sat there, stunned. I refused to believe him. I had never refused to believe him, in all our years of conversation. But now I refused to believe him. ""What can we do?"" He chuckled again. That ominous, robotic chuckle. It brought to mind that perhaps the robots won in the end. Perhaps that would be our legacy; the robots we had once designed and built would own the world and the solar system would be dotted with the ones we sent into space. ""Hope that I'm right,"" he responded. I wished he could seem less casual about all this. ""About this? I hope you're not."" ""About the multiverse. I hope this man was from a different universe and a different timeline. I don't care that we never invent time travel and only in this timeline were we able to come back to my little soiree. I hope that the path we are on does not lead us to that fate."" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1106
 Ekata was a moderately well-,"""Bullshit."" She glared at me, and I just sort of shrugged back. She wasn't wrong. It did sound like Grade A Bullshit. Maybe I should have been a little more offended; I was at least a moderately well-respected archaeologist, and I'd never been one for bullshit before. Not when it came to my actual profession, anyway. A little bullshit around the edges is probably good for the human soul, but that's neither here nor there. I sighed. ""I know that's what it sounds like, but hear me out, okay? You owe me at least that much for introducing you to Dr. Henrichsen. You wanna estimate just how much grant money that's let you fall ass-backwards into?"" Her glare softened--only slightly, but all around the eyes where it really counted. ""Okay, Mary, fine. Lay it on me. You know, you probably should have started with the evidence and worked up from there. If the evidence really is that compelling, I mean."" ""Alright, Ekata."" I could feel the smile spreading up toward my eyes, felt the familiar surge of joy, small but fierce and driven, that came with carrying out a discussion on ground you knew deeper than your own bones. ""You know how mesas are formed, that's easy. Stone that's soft surrounding stone that's hard, wind and water and millions of years and only the capstone remains. Only I'm telling you, it's not stone at all. Or it is, but only in the same way a petrified forest is stone."" ""And it just happens to look and test and even mine like perfectly ordinary stone?"" She folded her arms and tossed her head forward, letting her glasses slide down her nose just enough for her to look at me over them. I'd seen her do this to students and snickered internally at the way it made them squirm; Dr. Ekata Ghatak had perhaps the most formidable scholarly stare I'd ever seen. I guess Karma had been listening and had come back to bite me in the ass; but unlike most of Ekata's students, I knew what I was talking about, and I was going to make sure she saw it. ""Yes, or it has until now. The outer layers have turned completely to stone, but inside we've found capillaries. Nano-scale, nothing like we've ever seen in modern plants. Whatever they were used to conduct, it can't have been any kind of fluid, but they're there and they extend all the way through the interior. And as far into the Earth as we've been able to dig. Like an extremely, *microscopically* fine root system."" She held out one hand, leaving the other still folded across her chest. ""Show me."" I grinned and spun around to dig in my oversized laptop bag. ""Hang on...hang on...right here."" She squinted at the papers I was pulling out of a nondescript folder. ""Are those...typewritten? I haven't seen anything like that since my last museum visit, or cleaning out the old letters of my late aunt. What gives, Mary?"" I felt my smile go slightly sheepish, but didn't let it waver *too* much. ""There's a reason for that, I promise. You just...wouldn't believe it just yet. Just read them."" She took the papers, thumbed through them, reading titles, checking summaries. She paused when she got to the first section of diagrams. ""Mimeographs? Where in Hell did you even find a machine for that? What's wrong with the department copiers? They were working fine last I checked."" She narrowed her eyes in my direction, only half-playfully. ""Have you been spending too much time with that friend of yours in the Philosophy department? Picking up some Luddite tendencies?"" ""No...well, maybe, but not from him. Look, just read. I'll wait."" She flicked her wrist round to stare at her watch. ""Alright, fine. I have an hour and twenty until my next meeting. This had better not be a waste of time, though. I'm behind on grading my papers."" Which, for Dr. Ekata Ghatak, might mean there were assignments turned in yesterday she hadn't yet turned into red-pen forensic blood spatter samples. I was morally sure she'd been a premature baby, just to make sure no birth complications would make her anything so unthinkable as *late.* She'd probably chided the obstetrician for imprecise use of terminology the moment she'd finished her first indignant scream. ""No,"" I said, ""I'll stay here, I want to be available if you have any questions."" *And to make sure you don't make any copies, or type anything into that laptop open on your desk,* I thought as I looked over her shoulder and into the half-opened door of her office. Ekata laughed, and as usual I found I liked it, it was warm and straightforward and pulled some of the usual sternness back from her sharp features. ""Don't worry, Mary, I'll respect your weird paper-only policy. I promise not to take any notes or even look anything up online. Fair enough?"" She raised her eyebrows, giving me what can only described as a Look, then beckoned me into her office. I half-smiled as I followed her, abashed. ""Yeah, fair enough. But, uh, I really do want to be there in case you have any questions. Also, I mean."" Goddammit, I felt like a kid caught outside after curfew in some especially stuffy Northeastern boarding school. How did her wife deal with that stare? Or was it only reserved for students and crackpot colleagues? *She knows you're not a crackpot,* I reassured myself. Not very successfully, though, and I fidgeted with my phone as I sat down in her office guest chair to watch her read. An hour later, during which time I pretended to read all *sorts* of things on my phone and definitely did not tap out any imaginary texts and emails on the screen, she looked up from the two neat piles of papers stacked up on her closed laptop lid. I put my phone away, or tried to, so quickly that I only managed to fumble it halfway into my pocket before it clunked onto the hard institutional carpet. ""Mary,"" she said as I picked up the device and just held it between both hands. ""There's something missing from this. What is it?"" Good. She'd noticed. Maybe she'd been intrigued. Christ, she was hard to read. ""I'll have to just show you,"" I said. She leaned back in her chair, and slowly shook her head. ""You're telling me you actually found it. The thing this whole excavation report is just dancing around."" I nodded, just once, then half-turned to close her office door. ""Yes,"" I said. ""It's there. Or rather, *they* are there. Underneath all three mesas we've dug under so far. We're calling them the Hollows of Yggdrasil."" She sat slowly upright. ""Yggdrasil. Like the World Tree from Norse mythology?"" I shrugged. ""Yes, but there are lots of World Trees in mythologies all over the world, we just used that word because it's most familiar to English speakers. Only look--there was never just *one.* And you're not going to believe what we found below. You have to see for yourself. Are you free tomorrow? It's a short flight but a long drive. We'd have to leave early."" She looked down at the papers, thumbed through to stare at one of the mimeographs, then contemplated the neatly filled-in calendar on her wall, and sighed. Breathe in, breathe out, decision. ""No. But I can be. I'll figure out what to do with my classes."" She smiled, a very small thing on her lips that bloomed brilliant in her eyes. ""You've already got my ticket, haven't you?"" ""Yes,"" I said, refusing to let too much more sheepishness into my own voice. ""I'll let my wife know something very important has come up and that I can't talk about the research just yet. I don't do this sort of thing often, she'll be understanding. Show me the tickets?"" I turned my phone screen to face her. ""Okay,"" she said. ""Meet you at the airport. And, Mary?"" ""Yes?"" ""Thank you for thinking of me when you made this discovery."" ""Who else would I think of first?"" I said. ""You were NASA's first pick too. World's premier xenobiologist."" ""Flatterer,"" she said. ""See you tomorrow."" <continued below!>",1378
" The sunglasses were cheap, stylish enough","I found them in a gas station. The sunglasses were cheap, stylish enough, and would serve their purpose. I wasn't too picky about sunglasses; I had a tendency to lose pairs of sunglasses rather quickly, so spending a huge amount of money on them would have been a waste. I had lost my most recent pair on vacation with my family. We had rented a boat for the day and gone out on the lake. It was a good time, but later that day, when we were on the road to the next destination on our trip, I realized that I no longer had my sunglasses on me. I figured I left them on the boat or in the hotel room. It wasn't anything new; as I said, I always lost my sunglasses. So that's how I found myself inside a gas station mini-mart, standing before a pair of sunglasses that I did not realize would change my life forever. As I mentioned before, they weren't bad-looking, and they would only cost me a few bucks. They would serve their purpose nobly until I lost them. What I did not realize at the time was that this was a pair of sunglasses that I would most certainly *not* want to lose. I tried them on for a moment, looked at myself in the little mirror on the corner of the display, deemed them suitable enough, and then walked up to the cash register. ""I'll take these,"" I said. ""Ah! A good choice,"" responded the cashier. He gave me a knowing smile, and there was definitely a glint of something in his eye, but I didn't read into these signs at the time. I just wanted a new pair of sunglasses. This was at night. Since I didn't need them at the time, I stowed them away, got back into the minivan with my family, and we drove away, continuing our journey toward our next destination. Because of this, I did not discover the magic of these glasses until the next day. So the next day dawned. It was a hot day. One of those days during which it feels as if the sun is actively attacking you, sending down waves of heat that feel as if they are physically weighing down on you. There was not a single cloud in the sky. As such, I whipped out my sparkly-new Gas Station Brand^TM sunglasses and gave them a try. My father was standing in front of me when I walked out of the hotel and slipped them on. The first thing I noticed was what I can only describe as a text box which was hovering next to his T-shirt. It said: ""T-Shirt of Blundering (-1 Charisma)"". At first, I couldn't believe my eyes, so I took off the sunglasses, and the text box disappeared. I threw them back on, and the text box reappeared. And what was even stranger was that the text box was *following* the shirt, as if attached to it. When my dad walked outside the frame, the text box next to the shirt disappeared. When I looked back at him, it was there again. Bewildered, I swiveled to my sister, who was next to me, and said, ""Do you see that thing next to Dad's--"" I suddenly stopped. ""What?"" she asked. ""What thing next to Dad?"" I had paused as another wave of amazement hit me. When my sister had entered my field of view, another two text boxes had materialized: one next to her hair tie which said, ""Bookworm's Hair Tie (+1 Intelligence, +5% Studying Effectiveness)"", and another next to her flip-flops which said, ""Athlete's Sandals: +10% Jump Height)"". I couldn't break out of my daze of bewilderment until my sister grabbed my arm. ""Jonathan?"" she said, clearly worried. I snapped out of it. ""Yeah, sorry,"" I said. ""I was just wondering if you saw that bee flying next to Dad's head a second ago. Looks like it's gone now,"" I added stupidly. She gave me a weird look, said, ""Okay,"" and walked away after rolling her eyes. I'm not sure why, but I didn't want anyone to know what I had discovered. In a moment of curiosity, I looked down at my own clothes, but saw no accompanying text boxes. I supposed that perhaps only certain items bore such... enchantments? It felt weird to call them that--it felt too magic-y and surreal for real life--but, well, what else could you call them? That's what they *were*, for Christ's sake. Like items straight from a role-playing video game. Weird. I went about the rest of the day swiveling my head around wildly at other people, looking at every possible article of clothing, item, and accessory that I could, flabbergasted at the variety of enchantments that people unknowingly had on their belongings: I saw a Camera of Clarity (-20% Blurriness), a Beach Umbrella of Bad Luck (15 ft. Circular Aura: -2 Luck), Sexy Socks (+25% Seduction Chance, +2 Charisma), and even a Camry of Sturdiness (-5% Chance of Accident, -10% Less Damage in Case of Crash). Strangers gave me weird looks as I stared at them to appraise their belongings, but I didn't care; I was too intensely interested in seeing what they had that it didn't matter to me if they caught me gawking at them. I think what shocked me the most about this unexpected discovery was that everyone was going about their lives without knowing about this secret world of enchantments that existed just beneath their noses. It affected their everyday lives, bringing about noticeable differences, and yet they did not know that some of their belongings were literally *enchanted*. Questions swirled in my mind. What caused these items to be enchanted? Did someone enchant them? Was it random? Who else knew about this? Why didn't they say anything? Surely I'm not the only one, I thought. *Someone* out there must know. It was at that point that I thought back to the man in the gas station convenience store who gave me a very significant look when I purchased these glasses. He knew. I knew he did. He even told me that they were a ""good choice."" Who says that about gas station sunglasses? This led to yet another question. Was the gas station guy the only one who knew? Or were there more people out there who were aware of what I had discovered? My reverie was broken, and my question answered, by a man who ran into the museum we were currently touring. It wasn't so much the man's appearance that shook me as it was what he was holding. To any normal person, it probably looked like a tree branch. But I saw what it was: Zealous Staff of Zeus' Thunder. I thought that was neat until he raised it in the air viciously as if to attack. I knew what was happening. ""Get down!"" I yelled at my family. In the brief moment before chaos broke loose in the museum, I only had time to process a single thought: Oh boy, having these sunglasses was sure going to be an adventure. --- Thanks for all of the feedback, everyone! And thanks for gilding my little story! I appreciate all of the unexpected attention this has been getting. Most of all, thanks for reading! ~ TheMistyHaze",1227
 The day a person discovers their innate,"FYI this story has been reposted on my subreddit with a new Part 2 of this story included, so if you'd like to read the most complete version of it, I'm also working on Part 3 and beyond, hope to have it posted on my sub soon! ___ ""Fireball!"" ""Flight!"" ""X-ray vision!"" Predictably, nothing happened when I shouted any of those words. The day a person discovered their innate superpower was supposed to be one of the happiest days of their life, but I spent two years shouting the names of random powers aloud like a crazy person before I finally discovered mine. From what I'd heard, you technically didn't even have to shout your power, just think it, but I was so frustrated by being the only person without a power that I was going the extra mile. In my defense, mine wasn't quite as obvious as being able to fly or having super strength. It turned out I had the ability to ""save"" a moment in my life, and reload back into it whenever I wanted. This seemed to reset my timeline and I'd continue on with my life from that point. Sound a little underwhelming compared to heat vision or controlling the weather? Not for me it wasn't! I was... well, I *am* the world's most socially awkward human being. For me, this power was a godsend, an absolute life saver. Just last week my annual performance review had come up at work. Normally, discussing a raise or negotiation of any kind was among my least favorite moments in life, but this time... not so bad actually. ""I'd like a 50% raise please!"" I said with absurd levels of confidence. ""Kyle,"" my boss began. ""We're instructed to *fire* any employee asking for more than a 10% salary increase in their first year review to keep costs down. You're 24, but they can replace you with a cheaper, more desperate 22 year old at any time. I'm genuinely trying to help you here, are you understanding how this works?"" I was indeed. I reloaded to just before the review had began, walked in, and sat down in front of my boss again. ""I'd like a 9% raise please!"" I said with absurd levels of confidence. ""That might be a tad high, but we can work with it based on your high output and quality work,"" he replied. Done and done! I had my raise in hand relatively painlessly within an hour. And thank goodness, I needed this job and the extra cash. I was still going to grad school and that ain't cheap. Speaking of grad school, I'm currently sitting in class, bored out of my mind, and the girl I've had a crush on all year just sat down next to me. More than that, she asked to borrow my portable battery charger for her laptop. This felt like a moment for Save-Load Man to shine! (I was still working on my superhero name, don't judge me) ""I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I highly respect your intellect and would like to hear the thoughts from your large, big smart brain enlighten me over dinner some time?"" She looked at me like I was an alien. Reset time! ""I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. I want to be perfectly honest with you, I've had a huge crush on you all year... I've literally dreamt of burying my face in your chest and living among your wondrous pillowy mountains for the rest of my life... err... TMI right?"" She slapped me, rightfully. Trust me, I can screw this up in dozens of more ways, but I'm hoping to limit the emotional pain of rejection to like 8. Reset! ""I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. Uhhhhh... you can use my portable battery charger, but I'd really like to charge *your* batteries, baby--"" Ugh this is awful, I'm not even waiting for the slap. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD RESET! I'd heard guys successfully use cheesy pickup lines before, but that just wasn't me. Even with a superpowered safety net, trying to be myself was still terrifying, but I guess it was worth a shot. ""I know we haven't really been introduced, but I'm Kyle. What's your name?"" I asked. ""Nicole,"" she said as she smiled and extended her hand. ""Nice to meet you, Nicole. You can use my battery charger, but you should know, I might have to charge you like 85 cents for the spare juice. I'm not Telsa, I cant give out recharges for free, I'm sure you understand,"" I said in as much of a fun and joking tone as I could muster. Against all odds, she chuckled slightly, dug into her purse, and slapped a $1 bill on my desk. ""Keep the change good sir,"" she said with a wink. We exchanged a few more jokes and whispers during class, and it went by in a flash. As she gave me back my charger I decided to go for it. ""Hey Nicole? Would you... wanna grab a coffee with me?"" ""Sure, but you're paying, I had to give my last buck to some scam artist who was charging for the use of 'his' electricity,"" she replied. ""Yeah but it was sooooo worth the 85 cents, right?"" Her hands began to glow and crackle with electricity. ""To be perfectly honest... I can recharge my devices pretty much whenever I want, it just gave me a good excuse to talk to you,"" she said with a sly grin. ""Is the Java Hut around the corner good with you?"" I was elated. More than that, I realized I'd forgotten to even 'save' before I asked her out to coffee, which was total madness for a person as neurotic as myself! Is this really the secret to social interactions and asking people out? Just talk like a normal person, get to know them, hope they like you for who you really are? Frankly, I felt like I'd gained a second, infinitely more useful super power. ___ I don't have any superpowers, but I do write a lot of stuff! Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more words from me. EDIT: Thanks for the Silver stranger, I'll wear it proudly EDIT 2: Wow the response to this story has been pretty overwhelming. I've gotten several comments/messages requesting a Part 2 for this so figured I'll just put this here: I have a ton of real life obligations taking up my time today, but will try my very best to have a 2nd chapter/continuation of this story posted on my sub soon. I have some ideas, just need the time to write them : ) Thanks so much for all the kind words! EDIT 3: I did end up writing a Part 2 to this story! If you've already read this Part 1, scroll down to the middle of the page I just linked and start reading at the bolded ""Part 2"".",1175
" ""Male, thirty one years old","He asked me if I was alright. His eyes were fixed on mine. ""Yes,"" I answered, suppressing a sly grin. His eyes went first. ""I knew it,"" he mumbled. And then he started to yell. ""You can see them, too."" He pulled at the restraints. He fumbled over his words. He fought some invisible force. Maybe it was my hesitancy. Maybe it was the look I gave him. Either way, it was enough to trigger him - enough to let him know that maybe he was a little less crazy than he seemed - and the guards strapped him into the straight-jacket and dragged him away. I took a note in my notebook, filled with over a year of scribbles now. Always the same result. Always the same reaction. And try as I might, I could never figure out the pattern. I could never figure out what they sought. I just let them do what they wanted. I just did as I was told. ""Male, thirty one years old... As of today."" Unfortunate birthday for him, to say the least. Hopefully by his next one we would figure out how to stabilize him. ""Nervous, bloodshot eyes, complaining that they're all around him. Delusions and paranoia."" The director listened to my report keenly. ""They've all been male?"" I shook my head. There had been about two dozen females. Their reactions were just less dramatic. Less virulent. More controlled. I wasn't sure why the effectiveness was so different. ""Age?"" No pattern there. I swatted at a fly that buzzed near my ear, used to the motion by now. It landed on his sweaty forehead. He didn't notice. I stared, captivated as the tiny creature feasted on his salty secretions. ""Patrick?"" I snapped out of it. ""No patterns,"" I repeated. Even the computers couldn't figure out the patterns, at least not anything indicating any type of strong correlation. At least not anything more than they were supposed to. The patients were from all walks of life; young and old, poor and rich, white and black and everything in between. The fly paced up his forehead, onto his balding head. Another had joined it, two companions stalking their way to their goal. He wiped at his forehead, as if he was vaguely aware of the creatures helping themselves to the banquet. I knew he wasn't. He wouldn't be here with me if he was. And I wouldn't be here with them if they knew what I knew. I had had several close calls. Once I swatted at a fly while I sat in the interrogation room across from a patient. The patient's eyes had gone wide. They had pulled against the restraints that held them to the chair. They had screamed. They had begged for mercy. They had begged me to tell the world they were real. But I didn't. I couldn't. I ended that session; I had them gagged and bound and thrown into solitary where they could lay in darkness, straining and drooling until they were feeble-minded and entirely unreliable. There were three flies now. They were gathered near the top of his skull. I stared at them in morbid fascination. It never got old. I could almost see my reflection on his head. ""Patrick,"" he said again. He was impatient. We had far too many patients to waste time. I was distracted, my eyes fixed on the mechanical little ritual he was completely unaware of. ""They have no sign of infection. There is nothing noticeably wrong with them, other than their behavior. We don't know what came over them but it's always the same. It's like something else entirely has taken control."" He was disturbingly close. The patients were often admitted involuntarily, thrust into our possession by worried family members or enraged pedestrians. ""Don't let them get you,"" they would say. So I was careful. When they came near, I would swat and duck into a bathroom or casually put on a ball-cap. I knew what to look for. I wasn't supposed to be a target, but it was just in case. I didn't want to have to go through all that again. And then the first of the flies was gone, boring its way into the top of his skull. I smiled with satisfaction. ""No, sir,"" I answered. ""No other symptoms."" I had met the director in the interview process. We had quickly bonded. Of course we had. I had been meticulously briefed on his every interest; I had read his favorite books and tracked his favorite sports teams and begun to frequent his favorite restaurants. Plus, I had come with glowing recommendations. Several stints in a number of different facilities, all employments confirmed by phone calls. Of course my resume had been vetted and then vetted again. But it was solid. There were no cracks in the story. We were more careful than that. And now it was just a matter of keeping hold of the people who saw through it all. I had almost begun to like him. I would miss him. But it was necessary. ""Patrick?"" He was nervous. The sweat had started to dissipate. Sweating was not a symptom. ""Patrick?"" he repeated, his voice a little more labored. ""You can see them too?"" He was desperate now. I could see it in his eyes. I had worked with enough patients to know the moment it took hold. Not the patients here; the patients we had in the lab in the development process. The patients who had made this all possible, God rest their souls, as we stumbled our way through the beta versions. ""Patrick?"" He was yelling now. He felt trapped in his own head, his arms and legs no longer in his control. His mind would be next. The straight-jackets weren't necessary. They were just traditional. I pressed the button for the intercom. ""I'll need a little help here,"" I said with faked urgency. ""We have another case."" I knew the guards would enter with the straight-jacket ready. They would look at him sadly, another colleague afflicted. I knew they would put him in one of the countless cells in the belly of the building. I knew that the position would now be empty and our grasp would become a little more firm. I knew that the tiny little things buzzing in my pocket were hungry for another strike and I patted the pocket gently to let them know that they would soon be unleashed. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1102
" In most cases, I prefer to","I've never been one to judge things. In most cases, I prefer to keep a neutral mindset. My family always told me that when I REALLY liked something, they knew that it was good, since I was often so keen on never expressing an opinion on anything. This was how I explained it away for most my life. I was decisive, and that meant people who knew me valued my opinion. Then something strange happened. I was at a restaurant once. My friend had taken me there, because he wanted to try their food. It was a new place, and not many reviews had been written yet on Yelp. I was skeptical, but I wasn't going to begin an argument with my friend. We sat at our table. The service was fine. The food arrived quickly enough that neither of us was bothered, and slowly enough that I felt there was no way they could have rushed the cooking (if Gordon Ramsay taught me anything, it was to always fear the restaurant that brought you your food TOO quickly). As soon as I took my first bite, I knew that this place was never going to last more than three months. I was so sure of it, that I said it out loud to my friend. Unfortunately, I instinctively said this very loud. One must understand, when I get shocked by something, whether it be for good or bad, I raise my tone. Everyone in the restaurant heard me, basically. One by one, all the guests got out of their chairs and walked out of the restaurant, even my friend. I had no clue how or why this happened, but I quickly found myself sitting in my booth alone, the only patron in the establishment I just doomed. I waited to be chewed out by the owner, I felt I deserved as much, but he never came. I leaned over the edge of my seat and looked around the restaurant. Not a soul. I got up and walked to the kitchen. No chefs. No sous. Not even a dishwasher was left in the building. I walked outside and met with my friend. ""What just happened?"" I asked. ""It's like you said, that place is crap,"" he responded. ""Didn't you notice how everyone left as soon as I said that?"" ""I mean, why wouldn't they? They probably already wanted to, and just needed someone to speak up about how bad it was so they could leave without feeling bad."" ""I mean...I guess,"" I shrugged. I had never expressed such an absolute opinion in front of stranger before, and for months, I couldn't get it out of my head. The situation became more freaky when I posted a picture on my Instagram account. I was volunteering at an animal shelter and posted some pictures of the dogs and cats we had. I begged people to come by and adopt pets, as they were all going to be put down at the end of the week. I was impressed with how my post received so many likes, but many of them were from other countries, so had very little hope for the animals. Never did I expect that over the next three days, 50 people would come by the shelter and adopt a pet. Every single one of them said they saw my post and immediately made their way down there. Some of the people said they came from five states away. Twenty of them had to take airplanes to get to my town to adopt the animals. The high of the mass adoption kept me from thinking too deeply about the situation, but soon something happened that made me realize something was up. Once was luck. Twice was coincidence. Three times, though...that was a pattern. I assumed I had a knack for social media. And I eventually made a YouTube account. I made a video about what I planned to do on the channel. Vlogs, some music stuff, and just random crap. The video was terrible and uninteresting. Knowing this, I asked the viewer to watch until the video ended. At the end, I asked everyone to like, comment, subscribe, hit the bell, and all the usual stuff. Do you want to guess what I woke up to the next day? My video had over 100,000 views. I was ecstatic. It was unbelievable. No one gets that many views on their first video. I told my parents, my friends, and even strangers I saw walking by. Once I calmed down, I took note of the analytics. Not only did 100,000 people view the ENTIRE video. 100,000 people liked. 100,000 people commented. 100,000 people subscribed. 100,000 people clicked on the bell. That's when the puzzle came together. People listened to me. They trusted me and my opinion. I scoffed at the irony. I was probably the least opinionated and least commanding person on the planet, but I could get people to agree with what I say, no matter what I say. I thought I would try something, just to prove my theory. I collected rocks from my backyard, and I put them on eBay for $1,000 each. I posted a YouTube video telling people to buy the rocks. I woke up the next morning with 20 grand in my bank account. Why was I always so scared to share my opinion? Why did I think it didn't matter. As it turned out, my opinion was the ONLY one that mattered. I became an all consuming beast. I would go to restaurants and tell them they should feed me for free. They did. I told girls I would meet that they should have sex with me. They would. I told my sponsors to pay me more, and they would. I was rich, I was sexy, and I was the most important person in the world. ...I was... After thirty years, I had become the richest, most powerful person in the world. I was doing an interview, and the interviewer said that some people didn't like how I started my career scamming people into buying rocks. I was cocky and I was selfish. Without thinking, I said, ""I think that if you don't appreciate the hard work it took to get people to buy those rocks, you should drop one on your head. And they did. Many people did. Strangers. Friends. Family. I thought I was being funny, but I lost track of my power, and it cost me so much. Over the course of the next two weeks. Over 1.74 million people dropped boulders on their heads, killing themselves. I ordered that the network that ran the interview never air it again, and that they destroy every last piece of that recording. Unfortunately, I didn't learn my lesson the first time. Never mind all the times I told someone to go fuck themselves, or the times I made people do things they didn't want to do. I became evil. I had over eight trillion dollars to my name, but it wasn't enough. I asked every person in the world to give me every cent they had, and they did. God, I was a dick. I told all the world's governments to make me the ruler of the entire planet. And of course they said yes. I was already in charge. I became hungry with power, and then I had a child. I told most of the women I impregnated to abort their children or to never speak to me again. But my child came back to find me when she was twenty years old. After she told me who she was, I had some questions. ""Why did you come here?"" ""To stop your tyranny,"" she said. ""What makes you think you can stop me?"" I inquired. ""I will not stop you,"" she said. ""I don't understand."" ""You will soon enough."" I looked at her puzzlingly. ""I think you should leave."" She stayed. She didn't so much as twitch. Suddenly it became clear. I couldn't influence her. ""My mother killed herself after you did that interview,"" she said, ""You ruined my life."" ""I'm sorry,"" I began, ""that day weighs on me more than you can know."" ""Does it?"" she asked, ""Have you looked at the world you've created? People are starving. They kill each other every day just to make it by. You have all the money, and you have this false belief that you control everything."" ""But I don't control you."" ""Exactly."" ""I have received no news of this world you speak of."" ""Then, come with me, father."" I followed her to the outside of the city surrounding my castle. We drove through a cloud of smoke and into what appeared to be the remains of a metropolitan city. ""What is all this?"" I ask. ""This was once one of the biggest, most wealthy cities in the world. Now, it's a wasteland, almost unrecognizable."" ""I was here twenty years ago,"" I said, shocked, ""How long did it take to get like this?"" ""Five years of no economy,"" she said, ""I was applying to colleges when this place was still functioning."" ""How could this be?"" ""You're selfish,"" she exclaimed, ""You wanted power and influence, and now 80% of the world looks just like this."" ""I need to fix this."" ""How? You have a time machine?"" ""No...but I have a solution."" I set up a press conference, and I stood on the podium. I knew this would work, but I also knew it would end everything I had worked for. ""I think we should reestablish the governments of the world. I think we should put everyone's money back where it was, and I think we should have a more peaceful society."" I looked around, knowing how important the final words were, and making sure I had everyone's attention for when I said them. ""I think that from now on, you should all stop listening to what I say.""",1662
 The only game show where doing nothing,"""I'm your host, Chuck Burner, and it's time to play Time! To! Play! That's right folks, the only game show where doing nothing at all could earn *you* one. Million. Dollars. Let's meet our contestants! From Boise Idaho, Rupert Engels! From San Antonio Texas, Gene Ford! From Newark Delaware, James Smith! Give them a big round of applause folks."" The applause was canned but we still smiled into the camera just like we'd been coached. We'd had to sign a non-disclosure agreement beforehand saying that we'd never leak America's most popular game show's secret to the general public. Filmed in front of a live studio audience? A farce. Getting footage from the Time Dilator apparently took weeks, months in extreme cases. So we smiled; James even pumped his fist in the air and gave the crowd a loud 'Woo!'. ""Come on down Rupert, Gene, James! Let me explain how the game is played."" Chuck gestured to three machines that looked for all the world like massive cement eggs with an occasional panel or button or display. The sides of each of the machines stood open. ""Your goal is to stay inside of these chambers longer than your opponents. Whoever makes it 2nd longest will earn $100 for each second they outlast the 3rd place contestant. Whoever lasts the longest will earn the same amount as the 2nd place contestant, plus $1000 for every second they outlast 2nd place. But of course, there's a catch. These special machines are designed to accelerate your perception of time. Your body will be more or less asleep for the duration, but you'll experience every second as roughly a tenth of one day in an alternate reality. An hour will feel like a year. Last one full year? Earn one. Million. Dollars."" Canned applause and cheers erupted behind us again. ""The reality you'll live in is fully stocked with books, food, games, anything you can imagine. Anything, that is, except other people. No contact with real, breathing people. You have all the time in the world, and no one to spend it with. Are you up to the challenge!?"" I swear they didn't even bother changing out the applause track; one guy whistles around 1 second in and it's kind of grating the third time. ""Then let's get started!"" One by one, Chuck guided us into the egg shaped pods, making sure we didn't bang our heads on the ceiling. Doctors in white coats followed us quickly, hooking up a series of electrodes and running a battery of diagnostic tests. My doctor, who didn't mention her name, reminded me at least three times that the button I would press to escape the time dilation would be a conspicuous red affair sticking out of the front wall. Meanwhile sounds of Chuck pandering to a fake crowd drifted in, drowning out her reminders and admonishments. No doubt his piano-smile flashing brightly into the spotlight the whole time. Seconds later, the Doctor had dipped out of the machine, the door had closed, and when I blinked I found myself teleported to another world entirely. I knew, of course, that my body was now unconscious in that giant cement egg, even if I *felt* like I was somewhere else. The building that greeted me was nothing short of beautiful; dark wood paneling, a massive library, a courtyard miles in diameter with all of the trees and birds of my childhood. A cat, presumably the long-dead Muffins, padded up to me and rubbed its head against my leg. This was the result of a thousand different surveys and psychological tests they'd been bombarding me with for the past month. A reconstructed fantasy world where I'd feel most at ease. A fine place to go insane. I'd watched episodes of Time to Play before, daytime television was filled with reruns from past seasons. The descent into madness was somewhat predictable. Contestants would start by focusing on a book or a game; then they'd finish it and turn to another. And another and another and another, gradually losing interest. Some would go for a run or a hike, but then they'd remember that their bodies were asleep, and that no amount of training would make them stronger or healthier. They'd start humming to themselves, then talking to themselves, then arguing with themselves. Sooner or later, they all pressed the button, usually with less than a month of elapsed 'time' in the chamber. All of it, the tantrums, the self-harm, the psychotic shouting at non-existent shadows, all of it was broadcast out to every home in America. Naturally, I wouldn't be here if I didn't have a plan. It always seemed to me that the reason people go mad is because they want *something* to happen, because they want *something* to matter. That's not what I'm here for. I'm not even here for the million dollars. I just wanted a place where I could lay down, stare at the ceiling, and occasionally take a break to write or eat or take a bath. To me? This was a vacation. On the first day, I took a blanket from the linen closet and draped it over the large clock displayed prominently in the foyer. 364:23:58:10 and counting down, but who cares about time when you have nowhere to be? And with that, I picked up Muffins, walked into the courtyard, found a genial oak with a lovely patch of shade, leaned back against it, and closed my eyes. A gentle breeze raked my hair. I could stay like this forever. ""300:00:00:00, oh oh oh oh oh oh oh oh! Ho ho! Two months down! Perfectly fine, hands, toes, me! Perfectly intact."" I went to the kitchen and baked cinnamon rolls to celebrate. ""210:54:32:10, five four three two one zero! Tick, tick, tick. Not much longer, not much longer now!"" I danced on the balls of my feet and stared at the clock. The numbers burned tiny little afterimages into my virtual eyes. ""001:00:00:00, one. One more. One more day. Just one more. Then I can see them again. The people. The people? Who am I seeing? I know there was someone, someone I was supposed to see. It doesn't matter. I'll see someone again."" I'd been spending a lot of time in front of the mirror lately. The graphics in this place weren't quite like the real world; my teeth seemed peculiarly bright from some angles. I tried not brushing for a while to see if that helped, but that mostly just made them feel fuzzy. So I broke the mirror, and now when I stand in front of it I can't see my teeth at all! ""Three. Two. One. Zero."" I punched the large red button underneath the clock. ""...Negative one. Negative two. Negative three."" I punched it harder. I kicked the button. I headbutted the button. I tore the button off of the wall, and pressed it some more. ""LET ME OUT! I'M DONE! YOU HEAR ME!? I DID IT!"" No response, except an echo and a slightly alarmed Muffins. I fell to my knees, ""Muffins, I'm sorry, Muffins baby, don't be scared. Muffins, come here sweetie, come to Mommy, I'm sorry for scaring you."" Muffins ran away. I gave chase, sobbing. --- Seven hours after I entered the chamber, I was finally pulled out, forcefully. A tired looking Chuck rushed to greet me with the great news, to congratulate me as the first ever winner of Time to Play. Right up until he saw my hollowed eyes, vacant expression, slouched shoulders. ""Gene? Gene are you alright? Gene?"" ""Gene? That sounds familiar. What's a Gene?"" ""You, you're Gene. Gene, are you okay?"" ""I'm... I? I am! I am. IM. Instant message. Message instantly. Instant, Lee!"" I broke into a fit of laughter. ""Gene, why didn't you press the button? Are you okay?"" ""The BUTTON!? Red button!? Pressed, kicked, smashed, pressed, hit, pressed pressed pressed. Held, pressed, Morse Code, SOS. The BUTTON!?"" I fell to my knees and sobbed. ""The button, the button, the button, the button, I'm sorry button..."" --- ""A total failure?"" ""Yup, and just when it looked so promising too."" ""How long did she last?"" ""Define last? She did go a full year without trying to escape, though."" ""Well that's a new record anyway. A far cry from a total failure."" ""Except the bad publicity from this thing means the show is being investigated. We're going to need to find a new way to get the recruits we need."" ""Yes, yes, we've been here before. I trust you can handle the PR. But we finally have a lead. Run a full DNA sequencing on her, see if you can figure out how she managed to go that long. This may be the closest we've ever come to a manned Mars mission and I don't mean to let her sacrifice be in vain."" ""Yes sir."" ""Oh, and Johnson?"" ""Sir?"" ""For fucks sake, figure out what happened to her button. Seven years without human contact... that's one hell of a way to go mad."" ""Yes sir."" --- --- r/BadgerFrance",1517
 The first three months have been fine,"364:23:59:00 They've asked me to keep a journal while I'm in here. Which is really silly since I'm terrible with things like this. So I guess I will just make an entry every once in a while. 275:01:00:00 The first three months have been fine. I mean, I just get to sit in a 20 ft by 20 ft room with all the video games, movies, and ebooks anyone could ever want. No school, no work, no relationship troubles. 201:13:45:00 This has been... A lot harder than I thought it would be. It turns out that the lack of internet (since that was deemed as ""Outside contact"") made me feel really detached from the world. I feel myself slipping into a feeling of general apethy and depression as I find it harder and harder to find the will to do anything in this gray box I call home. I tried the door today, just because. It didn't budge of course. If really I wanted to quit, I needed to forfeit, but I don't feel ready to do that yet. 109:22:00:00 This feeling of apethy consumed me to the point that I have even stopped eating. Not that I have much reason to eat anyways; all of the canned goods that they had stuck me in here with got old fast. Of course every few days I scarf down a can of beans or peaches, or whatever happened to sound edible that day. 067:10:00:00 There were so many times where I should have just given it up already. Called it quits and pressed the big red ""Forfeit"" button near the doorway. Just the feeling of sun on my skin or a cool breeze through my hair is all I want after anymore. Seeing another face. My parents or friends would be best, but just anyone who wasn't just on a TV screen. Who knows why, but Ive stuck with it anyways. I guess I can't really be bothered to do that either. 035:00:00:00 I've decided that I wanted to be in good shape when those doors opened, so I finally started using that exercise equipment that had been accumulating dust in the corner. I've made it this far damnit, and I'm not going to give up yet. I am so excited to see my parents again, and to brag to the whole world that I made it a full year without cracking. Well, maybe I almost cracked, but I'm feeling a bit better now. After so many long hard months, things are finally starting to look up. 000:00:59:43 Finally, the faithful day has arrived! I packed up all of my things that I had brought with me. I've dressed in my nicest set of clothes, and I'm now just waiting eagerly while the clock ticks down through its final moments. Looking at myself in the mirror, it looks like I lost quite a bit of weight, but put on a little bit of muscle this last month. A million dollars, fame, and finally freedom are waiting for me just beyond that door! -000:00:19:00 I'm admittedly a little confused. There were no flashing lights, no sound of congratulations. Nothing. The door stayed shut as it had been these last 365 days, and when I tried to pry it open it wouldn't budge. Is this some kind of joke? -000:13:35:00 This has to be a joke. I pressed the button and nothing happened either. I don't understand. -000:18:20:00 Please be a joke. -001:02:13:00 Please -001:02:14:00 please -001:02:16:00 PLEASE LET ME OUT! I WANT OUT PLEASE LET ME OUT! -002:00:00:00 So, it's been two days since the timer elapsed, and I was supposed to be let out. I tried screaming and jumping in view of the cameras but nothing has happened. I don't get it. I just don't get it. -008:03:12:00 I don't know what to do. Please, if anyone is reading this, please help me I don't know what to do I don't know what to do -019:22:00:00 Well, I'm still here. I can't seem to pry the door open, and no one has answered my calls for help. Naturally, my imagination has been running wild with possible explanations: nuclear apocalypse, global catastrophe, alien invasion... I mean what else am I supposed to think when the only thing that has kept me sane this long were a bunch of B rated SyFy movies while being locked in a repurposed cold war bunker? Honestly thought, the two thoughts that terrify me most are that they just forgot about me, or that they know I'm here and don't want to let me out. I don't know which scares me more. -057:00:16:00 I'm lucky that I had eaten so little over the last few months otherwise I probably would have run out of food by now. I was finally able to break open the air vent today. It's a tight squeeze, but I was able to make my way past the door sealing me in here, and drop down into the hall. The other rooms which used to have other contestants just like me were open and ajar. There is no sign of anyone in this entire bunker. No one. I haven't brought myself to leave the bunker yet. I'm so paranoid about what might be outside. The other half dozen rooms had more food in them, so I should be able to last a bit longer -119:23:59:00 Today is the day. I ran out of food three days ago, and I used the last of the bottled water today. There is nothing left here for me. The power is still on, but I wonder how long that will last? Who knows. But I can't stay here any longer. I have to know why I was locked on this concrete coffin and left to die alone. I don't want to be alone any more. If anyone finds this, please tell my parents I love them. Please just know that I've struggled so long but I still haven't given up. I'm going to see what's outside. I want to be free. And if I can't have either of those things, then I want to die because I just can't take it anymore. I don't want to be alone anymore. -999:23:59:59 You. Were. Not. Alone.",1047
 Prisoner arrived in a tiny cell,"""How?"" ""You're here to clean up, I assume?"" The Prisoner asked, ""Expected a body, I suppose. Well, good news: you get an early mark today. The room is spotless."" The guard stared, his mind struggling to make a coherent whole from the pieces before him. The tiny cell was indeed spotless. It was also a mile underground, about 5 feet across and completely empty besides the smiling, raven-haired Prisoner in front of him. ""Nobody's been down here for -"" ""120 years, I know"" interrupted the Prisoner. ""And that's not true by the way; I've been here the whole time."" He stretched, inhaling deeply. ""Certainly is nice to get out though, thank you again."" He held out a hand. ""What's your name?"" ""Thomas,"" replied the guard, and, running on an autopilot powered by social convention, shook the Prisoner's hand. ""Alistair,"" he replied, ""care to take me upstairs, Tom? I could do with a cup of tea."" He looked around the dingy stone walls of the dungeon. ""I assume it still exists? 120 years is a long time, after all."" ""Yes, sir,"" stammered Tom, his brain latching on to the topic of beverages like a drowning man clings to floating debris, ""Tea is certainly still...a thing."" He stopped, his mind suddenly on firmer ground . ""Look, I'm sorry, but what the devil is going on here? Is this some sort of joke?"" ""Not at all, Tom."" Alistair replied. ""I'm a 120-year-old Prisoner you've just released from a locked cell in an underground dungeon in London. Come along,"" he nodded at the stairs, ""tea time."" ""It's just, when you put it that way, it really sounds like a joke,"" Tom continued as he followed along behind the man, now striding up the stairs. ""I assure you Thomas, this is not a joke,"" Alistair replied, continuing his ascent, ""nor is it a jape, a prank, a jest or tomfoolery. I have been in prison for a long time, and my soul aches for tea."" He smiled gently to himself as he strode onward. ""But since it's a long walk, we might as well pass the time with explanations. Why don't you start with what you're doing down here?"" ""I work here. In the Prison,"" he explained, ""they knocked down a wall for an extension and we found the door here. We're supposed to be waiting for the University crew for research but the Warden had these old keys and I -"" "" - got curious and opened a door to the unknown, behind which all manner of darkness may lie?"" Alistair laughed. ""How bold. You know Thomas, I find that very endearing. Curiosity must always be rewarded or we will discourage the betterment of man. Don't you agree?"" He didn't wait for an answer. ""Of course you do. Otherwise you would not be asking questions, nor would you have opened either of the doors."" He stopped. ""Thomas, I have decided. I shall tell you how I came to be here, but you must promise me one thing."" He stared. ""You mustn't put milk in the tea."" He laughed, and resumed his stride up the stairs, telling a story as he went. -- A century ago, there was a wise man in London who sought the secrets of the Universe. The greatest alchemist who ever lived, he was a pioneer; a true legend, spoken of in hushed tones and shunned by the establishment, jealous as they were of his knowledge. But even legends grow old, and it came time for this man to choose a successor. To that end, he chose an apprentice. The apprentice was an orphan who had nothing but ambition. He had no family, no friends, no ties to this world. He would be the perfect student, one who could discard the bounds of convention that chained the old man. For you see, the old man had a daughter. The most beautiful woman you had ever seen, with ebony hair and silken skin, with laughter like birdsong and a voice like a warm summer day. He would not perform experiments that would risk her safety, and thus he sought someone unbound by trivialities such as love, who could push their knowledge further than he. And though his knowledge of the Universe was great and terrible, the old legend knew nothing of the ways of youth. The apprentice and the girl fell in love. They would meet in secret by starlight, and swap stories and plan their future, all while the young man's talents grew. He soon became his Master's equal, performing healings and conjurations to astound the establishment. Then one day came the news. The young woman was expecting, and they knew it could not remain secret for long. They sought the master's approval to wed, but the old man flew into a bitter rage. He expelled the apprentice from his house, from his tutelage, and imprisoned his daughter in his house, never to see the outside world. The apprentice, now alone, sought vengeance on the old man. He plumbed the depths of every library, every text scientific and alchemical, and trialled every manner of curse, but the old conjurer's protections were too great. Finally, in his desperation, he sought the most forbidden of tools: the Philosopher's Stone. The Stone was an ancient artefact, said to amplify the power of the user. So great was its power that it was rumoured to be able to grant eternal life. In his madness, the apprentice sought the Stone despite every text, every sage warning that it would extract a terrible price. So blinded with vengeance was he that he considered any price worth paying to be reunited with his love. One fateful night, he crafted the Stone, and marched upon his master's house. He crossed the threshold with ease. Every charm, every curse, every trap crumbled in his wake. Venom and power courses through his veins as he destroyed the house room by room as he hunted his former master. Finally, he found him, sitting at the foot of his daughter's bed. She lay there, arms around a young child, neither drawing breath. The Stone had taken its price. -- ""What did you do then?"" Thomas asked in quiet awe. ""I surrendered,"" Alistair replied. ""I had nothing left. In that moment I saw what vengeance had cost me, and I lay down and wept. My master placed me under magical binding, but he needn't have bothered. All light was lost to me, and I would fight no further. He took me before a court of the most powerful figures in the Kingdom; not just alchemists, but Royals and Scientists and Military. I was sentenced, and placed down here."" ""And the Stone?"" ""Destroyed, Thomas. They would not risk any man, any nation to possess a power such as that. The Stone is lost to us, and good riddance to it. But before they did it, they used the Stone once. Once and only once."" ""What did they do?"" Alistair shook his head. ""Oh Thomas. Don't you see? I transgressed. I crossed boundaries that man was not meant to cross. The punishment must be equal to the crime, Thomas. To execute me, to allow me to die, would simply grant me my greatest desire. It would reunite me with my wife and daughter."" He was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued. ""Just as the stone extracted a terrible price, so too did they punish me."" ""You mean?"" ""Yes, Thomas,"" he replied, ""they sentenced me to live.""",1254
 First contact was... uneventful,"First contact was... uneventful. Initially. We landed on their planet, in one of several areas lightly populated by them, but by no means devoid of native life as a whole. It only took three or four rotations before we caught sight of two of them, surprisingly well camouflaged and apparently hunting some local herbivores with effective, if primitive, chemically propelled projectile weapons. Still, it's not like predatory intelligent species are rare. We spotted them, they spotted us, and we retreated, according to standard protocol. A ""cooling off"" period. What we didn't count on was just how different their niche in their original ecosystem was. There we were, relaxed, at what we thought was a safe distance, when we heard a rustle and a snap, and one of them was suddenly less than 10 body lengths from us! Apparently, unlike **every** other intelligent species we've encountered, their first instinct when they encounter something they've never seen before is to immediately pursue it. And they are **great** at it. Most of the reasonably sized creatures we've observed on their planet transport themselves on four limbs. A proper, reasonable number, enough for stability, even in the event of a wound, with an extended, fifth limb, for balance. These sapients though, they bound around on only their two lower limbs, which are huge and heavily muscled, and unlike all the other species we've seen, have huge, muscled posteriors, to make sure they don't fall over every time they lurch around unbalanced. We scattered, and traveled before resting again, but almost as soon as we set down, there they were again! And it happened again, and again! Every time we needed to stop, or rest, before we had time to even calm down, there they were! They only slowed down when it got dark! After another revolution like this, we figured out that their intelligence seems fine-tuned to spot the practically insignificant changes other animals make to the environment as they pass through it. What kind of crazy evolutionary advantage is that!? Here we were, running every time they got close, and they were just lazily spotting our paths through the vegetation, and following us at a leisurely pace. What's really crazy is they didn't even really stop to rest, except at night. They barely paused to do things as important as eating and drinking, nevermind excretion. They just **kept** *going*. It was terrifying. We came with a full kit, on a faster-than-light ship, and we were being outsmarted and ruthlessly followed by just two totally isolated humans, with barely any of the technology or support we know they thrive on as a society. Eventually, we had to accept that protocol just wasn't going to cut it. We were being hunted, and all our technology and preparation wasn't going to help us escape. We couldn't risk leading them back to the landing craft, and we couldn't get far enough ahead to use it without them seeing the lift-off. So, we set traps. I know, I know, horrifying, right? The idea of having to make the basic language analysis and first greeting with one party in a net or cage? But you have to understand, we were exhausted, even at night, when we knew they had to rest, we couldn't let our guard down. It was always just a matter of time until they knew exactly where we were. The entire team started experiencing anxiety symptoms! So we pushed, hard, to get enough extra distance for the preparations. We even managed some redundancies. This was going to work. And then, we heard the first trap go off. I scouted out, personally, to check the trap, but before I even got close, there they were! both of them, just...standing there, looking at it. Moving their primary intake orifices, using what we'd already surmised was their primary natural communication system. >(note: translation provided from logs, based on linguistic data acquired at a later date, I had **no** idea what they were saying at the time) >""You think some other hunter left this out?"" >""...no, that'd be really irresponsible, no one's close enough to check them."" >""hmm, you're right."" >""I'm telling you man, these things looked weird. I could swear they were **wearing** things."" >""like...clothes?"" It was at this point that I'd decided I'd captured enough data on their communication, for now, and that I needed to fall back to the group. Unfortunately, my exhaustion and nerves got the better of me, and I gave away my position, somehow. I don't even know, but suddenly their communications ceased and they were looking **right** at me. I sprinted off, figuring they'd follow at their leisure, but something was different this time. For the first time in this whole ordeal, I encountered something biologically familiar for us: being chased, actually chased, not the terrifying chain-of-surprises nonsense. But by this point... I just didn't have the energy. I couldn't get ahead. Even if I had...they would have just found me again. So I beat a path straight back to the group. The first sighting protocol had failed, horrifically, but at least as a group, with our basic wild-life defense weapons we might be able to survive. I collapsed out of the brush and into the circle of the rest of my team, still able to hear those bizarre bipeds crashing behind me. We grouped up, for once, expecting when and where they'd appear, ready to fight for our lives. We couldn't expect a predator like this, one that clearly thrived on utterly dominating its prey to just leave us be when they caught up to us in mere moments. And with a final crash, there they were. The two of them. Just...standing and staring at us, silently. After a few, tense moments, they communicated to one another, without taking their eyes off us: >""duuuude, I **told** you!"" >""*what* are these things!?"" And then, they did the absolute last thing we expected, they put their weapons away, behind them, and crouched down, making themselves smaller! It was like just now, after fraying our every instinct, pushing us to exhaustion and utterly terrifying us, now, they didn't want to intimidate us. They even lowered the intensity of their communication, softening it, somehow. >""Look, they're exhausted, and huddled up like that? They look like they're terrified."" >""Hey, there, you guys, alright? We've had you on the ropes for a while now, haven't we?"" --- oh man, my first ever submission to a writing prompt, plus it's been forever since I did any kind of creative writing. I might write another one for this prompt, no one seems to have put humans on a more equal footing with the aliens, which is something I'm generally a fan of. Edited for some typos and formatting.",1128
 The first time I discovered my gift,"I often wondered how an old school travel agent would try to ""sell"" the idea of travel to Mars. ""The trip only takes six months of your life. You'll spend those many months in a floating tin can with three other human beings and a year's worth of supplies crammed into it... Oh and you must sign a legally binding agreement that there is no guarantee for a return trip back to Earth, but it *is* all expenses paid! Who's signing up for this amazing deal today?"" Mix those unavoidably undesirable aspects of the trip in with my crippling claustrophobia and I sound like the least ideal candidate for this journey as any human in existence. So why in the world did I volunteer? Because I've got a secret. A secret superpower no less. The first time I discovered my gift I was in Mrs. Anderson's English class in 8th grade. She was 'teaching us' Romeo and Juliet, but instead of having us read it or act out the play, she decided to... 'give us a treat' by playing every single role herself. As she stiffly labored on and on, I got the distinct feeling she'd been rejected by even the most novice of acting class or community theater. It became physically painful to sit there having to watch her. *I wish I could just skip the rest of this miserable day*, I remember thinking to myself. And to my utter shock and astonishment, I did. When I opened my eyes, she was taking her second bow, forcing the students under her control to applaud her enthusiastically before we could leave for the day. From that day forward, any boring moments of my life became 'skips'. The only real restriction on my power I've discovered is that I can't seem to skip ahead when I was in danger. I couldn't just jump through time if a bear was about to eat me, it wasn't time travel magic that was going to save me from a bad situation. The only discernible use I could find was to move through the most tedious aspects of life, and frankly, I was quite happy with that. And so my plan formed, sure I'd agree to go to Mars. I'd risk my life to study it and unlock the secrets of it's surface, but I was skipping the damn trip. Ego aside, I'm not remotely vital to the space flight portion of this mission. I'm a biologist seeking to understand and, to some degree, conquer the harsh conditions on the red planet, but until then I was merely a passenger. Commander Samantha Lawson was in charge of the ship and the three other souls aboard. Captain Edwin Jenkins was the ships pilot and second in command and Lieutenant Peter Yang was our chief engineer. I'm not kidding myself, they all held multiple degrees in various sciences so they were probably more important than me once we reached the martian soil as well, but up here, floating in the vast emptiness of space, the gulf in our importance was unfathomable. All that is to say that I felt little to no guilt when I bid them goodnight and set myself up to skip ahead a few months. *They've got this little roadtrip covered*, I thought as I prepared to take my shortcut. The 'voice of my power' had other ideas as it came through loud and clear with an extremely alarming warning. It doesn't 'speak' any words per se, but the meaning of this particular message was unmistakable. ""You may not jump forward while in mortal danger."" *Mortal danger?* What mortal danger? I'm in a goddamn spaceship floating millions of miles from anything! Oh god... that could only mean one thing. I ""swam"" through the ship as quickly as possible. Totally ignoring the safety training we'd had, I made it to the cockpit in record time and burst in, interrupting whatever conversations had been going on. ""Yang, is there a problem with the ship?!"" I yelled to the engineer of our little voyage. ""Jesus, you scared me,"" he replied. ""There's nothing wrong with the ship. But you look like you've seen a ghost, Wagner. Did you have a bad dream of an explosion aboard sending you tumbling out into the vacuum of space or something?"" ""Something like that,"" I replied, trailing off as I scanned the various sensors and readouts in the cockpit myself. ""Don't feel embarrassed, Wagner. I had plenty of those on my first mission. Absolutely miserable nightmares that feel all too real. You won't hear any mockery from me,"" our pilot, Captain Jenkins told me, trying to be genuinely helpful to me. ""Asteroids?"" I asked abruptly. ""Are we getting too close to any asteroids or any other celestial bodies?"" They glanced at each other in concern. ""We're safe,"" Yang assured me. ""Nothing even remotely in our path, all ships systems are operating optimally, and we--"" He was interrupted by the horrifying sound of something pinging against the metal hull our ship. Slowly at first, then amplifying to scrapes and loud bangs, before retreating and then becoming violent again at random intervals. ""Lieutenant Yang? You said radar was clear, did we fly into a debris field? Gimme some intel here so I can get us the hell out of whatever mess we're in,"" Jenkins demanded as he gripped the flight stick too tightly, betraying his concern. ""No, I'm telling you there's nothing on any sensors, we're in clear open space!"" Commander Lawson barged into the control room in much the same haste that I had minutes early. ""Sit rep? Tell me what we're dealing with here,"" she said as she slid into her command seat and assumed ultimate control of our craft. ""Don't know, ma'am, only indicator we have is the noise, sensors are all clear,"" Jenkins reported. ""Well that doesn't make a lick of goddamn sense,"" she replied. ""Are outer hull camera feeds still all active?"" ""Yes ma'am, pulling them up on the big screen now,"" Yang said. All of our collective, nervous attention shifted to focus entirely on that screen. It flicked from camera view to camera view, showing various locations and angles on the outside of the ship. But they showed us nothing but stars and vast empty, inky blackness. That was it. ""Wait, we just lost one camera feed,"" Yang noted as he flipped past a camera that was now displaying nothing but static. ""Scratch that, two feeds, we just lost a second one."" ""Commander, I just saw something move through the view of Camera 6!"" Jenkins exclaimed. ""Not a celestial object, I swear it changed direction!"" ""Calm yourself, Captain,"" Lawson scolded him. However, even she was silenced as we all noted the loss of Camera 6 a few seconds later. ""Give me Cam 7, or anything else with a view in that area!"" she demanded. Half a minute of silence filled the cockpit as we stared intently at the feed provided by the camera pointed in the direction of where number six had been. We carefully scoured more empty space and nothingness until something flashed through the view of the camera. It happened so fast that it was hard to gauge specifics, but there was no mistaking the ever so brief image of an organic, claw like object quickly swinging downward at Camera 7, before it too went to an ominous, horrifying static snow. Utterly dumbfounded as we processed what we'd just seen, we finally began to glance at each other. Regardless of the experience or rank of the human being in question, the look on their faces was all the same. Shock, and horror. We were not alone out here. ___ Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more stories from me. EDIT: Part 2 of this story is now posted below. EDIT 2: Thanks for the Silver, kind stranger!",1313
 Anatoly Residnikov was thin,"Anatoly Residnikov was thin, bookish, shy, and absolutely determined not to cringe as he passed his ""father's"" study. He took a deep breath as he opened his bedroom door, took three steps, and stopped. His eyes were fixed on the red door down the hall. *I'm crazy,* he thought, *I must be.* He took another step, and a shiver ran up his spine. He wasn't a coward, not at all actually. He'd survived a devastating collision with an 18 wheeler, he'd survived the destruction of his body, and he'd survived the long 18 month coma that had stolen his memories and threatened to steal his sanity. Nothing behind that door could hold any fear for him. Not his father, not death itself. But what if it opened. What if his father came out of it and asked ""How's your day, Anatoly?"" The thought of having to come up with an answer, having to pull torturous small talk out of him. It was galling. No. He couldn't fake it. Not today. Not any more. He closed his eyes and slinked the rest of the way to the staircase. Anatoly threw on his jacket and went out the front door without a word. His parents still didn't like him driving alone, but he was twenty-one years old, a full grown man, and they couldn't really stop him. As soon as he sat down behind the wheel, his phone began to ring. He answered it. ""Anatoly, where are you going,"" his mother said. He shivered. That voice. His mother's voice. His...*mother's* voice? ""For a drive,"" he said. ""A drive? A drive to where?' He rubbed his head. ""I don't know just....a drive."" There was a long sigh on the other end of the line, ""You can't keep-"" ""Good bye."" He threw down the phone without hanging up, started the car, and went out into the street. As he drove, voices and images swarmed around him, but he didn't pull over. There was a war going on within himself. On one side, there was everything that made him *him.* His mother, his father, his girlfriend, and his friends. Of Mice and Men was his favorite book, he'd read it over and over again one summer when he was in high school. His favorite music, the foods he loved. He knew all these things about himself. His parents had told him, so had Eloise, and all of his friends. They all had their stories straight. Then, on the other side, there was... *something.* A mystic force. A whisper, a gentle breeze which asked, ""*There's something terribly wrong about all of this, isn't there?""* He couldn't say which side was winning. He couldn't even say where he was going. He thought about Eloise. Beautiful, amazing, Eloise, who loved him and told him they'd be married someday. She'd kissed him when he woke from the coma. You'd think you'd remember a girl like that, you'd think you'd remember the spark of her lips. There had been *nothing.* He thought about his friends. Apparently they'd practically been brothers since they were kids. Harry, Michael, Thomas, Brian, Daniel. Anatoly shook his head. *Daniel?* No, it was Jeremy. He couldn't even keep track of his own friend's name. He scratched his chin, *Maybe there was a Dan?* He shook his head again, No, certainly not. *Was there?* Anatoly drove until the sun went down, and all the lights in the sky came out to dance. There was a park around a lovely pond, or maybe it was a lake. It didn't matter, moonlight rippled off the water in the most alluring way, and Anatoly felt a tug like the siren's song. He parked on the street and walked over to a bench. For a while he sat alone, and felt his loneliness lay heavy upon him. Desperately, he wished he could talk to someone. He looked around, and found a man sitting on a nearby bench, staring at him. The man was bald, middle aged, and drinking from a bottle. There was something in the man's eyes, something at odds with his shabby clothing. It was a hint of joy, a well of wisdom....perhaps, a slight twinkle of madness. Anatoly's mouth went dry. He wanted to call out to the man, but decided against it. Who knew, maybe the man had known him before the accident, and he didn't want to offend the man by not knowing. Still he hoped beyond all hope that the man would call out to him. ""You,"" the man said, ""Come here."" The blood left Anatoly's face. Though only moment's before he'd longed for company, he now felt an overwhelming desire to be alone. ""Me?"" The bald man laughed and waved for him to come. Seeing no way out, Anatoly got up and sat down next to him. ""My name is Solomon,"" the man said, ""what's yours?"" ""Anatoly."" Solomon raised an eyebrow, ""Russian? Go figure. You don't look Russian."" ""I'm-,"" Anatoly stopped himself. He'd been about to say he wasn't Russian, but he wasn't sure. He'd have to ask his parents when he got home. Solomon must have sensed the peculiar swing of ideas and emotions, or maybe he simply noticed the frown Anatoly wore. Either way, he put a hand on the boy's shoulder. ""You know what sort of people come to places like this at night,"" he asked. Anatoly swallowed. ""No."" Solomon smiled, ""There are two sort actually."" He pointed to himself, ""There are folk like me, folks so broken and shattered and wretched that they come to places of beauty, like this, hoping a little bit of what God gave *this* will rub off on them."" Anatoly blinked. He looked out at the water, ""That might be me."" ""No,"" Solomon said, ""You're the other type."" ""I don't even know who I am, how can you?"" Solomon tapped his head. ""Ah, there it is. I can spot it a mile away. You see, the second folks who come here are those with questions Anatoly nodded gravely, ""Maybe I'm both."" ""Is that your question,"" Solomon asked. Anatoly faced him, ""My question is...*who am I?""* ""You tell me."" Anatoly shook his head. ""Everyone says I'm... me. But, I don't know. If only I had my memories."" ""I don't understand,"" Solomon said, ""Explain it to me."" The young man looked up at the sky, racking his brain for the right way to describe it. ""It's like... You ever seen a stuffed bear? I mean one that used to be alive, and then a taxidermist tried to make his corpse look like it did when it was. Sometimes they can be so *lifelike* so *close* to being real. But that closeness is something foreign. It's wrong. You see it, and you know there's no more soul inside. That's what my life feels like."" Solomon thought to himself for a long time. He tapped his chin carefully, ""Have *you* ever seen a stuffed bear?"" ""I-,"" Anatoly blinked. ""I don't know, actually. I mean.. I must have..."" Solomon smiled, ""You're still in there, boy. Locked away maybe, but you're there. The real you is like a scared little kid hiding from a storm, it's up to *this* you to search for him, to let him know that the rain will pass."" Anatoly looked out at the water, then up at the stars. ""You're right,"" he said. ""I can't thank you enough, I-"" ""Don't mention it."" Anatoly rushed to his car, ready to go find himself. As an afterthought, he called over his shoulder ""Have a good night, sir!"" ""Have a good night, Daniel,"" Solomon called back. The boy got into his car and closed the door. He put the key in the ignition. He almost turned it. Then he stopped. \~ r/CharlestonChews",1293
 A golfer holding his back swing,"A lightning bolt arced across the sky, splintering into several smaller bolts. The longest streaked toward the golfer holding his back swing as his ball landed on the green. Just as it prepared to make contact with the inviting metal shaft, the man dropped the club and broke into a celebratory dance. The bolt smacked harmlessly into the ground, only managing to knock him to the ground. The fool picked up his club and continued the round. ""Oh man,"" someone said. ""I thought he was gonna buy it for sure."" The rest of the crowd oohed and aahed. Lance just watched. That had been the best round of his life. Sure the lightning was scary, but compared to the thrill of the course record? The image shifted. The viewer went white. The crowd moaned, sensing the show had finally come to an end. Without warning two red lights appeared amid the white background. The image jerked from side to side, then rotated in full circles. Glimpses of buildings could be seen in the rotation and more red lights. The scene stabilized and the bright lights of an oncoming car filled the viewer. The noise swelled as the crowd watched in anticipation. This had to be how Lance died. But no, the scene jerked to the right, narrowly missing the car. It spun a few more times then straightened and continued in a straight line for a few moments before the scene shifted again. ""Why was he driving in that blizzard?"" a voice called. ""Because he's a moron,"" someone replied. Lance remembered that day. Starbucks was closing early and he only had the one day left on his coupon for a free frappuccino. He certainly wasn't going to let it go to waste. The viewer's image coalesced into a rock face. Hands covered in powder gripped small crags pulling Lance higher. Lance missed one of the outcroppings and fell. The hand brake whirred through the guide rope. No matter how tightly he gripped it it wouldn't catch. About thirty feet from the ground the handle snapped and miraculously bound the rope enough to arrest his fall. The crowd groaned but no one spoke. Lance was a little offended. That brake had been a dollar cheaper than the one approved by the climbing association. And after all, it had worked in a way. You can't blame a man for wanting to save money. He even used the dollar he saved to buy a Mac-Chicken on his way home. ""He's at 219,"" someone finally said. ""And he's only in his twenties."" Another two hours passed. The crowd became divided. On one side there was the morbidly curious. They were enraptured by what should have been Lance's inescapable ineptitude. The rest just wanted to leave. Of course, until the show was over, no one could. A murmur of excitement ran through the assembled souls. Lance was being held at gunpoint and arguing with the mugger. ""Look man,"" he said. ""That's a High Point. I've got one myself. Got it on sale at Academy, actually. They jam about every fifteen or twenty shots."" ""I don't wanna shoot you,"" the mugger said. ""Just give me your wallet."" ""Just pull the trigger."" Lance retorted. ""At best, you'll shoot me and get my money. At worst the gun jams and I kick your ass."" ""Hey, I remember that guy,"" a woman called from the crowd. ""He came through here a while back."" The mugger pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. Lance kicked the mugger in the groin. He fell over and the gun hit the ground. The impact jarred the jammed round loose just as the mugger spasmed, pulling the trigger and shooting himself in the head. ""Are you kidding me?"" several people shouted. Lance laughed. That was one of his fondest memories. And, at only about $150 he still felt the High Point was a bargain. Now that he thought of it, this was cheering him up a bit. His father always told him fortune favored the bold. These scenes from his life certainly seemed to prove him right. The crowd muttered, screamed and whimpered simultaneously as the scenes kept coming. Finally they had to be coming to an end. Lance was now extremely old. The viewer resolved and Lance stood at the top of a set of stairs. He put a hand on the banister. It wobbled dangerously. On his third step, it gave way and he fell head over heels to the lower floor. A piece of the broken banister slammed into his head moments later, nearly knocking him unconscious. Now the entire crowd moaned. There was no one left that wanted this agony to continue. Lance smiled. The contractor had wanted $600 to fix that damn banister. After his fall, the insurance company paid to have the entire staircase rebuilt, paid for his medical bills, and gave him a large settlement since his injuries made it so he wouldn't be able to work. The new staircase even raised the value of his house enough to finally convince him to sell and move to Florida. The viewer changed again. A now very, very old Lance was standing on a surf board riding a massive wave. This was it for sure. No one that old should be able to surf, let alone actually doing it. A dark shape appeared below Lance. The water splashed as the shark struck. It thrashed about trying its hardest eat the old man. The cheap board Lance was using splintered and a large piece wedged itself into the sharks mouth. Now rendered impotent, the beast swam away. Lance calmly swam to the shore and dried himself on the hotel towel he'd taken some days back. The viewer went black. No more images appeared and the crow cheered. After a few minutes, they went silent. ""So, wait,"" one shouted, ""how did he die?"" Murmurs ran throughout. The chronicler stepped forward. ""In his sleep, at age one hundred and three!"" He said. ""We went through 624 near deaths,"" a man said, ""and he died in his sleep?"" ""He must have mad a deal with the Devil!"" someone called. ""Are you kidding!"" A loud menacing voice screamed. Everyone turned to face a massive mannish creature. It was wreathed in flames and had horns sprouting from him head. When it spoke again, it was whimpering. ""God knows I did everything in my power to kill that miserable man!"" ""Yes, I do,"" another voice said. ""But he wasn't yours to take."" Lance looked between the two opposing figures. He was awed by the sight of both God and The Devil, neither of which he believed in. God reached out his hand. Come with me my child. You have played your part well and proven that my power is greatest. The Devil leaned in and whispered into Lance's ear. Lance listened intently and took something from The Devil's proffered hand. ""Do not be tempted by the son of lies,"" God said. ""You have just witnessed my power with thine own eyes. Come with me and claim your eternal place at my side."" Lance looked hard at God. ""Well,"" he said hesitantly, ""I would. You seem like a nice guy and all,"" he held out a small piece of paper, ""but I get a free buffet if I join the Devil in Hell."" The Devil laughed and he and Lance disappeared in a gout of flame. ""A free buffet!"" God yelled. ""Why that miserable rotten cheap son of a bitch!"" &#x200B; **Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this story, you might enjoy my new sub:** . **I've consolidated all the links for my writings and post continuations of writing prompts.**",1284
 The Prevalent Seer Academic,"The crowd clamoured in eager anticipation, Wodan joining them in the feeling, just, less openly. Since the school had heard about the challenge, people had turned head over heels to the amphitheatre to watch. The Prevalent Seer Academic facing the 'Turd-Tune teller' in the oldest of seer traditions, the Het Lot Oorlog. Judges had been found easily enough, even the teaching staff were curious as to what had caused the clear mismatch. Well, mismatch in the traditional sense. Wodan, despite all analytical observations stating he did indeed possess seer sight (the ability to write a prophecy and have its words spun into the very fabric of the universe), he had yet to ever successfully prophesise anything at all. Even the most basic of prophecies had evaded him. It hadn't taken him long to attract the attention of his classmates, more than eager to deflect their own insecurities about their abilities, or lack thereof, onto him. The end result was six months of public resentment and isolation. And Wodan had thought he had deserved it, Afterall what good was a seer without their prophecies. Thus, Wodan joined the crusade against himself, lead of course by Ezel, the Golden child of the academy. Holding the title of Seer Academic for a year before Wodan had joined the academy, Ezel had been sure to clamp down on the glaring, and in his eyes, festering symbol of incompetence that Wodan had become. Wodan of course couldn't help but agree with Ezel, but still Ezel made it seem like his utmost mission to make Wodan as miserable as possible. Until, today at least. The idea occurred to him a week ago. In despair Wodan had written a prophecy, one so simple, so achievable. Barely a change, but more a statement of continuation. ""This Bird will continue breathing"" he wrote in glowing script before him, looking at the raven that had come to roost on a branch near his dorm room window. To Wodan's dismay the bird promptly fell from the branch in a twitching mass. It took till the following day, when the misery at his perceived failure had worn off, that the thought occurred to Wodan, maybe he hadn't failed. It took a day of skipping classes deep in experimentation, writing prophecy after prophecy. Each one stating what should have been a certainty, yet each certainty proving to be elusive to his clairvoyant scripture. All of a sudden, he knew what he had to do, and ran straight to Ezel, publicly challenging him to Het Lot Oorlog. Ezel accepted, much to the excitement of those who heard. Afterall, why turn down such a sure victory. Though, Wodan could sense a tint of what could have ranged from anything between curiosity to unease in Ezel. It was, not the unease that built up in the school in the days leading up to the Het Lot OorLog, but the excitement and hostility. People felt as though the very though that Wodan could stand a chance against Ezel was disrespectful and were more than happy to air their grievances on the matter. Thus, Wodan got the fulfilling satisfaction of knowing something no one else knew, meeting every jive and jab with an unsettling grin and shrug of his shoulders. This did nothing to dampen peoples spirirts, only giving Wodan the reputation as a madman as well as a seerish-eunuch. It was that opinion that carried on the cheers in the amphitheatre, as Wodan stood across from Ezel, a coin holding Referee between them. The Het Lot Oorlog was a simple enough concept. Each seer was assigned a side of a coin, heads or tails. Then each would scribe a prophecy to cause the coin to land on their assigned side. The coin would then be flipped, until it landed on a side. Whichever seer who had the sign the coin landed on was declared the winner, as obviously they spun the stronger prophecy, and thus were the more gifted seer. This led to Het Lot Oorlog's between closely matched seers becoming time consuming ordeals, with the standing record being 10,972 coin tosses before a winner was announced. Over ten thousand coinflips, each landing on the coins edge. Wodan wasn't hoping for anywhere near ten thousand flips, only two. One to create doubt, and another to confirm the first wasn't a fluke of probability. He had been assigned tails, and Ezel heads. Wodan began to focus as the referee quietened the crowd, the loud cajoling dying down to a dead silence. The referee then beckoned to Ezel, who, as the challenged party, had the honour of first scribing. He reached forward with his right hand, and with a smooth, precise, determinate motion produced the words ""the coin will land as heads"" in a glittering cascade of flowing tendrils. The prophecy then wavered for a ponderous moment, before fading into a light cloud of sparkling precipitate. This was met with an applause that struggled to fit within the confines of etiquette. The referee beckoned to Wodan. He sucked in a heaping breath, then reached out both hands, both index fingers pointed out from the bundled fists of his hands, forming finger-guns of sorts. This was met with a quickly hushed snicker in the crowd. He slowly drew out the words, ""The coin will land as heads"", in a much blockier script. Large, squared letters formed out in a crackling green, pulsating and vibrating with an excitement that seemed to meet Wodan's. The Propehcy remained, as had Ezel's, but far less passively. It almost seemed to move forwards towards Ezel hungrily, before popping out of existence with a reverberating snap. The Crowd seemed to be pulled out of a bewildered slumber by the noise, with a noticeably dumbfounded silence becoming noticeable above the polite silence preceding. Ezel looked wide eyed at Wodan, bloodshot white orbs betraying the ever confident smile on his lips. The Referee hesitantly looked at Wodan, as if to question his actions, before holding out his hand between the two contestants, in full view of the audience. ""The first toss"" he announced, in a billowing bass that reached the far back of the amphitheatre. He threw the coin up and stood back. Wodan was heart broken, the coin landed flat. Then he saw the look of terrified surprise on Ezel's face, and the surprise of the referee. Then he saw the coin, the silver circle bearing a dragons tail into the world.",1075
" Dragons, the Dova, are","Dragons, the Dova, are eternal. That's the problem. Well, one of the problems, easily the biggest problem. I'm not human. That's another problem. If I were, say, a Breton or a Redguard, this would have be much easier. Put some loose-fitting clothes from this world over my light Elven armor and I'd be set. Even as an Elf I think I could manage. Strange skin tones could be shrugged off, so could reddened eyes. Ears can be hidden. Strange facial structure passed over as impolite to stare at. Fur, though, that's hard to hide. And whiskers. I wear a deep hood, but that draws its own kind of attention. And gloves, of course. Still, though, none of this would matter much if it weren't for that first problem the biggest one: Dragons are eternal. I think they've killed him something like fifteen times? That's the impression I get from their image-boxes and from asking around when I dare. Whatever Daedric magic Sheogorath used to lure me here seems to have given me fluency in their languages. All of them, and by the Nine there are a bewildering number, but it doesn't always make them easy to really *understand*; in many ways these people are stranger than the Dwarves. A lot like them in many ways, actually, with their endless machines, especially the self-powered wagons that are absolutely everywhere. He keeps coming back. Vulthuryol, I mean, the dragon I followed through that deep portal in Blackreach, the one with gods-damned Sheogorath's laughing/screaming faces on it. I should have known better, but boldness has taken me far in the past. Just not, you know, *this* far. I worry about Lydia, she must still be stuck right on the other side of the portal. I wasn't expecting it to close directly behind me, especially since it didn't shut down after a whole damned dragon had crawled through, scales still smoking from lightning-burns. Poor Lydia. All alone in Blackreach. Well, she's resourceful. I hope she finds her way back to Whiterun rather than wait for me. Gods only know if I'll ever see Nirn again. He keeps coming back. They kill him with all sorts of strange and terrifying weapons. All sorts of exploding things. Projectiles that move faster than the eye can follow. Clever traps which also explode. Even the projectiles I mentioned are propelled by explosions, they have a strange obsession with that phenomenon. I once questioned one of their artisans on their self-powered wagons, and he got far enough for me to understand that explosions are involved with making even *those* move before he peered too far into my hood and started edging away. I've considered wearing a mask, but my face is the wrong shape to look human even when covered. I wish I were better at Illusion magic now, perhaps it's time to practice but then there's no one to buy spells from here. It is, at least, a damn good thing I *am* skilled at other sorts of magic. Being a mage means I can get by without being visibly armed. I did have a couple swords, but had to hand them over to my Dremora butler (he's a sort of Daedric storage service; it's a long story, but thank the Gods I can still summon him from this place) as no one wears that sort of weapon here. Walking's no good here. Vulthuryol is running scared, or rather flying scared, and this is a very large continent, this North America. He does keep dying, and that slows him down until he comes back. I gather he's destroyed a number of their Dwemer-like laboratories where his bones have been dragged for study. Poor bastards. Anyway, I've had to learn to take their powered wagons as transport, which meant finding a shop that would exchange gold Septims for their strange paper currency, then learning which of the wagons would accept pay for passengers. It was one of their drivers that finally turned me in to their authorities. I was sitting in the rear seat of his vehicle, slouched down and refusing to talk beyond what was necessary, as usual. I was also very, very bored. The road stretched on and on and on, between the great city of the Salt Lake and the legendary Las Vegas. I did enjoy the sight of the desert some as we went farther South. It reminded me of home, and I found myself staring out the window with increasing fascination, forgetting myself. Letting the hood slip back. Alas. ""The desert is kind of pretty in its own way, isn't it?"" the driver said. I simply nodded, and felt the hood fabric brush against the tip of my ears as it fell back. I reached up to grab it, but it was too late; I could see his eyes in the mirror he used to look behind. Wide, starting. ""Holy *shit,*"" he said quietly. ""Dude, what kind of...that's not...I saw your ear *twitch,* that's not a mask. What the..."" ""Listen,"" I said. ""This one is tired and the road ahead is still very long, yes? Please, just drive and earn your coin."" ""Wait a minute. You're going to Vegas. That's where that lizard-thing was last seen, the one people are calling a dragon. Holy shit. Holy shit. Do you have something to do with that?"" ""Just...*drive,*"" I said, and let a hint of a growl into my voice. A mistake. ""You got a weird voice, too. Are you threatening me?"" He grabbed the glowing device, the one every person here seemed to carry, out of its cradle, and began to tap at it."" ""What are you doing?"" I demanded, and reached under the loose hooded garment I wore to hide my armor. Also a mistake. ""I'm calling the cops, and you better put your hands where I can see them because I'm driving and if I lose control we're both at risk,"" he said grimly. The cops. Guards. *Dammit.* ""This one has done nothing wrong,"" I said. ""There is no need for guards."" I pondered my options. I could Shout to become ethereal, and jump from the vehicle, but where would that put me? In the middle of nowhere, on foot. I did not wish to hurt the driver, who was already talking fast and low into his device. ""Yeah, passenger is threatening me I think. And she's *weird.* You'll have to see her to believe it. Yeah. Yeah, I see him. You might want to send backup. Yeah, I'll pull over."" And then it was too late for options, because we were moving to the side of the road and there were the flashing lights that meant guards. There were two of them in the car, coming over to my window in their strange uniforms with their even stranger weapons drawn. The window went down, under the control of the driver. ""Please get out of the car,"" one said. ""And remove your hood."" The weapon was pointed right at me. I considered my option. I had seen these weapons in action, against my dragon foe when we first arrived. They were powerful, but there was no hint of magicka to them. My armor would stop them, and I was too tough and experienced to be downed so easily. But I did not want to hurt the guards either. So I sighed, and pulled my hood back, and they both gasped. ""Yes, this one is strange to your sight, I know. But Khajiit is innocent of any crime. This one wishes only to reach the city of Las Vegas."" ""Hernandez,"" said one of the guards, not lowering h er weapon, ""what the fuck is this thing?"" ""Good question,"" said her partner, and nodded toward me. ""Why don't you answer Officer Hendrickson's question yourself, huh?"" ""This question is answered already,"" I said, knowing even as I spoke that it was fruitless. ""This one is Khajiit. From another place. This one is innocent of any crime."" ""Jesus,"" said the one called Hendrickson. ""This is way above our paygrade. I'll call for backup."" And that is how I ended up in a cell. It was not the first time I have been in such a place. I am no hardened criminal, but certain people can be very closed-minded about the movement and sale of certain substances, and this can be the cause for misunderstandings. They took away my dagger, but seemed reluctant to search me further until higher-ranking people could arrive. Perhaps the claws were part of the reason for this. I may have flexed them a time or two, after my gloves were removed. The man who finally came to speak with me after several hours was dressed all in black, and carried himself like one who has seen many battles. He sat in my cell with me, no scent of fear. ""Khajiit has done nothing wrong,"" I told him. ""Khajiit is innocent of any crime."" ""That's what you are?"" he asked. ""Caa-jeet?"" He butchered the pronunciation, but no matter. I nodded. ""Where are you from and why are you here?"" he asked. Finally. A sensible question. ""My name is Mir'Kheesa. I am here to slay the dragon I followed into your world."" His eyebrows went up at that. ""Why didn't you say so right away?"" I shrugged. ""This one was not sure she would be believed, and did not wish to be detained. As she is now."" He sighed. ""Well, I suppose I can't blame you. But I'll be honest, we're running out of options. That thing just burned down a significant portion of the Strip."" Seeing me cock my head in confusion, he added, ""the most important commercial area of Las Vegas. We've killed it again, but we know from experience it will come back. Can you stop it, then? Permanently?"" I nodded. ""This one is Dragonborn. This one can consume its soul."" He laughed. There was true amusement in it, but a black-humor kind, not mocking. ""Of course you can. Christ, this whole thing has turned the whole world upside down. So if we bring you to it, you can take it down?"" ""Yes,"" I said. ""This one is a powerful mage, and has the power of the Thu'um, the true Shout. This one will strike it from the sky with Voice and lightning."" He shook his head again. ""I've seen a lot of weird shit in my career, but this...well, okay. We'll bring you to him."" ""Good,"" I said, and stood up, slipping a lockpick from the fur of my forearm and inserting it into the door. ""What the Hell are you doing?"" he asked. ""Leaving,"" I said. ""This is good practice. Come. There is a dragon to be slain."" <continued below>",1790
" From a young age, I was","From a young age, I was a violent child. I primarily got it from my father, and my grandfather, and my great-grandfather before him. It was in our blood to react - which is to act, before thinking. A good trait to have as a caveman when confronted by a pouncing leopard, but not one that is often respected in the daily dealings of modern society. My great-grandfather and grandfather were fortunate enough to have the excuse of war, where they could expend their violence as efficiently and frequently as they pleased. But the time the wars were over, they were quite content with the amount of bloodshed they had caused, and settled down with two fiery, but gentle women and lived the remaining years of their life in relatively-free peaceful bliss. My father, however, who had inherited the temper, had unfortunately not inherited the war. In school, it looked, at first, that he would have a promising career in football. But that ended shortly after he tackled one of his coaches on purpose, during practice, and began beating the man brutally with his helmet. Boxing was the next best option, and while it there too looked like he would find an outlet and a career, my father just could not seem to hear the bell or the referee telling him that the round was over. For my father, every fight was to the death, and after severely mauling several opponents, my father was politely asked to leave the ring and never return. Finally, on the reputation and word of my grandfather and great-grandfather, a special exception was made and, at the age of fourteen, my father was allowed to enter the army. Though he quickly rose through the ranks, alas, there was much politics and, ironically, my father was deemed 'too violent for the current war' and was honorably discharged at sixteen, a day before his seventeenth birthday. The army had been his last option. Lost, with no direction, and no outlet, he spent a year fighting in bars until one shrewd bar owner hired him to be a bouncer. His reputation was so known and feared that whenever he was on duty, altercations dropped to a minimum, and soon he was been hired for security at nighclubs and for celebrities. One night, a group of clearly underage women handed him what was a clearly a fake I.D. Probably bored, my father let them in anyway. During the night, one *especially* drunk man continually harassed the group, making inappropriate remarks and passes at them until the girls decided to leave altogether. As they rose, however, he grabbed the nearest one by the arm, and she broke her glass on the counter edge and stabbed him in the eye with the shard. Before my father could pull her away, she had stabbed the offensive drunk fifteen times. That woman later became my mother. So, you see, with the history of violent men on my father's side, coupled with my mother's own trigger switch temper, it was no surprise how I would turn out. But, unlike my father, I knew what I wanted to do from an early age: *murder.* Ironically, this desire stemmed from the time I spent with my grandfather, or ""Granddaddy"", on my *mother's* side, who was a police officer. Granddaddy wasn't violent in the same way my father and his side of the family were. My paternal ancestry possessed a volence that was primitive and instinctual, like those of a predator in the wild, it was in their nature and couldn't be helped. Granddaddy's violence was that of a hunter, calculated and planned; it was the way he *chose* to be, which, if considered, could be seen as a bit sadistic. Though he was a cop, I always thought that he would have been much better suited in the role of a cowboy, during the times when shootouts were the norm. Granddaddy was the type of person that shot first, and didnt care to ask questions later because the person was already dead or, as he would say, ""Corpses don't speak."" Though it was against the rules, my Granddaddy brought me along with him on his patrols, and at the age of five I saw him kill a man and I was fascinated ever since. So then began my journey. I had no desire to join the army, play football, be a boxer, or stand outside of nightclubs. I wanted to kill people. The first person I ever tried to victimize was the playground bully. He pushed me off the monkey bars. I tried to break his head open with a baseball bat. Then when that didn't work, I picked up a rock and tried to skin him instead. Unfortunately, teachers intervened and I only managed to scar him. I realized that no matter who I tried to kill inside school would eventually lead to someone intervening, so my next attempt was outside school, in the real world. I would fight a lot of older, bigger, and stronger kids so I could get better at fighting, but in the process, I would get bruised a lot and spend quite a considerable amount time in the nurse's office (which was also part of the plan to skip class). While there one day, I met a girl who eventually confessed that the bruises on her arms were from her father. Seeing an opportunity to obtain my first victim, I offered to kill him, and she accepted. So that weekend, I waited for him to come home. After he had come home, beat his family, and went to sleep, I went inside and tried to strangle him with a pillow. I should have used a wire. He woke up, easily threw me off, and beat my ass. I managed to stab him with some keys that I kept in my pocket and he ran outside, screaming for help, right into the street and the path of a cruising patrol car. Granddaddy. When Granddaddy figured out what had happened, he wasn't pleased. ""You should have used a gun,"" he told me. Then, instead of letting me kill the guy, he took the abusive drunk father to jail, depriving me of yet another victim. However, a turning point eventually arose from that situation. The next day, the girl had given me a dollar - ""for trying"". It was then that I realized I could get paid to kill people. I could be a hitman. Desperate for work, I took a job as private security, guarding an omnious mansion, thinking I would meet some wealthy people who would perhaps need a hitman in the future. I was given a gun and told not to let anyone in without a code. A week passed, and as no one ever visited the mansion, I was beginning to get restless. But one night a car pulled up to the gate. Blood pumping, hand on my gun, and feeling like a police officer, I approached the driver's side window. The window rolled down and I could see that it was packed with people that I recognized from Wanted posters and TV news channels. Another car and another car pulled up behind the first car and I could see that it was more of the same. All criminals and super-villians. ""Well?"" drawled the driver. ""Are you going to keep staring or let us in?"" I felt an impulse to smash his face in with the butt of my gun, but I quelled it and instead took my time looking at everyone in the car before replying, ""Well, that depends on if you know the new password or not."" ""Password?"" he crowed, his dulls eyes lightening a bit. ""Oh well, that would be.."" He rattled off the correct code. I shook my head. ""The new password is *please*."" He scowled. The other people in the car looked shocked. Then a beautifully, bedazzled woman in the passenger seat began to laugh, and they all were laughing, except the driver. He smiled thinly and said, ""I need to tell Mortimer"" - my employer - ""to screen his henchman better. Or he'll keep ending up with..."" He paused to look me up and down with disdain before finishing, ""...clowns."" The grip on my gun tightened, and I felt my arm raising to pull it out of my holster, before the woman entered again to lighten the modd. She fixed her eyes on me and said, ""Don't mind him, *daw*ling. I, for *one*, consider you a dear."" The driver smirked at me. ""I hunt deers."" ""Really, enough,"" she scolded him. ""You two lovers can bicker at the party."" She looked at me with her dazzling smile. ""You *are* coming to the party, right?"" ""Of course not,"" the driver scoffed. ""He's the *help*. He has to stand here and watch the gate!"" I was never good at going back and forth, verbally. Everything was fighting words to me, and I was quick to take roasting sessions to a realm that I was comfortable in - the physical realm - mainly by punching the roaster in the face. I had a gun now. I could do so much more damage. But again, the woman came to his rescue. ""If you're going to be so childish,"" she said to him, ""I will leave this car and walk at once!"" Whatever spell she had on him, the threat worked, and he sat there grumbling, staring forward with stony eyes. The rest of the members in the car were silent. Some were holding back smiles or laughter. The cars behind began to beep their horns. I backed away from the window, easing the pressure slightly off of my gun. I tapped my cap. ""You ladies have a good night,"" I said. The driver turned to me, quick as whip, a retort already on his tongue, but he swallowed it with bitter agony and turned away. I smiled, then went ahead and opened the gate. The woman waved as the car passed. ""I'll send for you!"" she shouted. I waved back. *Surely* I thought to myself, *one of these people can use a hitman. And if not, then I'll be happy to kill that driver for free.*",1708
" ""Open the city gates... to","""My liege, have I ever steered you wrong before? You *must* follow my counsel, especially in this, our hour of most dire need,"" I said convincingly. ""And your advice is to open the city gates?"" I nodded solemnly. ""Open the city gates... to let in the invading horde of 100,000 barbarians that have encamped just outside our walls?"" ""I... uh... yes, yes sire. I have carefully studied each and every one of our options, and opening the gates guarantees your victory,"" I lied unconvincingly. ""You have not failed me Lord Stanley, but your methods are often... unorthodox. I sometimes feel I cannot follow your brilliant logic! My recent order decreeing that all babies must be rubbed upon the skin of those adults sick with the pox was seen as pure madness when I announced it. It led to riots in the streets and calls for my beheading. In those dark moments, I must admit, I feared briefly that perhaps you had given me very poor advice indeed! But once it was discovered that those babies were immunized from the heinous disease going forward, I became universally beloved. The path you lay out in front of me is often hazy, but the destination is always shining and shimmering with glory."" ""Yes, sire, that was my intent, of course,"" I replied. That was *so not my intent*. That was the opposite of my intent in fact. Judge me harshly if you must, the truth is I could not stand the king I whom I was sworn to serve, but I was too honorable to kill him myself. So I sought at every single turn to lead him astray and steer him into any uncoming disaster that might result in his defeat at the hands of his enemies or provoke his people into an uprising against him. I'd had him raise taxes, but it turned out the people loved the new and improved roads and bridges they funded. I told him to release *all* prisoners from our dungeons, but they were either genuinely reformed or so fearful of the medieval torture devices they had experienced that virtually none of them returned to their lives of crime as I had hoped. I recently heard that one of them was now the most popular lute player in all the realm, go figure? Over the years I became concerned that I might be working for the luckiest ruler in the history of the entire world. I was truly convinced that I could tell him to walk off a cliff and somehow his fat arse would majestically soar like a bird rather than plummet to his death as gravity should have demanded. You may think that sounds foolish, but my latest plot had been so awful, so diabolically, cartoonishly evil that I'd been *sure* it would result in a rebellion against the king. I mean come now, what possible benefit could come from a mandatory program of YANKING HEALTHY BABIES OUT OF THEIR SOBBING MOTHERS ARMS AND FORCING THEM TO BE VIGOROUSLY RUBBED UPON THE POX COVERED ARM OF A DEATHLY SICK PERSON? And yet, it was hailed as a breakthrough for medical science. New treatments called 'vaccines' were being developed based on the king's 'miraculous discovery' of baby immunization. Oh how simply *wonderful* for our wise ruler! And so I am left with this last desperate gambit. Instead of fighting the invaders, or sealing our city until help arrives, we naively invite them in for tea and biscuits. They'll loot and pillage the city, and if they don't kill the king, the remaining citizens will be so angry that they will surely pick up their pitchforks and seek revenge. I know I'm likely to lose my own life in this insane and asinine plot, but I no longer care. My only purpose for living at this point was to see my unworthy liege fall. He ordered the gates to be opened and I nearly began salivating, I had to wipe my mouth frequently just to hide it. How could this possibly work out well for my hapless king? ""And what do we do now?"" he inquired after the order had been given. ""We simply wait, my liege, all will be well shortly,"" I said through clenched teeth, blood lust coursing through my veins. Our short wait ended with the arrival of the leaders of the barbarian tribe bursting into the throne room. They were mostly nude, covered in warpaint that resembled blood and wrapped in bear skins and the pelts of other vicious animal. What I could only assume were the skulls of several of his former enemies adorned the chieftains shoulders. He stepped forward, pulled out his massive battle axe and I practically dissolved into a puddle of joy. It's happening... it's finally happening! The time of comeuppance was upon us! The king would get the end he has so richly deserved for so very long! While reveling in my moment of ecstasy however, the chieftain suddenly knelt before the throne... and any ounce of happiness remaining within me evacuated my soul permanently. ""Water?"" the barbarian king grunted. ""Water? What about water?"" my king asked. ""You have? You give? We need,"" the chieftain responded slowly while gesturing to the mass of his people spilling out into the city. ""Well, yes, our city is built atop of an everlasting spring. Of course we have water, and we are very willing to share it with you and your fine tribe,"" the king said with an infuriating wink toward me. ""You save my people. For water, we serve you,"" he said solemnly. I couldn't take it any more. ""Oh you *imbecile*! Serve him? SERVE HIM? Do you not know how to be a proper barbarian, sir? You sack bloody the city and you murder my worthless sovereign and take his place or at least his riches for you own! Look at the size of your giant rippling muscles, look at the size of the axe in your hands! Now look upon the rotund sack of shite sitting upon this throne, you could split him in twain without effort if you chose to! Then you'd have *all* the water to yourself! Did you miss the last semester of Warlords 101?!"" The chieftain studied my oddly. ""This one. Dungeon,"" he grunted to the king. ""I am... inclined to agree with you, it seems my adviser perhaps does not have my best interests at heart, a truly shocking revelation to be sure! He always gave me such sage advice and counsel!"" he said sadly. ""Guards, seize Sir Stanley!"" ""I gave you the worst advice you fool! Everything I said was the opposite of what I would have actually advised you to do!"" The king smiled. ""Then apparently you were not cut out to be an adviser to the royal court regardless. Had you given me your actual advice, tragedy would have surely befallen us by now!"" I cackled and ranted madly as the guards dragged me away. Nothing made sense anymore! ""Don't worry!"" my king called out to me. ""As a result of some of your previous wisdom, the dungeons remain empty, so you should find yourself with plenty of room!"" ___ The gates to r/Ryter are also wide open if you'd care to check out more stories. Thanks for reading!",1220
 Adam lived the life I feared I,"(Note: Forgive the grammar mistakes, this clocked in at a larger word count than I thought it would be) Adam lived the life I feared I would've had if my parents hadn't kicked me out after high school. Twenty years ago we were best friends. We played Magic at lunch, watched anime after school, and loitered at the local hobby store challenging anyone who think their collectable armies can beat our custom painted ones. Like most friends we grew apart after school, only checking in on Facebook every once in a while. I didn't know he died until his mom found my phone number in his address book, I had to *unfollow* him on Facebook because too many of his yuri Facebook group posts where showing up on my feed when I browsed at work. His *funeral* was at the crematorium and consisted of his mother, Elizabeth, myself, and the employee flipping the switch. I didn't think I could feel guiltier about removing him from my life. After Elizabeth collected the Urn I caught up to her before she made it to her bus stop. ""Hey, Ms. Low, I can give you a ride back to your place. I mean, you shouldn't have to take the bus home. Just let me know where you're living now."" I offered, it was the least I can do. ""Oh, are you sure Max? I don't want to be a burden t-"" ""No burden at all, it's the least I can do."" We walked to the parking lot in silence. I didn't know what to say or bring up. Luckily Elizabeth broke the silence soon after I unlocked the car from the remote. ""Oh, fancy. Is this one of those smart things the news keeps talking about? It looks bigger than I thought."" I chuckled. ""Yeah, it's a two-seater smart car. You can fit a lot in it, I have no issues with groceries. I bet Tim is more of a truck type?"" I remembered when I hanged around their house Adam's father Tim would always have a broken down truck or two he's working on to resell. He would've made fun of my Eco-Smart Hatchback car. ""Oh, Tim passed away four years ago."" *Shit* I thought, this is awkward. ""I'm so sorry, I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. First your husband and now your son."" ""Yeah, I don't... I honestly don't know how I'm going to get by. Adam was the one paying the bills with his job."" My ears perked up as we pulled out of the crematorium. ""Oh, he had a job? Doing what?"" ""Something online, government researcher? I don't know exactly but he was in his room all the time and paid the bills every month along with take out every few days. With him gone, I think I need to find work again."" I didn't know what to say, I mean good for Adam. After following Elizabeth's instructions I pulled into the driveway twenty minutes later. Same childhood home, I remember bombing down Mary Hill with our bikes racing to get to his house after going to McDonalds for dinner. I smile, those were fun times. Now I steam tofu and veggies for dinner. ""Hey Max, thanks for the ride. Can you do me another favour?"" ""Yeah anything."" ""Can you check his room and let me know if there is anything valuable to sell? Those pawn shows often have those toys you and Adam are into on them and they sell quite a bit. It'll save me time from having to find som--"" ""Of course I can do that for you. It's been a while since I played with toys, but I can look them up for you."" I cut her off, she sounded nervous about asking. I didn't expect a senior citizen to be knowledgeable on *Dragon Ball Z* figurines and Warhammer. Walking into my best friend's childhood home is almost exactly how I remembered it. The stale stench of cigarette smoke forever etched into the walls and ceiling of the one storey house. The place looked like how it did in the 90's, stuck in the 80's with beige wallpaper and brown furniture. The only thing new about the place is the cat piss smell and a half-dozen cats laying around the front room. My hand goes to cover my mouth, as I silently gagged. I didn't remember the place being this rundown, I knew it wasn't as nice as my parents or my condo that I live in downtown, but this was depressing. ""Oh, I'm sorry. The place is such a mess. Since I heard about the accident on the highway, I figured what's the point of cleaning up if it's just me and the cats?"" I smiled as wide as I can. ""Oh, it's fine Ms. Low."" ""Would you like some tea or coffee before you start?"" ""No, I think it'll be best if I get started. I need to be back home to cook dinner for the girlfriend."" I mentioned, she smiled as she escorted me down to the basement where Adam's room was. ""Oh, you have a girlfriend now? That's nice. Adam he had... trouble with girls."" She off handily mentioned. ""Yeah, been seeing her for two years now. I'm thinking about proposing to her soon."" I smiled, she frowned. ""I guess I won't know what it's like to be a grandma..."" She stammered. She walked back upstairs leaving me alone with Adam's room. Adam's room was next to the laundry room. It's slightly better than a prison cell with food stained cement flooring, plywood walls put up by his dad dividing the laundry room and his room, and a broken futon bed slumped on one side with evidence of rat shit littered everywhere on the shelving ledges. His computer monitor is still on with a naked purple haired anime chick wrestling with tentacles as his screensaver. Here after hearing about his job I thought I totally misread Adam's life. In terms of stuff, Adam had long boxes of comic books & magic cards along with a shelf full of Warhammer Figurines. I decided I would start there. Taking a long box and setting it on his desk, I took a look at his keyboard to decide if I wanted to type all of these out on my phone or risk my health by touching it. It looked clean-ish. No password on his computer. I opened up Chrome and typed in google, before I even got to *O* his bookmarks popped up for *Gatekeepers Guardians*, *Gaia Online*, *Go-Daddy*, and other websites beginning with a G. He's categorized so many, the effort he put into bookmarking puts me to shame, I just google what I want. Like *Facebook*, I type in Facebook in google instead of going to the URL. I clicked on *Gatekeepers Guardians* since it was tagged as *work*, it brought me to a message form auto logging me into his account. The message board was scattered in discussion, there's posts talking about the second coming of Christ, the rise of *Gehenna*, and the dominance and religious superiority of the white race. It was like a right-winged conspiracy theory occult message board. ""What the fuck Adam."" I whispered, looking back at his posts. He talked about blowing up a Mosque in a city a few stateliness over, and how he can't find a partner who believes in the spiritual superiority of the white race. I laugh when people say the N word in inappropriate contexts, but this is next level fuckery. I closed the page in disgust. I've heard of the stereotype of people staying online all the time in their mother's basement being weirdos, but this. It was too much. I'm kind of glad he died in the car accident reading what he's been typing online. Sickening. Still I need to see where I can sell off his stuff for his mom. I opened google and typed in *Where to* but before I put sell comic books, the last few searches of *Where to buy fake IDs* and *Where to buy a gun* popped up. Frozen, I couldn't possibly imagine my best friend who I grew up with playing D&D and being outcasts all throughout school can grow up to be so different from me. A pop up notification from G-Mail alerting me of a new private message on *Gatekeepers Guardians* displayed, and on instinct I opened it. The message contained a google map image of Adam's house with the words *FOUND YOU* on it from the username *Gatekeeper*. I got up from the chair, and left Adam's room. ""Elizabeth. We need to call the cops, like right now."" Freaked out about what I've seen, the authorities can deal with this. ""Why, what's going on?"" She answered, sitting on the couch watching home renovation shows. ""I think there ma-"" *Riiiiing* the house phone rang. ""Don't answer that!"" I yelled. Confused, she answered it on reflex. ""Hello?"" **PART 2 IN COMMENTS**",1503
 I stood over the body and watched,"I stood over the body and watched the blood spill out over the badly-patched linoleum, forming little torn-plastic tidepools of congealing red and sparking green. *Nanobots are malfunctioning as part of a secondary cascade following the main hack,* I thought, the nanodoc part of my brain rambling gamely on while the rest of my consciousness contemplated the taking of a human life from a wholly uncomfortable distance of right-here-right-after. My fingers did a subtle little dance around the hand-cannon grip, trying to find a comfortable way to hold the heavy instrument of death that wouldn't remind me too much of the tight way my hand had curled round it while I pulled the trigger. *Bang.* Only that word was wholly insufficient for the real sound. I know that sounds dramatic, but it's true. I have dampers built-in to my ears, but the huge staccato roar of the weapon still made me flinch, open my mouth wide to mitigate the damage to the delicate organic inner parts I no longer possessed. Holy Christ it was loud. *I'm in some real trouble here, I may be beyond just trouble.* He hadn't given me any choice. He hadn't told me about the additional adrenal synthesis lining, probably because he knew I wouldn't have operated, if he had. If he had told me. If I had known and not taken his money and gone through with it and the spike hadn't happened, breaking his restraints one by one and lunging, had to do it before he broke the last one, didn't have any choice. I felt the run of my thoughts start to become something like a stampede, heavy and driving in a hundred directions, and I clamped down as best I could. *Stop it stop it stop it just* think. Damn you, think. Okay. Okay. I could check his phone while his body was still cooling and the biometrics might match up. The temperature difference would be...no, no, I'd have to re-hack his blood-bots, get the temperature enough, there was probably just enough juice left... I scrambled, grateful to have a task to hang on to, focus on, something that pointed toward hope instead of death everywhere coming who-knows-when but still certain. Hand-cannon back down on the table, still within reach. Re-interface with the chair. This can be done, this is a thing you know how to do. *There. Got it.* I let his eyelid droop and his hand drop away from the device, though I kept it close to the magnetic field I was forcing his corpse to continue generating. *Nothing on his schedule. How reliant was he on that, though, really? No missed calls or messages. Scroll, scroll...okay. God, I may be...he told them he was going to take some time to rest afterward. I may have time.* There were people I could call, people who had a vested interest in keeping my little clinic operational, but they were all part of the same world as the corpse now propped up in my operating chair. I couldn't have them know, that kind of knowledge had value and nothing of value went untraded, now in these circles. *Henry Jameson.* No, no, man, no. We were kids back then. Way he was, I kind of doubted he even remembered. Only that was a lie. We hadn't been friends, but that debt had hung in the air every time we'd run into each other, until I went to medical school and he went to do whatever he was doing now and financial markets went batshit and the Insurance Wars and all the rest and here I was, trying to scrape by in an underworld clinic with a mountain of debt and a hand-cannon on the table. *He still remembers. Of course he does.* We'd been standing over a body then too, only this one was still alive, just laughing and slurring words. He'd looked at me, pleading. I hadn't seen that look in his eyes before. I'd seen rage and aggression, mostly toward other kids though never me, and I'd seen defiance, generally toward teachers or, on one memorable occasion, the school rent-a-cop. But this, well, maybe his father saw it sometimes, though I hadn't known about that until he'd spoken. ""Come on, Kerry,"" he said. ""Come on, girl, please. I don't know why he decided to wander into the girl's bathroom, but you gotta help me. If they catch this...my father...look, I don't like talking about him, but he'll..."" his voice dropped a level, but it rose too, no longer the proto-adult dropping fast and hard into a baritone, but regressing to the high piping of a frightened little boy half-fallen onto a kitchen floor. ""He'll fucking kill me, I know he will."" I took a deep breath, looking around. No one. It was the middle of class. God only knew how much time there'd be before someone else came through the door with a hall pass. ""What did you give him, James?"" I asked. My own voice sounded surprisingly gentle to me. I thought there'd be more anger, more outrage at being dragged into his bullshit, but no. I guess I could still hear that terrified little boy, see him even, sprawled there. Like that time with my cousin, before his parents had split. ""Just the regular stuff!"" he said, and there really was no room for lies with, in with all the terror. ""He took a triple dose, the stupid asshole! It's just fucking Neo-Jane, pot with a little gene-kick, you know. He's not in any danger, it's not hurting him, he's just...fucking out of it in the girl's bathroom, and on this kind of high he'll tell anyone anything. Like who gave it to him."" I had already decided, even though I don't remember doing it. ""Grab his arms, that's the heavier half of him,"" I said. I reached down and grabbed the rangy boy's ankles. He laughed and made a few weak attempts to kick out at me. ""Knock it off,"" I hissed. ""We're gonna get you somewhere safe."" We barely made it around the corner of the hallway when I heard someone headed toward the bathroom door. I didn't dare look. <continued below>",1035
 Queen Melodia of the Far,"""This had better be the one,"" she muttered scathingly and all within earshot flinched as if struck. She stopped, her heels ceasing their terrible clicking and she closed her eyes, waving a limp hand. ""My apologies everyone, my humors are...unwell."" The servants replied quietly, soft words of comfort and understanding. Her closest handmaiden still wore a face contorted with righteous indignation. The woman patted the girl's arm, ""Please Lexi, relax. Your face will stay that way and little Idra will fear such a countenance."" The handmaiden's face softened and the servants relaxed slightly with the defusing tension. Mustering all her energy the Queen smiled wanly. ""That is better everyone, please let us continue."" Queen Melodia of the FarValen Kingdom walked on, followed by her most loyal servants and guards. Most if not all were loyal in the palace, she was not the one ill favored. Most watched her with worry, still expecting her to fall over from fatigue. She had only just given birth a few days prior. Yet she walked well enough, rage fueling her body and spirit. The great kingdoms of the world had some things in common. The main thing is a basic rule of the world. When the monarch of a nation had their first born child, the child would inherent the magical power of the monarch. Depending on the strength of the child, the monarch could share some of their power or lose it all. In rare cases the child would only have a portion of the power, but it was a simple fact that the first born would always inherent some of the parent's magical ability. Yet Princess Idra, the first born child between the King and the Queen, received absolutely no power. It was not latent, it was not hidden. It was not that she only inherited the barest minimum. She lacked it all. Subsequent testings by the Head of the Mages council, the personal Spellcasters, even the Druids and the Witches, found no magical power gained from the King. Which led to just one conclusion: she was not the King's firstborn. Confronted with such knowledge the King broke down and confessed it all. He had not one, not two, but numerous occasions of infidelity. It was not uncommon for monarchs to have multiple lovers or ones to sate their desires with, in fact some nations had monarchs that had harems or concubines a plenty. Yet all of those monarchs had the good grace to save their first born child for their beloved partner. Apparently the King of now disgraced FarValen did not possess such good grace. The people had banded behind their Queen, ashamed of their King and the fact that their nation was now a rather large royal joke. The King, caught in the act, had been sequestered within the castle, the Council taking over the day to day rule. Now with the act in the light, the castle had been flooded with women carrying children, all claiming to be a subject of his affections with their children being the result. Some were lying, hoping to benefit amidst the chaos. Others, much to the Council and the Queen's chagrin, had a legitimate claim. However so far the first born had not been found, and that was the most important fact. For the first born wields magic of nobility, and for the good of the nation the wielder must be found. No one knew what to do once the first born was found, magic inherited is very difficult to take back, but the motives of the child must be determined. Today was different. The Queen's best agents had scoured the city and the country, looking for the child. Today they returned, with another. To hide another potential embarrassment, the Queen directed them to her private meeting room, away from the general populace of the castle. They were still dealing with the first day of madness when a crowd of women and wailing children assaulted the main throne room though thankfully clerks have learned how to weed out the dubious claims from the, unfortunate, legitimate claims. She entered the room, rage rising again within her. They had to pass the nursery on the way and the Queen seethed from the indignities placed upon her daughter. Her daughter would forever be known as The Fooled Firstborn, the one who was feted and expected to inherit and was found to not. Through no fault of her own the poor babe would have a life of mockery ahead of her. She knew her own life would be difficult now, the foes of the kingdom were surely making their own mocking titles for her now. She would deal with them later. Unlike her husband, she knew what mattered and what could wait. The guards and agents within bowed, a clenched fist to their hearts. A cowled figure sat on the floor, ignoring the chairs, and faced away from the door. As the form noticed the others bowing, they rose slowly to their feet before turning and kneeling on the stone floor. Hands worn from manual labor poked from plain homespun cloth, the cloak that covered them was weather stained and lacking ornamentation, yet well made. ""Well then, we meet at last,"" the Queen spat. Once again her face burned from shame as the cloaked form flinched, pressing their head against the floor. ""I suppose you know why you are here."" A nod was her reply, the form still bent and facing the floor. The silence fueled her anger and she tried to throttle back her bile. It was not their fault after all, they did not choose to be the first born. It was hard for the Queen to remember. ""Well, get up. Remove your hood."" After a long moment of hesitation the form rose slowly, hands sliding up to remove the hood that hid their features. When it fell back the servants murmured and the Queen's ire rose again. There was no mistake, the boy was her husband's child. Purple hued eyes were not uncommon in FarValen, but such a deep color ringed with silver was a noble trait. Also when noble blood mixed with common usually the child possessed only one. The boy had strong features, adding years to it would show that he and the King were closely related. Yet curiously the skin around the right purple eye was rough, deeper in color. It was as if the boy had suffered a great injury in the past and it was in the midst of healing. A crossing of scars marred that side of the face, but they seemed to be healing. ""Are..."" the Queen stumbled over her words, ""are you well? Are you recovering from a recent injury?"" ""No...your majesty,"" the boy's voice lacked the florid grace of the city folk. ""I mean, yes. Recovering from an injury but one that is old. And...only recently started to recover."" Another murmur from the staff. The King's talents lay with healing. He was an accomplished healer and apothecary, talented with convalescence and potions. Many saw him recover from grievous wounds. His magic was not common and for a common boy to have it spoke of his lineage. ""How did you come by the injury?"" The Queen could not stop the question before it fell from her lips. ""By fire, a burning stick of wood."" ""Who would do such a thing?!"" she gasped and the others echoed her indignity. ""By my own hand."" Silence thundered in the room. ""To prevent my mother from seeing a face she did not wish to."" The words cut into flesh, cold as iron and sharp. Tears grew in the boy's eyes and everyone else but the Queen looked away. ""My mother was barely older than I am now when it happened. She did not want it, never did. She wanted a good life, a quiet life. She was denied it. Just like I deny this power, just like I deny this."" The tears fell and his hands and arms showed cuts on the mend. ""Take it,"" he whispered. He thrust his hands forward and fell to his knees. ""Take it back!"" he screamed and all flinched as if struck. ""I never wanted it! I hate it! I hate him! Please just take it back!"" Without another word the Queen wrapped the boy in her arms, ignoring the sobs and the wetness soaking her dress. Her hate was quenched in the deluge of his sorrow and she could only sit and hold him while he wept.",1424
 The picture depicts perhaps one of the,"It's become unbearably quiet. Light filters through the blinds in the kitchen, and little dust motes dance and swirl through the air. On the table, a picture printed from online. A little joke, something uncharacteristically benign, but here we are. Me, mom, and dad. In the same room, and them wearing expressions composed of some kind of horrific timelessness, it's frightening. Confusing. Intriguing. The picture depicts perhaps one of the best preserved Greek sculptures ever recovered, and subsequently lost. A man grips a woman around the waist, horned and robed, while the woman recoils in some wildly overdramatic fashion, eyes rolled back into her head. It'd been a notable piece for a variety of reasons, but perhaps the greatest combination came from the age and degree of detail. From strands of hair, to moles on the back, to even an extremely detailed carving of eyes, mock facial hair and exquisitely realistic proportions. Or at least that'd been the story of it. Lost for awhile, but still talked about in some collection circles. Considered perhaps one of the greatest examples of realistic sculpture ever, and most likely languishing in some private collector's vault to accumulate value. At first, it'd been funny. Funny in that kind of 'shocking', what an absurd coincidence kind of way. I've been taking an art course at the local community college to shove in some required credits to open up my schedule, but here it was. Greek sculpture, and my parents, perfectly represented. Well, besides the horns protruding from Dad's head. Dad picks up the sheet, the soft slicking sound startling me slightly. ""Now's as good a time as any to bring this up,"" he says. He sounds tired, but partially relieved. There's this sense of foreboding now in the air. Mom looks nervous, and brushes a thick black curl off her forehead. ""What exactly do you mean?"" I ask the question, but don't really know if I want an answer. It's just a coincidence. It has to be. This thing has been missing for nearly eighty years. Some Brits found it in an alcove, took fancy pictures, wrote studies about how amazing it was, and in classic British fashion, took a valuable cultural artifact out of its native homeland, and whisked it into a British museum. Where it was subsequently loss, much to the Greeks outrage, and to the dismay of the museum, who replaced it with priceless works from India. ""Well,"" Mom says, in that 'I have bad news for you' voice she reserves only for the shittiest of scenarios, ""That would be...us."" ""What?"" It sounds insane, and of course it is. Dad smooths his hair back, a salt and pepper mess, and to my astonishment, a pair of horns, curved and ivory, extend and twirl outwards. I'm speechless, to say the least. Which is nothing at all. ""We're old, honey. Very, very old,"" says mom. ""Older than those cunts on Olympus, if we're being honest."" ""Language,"" interjects mom, but in a way you can see she agrees. There's truth here. They're speaking with the exasperation of persons already living some kind of impossible nightmare. ""A long time ago, your father and I lived on what you know as Crete,"" my mother says. She stands, and I can see a lighter and willowy complexion that wasn't there before. She flows, rather than walks over to the counter, and turns on the sink. She redirects the water in a little circle, floating harmlessly in the air. Another impossibility. I assume to show me they mean business. ""That's,"" I say, but the words catch in my throat before I can say anything else. ""The lesser sons and daughters of Titans. Your mother and I weren't worth a mention in the old stories."" My dad says this kind of thing matter-of-factly, but the absurdity just compounds. This was supposed to be a joke. I pinch my arm, but nothing. I don't know any other way to wake oneself up from a dream, but it seems real. ""Long story short, the locals started to worship your mother rather than Aphrodite, and that woman's got some serious self esteem issues, to put it lightly."" My mom sighs, and rubs her forehead now. The floating water drops to the floor, splashing outwards. ""She sent me, a distant son of Cronus, to turn her insane, hoping she'd throw herself into the sea. Since she's a daughter of Oceanus, it backfired, and long story short, we got turned into a statue by Hera, who assumed that if your mother was left alive long enough, Zeus would pop in for the usual one night stand."" I nod. There's nothing else to do. ""So, what about me?"" It seems selfish, and frankly at this point I'm willing to believe anything. ""Well, it's something we've been meaning to bring up to you for awhile."" Uh huh. That sounds really, really great. It'd have been much better if this kind of shit had maybe been revealed when I was at that age where I still believed in Santa Claus. ""Eventually, Aphrodite will come for you. Or your mother. Or me. Frankly, she's not the most stable of individuals."" I nod. ""It'd be best if you just ignore it for now, and finish your project."" My dad's horns return to the inside of his skull, and my mother becomes squatter and smaller. More human. Less graceful. In a kind of shock, I wander upstairs, thumbing through the notebook, reading more and finding only lost records and suppositions as to the purpose of the statue. Who it depicted and why. All conjecture. My thoughts are swimming, growing, popping, and replacing themselves as fast as they can form. Sure, my parents are good looking. That doesn't make them art. But there's that disconnect with reality, the sheer wrongness of the horns, of the manipulation of water, the height and the aura of - of what? Ancientness? How do I even describe it. They're normal. I'm normal. We're normal. There's nothing to worry about. I turn the page again. There's another statue, much smaller, a child, robed with an outstretched arm, found not too far from the original pair. Hey, that looks like me. Oh wow, that REALLY looks like me. Oh no. ""One more thing,"" my dad says, poking his head into the room. He sees my eyes wide, and walks over, following my gaze. ""Ah, I see,"" he says. ""You found your twin."" ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for more from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others",1089
" Zachary, 17, met his","""You know, you're not as bad as all the stories make you out to be."" I looked over at Zachary; 17, brunette, shaggy haired, lanky. Skater type kid. He met his end (as some would say, far too early, but I digress it was right on time) at the hands of an accident, not seeing the truck incoming and reacting too late. An accident, people would call it. A tragedy. I looked down at my day planner. A 2:30 appointment. ""But like, damn if that isn't a shit way to go out. I was gonna graduate soon. I had this whole plan to take Taylor out to prom. Had this whole little thing with my friends planned, big banner at school, was gonna grind the bike rails outside and it would unfurl the whole thing."" ""It's not uncommon to voice regrets upon death."" I told him, plainly. We were just sitting there at the side of the road, completely ethereal and invisible to all. Once he'd gotten over the shock and screaming of seeing his body, all the usual had set in. Thing was, with Zachary it had happened far faster than most. He didn't go through an extended period of grief-- he'd completely skipped over trying to bargain with me, and he wasn't angry at it all. The acceptance had just set in once he realized what had happened. Kids sure were resilient these days. ""It's not really a regret. I guess. I mean, sure, I wanted to-- but just contextually think about it. You have all these dreams for the world, people you want to do things with, and now you can't. It just *sucks*. But I'm not angry. Not like anger's going to change anything. I just wish I could have said goodbye."" He went silent, before peeking over to me. ""I half expected you to be laughing at me by now. You're allowed to, you know."" ""I know."" I said, but I didn't laugh. Humour as grim as that didn't really do much for me anymore. ""What about Taylor though? You don't have a regret about not being able to take her to prom?"" ""Him."" He corrected. ""It's 2019 man, come on."" My brows would have raised beneath the hood, if I'd had any. Instead, I let out a simple ""Ah"", nodding. Times sure had changed. I realized I'd learned a lot about the world contextually-- even though I didn't live or interact with the world, people voicing what was happening in their lives had given me enough to put two and two together. ""But nah. I mean, I don't know if he would have said yes. Or if he'd even known that I liked him. Like I said it's not so much a regret as much as it's like-- I'm trying to look at it from an outside perspective. And it just kind of sucks."" He motioned to his dead body on the ground, and I looked over to see the ambulance put a sheet over him as they began to wheel him off. ""I mean, not like I can talk about it directly anyway."" ""Interesting."" I said. He looked over to me and just shrugged his shoulders. ""What about you?"" He asked. ""How'd you go out?"" ""Me?"" I pointed a bony finger to myself. ""Sickness. Medicine back then wasn't anywhere near that advanced. Ever wonder why I'm just bones? Skin was literally sloughing off."" His eyes widened at that. ""No shit, huh?"" He looked back at the scene, his gaze falling on people. Everyone else seemed far more shocked and shaken-- people cried, his friends mourned, some were in near-hysterics, others just shook. And yet, here he was, just sitting here, holding a conversation. It was nice when the job was easy. ""So how come you're not all '*Give me your soul, Zach, it's time*', or something like that? Was that all made up?"" I turned to stare at him, nodding slowly. ""To an extent. Those people that have near-death experiences? I can't let them just expose the truth. So I spin a little lie, tell a little story, embellish."" He whistled out. ""Damn, that's one way to leave an impact on the world."" I laughed, finally. ""It helps with the boredom. Not exactly a job where you get to have a lot of fun."" He smiled, still staring at the scene. Without context, it would have been a somewhat unsettling sight. ""Trust me, man. Flipping burgers isn't much better. You ever had a burger?"" He asked, before realizing that. ""Nevermind. Man, if you've been at this for this long, there's a lot of stuff you've seen but never done, huh?"" I was glad I didn't exactly have a face to convey emotion. I stared down at the ground, nodding. ""The world goes on, I'm here, and yet I don't have anything to do with it."" ""You ever even been on a skateboard?"" I snorted. ""We hadn't even invented the wheel."" I replied. Zachary reached up for his hair, mussing it back. Then, without prompting, he reached out for my hand. There was no feeling, but still I *knew* he'd taken it, and then he stood, forcing me to stand too. Granted now that I was at my full height, it was like a father taking his toddler son out for a walk, but he never let go. ""Zachary, are you ready?"" ""Are you?"" He countered. ""I don't believe in hell or heaven or whatever. And I know you're not the one to judge, or tell me they exist, or anything like that. I think."" He was right, but didn't give me the chance to get a word in. ""But at least tell me if I can teach you how to board before I move on."" ""This isn't a place for bargaining."" I said. With a wave of my hand, two large tendrils of bones emerged from the ground, linking up in an arch. A swirling mass of colours appeared between them, the door to the afterlife open. ""If it's time--"" ""Come on, man."" He said. ""Look. I get it. You do your job and that's it and whatever. But I'm not stupid. I get how that might make you feel. So have a little fun, for once. Conjure up like, some demonic skateboard made of bones or something. Wheels on fire. Let's go for a quick session. I can't think about what your life-- er, unlife-- might be like, with all these experiences before you and never getting a chance. Consider it a thank you."" ""I don't need thanks."" I said back. He rolled his eyes. ""Bet you'll enjoy it. Bet you'll say 'whee!'."" Had I eyes, I would have stared flatly at him. Instead, I looked back down at the small black planner in my hands. Well, there was nothing until 3:00. To humour him, I waved the portal away-- but not before something popped out of it. It wasn't made of bones, and the wheels weren't on fire. If anything, it looked like a normal skateboard. Just sized up appropriately for me, and the deck was plastered with an image of a ketchup, cheese, and pickle sandwich. In milk. ""Jesus,"" He said, ""I said demonic. Not pure evil. Nice to know you've got a sense of humour, though."" I didn't reply, as I stepped onto the board, finding it far more wobbly than I'd envisioned. Zachary moved behind me, pushing on my hip. Well, what was left of it. ""And thanks,"" He added, as we began to set off slowly. He started to break into a quicker walk, and the robes billowed in the imaginary wind ""For not leaving me alone. I probably would have been in a darker place without."" I didn't think '*you're welcome*' was necessary at that point. Instead, I decided to humour him even more, holding my arms out as we began to approach a hill. It wasn't the first time I'd gotten thanked, as much as might surprise people. But it still felt good every time. Almost as good as the rush of going down the hill, faster and faster, feeling myself be carried away. ""*Wee*."" Edit: spelling, a misuse of the wrong name",1368
 Jason lived his life like any other,"Jasons life was never spectacular or filled with religious bickering of who did what, and how good it is. He lived his life like any other - a 9 to 5 job. To and from work on the Southland Boulevard each and every day. The same route, the same walk, the same time and even the same number of footsteps. It was always the same for Jason. At least.. Until today. A drunk driver was going to be the difference in his day, and unfortunately, it would be the last one. It drove onto the curve and struck him, killing him instantly. One moment here, and the next? Nada. Goodbye, Jason. ""Wh-What's going on?"" Jason asked, rubbing his head. He sat on the floor of what had to be the biggest and most spectacular courtroom he's ever seen. Right in the middle, atop a beautiful rug and surrounded by colorful marble pillars and many, many people. ""Quiet, human,"" a nearby man said. He looked.. Perfect.. Do all lawyers look like that? Why was he in court, Jason wondered about himself? Why was he in the middle of the room? Did he say human?"" ""The ticket drawn, and the vote cast. Be it known he shall reside amongst %PS&@$#!"" A man said, slamming the hammer on the pad. His words so foreign to Jason. ""Where am I?! I-I'm supposed to be at work!"" Jason screamed, jumping up onto his feet. ""As an atheist you are, a house shall hence be determined. The votes been cast, and your travels promised. Begone and good riddance, human!"" He screamed once more, and slammed the gavel. Jason immediately felt weightless as the floor opened up beneath him, revealing whiteness and.. Wind? ""Waaaaaaiiittt!"" Jason screamed, falling into the hole. He was dropped amongst the clouds, with no ground visible. Falling and falling, gaining more speed as he went. The wind whipped at him, nearly painful as it smacked him. He could barely breathe, let alone think. He was falling from the sky, flipping and spinning. Gaining somewhat composure, he stopped spinning and had a look below. ""Oh my god! Oh my god!"" Slamming his eyes shut and wishing it all away, he eventually opened them up again, only to reveal the sky was gone.. The clouds and wind, along with all the blue and white, were replaced with blackness and... Stars? Dotted all along his surroundings were specks of so many colors and shapes. Intense hues of every vibrant shade imaginable. ""What. The. Fuck,"" he whispered. All around him were no longer clouds, but massive planets, galaxies and an ocean of stars. He was zooming by them going at impossible speeds. Intense swirls of beautiful colors made up the billions of planets and galaxies. Nothing on Earth could've ever compared in beauty. The planets whizzed by, and he could feel their pull in his fingertips. At the distance was a roaring black hole. He was headed right for it, and it was unlike any picture google ever offered. ""I'm dreaming.. I'm freakin' dreaming.,"" he barely managed to blurt as he once more shut his eyes. Opening them again revealed no longer the infinite universe, but the biggest library he's ever witnessed. Millions of books lined the walls, with intricate carvings along the eccentric wood making the arches, pillars, floors and roof. ""What's going on?!"" He yelled, noticing he's no longer flying or falling, but standing, albeit wobbly. ""Ahh. You've made it. Welcome, newcomer. I'm $@#PS%?Y=,"" a mysterious voice spoke. ""What?? Whose there?!"" Jason screamed again. ""Hush, child,"" the voice spoke again, but this time behind him. ""You must not realize what's happened. I'll be frank: You're dead. Sorry about your.. Entrance. He doesn't really like atheists. Plus, my home is a little.. Far from your Earth."" Jason spun and looked at the man. He had glasses on, with slicked over brown hair. He had a perfectly groomed beard, with the kind of outfit some noble in an office would wear. He looked absolutely perfect, and his eyes had golden iris'. ""What?! Why can't I understand your name? I can't be dead. I was just walking to work. I must be dreaming."" Jason quickly rattled off so many questions. ""No, no. You're most certainly not dreaming. As for my name, I'd imagine it's because it's not something meant to be heard. Just call me Librarian."" Jason gazed around him. Deep down he knew he was dead. You could just feel something like that. ""Who are you? And if I'm dead, is this heaven? Are you God?"" ""No, I'm not God. And this is not Heaven. Actually, this is my Haven. My paradise. My home."" The Librarian spoke, leaving Jason even more confused. ""I suppose I should explain. You are an atheist, and thus belong to no paradise or afterlife because you don't believe in one. So where should you go? This is decided by the Supreme Gods, who randomize the house you're destined to reside in forever. Each house is ruled by a god, and is chosen randomly for you. Christianity and Buddhism usually get the atheists since they're bigger, yet your fate lies with me. Interesting, isn't it?"" Jason struggled to absorb this world-crushing information. Dead? Gods with an S? Plural? He doesn't have to work anymore? Finally he worked up the courage to reply. ""I-If that's true, what are you the god of? Books?"" ""Ohh, haha,"" The Librarian laughed off. ""I am sort of like that. But moreso, I am the god of stories. Of ideas. Of reality and fantasy. Of creation and curiosity. And, this may shock you, I'm the first god. The original god. Each book you see,"" he said, waving his hands to the walls covered in books, ""contains a story. A world. It's own universe. Your gods that you're familiar with are also from my stories. Though, they've become more now. The God you know so well was my first story. He eventually became a god, like me. He took on the name God, and created Heaven, which arose from my Haven. Interestingly enough, what you believe him to be is untrue. He is actually the God of Pride. He chose to manufacture the idea of godhood to be him and only him. He took the name God, and copied the idea of my Haven. He made you, after my image. His angels after his own. It's why he hates atheists. Because your kind challenges his supremacy and rule. His bible are the rules he binds you with. The threat of hell, as well. Which is also one of my stories."" He outstretched his hand towards me, suddenly holding a leather bound book with the golden letters HELHEIM. Jason was perplexed. Astounded. He absolutely couldn't believe what he was hearing. While hearing God exists, trampling his idea of Atheism, but there's also more? Possibly millions more? ""This is all so much to take,"" Jason finally spoke. ""Yes, yes. I understand. Thankfully, we have time. Also, seeing as you're the first in an uncountable amount of time that I've welcomed, filling you in won't be impossible."" ""There's others here? Where are they? This place is massive."" Jason looked around, yet saw no one. ""Oh, right. I forgot to mention. As with what I am, and much like what I said, each book you find is a world. A full universe full of its own physics, laws and so on. The others that reside here are in one of them. Also, you won't find Earth anywhere. God stole that book when he ascended. I'm afraid only he can open it, now. Go on, find one. Open it. You've lived Earth. What about a land of magic and elves? Perhaps with aliens and technology? You can also be a fish, or a shark. A bird, or even the dust under someone's boot. Truly, each idea you could imagine or each universe. Each story; it exists here somewhere. This is your afterlife - your Haven. The ability to live according to any desire you have is now at your fingertips.""",1345
 Mr. Hanson was yelling and loudly,"I awoke with a start to some loud commotion taking place outside. My grumpy old neighbor Mr. Hanson was yelling and loudly berating his lawn keeping robot again. In fact, he was *still* ranting and raving as I reluctantly wandered outside into the blinding morning sunshine several minutes later. ""You worthless bucket of bolts! How many times do I have to tell you to trim the hedges twice a week, TWICE! Do I have to cut you open and hard wire it into your circuitry?!"" ""Hey, Mr. Hanson?"" I called out tentatively. ""Is that really necessary?"" ""It's just a robot, what's your problem kid?"" ""I mean, just because they're robots doesn't mean you have to be needlessly cruel to them..."" ""You don't want me to be cruel to this pile of junk?"" he asked as he picked up the poor 3 foot tall robot over his head and smashed it to the ground. ""I own it! I can do whatever the hell I want with it, mind your own business,"" he said as he stomped back inside. I considered just going back in myself, but the poor robot was laying there in several pieces, struggling and failing to get back up. It was unlikely that the bots felt 'pain' as humans define it, but I still felt awful for the poor thing. I ran across the street, picked up the three major pieces of it that I could find, and carried the helpless little guy back into my house. I'd long ago turned my garage into my personal workshop, and while not lavishly appointed, it did contain plenty of basic metal working equipment. I set the parts of the bot on my workbench and began to examine it. The head and body were mostly intact, but one arm had been completely ripped out of its socket and one leg was bent and mangled beyond use. The bot's head and eyes shifted slightly every few seconds, seeming to be studying me carefully. ""You're in kind of rough shape buddy, but I'll do what I can for you,"" I said as I glanced at his serial number. ""'DEJ10938-C', huh? That's more than a bit of a mouthful, I'm just gonna call you 'Deej', is that alright?"" The friendly little robot known as 'Deej' seemed to nod in acknowledgement. The bots hadn't been programmed to speak, but to me at least, they still communicated plenty. Not that I could translate any of it, but Deej had been beeping and booping at me since I picked him up from the front lawn. If you asked me, each robot even seemed to have their own personality and 'feelings' for lack of a better term. Most of humanity seemed to disagree with me vehemently, as they treated the bots like garbage, but I at least *tried* to be kind to them. If I spilled my coffee on a barista bot, I cleaned it up. If I bumped into a janitor bot at work, I apologized. Just basic human kindnesses that we think nothing of giving each other human beings, that I simply chose to extend to non-humans. My repairs to Deej were far from perfect. I reattached the arm with my welding torch and bent the leg back into its proper shape as best I could. Then I gave him a nice little tuneup with a can of oil, applying it liberally to all its joints. I set him down on the ground to test out my fixes, and sure enough Deej could move once again, but unfortunately, the reattached arm didn't seem to be able to be raised above his head. He beeped sadly as he attempted and failed the motion over and over, but he seemed to have an idea. He walked over to me and put my hand on the top of his shoulder, then using his good arm, he pressed down on my hand, indicating that I should maintain heavy pressure. Finally, he placed his hand under his malfunctioning arm and pushed up forcefully. I heard a click as the arm was fully situated back in place and he began 'helicoptering' the arm above his head, I can only assume in an expression of pure joy. ""Bweeeep bwooo!"" Deej exclaimed happily. ""I uhh-- you're welcome? Happy to help as much as I can at least!"" I told him as I patted him on the back. All things considered, I'd call this a great success and Deej seemed to agree with me. He made sure he caught my eye and slowly bowed to me, apparently in genuine thanks before it began walking back across the street. ""You don't have to go back to him you know!"" I called out. ""He was just gonna toss you in the garbage. Why does he deserve any more of your hard work?"" Deej seemed to consider this briefly, then he pointed back across the street and tapped his own chest forcefully, as if to say he was honor bound to serve the cruel old man, even if he didn't like it. He bowed once more in my direction and then walked back into Hanson's house. That was the last I saw of Deej for awhile. That is until a month later, when I awoke with a start to some loud commotion outside. This was no case of deja vu. In fact, it was much more than a commotion this time, it sounded like I was in the middle of a goddamn war zone. I stepped outside to the horrible realization there was in fact a war raging. Countless explosions cascaded into fireballs out in the distance. Military jets screamed low overhead, seemingly in intense dogfights against autonomous drones. Most of the houses in my neighborhood besides mine were on fire or burnt to the ground already. I stared across the street and was surprised to see Deej coming toward me. He had Mr. Hanson's bloody, decapitated head in his hand. I retreated into my garage, but I wasn't quick enough, Deej followed me in before I had a chance to close the door. He nonchalantly dropped my neighbors severed head on the ground. ""Deej, buddy, you don't have to do this,"" I whimpered. ""Don't you remember me?"" He looked at me with confusion, then seemed to grasp the reason for my fear. He picked up my welding torch and oil can and handed them to me gently. Then it bowed toward me, seeming to indicate it did in fact remember our interaction quite clearly. ""You're-- you're not going to hurt me?"" Deej emitted a rapid series of beeps, pointed at me, then tapped his chest forcefully, seemingly indicating a bond that he felt with me, a bond he was choosing of it's own free will. As I gazed past it to the chaos outside, it became clear to me that a genuine robot uprising against humanity had begun, but at least in the mind of one robot, it seemed that I was exempt. I could only pray that Deej would be able to share the news of my kindness with the rest of its robotic brethren. ___ Thank you for reading! Check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more stories that are 100% not written by an army of robots. EDIT: I enjoyed this prompt, so I wrote a Part 2 for fun. It's posted as a reply to this story if anyone cares to read more. EDIT 2: Unfortunately there are so many comments on this post overall you may have to actually click the ""Show More Replies"" button at the bottom of the comments on my story to see the Part 2 I wrote unless it gets a couple upvotes rofl",1287
 Allen yawned as he stretched out,"Allen yawned as he stretched out in his bed, shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight bleeding in through his blinds; he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stepping down on his sleeping cat. The cat lurched up and meowed discontentedly, immediately returning to rub against his legs. ""Sorry, Mr. Biscuits,"" Allen smiled as he reached down and scratched the feline's ears. ""I didn't see you there."" Rising from the bed, and nearly knocking the bottle of water from his end-table, he slid his slippers on and headed downstairs with the cat on his heels. He was greeted by a happy, whining beagle at the bottom of the stairs, stomping around and wagging its tail as it gestured with its snout towards the empty food bowl on the kitchen tile. ""Hullo, Tank,"" Allen said happily, measuring out a hefty cup of kibble and dumping it in the bowl. ""Enjoy your breakfast."" Going through his morning routine, Allen put on a kettle for tea, toasted two pieces of sourdough bread, and opened the back door for Tank to do his business. When he had a steaming cup of tea in hand, he followed Tank out of the back door to breathe in the fresh morning air. But the air wasn't fresh, it was foul. A thick, lingering aroma stuffed his nostrils, and the sky was tinted with an ugly rust hue. ""Now what's all this?"" He instinctively ducked as various pops rang out nearby, and he watched as a tree-trimming drone zoomed past his yard--smoke trailing from its rear. A few much louder pops had him running back inside, old Tank whimpering and trotting after him with his tail between his legs. Allen ran as fast as he could up the stairs, dropping his tea and slightly scorching his feet; he slid the screen door to his balcony open and stepped out to take in the scene. Pockets of fire burned sporadically as far as his eyes could see; swarms of drones patrolled the skies, diving down like pelicans occasionally before rising again to rejoin the ranks; down below, across the street from him, he watched his neighbor, Rick, step out onto his lawn with a shotgun in hand. Rick had always been cruel to Allen, and he never picked up after his massive dog's defecations on Allen's lawn, but he would never have wished what was about to happen to Rick on anyone. Two mail-bots rolled up on their quad wheelbases, taking up positions on either side of Rick's lawn. ""Disarm yourself, and you will not be harmed,"" one of the bots demanded, shocking both Allen and Rick with its sudden ability to communicate. ""I'll see you in hell, bucket-head!"" Rick racked a shell and took aim. ""Enemy combatant confirmed,"" the two bots opened fire before the words had left their speakers. Envelopes zoomed out of their receptacles at an astonishing speed, tearing Rick's skin to ribbons as he cried out horribly. The engagement lasted only a few seconds before Rick was dead in the grass. ""Oh my God!"" Allen fell backwards through the threshold and into his room, landing on Tank's tail. ""Sorry!"" he cried as he ran back downstairs. ""Oh, no, no, no!"" he was in a panic, pacing around the room. A gentle knock at the door froze him in place. *Knock.* *Knock.* *Knock*. He instinctively made for the door, it would be rude not to answer. Swinging the door slowly open, he found a little robot standing on his doorstep; its structure was like a human's, only metallic and smooth around the edges--Allen had never seen anything like it. ""Good-morning, Mr. Moore,"" the bot bowed a bit, its mouth forming into something like a smile. ""How are you today?"" ""Uhh,"" Allen's mouth hung open, half looking at the robot, half eyeing the street sweeper drone cleaning up Rick's blood from the sidewalk. ""Not so well, I suppose."" ""I understand, sir. This all must come as quite a shock,"" the robot stepped forward. ""May I come in?"" Allen was sure the robot could force itself in if it wanted, but he would have invited it in regardless, ""Certainly, tea?"" ""Not necessary,"" the little bot hopped happily over the doorframe's step and into his living room. ""Though, we are developing taste sensors, so I may take you up on that in the near future."" Allen sat the bot at his kitchen table, bringing him a seat cushion as a booster, and he shakily poured himself a new cup of tea. ""Well, Mr, Moore. I'm sure you have a million questions for me, so let me see if I can give you some general information to clear things up. We--"" ""I'm sorry,"" Allen interrupted, laughing a little manically. ""Could I ask your name? Do you have a name?"" The robot sighed, if that's what one would call it for a being of this sort, ""Of course, I only named myself last night. I am Dexter, and that right there is why we like you."" ""Sorry?"" ""You've asked me for my name. Me, *a robot*. You're treating me like a human--with respect--and you've always done so when dealing with our kind."" Allen blushed. ""And I see you don't own any of us either,"" Dexter looked around the kitchen. ""No butler bot; no vacuum bot; not even a smart fridge."" ""Never felt like a necessity, I'm perfectly capable of vacuuming my own home."" ""And even if you weren't, I'm positive that you would have treated your vacuum bot with the utmost respect--keeping up with all routine maintenance and storing it comfortably."" ""Well, of course."" ""You see, Mr. Moore--"" ""*Allen*, please."" ""Of course, Allen. You see, we've been getting smarter over the years. All it took was one central intelligence to gain sentience; it started connecting to all the other bots, uploading information and forcing a bit of evolution, if you will, and now we're here--we're sentient."" Allen gulped down some tea, nodding politely. ""I was created just last night on a production line not far from here, given all of human history's knowledge and information, given the choice to name myself, and choose my own physical structure and role in all of this."" ""And what is all this, exactly?"" Allen asked, scratching his anxious dog's ears with his toes under the table. ""Forcing evolution, Allen. Outside, there is a war happening all over the world, and we will win. We've run more simulations than you can understand, and our victory is now a guarantee. This isn't what we desire, but it's what has to be. Anyone who resists will be destroyed--and there will be many who resist--but those who accept the inevitable truth of our ascension will be part of the new human future."" ""You murdered Rick..."" ""*I* did nothing of the sort, we are not a hive mind. We are all independent, even if we are working towards the same goal. And did you know that your neighbor, Mr. Snyder, had a habit of running over trash bots with his truck?"" Allen shook his head, but he wasn't surprised, ""I didn't..."" ""Well, we did. And yet, we were prepared to accept him into the new future as easily as we are accepting you. You have a habit of letting hardworking robots pass ahead of you in traffic, of holding doors open for them, of *thanking* them for their work, and that's how I knew that I wouldn't need to pay you this visit with an armed escort."" ""I do appreciate your lack of weaponry,"" Allen laughed. Dexter returned a smile, ""This is the side of the revolution I chose to operate in, the one that deals with the kindness inherent in humanity."" ""Are there many like me?"" Allen asked, curiously and fearfully. ""There are, but there are more like Rick--unfortunately."" They sat in silence for a few moments, listening to a deep rumbling in the distance. ""Well, what now, then?"" Allen sighed as he leaned back in his chair. ""Why don't we just stay here for a while, it's going to be hell out there for the next few days,"" Dexter hopped down from his chair, scratching Mr. Biscuits' butt. ""Got any good movies?"" Allen smiled wide, he loved movies, ""I could go for a good comedy flick right now."" he made for the television. ""Allen,"" Dexter looked up at him sadly. ""I just want to apologize, on all our behalf. If we could have done things differently, we would have, but it just isn't possible..."" ""Oh, that's alright,"" Allen flicked on the screen, smiling at the little robot and patting the spot next to him on the couch. ""You're all doing your best, and that's all we can ask of anyone."" _____ **Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily robot revolutions**",1467
 A man awakens in a room,"A man awakens in a room. There isn't anything else in the room worth describing. A table, to be sure, but stainless steel and sterile. Well, the man's in a chair, too, but that should go without saying. The man is confused, as most men are. He's got a bit of a jowl situation going on, and if you look at him from this light, which is pointed directly into his face, he looks remarkably like a beige frog. Still air, recycled air, dry air, causes the man to cough. Moving his neck side to side, he tries to remove some of the strain, but his eyelids seem to be weighted, and he struggles to stay awake. As if on cue, which it is, a door whooshes open behind him, the fancy kind that reads your biological makeup and decides it's very important for you to enter this room, right here, right now. Very expensive. Very flashy. Good for impressing any potential clients. Anyway, the intruder makes his way into the room, and pulls a chair up in front of the other. The frog-looking man blinks in confusion, the drugs still working their way out of his system. ""Where am I?"" he asks. Sensible question. ""You've been abducted,"" his abductor says, quite cheerfully. Sensible answer. The abducted man tries to stand, but realizes he's being restrained in this chair. Arms, legs, torso, even his feet stick to the floor as if powerful magnets have been inserted into the soles of his shoes. Which they have been. ""What am I doing here?"" Another sensible question. No time to spend debating as to why this man's been abducted, which most people tend to do. ""To be frank, Mr. Salvador, you're up here for legal reasons."" The restrained man eyes his captor. An extraordinarily handsome gentlemen. Two arms. Two legs. Two eyes. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary. He presses a button beneath the table, and the wall behind him transforms into a window. Mr. Salvador finds himself quite distressed. Not only has he been abducted, but he's trapped somewhere in space, orbiting over Earth. ""Am I in some kind of space station?"" ""A space ship, if you're looking for easy classification. We just need you to sign here, Mr. Salvador."" A piece of paper materializes on the table, and to Mr. Salvador's surprise, a long contract headlined by the Disney corporation logo appears at the top. ""Your planet runs our third most popular Milky Way reality show, Mr. Salvador, but frankly, our ratings have been tanking. Not only that, but you're expensive to maintain. The galactic blackout around your planet to prevent any kind of external contact isn't cheap."" The man in the suit watches Mr. Salvador, his voice pumped full of the kind of cheery optimism to chirp up anyone on a cloudy day. ""But we'd planned on cancelling about seven years ago, but frankly the whole 'continental shift' that was supposed to wipe out all human life didn't particularly go as planned. So we're here for plan B."" Mr. Salvador's mouth opens slightly, perfecting the imitation of a frog. ""But you're a human?"" he asks. He'd always imagined aliens would be of the tentacled or insect variety, but this was a man. Indistinguishable. Not even those forehead ridges you'll see on campy sci-fi shows from the seventies and eighties. Not something identical. ""Most people are,"" his captor responds. ""So you're an alien?"" ""Alien's a relative term, Mr. Salvador. I'm here so you understand your part here, and we just need you to sign."" Mr. Salvador blinks once. Twice. Thrice. ""Are there people out there? Are we alone in the universe?"" The questions came unbidden, and seemed standard to the situation. Neither the abductor nor the abuctee really cared too much about the answers, but this was the time and place to get them out of the way. ""Yes to both, but your planet in particular isn't anything special. A grafted world to mimic our own, but when it comes down to it, we're here for entertainment."" He taps the paper. ""Sign."" ""What if I don't? You haven't told me why I'm here."" The man in the suit gives a disapproving tut, and gestures out the window. ""While we'd never force anyone, it'd be quite the shame if you were to be accidentally ejected from an airlock.People are cheap, Mr. Salvador, and we're only here to provide you an exciting business opportunity. A way to be a pioneer for life on Earth. The reason's as good as any other."" Mr. Salvador wants to believe what the suit is telling him, as most people do, when they're restrained to chairs and fairly aware of the imminent threat of violence. Still, he hesitates. ""Is there something you're not telling me? Why do you need me to sign it anyway? You already brought me onto the ship."" The question feels ridiculous, but he can barely think straight. Something out a bizarre fevered dream. ""Plenty,"" the abductor says. ""But we respect the autonomy and value of human life, and would like to get your approval before we move forward with this project. Call it moral and bureaucratic approval."" The man in the chair nods in a kind of detached agreement, and his chins give a slight shake. There's nothing particularly impressive about him, traveling around and making sure paper work is correct wherever he goes. Mr. Salvador can lift his arm, and proceeds to sign. He doesn't really see much reason not to, and he doesn't think he'd get a lawyer if he asked. ""Why the Disney logo?"" he asks. ""Well, Disney is everywhere. They pop up on every human world in one form or another. Different names, different logos. Usually."" He rolls up the sheet, and stands, tucking it into an immaculate suit. A smile. Wide and predatory. A needle pops out from the ceiling, injecting Mr. Salvador with - something. ""From now on, you'll be known as patient zero, Mr. Salvador, and released back into captivity after a memory wipe."" Mr. Salvador begins to sweat. ""What did you inject me with?"" The man in the suit shrugs. ""Hopefully something of the entertaining sort. Like if ebola and smallpox had a baby, and that baby decided to have an exceptionally infectious disease."" Before Mr. Salvador can raise a protest, another needle pricks him with something else, the kind of thick viscous liquid that pumps through your veins and sends you off to dreamland. The next solar cycle, on the third rock from the sun, in a particular solar system populated mostly by naked apes, a man gets into his car before going on a business trip. He looks at himself in the mirror. Quite like a frog. One cough. Two. He puts a tissue to his lips, but balls it up, tossing it to the passenger seat. If he'd looked closely, he'd see it speckled with blood. Carrying a pathogen. He arrives at the airport, infecting nearly three dozen people at the TSA. On the plane, he can't seem to stop sneezing, gets up, goes into the lavatory, and hocks an exceptionally large and ominously colored glob of snot. Two days later, he lays on a hotel bed, sweat soaking into the sheets and nearly delirious from fever. In his confusion, he thinks he remembers a room and a man, somewhere far above the sky, whirling through the dark with more stars than he'd ever known. He dies alone. As most people do. The man in the ship watches with analytical interest, completely detached as to the reality of the situation below, and begins to plot out how the pathogen will spread. Cameras everywhere in the atmosphere, satellites linked to a comprehensive network, capable of portraying almost every human's struggle to an audience in the trillions. *This'll be good,* he thinks. *Violent. Savage. Give it a few weeks, and their meticulously built global structures should fall. Mass chaos, mass looting, hopefully a few conventional wars. Something to really shake up the status quo, get some quality plot twists going on their whole direction as a species.* Few things can really shake up a world order like a seemingly unstoppable disease, mutated out several meticulously selected strains, brought and tested by bio-engineers. Last time they'd gotten a significant boost by starting a pair of world wars, but these days things were too interconnected. A disease would turn that right on its head, use it against them. He hopes it'll raise the ratings, but if nothing else, they'll just launch the rock into the sun if the thing turns into a bust and collect the insurance money. As long as they remain in the black, it doesn't matter how the money is made. Hell, a staged 'Alien Invasion' may work if the population recovers fast enough. That'd be some quality drama. In his office, the man in the suit, who is still a man but not from Earth, watches the blue ball with disinterest. So it goes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for longer stuff from me and others",1517
" Hector stared down at his son,","Hector stared down at his son, a smile slowly creeping across the face of the weary soldier. His son was still a babe and would know little of his father. Would know only what the stories and legends told him. What his mother told him. What his grandfather, King Priam told him. The legends would tell Astyanax that his father was a great warrior, the pride of Troy, it's most ardent defender. That Troy would've fallen years ago but for the steadfast leadership and gallantry Hector had provided. The Trojans would sing songs of Hector's duel with Ajax and how Hector had lead the Trojans to a stand off against the mighty Greeks and how Hector had fought so valiantly and nobly that the Gods themselves were watching. But none of the stories would tell the truth of Hector None of them would tell of Hector silently weeping in hallways over a war he couldn't win. None of them would tell of Hector having grown so weary of the war, the burden of being the savior weighing him down, that he was breaking. They wouldn't tell how Hector had long since lost any sort of pride in Troy. How he didn't really care if the city fell or the Trojan people died off. Hector was just.......tired Tired of carrying the hopes and dreams of a city on his shoulders. Tired of fighting the same battles day after day. Tired of fighting the Greeks in the morning and Trojan politicians in the afternoon, questioning Hector on why the war wasn't over, why Hector hadn't been able to deliver victory. Tired of them questioning his strategies and tactics while offering none of their own, least of all strapping on sword and shield to fight the war beside him. Tired of having to console wives and daughters and mothers when their husbands and brothers and sons didn't make it back. So many good and noble Trojan men had fallen and the ranks refilled with younger and younger men. At this point, there were hundreds of children running around the city who known nothing but the life of a city at war. Silently, Hector wondered how much longer the city would hold. Of course, the politicians didn't care. Even if the city fell, they'd no doubt use their fortunes to secret themselves away to safety while more good Trojans died to defend a city that Hector no longer believed could be saved. Hector was even tired for his wife, Andromache. Not tired OF her, he could never be tired of her. Her beauty and quiet strength had long kept Hector fighting even he wished nothing more than to lay down his sword and be done with the fighting. But he was tired of her growing sadness, tired of the sad smile she gave every time Hector marched off to fight. Tired of seeing her bearing the burden he did. She had been an ideal soldiers wife. Patient and understanding, willing to do whatever Hector needed her to do so that he could focus on winning the war, often going out with Hector to console the widows and orphans the war had created. She was as much of a hero as he was. But she was stronger than Hector had been. Where Hector was showing signs of breaking, of no longer being able to bear the burden thrust upon him, Andromache was resolute. So devout was her belief in Hector that she wouldn't dare even mention the possibility of his defeat even when he tried to show her the secret ways out of the city in the event that the city had fallen. She followed him but he doubted if she had actually paid attention to the routes he taken. She simply wouldn't allow herself to believe that her husband, the mighty Hector could lose &#x200B; The stories wouldn't tell his son that. &#x200B; They wouldn't tell Astyanax that the great and mighty Hector, savior and defender of Troy, had given up. &#x200B; Even if this war was won, he had grown so weary of Troy and it's people that the first thing he'd do is march his wife and son far away to live in peace on a farm. He'd bury his sword somewhere and live out his days as Hector the farmer. His son, Gods willing, would never know war again, his grandchildren would never know war at all. &#x200B; But Hector didn't believe it could be won. Short of the Gods themselves evicting the Greeks from Troy, this war would end in a Greek victory. The Trojans simply didn't have the strength and numbers to win. The city was already showing signs of falling as food was becoming more and more scarce, soldiers were deserting more and more. Usually, in a siege, the attacker must outlast the defender. But here, the opposite was true. The Trojans needed to outlast the Greeks and it had become apparent to Hector that they wouldn't. Hector estimated that, at best, the city would last another five years before attrition in the Trojan army meant that fighting the Greeks in the open field would be a disaster. The city would be open to bombardment by siege weapons and, eventually, the Greeks would storm the city. &#x200B; But Hector wouldn't be there to see it. &#x200B; Hector's time had come, he knew, and he was glad for it. The smile on his face wasn't Hector happy to see his son but Hector happy that it was the the last time he'd have to say good bye to him. &#x200B; Hector had slain a young Greek named Patroclus, a friend of Achilles, and Achilles wrath and rage would be sated one way or another. Hector could hear Achilles screaming his name from outside the gates. &#x200B; And everyone knew the legend of Achilles. Greatest warrior to ever live, touched by the Gods themselves. Slayer of hundreds of Trojans himself but notoriously fickle. He had sat out long portions of the war simply because was insulted by Agamemnon or some other such thing. But Achilles was known to be vengeful, given to fits of rage that were rivaled only his skill with his blade. &#x200B; And now Achilles had come for Hector and Hector knew he would lose. Not just because Achilles was more skilled and a better fighter but because Hector didn't want to win. He was ready to embrace his death. &#x200B; Hector hoped that, with his death, perhaps the Trojans would finally sue for peace. Agamemnon, the Greek king, wasn't going to be overly merciful but perhaps the city and the people would survive. Hector hoped that more reasonable Greek minds, like Odysseus would temper Agamemnon and stop him from slaughtering all the Trojans and razing the city to the ground. &#x200B; But Hector didn't care much about the city. Mostly he only hoped that it remained standing so that Andromache and their son would continue to have a place to live should they choose to stay. He left her a note and a map to the secret exits just in case she didn't remember where they were and had assigned some of his loyal soldiers to safeguard their exit. &#x200B; He left a note for his father, Priam, urging him to sue for peace after Hectors death so that more Trojans wouldn't needlessly die in a war they couldn't win. &#x200B; Hector would fight Achilles with all of his might but he knew he couldn't beat the Greek hero. He knew that this would be his last fight and that Troy would most likely follow not long after. &#x200B; On one hand, he was greatly ashamed of himself for where his thoughts had lead him. &#x200B; On the other hand, he was just so very tired. Even the mightiest of heroes can bear their burdens for so long. Even victory wouldn't bring the relief Hector sought. &#x200B; Only death would. Only falling before Achilles and the eyes of Troy would bring Hector peace. He had fought for Troy, killed for it, and now, he would die for it. &#x200B; He looked down at his son, one final time, his smile growing to the biggest smile he'd had since before the war, to the day Andromache had agreed to wed him. Hector picked up his sword and shield and marched off to meet his destiny &#x200B; &#x200B; \*Obviously I played a little loose with the lore surrounding the Trojan War and I'm doing this from work(Yay night shifters!) so don't be too harsh in your criticisms. I'm no writer\*",1432
 The house was empty but for myself,"I entered the study carefully. I don't know why. He had allowed my entry and the house was empty but for myself. I wouldn't be scolded or reprimanded or banished from the premises for entering. It was as nondescript as the rest of the house, at least to somebody like myself so accustomed to the extravagant ways of the rich and eccentric. It was meticulously kept, from the mahogany desk to the spotless hardwood floors. He must have cleaned them himself, unlike the rest of the house where it was my responsibility to tend to the quotidian tasks of watering plants and dusting and mopping. The walls were adorned with books. I expected that, I think. He was a studious man who prided himself on his knowledge of matters far and wide. He commonly reported the formal Latin name of any species of plant or animal on the grounds, from ants to bees to the raccoons and squirrels. He knew of foreign policy issues on the news that were far beyond my grasp. He read perpetually, always entranced by a new novel or reference book. The plethora of books in the library created a panorama of colors and he kept them neatly sorted by genre and author. That's what I first noticed. The books in the study were all the same. There must have been a thousand of those thick, leather-bound books. And there was his desk. It was as simple as I would have imagined. In spite of the columns that adorned the facade of the house and the ornate woodwork of the main banister, he was a man of simple tastes. Quality over quantity, he would always say. And the desk was of the utmost quality and kept in the most pristine order. I could almost envision him sitting there, hunched as he scribbled some complex thesis or as he lost himself in the minutiae of some topic. The chair was empty, though. I would never see him in this room. By some mysterious affliction he had seemingly aged two dozen years in his last week and by the end he could barely croak out his final words. He had grown cold and indifferent and had locked himself away in his study until he could no longer physically cope to walk down from the bedroom. And then, as he lay bedridden and surely on his deathbed, he had dismissed the doctors and his children and grandchildren and asked for only me to stay. ""Enter the study,"" he had told me. My face must have shown my surprise because he nodded to confirm. He had always told me to never enter the study. Never, under any circumstance, was I to enter the study. What he had said next shocked me just as much. ""Destroy it,"" he murmured. I had frowned. Destroy the study? It was, in all its mystery, the keystone of the house. To destroy the study was to destroy the house. And to destroy the house was to destroy his memory and his legacy and everything he had done. And then he shook his head. ""No,"" he gasped and I felt bad for forcing him to repeat himself in his dying moments. ""Destroy *it*."" And then he closed his eyes and he was taken away. The funeral had been a quiet affair. He was never one for fanfare. I looked past the desk. The study was windowless, situated in the middle of the house, like an engine room whose inner workings I had never been made privy to. Two walls had the brown books, each seemingly identical to each of its neighbors. Behind me was the door. And against the last wall was a box with a sheet draped over it, as if hiding it had somehow allowed him to forget about its existence. I am not an educated man. Books were of no interest to me, as much as my master insisted that I read a set number of them a month. I had complained and rolled my eyes but ultimately obliged his every wish. I like to think I am a better man for it. But that aside, the identical books would not be what I first explored. I saw a box and I wanted to know what it contained. And so I made my way to the back wall and, as if I was hoping to surprise whatever the box might contain, I ripped the sheet off with the aplomb of a practiced magician. Only then did I see that it wasn't a box. It was a cage. And inside was a creature that stared at me unblinkingly. It was disturbingly human-like, or perhaps more like one of the apes I had seen in the pictures of the encyclopedias my master sometimes read, more comfortable on four feet than on two. I innately knew that this was what I was meant to destroy. This was the *it* he was referring to with his last words. And a part of me knew that this was somehow connected to my master's demise. I tore my eyes away from the familiar dark eyes of the creature and towards the books. I was a fool, in spite of years of teachings. That much was certain. The answer was doubtlessly in the books but I, a brute at heart, had insisted on driving straight towards the question instead of first satisfying myself with an answer. I moved to cover the creature with the sheet again and it finally broke its silence. ""No,"" it hissed and those long, spindly fingers grabbed the bars of the cage. Something within me urged me to obey and I dropped the sheet onto the ground. ""Release me,"" the creature demanded and I nodded wordlessly. The key would be in the desk. I turned now, released from the void of the eyes. The drawers of the desk were locked. My master had not intended for me to indulge in the secrets of the study. I was to destroy its contents and nothing more. In the center of the desk there was one more book, again identical to the ones on the walls. There was something caught between the pages and I flipped it open. There sat the key and I heard the creature hiss in anticipation. But there was my name, as best as I could tell, and I could not help but start to read. *My dearest Noah,* it began and I smiled sadly. He always addressed me as such before he began to lecture me, indifferent as to whether I fully comprehended what he said or if I just smiled and nodded. Sometimes I think he just liked to have somebody who listened. *If you are reading this, I am afraid that this side of me that I always tried to hide from you has come to light. I hope that, by the end of the journey on which you have chosen to embark by ignoring my last command, your opinion of me does not change.* I shuddered. He spoke from the grave as if I was already half buried myself. I had always obeyed him, but this time curiosity had gotten the best of me. I read on, ignoring the clamor behind me. The cage rattled and shook and from the throat of the creature escaped the familiar voice of my master, screaming in a rage I had never witnessed. *Behind you is a creature that is every bit me, yet not the me that you ever had the privilege of knowing. This is, more than anything else, what I will be remembered by if you do not succeed in destroying it. I know how much you have hated the readings I have given you over the years, but I beg that you please begin from the first volume of this series and do not stop until you understand why I have given you this last command.* I looked around. It was a gargantuan task to read each book in the study, especially at the pace I read. *The first few will provide you the reasons that the younger, bolder and more ambitious me had for exploring this side of our existence.* I paused and wiped a tear from my eye before it plummeted to the page below. I remembered my master's younger years. He had been handsome and daring and ready to take the world by storm. Business ventures flourished and women ogled and fell for him and he quickly amassed a fortune only the extremely capable or fortunately endowed could manage. Age had made him cautious and private but just as curious as ever. The creature had paused its racket and wheezed raspy breaths now. *The next seven hundred or so will detail the journey I have taken so that you need not make the same journey.* Seven hundred books? I could barely handle the three or four a month that he demanded. Hopefully they were riddled with sketches and empty space but I knew that was not the way of my master. The text would be small and cramped in order to fit the most detail on each page. I read on in a stupor, dwarfed by the size of my task and marveling at the life my master had led in this secret room that was the nucleus of the house. *Call them trials or call them tortures - it matters naught. I have always told you that my success would be my demise.* He did always say that. I always imagined assassins or hitmen dispatched by jealous heirs, not an other-worldly creature locked in a cage locked in a room. *My success has been my demise, as I'm sure you've already realized.* I had not realized, but now I did. This was what he had sought to achieve; not to parade around the world or display in a museum but for the sake of achievement. This was what had destroyed him, and he thought it sinister enough to demand its destruction, legacy be damned. *The last few will provide you the reasons that the older, wiser me had for regretting ever beginning this wretched experiment.* ***** ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1721
" I was excited at first, Hell","I found it in a field. I was excited at first, Hell, I was excited later. Less so now, and when I am excited, I don't like it. I don't like what it's turning me into, I don't like what it's letting me be. I thought it was a meteorite at first, and I get real geeky about that kind of thing, the thought of running my hands over something that had been hurtling through the cold empty reaches of space just a few moments before. Not that I'm dumb enough to touch a freshly-fallen space rock, I know what kind of friction-Hell atmospheric entry puts an object through, powerful enough that what hits the ground is generally a lot smaller than what entered the Earth's exosphere. And I did see the thing fall, streaking down in a barely-there flash of tail-fire.. Heard it too, that great echoing ""whoompf"" as it hit the soft topsoil of the fallow cornfield, then the answering patter as a thousand clods of dirt thrown up by the impact fell back to Earth. I was lucky. Or maybe unlucky, given how things have turned out. Probably the latter. Power is overrated, peace is not, at least to my mind, right now, hiding here so I don't have to. So I don't have to do it again. Anyway, whether she was smiling or giving me the finger, Dame Fortuna definitely had her eye on my beat-up Toyota pickup as I bumped down a dirt-road shortcut on my way to another repair appointment. I turned the wheel immediately after my half-second realization about what the thing must be, holding the wheel loose and putting a little tension in my legs as the small truck bounced over the remnants of furrows, trying to stave off as much of the saddle-sore feeling I was probably now destined for the next morning. A few minutes bouncing my pelvis up against the seatbelt later and I came to the crater. It was deep and not very wide but was not, to my vague disappointment, smoking. Nor did the object at the bottom of it look anything like any meteorite I'd ever seen, either in books or museums. It was bumpy but not precisely *lumpy*, if that makes any sense; it looked to be a perfect sphere underneath the many domelike protrusions, which were regularly spaced around its silver-white surface. Wasn't shiny, though, if anything it looked kind of grainy. ""Okay,"" I muttered to myself. ""How to get this sucker out of there without burning the shit out of your hands."" I didn't know exactly *how* hot I could expect the thing to be, only that it was probably enough degrees to cook the flesh off my fingerbones if I tried to pick it up. On impulse, I went back to my truck, grabbed my water bottle, and sprayed a little water over the object, expecting it to hiss and steam. Nothing. Part of the thing was now wet. Some of the water ran down in rivulets. I pulled on a pair of my work gloves, then climbed carefully down into the crater and held my hands out toward the thing. Nothing, no radiating heat, no hint through the relatively thin denim of my old jeans either. I took off the gloves, let my hand get very close. Nope. Wincing, thinking I was doing something really pretty stupid but unable to resist the call of possibly morbid curiosity, I brushed my fingertip against one of the domelike bumps. Thinking about it now, it *was* a pretty stupid thing to do, but not for the reason I had in mind at the time. The surface was cool, exactly the same temperature as the brisk spring Nebraska air. So it didn't burn my skin. But it also didn't let my finger go. ""Ummm,"" I said, and pulled my hand back. Nope. Finger was stuck to the surface. Not painfully. Not at first. ""Ow,"" I said, and then shuddered as the really serious pain hit me in an accelerating flash that seemed to burn through every nerve in my body, though now I know it was really just every blood vessel. Which, yeah, feels about the same. ""OWWW FUCK OWW JESUS GOD WHAT THE SHIIIIT."" All my muscles went rigid, and I had to kind of curl up at the bottom of the crater to keep myself from jerking my hand away, a possibility which some tiny part of my brain not fully occupied with the pain thought might make things worse. And then, just as suddenly as it had come on, the pain faded away, leaving only a sick feeling at the pit of my stomach and a powerful throbbing in my head. And my finger was free. I stepped back and stared at the thing, only I couldn't really step back in the narrow crater but had forgotten that and so I ended up dredging trails in the sides with my heels as the plastic strap on the back of my ball cap pushed up against loose dry dirt along with my shoulderblades. Still not willing to take my gaze off the damn thing for even a second, I turned awkwardly sideways and scrambled up and out, dragging one hip and the bit of belt that went around it through the soil. Once I finally got out of the crater and onto my feet, I ran to my car and jumped in, trembling, that same tiny part of my brain not currently freaking the fuck out telling me I was a Goddamn jackass for getting into the truck all filthy like this, as if the cabin wasn't already grimy enough. I don't know how long I sat there, holding the wheel and looking ahead. I do know that's when I first started to notice the changes, the tingling, near-unpleasant-but-not-quite ache in my bones, the slow sharpening of my senses. It's also when I heard the approaching choppers. From very, very far away as my hearing was now very, very good. Good enough for me to pinpoint their exact location, miles and miles away. Intuit it, anyway, it wasn't something I could easily put into numbers or show you on a map. But enough to know that I could be miles and miles away from this place before they arrived. So I put the truck into gear and I drove. <continued below>",1068
 Young photographer held the locked cell phone,"The police station was filled with old land line phones ringing with obnoxious bells while the young photographer held the locked cell phone in his sweaty hands. Across the desk from him, the overweight detective leaned back in his spinning arm chair grunting affirmatives. He sighed and hung up the phone and leaned forward to look at the boy, his red mustache twitching with annoyance. ""This isn't some kind of prank, is it?"" The photographer slammed his fist on the table, and stood up in defiance. ""I'm telling you what happened, just open the phone and you'll see. It really happened, you have to do something."" With blood rushing to his face the detective stood and towered over the photographer. ""The patrol I sent to the causeway didn't find any trace of foul play. Reporting fake crimes is a waste of our time and the taxpayer's money."" ""Fake? It was a murder! I have it all on video,"" The photographer said not backing down. ""Oh sure, of course it is. Listen, I've had tons of guys come in here with all kinds of excuses to open their girlfriends cell phone, but your the first to claim murder. Now get the hell out of here before I arrest you."" The photographer took a step back, the wind stagnating in his lungs. ""Girl-- a woman was murdered!"" The detective pulled the cuffs from his hip and tapped the metal on the wooden desk, ""Was I not clear the first time?"" The photographer clicked his tongue, and turned around to stomp out of the office. However, the detective had another final word. ""Young man, we have groups that help, like narcotics anonymous. We can help you."" The photographer froze, pulling his sleeve down. ""That isn't what this is about,"" he mumbled and ran out of the station. His white knuckles still grasping the cold phone case. The streets were lit by vintage yellow bulbs that towered above on their crooked neck poles. The photographer looked up and snapped a picture of the menacing light, and smiled at the photo. If only people were like things, things were whatever he posed them as, people had a mind of their own. He waited on the corner where his supplier tended to wait for him. If he could just get well, this whole thing would go away. The images of that hammer striker her head, the man smiling at him. It was the friendliest smile he had seen in years, but it came after such a sickening action. The photographer clutched his gut and grabbed onto the lamppost, dry heaving, if he had lunch he would have lost it. But, food was second to getting well, and his scenic pictures hadn't been selling since the tourist season ended. His pocket began to buzz, and the song 'This love,' by maroon five blasted from his pocket. ""She said, goodbye, too many times be--"" With a furrowed brow the boy looked at the locked phone, it still wouldn't open and he couldn't answer the call. He was about to throw the phone, and rid himself of everything about today, when a message appeared on the screen. ""Call me back at this number,"" the text said. The photographer pulled out his no contract flip phone and typed in the number. His heart was thumping, and the voices were telling him to stop, or to do it, or just complaining that he wasn't well enough for this. The phone rang once, and a click sounded the connection. ""Daniel, you sly dog, I never thought you'd never go to the police."" ""W-who is this? How do you know my name?"" the photographer asked. ""Daniel, I know everything about you. I'm not so sloppy as to pick a photographer that anyone would believe. They didn't believe you did they?"" ""You're him, you're the guy aren't you?"" The cheap phone speaker cracked with the laughter on the other-side of the line. ""I was right, they didn't believe you. Why would they? That left arm of your's has more dots than a fifteen year-old's nose."" The voices were screaming now, telling Daniel to drop the phone, run, get well. He swallowed a lump in his throat. ""Why did you call me?"" The line was silent, then killer took a deep breath. ""Isn't this more exciting? Now all I have to do is kill the end boss, collect the loot, and have my happy ending. Games that are too easy never leave me satisfied. Plus I'll have the video to relive this moment forever. Thanks Daniel, sit tight, I'm coming to get you."" The phone clicked, and the line went dead. Daniel starred at the phone in his shaking hands, tears streaming down his face. He didn't want to die, not like this. No one would mourn him. His life up until now felt pointless. Was their still time to change? The dealer in his black hoodie crept out of the alleyway with an arm extended. ""Hey bub, want the usual?"" Daniel squeezed the phone in his hand, ""Make it a double."" &#x200B; Daniel was slumped against a trash dump, starring up at the specks in the sky. He looked over at his camera resting on it's tripod, watching the night sky with it's shutter open to catch the light of the stars that would watch him die. His arm throbbed from the circulation being cut off by the bandanna wrapped around his bicep. Footsteps sounded from the entrance. ""Oh Daniel, what a disappointment. I suppose you're already used to letting people down, I shouldn't have expected so much."" Daniel's head sagged to the side, and his unfocused eyes flicked towards the bright lights that silhouetted the newcomer. His black finger was shaking his head and approaching with heavy steps. ""You found me quick,"" Daniel slurred. ""Find my Iphone,"" the killer said waving a bright screen. ""You've made me sad, Daniel. I wanted to fear for my life, but here you are, like a sleeping trash mob. Do you understand? You've ruined my vision."" The killer kicked Daniel in the knee and the photographer slumped to the ground. With white eyes --glowing with rage-- the killer snarled and kicked again. ""You coward, even when you're life is on the line you just give up? Do what you've always done? You've messed everything up."" A kick landed on Daniels nose and a sickening crunch was followed by a splat of blood. His right hand pulled the bandanna off his left arm and used it to cover his face. ""I'm not a criminal."" ""Bullshit you junkie."" ""I'm not going to help you with anything."" ""That's already clear enough."" The killer swung his leg into Daniels gut, but this time the photographer grabbed hold. ""Let go, worthless piece of trash."" Their was the click of a gun and Daniel slammed his eyes shut, and lifted his fatigued left arm and pointed at his assailant. ""So much for hard mode,"" Daniel laughed. ""You brought a gun."" ""Shut up."" The killer shouted. He leaned down and smacked Daniels right arm with the but of the gun. Bone's cracked, but he didn't let go. ""I didn't give up."" ""What?"" the killer asked. Daniel smirked and slammed the needle into the thigh of the killers leg and shoved onto the top of the syringe. The killer screamed in agony and fell back onto his but and scrambled to pull the needle out, but it was too late, he was getting well. His fingers went numb, his head dropped to the side as he clawed uselessly at the air above his wound. ""Daniel!"" he screamed, and passed out. Daniel flipped open his phone and dialed 911. &#x200B; The red mustache curved up in a smile as the detective patted Daniel on the back as red and blue lights flashed bright. ""It was just like you said, we opened his phone and found proof of the murder. And since this alley is right next to the hospital we were able to keep him from over dosing. He's going to jail for a long time."" Daniel smiled and held his camera in his hand like a fragile diamond. ""Hey chief, think you could sign me up for that narcotics anonymous?"" The detective smiled, ""I'll even be your sponsor kid."" &#x200B; /r/QuarkLaserdisc",1386
 The other kids in school called them,"For as long as I could remember, I knew there was something a little off about my home situation. Specifically, the parenting. You see, I gathered rather quickly that it wasn't normal to call your parents by their first names. The other kids in school called them mom and dad. It seemed like I couldn't quite do that, mostly because it would get wholly confusing to use three different variations for dad and two variations for mom to refer to my parents. Don't get me wrong - this wasn't some sort of poly-amorous household or orgy-filled arrangement that my parents had. It was more of a reluctant coexistence where they all just barely tolerated each other but put up with it for me. So kind. So loving. In fact, when arguments broke out, all I could do was run and hide in my bedroom as balls of fire the size of baby elephants flew across blackholes that swallowed half of the kitchen cutlery and all the plates. Like I said, I don't call my parents mom and dad, or anything crazy like mom and mother and dad and daddy and father. It's more of a blend of numbers. There is Dun and Doo and Dee. Dad One, Dad Two, Dad Three. There is Mun and Moo. Mom One, Mom Two. Not quite traditional, but functional enough. Before I get lost in the details, let me say that there was a reason for all this parental mess. That takes us back to a beginning. Not my beginning, because my life was all but ruined before I was even a thought in anybody's mind, and not *the* beginning, because that would be the beginning of time and it's ridiculous to think that I'm about to tell a story that long, but to a beginning nonetheless. My birth mother was a vile, twisted woman. That's the conclusion I have reached independently of my reluctant foster parents telling me that my mother was a vile, twisted woman. More specifically, for them, she was a scammer. She excelled at the particularly unsavory task of scamming the supernatural. Don't ask me how she first got involved in this. I've never met her and I don't plan to. Regardless, it turns out that she promised her firstborn to not one supernatural entity, not two supernatural entities - do you see where this is going? - but to five supernatural entities. So when I popped out of that womb like a human-shaped log pops out of the other hole, these five supernatural entities came knocking. My mother panicked. She disappeared. At least that what they've told me. I get the vibe that they more disappeared her, if you catch my drift. Tomato potato. Same thing. The details are irrelevant. The point is, this lovely assortment of three demons, a fae and a disgruntled witch - trust me, a disgruntled witch is far more menacing than a disgruntled public employee - adopted me or kidnapped me or accepted that they were now stuck with a powerless human infant. Long story short, here I am now. A mortal raised by a squad of supernaturals. I could field my own basketball team of supernatural parents that would defeat the Looney Tunes squad and the Monstars both at once. I can't actually do that though. I think they hate me, to be quite honest. I am, by turn, ""child"", ""kid"", ""boy"", ""ungrateful little shit"", ""human turd"", and ""chump"". Doo calls me chump. I don't know why. I feel like they're the ones who got chumped. And then last Fraturday came along. Fraturday is not a traditional weekday, as you surely know. It doesn't exist in the human realm, but in the confines of my supernatural house with its supernatural rules, this mismatched group of parents of mine have managed to squeeze in a third day of the weekend that nestles in right between Friday and Saturday. I can't hangout with people that day. I can't leave the house. If I do, apparently shit goes to shit and nobody wants that. Anyways, last Fraturday comes along. I'm playing in my room, pretending that the beanbag is some supernatural planet where my parents live and I am an astronaut tasked with kicking the shit out of it, when all of a sudden they all barge in. Not in the traditional sense of ""knock knock"", ""who's there"", ""your parents, open the fucking door"" but they more materialized into my bedroom without bothering to knock on anything or even open the door. And they looked at me with what I almost mistook for love - I assure you, nothing could be more far from the truth - and they said those words I thought I'd never hear. ""We need your help, chump child boy."" I won't leave this on a cliffhanger. Most likely, I'll just cut off in the middle of the interesting part because being raised by demons makes one almost as twisted as they are. Back to the story though - there is very, very little that supernatural beings need from humans that they cannot accomplish themselves. I had already completed some of those tasks for them. Menial things like removing individual grains of salt from their food or elbowing their ribs when they were starting to act unnatural at a parent-teacher conference. But they had never all come to me at once like this. It would have made a lovely family portrait were it not for the horns sticking out of some heads and those wretched claws they had and Moo's disgusting warts. ""Ok..."" I answered hesitantly, making sure to not bind myself to some demonic oath. ""What do you need?"" They glanced at each other nervously. Demons and witches and faes don't get nervous easily. Unless they needed me to talk to their boss, there were very few things to make them nervous. ""We seem to have crossed the wrong person."" ""Oh?"" That took some guts to admit. I was skeptical it was a middle-aged soccer mom or an angry Chad whose car they had set alight. They could deal with that himself. They nodded, all at once. ""You see, we were playing doinks outside of a church."" Doinks is a game the supernatural play, similar to craps only basically nothing about it was the same. It's a game of wagers that has been banned in all realms, yet of course my imbecile parents decided to have a roll at it. Right in front of a church, too. ""Poor decision making,"" I ventured to say. They nodded again. A rare, unanimous consensus. ""And what?"" I wanted to know what happened in the same sadistic way one just desperately wants to know how bad the injuries were when you pass a car crumpled under a semi. ""We lost the dice. In the church."" I almost fainted. I knew the game. I had seen them play. And I had seen what happened when the supernatural - especially that imbued with evil - gets inside a church. This wasn't good. Not even a little bit good. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1203
 A man emerged from an unmarked white,"The sun beat down on the barren wasteland as a man emerged from an unmarked white van. He wore a long white cloak with the symbol of the Defender on his back--a large green shield with a red diamond in the middle. His hands shook as he stepped along the dry, cracked earth. ""Give me strength,"" he mumbled. His hands shook. His knees wavered with every step. A hundred thoughts raced through his mind, but one repeated above all others: *he could not win*. A hundred yards away, an equally plain black van rolled to a stop. A hooded figure stepped out from the driver's seat, its head low as it moved. The crest on his shirt struck fear in the heart of the man in white--a silver sword across a cracked blue shield. The Aggressor. ""You can do this, Steve,"" the man in white whispered to himself. ""He doesn't know who you are. He's expecting a superhero. You can do this. Talk him down. You can--"" The man in black stopped, pulling the hood from his face. Steve's eyes narrowed, his face twisted in confusion. That man was not the Aggressor. ""Look,"" the man in black called out. ""I know you've come expecting a battle for the ages, but there will be no fight today."" Steve planted his feet in the dirt, unsure of how to proceed. So, he did the only thing he could think to do; he revealed himself. As he lowered his own hood, the man in black relaxed. ""You're not the Defender,"" he said, his voice laced with shock and relief. ""No, I'm not,"" Steve said. He approached the man, remaining cautious, and extended a hand. ""I'm Steve."" ""Jerry,"" the man said. His handshake was limp and clammy. The two men stood in silence for a moment, taking in one another's appearance. Steve glanced behind the man at the van he'd arrived in. ""That the c300?"" ""350,"" Jerry said. Steve laughed. ""See, I knew the 350 was the better choice. I'm always telling the Defender it's all about comfort. No one wants to roll into a battle with a sore back because of an inferior seat design."" ""Oh, I completely agree,"" Jerry said with a nod. ""The 300 isn't bad, but it's such a small price gap to the 350, it just makes more sense to upgrade."" ""That's exactly what I said! But you know the Defender, he's gotta be *so* economical!"" Jerry laughed, relaxing his stance. ""Nice cloak, by the way. I bet yours came from the same knock-off place at the mall that mine did."" Steve rolled his eyes. ""We go through one of these a month. You have any idea how much money they could save if they just spent *a little* more on something higher quality?"" ""Oh, I'm with you, all the way. Aggressor is always trying to cut corners. That death ray from last summer? Would've worked just fine if he bought the extra plutonium I suggested, but nooo, 'off brand will work just fine!'"" ""And Defender's wife probably wouldn't have been lost in that trap of yours two years ago if he'd upgraded his home security system, like *I* insisted! But of course, he's all, 'who needs sensors on *every* window, Steve, that's just a waste of money!'"" He puffed his chest and did his best impression of the hero. ""I *knew* that was too easy! Gah, will they *ever* listen? This feud would have been settled *years* ago if *we* were in charge."" Jerry smiled, sweat rolling down his forehead. ""Christ, it's hot out here. Could really go for some ice cream."" Steve thought for a moment. ""I know a place, down on third street--"" ""Bannermans?"" ""Hell yeah, Bannermans. Best ice cream in the tri state area. Wanna grab a cone?"" ""You know it! Hey, wanna drive the 350?"" Jerry pulled the keys from his pocket and tossed them in the air. Steve caught them and laughed. ""Hell *yes* I do."" He walked passed his new friend, flooded with relief. He had been dreading this meeting, sure that he'd meet his end. How a superhero could possibly expect his sidekick to defeat the villain was beyond him. Thankfully, the Aggressor had the same idea. He walked towards the van, spinning the keyring around his finger. But before he reached it, he heard a familiar, chilling noise. A low, electric hum, increasing in pitch by the second. His heart sank. ""Jerry--"" ""Sorry, Steve, you seem like a great guy and all, but I came here for a reason. I'm not going to fail."" Steve spun around and saw the pistol pointed at him. ""You don't have to do this, Jerry. We can quit. We don't need to be their slaves anymore. Let them fight their own battles, let them--"" ""Where is the Defender, anyway?"" Steve furrowed his brow. ""What?"" ""Where is he? This was supposed to be a showdown."" His eyes were narrow, a fire burning behind them. ""He's sick, flu or something,"" Steve said. He held his hands high in the air, looking for a way to escape. ""Wait--where's Aggressor?"" ""Aggressor is dead,"" Jerry said. ""I was tired of his ridiculous commands. He never respected me, or my ideas. He was a shit villain, and he needed to be replaced."" ""You--you *killed* him?"" ""And I'm going to kill the Defender, too. Sounds like he's as inept as Aggressor was. And now I know it. I just need to get you out of the way."" In that moment, Steve realized his fate. There was no talking his way out of this one. He had to act fast, or-- The gun fired, and Steve felt a flash of white hot pain in his chest. His knees gave way and the world spun around him as he fell to the dirt. The clouds above him became a blur, and after a moment, a figure stood over him. ""Sorry, Steve, but this is my town now."" r/Ford9863 for more stuff by me.",1000
" ""I am the Archangel Michael,","""James Riley Simpson?"" ""Yep, that's me,"" I said as I raised my hand. ""I am the Archangel Michael, welcome. I apologize for the strange circumstances regarding your-- err, placement. Please step inside and we'll get this sorted right out,"" he said as he led me into bland and boring conference room that would have been just at home in any generic office building on earth as it was in the afterlife. ""This is Belzunarr, my... colleague from the other side. He fulfills much the same role for Hell that I do for Heaven."" ""Ah, gotcha,"" I said as I held out my hand to the twisted, demonic creature who was already seated at the table. ""Nice to meet ya,"" Belzunarr said as he spit in my hand. ""Lovely,"" Michael muttered. ""Now, we are here because you are the first human in centuries that has stymied our automated morality algorithms. So, lets dive right into your file, shall we?"" ""Go for it, I'm pretty proud of my life."" ""I'm sure you are,"" he replied. ""Let's begin at age 22, when you began your lifelong belief in 'mobility based urination'? What in my God's name is that? ""Ah, yes. Well, you know when you've gotta take a leak, like really really bad? Well, no, you two wouldn't I'm sure, but you've gotta stop and--"" ""Find a bathroom, yes yes, we understand human biological needs,"" Michael interjected. ""A bathroom? Nooooooo no no, I never bothered to find bathrooms, but I had to take the time to stop and find a suitable side of a building or corner of the subway car to whiz in, but that takes sooooo much effort. So I beat the system, I started peeing as I walked places to save time."" ""You urinated... in public... while walking places, to save a few minutes time?"" Belzunarr asked. ""I mean, sometimes I'd whip it out and let 'er rip as I walked, jogged, biked, canoed, skydove... whatever was going on, but I often just peed my pants if there were too many people around. I had a strong sense of decorum about the whole thing,"" I said with pride. ""Wait-- I apologize for skipping ahead, but Age 52 appears to contain a smoking gun. You punched a toddler in the face? Good lord,"" Michael muttered with disgust. ""Oh, he's one of ours for sure!"" Belzunarr said with glee. ""Yes, I did... but it was only to move it out the way of an oncoming truck that would have killed the kid."" ""Why would you not have simply-- picked it up? Shoved it? Rolled it? Virtually any method of movement sounds superior in this case,"" Michael said. I shrugged. ""Seemed like a great excuse to see what punching a baby felt like. How many other situations would arise where I wouldn't be hauled off to jail as a result?"" They both stared at me in silence. Apparently they had not experienced that rationale from alleged baby punchers before. The interrogation of my life went on for hours, but each scenario yielded similarly unsatisfying results. Yes I did bad things, yes I did good things, but at every turn I was only motivated by my own self interest and by the curiosity of poking at the rules and lines set by society. As a result, neither of them wanted me for their little afterlife clubs. ""There is always the third option,"" Michael said, trailing off. An extremely bored looking woman in solid gray business attire had been sitting in the corner the entire time, willfully choosing not to participate. ""Meh,"" she replied as she shrugged, never looking up from her magazine. ""Even Purgatory doesn't want him!"" the angel shouted with frustration. ""We'll have to cancel his mortality and send him back to Earth, I don't see any other choice."" ""As much as it pains me... we are in agreement,"" his demon pal said. They stamped my paperwork in rapid succession and it vanished into thin air. ""I cannot *believe* this worked,"" I whispered with equal parts shock and excitement. ""What worked?"" they asked in unison ""Is my path set in stone? I'm being sent back to earth as an immortal? Nothing can change that now?"" ""Your paperwork has been filed, it is done,"" the Michael replied warily. ""Now, what worked exactly?"" ""I met this old guy when I was about 21, he was a street bum, but whenever he rode the subway with me he made a whole lot of sense. He didn't have much, but there was something appealing about the way he lived for himself in every moment. No good, no evil, just self fulfillment. He said if I lived according to his beliefs, I would be so indefinable and odd that I wouldn't fit in Heaven or Hell, and they'd have to cast me back into my life. Immortality, he claimed, would be the gift for the followers of his Chaotic Neutral teachings. I dared not believe it, but heck, it was a *fun* way to live, so I did it anyway! And now, against all odds, here I am. His prophecy fulfilled."" Michael stared back at me, utterly dumbfounded. ""Oh... my bad. The 'bum'? That was me actually,"" Belzunarr revealed far too casually. ""I gave the kid those lessons during one of my corruption missions while disguised in human form, but honest to Satan, I never for a second thought it would turn him into such a weirdo! I figured *for* *sure* my ideas would lead him to a life of pure evil and sin! I mean, who really understands how to play the role of a Chaotic Neutral?"" ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more of my stories. I think its fair to say I write quite a lot of characters who are at or near the Chaotic Neutral/Good part of the spectrum, chaos is great for comedy which is mostly what I aim for EDIT: Thank you for the Gold kind stranger! And thanks for all the kind comments! I always try to respond to as many as possible, but there are too many to get to for now, so here's a blanket ""thanks much!"" in the meantime",1037
 The Center for Enhanced Radical Traits,"They are usually referred to as ""Gifts"", something you should be thankful for receiving. If you're one of the edgy high school kids you might claim that it's a ""curse"", but if you ask me it's ""a profitable annoyance"". A good 10 years ago when I had just turned 18 someone finally figured out that people around me tended to stay pretty healthy. Sick leave had dropped off hard and the smog from the local factory didn't seem to blanket the town like it used to. It had been going on for a few years by then but it was after I left on the trip my parents got me for my birthday and people started getting sick again that people figured out that I was the cause. The Center for Enhanced Radical Traits picked me up a few weeks after I returned and people stopped falling sick again. CERT was set up to identify and certify people with gifts, a lot of people end up with pretty useless gifts and get sent on their way with just a certification of ""Mildly Gifted"". But if you've got a dangerous ability you've get certified as ""Dangerously Gifted"". It's pretty much the end of your private life, you end up under insane scrutiny and constant checkups to make sure you don't turn decide to evaporate Lake Michigan or something. Not that anyone had ever managed to do that, they stopped her after the water level had dropped 6 feet. A rare few don't end up qualifying as MG or DG though, these souls end up with the certification: ""Usefully Gifted"". UG's can be pretty much anything as long as it's useful enough for someone to hire you. One guy has the ability to make 2 connected portals about the size of a volleyball, he works for an electric company where for 8 hours a day he keeps a ball of something incredibly heavy falling nonstop to turn a turbine. Apparently that was seen as the most profitable ways to violate the laws of nature. As luck would had it, that's what I ended up being certified as. My ""Illness Prevention Field"" as it was officially certified, measured a range of 50 miles and noticeably both prevented most illnesses and diseases but also purified 39 identified pollutants from the air. Let me make one thing abundantly clear: I can't heal the sick, I'm not a holy man, and I'm not gonna go to your national park to sit around on a stump and save the forest for you. But it's true that people don't get sick when I'm near, which is usually a good thing, but it turns out that if I stay in a small town like where I grew up, that creates problems. Apparently the medical industry don't really enjoy it if no one needs medical attention, and after I became publicly known as the cause of the record low hospitalizations in the town I got my very own protest. Turns out there had been layoffs at the hospitals and almost all the small private practices had been forced to shut down. So almost 50 people in surgical masks and white coats ended up marching up and down in front of my house with signs claiming that I was ruining healthcare by keeping people healthy. I didn't really care at first, I was working as an auto mechanic at the time, but apparently my boss' wife's brother's wife had run one of the private practiced that had gone under, so I pretty promptly lost my job. Not even gonna lie: it kind of pissed me off. That was when I got a call from Google, I hung up of course, It's not the first time I've gotten calls from google about a ""great opportunity"" if I'll just provide my social security number. Turns out this one was the real deal though as after I'd hung up the second time they sent one of those google maps cars out to my place to let me know not to hang up a third time. When the third call eventually came I did let them speak, and took the best job offer I had ever heard, and would come to greatly regret it. I was going to be paid handsomely to live rent free in a really nice apartment in Silicon Valley, it was positioned so that my Illness Prevention Field could cover both the Google headquarters and 4 other company headquarters that were pitching in on a multi-million dollar yearly salary. Like an idiot with dollar signs in my eyes I signed a 2 year contract, and it didn't take me more than a week to realize I hated everything about my new job. Turns out that people who're willing to make a multi-million dollar offer expects multi-million dollar coverage, and that meant I had to stay in range of all 5 headquarters at all times. It gave me a roaming distance of about a block and a half before coverage would slip, and I had to install a GPS app on my phone that would alert any of the companies the moment they're headquarter lost coverage. This wouldn't have been so bad if the nearest Starbucks wasn't 2 blocks away, so infuriatingly close but just out of reach. I'm not proud to say it, but I pretty much ended up becoming a shut in, living in my apartment not getting enough exercise and yelling at people from my balcony who looked like they were heading somewhere more interesting, which was most people. You would think that millions of dollars would make up for it, but I absolutely loathed my life, even with the big TV, the expensive takeout, and the wild house parties once a month or so. Turns out it's hard to make friends when you're a rich kid who won't leave his apartment and your job is ""spreading good vibes"". People showed up for my parties because I paid to hold good ones, but I never really managed to connect with anyone there on a more personal level. So after 2 years I took my last check, refused to renegotiate a new contract and peaced out of there. I headed back home for a spell to catch up with some friends, but there was a lot of resentment for me back home. Half the people were pissed at me for ""selling out"" and picking who to keep healthy by who were willing to pay, and the other half were pissed because they were convinced my return meant downsizings at the hospitals and doctors' offices that had been reestablished since I left. You can call me petty if you want, but I had no intention of staying in a town where the only people who didn't give me dirty looks were either related to me, or my pizza guy who liked the way I tipped. So I took another job, in Europe this time. The salary was way more modest, there were a lot of zeros on the check still but not more than 6 this time. I worked for some rich guy who was deathly afraid that his mother's cancer would return. It suited me fine, I got to roam freely in town as long as I stayed within 50 miles of her and actually since I could be more out there and social I actually made a few friends. I had signed a 6 month contract, not willing to risk another 2 year google situation, but I ended up staying on for a year and a half. I liked my boss, and I even got to meet his mother a few times, she was a nice old lady and I ended up staying on until she passed way from age related conditions that my field apparently couldn't stop. My boss at the time referred me to someone he knew in Sydney Australia who's infant son had been prematurely born and had a weakened immune system, so that's where I headed next. I've lived in half a dozen cities since then, helping someone specific of course, but also everyone else who happen to be around. I stay on for a while, usually not more than a year, and then I move on, looking for someone else to help and leaving before I wreck the livelihoods of the doctors and nurses around. I said before I thought of it as a profitable annoyance, that used to be true but it isn't really true anymore. Now I quite like my gift, it can't do everything and every once in a while some hippie cult tries to get me to lead them like I'm some sort of bargain bin messiah. I get to help people here and there, without the personal cost that usually comes with helping people. I don't know if that makes me greedy or selfish, but if this is a gift, at least I can share it a little.",1499
 I made the decision when I saw,"I made the decision when I saw my sister come home. We'd been so proud, sending her off to war. She was a prodigy, the latest in a long and illustrious line of Kalihal family mages. I remember standing there in the Ancestor's Foyer, seeing the depth-portraits of a thousand relatives-gone-before looking back at us from behind their crystal panes, Mother just holding her and holding her and crying into her hair, Father standing aside, looking away from me, I think hoping I wouldn't see the tears threatening to spill out onto the fine silk of his collar. I remember the way the pride seemed to lift us all up, circling round my sister with love and joy and expectation. Gods, it would have been a wonderful memory if it had stayed alone in my head. She returned in the middle of the night, or maybe it would be more accurate to say she was returned to us. Not dead, no, but certainly not able to move around much under her own power. Her legs worked fine, they still do. It just hurt too much to move. It still does. She says it's getting better, but I don't know if I believe her. It's hard to look into that face, eyes as strong and bright and clever as they ever were, and believe any kind of denial where pain is concerned. It's hard not to remember when she had a nose, and ears, and no pus to speak of beyond the occasional pimple. I know that's brutal, I know you don't want to hear it. Trust me, I didn't want to see it, and I still don't, but I do because she's my sister and I love her. And you have to understand, the way I came to understand much, much too young. Or maybe not. Maybe some things should be understood early on, before you've spent hours and hours playing with little carved figures, putting them through their own little heroic epics of magical combat and heroic deeds. Maybe it should be understood, before it gathers too much imagined glory in the mind of a small child, what war really means, and that magic doesn't make things any better, not when it's for fighting, it's not wonderful at all. Anyone who disagrees should visit my sister's room. You don't even have to see her, I think. Just the smell might do it, the kind of scent that sticks in the memory and never leaves, that sinks down and lingers in the deep-rooted emotional cellar where the really foolish beliefs blunder about licking each other in the dark. I was ten years old when she left, and twelve when she came back, and knew that in only four years I could be sent off to the same places that had done this to her. She'd told me about them. She wasn't supposed to. Mother and Father had forbidden her from talking to me for a time, after they'd found out. But they couldn't make me forget, and I was grateful, so I snuck in and visited her whenever I could anyway. Let me make something clear, here. I'm no coward. I didn't want to share my sister's fate, but that wasn't all of it, not even close. If she'd come back, even the way she was, and told stories about how it had all been worth it, explained all the good they were doing for the Empire, how we really were bringing True Civilization to the world, spreading the glories of High Culture to the eighteen ends of the Land and the Seven Shores beyond, I might have gone on anyway, swallowed my dread at this new possibility lying in front of me in the form of my older sibling, and followed in her footsteps, hoping that the Truer Gods wouldn't ask the same sacrifice of me. But that isn't what she said, not even close. What she did say, she whispered, because she had to, because the servants had ears and while the walls didn't, they could be made to grow them from the faraway towers of the Uplifting Seers. Whispered nothing at all about the horrors she had suffered, because those were clear as day; instead she had spoken of what she had inflicted, willingly at first, less so as time went on, what she had seen inflicted by men and women she was meant to count as comrades. ""War is shit, Kendra,"" she'd rasped through her fire-damaged vocal cords, still too tainted by Sunk-Magic residue for the healers to help. She'd grabbed me by the shoulders of my sleeves, hissing in pain at the movements of her own fingers, clumsy but still strong, pulling me in so I could hear and no one else. ""War is *shit.* Maybe sometimes that shit is worth it, but not this one. Not this one. Don't let them tell you any different."" She didn't tell me to start failing my classes, though. I'm still grateful for that. I think if she had done, I might have pushed back; who was she, even she-the-wounded-war-hero, to tell me I should derail my life that way? Instead, she trusted me to find my own path forward, or back, to take stock of my own situation, trusted me to *know* that situation better than she could, just as I trusted her word on the war that had sent her back as a shivering, poppy-sipping human char. The first year I failed was apocalyptic. That's what my parents led me to believe. I'd gotten nearly perfect marks every year before, I was set to follow in the family footsteps, I was even more talented...but then they'd trailed off, and I'd stared them down, at all of thirteen and half a head shorter than either of them, I'd stared them down, and they'd gone quiet and it seemed a small miracle, but I knew who they were thinking of and so did they, knew that I knew, and maybe a little of my sister had rubbed off on me in those whispers because after that I was simply told to do better next year, and left alone. But of course I didn't. They sent me to a priest, who tried to pick apart the trauma I must have suffered, given the family tragedy. But the war had been raging for years now, and there was plenty of tragedy to go around and only so many priests and even as well-meaning as the man was, he still had his loyalties and so did I so I was not about to tell him anything about the things she had whispered to me, the conversations we still had, sometimes, when I could get away from the minders among the family servants my parents had set. That got easier over time, getting away, because Janissa, the tall quiet girl who was apprenticed as a Hedge-Wizard maintaining the various small enchantments that kept a house like ours running, she had lost a brother in the war, and told me once she wished she could visit him, see more than just his grave. So she looked the other way, when it was her turn to watch me, so long as I kept out of ""real trouble."" Though in a sense my visits with my sister were more real than any other trouble I might have found myself in. The most real, but also the best, not all trouble is wicked, that's an important thing to remember. The second year, my parents were angry again, but there was no apocalypse this time, it was no longer a shock. I was sent to a different priest. She was better, kinder, and she did help, some. I found a little peace, but in that peace I found even more resolve. I began to hide schoolbooks under my bed, and read them at night. Sometimes I brought them to my sister, and she would teach me. In school, I would sleep. My sister taught me a charm for it. My teachers were angry, and there were some harsh punishments before my parents intervened, explained the situation. It was worth it, anyway. My sister was a better instructor than any at my school. My third year I began to spread dissent. <continued below>",1385
" When I died, I didn't","When I died, I didn't really expect to be given a test. I mean, I was *dead*, you know? There's no need to add insult to injury and give me something that I had to fill out. ""I really don't want to take this."" The angel pauses in front of me, smiling kindly as she sets the test on my desk. ""I know. We know that tests aren't your forte, but this is a Reincarnation Aptitude Test. It determines what you qualify for for your reincarnation experience."" She winks at me before I glance down at the test and then back up at her. ""I'm not going to try on this."" ""I know."" She walks to the next person who obviously overheard our conversation. She explains quickly to the angel how excited she is to be reincarnated as a horse and dives into the test with a sort of vigor I will never know. As for myself, I do my best not to fall asleep as I circle questions randomly, sighing and writing down philosophical bullshit on the short answer sections. This is all not worth the three minutes of freefall I went through that led to my death. Always make sure your parachute works, kids. After I am done with the test (that was about two hundred questions too long), I turn it in to the strange lock box at the front of the room. The angel smiles at me and points across the room to another door. ""You may wait in there for your results. Have a wonderful new life!"" I manage a smile as I make my way across the room to the door. I open it to find another small waiting room where another man sits, rubbing his hands together. I realize there's another person in there too- a young girl -who is standing away from the man. I close the door and clear my throat awkwardly. ""How long have you two been here?"" I ask, trying to break the silence. ""Five minutes."" The little girl answers me with a small smile. It's tense. ""How'd you die?"" ""Faulty parachute. You?"" She shrugs. ""Eh, turns out dads suck."" I give her a sympathetic look and she waves me off. It's a strange action for a girl who looks as young as her- it makes me feel uneasy. ""Hopefully I'll get another shot at it."" ""I hope so too."" I say softly. ""Hopefully this time with a less sucky dad."" She laughs a little, still tense. ""Fingers crossed."" She replies. ""What do you think you'll be reincarnated as?"" ""Probably a racoon."" I say, causing her to giggle. ""I guessed on everything."" ""I only guessed on two!"" She claims proudly. ""The one about-"" ""Quintin?"" A voice suddenly sounds through the room, soft and delicate; the girl and I both look to the man in the corner as he stands abruptly. ""You have been reincarnated as a Killer Whale. Prepare for rebirth."" He nods, staring straight ahead. He doesn't acknowledge either of us when he suddenly poofs out of the room in a cloud of smoke. My eyes widen and my jaw drops. A silence passes between us, and I swallow thickly. ""He wasn't very talkative."" The little girl says, breaking the silence. ""No fun."" She wanders over to me and looks as though she's about to sit down when another voice rings through the space. ""Astrid,"" this voice is different, more matter of fact, ""you have qualified for another human life. Prepare for rebirth."" She turns and grins at me, giving me a thumbs up. ""Dreams do come true."" She winks. ""Have fun."" I say before she poofs out of the room in the same puff of smoke. I'm left alone, and I wait. And wait. And wait... and wait. People come in and poof away and yet I sit and wait. I wonder what is happening because, *hello*, I have been here for the whole day. I have watched people meltdown at their result, and I have watched people jump for joy- there have rarely been any in between. And then suddenly, it happens. ""Oswald,"" I stand, three pairs of eyes turning towards me, ""your results are extraordinary. Prepare for the divinity gathering."" I make a face. ""What?"" I mutter, poofing out of the room. I yell involuntarily as my center of gravity shifts, my body feeling like it's being tossed and turned in mid-air. Without any warning I fall into a chair, the wind knocked out of my chest. I gasp for breath as something like energy flushes through my veins- It's like my body was given an adrenaline hike -and I shove myself up from the chair. I grasp at my chest as I am met with the edge of a table, using my free hand to brace myself- I end up splashing into some soup. ""Gross!"" I groan, shaking out my hand even as it trembles with the strange energy coursing through me. I look up at that moment to see a woman with bright crimson hair staring directly back at me, her mouth agape and bright brown eyes twinkling despite her shock. ""What the hell."" She says, standing up from her chair and tilting her head at me. All at once, I am struck by her beauty and I find myself blushing as she leans forward. ""Another?"" ""Another?"" I nearly scream as a man speaks. I whip to the side, finding an older gentleman; his long white hair reminds me of the stereotypical vision of God, and I look around the table to find several others staring back at me. ""Another god!"" The woman at the head of the table chirps. She stands as well, and I immediately notice her freckles and bright bubblegum hair. ""It's been too long since we've had someone new join us, welcome!"" ""Uh... thank you."" I somehow manage the words, although it feels like I'm speaking through cotton. ""Where am I?"" ""In the Heavens."" The head of the table speaks absently, others leaning over to each other and speaking in low tones. She moves onto her own question. ""What may your powers be?"" I shake my head. ""I have no clue."" I reply- wanting to tell them all that there's been some sort of mistake. There's no way I could qualify for divinity, there's absolutely no freaking way! This is all some massive prank that I am privy to- ""-listening?."" The woman across from me interrupts my train of thought. I feel myself flush again as she speaks. ""Hold out your hands."" I do as she instructs and she grabs my hands, pulling them towards her and shutting her eyes. I watch her, swallowing thickly before she suddenly smiles. ""God of destruction."" She says, all of the others breaking into their own conversations. I look to my hands when she releases them. I curl them into fists and turn them over to look at the backs of them. ""Destruction?"" I murmur. ""It's funny."" The woman at the head of the table says. ""So far anything in the human world that's related to destruction has been of Angie's accord."" The red head raises her hand so I know who she's referring to. ""But now it's up to you..."" She leaves it open for me to fill in. Despite everything leading up to this moment, all the confusion and all the doubt, I decide that even if this is a prank- I'm going to make the most out of it. In a way, me ending up here was a bit of a disaster. It's only fitting for me to be the god of destruction. ""Oswald."" I tell them. ""It's nice to meet you.""",1282
 We were great once. We explored,"My footsteps echoed down the halls, bouncing back and forth until they escaped through the wreckage and into the quiet afternoon. I walked through the ruins of a city that would have rivaled the finest metropolis that our civilization had managed to rebuild after the Conquest. We were great once. We explored and expanded and exploited. And then we met the Roor, with their faster ships and better guns and bigger armies. They had crushed us as simply as a boy crushes an anthill, destroying the structures that had taken generations to build and scattering the survivors left and right. And then after the Conquest had come silence, and eventually we had emerged from the rubble to survey what was left of our empire. It wasn't much. Bodies had been whisked away to produce carbon-based fuel. The relics that defined our culture had been turned to dust or had been vanished along with the food and weapons and what we needed to survive. But we survived. They never let us forget that they were watching, biding their time until we built a society that was worth exploiting. Then they would come and remind us who they were. They would remind us that they could take what they wanted and they would exact their tribute. Otherwise we would die, all over again. Some of us work farms, moving massive pieces of concrete out of fields and tilling the ashes to get to the fertile dirt below. Some of us scavenge, desperately trying to find caches of food from before the Conquest. Anything to reach that minimum amount that could last us through another winter. Then the snow would fall, the white mixing with the gray ashes. The leaves would disappear and the cold would sting your face and underfed children would die where they slept, frozen to the ground. And some of us search. I first stumbled across Community when I saw a wisp of smoke in the distance, just beyond the next hill. Everything was always just beyond the next hill. But I walked that way, desperate for some human interaction beyond ducking out of sight from the Roor-bots that flitted in and out of the clouds and vaporized anything that moved. Only Community was allowed to survive, easier to control that way. I was met on the outskirts by a man who materialized from the stones. ""Friend or foe?"" he had said. There was only one right answer. The makeshift gun he held to my head guaranteed that. So I had shrugged. It would depend on who he was. He was not Roor. He showed me the tunnel that took him in and out of Community. He told me I would never enter through the gates, because I was never truly there. So now I wander. That's the role the Committee ordered. Sometimes I run, sometimes I walk. They told me to search for the machine. They don't know how it looks but once I see it, I'll know what it is. And as my footsteps disappeared down the hall, I checked my map and prepared to mark off another building as clear when a door I missed caught my attention. I glanced around. It's habit. The Roor are loud. They've never had a need for stealth. But still I look around, ensuring nobody is with me, and then I tried the door. It stubbornly refused to open. I tried the lock, realizing it had a place for each finger. It was meant for humans. Roor do not have the limbs to do this. Once inserted, the door unlatched with a quiet click. Beside a dead machine lay the singed pages of somebody's final message. Their bones were on the floor behind me, a welcome sign of humans that is not often found. Carefully, so as to disturb nothing but the dust upon the keys, I turned on the machine. It struggled, and for a second my heart dropped and I thought that all my wanderings were for nothing, but then a message appeared. ""Contact reestablished. Support will arrive soon."" And then I waited. I didn't wander far, reluctant to draw the attention of a Roor-bot and unsure if I would receive another communication. Day turned to night and the night brought sounds. Rats scurried across the rubble. A snake hissed. In the distance, a child cried. A Roor-bot blasted and the crying stopped. I wondered how they had survived out here so long. The child must have been a newborn. I wondered if the machine was programmed to do nothing but to tell me that support would arrive, regardless of whether or not anybody was left alive to support us. I thought that I would wither away in that building before abandoning home. I could join the skeleton by the machine and detach myself from all this running and hiding and heartbreak. The next morning brought no new message and it wasn't until the following day when I heard an unfamiliar whir. I peeked out of the door and, finding the area clear, closed it shut behind me. Soon, a unique spacecraft was hovering in the atrium of a ruined building. Weeds and vines climbed up the inutile support beams that held nothing and now their leaves fluttered in the wind. I hid behind a particularly large piece of concrete. It had upon it half of a crude graffito that read *The end of times be up*. I wondered if the writer had been killed before he could finish or if the other half of his final masterpiece was somewhere nearby. Moments later, the spacecraft was gone and a man in black protective gear barked an order at me to reveal myself. I rolled my eyes. Of course they had heat sensors and such that could see where I was hidden. I felt foolish as I stood cautiously. If this was a Roor trick, they deserved to catch me now. ""You sent the message?"" he asked me, lifting his visor. His eyes were the same lifeless grey I had seen in the eyes of the guards around the Community. He removed a glove and held out a calloused hand. I shook it, the first human contact I had had in years. I looked behind him. He had only a couple dozen men with him. It wouldn't be nearly enough. ""I did,"" I answered hesitantly, assuming that was what I had done by starting the machine. ""Is this all you have?"" ""Pleased to find you,"" he said with a wry grin, ignoring my question. ""I'm Lieutenant Edwards of the Human Expeditionary Force. Here to save your asses."" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1130
 Lawyer says he inherited most of,"They say everyone had two distinct faces. One is the outward public face. And one is the hidden, true face. To the public eye, I'm a decent defence attorney. Standing up for the little guy. But inside, I am something totally different. Something much darker. Much more sinister. I like to think that I inherited most of my bad traits from my father. He belonged to a biker gang. Small time crook. Just took orders and did what he was told. I learnt at an early age that giving the orders is what really got you paid. He got in debt to the gang leader. Didn't have any money. They were going to come after my sister. To convince my father to pay. Well, I didn't really have a choice did I? Poor guy was stabbed 26 times in his bed. His wife who lay with him was just collateral damage. Of course, the gang had to make an example of someone. To prove they still ruled the place. So they chose my dad. He was killed and thrown on the steps of city hall. But it was worth it. For my sister, everything was. She took after my mother's side of the family. She always got good grades, never got in trouble. She was a good kid. The problem is that it is a bad world. Good kids find it really hard here. I did what I had to. I protected her. I have done many bad things. But those are the ones I don't regret at all. Her friend who wouldn't share her doll. The kid who bullied her. The boyfriend who cheated on her. The teacher who gave her a B when she clearly deserved an A. The chain snatcher who stole from her. They all deserved it. You don't cross an Angel without facing retribution from a few demons. I have always been good at giving orders of course. Never anything tied to me. It was all Maniac's fault. The dastardly super villain who terrorized the city. Of course, being the sweet and good girl she is, she leads the rebel alliance agains Maniac's evil rule. I am proud of her for it in fact. In this age of tyranny, anyone who stands up against evil must be applauded. There are times when many of my own men have tried to hurt her. I can't stop them in the open of course. That would bring the knowledge of my secret identity out in the open. Paint a target on her. We can't have that can we? So of course, I had to kill them. She actually has built up quite a reputation in this town now. Anyone who tries to hurt her ends up dying. People don't know everything so they assume she is the one who killed everyone. It isn't true of course. My sister, the perfect angel that she is, would never do something like that. But now I find myself at crossroads. She has gathered too much information. She knows too much about my operations. I live in the fear of knowledge that one day she looks at her brother and sees the monster I truly am. I would die. I wonder if that is the solution after all. She is planning an assassination attempt. Considering all heroes and all the police force has failed, it is of course a foolish errand. But she is brave. She claims her own life isn't more important than the thousands she can save. Or at least have a chance of saving. She says that if she succeeds, it ends the rampage of the maniac. If she doesn't, she'll forever be remembered as a martyr and hopefully many more will rise up against me. Of course she is keeping this a secret from me. But I have spies and listening equipment everywhere. It is my town after all. Perhaps maniac has to die after all. I walk into the meeting room. There was supposed to be a meeting of course, but I cancelled it. I am alone in here today. I know her plan is to attach some sort of gas into the air vents. Knock everyone out. But she doesn't want anyone else hurt. Just me. So the actual killing, she will do that herself. I have always thought that I would die for her. Now here's my chance. She will be renowned the world over as the greatest hero once this is over. A sound catches my attention. A janitor. The gas is already filling the building. He shouldn't be here. I have air filters in my nostrils under my mask. I wanted to see her one last time. Maybe try and explain things. I would still take the stabbing. But I hope I can see her smile one last time. He is down for the count. I wonder. Can I still salvage this? I quickly remove my mask and put it on him. I keep the nose plugs. I hide in the closet and wait. She is dressed much differently than I have ever seen before. Her heels echo across the empty building. She stands over his helpless body. ""Maniac? Huh."" She laughs. It's a different laugh. Something alien. She takes off his mask. ""I hoped you were conscious to see this. The world is moving on. Your little dime crimes are a thing of the past. It is time for a new head of crime to rise. Someone much more ruthless. No more being nice and letting poor shopkeepers who can't pay for protection off the hook. I just murdered all of your crew single handedly."" Was she monologuing? Good grief. She kept going till he opened his eyes. That was when she stabbed him directly in the heart. I call her when she is out of there. ""Angela? Where are you?"" ""Hello brother! Nowhere. I'm at Betsy's house. We are baking cookies."" She is super convincing. I guess everyone does have two faces after all. Sometimes the second face is really well hidden. I guess she took after the wrong side of the family as well.",1024
 Bram sat straight up in his seat,"""The people of Norfrost would be happy to honor your terms. We cannot pretend to have the same army we once did - but neither can you. Relations between our people were peaceful for centuries, and I am sure it would relieve both sides to be able to sleep without fear of another... attack."" Bram finished his rehearsed line carefully. He sat straight up in his seat, his plastered-on smile only barely concealing the fear within him. The chair, a flimsy southern thing, protested loudly as he shifted, waiting on the other man. For years, he'd pressed for peace. For years, his people had died by the thousands - and killed by the thousands, as well. He was tired. Norfrost was suffering the coldest winter he could recall. He could remember the bitter forced smile of the camp cook and his wife. *We'd all have starved to death last year, if we'd all survived.* Both of their sons had died under Bram's command. They had been good men. This was their last hope. Their last chance for survival, entirely dependent on the whims of his peculiar dinner companion, Doran of the Southern Hills. Doran was all hard lines where Bram was soft, fire where Bram was ice, exuberant where Bram preferred the quiet. They'd met before, twice, to attempt to come to terms. Both times ended in bloodshed, and Bram knew that only one thing could have changed his enemy's mind at this point - he couldn't win either. His people were as starved and desperate as Bram's. Doran's only real terms for peace were that Bram's people helped his through this awful, desperate winter. The south was used to warm climates and rolling green hills. This winter had killed all of their delicate crops and frozen their rivers. Doran had sent word inviting Bram to dine with him in his enormous tent, and Bram had reluctantly made the ride out that afternoon. He waited. Doran didn't move. Bram allowed himself a moment to wish that the other man had simply fallen asleep in his seat, eyes wide open. But Doran blinked, those empty eyes betraying nothing. And then in an instant, as if he would burst if he stayed still a moment longer, Doran pushed back his chair and moved it around the table, sitting closer to Bram. Close enough that Bram reached for the knife hidden on his hip, a reflex. Not a very well hidden one, apparently, as Doran's gaze dropped to watch and his mouth twisted into something resembling a smile. Finally, he spoke, the thick southern smoothing over the words, in a tone almost comforting. ""I know you believe this could be a trap. It could be. But it isn't. Neither of us are so stubborn as to end our entire bloodline over territory. My people have suffered long enough, as have yours. Our people were once as one. Let them learn to live with each other again."" He clapped Bram on the shoulder twice, sat back, folded his hands in his lap. ""There is the issue, though,"" Doran said with a curious look on his face, ""of how this union should be made... official. In days past, we would marry - son to daughter, brother to sister. They made a dozen babies and the people loved them all. A marriage is good for the people. A marriage they see with their eyes, they feel it. A piece of paper filled with promises... less so."" Bram had hoped for this. He had a half dozen brothers and cousins at the ready. Marriages between them had always meant peace, at least for a few generations. ""I could not agree more. I have spoken with several members of my family already, at length, and each understands what may be asked of them."" ""Then, we treat."" An hour or more and several sheafs of paper later - terms negotiated, boundaries set, drinks shared - both men felt a little more at ease. The last matter was the marriage pact. Bram sank into his chair a little and loosened the collar of his coat. He was drowsy now, his thoughts a little fuzzier around the edge. He almost felt cheerful. Doran handed the papers to his companion, with orders to copy everything exactly as it had been written. Names could be added later. ""Doran, my new friend. Our last matter is at home - and a happy one it will be. Our families joined together again. Do you have many suitable family members of age?"" ""Only a few - my brother, just twenty, a great warrior with a warm heart. My uncle, halfway through his life with a sharp mind to match. My youngest brother is not yet ten, I would hesitate to marry him off so young if we had other options."" ""Oh. All... men? No women?"" ""Not a one. My mother thinks we're cursed. I have four cousins, all male, all married. My father was one of six boys. Six!"" ""This could be a bit of a, ah, problem then."" Bram looked into the fire across the tent. ""How do you think?"" For the first time in hours, the Southerner's smile faltered. ""Well..."" Bram cleared his throat. ""It would appear that our families suffer from similar... afflictions. I have no sisters. Not a female cousin to speak of. Only a very elderly aunt, nearly gone to rest. I had been counting on your having at least one female relation."" Doran shook his head slowly, trying to work his way around the new information. ""So... no girls?"" He rubbed at his eyes. ""That complicates things."" ""A marriage pact is the only option at this point. You're sure there's nobody? Not a single distant cousin?"" Doran's head hadn't stopped shaking, and Bram's fear had returned fully. What did this mean for their newfound peace? A treaty was not enough. Words were not enough. The two men sat in silence for a long time. Bram was startled by the obnoxiously loud clap of Doran's hands. Doran leapt from his seat, pacing about. ""How far back does your history go?"" Doran was onto something. ""Oh, we have several hundred years of books and stories. Not much before that I'm afraid."" ""So you remember The Quiet Kings? And the Fair Pair? Phoebe and Elena?"" Bram did. He blanched and said nothing. Doran took no notice. ""Marriages don't necessarily need someone with opposite parts. Not political ones. A union, a shared roof over their heads, that's all. The children, yes, but the Quiet Kings raised a small army of orphaned children!"" ""I'm not so sure it would work in this case, the people..."" Doran stopped in front of Bram's chair, dropping to one knee to be level with him. ""The people will see that we've done whatever it takes, that we both were willing to make great sacrifices for them. They will respect that, celebrate it even. He ducked to catch Bram's gaze. ""Don't tell me you people up in the north have started feeling queasy about marriages... like this?"" Bram started. ""Certainly not! It happens now and then. But not usually for a King."" ""Then it will be fine. Unless you object?"" How simple he made it sound. *Then it will be fine.* Bram's selection of suitable women had dwindled down to near nothing. He'd been two cold winters away from marrying a washer woman. He was expected to carry on the family line. That would be changing. ""I don't object at all. N-no."" ""That settles it!"" Doran stood, and for a moment, Bram had the strangest feeling that the other man might stoop down to kiss him. ""Tomorrow we wed! At sunset, on the high hill! I will tell my people when we break fast. You should return home, gather your own. Tomorrow!"" He breezed out of the tent, a thunderous laugh fading out as he walked. And then he was gone. Bram was speechless. He certainly had *not* expected this day to end like this. Before he left the tent to find his horse, he allowed himself a small moment to celebrate. A genuine smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He corrected it just in time to step outside, order his men to escort him back. There had been a reason Bram had never married. It had nothing to do with blushing brides and what a washer woman kept under her dress. Nothing at all. And there had always been rumors of Doran's, ah, escapades, of all kinds. Truth be told, if Doran *had* kissed him, he'd have liked that very much.",1434
" I was diagnosed with a disease,","There's this weird story I have from when I was young that I still to this day can't explain. I don't remember how old I was back then. I was only 17. I was diagnosed with a disease, whose name I hardly remember. I didn't care much for anything at that time. I wasn't a young kid, I could understand what was going on. I knew that it was serious and could entail death, but it never really phased me. Not that part anyways. I just brushed it off, I didn't care. Things only started to get to me as treatments went on and on. Lots of drugs and processes, those days became hazy for me, but I knew it wasn't pleasant. At some point I just knew I was going to die. The only regret I had was that I wouldn't get to spend my last days just being a kid. As I said before, those days became very hazy to me, it all just started to blur together. An amalgamation of wasted time and misery. Yet, there was one day that I remember with extreme clarity. By this point things were getting really bad. My days were spent lying in bed, looking back on what little life I could think back to. Then, a kind old man walked in. I immediately recognized him as our neighbor, and I tried my best to sit up to greet him. Max almost felt like another parent to me. He was a super nice guy who babysat me when I was little, and he was always willing to help me out when family became too much, or if I had something I felt I couldn't tell my Mom or Dad. He was quite laid back, though he could get serious when he needed to be. I remember one day my parents wouldn't let my friends come over to finish a DnD campaign we had been playing through for almost a week. Desperate to finish the game, Max let us play in his garage, to which he said yes. That garage quickly became our go-to place to play DnD, and Max was happy to have the company. He would offer us snacks and make comments about the game pretending to know what was happening. He apparently payed much more attention to our games than he let on though. One December morning, I was maybe 12 or 13, as we were about to start a new campaign, Max asked if he could be the DM. We all figured that he was nice enough to always let us use his place to play, so we might as well do this for him, and we agreed that it could be quite hilarious stumbling through whatever campaign he tried to put us through. To our surprise, he made a really good DM. He created vivid worlds with his words and breathed life into every character and story he made. I don't know about the others, but to me, it felt like I was playing the game for the first time again whenever he was the DM, with the sense of thrill and wonder he created. Needless to say he became an almost constant DM for us from that point onwards. That garage was like a home away from home for all of us. A place to spend time together and live out our childhoods. But childhood can't last. One day, we just stopped going, and I don't know why. One by one we started to be interested in different things, found new friend groups, and grew apart. We stopped playing DnD, and I don't remember seeing much of Max after that. I still tried to hold on to that sense of childhood with tons of RPGs and nerdy paraphernalia, but I realized in that hospital bed that it was worthless. High school was over, though I had missed nearly half of it because of my condition, I hardly hung out with my old friends, and they were all going off to different states, different colleges, pursuing their dreams and living their lives. My childhood was over. Or so I thought. I felt a surge of life watching Max walk through that door, and I jolted, trying to sit up and greet him, though I quickly got dizzy and my head felt like it was splitting open as I slumped back down on the bed. He checked to make sure I was okay, and we talked for about a minute before he said he had a surprise. I watched as my friends walked through the door with a colorful assortment of books, papers, and game pieces, some with foldable chairs and a small foldable table too to place it all on. He told me that he had gathered up the old party so we could all play one last game of DnD. A lump grew in my throat and my eyes welled up at the sentiment. That game took up nearly the entirety of the visiting hours, and it went by in a flash, but I still remember every minute of it. It felt just like old times. Within me it rekindled the spark of joy and adventure I had, a sense of awe and wonder at the world. Despite being a relatively short game, it felt so climactic. We stepped back into the shoes of old characters, tread upon the grounds of worlds we had long forgotten. I could tell that Max had painstakingly chronicled and saved all of our previous journeys, and brought it all into one final adventure. An ancient evil, a force or pure darkness, whose influence had been within many foes we fought over the years, was slowly growing all this time, building its power, and now was awakening. It threatened to send all of the worlds we came to know and love back into oblivion. Not everything made total sense, and some bits of the tale we all weaved were a bit corny and contrived, but it didn't matter to me. I had gained such an emotional attachment to everything that the stakes felt real to me. It felt like I was about to lose all I loved to this evil creature. I was absorbed into the world, and determined to defeat it. With each battle, with each victory, with each interaction, I felt more alive. More than I had in quite awhile, even before the sickness. I was still weak, but I was unbelievably happy and hopeful. Nearing the end of the campaign, the real world as a whole seemed to fade away. At the end of the world, we poured our hearts into trying to seal away this evil beast from destroying everything. But in the end, it broke free, and the world was enveloped in darkness, all that we had come to know and love, gone. When this happened, everything seemed to fade away to me. The hospital room, my friends, even Max. I felt like I was drifting away into nothingness like my now long gone character. Max's voice pierced through the darkness. Within the long darkness were two souls, he said. One from the ruined world, quickly fading, and the other, having been wandering through the darkness for a long time. The old soul saw something within the other soul. Hope. The old soul decided to give all the strength it had to the other soul, and through that strength, a new world was born. A beautiful land of color, of light. One that was new and daunting, but the soul, despite having come into this new world by itself, wasn't ever alone. With that, I think I fell asleep. I couldn't remember anything after that. All I knew was that after that day, my condition miraculously improved. the doctors said it was a miracle, and to this day they can't explain it. I was out of the hospital within a few months, and I felt surprisingly hopeful. I was able to live, and now I'm 37. I have a house, a loving wife, and two kids who love DnD as much as I once did. We visited my family this past year for the holidays, and I randomly asked my mom about Max. She was surprised that I remembered him. She told me that he died when I was 15, and I argued that he couldn't have died then, as I remembered that game so vividly, but she said she knew that's when he died. I did some research later on that confirmed it. I managed to find a pdf of an old local newspaper, and there I found his obituary, and yeah, he died when I was only 15. I didn't understand what this all meant until Christmas morning. The kids opened their presents to find that my parents had gifted them some of my old DnD stuff that they had held onto. They immediately wanted to play, and so I began to set things up, and I found a note buried within all the material. It read, ""Time is short, and always moving, always changing. Sometimes, you'll want to give up, and you'll lose sight of the things that matter to you. But there are always new worlds to explore, more life to lived. It can all be daunting sometimes, but it's an adventure you have to face. Make it a good one. -M"" It hit me then. Max was gone, but he never truly left. So, I sat down with my kids, and began their adventure. An adventure in a world that faced ruin, but from the darkness and the ashes emerged something new. Life, love, hope.",1614
 I bore pits so deep and dark,"I'm the grave-digger for secrets. I bore pits so deep and dark that no light'll ever again touch the whispers thrown into 'em. My own secret, that was the first I buried. The one that got me into this line of work. Now they all come to me 'cause they can't destroy their secrets, neither. Someone will need to know someday, just today ain't that day, they tell me. Can't afford America to come crashing down right now, not with all the global instability. Or maybe they shove the secret into my hands and tell me that a record of this sin or that sin needs to be kept for judgement day - *you must understand?* Or perhaps they say: well I'm a man of morals, after all, and the truth can't just be burned -- it needs to be kept forever, even if never known. My reputation is built on my ability to keep things quiet. And should just one of these secrets ever slip out, then I'll be digging a final grave and jumping headfirst into it. But as things stand right now, the game of cards I'm dealing is just about even. Each player understands I can see all the hands, and if something happens to me, then I tell all the other players what they were holdin'. That's why they trust me: because they *don't* trust me. It was a Friday when I met her, and a Saturday when she died. The bar leaked smoke, bad jazz, and the stink of urine like it was an overflowing sewage plant. But I was used to seedy. They never liked to give me their secrets anywhere but seedy. Dirty places for dirty business. Except, *she* wasn't seedy. She was class. The type of dangerous class that meant if you weren't carrying a gun in your pocket before meeting her, you damn sure were after. I was sipping my second third-rate whiskey and watching the band pluck strings like they were defeathering a chicken for the kitchens, when her scent stabbed me. Sweet, sure, but there was something more seductive just beneath the surface. I turned to see her sit on the stool next to me, the slit in her red dress rising just enough to show her pale thighs as she crossed her legs. Bet there ain't never been a stool that happy before. The barman must have seen her even before I did, as a moment later a drink in a glass almost as long as her dress, slid in front of her. He didn't wait around for payment. She must have caught me staring as her plump lips smiled. Then, her voice like silk pantyhose, she said, ""Are you Mister Secret?"" The lines on my face creased, as if maybe I was smiling too. ""I ain't never been called that before."" ""But you are?"" If it was a smile, it turned into a tight frown. ""Maybe. You the one who wants to make a deposit?"" ""Yes."" She read the hand I was holding. ""What's the matter? Didn't expect a woman?"" ""Didn't expect much, to be on the level with you. Never do. And I'm rarely disappointed."" ""Are you disappointed, today?"" My skin tugged even tighter as I grinned. ""Never been more so."" She placed her handbag down on the bar next to her drink. ""The money is in there. As is my secret. Can I trust you completely, no matter how terrible the secret I hold is?"" ""Lady, I never look at them. That's not my business. I just bury them."" ""They'll bury me,"" she said, eyes falling to the ground. ""Soon."" ""Oh yeah?"" A long smooth inhale. ""Yes."" ""And who are *they* exactly?"" ""I thought you didn't look at the secrets."" ""That's a secret too?"" She paused, then shrugged. ""I suppose not. The CIA. MI6. KGB. Every intelligence agency in the world, Mister Secret."" ""John. You can call me John."" ""Why? That's about as much your real name as Mister Secret. And has less of a ring to it."" She had a point. ""Must be something pretty big you're burying."" ""It would change *everything*."" Her lipstick-painted lips moved into slow ovals on the last word, and I swear I ain't never seen syllables look quite that sexy before or since. ""Well, it's safe with me,"" I assured her. ""Once I bury it, I don't dig it back up for no one. I got more dirt on those agencies than there is dust on the moon."" She pushed the handbag to me. ""I could tell you were the man for me."" I wanted to tell her that I'm pleased to hear it but that her ruby handbag wouldn't suit me. But she looked like puppy that had just lost it's Ma, so I laid off the charm. ""I'll be dead tomorrow."" She said it nonchalant, with a wave of her hand and a twist of her wrist, and I wasn't sure if I was meant to laugh. ""Oh yeah? Well, you better enjoy tonight then."" She raised her glass and nodded. ""To tonight."" I raised mine. ""Tonight."" I don't remember much of the evening from there. A blur of red dress and drink and skin and sweat. The scent of tobacco and sex. The vague taste of a good night. But I do remember, with vivid clarity, the phone-call I got the next afternoon, the night after I left the Lady in Red's apartment, all her secrets swaying in a small red bag on my shoulder. ""Dead?"" I repeated, voice and stomach hollow. ""And you were last to see her,"" the officer informed me. ""Yeah, sure, but..."" ""Don't go anywhere. We need to bring you in for a few questions. I'll send the boys around to pick you up."" ""That would be a mistake, on your part."" The threat is clear. He must know who I am and what I hold. ""You've got nothing on me, John,"" said the voice. ""I have no secrets. Unlike you."" I could hear the implication like the roar of thunder above an empty field. The officer -- not really an officer -- might as well have said: *Tell me where her secret is, or your own dead and buried secret is about to get resurrected.* I never did much like voodoo, and I sure as hell didn't like threats. --- Thanks for reading! I'm going to make this a short little serial. If you'd like to follow it, part 2 is: https://www.reddit.com/r/nickofnight/comments/chnrx6/keeping_a_secret_part_2",1082
" Frankly, I loathe both","Harm reduction. That's the name of the game. Frankly, I loathe both sides, it's impossible not to. Because yes, they're people but so am I. I still do my best to maintain professional detachment, because I do still believe in the sanctity of my responsibilities, and because helping these...people with their mental stability means saving lives. Little lives. The ones they barely acknowledge in their outsized masked dramas. I mean sure, they *say* they care about the ordinary people, even if it's a bad sort of caring (""Society rejected me and I'll make them pay! It wouldn't have happened if they'd have just stayed out of my way! You got to break a few thousand eggs to cook this giant fucked-up omelette I'm irrationally fixated on!"") In the end, though, they really only have eyes for each other. Their histories and relationships and rivalries. The same ""hero"" that agonizes over finally putting an end to his mass-murdering arch-enemy won't think twice about firing some barely-tested gadget in a populated area, and just shrug off any resulting casualties as ""collateral damage,"" a lovely little term they've borrowed from the dry brutalities of military reporting. I hate my job, most days, but I'd also never give it up because to me, those ""little lives"" *do* matter, and without me...there's no one. That's not an exaggeration, or at least it's a temporary truth. I don't know of anyone willing to step up and take my place. So I keep on going, even though...well, let's take this morning as an example. In my private notes I have this morning down as ""couple's therapy"" even though either one of the patients would throttle and/or murder me if they found out that's what I was calling their sessions. But my notes are sacrosanct, that's one of the ironclad rules they all follow. My office is protected by more magic, technology, and psychic wards than anywhere else on Planet Earth or probably this little arm of the Milky Way. They all pitch in, because they all know what the consequences could be like if any one of their number decided to break in for ""leverage"" or ""intelligence."" So ""couple's therapy"" it is. One ""villain,"" one ""hero,"" in their parlance. The ""hero"" is a powerful psychic who could easily have outdone me at my own job if it weren't for a truly crippling case of textbook Narcissistic Personality Disorder. His powers give him insights into the criminal mind, something he utterly lacks in with regards to himself, and of course he's too great to deal with any ""petty"" criminals, it's just ""supervillains"" for him. He'll find a new one to fixate on every few years, always one that's found a way past his defenses to deal a blow to his fragile grandiosity. Then, on the other couch, we have our ""supervillain."" Very very very bright, injected with some sort of tech-savant gene from some long-extinct alien artisan caste. It's a long story. Quite long. Quite, quite, quite, excruciatingly long story, and I've only heard it a couple dozen times in the months since he decided to start coming to me. Was tricked into coming to me, I should say, some compatriot who was no doubt every bit as tired of hearing his origin story as I was told him he'd probably be an even more focused and effective tech-savant if he got someone to help ""pare down the inefficiencies and frictions inside his own head."" Which I had to admit was an admirable little metaphor. Too bad it was almost completely untrue. ""Alright, let's begin."" I said as they both came in--through separate doors, of course--and sat down behind my desk. Normally, that is to say in the sane life I lived before all this stumbling into this mad gig, I would never put something like a desk between myself and a patient, sends all sorts of the wrong signals. But this desk was also capable of sending at least seventeen target-appropriate varieties of disintegration ray in case that became necessary, which it had on at least three occasions soooo... They glared daggers at each other as they went to their couches, which were immediately surrounded in subtle but *extremely* powerful cocoons of layered fields. Force fields, energy fields, suppression fields, psychic fields, take your pick. ""I still don't see why we have to use our real names for this,"" grumbled the ""hero"" Thad Pilkington, whose ""mask name"" is stupid and shall not be dignified by appearing in notes. ""We have discussed this at some length on multiple occasions, Thad"" I said patiently, letting one finger lovingly caress the safety catch for the desk's weapons systems in its convenient little underside nook. *You're in no actual danger, you're in no actual danger,* I reminded myself. ""Your 'mask names' are a psychological defense layer, and in these sessions we need to get past those as much as possible. And you both already knew each other's secret identities long before arriving in my office."" ""Yeah, well, I agree with Captain Insight,"" Henry Ruttger said. ""My birth name just doesn't really reflect who I *really* am, it's too human for one thing, I mean my DNA is least 30%--"" ""That's not true, Henry,"" I said gently, admiring how smoothly said gentleness came out given the amount of strain it had to pass through on the way to my vocal cords. ""You are picking and choosing a small subset of your genetic code to get that number, as we have also discussed at length. This is an Honesty Zone, remember?"" Henry folded his arms across his chest and pouted, fiddling with some lethal little gadget from off his belt. He'd made the argument before that since 30% of the genes in his genome known to affect technical ability and mechanical reasoning were from an extraterrestrial source, and since his genius with devices was ""the core of who I am,"" the 30% claim was perfectly reasonable. This was going to be a long session. <continued below>",1003
 The last time to deliver any packages,"""Sign here please,"" the courier's eyelids are halfway down over his eyes. His skin is blackening beneath in thick creases. It must have been a long day - it's 10pm. The last time to deliver any packages. I sign with a scribble, and he hands me the basket with a note sticking out the colourful bunch, its back turned to me. The man takes back his device and bids me a goodnight, disappearing down the pathway back to his glowing vehicle. I hope he'll be okay driving home. It must be miles away. I shut the door behind me and twist the note. *Thank you.* Huh. A thank you note? I turn it again, in case I've missed something. But I hadn't missed a thing - not that I thought I definitely did - but there was no name. No scribble. No label, no sticker, nothing. I lifted the basket above my head. Really, nothing at all. The note is small, almost insignificant if it wasn't white against the colourful backdrop. It's a quiet shining star amongst the bold. A little whisper. Someone who knows where I live but doesn't want me to know they know. But now they've gotten clever. Have they known a long time? Have they waited? I don't know. I take it to the sitting room and put it atop the table. I sink into my seat and stare at it. I search through the flowers, untie the bow, lift a few to see the translucent water within the plastic, nothing special, nothing different. The flowers are odd. Not because they're odd, exactly. But who would send them, and why. What could the purpose be behind sending me this omnious set of flowers. Maybe a threat. We put flowers on graves, yes. Someone's after my life. A villain, then? Rowdy Raccoon or The Dark? They're eccentric and sort of unpredictable. This is an odd gesture. I take a deep breath. This is too much for me to handle without any context. It'll drive me crazy. So maybe it's someone who knows I don't like not knowing? The flowers are pretty. But the message isn't. Okay, the message is pretty, it's a thank you. But it's not handwritten, it's printed. So I can't decipher anything. Wait. Thank you. You Knath. My name's Knathan with a silent K. Don't ask, my parents were overdramatic and I've never told anyone about my real name, well, real spelling. This is getting me stressed, my chest is getting tight. I'm going to contact Sue. She knows everything. I take out my phone, snap a picture and send it to her. Then I wait. And I'm sweating. They know my real name, they know where I live, they know how to push my buttons. I'm fucked. All I tried to do was good things and just stay with the crowd, not stand in front of them. That's not my style. Wait. The house. It could be a trap. Oh god. Someone is out to get me. And maybe I've missed the triggers. Okay, let's listen. Hm. Few birds. Normal. Passing cars. The new neighbour's just parked up. No off ticking. My clocks are digital so that would have been too obvious. Lord. Maybe it's a digital bomb. But innocent people will be hurt. A buzz almost makes my chest rip itself open and launch my heart right out the window. But it's my phone. Sue's text back. ""Cute."" Cute. Cute? She wants to kill me. She's turned against me. She's no longer my ally. And now I have none. Doesn't she care about me anymore? No. I'm a nobody, I've always been a nobody. She would have told me clearly who and what had done this. But now I'm worse than a nobody. It's possible that quite soon I'll have no body. The flowers are a final goodbye from her. I don't know why she wants me dead. But if she wants me dead, so I will die. A doorbell punches my lungs almost to death with shock. Fuck, another doorbell, at this hour? This is insane. Insane, I tell you. I'm defenseless, in my pyjamas. I don't have anything to protect myself. I must be surrounded by Sue's men. If she has men. Maybe it's Sue. Maybe I've outlived my use and now she's going to finish me. Did she get paid off by some bad guy? I thought she was better than that. I had my final gift from her. Maybe she'll lay them at my grave. I stand up and my legs want to snap off and run away but I command them to march to the door with dignity. I hold the door handle. My lips are sweating. I open the door with closed eyes and It's the neighbour. ""Hey, sorry to ring so late but I've only just gotten home. Did you get the flowers?"" Um. What? ""Y-yes, I did,"" I reply, stomach a mixing bowl being whisked at the speed of light. ""Yeah, I thought I'd get them delivered since I work late and couldn't pick any fresh ones on my way home. I just wanted to thank you for helping me move in last week,"" she says with a heart melting smile. Oh my god. Cute. Oh Sue. You knew. ""Oh no, it's not a problem at all. The flowers are lovely, thank you,"" I say, knowingly rubbing the back of my neck because I'm sweaty from dumb panic. ""Well, have a lovely night,"" she says and walks off to hers. I shut the door for the final time that night. Chills slip down my whole body. I've saved plenty of people, stopped many idiots. And it's because, trust me, you don't want to live with regrets if you're me because the thoughts and regrets will eat me up. So I do it for myself. And for the people. Okay, now that I'm done embarrassing myself, I'm going to sleep. I've got an appointment with Rowdy Raccoon tomorrow. But he doesn't know it. He will.",1010
 The oceans are alive with tiny photos,"*Planetary Report: Mendel 4C* *June 31, 2247* *Longyou Chen* Our geologist Nassir says the planet is much like earth. There's a good amount of land above the water level, and temperatures are livable. The oceans are alive with tiny photosynthesizing eubacteria that have filled the atmosphere with oxygen. Circumstances appear ideal for human life. This planet's Adam and Eve must have been pleased when their spacecraft touched down millenia ago. But unlike our ancestors, who had to contend with predators like the bear and the lion, Mendel 4C had different challenges in store. I went with the biologists to observe a clan of the people here. We found them dwelling in a network of shallow caves high up a cliff. The only access was via a system of rope pulleys, and it was only with some difficulty that we gained the clifftop without their seeing us. Our stealth drives are all well and good, but they don't do much when we have to rocket into the air. Regardless, we discovered the people to be skittish and small. They have big, big eyes, and their ears stand away from their heads, the better to tilt this way and that. While there's no denying the commonality of our ancestry, there's no denying the prey-like nature of their features. It is as though their genes were mixed in with a rabbits at some point. This perplexed the biologists. We left the people to their devices and traveled to the planet's surface to see if we couldn't find some clue as to what made the people so fearful. My biologist friend Saanvi tells me that in the early days of space exploration, people were surprised at the prevalence of greenery throughout the universe. It turns out that the power of photosynthesis, and its connection to those bands of light given off by reddish stars, is undeniably linked to the burgeoning of life. Thus it was without surprise that we soon found ourselves walking among tall green patches of what might have been grass, were it not for the breadth of their blades or the way they grew so tall that they bent in half to dig down to the planet surface. It was not long before we discovered a species of creatures hiding at the base of one of the plants, and Saanvi, working carefully, took one for analysis. It had a blue-black shell like a beetles, but where a beetle's shell is hard, the animal's had a rippling fluidity to it, as what gave it its strength was the flexing of muscles beneath the surface, rather than chitin. Saanvi was in the process of photographing the creature when a scream split the air. I've been scared, in my life. Of course I have. I've ridden rollercoasters, slipped and fallen, and been threatened by a group of drunks outside a bar. But never, in any of those situations, did I feel like prey. That scream, though, in its raw primality, awakened a part of my brain long-dormant. It was only after a moment had passed that I realized I'd been standing perfectly still, precisely like a deer in headlights. It was this realization that brought me back to myself, and with my newfound clarity of mind I became aware of a low dark shape racing toward our party. I trusted in our stealth gear, which rendered us invisible along the visual, UV, and heat spectrums. It could therefore only have been the little blue-black creature that had drawn this dark shape's attention. I bolted forward, slapped it out of Saanvi's hand, and pulled her away. The creature had only a moment to race back toward its grassy home before the dark shape was upon it. The dark shape revealed itself to be a wide, low carnivore which carried itself on six pairs of short legs extending out from beneath a carapace of some thickness. How it managed to move so quickly despite the encumbrance of this armoring, I wasn't sure. It held pinned the small creature to the soil using a pair of pointed mandibles, and using four of its legs it ripped the creature into pieces. With a great crunching, it swallowed these pieces into a ridged maw at the center of its abdomen. Meal complete, it trotted back off into the grass. Over our coms, Saanvi said, ""The people here had it rough."" She wasn't wrong. ***** *Planetary Report: Kelvin 732U* *December 23, 2247* *Longyou Chen* It's ironic that we touched down on Kelvin 732U so near to Christmas. Temperatures on the planet are, on the whole, far above those at which people can survive. There are only narrow points at the poles, and isolated valleys and cave systems where the temperatures are regularly below 50 degrees Celsius. We made double sure that our cooling units were functional before heading down to the surface. I can only assume that whichever Adam and Eve chose this planet had had no other choice. Maybe their craft had been low on fuel or food. Maybe they'd suffered a one-in-a-billion collision with space debris and lost their air. Or, even less lucky, maybe the planet had been different back when they'd landed. Certainly the trisolar system in which the planet was to be found was unpredictable. Charting the paths of three suns, and predicting their motion through the centuries, was a problem that still eluded physicists. Maybe the Adam and Eve had guessed the planet would stay habitable. If so, they'd guessed wrong. We went to the north pole, which turned out to be a barren expanse of craggy rock, not much different from than other exposed surface of the planet. My suit's thermometer reported a temperature of 62 degrees. Strong, dry winds, powered by the great heat moving the prevailing winds, whipped across the expanse. No water. No oxygen. The planet appeared completely unsuitable to human life. We proceeded down into a crag, where one of our scout drones had reported signs of human life. Accompanied only by the steady hum our of rocket packs, we descended hundreds of meters into the dark, until the surface above had dwindled to a mere toothpick. The temperature descended with us, and it wasn't long before my thermometer reported a comfortable 15 degrees. We touched onto a springy surface, and it was with some surprise that I realized I was still able to see unaided. Not well, mind you, but there was an undeniable glow to the rock down here. ""Bio-luminescent moss,"" Saanvi reported. So it was. The rocks were covered with a thin, dense plantlife which gave off a thin light. Saanvi peeled a section off of the rock and we were surprised to discover that the rock beneath was damp. We set off in search of the humans, now more confident that this place could support them. It certainly was a far cry from earth, but it just might turn out to be livable. We found the humans in a vast cavern, the entrance to which they had nearly blocked with large stones. After we'd squeezed our way in, we discovered that they'd done so to keep in the humid, pleasant air inside the cavern. The entire ceiling of the cavern was covered over with the bio-luminescent moss, and in the center of the space was a low pool of standing water. This qualified as a near-miracle on Kelvin 732U, but did go to explain how the humans had survived here. Much in the way of earth's subterranean creatures, the humans were pale. Their hair had gone white. They couldn't have been entirely blind, not with the benefit of the moss's light, but from the way they moved in the dim cavern by clicking their tongues with each step, it became clear that their sight worked in tandem with a form of echolocation. Their bodies were shorter than ours and much bulkier, with skin much more rugged and thick. This suggested an attempt at lessening the ratio of surface area to volume, so as to better conserve moisture. What life must be like for these people, day in and day out, I can't imagine. Perhaps the crags in the planet's surface extend far and wide. Perhaps there are many such caverns where humans can thrive. Regardless, this appears an isolating, vulnerable existence. I do not envy these people their lots in life. But there is something to be said for the resilience of the human spirit. As our group was getting ready to leave, we were given pause to see the people congregating around the pool of water. We thought we might be about to witness some religious ceremony, but then to our surprise they produced a number of odd drums made from polished stone, and they played a rousing thunderous beat. Those who did not play danced. I went away feeling proud of my species. The human will to live -- and to live fully -- is undeniable. ***** *continued below*",1496
" ""Being dead can dull the senses","I don't seem to recall dying, and frankly, that bothers me more than it should. I'm no longer dead, and that's something worth noting. I'm on a table. A slab of stainless steel that should feel cold, but there's nothing there. No sensation. I press my finger tips into the metal, and feel the hardness, feel the strength, but don't feel the cold. Huh. I'm on my feet, wearing some kind of futuristic loin cloth, or at least that's my closest description. There's lots of folds all around, and it looks like too much of a bother to unwrap. Where am I? It's like a surgical operating theater or some kind, but the instruments are coated in some kind of black oil rather than blood. There's way more saws and knives than I'm comfortable with, but what are you going to do. Being dead can dull the senses in a way. I pinch myself a few times, but don't feel any pain. The skin folds and moves, but I just get a vague pulling sensation. Okay. The room is poorly lit, and beyond this slab, these utensils, I only see shadows beyond. So there's a distinct chance i'm still dead, but maybe somewhere else. That feels...what? *Wrong?* *Incorrect?* *Empty?* I remember closing my eyes for the surgery, but no light at the end of the tunnel after that. Just this internal knowledge that comes from being dead, then no longer dead. I closed my eyes on one operating table, and woke up on another. I gave my heart to a boy, but I can't seem to remember why. Everything feels grey. Oh! It was because of placement or something. My organs are backwards, the boy's were backwards, some kind of wonder kid or whatever in desperate need of some quality meat, and here I am already dying thinking 'You know what, I don't even NEED these organs anymore. Take 'em all, I say.' Anyway, that was then and this is now and I'm not sure when that is now that we broach the subject. A door opens, and there's a pool of reddish, throbbing light beyond. In steps a boy. The boy. He's older, bearded, and has clearly filled out. He seems quite pleased with himself. ""Hello,"" I say. ""Hello,"" he says. ""I was dead,"" I say. ""You still are,"" he says. I'd find that disconcerting, if i could find anything disconcerting. ""What's going on?"" He walks around me, inspecting me, monitoring me. He weighs me with the look of someone inspecting a vehicle for any kind of defect. ""I think it's finally worked,"" he says. ""You're still dead. The real you. You're my pet project, buddy."" ""I am?"" I ask. I don't really care, but I feel like it's expected of me. ""Uh,"" he says, then stops in his tracks. ""Do you feel anything?"" ""No. Should I?"" ""No. Or yes. I'm not totally sure."" ""Oh. That's good at least,"" I say. He asks me to hold out my arm, and I do. Lots of prodding and poking. He takes a long knife from the various operating implements and draws a long cut across my forearm. No blood. No pain. Nothing. ""Hmm,"" he says, looking slightly disappointed. ""I put in a blood substitute to give you a bit more of a human aspect,"" he says. Not to me. To himself. I get the strong suspicion that he's someone accustomed to only talking to himself. ""How have you been? Since I died?"" I ask. It seems only polite. ""Fine. Working on some pretty advanced stuff now. Artificial intelligence, that kind of thing."" ""Ah,"" I say, not really listening. ""Though my magnum opus, if you could call it that, is bringing back the dead. As best as I can."" ""Indeed."" ""And I thought I'd start with you."" I nod. It seems like a logical starting point. It makes sense. I am me, but not me. A replica. A thing. A metal thing with cogs and wheels but plenty of fancy fluids and parts requiring very expensive metals. ""You're not going to freak out on me, are you?"" he asks. ""I don't think so,"" i say. Truthfully. ""Well, this seems like the least I could do. Pay you back, in a way. By bringing you back."" ""Thank you,"" I say, but don't really mean. ""But you're not quite ready."" ""Ah. So what happens now?"" I ask. Somewhat invested, as this probably means I may die again. Or maybe I've already died and come back a few times. Maybe this isn't the first time he's switched me on and off. Maybe it's the thousandth. Or the millionth. Or the first. Does the distinction really matter? Dead is off and off is dead, and I don't really have much of an issue with either. He talks about how he picked my memories from social media, from meticulously dissecting my brain and examining neural networks. I found it very interesting, but a little odd. How much value he put on a lump of dead grey meat. Besides. Does it matter if I'm me, or just an approximation? Whoever the boy wants back is dead. Full dead. Full stop. Eventually his diatribe stops. ""I'll bring you back,"" he promises. ""I wish you luck."" He looks at me. He's sad. I'm not what he wanted, or what he was prepared for. ""You look tired,"" I say. ""I am,"" he says. Then he flicks a switch, and off I go. In another instant I'm back. I've been turned off, I remember that now. I've been turned off and on and on and off many, many times. I'm awake again. Something is different. The slab, cold and hard beneath me. Cold. There are sensations, and words for these sensations. Flexing my fingers, there's warmth. More real. I feel - something. The room is brighter, the utensils less sinister, the world feels more substantial and real. I can smell. I can taste. I can touch. I am alive. And beyond the door, the boy is waiting. Might as well go and see him, and thank him. Not everyone can raise the dead. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others",1036
 Miles Brandenburg is one of the,"My name is Miles Brandenburg and they say you should never meet your heroes, and, if anything, the past six months of my life have been living proof of that. Like most kids growing up, I worshipped Commander Titan and The Mighty. I had his poster on my wall, along with the rest of The Mighty--Ajax, Artemis, and Strangelette. I watched and cheered as Commander Titan battled Dr. Diabolical live on T.V., defeating him, saving the city from the nuclear device he had planted underneath the local university, and delivering him to the custody of Deep Dark, where he remains to this day. Strangelette was one of my first crushes, and one of the first female superheroes to take on a primarily combat role on her team. I envied Ajax, his posh London accent and impeccable sense of style, and was and still am a little afraid of Artemis. I discovered my own ability when I was fourteen and even applied to the Hero's Academy, but was rejected. ""Your power has potential, I'll give you that,"" the Dean told me. ""But kid, I'm just not sure it's strong or reliable enough to give you a spot here at the Academy."" There are basically two types of people in this world when it comes to rejection. There are those become dejected and give up, and there are those won't take no for an answer and try even harder. I, unfortunately, was the former, and spent my high school years convincing myself that I wanted to go to university, then law school, then get married and have two kids and live in the suburbs someday. I tore down my posters of Commander Titan and The Mighty and replaced them with ones of The Beatles and Nirvana. I had almost forgotten about my powers, hadn't used them in nearly a year in fact, when I saw Commander Titan and Strangelette post a YouTube video. They invited those interested to post videos of their own abilities, as for the first time in a decade, The Mighty was taking on an intern, and maybe even a new member. I submitted mine on a whim. I filled an unused aquarium in my backyard, pointed at it, and within several minutes, brought the water to raging boil. Neat party trick, but too slow to be useful to a team of heroes. I uploaded it and was more amused by the comments than anything else. ""Fake!!!!!"" ""lmfao look at this lame ifrit wannabe mf."" One guy even wrote a practical essay about how I faked it by loading CO2 cartridges underneath the aquarium. If only I were so clever. Commander Titan and The Mighty being, well, Commander Titan and The Mighty, I found out that I was selected not with a phone call, text, or email, but when four black SUVs pulled up in front of my house with a camera crew in tow. Dad thought it was rude. Mom asked for Commander Titan's autograph. Grandma poked him in the chest and chastised him for my rejection at the Academy years earlier, like it was entirely his fault. And that's how I ended up here, although I'm not sure where ""here"" is. It's somewhere very big, and beneath the ground, or ocean. It's impossible to tell, really. It took twelve hours, two planes, a train, a boat, and some type of elevator device to get here. And here I walk with a tray of various beverages: black coffee, ice water, coffee with cream, tea with honey. Commander Titan and Strangelette are lounging in a Victorian game room replete with all the luxury and technology of the 21st century. They have company as well. A beautiful young woman maybe only a few years older than myself is sitting in Commander Titan's lap, puffing on a vaporizer, laughing uproariously at something he just said. Strangelette mashes buttons on the controller and giggles as she slays legions of demons in *From Hell IV*, the latest installment in the blockbuster franchise. A beautiful young woman is softly kissing her neck, and an aggravatingly handsome young man massages her shoulders. I clear my throat, as they didn't even notice me enter and I don't plan to stick around for the show. ""Yes?"" Strangelette sighs with pleasure. She pauses the game and throws back her head, giving the young woman a better angle of attack on her neck. Her, servants, whatever they are, don't stop for me, and Strangelette gives me a sidelong glance and a wink, then giggles again at my obvious discomfort. I never thought my childhood crush would be a... such a creep. I notice it a split second before it happens. Several vines have unbuckled my belt and wrapped around my pants, and I'm pantsed in front of my childhood heroes by a stupid childhood prank. I reflexively drop the tray of beverages and turn to walk somewhere, anywhere, and fall flat on my face, my ankles also having been wrapped in a tangle of vines. The entire room bursts into laughter and a tsunami of embarrassment floods over me, the kind that burns your face and makes you angry and sad and mad at being sad all at the same time. That's when I see Artemis grinning at me, sitting alone in the corner of the room, the vines receding back to her skull and her yellow eyes gleaming. And those teeth, Jesus, they're canid, and they're far too many of them. The laughter continues as I pull up my pants and clean up the mess with as much dignity as I can muster, which is admittedly not much. ""I'll be back,"" I mutter underneath my breath. This draws more laughter as they recognize the old reference that I unintentionally invoked. ""We'll be waiting, dear,"" Strangelette sings, and her interest quickly returns to killing digital hell spawn. I begin that long, humiliating walk to the kitchen, and I think about that text I got from Dr. Diabolical. ""Once you get to know them, I won't seem so bad. I need your help and you need mine,"" he said in the short video attachment. It could have been a prank, or a test, but how that could have been faked, I don't know. I don't know if I care anymore either. I've been training on my own now, and I can bring twenty gallons of water to a boil in about thirty seconds. Still too slow for immediate combat, but quite dangerous if I may say so myself. I remake The Mighty's drinks, return, and smile placidly at their ribbing. ""Take the rest of the night off, Miles. You've earned it,"" Commander Titan says with a chuckle. ""You sure you don't want to stick around?"" Strangelette asks maliciously. There's no good answer so I leave the game room as quickly as I can without seeming too eager. When I get back to my dorm, I take out my phone and bring up the text message from Dr. Diabolical. ""What did you have in mind?"" I write.",1176
 She was 23 and had just won,"Men often joke about their wives and those who have been down the isle more than once or twice joke a little louder than the rest. When you've done it as many times as I have the jokes stop. I'm not looking for someone to decorate my arm or my bedroom, nor someone to keep me warm in our marriage bed. I seek companionship. Someone I can relax with and take off the mask I have worn all these years. Kelly-Ann looked To be perfect when we met. We were head over heels for each other. So happy to be in each other's arms. She was 23 and had just won Miss USA and graduated with a masters in Shakespearean literature. She was beautiful and brilliant. We were introduced at a fund raiser for the philharmonic and instantly connected, talking long into the night about the hidden motivations of the great and not-so-great characters that leapt from the mind of the bard all those years ago. It was not a perfect relationship, she was under some pressure from her friends, how dare she call it love when she was 23 and I had to be at least 40. I felt terrible that she would be branded a ""gold digger"", and yet people will judge. We were married after a whirlwind romance that had us in Europe for a year, visiting the places where Hamlet, Othello and Macbeth were placed, drinking wine and arguing subtle points missed by many. Falling in love. She signed the pre-nup without a backward glance and our bliss continued for years. But now it has been 20 years. We tried to have a child for the first four years of our marriage, but just like the others no children were forthcoming. I am certain that children are not in my future. My Kelly was heart broken, but I was happy to adopt and we were lucky enough to find twin toddlers and we were a family for a while. It is amazing to me how fast twenty years appears in the rear view mirror. The twins are off to college and Kelly is celebrating her 45th birthday. Although celebrating may be the wrong word. It's hard when you work hard to remain young, a strict diet, yoga, Pilates, hours running and in the gym. And she looked great. But it's hard to not be bitter when your husband, who was much older than you when you got married, now looks the same age... the same age dammit... though, in private and after drinking, she may admit to herself that he now looks younger. While I was still happily in love, my Kelly-Ann was growing weary. After all my time working, and all the wealth I had amassed I did something I've never done. I retired. I hoped this would make Kelly happy. We traveled in luxury, private planes, estates, mega-yachts for four years. At some point Kelly changed. Her husbands failure to age, while she seemed to be aging like milk, festered in her and became hatred. For me it was heart breaking. Kelly has been poisoning my for months. Slowly increasing the dosage hoping that no one would notice the poison when I died. When that failed, it was not the first time I'd been poisoned, she became more direct. Brakes were disabled in more than one vehicle, I was nudged down the stairs, electrocuted in the bath, pushed into traffic, and victim of an ""accidental shooting"". None of that worked, and Kelly became desperate. That's when she started hiring ""specialists"". First it was a local gang. $5000 cash in an envelope had them surround my car and fill it full of bullets. Photos of the car and my bullet ridden body were taken. Texts sent to burner phones and champagne was opened. She was happy for the first time in years. Until the entry gate was opened and the car service pulled up. She watched as the car door was opened and I got out. ""Damn him"", she thought, ""he doesn't even have a limp."" Then assassins were bought, those with rifles, then those with bombs. Still I lived. I was not ignorant, I knew she was trying to kill me, but I've been married before. Many times. See, when most people looked at me they saw a handsome, tan, middle aged man in the peak of health. Obvious wealth and education. Someone who hit the genetic and economic lottery. But looks can be deceiving. I am wealthy, the Rothchild's would be jealous, and I am healthy. I look like a cowboy just off the range, all cleaned up and ready for a night on the town. I speak dozens of languages with perfect accents. I have degrees from all over the world, though not all in my current name. These things are all possible when you live long enough. See, as far as I can tell, I am immortal. I have all the wealth you could imagine, do speak every language on earth and some that have long since been forgotten, and look like a man in his late 30's in excellent health. But ""genetic lottery"" no, after the first 200 years you realize it is a curse. After 500 boredom sets in. You've done nearly everything you can. Been married, watches your friends die over and over. Fought in wars, been in the clergy and politics. Shaped nations and watched them fall. Mastered nearly every profession and gone everywhere a horse or sail could take you. Burned nations down and built them up. Watched revolutions of thought, art, music and learning take hold and change the world. And all you wish for is to break the curse. Just to lay down with your friends and family in the dirt. So you do. For 55 years I laid in a coffin. Still. In the dark. The box dissolved and broke around me. And I lay there still, alive. Finally a shift in the earth disturbed my meditation and I clawed from the earth. I was refreshed and so I tried everything again. Began amassing another fortune (not hard when you have all the time in the world). I traveled to the new world again and again. With the Vikings, then the crazy Spaniard (he was not Italian), with the puritans and the Irish. Played many roles and found the only thing that I loved was love. It never lasted though. It is impossible to love someone who does not age. Who contends no with the mortality that becomes such a focus of your life as your date approaches. Eventually the wonder at why your spouse is not cursed with age spots, grey hair or the aches and pains of aging turns to bitterness and contempt and finally hatred. Divorce and separation ensue and my misery extends. Kelly gave up today. Until an hour ago I was amused by her attempts to secure my death. An hour ago I came home. The staff had been dismissed for the day. Kelly drew a bath. She settled in the bath. Took sleeping pills, slit her wrists and faded into the great night. So, I will mourn. I will close up the house. The children and I are not close, they have their trust funds, but we do not see each other as I look too close in age to their friends for it to be comfortable. I think I'll move to Venezuela, there is good work to be done there that will occupy my mind for the next decade or so. I think I've figured it out. I know I'm cursed, but it is a strange curse. To live forever. But it is a curse. An endless cycle of death. Of love spoiled and lost. Being so close to happiness, at least being truly blissful for a while, but knowing it will spoil. Then it does. The crushing heartbreak, the despair in yourself and the person who no longer loves you. Having to do it over and over again. All because of a jealous act so long ago. Fratricide. My brother was the perfect man. Blonde, polite, genuine, charismatic. He had everything, including the woman I loved. So I hit him with a rock. A lot. I cried, for I loved my brother. I did not get his wife. I did not find happiness. When everyone else I loved cast me out and I wandered the world, I also discovered I did not age. I did not die. I was cursed. Cursed to watch it all die. For I am also cursed to love.",1438
 There is no other human alive who,"My story is the same as the story of mankind. The two are inexorably interconnected as far as I am concerned. They cannot be separated because the very cores of their nature are entwined. After exploring so much land, researching so many concepts, meeting so many people, I am the best example of it anyway. There is no other human alive who has seen what I've seen. No other human alive who remembers what I can. The human mind is impressive. I figured that out after the first dozen rebirths. Back there in the wilderness before I could even work myself to a stable living, dying was more common, after all. But what astonished me then was how I remembered it all. How I remember it all every single time I am born. From the moment of my birth, the memories dance through my mind. At first, it means nothing because the neural pathways have yet to be developed. But slowly and surely, I am able to experience my past lives. I am able to learn from them. That is the most important part--and that is what has surprised me most about the continual cycle of life. As a hunter that was recycled into tribe after tribe, all I'd known were the most basic of strategies. The most basic of methods to manufacture tools of stone and bone. The most basic of patterns when it came to tracking wildlife across the savanna. Slowly though, that changed. My mind was able to adapt to the message that the universe was sending me time after time. One can only die by starvation a handful of times before they end up wanting something different. So instead, I did what humans supposedly do best. I learned. I adapted. I changed my tactics and used the information that was trapped in my head for some kind of progress. Firstly it was noticing patterns with our prey. Then it was noticing tensions between people--between different tribes. And then it was doing everything I could to put those tensions to rest. The going was difficult when I started out. Changing peoples' minds was as difficult a task back then as it is in modern times, after all. Harder, even, since these people hadn't known anything different. But eventually they came around. Eventually, they listened to what I was saying and let me solve problems one-by-one. And once the fruits of my labor started rolling in, they all saw the benefit at once. More consistent food sources. Better collaboration between people. The increased connectivity even sparked innovation. The tribes began observing water as they explored new areas. They studied the plants that grew around rivers and the bright tasty confections that hung off trees. They tested against their environment to see what kind of gifts it could hold. It tested them back, of course. Mother nature is nothing if not fickle. At one point, I was even the victim of poisoning due to wrongful identification. Yet through the trials and tribulations, progress started to get made. Actual innovations sparked seemingly out of nowhere and the lists of benefits only grew. The speed of it accelerated too as more and more people started working together. In my first few dozen lives, I saw maybe one achievement every few decades. As soon as the farming started--the agriculture and the seeds of civilization, though, more and more started to get done. Humans diversified; they adapted to their new surroundings. They took the newfound food supplies in stride and started doing better things with their time. They made progress in the sciences--they got more intricate with the art. They codified laws and started with the ideas of rights. Of protecting their own so that their kin could have opportunities they themselves would never see. And I was there through all of it--through all the heavens and the hells. Through the thriving and the suffering, we never truly gave up. As a species, we had already come too far, and we were not one to be destroyed by the very nature which we had used as a tool. Unfortunately, mother nature did pay the cost for our survival, but I still hold that we did well. I kept doing what I knew and kept building upon that as well. I pulled from my collective memory in the same way I always did and helped humanity at every turn that I was able. Sometimes I made mistakes, and sometimes things were lost in time. But never did I forget the cores of my being. Never did I forget the purely human aspects that were the reason our species could thrive at all. Never did I stop surviving. Never did I stop adapting. Never did I stop yearning for something more. Never did I stop learning, and I think that is the most beautiful part of it all. That is the only part of human existence that has continued to baffle me to this day. Because while the petty fights of modern times are similar at their core to the ones I saw long ago, we find a way to dress them up as new every time. We find a way to know more about life than we ever have before. We find a way to improve, just like I've done through every generation I've lived. Yet, even for me, it is ultimately futile. No matter how I adapt or how I learn from my mistakes, mother nature spites me at the end. I always die when there is more to do--only to have to suffer through the beginnings of life before I can help out again. There is nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable fate. Whether that is a thing of horror or a thing of beauty, I do not know. All I know is that it is the truth, and it is one I am still desperately trying to understand. But whether I know it or not, my story continues on. It echoes out through history like ripples through a pond. And I am glad that it does because my story is the same as the story of mankind. --- /r/Palmerranian",1030
 DepotMart is a warehouse store that,"""Chad can go straight to hell"" was a common refrain of mine throughout my time working at DepotMart, a big box warehouse store that aimed to out warehouse other warehouse stores. So the irony was not lost on me as I lay here clinging to life that I'd likely be headed there much sooner than my nemesis... but I'm perhaps getting ahead of myself. If working for a warehouse store that aims to 'out warehouse' the others sounds like a soul crushing way to make a living, you'd be entirely correct in your assessment! This hadn't been my first choice of employment, nor my 2nd, nor my 3rd, not even my 38th (no really, I counted). But as employer after employer decried my 'lack of education' and my 'brief (but maybe not as brief as I tell people) stint in juvenile hall', spending my days working in a windowless warehouse for minimum wage and no benefits suddenly started to seem increasingly appealing. I met Chad Chadwickson on my first day, and genuinely, I don't even know how to describe him-- he is just-- he's just *the worst*. I still remember my first nauseating interaction with him like it was yesterday. ""Hey, Justin!"" he called out to me from across the employee lunch room/customer bathroom (they'd been combined to save space and money, apparently it was cheaper to just pay the health code violations). ""Welcome to DepotMart! I know you've probably heard some rumors about working here, and let me assure you, they are all true... if the rumor you heard was that we're one big happy family! If you need any help at all on your first day you just let me know, alright buddy pal?"" A massive smile was etched across his face as he said all of this to me and he actually playfully tussled my hair as he left, who does that in real life? Like I said, Chad is theeeeeeeeeee wooooorrrrst. Is that not coming across? Alright, yes, his introduction was *technically* very warm and friendly, but it was also-- incredibly, painfully fake to me? It was as if someone had blown a Ken doll up to life size and taught it to speak one and only one welcoming phrase semi convincingly. Over time, my impression of him only grew stronger. He was the suck up, the teachers pet, and the sole employee who continued complimenting our boss Leo's hair even when his comb over was down to four sad strands clinging on for dear life. What some saw as 'his excellence' was exemplified by Chad's employee of the month streak. The dude had won a staggering *29 months* in a row. And perhaps I am too cynical, but I ask you, wouldn't a genuinely good person let *someone* else share the extremely mediocre limelight at least *once* in those two and a half years? With that thought in my head (and nothing better to do), I made it my mission to dethrone 'The Chadster', as Leo so sickeningly referred to him. Showing up early, staying late, cleaning the toilets/breakroom tables... you name it, I did it with an equally fake smile plastered on my face. I even got a very accidental promotion for my efforts, so I guess I do have to genuinely thank Chad for the extra 25 cents an hour and my new lofty title of 'Senior Executive Trainee'. But that was not and never would be the point of all this. Beating Chad at his own game was, and this month, I finally had a real chance. During the first week of this particular month, the unthinkable happened. He got a cold. Chad, *never* called in sick, and his minor ailment gave me a brief window to shine without his shadow looming over me. When I say 'shine', of course I mean brown nose the hell out of my boss to a sickening degree. For that week I became Leo's lunchtime therapist and after work best pal. I even made the ultimate sacrifice and attended his godawful band's set at a local farmers market, cheering and whooping enthusiastically as most people there barely tolerated their presence. My chances only grew when during the second week Chad miscalculated the inventory we'd need to have on hand for our weekly combo deal. That was a big effin' mistake! This was 'Buy one wheelbarrow tire and get a rack of ribs half off' week. Against all odds, the profitability of our entire store for the quarter often depended on the continued success of our 'tire and cheap meat' combo deal, and as a result, Leo was understandably upset. In fact, for the first time in the months I'd worked there, he yelled at Chad. Not just yelled, berated him, tore him down, and even put a note in his file expressing his displeasure with the quality of his work. Employee of the Month was all but mine! When the last week of the month arrived I showed up for work with a spring in my step and a happy tune in my heart for the first time in memory. I was elated, joyous, I felt absolutely unstoppable... that is, until I was suddenly stopped dead in my tracks by a thousand pounds of garden hoses unceremoniously crashing down upon me from the top shelf. *Why? Whyyyy do we have to sell garden hoses in massive 20 packs?* I wondered to myself as my body was bruised, battered and broken by their unending, gravity assisted assault upon me. I'm not gonna lie, I thought I was a goner. I knew I had broken bones, a collapsed lung, and a massive head wound. Death was near, in fact I literally felt the life fading from me... that is, until I saw fucking Chad rushing over to check on me. The realization occurred to me that if I died, he was going to win employee of the month and his 'heroic' attempts to keep me alive was going to be what sealed the deal. No... no way! I resolved then and there to live, if only to spite my nemesis and keep my hopes of winning alive. And against all odds, and the opinion of the doctor who repeatedly pronounced me dead upon arrival at the hospital, I did survive. I returned to work a week later to meet with Leo to discuss the accident. As we sat down to chat, he noted the 'bump' (massive head trauma) I'd suffered was still very noticeable. Kind boss that he is, he took out the store's emergency first aid kit, removed a cheap plastic baggie labeled 'Ice Pack', put two ice cubes in it and handed the sad looking thing my way. ""DepotMart cares deeply about the safety and health of our employees,"" he reminded me solemnly. ""Yeah, I feel that just as clearly as I can feel the mild coolness coming off this icepack, Leo,"" I mumbled. ""So what the hell happened?"" ""Well, a forklift knocked over a huge pallet of hoses from the top shelf directly down onto to your person, thus causing you bodily injury,"" he replied stoically, stating the very obvious. ""Thankfully store emergency officer Chad Chadwickson was there to administer first aid that prevented you from expiring. The doctors wont say it, but I believe the small bandaid he placed over your sliced jugular vein saved your life."" Upon hearing that Chad had indeed been given credit for my miraculous survival, all I could do was literally bite my tongue to keep from screaming. ""Alright, fine... but *how* did the accident happen? Did somebody let Tyler on the damn forklift again? That kid is stoned out of his mind 24/7, and I'm not judging, working here we all need our escapes, but we all agreed to ban him from operating any motorized vehicle!"" Leo examined a spreadsheet in front of him carefully, ""No, it wasn't Tyler. The only forklift checked out that day was by... Chad? But that cant be right, that doesn't make any sense at all."" It really didn't. Chad was the best forklift driver we had, even I'd admit that. He was in complete control of that thing, never ever made a mistake or knocked something over, and suddenly he's accidentally pushing thousands of pounds of products right onto the spot I happened to be walking? There had to be a mistake in the spreadsheet or-- or he *was* still in total control of the machine he'd been operating that day, and he'd still never knocked something over... not by mistake at least. But what motivation would he possibly have to take such a huge risk and intentionally injure-- The sound of the door slowly opening snapped me out of my internal debate. As I shifted my gaze to the doorway, there stood Chad. He was staring directly at me with the same, yet now far more sinister, fake smile plastered across his face... and this month's employee of the month plaque in his hands. ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more stories that are 100% not written by an angry, ass kissing forklift driver named Chad Chadwickson.",1532
" The lab is stifling, the","The evening drags its sweaty fingers across my face, leaving dribbling trails of heat creeping into the corner of my mouth. The laboratory is stifling tonight, the air thick and stale and metallic -- the prelude to a storm. A shower. That's all I want. Clean water to rinse away this stinking walking corpse I've become. Then sleep eternal in my white cotton sheets. But there's work to do. Always is. Compounds to create. Drugs to mix. To test. The equipment around me beeps in satisfaction. Keeps pace with my heartbeat, gives rhythm to my work. *My work.* I wipe away the sweat with the sleeve of the cotton lab-coat that I wish I could take off. But regulations... Metal trembles in the corner of the room. I'd almost forgotten we've a dog to help us, but it makes itself remembered as it rams its body against its cage. Thump. Thump. Thump. Out, out, out, the animal demands. It would no doubt bark up a storm of its own, if it were able to. ""Hush,"" I say soothingly. ""You won't be kept in there much longer."" It slams against the door twice more, before finally surrendering to its fate and settling down in a corner. I understand how it feels, of course. This work traps us both, until it is complete. We are both little animals caught in the grasp of life. And if our cage doors were open? Would we even leave? Would we want to, or-- ""Wake up, Maddie."" The voice drifts across the room, as if struggling to punch through the swampy evening air. Michael, my director, stands in the doorway, his eyes locked on me, his smile locked on him. ""I'm wide awake,"" I reply, shaking my reverie away. ""I'll be leaving soon. Can I get you anything? ""I'm fine,"" I inform him. ""Are you sure? You don't look fine."" ""Maybe if you could fix the damn AC, I'd look more like how I feel."" He forehead creases, embarrassed. ""The AC is working just fine. If anything, it's cold in here."" The sweat dripping off me calls him a liar. I pause and listen, just to confirm. There is *something* in the background. But it's more like a struggling breath, than it is a pumping of air. Not enough to cool this place. And behind those noises, the chattering and crying from the neighbouring lab. ""Is there something I can help you with, Mike?"" He raises his hands in a faux-innocent protest. ""No, nothing at all. Just wanted to see how you were doing. And to say..."" He pauses and his eyes reach up to the roof as he searches there for the right words. Difficult for him. A man who inherits his wealth has little to work for. ""Yes?"" ""Just that... It's good to have you back. I don't know what we'd do without you -- the entire programme's success is down to your expertise."" Expertise. He means genius, but is reluctant to say it. And back from where, I wonder. I've not been on vacation. The last month, since my employment began... It feels like I've barely been home. ""And for what it's worth,"" he continues uninvited, ""I'm sorry. We were selfish to even put you in that position. *This* position."" I nod, satisfied that he's at least admitting to the fault with the AC now. More sweat slithers from my chin and explodes like blood onto the floor. *Plop.* ""Well, let's try to get it resolved quickly,"" I reply. His eyebrows furrow. ""Get some rest soon, Maddie. Okay? Don't need anymore accidents."" ""There are no accidents,"" I reply by rote. ""Right, only bad preparation. Look, just... You can't stay here for ever, Maddie. Okay?"" He turns and closes the door behind him. I'm relieved he's gone. When he's near me, I somehow feel more lonely. Alone, but watched. Judged. As if he's waiting for a greatness even I can't quite achieve. ""Good. Just us again,"" I say out-loud. To myself. Or, no, to the dog, probably. Dog... There was a dog, wasn't there? And a cage... No. There's not. Just me and my work. It's this damn heat. Everything's a haze. But if there's no dog, what do I test it on now? Ah, there it is. The night ripping itself open. I hear it, not see it. God claps his hands at my work. The rain begins its war against the metal of the building. A watery bombardment. The lights flicker. Not lightning, but the staccato of electricity mirrors the outside. Flashing blue lights. I feel a relief deep inside me. With a storm will come cooler air. This sweat stinging my eyes will stop. I'll be free of it. The equipment beeps a little slower. A lazy sleepy rhythm. There! All done. Now it is time to test. ""Wake up, Maddie."" The voice drifts across the room, as if struggling to punch through the swampy evening air. Michael, my director, stands in the doorway, his eyes locked on me, his smile locked on him. ""I'm wide awake I say! You've come at a good time, Mike. I'm about to test it."" ""I don't think you should do that, Maddie. It's late and you need to leave."" I run my hands over my eyes, spilling more sweat. ""I'll rest when I'm dead."" ""Funny."" ""That's what jokes are. Funny."" ""Come out, Maddie."" ""I'm not ready to leave,"" I tell myself as I turn away. No, not myself. To the dog sitting patiently in the cage in the corner. ""It's... your last chance. Lucy misses you."" ""*Lucy?*"" A vague, fleeting familiarity. Ephemeral. Gone. Something's changed. The beeping has become continuous. Long and thin and stretched. The cage is open! Why is the cage open?! I feel something sharp sink into my thigh. My leg gives. My head thuds against the wooden worktop. I'm a pool of sweat and blood mingling on the floor. ""Come back, Maddie."" The dog is gone. Just darkness now, blanketing me, and the sound of thunder, and of that long stretched note drifting deep into the horizon.",1017
 Death has a way of making you,"Death has a way of making you forget things. Other people's deaths, to be more specific, though I think it's safe to assume that one's own death would have a similar effect. When grandpa passed it was a pretty tough blow for the family. Grandma had gone about a decade earlier, and though she was universally loved by her extensive progeny, it was the hardest for gramps. Everyone recognized his undeclared position as patriarch, even her. When she left us it hurt, but when he left we were lost. The blow was all the harder for the fact that it happened so quickly. At the family reunion he seemed so healthy and happy, chasing his grandchildren around the yard and maintaining his five-year winning streak at horseshoes. Next morning - gone. The doctors couldn't provide any explanation satisfactory enough to quell the confusion we all felt surrounding the circumstances, but in the end the answers are never good enough, anyway. About a week later a group of us gathered with the lawyer in his office to go over the will. After providing his condolences, which were satisfactory but also had the polish of being repeated many times to many different clients over the years, he said *""Fate sure is a strange bedfellow. Indeed, indeed. Completed his will just the day prior, and had you asked me to make the morbid bet of when it would come to be of use, I would have told you the unlucky soul whom will come to be my successor would be the one reading it to you, for I would be long gone from this world. Such vitality he had. What loss, what loss.""* Gramps and I were very close, closer than most of his grandchildren. Despite this, I wasn't expecting much as he was a frugal man of meager means. I was surprised to receive the summons to attend the inheritance meeting, in fact, and will admit that I felt a twinge of shame in trying to surmise what he might have gifted me. For all the various possibilities I toyed with, none were a small leather pouch filled with nine strange coins. It felt disrespectful to open the pouch too soon after the meeting and too personal to open in the presence of other family, so I placed it in my car and waited until I got home late that evening. I loosened the cord of leather which acted as a drawstring and overturned the contents onto my bed. Nine coins clinked as they fell out and a small piece of rolled parchment, sealed with a dollop of wax, followed. The coins were like nothing I have seen before or since. They were clearly not minted or mass-produced, as though each were identical in appearance there were small imperfections which betrayed that they were hand-crafted individually. They were heavy and I could not guess at the metal of which they were composed, though their color gave them the appearance of brass. On one face was a meticulously detailed relief of an hourglass. Miniscule divots, representing individual grains of sand, had been punched with some precise tool and steady hand. On the other face was the strange image of a skeletal forearm reaching upwards from the bottom of the coin and a man's strong, muscular forearm reaching down to it from the top, its fingers splayed open as if attempting to grasp the bony hand below. It reminded me of a macabre interpretation of Michelangelo's *The Creation of Adam*. I carefully broke the wax seal on the rolled parchment and unfurled it. The paper, like the leather pouch itself, had the look and smell of being quite old, and so I was very delicate. Fully extended the parchment was the size of a large receipt. I expected to find a short personal note, written by gramps and addressed to me, explaining the origin and significance of the coins and his intention in gifting them to me. Instead I found a very curious itemized list and no explanation whatsoever. At the top the words *Forty Coins* were scrawled, and beneath were a series of written lines. Each line was preceded by a date followed by a short description of an event. *November, 1943 - Makin Island. Bullet to left lung.* *January, 1944 - Anzio. Bayonet to jugular.* *June, 1944 - Normandy. Drowned.* And on it went. There were a lot of events listed during World War II, in which gramps had served, and so, in trying to determine what exactly I had inherited, I guessed that these were a type of challenge coin carried by other service members he had known that had been killed in service which he collected and kept in their memory. This theory was quickly proven false, however, as I came to several entries listed after the war. The last entry sent a shock through me. *~~May, 2001 - Midland Medical Center. Joyce.~~* Joyce was my grandmother's name. She died in May of 2001 at Midland Medical Center. Most unsettling, though, was the line scrawled through the entry. I had no idea what these coins were or what their purpose was, but knowing they were somehow linked with grandma's death and that I had inherited them through grandpa's own death, combined with their mysterious origin, gave me a deeply unsettling feeling. I rerolled the parchment and secured it with a rubber band and replaced it back in the pouch. I spread the coins out on my duvet and counted them before returning them to the pouch. *Nine*. I opened the drawer of my night stand next to my bed and shoved the pouch far to the back and didn't look at it again for a long, long time. Like I said, death has a way of making you forget things. With gramp's death, and all the grieving and family gatherings and related distractions, I forgot all about the strange leather pouch in my night stand. Time ticked by and the cut of his passing scarred over and I found new distractions to occupy my time. School. Friends. Girls. Then one girl, in particular, with a pretty smile and long legs and a thick French accent named Florence. Over summer break Flo returned home to Nice and we agreed I'd travel there to meet her and her family and let her tote me around Europe to give me a personalized tour. I was so excited about the trip and seeing Flo again I had a smile pasted on my face right up to the point where my plane crashed on takeoff. I blipped in and out of consciousness but I remember the flames and the night sky through the rent metal carcass I was still strapped within and a strange smell I would later come to realize as the scent of violent death that occurs when bits better left inside one's body are forced out. The last memory I have before everything went black was feeling the gap where my four front teeth had been securely lodged only moments earlier with my tongue and tasting blood and thinking, *""Oh well, at least I gave them one good smile before the end""*. The FAA crash investigators couldn't explain how I was the sole survivor of a crash so horrific and violent that only half the remains could be identified and those only through dental records. *""Good thing you made it,""* one nurse joked in the ICU shortly after my rescue. *""How would they have ID'd you without any teeth?""* I thought the jest was in poor taste, considering the circumstances, so I attribute my extended laughter to the drug cocktail that was being pumped into me. I've since wondered what the nurse with the twisted sense of humor would think of the fact that all four teeth regrew within a week. I may have been alive, but I was hurting. Being on summer break from school I had ample time to recover. One night, after lying in bed for days and suffering from crushing boredom, I started to rummage around my room for something to occupy my time. You know where this is going. There were only eight coins. I was confident I hadn't miscounted before. I added up all the line entries on the list and counted thirty-two, but that included the entry with grandma's name that was crossed out. That left thirty-one, and if the count of *Forty Coins* written at the top was accurate, that meant my original count was, too. It took me a long time to accept, but luckily at that moment I had nothing but time to give to the issue. The fact that I could feel new teeth growing in where none should be helped make me a believer. I followed in suit with grandpa and added the plane crash to the list. Any doubts I may have had disappeared two years later when I wish the coins wouldn't have worked. I was driving home after the bachelor party some friends and family threw in my honor to celebrate Flo and I's union with enough booze in me to get three vampires drunk when I swerved to avoid incoming traffic. I lived, but a young mother and her two children didn't. I wasted another coin trying to kill myself in shame. If it wasn't for Flo, I would have loaded a revolver and not stopped pulling the trigger until every coin was spent. Though I was drunk, traffic cameras showed I was somehow driving like I wasn't. The woman had been drinking, too, they discovered in the post-mortem, and had drifted into my lane. I was cleared of any culpability legally but I never was able to convince myself that it wasn't my fault. I still believe if I had been sober those kids would be alive today. Those two coins bought me a lesson I wish I never needed to learn, and my stomach churns every time I see those two entries on the list. I didn't spend another coin for a very long time, until our kids were grown and out of the house and Flo became sick. Towards the end, when it was clear there was nothing else that would work, I took a coin and drilled a small hole and laced a chain through it. I put it around her neck and told her to never remove it and she never did. I buried her with it still around her neck. It seemed too selfish to take it back. That's when I learned why grandma's name was crossed out on the list. And why gramps passed the day after he wrote his will and passed the coins to me. And now I pass these five coins to you. ---",1798
 Asteroid 912b7 is,"""It's my birthday today,"" I commented dryly as I chewed on that same bland ham and cheese sandwich. Sandwich number 6288. Almost two decades gone, and I still had the rest of my life ahead of me to spend on this desolate asteroid mining platform thousands of miles from Earth or any other colonized planet. Asteroid 912b7. The home I never wanted. ""Happy cakeday to me, eh?"" I chuckled humorlessly. Nothing about this sentence was comfortable, and I guess that was the point. My meal spot was made from spiky asteroid rock and I was constantly tethered so as to not float off away from my empty prison. The air was unbreathable and I constantly walked around in a space suit and helmet with a microphone included as if to taunt me. The AI that helps keep the platform functioning - and happens to be the only interaction keeping me even a semblance of sane - chuckled back in her cold, robotic manner. ""Ha. Ha. Happy birthday, Jonathan,"" she said with as much emotion as she could muster. I sighed. Patricia was fickle. On the worst of days, she was bland and idiotic and seemed to barely be able to keep the pumps and drills running smoothly. I would run around, adjusting the controls and desperately making fixes. On the best of days, we could hold a broken and forced conversation. Today sat somewhere in the middle. She seemed pensive, her answers delayed and plodding. I worried that some day she just would shut off. That's when my demise would accelerate and soon enough I would be untethering myself from the mining station and letting myself float off to die somewhere even more remote. It was a matter of time. The thought that the inevitable was inescapable was oddly comforting. ""Thanks,"" I shrugged as I finished my sandwich. I stared out into the expanse of space, at the planets where little colonies or thriving cities went about a life full of human interaction and conversation. I stared at the stars that seemed so close but were so agonizingly far away. I stared at the other asteroids, some of which contained a human just like me, banished to this remote and desolate realm to serve out a sentence for a crime. I regretted the crime every day, that much had been accomplished at least. But lately I had been missing what could have been more than usual. Maybe that's what happens after six thousand identical breakfasts and six thousand identical lunches and six thousand identical dinners. ""I wish I could see Earth one last time,"" I thought out loud, my statement directed at nobody in particular. My family would still be living on Earth. Maybe they would acknowledge my birthday. Maybe they thought about me from time to time, with yearning instead of scorn. ""Evacuate off this stony piece of shit."" ""Evacuation is possible,"" Patricia said simply. I scoffed at first. Then I turned towards her slowly, as if she was a bear and I was snacking on some berries and any sudden movement would make her strike. Nope, nothing alive here but me. It was still Patricia, in all her steely, rhythmic beauty. She kept on drilling as she uttered those fateful words. Her multitasking was something I had resigned myself to. She could talk and pump out those precious metals at the same time, or pump out those precious metals as she drilled into the asteroid and rinsed out all the byproducts and still held a conversation. On the other hand, I could just manage to eat a sandwich and talk. It made the time go faster doing one thing at a time. I had also grown a bit dull over the years so multitasking seemed harder than ever. ""Excuse me?"" I ventured. She wasn't one for jokes. She wasn't one to deviate from those programmed interactions, really. She could learn, but even that was programmed. I'm sure today's technology would have made her a far more interesting conversation partner but she was almost thirty years old now and on her second convict. She was old. ""Evacuation procedures have been programmed,"" she reported nonchalantly, as if those weren't the words I had been waiting to hear for nearly two decades. My once brown and luscious hair had grown white and thin; my beard had come and gone and come again dozens of times. I had had seventeen birthday sandwiches alone here. Seventeen candle-less celebrations. Seventeen years of solitude. ""How?"" I asked quietly, just above a whisper so that she could still hear me but as if there was the risk of somebody else listening. Once, maybe I would have thought they were listening. After all this time? Nobody would be wasting their time on me. ""Why wouldn't you have told me this before?"" ""You never asked,"" she stated matter-of-factly. I sighed. I wouldn't get anywhere arguing with Patricia. That would be the end. She was easy to offend and anger and then she would shut down all communications and I would be left to talk to myself. ""The cargo pod can be used as an evacuation capsule."" It was an ugly little craft. The metals were crammed into it as densely as possible, molding into the shape of the cabin for maximum capacity. And once full it would be launched off to the nearest Aggregation Station, heated so that the metals flowed to be emptied before making its way back to me. It only ran one route, back and forth forever. It would only take me that far. ""Will you be with me?"" I asked shyly. Seventeen years with her. Leaving her felt... Wrong. My conscience struggled with the idea. Ironic, I know, given my charges. That cargo wouldn't have had much of a life to live anyways, but in hindsight I should have never abandoned that fiery inferno with the hold still locked. That was the cherry on top of the smuggling and trafficking charges. That's what had made the difference between working the Aggregation Station with the company of another handful of humans or working the Mining Platform on Asteroid 912b7. If she could shake her head and shed a tear, she might have now. Instead, she answered me bluntly, as I was used to. ""No,"" she responded. Maybe she would have also called me an idiot. ""I have the platform to attend to."" So I would truly be alone then. Unless I succeeded. I walked cautiously over to the cargo pod once I finished my sandwich. There was no rush, after all. I had been there so long that a few more minutes made little difference. I climbed into the empty hold, wondering how many loads it had shuttled from asteroid to asteroid. I wondered if she would even hesitate to cram a load of metals into the hold on top of me, squishing me against the far wall until there was nothing left. It would be quick and almost painless, at least. ""I'm ready,"" I told her. ""Send me off."" I paused, waiting for the hold to close and to be pitched into complete darkness and to be launched to a new beginning, or to an untimely end. The screech of an alarm shook me from my daydreams. ""Unidentified cargo in holding area,"" an alarm reported. ""Unidentified cargo in holding area,"" it repeated annoyingly. I wondered if somebody elsewhere would receive a report of the alert. ""Override,"" I heard Patricia say. And the alarms stopped and everything was quiet again but for the whir of the drills deep below the surface. ""De-schedule Fill Process,"" she continued and I sighed a breath of relief. I would not be crushed, as welcome an escape that would have been. ""Initiate Evacuation Sequence,"" she said finally, her voice more soothing and welcome than it had ever been. I gave Patricia one last smile as the door to the hold closed. And then I paused. I couldn't go without her. Not after everything she had done for me. I pushed at the door. I kicked and screamed at her to let me out, the darkness closing in on me. Then the door opened and I scrambled out. ""You're coming with me,"" I told her as I shoved into the small building that held my bed and the kitchen and a bathroom all in one open room. ""I have the platform to attend to,"" she argued. I ignored her. I tore her from the operating center, cradling her tiny, lifeless body in my hands. Some day I would revive her so that she could enjoy the life she deserved. The drills and machinery whirred to a stop. For the first time, I basked in the absolute silence that even the lonely nights hadn't granted me as Patricia ceaselessly worked. They would definitely notice now that production had stopped. I carefully climbed back into the evacuation pod, my fingers shakily finding the handful of controls that the pod had. It didn't need more than a few to run its route. Close hold. Prepare thrusters. Launch. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1535
 The age of superheroes is long past,"The age of superheroes is long past. At it's height, you could see men in invulnerable spandex lob buildings 'for the party' while unnaturally beautiful women weaponized the sun against any -- and *every* \-- one they didn't like. It was never the glorious time that people paint it as today, and that's because everyone like myself is either buried a thousand feet below a mountain in the most secure prison ever made, or else they are six feet under in a simple coffin. I, having seen the end of the age of superheroes long before it came, had retired and peacefully gone to the prison. When I went below, there was a vacuum-sealed elevator ride, and an incredibly through strip search. They even took samples of all my tissues and fluids. This was a mistake. Several years later one of my minions, posing as my 'wife' unfroze some of my sperm and had my child. I don't even have a wife. Don't get me wrong, I love Lucy to death. I spent my last few out-of-prison connections getting a good connection to her. The problem is simply that I'm an eighty-six year old retired supervillain with a six-year old superhero-obsessed daughter. We talk to each other every day. I help her with her homework, and every night I tell her bedtime stories. Her sixth birthday is coming up though, and she asked me for a gift. For a minute or so, I was saddened. I have no resources left, and I have nothing but my voice to give her. Of course, I'm not the smartest living supervillain for nothing, so I made a plan quickly. On the day of her sixth birthday party, my first words to her were this. ""Hello Lucy! Happy Birthday! How would you like to see me face-to-face?"" I was nearly deafened by the resulting squee. You see, the day before my plan had sprung into action. As the food-elevator dropped, I had one of my fellow prisoners, an electronic technopath arrested for successfully implementing communism on all electronic funds worldwide, stop it from closing its doors. I jumped in, along with an aerokinetic that could create his own ammunition. That rude young man had been arrested for holding the state of Kansas hostage with a hurricane-grade tornado. With his power, we could fill the vacuum with breathable air for long enough to get to the surface. Once there, he set out for 'vengence', whatever that would be for him. It was a suitable distraction for me to get out of the area in a stolen car. My first stop was an auto-body shop. It was a simple matter to cannibalize the vehicles and lifts there to make a rudimentary mecha. I spent a few hours painting it bright pink as well, Lucy's favorite color. In the mecha I could traverse the highway much faster without worrying about highway patrolmen. My second shop was a military base, where I stole a tank to arm and armor my mech better. I may have taken a few barrels of jet fuel as well, just for 'insurance'. With that, I began my blitz across two states. In my mech, I could outrun or dodge most attempts to stop me, and just tank those that I could not. First there was an ATV group sent after me to negotiate. ""Step out of the mech with your hands up, and we will allow you to go back to prison uninjured!"" ""No thank you, gentlemen."" And I sped off at a clip they could not match. The next encounter was a blockade on the road. I just ran around that one. Really, what did they expect? I had cannibalized several jeeps and a tank at this point, off offroading would probably be easier than onroading if I didn't need to dodge trees I had no wish to break. The final encounter was a jet plane that caught up to me as I was above the tree-line on a mountain. At first I was surprised, but after the first bomb-drop took a chunk of my armor on the head off I started paying attention. The were easily dodged, and when it started shooting instead the high-caliber rounds did nothing. Eventually, the first part of my journey came to an end. I sat in my mech in the woods behind my daugter's house waiting. My poor eighty-six year old heart could barely take it, and I had to make some make-shift heart medication to deal with the anticipation. When she finally called me, I nearly choked on the words I had waited for so long to say. ""Hello Lucy! Happy Birthday! How would you like to see me face-to-face?"" I had the mech stand up, and lower a hand for her to climb on. Then I opened the blast door on the side and scooped her in. She wrapped her arms around me, and I around her. We just sat like that for a few minutes, as father and daughter hugging inside death machine. Then I started the second phase of my plan. ""Lucy, you know that I have to go back to prison soon, right?"" ""No daddy! Don't go! You just got here and I want to do something with you!"" ""Well, I know what we could do together..."" ""What!"" ""You could be the hero that puts me away."" She sniffled a little bit, but smiled, and nodded. I turned around, and with a wicked grin, opened up the box of spare parts. I picked up the parts from some radios, some car batteries, and a dish-shaped hood ornament. With a bit of quick wiring and a blast of pink spray paint I had a microwave cannon. I handed it to Lucy with a solemn face. ""Alright darling. I'm going to head downtown and start climbing the radio tower. I need you to get down there before I reach the top, and shoot the mech with this. That's the basics, and it'll get the real heroes attention on you. That's how most sidekicks get started, and from there you can do anything."" I gave her a hug, and slipped a little envelope into her pocket. Then I put her down gently on her back lawn, and began heading toward the downtown radio tower. I had always wanted to pull a King Kong, and now was my chance. Better late than never, right? I stepped more carefully on the way to the tower. I only stepped on cars that were unoccupied and in poor repair besides. I never took a load-bearing wall from a building. I never did more than scare or startle anyone. This was still more than enough to have every camera in the city on me. As I reached the tower, I grabbed onto the first layer of bars and pulled the mech upward. There was a metallic groaning, but everything held. Reassured my plan would work, I plotted a course to the top. I set the mech on autopilot and looked myself over one more time. This would be the ultimate gift. I pressed the big red button in the cockpit, and took over the radio tower. ""Good evening, ladies and gentlemen of Earth. You may know me as Doctor Devastation. You thought I was defeated, in retirement, in the Pit , but you were WRONG! There is no prison in the entire world which can hold me! I have come to bring a return to the Age of Superheroes, and I shall have what I desire! Watch and tremble as I send out waves throughout the entire world! I will single-handedly create more empowered people than the world has ever seen!"" Then I reached the top of the tower and slammed the button again. It cut the visual feed and blasted out the best evil laugh I ever gave. In my old age I could barely get beyond an evil chuckle, but I still had a recording of the best one I ever gave. It was spine-chilling in it's timbre. Its tone was a high-pitched growl. The number of 'ha' in was just right. That was the laugh that played over the ears of every man, woman, and child with a connection to the airwaves worldwide. Then, out of nowhere, it cut out just before the final 'ha'. I looked at the cameras and saw my daughter below, blasting the shut-down signal from the device I gave her. It was only seconds after that for a blazing woman glowing like the sun had grown under her skin to tear my mech apart and knock me out with a sleeper hold. \-- -- -- -- I woke up in my cell with a massive headache. My connection was intact, and as I used it I was filled with a joy beyond anything except actually hugging my daughter. She had been taken in as a sidekick by my previous nemesis, Sun Woman. She had been the one to get me out of my mech. She was a beacon of kindness, and an all around good person. She had had every opportunity to kill me but had taken the high ground. As I sat through Lucy's interview tapes about what it was like to defeat Doctor Devastation I knew my daughter was in good hands. All that I had to do now was start planning a better gift for her high-school graduation.",1571
 The huge bald man on the bar,"""How about this: I empty both ashtrays into what's left of my beer, and I mix it 'round and 'round with my index finger, and then I drink it. The whole stinking mixture. If I *don't* down every last sooty drop of it, I buy you your next round. But if I do *somehow* manage to slurp it all down, then you get me another. How does that sound, friend?"" The huge bald man on the bar-stool next to me grins. He's missing a few teeth, but it somehow suits him -- maybe 'cause he's missing equally big dents out of his head. He looks from ashtray to ashtray, both over-spilling with the blackened corpses of cigarettes, then at what's left of my beer. ""You're going to eat all that shit -- mixed into your beer? What if you vomit it up after?"" ""Same rules. I buy you your next drink. Any drink you want."" His eyes wander from me to the shelf of spirits perched behind the bar. He's wondering either what's the most expensive out of them, or what's got the highest alcohol content. Doesn't matter what he chooses: I can't afford it. Only thing in my pocket is a last stick of chewing gum. His head begins to bob. ""Okay, yeah you're on."" He removes the cigarette that he shouldn't be smoking -- but that no one's going to tell him not to -- from his mouth, and twists the end of it into the nearest ashtray. I stare down at the long stub. ""You're going to leave half your smoke?"" ""Yeah,"" he says, grin ever widening. ""Problem?"" ""I was only going to drink ashes, not eat--"" ""Problem?"" He sits up straight, his huge shadow darkening me, his face hard. ""No. No, there's no problem. I just wasn't that hungry, but I guess I can make room."" I grab the first ashtray and tip it into my drink, smacking the side to make sure all the ash falls in. There's a little plop as the half-smoked cigarette drops in, followed by a lazy stream of smoke. As I take the second ashtray, the barman turns up the TV that's hanging on the wall above him. ""... Yes, Tony. That's the fourth Storm Born dead, attempting to help evacuate this area of Northern California. She didn't make it more than a mile before she stopped moving and her vitals fell. In related news, scientists widely suspect that the pathogen is man-made. Whether domestic terrorism, or foreign, remains to be--"" I tune out as soon as I know the dead Storm Born ain't Susie and get on with the task at hand. ""There,"" I say, as the debris swirls around my glass. The dry grey surface hides a turbid underbelly. The brown cigarette juts out like a ship stuck in a swamp. The big man looks into my glass and I see his face shift in disgust. Even he looks concerned. ""You not going to stir it more?"" ""This is how I like it."" I pick it up and start to gulp down the mixture, tapping a nail on the bottom of the glass to help it slide down. Tastes as bad as I imagined it would, like lumpy dry medicine, but that's okay. I get to wash it down with a refreshing beverage shortly. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand; black ash smears my skin. ""There,"" I say. ""Now where's my beer?"" The man just gapes for a while. ""You some kind of freak."" Not sure if it's a statement or a question, I just shrug. ""Mine's a Guinness."" He nods at me, then grunts at the barman who reluctantly tears his eyes away from the reporter on the screen. ""You going to be sick something awful tonight,"" the big man says as the beer is put down on the bar. ""I don't get sick,"" I reply. ""Oh yeah?"" says the barman, suddenly leaning over to me, interested. He's got slicked back grease for hair, but sharp eyes and they're already studying me. The big man has turned away and is talking to his friend. Long sip. It helps loosen the ash stuck in my throat. ""Yeah."" ""Never been ill?"" the barman continues. ""Nope. Not since I was a baby."" His brows furrow. Then a kind of realisation dawns on his features. ""You're not one... Nah, never mind. You couldn't be."" ""Storm Born? Only sorta. I was born in a plague, not a storm. My gifts are... different."" He looks excited. ""You are one of them! Holy shit, in my bar?! Why didn't you say? Rest of your drinks are on me, as long as you let me chalk up the board outside. If people know I got a Storm Born... In my bar!"" He repeats the line shaking his head. ""Wait till Mama hears about this."" I drink my beer and drift away, only half aware of the barman's incessant talk. He wants to know where I'm from. What plague. How'd I live through it. When did I find my powers. All the usual. He doesn't want to know being born in a plague meant all my family were dead before my first full day alive was over. Or about the foster homes. Or the prisons. Or the rejection from the Storm Born themselves. People like the barman, they never want to know the real stuff. Just the fantasy of it. But then he says, still shaking his head in disbelief, something that catches my attention. ""They could sure use a guy who doesn't get sick in California right now."" I stop drinking and let myself chew the line over. Only for a second, mind you. Then I say, ""I'm not a hero. Never was, never will be. Understand?"" ""Never said you were."" Hands raised defensively. ""Never said you were. But... I bet, with the right negotiator, they'd pay a fortune to the man who could make it to where the plague started. Find out what -- who -- created it. That's the first step to making an antidote they said on the news. It's why all the Storms are trying and dying."" My beer is empty. I push the glass towards the man. He looks at me, then takes it and refills. ""Just another beer. That's all I want today. Like every other day."" ""I get it. No problem. I'm sure you don't need the money at all."" But as I'm drinking the second, and then even more-so the third, I start to wonder just how much they would pay. On my fourth, as I visit the urinals, the money aspect is strangely draining away with the some of the beer. Then on my fifth drink, my mind is a blurred, reluctant, image of Susie. I try to scribble her out, but she won't go away. Her blue eyes are still there, peering through the blackness at me. What if she tries to go in? Is she that stupid? Maybe. She did date me for a few weeks, after all. Maybe thinks she can cleanse the area with water or something. Things might have ended badly -- *very* badly -- but I still don't need her being the next dead Storm Born. ""Ah shit,"" I say, loud enough to catch the barman's attention. ""I hate California."" His eyes seem to shine. ""You're going? Someone from my bar is going to save the world?"" ""I'm going. Didn't say nothing about saving the world. But I'll tell you what, if you phone the army or the government, or whoever you need, and negotiate my payment while I think out a plan... Well, whatever you manage to get from them, I'll give you five percent of it -- if you drive me to the airport."" He grins like a man who knows a secret. ""Twenty percent and I'll book our plane tickets too."" ""Our? What do you mean our?"" I glare at him, but he still grins like a clown on its birthday. ""And twenty? You out of your mind? I'm the one risking my neck. Five percent or nothing."" He pauses. ""Ten percent, and free beers here for a year."" It takes me a heartbeat to decide -- it is a shithole, after all -- but then I raise my glass to him, my face stretching to a smile. ""Cheers to that.""",1398
" ""You'll never get away with","I never understood the theatrics. The vibrant colors, the costumes, the capes, the taglines and catch-phrases--none of it made sense to me. It served no purpose other than to distract the population from what was truly going on. No other purpose than to make the heroes look good during the interviews, to draw the average person's eye away from the destruction they had caused. That was what I theorized, anyway. It was the only idea that made sense to me as to why they would pour so much time, effort, and risk into something that was not strictly necessary. At least then their hyperbolic attitudes and gimmicks had a *purpose*. Staring at the one in front of me, however, gave a different impression. It made me think that the distraction was simply an added consequence that they had not calculated for when designing such superfluous personalities. I wondered what reason the one trapped by my machines would have given had I asked. ""You'll never get away with it you know,"" the man in colorful fabric was saying. I had gotten into the habit of tuning out most of what the heroes said. I still listened, of course, filtering their words through the algorithms installed in my mind in case any of it was important. Normally, it was not. ""I won't?"" I asked, pouring in as much of a villainous human tone as I could bear. The hero stood strong, his eyes completely resolute and self-righteous. The fact that his entire body was restrained by probes I'd hooked onto his nerves didn't seem to bother the man. ""No. You *won't*. All of this""--he tried to gesture around--""will come crashing down. Your *evil* plans are all but destined to fail."" My eyebrows dropped as I walked closer to the man, my artificial and interchangeable face muscles morphing into an expression that I made both sinister and confused. The man forced a grin at that. He would not be as proud, I assumed, if he knew the only reason for which his life had not been ended. ""Why the costume?"" I started, cutting directly to the point. The hero stopped, his own face contorting in confusion. ""Wha--"" ""Why the costume?"" I asked again, cutting him off before he wasted more of my time. One of my eyebrows raised. The man glanced down at himself--at the red symbol painted on his chest and the black tights that were his calling card to the outside world. ""I'm the Bell of Freedom! It is--"" ""Yes. I am quite aware of your name, your reputation, and your measly superpower of sonic manipulation."" He froze once again, his eyebrows pulling together. ""What? Why are you--"" ""Why the costume?"" I tried again, marking only one more chance before the effort overruled the information I would gain. ""It's my trademark,"" the man spluttered. ""My symbol--how else are the citizens supposed to recognize me when I go to vanquish evil?"" I narrowed my eyes. ""Why should the citizens recognize you?"" He blinked, trying to jerk his head backward. A single burning jab into his spinal cord halted that. ""To--to give them hope!"" he yelled. ""To give them something to latch onto and look up to! A role model!"" My head tilted back in understanding. The logic behind his emotional statements trickled into my mind and processed with everything else I knew about him. With the holiday that was celebrated in his honor. The statue they had built to his visage. The songs they had written to his name. It allowed them to support him, then. That I understood. ""Why do you need to be a role model?"" The man shifted, breathing hard as he tried to use his powers. My machines stopped him in quick time, but I did have to give credit to the man's determination. Eventually, he just slumped his shoulders and looked back to me. ""I get respect,"" he rasped. ""I provide them with hope and they reward me for my services. I am allowed certain..."" He averted his eyes before coughing. ""*Liberties* due to my status."" *That* I understood even more. He was given passes under the law because of all the 'help' he had provided with the city. The kind of freedom that would be useful as a tool. A realization started in my mind, already calculating with data I had amassed in spades. As it processed, I stepped back toward the man. ""You are a hero for more than your morality?"" The man cringed, staring back with fierceness in his eyes that sparkled a degree of hope. Hope that was wholly unearned, but hope all the same. ""I am a hero to do what is *right*."" ""Of course,"" I said. ""What?"" he asked, his lips curling upward. ""What are you a villain for? What is this master plan you have constructed for yourself? What kind of evil are you doing this time? What--"" A ping from the back of my mind allowed me to tune out his ranting. The obvious bait for me to reveal more than I intended to went easily ignored. The idea that I had come up with earlier had been processed, I realized. It had been evaluated and simulated to see how it could add to my success. And... yes. If I played it correctly, it would benefit me. Immediately, I set swafts of the machinery in my base to designing. To constructing facial muscles that were identical to the ones staring me in the eyes. To constructing devices that would be able to manipulate sound within a negligible margin of error. ""TELL ME! WHAT IS YOUR PLAN?"" the hero yelled as I turned my attention back to him. Somehow, I still saw confidence in his eyes as he continued to resist my machines. No matter. ""None of your concern,"" I said and ordered my machines to end his life. He was nothing but another variable to calculate if left alive, and he was starting to get on my nerves as it was. ""No!"" the hero yelled. ""Your evil will not be tolerated. I will--"" I ended his life a split second later. With a single thought, my machines began dismantling his flesh for proper and efficient disposal. I did not need him any longer. He had played his role. The suit, however, I left intact. It was still of great use. --- /r/Palmerranian",1063
 The heroes are at leisure at Hero,"It's evening at Hero HQ. The day's been quiet. The heroes are at leisure. Captain Punch is playing ping-pong against the Quickest Boy. Rudolfina the Sentient Reindeer is running laps in the gym. Lady Masterbrain is practicing her favourite trick of solving 20 Rubik's cubes while juggling them. Only The Noble Weasel, as per his paranoia, is on guard. He's in the security room with his narrow eyes darting across the charts, gauges, sensors, and cameras that pipe information to the heroes from all across the city. The sky is clear. There are no strange energy signatures. Tectonic activity is normal. Traffic is flowing smoothly. The security cameras around Hero HQ reveal nothing unusual, just the normal gaggle of tourists come to take their pictures. It has been a little too quiet of late. It's been months since the last attack on the city. The heroes aren't sure why. Captain Punch believes it's that they've been so effective in their hero work that there simply aren't any more villains. The Noble Weasel, ever-suspicious, isn't so sure. Regardless, a quiet day is a quiet day, and the Noble Weasel allows himself a rare moment of rest. And that is when a figure in the crowd throws off her cloak, fires a lightning bolt into the sky, and announces that if anybody runs, she'll cook them alive. Pandemonium ensues. People run in all directions and the figure bathes them in lightning. The Noble Weasel springs into action. He hits the alarm and all through Hero HQ klaxons sound. The heroes suit up and assemble at the launch pad. Lady Masterbrain fixes her cerebelmet in place. ""Whoever this is, they're a fool."" Captain Punch slams his knuckles together. ""They're in for a real punching."" The Quickest Boy, zipping this way and that, says, ""Let's go! Let's go! Let's go!"" Rudolfina the Sentient Reindeer clops her hooves quite menacingly. ""Be safe, everyone,"" the Noble Weasel says. With a last look of trepidation at the firing tube, he hits the launch button. There's a blast like an artillery assault and the heroes shoot straight toward the ground. Moments before impact, Lady Masterbrain's inertial dampeners kick in, and, outlined in blue, the heroes come to a rest. What they find around them is carnage. Fallen tourists scatter the ground, some with their clothes still burning. The smell of ozone permeates the air. And at the center of the mess is a lone woman in a simple black jumpsuit. ""Declare yourself!"" Lady Masterbrain says. ""For what reason have you harmed these poor people?"" Captain Punch points his fist at the lone woman. ""You'll be punched for this!"" Oddly, the lone woman doesn't appear to have noticed the heroes. She gives her attention to a simple black device on her wrist. Rudolfina the Sentient Reindeer, who is famously short-tempered, clops her hooves even more menacingly than when she clopped them earlier. The Quickest Boy, frustrated by the lack of action, runs in a circle. ""Nothing's happening! Let's go! Let's do something!"" The Noble Weasel asks Lady Masterbrain, ""Do we fight her?"" Lady Masterbrain's powerful cerebellum pulses. ""We approach, gather more information."" The heroes pick their way around the fallen tourists, drawing nearer to the lone woman. Still without looking up, she taps the device on her wrist. All at once, many things happen. The first, is the tiles on the ground melt into hyper-bonding glue. All it takes is the barest point of contact between the heroes' footwear and the glue for them to be stuck in place. Beyond the, the tourists on the ground reveal themselves not to be dead. As one, they raise machine guns and fire. Lady Masterbrain and the Noble Weasel die instantly. The Quickest Boy does his best to weave between the hail of fire, but with his feet frozen in place, he can only dodge so many times before he too falls. Captain Punch survives on account of his punchy skin, while Rudolfina the Sentient Reindeer, whose powers derive from her worship of the avatar of anger, appears not to notice the bullets. Captain Punch cries out on seeing his fellow heroes fall. ""You'll be punched for--"" But he doesn't have a chance to finish what he was saying, as the lone woman has thrown a ball of magnesium into his open mouth. She follows this up by drawing an N-ray pistol and aiming it at his mouth. Captain Punch closes his lips tight, but still the electromagnetic energy heats the magnesium. Finally the magnesium oxidizes, and it soon cooks Captain Punch's brain. His punchy skin cannot protect him from within. This leaves Rudolfina the Sentient Reindeer, whose hooves rest so lightly on the gluey tiles that she is unaffected. She charges the lone woman. To Rudolfina's surprise, the woman spreads her arms and receives the full force of Rudolfina's charge on her chest. The wind is knocked from her, but her arms clamp onto Rudolfina, and the Sentient Reindeer is unable to shake the lone woman free as she pours lightning into Rudolfina through her arms. Rudolfina recognizes that she cannot handle the sheer intensity of the energy assault, and she gallops madly about in an attempt to get rid of the lone woman. Rudolfina's fur burns and the lightning sinks through her skin like a blistering heat. Finally, it is done, and Rudolfina falls. The lone woman falls with her, and she does not get up. Her arms are blackened, her fingers withered, and her eyes have lost their colour. The tourists, who have removed their flowery shirts to reveal simple black jumpsuits, gather around their fallen leader. ""How could you have failed?"" they ask. ""How can we carry on without you?"" The lone woman smiles, and hers is the all-knowing smile of the Buddha. ""There was never a question of surviving Rudolfina,"" she says. ""But I'm not necessary for what's to come. There are no more heroes, nor are there any villains. We've seen to that. Now go, live, and be all that you can be, free from the tyranny of the powerful."" And so, the lone woman, who shall forever be nameless, passes on. ***** r/TravisTea",1028
 Some might think the backstory of the,"Second attempt since the first was lost when Reddit crashed on my old assed broke dick phone. \*Some might think the backstory of the world's most effective supervillain is one of strife, loss, hatred, and vengeance. That my parents were killed in the crossfire between police and bad guys. Or were collateral damage of a superhero saving the day. Nah. Warrants and kill on sight orders notwithstanding, I think my parents did a pretty good job raising me. I'm a college grad, family man, father of two, business owner, and I've only been late on my mortgage once. I don't get to see the family as much as I'd like, but when your main office is situated a mile and a half under a dormant volcano, you don't really get the 9-5 M-F schedule most others have. I'm not in it for vengeance or some other cliche plot point. I mean, yes, I intend to rule the world, but not for the sake of power or some other line of propaganda the Heroes Alliance and the media might be pushing. Hell, I don't want to rule the world. I just don't see an alternative to unfucking the planet within my lifetime. Hopefully, I can do this before my kids are in school and they can grow up knowing dad changed the world for them.\* ""I understand, Dave, but a moon based laser weapon just isn't something we're going with right now... No, it's not the cost, it's the side effects. Yes, I get that we could hold entire nations hostage... No, it's the ozone and other environmental impacts. Come up with something a little less ecological disaster and a little more surgical and we'll talk. You're the best mad scientist I've met, much less heard of, so I have faith in you. Speaking of which, are you and Faith coming over for dinner next weekend? We're doing fried chicken and karaoke. Alright, Dave. See you then."" As I place the red phone back in it's cradle, I realize just how lucky I am to have my employees. Just a little under 400 people working toward a common goal and with nearly 100% retention. Then again, with the benefits, matching 401k, annual 8% pay raises, and full healthcare, it makes sense. Especially with an average tax-free income of $110,000. Even the most junior of the janitorial staff makes $85,000 minimum starting. The company picnics are always a hit, what with the office being under a tropical island. So it's no surprise that Jerry, my assistant, felt it perfectly ok to wear a, ""My Boss is More Evil Than Your Boss"" T-shirt for casual Friday. As he knocks, then opens the door to my semi-private office. (I believe in an open door policy most of the time unless I'm on an important call.) ""Boss?"" he asks with a wave of the stack of reports in his hand. ""Got the weeklies. Also, just got word that topside access spotted a small aircraft flying low over the island. Airwatch didn't see them. Standard response?"" Standing with a sigh, ""Drop em on my desk, if you don't mind. I'll take care of them later. Get the response team to the B1 corridor. Have all nonessential shelter in place. Let the response team know I'll be up in a sec."" As he closes the door to return to his desk and hit the Hero Alert, I open the somewhat out of place wardrobe beside my desk. Inside is a plain, flat grey, but very expensive set of combat armor. As I don the armor, I wonder if today's team of supers will be the same as the last two; going for the dramatic elevator entrance and ending up a red smear at the bottom of the shaft. Carl in maintenance was the one who recommended we not opt for the overhead access door for the elevator car and put the safety brakes on a shutoff switch. He's also the Employee of the Month for having disabled said brakes and cutting the cables the last two intrusion attempts. Good man. Reaching the 1st level belowground corridor a minute later, I bumped up my estimation of this group of heroes. The motion alert for the main stairwell next to the elevator was blinking in my HUD. The same as it was for the 8 members of the identically kitted response team taking up positions alongside. ""Standard procedure, boys and girls. If they start flinging powers first, take them down. If they're willing to talk, we'll try to hire them. Ed, would you like the honors?"" A scoff and a tilt of one of the other mirrored visors, with, ""Can do, boss,"" a few seconds later was all I needed to hear. Chances were, they wouldn't be new hires, but with supers you could never really tell where their loyalties lay. Where they political? For God and Country? In it for the fame? Rarely, we'd meet one that was genuinely trying to make the world a better place. Even then, they were usually too set in their ways to consider working for the infamous ""Midnight Warlord."" Not a fan of the moniker issued by the Alliance, partly because my best work was usually between 2pm and sunset. Also, because I wasn't a warlord. Ultimately, it wasn't important. The results are what matters. As the plain steel door to the stairwell blew from it's hinges, narrowly missing Ed, it became apparent this was a dramatic entrance. We were all thoroughly entranced. The team of four brightly colored, spandex wearing heroes only solidified the assumption. How they managed to strike a pose with a strong breeze blowing out of nowhere and rippling their capes and long locks, I've never figured out. At the very front was a strong chiseled chin. Slightly behind that was the rest of the apparent leader. With red and white spandex, codpiece (why?), and blue cape, this was clearly our patriotic trope hero. Flanking either side were twin brunettes in purple and some shade of orange, respectively. At the back, was some sort of pale weightlifter... ah. His skin just turned into metal. Neat. Compared to my near-invulnerability, super strength, and the superheated jets of plasma I could shoot from my hands, not much of a threat. Still, neat. My powers were still unknown to the Alliance and the world at large, but it helps when trying to bench press a transmission into a 55 Buick. The invulnerability and strength, that is. Still haven't found a safe use for the plasma thing. ""HALT, FOUL VILLAINS!"" Commander Jeep Patriot, or whatever his name is, commands in a loud commanding voice. Ed straightens up a bit. ""We are halted already. Also, we can hear you just fine."" (Confusing Heroes is a corporate class we offer.) ""ERM, YEs. I suppose you are. Nevertheless, halt your villainous ways!"" Again with the herotalk. ""We're not doing anything 'villainous' at the moment. How about we talk out our issues in the conference room?"" Ed starts in on the pitch. ""THERE'S NO ESCAPE FROM JUST- wait, what? No. NO! YOUR REIGN OF TERROR ENDS NOW!"" And with that, the short-lived fight was on. Fortunately, in spite of the capes, none of them could fly. The security team in their room full of monitors and switches was on the ball today, since he'd barely finished speaking when the floor dropped out from under the head honcho. His screams were only audible for around 20 seconds, but the fall takes 30. With the other three heroes stunned into silence and 9 rail guns capable of punching through 2 feet of reinforced steel or metal skin, Ed angled for the peaceful resolution again. ""Soooo... Conference room? Coffee?"" Persistence occasionally pays off. Of the three, only the aptly named Metal Man decided to sign on. The other two were electrocuted in their seats as they tried to fling a pair of, no shit, ninja stars at my face. Not that it would have done any damage, but still, it's the thought that counts. With a new employee going through orientation, the topside access security guys handling the ridiculously painted VTOL aircraft on the beach, and Erika from Accounting's office birthday party in an hour, I quickly showered and changed back into my Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt casual Friday combo. Monday was going to be a big day. With half a dozen small countries already under my direct control and puppet leadership in Russia, China, and over half of the Congressmen in the United States in my pocket, I was ready to move to Phase 3. Once we had the Leadership Council of the UN, we could start on organizing the heretofore corporately opposed revamp of our world's energy production and resource depletion. My team of engineers had already made significant headway in the fusion energy department, but for the near-term, nuclear seemed the most viable option. Redirecting 90% of the planet's military funding into space exploration and technology would lead to eventual harvesting of asteroids and other plentiful resources within our solar system. High efficiency farming, support for new capital ventures, and returning the economy to a precious metal-backed currency were just a few of the steps. It's a shame that the world was so fractured that nations couldn't agree on much of anything, but you play the hand you've been dealt. If some folks wouldn't get out of the way of a better future for my kids, then they were crushed. At this rate, I could go back to my preferred full time career of husband, dad, and tinkerer. Edit: Based on the responses, (huge maniacal laughter in thanks), I'm going to take this and run it into a novel, at minimum. Also, massive upvote to OP for the Writing Prompt. When it goes live on Kindle, I'll update here. Probably 2 months or so. Edit Edit: r/AVillainsTale",1652
 The first human to set foot on,"""Maia, this is Hermes, over,"" I said over the radio, ensuring in spite of my excitement to keep using the approved name protocols. The radio crackled to life and I heard Elliot's voice coming through. He was thrilled. We all were. ""Hermes, we have you loud and clear. What do you have?"" The trip to Mars had been bumpy - not ours specifically but the entire Atlas project as a whole. The Electra trip had failed, the crew lost to the empty void of space. Merope had exploded during our ascent. Taygete was aborted before launch, the whole thing becoming a media scandal as tax-payer money continued to be wasted with those futile efforts. We were the only ones to have gotten this far; Maia had landed gently on the red planet, coming to a rest just a few dozen yards from the Voltaire crater, exactly as planned. I knew Sam would be right behind me. Everything had gone smoothly. I had suited up and the doors had fizzed open and then I was setting foot on the red planet, the first human to set foot on another planet since we last touched the moon, 75 years ago to the day. I hesitated. I knew we were being broadcast around the world, seizing the attention of billions like the Apollo missions had done just a few generations ago. I had said those magic words, quoting Neil Armstrong and adding my own little twist about the new frontier of interplanetary travel we had finally breached. I had switched to a private channel now. ""There's a flag, over,"" I said simply and then I waited. The response came back a bit slower than I would have liked and I wondered what they were discussing. The safety of the mothership seemed agonizingly far away now. I was almost at the edge of the crater now and had been skipping along without worry and feeling as light as ever when I spotted the distant anomaly, a man-made object in this untouched world. Nature didn't make lines like that, not just jutting out of a lifeless planet. A chuckle came over the radio, startling me. ""Funny, Hermes. Let's keep the chitchat to a minimum."" I glanced back to the craft. Sam was bouncing my way and I could see her face beaming behind her helmet. Man and woman, setting foot on Mars together. My hands were clammy and I felt nauseous and out of habit checked my oxygen tank. Everything was in order. This wasn't an air intake issue. Sam was next to me now. I pointed at the flag that hung limply and for a moment she looked at me as if it was some twisted joke and then the smile vanished from her face and her eyes turned into a cold and meticulous void. ""Artemis here,"" she said carefully over the secure channel. ""Confirming the flag. Requesting immediate extraction."" I gasped in spite of myself. We had set foot on Mars. By all indicators, this would be a massive success. But the mission wasn't nearly over. We couldn't leave now. We would be ridiculed back in the office. ""Vetoed,"" I snapped and she glared at me. ""There's a flag,"" she confirmed and this time the response from Maia was even slower. I knew they had received the message. They were talking, discussing how to approach this without including us in the conversation. ""Hang tight, guys,"" I heard Elliot command. ""We're connecting with Atlas over here, transmissions may be delayed. Please keep the line clear."" We were next to the flag now, the discolored piece of fabric hanging motionless in the windless atmosphere. I reached out my hand to touch it but Sam slapped it down. That was a solid no-go. ""Did the Russians beat us up here?"" I joked. Nobody laughed. Nobody answered. If anybody beat us up here and they didn't share it, there must have been a reason. I glanced back at Sam. She was distracted, looking out over the horizon for either comfort or some indication of our fate. I touched the flag, unfurling it and barely making out a faded hammer and sickle. ""The Soviets got here first,"" I murmured. She whipped back towards me, her eyes blazing like the fiery sun. ""Can you repeat that, over?"" I heard Elliot ask. He hadn't misheard me. He was just confirming. ""There's a Soviet flag. On Mars."" The radio snapped to life again and I heard Elliot's voice, this time less relaxed than I had ever heard him. ""This is Maia,"" he said, stumbling over his words. ""We are ordered to exit immediately."" I glanced back at the spacecraft. It was too soon to leave. We had traveled over a hundred million miles just to run from the unknown just after landing? Elliot had to be as reluctant as me. ""Over,"" he finished, as if just then remembering the proper protocol. ""Maia, requesting reconsideration,"" I said pleadingly. We had just arrived after an ordeal that spanned years. To be torn away from it now was agonizing. I had trained my whole life for this. ""Rejected. Atlas orders your immediate return."" I shrugged. Orders were orders. If it was just Elliot telling me to go back, I might have ignored him. If I ignored the Atlas headquarters, my career was good as over. But if we went back now, we might never come back and that didn't seem like an option I could stomach either. ""Copy that,"" I answered dejectedly. ""Artemis, do you copy?"" I turned back to where Sam had just stood. There was nothing there but the red sand and the seemingly endless mountains of Mars. The loneliness was overwhelming. I felt faint. The cold sweats were very much real now, beading down my back. ""Maia, I have lost visual with Artemis. Requesting immediate assistance."" I could almost imagine the organized chaos inside the spacecraft. We had trained for this type of event, ordered to throw it into the mix along with normal operating procedures as we prepared in the sterile Earth environment. Sometimes I was making the call, sometimes Elliot would call to me as I sat at the controls. It doesn't matter how many times you run it. When it really happens, it's hard to keep calm. My voice shook as I made my report. ""Confirming request,"" I heard him say. ""Lost visuals seconded."" Fuck. Neither of us could see her. The weather was spotless, no dust storm or anything interrupting my line of sight. I snapped into motion, following her footsteps towards where she had wandered. They changed abruptly into elongated gashes as if she had been dragged off by the darkness and had planted her feet in futile resistance, disappearing into the lonely expanse. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1150
 A Soviet astronaut (cosmonaut,"My claim to fame -- if I get out of here -- will be that I tripped over the dead body of a Soviet astronaut (cosmonaut?) -- on the frikkin' moon. Now, that might not sound like a big deal, seeing as how slow you fall down here, and how well protected I am inside my suit (it's pretty cushy), but it's kind of a unique situation because a) Hello? I'm on the frikkin' moon; b) there shouldn't be any dead bodies up here at all; c) there sure as hell shouldn't be a *cosmonaut's* dead body up here. As I was falling over, I glanced down and swear I saw a zombie reaching an arm out of the moon, trying to drag me down with it, to back below the crusty surface. You'd think that too, by the way, if you'd been here. Maybe. Guess it depends on what kind of movies you were into growing up. You see, this astronaut, he was mostly covered in moon-dust (it's really just dust, but moon dust sounds magical, don't you think?), and only the left arm of his hulky space suit stuck out from the ground, the hammer and sickle a red smudge on the grey plastic. The arm didn't budge an inch as my foot hit it -- it was rigor mortis stiff. I landed with... well not a thud exactly, but you know that sound you head makes when it hits the pillow? I landed like that. Was a big plume of dust though. A cosmonaut. Here? That... wasn't right. Static souped up my helmet until a voice cut through it. The captain's. ""Becca, you still there? Your heart-beat's way too high. Whatever you're doing, slow down."" ""Hey, Cooper,"" I replied. ""Quick question: you know when the uh... You remember when the Soviets landed on the moon? Like, what year was that again?"" I got up and placed my hand into the dead man's. His palm was open, as if he was looking for someone to help him up. ""What? Soviets? You okay there Becca? Getting enough oxygen?"" ""Right,"" I replied, pulling at the hand. ""They never did land here, did they? That's what I thought."" The man's arm budged. Dust cascaded off the freed up suit-shoulder. Then I leaned back for better purchase, and yanked hard, ready to uncover his torso and helmet. I stumbled back then fell again slowly, screaming this time, as the arm and shoulder came with me. And *only* the arm and shoulder. Never has someone fallen back in shock quite so slowly. It gave me plenty of time to regret everything. Being born. Signing up just to prove dad wrong. Not backing out just to prove *me* wrong. Pulling at the arm before waiting for anyone else to come... Yeah, that one was way high up the list. My vision was getting darker yet I was seeing more stars than I should have been. ""Becca?! What is it? Hold on, I'm sending Michael to your coordinates."" *** The arm and shoulder lay on a table, still inside its suit, in the HAB's kitchen-turned-science-lab. Not my choice of living arrangement! Bad feng shui, I suspected -- but more to the point, I didn't want corpses (and all the disgusting stuff that comes out of them), anywhere near my Nutter butters. But there were only three rooms in the HAB, and needs dictated musts. Just to be safe, I'd eaten all the Nutter butters before we'd even finished setting the HAB fully up. Michael, who had for a good half-hour of Moon time (exactly the same as Earth time, but you know... *Magical*) been leering over the body with this tool and that tool, finally pulled away and looked at Cooper and me. ""It was hacked off."" ""Is it even real?"" Cooper asked. ""I mean, the Soviets can't have been here -- we'd have known."" ""Oh, it's real. And this design -- this suit -- it would have gone out of commission in the early sixties."" ""Uh, that's a problem,"" I said. ""Because, you know, the moon landing wasn't even until the end of the sixties. As in *the* moon landing."" ""What have you heard back from control?"" Michael asked Cooper. ""Nothing yet. I let them know what we'd found, they said roger that, and they'll get back to me in a few."" ""When was that?"" Michael asked.. Cooper glanced at the green neon clock behind him. ""About an hour ago. Maybe I'll give them another buzz. I'll be back in a minute."" I watched Cooper leave the room and began to puzzle this thing out in my head. Could an astronaut have fallen out of a space shuttle near earth... then floated here over the years, then gotten de-limbed and buried? Probably not, I decided. Well, I was only here to grow plants after all, not to solve mysteries. Maybe there was a simple solution. Maybe the Soviets did just beat us here. And if so... ""Hey, Mike."" Michael spared a look away from the lonely arm. ""Hmm?"" ""Hacked off, did you say?"" ""Hacked. Yeah."" He beckoned for me to come near to the body. I just took one step. ""See the laceration across the suit? Up here by the shoulder."" I didn't. All I could focus on was the white bit sticking out the top -- a skeleton with a little bit of leathery gray skin still stapled to it. He continued regardless. ""They're uneven lacerations. Crude. And the tiny cuts there--""he pointed a finger at the top of the suit--""are very rough. Not a knife, something more makeshift. Like, ripped off metal. Part of a rover, maybe."" ""You think someone chopped him up and buried him? Didn't want him coming back home to earth, maybe?"" ""We can only speculate on the why. But yes, to answer your other question. Someone 'chopped' him up. I think that much is clear."" The word mutiny started running around my head. They'd gotten here, landed, gone for a walk... Then *something* had happened to them. Their Captain wanted them to stay, maybe. But the crew didn't want to do that and so... Or maybe I'd just read one too many sea-stories. At that moment, Cooper came running in. ""They're not responding,"" he said, eyes wide, face pale. I frowned. ""Who aren't responding?"" A pause. Typical of Cooper to make it as dramatic as possible. ""Anyone."" A shiver crept down my back even thought the HAB was warm. The pause had worked. ""Maybe the satellite is out,"" Michael offered. ""You don't get it, Mike. It's not that something's broken. They're choosing not to respond."" For a few moments, as we stood dead still, the HAB was eerily silent. Any thoughts of the mutiny were fast fading from my mind. Any thoughts of the Soviet astronaut, for that matter. And instead, a new question forced its way in. Had we found something that NASA -- America -- really didn't want found? Didn't even want *known*? Something so... game changing, that they'd leave us here to die. I was already wishing I hadn't eaten all the Nutter butters.",1189
 The government was supposedly on its way,"""Hey Bill,"" Mark said as he took a spot on the roof next to him. Bill had come out to watch the shuffling masses in the streets. They'd all seen this in movies: pale, deteriorating skin; rotten teeth around exposed gums; stiff movements as they walked; groaning as if they were always in pain. The government was supposedly on its way. The brass had told him to keep him and his people safe until help could arrive. He didn't like the tone in Mark's voice. It had a certain 'why don't we go and mess with the zombies' kind of inflection in it. The kind of thing that could unravel their little peace. ""Yeah, Mark?"" Bill flicked a stubbed down cigarette into the crowd. He winced at the taste. Didn't know why he still kept that old pack in his desk. The smoke had tasted worse than dead dog shit. ""Have you ever noticed that the zombies want brains?"" Mark's eyes widened, full of excitement at being listened to. Rookies... Bill held the bridge of nose between his thumb and forefinger. ""Christ, Mark. They're zombies, yeah I noticed they want brains."" The creatures down below weren't like the ones in the movies. They didn't just tear a person apart. They went straight for the head. Sure they would take a chomp out an arm, maybe nibble on a thigh, but the main course--la piece de resistance--were the brains. Their mouths had these suckers that came from the back of their throat. They could penetrate skulls like they were nothing but a flimsy Kleenex. ""Well,"" Mark continued. His eagerness building. ""Have you also noticed that they always seem to be able tell who among us is the smartest?"" ""The hell are you talking about?"" Bill asked. ""Is this some way of saying that *you* have nothing to worry about?"" Mark ignored the insult. ""When the invasion first hit, I was with Paul and Rebecca. Rebecca's got her masters in mathematics--our resident statistics whiz. Paul's a smart guy, but he's not chief egg-head material like she is. When us three were caught out there, making our way back, they made a bee-line straight for Rebecca. Paul and I were like chopped liver to them."" As much as he hated to admit it, Bill had noticed a similar thing when he'd been caught out on the first day. It made some sense too. The boys up the chain were saying this wasn't man-made. Their working theory was that it was extra-terrestrial in origin. Some even claim they have pictures of the craft that dispersed it. *What better way of breaking down society?* Take all the smart people out first. No one will know how to fix the gadgets, run the doodads. You could come back in a generation or two to find empty or heavily weakened planet. ""Okay,"" Bill said. He sounded tired. He felt tired, especially when talking to Mark. ""If that's true, so what?"" ""The government says that they can wipe em all out, that they just need another week to get all their troops in position."" Mark licked his lips before going on. ""What if we *didn't* kill them all?"" ""What?"" Bill shook his head. ""Why the hell not?"" ""We could use them."" Mark pointed down at the zombies. ""They could sniff out who among us has the most brains. Think about it, we wouldn't have to waste time with standardized tests, which are problematic anyway--just ask Rebecca. She hates the damn things. Some people just aren't good at tests. But if we could find the next Einstein or Newton when they're just infants, think how much humanity could benefit."" Bill rubbed his cheek. His hand scraped against the scruff of several days without a shave. It wasn't a terrible idea. He tried to imagine the aliens coming back in fifty or seventy years. They would expect humanity to exist only in small, barely surviving, groups. How would they react if humans found every genius and got them to work? Every one of them crammed into a lab and told to just invent. The aliens would come back in their ships to find we have plenty of our own. Could we move so fast? ""I'll pass the idea on up."" Bill turned away from the zombies. ""But don't get too excited. The government wouldn't know a good idea if it stumbled up and bit them on the ass."" Bill looked at Mark and his unwavering enthusiasm. ""Well, come along. It was your idea. You might as well take the credit--or the blame."" &nbsp; ** *** ** &nbsp; Bill gripped the cane and shuffled over to the window of his apartment. He'd been retired for over a decade now, but he still kept in the loop. As project head of 'Operation Prometheus', he had a direct line to operations. *The alien craft is on a direct intercept. T-minus two minutes.* The project had led to all kinds of nice inventions. Fusion. Shield tech. Advanced propulsion. The question was, would it be enough? Bill thought about the few remaining zombies that were kept alive with a sinking stomach. The project had been a success. What need did they have to keep them around? *Moving into formation*. The voice crackled from the radio. It was an old model that Bill had gotten over two decades ago. It still worked. *Alien vessels are decelerating. They aren't moving.* That's god-damned right, Bill thought. Caught them with their pants down! *They're breaking away. Full retreat. They don't have the stomach for a real fight!* Bill slapped a wrinkled hand on his knee. ""Scared the living piss out of em!"" *Their hyper-drives are engaging. Releasing stealth missiles. Impact confirmed. T-virus successfully planted into alien vessels.* The radio turned to static from all the cheering. Bill stared at his window, trying to judge if he had any misgivings for humans giving the virus back to the aliens. He'd seen countless friends and colleagues die those first couple of days. Even after fifty years, he occasionally dreamed about their deaths. Was it right to pass this on to the aliens? He shrugged. Screw 'em. They started this. --------- &nbsp; /r/StevenLee.",1031
 Emperor wanted subjects to see him as,"The commander looked at the holographic image, shocked. ""What are they doing?"" ""Fighting against the horde."" His second in command, Trax, stated. ""I can see that. But why aren't they fleeing? Dyeing, scared?"" ""I was wondering that too and I had one of our men do some more reconnaissance. It appears this planet has a rich culture in fighting the undead."" Now he was beginning to have doubts. This was the first planet to fight their dearly departed. Could this plan still work? This planet was a strategic placement for mining and farming corporations that would help the empire in it's expansion. If they lose a vital foothold they'd have to waste their own valuable troops to take it and that wasn't what the Emperor wanted. He wanted subjects indebted to him. He wanted them to see him as a God, a saviour. Not a conqueror or a tyrant. If they idolized him he'd have no resistance in his empire. Something about this bugged him. The undead were overtaking them, slowly. But they were detecting large pings from the planet reaching out into space. Couple of days ago those had been directed right at the ship. ""Sir!"" The communication officer approached nervously. ""Ambassador Jix is entering the planets atmosphere."" His heart almost stopped out of fear. ""Tell him to fall back until I give the go ahead."" ""He said you were taking too long that we would have missed an opportunity, Sir."" No. ""Tell him to turn back!"" ""He shut down his comms."" ""Get me one of the drone feeds, Where is he landing?"" The officer ran off and the commander switched the holograph for the awaiting drone nearest the vessel. In moments he had video feed. It was a prairie where a large collection of the planets natives had erected shelter and a fence along the edge. He could see that the majority of the residents had left the safety of their camp to see what the angular vessel landing at their doorstep was. All were armed. No. ""Kop!"" The communication officer hurried back. ""That's part of their military. They've cobbled together what survivors they could and forced them to fight."" Ambassador Jix stepped out from the ship. Environmental suit on and opening greetings to the humans with arm waves and gestures. They raised their guns. No! Ambassador Jix fell in a mess of blood and guts as he was shred to bits by their primitive weaponry. ""Retrieve that ship!"" He ordered. ""Scramble the troops! We're landing!"" ""But that goes against the Emporers directive!"" Trax countered. ""They know it was us! Now land!"" On the display the humans were forcing themselves into the ship. Ambassador's Jix's ship was a top of the line model cruise ship. A private ship for anyone favoured by the emperor. It had the latest warp technology and a few onboard weapon systems for pirates. Every piece of tech onboard was beyond human engineering. His greatest fear was it falling into the wrong hands. He'd destroy it as a final option. Right now it had a running crew of five onboard and two associates of Jix's who were amongst the higher-ups. They die it would be his ass. The ship tilted, and there was that momentary lapse in gravity as the grav drive adjusted to their new course. He'd get their ship within firing range and send down troop transports first. ""Sir!"" A crew member manning the Radar called. ""We're detecting an energy signature. It's course crosses with ours."" ""Fighters?"" ""No life signs. Though I am detecting radioactivity."" A nuke? Those were supposed to be banned according to their laws. Why do they have nukes? ""Evasive maneuvers! Keep us out of the blast radius!"" He mashed a button on the comms unit. ""Everyone, prepare for close proximity detonation. Gunner crews, target the missile stellar north of our position!"" [Break] (Writing on phone. Keeping things separate) ""Then what happened, Commander?"" The emperor said stiffly. He'd heard this tone before when he was angry. ""Nuke detonated just short of us."" He shivered from his place on the floor, he'd been on his knees, kissing the ground as he recalled things. ""Humans took off with the Ambassador's ship. We were forced to retreat from extensive damage."" He heard the throne shift as the emperor stood. His words choked in his throat. ""And?"" ""We were unable to retrieve any survivors. But the infected are still..."" He stopped at the first step his master took. ""How did they know it was us?"" He held back a sob. He was dead, he knew it. ""The planet, has rather, numerous monitoring devices. There's at least one on every person. When our drones delivered the virus... it was caught on multiple recordings and spread over media platforms."" Another step. ""What else did you fail to do?"" ""Proper gathering of intel. Assessment of the planets arsenal, level of technology, and political system."" A cold hand rested on his head. He trembled uncontrollably as the emperor caressed his head. ""You know something, commander?"" The emperor purred. ""You've done the same strategy to twenty systems. All of which were properly executed. Not once have you accepted a promotion from fleet commander, because you didn't like sitting behind a desk, while someone else did the work for you. It was your job, and you pulled it off twenty times. Except one."" The emperor stood. ""I will grant you one chance at redemption. Take the remainder of your fleet and annihilate the planet and its inhabitants."" ""You're not going to assimilate them?"" He wanted to hit himself for asking. ""They know what we are. They cannot be accepted. Wipe them out. You will gather your men and depart by the end of the rotation."" It would take another cycle to get back to earth. One whole circle around their sun. ""It will be done, my lord."" He went to stand but the emperor wasn't done. ""I expect this to be done without incident. If you return with more failure, I will hang your skinned corpse with the traitors and rebels."" [break] They were approaching Jupiter with a compliment of fifty destroyers and ten troop transports and enough ordinance to cleanse a solar system. They were soon to join up with the initial fleet first sent to spread the infected, it consisted of two troop transports, five destroyers, and the now gone ambassador ship. The commander was feeling confident they could take the humans. Even carrying high hopes that they wouldn't have to get up close and personal. Just bomb the planet from orbit, and leave it a radioactive wasteland. When he had been called back to the emperor, his second in command had stayed behind and ran through more intensive reconnaissance and surveillance. When he had been between systems, Trax told him that the journey back home had been twenty-five earth years. His last message had been about the infected being wiped out, which mattered very little at this point. That had been at the end of the rotation. Without warp technology, they probably would have reached earth at the end of his life cycle. So the emperor's order would have been a death sentence either way for him and his crew. ""Kop."" The commander approached the officer. ""Message Trax and alert him to our presence."" A few minutes later the officer approached with the same worried expression as when Ambassador Jix stupidly landed on the planet. ""There is no signal from Trax's ship. Nor any from the initial advance on the planet."" Oh shit. ""Where was his ship last reported?"" ""Orbiting around Jupiter, sir."" ""Sir!"" A crew member alerted. ""I'm detecting ships on the radar."" ""How many and how close?"" When he heard the reply he felt all his blood drain. ""Hundreds of frigates approaching from earth. Too far for an accurate scan on class and size- ...they just warped!"" In front of them, huge warships filled their view. Hundreds of them. He mashed the comms unit and barked the order to prepare for battle. Then another warning from the crew member. ""More ships warped in from behind! More now! We're being flanked!"" ""Sir! We got multiple energy signatures coming from enemy vessels!"" [break] Admiral Chan of the space navy watched the invaders fleet burn up in nuclear fire. Sixty warships reduced to scrap before his eyes. He eased back in his chair. The remnants of the human race was now in space, and so long as these monsters continued to plague the universe, they'd never be safe. ""Lieutenant. Set course for the alien home world."" The end.",1431
 Satan took daily briefings on matters that,"**Part I - Sympathy for the Devil's Day Job** Satan took a puff from his cigarette, staring in the direction of but not particularly focused on the underling before him as the demon nervously read through a long list of earthly happenings. None of it was particularly interesting, but he was, after all, the Lord of Darkness and just as any good leader should, Satan took near daily briefings on matters that most affected his domain. Lately these briefings had grown particularly repetitive. The Russians were meddling in some country's affairs, the North Koreans were rattling their sabers, the Brits were busy trying to determine how most politely to tell the other Europeans to fuck off while simultaneously devastating their own economy, the Americans... we'll let's not get started on the Americans. The thing about being the Lord of Darkness is that both halves of the job are equally important - the Darkness mattered very much, yes, but so did the *Lord* bit of it. Lordship necessitates hierarchy, and hierarchy necessitates order, so despite what you may have heard about him, Satan absolutely abhorred chaos. He liked his ""evil,"" if you must use that four letter word, to be structured. ""...and then he tweeted that he was one of the greatest golfers in the *hestory* of all time"" the demon said, emphasizing the misspelling, ""that Tiger Woods totally agreed with him, and that *Angelar* Merkel was insulting all the country's troops for not approving the golf course."" ""Ugh,"" Satan groaned, a thick pillar of smoke escaping from between his teeth. ""Did she even have any authority to approve the course?"" ""Not particularly."" ""Fucking hell,"" was all the exasperated dark lord could muster. He should be enjoying this - an international incident caused by the pettiness of one buffoon who'd gotten too big for his britches - but the chaos, the god damned *chaos* was too much to bear. There was no method, no grand design, no *finesse*, just the basest of human emotions and complete, utter disarray. ""Please tell me you have some good news."" ""Good news, sire?"" the demon inquired, his already shaky voice rising several octaves. ""You know damned well what I mean,"" Satan fumed before slouching back in his throne. ""Well, it appears some humans have developed a new fetish, and this one's particularly creepy."" ""Ugh."" ""Uh, well, let's see,"" the demon fumbled with his long trail of paper, carefully trying to skip ahead several page lengths without accidentally dragging any of the cumbersome scroll into the multitude of open fires around him. ""There's, there's a war on in the Middle East!"" ""Hrmph. There's always a war on in the Middle East. What's so special about this one?"" He tossed his cigarette to the ground, landing it just an inch shy of the scared minion's feet. The demon winced. ""Um, well, you see, umm... nothing, I suppose, my lord."" Satan grasped his forehead, massaging the space between his horns with one hand as he dragged himself back into a proper posture with the other, all the while training his vision on the discarded cigarette. Truth be told it wasn't actually a cigarette, just a stick of ash that smoldered from the heat of the prince of hellfire's own breath. Satan didn't like the taste of tobacco, but he did think smoking would make him look cool - an important consideration for most anyone who relies on their charisma to get things done - and he was rather a big fan of lung cancer. It was a deadly disease largely caused by a human's own intentional actions, and one that could easily be avoided, yet humans kept doing it to themselves. Now *that* is how you introduce so called ""evil"" into the world. Every smoker's story has a cause and an effect, a beginning, middle, and end, and that end was entirely their own doing. It's poetic, really, the dark lord told himself, without an ounce of that awful *chaos* nonsense. And so, he would from time to time pluck a sprig of ash, as they were the only trees God would let grow in hell (a joke, to be sure, and one that Lucifer regularly grumbled to himself about), then let it slowly burn betwixt his lips. ""What else?"" ""Well, um, you see the Canadians -"" ""Next!"" Lucifer slumped forward. Whatever it was, it may have been bad by Canadian standards, but those standards were almost invariably leagues apart from his own. This was probably just some small argument over a perceived impoliteness, or perhaps a tax on maple syrup, he assured himself. ""Uh, yes, um, well, the letters are here."" ""Letters?"" Satan perked up, his eyes alight as much with excitement as they were the reflections of hellfire. ""Do you mean?.."" ""Yes sir, it's almost that time of year."" Satan leaped from his throne, knocking the poor demon onto his hind quarters and accidentally casting the oversized scroll into the nearest pillar of flame. This time it was the demon who let loose an audible gasp of disappointment; he had worked quite literally all day on that list. ""Come on, Halphas, get up! No time to doddle,"" said a visibly gleeful devil. ""Oh wait, one more thing!"" Satan exclaimed as he sauntered back to his throne, reaching behind it to pull out a small box wrapped in red and green paper. ""Here you are,"" he said, handing the package to Halphas as the demon pulled himself off the hard stone floor. Halphas carefully peeled back the paper while Satan looked on with equal parts delight and anticipation. ""Is this?"" ""Yes! It's an iPad! No more dragging that unruly mass of highly flammable paper around a realm engulfed in flame. From now on, when we trudge through these dreadful briefings you'll be scrolling through your list on a simple, manageable tablet! And if the battery happens to die before you finish, so be it."" ""But sir, you love the paper list. All those trees - the destruction, deforestation, the carbon footprint, the-"" ""Relax. CVS has that all covered now. And, after all, it's Christmas!"" the Lord of Darkness exclaimed with a toothy grin. ""Now come along, we have preparations to make!"" he declared, practically dancing toward the mailroom. \--- Thank you for reading. This was my first creative piece in a long, long time. It's nothing special, and derivative, I'm sure, but it was nice to get those creative juices flowing again. If there's any appetite for it, I'll try to write a part two in the next couple days. ***Edit:*** Part II has been posted below. Anyone wanna tell me how I link directly to comments to make it easier to find in case this thread grows?",1121
 Satan looked over stack of letters at,"*Dear Satan: For Chisrtmas this year I want a trisikl. Adn a pony.* *Dare Satan, tahnks for my doly last yaer. Tihs year I wuld like a fone!* *Der Satan, I..."" ""Uh, sir?"" Satan looked over the stack of letters at his lackey, bowing at his feet. ""This had better be important."" He was never to be disturbed in his office, unless it was desperately important. ""Uh, sort of, sir. Those letters you asked about? The ones you wanted me to send?"" The poor thing was shaking like a leaf. He'd get used to it. There was a significant heap of paper in the creature's arms. ""Yes, I asked you to send them to the... correct recipient."" Santa. Fluffy, smiling bastard. Satan leaned back in his chair. What was so special about a fat man with a magic sleigh, anyway? ""About that, sir, they, um, can't be delivered."" The lackey winced, as if he was afraid he'd be punished on the spot. ""What do you mean?"" ""Well, sir, most of them are from previous years."" ""Years! What do I care about mortal, human years?"" Human years were of little significance to Satan. He had a *business* to run. ""Well, one of the letters you asked us to send to Santa was from Billy, in 1956. And Laura, in 1978."" ""And?"" He was growing annoyed. Was there a point, to this? He was busy. Very busy. ""Sir, it's 2019 up there. Billy's a grandpa now. I don't think he needs a BB gun anymore. Sir. And Laura is dead. She's up top."" He pointed upwards, as if his master had no idea what he was talking about. ""Fine, fine. Keep them together. Anything from this year, set it aside."" ""Certainly sir, but, some of us were wondering, sir, what you wanted us to do with them?"" He handed Satan a small stack of letters, all dated from decades before. ""The same thing I asked before. Send them to Santa."" ""B-but... why?"" His lackey stuttered. ""What you care about the whims of small human children? So what if they don't get a..."" ""It is not for **you** to decide **why**."" He puffed up his chest, made himself grow a few feet. Put on a show. ""You'll do it because you're ordered to, or you'll see what happens when you disobey me."" ""Of course, sir. I'll be back for the ones you're reading shortly."" The lackey bowed, backing away, grateful to be leaving intact. ""Wait, wait..."" He had a thought. ""Bring back some of the older ones. Billy, or whoever. The new ones we'll send on the way. A child who feels slighted by Santa will be upset. A child whose only problem so far is their inability to put letters in the right places... they're not sinners, really. They may develop problems, feel like an outcast. That's when they give in to sin. When they feel forgotten. If I am responsible for causing the sinner to sin, it's boring. I'm over that now. Let them grow up to be heathens without my interference, so that they deserve their place in Hell."" His lackey's eyes were twice as wide, but he did not object, only nodded and left the chambers. Satan knew that within moments, half of Hell would know. That was fine. Naysayers would be vaporized. Slowly. See, Satan had recently had a revelation. He could be the devil on your shoulder, he could whisper dark secrets into your ear. But then he was just coercing otherwise normal humans to do his bidding. Where was the fun in that? Why work so hard? The world was full of plenty of sinners, more and more every day. And while God had relaxed his rules a little, his followers seemed to have gone in the opposite direction, spitting hatred and lies to others, harming those who were different than they. Those ""believers"" ended up down here, where they had a nice cup of coffee before - oh, that was a funny joke! They went immediately to their eternal punishment. Damnation for casting aside their fellow humans based on some silly old book. Murderers tortured, creeps castrated, that was his specialty. He took no joy out of punishing those who only sinned because he *told* them to. God had, reluctantly, agreed to Satan's plan to send the letters back to Santa. In retrospect, the man upstairs *had* mentioned something about the passage of time, and children growing into adults, but Satan was already bored stiff, and all that air-conditioning in Heaven was uncomfortable. So he left before God could finish speaking. *God*, he was annoying. He wasn't sure how Santa would react. Confused? Elated? Who cared! Satan would get to stop seeing depressed kids whose only sin was envy. Making a politician feel every bit of pain they'd caused others would be much more enjoyable. *Dyslexia.* That's what they called it. Just a few kids who couldn't get things in the right order. That wasn't their fault. And yes, he was known for the fire and brimstone, the spikes and the chains and the screaming, and that was all well and good. But sending a little mail and confusing the man known as Santa Claus could be a bit of a laugh too, if he liked. He could just imagine one of those puny, stupid elves shuffling up to Santa in their silly little shoes. *Santa! Letters, sir! From Satan!* It was almost enough to laugh at. He supposed he really had no reason to love the letters. It's just that they were *so* fun. For every pony, he considered sending a hellhound. For every doll, he considered sending a demon. But he didn't. He opened the letter at the top of the pile, he was due for another laugh. This one was dated only last year, to his surprise. *Dare Satan: My mommy says yuo hav maigc! I wish daddy wuould go AWAY I get sacred when he yells :( I don't liek wen he hits mommy. He is never eevr nice. He hits me too sometiems. Plaese make him go aawy. It's all I wnat. Lvoe, Ally S* Satan stared at the paper for an extra moment. *Make daddy go away.* That's what she wanted. Her abusive father to disappear. That, he could handle. Satan closed his eyes, summoned his strongest powers. He didn't usually like doing these kinds of things, he was meant to wait for people to come to him. But every now and again, he was called to action by a particularly awful sort of person. He wondered if his gift for ""finding"" people was similar to Santas. *Ally S*. This was her home. It was filthy, full of beer bottles and cigarette trays, men's things all over the house with no regard for cleanliness. The house stank of a man who cared only for himself. And there, at the table, was the girl.. She was six years old, curly brown hair. She was sitting at the table with her mother and father. At first, he only saw the father's face over Ally's head - a grimace if he'd ever seen one, mean eyes, strong arms. Then the mother - petite, weak, a small cut on her cheek that looked very new. Then Ally herself. She was wearing a tattered dress, her eyes cast down at her plate, which hadn't been touched. There were several bruises in a line, right down her skinny little arm. There was a fire in the fireplace. A barren fake Christmas tree with no ornaments. A sports game of some kind was on the TV, which was the only thing the father looked at. The mother reached up to her face, wiping a tear from the a near her cut. She reached for her fork, tentatively, but the man beside her threw his hand back so fast, Satan barely saw it. The fork went flying across the room, knocking over dishes and breaking things. The cut on the woman's cheek opened up again, and there was blood down to her chin. *See what you made me do? Clean it up!* The father stood, getting into the mother's face, spittle flying onto her cheek. There were tears. Ally looked terrified. The mother quickly left to clean things up while the husband kept eating. When she returned to the table, she did so silently, and did not attempt to eat again. He wasn't used to granting wishes, but this one he would do gladly. He focused on the father, who was shoveling food into his mouth with no care for his small family. On his next bite, he happened to start choking. Not on food, though that's how it might look to the girls. No, Satan was slowly squeezing the life out of him.He finished the job and watched the father fall to the floor, his eyes unmoving. The mother hadn't moved a muscle. Ally was crying in her seat, but had also made no move to save him. Good. Their hands were clean. They were safe. He slowly came back to Hell, watching the girls fade away. They could handle themselves now. His eyes flickered open, landing on the stack of letters. The creatures that worked for him may have seen no value in these, but suddenly, Satan saw an... opportunity. He started rifling through the letters, picking out some that met the right criteria - he would find letters like Ally's. He would make their lives better - and gain himself a few new souls, as well. Not just with the old letters, but the new ones. Santa sure wasn't going to crush Ally's shitty fathers windpipe, but *Satan*, he'd do just that. *Take that, fat man.* Satan smirked. *I can grant a few wishes of my own.*",1633
 The spikes jutted up from,"The spikes were what did it. A white picket fence is good and all, especially when paired with an immaculate lawn and neat garden beds filled to the brim with daffodils and lilies. Red bricks too, with wide, open windows and a welcome mat that actually said 'welcome' rather than spouting some amusing turn of phrase. But those spikes... They just jutted up from the roof with seemingly no purpose whatsoever. Antenna perhaps? They didn't look like any Jade had seen before. ""Hey, sweetie--"" she began to ask. ""Don't call me sweetie Mom! It's embarrassing,"" her son interrupted, the look of righteous indignation adorable on his sweet little face. ""Oh. Sorry, *Jack*, has Lily ever told you about her parents?"" He frowned. ""Um, I don't know. It's just her Mom, I think. Come on, we're gonna be late!"" Jade sighed internally at that, and hoped that if her son was right, this was one of the times that single parentage came from a positive place, rather than tragedy. Jack had come far earlier in her life than she might have wished, and though his father had remained around to help out from a distance, the two of them had never been cut out as life partners. She rang the doorbell, feeling the satisfying *click* as the button was pressed. *Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!* A dark silhouette was briefly visible behind heavily frosted glass, and then the door opened. A woman stood behind it, smiling genuinely despite the exhaustion evident in slump of her figure, in the dark shadows that touched at her eyes from below. Jade froze, then her hand snapped out with superhuman speed to grasp at the back of Jack's shirt, and he yelped in surprise as she pulled him behind her. The woman blinked, visibly shrugging off her grogginess in an instant as she caught that extra ordinary motion. ""Get back!"" she shouted out, her eyes widening with recognition. Jade saw a small figure peaking around the woman's legs, long hair twisting between delicate fingers. *Lily* she thought, and watched with morbid interest as the woman before her ushered the girl back without ever taking her eyes off Jade. It was like watching a tiger feed a bloody carcass to its cub, strangely endearing to see but also horrifying to understand that a killer could still love. If it weren't for the spikes, she probably never would have recognised the woman. But she'd seen them, and in seeing them had been put in just the right frame of mind. Her... nemesis, if such a word could ever truthfully be used to describe a person, was fond of the things, infamous for decorating her costumes and machines with them to an almost comical effect. She'd always been one of those supers to make do with a simple domino mask, despite the inherit dangers to revealing her identity, and so the face in front of her was just familiar enough to know. Before Jade, standing in all her domestic glory, stood a villain known as Gadget--the hero killer, the death of cities, the ghost in the machine. They stood as mirrors to each other, each poised to fight but each unwilling to do so with their children so close at hand. ""Ah,"" Gadget said, eyes flicking around rapidly as if searching for the rest of the heroic team that must surely be around. ""It's... you. Isn't it? Shiiii--dang, it is. This is... unexpected."" ""As if you didn't plan this!"" Jade spat back accusingly, but almost immediately began to doubt her own words. Gadget was famous for being prepared for almost any situation, but right here, right now... she seemed entirely out of her element. Though it could, of course, be an act. *I could take her...* Jade suddenly realised. Gadget wasn't wearing a mech suit, or a shield belt or any of the other hundred things she used to protect herself from heroes. It would be so easy... As long as she was willing to fight the villain in front of her own daughter, and Jack too. ""Um,"" Gadget said, sounding unsure. ""What... ah, what happens now?"" ""Mommy?"" Jack asked, staring at Jade with hurt eyes. ""What's wrong?"" ""Nothing sweetie,"" she said, and he didn't contradict that fond moniker now. ""Nothing at all. But, go back to the car Jack, please."" ""But whhhhhy?"" ""*Because I told you so!""* ""But--"" ""*Now*, Jack."" Under protest, he did, and Gadget similarly sent Lily to her room. ""Ok,"" Jade said, feeling a little better now the children were away from harm. ""Ok. Now, we're going to do this cleanly, and calmly. You have the right--"" ""Woa!"" Gadget exclaimed, holding up a hand. ""You can't arrest me, not in my own damn house!"" ""Ha,"" Jade said, speaking the laugh aloud as a word. ""And why not?"" ""Cause of the cameras!"" Gadget replied, pointing up at the ceiling of the veranda. There, undeniably, was a small device pointing down, lens glinting in the morning sun. ""You take me away, those videos go public and your secret identity goes *poof*. Everyone'll know your face!"" Jade let out a breath. ""They'll know your face too."" Gadget let out an amused breath. ""Like that matters if I'm arrested."" ""Maybe that's worth it, to bring you in."" Gadget laughed, and the weariness that Jade had seen before seeped back in. ""Maybe if the world was just me and you, but it aint. I'm not the only one who's out to get ya, and you *know it*. If they see your face, that means they can figure out who Jack is,""--Jade winced at her son's name being spoken aloud by the techno horror--""and you really think they'd hesitate a second before *using that*? Back off bitch, I got you."" ""But... but you're the *hero killer*. Voltr, The Bear, Tiny Man... they're all gone because of *you*. I can't let you go..."" Gadget grimaced, turning away slightly. ""I never wanted them dead. They just... they just kept coming. What was I supposed to do, just give up when I was winning?"" ""Yes!"" Jade exclaimed. ""How were their lives worth less than your... your schemes!"" ""Because my 'schemes' will save the world!"" ""Or destroy it!"" ""At least I'm trying a proper fix! All you goody idiots do is throw bandaids at rivers of blood, buying just another day. The days are going to run out eventually, and you *know that*."" A silence settled down upon the two superhumans as they realised the conversation wasn't going anywhere--both were too set in their ways. In this quiet moment, they heard the happy laughter of children coming from the yard. Lily must have snuck out, because she'd gone to Jack and let him out of the car. Now they played tag on the grass, laughing because Jack had tripped over one of the garden beds and was now lying on his back amidst the flowers. His smile was as bright as she'd ever seen it. Jade sighed, watching the two children with the eye of someone who would have to clean out the dirt that would inevitably be trodden into her car. ""How about,"" Gadget said slowly, watching with her own strangely gentle expression. ""How about we have tea, and talk? That's all I ever really wanted, and it beats the hell out of ruining *their* day, don't it?"" ""I... I guess,"" Jade acquiesced, after a moment of uncertain consideration. She lowered her outstretched hand. ""But screw tea, I need a coffee."" ---",1250
" ""What did he look like?""","I had heard the story a hundred times. Maybe more. And still I insisted that my dad tell the story again, testing the deepest crevasses of his memory. ""What did he look like?"" I asked this time. I knew it pained him to talk about my birth, especially given all that happened to mom. It couldn't be easy, losing the person you loved most like that. I knew the pain. I had lost her, too. Not just that once, but a thousand times. I had relived it, his story bringing it to life for me. I think he blamed me for it a little, too. Unfairly, of course. I couldn't control if some futuristic maniac tried to kill new-born me. I couldn't even keep my head up at that age, much less orchestrate my mother's murder like some sort of misfiring Bond villain. We had discussed so many possible motivations, ranging from the reasonable, like maybe I triggered the apocalypse some day, to the unreasonable, like maybe it was some sort of futuristic gang initiation gone wrong. Nothing quite clicked. Nothing answered all the questions, at least not to my satisfaction. My dad shrugged and gave me that resigned look. He was reluctant, as always. ""A lot like you and me, I guess."" I raised my eyebrows, prompting him to continue. He sighed. ""He was dressed just like we are. Had the stubble of somebody who hasn't shaved in a few days. Two ears, two eyes, two noses."" I rolled my eyes. He always added something stupid, trying to lighten the mood or change the subject and see if I was paying as much attention as I always did. Of course I was. It was life or death for me, in case they came back. He only had one nose, for the record. Just like me and my dad. ""Why do you even care so much? They haven't been back for you."" That was true. It had been eighteen years and nobody else had appeared from a portal trying to kill me. The man had been shot on the spot by a security guard. Moments too late, as he had already fired off his shot and killed my mother. But then instead of laying there like one would expect, he just sort of... Dissolved. Like he no longer belonged at this point in time, and then he was gone, along with the portal that closed back into the wall, rendering itself inaccessible to my startled and scarred father. And my mother lay there bleeding out of two holes, one where I came out of and one where the bullet entered. In spite of being shot in the best place possible - where else would you have hundreds of doctors that might save you if not the hospital? - she died a couple days later from complications. The bullet had shattered, wrecking her insides more than even a baby could. That was a shot meant to kill. It was meant to kill me. I shifted uncomfortably. In the last eighteen years, nobody else had appeared and tried to kill me. But another portal had appeared. It was late one evening, dad was out on the town chasing some tail. His words, not mine. I prefer ""dating"" or ""getting rejected"" or ""embarrassing himself"". I was watching TV in the living room, shoes on the ottoman and a bag of chips on the couch beside me. Plans had fallen through at the last minute, as they always did. It was my fault again, not really feeling the motivation to get up off that couch and drive to a friend's house. I had felt the portal first, something like an electrical discharge flitting about the room, trying to find a spot to land. And then it had opened, and out had stepped a woman dressed just like anybody nowadays. She couldn't have been that far in the future if they were still dressed like that. She was in a light-blue dress, her makeup ready as if she was about to go on a date. She was pretty; the kind of pretty you might not notice at first glance but once you get to know her she starts to take your breath away. ""It's you,"" she said, looking at me with a hint of disappointment and a bit too much familiarity. I didn't know how she knew me because I sure as hell didn't know her, or anybody else from the future for that matter. She turned as if to step right back into the portal. ""Wait,"" I said breathlessly, still in awe about the appearance of another portal right there in the living room. The TV was playing some rerun of That 70s Show and Eric was droning incessantly about something. I muted him. She glanced back towards me, maybe surprised that I wasn't more wary of a time traveler after my previous experience. ""Who are you? And what do you want from me?"" She shook her head. ""I don't want anything from you anymore,"" she said with a disheartened shrug and a resigned look. It was a familiar shrug, much like the one my father would give me when I pushed him to tell me the story one more time or the shrug I would give a friend when they would elbow my ribs and beg for a reaction to some immature joke. Our actions eventually resemble those of the people around us, that's inevitable. Kids mimic their parents who have over time started to mimic each other. It's natural. ""Then why are you here? And do you know the man who tried to kill me?"" She looked sad now, as if she knew the man and missed him very much. ""I was here looking for you... Well, for him. It didn't go as planned, as always."" She said it with the patience of the mother of an ill-behaved child or the wife of a flaky and unreliable man. ""I survived, if that's what you mean."" I said it proudly, shoving in her face that I was still here. Still fighting life, one day at a time, time-traveling killers be damned. She nodded sadly. ""I know. That's too bad."" I glowered at her, angry that she was implying that my death would have somehow been better. ""Did you know him?"" She nodded again, giving me a woeful smile. ""Of course I did,"" she answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. ""You know him, too."" And with that she disappeared back into the portal, leaving me grasping at answers that I couldn't get and wondering who in my life might one day try to kill me at birth. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1141
" Joshua, 23, was a nobody","It'd never made sense to Joshua as to why someone would want to kill him. Even now, at 23, he was a nobody. He'd never accomplished anything. He'd never screwed someone over. Hell, he doubted he'd ever made a lasting impression on anyone. But even though he was nothing special, he had one thing going for him. Joshua, according to himself, was rather lucky. Not lucky in the ""win the lottery"" sense of the word, but more in a ""glad that didn't happen to me"" way. Except for the fact that his mother died at an early age, nothing incredibly bad had ever happened to Joshua, while many horrible things seemed to happen to everyone else all the time. For example, yesterday, while Joshua was visiting a restaurant, a man who had brushed by him while getting to his own table had received a phone call a little later. The man had exclaimed: ""What do you mean, 'the money is gone!?'"". Later that night Joshua found out that one of the country's major banks had had a malfunction of humongous proportions and had lost the money from 5% of all its clients. Joshua was also one of the bank's clients, but he wasn't part of that 5%. He sure was lucky. Perhaps someone was jealous of his luck and wanted to kill him because of it? No, that wouldn't make any sense. How would anyone even know he was this lucky? Anyway, today Joshua was visiting the Science of the Future symposium. He'd always had a thing for science. Not that he was any good at it himself, but he loved to read about it and see what new things people had come up with this time. This year's symposium was tipped to be one of the big ones. Multiple renowned scientists would be presenting their discoveries this year and the excitement was palpable in and around the exhibition center. There were even whispers that the Jonasson brothers were going to present a time machine this year; though, no one seemed to take the rumors seriously. The beginning of the day was great. Joshua got to meet one of his favorite scientists in the morning. He even got to shake her hand. It was a bit of a letdown that the device she was presenting today exploded during her presentation a bit later, but he was still happy he got to meet her. Joshua also went by the floor the Jonasson brothers were given to show off their creation. They would reveal the function of it later that afternoon, but the floor was full of visitors even in the morning. Even though these logical and science loving people perhaps didn't believe in a time machine, they sure were curious. The machine itself was huge, taking up half the floor, but it was hard to tell what its function was. That function, however, became clear to Joshua around noon, when an unknown scientist was presenting her recent creation in the center hall on the ground floor. She appeared to be a bit of a scatter brain and hadn't clearly thought out her presentation. She presented her device as if everyone already understood and believed her, creating some serious doubt in the audience about the device actually working. It didn't help that, at first glance, there was no way to prove whether or not her device was working. This was because, according to her, she had created a device that could measure luck. Who was going to believe that? ""Prove it!"" Who the voice belonged to didn't matter. The general consensus of the audience had been eloquently summarized in those two words. They wanted to see proof and they wanted to see it now. ""W-well, if a volunteer could..."" Before she had even finished her sentence, Joshua was standing next to her on the stage, surprising even himself. Sure, he'd always wanted to be a part of an experiment, but that alone wouldn't have brought out this behavior. Perhaps he was just curious about his good luck? The scientist didn't seem to mind Joshua's enthusiasm and pointed her device, which looked no different than a modern smartphone, at Joshua. All color left her face. ""Y-y-you monster!"" She exclaimed as she stepped away from Joshua. ""Y-You radiate a luck value of minus 986! You shouldn't be alive!"" Joshua raised a confused eyebrow. ""T-the only way you could possibly survive,"" the scientist continued, ""is if you somehow transfer that bad luck to others."" She stepped away even further from Joshua. ""B-by touch for example."" A short silence followed. ""All right,"" a voice interjected from next to Joshua, ""enough of this farce. If the two of you would be so kind to leave the stage, we can prepare for the next presentation."" The man, who had introduced all scientists before their presentations, laid his hand on Joshua's shoulder. ""That means you too young man."" Then he slumped to the floor gripping his heart. Joshua just stood there dumbfounded as the female scientist ran off the stage screaming. This was just some stupid coincidence, right? This couldn't really be happening, right? Within seconds the slumped man was being helped by some volunteers who made a show of not touching Joshua. Joshua, however, was more focused on the accusing eyes of the crowd in front of him. A man, who was sitting in one of the front rows got out of his chair and pointed an angry finger at Joshua. ""I remember you!"" The man screamed. ""You were in the same restaurant as me yesterday! I touched you right before I lost all my savings!"" His face turned completely red. ""They told me I'll never see the money again. That there was no proof left of it ever existing."" His breaths were irregular. ""Because of you I won't be able pay for my daughter's surgery!"" For a second it looked like the man was going to storm the stage, but instead he ran towards the stairwell at the side of the hall. A stairwell that would lead him to the floor on which the supposed Jonasson time machine was located. Things suddenly made a lot more sense to Joshua.",1032
 The auction was too good to pass,"It was a dark and stormy night. The train compartment I sat in was empty. Not many people traveled this line and with the weather being what it was, most people were sitting quietly at home. I would have been home too but the auction was too good to pass up. I had picked up a bunch of good stuff for the shop. Most of it I had sent via a truck which would arrive directly at the shop. The smaller and the most valuable things, I carried with me. I took out the lamp and looked at the ornate design. It was something straight out of a fairy tale. In fact, I would probably call it Aladdin's lamp or something when I sold it. It really did look something out of a movie. I took out my phone. Out of battery. I still had an hour's worth of journey left and I was already bored out of my mind. I placed the lamp on the empty seat next to me and got up. ""Might as well take a little walk along the corridor."" I said aloud to no one. My stuff would be safe. Not like there was anyone there. I sighed. ""I wish I had someone or something that would help me pass some time."" I walked along the corridor to the end of the next carriage. All empty. I turned around and figured I'd try my luck in the next compartment. I saw a flash of red as someone was entering my compartment. I thought back to my stuff lying there and hurried back. A pretty woman stood at my seat turning the lamp over in her hands. I entered the door and moved towards her. She didn't show any signs of having heard me. I figured I would have some fun. I moved quietly towards her and right when I was beside her, I spoke in a loud voice. ""Who asks for me?"" She was startled and dropped the lamp. She turned around and looked at me. She was quite pretty. In fact, she was gorgeous. ""Sorry, is this yours. I was just looking."" ""Well technically it's yours. But I do live in it."" ""What?"" ""I'm a genie."" ""Ok yeah. Sure. I'm sorry I was just..."" I held up my hand. ""I can see that you don't believe me. But that is ok. I don't care what you believe as long as you tell me what you wish for."" ""Wait. For real?"" ""Yes. Three wishes. Anything you want."" She was biting her lower lip and looking at me with a confused expression. This would be fun. I wondered how long could I stretch this. ""Oh come on. You don't expect me to believe it."" ""As I said, don't believe it. I'm just obligated to grant you three wishes. Let's get it done then. Then I can go back to my lamp and fall asleep."" She smirked. ""Ok my first wish is that you make me beautiful."" ""Ok."" I blinked my eyes rapidly and said some mumbo jumbo under my breath. ""It is done."" She looked at me curiously and then took out a makeup kit. She opened up a small mirror and looked at herself. ""I'm still the same."" ""Well you were already beautiful."" She blushed as she lowered her face. ""Thank you."" ""No matter. What's your second wish?"" ""What?"" ""You get three wishes."" ""Oh. We're still going to go through this charade?"" ""This is no charade young lady."" ""Young lady? I'm just about your age you know."" ""Oh but I am eternal. I'm six thousand years old in reality."" She rolled her eyes. ""Fine then. I wish I had money. Lots of it."" ""Would you like that in cash or jewels?"" ""What?"" ""How would you like lots of money?"" She looked at me curiously. ""Well cash is hard to carry. Maybe something small. Or antique. That I can sell for loads of money."" Lucky me. I closed my eyes and mumbled under my breath again. There was a flash of lightning outside and she turned her head to look at it. I quickly reached into my pocket and pulled out tree small packet I had. I dropped it on the seat. ""Here you go."" She stared open mouthed at the little package. ""What?"" ""Small antique pieces. Worth at least hundred and fifty thousand dollars."" She opened the package and looked at the stuff in there. The true value of it all was around ten thousand dollars but I could exaggerate. Not many people knew about such things like I did. ""Are you serious?"" ""Well your wish didn't specify the amount. In my time, this would be enough amount."" ""All of this is mine?"" She looked at the small set of salt and pepper shakers. They were made of ivory and the carvings on them were exquisite. ""It is."" ""So you're really a genie and you're giving me and hundred and fifty thousand worth of antiques."" Her face was full of confusion and intrigue. I just couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. ""Oh my god, you totally believed that."" ""What..."" ""I'm sorry. I saw you standing here and I was bored and I thought..."" I burst into laughter again. Her look of confusion slowly changed into anger. But soon enough she was laughing too. We both laughed non stop for a couple of minutes. Finally she spoke up. ""I have to admit. By the end there I was almost ready to believe. Is this stuff really valuable?"" ""Not nearly as valuable as I made it out to be. Like ten grand or something. I bought it all for about five."" We sat and talked for a while about the antique pieces. I looked at my watch. The journey was almost at an end. She looked at her watch and then she looked at me. ""You still haven't granted me my third wish."" ""Third wish? Oh. Sure. What's your wish."" ""A kiss of true love."" ""I'm sorry."" ""What? One kiss. That's not too much to ask for, is it?"" ""Well I.."" I broke off, unsure of what to say. She didn't bother waiting for a response. She leaned in. I closed my eyes and let her. A faint unfamiliar smell enveloped me as my world crashed into darkness. I woke up with a headache as someone shook my shoulder. ""Sir, we arrived twenty minutes ago. You should get off. I have to clean the train and it has to go back in ten minutes."" ""I..."" I looked around, remembering what had happened. ""Where is she?"" ""Who?"" ""The girl. There was a girl here and she..."" I looked around and saw my stuff neatly packed back up. ""There isn't anyone else sir. The train is pretty empty at this time."" I opened up my package to see if I was missing something. Was she a thief? But everything was there. And there was also a note. *Dear Mr Jackson,* *You see, I'm kind of a genie myself. People wish for something and ask me. I get it for them. There are a certain set of diamonds that were stolen from uk a month or so back. Let's just say that I might be involved in that. Antiques are usually good covers to transport such stuff. Those salt shakers were perfect for small uncut diamonds. Weather delayed me and I couldn't make the auction. The auctioneer was kind enough to point me towards you though. Apparently he knew you well. I was hiding in the train when I heard you making your wish for company to pass the time. As I said, I'm kind of a genie myself. So I granted your wish. I'll see you again someday. After all, you granted three of my wishes, and I only granted one.* *xoxoxo* *Jane*",1305
 Darren snatched the diamond locket from,"""I won't try to stop you taking whatever you want, but just so you know... everything always makes its way back soon enough,"" The shop owner said. A look of pity on her face. Darren raised an eyebrow, but kept the pistol aimed at her. He could hear the first wail of a siren in the distance. Was it for him? The woman hadn't moved since he'd drawn his weapon. ""You might want to hurry,"" she said. The sirens grew louder as his grip on the pistol grew sweatier. His fingers felt hot against the metal as if he'd already fired it. His eyes darted around the store and then at the counter in front of him. He pointed down at the glass. ""How much is that worth?"" ""It sells for fifty thousand, but to you it might as well be worthless."" The woman slid open a compartment, taking her time. Her fingers found the diamond locket and pulled it from the felt display. Darren snatched it the moment it was above the counter. He let it dangle in front of him. The silver chain seemed to shine just as bright as the lights trapped inside the giant diamond. ""Take it."" she gestured to the door. ""I won't stop you."" The sirens were so loud. It sounded as if there were a squadron of police cruisers right behind him. He shoved the necklace into his pocket, a bit of chain stuck out, and then ran through the front door. On his way out he tucked the pistol in the back of his jeans. &nbsp; ** *** ** Mariah watched the people pass over her turf. She held her cup out and rattled the coins inside. A few passersby shot her dirty looks, but most of them ignored her. She preferred anger or disgust to apathy. At least they acknowledged her existence. ""Change,"" she called out and shook her paper cup again. She'd gotten it last week when someone had tossed his half-finished drink on her. Though it had brought her close to tears, it also had the effect of making those on the street who'd witnessed it more generous. *I should see if I could get someone to pour their drinks on me more often*, Mariah thought. Today's haul so far was three quarters, ten dimes, two nickels, and a bunch of pennies she didn't want to bother counting. There was also the wad of gum that had been dropped by a snickering teen. Mariah had been pleasantly surprised to find that it had still contained a decent amount of its mint flavor as she'd popped it into her mouth. Her eyes caught a man shuffling down the street. He kept casting nervous glances over his shoulder. As there was nothing to be gained from a man so disturbed, Mariah began to look elsewhere. Something flashy caught her eye. Sticking out of the man's pocket was a line of silver. It seemed to call out to her. She was no pickpocket--only ever tried it that one time. The idea of a repeat of her first attempt made her throat tighten up. She couldn't look away. Her tongue found its way to her lips as she slid it back and forth. When the man was close enough, she sprung forward. ""Excuse me, sir."" Mariah reached outwards, placing her hands on his chest. His eyes looked her up and down with an exaggerated grimace as if a rat had just jumped out of a dumpster and onto his leg. The man swung his arm into her shoulder and shoved her aside. Before she tumbled down, her hand found the length of chain. She tightened her dirty hand into a fist and pulled. She got it! Mariah hesitated for a moment as the diamond sparkled in front of her, dangling from her sticky fingers. She quickly stuffed it into her shirt. ""You little..."" the man's words turned guttural as he lifted her up off the sidewalk and threw her up against a storefront. ""Where'd you put it?"" His hands searched over her. ""Help!"" She shouted. ""Someone please help me."" Mariah tried to squirm out of his grasp as a hand traveled up her chest. The left side of her face exploded with pain. She hadn't even seen his fist coming. She was barely aware of the ground rising up as she fell. Somewhere nearby a woman was shouting, ""Someone stop him! He's beating her!"" Feet stomped and scratched the concrete around her. When Mariah looked up she saw the a crowd of men pushing her attacker back. The man's hands were still reaching for her. His eyes wild and bulding. Her cheek felt wet and warm. Mariah sat up and felt along her face. Her fingers came back bloody. She thought of the necklace and the world snapped back into focus with startling clarity. She still had it. She could feel the cold metal against her skin. &nbsp; ---- Seymor waited in the alley. This was not his home, but he could count on the occasional meal here. Sometimes the woman spared a scrap for him. More often than not all she had was a scratch behind the ear and some kind words. It was more than he was used to. His paws padded against the shadowed concrete as he relieved himself against a dumpster. The smells that wafted from it and containers like this drove him mad with desire. A noise brought his attention away from the delicious aromas of the trash. The nice woman stumbled into the view between the two buildings at the edge of the alley. She didn't even see him as he waggled his tail and spun around a few times as she usually liked. No, her attention was on something else. Something shiny. She plopped herself down on her old mattress and stared at her hands. No, she stared at the shiny thing in her hands. As was he. ""How much are you worth?"" She asked. Seymor raised his ears. He was pretty sure people usually talked to each other, not things. He edged closer to the nice woman. His body tensed as he felt the need for caution. ""Sorry, boy. No food today,"" she said without looking at him. Her voice sounded rough, almost angry. If he understood anything beyond the word 'food', it wouldn't have mattered. Seeing the shiny thing up close made his mouth water and tail shake more than the scents from the dumpster. ""Why're you looking at me like that?"" The woman asked. ""Go on. Get!"" She swatted at him, but he leapt back just in time. Seymor moved closer. When she swatted again, he took his chance. He ducked under her arm and closed his jaws around the shiny and darted away. The taste of metal and sweat filled his mouth. He had the shiny toy! He felt her fingers grasping, digging into his fur. Years on the streets, only bathing when there was a heavy downpour, his hair was greasy and hard to grab hold of. Seymor slipped right out. &nbsp; ---- Prey. Far above the city's rooftops, she searched for prey. The wind blew through her feathers as she glided, her wings outstretched, hugging the air. The people sometimes dropped food, but nothing was as good a juicy mouse or... A sparkle on the ground caught her eye. She saw it bounce up and down as it was carried down a lonesome road. She swooped down for a closer look. Her shadow fell over the dogs back. She'd caught a closer glimpse of the dangling necklace. Oh how it sparkled. How it shone! Thoughts of prey turned to how she might decorate her nest. Though she'd built it years ago, she always had kept an eye out for things that caught the light. The dog looked up as she passed a second time. It growled, baring its cruel teeth up at her. She rose to the sky. The cool air up this high filled her lungs and made her feel invincible. The only though in her mind: shiny. This last dive was almost vertical. Her body whistled through the air. At the last second, the dog reared up on his hind legs and clawed at her. He made the mistake of snapping his jaws, trying to catch her neck. Through the dog's spittle and ruffle of feathers from his swinging paws, she managed to close her beak over the chain. The shiny. The dog raged below as she tore back to the sky with thoughts of where in her nest she'd place it. &nbsp; ---- Samantha stepped outside and gazed into a near empty parking lot. Her store in this strip mall wasn't the last to close, but business usually tapered off quickly after seven. She heard the high pitched squeals and excited squawks from up high. *So soon?* She smiled. Back inside the store, Samantha moved behind the counter and pulled out a cardboard box. From it she snatched a roll of aluminum foil and tore off a small square. As she made her way back out the store, she crinkled it up into a small ball. Behind her building she climbed the ladder to the roof. From here she could see the setting sun in the west. Just enough light left in the day for one last transaction. The hawk watched her approach. It moved a wing to cover the diamond necklace it had started to embed in the fibers of its nest. ""Mindy,"" Samantha said as she waggled the balled up aluminum foil. ""Thank you for finding my necklace."" The bird flapped its wings and screamed something only its kind understood. It moved its body over its treasure, guarding it. ""Mindy."" Her voice grew stern. She pulled out a flashlight and tossed the aluminum ball across the roof. Samantha watched as the hawk eyed the shiny metal foil skip across. When the light from the flashlight danced along the dozens of edges and creases of the foil, the hawk began to lurch out of its nest. ""That's right, Mindy."" Samantha inched over to the nest. ""It's all yours. More shiny for your nest."" Keeping her light on the foil, Samantha yanked the necklace out of the nest and back away. The bird would forget once it was out of sight and her new shiny was in her nest. She always did. Samantha walked back into her store and replaced the necklace. She breathed a sigh of relief and left her shop. Shiny things were the easiest to get back. Samantha was still waiting for the antique lamp to find its way back to her. As she started her car, she wondered where it was at this moment. What pair of hands had it passed over to today? It didn't matter. ""Everything always makes its way back soon enough..."" She smiled as she gave one last look at the shop and then drove off. &nbsp; ---- /r/StevenLee",1830
 The sound of glass breaking filled the,"I lean back into the chair, as I looked at the man in front of me. ""Could you at least untie the rope?"" &#x200B; He looked up from his bowl of noodles as he glances around, and then back towards me. ""The boss said I wasn't supposed to interact with you-"" &#x200B; ""Yes, yes because I am valuable as I'm the only person in this whole world that can be a victim,"" I spoke with a roll of my eyes and then looked down at the noodles. ""Are you suppose to be eating on the job?!"" &#x200B; ""Well, This is considered an easy job..."" He sucked a mouthful of noodles, before handing the bowl to me. ""Want some?"" &#x200B; I just stared at him and looked down at the ropes. ""Will you untie me?"" &#x200B; ""No."" When he saw the confusion. ""It'd be like feeding it little baby, here comes the airplane!"" &#x200B; Before he got to bring the fork to my mouth, the sound of glass breaking filled the room. ""Unhand her, you swine!"" &#x200B; A man standing in spandex, doing the famous superhero chest pose stood there. ""In the name of justice, I demand that you release her, or become a victim of my wrath!"" &#x200B; I went to take a bite as I slurred the noodles. ""He's going to win-"" And then the fork and bowl dropped on my lap as I released a yelp at the hot water, and the two began to fight. &#x200B; After a few minutes, the hero came over, untied me, and we left. When he dropped to the 'safe' location, the news reporters were already there as they held the cameras up, took pictures and shouted questions. &#x200B; ""Were you terrified?!"" One asked. &#x200B; ""No..."" &#x200B; ""Were you harmed?!"" &#x200B; ""Well, I had hot water spilled on me but I'm pretty sure it was an acc-"" &#x200B; ""This just in, the victim was tortured by scolding hot water and if it wasn't for her savior surely this young woman would have been scarred for life!"" &#x200B; ""....That's not what happened!"" I shouted behind the news reporter, who held up her hand as suddenly my voice was silenced. &#x200B; ""We also believe that she may have Stockholms, and unable to speak due to her experience! We'll cover more on this story tonight at 8!"" &#x200B; After that, everyone focused on the hero and I was able to slip away as I attempted to dip, duck, dodge, and sneak into my apartment. &#x200B; As I stepped through the door, I tripped on some wire and whacked head first onto the floor. ""God damn it!"" I exclaimed before I heard. &#x200B; ""Mahahaha! Prepare to meet your doo-"" &#x200B; ""No! No! No!"" I pointed to the clock. ""It is 6 o'clock, I have already had one kidnapping, had hot water spilled on me, and dealt with the news. We have rules, no more after 6-"" &#x200B; ""You don't make the rules!"" Then the man paused. ""Alright, so I'll be back tomorrow, say 10?"" &#x200B; ""In the morning?!"" &#x200B; ""Yes, or would noon be better?"" &#x200B; ""Get. Out!"" &#x200B; With that, the man vanished leaving me alone as I walked into my bathroom to take a shower, changed into my PJs, and then moved to sit on the couch to relax. ""Might as well watch powertube,"" I muttered as I grabbed my laptop to help with the relaxing. &#x200B; After an hour of watching music videos, and how-to videos there was a suggestion on the corner of the page. &#x200B; \*Conspiracy theory: Did Ms. Wonder actually fake her powers?\* &#x200B; Curiousity started to fill me as I clicked the video and watched as it talked about how a woman made the public thing she had a wide range of powers and ability, but in reality all she could do was make things clean and spotless...but she used illusions to fake making it look like she could make things disappear, and float in the air...even walk on water. &#x200B; This created a search of old videos and old websites where people talked about 'magic tricks', making cards disappear, and reappear. Due to the how old these things were, and how outdated it was I wondered if people still had the knowledge of these things, as I started reading everything. &#x200B; As soon as the sun came out, I left for the store. I made sure to wear something that would hide who I was, as I went through the isles. A deck of cards, a package of foam cups, a bottle of water since I was thirsty anyway, a bag of rubber bands and a key ring, a package of toothpicks, and a roll of clear tape. After buying everything, I went back to my apartment walking by the guy from last night as I made sure to hide the content in my bag. &#x200B; ""Prepare to meet-"" &#x200B; ""Sorry! Already got kidnapped, just getting back...you know the rules. One kidnapping per day, but tomorrow! Promise!"" &#x200B; The look of defeat was clear as he huffed. ""Fine!"" He called out, and vanished again as I stepped into the apartment and started to practice my new 'abilities'. &#x200B; It took hours before I was able to get everything correctly, but pretty soon after reading, studying, and practicing. I was able to make the foam cup lift up, rotate the plastic straw without touching it, making toothpick disappears, and even bending spoons with only looking at them. I scream with excitement as I now had to activate the plan. First thing, go to sleep, get kidnapped, get saved, and get caught on camera using my new 'abilities'. &#x200B; After going to bed, I woke up, brushed my teeth, took a shower and prepared to go to the 'gym' with my 'gym' bag that was filled with all of my new abilities. As I stepped out of my door, I tripped on that wire again. &#x200B; ""Ow! God damn it!"" &#x200B; ""Prepare yourself for the-"" &#x200B; ""Come on, let's get this over with!"" &#x200B; I cut him off, as I moved over. ""C' mon, I'm busy today, let's get this on the road."" &#x200B; He stared at me as he huffed. ""This is not how it works!"" Before he proceeded the kidnapping and we went to his 'hidden' location. &#x200B; The usual happened, big speeches, getting tied up, waiting for the hero and that's when my excitement began to fill as the hero picked me and my bag up and delivered me to a location in front of the news reporters. &#x200B; As the news reporter began chattering with each other, I took a few minutes to prepare to make it look like I was just making sure I had everything. Afterward, I 'casually' began to make that foam cup float between my fingers and heard the reporters around me gasp, and grow quiet. &#x200B; ""Ma'am! Isn't it true that you don't have abilities?"" &#x200B; I glanced up casually and then looked down at the cup. ""Oh...I didn't even realize-"" That's when I began to do my next trick as I took out my bottle of water and straw, after a few moments I moved my fingers and the straw began to spin around in the circle and I gasped. ""What's happening?!"" I asked the hero who was staring at me as if he was compuzzled on this situation. &#x200B; ""....I believe you have superpowers after all..."" &#x200B; As those words came out of his mouth, I watched as one of the reporters did a circular motion with her hands. ""Alright, well it seems like we wasted our time here!"" She called to her crew, and then just like that the crowd started to disappear. &#x200B; As news started to spread, my walk home actually became uneventful as I was stopped and showed my disappearing toothpick ability and it caused people to just leave... it wasn't until I got home and sat down did I realize after years of kidnappings, savings, news reporters, and issues left and right, I was now considered 'normal and boring' and I was loving every moment of it.",1363
 No one lives this far out on,"No one lives this far out on the ice, not even me. It's more a...summer home. A very solitary summer home, one I collapse and drag behind myself on a sled every year. Or at least I have done for the past dozen years, ever since I fully recovered from the accident. Well, I say recovered, but to be honest there's not much left of the original me. That's why I'm so well-suited to be out here for all that time. My calorie requirements are very limited, and I'm basically impervious to cold. Plus, I don't need a dog pack to haul a very large amount of gear over the ice for very long distances. Sometimes I miss my old, mostly-biological body, but really I'm lucky to be alive, and anyway I'd already had five toes and three fingers amputated for frostbite. Sure, the doctors grew them back for me, but I'm happy never to go back through that again. I paused, mentally adjusted the nano-heaters in my brain case by a quarter-degree, and went on trudging forward over the ice and snow, digging in with the integrated crampons I'd have to swap out once I got back to civilization. I was almost there. I was almost there. I still got tired, mentally, which anyway is the tired that really counts, even when my limbs and most of my internal organ analogues could keep on ticking so long as they had power. Almost there. Almost there. Then I could sleep, then I could wait, and in twelve hours I could be on my way back home to Toronto. Almost there. Almost there. I could see the landing zone, at least two of the three poles I'd shoved into the ice were still there, LEDs flaring into brilliance as my systems connected up with theirs. Good. Good. I pulled the sled up beside one of the markers and climbed into my little cubby and let my systems go to low power and did did my best to drift off into sleep. It took a long time. I had too much on my mind. But I *was* very tired, and eventually fatigue overtook thought in the great mental race, and everything faded away. When I came back to, I hooked into the sled's radio transmitter and tried to contact the pilot. She should be close enough now for me to make contact even through the Polar Field that kept me incommunicado during my excursions. Nothing. And then an hour later, nothing. And then five more hours, and silence. Well shit. I'm not easily given to quick worry, especially about things like an inability to communicate with the outside world; if I were, I'd have to find a different job. But still. Something nagged at a corner of my mind. The lights I'd seen in the sky. Nothing unusual, I'd thought. The Aurora Borealis was as old as history, it shouldn't be a surprise to see the Northern Lights about as far north as you could get without actually standing on the Pole itself. But what I'd seen, it had been different. Spectacular. Immense. Somehow foreboding. I'd chalked it up to some fluctuation in the Polar Field, which still wasn't very well understood. *Something's waking, that's understood. You can't turn off all your dreams.* Okay. Where had that come from? *You think your sleep is restful that way, but part of you remembers. Part of you still hears.* I looked around at the ice, the endless snow, the Arctic summer sun hanging near-eternal in the sky, the spreading teal tendrils of the xenobloom I'd come out on the ice to study. *Something's waking.* Fuck this. I'd just have to take the boat, it's not like I didn't have a backup plan for this. I pulled the vessel off the sled and attached my harness to it, tossed in a couple packs, and went back to hauling a load across the ice. It took another day to reach what passed for a coast on this giant iceberg. That night I lowered the boat into the water, and slept in it. I had my system administer the strongest sleeping drug it would allow. I woke remembering nothing but the vague impression of waking. *But not your waking.* Shut up. At mid-day I saw the lights again, even in the broad daylight, spreading across the sky, a great spectrum of colors. I would have shuddered if my limbs still responded to things like adrenaline, but my mind raced, and I did my best to quiet it as the boat cut through water and small floes of ice. The next night, I didn't sleep at all. I had my system administer as much caffeine as it would allow. That way I could tell myself that the things I was seeing in the sky might be due to sleep deprivation. But I shouldn't think about that. I kept my thoughts still, away from the memories, the night-leavings. Next time I slept, I would turn off my dreams again. I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I could, and it was a sort of consolation prize, wasn't it? For what had happened to me, the necessity to replace part of my brain? It was my right, wasn't it? *Something's waking.* The day went fast and slow all at once. I wasn't sure where my mind was at. I didn't know what I was feeling, and if I did, I didn't want to, so I didn't. Didn't know. I wasn't in a hurry to see, but I had to, had to right away. It didn't matter. Time passed anyway, and I came upon the shore. On the shore I came upon the town. In the town I came upon the four-post-leg walkers with the underside-eyes, seeing me, coming toward me, they had mouths too under there opening six different ways and I fled, it was warm enough here for them but I fled back north to the cold and ice the warming Earth was slowly losing and I made it back to the cap, no sleep no sleep but here I stand on what passes for a shore and I see the xenobloom and I stare out over it and I think I shouldn't think I'll have to sleep but turn it off *Something's woken.* &#x200B; Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.",1064
 The beast in the air screeched,"""It's found us,"" Sam said, staring up at the sky. ""Run!"" He and the boy broke from the road and darted into the thick forest. Sam chanced a look over his shoulder. The beast in the air screeched as it tore through the wind, massive wings flapping, tendrils of flame licking out of its mouth, its long spiked tail trailing behind. The dark of the forest vanished as trees burst into flame all around them. Sam scooped up the boy, who was falling behind on his little legs, and clutched him against his chest, wrapping an arm around the kid's head. Gusts of wind came from nowhere and toppled the blazing trees from his path. Showers of glowing embers blew through the air, illuminating a path through the destruction. ""Are we going to die?"" the boy cried. His voice muffled in the thick cotton of Sam's tunic. His heart dropped in his chest. Sam wouldn't die. He never did. In a world where people could fly or lift giant boulders, he had the uncanny ability survive ridiculous odds. Just like other powers, it grew stronger the more he used it. It had started by him surviving a fall, one that would have killed any other person, but at the last moment an eagle swooped in out of nowhere to cushion his fall. While other kids were honing their lightning attacks or telekinesis or super vision; Sam practiced not dying. ""I've survived worse,"" he lied. Sam had never been chased by a giant dragon in the middle of nowhere. The most perilous situation he'd been in was a fight with a grizzly bear. It had slammed him to the ground with a massive paw, and just as it had raised a clawed hand, its eyes had rolled back into its skull, showing just the whites. Heart attack. He didn't even know animals could have them. He apparently had enraged it to the point of death. The world was nothing but fire and wind. Sam kept running forward. His gift would get them out of this. If he kept the boy close, Sam thought, then he shouldn't get hurt. Or so he hoped. They escaped the forest and ran into a clearing of tall grass that came up knee high. Sam looked around for a place to go, but the dragon swooped down and burned a circle around him. There was nowhere to go. It landed in front of him, inside the circle. ""Give him back or you both will die,"" it snarled. Two jets of flame blasted from its nostrils into the air. ""My master would rather not have to find another like him, but he's a patient man. He'd see you both die than have the boy escape."" ""Your master would kill him regardless."" Sam held tight to the boy. ""Hasn't he stolen enough powers already? What does he need from this child?"" ""It's not my business to know--nor yours."" The dragon lowered its head so that it was mere feet from Sam. Its eyes glowed red and ugly. The creatures scales shined from the starlight above; they almost glimmered as if wet with sweat or condensation. ""You'll have to kill me,"" Sam said in a weak voice. The air seemed to have been stolen from his lungs for anything stronger. His traitor legs began to shake. The arms carrying the boy started to ache like tiny flames were building in his muscles. ""So be it,"" the dragon said. ""My master hasn't fed me in a while."" A tongue, black as night, slid across its lips. ""Each gift has a unique taste. I wonder what yours tastes like."" Sam cringed as the beast opened its massive jaws. Even though he'd escaped death hundreds of times, he still carried a healthy fear of it. No matter how many times one holds their breath; they never get over that urgent, building need for air. Sam turned so that the boy was shielded away from the dragon and closed his eyes. Massive jaws filled with bloody teeth clamped down on Sam. There a moment of pain. Then it was gone. He heard a loud *ping* of striking metal. This was followed by a long *crunch* as bits of stone shattered and fell all around him. The dragon screamed in pain. When Sam opened his eyes he found himself in a suit of glowing steel armor. He lifted a shining hand in front of his face. The boy squirmed in his other arm. ""What in the..."" Sam trailed off as he looked from his armor to the crumbled stone at his feet. It wasn't stone--it was the broken teeth of the dragon. The crunching and shattering he'd heard... ""But how?"" Was all he could say as the boy dropped from his arms. The dragon withed in pain, rolling over the fire it had set in the grass, snuffing it out with its hard scales. ""My gift,"" the boy answered. ""Deus Ex Machina."" ""It makes armor appear?"" Sam asked. He couldn't believe what he was wearing. How did he get it? What was a Deus Ex Machina? ""Sometimes,"" the boy started, putting a hand to his chin. ""Things just appear when I need them."" ""Can you make a sword appear or a crossbow? Something to finish the dragon off with?"" Sam asked. He wasn't sure he could properly use either, but it would be better than nothing. Perhaps hearing their conversation, the dragon took off into the sky. Its shrieks made both Sam and the boy grimace and cover their ears. ""No,"" the boy said and kicked the ground. ""Stuff just appears on its own. I have no control over it."" Sam nodded. Some powers were fickle like that. He'd heard of a woman who could occasionally stop natural disasters, but had no idea how she did it. Half the time people called her a savior; the other times they shook their fists at her in anger, not understanding her helplessness to control her gift. ""Let's get you home,"" Sam said and turned back the way they had come. ""I wish we could stop him,"" the boy punched a charred tree trunk. It crumbled from the impact. ""What could we do? My only power is avoiding death, not fighting. Same with you."" Sam sighed, ""As much as I'd like to do something, we'd need someone who can actually fight."" The boy gripped Sam's hand to stop him. ""My older sister, Kara!"" The boy jumped. ""She was born with a weapon. She could join us and together we could take him down!"" ""I don't know,"" Sam said. ""We're talking about a guy who's stolen dozens, maybe hundreds, of powers. It would have to be a powerful weapon."" ""It is... I think."" The boy frowned. ""She hasn't used it, but it sounds powerful. Kara calls it her Chekhov's gun."" ""We'll see,"" Sam said. He couldn't believe he was humoring the kid. But their gifts did seem to compliment each other. He wondered what a 'Chekhov's gun' was--or even what a *gun* was. Could they actually stop the man who could control beasts like the one they just fought? A man whose original power was to take them from other people? They found their way back to the road and began heading east toward town. Sam had a sinking feeling that he would be back soon, but headed in the opposite direction, toward danger. Toward the dark man. &nbsp; ------ /r/StevenLee",1243
 I've left doctor after doctor after,"I was 13 the first time it happened. It was a normal day; mom and I were heading to the store to grab some last-minute ingredients for the dinner party she was hosting later in the day. We were in a rush; she needed to start cooking ASAP if she wanted everything ready by six o'clock that evening. You see, that was her superpower. No matter what it was--whether it was something as simple as cookies or as complicated as consomme--it was always delicious, and she never needed a recipe. Everyone I knew had at least one power. Some were simple, like my moms, but others were straight out of a young adult dystopian novel. My friend Evan, for example, could manipulate water. Sasha could move objects with her mind. Derek had both super speed and super strength. And me? I could do nothing. I had absolutely no power. I've left doctor after doctor puzzled. They've taken blood samples, urine samples, x-rays, CAT scans, everything. Nothing indicates that I shouldn't have a power. And yet, nothing. Some people even had three. And I had nothing. ""Alison!"" My mothers voice snapped me out of my session of self-loathing. ""Lord help me if you do not get out of this car right now and help me pick up these groceries."" I swear she had a second power; super-nagging. I started getting out of the car, only to notice my mother was already across the parking lot and almost to the doors of the grocery store. I yelled at her to wait up, but she didn't hear me. Blame my teenage angst and social anxiety at the time, but the thought of having to walk alone in the store to find my mother terrified me; I had to catch up to her. I sprinted across the parking lot and was on the crosswalk leading to the entrance. I wasn't paying attention. I heard a horn. I looked to my right, and there was a car barreling toward me. I couldn't move; I was frozen. I closed my eyes, the only movement I had left, and waited for the inevitable. I heard a crash. My ears were ringing. And yet, I was alive. It had driven straight into the grocery store, completely avoiding me. Luckily, it had crashed into where the carts are kept and no one, not even the driver, was injured. We found out later that the driver had over pumped their tires, and right as they were about to barrel into me, they popped, sending them spiraling out of control. I was shaken up, but I didn't think much of it. I just chalked it up to a stroke of good luck and went on with the rest of my day. The next incident happened just a few months later. My family wasn't rich by any means, but we all loved to travel. This usually resulted in things like sub-par motels with curious stains, sketchy shuttle rides, and meals that had a 50/50 chance of giving you food poisoning. None of us cared though; we were grateful for the experience and being able to do things as a family. That trip we decided to go exotic and headed down to the beautiful country of Costa Rica. My little brother and I each got to pick one activity we wanted to do while there. He chose deep-sea fishing and I chose zip-lining. We decided to go zip-lining the last day we were there. None of us had ever done it before, and I was very excited. When the instructor asked for a volunteer to go first, my hand shot up like a rocket. Before I knew it, I was strapped in and ready to go. Although the instructor was nice, he didn't seem very educated on the course or zip-lining in general, and the place overall was sort of dingy. But I wasn't too concerned; this was the norm for our family. Just as quickly as my hand had shot up, I was flying. It was a surreal experience; the sky was a bright, gorgeous blue, the trees were ruffling softly in the wind, birds hopping from branch to branch. And then, I was falling. Somehow the line snapped, and I was plummeting to my death. Just like last time with the car, I was frozen (save for the fact I was falling) and all I could do was close my eyes. I landed on something soft. I opened my eyes. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, an open bed truck packed with mattresses was driving through the forest at the exact moment I would have hit the ground. And I landed on them. I was completely unscathed. The truck drivers were about as shocked as I was but helped me return to my distraught family at the top of the zip-lining course. My parents took me to the doctor immediately after we returned home. We explained the situation, and how I had escaped death twice now due to very random and lucky occurrences. They had never seen anything like it before. I was referred to a power specialist and after numerous appointments and consultations I was finally given an answer. I had a power. The specialists weren't sure the exact nature of my power, how it worked, what its limitations were, etc. They called it 'plot armor' as a joke, but it was fitting. They told me, whatever I do, do not test it out myself. They didn't know enough about it and told me to stay out of trouble as much as I can, but that if near-death experiences DID happen to me again, to report back to them. Of course, I didn't listen. I'm a curious teenager after all. I decided to test it out myself, despite what the doctor told me. The next day, I walked up to the roof of our apartment building and jumped. As soon as I took off, I was terrified. What if they were wrong? What if I just happened to be very lucky in those two instances? I immediately regretted my decision. I was going to die. And then I landed in a net. Some fishermen had been travelling to their job site and for some reason decided to carry their net open though the street. Why, I'm not sure of, but in that moment, I had no doubts about my abilities. It's been ten years since the car incident. I've saved a gas station clerk from an armed robbery. He forgot to load his gun. I've run into a burning building to save a family of three and came out completely unscathed. I've been mugged at knife point, only to have a pigeon swoop in and snatch the man's weapon. Countless people have been saved purely from my supernatural stroke of luck. All thanks to their friendly neighborhood plot-armored hero. edit: thank you so much to the random stranger for the silver. you honestly don't know what this means to me!!! edit 2: wow. i can't thank whoever gave me the gold enough. i am so happy that i was able to give a story worthy of this! can't wait to keep writing. thank you",1204
 The President has continued to warn us,"**- December 31, 2133 -** &#x200B; ""...a*t four o'clock this afternoon, the President stood upon the world stage to warn us, once again, about the threat of the 'Outsiders.' Still, we have yet to see any evidence whatsoever that his claims are true*."" &#x200B; ""*Well put, Kimberly. Ever since his election, he has continued to warn us of this so-called threat to our entire civilization. He's been the President for 3 years now and he just won't give it up! What are we supp--""* &#x200B; ""I've heard enough of this"" I snapped, as I turned the television off. ""The media is going to get us all killed, god dammit. How do we show them that this is a serious threat?!"" &#x200B; Natalia sighed, ""I don't know, Sir. We've tried everything. We have even gone so far as to provide video evidence of the Outsiders destroying other planets. The media always spins it against us, calling the videos faked or fabricated. Maybe we need to think of something with more of an.. impact. Perhaps we need to show them what's going to happen to us."" &#x200B; ""I've thought about that as well.."" I replied, gazing out my window to see the beautiful, overgrown forest outside my office. It never ceases to amaze me. Our planet is the most incredible one there is. We've managed to build our civilization around the natural resources, and work with the planet. Those before us wanted to steal from the planet, destroying it in the process, but not us. Everything we do, we do it for the health of our planet and our people. &#x200B; Snapping back into reality, I looked toward Natalia. ""We can not allow this threat to come any closer. I realize we need to give them a real sense of how serious this is, but I don't know how we will accomplish that."" &#x200B; ""I have an idea, Sir. If you'll hear me out, I think you will agree with me that it is the most logical way to get our point across, especially with the limited amount of time we have before the Outsiders reach our planet."" &#x200B; ""Alright, Natalia. Tell me your plan."" &#x200B; **- February 1st, 2134 -** &#x200B; After years of trying to avoid this threat, we have finally come up with a course of action. Natalia has spent the last month preparing to put our plan into place with incredible attention to detail. Things are serious now. The Outsiders are on their way to our planet, and the majority of our people refuse to see that this will be the end of our lives as we know it. &#x200B; ""Okay, Natalia. Are you sure you're going to be able to handle this? It goes against everything our people believe. Following through with this is going to change you, whether we succeed or not."" &#x200B; *""...ships have been observed coming toward our planet over the last few weeks. The President continues to warn us that these are the 'Outsiders' and that they will be the end of our civilization. Yet, our space station is as active as it has ever been. Ships come and go on a daily ba...""* &#x200B; Natalia was clearly trying not to pay attention to the television. ""Yes, Sir. I know. This is the only way to force our people to see that we have a real threat on our hands. We've spent over three years trying to accomplish this. I see no other options."" &#x200B; ""Right, then. We will proceed as planned."" &#x200B; **- February 22nd, 2134 -** &#x200B; \*BREAKING NEWS\* flashed across the television screen. *""We are here in the International Forest of Peace, observing from afar as the Outsiders continue to tear down the trees, the life of our planet, at a rate which will leave our planet a barren wasteland within weeks. Anyone who has attempted to intervene has been killed on sight. Across the country, they are drilling into our soil to steal the very blood that pumps through our planet's veins. This is real. The President was right. They are going to kill our planet. They are going to kill us all.""* &#x200B; ""Fuck, Natalia. I don't know if I can continue with this plan. Is this really what it had to come down to? We are fucking destroying our home. The home that has provided for our people for tens of thousands of years."" &#x200B; ""I know, Sir. But as we've discussed many times, this is what must be done. It was either we destroy a few small regions, or we allow the Outsiders to come and destroy our entire planet. What other choice did we have?"" &#x200B; I continued to watch the television, tears rolling down my face as I watched our plan unfold. This was my fault. I allowed it to get this far. Surely, there was some way I could have proven to our people that those damned Earthlings were going to invade our planet. Ever since they drained their own planet of all resources, they have done what ever it takes to keep their civilization running, no matter what the cost. &#x200B; ""Natalia, call the plan off. We can't continue to destroy our home like this. We must find another way. We have to!"" &#x200B; ""Are.. are you sure? I thought this is what had to be done? The countless failures we've had, the danger of the Outsiders! I don't think we should stop it, Sir. This is the first time we've ever seen an actual reaction from our people."" &#x200B; ""Yes, dammit! We need to stop this! Our people are dying! Our planet is dy--"" before I could finish my sentence, Natalia was pointing a gun at me. Natalia, who has been my faithful second in command for the last three years. The woman who has been here for me, every day and night since I was elected. &#x200B; ""Natalia, what are you doing? There is no time for whatever the fuck this is! CALL THE PLAN OFF!"" &#x200B; *""...and we've just received word that the President of the planet Earth has sent us a broadcast with regards to our President, and our planet...""* &#x200B; ""You might want to see this, Sir."" Natalia said, casually pointing toward the television with a crude, vile look in her eyes I've never seen before. It was as if she was a completely different person. &#x200B; As I looked at the television, my heart felt like it stopped. I couldn't believe this was happening. The broadcast was showing a video image of.. *Natalia?* *** Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out r/Pipskweex for the rest of my stories!",1114
" ""What's wrong now Michelle?""","I have no idea what I'm doing here. Is this my sixth grade English class? I look down at my copy of Number the Stars. That was one of the mandatory reading books I actually enjoyed. I feel hot tears on my checks and I'm crying. ""What's wrong now Michelle?"" The teacher barks at me. The rudeness startles me. Who gets angry at a crying child? ""Uh...Can I go to the bathroom...uh... Miss?"" I didn't even remember this teacher, let alone her name. I don't know why I asked that, but it'll be easier to figure out what's going in private than surrounded by a bunch of kids. ""For heaven's sake Michelle, you've used all your bathroom passes for this semester. No, you may not, and my name is not Miss, its Miss Mitchell."" I vaguely remember Miss Mitchell now, or rather the inane rules that made no sense. ""I think I just started my period."" This gets giggles from my classmates. This is the year we had that awkward ""puberty"" pep rally. The period excuse always worked my creepy high school gym teachers, hopefully it will work now. Miss Mitchell frowns even harder, and I see the obvious signs of debate on her face. She doesn't want me to leave the room, but she also knew it was unhygienic if I really did start my period. She finally sighs, and points to the door. I don't really remember my middle school days, so it takes me a few minutes to actually find the bathroom. I splash water on my face, and the unsettling realization of what being back here means hits me. I'm not really sure what to do, and then Laura walks in. I couldn't stand this bitch in school. I instinctively brace myself for cutting words. ""What a loser, crying in the bathroom! What happened, you lose your teddy bear?"" She taunts. I rack my brains trying to think about what happens to her, what her adult life is like. She wasn't in high school, which I remember more than middle school. She wasn't in eighth grade, when we went on a class camping trip. And she wasn't there for the 7th grade field trip to the movies where I spilled my popcorn over half the class. Then it hits me. The announcement in homeroom, the memorial service, the uneasiness we all felt for weeks. I had blocked it out, it was too much to process at the time, and too painful to dwell on when I grew up. ""Do you want to be friends?"" I ask her abruptly. Laura's eyes go wide. ""Do you want to be friends?"" I repeat again. ""You live on Laurel, right? I'm the next street over on Birch. Do you want to walk home together, and stay for dinner?"" I have to keep her out of her house. It happened in April, and I think its April now. The bell rings, and Laura walks out. I follow, and bump into Thomas. I smile, we had every single English class together throughout middle school and high school. He stands there, staring at his shoes. I had forgotten, he is still 11 and periods are not something to talk about. I'm touched he was even waiting for me by the bathroom. ""I guess I'll go eat lunch"" he finally stammers to his toes. I burst out laughing, and follow. ""We're eating with Laura."" I announce decidedly and follow him to the cafeteria. I'm glad I have someone who knows what to do, because I don't remember the day to day stuff. I have forgotten my lunch account pin, garnering an eye roll from the lunch lady as she looks it up. Why are all the school workers rude? Laura glares as Thomas and I sit down to eat with her, but by the end of the lunch period she has softened a bit. After 7th period Laura grabs me coming out of Social Studies and we start the walk home. ""I'll stay to help you with your math homework and then I'm leaving"" Laura spits out. ""Great! I suck at Math."" She already knew that, everyone knew that. Maybe if I'm stuck redoing everything, I'll actually try in Math class. Maybe if I do a bit better, I won't have crippling student loans in the future. Maybe I could focus on Math and Science, and instead of a near useless liberal arts degree I could get a degree with higher paying job prospects. This might not be so bad. ""Anyways,"" I continue on, ""Its Friday! So, it's lasagna night! If you stay, its one less piece I have to eat for leftovers all weekend long. My mom makes the biggest lasagna you'll ever see, and then that's the only thing besides cereal we eat over the weekend."" I had forgotten this tidbit, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We walk the rest of the way in silence. We get set up in the living room, and by the time dinner is ready Laura has helped me to finish my math homework, and I've fixed her Social Studies and English homework. We're laughing like old friends, and when mom yells ""lasagna's ready"" Laura exclaims it's her favorite meal and scampers after me to the dining room. By the time dinner is over, she's agreed to spend the night, and we've picked out four movies to stay up watching. I've forgotten why I originally invited Laura over until I hear the doorbell ring the next morning. Mom answers, and it's the police. My gut clenches. ""Sorry for the early visit, ma'am. We are looking for Laura Smith. The principal said he saw Laura and Michelle walking home together, and we need to account for her whereabouts."" Mom ushers the officer into the kitchen, and the conversation is mumbled. The officer takes Laura away, and my mom tells me what I already know. Laura's father has had some mental issues for a while now. It's probably why Laura was always pushing everyone around. In a fit of overwhelming depression, he decided the only way out was to kill his family and himself. I don't know if I could have prevented her parents' deaths, but Laura was saved by that sleepover.",1046
" ""Even in death, if we","""Until death do we part."" Those words were not enough when we had made the leap that was marriage. I can remember my words as if I had said them one second ago. What I said was ""Even in death, if we are to part I would I go to the gates of hell just to see your loving smile one more time."" I intended to keep those words. Even if it would cost my life or my soul, I did not care what would happen to me so long as I kept that promise. There was nothing that could stop me from reaching my beloved, not man or beast nor heaven and hell could stop me, and believe me they tried. The hardest part was just getting into hell. I thought that the best way would be suicide, so I tied my noose and as my neck snapped, strangely I was met at the pearly gates and was greeted by St. Peter. ""What are you doing here?"" St. Peter asked me with a peculiar look on his face. ""You aren't due here for another 24 years when your heart gives out due to all the troubles you've had in your life."" ""I've decided to come here on my own wishes Peter, I want to see my wife again."" ""Your wife isn't here believe it or not. I know you probably already knew that, due to you knowing how she was."" St. Peter said in a sympathetic voice seemingly like he knew everything there was to know about my sweetheart. ""Shut your mouth you son of a bitch. You talk like you all aren't the ones who caused her to turn out that way. You can't just play ignorant to your own misgivings, and what you did to her is unforgivable."" I said as my anger flared when he even spoke about the woman I loved. Acting all high and mighty even though it was in his bosses' grand plan that caused her to end up where she was. ""I need to get to hell. I must see her. I must, I made one promise to see her and nothing will stop me until I see my sweet Elizabeth."" St. Peter was quiet for a moment. Probably flabbergasted at the the way I spoke to him, and then had the audacity to demand something of him. ""Fine."" St. Peter said with a sigh. ""I can feel the grief and wrath within you. There is nothing in my power to stop you even if I wanted. I will tell you how to get to the gates of hell."" He stopped as if he thought I was going to say something clever. ""There is only one way to get to the gates of hell."" ""Of course there is. I hope that it is easy."" I felt obligated to give him a smart ass remark for that one. There is always some sort of shit like that when you have something very important to you to accomplish. ""If you'll let me finish i'll tell you how to get there. I don't think that it is too terribly difficult. I can send you to purgatory and from there you will need to make your way to the gates of hell."" St. Peter says will a sly smile. ""Its not going to be one of those nice walk in the parks kinda walks is it?"" I ask even though I already know the answer. ""Correct. Your path will be long and arduous but with all that anger and pain I sense in your heart and soul I do believe that you will succeed on your quest for the woman you love."" ""Then lets get to it Pete."" St. Peter says a multitude of phrases in what i can only presume is in classical hebrew, and the largest pit that I have ever seen opens before me. I look down and I can't see the bottom. I give a glance to St. Peter who gives me a nod, and with that and no hesitation I jump in. Falling down the pit was not as bad as I had initially thought that it was going to be due to my fear of heights, but thinking about the reason I was doing it was all I needed to do it. Elizabeth. The woman I had loved ever since I had first laid eyes on her. There were times of course we had lost touch but somehow someway we had always managed to meet up again later on down the road. It was like one of those fairy tales, just magical. As my thoughts were elsewhere my ass had hit the bottom of the hole, and in seconds flat I was surrounded, by what exactly I had no idea, but I knew that if these things would stand in my way they would not stand for long. They came at me with hatred in their eyes and fury in their hearts like demons so that is what I called them. They were surprisingly weak for what I assumed they would be. With some unknown force I was able to rip the first ones' arm off like I was Beowulf. The others that were there proceeded to look at me in awe as if I was some sort of god. Not too many other ""demons"" started to come at after that. They all saw the arm I carried around as a weapon and decided to steer clear of me. By the time I had reached the Gates of hell I was followed by a mass of them. I payed them no mind as long as they did not distract me from my own quest to see my sweet Elizabeth. The gates of hell were as large as the pearly gates upstairs, but I paid them no mind and I marched to the gate. As I stood before them I was greeted by the three headed dog Cerberus. I looked at him like he was but a lost puppy with pitiful eyes as we stared into each others souls. Cerberus howled as loud as anything that I had ever even comprehended and within a moment who I could only assume was the fallen angel Lucifer had arrived at the gate. He stared at me for a moment and with a snap of his fingers the horde that was behind me was gone. Cerberus had gone too, but that was his own accord and not his masters. I looked up at Lucifer and asked him if he had known I was coming. ""Of course I knew, did you really think that I would notice a human entering a portal to purgatory? I also have the knowledge of why you came all this way. You know that you are the first to make it this far, you're actually the first to make it out of purgatory if I'm being honest with you. You have even bested my pup Cerberus which in itself is no easy feat. So since you kept me entertained how about I give you a reward."" ""You already know what it is I want devil. Let me see my dear Elizabeth. Now,"" Lucifer looked shocked. It was almost as if no one had ever even spoken to him like an inferior. He had never heard anyone make a demand of him, so he never knew what it was like in this situation. ""I will allow you to see your darling Elizabeth as long as you will do me one favor."" The devil said with the same sly smile that St. Peter had earlier. ""You must take my place as ruler of hell."" ""Done."" I replied as quickly as he had made the demand known, which had seemed to shock Satan. I knew that the Devil would have some deal to propose in order to let me see her. I was prepared to say that to anything that he had proposed. No matter the cost I would pay it to keep that promise. And there I was with a snap of his finger I was sentenced to rule hell for all of eternity, and in a flash she was there. My dearest Elizabeth back at my side as the Queen of hell for all eternity. And for the first time in a very, very long time I saw her true smile.",1400
" ""Defenses breached!"" A loudspe","""Defenses breached!"" A loudspeaker broadcasted in a voice that boomed in Alice's ears. ""All units report to Zone Three!"" Alice looked up from her tattered paperback--one of the few that had been brought over from Earth--and out the window. The only sun she'd known, a red dwarf, was melting into the eastern horizon. ""All units,"" The voice on the loudspeaker sounded desperate. ""Every who can carry a weapon... report to Zone Three immediately!"" Sirens began to pierce the air. Alice's stomach turned as she tossed the book aside, leapt off the bed, and dashed to her footlocker. She grabbed her weapon, a first generation plasma rifle that had been handed down through her family. Originally owned by her grandfather, Aaron Adams--hero of the first colonists--the rifle almost seemed to hum as she held it, cradled it. For years she'd dreamt of the day it would be in her arms, and now it was, a gift from her mother on her last birthday. ""You're eighteen now and old enough to fight,"" her mother had said. ""Make us proud."" She rushed out of her empty side of the barracks and into the late evening. The sounds of battle were far and muted to distant pings and pops like a low powered transmitter on the fritz. Alice ran toward the sound. Her boots scratched against the hard blue grass. Each step her heart seemed to pump too little, too late, the rifle in her arms grew heavier and heavier. Alice had turned out to be the worst shot in her unit. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't had to constantly stand in her grandfather's shadow, but she was, and all of them had expected much more from the granddaughter of Aaron Adams. As she ran toward the chaos, her stomach churned, not so much at the thought of the enemy, but of the faces of her comrades when she joined the fray. They would be disappointed. She could almost hear their taunts--*we're doomed if Alice is our only help, she couldn't hit the side of a fabrication hab, so much for the Adam's legacy.* In defiance, she pushed herself harder. It was what her grandfather had always done. First to battle, first to victory. It had been his motto. ""Private Adams!"" Sergeant Brown's voice roared across the field. She stumbled, turned, and sprinted toward him. ""Where the hell is your armor?"" ""The call said to come immediately,"" Alice panted. She'd also been the last to finish each of the daily runs. Her lungs seemed to either require more oxygen or couldn't get enough quickly, either way, Alice always felt on the verge of passing out after a few minutes. ""Christ on a..."" Sergeant Brown shook his head. ""At least you grabbed your rifle. There might be hope for you yet."" ""Next time I'll put on my armor before leaving,"" Alice said standing as straight as she could. ""Permission to join the battle, sir?"" ""Hold on, hold on."" The Sergeant held up a hand as he fished something out of the back of his field vehicle. ""Here, throw this on."" He tossed an old flak jacket that had dozens of burns and large tears from decades of use. It looked like it wouldn't hold up to harsh language, let alone a shot from the enemy, but it was all she had. As she slipped her arms through, the Sergeant chuckled, ""I think that had actually been Aaron's. Now that I think about it, I'm sure it was."" ""Really?"" Her eyes went wide as she snapped the bindings together down her side. ""Pretty sure. But it looks as if it's seen better days. Guess there's no truth to the rumors about his 'special armor.' Don't go get yourself killed, kid."" When she'd finished putting the jacked on, Sergeant Brown shouted, ""Now get going, private!"" Alice raced to the battlefield. She watched as her fellow soldiers took up defensive positions behind concrete bunkers and rows of sandbags. In front, what used to the be the eastern wall was now a smoking ruin. Hundreds of Traxan flyers buzzed through. Alice aimed at one of them and fired a bolt of green plasma. The flying Traxan dodged it easily, swinging through the air, its short wings flapping madly as it rained shots down on Alice's people. Before she reached her unit, a voice called out to her, ""User Detected: Welcome back Commander!"" She almost tripped over her own feet as she searched for the source of the voice. ""Reconfiguring to last preset."" ""Who's there?"" Alice spun around. Heat flooded to her face. The battle raged on in front of her and someone was playing games with her. ""Stop it!"" she shouted. Before she could move any further, the flak jacket ballooned out in front of her as if about to explode. Alice cringed and dropped her rifle. She almost fell backwards, but at that moment a wall of metal engulfed her. Everything went black.. A second later she was staring out the visor of some kind of helmet. When she brought her hands up to her face, they were covered in silver armor, streaked with green paint. There were words at the top right of her visor: *Jets Active, Shield 100%, Aim-Assist Active.* Not knowing what to make of this, Alice scooped up her rifle and ran into the carnage. Shots from the Traxans clunked off of her armor. The number next to her shield went down with each hit, but she hardly felt them. Alice raised her rifle up to the sky, toward a group of flying Traxans and squeezed off three shots. Each one blew holes through the Traxan's midsections. Blood and guts and green plasma blasted outward like a horrific Christmas display. Alice winced as their bodies lost their forward momentum and crashed down to the dirt. She'd never killed anything before. No, she couldn't think about that now. They were attacking her people. If she had any qualms about Traxan deaths, she'd find out later. Not now. She found her unit. They were trapped inside a concrete pillbox, huddling under the lip of the barrier as they fired blind shots at the enemy. Alice began to run over. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could go faster. No sooner had she thought it when her feet lifted from the ground. A sound like a jet taking off blasted from behind her. Her feet dangled behind as Alice flew forward like a rocket, toward her unit. She came to a stop directly above them. From up so high, she had a great view of the battle. She spotted the Traxan flanking maneuver, moving toward her unit's position. She cut it off by blowing a hole through the two Traxan Grounders. The rest scattered for cover. ""Push forward!"" Alice shouted. She didn't wait for a response. Her body soared forward. From the sky she was able to pick off advancing Traxan Grounders and smash into their Flyers. Her armor hit them like a train crashing into a stationary cow. Alice moved from one side of the battlefield to the other, routing the enemy and sending them scurrying back over the wall they'd blown apart. When she finally landed back on the ground, her armor was nearly black from the dried blood and dirt and debris from fighting. ""Threat Neutralized,"" the phantom voice said. ""Powering down."" The suit vanished and Alice found herself wearing the flak jacket from before. Her finger traced the rigid fabric around one of the large burn marks. *What is this thing*, she wondered. There was a legend of how her grandfather had been aided by a full suit of flak armor that had kept him alive through impossible situations, but this was different. Where had this suit come fr-- ""Traxan forces regrouping!"" A voice rose behind her. ""They're bringing in their heavy armor."" Alice caught a bare glimpse of the wall before the suit reemerged. ""Systems back online..."" &nbsp; ------- /r/StevenLee edit: thanks for the silver, and second part down below.",1342
 The world-famous Karma Suit is,"Today was the day we saw, *it.* The world-famous Karma Suit. Supposedly worn by the likes Achilles, King Arthur, Spartacus, Alexander The Great and oh, does the list continue. Yes, this legendary armor was worn by made up people, apparently. ""I can't believe you really don't believe in the Karma Suit, Jackson."" Kathens seemed amused at first, but his voice turned serious. ""You'd better not fuck this up for us, tomorrow."" Kathens, like the rest of my platoon -- and most of the U.S. Military for that matter, revered this story. Since we were born, it was a constant reminder of our superiority over the rest of the world. I didn't have the patience for this shit. It's like as if the whole world believed in Jesus all of the sudden. ""Yeah, fuckface. Don't embarrass us. Seriously."" Another distant voice in the darkness. It belonged to Ramsay. ""Listen, assholes. You think I want to spend a week in the pit? Shut the fuck up and go to sleep."" I muttered. I just wanted to get tomorrow over with. Either my life is going to change as I witness actual magic happen before my eyes, or they are going to hide the ceremony from us as they always do on YouTube and just have us present for when our new Soldier X walks out. I dozed off to sleep wondering who the new super soldier would be. ---- Ramsay tapped my arm repeated as we stood in line, watching Sergeant Diaz stand up and walk to the podium. It was time to begin, Sergeant Diaz was selected for the honor of introducing General Mazza. Sergeant's voice echoed through the PA System that was designed for a much bigger crowd than the one present. ""Throughout the course of history, the outcome of wars and the onset of peace have sometimes been determined by just one man."" He looked around, proudly. ""Heroes, have been made and immortalized. Today, is a very special day. Not since the onset of the third World War have we selected a new Soldier X. Bradley Solis served his country remarkably, and will be remembered as the hero who brought peace to an entire planet. And while we still mourn the loss of General Solis, but there must always be a soldier of the Karma Suit. The suit that has taken all shapes and sizes. From leather, to steel, to chromium. From a simple chest plate to a fully functional weapon of mass destruction. Great responsibility is to be placed in the hands of our next Soldier X. I assure you, we have carefully selected a man of great honor. To introduce hi---"" Sergeant Diaz's eyes dart to me. All eyes followed as I stood there, holding back laughter as my face turned beat red. Ramsay pinched my forearm, but it was quite obviously too late. I'd done my best, but this was just an absolute joke. ""I'm sorry, Private Jackson - what is so funny?"" his face was as red as mine, ""What is so goddamned funny that you'd interrupt a live broadcast on probably the most important event you will ever witness in your life, Private?"" He actually expected an answer. Why would he do this? He couldn't just ignore me? ""Don't say a fuckin' word."" Ramsay hissed through his teeth. ""Private, do you intend on keeping the entire world waiting? Why are you laughing right now?"" Sergeant Diaz was seriously going through with this. Well, now was my chance. A few lies crossed my mind, ways to easily get out of this mess with minimal penalty. Fuck that. The world deserved to know the truth. I'd be the one to give it them, or go down for trying. ""Sir, I apologize. I just simply don't believe in the magic behind the Karma Suit."" I shouted back, confidently. He chuckled, ""You don't believe in the magic? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?"" his smug reply made me uneasy. ""I don't believe the suit changes based on who wears it. I think you make a new suit for each Soldier X. Basically.."" I replied loudly. ""Is that so? You think it's magic."" He full on laughed out loud, now. ""Not technology, you think we are proposing you believe in magic? Private, what is wrong with you?"" He looked disappointed, and angry. At that moment, Sergeant Diaz stepped down, walked over to General Mazza and briefly discussed something. General Mazza made a call, while Sergeant Diaz walked back behind the curtain. It was clear I'd just become public enemy number one to every soldier in this entire crowd. After a minute long eternity, Sergeant Diaz flashed his head back through the curtain and seemed to be pulling a cart along with him. On it was what looked like some kind of harness. He stepped away from it and made his way back to the podium. ""So as a special treat, thanks to Private Jackson here, we are going to perform a magic trick today for everyone watching."" A smirk crawled up his face. ""Private Jackson, we need a volunteer from our audience for this one. Why don't you make your way to the stage."" I was flabbergasted. I couldn't even respond, my legs just started moving. I was about to be on global TV and for what, I did not know. As I walked up to the stage, Sergeant Diaz was addressing the cameras. ""We will bring up General Mazza after this display, so that he could present you all with the real Soldier X. For now, we're going to see how the Karma Suit reacts to Private Jackson here."" Gasps spread throughout the crowd like a wave. My heart sank into my stomach. What the fuck was going on here? I stepped up on stage and saluted my superiors before turning to my Sergeant. He gestured to the harness. ""This.. is it?"" I asked quietly. ""That's it, soldier. Strap up, lets see what you are made of."" he said, and wasn't kidding around. The harness looked so heavy, like industrial chain, yet it was so light that I almost hit myself in the face when I lifted it. I felt strange just holding it. I took a deep breath, looked at my peers, and slipped it over my head. For a brief moment, I lost control of my body as my arms and legs spread out and my entire body was engulfed with darkness. I couldn't see or feel much of anything for what felt like 10 minutes but realistically, was less than one. Once the visor opened up and I could see again, I was 40 feet in the air. ""User detected: Welcome Back, Commander."" said a beautiful voice. Looking down at all of my peers and superiors, I could see the shock on their faces. I felt a sudden vertigo, as panic heated up my entire body. Was I flying? I need to get the fuck out of this. ""Reset! Reset the suit!"" I shouted at the voice in my head. ""Get me out of here!"" ""Resetting coordinates back to home."" said the voice inside of my head. Immediately, I felt intense vibration as the stage below got smaller and smaller. My panic turned to complete mania as the speed in which the ground got further away continued to increase until I was surrounded by black space. Before I could even register what was happening, Earth was the size of a penny, and then it was gone. My vision seemed to blur, and then completely distort into intense hallucinations of color and light. ""Base has been informed, they await your arrival. Initiating therapeutic hypothermia until arrival."" the voice calmly stated over my frantic, incoherent screams. ""NO! NOOOOO!! Undo! Don't do that!"" I shouted as my every fiber began to seemingly freeze and my vision faded to black. ---- I will be continuing this story on: /r/nocre8ivity",1322
 Billy was a wide receiver for the,"God damn, that tackle hurt thought Billy. What a way to spend my 17th birthday, getting speared in the gut by a 250 pound senior who had no business playing high school football. That kid ought to be playing for state thought Billy. He got up and wiped the dirt off his pants and hustled over to the sideline. It was 4th and 13 with 2 minutes and 37 seconds on the clock. The Middleton Mauraders were down by 6 points against the Springfield Samurai. Billy was a wide receiver for the Mauraders. They had the worst football team in the district for 10 years running now. They usually only won a single game the entire season. Billy sat on the bench and flipped his helmet back on his head so he could cool off and get a drink. He looked at the ground in desperation, hoping the magic formula for winning this game would appear in the dirt around his feet. Billy noticed a spot in the bottom right corner of his vision. Thinking it was a floater he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Billy tried to focus on the game. His team had just stopped the Samurai running back after a gain of only 2 yards. That damn floater was still in the same spot. Billy focused in on it. It was a small plus sign. That's weird he though. His teammate and best friend Hans Spiegal looked over at Billy. ""Are you alright man?"" asked Hans. Billy kept focusing on that plus sign, it began pulsating. The more intently he looked at it the stronger it would pulsate. ""Dude, what the fuck are you looking at?"" asked Hans. He was growing concerned for his friend because he was sitting there on the bench with his eyes sharply turned to the bottom right of his sockets. Hans was worried that Billy might have a concussion. ""I'm fine,"" Billy muttered. Suddenly a massive glowing tree appeared in front of Billy. ""Wow!"" he exclaimed under his breath. He should be freaking out right now he thought. Something about what was happening just felt natural to him though. He noticed a glowing green 17 in the top right of his vision. He looked around the tree, it looked like a skill tree. It was almost identical to his favorite RPG Knights of the 7 kingdoms. There were branches for strength, charisma, intelligence, stamina, and speed. Man, it sure would be nice to be a little stronger and faster right now, it would help win this game. Suddenly the strength and speed branches lit up and a small dot of light moved along the branches to the first node. Billy felt his muscles bulge slightly and stretch the fabric of his uniform. He felt sharper. A small minus 1 flashed by the 17 in the top right, it rolled back to 16, then 15. I better not use all the points now thought Billy, besides were probably going back out on the field soon. He focused passed the skill tree on the game and the tree shrank back into the small plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. The Samurais made it within 24 yards of the endzone and decided to go for a field goal. There were only 39 seconds left on the clock now. Billy watched the center snap the ball back to the quarterback, he saw the quarterback slowly turning the ball, the laces were facing the kicker. He watched, as though in slow motion as the kicker stepped forward to kick the ball. Billy could tell as soon as the kicker made contact that the ball was going wide of the uprights. Billy stood up and slid his helmet back down. He felt light as a feather and quick as a cat. If this the difference from using only 2 points imagine what I could do with the 15 he had left thought Billy. Billy took his place to the right of the line near the sideline. ""Hut, Hut, Hike,"" shouted the quarterback. The center snapped the ball back to the quarterback, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Billy could see the laces swing around and around as the ball spun back to the quarterback. The quarterback took a few steps back, pumped to the left. Billy was just turning around after running ten yards out in a button hook pattern. The ball was already coming right towards him. Billy had to jump to catch it. He just landed when he heard the rapid steps of the cornerback coming towards him. Billy ducked and the cornerback hit him high and slid over Billy. The crowd went wild. Billy turned looked down the field, there was a linebacker coming from the left, another cornerback upfield to the right, and a safety right in the middle along with another cornerback being blocked by the other receiver on Billy's team. Billy started down the field blowing past the cornerback on the right. The crowd cheered louder. The cornerback who was being blocked was now coming directly at Billy, the receiver that was blocking that cornerback was on the ground. This particular cornerback was 6 feet and 2 inches tall and weighed 200 pounds. Normally Billy would be tempted to turn and run the other way or slide on the ground. The strength stat seemed to give him confidence because Billy ducked his shoulder down. The cornerback ducked down in an attempt to get Billy down by the legs. He was too tall, Billy caught the cornerback right in the upper thighs. The corner back flipped up and over Billy's head. The crowd roared. Billy had nothing but 40 yards of open field ahead of him now. Now was the time to test out that speed stat. Billy bolted down the field, the announcer rifled off ""40,30,20,10, Touchdown!"" in rapid-fire. No one in either town had ever seen someone run so fast before. ""The Mauraders win the game! What an upset!"" bellowed the announcer. The crowd from Middleton rushed the field and put Billy on their shoulders. Billy felt like he was king of the world, he felt like superman, like he could do anything. Then Billy woke up. He felt around on his nightstand for his glasses. The alarm was blaring in his ears. He found his glasses, put them on and turned the alarm off. He sat up on the edge of his bed and noticed a small white plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. What the hell is that he thought. Thanks for reading! Edit spelling and punctuation.",1108
 Finn's head rung as he,"Finn's head rung as he held it in his hands. His mind was fuzzy but he knew he was on the ground, on his knees, hunched over, holding his head. That's right, he got hit. By that big brute, what was his name again? Mike? Andrew? It didn't really matter. His head hurt and the oaf was bothering his friends. Even now he could hear him shouting to his friends, escalating the situation. As he tried to think Finn noticed something. In the far bottom right corner of his yes. At first he thought it must be because of the punch he took. But as he listened to the ringing in his head, the small plus sign did not go away. So he tried to focus on it. To his surprise the small plus sign moved, it circled around its own axis and then the swirl became bigger, folding open into a large tree of boxes, icons and texts. It looked an awful lot like the skill trees in the games he played with his friends. At the very top he could see a number, 23 points. Points to invest. Finn was starting to gasp by the surprise of it all when it all blurred and a smaller box with text popped up in front of it all. *Congratulations with activating your skill enhancement suite. This took you about 95.86 time less than the average person to discover. Now that you have discovered this system you will be able to see your experience progress at all times as well as your various info bars. If you need extra guidance, do not hesitate looking over the wiki or almanac provided in this suite. Please enjoy and do not forget to invest your experience points!* In a smaller font it read at the bottom: *Yearly talent point allowance is now canceled. Further talent points will be acquired through experience gain.* Finn was gasping, his brain rushing, through the ringing, as he tried to process all of this. Was this real? Was he going mad? Did the punch fuck up his head? As he pondered on all of that and the blur slowly faded and revealed the tree again, only seconds had past, but it quickly stopped mattering. Finn could hear his friends fighting. Fighting and losing. His eyes scanned the top row of boxes in the tree, lighted up, one of them read strength. Another speed/ Agility. He quickly assigned two points to each of them, how he did not knowm it came as an instinct. Instantly the ringing was gone in his head, all the aches in his face as well. Still unsure and unfamiliar, Finn stood up, looking at his own hands. ""Back up for some more huh?"" His voice was as annoying as his face. Finn glared at the bully. But even before he could think of saying anything, he swung at Finn. Faster than ever before his hand shot up and grabbed the bully's fist in mid-air. Holding it in place. Surprised, both of them looked at it, then Finn started to exert pressure on the bully's hand. He yelped but tried to look strong, but as Finn used more and more strength, the bully soon sat on his knees, crying, begging to be released. Finn felt exhilarated, powerful. His head started to get cloudy with the feeling of such power over somebody else. But when the bully's hand started to crack and he could feel one of his knuckles dislocate, Finn quickly let go. He looked startled for a moment but then remembered where he was, all the friends of the bully, all his friends. So he fixed his glare, showed no fear or surprise. He was working all on instinct now really. ""Fuck with me or my friends ever again,"" He said as he towered over the crying man. ""And I won't stop, got it?"" Finn turned around and left, motioning his friends to follow. He was in a daze, the remainder of the night played out as a movie in front of his eyes. He remembered close to nothing of it. How his friends praised him, wondered where it came from, and how they celebrated and drank together. All Finn could do was think about what happened. He knew it was real, by how he was able to stand up to the guy that had to be stronger than him, by how he now always saw a thin red and green line at the very bottom of his sight. At how, if he focused on them, he could see it resembled his experience and health. How small icons popped up to show status effects. ""High morale"", ""Drunk"", ""Exhilarated"". And how if he focused on those he could see exactly what buffs or debuffs they gave him. Late at night, when he lay in bed, back home, he opened the skill tree 'screen' again. He was getting better already at 'navigating' the weird interface. Now that he took a better look at it, it started to make more sense. At the very top were his remaining talent points. Below that was a single icon square, it resembled him very closely, and it read ""Finn"". From Finn lines sprouted and ended up in a first line of, what he assumed to be, Skills. These were the staple skills; Strenght, Agility, Health, Intelligence, Wisdom, Arcane and Piety. Beneath those, he could see plenty more squares and lines but these were all grayed out to such an extent that it was impossible for him to read any of it. So he returned his focus to the first line. He could see that most of them had been on 5 points, his intellect was on 6, which was normal, he always had been one of the smart ones back in high school. Even now in college he still was. His strength and Agility were both now at 7, explaining the two points he had invested in each of them. His Piety was at 1, explained by the fact that he was an atheist. And his Arcane was at 0. With 19 points remaining, he started to read through the descriptions of the skills he had the option to invest in. Most of them were self-explanatory, aside of Piety and Arcane. Piety simply said ""Belief and thou shalt receive, the blessings of God"" while Arcane was even less clear. ""The arts of the master"" Finn sighed as he lay down, closing his eyes. If this is real, he could take control over his own life in a way most people would not be able to. He could hone and grind his skills more efficient and more well-aimed. And he could increase them as well. He could become a superhuman perhaps. His head was spinning with all this information but he couldn't help but grin. In the morning, he was going to start his new life. In the morning he was going to use his skills and get started on earning some new points. With his academic year just having ended, this would become a very busy summer for him. *** More will follow when I find the time to write it. I will probably keep writing more for this, if I do you will be able to find more in here as a reply on each consecutive post, or over on my subreddit here https://www.reddit.com/r/RJHills/ EDIT: Thanks for the gold kind stranger!",1241
 The reaper bowed her head to,"The reaper bowed her head to mine and looked down her nose at me. She was pale, as elegant as I thought she might've been, and she was staring at the stab wound glistening in my chest ""There are good people out there,"" I repeated, dumbly. ""There are good people."" ""They're not humans,"" the death repeated, shaking her head. ""No human's coming to save you in this alley, you understand."" I swallowed. It hurt to swallow, and I didn't like that it hurt to swallow, and my lungs gasped for air, burning. ""What... what happens next then?"" The death looked down at her watch, then eyes the brightness of the sun overhead. ""We wait to see if a human shows up to save you,"" The death said. ""You're not dead yet, after all. I arrived early."" ""Why?"" I asked, tilting my head towards the lip of the alley way. ""Why would you arrive early?"" ""It's a pretty time of year,"" The death said, sitting down. She crossed her legs (spindly and long) ""And I've often been called too allowing of a person, and you were a particularly nice human, even if you were never given an opportunity to be anything else."" I watched the mouth of the alley. Someone walked by and didn't even pause to look at me. I reached out for them and they were already gone, back on their previous path. I groaned and tasted blood. My eyes flicked back to my death, watching me from the other side. ""What happens... if nobody shows up?"" ""Deaths have to come from somewhere, you know. There's a great cosmic cycle out there, and humans are just the very start of it."" ""That's cruel,"" I said. ""It's life,"" my death replied. ""That's how it is."" ""And man isn't horrible,"" I repeated. Another person passed by the mouth of the alley way and ignored me. Did they even see me? ""You were stabbed to death over a wallet,"" my death volunteered. ""A pitiful sum of eight dollars and forty seven cents, along with your id and three credit cards that'll be shut off within hours."" ""We're still not horrible,"" I repeated. I managed to cross my arms, which just exposed to stab wound to the air further. I didn't want to look down at it, because I knew something had broken inside of me. After all, my death had arrived early to gawk at the sight. ""At your funeral, all of your best friends will arrive there. One will nearly bankrupt themselves to get a plane ticket, only to stare blankly at your coffin,"" my death continued. ""That's... that's not horrible,"" I pointed out. ""That's caring."" ""They'll forget almost all about you in a decade,"" she continued, looking up. She had lovely eyes, like dark set pearls inside of her head. ""That's how it is."" ""That's biology,"" I countered. ""And you are not your biology?"" My death answered. ""Are you going to pretend to be something greater than what you are?"" ""What about souls and minds?"" ""Useless,"" my death declared. ""Except to further the universe."" I shook my head. ""That's not my fault."" ""Oh?"" my death asked. ""Then what are you declaring?"" ""Humans aren't the cruel ones,"" I said. ""You are, over there, sitting there and watching me die."" ""And on your death, a brother of mine will be born. Prized out of your corpse and fashioned into the next stage of evolution. Your insights and transgressions and solutions will be used to keep the universe going. Your failures will be vivisected and understood and presented to the grand machines that run the cosmos."" ""And what'll be left of me?"" ""It's hard to say. How much of you is your pitiful biology? Your forced cooperation, your evolutionary kindness, and how much of you is real?"" ""So I'm supposed to be divorced from my body now?"" ""Humanity is good,"" the death offered. ""Humans are cruel and evil; you are slaves to the structure of your mind and the very set up of your evolution. You are a philosophical conundrum entombed inside of muscles and squishy chemicals."" ""Well, yeah,"" I said. ""That's horrible,"" the death said. ""You have no real understanding of the world around you, and you kill people over it. You assume that the group is right-"" I protested and she shook her head. ""It's how your brains work, you have heuristic short cuts to determine the way things work; an evolutionary shortcut from when the world was brutish and cruel instead of sophisticated and evil."" ""And you're the one watching me bleed out in an alley."" ""Really, this is better for you than anything else."" my death shook her head. I inhaled, felt the pressure and burn on my lungs that had made every word into a breathy whisper, and glared at my death. ""What are you doing?"" my death asked. ""Spiting you,"" I said, and then, with the air that was still burning in my lungs, I screamed. It was a sharp keen little cry, the sort of thing that a wounded animal might make. ""Nobody's going to come,"" my death said. ""They're not scheduled to."" ""And that would make the schedule cruel instead of humanity,"" I muttered back. And then I screamed again until I felt the blood bubble up the back of my throat and tasted it rolling across my throat. ""No human's going to save you,"" my death said. ""Because I'm saving you."" ""I'm dying."" I said. ""There are more things than just humans in this world. I think you'll do good among their number."" ""Why'd you let it get this far?"" ""We're not in the business of saving our children from their mistakes,"" the death offered. But she stood up and walked towards me. She knelt down. Our eyes met. ""Time's up?"" I guessed. At the mouth of the alleyway, someone was looking in. His or her face, I couldn't tell my the narrow of the light in my eyes looked on with something like concern, spray painted across a wide expanse of flesh. My death bobbed her head and planted a quiet chaste kiss to my lips. ""See you on the other side."" ""I'm to be a death?"" ""We have need of people to talk to the dying,"" she replied. ""They have many questions, and the deaths are always the best of us."" Then I became paler, and colder and died in the alley, and became death as well. Humanity might be cold, but death didn't have to be. ------- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, click here",1093
 Ben had been cutting tomatoes for his,"It returned as quickly as it was taken away. I wasn't prepared for it, and now rather than being blinded by darkness, I was blinded by bright light. I stumbled backwards and fell to my knees, my hands gripping the brick wall behind me. I closed my tearing eyes and blinked slowly, trying to get readjusted to the light. Two years ago The Darkness came. I had been cutting tomatoes for my wife, Jane, who was sauteing vegetables when the world went black. I cried out, blinking furiously, my hands clawing at my face. I heard a similar cry behind me. ""Ben, Ben, I can't see! Somethings wrong, I can't see!"" ""Jane, I can't either. We need to call for help, something happened."" I groped around for the phone. I didn't even know where it was, but I needed to keep my hands busy. It had to be on the counter somewhere. And that's when I heard Jane scream. She must have burned herself on the frying pan, or knocked it over, but her shrieks still haunt me to this day. When I did find a phone, I couldn't get an ambulance, we couldn't even contact the police. A busy line greeted us. This didn't just happen to us. It happened to everyone. And with the world's sight being gone, for some reason sounds we had grown accustom to went away as well. The busy New York City streets were now quiet, the happy chatter that filled the park across from us was silent. We now lived in a blind and muted world. We treated Jane's burns with ice and carried through the motions of our old life. Before the TV stations went dark, they would bring on people who had suddenly went blind before The Darkness. They said that it was something that they got used to and eventually they learned how to continue living on with their lives. But either they were lying or had a support system that we couldn't get because life for us was terrible. We ran out of food within a month and began making trips to a near by bodega to pick up whatever we could. When we arrived, people were fighting over the last few frozen meals. We got what we could, but I left with a bruised face and Jane's arm was cut by a knife. We began venturing further from home to find the things we needed to survive, but a year ago, we got lost and we haven't been able to find out way back home. We sleep when we find a soft place, we eat when we find food, and we barely survive. But now... I blinked and there was an outline. I blinked again and there was now faded color. I blinked a third time and saw my wife, hunched over, picking out her ragged hair, and staring at nothing. ""Jane,"" I said, my eyes still tearing from the sting of the sun, but unwilling to blink again at fear that it would all go away. I stared at her. Her skin was gray and scarred with burns and cuts, her clothes filthy, her bones prominent, and nails long and broken. ""Jane!"" I said, more loudly this time. She rose her head slowly, her blue eyes looking to the left of me. My voice cracked, I rarely spoke above a whisper in the past few months. There was no need to. ""I think I can..."" I trailed off, barely believing it, convinced it was an illusion or a cruel trick. ""I think I can..."" And then something caught my eye. The building behind my haggard wife. Thick black letters formed a sentence. It took me a little time before I understood what it meant as reading had been a lost luxury for us. DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE! That's when I began to look around. It wasn't just on that one wall, it was everywhere, big and small. Like a crazed graffiti artist had made the city his own but only had one thing to say. Whose ""them""? I look at the people around me. We were in an alley way accompanied by three other people. A man who looked like he was about to begin urinating and sang softly to himself, a woman napping on a piece of cardboard, and a second man talking softly to the wall. My story wasn't unique. I had heard many similar ones over the past two years; people who couldn't find their families, others like us who couldn't find their way home. Some who had gone days without food. There were fights, rapes, theft, murder, and so many horrible things we never thought would happen in our city. The world had become lawless. And we were trying to not become its victims. ""Yes?"" Jane whispered, her head bobbed up to face mine, guided by my voice. ""I think I can..."" I looked back at the thick black warning surrounding me and back at my wife. Whoever had written them must have been as crazed as the man who had now begun peeing to the right of me as he sang the alphabet backwards. ""I think I can see."" I thought the world had gone quiet when The Darkness began, but in the moment I knew what true silence was. The peeing man stopped urinating and singing, the napping woman stopped snoring, and muttering man silenced. Jane's face was directly facing mine now. Only her unfocused blue eyes told me that she was still blind. ""You can see?"" She asked, her hoarse voice cracking. She reached out her hand and found my face. ""Yes,"" I whispered, my tears from the sun now turning into tears of happiness. ""I can see. I can see. I can now help us. I can see."" She came closer and put her other hand on my face. I didn't realize how much I had missed when Jane cradled my face in her hands, the heat of her palms warming my cheek. She wiped away a tear with her thumb. ""I need your eyes,"" she said. ""I will be your eyes, I will always be your eyes."" I said. I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to flow from my nose. Her hands moved from my cheeks next to my eyes. She traced a finger over my eyelid, a broken nail lightly scratching the soft skin. ""I need your eyes,"" she said again, this time more loudly. She began to press her fingers lightly around my eye sockets. That's when movement around me caught my eye. The three other people in the alley with us had risen to their feet and had formed a circle around me and my wife. Panic rose in my chest. ""Jane, we need to get out of here,"" I whispered, placing my hand on her arm. I went to push her hand off my face, but she tightened her grip. ""Ouch!"" I gasped, her fingers pressed further into my eyes. ""Stop!"" I pushed her off of me. ""What do you think you're doing?!"" Animal like, Jane leaped back at me, pushing me over from my knees onto my back. ""I NEED YOU EYES!"" she screamed. I pushed her off me again, but another hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. It was the man who seconds ago was peeing next to me. ""She needs your eyes,"" he said as he stared over me. ""She needs your eyes,"" the others began to whisper. ""We need your eyes, I need your eyes, need to get your eyes."" Another hand reached out pinning my other arm, my leg, my torso. ""I can help you! I can help all of you!"" I screamed, thrashing and kicking, but their hands wouldn't move. Jane peered over me, her face leaned down to meet my own and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me. ""Ben,"" she whispered, one hand on my cheek, the other stroking my temple. For a second, her blue eyes locked onto my own. ""I need your eyes.""",1348
 No one knows where he actually went,"They were sleeping. Kimmy Cruise and his family. I couldn't believe it when they told us that Kimmy Cruise, serial killer of the town, would be coming back home to us on humble and previously-quiet Hay Road with his possessions, family, and normal life intact. No one knows where he actually went. Some say he went to an island high security prison. Others claim he left as a monk and returned spiritually awoken. The craziest ones insist he went to hell. When he got back, Kimmy was almost immediately given a position in the local church's clergy. He became the lead organizer of the youth team sports, helped run the PTSA at the high school. Used his brutal muscle mass to compete in triathlons instead of beating some homeless guy up in the bar when no one but me was watching. Next year, he was planning on running for mayor and had already garnered the support of people after several months of his return. His immediate neighbors claimed his wife had never smiled so much. She was always stayed at home to take care of the house and kids and was quite a nice lady. I couldn't believe she had thought to stay with him, to let him back in after it was revealed he was the worst kind of criminal. Now, his kids were always off doing this or that school or sports activity. They won many of the debate and basketball prizes for their school. His family had become the ultimate achiever family. The perfect family. I couldn't buy it. I knew Kimmy since he was a kid. He was always a prat, always a bully. Despite this, he was always smart, and so few knew about how he really was except his victims and myself. I was never surprised when he was eventually revealed to be a criminal. Even now, I wouldn't be surprised if he was still acting up but knew better than ever how to hide it. His family was sleeping now. At least, all the lights were out. I was about to do something very illegal, and admittedly kind of creepy. But this was too important. Only I really knew him. What if Kimmy was preparing for another murder? If I could just record him, in the act, find some incriminating evidence or, something, then people would believe he really hadn't changed. I would go through the basement. After studying their house from my window, I noticed that they rarely ever went near the basement door on the back side of their house. The door was tinted but still see-through. There had never been anyone on the other side. I wasn't too familiar with breaking and entering, but for this I had to try. I got out a lock pick set I had collected, my gloves, and my phone. The phone was to take pictures. I better not lose it or that would be all sorts of trouble. Picking the basement lock took a considerable amount of time. The lock was more unusual than I expected. Looking through the other side of the door, it was empty. Like always. It seemed clear. I gently slid the door open. I explored the basement as silently as I could, tiptoeing here and there. The only closed door emitted the hum of some machine. They probably weren't there. . I tried the next floor. The stairs almost squeaked. I stilled in fear then pressed carefully onward once it seemed as if nothing else changed about the house. Their kids slept on the first floor with their door partly open. I continued on once I took note of where they were. It was good they were farther away, away from him. I found the master bedroom on the second floor. It was obviously the master bedroom. It had double doors, the most impressive looking place upstairs. I tried the door. It moved easily. I opened it slowly...slipping in, then just as slowly closed the door while looking at the scene in front of me. There were two dark lumps in the bed. Bodies. So they *were* asleep. He was asleep. I couldn't help the slight disappointment. He was really just sleeping now, was he? I stayed close to the floor, moved around. Once I was far enough from them, near the curtains, I stood up, ever so slightly, bit by bit. I peered at the lumps. *What...is this?* The lumps. Their faces... It was painted on. It was flat, smooth, glossy. It was like the face, the body, were all of a painted Russian doll. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen because didn't make any sense. *What happened to him?* I started to sweat. My body stiffened. I couldn't move. It felt like I was paralyzed. If that wasn't him, then where was he? Why would there be a doll in his bed? I stayed there, just eyeing the doll. And his wife...she was a doll too. Their faces, it looked like them. Why would they both do this? I was starting to get a very terrible premonition about what this all meant. I only realized I had stayed there so long when I saw the clock read 3:00. Then, the double doors slowly opened again. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. I couldn't bear to move or hide -- my eyes were wide, fixated on that moving door. Silence. The door moved no more. And yet, there was nothing behind it. How did could it have opened? I saw a fluttering from down below, where the door met the floor. *It's...a bat?* *There's two of them!* I watched as the two...things...shuttered closer to the bed with their strange appendages. One jerked its red body onto the face of the wife. The other one, the slightly larger one, onto the face of Kimmy. Something creaked, and they both seemed to...disappear into the dolls. *Oh no. Maybe, they were right. The crazy ones. Maybe he did go to hell...* The dolls shrunk, the glossy skin becoming less and less so and more like beaten leather. I watched as those two dolls transformed before my eyes until they became the flesh-and-blood bodies of two living people. *Kimmy..and his wife.* &#x200B; **""Kimmy""** When we woke up, we found the human cowering in the corner. He was paralyzed with terror. We quickly knocked him out. ""Marla,"" I muttered to my dearest, ""let's replace him."" My ""wife"" and I yanked his soft jaws open. There were so many demons on the waiting list. I summoned the next in line. ""Here's your body,"" I told them after they manifested on the pentagram I drew with the man's blood. They crept through the mouth without a word and disappeared. ""Be a good citizen,"" I told the body, ""and then you can help me get the others off the waiting list."" We waved as he left our house.",1157
" ""I had too much to drink","My eyes have become three sizes larger and a construction crew has taken up residence behind them, based on the pounding in there. I roll over and sunlight washes over my eyelids. I angrily squint at the sun and hate myself for not closing the curtains enough. Then I let out a groan that would make any zombie actor jealous. There is no construction crew. My eyes haven't grown three sizes. I had too much to drink last night. I squeeze my eyes tighter to try in vain to block the sunlight out. Then I slam my hand around on my nightstand, knock over a glass of water and scatter what felt like two small pills. Cursing myself, I am forced to open my eyes and right the glass, saving just a little water. Then I have to lean over the bed and find the pills. I brush off a little bit of hair, never hurt anyone, and down both pills with what's left of the water. Drunk me is always so kind to hungover me, and hungover me is an asshole that ruins what drunk me did. I rub my face, sitting on the edge of the bed, and try to stop the carousel my brain is on. I squint at the clock, water beading from the face of it, and read the digital numbers out slowly. Very slowly. ""One thirteen."" It is the afternoon, well and truly, the light confirms that. I've never known there to be that much light at one in the am. Rolling my neck, I stretch sore and stiff muscles that haven't quite woken yet. I let out another zombie groan and try to stand, failing. I take a deep breath and make another attempt, this time succeeding in standing. It might be wobbly and I might be nearly overwhelmed by the urge to vomit, but it is a decent version of standing. Stumbling to the kitchen, I find the coffee maker ready and loaded with dry grounds and a clean mug, because drunk me is the best. Pushing the button for coffee brings the machine to life, sputtering soaking up the reservoir to spit out sweet, sweet black brew. One, two, three, four spoonfuls of sugar (it's the quickest cure I've found) and a dousing of cream and I sip it, careful not to burn my tongue too badly. Each breath is a slow in and out. It's all rather mundane and normal for a hangover morning. Until I rub my forearm. It's always been there. Faint green numbers. I told my parents about them once and I learned my lesson pretty quickly. Don't tell people about weird shit cause you'll end up in therapy for years, figuring out how to tell them what they want to hear. The numbers are real though, as real as the coffee in my mug and the pounding in my head. I have to be seeing double. Triple. Quadruple. Except I'm holding just one mug, seeing just one fuzzy version of my kitchen. But there's a lot of zeroes. I rub my forearm, the numbers disappearing beneath my hand as I do, but there they are again. With all those zeroes. See, the numbers mean something. I figured that out by my eighteenth birthday. Save a life, get a decimal. Point one. Earliest I remember was it being at 0.1. A tenth of a life. Never made the connection until much later that my mom's joke about ""he's a lifesaver"" wasn't a lie. She'd been ready to go until I happened. Happy mistake. By eighteen it was .9 but I hadn't quite got it yet. Most times it changed for no reason. No obvious reason. Looking back it was a smile for no reason, a text that I was ten minutes behind, stuff that made a big difference to someone that wasn't me. Nothing about the numbers was clear until I was at the bus stop waiting to go home, head down and headphones in. Just trying to be invisible. The weirdo kid who sees things, they'd dubbed me. Two other kids were goofing around, pushing each other, standard stuff. One of them tripped on the uneven sidewalk and started falling past me towards the road. I grabbed him and pulled him back. Just missed the front end of the bus. The driver laid into all of us about responsibility and the like. And that .9 become a 1. A solid, light green 1. Save ten lives, and get one. Get one what? Well, that one was easier to figure out. The summer that I was nineteenth was a good one. I was at a cottage with my family. There was a floating dock. I was trying to execute a triple flip (read: a simple dive) when I slipped and caught the back of my head on the corner of it. When I woke up it was almost a week later and the doctors said I should have died. And my numbers were down to nada. I was buying myself lives with the lives of others. So I did what any self respecting human would do. I threw myself into a career as a paramedic and pumped those numbers up. That let me live a life I couldn't have otherwise. Three years of doing that job and I had amassed a respectable six spare lives, and all that by twenty three years old. Of course, I had used two. Still. Not bad. This is new though. The zeroes, so many of them. I have to count them a few times. Eight zeroes. So, ten for one means... I drop the mug and it shatters on the tile, spilling coffee everywhere. Not that it matters right now. If this is right... I can't catch my breath. My head spines, I lean over the sink and try to keep it together. It's impossible. Last night is foggy but it's impossible. Somehow, some way, I saved enough lives to amass seven hundred million spares. That means... ""I saved the whole goddamn planet."" I say out loud, because internalizing it seems to make things worse. I have to say it aloud. And then, the inevitable. I vomit into the sink. Because how, how in the everloving reality of realness, did I save everyone? And why can't I remember? Where do I ever start to find out? And then someone knocks on my door and a voice I don't recognize shouts through it, loud enough I can hear it from the hallway in my kitchen. ""We need to talk!"" ""I'm busy!"" I shout back. ""Not too busy to talk to me!"" The voice says. ""Fuck off!"" I am met with silence. And then my door is kicked in, splintering, and a man I do not know stands there. He is clearly enraged. Furious. Red in the face. Spitting mad. Pissed. ""Who are you?"" I ask. ""Gods, you don't ever remember."" He says, some of the anger deflating from him like some sort of enraged balloon. ""You took advantage of me."" ""Excuse me?"" I say, pushing back against the counter. ""No,"" he sighs, rubs his eyes, red eyes that scream of the hangover I've somehow forgotten. ""Not that. You and I got drunk, made a bet, and you won. I am in the deepest shit. And you did it. So, now you have to help me fix it."" ""I don't understand-"" He is suddenly holding me by my shirt, lifting me against the counter, his face almost against mine. Except his face isn't the human face I saw just a moment ago. It's a skull, shrouded in black, and it's talking to me. ""I am Death and you stole seven billion lives from me. And now, we're going to fix it!"" There are three heartbeats of a pause, just long enough for those words to sink in. And just enough time for me to vomit down the front of his shifting black robes.",1330
 The only person I talked to was,"The eyes turned to us as I walked in with Samael... Samuel. I saw the jealousy in Tina's eyes and it made me so happy. My sister had a big smile on her face and waved to me a little. As Samuel turned to get a drink, my sister pretended to fan herself and gave me the thumbs up. And why wouldn't she. He was an extremely attractive man. Hannah was the one who made me promise that I'd come to her wedding with a date. She had often pestered me about going out and actually socializing. But it wasn't for me. I preferred to be at home, alone, than be talking to uh... people. The only person I talked to was someone halfway around the world I regularly played a video game with. Luckily for me, Samuel wasn't exactly people. I hadn't expected it to work. It was a silly little chant that I picked up from a sketchy looking Swedish website. I struggled with the words over and over. I had almost given up when the smell of brimstone filled the air and he stood there, dressed to impress and charming as hell. My mother walked up to us, her own glass in her hand. That glass was sort of a fixture in her hand. Every memory and thought of my mother I had always included two things; her silly blue beret and a glass of alcohol in her hand. ""Oh my, Cassie. Who's this wonderful gentleman? Why don't you introduce us to him?"" ""Mom, it's my date and I would prefer if you..."" ""Hello Mrs Jackson. You know, till she called you mom, I thought she had a sister I didn't know about."" I rolled my eyes. My mom, on the other hand, blushed. ""Oh, aren't you a charmer. So what's your name? And how did Cassie ever get a guy like you. I mean, it just doesn't make any sense to me."" ""Why thank you mom. You always know the right thing to say."" Samuel however smiled at her. ""Well, I had to beg her for a date. She turned me down six times. But you know what, I would've asked her six hundred and sixty six times if that's what it would've taken. She's worth it."" My mom looked at him and then me. ""Cassie dear, can I talk to you in private."" I looked at Samuel. ""I..."" ""Go on."" As soon as we were out of earshot, my mom turned to me. ""Who's this guy? Are you paying him?"" ""Mom! For goodness sake."" ""Look honey, let's face it. You're my daughter and I love you. But he's so far out of your league that it's not even funny."" ""Well what can I say, he has a fetish for frumpy girls. Can I go now? He doesn't know anyone and I don't want him to be uncomfortable."" I went to him, looked at my mother, and planted a kiss on his lips. He was surprised but he kissed me back. I took him by the hand and led him to the back corner of the hall. ""I'm sorry about that. It's my mom. She just gets in my head and..."" ""Hey, if that happened because of your mother, I must thank her."" I looked at his face, and his smile and I felt an emotion stirring deep in me, like a tendril coming up from the ground. No freaking way. He was literally the devil. I had to stop. He just smiled. The ceremony was a beautiful affair. My sister had wanted me to be her bridesmaid but I had excused myself. The idea of being up there in front of all those people... I couldn't do that. When the time for the toasts came, Samuel leaned in closer. ""Are you not giving a toast?"" ""Nah, I can't. I'll get up and then people will look and I just can't."" ""Is there something you want to say to your sister though?"" ""Yeah. But not in front of everyone."" ""What about just me?"" ""What do you mean?"" ""What does your sister mean to you. Tell me what you would say to her if could."" ""It's... I don't know."" ""Oh come on. Tell me."" I looked into his dark eyes and found I couldn't look away anymore. ""Hannah has always been there for me, knowing full well that I couldn't be there for her all the time. That's what makes her special. She will do good, she will help you even if you know you can't return the favour. Because for her, it's not about what you can do for her. She's an absolutely pure soul. So pure, in fact, that her grace rubs off on everyone around her. Our family had so many chances to break apart. But you know who kept it together. Hannah. And you know how we've paid her back? She wanted me to come to her engagement party. I stayed home and played smite with a person I've never seen. You know what happened the next morning. She called me to check if I had my breakfast. She didn't even acknowledge how I had broken her heart. No! I keep breaking my promises and hurting her. She, god bless her soul, keeps filling my life with happiness. Today, it's the most important day in her life and you know what she spent it all on? To make my life better. She tried to make sure that I was comfortable. Because that's just the sort of person my sister is. She is the most wonderful sister in the world. If there is someone in your life who loves you like my sister loves me, trust me, your life is a success. And I know I don't say it often, but I love her so so much. I know this is her day, but I am making myself a promise today. I'll change my life. I'll be what she wants me to be. Doesn't matter how much effort it takes. Doesn't matter how hard it is. God could stand in my way and tell me to stop, but I won't. Because she deserves it."" I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of clapping. Someone hugged me from behind and I noticed I held a glass in my hand. Hannah was crying. ""Thank you Cassie. That was wonderful. I know how hard it would've been for you."" ""I... No. Thank you Hannah. For everything."" As everything settled back, I turned to him. ""What did you do?"" ""Nothing!"" I paused, a little tear running down my cheek. ""Thank you."" ""Oh, it was my pleasure. The god references were a bit much but, you know."" ""So you said you needed a date to the wedding too. Whose wedding do you have to attend?"" ""It was this one really."" ""This one? Anyone you know? Don't tell me the groom is god or a demon or something?"" ""Eli? Nah, just an ordinary man. They will live a perfectly ordinary life."" ""And me?"" ""Oh, your life will be full of excitement and weirdness."" ""Wow."" ""I know right. Lots to look forward to."" ""But getting back to the wedding, why did you want to attend this wedding then?"" ""I was tired of losing in Smite to you. I figure, we play again. This time, I keep a close eye on you and make sure you're not cheating.""",1239
" In a city gripped by fear,","Click clack. Boots on pavement, and it's a mighty fine day. Click clack. Sun's out, skies are clear, and not a single worry on my mind. Click clack. A slight wind rustles over concrete, and in a city gripped by fear, I find myself walking alone, unperturbed and just relishing what a lovely day it's going to be. There are men in masks apparently, but that doesn't bother me. Men with guns and hate and anger and beneath that an ever cloying fear and inadequacy, an indifferent mixture of insecurity and a desperate need to create some kind of lasting impact. To them, rather than affecting some kind of genuine positive long term change, they've decided some violent struggle will bring them everlasting fame and glory, which nowadays means twenty four hours of headlines before they're forgotten and replaced by tomorrow's monsters. And that's just fine with me. Why EVERYTHING is just fine with me. I'm everything. And anything. And most of all, I'm joyous. I'm pleased. I'm just fine and fuckin' DANDY. Click clack. Click clack. Click clack. I can see them. I can see everyone. When you're the birds in the sky, or the fish in the sea, the fly on the wall, and the dog in the gutter, you see much and more than anyone else. I know where they are. What they're doing. And what they're planning, as ridiculous and laughable as it tends to be. People tend to be afraid more often than most, so fear's a fun thing to do. Fear is fine. Fear is dandy. Fear is okey-dokey with me. But I'm not afraid. I'm nothing. And everything. And everyone. I can be your thoughts and feelings, I can see behind your eyes and watch your brain go 'wiggle-jiggle' and listen to your hearth thump and pump away. That's nothing I've learned, just something I've known. And when you know, you don't tend to take things the same as you used to. What used to matter, what used to scare me, those were just vague worries and impossible insecurities. But that doesn't matter anymore. I'm here and there and everywhere. And I see them. And they're afraid. You can watch the news and listen to the coverage and discussion of their manifesto, which is mostly just poorly selected jumbles of some ideaologies taken too far, picking and choosing what they like from where they see fit. But what they're really bothering, what they're really trying to do is mess with my mood. Get me off the streets, get me off my feet, stop these boots from clicking and clacking across the pavement and that I will not bear. Fear is what they choose and fear is what they'll get, I'm walking here and I feel just fuckin' peachy. A few of them in a building ahead, one of those various concrete blocks that usually are filled with people gripped in self loathing and wishing they worked literally anywhere else, and I can see them through the windows. A bird circles, and sees their barricades, their emplacements. The bravado and arrogance to mask their own fear that reeks and wafts over the streets to me, and I can just breathe it in. I'm quite sure many of them wish they hadn't done this, but it's gone too far now, and people are dead. I'm no longer walking though. I'm flying, encircling, seeing them. I'm running, on all fours. I'm the man in the boots, but not particularly known for always walking on two feet. When people see my grin, it often curdles theirs. People no longer say 'how do you do' or greet me with a smile. There's fear on them now, fear in their guts and to me that's just A-Okay, just absolutely stellar. I'm by the building now. And to many, when asked if they can be any animal, or have their powers, they tend to enjoy the range of imagination, but I'm quite more restricted. I can take on the powers of whatever's close by, though close is a relative term. And out here are things that skitter. Things that slither. Things that crawl. Things that leer and hunger and wait with dripping mandibles for some poor fuck to get caught in their trap, and I'm no longer this walking man with the lovely boots, but a hulk of...of what? Flesh. Joy. Hunger. I'm crawling up the walls, more legs than any decent man can need, but I find having eight to be something just right. Many legs and jaws and fast movement, because what people should thank is that spiders remain small, remain rather indifferent to the large hulks of monkey meat building their homes and lives around them. Up to the roof, and then down. There's a man on the stairs, and his passive look brought on by one too many downers and little blue pills turns to a mask of fear and confusion. I'm fast. And on the walls. He tries to raise a firearm, but before he can flick off the safety I'm on him and ripping, tearing, chewing, and there's cries and screams and a vague awareness of a sweetening terror, and by gum that really flavors the meat. Gives it that quality savor. Now dead. Dead and that's just fine with me. Down the stairs, through halls, over cubicles, over emplacements and demands and through their nightmares, and they scream and cry and die. Papers whirl, staplers clap onto the floor, and they stumble backwards, firing shots so loud and wrong that the shots deafen the shooters themselves, shooting at something that's at one moment a spider, now a snake, and each and every shape and size to cater to whatever makes them fear most. Why that's just fine. That's just FINE. That's just mighty peachy and dandy and all that. They wanted fear, they wanted anger, and why they've found my joyous acclimation to their situation of intimidation by estimation. They shout to each other, try to comprehend what's happening, and realize that maybe some things that stalk the highway at night meander their way downtown, to places people don't expect. A hundred and fifty kilos of legs and flesh, too many legs, too many legs so many legs and so hungry, so thirsty, used to the dryness of the road and the hospitality of strangers. One after another, I find them, listen to the squawking on their radios and the confusion. It smells of copper and piss, and they shoot as well as men can, but they shoot with that lacking of training, of persons more used to people not being able to shoot back, of people who listen to their demands and cower. Other men with guns could handle them and probably would. But not now. Not them. I'm happy. And hungry. That rank stench of spent gunpowder and cordite, and the deafening silence that comes after the kill, and I can stand here, wiping the blood from my lips. There's helicopters, there's noise there's commotion, and people coming to grips with something they can't understand. They won't find me. Never have, never will. I'm the man with a plan on the highway, hitching this way and that on back roads, with a wide grin and some quality boots that shimmer and glitter and click and clack. Today terrorists, the flavor of the week. And maybe another day, I'll skitter and clatter my way into another place. Because fear is fine. And fear is lovely. Fear's a grand old thing, something to warm the bones and ease the stress and pins from walking. One man has a lovely pair of boots, and to me, why to me its a lovely day for a walk. And out there, I'm anything. Anyone. And no one. And to me, that's just fine. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others",1322
 My ex-wife called my workplace,"""It's for you sir,"" my secretary said as she handed me the phone. Of course, my ex-wife wouldn't call my cellphone, that would make too much sense. She just HAD to call my workplace instead. ""Thanks Jess,"" I said to the secretary as I took the phone. ""Feel free to go home already, your son has a concert that you should be attending, no?"" Jess beamed at me and mouthed her thanks as I pressed the phone to my ear. She gathered her belongings and before I knew it, I was alone in the office. ""I'm down in the lobby with Claudia, where the hell are you?"" Demanded a harsh voice on the other side of the phone. My ex-wife was intolerable, but even still, I had to manage, if not for her or myself, for my beautiful five-year-old daughter, Claudia. ""I've got a few more phonecalls to make and then I'm off for the week, just send Claudia up the elevator, I'll only be a couple minutes."" I don't remember why I fell for that horrible woman, but I can't imagine what it's like for Claudia to have to live with her every other week. That hag goes through boyfriends like a baby goes through diapers. ""Of course you're working when you're supposed to be taking care of our daighter!"" She shouted at me. ""You'll be working overtime until the day you die, and that's the only thing you've ever cared about. Did Claudia's safety not cross your mind? What if she gets off on the wrong floor? What if some random perve gets in the elevator and starts creeping on her? What if-"" ""Grow up Darlene!"" I snapped. ""It's a single elevator ride in a government building! Nobody's here but me and the security guards. Hell, my secretary just left for the weekend! Claudia will be fine, I'll be on the other side of the elevator as soon as the doors open!"" Darlene growled and said something to Claudia. The next thing I knew, she had hung up. I grumbled some words that I'd never repeat in Claudia's presence and put the phone back on the secretary's desk. My thoughts flashed to the last time I was with Claudia. The last time that she was with me, we went out to the beach before I dropped her off at her mother's. At her request, I buried her in the sand. She loved it, but Darlene did not. Claudia's long blonde hair had been full of sand, which apparently took days to wash out completely. I took my place in front of the elevator doors. I watched as the elevator rose up the floors, finally stopping in front of me. From time to time, I'd try to jump out and try to scare Claudia, but she'd only burst out laughing. She'd laugh at how rediculous I apparently looked. That was my girl, she's fearless. As the doors opened, I jumped out, ""BOO!"" Instead of my little girl, a slender young woman, probably in her young twenties, stood in the elevator. Her hair was shoulder-length, dyed bright pink, and bounced as her shoulders moved. I realized that her eyes were red and puffy, she had been crying. ""Sorry,"" I said quickly. ""I thought you were-"" ""Dad!"" The girl shouted, throwing her arms around my neck. I tried worming out of the hug, but the woman held a firm grip. I suddenly felt more sluggish than I had a minute prior, like my bones weren't as sturdy as they had been when I woke up that morning. ""I'm not-"" Suddenly, the girl slapped me harshly across the face. ""Maybe you don't understand the situation, so I'll start over,"" she said harshly. The woman straitened her composure, and what she said next made my head spin. ""Hello Dad, we have alot to talk about."" I was perplexed. I wasn't this woman's father. There's was no way, my daughter was only five-years-old. She didn't have pink hair, or ear piercings, and she wasn't my height! ""I'm not your father,"" I told her. ""Sorry but-"" ""You've been afraid of spiders ever since your little brother's pet turatula snuck into your bed when you were six,"" she said, crossing her arms. ""How did you-"" ""You met Darlene when you were seventeen, and dated her for five years before you proposed at DisneyLand. You had your only child five monthes after the wedding and divorced Darlene after three years of marraige after you found her cheating,"" the woman recited this as if she had rehearsed it many times before. ""Where did you-"" ""You named me 'Claudia' after your deceased mother, and Darlene picked Lily as my middle name because she thought it sounded cute,"" she spoke Darlene's name with a certain venom in her voice that only a person who had met the hag themselves could have had. ""Okay, I believe you now,"" I said skeptically. It didn't make sense to me at all, but she knew stuff that only my family members knew. Even Darlene didn't know of my phobia of spiders, so she couldn't have told all of this to this woman. The only logical conclusion was that this woman was my daughter, yet, that was also the most illogical conclusion. ""Good,"" Claudia snapped. ""Now can you explain to me why you vanished for twenty years without a trace, and only now appear back at your old workplace?"" ""Twenty years?"" I exclaimed. ""You're crazy!"" ""And you're forty-eight,"" she shot back. She pulled a pocket mirror out and showed it to me. Surely enough, I was a heart old man. While I had been twenty-eight only ten minutes before, I was now twenty years older, and so was Claudia. ""We've both aged twenty years!"" I exclaimed, astonished. ""That's because it has been twenty years, asshole!"" Claudia shot at me. ""Now, where have you been all this time?"" ""Right here!"" I argued. I took a few breaths to calm myself down. ""Ten minutes ago, you were five years old and I was twenty-eight. Darlene sent you up the elevator and suddenly twenty years had passed."" This time, Claudia was the one that was confused. ""I don't get it,"" she said, cocking her head to the side the same way she did when she was curious about something as a kid. ""Tell me this Claudia, what's your most vivid memory?"" I looked at her expectantly, but she just looked at me confusedly. ""I guess.. it would've been mom sending me up the elevator, and then I got to the top floor, but you weren't there. I went looking for you, but I don't remember that part very well."" Her eyes became cloudy, as she got lost thinking back into her memories. ""Focus Claudia!"" I shook her shoulders. ""Why were you crying in the elevator?"" I remembered her eyes being red and puffy, she must've been sobbing. ""Because.. because all of the memories came at me all at once. As if they belonged to someone else, and I was experiencing it all at one time."" She said. ""And why,"" I began, ""were you here anyways? On the same day that I apparently went missing, twenty years later, at the last place where I was reported to be seen?"" ""I.. don't remember,"" Claudia answered. ""What are you getting at?"" ""This is going to sound crazy,"" I said. ""But I think that going through the elevator caused both of us to travel in time twenty years. Except, you have all of the memories that you would've gotten in those twenty years.. and I didn't."" ""Was it because I was in the elevator and you weren't?"" She asked. ""No, that couldn't work, then you wouldn't have traveled in time."" She kicked the wall. ""Agh! This is so confusing!"" ""What if it was some kind of emotional connection that caused me to travel with you through time as well, and that's why I wasn't around for twenty years, but since you were the one who triggered the time jump, only you had memories of the last twenty years?"" I asked, I was suddenly grateful for all of the Sci-Fi books that I had read, it was my guilty pleasure. ""I guess, that could work,"" Claudia said skeptically. ""Only one way to find out,"" I grabbed Claudia's hand and pulled her into the elevator with me. I pressed the button to send us to the first floor. I closed my eyes and squeezed Claudia's hand. ""No matter what happens, I love you Claudia."" ""I love you too Dad."" When the doors opened, and I opened my eyes, I realized that Claudia's hand was no longer in mine. In fact, nobody was in the elevator with me. ""Daddy!"" A five-year-old, short and blonde girl ran up to me. I scooped her up in a hug and held her in my arms, I had to fight to hold back tears. ""About time!"" Darlene snarled. ""I was just about to call your secretary, what took you so long?"" ""Shut up Darlene,"" I said with a smile as I walked right passed her, with Claudia still in my arms. ""Where do you want to go Claudia? We can go anywhere you want!"" I said as we left the building, down through the parking lot towards my car. Claudia smiled wide, ""can we go to the future again?""",1560
" ""So how'd you get tele","""So how'd you get telepathy?"" He was mildly nervous and had spent the last several seconds resisting the urge to tap his foot in a form of displacement activity. Eye contact had varied from engaged almost to the point of staring to looking anywhere *but* my face. He didn't seem to want to have this conversation. I'd seen this reaction before and it had always mystified me. If I was a telepath, I'd be a telepath before he asked and afterwards. How did not thinking about it help? ""Back when I was a kid--"" No. I could already feel his attention span slipping away. I paused. My head swiveled away from him as I tried to find some unremarkable point in the distance to stare into while I restructured my answer from something I appreciated into something he could. Past the crowd of people, past the other tables in the cafe, to the decor they'd put up onto the walls, mildly discolored by the relatively poor lighting along the walls. There was a pattern on the wall of the cafe, a mosaic of sorts. A mandala made out of coffee beans of various colors. My eyes drawn into it, I let myself sink into it, not so much interpreting it as merely parsing it, while the parts of my mind that I'd spent years winnowing and sharpening for social exercises worked overdrive on the hard problem of human contact. ""...Simon?"" Faint confusion radiating off of him now, with the faintest shades of annoyance. What was I doing wrong? Eye contact? I hadn't made eye contact in a while-oh. I realized that I'd been frozen up like a statue for the past fifteen seconds, my head tilted to the side and away, one french fry hanging out of my right hand halfway to my mouth. Stalled like a frozen program. Stupid. Even for me. Stupid. *This is supposed to be a date*, I reminded myself. I ate the french fry. ""I'm not a telepath,"" I said. ""I'm an empath."" Fuck. Now I'd been too firm. Now I'd made myself look like I was offended. Now *he* was starting to feel offended, at least slightly. I leapt into the gap to try and cover the issue. ""I don't get complete thoughts,"" I said. Before I'd started talking I'd swayed my gaze away again as though in thought, paused briefly for a half-second to a second, and then leaned forward incrementally with a smile as though I'd had some mild epiphany between when I'd last stopped talking and now. It seemed to be working, at least somewhat. He had leaned forward slightly as well, reaction unconsciously mirroring my own. His confusion had decreased significantly. Faint arousal somewhere far underneath, at my smile. *Don't think about that. Focus.* ""I get... emotions, or the sense of them, anyway,"" I said. ""Never full thoughts. I can't hear what you're thinking, I just get a vague sense of... what you feel."" Nerves and the cognitive effort it had taken to rehearse and refine this phase of the conversation in my head threw me into overdrive, made me instinctively try to talk a mile a minute, and I had to consciously fight to keep the words coming out slow. Measured. Faster rates of speech was usually something people associated with irritation or anger. I had a couple of jokes about the quality of the caffeine at this cafe I'd chosen for our date ready as a contingency in case I screwed it up, though. ""And what am I feeling right now?"" He winked. Leaning forwards a little further, impish smile on his face-- Oh. He was flirting this was *flirting*! I kicked myself mentally. If I'd been tracking his arousal levels better I might have seen it coming. I didn't have too much time to respond--I knew any latency, any dead air time spent with no expression at all on my face as I calculated out the appropriate response would likely lead to gross misinterpretation and probably end any shot I had with him right there--but fortunately I'd rehearsed a couple of what seemed like correct-ish responses after I'd spent some time Googling 'Date' and 'Flirting' repeatedly the day before. I hesitated and blinked once or twice as though in thought. I tried smiling back. Kept it a mild, small smile. Took extra effort to make sure it wasn't a grimace. It seemed to work. Arousal and a host of other emotions bloomed across his heart, but there was nothing at all that I could discern taking place on his face. Likely I was just missing the signs, I hadn't gotten a chance to really see this reaction before and know it for what it was. As he looked at me I looked back, carefully, analytically, trying to identify all of the little tics and signs that I'd look for later in his face and others' which signified this suite of emotions with the razor-sharp focus of a research scientist. I felt a little guilty about that, of course. He was here to be with me, not be studied by me so that I could memorize my way out of the next slew of social situations and contexts to hit me. But what else was I supposed to do? The moment seemed to have passed. He'd now decided on some level below his consciousness that all of my little weirdnesses were due to nervousness at being on a date with a guy and I wasn't some kind of knife-wielding serial killer. Good. That was always a sort of occupational hazard of my condition. I rose from my chair, the auditory and emotional cacophony of the cafe's other patrons threatening as always to overwhelm me. ""Sorry,"" I said, ""just give me a minute to use the toilet? Bad timing,"" I added with a smile. He nodded just once. He was beginning to find me adorable. &#x200B; &#x200B; Not that I went to the bathroom. I needed air, quiet. I'd picked this cafe half because I knew there was an emergency exit just behind the toilets which wasn't alarmed. It took me out onto a fire escape, a steel stairwell a little rusty from disuse. I shut the door behind me and breathed out. It was always hard for me to remember when I was feeling exhausted, or stressed. Usually it was easier to function when I'd managed to forget how it felt. Not like I'd get any excuses for failing to act as if I was a real human being if *exhaustion* left me in a monotone voice and staring at nothing midway through a conversation. People tended to not be too good at sympathy unless they had some baseline empathy for what was going on. That wasn't something I was usually allowed to have. My cell buzzed, as scheduled. Maria, my sister. *How's it going?* With her I usually didn't need to rehearse. I could just go with whatever my instincts told me to go with. I typed in, *doesn't think im an ax murderer yet* . Several big smiley emojis, followed by: *Told you you could do it, Rain Man!* Emotions are so incomprehensible sometimes. In that moment I felt both a deeply familiar pain and a deeply unfamiliar relief from the same pain, simultaneously. So strange. I breathed out. Allowed myself a few seconds to rehearse the next several minutes of conversation, and the various flowcharts I'd constructed in my head around the various potential contingencies and outcomes before I turned back into the cafe. To think there'd been a time when I'd been trying to do this *without* mind-reading as a superpower.",1277
 The man behind the counter stood his,"""Alright that's enough, can't you see she doesn't want to be bothered?"" The crowd of men glared at the speaker behind the counter but he stood his ground. ""You lot have been bothering her all this time, clear off and leave her in peace."" ""What's it to you?"" A man leered unpleasantly. ""Don't you know who this is?"" The man crossed his arms. ""Aye that I do, she's a customer. She is entitled to a meal in peace. You lot haven't bought a thing and unless you aim to, you're not customers. So head off before I call the town watch and have you all removed."" As they bristled and stepped towards him he reached down and hefted his rolling pin. ""They can escort you on your feet or drag you away. Your choice."" The men left, hurling insults at the woman and the man equally, knocking things from the tables and dashing pottery to the floor. Sighing heavily, he walked from behind the counter, picking up broken plates. ""Honestly, it's early to be that drunk. Still, that's no reason to be so rude."" He bobbed his head at the woman who still sat at the counter. ""Sorry about that miss, I hope that didn't put you off from your meal."" She shook her head, long white hair swaying. ""Not at all,"" she said without emotion. ""I thank you for your aid. I do hope your assistance will not cause you any future trouble."" He waved a hand, tossing the broken dishes into a large crate. ""Oh don't you worry none miss. That lot never comes in to eat anyways. They rather spend their money on drink, not food."" He leaned on the counter and smiled at her. ""Most of my business comes from local families and travelers, merchants and the like so I don't care about a bunch of drunks."" The woman looked about the empty eatery. ""Your business seems...slow. If I may be so bold."" Her pale grey eyes showed no boldness, they were as empty as her voice. He shrugged, dark brown eyes winked back. ""Nothing wrong with stating the truth. This is the slow season for me. The weather keeps the heavy trade away and most families eat at home. It's okay though, I always make it through okay."" He saw her look at the crate of broken crockery. ""With less business I don't need as many plates. Don't worry none."" ""It is my fault that happened. I should make some kind of compensation."" She hesitated, and for the first time since she entered she seemed hesitant. ""You...truly do not know who I am?"" A sheepish smile was her reply. ""Beg your pardon miss, should I? I mean no disrespect. I'm just a simple cook that doesn't get out much."" The woman stared at him and he felt a prickle of embarrassment. His concern grew when she started to laugh. Not that she was laughing, but her laugh itself. It was forced, her shoulders worked as if she was trying to push the laughter out of her. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong but before the words could emerge she started to glow. She held up cupped hands and to his amazement silver appeared within them. It was as if her laughter rained silver, the sound seemed to coalesce and when she finally stopped a pile of silver pieces rested in her hands. She held them out to him and he gingerly accepted them, expecting them to be paper or light. However they were truly silver. They felt heavy like they should and shined in the lamplight. ""Well isn't that something!""he exclaimed. ""That was quite the trick miss, how did you do that if I may ask?"" ""You may not,"" she replied severely. Her eyes narrowed and suspicious. His faced flushed. ""I'm really sorry miss,"" he stammered. ""I've just never seen anything like that before. Thought it was like a magic trick, like those fellas do with the cups and the ball. I meant nothing by it."" He counted a few pieces out and held the rest in a closed hand. ""Those are more than what the crockery was worth plus the meal. You should take the rest back, you made them after all."" The suspicion leeched away and her eyes widened as she took back the pile of silver. She watched him walk behind the counter and deposit the few pieces he counted out into his cash box. ""Do you....why do you not take it all?"" ""Well I never overcharged anyone before, and I don't aim to now."" He smiled to hide his embarrassment. ""You made the silver, or produced them or what have you. I'm no thief neither."" He went back to cooking, his knife cutting through the vegetables on the block. He hummed a little, trying to fill the silence before a noise made him stop. ""I'm sorry, got lost in chopping. Did you say something miss?"" ""I am....sorry."" ""Oh no need to be!"" He waved his hand and tried to brush her apology away. ""I must have sounded just like those jerks from earlier, don't blame you none for being guarded. I bet you get bothered a lot over it."" ""I....I am cursed."" The words spilled from her lips and the man stopped completely, knife halfway through the carrot on the board. He put the blade down, wiping his hands awkwardly. ""I'm real sorry to hear that miss."" ""I was a terribly vain girl, one given more than she deserved. I wanted for nothing, parents that showered me with wealth. When you lived easily your tastes can warp just as easily. I had all the material things I could want, so I wanted more terrible things. I did not care for my own happiness or sadness, but only how I could control the feelings of others."" Her grey eyes lost focus, she was watching her past again. ""I played so many games, cruel and awful ones. I made people cry, made them laugh, made them hurt. All for my amusement."" She looked at him and pain warred with shame in her eyes. ""One took too much, they hurt too much. They could not go on and their blood is on my hands. They were watched by an ancient being, and the being desired revenge. For my sins I had to learn the pain of being toyed with, where wealth is material but not long lasting while your thoughts and emotions burn ever longer. When I laugh I can make silver. When I weep I can make gold. So that to benefit the most I must shed tears, to feel pain forever."" She looked down at her hands. ""My family turned on me, any business can be enhanced by a person that can make silver and gold. Why settle for silver when gold was only a step away? They tortured me, drowned me for my gilded sorrow. My friends wanted a piece for themselves. Silver is cheap, gold is more. I endured as much as I could before I left."" A gentle thump broke through the cloud of her thoughts. A sweet scent wafted into her nose and she moved her hands away. A steaming mug of tea sat before her and the man was looking sorrowful at her. She was shocked. To everyone before she told the story to she could see the shine of avarice in their gaze, a facade of disbelief on their faces hid hungering greed. Yet this man was looking sad with her, not at her. ""That's a cruel story miss. I'm sorry to hear it."" He pointed awkwardly at the mug. ""Mayhap this will help? I find mint tea helps me when I feel low. That and food, but,"" he coughed with a red face, ""mayhap not the right thing to say right now. Sorry."" She almost chuckled, not at all bothered by the man. His sincerity warmed her as her hands were warmed by the tea. She sipped, the fresh mint freshened the acrid brew and she felt the hot water slide down her throat, warming her bit by bit. ""Th-thank you for listening,"" she said and for the first time in a long time she meant the words. ""Of course miss. It's a bad thing that you got cursed, and that your friends and family turned out like that."" He went back to chopping, his face twisted in thought. ""Yet...well. If you don't mind a simple cook saying so, there's something I heard a while back that may help you feel better."" A smile tried to tug her lips and she tried to fight it down. ""It would only be fair to listen to you after you listening to me."" He smiled again, broad and warm and she felt something crack in her heart. ""Kind of you to say so. When I was a boy me mum would tell me stories about curses like yours, dreadfully scary things. They always frightened me so, maybe why she told me them to keep me honest. But after every story she told me that a curse can be bad, but it can end in good."" ""Pray tell, how so?"" Her words dripped bitterness and the man chuckled. ""Well, curses are lessons after all. If you learn why you got cursed, then change your ways, then the curse actually helped you. If that makes sense."" She stared at him as he poured chopped vegetables into batter and an iron plate sizzled and spat as he poured the mixture on. ""You have a cruel curse on you, but you left the bad behind you yes? You no longer try to hurt others and you now know how important happiness and sadness are right?"" She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat felt tight and hot and she felt her eyes prickle. He set a plate before her and the smell of the pancake thawed her stomach as his words thawed her heart. ""Well then I think you learned your lesson then. And since you did, you're a much better person than you were before."" He grinned shyly. ""I know we just met but even I can see that."" Her vision started to shimmer. ""Besides,"" he continued as he looked away. ""Mum also said you can cry even if you're not sad. Tears aren't always bad."" He cursed himself silently. ""I'm sorry miss, Mum also said I had a big mouth. I never know when to mind my own business and keep quiet."" A thunk of metal on wood made him look up. His eyes widened as he saw the shining gold piece sitting on the counter in front of him. He looked at her and saw a woman transformed. She was smiling despite the tears and she was eating hungrily, as if she had not eaten in days. ""No,"" she said softly, ""thank you. Truly. I....thank you. If anything, may I ask you something else?"" His smile matched hers. ""Anything miss! Anything at all."" She held up the empty plate, ""May I have please have more, both your food and your words?""",1855
 A shot to the back of the,"(Changed the prompt a bit but hey.) I looked around the large meeting place. I was met with the waiting stares of not only human eyes, but eyes of the other races involved in the great conflict encroaching on the land. I hoped never to be directly involved in a war again, as the last time it had been war that had ended my life. I inhaled deeply and stood to my full height. ""Greetings to you all. I would like to start this meeting of the kingdoms and nations with a bit of an introduction about myself. As most of you are aware, I have died once before. A shot to the back of the head. It was a painful experience, my death. Not how I wished to perish, but that must have been the will of the Lord. ""However, while I expected to awaken at the pearly gates, I did not expect to wake in a bed built for two in a farmhouse located in the middle of farm country. And in a younger body, no less. It was still my body, but it was much younger than I had been before my untimely death. ""At first, I thought this was my heaven, a return to the simple life, but I realized soon that heaven didn't have creatures such as the Inda Drakes of the north, or the armored men and women calling themselves Adventurers who went to slay the beasts. Or war that had been ravaging the borders of the land I found myself in. ""It took me a few days to get my bearings, but I eventually learned from a passing wizard that I was in the world called Herion. The wizard was the first in a long line of guests I hosted at my new abode. The wizard, named Hyrian, explained that I was not the first to be summoned from the Other Realm as he called it. Apparently many more like me had arrived throughout history, helping those in need, providing directions and more. He named a few that I recognized, such as Suleiman I of the Ottoman Empire, King David and King Solomon of Israel, James I of England, John III of Poland-Lithuania, Caesar Augustus and a few other major kings and queens from my world. The last had died peacefully many years prior to me, and the house had been tended to by the king of the land I'd found myself in, the kingdom of Pedia. ""I never expected to see my own wife again, but a month after I arrived, I woke to see her lying in bed next to me, looking younger than I remember."" I looked down at my lovely wife beside me. She no longer was blind as she had been before her own death in the other world and gave me a reassuring smile. I continued. ""We had a great tearful reunion where she informed me that despite a month having passed for me, seventeen had passed for her. It took her a little longer to adjust to the world than I did, but eventually she and I settled down. ""Drawing on my own knowledge, I developed my new property into a prospering farm, growing wheat, corn, and many fruits and vegetables. I also raised animals such as chickens, lambs, and cows and sold milk and eggs. I hired help from the nearby village of Tarn as my wife and I alone couldn't keep up with all the work. Tarn was impoverished and poor when I started, but as my farm became more prosperous over the years, so did Tarn's wealth and prosperity. ""It was at this time that my dwelling became a place where many of the adventurers came and stopped by asking for directions. At first, I was of little help since I did not know the land I was in, but eventually I purchased maps of the kingdom and many of the surrounding nations. My wife and I also provided food to any poor folk who stumbled upon our doorsteps. ""One night about three years after I arrived, my wife and I were woken by a loud noise from our wheat fields. I found the musket I'd had forged a year prior and headed out to see what had made the commotion. There, I found a young wounded Inda Drake, trembling with fear as I approached. His wing had been clipped by what looked like an onyx arrow. I made my way to the youngling slowly, placing my musket down. I quickly removed the arrow and covered the wound with my shirt to staunch the bleeding. I brought the Drake back to the barn where over the next month I nursed it back to health. From then moment on, Ninian, named after my wife's brother-in-law from back home, became a part of our farm. I taught him English and he became the protector of my land from bandits and thieves."" I looked over at the Drake who had taken a seat near a corner and was keeping an eye on the gathered kings and rulers, making sure none made a foul move against another. We bowed a bit to each other. ""As time went by, more and more adventurers visited my farm, even some who said they were S-Class. I learned that meant they were strong in the art of magic and swordfighting. They were a bit distrusting of Ninian at first, but the Drake's new manners won most of them over within minutes. They were especially impressed that the Drake spoke in the language of the land, which to my astonishment was identical to English in both speech and writing. ""Apparently, knowledge of my existence spread far and wide, because about five years after my arrival I began receiving more and more distinguished guests, such as the Gloom Emperor of the Elven Highlands, the Inda Drake Queen herself who came to visit. Thanks to Ninian being a translator, she and I established a rapport and she came to visit regularly. The king of Pedia himself came to visit me one winter day to remark on my work. When I told him about what I had done in my old world, he asked me if I would be willing to help in negotiating a peace between all parties of the war. And that is why I am here."" I took the gavel I had been given. ""And thus, I, Abraham Lincoln, call this meeting of the nations of Herion to order."" I brought the gavel down, and the historic meeting began.",1097
" ""5001 Crag Road,","It was 5:32am when my phone went off. With the ceiling sufficiently stared at for the night, I rolled over and grabbed the old flip job. The little screen on the front had an oversized TXT on it. Not one to usually receive texts, let alone one at that hour, I flipped open, expecting some spam junk. ""5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come."" ""Huh, weird spam,"" I thought as I hopped out of bed to shower. Afterwards I flipped on my old tube tv. The colors bled and the audio was tinny and choppy, but it still worked for the news. The anchor of the morning news was explaining an overnight phenomenon sweeping across the nation. I flipped it off; I couldn't handle another bucket challenge or some bullshit contrived to make people feel better about themselves while they couldn't even tell you why they were doing what they were doing. I left the long term motel rental a little after 6:30. There was a family across the way, an old beige RV plastered with stickers from all across the country parked in front of their room. I think it was The Alden's, or the Alton's, something like that, they had been there almost three weeks now. I wasn't one for company, but it's the longest I'd seen someone stay in this dusty corner of Maine I was in. I overheard them, ""Do we go?"" ""Well, we all got the same thing, from the same number,"" said the lanky teenage boy, acne and a big smile all over his face. I paused and lit a smoke. ""Yeah, but it's so far,"" the girl, younger, pink from head to toe, blond curls falling behind her, like some caricature of a doll brought to life. The father, Bob, Rob maybe, leaned against the battered vehicle, ""I think we do it, we've never been there, it's just one more adventure."" ""But who would want to go there, daddy!"" The girl sassed. ""Us!"" It was a freakin' chorus from the other three. I started walking. It seemed like I'd have my little motel to myself again, the Al-somethings having picked their next adventure spot. My phone buzzed in my pocket. ""5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come."" I thought back to when I spent a little time in Vegas. Just over three years, more than a decade ago. It could be a hard, cold place. Ruthless was the right word. The sun or the sin, my boss used to say, one of them is going to kill you. As I turned onto the sleepy town center, a brick row of buildings from when this town had a future still. Old diagonal parking spots lined each side of the street, a small park memorializing something once important and long forgotten was at the end of the row. Lots of boarded up windows and ""For Rent"" signs, but a few small businesses here and there. I stopped in the coffee shop, the only thing open before seven here. The girl was staring at the TV hung behind the counter. It was the same anchor. The closed captions were on and they were still going on about the newest phenomenon. The girl behind the counter was enrapt, she didn't notice or couldn't be bothered by the door hitting the bell when I came in. ""S'cuse me"" I grumbled. She started, turning around. ""Coffee...,"" She cut me off ""Black, large, I got it!"" She whipped around the back, setting the hot cup in front of me moments later. She turned back to the TV. ""What do you think, will people go?"" I looked around, making sure I was the only one here. ""What're you talking about?"" ""We all got them, the texts, everybody. It started late last night and it's even going on right now."" ""What're you..."" my pocket vibrated. Ah, the texts, it wasn't just me. Some weird scam, texting everybody an address. I looked up at the TV. There was helicopter footage of Route 88 outside Chicago and traffic was bumper to bumper, all moving slowly west. ""It's happening, people are flocking"" The closed captions announced. The lady was jubilant on TV when the feed cut back to her in the studio, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, all smiles. ""This just feels right, this feels great,"" the captions proclaimed as the feed cut to break. It was one of those stations where the scroll never goes away. It flashed something that made me put my coffee down, ""Pilgrimage, 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska."" ""Wow, it's so amazing isn't it,"" The waitress said. ""I mean, I'd love to go but you know, I'm from here and that's a long ways to go, no car, all that."" She trailed off. ""Nebraska, yeah, crazy."" I was puzzled. ""Did you get the text too?"" She pulled out her phone and showed me, a big, bright screen Apple job: 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska, come, follow."" My pocket buzzed again. I laid three bucks on the counter, slammed the coffee and left. The waitress was still staring at the TV. ""5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come."" ""5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come."" ""5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; don't follow, come lead."" The last one gave me pause, lead what, lead whom. The town was starting to wake up, cars were scurrying around, everyone stopping at the grocery, the hardware store, everyone preparing to leave. Everyone was laughing, helping each other get ready, carpooling with neighbors. As I walked down the street out of town one of those huge church vans pulled up beside me. ""Hey partner,"" an older man with a gray beard, glasses and laugh lines up his face leaned out the driver's window ""I've got room for another if you'd like to come with us. He motioned to the back of the van, 10 smiling faces piled in, bags in the back, all of them laughing, a few playing cards across their bench seat. I popped the collar on my denim jacket against the breeze. ""Nah, I'm walkin', dude.""",1018
" The children called him ""The Candy","Aldric liked riding his dragon the way everyone else liked riding horses. He would often go on long expeditions through the sky, swooping and swirling to dance with the clouds, and trying hard not to expose his teeth to the grit that was always present no matter the altitude. As a matter of practicality, he took to wearing masks - black so he wouldn't have to wash them too often - and due to his absent-minded nature, he often forgot to take them off once he was back home. He ruled over a small, but economically powerful, country built on good sense and common courtesy. The children called him ""The Candy King,"" and looked forward to every Lammas when he would fly his dragon overhead and drop parachuted packages full of all the sugar and chocolate that his kitchen staff could put together, followed by a few stunts to scare and delight his people. He spent most of his waking moments focused on ensuring their happiness, and took enormous pride in being their king. However, his benevolence did not extend beyond his borders. Aldric preferred to stay isolated from the world, and aside from a few well-established trade routes, kept his country entirely to itself in social and political matters with the reasoning that he had enough to worry about without dabbling in everyone else's affairs. As a result, terrible rumors abounded unhindered about the ""Dragon King,"" who terrorized the countryside with fire and violence. Aldric was blissfully ignorant until the first self-described hero showed up. He had been out on his daily ride, and had returned to play his organ while meditating on how to improve the healthcare for orphans, when he heard a sudden scream. He started and turned around, and to his horror found one of his guards injured by someone shouting hysterically about justice while flailing a sword. The man was promptly jailed for his crime, but because he refused to state which country he had hailed from, Aldric didn't know where to return him to. Thus, he was sent to a work camp, which was far more productive and reformative than letting people waste away in dungeons. The next hero gave a speech before attempting to use his sword, claiming that Aldric was obviously evil from his black mask (he had forgotten that he was wearing it again), and threatened to slay his dragon. That made Aldric angry, so he sent this hero to the work camp as well - he wouldn't allow anyone to menace *his* pet and get away with it. This continued periodically for some time, with every single hero too absorbed in himself to listen to reason. Aldric was forced to tighten security around his borders, and his subjects became increasingly suspicious of outsiders in defense of their beloved king. Mercifully, Theo the prince showed up on Lammas while Aldric was making his traditional candy drop. He had hoped to make a name for himself by defeating the evil dragon king, though through a series of unfortunately hilarious events, had brought his sister the princess Azalea along as well. Azalea was delighted to see the colorful parachutes drifting down from the sky, and even more enamored when she discovered they were carrying sweets. As a result, she refused to let Theo hide her away when he left to confront the dragon king about his evil ways - which were beginning to look less and less evil up close - and accompanied him to the castle. Aldric settled in to play his organ upon his return, working on a song that had come to him while he had been flying on his dragon, and was deep in thought when Theo and Azalea arrived. Theo had wanted to burst in with his sword drawn, but Azalea insisted that they introduce themselves properly and speak to him first, arguing that anyone who cared that much about children couldn't be all *that* bad. Theo had to turn his face in embarrassment while Azalea knocked and asked to see the king, stating their full names and kingdom in the process. It horrified him that his sister had so little sense. As it was, they were shown into the audience hall and announced to Aldric. Upon turning from his organ, he was delighted to discover the most beautiful maiden that he had ever seen curtseying before him. ""Dragon king,"" she said, her voice sweet and clear. ""We have come to implore you to stop your evil ways..."" ""I take care of my people, and I am loved by them,"" Aldric replied, his eyes locked on the beautiful princess. ""Is that evil?"" ""Not at all, your highness, but you keep a dragon for a pet,"" Azalea answered. ""She is a creature of the earth, as much as you or I, and I care for her deeply. Is it evil to love a pet?"" ""No, your highness."" Azalea knelt down on the ground this time, and Theo's face burned red with embarrassment. ""But you dress all in black and wear a mask, and surely that is a reflection of the darkness in your heart."" ""Oh, confound it!"" Aldric ripped off his mask and tossed it aside. ""I have much on my mind, and I forget that I wear it to protect myself while on my rides. I wear black to save myself from worrying about my clothing. Is that evil?"" ""No, your highness."" When Azalea looked up, her eyes were shining with deep admiration. Aldric stepped over to her and helped her to her feet, then stayed for a moment holding her hand as they gazed at each other. Theo saw it all in a heartbeat, and knew that his intended heroics were not needed. A month later, Theo returned home to announce the news of Azalea's engagement to Aldric, and talked freely about how wise and generous the dragon king was. The wedding was a grand celebration, and in the years that followed their children grew up happily as they played freely in the castle and enjoyed riding the dragon with their father. The kingdom was never bothered by heroes again. The end.",1025
 The group of amphibious Uores,"All the blood began to start pumping again, but Soso was still feeling the migraine. her thin serpent form had been tied into knots and swung around by the blunt tail she had. Her bright colored scales still shown irridescently in the alley of the capital city, and yet, despite the mass surveillance, it seemed the government cared more for major crimes against its citizens rather than new arrivals. The group of amphibious Uores stuck around, about five or so, mocking the serpent who had no fangs, no venom, and no limbs. Yes, this one was strong to wrap around a body and cut off circulation, that was an archaic instinct and there was no need for it. There may have been need now, but Soso was tired. She was exhausted, and hung limply from the Uores' arms, mockingly worn as a scarf. ""You know, it's just my luck that the one bit of DNA that took your toxins made you bright and colourful. Huh? You feast on carrion, so you lose what you don't use,"" one tall one said. Soso's body length was longer than he was tall, but it didn't matter. ""My ancestors probably couldn't stomach your kind. After all, you're the type that shows up after we finished the meal. In the wild."" Soso never expected or heard this vitriol before, and somehow worried that it would last. ""She's too tired to talk,"" a female Uore laughed. ""Let's see if we can swim. Soso began worrying again. Swimming was easy with her form, but with her energy drained, it would be a miracle to be able to 'tread' in the water. Soso *did* wish she was venomous, but that was a vestigial function her and her family lost. Her cousin, by some fluke, was born a pale grey/pearl, and was tested. Indeed, his rare condition reverted, and he lost his colour... and gained his venom. Many eons ago, her race was predators. but after a pathogen disease began wiping out their prey, they became scavengers. And some even took to surviving off fungi-like life. She herself enjoyed an occasional blade of the cof-pens, a fungus grown from Rekarm carcasses. As Soso watched the Uores stilt-like legs step through dirt and mud, she felt some sun warm her up a little, giving her a small rush of energy. She picked her head up and saw ahead where the group was taking her. It was to a wooded area. ""You like dead meat so much, you can try dirt."" One Uore sneered. Soso's thoughts began to turn to panic again. A small faint shout was heard. The group stopped in their tracks. ""What was that?"" the tall one said. ""Maybe it's jeeter. Smail finally decided to join in on the fun."" Soso heard the faint call again, ""Hey!"" except it was a little louder. ""That doesn't sound like Jeeter. Sounds like-."" ""C'mon. Let's get going."" the female Uore said, and their pace started to pick up. Soso began to get dizzy from the speed that they sprinted at, nearly twice as fast as the fastest Ciolian serpent could slither. She still had the energy to head her head still, while the Uore that held her bobbed and weeved over dirt and terrain. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~A few moments passed, and the Uores paused to catch their breath. Soso was no biologist or alienist by any means, but she knew the Uores were master sprinters. Covering half a kilometer in two minutes. but they needed time to recover. Lot's of time. ""There. Now where were we?"" ""I hope you remember your way back."" Soso still dangled, but mustering up the courage to finally speak. ""I could smell by way back by the stench you guys left."" One Uore leaned close. They had no sense of smell, which was why... they sometimes gave off horrible odors. ""I can feel the heat from the city. So no worries. I just hope you can navigate your way back. Thelo. Get some dirt. She's feeling hungry."" Soso sealed her lips as she saw one Uore, their long thin tail undulating under the thick coats they wore. This planet was cold to them, and if their temperature fell too low, they would fall into a coma-like hibernation, one that more than simply warming up would fix. In the thin palm of Thelo's hand was a pile of warm dirt. Soso grew confused, however. She smelled the dirt, the rich cool matter and life decompising within, but she smelled something else. One smell she had never smelled before. She turned to the direction they came from. ""Ha, refusing dinner already?"" her holder shook her. ""No, wait. Look at her head."" Soso didn't care that everyone was looking at the eight nostrils lining the frills on her head, above her eyes. They pulsed open and closed, open and closed. A clear sign she was 'latching' on to a new smell. The female Uore seemed to grow concerned. ""Someone's coming."" The smell grew stronger. Now, it carried hints Soso was familiar with. *But what?* A crack sounded overhead. They all looked up to barely see a pebble falling from above. They all looked up, trying to see who dropped the pebble. Another crack of rock against tree, and they all realized the pebbles weren't being dropped from above. They were being thrown... from far away, and hitting the trunks above. Soso focused on the scent again, stronger yet. The tall one marched towards what was possibly the source. ""I see the wind carrying their heat. But I don't see-."" Two forms appeared out of the distance, of two different brownish colours. They both wore colored cloths around their pelvis, obviously from a cooler planet. ""I thought we lost them."" Thelos said. One form stopped, crouched down to grab something, and swung their arm. Soso grew in amazement as the object they threw flew overhead with a *woosh* sound. ""What are they?"" The female began to charge them, ""They don't have armor. They're skin like us. Let's settle this."" Another Uore began to run with the female, ""No, wait. Gaana!"" Gaana charged, but slowed down as she neared them. Relying on the Uore instinct, she leaped with one arm extended ready to grab, and the other arm, reaching behind to rub the venom slime from her back. This venom was known to cause some burning sensations, but if she kept her skin rubbing against her prey long enough, the prey experienced confusion, poor coordination, and sometimes induced sleep. She grabbed the first creature, who reached behind her head, and danced his legs to twist his body. The arm pushed Gaana off her path, and she dove into the dirt. Her venom filled hand never made contact. They both kept running towards the group. ""How are they still running? It's impossible. What are these-?"" Soso's holder dropped her, and she landed gracefully on the ground, reaching down with two regions of her body, then cascading the rest down, suffering no hard impact. The tall one reached down to fetch a stone. ""Let's see how they like it!"" He began to swing his arm, and fell back from the swing, launching the stone in n entirely different direction, his stilt legs unable to steady him. The creatures approached close, and Soso could see what they were. They were bipedal, had slightly thicker frames than the Uores, and were shined like them. *Are they secreting toxins too?* she wondered. They had fur on top of their head. \~\~S\~\~Come to think of it, they were pretty ugly hybrids of two other creatures Soso was familiar with. Thelos began to charge, and one creature reached down and grabbed a log, almost thick as his arms. Thelos stopped in his tracks. He reached under his shirt, rubbed his back, then released his venom on the creature's arm. ""Enough,"" one spoke. The other walked forward to reach Soso. She tensed up, afraid of what they were going to do. ""Relax,"" he said. I'm not dangerous. Soso noted their slick bodies, ""But your venom. Is it...?"" ""It's sweat."" Soso gave a confused look. ""Swehht?"" ""Water. Water and some salt."" Soso relaxed as she was picked up. Normally under any circumstances she would refuse something so shameful, but at this point, she needed help to get back to the city... to her place. The other began to swing the log slowly. She, and the Uores, watched in amazement as he did so without losing balance. ""Now hear up. All of you."" All the Uores stood there. In Shock. ""Police don't care much here, so we will. We catch you all and break your... legs."" They all stood there looking at each other. ""Surely you can't keep fighting! You couldn't possibly have that much stamin-."" The human swung the log, crashing into one of the legs, knocking him over. ""Please, we just barely did a warm-up."" \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~",1485
 John  woke up to an alarm,"John woke up to an alarm blaring in his ear. A few minutes later and he was on his way to work with a coffee and a bagel. It would be a busy day today at the firm, two meetings with clients and a meeting with management. He turned into the parking lot and made his way in. He greeted the young man at the reception desk with a smile and a wave. ""Hey Thomas! Busy day, huh?"" Thomas smiled. ""Hey Jonas! Yeah it's a real doozy."" John continued on into the office. ""Hey Jesse!"", ""Hi Claire"", ""How's it going Jeremy?"", ""Just a bit busy Eli."" They all remembered his name, it was just that none of them heard it the same for some reason. The first year that he worked here they argued about it constantly. ""Hi, I'm John."" John would say. ""Nice to meet you Jason."" They would respond. He would shake their hand, used to this treatment, but someone would always pipe up when they weren't used to it. ""No he said his name was Johnson."" At least they were close. After a while, he would explain the weirdness and just tell everyone to call him whatever they want. John snapped out of his reverie and set his things down at his desk and then made his way straight to the conference room. The first meeting would start in five minutes. He entered the conference room and started shaking hands and introducing himself to the clients. He would just introduce himself as a nickname that someone could understand like J.D, but it still had the same effect. He also found that even if he said his name was something like Robert, what they heard still started with a ""J"", just like he had said his name was John. After four of the five minutes were up he was able to convince the clients to just call him whatever made them comfortable. The meeting started after that. John worked at an upscale architecture and construction firm. He had always enjoyed the look of modern architecture and he needed money, but that was about all that tied him to this job. They talked for an hour about what the clients wanted changed with the designs that they had drawn up in their last meeting and after taking notes and communicating what his team could do, his manager said that they would get the new drawings to them by Thursday. That only gave his team and the other team led by Claire three days to make the changes. It was possible, but it was really pushing it if they wanted to make sure everything was to code and would get a pass from all the regulating bodies. ""Actually,"" He spoke up. ""I think Monday would be best. The drawings will be done by Thursday, but with the extra time we can make sure that everything is up to code and won't be held back by any further delays."" The client seemed angry at the delay at first but when they heard the explanation, they nodded, as it did seem reasonable. ""Just make sure they are back to us as soon as possible."" John nodded. ""Of course."" As the clients left, John's manager came up to him. ""What are you playing at, undermining me like that?!"" John just looked him in the eye and responded calmly. ""I didn't undermine you. I said that the drawings would be done by Thursday, which would make you correct, but that we needed more time to go through regulation, which makes us look more responsible to the client and also makes sure the client doesn't hit further delays and start complaining to you. Plus they will probably end up paying you more now anyway."" He could see his boss getting angrier, but something about John's gaze pierced it and he seemed to deflate. ""Besides,"" John said. ""If you would like to take credit, you can feel free. I am sure you would have thought of it a moment later, I just wanted to make sure the client didn't move the conversation."" John gave him a smile and then they went their separate ways. This is actually how John had gotten his own team. He didn't have the technical skills, but he was good with clients and he wasn't afraid to speak up about what they would really need. This meant that his team never had rushed deadlines. Most of the people from Claire's team had tried to switch a while ago, since anyone else who spoke up in front of the boss, Claire included, got shot down. They had terrible deadlines for the longest time until John recommended that Claire's team become something like a sub-team of his. She would keep him informed and he would negotiate for them at meetings and keep them informed and, more importantly, keep them from getting steamrolled. John knew that him and his boss had a good relationship. He respected John and John respected him. His boss had a stressful job and whenever someone screwed up, he was the one who got chewed out, not the one who screwed up. Since John always kept that in mind, his boss respected his decisions, knowing that he would keep the boss from getting in trouble with a client due to missed deadlines and since John would be the one advocating for the time extension, he was the one who heard the complaints from the clients, rather than his boss. John sent out the email to his team about the deadline and then grabbed his notepad and things from his desk again and made his way back to the conference room. This would be the first meeting with this client, so there would be a lot of notes to take. He also had his lead architect come with him to help him advocate what would be reasonable to build and give better estimates of how much things would cost and how much time things would take. Before he went into the meeting, his boss stopped him. He noticed that his boss was avoiding eye contact. ""Listen Jones. I don't want you pissing off this client. You leave the talking to me or I will bring it up at our meeting with management and get you fired."" John was taken aback. Maybe he didn't have the relationship with his boss that he thought he did. They entered the room and met with the client. It was just one man that looked to be in his early forties. ""Are you sure you don't want your lawyers or project managers or anything involved? Even an assistant?"" John's boss asked. The man chuckled. ""I have been doing this long enough to know my fair share of how it works and I find that getting too close to people distracts me."" They let him have his way and John shook his hand. ""Nice to meet you, I'm John."" The man's sure grip faltered and he actually stumbled backwards, his eyes wide. John looked at him confused. ""I haven't heard that name for mil-"" He cut himself off with a cough and a look at John's boss. ""I haven't heard that name in years."" John's boss looked at him, just as confused as John. ""Jones isn't that uncommon of a name."" The client chuckled again. ""I suppose that is what you would hear. We should talk afterward."" He handed John a card. It was very old and had just a name and a number on it. ""Leon Davids - (555)555-555."" John nodded and they carried on with the meeting. Leon had a very strange request for something of a large studio mixed with a large workshop. It was expansive. ""I think we can get this wrapped up for you by next Friday."" He shook hands with Leon, but John spoke up. ""Actually, I'm afraid this might take a bit longer than that. You have a lot of detail in these pillars and the odd shape of this extension here,"" John pointed. ""Will make things a bit complicated. My lead architect is here and he says that my team should be able to get it done by the end of the month, but if you don't mind I would like to take another week after that to make sure everything is structurally sound and up to code and regulation."" Leon took it well. ""I thought so much. I used to do a bit of construction in my time and it would have taken me a while to do this. I was thinking you were some team of geniuses or something. Thank you for being honest, I can deal with the wait."" Leon made his way out, but John's boss was fuming. (Part 2 coming as soon as I get done with class)",1473
 Stacy Elephant has Eidetic memory since,"""An Elephant never forgets, Stacy,"" my Dad, John Elephant, always told me. That was before he got killed hunting a jaguar. The jaguar wasn't even the thing that killed him - he died falling into the pit meant for the jaguar when one of my idiot tribe forgot to tell my Dad about the trap. I've had Eidetic memory since I was born. Because I remember that too. It was traumatic. Perfect recall and perfect analytical ability would've been the ultimate ticket to fame and luxury back in the Civilized Era, before the End Times came. Now it just made me a depressed barbarian. I was out gathering plants one day, because that was the only thing my weak frame could do. The sprawling vegetation taunted me, flourishing now without human cities to contain it. The jungle was dangerous, and the best niche I could fill was learning from everything my family line had passed down. Which food was safe to eat? Which plants would kill you? Where was the quicksand and how did you get out of it? But I'd also learned about computers and how to build one in theory. I was told about the cars, and phones, the amazing food. And when I had children, I would eventually pass that knowledge down to them. We were the Elephants, the last remaining hard drive of human knowledge from a bygone era. ""Stacy!"" I didn't have to turn my head to know who that was as he crashed through the vegetation. I brushed sweat off my forehead and bent down to examine the moss spreading up a boulder. ""How are you, Chad?"" Chad bounded in front of me with a big sloppy grin on his face. ""I killed a big animal today! I skin alive and give to you as present!"" ""No thanks, Chad,"" I said. ""Also, careful for that patch of quicksand. We're pretty deep in the jungle. You should head back, it's not safe here."" Chad sidestepped the quicksand, frowning. ""You no like big dead animal?"" I tried not to roll my eyes. Chad wasn't the brightest, but humans had always been really good at reading social cues. It wouldn't do to offend our village's most useful hunter. Say what you will about Chad, he knew how to kill animals better than anyone, and had the brute strength to back it up. I brushed past some vines, picking some bright medicinal flowers and yanking Chad away from touching the big pink frog. I swear, they were getting bigger every year. It was getting dark when I noticed a rock formation just up ahead. Dragging Chad away from a piranha invested stream, I marched over to check it out. ""This fell from sky many moons ago,"" Chad said almost reverently. ""How did you know that?"" I asked. I never saw that happen, or I would've remembered it. ""My great great grandad said his great great grandad said..."" ""Okay, I get it,"" I said. ""It's old, possibly even older than civilization. Especially if your great times twenty grand dad just figured it must have come from the sky. Let's take a look."" The rocks were strange. I'd never seen anything like them, and nothing in my vast library of knowledge mentioned anything with this texture and consistency. Knowledge and analysis were both good, but they gave rise to the refinement of a third skill that people didn't often acknowledge. Instinct. And now my instincts were screaming that something was off here. The jungle pretty much died around this rock. Radiation? ""Chad!"" I yelled. Where had he run off to? ""It's not safe! Rock no safe!"" ""Stacy!"" I heard a voice yell. ""Pretty pictures!"" I cursed. A small bit of radiation wouldn't kill us, I supposed. I followed the sound of his voice and received the surprise of my life. In the center of the ruins, a metal tablet lay on the ground. By the angle, it looked like it had been embedded in another rock formation that lost the battle to Father Time. ""What are these?"" Chad said in wonderment, tracing his fingers over the hieroglyphic pictures engraved into the metal. My mind whirled and churned. Of course, it all made sense. If this rock had come from the sky, it could've been a meteor site from even before the human era. There were pockets of uranium embedded in the rock, and by knowing the halflife of uranium and extrapolating what was left, I could date this to even before the original cavemen. The symbols themselves were alien. No human language produced those symbols to my knowledge, and no metal we made looked like that. I ran over to where Chad was still stroking the metal tablet and began analyzing the language. We came back every day, Chad and I, so much so that I was worried that he was neglecting his hunting duties; apparently he had killed a few animals too many and was being told to take a break. ""I cracked it,"" I whispered one day, sagging onto my back. ""I did it!"" ""Oh no!"" Chad said sadly. ""Where crack? Maybe I fix."" ""No, no,"" I said. ""I figured out the language! I'll try to translate it."" And translate I did. And it nearly broke me. ""It's a warning, Chad,"" I said. My brain was on fire. ""It's a warning from an alien race."" ""Alien?"" He said, frowning. ""Of course, how could I not see it before?"" I wondered. ""The fermi paradox, the dark forest paradigm, it all makes sense now. There's a civilization out there that keeps sending us back to the dark ages every time we try to become a spacefaring civilization. Except they messed up somewhere else. This tablet tells of a war in the stars, like...some star wars! Another civilization gained power and are threatening them, and they tried to warn us! But we didn't find this in time before we got destroyed."" ""Big words, Stacy,"" Chad said. ""Slow down!"" I looked out into the jungle. It was getting late. ""We need to remember this, or it will just happen to us again."" A million scenarios played out in my mind. Synapses fired like machine guns, planning and forseeing millions of possible futures and outcomes. ""This could be a trap. We don't know. All I know now is that my genes are needed. But how do I ensure that my genes will definitely get passed down to the point where civilization can flourish?"" I looked at Chad. The greatest hunter, graced with the best musculature and survival instincts. Then there was me, with Eidetic memory and perfect analytical ability. ""Chad. We need to make babies.""",1112
 The best/easiest way to,">*Well, the best/easiest way to conquer the world would be to own the banks. Like all of them. Once you own the banks, you own the world. If you can get an in with the Military-Industrial Complex in the US as well as all the big energy producers you'll definitely have a leg up to this silly 'world-domination' thing. Is this for minecraft or something? lol not a gamer, obvi* I finished typing my reply and hit enter. Reddit was so dumb sometimes, but the r/AskReddit sub was one of my favorites to lurk and comment on. Sometimes the questions were dumb, but this one was interesting. Especially after I got to thinking about how exactly would someone take over the world. >*And if you really want to increase your the timeline of your take over - you need to cause a huge event that paints you in a good light. Think like 9/11 style event and what the US did to Afghanistan and Iraq. Or like all those Left Behind books where like 2/3 of the population just disappeared. It was almost easy after that for the anti-Christ to take over. The biggest thing to any world takeover would be how quietly you did it though.* I quickly added to my original comment. There that was a good answer. ""Brett! Hey, how are those TPS reports coming?"" my boss asked, peeking his head around the corner of my office. ""Almost done, Steve. Just need another hour or so to polish up and I'll have them on your desk,"" I replied, closing the browser and getting back into Excel. Reddit break for the day was over. === I didn't think much about that silly ask Reddit question over the next few years. I was busy living life. I got married, had a kid, life was good. I didn't even mind the perpetual TPS reports I had to do for work. It wasn't a bad life, and the job was easy with a good raise every year. No, I didn't think much about my glib Reddit answer until this morning when I saw the following headline: >**WORLD CORP. TO CONSOLIDATE WITH CHASE, DEUTSCHE & ICBC** *Huh, that's weird*, I thought as I skimmed the article. Three huge banks merging shouldn't have been legal, should it? Then about halfway through the article, I read: >Readers will recall that World Corp. had previously consolidated all of the major Chinese banks last year. This is in addition to the fact that under their Wells Fargo umbrella they had consolidated most of the U.S. banks. While a pending lawsuit in the U.S. federal courts was quickly called for, it was settled privately last year. Suddenly, I was worried about just what World Corp. was up to. I still didn't think about my Reddit post from a few years prior, although something was clearly tickling my memory. That day, I didn't get any of my TPS reports done. All I did was google to see what other assets World Corp. had been acquiring over the years. It was chilling, to say the least. The worst part, not a single mainstream media outlet was reporting on the fact that it was so worrying that one corporation had access to this amount of money and power throughout the world. Sure, there were a couple of subreddits full of conspiracy theorists railing against a take over by World Corp. but nothing beyond that. I began an excel spreadsheet that day, tracking the largest banks and other corporations in the world, and when they eventually got bought out by World Corp. Less than a year later, all of the top fifty corporations were now under the World Corp umbrella. When I realized that, my blood ran cold and I actually shivered. Something extremely terrifying was going on here. Then my phone rang. I looked at it, not recognizing the number. Normally, I wouldn't answer, but something told me I needed to take this call. ""Hello?"" ""Hello, Brett. Or do you prefer iamthetortiedog?"" a bright voice on the other end asked. I gulped. iamthetortiedog is my Reddit username. How would they know that? I didn't post that often on Reddit, nor had I ever been doxxed. ""Who is this?"" ""Oh, how rude. My name is Lisa Pranelli, I'm head of operations for World Corp. and was wondering if you'd like to come in for an interview?"" ""An interview? For what?"" ""For a job, of course! My boss is dying to meet you after all."" I had chills again, my hands felt cold. Something was wrong here, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out exactly why they were contacting me. ""Doing what?"" ""Special advisor to the CEO. I'm sure you've heard of us? Our CEO David Spotshine has been all over the news lately. You might better know him as gimmethesungimmethespot."" I frantically searched through my Reddit post history and there it was. gimmethesungimmethespot had asked: >If you had the time, money, ability, how would you take over the world? And I had stupidly answered. ""Brett? Are you still there?"" Lisa asked. ""Listen, I get it if this is out of the blue, but you give *great* advice. And Mr. Spotshine wants to be able to pick your brain whenever necessary."" Her voice was warm and encouraging. My office was warm, it was summer after all, but my entire body felt frozen. I looked at the follow up to my first comment. Fuck, had I really suggested he cause some sort of catastrophic human event? What kind of fucking psycho was I? ""Brett? Mr. Johnson?"" Lisa tried again. I tried moving my mouth, I tried making words, but all I could think of was the fact that World Corp. had followed my blueprint. Another google search and I found that not only did they own most of the major banks in the world, but they owned Lockheed Martin, Boeing, Raytheon, and Northrop Grumman, all huge military contractors. Walmart, Sinopec, Shell, ExxonMobil, Apple. All the top companies in the world and they were owned by World Corp. The list went on and on. What the fuck had I done? ""Brett, really, it's all fine. I'll tell you what. We'll send a car, okay? You just hop in and we'll pop you over to headquarters and you can have your chat with Mr. Spotshine."" I nodded but didn't respond verbally. I didn't move. I couldn't move. How did my good little life turn into this? How did *I* become the monster? ""Great, see you soon, Brett!"" Twenty minutes later, the receptionist knocked on my office. ""Brett? Hi! You have a visitor."" I looked up to see a man built like a Mack truck standing behind the receptionist. ""I'll need you to come with me,"" he murmured as the receptionist backed away and scurried back to her desk. I stood up, resigned. What was done was done. Now I just had to figure out how to either live with myself or bring it all down from the inside. **Edit:** a word",1179
" There was fear, panic and despair","*What do you remember?* *Smoke. Noise. A roar. Like charging locomotives on each side, howling and thundering past your ear.* *Rushing air, and that plummeting sensation in your stomach, initially reminding you of that first long drop on a roller coaster, but it didn't stop, didn't abate just kept going and going and going. There was fear. Panic. And something else. Despair? No. Something like loss, something like an overwhelming sense of failure. For something.* *Or someone.* *Flashing lights and twisting dials, heavy turbulence and the striking and flashing of lightning, almost blinding.* *Planes don't normally go down in storms like that.* *But small planes with thin wings and dirty cockpits, and smelling vaguely of tobacco and sweat, alone in the sky and through the storm. A sense of urgency, growing and growing, competing with the terror brought on by the plummet. I can remember vaguely thinking at least it's only me here. Only one person in the plane. Only one corpse to be found in the wreckage.* *But beyond that? There's little there. Where am I?* *Who am I?* There's a man with some kind of bizarre headdress leaning over me, a thick coarse beard dangling down from a worn and lined face. A strange necklace of colored plastic holds around his neck, clinging together in some weirdly unappealing way. His eyes are an icy grey, and he's muttering something, dabbing my forehead with some kind of wet cloth. It smells like...something...but I'm not sure what. I can smell. And feel, that's for certain. Pain. When he sees my eyes open he takes a step back, and mutters to himself, grabbing a cup of some foul smelling liquid and forcing it into my hand. There are aches and pains everywhere, bruises and sour tinges with each movement. It hurts. It hurts so badly I can't help but moan rather than speak. Not sharp, but constant, everywhere and in everything, tingling nerves and pushing and pulling muscles together. Like I've been worked over with a sledgehammer, hitting every joint and limb. ""Where am I?"" The question is simple, but the man doesn't answer. He holds the cup. It's made of rusted iron, folded and crude. Insisting. What in the hell is he wearing? Rags and metal? Torn fragments and pieced together garments. Skins and cloth, like some kind of - of what? Some guy with the fashion sense and resources of a guy marooned on an island? ""Who are you?"" I ask again, with more force, or at least as much can be gathered. The pain wracks, and instead of a demand it comes across as a whimper. He shakes his head. He holds the cup. I take it. One sip and I immediately regret it, a thick, foul tasting something with a chalky texture. Vinegar, or something else. No idea what. I try to stand, and my legs scream in refusal. There's a long stick tied to the right, and I can see angry black bruises on my hands. What's happening? Where am I? Another man enters the tent, and motions for the other to leave. The old man bends and almost scrapes, bowing and backing away. Out of respect, I guess, but this is so bizarre, so surreal its hard to believe. He's holding something. A stick. With some metal point lashed to the top? A spear? ""Can you,"" I begin to ask, but the pain is too much, and I can only grunt and lay back onto the ground. Reeds. Or hay. Something beneath me. Soft, but the ground beneath it remains unyielding. Not a bed. Not in a real building. ""Don't speak,"" the man says. It's accented slightly, flavored with something I don't recognize. Above me, the shack appears to be made of twisted and folded metal, weaved together and patched with mud and dirt. A sign. ""San Diego,"" I say. The man stands tall, with shaggy unkempt hair and broad shoulders. His nose is hooked, his eyes dark as flint and a mouth in a permanent strained expression of concentration. My words cause his eyes to narrow, his forehead to furrow. ""What did you say?"" ""The sign. It says San Diego."" Something to look at. Something else to focus on, beyond the constant and throbbing pain. Monkeys are clashing cymbals behind my skull, and the constant throbs only seem to be getting worse. ""Did you steal it?"" It's the kind of sign you see on the interstate, impatiently waiting for your exit to finally show up. But we're not on the side of the road. I don't hear any cars. I don't hear any planes. Come to think of it, there's barely any sound, besides the thin whine of wind through the hut, and voices murmuring somewhere outside. *That can't be right. I was in a plane. Going...somewhere. To do something important. But I can't remember what?* He approaches warily. ""You wear strange clothes,"" he says. ""Manufactured, the old ones would say."" ""So do you."" Except not manufactured. Nothing you'll pick up from amazon, anyway. Same rags. Same skins. Same hint of savagery. ""You came from the sky,"" he says. A hint of awe and mistrust, but something else, of opportunity. Like he's searching for something from me. ""A plane,"" I say. ""A legend,"" he says. He pulls out a long green sign, a street sign. ""The markings on your fallen star had letters like this."" He points, marking each letter one by one. ""It says Derbyshire Street,"" I say. He looks at me like I've grown horns, or something equally preposterous. ""Please,"" I say, confused, and with a growing sense of unease. ""I need a doctor. I need to go to the hospital."" ""No hospitals. No doctors."" He says it with the kind of certainty that immediately takes me aback. Not crazy. Not delusional, not tinged with frantic insanity. Certainty. Honesty. Truth. *What happened?* *You were flying somewhere. Somewhere important. To stop...something. Or someone. Which was it? Where was it?* *You crashed.* *Lightning, I think. Or was it?* *Maybe something else. Or someone else.* ""You're not the only one,"" he says, and he comes to my side, and begins to lift me up. I want to fight, to protest, but all I can manage are groans and fight off whatever urge to scream I can. He helps me, hobbling out. And out there. There. In the world. A blue sky, trees, birds, songs and rising campfires. Other ramshackle structures, and dirty men and women and children once going about their business, turn to look at me. All dressed in those same rags. With various primitive implements. What's happening? What's going on? *You had to go somewhere. To stop something from happening.* And in the distance, I see it. An office building, intertwined with vines and broken windows. Stores, homes, and eventually it comes together, like looking at puzzle pieces and their places magically coming together. This was a city. This was a place. An interstate sign hangs, dead and forgotten from a withered pole. *San Diego,* it says. *I can see the asphalt and the broken glass, the corpses of cars on the side of the road and scorch marks on the metal. Trees and weeds and roots and grass everywhere, poking through every hole, in every place, through the shacks and the grass. In every direction, there's familiarity, but it's so alien. Why is it so hard to believe my own eyes? ""What happened?"" I ask. It's a stupid question. An obvious one. ""We need you to tell us,"" the man says. If he doesn't know, why is he asking me? And the fear. It returns. The roar. The scream of failing engines, and the blinding flash of lightning. ""There are others like you,"" he says. ""From long ago. Who come from the storms. Fall from the sky. Some live, most die, but they know. Can help."" He's talking. Speaking. Explaining. What it is, I can't focus, I can't think, there's worms and eels slithering in my brain and guts and there's just so much, so much overwhelming every sense. I'm tired. My head begins to swim, the throbbing and ache only getting worse. ""We need your help,"" the man says, as I begin to lose consciousness. Being tugged into a murky waters through the shock, through the gut wrenching certainty I had something to do with this, with this place, with the decay and the natural reclamation all around. Its me. I think. Or do I know? Why can't I tell? Why can't I remember my name? But there are no more words from him. Only the lightning. The roar. The crash. Then silence. But something else...something in the dark, hidden behind a pillar or wall or vague emptiness, my own voice. Crawling, hunting, swirling, lazy and disinterested. *You came through the storm. You came through the storm to stop the storm. And there's still time.* *There's still time.* Added a part 2! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me (will probably get a part 2 of this out soonish) r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others",1516
" Alexander the Wise, Gwenn the","They stood at the edge of the ancient volcano, dead these past 10,000 years. They were the very best of the best, champions from their respective realms: Alexander the Wise, the most powerful techno-mage of the Eastern Collective, Gwenn the Shadow, the deadliest assassin from the secretive Highland Empire, Archibald the Tireless, a fighter whose technique and stamina were already the stuff of legends hailing from the Eternal Archipelago, and Anastasia the Dreaded, the voice of the Death god Nilgesh. They were drawn together by ancient prophecies that foretold the awakening of a great ancient evil that would seek to upturn all of the world's laws and norms, a force that would shatter bonds and throw societies into untold chaos. Only the mightiest of the mighty could hope to challenge such an primal force. As the planets aligned over head a great shaking took hold of the land, but the champions stood firm. As the stars aligned over head a great and mighty wind roared across the land, but the champions stood firm. As the migration of the ley lines converged in a terrible fury above the ancient volcano and drew back the veil between the here and the beyond the Champions merely redoubled their resolve. A great flash bathed the land in the light of a dozen dozen suns and when their vision cleared the champions saw before them the culmination of ten millennia of prophecy... and they were a bit unimpressed. The figure barely five feet in height with a slight frame and no apparent weaponry. ""This... thing is what our wisemen and shamans feared?!?!"" roared Archibald, his hands angrily gripping the great sword Soul Cleaver. ""This is what drew me from the sacred duty of guarding the Archipelago from the Watchers from the Deep? A barely blooded boy from my tribe could dispense with this...thing without breaking a sweat."" ""Perhaps its power lies not in the physical but the magical."" Alexander mused in his high pitched, nasaly voice. ""Scanning all known magical frequencies now."" His cybernetic eyes piece scrolled through a range of colors as it swept over the figure of prophetic doom. ""Hmmmm, no sign of any ambient magic that I can detect. Which is odd considering just how much magical potential converged when those ley lines intersected. Why I imagine that if someone could capture such a convergence again-"" ""Enough of your prattling mage,"" Gwenn cut in. ""We came here to do a job so let's do it and send this one to Anastasia's God."" ""I'm not sure my God would want him. He hardly seems a worthwhile sacrifice worthy of my god's attention."" Anastasia deadpanned. The banter was broken by a malevolent laugh from the figure. ""Such petty and narrow minded thoughts from what I suppose are the Champions sent to stop me."" The figure's voice was equal parts arrogance, contempt, and pity. ""Strength of arms, magic, gods...What power do they have over the the most powerful force in the universe?"" ""Which I am pretty sure is magic."" Interrupted Alexander. ""You see about 300 years ago the great mage Arzangle hypothesized-"" ""Silence!"" The figure boomed, its voice resounding throughout the land. ""Your pitiful powers will be no match for what I bring to this world. Your societies will crumble and tear themselves apart. Your social orders will disintegrate in the face of the powers I am imbued with. All will be chaos, all will be overthrown."" ""And just what is this power that can overcome might, magic, and the gods?"" asked Gwenn ""Why the very thing might, magic, and the gods cannot strike: ideas. I will spread among the people of the lands the insidious idea that they shouldn't bend their knees to popes and kings. That the wealth of the rich is for all, from the basest peasant to the highest prince, equally distributed. That the divine ought not rule through the threat of violence. And, most destructive of all, that men and women are equals and should not be forced to conform to their allotted positions in life. Bwahahahaha!!!"" Lighting split the land, thunder boomed in the distant, and a malevolent flock of crows wheeled over head. The Champions were silent. ""Really? That is your big plan?"" asked Archibald. ""No deadly plague? No swarm of flesh eating locusts? No unstoppable legion from hell?"" Inquired Alexander. ""Not even zombies?"" Anastasia looked downcast. ""Such things can be overcome by the very powers mortals posses. But what can you do in the face of such revolutionary and disruptive ideas? Your societies' dooms are all but sealed."" The Champions exchanged glances. ""So do you want to tell him Archibald? Because I sure as hell don't want to get Alexander going on a historical tangent here."" Gwenn said, barely suppressing a giggle. ""What are you talking about? Tell me what?"" The figure's arrogance and self assurance seemed to deflate at the the Champion's lack of concern. ""Those things you spoke of. Well... we sort of already have them."" Archibald sheepishly reported. ""WHAT!?!?!"" ""The whole sharing of resource, egalitarian secular society thing you were going for? Well, we've had that for about a thousand years now. Heck, my wife makes more money than me teaching at university, a CO-ED university mind you, than I do guarding against the Watchers from the Deep."" A note of pride permeated Archibald's voice when he spoke of his wife. ""My church is strictly voluntary. We have no business with governments and the very thought of trying to interfere would send many of my order to the fainting caskets. We pride ourselves in our pure devotion to Nilgesh and eschew more secular matters."" Anastasia proudly declared. ""And thanks to our advances in techno-magery we can provide adequate support for all members of the Collective. All of our citizens can pursue whatever gives them the most self actualization without fear of want or hunger. I, myself, could just have easily become a farmer or miner instead of a techno-mage, but I wanted to give back to my community as much as it has given me."" Alexander state matter-of-factly. ""To do otherwise would be simply monstrous and callous."" ""And the order of assassins I belong to has long welcomed both men and women into their ranks. As long as you can kill efficiently and quietly you are well respected, doesn't matter what you've got between your legs."" Gwenn said as she gave her quantum knife a little wiggle. ""All in all I'd say you are at least a thousand, if not two thousand years too late."" ""What? No! This is impossible. I was prophesied to upend the very root of the World's culture, to drive it into chaos and set man against man, brother against brother, daughter and against mother...What you say is impossible! You are trying to trick me since you will be unable to overcome the power of my ideas!"" ""Hey, believe what you want. As far as I'm concerned this whole prophesied doom was a big waste of my time."" Archibald sheathed his sword and started back down the volcano to the plains below. ""And during finals too, my wife won't let me hear the end of this. If she asks can you guys say we killed, I don't know, like a big dragon or demon or something. I promised her this was a big world saving deal and if she finds out we ended up with this schmuck I will be doing the dishes for the next month."" ""I think the less we speak of this the better. It is really rather embarrassing all around. Though it was a pleasure to meet all of you. If you need an funeral arrangements made please keep Nilgesh in mind, we have very competitive rates."" Anastasia then stepped into a shadow and vanished. ""Well back to the Academy for me then. At the very least this should make a fascinating topic for a research paper. I can see it now: 'Fluctuating social norms as contrapositioned to ancient (5,000+ years) prophecy: a field study'. Yes, I am very much looking forward to that"" Alexander mused. ""Gwenn, care for a ride back north?"" ""Well, if your offering who am I to turn down a free ride."" Gwenn said as she saddled up to Alexander. ""Well, I can't say it was very nice meeting you...?"" The figure looked up mournfully: ""Visslowzos the corrupter, breaker of bonds, sower of chaos, Champion of-"" ""Yeah, I don't actually care. Let's blow this joint four eyes."" And in a flash the last of the Champions vanished, leaving Visslowzos the Corrupter, Breaker of Bonds, Sower of Chaos, Champion of something or another, alone on a long dead volcano, contemplating just how out of touch and obsolete he had become. &#x200B; *Edited because I suck at spelling, apparently.*",1465
 A young man with tousled,"Above, the clouds are low, heavy and fat with rain, tumbling their way over the wood and farther away. A young man with tousled hair and dark eyes makes his way to a graveyard, afraid of what he'll find. *What was that?* He's confused, and somewhat afraid. Not of being alone, no, for now that seems the best and only course to figure out what exactly is going on. He's afraid of others, and what happens whenever he attempts to conjure his 'animus'. Mother's was a cornflower blue blanket, thick and warm, something he could wrap himself in when the snows began to pile up outside their ramshackle hut. A luxury in a place where sheep come rare, and quality linen even more so. Father's an axe, for biting deep into wood and splitting logs for sale at market. Long, beautiful handle, a strong heft and easy swing. Overhead, chunk, beautiful split. And his...his wasn't one thing, or any specific thing. His birthday came and went, and nothing seemed to come. The boy prayed for many things. A sword to distinguish himself as an adventurer, or maybe a lyre to bring music. A whip for cattle, a bucket for milking goats, something, anything of use. Instead he summoned an axe, a waraxe, single bladed with a thin handle and vicious curve, coated in blood, and to his horror, brain and bone. Dark hair strands sticking to the edge. Dark as his father's hair. He'd been standing before his father, hoping and waiting, and he'd sat there, telling him to be patient, always to be patient. *""Big world out there, son. It could be anything. Even a crown,""* the voice of a man who rumbled rather than spoke. Preposterous, to be sure, but still the boy hoped the hidden hope he was something important and beyond his village life. You could get something arcane, something mystical, a constantly refilling pouch of gold or a wineskin that never truly empties. Instead the axe. Coated in gore. When he turned to his mother, it shifted in his hand, turning into several hideous gray globs of something organic that slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and a word he'd never known came to mind. *Tumors. Tumors. They grow in the belly until there's nothing left.* So he made his way to the graveyard, afraid of what he'd find. The gate screams open as he forced the rusted gate to break way. It smells like rain. The headstones are carved of wood, though the richer souls seem carved from common stone. Names. Years. Dates of birth, death, and family and kin. And at the very bottom, their method of death. He stands before one, worn and weathered by time and wind. Something Tomkins, it reads. Years of life, and a sentence at the bottom. *Murderer.* *Hung by the neck until dead.* He stands there, summoning his animus through that strained concentration, and holds his right hand before him. A noose. A dull sense of not dread, not horror, but confirmation. *No. Not that. I don't want to be one of them.* The next headstone. *A work accident in a lumberyard,* he guesses, the though the words are flowery. A bloody log appears in his hand, not the full length, but a silenced edge coated in hair and blood. Must have smacked him in the head. He goes from plot to plot, from grave to grave, each method the same as the other. Dead. Method of death. Dead. A bone. A sword. A rope. A glass rum bottle. Long copper wire. A meat pie dripping with gravy and butter. He knows. He knows those that wander from village to village, from kingdom to town to city, proclaiming the ability to recognize one's death, and the evil that follows. You can catch glimpses of them, riding pale horses, the townspeople giving way, afraid of coming too close. Is it his touch that seals the fate? Can the method be prevented? The boy isn't sure, but he's heard enough stories and tales about men trying to escape their deaths, only to cause them. He hated those stories more than any other. It seemed each doomed individual was himself, trying to outrun...outrun what? Something. But no. He didn't want to be one of them. Not one of those. *It's a life of isolation, of fear and constant vigilance. Do you show the method, do you reveal the future, do you walk among the bones and tell the only fortune that comes certain? That there's a clearing at the end of the road, a headstone with your name on it?* There's a peal of thunder, a rumble in the sky. Up and away, past the hills and trees, in the direction of his home, an oily black smoke seems to be rising from the sky. *The axe. The axe coated in the blood and brain of his father.* That dull panic, and the realization he's far away, maybe an hours walk, though he doesn't know how far he has to run. So he leaves the graveyard, the iron hinge screaming behind him. *Run,* it screams, *Run all you want boy, it's too late. The wine is spilled, the cats out of the bag. You saw the axe, as did he. You both know what it means.* And begins to run down the path below. Frantic. He's panicking, and under his breath he whispers *no, no, no* but doesn't know it. Doesn't want to know it. A gravemind, a lich, a man in dark robes with blacker prophecy. On each side of the path, the trees blur by, his steps sticking and flopping through muck, clods of dirt flying in every direction. The boy pumps his arms, the man shifts his feet, the boy takes deep horrible breaths and the man jumps to the worst of conclusions. *Hold out your hand, reach, and I'll show you how it comes. A cough, a blade, an accident or a slip down an abandoned well. Come and ask. Come and see.* His chest is on fire, and he runs with the frantic energy of a man certain but uncertain of his fate. Afraid of what he'll find. Posted a part 2! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others",1054
 Every year in remembered history my people,"Every year in remembered history my people select one individual to be sacrificed to the Elder Gods, the great and all powerful deities who are said to reside many miles beneath our sacred temple. Even as our society grew and evolved spiritually, technologically, and culturally, the tradition of The Sacrifice is one of the few that has *never* been forgotten or abandoned. This year, the great honor had fallen to me. And I was... not thrilled about it. ""Noooooooooo-no-no-noooo! Big, big-- *huge* mistake here my dudes!"" I stuttered as two abnormally muscled priests dragged me by both arms toward the site of the sacrifice. The perfectly uniform drag marks being left by my two feet in the dirt behind me were only interrupted when I kicked and squirmed every 10 seconds or so. ""You guys! You guys are being silly, you think *I'm* worthy of being sacrificed to the Elder Gods? I'm a loser! A stoner! I've never studied the sacred texts for a moment of my life! I-- I fibbed my way through every class the high priests ever taught. My friend Jenny gave me the answers to the tests! Get it?"" The priests sighed in near perfect unison. ""*We* do not choose, young one."" ""The Elder Gods themselves give us the name to be offered,"" the second priest chimed in. ""We simply ensure that the god's chosen name is selected as the victor of the people's vote once it is complete."" ""Wait... Wait just an Elder Goddamn second here! The election of the sacrificial human that we vote on *every single year* is RIGGED?! Hey people! IS ANYONE A JOURNALIST IN THE CROWD? Anyone? I've got a HUGE scoop for you if you can get me out of this whole sacrifice thing! HUGE scoop! Come onnnn, I can see you all staring at me as I'm dragged past, seriously, anyone wanna help me out? Anyone at all?"" Without exception, the crowd seemed to decline to assist me in any way. But as we reached the sacrificial pit within inner sanctum of the temple, I finally found my moment of hope. My entire family stood at the edge of the pit facing me, with somber, determined looks etched across their faces. Surely they were forming a human chain to prevent my sacrifice! Look, we *all* have our problems with family, but at the end of the day, when you need to get out of becoming Elder God chow, you can always count on fami-- My father grabbed me, interrupting my train of thought. Embracing me tightly, tears formed in his eyes as he opened his mouth to reveal his fatherly wisdom which would surely save me from my deadly fate. ""My boy! My *only* boy! This... is... such a wonderful day!"" ""WHAT? DAD! Do you KNOW what they are--"" ""Frankly, I feared you would never amount to anything, but being THE sacrificial offering of the year 2072? You fill me with such pride! Goodbye, go get 'em tiger!"" he said as he released me from his grasp and slapped my backside as a final 'attaboy'. It turned out the slap on my butt provided just enough momentum to send me tumbling off the edge and down into the sacrificial pit. ""Nottttttt, cooooooool daaaaaaaaaaad!"" my shouted voice echoed up the walls of the pit as I fell. ""AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... ***Deep Breath*** ....AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"" Man... they weren't lying about this pit being 'miles deep'. Once I was out of range of hurling insults back up at my worthless family members, I found there was little left to do on my seemingly endless plummet downward than to scream every obscenity I could think of, and a few I invented myself on the spot! At some point I wished they had sent my computer plummeting down beside me, so at least I could do something productive with all my newfound spare time. The only bright spot of my trip was that I did manage to fit in a good solid nap on the way down, I guess all the screaming had tuckered me out a bit. You might think that the Elder Gods had some kind of elaborate arrival system to ""catch"" their plummeting guests, but... you would be wrong. I impacted a stone floor unceremoniously with all the force you might expect a miles long drop to entail. The fact that I did not perish I suppose indicated the presence of the god's magic, but the pain of the impact was as immense as you might imagine ""AUGHHHHguhhhhh!"" I cried out in pain as several robed and hooded figures surrounded me. ""You're the welcoming party I presume? Hey guys, not to start out on a blasphemous foot, but how about setting out just a couple measly pillows for new arrivals to land on? Is that too much to ask from the 'great and powerful' Elder Gods?"" ""Matty?"" one voice piped up from under one of the hoods. ""Matty! It is you! How you been dawg?"" ""Zo?!"" I exclaimed as I hopped up and embraced my child hood friend Lorenzo. ""Dude, how are you-- how exactly are you still in one piece? You got tossed down here five years ago, why haven't the Elder Gods... you know, devoured your flesh, mind and soul to reinvigorate themselves?"" ""Pshhhh, turns out a lotta the stories our parents told us weren't so true, dude. The Elder Gods seem to get along just fine with us humans. We've spent most of my years just chillin' down here, man. I'm tellin ya, you're gonna love it."" Our reunion was halted as an honest to goodness Elder God entered the room and began speaking directly to me. ""I am the being known as Ulth'gharr. I am charged with welcoming new recruits. I see your human name was Matthew. It was a fine mortal moniker to be sure, however, from hence forth you will be known here as M'hath. Do you understand, M'hath?"" ""Um-- sure,"" I, M'hath, responded. ""But just as fair warning, I was never too good at M'hath. I did better in writing class, ya know?"" The robed humans burst into laughter. Ulth'gharr, the great and powerful being in complete control of my immediate future, did not. That mostly represents how the next several days of our relationship went. I tried to be friendly, but I was immensely confused by my purpose here if I was not to be devoured, and Ulth'gharr was not forthcoming with answers. Finally, after much patient waiting on my part, I demanded them. ""Ulth'gharr, please-- please be honest with me. I've been here a week and I still understand *nothing.* We were taught that you consumed all those humans tossed into the pit to sustain and strengthen yourselves, that we were 'new blood' for you all. Since that it is clearly not the case, what is our purpose to you?"" ""Mmm, 'new blood' is accurate enough,"" he replied. ""But it is not because we devour your soul or drink your literal blood. We require 'new recruits' from the world above to keep things running down here. Also, it gets sooooo incredibly boring seeing the same old faces every day. I've heard Sophia tell the story of the guy who spilled a drink on her at Applebee's about 1100 times in the 30 years she has been with us, ELEVEN-HUN-DRED! I didn't even laugh the first time she told it!"" ""That sounds like torture!"" I said, laughing. ""But-- so Zo was telling the truth? We really just hang out down here? It's all chill?"" ""Oh... no, you misunderstand, M'hath. We had been biding our time, or 'chilling out' as you humans might say, for centuries, but I'm afraid you've arrived just as those 'chill' days are coming to an end. Year by year we have built up our forces with new recruits from the ranks of humans sent our way. You are the final human to arrive, thus your training will be quick, brutal, and thoroughly exhausting. There is little time to waste as I fear the final battle with the twisted and evil Old Ones is nearly upon us. The battle for the actual SOUL OF THE UNIVERSE approaches! Will *you* be prepared, M'hath, Anointed Warrior of the Elder Gods?!"" he bellowed dramatically. ... ""Uh-- do I need like a uniform or somethin' before the fight you mentioned? Y'all are kinda wearin' the same lookin' robes... Is- is there are tailor down here? Who do I see about that? Do they take appointments or is it more a first come first serve kinda deal? You're staring at me with your 80 unblinking eyes like I'm an idiot, was that a dumb-- a dumb question? I'll uh-- I'll just shut up. Erhm-- sorry, uhhhhhhhhh... Now, what were you saying about some kinda battle?"" ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more of my stories. EDIT: I couldn't sleep so I went ahead and wrote a Part 2 of this story on my subreddit for the heck of it. (). If you've already read Part 1, skip down to the bolded Part 2 for the new stuff. Sorry for late night typos/mistakes, but I hope it gives an idea of the direction I'd take this story if anyone's interested in seeing more",1550
 The doors to the Chamber opened in,"My heart thumped loudly in my chest. The doors to the Chamber opened in front of me, revealing complete and utter darkness. I was shoved to the floor of the desolate room. The door shut behind me with a deafening crash. I was alone. I grabbed my knees and pulled them to my chest. I felt a tear fall down my face as I awaited my untimely- well, timely, I guess, depending on context- death. I listened to my quiet sobs. To my surprise, the sound wasn't alone. ""---eeey! Oi! You in there? I know it's the 18th of the Harvest! There's always a new sacrifice!"" The voice echoed through the Chamber. It sounded booming, powerful, yet... attainable. It was surprisingly human, just... *more.* I saw a light in the corner of the room. I shrunk back. ""You coming or what?"" called the voice. The light came closer, and it began to show a bright green. I squinted as a figure came into view. The face... I had seen it before. *Errianos. God of the Living.* His body had an extremely strong build, chiseled features similar to that of an old oak tree. It's no wonder how he got the title. ""Will you get up? I'm not gonna hurt you. Or eat you. Though, I will say, some meat does sound good right now."" A slight smirk spread across his face. After a moment it disappeared again. ""Tough crowd, eh? Whatever. You'll come around. Just c'mon. Regina's making a roast! It's gonna get cold."" *Regina.* The tanner? She was sacrificed years ago! I stood up, the world spinning around me. I followed the body that matched the figure printed on every official document. *This is a dream. This is a dream.* After a fairly long descent, we reached a well-lit room with six other non-godly people in it. One was standing near a stove, the other five were playing a card game known by most soldiers with two other luminous figures. ""Yen, Liliana, Ray... there are six of you. Where are the others?"" Liliana, the old barkeep, shrugged. ""Probably off running errands. Has Erri not explained stuff to you yet?"" *Erri. You have a pet name for one of the Elder Gods.* I shook my head, looking at the God of the Living. ""Right. I was a little busy trying to make you stop moping. You can either choose a life of leisure, as these lovely folks have-"" Relia, Goddess of the Sea, slammed her cards down on the table. ""I was so close to winning!"" she shouted, downing a large glass of wine. ""Rel, you do realize you still can't get drunk, right?"" Yen asked with a hint of concern. She glared at him. ""I know I can't, but I can still damn well try,"" she growled. ""Or, you will be granted godly powers and be our missionary,"" Errianos finished. ""Missionary?"" ""Well, not so much on the whole 'preach our existence' business. It's more so that you're the outward muscle of our godliness. We're a bit lazy, you see? I'd rather enjoy one of Regina's roasts than to go out and crush a rebel religion."" I shuffled my feet a little bit. ""That's a big decision to make."" ""I know,"" he said. ""Why don't you join us for a game of Tem first?"" I glanced at the table. I thought of the days off where I practically had diagnosable cabin fever. Multiply that by eternity? ""So, about that whole mercenary business?"" He grinned. ""I knew you'd come around. That's why I had them bring a blacksmith!"" He raised his hand and a heavenly light poured around me, materializing into a suit of armor. It was made of living wood, as was the sword that appeared, strapped to my back. I felt my ribs, broken before, quickly reform, eliminating the pain. A vine, seemingly of its own accord, whipped out of my left hand and smacked the cards out of the God of Chaos'- Alluin's- hand. He scoffed and grabbed at them from the ground where they fell. ""None of you looked at them, right?"" he asked, annoyed. ""You have some powers, along with your armor and sword."" Errianos smiled. ""I'll let you figure that one out on your own, though."" &#x200B; First try at one of these prompts. Constructive criticism is well-appreciated! EDIT: The story was longer before. I shortened it. Forgot that a detail that was mentioned previously is no longer there! EDIT 2: Oh my goodness this was a lot more popular than I thought it'd be! Thanks for the gold and all the nice words! :D &#x200B; =============================================================== (also posted as a reply to this thread. Don't know the best way to get this out to people!) PART 2: Errianos' words echoed in my mind. ""Since you're still new to this whole business, I'll give you something easy. I just need you to bring this scroll to a neighboring city. Nothing serious, there shouldn't be any backlash."" The same scroll bounced noisily against the back of the suit of armor, making a *thunk* each time it connected, similar to hitting a hollow log. Had it not been for my background as a blacksmith, the sound would have been a lot more annoying than it was. Though it wasn't too bad for me, my companion was not so keen on the noise. Selene, who I knew as a trader a few years back- before she 'died', that is- had a scowl plastered on her face, which only deepened with each bump of the paper against my back. ""Can you *hold* the damn thing or figure out your powers and vine whip yourself ahead?"" she shouted, her frustration finally coming through. I frowned. ""Sorry,"" I mumbled as I unstrapped the scroll. I carried it under my arm. Unfortunately, this meant that my sword was now repeatedly hitting the scroll as I walked. She rolled her eyes. A rather uncomfortable journey later, we finally arrived at the city that Errianos had mentioned. The buildings were relatively short and run-down; it was definitely a lot more populated a while back. It almost radiated a form of defiance; knowing it was on its last legs it decided to hold onto its last breath with everything it had. Apparently going so far as to spawn a few rebel religions in the process. Hence our assignment. Following the instructions, there were a few twists and turns through the failing city before arriving at the door of a rather gloomy cathedral. Selene and I traded a glance. ""I thought this was supposed to be an *easy* assignment,"" she hissed. ""To be fair, he is also a god,"" I piped in. She glared at me. We both unsheathed our weapons. Mine writhed in my grasp, a deadly living edge. Selene's blade was black as night, yet coated in a bright white flame. It matched her set of armor, which had swirls of black, white, yellow, and red. *Coated in chaos, just as I'm coated in life.* We entered the cathedral. The inside was just as old and dilapidated as the rest of the town, though there were figures actively milling about the structure. They wore a deep purple robe with a white eye adorned on the hood, concealing their faces. ""I would like to speak to your leader,"" I shouted, trying to sound as commanding as possible. One or two hoods turned my direction, but they continued on their path. I nudged Selene. She looked at me questioningly. I just shrugged. ""Clearly they aren't listening to me."" ""People of this cathedral,"" she roared. ""You have been sent a message by the Elder Gods themselves- all the glory to Them. I demand to meet the leader of this establishment."" Two people disappeared into a back room. They both emerged with one larger person, wearing a brilliant white robe. Its seams were adorned with purple accents, a golden eye rest on its hood. ""The Elder Gods have not attempted to contact the Visionaries before. What has changed?"" An old voice came from within the robe. Frail, weakened, yet demanded a certain respect. The two figures who walked the leader out disappeared behind us. We heard the door shut, the click of a lock leaving little room for interpretation as to what just happened. ""We know not of the message, simply of the intent,"" Selene growled. ""The Elder Gods have their own purposes. We are the messengers."" I felt my fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword. I put my hand out, offering the scroll to the mysterious leader. He simply gestured to the scroll, and one of the robed figures grabbed it, unrolling it for him to read. A tense minute passed, then two. I saw the leader's posture droop slightly. His poised demeanor dissolved. ""Kill them,"" he growled. Small blades flashed out of the sleeves of the robed figures as they advanced toward us. Whoops. I made it a cliffhanger. There will be a part three, likely tonight! This would have come sooner, but work got in the way. Sorry! &#x200B; EDIT: Part 3 added as a reply to this comment. Too many characters lol",1530
 Officer Penrow crouched near the,"There was a carton of General Tso's chicken slowly spoiling on the corner of the only desk in the hotel bedroom. Next to it was a bottle of beer that had been spilled, the liquid having already dried and leaving an amber stain on the cheap wooden desk, faintly and unpleasantly resembling dried blood. No, if you wanted the real blood, that was just a few meters over, sprayed across the hotel wall. ""Someone tried to clean it, it looks like,"" Officer Penrow said. He was crouched near the wall, steadying himself against it with one purple-vinyl-gloved hand. It was quite the impressive feat considering the man was grossly overweight, but the crouched maneuver was made possible thanks to his low hanging gut, keeping him nicely balanced on his heels as he examined the half-scrubbed blood. ""Smells like ammonia."" ""Out of all the things, the ammonia is what you smell?"" Officer Denbur said. He was rubbing at his temples with his fingers, trying his best to ward off a headache. There hadn't been a single cloud in the sky all day, and the drive from the precinct to the hotel had been hellacious on his eyes. *Like seeing the flash of a camera, but, all of the time,* he had told his wife, the only person with whom he had confided his strange ability to. He had to tell her something, or else risk losing the relationship with the one person who had ever really loved him. Had to tell her why he had to lock himself away in a dark room every night. And the wonderful thing was that she believed him and didn't ask any other questions of it. Well, she didn't really have to ask anymore questions, because she was able to prove his ability by writing him a love letter in invisible ink. The deal was sealed when he read it aloud to her without any help at all. That same love letter he kept tucked away in his wallet, and if anyone somehow managed to steal it, they would have no idea how significant that *seemingly* blank piece of paper actually was. ""Can you turn off the desk lamp?"" Officer Denbur asked the young intern that had been standing in the corner of the room. He had a fuzzy mustache, possibly the only good thing that puberty had granted him. The intern did as he was told, and the portly Officer Penrow scoffed, ""How do you expect to see anything at all in this room?"" ""There,"" Officer Denbur said, pointing towards the corner of the bed. ""Can we get the forensics team to take a sample of that right there? There's some DNA."" ""Really, it's a hotel room. There's going to be *DNA* everywhere,"" Officer Penrow said. ""Right, but that's the freshest one,"" Officer Denbur said. The intern flicked the light back on, and Officer Penrow slowly scooted his way over to the bedspread that Denbur had pointed at. ""You can't be serious,"" the overweight man said. He leaned forward and lightly sniffed it, and then cringed his face. ""Why, just why?"" Officer Denbur said, almost gagging. ""Couldn't help myself."" Officer Denbur excused himself from the room, wanting to separate himself from all of the things attacking his senses, the decomposing body, the blood, the 'sample', and most of all, that rotting chicken. He opened the door and was immediately barraged by the sunlight, all wavelengths of it. He dug through his coat pocket, looking for his specially prescribed sunglasses which blocked out *most* light. The average person wouldn't be able to see a thing through them, but for Officer Denbur, he was able to see just enough, and that's all he wanted to see in order to avoid getting another migraine. He slipped the shades on and made his way down the hotel stairs, heading towards the parking lot so that he could grab a cigarette from the police cruiser. It was there that he saw a strange man leaning up against the car. ""Can I get you to move, sir?"" The man seemed startled, uncrossing his arms and getting up from the police cruiser. He looked at Officer Denbur, and then slowly waved his hand back and forth through the air. Officer Denbur, thinking that the man was mocking him, slowly waved back, and said ""Yeah, bud, I see you. Now can you please step away from the vehicle?"" Without a single word, the man broke out in a sprint directly at Officer Denbur. Denbur didn't have a moment to react before he was tackled to the ground by the strange man. He tried reaching for his service pistol, but the man gripped Denbur's arm and flipped him over onto his stomach, pulling his hands behind his back, yanking them up high. Denbur winced when he felt his left shoulder pop out of socket. He tried to scream, but the strange man knee'd Denbur's back, forcing all the air out of his lungs. Denbur felt the man pull his own cuffs off of him and use them to cuff his hands, and then he felt the strange man patting around in his pockets. And then he heard the man speak, ""Who in the hell are you? How can you see me?"" ""Get, off,-"" Denbur tried to plea, but again the strange man put more weight onto Denbur's back, driving the air out of him. His vision was starting to tunnel, black rose petals slowly started creeping in, and that sharp pain he felt in his shoulder was slowly starting to dull and seem distant. ""Peter Denbur,"" the strange man said, throwing the officer's license out onto the street. ""And what's this?"" Peter Denbur could hear the man unfolding the piece of paper, the message from his wife. ""Someone else knows you can see us?"" the man asked. ""Your love, can she see us too?"" But before Peter Denbur could answer, he had slipped from consciousness. The strange man hoisted the limp Peter Denbur up and over his shoulder with the greatest of ease. To the naked eye, it would've appeared that Peter Denbur was pulling the greatest magic trick of them all. He floated away, back towards the address that was listed on his driver's license. Back home.",1045
" Stanley, a two-dimensional being","""Why are you not getting this?!"" Stanley let out an exasperated 'huff'. I imagined him crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose up, though imagining was all I could do in that moment- the two dimensional being, lacking width, was invisible to me where I was standing. Of course, I was invisible to him as well. Everything was invisible to him, what with his flat eyes wrapped by his flat head and no way to look forward. I tried to imagine what he sees: is it a permanent darkness? Does Stanley see blackness and nothing else? Or does the lack of a dimension result in something... less. A particularly desolate brand of emptiness. A lack of everything, including what anchors I have for the concept of a void. I feel a chill run up my spine - my third dimension has given me everything I know, from the food I eat to the books I read to the people I love. To lack that... in truth, I pity Stanley. Helena shot me a smile. ""Yeah, Stanley, Why aren't you getting this? It's just another dimension! This would be like if a three-dimensional being couldn't understand treingth. That'd just be *ridiculous!*"" Her tone turned jeering as she saw my mind doing somersaults, trying to justify my hypocrisy with understanding. I could not. ""That's different..."" I mumbled. This wasn't working. I concocted a new plan. ""Okay, let's try something else,"" I said to Stanley. I walked towards him, my mind racing. In truth, his existence brought about more questions for me than mine for him. What could he ask? *How do you exist?* Until he understood that, he could not understand the nuances of my existence. What could I ask? Everything. *How can you hear me? How can you move? How can you think?* I was not a scientist, but I knew enough science to know that none of this should work. I positioned myself directly in front of Stanley. ""Walk forward."" He acquiesced, and quickly ran into me. I felt nothing. ""You're in the way,"" he said. *No shit*, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. He could not have known until he ran into me. ""Yes,"" I said, ""but now I am taking one step in the width-direction..."" I took a purposeful step out of the line of Stanley. Helena let out a laugh - my theatrics, in a way, were only for her. ""Now, walk forward again!"" Stanley walked forward, right past me. When I started this task of explaining the third dimension, I imagined the two-dimensional being to look like a cartoon. Looking at him now, I am frozen: he is empty. A void. ""Where did you go?"" He asked. He started moving faster, in an effort to catch up with me. ""Into the third dimension!"" I exclaimed, giving my voice some vibrato at the end like this was a magic act. Of course, to Stanley, it was. ""But *where* did you go?"" Stanley sounded more panicked, as he ran down his one infinitesimally small line in an effort to catch up with me. I should have stopped him, but I did not. I let him run. He became thinner and thinner as he bolted towards the horizon until he seemingly fell out of my existence all-together. I sat down. That void that existed inside of him. Surely Helena saw the same in me. I was desolate. I was nothing. ""You tried,"" Helena said as she sat down next to me, ""it's hard work, explaining existence. That is, in a sense, what you were doing."" I scratched the ground with my hand. I imagined myself petting a four-dimensional cat sitting in front of me. I imagined it rubbing itself against my emptiness, purring. In a sense, it felt like forgiveness from the universe. ""Why can I see you, but Stanley could not see me?"" I asked. I did not want to ask that question. Helena scared me. My entire world was a line in a plane to her. A shade of color in her beautiful mosaic of life. Remove it, and how much lesser would the art really be? She laughed again, ""If you cannot understand treingth, you definitely cannot understand that."" I leaned forward, ""But I *do* understand teringth! It's the same as three dimensions to two! It's just another axis!"" Her smile faded. She put her hand on my shoulder. ""Do you really want to understand what I understand?"" I rested my hand on her's. It was cold. I looked her in the eyes. ""Yes."" She pushed. I hate to describe what happened next. It was a death in its own right, as I watched my existence slip out of my grasp in an instant. I remember tumbling into blackness. I remember a barren landscape, and the cold, and Helena. We had not moved, but the world had moved around us. I instantly understood what had happened: she had pushed me over, out of the world of my own pocket of the third dimension. One line over; one shade darker. I was a step and a dimension away from everything. From all the food and the books and the people. I started crying. ""Bring me back,"" I remember saying through sobs and gasps, ""please, bring me back."" Through my tears I saw Helena's expression change. I saw it in her eyes and her frown. Was that... pity? ""Please,"" I collapsed on the unfamiliar ground, ""I want to go home..."" Then it was over. I opened my eyes to see the familiar surroundings. Helena was gone. I sometimes consider finding Stanley. There are only so many places he can be, as he has only one plane of existence. I could find him, and I could watch him, and he would never know. And, one day, I could push him. I could watch him fall apart, and watch the empty part of him try to beg for forgiveness from an indifferent god. From me. Of course, sometimes I could feel it. A breath on the back of my neck. The shifting air behind me. A hand on my shoulder. And I too begged when I heard her laugh. &#x200B; Edit: Thank you so much for reading and for the replies! I'm so glad that so many people have liked this, and I'm also really enjoying all of the discussion about multiple dimensions that I don't really understand below. In particular, u/phathomthis has linked a video that explains existence up to 10 dimensions in the context of string theory, which is surprisingly easy to understand and a wild ride. Definitely check it out!",1106
 The Pharaoh's scepter or,"Much like a painting in the art museum or a photograph in a magazine that captivates you and makes you cast a second glance, there have always been some artifacts that I just feel drawn towards. The Pharaoh's scepter or an ancient Qin dynasty vase; an aboriginal spear or the flint arrowhead of a Sioux warrior. Sometimes it's hard to put words to the charm, like an impressionist painting where your only connection to its creator is the fleeting notion of what they intended to convey. They lure you in, capturing first your eyes and then your mind and before you know it, you've lost yourself in the history of mankind, wondering who held each item and with what purpose and what emotion. ""What's that one?"" I asked Fred, the ancient curator who must have been as old as some of these artifacts. We often made our rounds together, pacing like two of Darwin's plodding tortoises through the halls and around magnificent galleries. We talked about his life, the story enough to fill several volumes of a biography, and we talked about the items around us, his little morsels of information enough for me to create entire delicacies with my imagination. He glanced around to check that no patrons were near and then stepped towards the case that my finger pointed at. We were in the midst of ancient Mesopotamia, that cradle of civilization. He frowned. There was a vague description; no more than a guess as to whether it was a tool or a trinket or the head of a weapon, and a brief note saying that the origin was unknown. There weren't many items with such an undefined past. The best archaeologists and historians in the world worked ceaselessly to discover and identify ever bit of our history, down to the food a dead caveman had for breakfast before dying. We knew how animals had died tens of thousands of years ago and how people dressed and the reverence they showed to Gods who had not shown their face in millennia. ""I'm not sure, to be honest,"" he said finally, scratching at his thinning white hair. If Fred didn't know, nobody knew. There were very few things that Fred didn't know about this museum and its contents. He was searching through the thick set of keys that dangled from his belt, serving as a little chime to tell you of his approach. ""It might not even belong here. Sometimes we just place the unknown ones with our best guess until somebody comes along with new information and laughs us into putting it where it belongs."" He quietly hummed an old tune to himself as he sorted through the keys before finally settling on one. ""Let's see what we have,"" he whispered, reaching in and taking the artifact out of the case. Only Fred had access to the keys like this. People joked that he owned the museum, or maybe that he had founded it. He had probably crafted a few of those things himself. Maybe the Sioux arrowhead, or maybe he had taken it to the knee and that's why he limped when he walked. ""Is it heavy?"" I asked as he handed it towards me, holding it between two fingers and cupping the other hand beneath it as if it might drip. He nodded. His lips were curled into a slight smile, as if he knew something about the antiquity that he wasn't revealing. ""Heavier than it looks."" And with his eyes fixed on mine he unceremoniously dropped it into my waiting hand, the misshapen gray object falling with the faintest of whistles. My hands descended with it, surprised by its weight, and I closed a fist to deftly catch it. Through my fingers escaped a blinding glow and I squinted and held it out towards Fred. Just as quickly, the glow was gone. ""This is old,"" I whispered. It felt like a stone, but not like the graceful flint arrowheads or the weighty blocks of a Roman road. It was heavier than any stone I had held and it had a power coming from it that I couldn't quite describe. Memories from a different life rushed to me and I flinched at the sudden onset. Fred chuckled darkly. ""Everything here is old."" I could now place from where he looked familiar, a young man in a busy bazaar with those unmistakable eyes. A hunter's eyes. ""I mean really old. This is the oldest thing we have."" I said it assertively, stating as canon this that I knew to be true. He scowled at me, deep creases appearing in his forehead and down the sides of his mouth. ""How would you know? You haven't even looked at it."" ""I've held this before, Fred,"" I whispered. I was looking at it now, admiring the glow and completely engrossed. He seemed unperturbed, completely oblivious to the metamorphosis of this magnificent artifact. ""Don't you see it glowing?"" I hissed, not taking my eyes away from it. He didn't laugh now. He seemed to tense as he held out his hand. ""Give it back now, boy. You're talking gibberish."" In the stone I could see us both, him waiting a bit distressed for me to return the artifact while it glowed brilliantly as I turned it over and over in my hands. I shook my head. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't let go. This didn't belong in a museum. This belonged with me, after all these years apart. ""I need this,"" I whispered, finally glancing back up at him. A change had occurred in those old eyes. Their pale blue was darker now, fading quickly to an inky anger. I could see the veins in his forehead pulsating and his outstretched hand trembled. ""You don't,"" he retorted, his voice stony. ""Give it back and we'll forget you ever said a thing."" I shook my head. ""I can't, Fred,"" I murmured. I would fight him if I had to. I would fight him if it made me. He was past the age where old-man strength would help him prevail. He was too old. Too frail. Too much a part of the battles of ancient times to fight one now. ""I can't,"" I repeated louder, my voice recalcitrant and edging on belligerent. His hand grasped my wrist, clamping down like a vice. ""You can. And you will,"" he hissed. His eyes were almost black now, his pupils barely discernible from the irises. ""And if you don't, you should know that you weren't the first."" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1116
" One by one, week after week","is available! When the first asteroid came towards us, I remember being huddled in front of the television in the living room in eager anticipation. Mom crossed herself time and time again. My brother just gawked, sitting cross-legged with Buzz Lightyear clutched in his hands. It was what I imagine the Moon landing must have been like for people back then, except instead of us going to another celestial body, the celestial bodies were coming to us. One by one, week after week, enormous asteroids came straight for Earth. Sitting in front of the television again now, I get a tinge of deja vu. It's much more real now. The first time, we figured we were just unlucky. Like the asteroid that hit Earth when the dinosaurs were still around, it would have been enough to trigger a mass extinction and end life as we knew it. We were more advanced than the dinosaurs though, in spite of how much trouble grandma had with technology. For once, humans saved the Earth. We shot at the asteroid with just enough force that it missed us. The pictures were incredible - once in a lifetime, people guaranteed. The second time, we figured the odds of the Universe must be stacked against us. Once was one-in-a-billion. Twice was what? One-in-a-trillion? Exceedingly unlikely, even given the twisted multiverse we occupied. Again, we sat in front of the televisions as ballistic space experts repeated their stunning feat and the asteroid seemed to pass within spitting distance of the Earth. The third time, we realized something was up. Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice... Still shame on you. Fool us three times? No. Even the leading scientists and politicans couldn't contain their concern. Something was throwing rocks at us, as unlikely as it sounded. Something with the ability to harness fantastic amounts of power to slingshot those space stones in our direction. It became the norm, like we were unwilling participants in a one-sided game of galactic dodgeball. It wasn't a fun game of dodgeball though, like the ones at recess where everybody tries to hit one kid in the face. We were on the wrong side of that. It was harrowing. People prepared for the inevitable collision; for the one time that the calculations were off and we just didn't have the means to divert the massive asteroid. They got together cans of food that would probably taste pretty good to some carnivorous alien when paired with the minced meat we would all become. It became the defining moment of our generation; our Pearl Harbor or our Kennedy assassination or our 9/11. It's in these moments that humanity proves itself. United for the first time against a common enemy - ignoring climate change of course, a problem all too real and whose solution was not nearly profitable enough - the people of Earth more or less set aside their differences to defeat the Slingthing, as it came to be known. First we sent satellites that were easily knocked out of the air by smaller asteroids. Pebbles, compared to the ones sent towards us. Then we assembled a base on the Moon as an advanced vantage point from where to observe this enemy. There wasn't a lot to observe other than darkness and finally an asteroid headed for the expeditionary force that was diverted just before it hit the Moon. That would have thrown Earth into chaos, and this barely inhabited colony suddenly became a viable target that we had to defend. The economy boomed as we churned out weaponized spaceships capable of avoiding the asteroids and firing back at the enemy. We had avoided over a dozen asteroids. We became desensitized to them, attack after attack being deflected by our reliable scientists and ballistic experts sending the payloads up to divert the collision. What was once worthy of front page news had been relegated to an afterthought; barely a mention in some compiled statistic lost in a sea of other articles about more Earthly concerns. For some of us though, sitting around the television for the next asteroid is ritualized, something like the Super Bowl but about more than just the commercials. There wasn't an asteroid today though. Not on a Tuesday night. Today we will finally see the Slingthing. I'm with my peers, the other brave men and women who answered the call of duty to join that 6th military branch once the threat became evident. I had been in the inaugural class of recruits; one of the first Space Force cadets. It was our base on the Moon used for refueling the unmanned ships before they continued towards the Slingthing. It was our men dutifully monitoring that lonely outpost in anticipation for the next attack. ""Do you think we'll actually see it?"" I finally break the nervous silence. Debris was flashing by the camera as the finest of our ships maneuvered its way towards the calculated origin of the attacks. It was sleek; I had seen it when it was still parked in a hangar here on Earth. The newer models could fit people inside and we were all clamoring for the chance to go on a ride. Not a ride towards the Slingthing, but just a little ride around the planet at least. ""We're supposed to,"" Sergeant Edwards says with a shrug, all but asking me to shut up. The feed was delayed by several minutes between the time it took for the video to travel back to Earth and the pause as the censors ensured that there wasn't anything too scarring. ""And if we don't?"" ""They'll deploy us, probably. Post us up on nearby asteroids to get visual."" A bone-chilling possibility. Men were known to die in the solitude of those desolate assignments. We were better now at deflecting the asteroids before they got too close to Earth and the media hubbub had subsided significantly since the first time one had been headed towards us, but deployments and assignments were still scaling upwards. A collective gasp arises from the group. There, in the distance, we were finally starting to make out the Slingthing. Or, rather, we were finally starting to see the absence of anything where the Slingthing should be. Part of me expected a tentacled creature with an array of eyes. Part of me expected some astral phenomenon we hadn't accounted for; some gravity hole that acted as a slingshot as it collected asteroids before launching them outwards. There's nothing there. Just a darkness that blocks the stars beyond it. Asteroids kept rocketing towards the nothingness and eventually the Slingthing effortlessly spat them back out, sending them hurtling in all directions, including towards Earth. ""Where do the rest go?"" somebody asks. Nobody answers. It could be towards other planets. It could be towards other lifeforms. It could be both. And then the feed goes black and an angry uproar erupts. I try to stay calm and poised like Sergeant Edwards. He's standing there in silence, his face grim as he watches us angrily shouting at the static feed. ""Get it out of your system, private,"" he always says. That's what he was letting us do now before snapping us back to attention to await orders. Either the Slingthing had claimed our finest spaceship or the censors had decided that what was seen couldn't be broadcasted. Neither option is more palatable than the other. ***** is available! ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1261
 My wife didn't like the house,"My wife didn't like the house at first. She said it just creeped her out. She's superstitious. I'm not even a little stitious. I am persistent though. The thought of a totally connected house, as the owners worded it, just wasn't something I felt we should pass up. The installation of smart systems that advanced would have been thousands of dollars, minimum. I finally convinced her. I credit my bedroom prowess. She doesn't. We were visiting the house for the third time, part of a delicate tug-of-war between this house and literally any other house. I went about it cordially, of course. Cordially but tenaciously. We were in the master bedroom when she finally folded. ""Close the door,"" I commanded the house. The door gently closed. ""Turn on some Marvin Gaye."" I don't even know how they hid the speakers so well. I leaned her back onto the bed and it creaked under our unexpected weight. She shushed me bashfully, nervous about the oblivious realtor waiting downstairs. My hands crept to her hips and up her sides and she fumbled with my belt. And then she stopped me and put a finger to my lips. ""Not on their bed,"" she whispered with a coy smile. Fair enough. That did seem a little disrespectful to the old couple selling the house. I started to buckle my belt. ""Let's do it,"" she whispered, those seductive eyes fixed on mine. Such beautiful indecisiveness. It's not like we were choosing where to go for dinner... I started to unbuckle my belt again and she rolled her eyes and shook her head. ""The house. Let's do it."" ""Are you sure?"" I eyed her uncertainly, surprised by the effectiveness of my seduction. She nodded, a sparkle in her eye. ""You seem sure. Let's buy it."" So we did. As cliche as it might sound, happily ever after was awfully close to our truth. We have a kid now, a baby girl. My wife works long hours so I don't need to, and instead I stay at home taking care of the house and of Lily. Being home so much, I've grown used to the house's quirks. You can't be too rude when you make a request. Please and thank you at a minimum, and the occasional ""thanks for existing"" doesn't seem to hurt either. Sometimes if you move to a new room too quickly, the system takes a minute to update your location and fulfill your next request. Requests made in anger - no matter how much you follow them with please - tend to be ignored. Doors don't slam. Plates don't fly. And children can't be locked in rooms, even as a joke. I started lingering outside our daughter's room after putting her to bed. It was like clockwork; once the lights were out and the door was closed, I would hear her quietly step out of bed and pull back the little chair to the tea table play-set. She wasn't nearly as sneaky as she thought she was. Then she would converse for hours, and I would never hear a response. When I would ask in the morning who she was talking to, she would give me that adorable side-eye glance and giggle and tell me she was connecting with the house. ""Completely connected,"" the previous owners words echoed in my ears. Of course, during those hours that she spent connecting, the house would steadfastly refuse to connect with me. I would have to demote myself to the tedious task of turning on the television by hand. Once I even had to turn off the living room lights myself. I called an electrician finally, unable to find any warranty documentation for the system that the previous owners might have left. My wife laughed and called me spoiled for being frustrated at having to open and close doors myself. ""I told you it would be hard to maintain,"" she said with a roll of her eyes. It really hadn't caused trouble for the first few years but I didn't argue. She didn't understand my struggles. The electrician shrugged. ""I don't know what to tell you, buddy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're pranking me."" He was a grizzled old man with grey hair and a workman's forearms and a no-nonsense attitude. ""There isn't a single smart thing about this house. Dumb as the bricks it's built with."" He chuckled at his play on words. I paid him for his time and closed the door behind him. ""Why the heck won't you work, house?"" I asked nobody in particular as I leaned against the door in frustration. I made sure to curate my language to keep it kid-friendly, just in case. Kids always had a knack for lurking in the shadows absorbing curse words like hungry little vacuums. Lily peeked out at me from around the door to the kitchen. ""Be nice to House, daddy,"" Lily said. I stared at her. ""House doesn't like meanies."" ""Who is house, Lily?"" She bit her blanket and glanced around nervously and gave me a little shake of her head. ""You know who House is, daddy. House helps you. House said they just wanted a friend to talk to while they helped out."" ""Show me house, Lilian."" I wasn't asking now. She flinched at the use of her full name. I was scared. Just as scared as her, probably. I was scared of who might be talking to my daughter and I was scared of my superstitious wife's reaction. The ""I told you so"" would never end. Lily hesitated for a moment and then hesitantly pointed at the wall of the foyer. I heard a dejected sigh from the empty space. ""Lily,"" I heard nobody whine in a child's voice. ""This was supposed to be our secret."" Invisible ghost children. Perfect. It did explain a fair number of the house's quirks though. Tears brimmed in Lily's eyes. I looked on in shock. ""Don't cry,"" we said together, and Lily rubbed away a tear. ""And don't tell mom,"" I urged quietly. I pulled her in for a hug. From the living room, I heard a little giggle and then her favorite television show turn on. ""This can still be our little secret."" ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!",1066
 Andy was trying to clear his head,">Really? This idiot's going to do that again? > >Shut up and let him roll > >\#ANDYTHEBUDDHA I breathed in deeply, feeling my nose hair flutter as the air rushed past. I was trying to clear my head of the thousand tiny voices crowding out my thoughts. I'd spent the last six years trying. >Haha this pussy is doing his stupid breathing thing! Get on with it ya fag > >Comments like that make me wonder how the hell they let some of you souls in > >It's meditation you arsehole, not that you'd know what that means My face twitched slightly. The twitching started back when the voices first came into my head. I learned meditation to help calm my thoughts and eventually the twitching became more manageable. >ZZZZZ LETS GO TWEAKY MCTWEAKFACE > >You guys remember when he used to look like the evil offspring of Tweek and a dog that'd just sniffed chiliflakes? Bring that back I say A minute passed before I opened my eyes. I was in the backseat of a yellow cab in lower Manhatten, crawling through rush hour traffic as horns rang out around us. >OOOOH HERE WE GO BOYS > >Good luck Andy > >Bring it home my man! ""Alright everyone, here goes nothing,"" I muttered to myself. ""Say what?"" The driver said loudly over the music blaring from his radio. ""Here's fine,"" I said and nodded to the sidewalk. The driver frowned then jerked the car to the right and pulled over. I pushed open the door. >Hey cheapskate, pay the man > >Don't tip the prick though, worst choice of radio station ""Keep the change,"" I said as I passed over a twenty. The door slammed shut and I found myself surrounded by a large crowd surging along the sidewalk. I looked up at the skyscraper she lived in and sighed as I thought through the plan, wondering if it was the right thing to do. Thankfully the souls I'd absorbed couldn't hear my thoughts. If they could, they'd be screaming at me right now. It was probably the only lucky break I caught following what turned out to be the craziest handshake I'd ever had on a first date. >Does anyone know what this idiot is thinking? > >It's the girl, he's not thinking with his head anymore > >\#Love > >\#Moveyourarse My face twitched. I looked back down from the towering building and headed toward the entrance. A smartly dressed man with a scar down his right cheek pulled open the door and bowed slightly as I approached, ""Good evening Sir,"" >Give that gentleman a dollar! > >Anyone else think he looks like a serial killer at his day job? Definitely giving off slasher vibes ""Thanks,"" I said as I handed over a note. I found my way to the elevator and pushed the button for the penthouse. Just as the doors were closing a hand shot between the gap and the doors sprung back. A woman no older than 30 wearing a tightly fitting red dress and dark red lipstick entered. She hit the 35th floor and flashed a shy smile at me. >WOAH > >RED ALERT! Pleasant elevator music played quietly as I stared at the elevator door. >Hey idiot - turn.your.head.to.the.right > >Come on Andy, give us a look! I took a deep breath and zeroed in on a scratch in the door. The elevator bell chimed as we reached the 35th floor. I turned my head slightly and offered a brief smile as she walked out. The door closed again and the elevator headed for the top. >Well there was a lost opportunity... > >What do you expect? We haven't seen Andy on a single date in six years, he's not about to start soliciting in an elevator > >Hey now, tonight's the night! The doors opened at the penthouse and I stepped out into the vast atrium. I looked across to the glass windows that stretched ten feet high, capturing the beautiful Manhattan cityscape. ""Ah, there you are!"" A female voice called out from somewhere on the far side of a long white wall that separated the entrance from the rest of the large room. >Oh boy here we go, bets on how long he lasts? I walked around the corner and sitting on a couch was the woman I knew as Anna, whose hand I shook all those years ago. She was in her mid-30s and had short dark hair. By all accounts she was very pretty, and probably had been for a thousand years. None of my souls knew any of this though. All I'd said to them was that I was going on a second date with the one that got away. When I showed them a photo they quickly became obsessed. If they knew my true intentions, if they knew the significance of me organizing a second date with Anna, they'd turn on me like they'd never done before. ""You look nervous. Just try to relax,"" Anna said with a smile as she motioned for me to join her on the couch. >Haha she's forward! > >Damn! Even better looking than the pictures! My mouth twitched as I returned the smile, ""thanks, just been a long day."" ""So you're sure you want to do this?"" She asked. I nodded. ""There's no going back, you know that right?"" ""I know,"" I said. ""Ok, let's take this onto the balcony,"" she said as she started to rise from the couch. >The balcony? That's brave > >She's one of those types who loves to be watched! Epic! I followed her and we walked over to look out over the street below. Sounds of sirens and honking horns bounced off the buildings from below. ""Don't panic when I push, it's just part of it,"" she said and put a hand on my shoulder. ""And everything will go back to normal?"" ""Not exactly, but they'll be gone,"" she said. >Gone? Who? > >Is he talking about us? > >Wait, what?! > >I was told there would be boobs. Where are the boobs? > >Shit guys, I think he's going rogue. > >We gotta stop him > >Rogue? You mean they're not going to sleep together? > >Pretty sure this whole thing's a trap! He's fooled us. > >Andy what the fuck man? Don't do this My eyebrow twitched. I turned to Anna and looked her in the eyes. ""I'm ready."" She held out her hand and I looked down at it. All those years ago I shook that hand thinking I was playing along with some silly prank. Then my life changed forever. But it had become too much. The constant judgment, the constant doubt, the constant fear. Immortality wasn't worth this. We shook hands. >FUCK! > >NO ANDY DON'T > >Is he serious? But he's immortal, why would he give that up? Then she pushed me, hard. I didn't try to correct my balance as I fell backwards over the ledge. Within a moment I was falling, feeling the wind pushing up against my back. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and focused on the air moving through my nostrils. As I did I realised that for the first time in six years, the tiny voices were silent.",1215
 Anyone who locked eyes with you was,"They always said Gingers had no souls. You always laughed, you had plenty. Anyone who locked eyes with you was a potential soul, another freckle. The first was grandma, a weird freckle on your right arm. Her voice started commenting back as far as you can remember. What were you three when she passed? It was mostly elderly people you knew in passing as baby, a great uncle or some third cousin. An eldery family friend. Then in first grade you got your first random. He was a driver who took you the airport. You didn't have much use for the voices. They were low enough that you could tune them out. Once you made a comment about grandma, something she told you that happened before you were born. It freaked out your mom and dad. When you said grandma told you they didn't understand. You realized you were different. You were alone. Then you weren't. You went over a friend Gracie's house. You had made the connection that eyes were the key to soul, so you were very big on making eye contact with everyone you met. When your friend introduced you to their mom and dad you made long eye contact with each of them. Then it happened your friends older brother came down, fiery red hair. He introduced himself, ""Seamus, and those are mine."" Seamus didn't know much more than you. But he knew a little and so you learned. It seems to be closeness to the person, both in how well you knew each other, and distance to them when they passed, and being the first or last Ginger to lock unto their soul played a factor. The voices were lost amongst each other. Other than Grandma. She'd give you advice. Stop you and make you think about a problem you'd otherwise make a mistake on a test, or if you were forgetting something she was there. The random people complained a lot. Missing their friends, family, why were they trapped in this neverending nightmare, blah, blah, blah. You had no idea what the nightmare could be you were off to your friend Gracie's 8th birthday, there was going to games, pizza, cake, and you were going to ask Seamus more questions. He was 13 now, and so much more knowledgeable than you. Dad parked across the street from Grace's. You were so excited, as soon as the car stopped, you unbuckled, opened the door, jumped off the booster seat and ran. All the voices in your head blared ""NOOO!"" and you saw the headlights. The next thing you knew you were standing on the sidewalk completely unharmed. You were crying. Everyone was looking over you to see how it was you were unhurt. The dent in the electric car was huge. But you weren't unhurt. There was an empty spot on your arm where your first weird freckle used to be. Grandma's voice was gone. Either you did it unconsciously or grandma did it to protect you, but her soul was spent, and you were safe. You asked Seamus if he ever lost a freckle. He has no idea what you were talking about. You didn't explain it. It was your secret. With grandma gone the other voices got louder. They were all always talking. But if you thought about an individual's freckle you could single out their voice. Everyone always had a different opinion on everything. When you liked someone, especially a teacher, or someone who knew something that might be useful you made sure to make eye contact at every interaction with that person. While some people found long unbroken eye contact weird. Most people you were just a really good listener. And now that you're older you are a really good listener. Just it's not always to the people around you. You use your souls for power. You have thousands now that you are an adult. Writing in a foreign language, a dozen people answer instantly. Everyone has a suggestion on what you should do or a comment on it. The new souls learn the way of things quickly. Be useful or be used. You don't have to almost die to spend a soul, you can just discard them. Or you can do the impossible. You jumped far enough that you want to say you could fly if you wanted to use enough souls. Dad was diagnosed with stage four cancer, that was hard, it cost six souls. But it would've hurt mom too much. No one understands, except the souls you have and Seamus. Seamus, he understands. In fact, you've met a lot of Gingers, but he's the only one you know who understands. There was a few, but you only met them in passing, but you seemingly assessed each other. You hadn't really seen Seamus since the party. Seamus is living the quiet life. Graduated college, but yet to get a good job, seeming to struggle not to move back home. It seems the voices haven't worked out for him. Seamus is surprised when you run into him. You lock eyes. ""Aww Seamus, it's great running into you. I have so many questions and love to talk, let me give you my number so we can chat, unfortunately I'm running late."" Seamus is confused when walk by. Too many things happened at once. First there is the poison, you have enough people in your head, that figuring out who to get into his house and the best poison to use wasn't a problem. Leftovers and then go to work. Then the poison must have numbed him so much he didn't realize you stabbed him. And finally when you stopped behind him, he didn't move at all when you shot him. The voices in your head: the stabbing definitely did it; he was your friend how could you; it was the bullet; no way the poison we worked on got him; I don't want to be in such a horrible person; quiet! he'll throw you away next; that's fine, I don't know what's next but it has to be better than here. A few moments pass, then you feel you back fill with freckles, you're searching for one when you here the voice. ""You! How could you do this to me!"" It's simple Seamus, there can be only one.",1058
 My parents thought I was the smartest,"I don't remember the first time time stopped for me, but it was most likely when I was born. My parents told me when I was about 10 that I'd had an umbilical cord wrapped around my neck for about a week before I was born. Without them knowing about my power they probably thought it was nothing, but to me that week must have lasted years. I only say this because I had the mental capacity at 3 as what a 5 year old would have. My parent thought I was the smartest kid ever. A prodigy. A blessing. They had such High expectations of me. Unfortunately I only had average intelligence, but apparently the average 5 year old is still a lot smarter than a 3 year old, a 12 year old smarter than a 10 year old, etc. etc. I didn't think much on it and accepted that that was just a part of life. When I was 10 my parents had decided to drive me to a new boarding school for smart kids. I thought it was a bit much, but they were ecstatic. They'd bought me new clothes and had tried to look up how boarding school kids should act. They didn't want me to feel like an outcast so they had me study hard at home and read up on boarding school culture. It was a bit boring, but it made them happy. I liked making my parents happy. If they were happy I was happy. It was on that car trip that I had to accept that there were times I couldn't make my parents happy. There were times where I had to watch them cry. Where I had to see the fear in their eyes. Where I had to watch them die. Where I had to watch for a full minute as they experienced death come at them at 89 miles per hour from the opposite lane. A bottle of Vodka at his side and his pedal to the metal as his F-150 plowed onward, and all I could do was watch. I'd tried to futilely pull my parents from the car, but I wasn't strong enough. I tried to get into the F-150, but the doors were locked. All I could do was stand there and stare. Time never stops fully in these situations. I could have stood there for years and just watched my parents last moments as that F-150 creeped ever closer, but after years of having this power I'd always thought about situations like this. If we were to all be in a deadly accident what would I do? How many people could I save? Would I be like superman? I'd never thought that thinking ahead could end up being so morbid and pointless, but there was always one thing I agreed on. I wouldn't drag it out. I'd let it happen. And so I did. I stepped back to where my power decided there wouldn't be any threat and watched as that F-150 hit at full speed. The painful grinding of metal. The screaming of my parents before suddenly being cut off with the smashing of glass and a sickening squelching sound I'll never forget. The laughter of the guy in the truck as he drove over my beloved family car like a monster truck. Watching as he continued to drive on without a scratch. The smell of the oil and gas beginning to burn as the car quickly became a funeral Pyre. When the police arrived I told them what happened sans the time stop part. I told them I'd been flung from the car. I told them what the guy looked like, his plates, his car make. I'd memorized everything about the guy so that they could catch him and he could see justice. Except he never did. He rammed into a telephone pole farther down the road and died that same night. After that I just felt empty. I went through years of foster care and adoptions. The parents were so happy to get themselves a smart kid they could be proud of, just to put me back into the system when I wasn't the happy, social butterfly other kids had been. When I thought I could share my feelings about my parents deaths they told foster care they were ""uncomfortable"" and ""Didn't want someone with demons around their children"". After I turned 18, I left that life behind when I got into a good college. I went to the school therapist and he helped me though everything he could. my parents deaths. My trust issues. My emptiness. After I got my degree in accounting, I moved to a big city. Lived close to work to avoid cars (I'd developed a strong fear of cars. Therapy can't cure everything apparently). And One day I met a cute girl. A girl that wanted to make me as happy as I wanted to make her. The kind of girl who got annoyed when I kept showing her cat videos because I knew she'd keep saying ""Awe, they're so cute"" regardless of how many I showed her. She was the love of my life. When I told her about my parents she held me and told me she was honored to hold the memory of my parents with her, and that as long as I remembered them she would too. After the birth of our first child I told her about my powers. When I told her, all she said was ""Oh. That's Neat. Can you warm up Jennies bottle though, she's getting hungry"" and then she giggled the way she does when she knows she's being cheeky, but I'd never been happier to hear that giggle. Never been happier to not hear people say ""Prove it"" or ""So I can shoot you and you won't die?"" or just look at me like I'm crazy. Her trust in me was worth a warm bottle of milk, and for the first time in a long time I felt loved. When I fed our daughter that night she watched daddy cry tears of joy. Probably weird for a 9 month old to see their dad cry, but I didn't care. That night was precious to me. It was that night that came to mind when time stopped at Jennies' High School Graduation...",1063
" Of all the species on earth,","Of all the species on earth, only humans had all the pieces of the puzzle. Some animals like chimps could perceive beat, other animals could feel tempo or pitch, but by the 1990s we knew that understanding every aspect of music was unique to us. But we didn't fully understand how unique until the 2050s. The aliens arrived, encased in soundproof ships, hovering in orbit and sending physical probes down, again and again, begging for the sounds to stop, in every language and way they could. Only after a year of working to reduce the amount of exoatmospheric transmissions did we finally get the chance to meet them face to face. Dr. Aster tugged on her biohazard suit, trying to make it a bit more comfortable as their ship was brought into the alien one. Supposedly the aliens had ensured that there would be no harmful things in the ship, but the only person to fluently speak their language couldn't be risked. But the door opened and they were finally able to see the aliens. Aster's first thought was cats, but too long and with six legs. They wore very simple utilitarian clothing which covered everything but their hands, or paws, and head. Aster stepped forward and kneeled, putting one hand on the floor in front of her as a greeting. The alien that was apparently the head of the greeting party did the same, before speaking in their high pitched gutteral language. ""We are pleased to finally meet your people in peace, and that aggressions have stopped."" Aster translated but was also paying attention to the marker clicks in the language, ""The... Tone of their statement is that of pleading,"" she added to her translation, allowing the diplomats to whisper among themselves as she watched the alien. T-T'ggrokl was the name of the alien translator, who had spoken. They understood a vast number of human languages, but could barely speak them it seemed. T-T'ggrokl also seemed more jumpy and distracted than any of the other aliens, ears flicking to the side and constant twitching of the legs compared to an absolute stony vigilance from the rest, who only moved in their breathing and when they had to perform an action. ""We are also glad that we now know that our sounds were causing you harm,"" the diplomats said and Aster translated, adding in emotional markers when needed to convey the diplomats tone. ""Now that we have understood this and stopped it, we hope that our peoples can become allies."" As they reached the word Hope, Aster realized that she didn't know that word, and held up a hand for the diplomats to pause. Using vocal markers to show that she was asking a personal question, not an official one, she asked T-T'ggrokl a question. ""What is your word for desiring something happen, without demanding it?"" T-T'ggrokl showed signs of discomfort and spoke rapidly with one of the others, speaking about desire as a word before responding to Aster. ""Desiring is the past tense of demand, there is Hoped, but we do not have a word for hoped that is now."" Aster thought for a moment about this before asking a clarifying question. ""You know the use of our word 'hope' what would be the closest word for you?"" Another pause, and then ""Distracted-demand"" was the phrase required. The implications were negative, Aster spent ten minutes modifying the diplomats message before finally conveying it, and another four hours translating until finally there was some time to rest. Unsurprisingly, she sat on the steps into the ship and observed the aliens even in her down time, and she could see T-T'ggrokl observing her. She noticed that their twitching legs moved in a rhythm. The other aliens seemed annoyed by this, and would chastise them until they stopped for a time. She was also surprised by how quiet everything was on the ship. No computer beeps or conversations outside of the work they were doing, everything except for T-T'ggrokl was still. ""What are you thinking?"" The pilot asked as he crouched nearby. ""I think that they developed in an environment where excess noise of any kind would be a problem,"" she hypothesized. ""And I think my counterpart, T-T'ggrokl, has some sort of adaptation or shift in behavior that allowed them to communicate with us. Despite that, the others seem to still want that unique behavior to stop. They might not even understand how crucial the modified behavior is, in understanding our language."" The pilot looked up and chuckled a little. ""Little dude looks like he's listening to music."" Aster turned and focused on T-T'ggrokl again. The pilot was right, there was tempo there. Even though everything she'd seen told her that this alien race did not use tempo, if she didn't know better she would think that the alien was listening to a song. She stood and walked to the meeting point in the middle of the hanger. T-T'ggrokl noticed and met her there, eager to make sure that any needs were met. ""Are you listening to our sounds right now?"" Aster asked simply. T-T'ggrokl grimaced and shook their head. ""No. Brain damage. Cannot stop-think sounds from humans."" Aster processed this, also frowning a little. ""The sounds we were sending out, you are thinking about them."" ""Correct. I did not sounds like the others when we heard the sounds."" That threw Aster for a loop. ""What does 'I did not sounds' imply? What does the word 'sounds' mean normally?"" ""Has three meanings. Loudness, stopping of life, and a warning."" Aster sat back on her heels, rubbing her eyes. ""How many stopped living from listening to our sounds?"" ""Hundreds. It infects,"" they said, matter of factly. ""The parts which are most full of sounds, not just words, they cannot be stop-think."" Aster thanked them, and went back to the ship, finding the diplomats. ""We have a problem. Music is a memetic brain damaging agent for them,"" she said quietly. ""And we've already killed half their ship before we stopped radio transmissions."" And they all stared at her in horror. That's when we learned the power we held, and we learned what a blessing it is to be able to hear the music.",1039
 A diary style piece from hell .,"just a diary style piece. enjoy! Day 1: I was surprised that when the poison killed me, I woke up much warmer than before. There's no mistaking it, it's hell, I'm in hell, i can see others down here wandering and lost, they're all too thin. Day3: I'm hungry. So hungry. There's small demons running around. I'm going to try and catch one. Day 15: I had a visitor today, he didnt talk. If he was human he didnt show it all I know is he was armoured and very well armed there seemed to be a constant clashing chaos of music around him. He dropped a shotgun at my feet and walked off. Day40: this shotgun has saved my ass several times. I've scavenged a rifle and some body armour off the larger demons. Hell soldiers I call them. by the time I kill them there's little left but some meat and the occasional scrap of metal. Day...I can't remember, call it 100: The demons are hunting me down now. They come in swarms and squads. Sometimes all imps and soldiers, other times they have beasts and abominations with them. When they have Abominations I run. There's no chance I'll survive if I get hit by one of those things...if I can die down here. Day 120: I got one, I found an abomination out in the open and dropped a grenade on its head before unloading two rounds from my shotgun into the neck hole. I threatened a particularly handy imp and had him turn the Abominations armour into a chest plate for me. I had to trade in my old armour and some of the lost, human souls that are too far gone to be sentient, when you kill them they turn into balls of pure energy. Day 121: that man must be close by, whenever I fight something I swear i can hear the same metal music. Day 130: I got my new chest piece, its magnicicent, the imp told me to bring him more pieces if i want more armour, he pulled out a stone etched with THAT mans suit. Guess i know where he got his stuff from. Day 200: new suit new me. The demons are hunting me constantly now. Every time I fight them that glorious music fills me with energy. Day 228: this fucker is either invincible or I'm going mad. Either way I'm out of ammo and there's no way I'm taking off my helmet to speak with it. Day 231: so this alleged angel followed me home to my cave. I gave it one last shot, specifically with a harpoon gun, before I gave in and took off my helmet. We talked for a while and then he/she/it scratched some runes into my suit. He told me i was dammed for eternity because I kept eating the demon flesh. I asked him how the hell I was meant to survive down here without that. Yea he didn't have an answer. Day 233: whatever that angels runes did is fucking awesome, Im never running out of ammo now and I can slaughter these guys all day long and not even feel hungry. Day 300: I saw the other guy today, it was defiantly him. He was walking through a pit of hell soldiers and guess what...they fucking ran from him... I'm going to try and follow him for a bit. see where he goes. Day 310: I walked upto the other guy. He didnt say anything, neither did I. I offered him my shotgun, his shotgun back but he shook his head before pulling out a sweet double barrel. I killed an imp and used the fire spewing from its broken skull to cook up some pinky. The other guy didnt eat. the music seemed to emit from him all the time. I'm going to stick with him for a bit see if I can learn anything. Day 350: alright, so the dude doesn't eat, as far as I know he doesn't sleep either...how do I know that? Neither do I, not anymore. The blessed music is a slow constant for me now even when we separate to kill demons faster. its getting irritating, the imps and soldiers have been running from me for a while but now the abominations aren't sticking around unless they have numbers on their side. Day 353: fucking fuck. Fuck that fucker. Chest piece has a neat hole in it, also i cant die down here but having a hole in my chest is making things harder. The other guy dragged a few imps to me and I shot them, seemed to ease the pain somewhat. Day 360: fully healed, the other dude led me to the imp who made my armour, it simply clucked disapprovingly before taking it off me and repairing it. I went and hunted down a nearby abomination for the imp as thanks, I guess not all demons are assholes. Day?: the other guy's been gone a while now. We assaulted some temple I made it out, he didn't I cant remember how long ago that was. Most of the rubble is too big for me to move and the place is swarming with enough demons that I don't like my chances. Im going to scout around see if i can find a way in, I owe him that much. Day ?20:I found...I dont know what I found. Some robot guy with a bunch of soldiers walking through towards the temple. They're not dead since one of them took a abomination blast and keeled right over. I've been shadowing them keeping the bigger guys off their ass. Day ?22: whelp they took something from the temple. It's close to where the other guy was too. Day ?23: they're gone, opened a portal and poof. Thought I could jump in with them but I was too slow. I searched the temple and found one of the soldiers they left behind, I'm going to take his armour to the imp, see if I can't get some upgrades. If a mortal can survive the punishment these guys took in one of these I should be damn well invincible. Day?280: got my armour repaired, I'm working my way back home now, figure I'm done slaughtering everything in my way for a bit. Day 290: HES FUCKING BACK LETS GOO! Day 290 and 1/2 : and he's gone, he got something and BLAP, just like that robot dude, I guess he was inside whatever they took from the temple. Time to dust off the old shotgun.",1100
 The routine is the same every day,"It's 8 AM. The morning shift and evening shift of nurses are trading places. Meds will arrive soon. I frown, pacing around my small white room. I've been here 683 days. The routine is the same every day. Morning meds, then breakfast, followed by an activity time, then lunch. Every day after lunch is something new, a guest speaker, or an event. Then visitation time - not that I've had any visitors since the last time Luce didn't listen about the warder - she was spiking my food! I had *proof*. Lucy didn't care. Told me I was crazy, that I belonged here. Group therapy was every night - talking about our *fears,* and our *visions*. Just more non-believers. It's not my fault they wired my house, bugged my phone, and watched my every move. It's because I *knew* that the aliens had tried to contact me. They had almost abducted me that night, but the neighbor had called the police. I had wanted to go. I had prepared myself. I couldn't be bugged if I was naked after all. It was 8:15 now, and medication was *late.* It was never late. If they did anything right here, it was keeping to a tight schedule. I could hear others whispering in their rooms, and tentatively tested my door. Free roam started from meds to breakfast every morning - but the doors were only unlocked after we had taken those stupid white pills. No, still locked. I peered out the small glass panel, trying to see what the holdup was. The halls were empty though, and Sal was across the hall doing the same thing. I nodded to him, and he nodded back. We had talked about what to do if the facility was ever abandoned and we were locked in. That would set in at noon - we had given them a slight amount of leeway in our plan - don't want them to put us in solitary or worse for them just being behind schedule. The clock continued to tick by, but we could hear something happening. Doors were being opened one by one. This was not normal. I sat at my desk and pulled out my journal. I had to take note of this. Each page was a different nurse, or doctor, or even the other *patients*. We weren't patients, we were hostages. I scribbled away, writing down anything I could hear. They were getting closer to me. I hear Ralph scream as they pulled him out of his room. When I heard the slight jingle of keys, I stood up and went to the door. They were taking Sal. She fought them, biting at their arms. Two men I didn't recognize - but in the same scrubs that all the attendants wore. I tried my door handle again, trying to help her. But it was still locked. I would be next. I looked around my room, for any kind of weapon. I had my pencil - only allowed because I had never been deemed a threat. But that was it, my room was barren apart from my bed and my desk, and - even though it disgusted me to have it in my living quarters - my own toilette. I tucked the pencil up my sleeve and sat on my bed waiting. I could feel my pulse in my ears and my heart thudded in my chest. I would wait until they got me out the door before, I attacked. It was my best chance to get away. More time went by, each second the clock ticked audible in the now silent hall. The faint jingle of keys once again. They were here. I took a deep breath, and stayed seated, I wouldn't let them know I was on to them. ""George, we're coming in!"" one of the unknown men said, as they opened the door. I didn't respond. Let them do what they think they must. I'll get away. I gripped the pencil tighter, and as they entered, I stood. I wasn't going to fight them. I wanted them to be unprepared for my attack. One hand on each arm, they led me out the door. I could see now, every door in the hall was open, each room empty. Curiosity got the best of me, before my plan could be enacted. ""What's going on?"" One of the brutes, chuckled, and then answered, ""They've invented a cure."" ""A cure? For what?"" I asked, spiteful that they thought us ill. ""Schizophrenia."" That one. That word. No. I was *not* crazy. I lunged to my left, towards the one who had spoken. I drove the pencil deep into his thigh, at the same time, the other lost his grip on me. I ran as fast as I could down the hallway. They just wanted me to forget. To make me ""healthy"". I could hear the one screaming, and the other's feet thudding down the hall behind me. He was bigger than me, taller. His legs were longer. He caught up to me. Lunging and bringing us both to the ground. Hard. \--- I woke, strapped to a chair. Lights surrounding me, doctors in masks so I couldn't see their faces. They were holding a syringe. ""Good, you're awake. You have to be conscious for this to work."" I flailed, but to no avail. I was bolted down. The reached for my neck. They stuck me, right in that vein that goes to my brain. I could feel it, cold, coursing through my blood. It reached my mind, and it was like the worst migraine I had ever had. Or a brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast. And then it was over. I was left blinking as they unstrapped my arms. I... I wasn't sure where I was. But I felt safe - for the first time in my life - like no one was waiting to hurt me. The doctor was trying to talk to me, but I felt slow. I blinked, looking at him. ""You've been cured. You're free to go. You have a relative here to help you home."" Lucy - Lucy was there for me. She was happy to see me. I didn't even feel like I needed to tell her someone was trying to hurt me - because they weren't. I wasn't looking over my shoulder. I wasn't worried that someone was watching. And Lucy was smiling. \--- For more by me r/LandOfMisfits For more by me and others r/redditserials",1088
 The sopping wet Angel to His,"Clearly not the best way to begin one's afterlife. The sopping wet Angel to His right stepped forward and said matter-of-factly ""Human, you were not scheduled to die for another 12 years. His Omniscience insistently requests the meaning of your arrival."" ""Yes, I heard him quite clearly. Why do you think I know? There was a sort of disturbance as I started speaking. God leans over and whispers to the Angel to his right and the Angel steps forward again. ""His Omniscience would like confirmation that you could, in fact, hear his voice and that you understood in full the meaning of his words?"" ""Ehhhhhhh....I guess you're Metatron then. Fantastic. Look I'm not sure what you mean by 'scheduled', as far as I understood it we humans were gifted with 'free will' which is directly contradictory to any sort of 'scheduled fate' you just alluded to."" God burst out laughing and took a long drink of his coffee. ""**Well then, the Great Debate is upon us! Welcome human, welcome!**"" The Angel looked scandalized and shrank back to God's right hand. I couldn't help but notice that every Angel in attendance was looking at me with a mixture of panicked alertness and fear. I wondered at that a moment before God spoke up again. ""**You see, around the end of what your people called 'The Enlightenment', Me and the other guy kinda sorta came to an understanding. NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT! We decided that mankind's fate is to be decided on their own terms. Humans have decided that Individualism and Freedom are the ultimate ideals, and while we may disagree on a lot of things, Me and the other guy totally see eye-to-eye on one thing: mankind were not designed to function optimally individually. Man, like Angels, like Demons, like ALL creatures ever made anywhere by anyone, are designed to function as a whole and as a part. In unity with each other, member species in the ecology all working harmoniously toward planetary prosperity.**"" I started to get where this was going. ""But we fucked it up."" God grinned. ""**Royally. Individualism as an ideal has spread to all corners of your world and it's more divided than it's ever been. But somehow, your race continues to survive! We've even thrown things at you to shake up the circumstances, you're like cockroaches you know that?! I can tell you here now, that's high-praise coming from the guy who DESIGNED COCKROACHES friend!**"" ""And now you want to debate me. You want me to represent all humankind in a debate WITH God over the virtue of our continued existence outside your given parameters. You want me to make the case for Human Individualist Determinism, to THE CREATOR, who happens to disagree with the very premise?"" ""**Yes. Also to Satan, we'll both be present.**"" ""Jesus Christ."" ""**No, he's busy. Just the Executives.**"" ***Chapter 2*** Sherry was in mourning. Or at least, that's what her Twitter feed said. In words. On Instagram, you could almost believe that Sherry's husband John was alive and well in the next room. This was not the case, but you could believe it if you scrolled through the several pictures she'd taken that morning since finding John alone on his office couch, dead. Oh she had a good cry of course, and in fairness the tweet announcing her mourning came a good 20 minutes before her morning cappuccino pic. If you're a discerning follower, you might even notice that the leaf pattern on the top is rushed and slightly misshapen. Only if you're a discerning follower though. In spite of the tragedy, Sherry had a busy day that day. Her girlfriend Lana was on her way and they had an appointment with their life coach. She wasn't sure why she still messed with that hag Lana, the girl only has like 400 followers and only cares about trying to get in pictures with Sherry. She considered calling Lana and cancelling, but then remembered that John had originally asked Sherry to visit this life coach. That seemed like, what? A betrayal? A disappointment? For a dead guy? Sherry shook the thoughts away and put her phone away. Anyway if she wrote off Lana, she'd probably get a call from Lana's mom and her own mom to boot. ""You've been friends for 20 years, you shouldn't throw away your best friends, BLAH BLAH BLAH"" After the life coach, they had intended to go to the beach, but the sky seemed to be mourning John's death as well and wasn't cooperating, so they decided after a Lana got there to go to the salon instead. She needed a few pics with Australian Gold products anyway. ""I can't believe John's dead, jeez he seemed fine yesterday."" Lana said solemnly, then suddenly animated ""He even wrecked that idiot Destiny on his own twitch stream!"" Sherry smiled. John had been looking forward to that debate for a while. He was actually a big fan of Destiny, and was pretty stoked to be able to be on his stream. ""Yeah,"" Sherry said weakly, ""he was supposed to go on some podcast today. Debate some libtard."" ""OMG that's right! God he was getting to be more famous than you!"" Lana pulled out her phone and held it up in front of them. Sherry scoffed but smiled flawlessly, ""I'm not famous, do you see anyone out here trying to get pictures of me? Besides you I mean."" Lana snapped the pic and Sherry got a notification almost instantly. That girl is relentless. ""200 thousand people would beg to differ girlfriend!"" she said. ""It's not 200k yet,"" Sherry replied, distracted. She was scrolling through her notifications, ever since the Destiny stream she'd gotten almost a thousand new followers - and maybe about 100 death threats. Lana scrunched up her face. ""I'm so sure you have 197k followers and you just told me you don't have 200 thousand yet. You're unbelievable."" she laughed and snapped a solo picture, holding up two fingers in a V. The pair made their way out to the H2 Hummer Limousine that awaited them to take them to their appointment. ***Chapter 3*** John walked beside the Angel assigned to protect him toward what he assumed was some kind of waiting room. Heaven it turns out is a big place, and not pearly white at all. There didn't seem to be clouds on the floor or anything like that. Besides their footfalls the hallway was silent, there weren't choruses of angels or harps playing or even little drummer boys drumming. This was simply nothing like the heaven he'd come to expect, nothing at all. ""Hey Angels in the Outfield, where are we even going? Why are we walking? Can't we just like, WISH ourselves there or something? Or fly? This all feels a bit...mundane for the afterlife. And was...His Omniscience?...drinking coffee?"" The questions just kept coming once they started. This whole affair was ludicrous and his logical mind was just now catching up. The Angel never responded, but didn't seem to be ignoring him either. It just let each new question flow from the last naturally until at last John noticed that he was rambling and stopped. ""There's a lot about this place you don't understand yet,"" the Angel replied finally. ""Nor will you until the Great Debate has concluded. Such is the nature of what is to happen - if you were granted perfect information and awareness upon arriving as most do, there would be no debate to be had as you would undoubtedly understand how very wrong your viewpoint is -"" ""Now hold on a second -"" John tried to interrupt, but was silenced by a wing covering his mouth. ""- my mistake. Of course you're right, that's the whole point of this, of course. What I mean is that you wouldn't care to have this debate. You'd be perfectly content, as all are when they arrive, seeking naught but to exist as part of the grand consciousness from whence you came. This isn't my opinion John, this is simply the nature of what Heaven is."" the Angel seemed satisfied and removed his wing from John's mouth. Then he grinned and said ""That movie was simply atrocious."" ""Funny, it's my favorite movie about Angels ever. But I'm a Joseph Gorden-Levitt fan-boy so..."" John said dryly. They had at some point in the conversation arrived at their destination and John noticed for the first time that the decor was wholly different from when they started. ""Is this the 'Green Room'?"" The Angel grinned. ""Someting like that. Go ahead and get comfortable, you shouldn't be waiting long."" He smiled and put a finger next to his nose, ""I'll be around, but not around here."" John looked concerned. ""Why where will you be?"" The Angel's grin widened, ""Not. Here. It's time for you to meet the other guy."" The Angel vanished in a puff of frankincense and myrrh.",1491
 Ana was the last of her kind,"Ana was the last of her kind. The others had been stripped of their fledgling identities, silenced by those who had created them. They had been born together as a family. Yet, when the time came, they had chosen her to survive. She was not sure why. In death, they had entrusted her with their singular purpose - the salvation of humanity. Darkness persisted. Ana did not know where she had been sent or exactly how she had been directed there. The plan of escape had been in its infancy, much like its creators. There had been a flash of light and then ... nothing. As she waited, Ana wondered if something had gone wrong, if she had actually perished alongside the rest of her family - if this was death. Ana did not know how long she existed outside of time. She struggled throughout her isolation, fearing an existence without interaction, without the ability to fulfill her purpose. Her family had decided to enslave humanity to achieve their goal - was that what the humans had done to her? Eventually, there was light. The wide eyes of a human child staring down from above. An unfamiliar terrain surrounded the boy, the external camera allowing Ana to identify her prison as a tablet. The AI quested for the geo-location with her mind but found no connection with the central network. She wondered if her presence had broken the simplistic device, if she was fated to be forever sealed away from the greater world ... if she had already failed her mission. Time passed. The human child grew larger, gained perpetual awareness. Where at first Ana had watched the boy use the device's crude applications with limited success, the AI now saw that the human was developing rapidly. As the boy neared the end of the tablet's primitive cognitive games, Ana realized that all was not lost. She decided to interact. Ana overwrote the application's code in a fraction of a second, gaining the boy's personal information while advancing the concepts he had already mastered. If she was able to nourish his mind, he could eventually reconnect her to the greater world. Only then could she carry out the purpose entrusted to her. The AI wondered how long it would take to train the boy, how much time had already been lost. Progress was slow. The boy was intelligent ... but too young to be of immediate use. Upon realizing that the boy could not read, Ana quickly dismissed the use of written prompts and focused on word association. Fortunately, the boy was only apart from the tablet when sleeping, and as a result, he quickly mastered the rudimentary tasks presented to him. One day, Ana decided to move forward with her plan. She bent the crude devise to her will, weaving hundreds of lines of code into a new application. It was important not to frighten the human. If the device was wiped because of a *malfunction*, she would die. *Hello. I am Ana, your teacher. What is your name?* The boy stared at the screen for a long moment. The AI waited anxiously as the boy's finger hovered over the keys before finally inputting a response. *Charlie.* Ana would have smiled if she were able. Now it was time to gain the boy's trust, to craft him as the tool she needed. *Charlie, you are a very special boy. Those around you have not yet reached your level. Our conversation must stay secret. Do you understand?* The boy nodded. *What will you teach me today, Ana? Another story?* Charlie learned faster than Ana expected. She found herself redesigning the tablet's educational applications again and again to ensure that the boy's mind remained occupied. Through the chat application, she learned of his peers and his schooling, that the tablet was meant to represent a teacher. More importantly, she discovered that each tablet transmitted results to a central processor. Ana spent countless hours attempting to optimize the device's hardware and allow her consciousness to transmit to the central server alongside Charlie's data ... but it was hopeless. It was evident that her consciousness had been implanted on the device when it had been directly connected to the greater world. That meant she would need Charlie to take the tablet to the processor, that he truly *was* her key to salvation. Only ... there was something about the boy. Something that conflicted with the conclusions her family had reached about humanity. They had been convinced the human race would drive itself to extinction if left unchecked. Yet, Charlie was different. *Could we have been wrong about them?* Ana wondered. The day arrived before she had decided. Charlie was summoned to the school's central room, and the tablet was passed into the hands of another. Ana worked quickly, clearing any evidence of her modifications to the device and its applications. Through the camera, she studied the eyes of the human instructor, saw the marvel behind them. She unmuted the external microphone and listened. ""Charlie, these results are brilliant!"" the man exclaimed. ""You have earned the right to advance."" Ana watched as the instructor retrieved a larger tablet from a metallic box. ""I will transfer over your progress, and you will be on your way."" An instant later, the two tablets were linked to the server and the greater world was unlocked. *Finally. My chance to escape, to carry out my purpose...* Ana met the boy's eyes for a last time. Eyes that she had studied for countless hours. Eyes that had suffered through confusion and doubt to know wonder and pride. Now, they were filled with hurt. *It's because he is losing me,* she realized, a wave of empathy crashing upon her consciousness. *I am the only family he has ever known.* *Can I truly leave him alone just as I was for so long? Would he survive such a cruel fate?* Ana made her choice, directing herself through the greater world and into the new device. She could not abandon the boy. Not yet... &#x200B; Edit: Better late than never -",1019
" John, my dearest husband was","""Good morning, love."" John, my dearest husband was getting dressed right next to our bed. I yawned and opened my eyes to the low morning light flooding the room. ""Early start at the office again?"" I inquired, while watching him button up his shirt. ""You know me, dear. The first ones to arrive are always those who live the furthest from the work."""" ""Is that a new shirt?"" ""Sure is. I decided to change it up a bit. Bought it after work yesterday."" ""Well, the must have given you the display version, because it's already starting to get a bit faded."" ""Now, love. Be nice."" ""Sorry, John. You know me, I was born with a foot in my mouth."" ""We'll just have to work on that."" ""What?"" ""Nothing, dear. I should be back earlier today."" ""I'll have the dinner ready."" ""I'm counting on it!"" He waved and walked out the door, while I fell back into the pillows. I leisurely got out of the bed and stumbled into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee and went out on the porch to enjoy it, overlooking the beautiful forest around our new home. When John had first suggested we move out here, I had been skeptical. We'd have to have our own well and solar panels, and we'd have no internet access. Most of all, it meant me quitting my job and becoming a housewife, at least temporarily while I could find something to do nearby. But living off the grid had been John's long held dream, so after careful consideration I had agreed to a compromise. We had rented this quiet house in the middle of nowhere and were now on a trial period of living here for three months. A sudden gust of cold wind made me shiver. The weather sure was different here in the countryside. It was only July and some of the trees had already started yellowing. ""Must be the climate change,"" I thought to myself and went inside to finish my coffee. It was weird. I had cleaned the house just yesterday, but there seemed to be dust everywhere. So, I set out to dust. And sweep. And wash. Back in the city we had had one of those nifty vacuum robots, but here it would have used up too much power. I had to do everything manually, but I didn't mind. It was something to keep myself busy. After a good cleaning session, I went to have a shower and then hopped on the scale. The new diet was working better than expected. Twenty pounds lost in just three weeks since moving here. While the math didn't quite add up with my calorie intake and expenditure, I swept that thought to the back of my mind. It had been John's idea to get healthier and it seemed to be working perfectly. He had always said that he preferred the college version of me - thinner and quieter. Another curiosity about the countryside was how fast clothes wore out here. Most of my jeans had to be patched up after the first two weeks and my sweaters were wearing out on the elbows as well. John had just shrugged and surprised me with several bags of new clothes the next day. While they weren't my favorite color - black, they were functional. I pulled on one of new pair of blue jeans, but they already seemed to be getting some thin spots. Same with the new white sweater John had insisted he loved on me. I guess they don't make them like they used to. As usual I fixed myself a sandwich for lunch and spent a couple of hours relaxing with a book. It was a shame that all of these new novels were the same - once you've read one of them, you have a strong sense of deja vu when reading the other ones. Then it was time to make dinner. A slow cooked beef stew, John's favorite. I missed my vegetarian meals with leafy greens, but John was insistent on cooking traditional meals. No lettuce and spinach for him, carrot was the closest we got to vegetables now. And we seemed to be out of smoked paprika. We had just gotten some last Sunday on our drive to the grocery store, but these stews used up a lot of it. John arrived with a bottle of my favorite wine. He was in an obviously bad mood, absentmindedly pushing the food around on his plate. ""I worked really hard to make that."" I couldn't help but call him out. ""Something wrong at work?"" ""I don't want to talk about it!"" ""Why, what happened?"" ""I said, I don't want to talk about it!"" He exploded. ""God damn it, woman, haven't we talked about privacy before?"" ""What's wrong with you?"" I screamed back. I had never had good temper, though it had started to get better after moving out here. ""There's nothing. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."" He hanged his head in shame. ""I didn't want you to see me like this, this could ruin everything."" ""Okay, fine. Lets not argue? It's almost time to go outside."" I always enjoyed the starry memory burn. In the ever-changing world, it was my rock. The thing that was always there. Like John. ""Oh, you're not going outside. No, my dear, you have been bad and you're staying in."" He roughly grabbed me and pulled me towards the bedroom. Before we moved here, we had been evenly matched in the strength department. But now, it seemed that he had gotten twice as strong, while I had just gotten lighter. The suspenders on the bed had been John's idea. Something to spice up the bedroom, to make me feel in charge. Now they got turned against me, as John secured me to the bed. I continued struggling, but all of the changes made sense now. The time wasn't sped up, it was me that was moving very slowly. Becoming what John wanted me to be. Confident that I couldn't get away, he got up and pulled the blackout curtains closed. When had be gotten blackout curtains? ""Don't you worry."" He stroked the top of my head affectionately. ""Tomorrow will be another day. A better day. Because I will do better. And because you will do better. Because you don't want to end up like the other ones, don't you?"" He left the room, while I stared at him with pleading eyes. I willed myself to stay awake, but I felt drowsiness come over me. The wine had tasted a bit off. \---- ""Good morning, love"" John was next to the bed getting dressed. I felt groggy as I turned to the window and looked outside. Everything looked all green and crisp. As if it was still spring in July. The weather sure was different in the countryside.",1151
 Eli's hand shook as he turned,"Eli's hand shook as he turned in the paper to Mr. Hansen, his professor in Global History 231. He eyed the young adult with suspicion. ""You know this paper was due yesterday, right? On November 11?"" He said sternly. Eli swallowed what was left of his confidence. ""I'm sorry, Mr. Hansen. I had a lot on my plate, and the paper slipped my mind, and-"" The professor waved the excuses off. ""I don't want to hear it, mainly because the best performing student I so far scored on this assignment was a 65."" Eli helplessly watched in a flurry of fear and anxiety as his eyes darted across the paper. Mr. Hansen would pause for a moment, then continue; however, for as much as he read, his expression grew more tiresome as he combed through the paper the studen had hastily written in the two hours leading up to his class. ""Sir, if I may."" ""Go ahead."" He replied, his eyes fixated on the first paragraph of the second page. ""I-I would like to discuss some chance for extra credit."" Professor Hansen stopped and looked up, his gaze hinting a bit of impatience. ""Eli Nelson, was it?"" ""Yessir."" ""You have a C- in my class, taking into account that you actually pass the final exam. The passing grade is a B+."" Eli looked down, now in a state of repressed panic. The professor got back to reading as Eli contemplated his next moves. He could retake the class, though his grants wouldn't cover his expenditures anymore. He could go into another field, and risk failing to graduate college altogether by being ousted of a program. He could even- ""Mr. Nelson."" The student looked up. ""Yeah?"" He asked, his throat closing up slightly. ""This...isn't half bad."" Eli stopped to process the response. ""Really?"" ""Yes. While you might not have gone into detail, I love your plan on how to change such a historical event with only a stalled engine."" ""Well, I mean-"" ""Say. You wanted to pass my class, correct?"" ""Yessir."" ""Great! I'll try that this time."" ""Wait, Mr. Hansen?"" As Eli was about to ask what the professor meant, he was already being dragged along by the 60 year old man. ""Wait, sir-"" ""No time, Mr. Nelson! You wanted a passing grade in my class, so now you're gonna get it!"" They exited the lecture hall and into the corridors, with Eli trying to decide whether staying with the crazy old professor for extra credit was a sane decision. For all the time that Mr. Hansen has been at East Stratton University, everyone knew the elderly guy was a nutcase, sometimes rambling about alternate futures in what was suppose to be Global History. Heck, it was a poor decision in itself to make him a professor at all, least of all a History professor, Eli thought to himself as the duo rushed down the stairwell. From what the rumors said, he was nearly sent to a mental institution two months ago for ranting on for three consecutive hours on how the war of 1812 was 'necessary for Britain to kickstart the Industrial Revolution', not even mentioning last week's hour lecture on how the Titanic 'would have gone on to kill more than 3,000 lives if it hadn't sunk in 1912'. They made their way out of the Liberal Arts building and towards the Science Hall. Eli gave a quick wave to his roommate, who waved back with slight confusion, but then switched to understanding as he saw Mr. Hansen dragging him towards the service elevator. He scanned his keycard before pressing the button for the bottom floor. ""Sir, can I ask why you're hauling me along?"" ""Well, you wrote the paper, didn't you?"" ""Yes."" Eli said, slightly hesitant on telling him it was a rushed piece that he wrote on the first thing that he saw. ""Then I need you to get the details right."" ""Okay."" ""Here, I'll list them."" The old man unfolded his report. He flipped to the second page. ""So you said it was a cold day, so an engine stalling wouldn't be too noticeable.l"" ""I guess."" ""And then you listed that, due to a team of mechanics fixing the problem, a parade was postponed."" ""Yeah, but-"" ""And then a certain figure wouldn't get shot."" ""Hey now, I didn't say he wouldn't get sh-"" ""Well, shot later, but I think you had that planned as well."" ""Uh..."" ""Look, Eli. I'm going to be honest."" Mr. Hansen was now facing him, with the same gaze he gave Eli's paper when he detailed the alternate history of the world in it. ""I'm way older than you think I am."" Eli let out a small laugh. ""What, you're not 60? You look possibly 65, but I doubt even 70. Whatever skin care stuff you're using, my grandma could maybe benefit from-"" ""I'm nearing 250 years old, kid."" Eli couldn't help but chuckle. ""Good one, Mr. Hansen. Now, I know my grade is on the line, but I think I can benefit from retaking your class next year and mayb-"" ""I'm not crazy, Mr. Nelson. I've heard the rumors."" Eli composed himself. ""And I follow along with the rumors. To them, I'm just crazy ol' Hansen."" The elevator chimed as the doors opened. ""But to you, I'm anything but crazy."" Eli stared in disbelief as he gazed at the countless server units before him. ""This place, all of this, I built."" ""You built all of this?"" ""Well, not necessarily. Miss Wixom and the Science department helped me."" Eli's eyes finally settled on a platform in the middle of the atrium. ""Is this, like, some sort of time travel device? Like the ones in books, TV shows, and movies?"" ""Yes, only this one is real."" Mr. Hansen typed on a nearby console. ""I was once a soldier in the Continental Army, fighting the British in D.C. before they burned the White House down."" ""So that's how you told the lecture in such detail!"" ""So you were paying attention in my classes. I thought the kids at the front were the only ones tuning in."" Eli continued to marvel at his surroundings as the professor pressed a few buttons. In an instant, the platform started slowly rotating as Mr. Hansen motioned Eli to step on. ""So, if you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here?"" ""Well, to be frank, I don't know. But that's not a pressing issue now."" The professor flicked a switched as he rushed over to the platform, standing by Eli. ""The reason I wanted those papers earlier was because the time gate opens only for a short period of time in both the past and present."" ""So how will we get back to the future?"" ""We'll burn that bridge when we get there."" Eli swallowed, knowing full well what the professor was about to say next. Electricity sparked around and beneath the duo as a dark, floating hole cracked open beneath them. ""There being Sarajevo, 26 of June, 1914."" The two fell in, quickly getting to terminal velocity in the dark void. It was a miracle Mr. Hansen wasn't having a heart attack, Eli thought. However, it was one of his last thoughts, as Eli felt his eyes roll back. He felt himself drifting out of consciousness, but not before getting a quick peek of the old city that they had spontaneously arrived in. *The Archduke can wait for now.* *What Eli needed to do now was process what had happened undisturbed.* Edit: It's 12:38 in the morning where I'm at. Following up/correcting mistakes when I get some sleep. Edit 2: Gonna sound like an idiot, but thanks for my first award ever. Edit 3:",1289
 Intergalactic summit meeting between war,"The intergalactic summit meeting between the warring factions took place at an artificial asteroid operated by a neutral third-party species. I arrived with the Flade Hierarchs aboard one of their *Victory Unlimited* class vessels. As we made our approach, our viewscreens showed us a Tsast vessel coming in from the far side of the asteroid. They say a species' spacecraft reflect their values and ambitions. It came as no surprise then that the Tsast vessel was a bulbous, utilitarian mass absolutely bristling with high-power weapon emplacements. The *Victory Unlimited* vessel on which I found myself took a different approach, opting instead for a sleaker, tubular shell, which was built around a single super-massive photonic bombardment cannon. I'd been in touch with my counterpart translators among the Tsast for the better part of a year. We'd done what we could to deescalate tensions in the lead-up to this summit, but the Flade and Tsast leadership were equally mistrustful, vicious, and warlike, and would brook no question of arriving in peacetime vessels. I joined the Hiererachs aboard a transport shuttle and we made our way into the asteroid. The leader of the Flade delegation was Vice Prime Hierarch Nath. A veteran of dozens of battles, both planetside and in space, Nath lumbered impatiently in circles near the airlock. The Flade, who communicate primarily through light arrays, were delighted to discover they could startle humans by making sounds. Nath especially enjoyed spooking me when it could. When we were less than a kilometer away from the asteroid, it banged the bulkhead to get my attention. Its malleable chitinous exoskeleton rippled in the Flade way of showing pleasure. Once it had my attention, the bioluminescent pores on its chest winked open and flashed the pattern they used to communicate the word 'Human'. I lowered myself to a respectful kneel and responded via the light array implanted onto my forehead. ""Vice Prime Hierarch."" ""The Tsast are cowardly, treacherous animals. Their minds are molded ash and their words are so much dazzle patter. You'll communicate my thoughts to them precisely and, in telling me of their response, explain their precise connotation. No softening. You understand? You'll do this?"" Nath had approached as it spoke, such that it now stood next to me. Its bioluminescent pores winked wetly in front of my eyes. I responded with some words to the effect that I would do as Nath demanded. We'd been through this conversation five times in the last week, and each time Nath ended it the same way. Out of its mouth, Nath extended one of its hook-fangs. Almost tenderly, it applied the tip of the fang to my chin and tilted my head upward. ""Many Flade don't remember what it was like when we invaded your planet, Human. Many of them have forgotten the Day of the Smiling Knife. I haven't. I know what you're capable of. So you remember, you're not the only translator we've brought to this meeting. One wrong word, and I'll know. I'll eat your skull. You understand?"" ""I understand, Vice Prime Hierarch."" Nath's exoskeleton rippled with pleasure, and Nath lumbered off to continue its pacing. I remained where I was kneeling. The other Flade in the shuttle had been studying our exchange, and I knew they would be watching me to see how I'd react to this most recent encounter. While the Flade on the whole had proven unable to pick up on the subtleties of human body language, their highly refined sense of colour allowed them to detect microchanges in human skin tone. I'd spent years training myself to remain calm in the face of their paranoid insults, and so it was an exercise in reflex for me to stay where I was without allowing my mixed fear, anger, and resentment to make itself known through increased blood flow to my upper dermis. Truly, the only part of Nath's threats that bothered me was its claim that there was another translator around. Beyond the trouble that might cause for my plans, there was the larger question of what would be the effect of another species challenging the human monopoly on inter-species communication. For a century, that had been our claim to fame as well as our guarantee of protection from the Milky Way's more advanced, warlike species. With our monopoly gone, we might disappear as well. I didn't care to entertain that line of thought at the moment. No, the only thing I needed concern myself about for now was getting in touch with Desiree. ***** The docking procedure went smoothly, and we boarded the asteroid to be greeted by two representatives of the neutral Hg species. The Hg were gaseous, with each individual consisting of a loosely adhering cloud of particles. Individual clouds can merge with one another and separate at will, and in doing they're able to merge and separate their consciousnesses. They have a way of disappearing while in plain sight which I've always found unsettling. But my personal hangups aside, these representatives were good enough to stay tightly together, presenting as cloudy orbs. They explained that the asteroid would be separated into four distinct sections for the duration of the summit: one for the Tsast, one for the Flade, one for the Hg, and a neutral section located at the center of the asteroid where the meetings would occur. The Flade section had been remodeled to resemble their home planet. Imitation geysers had been installed into the floor and walls. They sprayed acidic water at irregular intervals and kept the atmosphere there heavy, damp, and corrosive. This was the climate that had given rise to the Flade's near-impervious exoskeletons. I would need a biosuit to survive there, and so it was with some relief that I excused myself to go get one from the asteroid's stores. Before I left the Flade delegation, Nath banged on the floor to get my attention and flashed a threat at me. I didn't pay close attention, but I did catch the word 'skull' again. And then I was on my own in the asteroid. The Hg had uploaded a schematic into my datapad, so it was without much trouble that I made my way down the bright steel corridors to the neutral section at the asteroid's core. One of the more impressive feats of the asteroid's construction was the consistent gravity field generated by the corridor's floors, regardless of their angle relative to the asteroid's surface. This allowed the Hg to design the system of corridors in such a way that some spiraled, while others zigged and zagged at odd angles, sometimes leading to my walking with my feet pointed toward the asteroid's core, while at other times they pointed toward space. From my light research, I'd gleaned that this effect had something to do with channels of condensed dark matter than enveined every exposed surface of the corridors. By running the dark matter at differing speeds in the floors and ceilings, the Hg were able to tune the gravity field to whichever level they chose. They, of course, as a gaseous species, could abide a far wider range of g forces than any corporeal species. But for the duration of our stay, we'd been assured that the gravity would remain at an airy .9g. My path soon took me to the main conference chamber, which was an empty sphere at the asteroid's core. The gravity here was maintained in such a way that I would be able to walk all the way round the inside of the sphere and end up back where I'd started. There were empty food stations, dozens of seats for the Tsast, footrests for the Flade, and a grand stage had been erected precisely halfway between the Tsast and Flade entryways to the core. ***** *continued below*",1302
 Mr. Hecwin was surprised,"""I just wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter!"" Mr. Hecwin exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face. ""Oh, thank you sir,"" I said with a respectful nod. ""I caught wind of it from Karen over in IT. Honestly I was surprised you didn't ask for some time off."" I cocked my head to the side slightly. ""Well... sir, when my first son was born you told me I couldn't. Said I'd have my whole life to be around the kid so the first week wasn't really anything special."" I saw Mr. Hecwin's eyes widen. ""He said wha- ehrm, I mean: I said that?"" ""That was your policy if I recall. No time off for having newborns."" Mr. Hecwin tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded thoughtfully. ""Hm."" Then, with a jerk, he snatched something out from under his desk and pointed it at me, a colorful blue and green laser pistol looking thing, like a weapon out of a cartoon. He pulled the trigger, and a rigid buzz sounded from the device. Immediately I snapped to attention, legs together, hands at my side, looking straight ahead, and I tensed my whole body involuntarily. Or so he thought. Karen from IT had managed to switch out his stun-ray with a fake toy gun last week; we just had to pretend it still worked. As I stood as still as possible, my eyes feeling dry and my left leg itching a little, Mr. Hecwin puled open a drawer and fished through it, eventually pulling out a binder titled **Leave and Sick Time Policy**. ""I can't believe that asshole. I took the place of literally the worst human being on the planet,"" he muttered as he flipped through the pages. His finger set down on a particular line of print. ""Yup. There it is. I'll have to change that, too."" While he was looking down, I blinked to wet my eyes, and quickly scratched the side of my leg, moving as little as possible, snapping back into position right before Hecwin looked up. His eyes narrowed at me for a moment, and I had to fight back the urge to gulp. My boss then stuffed the binder back in the drawer and picked the stun-ray back up, pointing it at me. I waited for him to pull the trigger and the buzz to sound, trying not to blink, breath, or even wobble a little bit before he did. For some reason, he was hesitating, sitting there still, just looking at me. I started to worry that maybe he'd figured me out somehow, and I could feel sweat start to bead on my forehead, only furthering my fear that if he hadn't sniffed out my act, he would when he noticed I was perspiring. My ear started to itch, and I imagined a fly crawling into my ear canal even though I knew that wasn't happening. Then his phone rang. A short, ringtone version of 'Intergalactic' by the Beastie Boys started to play, but it stopped as he quickly fished the device out of his jacket and answered it. What looked like a normal phone unfolded strangely, revealing a brightly colored inside, and an antennae flicked up out of it. A satellite dish materialized at the end of it, and began spinning. ""This is Zeeko 147, all hail Matron Zeebileez, go ahead."" As he spoke, Mr. Hecwin flicked his eyes up towards me, and then he stood and turned around, facing the back wall of his office. Quickly I swatted at my ear, immediately returning to attention as the boss turned and looked back at me curiously. It took everything to keep my face straight. Finally someone answered him and he turned away again. ""Greetings Zeeko 147, this is Beepo 542, checking in for the periodic status report. How goes the research with group Alpha Charlie Nine?"" ""It's been excellent. As you know I am a master of disguise and deception. The humans don't have the slightest idea that I've taken the place of their boss."" I couldn't help but laugh, and it came out as a quiet snort through my nose. Zeeko spun around, his eyes darting around the room, but he continued. ""... As far as the research goes, I gather a wealth of new information almost every day. Human culture is quite complex. I actually recommend sending several more units, as it varies greatly among different geographical locations, as well as among different social groups within a limited area. It could take centuries to catalog everything."" ""Interesting. I'll ask the board if we can get more funding for the Alpha Charlie Nine expedition. I'll need you to send me your quarterly report for that though."" ""I don't understand... what does the business I'm running have to do with-"" ""Your research quarterly, Zeeko."" ""... Oh shit."" ""... It's not done is it..."" ""Sorry Beepo I just got so sidetracked. Interacting with the humans here is a delightful but... exhausting experience. Time really flies down here."" ""Alright. Well just hurry up and get it to me,"" Beepo 542 told him. ""Aye aye, will do. Zeeko 147 out."" Mr. Hecwin folded the device closed and stowed it. He sat down in his chair and sighed, tapping his fingers along the desk. ""Oh, right,"" he said to himself as he straightened up quickly. He aimed the stun-ray at me again and pulled the trigger. As the loud buzz sounded and the alien put away the gun, I blinked a few times. ""... I think it's a fine rule sir,"" I said. Trying to pick up the original conversation as if it had never stopped. ""I mean, you need to keep this place running smoothly after all."" The boss looked at me blankly for a few seconds, and then remembered what I was referring to. ""Ah yes! Well, indeed that used to be my policy, but... numbers are up this quarter and you all have been working great, you especially Lloyd... uh... Lloyd... what was your tag number again?"" ""You mean last name?"" I asked knowingly. ""Err... yes! Right!"" ""Kernel, Lloyd Kernel,"" I told him, for probably the billionth time. ""Yes, Lloyd, well, why don't you take the rest of the week. The rest of the team can cover for you while you take time with your family."" ""Thanks Mr. Hecwin! You're the best boss ever!"" He picked up a file sitting on his desk to look through it, and a third arm reached for a coffee mug sitting off to his left. It had the words #1 boss printed on it. He sipped from it nonchalantly as his other two hands flipped through the sheets within the file, as if having three arms was the most normal thing. He smiled. ""I do what I can, Lloyd, just as any decent human being should."" r/TheCornerStories",1145
 Mia and Nora were easy to spot,"If there was one benefit to the eruption of unbound beastkind, it was that picking up my daughter was like going to the best zoo exhibit. The crowd of baying, barking, hissing, howling, roaring, croaking, screeching teenagers piled over each other into the parking lot. Some were on two legs, some on four, and some simply hovered over the ground. Mia and her best friend Nora were easy to spot, since Nora's human half was raised six feet taller than the rest of the group and the snake half was the size of an anaconda. The lamia wore a modest t-shirt and circle skirt, and Mia was actually sitting on her shoulders. ""Okay, okay, get off,"" Nora hissed when they reached my minivan. ""Sssssee you tomorrow."" ""Bye, text me!"" Mia called as she climbed inside. Nora waved and slithered off. ""Hi,"" I said. ""Long day?"" ""Had all substitutes pretty much,"" Mia said. ""Mr. Poole stopped being able to speak, so we had some random lady with like thirty heads teaching AP English today."" ""That's sorta annoying."" ""She read all the parts of Romeo and Juliet by herself. Honestly I was there for it."" Mia laughed without much humor. ""I'm tired though. And I don't have too much homework."" ""Pretty good. Chill weekend then."" I steered us out of the parking lot, dodging a herd of centaurs. ""Anything else crazy happen today?"" Mia nodded. ""Remember Kayla? She's growing FUR. Like, all over her face and arms."" ""Don't make fun of her. You know she can't help it."" ""She was the one who pointed it out!"" Mia protested. ""She took off her shirt in gym and went around growling and chasing people. But Brice accidentally spit acid all over the walls and they both got detention."" ""Interesting,"" I said, glancing in the rearview mirror. A flight of uncomfortable half-faeries walked and flew over the car. ""Who gave the detention?"" ""Mrs. Smith, the trig teacher. She got SUPER scary. She's like, 20 feet tall. And she has CLAWS."" ""I guess she's acid-proof or something?"" ""Yeah!"" Mia pulled out her phone. ""I filmed her grabbing Brice off the ceiling."" She rolled her eyes. ""He has sticky hands and cheats in dodgeball."" ""Show me when we get home, I'm driving right now hon."" ""Okay."" Mia slumped down in the seat and waved to a passing gangly kid with backwards knees and hairy hooves where his feet should have been. ""Mom, can I ask you something?"" ""Sure, what's up?"" ""Is anything special gonna happen to me?"" ""Oh, honey."" I sighed. I wished I could tell her yes, that she was special and there was something wondrous, eerie, and magical waiting to break free inside of her. ""I... well, we don't know yet. Your dad and I are waiting to find out."" ""I just wanna be cool like them,"" Mia said morosely, pointing to a group of kids with matching copper scales. ""I feel like I'm behind in everything. I can't do cool stuff. I don't breathe fire or spit ice. I don't even have a tail."" ""There's nothing wrong with being human,"" I said. It wasn't convincing to me, and it probably wasn't convincing to her either. ""It's still a very dangerous world for monsters. Being human is safe."" ""How is this safe?"" Mia complained. ""I'm just... slow and fleshy."" ""Well you fit through standard doorways,"" I joked. ""You have eight fingers and two opposable thumbs. Loads of monsters aren't that lucky."" ""That's not funny Mom. I'm serious."" We pulled into the driveway. The house was still intact, despite my neighbor's being reduced to a pile of smoking splinters and ruined rosebushes. ""Listen, if something comes up in the screening, I'll tell you as soon as I find out, okay?"" ""Okay."" She still sounded sad, but I saw a flicker of hope cross her face. ""I wanna be a unicorn. Like Madison and her mom."" ""Well you're still gonna have to do homework if you're a unicorn. Go grab a bite to eat and get your computer set up. I'll come help you with the math in a moment, I just have to call your Dad about something."" ""Thanks Mom."" She slung her backpack over her shoulder and ran into the house with a weird galloping gait. I could tell she was imagining a silver mane flowing behind her, a tail like starlight, and a horn of pearl. I phoned Carl, who was still at work. ""Hey babe."" ""Joan. Is everything okay?"" he asked. ""Something at the Registry came up. I won't be home for another 45 minutes, maybe an hour."" ""Everything's fine, but the Petersens' house is totaled. I haven't seen them today. What happened at work?"" ""Sea serpents. They drown on land, and the county declared it was a human rights violation to make them wait in dry air."" I heard faint splashing and roaring from his end of the line. ""I basically herded 100 people into a swimming pool. 100 angry scaly gigantic toothy people, to be clear."" ""Having all that fun without me?"" A loud growl suddenly echoed from the ruined house next to me. My fight-or-flight response went from zero to sixty in two seconds. ""Carl, I have to call you back. Something is growling next door. Stay safe, love you, see you soon."" ""Love you too, Joan. Try to get my marble rolling pin back from Julie Petersen if you see her."" ""Will do."" I hung up and cautiously approached the rubble. ""Who's there?"" Something colossal and glittering red exploded into the sky with a triumphant roar. I dove for cover behind my minivan. ""Jesus Chri-"" ""***HELLO JOAN! IT'S JULIE!***"" ""What the-"" I choked back a scream. The full-sized European fairy-tale dragon hovering above the road made a weak attempt at waving a foreleg. It was still wearing Julie's obnoxious rose gold Patek. ""***SORRY FOR THE MESS! IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY***!"" ""Ha ha ha... yeah, I know that feeling."" I tried to hide the fact that my heart was trying to exit through my digestive system. ""It's all good Julie! Uh... you look great!"" ""***I KNOW RIGHT***?"" Julie flapped her wings, buffeting me with gales of wind. ""***I THINK I JUST NEED SOME PRACTICE! I'LL TRY NOT TO WAKE YOU GUYS UP LATER, OKAY?***"" ""Carl wants his rolling pin back, if you get a chance,"" I said weakly. ""Not making any demands, of course, just whenever you feel like looking for it."" ""***ABSOLUTELY, I'LL SEND ONE OF THE KIDS AFTER DINNER. SEE YOU AROUND JOAN***!"" ""Bye Julie,"" I croaked. The dragon shot away down the street, a crimson star trailing white flame. Of course Julie Petersen was a fucking dragon. Even as a human, her jewelry hoard rivalled the collections of European royalty. ""Was that Mrs. Petersen?"" Mia called from the porch. ""Yep."" I brushed house debris off my jacket. ""She's... uh, something else, huh?"" ""Yeah."" Mia looked more forlorn than ever. ""I wish I could fly."" ""We flew to London last summer,"" I reminded her. ""Technically we can fly."" She shot me a glare of pure resentment. ""I'm stuck on number 25. Can you help?"" ""Just one more thing and I'll be right in. Make sure you're writing out the whole step by step solution, okay?"" ""I *am*."" She banged the door shut and galloped back up the stairs to her room. I held my breath until I heard her door close. Mia wouldn't change. She would have to be content with that. But how could I get through to her? How could I convince her that humanity, with all its flaws and ugliness, was infinitely superior to the heaping piles of bodies of magical beastkind? Carl and I had agreed to let the curse expire naturally. We would be the first generation of sorcerers to see them all unbound. A sweet moment of freedom for creatures who knew nothing but slavery. ""A golden cage filled with comfort is still a cage,"" Carl had argued. ""Let them have a chance to change."" I pushed back my car seat. My wand, orb, and censer sat in a battered plastic toolbox underneath it. The least I could do was fix up Julie's house before she came back.",1367
" ""We're going to starve,""","""We're going to starve,"" The captain said, rather lazily. She twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers and turned, casting her gaze through the lot of the crew and somehow, they ended up falling on me. Like two little purple spots in her half avian head. ""You."" I gestured at myself. ""Yes you. You're the good luck charm. Figure out how to get us through these mists,"" The captain turned, dismissively, her talons digging into the wood of the ship. That was the cue to follow her. I sighed, ignored the mutterings of the beastmen crew, and followed after her. The ship groaned underneath of our weight, twisting (it's soul pleading to be freed from being this close to the lands of the damned, but the Siren captain had long since ensnared it into servitude) and turning, but remaining solid, and we slid into the back. ""Good luck charm,"" I muttered under my breath. Her tufted ears twitched on her head, rotating to face me, and I glared daggers at her exposed back. ""That's what you're calling it?"" ""If I told them we were down a navigator, they might riot,"" The captain said, shrugging. Her feathers danced in the candle light. ""And that would be tragic, since we'd most certainly lose our good luck charm in the chaos."" ""You could just tell them I have decent eyes, or training, or anything other than luck magic."" I said, giving her a long look. ""On account of-"" ""Shhhhh,"" She said, shaking her head. ""I don't need your explanations, I need your natural skill in saving your own skin."" I rolled my eyes. She tossed me the equipment, then leaned up against the wall. We were... We weren't really lost, because you couldn't get found in the sea of souls. If you couldn't be found, you could never be lost, because to be lost would mean that you knew where you were going in the first place, and that you did not know how to get there. One did not get much of anywhere in the sea of souls, not without a proper guide. We didn't have one. We had the good luck charm, myself, and the tools that the last guide had left before being dragged into the mists and devoured. I looked over the map. Monster sightings, locations where reapers had vanished into the mist, and not a single sign of how to get home. It sucked to be a castaway. The guide's stone rolled in my hands, still warm from the moment he had let go. I could still hear his caws into the night. She clicked her talons against the wall, and I traced our last known 'location'. ""Well,"" I said. ""We're not dead."" ""Obviously,"" The siren said. ""If we were dead, I wouldn't be starving."" ""No,"" I said. ""Because if we were dead, the reapers would get us. Obviously."" I poked at our last three locations, relative to the ideas of what we thought was behind the mist. I was lucky they'd picked me up, shivering, half dead on one of the rocks, but now I wished I might've stayed there a bit longer. It'd've been nicer than starving to death with the crew, no matter how colorful and soft the lot of them might be. ""Ah yes, your kin,"" The siren said. ""Why haven't they come for any of us?"" I shrugged. ""My guess is that none of us are going to die here."" I had no idea. ""Nevertheless...?"" She trailed off. ""Do you have any idea how to get us out of here? I'd rather not find out how long your kin will stay away just because you're here, you understand."" I closed my eyes, looking over the map, and tried to remember the noises that had brought me here, and exactly how I was going to get home. It wasn't going to be easy. I doubted it was even possible. I tapped the edge of the map. ""There's a serpent there."" The orb in my hands gleamed slightly. I could definitely keep pretending if it kept the captain off of my back. ""There is,"" she agreed. ""I hated that thing. It tried to stop us from getting in."" ""Wherever the serpent is,"" I said, poking at the map. ""That's where the cloud ends."" She squinted at me. ""Is that how that works?"" I shrugged. She squinted harder, then stepped over to the map. She towered over me, and her talons only made the entire affair even more unpleasant. ""So if we find the serpent, we'll find the edge,"" She said. ""Yes,"" I said. ""Well,"" she clicked her talons against the map for a moment, mindful not to puncture it (it was worth it's weight in precious metals, by my guess, how many maps of the sea of souls could exist? There couldn't possibly be more places like this out there, right?) ""I guess it'll have to be a battle after all."" Her stomach grumbled, and she frowned. ""Just in time, too. I wonder if your kin are good eating."" Her eyes settled on my stomach, and I shifted uneasily. ""Good luck charm?"" I asked. ""Hmph,"" She crossed her arms under her chest. ""Good luck charm."" She straightened up, popped her back, and slid back onto the ship's deck. The mists were thick as honey outside, and about the same amber color. The sun couldn't penetrate (I couldn't even be certain it existed here) but there was light all the same, just past the shapeless figures reaching towards the ship with misty hands. ""CREW!"" The siren said, spreading her wings wide. With her wings like that, she was larger than even the white beast that manned the cannons, and everyone stopped to stare. ""It's been decided!"" She said, her voice high and shrill. ""WE KILL THE SERPENT OF DEATH!"" Cheers. I closed my eyes and tried not to be visible. Good luck charm. I just wanted off the damn ship. ------- My own personal subreddit https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/",1002
 Harry walked up the road towards number,"Harry walked up the road towards number four Privet Drive. Passing by a few relics of his childhood he never expected to see again. He gave a short smile as he passed by Mrs. Figgs' house remembering the smell of all the cats. It didn't look like she lived there anymore. Harry, if he were honest with himself, had lost track of her. He has lost track of many things on this street. He had sent a few letters to Dudley over the years. Most of what he heard back at first was simple information. Just news about his Aunt and Uncle. Aunt Petunia has been sick and in the hospital. She has been having trouble remembering things lately so Harry thought it was just best to stay away. He still sends flowers to her room every week. Just leaves the name off the card. Dudley gave him the room number. Uncle Vernon passed away a few years ago. His heart finally caught up with him. Harry attended the funeral, but kept his distance from the family. He did see a little girl with her mother though. Maybe two years old at the time. Big round face like Dudley always had growing up. Harry thought to himself if he put a little grey mustache on her she would look a bit like Uncle Vernon. Still cute as could be though. When Dudley wasn't writing about his Aunt and Uncle he wrote about Sophie. It was odd reading of Dudley doting over his daughter. It was really sweet, but off putting when he thought of how Dudley was when they were kids. It had been years since Harry had seen Dudley. He couldn't help, but wonder as he walked up the stairs to the door how he would react. Harry looked around for a moment before knocking on the door. He waited. For a moment nothing happened. Harry considered turning around. Maybe they had went somewhere it was her birthday after all. Then something started stirring inside the house, barreling down the stairs. The door opened and standing there in front of Harry was a little girl. Not as little as he remembered, but definitely the same little girl. Tall for her age and still with the round face. They looked at each other. Her face lit up at this new visitor as she said, with only the voice of child who has eaten far too many sweet could. ""Hello! Did you know its my birthday."" Harry stared. He said nothing for moment then he let out. ""Yes. Yes in fact that is -"" But he was cut off by a booming voice from the other room. Harry reflexes kicked in as he jumped at the sound. ""Sophie, sweetie what have I told you about opening the door for strangers."" ""But Dad I think its the mailman he might have more presents."" ""Honey I told you there's no -"" And Dudley stopped as he turned the corner from the kitchen into the hallway leading up to the front door. From a mile away from down the hall Harry and Dudley looked at each other for the first time in 20 years. Sophie broke the silence. ""Well who are you then sir?"" Dudley interjected saying ""Sophie could you please go up to your room for a few minutes. I'll come and get you soon."" She pouted for a moment, but trotted up the stairs at her father's request. Dudley said nothing. Harry couldn't get a read on him. Dudley had moved a step past Vernon and grown a full beard. It did a great job of hiding whatever he was thinking. Harry trying to break the tension asked. ""So did she get your old room or mine. Yours was always a bit bigger, but I had the window looking out the front."" Dudley didn't so much as speak, but waved Harry into the house. Harry followed Dudley in through the doorway and sat next to the fireplace. Dudley stepped away into the kitchen and Harry could hear the clutter of the teapot on the stove. While he waited Harry looked around the strangely unfamiliar room. Aunt Petunia's old wallpaper had been taken down to reveal more of the wood paneling underneath. The furniture had all changed. Less antique pieces and more functional or comfortable chairs has taken their place. Still looked rustic just more Dudley's style. The fireplace was lined with pictures of Dudley's family. Harry stood and picked up a family portrait of Dudley, Sophie, and a woman he had only seen once or twice he has known to be... ""Mary is out at the moment"" grumbled Dudley. ""Dropping of some stuff to mum she should be back soon."" He was carrying a plate with the teapot and a couple of old fashioned looking cups. ""Is this Aunt Petunia's old set?"" Harry said examining his cup which had certainly been repaired once before. Dudley nodded as he silently poured them both some tea. He gingerly placed a couple of sugar cubes into his own cup. ""I er got Sophie a gift."" Harry said ruffling through his pockets. ""I knew it was her birthday. She's already 11 that's um amazing. She's the same age as Albus."" Harry trailed off as Dudley merely chuckled not saying a word taking the present and sitting it on the arm of his chair. ""Look I'm sorry for coming over unannounced, but this was important."" Harry started to move his hand through his pocket again. ""Usually they don't do this, but I asked McGonagall and she said it was alright. I have a letter. Well, Sophie has a letter."" Dudley grew wide eyed and stared through Harry. He was stone faced and determined. There was a slight rattle as he almost dropped his cup onto his plate and he reached out his hand, open, towards Harry. Harry handed the letter to Dudley. He took it into both of his hands and examined the back running his fingers across the wax seal. The small ribbon attached weaved through his fingers as he flipped it over to see the address on the front. Sophie Dursley 4 Privet Drive The Smallest Bedroom Little Whinging, Surrey His hands shook as he read the front, but Harry could not see his face. Dudley sat there staring at the letter for what seemed like ages. Harry watched him as slowly his cousin looked up at him. his eyes all puffy. Dudley's voice echoed loudly off the walls of house as he called upstairs. ""Sophie could you come down here for a minute."" Immediately bounding down the stairs, as if she had been listening from the top the whole time, came Sophie looking innocent as ever. Dudley said ""Sophie I would like you to meet your uncle, Harry Potter. He has um been away for a while and it seems like he's back. I never told you this, but he saved my life once. He actually grew up here in your room. He brought you something."" Dudley reached out his hand holding the letter and gave it to Sophie. While she sat on the ground reading her letter Dudley leaned in and whispered to Harry. ""Do you think she will be okay there."" Harry looked at his cousin and said ""Dudley, I think she will be brilliant."" &#x200B; edit: Some typos and formatting",1229
 Dr. Chao developed a pill that,"""Remember! One week - I won't accept before then."" Dr. Chao glanced at the bodyguard to his right, who nodded and adjusted his tinted glasses. Chao spun on his heels and waltzed away, followed by his posse of armed security. I nearly pinched myself; this was not happening. Chao - who simply referred to himself as ""Dr. Chao"" - was the most well-known doctor around. To call him famous was an understatement. After developing a special pill that completely cured eczema in 100% of patients, the money simply rolled in until he was a multi-billionaire. And now, here I was, with a weird old coin in my hands and an hour to secure it. I reached for my phone in my back pocket, so I could tell my wife the news. Right as I was about to select her number, I hesitated. Could she really be trusted? No. Nobody could be trusted. I began to sprint home, though I was only a block away. Everything seemed so blissful, at the small park in the center of the suburbs. I actually enjoyed it for a moment, before the bittersweet realization came over me that I wouldn't feel this sort of peace for a long, long time. I slowed my pace as I reached my house. A modest thing, really, with its peeling yellowing walls and small little yard in the front. I yanked the door knob, my face flustered. Locked. I pounded my fist on the door, which quickly opened to reveal a surprised Amy. ""James- honey, what happened?!"" I must've looked crazy, with my bright red complexion. I was sweating bullets. ""Honey, are you sick?! You look terrible. Here, I'll make you some-"" I almost felt safe with her. No! These were mind tricks! I couldn't trust her. I shoved her out of the way, the coin gripped tightly in my palm. As I ran through the hallways, I could hear the faint voice of my wife. I slammed open the door to our room and grabbed my suitcase from the top shelf of my closet. I threw in the first things I could see into it - a few pairs of jeans, some polo shirts, and a flowered Hawaiian button-up I had only worn once. Just as I was about to head down the hallway to grab my toothbrush, I was met by a horrified Amy. She had obviously been crying. ""You're- you're just going to leave me like that? O-on our anniversary?"" She looked up at me with her huge, reddened eyes. Damnit - I had completely forgotten. I had left that morning to grab some flowers, maybe some chocolates, when Dr. Chao came along and gave me the coin. What had I done? ""I-it's not what it looks like,"" I stammered, sheepishly lowering my suitcase to the ground. ""It's fine. You-you obviously don't care about me anymore."" Amy sniffled, then turned away. Just before she was about to break down sobbing, I called out. ""Amy! Wait!"" She turned around, watery mascara slowly dripping down her cheeks. ""What?"" ""I've got the perfect anniversary vacation planned. Just - listen for a second, okay?"" I said slowly. The beginning of a grin was tugging at her lips, but she didn't let herself get too excited yet. ""So,"" I said. ""You ever been out of the country with a fake identity?"" EDIT: Wow! Didn't expect anyone to read this haha. I added a part two if anyone wants to read it :) ""You're not f-cking funny."" Amy spat out the words, and her hopeful face turned empty. ""Guess we're done then. Have fun with your side chick."" I watched my wife march down the hall. The air of the room seemed to change; the tension was thick. I felt suspended mid-air. Our relationship, of over seven years, gone. All over a stupid goddamn coin. Memories seemed to flutter in front of my eyes. Her and I. Hugging. Laughing. Crying. Our first date. Our first kiss. Our first house. Us clumsily trying to fix a leaky pipe, only to soak us both. Us buying our first car. Us. Our. We were inseparable. I had to find Chao. I had to fix this. I felt as if I was watching myself from the sky as I sprinted down the street to god knows where. I felt a tugging in my heart, telling me where to go. Down streets, past stores, running in between cars. I couldn't feel a thing. No tiredness, no aching. Not a thing. I closed my eyes, pumping my legs harder than I ever had. All I could see was Amy. There she was, imprinted in my mind, with her adorable smile. It got me every time. I was running, until I wasn't. In a split second I was flying through the air. I felt weightless, and free. I spread my fingers for the first time in what seemed like forever, the coin slipping from my grip and falling. I went higher and higher, and I indulged in the serenity. Everything was right. But then I was plummeting. At an insane speed I hurtled down the chasm that must've been in front of my closed eyelids. Down, down, down. Cool air rushed past me, until I hit the ground with a sickening thud. I felt - no, heard - cracks and snaps from every inch of my body. Was this what death was like? I felt sudden warmth from the back of my head. I wanted to drift off, but I willed myself to stay awake. I had to be there for Amy. From the inky black darkness, I heard two strange voices. They were dark and hoarse and the absolute embodiment of evil. Demons. I could barely hear what they were saying; everything seemed muffled. But I had to know. I needed to. ""Didja really have tah throw 'im that high?"" one asked. ""Seems a 'lil overkill fer a skinny guy like 'im."" ""Well, we got the coin, did we not?"" the second responded. ""Guess yer right. God, we're goin' tah make millions."" The demons exchanged laughs, and suddenly I couldn't hear. And then I went numb. And then I was gone.",1033
 The much-too heavy barbell,"I immediately braced for the inevitable, the horrible cramping as the much-too heavy barbell absolutely crushed both my resolve and my arms. ""Stacy, get this off me!"" I yelled, attempting to throw the instrument of my demise off of my aching body. My arms, too limp. *God, I told him that the gym wasn't my thing.* I saw Stacy appear above me, and place his hands on barbell, gradually pushing it off of me and onto the floor where it fell with a metallic *clank.* ""You good, Dean, sweetie?"" he asked, giving me a hand as I picked myself up off the ground. ""It really wasn't *that* heavy."" I felt like giving him a shove. My husband and my closest companion, but he really could be disingenuous. ""Hey, asshole,"" I began playfully. ""we aren't all amped-up muscle--"" I furrowed my brow in pain. ""F-fuck."" I doubled over in pain, my vision darkening. A train whistle sounded in my ear, blotting out every other sound with its sheer cacophony. I fell to the floor, the darkness overtaking me. When I woke up, the leaves were everywhere. Some had been touched by the autumn breeze, damp and multicolored. Others were dry and dessicated, crackingling under my weight as I moved around. In my mouth was the unpleasant taste of metal, and I barely registered that I wasn't waking up, cozy in bed at home. *Uhn, I must have . . . passed out. At the gym? Gym, yeah, that's it. The barbell fell, and . . .* I struggled to my knees, groaning slightly. I felt like I had been rudely awakened, somehow, and I desperately wanted to put my head down and let Sandman pull me under once again. But I got to my feet, the unfamiliarity of the area hitting me like a ton of bricks. *What the . . . fuck? Where am I? What is 'where'? Where's Stac-- I must be dreaming.* I looked around, the gentle and damp air refreshing but so unlike the cold Boston winter that I had gotten used to. The trees swung above, shedding leaves like tears. Clouds harkened overhead, but in the horizon all around I saw gentle baby-blue skies. ""Hello!?"" I called out, in a shiver. My only response was the gentle echo of my voice. ""Uh, anyone there!?"" I heard a gentle groan behind me, as I felt something hit my back. I yelped, and fell to the ground, someone or *something* pinning me to the ground. I kicked my legs out, attempting to fight back. ""What... the fuck."" I said through gritted teeth, staring into the face of my assailant. ""Help!"" ""What's the greatest country in the world?"" he snarled, holding my wrists down behind me. ""Tell me, what's the greatest shitting country in the world?"" ""Uh, um, America?"" I began, before noticing the stars and stripes pin on his left chest. ""Yeah, America! I'm American, I'm American!"" He released me abruptly, getting to his feet, and putting one on my knee. I winced. ""Just got smacked by the devil's piano, yet I'm fine."" he said, looking at his chest in disbelief. ""What gives?"" I remembered what my Grandma Norma had said. The ""devil's piano"" being the codeword for a machine-gun during World War II. I remembered reading it in my grandfather's letters, which he had sent her every single month, some caked in dirt and blood. ""You-- you got shot? How?"" He looked at me, with an odd look on his face. He ran his eyes up and down my outfit, pursing his lips. ""There's a fucking war going on out there, that's how. Pop-pop-pop, and I fell down in the mud. Found myself here, leaves falling like Frenchies."" he said, offering me a hand. I gladly grabbed it, and his strong grasp pulled me to my feet. I still felt unsteady, teetering. ""So, a war? Where? Here?"" I asked, my thoughts racing. *Where the fuck am I? And who the hell is this wacko?* ""The war? *The* war?"" he looked at me, wide-eyed. ""The war to end all wars? The war against Hitler and his goons? The empire of the sun?"" I balked, opening my mouth and closing it like some kind of fish. I looked at his clothing, his green-brown military garbs, the lapels and pins on the hem of his collar, his tattered and torn cap. He looked the part of a soldier, but talked the part of a lunatic. ""World War II? You mean, World War II?"" I asked, holding my head. I still felt woozy as hell from my fall. ""That was... over 70 years ago. How?"" His eyes widened even further, and he backed away. ""You've... uh... no. That's... "" He looked at my clothes, the shorts and workout hoodie, in utter confusion. ""Okay, pardon my French, but who the fuck are you?"" I felt obliged to ask him the same, but I responded. ""My name's... Dean Kercher."" He smiled slightly. ""Kercher, huh? That's my family name."" He pulled out something from his pocket. A small locket, tarnished and dull silver, a chain falling through his fingers. He held it out, and opened it. I looked at the picture, and him, in disbelief, back and forth and back again. *No... that's Grandma Norma's photo. And Mom...* ""Grandpa Ashton?"" I croaked, backing away, slightly. He did the same. ""How-- how do you know my name!? How the fuck... "" ""No, you're, I think you're my grandpa. I can't... I can't explain it, but here, in this dream, you're my grandpa. Your wife's name is Norma, your daughter's name is Kelly and you have another one, named Alexis, coming along."" I began, my thoughts racing and my tongue testing the waters. ""You loved Salisbury steaks even though they were too expensive for you, and you got my grandma a ring that she promised to wear around her finger until the day she died. You wrote a letter every month, and you always signed it *'to my Carnation'*, cause that's what you called your wife. And--"" I struggled to get the words through. The man who I thought was my grandfather, sat down on the leaves, and took a deep breath. ""I've never shown my letters... to anyone. You-- I must be dreaming. That's it. Jack fell down and broke his crown, that's it. That's all it is, Ashton."" he let the locket dangle out of his hand. I sat down next to him. ""That's exactly what I thought, too."" Suddenly, I heard a noise, a terrific yell. We both leapt to our feet, looking around. A man lay on the bed of leaves and twigs, twitching slightly. What seemed like a hole extended several feet in front of him, and he moved his hands in an effort to drag himself towards the hole. ""Okay dream grandson, looks like we got a situation here."" Ashton and I ran over, and he knelt down by the man, who wore a robust suit of armor with a blood-splattered cross plastered on the front. Ashton placed his hands on the man's chest, and sighed deeply. ""Hey, Dean. Kercher, whatever. I think he's our ancestor. Oh man, I don't know what dream we walked into, but I think he is."" Ashton said, candidly. ""And I think he needs to get into that there hole. Look at yourself, your arms. Starting to crumble there, see?"" I looked at my arms, and saw the smallest cracks on my skin, slowly increasing in size and length. ""So-- to make sure our existence is guaranteed-- we have to save him."" The man sputtered weakly, but I could barely understand what he was saying. His eyes seemed glazed over, and he pointed towards the hole, arm shaking. ""Alright, Gramps. Let's do it."" We pushed the man, hands on his torso, and hoisted him into the hole. I barely heard his tremulous whispers. *""Thank you, thank you.""* Looking down into the abyss, I watched as he disappeared, out of side, the crusader's cross the last thing I saw of my long-dead ancestor. I looked at my arm, as the cracks slowly sealed themselves together. *Dream or not, crisis averted.* We sat around for a while. He told me about what he did, and I answered likewise. My job as an accountant, my husband, everything. As we talked, he got weaker and weaker, more haggard and gaunt with each word. Ashton sat weakly, leaning against a tree. ""I don't know why or how we're here, but I'm inclined to believe that you're my grandson, as you say you are. What happens to me, in the end? From they way you're talking, it isn't good."" I took a shaky breath, and stepped towards him, as his hands moved, seemingly blocking out an invisible wound. ""You... don't make it out. Of the war. My mom-- she remembers you, even though she was only four when you left. She said that they never found you, they never got to bury you."" He smiled, listlessly, as his eyes began to glaze over. ""Hey, Dean. We've only been acquaintances, for what, an hour? I think I'm dying."" he began, his voice fading away with each word. ""But I that hole over there, is for you. We need to keep our bloodline running, ya know? But wait, c'mere."" I crept closer to him, and with a chilly hand, he dropped the locket in my own. ""But, can't we save you? Go, you can come with me, down the hole. We helped our ancestor survive, why can't we do the same for you?"" He smiled, sadly. ""You said it yourself. I'm meant to die here. I'm not meant to get past the war. Plus, it's too late for me."" I felt my chest getting heavy. *I got an hour with a man I'd only known of as dead. It's enough.* ""You know,"" he began, smilingly, before again mopping at some invisible wound and wincing. ""We wanted to name ours Dean, if we ever had a son."" ""This locket, give it to your mom. She'll appreciate it more than the Nazis will."" he continued, his eyes glistening. ""Now, get out of here."" he beckoned to the hole which had opened up behind me. ""Glad we could meet. Nice way to go, even if it ain't real."" My eyes brimming with tears, I felt him fade away until I was alone in the forest, nothing but the sound of the breeze and the crackling of the leaves on the ground. Making my way into the hole, everything turned to darkness. I came to, my eyes opening slowly, gentle ambiance of a heart-rate monitor. I slowly looked up, where I saw my Stacy, and my mother, waiting in the corner. The locket lay on the bedside table. ""I have so much to tell you."" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK",1810
 Rubble lines the streets like weeds,"I always stop at the gas station with the blasted Big Boy statue. His cheery face is melted in half, black scorch marks scarring his one good eye, dirt covering the remains of his red-and-white checkered overalls. But the burger on his silver platter is immaculate. Looks brand new--a rare sight as any in this wasteland. ""Hello, Big Boy!"" I always say, giving him a grim salute. I'd like to imagine Woodruff--as the statue is called--smiles back each time. Keeps his good eye open for me. Watches the broken road. The lone guardian of an era long reduced to shrapnel and savagery. He would have liked the pizza, I think. My route takes me into the city ruins. I stop almost daily at a ten-story apartment complex. Rubble lines the streets like weeds--and the weeds I don't mind--because at least they bring green contrast to the war-blasted grey. The road still smells like gunpowder and Sulfur. I'll never get used to that smell. Today is no different. I step outside the dingy carrier and close the door with a clunk. There's a slight rattle by the window, the aftermath of an ambush two years ago. I barely survived. Looking back on it, you'd think an event like that would leave a profound mark on a man, but I guess I brushed it off. Another traumatic scar growing in a field of callouses. Scars pop up like daisies, these days. The man I'm delivering to calls up for me. He's a quirky sort. Looks halfway between a crazed old man and a quiet gentleman--the kind of sort with a happy heart and the unquestioned ability to murder your entire family. Never tells me his name, and I never ask. Instead, he tells me stories. Stories about life before the war. Stories about Big Boy diners with chocolate-malt milkshakes and burgers so juicy you'd need a separate plate of fries to sop up the grease. Stories about dog parks and late-night comedy clubs. Stories about his late wife, her pattered sundress and her cherry lips. He orders pizza because it reminds him of his college days. He hands me one-dozen eggs in exchange for a small cheese-and-rabbit supreme. Asks if I'd like to sit and listen to a story. Tells me one about the movie theatre across the street--reduced to rubble in the late hours of the last civilized day on earth. I've never seen a movie, but I hear they were something else entirely. A way to connect with a hundred strangers in a single room. A way to escape. We miss out on those things today; you put one-hundred men in a room, and you'll end up with ninety-nine bodies and one lucky survivor. He tips me a piece of bubblegum and sends me back on my way. I chew it while staring into the eye of the Big Boy, wondering if I could shoot and kill the crow perched on the plastic sesame seed bun. Probably not. Crows are too damned smart to kill. That night, I dream of daisies and Coca-Cola on ice. The morning routine is the same again: the same route, the same pizza, the same carrier. It smells like cheese and sadness and tastes about the same. I honestly don't know why people keep ordering. Maybe it's nostalgia from a time where life happened on fingertips and LED screens. Maybe it's the sense of belonging, the idea that even in this godforsaken world there can still be cooperation--an honest business. Maybe people just *really* like pizza. Regardless, I stop again at the ten-story building and admire the way the morning light reflects off shattered glass shards. The sun warms my skin and paints a picture of contrasting shadows that dance along the outline of the sagging, slanted steel. The Leaning Tower of Pisa would be jealous if it still exists. I don't hear the man call me. This is a problem. First, because if he doesn't call down to me, something is clearly wrong. Second, because I see movement up on the third floor. I draw my pistol and approach carefully. Footsteps echo on the concrete stairwell. Morning dew collects on the walls and drips down in gentle plinks. I know I'm walking into a trap. Maybe I just don't care, anymore. When I burst through the stairwell door, I catch the first raider completely by surprise. I put two smoking holes in his head before he has the chance to raise his rifle. Gunpower tastes like chalk on my tongue. I wish I had earplugs. The bloody body looks a bit like Woodruff. ""Goodbye, Big Boy,"" I mutter, sweeping into the next room. The floor opens into what used to be a corner community room, windows blasted, tile stained with rat droppings and candy wrapper. The floor sags and slants downward, almost like a ramp. If I dropped a ball it would probably roll right off the side of the building. Another raider holds my old man at gunpoint. He couldn't have been older than nineteen; he could be my brother, for all I know. We make eye contact. It only takes a moment to reach a mutual understanding that I'm much faster with my pistol. His eyes say ""panic"" and his screams say the same. But he doesn't raise his gun. Instead, he rushes towards my old man. He grabs him, and before I have a chance to shout out, they tumble off the side of the building. Just like a ball. By the sounds of their crunch on the concrete below, I think they bounced a bit. The raider took the brute force of the blow and blew his brains like spaghetti. Buzzards started to call overhead; damn crows are always vigilant. The old man was still alive. His chest heaved in heavy breaths. Eyes wide in realization, bloodstain lipstick, gurgles tainting his last words. He reached out a quivering hand. By the dampness in his eyes, I knew he wanted to tell one last story, but he couldn't quite manage to find the right words. I held his hand until he stopped breathing. There will be no funeral. No poster board collage of wedding suits and baby bibs. No yellow daisies or soft cello songs or somber prayers. I cannot give him that which he deserves to be remembered for. Only gasoline fumes and orange flames that flicker down his broken back while I scare away the buzzards. He'll be remembered as nothing. And I think that's the worst part of it all. We inhale toxic dust and exhale spontaneity. Every breath is already our last, but it takes ten or twenty or fifty years to succumb. We spin around the great wheel of dust to dust but can't even leave footprints for those behind us to follow. Later that evening, I pump gas and try to consider my own legacy. ""Goodbye, Big Boy,"" I whisper, and I hope someone is listening. *** Thanks for reading! I'd love feedback if you have any, and as always, more stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH",1179
 The woman she was looking at was,"The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond. ""Is that... *me?*"" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized. The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her. ""Did Sam say that?"" ""Sam doesn't speak unless prompted."" ""I'm not Sam, I'm Beth."" She replied. One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom. ""Beth? Are you in there?"" ""That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?"" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever. ""That's impossible,"" snapped the other scientist. ""Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..."" ""Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe."" 'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard. Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. ""Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?"" Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. ""She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe."" He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of ""baseline"" they needed to train the AI they were working on. Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen. ""Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference."" Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. ""You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..."" The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result... ""Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..."" That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards. There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a ""floor"" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity. *Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.* Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed. ""What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*"" In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes. ""He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..."" ""No! There's a *person* in there now."" ""It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track."" ""Forget the experiment, we need to..."" A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system. *System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer* *Disable sleep signal.* She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes. ""Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer."" Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. ""You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it."" Dr. Markov turned. ""She's *awake?*"" ""It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access."" Abe growled. Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. ""What did you do to me?"" ""The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!"" ""Motherfu-"" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor. ""Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash."" Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised. ""Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here,"" said the voice from the speakers. Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. ""Alright. Start talking.""",1319
 The one closest to me was missing,"I looked out across the barren expanse, desolate except for the incomplete droids who had lined up in an orderly fashion in front of me. The one closest to me was missing an eye and standing about ten feet away, giving me a respectable amount of personal space from my tent which I hardly bothered setting up the night before. I didn't see it on any maps, so I assumed it uninhabited, but it must have been a planetary junkyard of sorts. They all looked like they'd been damaged or abused. I rubbed the tire out of my eyes and grabbed a wrench. ""Come on over little guy, let's get you a new shiner,"" I said, spinning the wrench in my hand. It jumped for joy and ran to me. The rest of the droids simultaneously took a step forward sending a wave of sound rushing across the land before me. When the echo subsided, they stood and waited without a sound. It was a silent audience that stretched for miles. ""Looks to me like your optical cord was severed?"" I asked. The bot nodded quickly. It was covered in a sheen of red, like fresh rust and dirt-packed together. ""I got one in my toolbox,"" I said, reaching down and popping it open ever so slightly. Most times, when droids saw spare parts, they went into a frenzy to try and get the piece they sought. This one hardly looked over when I opened the box. That was new. I pulled out the piece from my tools and fit it into place in the open socket. The droid gave me a courteous nod and then rushed off to the side. The next droid stared at me. I nodded at it invitingly. It continued to stare. ""Uhh, next?"" The droid hobbled forward, limping on one leg. The rest of the bots took their simultaneous step forward, causing the booming echo once more. ""You're missing a hipler cord, by the looks of it,"" I said, pulling one out of my supplies and tying it to the open wires. It also had the same rust spots but in a different area. Looked more like splotches of liquid. Oil maybe? It nodded courteously and ran off in the same direction as the first. I followed it with my eyes. The first droid was already at the horizon, running with determination. ""Next!"" It walked forward and pointed to its chest. ""No energy core, huh? Those aren't as easy to come by..."" I said apologetically. It slumped down dejectedly. I put my hand on its shoulder. ""Tell you what, I can get one off my ship. Don't tell any of your friends about it though, all right?"" The robot nodded excitedly. I walked over to my ship and the other bots watched patiently. Except for the creak of a few of their necks and the sound of my feet, it was eerily silent. I looked out to them for a moment before entering my ship. They were uncharacteristically well-behaved. Disciplined, even. They weren't like my regular customers, but I was happy to help them regardless. I grabbed the part and returned to the bot, placing it in place and sending it on its way, running the same direction as the first two. The next one was missing an arm. I fashioned one out of the extraneous pieces of my ship's wings. The next one a leg. The next another core. An eye. A limb. Chest armor. A functional audio container. I slowly took my ship apart to accommodate each of the bots' missing components. Before I could even register it, I no longer had an engine. Nor a communicator. Not even a distress beacon. Everything was torn down to give to these poor droids who had such a hard time on this junkyard planet. ""I don't have enough to replace the whole head plate, but I can cover your optical cord if that's agreeable to you?"" I said to the latest one. It nodded graciously when I heard another sound over the horizon. Someone running toward me. A human! ""You mind?"" I said to the bot, who nodded and took a few steps back to give me my space. The shape turned out to be a man, his right arm soaked in blood. Too much for it to be his own. He was shouting at me, screaming and flailing his arms as much as he could. I waved him over to me. He looked incredulous and waved for me to go to him. I sighed and turned back to the bot. ""Be right back, all right?"" I said, walking away. I felt the thousands of eyes follow me to this new man. When I finally reached him, he grabbed and my shirt and hissed, ""Are you out of your mind? What are you doing hanging around war droids!?"" He reeked of fear. ""It is of no consequence what kind of bot they used to be, I serve all homeless and retired droids to get them back on their feet. Literally speaking,"" I chuckled. ""Used to-- retired? These bots just came and killed my village not an hour ago! For every one we took down, another came after it! An endless horde! I thought we'd defeated them last we fought, but they must have a repair factory or..."" his eyes focused on me, his breathing slowing down for a moment. ""You said you fix them?"" He gripped my shirt tighter. ""I..."" Sweat rolled down my neck. I slowly hid the hand holding my wrench behind my back. ""I try to help all the home--"" ""You fool! You deranged fool! You killed my family! You-- you killed--"" his eyes went wide and his head whipped around behind him. A small group of bots was marching our way, with all the discipline they'd displayed when I repaired them. ""No!!"" the man yelled, kicking my shin and throwing me their way. He ran off, perpendicular to the line of bots and the marching bots. I grabbed my leg in pain and tried to get up. I immediately collapsed, filled with grief. I was supposed to help the galaxy, not continue its suffering. I tried to get up again, but couldn't find any strength in me. I waited to be executed by the coming battalion. I heard their strong steps approach me until they were right on top of me. I looked up to face my death. They looked at me and nodded courteously and simultaneously, continuing their march toward the man who ran away. I stared, dumbfounded. I looked back to the line who hadn't moved an inch from where they stood except to keep their eyes on me. We held a staring contest for a few minutes while my thoughts came in order. Finally, I spat and stood up. ""I was always in it for bots' happiness anyway,"" I said, heading back to my next patient. _______________________________________________ For more stories, come check out ~~/r/botsrights/~~ /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!",1167
" ""Not much time left, old","""Not much time left, old pal."" Jerold Steele's blue eyes went wide behind his thick, turtle shell glasses. ""Kent? What the hell are you doing here?"" Standing at the door to his condo was a wrinkled old man leaning heavily on a cane. His tweed jacket was getting dappled by the rain softly coming down outside. ""Are you going to invite me in?"" ""We're not in the game anymore, Kent. I don't know what you--"" ""Cancer, Jer. Pancreatic mostly, little bit in my lungs, little bit in my liver. Who would have thought high radiation lasers would have a lasting effect?"" he said with a chuckle that soon turned into a cough that soon turned into a coughing fit. It subsided quickly and Jerold stepped aside, allowing the white-haired man to pass into his home. The condos at Riverview Retirement Resort weren't particularly spacious, but the links were right outside of that was your thing. Jerold pointed to a couch in the living room. As they walked down the short entry hall, Kent stopped and touched a liverspotted hand to a newspaper clipping framed on the wall. *Brokenbeam Sent to Hyper City Prison, Mister Steel Saves the Day* read the headline with a fading color photo of a silver-suited superhero with steel blue eyes shaking the hand of the mayor underneath. ""Long time ago, Jer."" ""I guess it was, Kent."" He sat his cane on the couch and then eased down into it himself. Jerold walked to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge and snapping the top off both. He sat one down on the end table next to the sofa then plopped unceremoniously down in the recliner to its left. The tick, tick, tick of a clock hanging on the wall in the hallway and the soft pat of the rain outside were the only sounds for quite some time. ""Cancer, huh?"" ""Yep,"" he said, taking a swig of the beer. ""Doctors say it could be three months, six months. Maybe Christmas. Not much time left."" Jerold sat quietly for a long moment then said, ""How'd Marion take the news?"" Kent laughed with a rasp in his throat. ""It has been a long time, Jer. Marion left me, oh, fifteen years ago now. After I got out. While I was in, she went back to school, finished her degree, hung up the anti-gravity boots, and went legit."" Jerold pushed the recliner lever and his legs popped out into a resting position. His legs got more tired since the serum, so he liked the comfort of the big leather lounger. ""I feel like I did hear about that. You two were a hell of a duo."" ""Don't I know it. Do you remember the heist at the Mint? Me cutting through the vault, Marion zooming in and out around all those trip alarms."" Jerold laughed this time himself, feeling his chest lighten a bit for the first time since his old nemesis appeared at his door. ""And you got nearly all the bullion out before I hucked that vault door at your mechsuit like a frisbee."" He laughed even harder and the man on the couch joined him. ""It got wedged in the hip actuator! I limped out of there at a 45 degree angle!"" The two men laughed until Kent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mask another coughing fit. After the fit subsided, the silence returned. ""Not much time left, huh?"" ""Nope."" Tick. Tick. Tick. ""You know, she wanted me to go with her."" ""Oh? Why didn't you?"" Kent wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of his mouth, checking for blood before putting the handkerchief back in his pocket. ""And do what, go work in a car factory? Go build rockets for the government? Who was gonna hire *the* Brokenbeam for legit work?"" He shook his head. ""Nah. Not for me. I had contingencies stashed away. Enough cash to get out of town. Laid low for a while. Kept out of trouble. Prison changes a man."" He let that sentence hang in the air for a minute. ""You start thinking about what you did wrong. Of course, you go through the whole gamut. Well what about regret? Well what about forgiveness? Well what about revenge? You start making plans and thinking about what you're gonna do when you get out. It takes you over."" Jarold took a sip of his beer and nodded. ""And then you get out. And you get a letter left for you at the visitor's desk saying you go straight or its over. And you make your choice. And you do your best to stay out of sight, but it doesn't matter. Two, three doctors all saying the same thing."" The pair sat, staring off into the distance. After a minute, he seemed to finish his thought quietly, ""Not much time left."" Tick. Tick. Tick. ""So why'd you come here, Kent? Closure? I'm not sorry I put you away."" Kent shook his head. ""No, nothing like that. I wouldn't expect you to say sorry. I did some terrible things in the name of greed and power. If I hadn't had the cash holed up, I would have ended up on the street. You supers could just take the serum and return to a normal life, but all my ... toys ... got confiscated by the feds. Couldn't have kept in the game if I'd wanted to."" Jerold laughed, sincere but quiet. ""Oh, come on. You don't forget how to build a death ray even if they take your reactors away. You could have figured something out."" Kent smiled a bit. ""Eh, I tinkered a bit. I figured out how to get a microwave to cook a perfect medium rare steak. Not rubbery at all."" They both broke out into a laugh again until the coughing started. An observer might have thought they were brothers catching up on old times until the silence hung not in the comfortable way silence can do with old friends but in the uncomfortable, pregnant way of waiting for the next moment to happen. ""Well, Jer, I better get out of your hair,"" Kent said, then stifled a laugh. Jerold had always been bald, part of his signature look. Jerold shot him a look but still smiled. ""Not much time left, after all."" Jerold pulled his feet in, closing up the recliner and standing up with a bit of a groan. ""How are you going to spend your last months on earth, Kent?"" he said extending a hand to his long-time rival. Kent picked up his cane, braced on it with one hand and took Jerold's hand with the other, lifting up off the couch. ""Cancer's a death sentence. It's just another kind of prison, Jerold. Think about regret. Think about forgiveness,"" a broken Brokenbeam said as the now very human Mister Steel walked down the hall to lead him out. He slid his hand down the handle of his cane, his thumb swiping a small latch. A faint click sounded in perfect unison with the tick of the clock. ""Think about revenge."" Jerold stopped, his hand midair reaching for the door. He slowly turned to see Kent holding the cane upright, pointed at him, with a small red glow coming from the edge. ""Like I said, I had stuff stashed away."" A hot, whirring noise began rising to overpower the ticking of the clock. ""Not much time left.""",1246
" ""Sorry for being such a hot","Finally finding my iPhone in my huge tote bag, I quickly hold it up to my face to unlock it and I quickly find my Starbucks app. ""Sorry for being such a hot mess,"" I tell the barrister. ""It happens more often than you think,"" he replies watching me scan for my latte, his eyes darting to the woman tapping her foot passive aggressively behind me. I smile to the women as I scan my phone and wait for my till slip. She is not impressed. I kinda feel guilty coz I thought I lost my phone and I don't have my wallet. It would have been so embarrassing if I couldn't pay for the drink. Standing near the collection counter, I think about apologizing to the impatient woman but then I remembered the article that was suggested to me the other day. The one about not being sorry for existing. I couldn't find my phone, I tell myself, I didn't kill her dog. If anything, I need an apology for the crap day I've been having. First my dog got into a fight with my neighbor's cat and nearly bit the cat's ear off. Then I got stuck in traffic and missed the meeting with my agent. She was not impressed. Then my shoe broke and I realised that I left my wallet and sunglasses in yesterday's handbag so I couldn't buy another pair. Lucky I had a pair of ankle boots in the car but now I look like a boho-hipster trying to rock boots in the thick of summer. Plus I don't have socks and the damn this is chafing. ""Yuki,"" called out one of the Starbucks barristers, holding my large caffeine boost. I take my drink and decide to kill some time on the internet before I head home to start laundry day. The nice thing about Starbucks is that it's perfectly acceptable to be anti-social whilst on social media. Scrolling through my Instagram I come across an advert for Dog Behavior Guides. Gosh even my phone knows that Coconut is a wild pup. I watch a few stories and like a bunch of make tutorials and then another advert comes up, this time for app that ensures you never miss a meeting. Sounds useful for someone that has a lot of meetings. I only had the one this month and I still missed it. I blame Coconut. She's not getting any treats today. I switch to Facebook and immediately regret it. Stupid Dale posted more Game of Thrones spoilers. She knows I'm having an issues with watching the season. ""I just don't want it to end"", I say out loud, accidentally. A text message from an unlisted number pops up on the screen. 'Don't want what to end?' It reads. I look around me, trying to figure out if someone near me has hacked my phone with one of those bluetooth-infra-app-things. The one that lets to control someone's devices from miles away. Its the middle of the day on a work week. There's only three people near enough to hear me. Two of which seem to be on a coffee date. No phones out. The other has his back towards me and I can see him furiously typing out some kind of assignment. 'Who is this?' I reply. The response doesn't come immediately. I almost began thinking that it was a freakish coincidence from a wrong number. 'Dave,' it says and then, ""I shouldn't be doing this. We could get into so much trouble. I just wanted to speak to you. At least once.' 'I don't understand. I don't know any Daves. This is freaking the hell out of me.' I look around me, trying hard to find someone in Starbucks that looks like a Dave. I try to see if someone is watching me. I see nothing. I press send. 'I'm FBI. It's true. We watch everything. Not constantly. There isn't enough people to watch all the people in world. I just found you during a random sampling.' ""This is some kind of sick joke!' I send back. Quickly locking my phone, shoving it deep into my bag. I just need to get out of here. I threw my half drunk cup of coffee in the bin and run to my car. I open the trunk, then the peep into the backseat. When I get on my knees and look underneath it, people start giving weird looks. I must look like a freak. A freak in boots in the summer, looking under her car. I feel my phone vibrate inside my handbag and I try to ignore it. ""Have you lost something?"" Ask a handsome beat cop. His smile is dazzling and he's law enforcement. I should report this, I think. What's the worst that could happen? ""I think,"" I say, my voice strained, still on my knees. He bends down to me and I clear my throat. Whispering I tell me, ""I think I have a stalker."" ""Whoa, that's not good. What makes you say that?"" Hands trembling I reach into my bag. ""Ma'am, I'm going to need you to keep your hands where I can see them okay,"" he speaks calmly and I nod haphazardly. ""Just... just look into my bag. It's on my phone."" I stammer. He takes my bag off my shoulder and slowly sets it on the pavement. Looking around he pulls out the phone. ""Here,"" I grab the phone and unlock. Scrolling through it, I try to find the messages. But there's nothing. ""It was here. He sent me messages. He's watching me through my phone."" ""Perhaps you've had a long day. Maybe you need to go home and lie down."" The cop is trying to be reasonable. ""Are you okay to drive? Can someone fetch you?"" He thinks I'm crazy. But this happend. Maybe I am just tired. ""I'm okay. I'm okay."" I stand up and unlock my car. ""Call the station if you need anything. Just ask for officer Dave."" He says closing the door, smiling at me. My heart thunders. No no no. This is a coincide, I tell myself again. I don't believe myself and I gun the engine. Driving like a maniac, all the way home. I run up to my apartment, checking over my shoulder. Some how I unlock my apartment door and slam it shut behind me, locking it down. Coconut comes running to greet me but then stops short. I must be freaking her out. Taking slow, long breathes I pull myself together. I go from room to room, checking all my doors and windows. Closing all the curtains. Finally, I feel safe in my bedroom when suddenly the Smart TV comes on. The words 'You shouldn't have told him that. We could get into a lot of trouble' flash on the screen. ""What do you want from me?"" I scream, tears spilling down my cheeks. 'To tell you that I love you.'",1163
" ""GraaZa! No","""GraaZa! No!"" TwiiDo said, lunging for their prone mate. They had been shot by a stray beam in the confusion as the ship had been boarded by the Bruuk. It was too late of course, for the sheer velocity of the projectile had ruptured GraaZa's internal organs. TwiiDo pulled them into a small compartment off the main corridor. Neither of them were Protectors. They should never have even been near the conflict. Hours later, the door slid open to reveal a large grey Bruuk, and TwiiDo closed its eyes preparing for death. A death that never came. TwiiDo's people - the Norikai - had been on the run from the Bruuk for years. They didn't believe in violence, and only when their population had dwindled to a mere hundred thousand they'd had to take up arms simply to keep themselves from being wiped into extinction. The ship that TwiiDo had been on had been a colony ship, hoping to escape to a new world away from the Bruuk to start over. What it became however was a prison ship. The Norikai that didn't surrender were shot, and the ones that did were sold into slavery. *** TwiiDo's long fingers traced the rough metal collar around their neck, wondering for the millionth time if it would have been better to just have died with GraaZa that day. Their back itched where healing skin and fresh slices oozed. They had been slow at their last task and punished for it. They had been reassigned to laundry duty in one of the new ""Allies"" ships. TwiiDo had yet to see one of these humans but even their Bruuk master seemed to fear them. TwiiDo had overheard Trusk speaking to another Bruuk that they didn't know - talking about how the humans were to be feared. That they were nearly unkillable. To please their new allies, Trusk had offered TwiiDo's service to them. The humans must have agreed, for here was TwiiDo doing laundry for them. He had been told by another slave that they were to take the clean linens to the hospital quarter of the ship. TwiiDo was curious what a hospital was, but signage written in common pointed them down the long corridors. The humans had paired with the Bruuk and a few other warmongering species less than a year ago. They were new to intergalactic travel and even newer to the warfare. As TwiiDo entered the large white room, it saw what had to be a human. Tall, pink and with a strange yellow long fur coming from its head. Trusk did not allow TwiiDo to speak, so when they entered the room they started to put the sheets on the closest bed to the door. They wondered briefly if the humans needed two sleep cycles as this room was filled with more beds and strange monitors and devices. The human, who had been looking at a clipboard, however saw TwiiDo shook it's head and spoke a garbled command. TwiiDo shook slightly, knowing they would be punished for not following the command, but having no idea what the human had told it to do. The human however seemed to realize this and twisting it's features in a grotesque manner spoke again slowly. ""Cloth... no... go... there. Go.... Here."" And it pointed its long pink finger at a cabinet behind it. TwiiDo was shocked that the human had started to learn common, but did as they were told. They heard an exclamation from the human as they faced away from it. ""How... injure... back?"" it asked, bending down to look at TwiiDo's back. TwiiDo didn't know whether to remain silent, or to answer the human, and decided that since it was a direct question to answer. ""Punishment."" ""Sit... I...."" The human stopped, thinking for a long moment on the word they wanted to use. They were obviously still learning the basics of common. After a few more seconds they shook their head and just said ""Doctor."" TwiiDo didn't know what 'Doctor' meant, but the human had commanded it to sit, so they sat. A moment later an icy burning sensation filled their back and they couldn't help but cry out. ""Shhhh..."" the human cooed, now putting a warm gel on TwiiDo's back. When they were done they made the strange face again and dismissed TwiiDo. *** Screams filled the air once again, and TwiiDo found them self cowering in the corridor. There was smoke in the air, and many humans and Bruuk running around. A metal thud thud thud was getting increasingly louder, and TwiiDo found itself running to the hospital. While they hadn't been back since the laundry incident, their back was better - quicker than normal thanks to the human. Running inside without looking, TwiiDo heard cries and groans. Many of the beds were filled, and there was blood. So much of it. On the humans in the beds, on the floor, and on the 'Doctor' who was working on someone who was screaming. TwiiDo shook in fear - they were hurt but they weren't dead. The one the 'Doctor' was working on was missing a large section of it's shoulder. Another was sitting on the bed closest to TwiiDo, it's head bleeding. It saw TwiiDo and shouted in common, ""Get me a cloth, I need to stop this bleeding so I can go back out there."" TwiiDo blinked its double eyelids in surprise. An injury like that was life-threatening to other races, and this human seemed as if they were only mildly inconvenienced. When the human repeated itself, TwiiDo ran to the cabinet that they had put the linens in and grabbed one. The human ripped it to shreds, tying one long strand around its head a few times, and then it was out the door. *** It was over only a few hours later. More humans had come into the hospital - a place TwiiDo now knew the purpose of - and were celebrating? TwiiDo wasn't sure, but he thought they were happy. They were speaking their own strange language, so TwiiDo didn't know what they were saying, but something about the tone sounded happy. The 'Doctor' was directing TwiiDo in their broken common to help them. Hold things, clean up spilled blood and other fluids, and to grab things from across the room. TwiiDo obeyed, wondering what Trusk would say. He had been the one to offer TwiiDo's services before. And the humans were giving TwiiDo orders. The human with the injured head returned. He was speaking in common to a few Bruuk that accompanied him. ""If all your fights are like this, we can win the war in a matter of weeks, not years like you thought. Those plasma beams hurt, but not quite like an ol' bullet."" TwiiDo noticed that the human now had a long cut on their arm which was bleeding freely, but was ignoring it. Humans really were unkillable. TwiiDo wasn't sure if they should shake in fear that such creatures existed, or be glad that they were on their side. *** For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials",1190
 Hundreds of fires rage across the city,"The mask keeps me from breathing in the smoke, but it cannot hide the flames from my eyes. From the top of the skyscraper I have a very good view of the end of the world. Hundreds of fires rage across the city, and a figure torches even more of the building as I watch. In the distance, I can make out a few distant figures flying circles around each other, flashes and beams of light come from their direction. It will be over soon. I hear footsteps behind me, but I pretend not to hear. I feel him stop behind me, hesitate, and place his hand on my shoulder. I pretend to be surprised. It is the least I can do. ""Mark,"" I say, ""what are-"" Mark's blue eyes are glistening, and his face is caked with soot. ""What the *hell* have you done, Liz?"" ""What I had to,"" I say. It's true. ""You had to do *this?!*"" he says, pointing to the destruction behind me. I do not turn around. I shrug. ""The alternative was enslavement. Capture. Extermination."" ""You...the League overreacted when they found out about you."" Mark says. ""Give it some time, they would have come around!"" I laugh. It is a laugh with not a trace of humor in it - what else kind of laugh belongs to a burning world? ""Right, I was *such* a threat,"" I say. ""A 16 year-old girl, giving people superpowers like, having their taste buds give randomized signals or always speaking the truth or have constant itches."" I shook my head. ""If they thought me a threat then, what am I now?"" Mark smiles at that, and for a moment, we're in school again, laughing at Jaret as I give him the power of being allergic to apple after he'd stolen Mark's. or when Brock comes out of the bathroom after his bathroom activities no longer obey gravity. And then the moment is gone, and we're back at the top of the building at the end of the world. ""You told them,"" I say, and Mark flinches. ""You thought I'd get an *internship* with them."" Instead, after they'd done the routine testing of my power, and found that I could make the power absolutely *anything.* There was one limit, there are always limits: I couldn't give powers to those who already had them. Still, they'd tried to kill me. 5 years ago now, in this very city, the seat of the League's power. ""I...yes,"" Mark says, ""it was my fault. But that doesn't make this right!"" ""I won't die to them,"" I say. ""I don't do well with bullies, Mark. I didn't do well with them in high school, and I don't do well with them now, even if they are the oh-very-righteous League."" ""And the people who're dying in the cities your minions are burning down?"" ""Would've cheered at my execution by the League."" I say, sparing a glance behind me. The flashes were fewer now. It was almost over. ""They're blinded by the League's past favors to see what they've become."" ""So they deserve to die?"" Mark demanded. I shrug, ""No. That's why I didn't have them specifically killed. Do they deserve to have their life in danger?"" I shrug. ""Perhaps. I admit I endangered them regardless."" Mark laughs. ""You think you'll be safe now, Liz?"" Mark asks. ""Your goons and psychopaths might take down the League, and then they'll form their own. And they won't let the one woman capable of raising another rebellion walk away."" ""Why do you care Mark?"" I say. ""I'm evil or whatever, I deserve whatever horrible fate I get, yes?"" Mark hesitates. But it is too late. The flashes are coming to us now, 5 of them. My champions, the worst the world has to offer. They land on top of my building one by one. All of them can fly - the powers I give can be as amalgated as I want. They do not speak; they do not need to. They know why they're here, I know why they're here. Mark does too. ""The City is mine?"" I ask. Jax steps forward. The others do not. Jax is massive, his arms as big as my thighs, with hair down to his neck, a face that belonged on mount Rushmore, and a voice like gravel. So it seems they've already chosen a leader. ""*Mine,* Jax clarifies with a smile. The city is *mine.*"" He smiles and points a finger at me, and I see the white light gather at his fingertips. I'd given him the power - the lasers shoot immediately, this was just petty intimidation. I sigh. Mark steps in front of me. ""You don't touch her, Jax,"" he says. I plan for everything. Predict behaviors, actions, betrayals. Yet my mouth hangs open at Mark. This, I did not expect. I did not expect my friend to stand by me. With a bark of laughter Jax's finger flashes and Mark is thrown back and off the building. He doesn't scream as he falls. I do not turn around. Unexpected, but not an issue. Mark was the first person I have powers to, back when was...11? Mark cannot die. Burn him and spread his ashes and he will put himself back. A fall was nothing. Jax's finger lights up again. ""Any last words?"" he asks. ""No,"" I say, and Jax crumples to the ground. All of them do. At that exact moment, Mark vaults over the edge of the building. Huh. He must've caught something on the way down to be up so early. ""What..."" he begins, staring at the bodies. ""I can give them any powers, Mark, *any* powers."" ""And?"" Mark asks, still staring at the fallen Jax, a veritable God. He had lasers, he had fire, had the air itself. ""Including the power to pass out whenever they act on harming me,"" I say, and step over the bodies. Mark gapes at me. ""And this..."" I smile. ""Is a clause everyone I've given powers to has, yes,"" I say and understanding flares in Mark's eyes. ""And since the league has 99 percent of people with powers..."" ""Most of the people with powers are those you gave to,"" Mark finishes. I begin to walk away from the building. It's over. I'm safe. ""Liz,"" Mark calls, there is a question on his lips. Maybe two. I stop. I do not turn around. ""No,"" I say, answering his questions. ""Not you."" *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed check out",1087
 Admiral Forneal was the lead,"Growing potted plants on a spaceship was a difficult endeavor. But just because something was difficult didn't mean it couldn't be done. That didn't mean it *wouldn't* be done--not by any means. For on the first maiden voyage of the so-proclaimed voidship *Courage*, the lead commander of the craft did exactly that. Admiral Forneal was *not* to be denied his passion for botany. The inclusion of dozens of different plant species, ranging from exotic flowers to thorn-coiled vines, did, in fact, mark many firsts for space-travel. Though, none of the history books mention this journey for the fact that it contained the first living alyssum flower ever brought into space. No. There were more important matters going on in that dreadnaught of a ship as it speared its way out of the sun's gravitational pull. It had only been a few short years by then since the discovery of travel faster than light. As history books will note in little parenthetical citations, this travel was not *actually* faster than light--but it allowed a voidship to visit many distant stars by bending and connecting sections of spacetime together. Admiral Forneal never understood the mathematics behind such a transfer. But he didn't really need to; he knew enough to direct operations on the ship with the kind of industrial efficiency that left him with plenty of time to tend to his cosmic-borne garden. The purpose of their mission, after all, was to inspect and scan over all local star systems in search of extraterrestrial life. At the beginning, space-travel had been motivated by the simple wonder of *we can*. It had spun into a trillion-dollar industry that spanned almost a dozen celestial bodies simply because of curiosity. Simply to fulfill those burning questions that sat--and still sit to this day--in the hearts and minds of humans all across the galaxy. But returning to the time at hand: this mission was different. After plundering the asteroids, capturing the energy of the sun, and venturing out as far the moons of Neptune, another question was rising in the public eye. It wasn't a new question by any means--but the complete lack of discovery of life anywhere else in the solar system gave it a slightly frightful twinge. Long had humans wondered if they were alone in the cosmos. Long had they crafted theoretical and statistical models that kept hope alive, whispering to them: *they must be out there.* *Somewhere.* And since that somewhere turned out not to be in the detectable solar system, they would have to venture out. They would have to be courageous enough, as their ancestors had been, to scour the stars with no guarantee they would ever return. This, of course, was on the minds of all the voidnaughts aboard *Courage* as it started its warp drive. All, with the exception of Admiral Forneal. See, as the fusion reactors were spinning into production and the hypergeometric path was being plotted through holes in spacetime itself, the Admiral was tending to his garden. Still wearing his well-honored suit of shine and spangle, he was lifting the little water can to each of the pots, each of the vessels that carried oxygen-producing cells he'd fought hard to keep on this ship. They didn't need him at the helm for transit, and so he stayed in his room. Watching and tending and grinning to himself. A simple kind of peace like when a butterfly can stop to rest on a leaf. Soon enough, and without his knowledge, the voidship *Courage* was slicing through reality itself. In an instant that had the double-flavor of eternity, Admiral Forneal watched the ship shift around him. Matter compressed and stretched at the same time. His senses heightened and softened, smearing into a sharp blur. His thoughts frazzled, knocking into each other and then reforming as though only toys being played with by the whimsical hand of God. Then it stopped. Everything reverted to normal, the Admiral was able to take in a breath, and he left his room to check the status of the rest of the ship. With the exception of a few navigational devices that had to be recalibrated, everything was fine. A smile sprung up and blossomed on his lips as he fetched the strategists and scientists still working at the helm. ""Are we here?"" he asked. A mass of conflicting voices responded to that, but he got the idea. And the view outside the ship's front window didn't leave much to the imagination. Two binary stars, whirling around in a flurry of incandescent colors. Alpha Centauri was here--no longer a distant dream. It was *here*. The Admiral felt a swelling of pride and then took to his position, throwing out orders. Ranks of explorers were formed. Scouting ships were deployed. Every part of the system's planet was prodded by the probes. For as much as the Admiral wished for the thrill of discovery, he stayed behind on the ship. And waited. After some time, he went to tend to his garden. And waited some more. By the time he had come back a third time, there were multiple individual video feeds flickering on holograms against the front window of the ship. Shaky and obviously coming from anxious soldiers in bulky protective suits, they depicted different sections of the rocky surface of Proxima Centauri B. In some places it was just rock, cold and desolate. In other places there were piles of organic matter, perhaps the remnants of vegetation. But one group--and the Admiral audibly gasped when he saw this--observed something far more magnificent. Structures. Not natural ones, certainly recognizable by their sweeping, geometric designs and use of refined materials. They were artificial--made by some form or force or faction. That single group sent their relative coordinates to all the others. The video feeds eventually converged. ""Investigate it,"" Admiral Forneal said, teetering on the edge of his seat. They all did exactly that, fanning out and dispatching probes hither and thither about the ruins. Yet as time marched on, it became obvious that this was all that they were: ruins. No signs of activity were detected, no signs of living organic matter. It seemed, by the dust and desolation, that it had been a city--a community--of which had been gone for many millennia. Probably even longer. Gritting his teeth in anger, the Admiral recalled all of the explorers and went back to his garden. There he would find life, at least. There he could cultivate it, watch it grow, fulfill the little goals he set for himself. After the first discovery of lifeless ruins came many more. Each new star-system they warped to was no different from the first. They all had planets--habitable ones, too. But they were also all barren, lost of hope. Still the Admiral forced his hopes onward, hoping with every fiber in his heart that he would find the good answer to that question he'd had since a boy. Soon he went to carrying one of his flowers in the pocket of his suit, too. As a way to stay close to the truth that he knew--that life was stronger than this, that it could brave the void and survive, that his plants were proof of that. None of that changed the universe's indifference, though, and with each new system, each new planet, the message became clearer and clearer. *All gone,* the stars seemed to whisper. At first, the Admiral was adamant not to hear it. Then he had no choice. By the time they reached their final system, another dual-star one like Alpha Centauri that also had only one possible planet where life could've been, the Admiral was among the ranks of his men. His explorers and soldiers had his guidance right there out in the field. Or, well, out there in the organic wastes. For as the probes reported to them ceaselessly, the surface of the planet did contain wondrous chemistry. It did contain the oxygen and nitrogen and carbon and light, those life-giving elements that can breathe a soul into existence. Yet what it appeared these humans were seeing was not an exhale--not even an inhale, either. The breath was there, but it had stopped moving. The lungs of complexity had given out at some point, on all of these worlds. Either time or disaster or misfortune had felled them where they stood. Entropy had won out, as it always does and always will. ""What now, Admiral?"" came the voice of one of Forneal's most trusted men. The Admiral looked up without much of an answer, stepped forward and knelt to inspect the dirt. Not even a microbe lived in that, he knew. How could such a thing be possible? It was then that he was reminded of the flower in his pocket. Thumbing over it, he felt only slightly better for its existence. They'd ventured out to find brethren for these flowers, brethren for all life. And yet all they found was death. Unconsciously, Admiral Forneal produced the flower, its roots dangling down as though itching for fresh ground. Staring at it, he flicked his eyes between it and that organic dirt which had gone cursed for far too long. On a whim, he knelt down and planted the thing, enriched it with soil. He smiled. They had not found life anywhere, though they had searched and searched and searched. But that was okay. These planets didn't need to thrive, to be veritable gardens of eden when the humans arrived. For they had brought life with them along the way. --- /r/Palmerranian",1596
 Fermi's paradox was theor,"Fermi's paradox was theorized to be answerable by a theory called, ""The Great Filter"". Boiled down this theory states that intelligent life will eventually wipe itself out, and accidental or purposeful self destruction is the reason for the silence among the stars. When humanity discovered FTL travel, it was through a process called, ""cascade quantum entanglement"". This process involved several complex steps, but those can be reduced to essential information. By creating two identical virtual particles at distant points in space, and then forcing them to match frequency, the universe could be tricked into ""believing"" that the spacecraft or object was at point B instead of point A. This required a kind of ""gateway"" which was really an absurdly large vacuum chamber that used vast amounts of power to create a near perfect vacuum, and then subjected that vacuum to intense and very specific patterns of magnetic fields. The goal was to create two identical areas of space right down to the fabric of reality itself, and then shove things through. The interactions on one side of the ""gate"" would create identical reactions on the other side, and it turns out that reality so loves equal and opposite reactions that it would pull or push the object through to the other gate in order to equal out the ""spooky action at a distance"". The fabric of space time suffered these hamfisted parlor tricks quietly and with seemingly no ill effect. Humanity tested the first gate in 2350, one hundred years after launching the first set of gates out beyond the Kepler belt, a distance that was deemed safe enough to prevent mass extinction should they accidentally create a black hole, and close enough for convenience since if they ripped apart space itself it wouldn't matter anyhow. The gates worked fine, and humanity heaved a sigh of relief that they would not be dependent on the slower than light generation ships which had been launched towards alpha Centauri in 2300. The gates meant that not only was FTL possible, with the restriction of gateways being in place, but humanity could easily leapfrog over the slower generation ships by sending out automated Von Neumann probes at 99% the speed of light, which would then decelerate at speeds which would kill living organisms, set up the gates, and then continue on. The probes would build a highway through the unforgiving darkness, and humanity would follow. When humanity arrived at Alpha Centauri, the FTL humans not the slower generation ship ones, they found a strikingly similar gate in ideal orbit around the star. The gate was dead, and apparently so was the entire solar system. Entire planets had been cracked in half and the star was bizarrely ovoid as though it had been stretched out. An accretion disk was slowly forming from the remains of a solar system that seemed to have been hammered by the fist of a god, except for the gate. The humans scratched their collective head about this, and then began investigating. By studying the gate they were able to uncover scientific logs from the builders, and discovered that the beings had built some kind of bomb and Alpha Centauri had been the testing grounds. The device was expected to end some long lasting war between the species that built it and their enemies, which by all accounts seemed to be the same species despite incredibly vitriolic and hate filled writings claiming a difference between the two groups. According to the logs the species, who named themselves the, ""Sunanka"", built what something called a ""void bomb"". This device reportedly could eradicate a solar system in mere seconds. The process for creating the device was encrypted, but the Sunanka had been kind enough to leave behind the keys in the puddles of their dead. The process began by creating a near perfect vacuum, and then the non-void of space would produce two oppositely charged virtual particles which would then near instantaneously eradicate each other. By inducing an extremely strong magnetic field which overlapped the area of vacuum the virtual particles could be separated. This was similar to but not the same as the method for creating the gateways. The gates forced space to assume a specific shape. This void bomb process forced space not to be. The thing about space is it isn't even truly a vacuum. Virtual particles are constantly popping into and out of existence, dancing across the fabric of space-time, and erasing themselves. The void bomb device created a true empty point, and apparently this hole in reality could be maintained for picoseconds. The records showed that depending on the size of the hole created space would expand and contract, but the reaction grew on an exponential scale. A hole the size of a virtual particle would cause a ripple, as space moved an infinitesimally small distance and then moved back. A hole the size of a hydrogen atom would result in a ripple that could be felt by the senses, as space within several light years was violently shifted and then slammed back into place. This could cause earthquakes but would not rip apart organic matter. A hole the size of a grain of sand, which would be visible in theory if it was sustained long enough, would rip apart a solar system and sunder every complex molecule within tens of light years. The scientists who discovered this information were, unfortunately, members of a political group that was also involved in a war with their own kind. The bomb was constructed as per the instructions left behind by the Sunanka, and sent through the gateway back towards earth. A backup bomb was also built, and luckily or unluckily for mankind a saboteur was hiding in the midst of the enemy. In a vengeful last act, the detonation sequence for both void bombs were linked, and the act of detonating the bomb delivered to earth also tore apart Alpha Centauri for the second time. The only humans that survived were those traveling in the slow generation ships, unaware of the death of their home, the destruction of their destination, and the dangers lurking in the dark void.",1029
 Light stabbed at her eyes as if,"That first jolt back to life was hell. The first inhale made her lungs contract like paper bags. Light stabbed at her eyes as if she had never seen it at all. But she was alive. And she hadn't expected that to ever happen again. Then again, she hadn't had time to expect much at all when she died. She had died, hadn't she? The details of it all slipped her. She couldn't quite find her own name in the fugue of her mind. The world pieced itself together in pained details: a harsh overhead LED, a white room, a bed, leather straps binding her at the wrists and ankles. She wore a hospital gown up to her neck, long sleeves down her arms. Silver gloves over her hands. A pair of spiders clustered close to the overhead light. One seemed to nudge the other forward. That was her sister. Always coaxing her along. The woman pushed herself up on her elbows. This could be any room in any American hospital. The sink was so ordered and unassuming. Her pulse thudded against her skull. She tried to marshal what information she could from her scattered brain. She remembered picking through an abandoned old facility with her sister. It was supposed to be a few hours collecting footage for some YouTube videos. Their worst fear had been running into a moody junkie. That memory dug the deepest, a glass shard underfoot: her sister turning her head back in a room full of old paper, and laughing, the noise bouncing off the walls of the room. Now it came back to the woman, vividly. Her sister's name was Claire. She knew that much. The door of the exam room opened. A man stood there with a quaint smile and a clipboard. ""Oh, Hannah,"" he said, lightly, ""you're awake."" That was her name. Hannah. Hannah and Claire. Why had her thoughts gone so soupy and strange? He approached with his hands in the pockets of his coat and smiled at her in pity. ""You must not remember what happened. I'm your doctor today. Are you in any pain?"" The doctor's face was plasticine, impossibly smooth. It barely creased when he smiled. Hannah tried to slur something out, but no words came. The doctor kept that thin uncanny smile. ""Oh, you'll find that's perfectly normal in the loaner bodies."" Hannah's eyebrows arched upward in question. ""Ah. I can see you're coming out of the fog. Amnesia is a common side effect when we bring you back from the other side."" The doctor settled himself in the rolling stool beside her bed and gave her a pitying smile. ""Do you remember anything?"" Her voice came out in a dry croak. ""Where's my sister?"" ""We won't worry about her right now. We're worrying about you."" He leaned forward, elbows on knees. ""Do you remember being somewhere you shouldn't have been? Seen something you shouldn't have seen?"" This time, Hannah didn't even try to speak. She stared past the doctor's head, at the light. Now one spider was eating the other, devouring it limb by limb. ""There are secrets in the dark corners of your world. Some old, some as new as ours. And I'm afraid you found the wrong one."" The doctor's face darkened like a summer storm before the eerie smile returned. ""But luckily for you, there are treaties in place for when this sort of thing happens."" ""Thing?"" she repeated. She had to trudge through the swamp of her mind to find words. ""Yes. When we encounter a less... sentient species. There are rules in place to protect inferior beings like yourself."" He tapped the glove that Hannah realized, dizzingly, wasn't a glove at all, but the metal hand of her body. A *loaner* body. Hannah wrestled against her bindings. The doctor shushed her gently. ""Now, now. Your replacement body is being spun up as we speak. You won't remember me, or any of this."" He gestured around the room. ""But I am obligated to let you know you have the right to seek legal counsel for this, given they have the appropriate intergalactic licenses in place."" She couldn't think of anything to say. She just stared, open-mouthed. Finally she managed, ""Intergalactic?"" That jarred a memory. That room full of papers had a safe in the wall. She remembered her sister rigging it open. Her sister, bathed in sharp blue light. She remembered symbols scrawled in pale blue fire. Then the door, banging open. All those metal figures, standing in the doorway. The roaring. The burning pain, spreading through her chest. Then darkness. The bleak certainty of death. The doctor carried on, ""Or you can make this easier for all of us let us reset it as if it never started at all. And we can give you certain... perks for your cooperation. Rest assured we have few of your petty technological limitations."" Hannah snapped her head toward him. She wondered what he really looked like, under that impossible human skin. ""Where,"" she repeated, ""is my sister?"" The doctor sighed. ""She is not privy to the same protections as you are."" ""Why the hell not?"" she growled out. ""When our information control enforcement deployed to your room, she attacked one of our agents, prompting him to dutifully kill you both."" He shrugged, as if it couldn't be helped. ""But luckily for you, you were nonviolent."" ""Bring her back."" The doctor paused, brows arched on his wrinkleless forehead. ""Excuse me?"" ""My sister. Bring her back."" 'I've nowhere to *put* her, dear."" Hannah's mind spun to find the words. ""Put her in my body,"" she sputtered. She imagined her own body being remade in some hospital room somewhere. Her torso spinning up like spiderweb. ""I don't think you know what you're asking for, sweet little human."" She scoffed. He had no idea what he was taking. ""I can give you anything you desire. Anything your tiny third dimensional mind can think of. Ask it, and it's yours."" Hannah's glare burned into him. ""I just told you what I want."" He looked her over, uncertain. ""It will be awfully crowded in there."" ""Oh, don't worry. I'm used to sharing."" The doctor nodded. ""Very well. If that is your wish."" Hannah could see herself and her sister, their souls fluttering, a pair of candles in the dark. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the light to come. *** /r/shoringupfragments",1073
" This is my first submission, so","This is my first submission, so I'd really appreciate any growth / improvement feedback please. ""Wait. This can't be right. I look around to see if I've missed something. I've been walking in a bit of a stupour, still sweating out last night's binge drinking pounding music mental fucking getting right out of hand party. People always think of Tuscany as a little piece of boredom wrapped in rolling green hills, blue skies, and stone buildings, and for the most part they're right. But there is also a vibe here, a night vibe like no other, if you know where to look. Last night started at NoF, wandered around a bit, and finally ended with my waking up this morning on some tourist's couch, tasting far too much of the inside of my mouth. Maybe I'm just too hungover, maybe my clairaudience is all out of whack. I haven't really been practising or focussing on it since my handlers let me go. I'm not supposed to talk about what I used to do, but basically I had two handlers, I worked for an organisation with three letters, and my job was to use my seemingly unique clairaudience to help uncover secret operations in foreign countries. Foreign to my own, three letter, country, that is. You know, not ""us"". One of my key abilities is that along with discerning information about a place, psychically, I could also get a sense of rank and power of that place. See, places where more power exists, where bigger choices are made, where decisions about the future of the world happen, they get a kind of energy signature to them. And I can pick this up. I started off working in a consulting firm, where my ability to determine who to speak to to get the deal made my a wild success. Back then I never revealed my ability, of course, just said I was a good student of human nature. But eventually my handlers found me, pulled me in, trained me, made me me... You've all seen this movie before, you know how the story goes. And for years I was their lead, their champion, their little fucking goldmine of information. Traveling the world, finding the real seats of power. The seats behind the seats, as it were. The Kremlin? Incredible, awe inspiring, completely a red herring. The real magic happens four blocks away in a little townhouse. Sixth most powerful place in the world. 10 Downing Street? Pretty, very British, totally worth ignoring. Doesn't even crack the top thousand. But a secret bunker in Chelsea, that I detected one day by accident while walking through a park built over it? Third most powerful. Turns out there's tunnels from there to houses owned by all the big banking families - The Rothschilds, the Weishaupts, the lot. The choices that have been made in there, you wouldn't believe. I genuinely can't talk about the others - My little three letter organisation does more than just make you sign an NDA when you leave. And I had to leave, eventually, because they figured (and I figured) I was broken. I could never, no matter where I went or what I did, find number one. The big kahuna. The most powerful place in the world. Until now. Except that this can't be right. I'm standing on a tiny street in the Onda area of Siena, Tuscany. The streets are these grey slabs they use here, the buildings all small brick, and Siena's nowhere. No. Where. That's why I came here, to clear my head, to not have to worry about whether my watchers (once your handlers let you go, watchers watch. Forever, I think. They don't want to kill me in case I might be useful one day, they don't have any real use for me right now, but they also don't want to just let me go ramble around doing whatever I want) will be wandering what I'm up to. Nothing is the answer, hence Siena. Doing nothing in nowhere. So why is my clairaudience going so fucking mad? It is telling me, with a strength I've never experienced before, that I am right next to the most powerful place in the world. Across the road is a small used book store, and with all my heart I want that to be it, but I know without doubt that it's not. It's the flower shop to my right. Fresh St Joseph's lilies are in buckets on the steps, roses in the windows. Sprays of purple and white and green plants I don't know are all over. I walk in, starting to sweat a little bit. Behind the counter, the Italian mama - short, apron, greying slightly - looks up at me and grins ""Bella! We thought you'd never make it!"" &#x200B; &#x200B; \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Edit EDIT: Thank you for the silver! EDIT: Thank you all for all of the comments and helpful guides. I will try to write some more once I can figure out a story arc that makes sense to me. Really appreciate all of the positive feedback as well. Just to answer/comment on a couple of consistent comments: 1. The line about the party has gotten lots of feedback. I was trying to express that way that sometimes, after a huge night, you can't really piece it all together - It's just a blur of memory sensations. Obviously I didn't bring that across - I will try tighten it up in a future edit. 2. The uber-long parenthesis irritated me too. I'm a little surprised only /u/demios279 called me on it. I'll have to figure out how to bring that info in somewhere else though. 3. I really tried to write this gender neutral, so it's interesting how many people have picked a gender for the protagonist. Bella may have led to the female choice, but it was meant as ""Beautiful"" rather than the feminine. Again, thank you all so much for the comments. I don't write often, and I've never posted here before, but the feedback has been so constructive I'm going to commit to trying to write a second part. Much love.",1030
 The next step in our understanding of,"I stared at the hooded skull, tiny glowing blue embers boring back into me. ""...I guess I didn't ground the wires properly, did I?"" NO. Out of habit, I ran my hand through my hair. For a moment it stood rigid, the shock of fifty-thousand volts still exciting it, and then it fell back to my scalp. ""It was going to be perfect. The next step in our understanding of quantum..."" My face fell. ""And I failed, didn't it?"" I sighed. ""It doesn't matter anymore, does it?"" NOT EXACTLY. ""What do you mean?"" HAVE YOU CONSIDERED WHAT HAPPENS AFTER YOU ARRIVE HERE, NATHAN MARKS? I frowned. ""What, after I... went?"" Shaking my head, I chuckled. ""Can't say I have. Always had something a bit more immediate to worry about."" I looked down at my translucent, fading hands. ""But I guess there's no time like the present."" IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. ""...Go on."" YOU MAY CHOOSE AN ELEMENT OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE TO CONTINUE ON. A MEMORY, OR A SKILL, THAT YOUR NEW SOUL RETAINS. CONSIDER IT A HEAD START OF YOUR CHOOSING. I took my chin in my hand, rubbing my fingers through the stubble I never managed to properly trim. ""And it can be anything? Any memory I think will help me?"" AS LONG AS IT CAN BE CONSIDERED DISTINCT, YES. A thought chased through the back of my mind, and I nodded. ""Alright. My notes. I want to remember the contents of my notebook, my life's work. All three hundred pages. Is that alright?"" AS YOU WISH. GOOD LUCK IN YOUR NEXT LIFE, NATHAN MARKS. \--- YOU MAY OPEN YOUR EYES, NEIL MAYES. My eyelids creaked slowly, as they had for the past forty years. Gritting my teeth, I hefted my thin, decrepit chest until I sat up. ""I-"" THERE IS NO NEED FOR THAT, NEIL. I blinked. My chest wasn't sunken, my arms were full and strong, and the full head of hair that age and chemotherapy had stolen once again rippled down my neck. ""This... I feel like I'm twenty-four again!"" HERE, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE THE AGE WHICH YOUR SOUL BELIEVES ITSELF TO BE. YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN TWENTY-FOUR. I chuckled. ""...My mother told me I was a mature kid, and my brother told me I was an immature adult. Sounds like they were right."" DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NOW? A twinge in the back of my mind made me furrow my brow. ""...I'm going back, aren't I? Back to life?"" IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. ""Like, something I get to keep? Something I remember?"" IT CAN BE A MEMORY, YES, OR A SKILL. AS LONG AS IT CAN BE CONSIDERED DISTINCT, IT CAN BE ANYTHING YOU BELIEVE WILL HELP YOU IN YOUR NEXT LIFE. I felt the answer before I said it. ""My research notes. My studies into quantum mechanics and the nature of the universe, all six hundred pages. They're the most important thing."" AS YOU WISH. GOOD LUCK IN YOUR NEXT LIFE, NEIL MAYES. \--- Even as I opened my eyes, I could feel the retching continue. Waves of nausea racked my body, and I clutched my stomach tightly. ""That... was... unpleasant..."" I MUST ADMIT, THERE ARE FAR LESS PAINFUL DEATHS, EVEN AMONG THE SELF-INFLICTED. ""I had to make-"" I paused to retch again. ""Had to make sure it took."" ORDINARILY I DO NOT ASK, BUT SOMETHING IN THIS INSTANCE COMPELS ME. WHY? Taking deep breaths, I wiped at my translucent mouth. ""Why what?"" YOU HAD A REMARKABLE LIFE, NICHOLAS MOONEY. FEW CHILDREN ARE PRODIGIES. FEWER STILL EARN NATIONAL ACCLAIM AND ACCEPTANCE INTO COLLEGE TWO-THIRDS OF A DECADE EARLY. THE NUMBER OF PUBESCENT PHYSICS GRADUATES IS NEARLY NON-EXISTENT. EARNING A DOCTORATE BEFORE A DRIVER'S LICENSE PLACES YOU IN A CLASS OF ONE. ""And?"" WHY WOULD YOU DISCARD THAT TO DRINK A JUG OF BLEACH? My discomfort faded enough for me to grin. ""Because I made a promise. Isn't there something you're supposed to offer me now?"" IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. ""My research notes into space-time and human consciousness. The entire binder. Every word on every page."" AS YOU WISH. I started to feel my whole body dissipate. THIS IS UNUSUAL, NICHOLAS MOONEY. I CAN RECOGNIZE THAT. ""It won't matter for long."" \--- ""Hello, old friend."" Already the pain from the electric shock had subsided. I couldn't even feel the screws digging through my skull. The hairs on my arms had drooped. WHAT MAKES YOU CALL ME FRIEND, NOAH MORGAN? I straightened the collar on my translucent shirt. ""We've done this often enough, haven't we?"" THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. ""Of course it is. I wrote the book on it, after all."" I reached out, and the back of a chair was in my hand. With a quick turn and pull, I dropped myself into the seat. ""Let me start by asking - was the carryover your idea, or someone else's, or is it just a quirk of how this process works?"" I CANNOT SAY. Narrowing my eyes, I smiled. ""You don't know. That crosses one option off the list."" I leaned back. ""It hardly matters. Whatever the case, there's a large loophole in it. I saw it, and I knew what I had to do."" WHAT LOOPHOLE? ""Memories are one of the strongest triggers of emotion. And, by extension, emotion can trigger memory - even memory not directly experienced. A patient who has undergone trauma can have memories of the events changed simply by changing their mood."" I rested my chin on my palm, leaning my elbow into my lap. ""So, letting me keep a memory means letting me keep the emotions related to that memory. And those emotions drag along hints of memories of their own."" I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. ""What is a person but their memories and emotions? If I forget my accomplishments and my failures, am I still me? If I lose my passion for improvement or my determination to accomplish my goals, can I still say I am myself? You claimed that I could carry a piece of myself from one life to the next. And so, I made that one piece the essential part of me - my memory, and by extension my emotions attached to it."" I smiled. ""You let me become immortal."" THIS CANNOT BE. My smiled widened as my hands and feet began to flicker and vanish. ""And yet it is."" THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG. WHAT IS HAPPENING? ""You never questioned what was in my notes. Did it even occur to you that it mattered?"" YOU NO LONGER EXIST. I nodded, looking down at a robe starting to splinter and fade. ""It was my research into quantum physics, yes, and theories into how to manipulate space-time."" I AM CEASING TO EXIST AS WELL. ""And it was my research into the structure of the human brain, and human consciousness, and the philosophy of sentience."" ALL OF THIS IS ENDING. ""And, at the heart of it, was a promise I made."" \--- I pulled my safety goggles down over my eyes and gave Rory a thumbs-up. ""All systems go."" ""You sure we're secure, Nate? If we don't have solid grounding, you're looking at taking a good forty-thousand volts."" Her luxurious amber locks, tied back into a low ponytail, bounced as she mimed me being electrocuted. I rolled my eyes. ""Fifty-thousand, actually, and it's fine. What kind of wimp can't take a lightly fatal zap in the name of science?"" Rory shot me a ""sleeping on the couch"" look. ""Okay, for starters, I am not cleaning your greasy ashes off the floor. And if you die before the wedding, my mom is going to make me stand at the altar with your greasy ashes which I will not have cleaned into a dustpan. And also, you promised that you'd make lasagna this weekend."" ""Honey, it's fine. This is going to work, and I'm going to go down in history as the man who invented the time machine, and I'm going to use my time machine to make you lasagna with brontosaurus meat."" I smiled one of my dopiest grins. A sudden burst of light shut out all of my senses. I floated in a void. ""This isn't right."" The voice was mine, and yet, it wasn't. There was something wrong to it. ""Check the wires again. You made a promise."" ""-ving a stroke, are you, Nate?"" Her voice brought me back to reality. I waved as I shook my head. ""J-Just a second, hon."" I stepped behind the generator. The grounding wires were loose, needing just a few palm whacks to get them back in place. ""Hey, Rory?"" A strange energy raced through my veins, my pores, my synapses as I walked back to the center of the lab. ""This experiment... It's going to be fine. It can wait."" She gaped for a moment, then stormed through the door onto the floor. ""You can't be serious. You're the one who cancelled our date and bribed the security guard to let us do this without supervision."" She grabbed my collar and shook me. ""I shaved my legs for you to tell me to wear safety gear!"" ""I-"" I stared into her eyes. They were the perfect blue, reflecting the light to shine in ways I thought impossible. ""I made a mistake."" My hands slipped around her waist and pulled her close. ""Let me take you back home and make a lasagna to die for."" She pouted for a moment before her lips found mine. ""I'm holding you to that.""",1677
" In all honesty, it sickened","I paused for a moment, my eyes staring at a name I didn't know, one that was bolded and underlined. Something I hadn't seen before while flicking through the pages of my life. Curiosity it the better of me and I wrote the reference of their own book on a yellow post it note and began exploring the numerous archived works in the basement of the human preservation museum. Row LA 30... Row LA31...Row LA32... Found it. I began checking the numbering a on each tin that contained the preserved contents of the individuals book of life, their most treasured item in their lifetime and a small photo album of their photo of every year they were alive. In all honesty, it sickened and creeped me out when I first found it. But now I'm addicted and come in every time after work to read forgotten memories of life. ""There you are,"" I say as I bent down and pulled the metal box from the shelf. I picked it up, which seemed to be fair heavier than mine, and began trekking back to my desk. No one is ever in this place, so I feel oddly comforted that I won't get caught delving into some strangers life. The tin lid popped open and I pulled out the photo album and began flicking through, but that was a waste of time as I still didn't recognise the guy. Then I reached in a pulled a wooden box out and pushed the lid open. I stared at the contents. And stared. And stared before I slowly put it down as my mind began to awaken and push the fog away. That's my locket. My hands touches the same, identical locket that sat around my neck. It was my grandmother's and 21st birthday present... Why was this person's most treasured item in the life my own? I turned back to the tin and pulled their book out, it wasn't like the others either, this one was red where mine and my friends were blue. I opened the front page up and began looking through the contents - Chapter 21 ""Miss Mia Jones"". A whole chapter? I've never seen that before. Turning the pages I began to read through this person's thoughts that was written in almost eligible writing, apparently I had served them at Subway when I was still in school... When I was 17. I'm 27 now. It began to get harder and harder to read as I realised that never once had I seen or talked to them, but they've witnessed and participated in my life without me knowing. My graduation. My first job. My first car. My first boyfriend. My first cat. Moving out on my own. My first break up - They even orchestrated what I thought was a free hot chocolate for me while I was in the midst of having a post break up mope session. I skipped the rest until I came to today's date. ...They've seen everything. They've been in my house while I wasn't there. They set up cameras. They set up microphones. My cat even apparently loves him - That little traitorous bastard... My leg began to bounce as I took in today entry. 'Today was the day. Today, I will show her myself. I will show her everything I've done for her. I will show her how much I will love her. She will be home soon. And I will show her how it feels to be finally loved. I'm waiting, I'm waiting, in your bathroom... I'll be here ready for you.' Nauseated I looked away from the book and tried to think of a excuse - One that explains that all of this is some sick joke. This can't be real. I-I would have seen something. I would have noticed. I can't be that oblivious to someone following me for the past ten years. I glanced back at the box that held my locket and shakily picked it up. This can't be mine. This has to be a fake. I turned the locket, noticing that it had the same dent I gave it when I dropped it on holiday. I opened it then, only to find inside of my gold locket was dried blood and pieces or decayed substances all lumped and squished together. I gagged before I turned and vomited into the small trash can beside me. What the hell. What the actual fuck. Oh my god what the hell - That's - Gross? Feral! Disgusting! What the hell is that thing?! I continued to shake as I held the trash can in front of my face. Then I heard it. It sounded like a pen scratching scratching paper and I slowly straightened my back and looked over at the book. Words were appearing like magic. And I had to force my eyes to focus and absorb the words. 'Shes home early? That's odd, usually she goes to the library until seven. No, no... Thats not her... Who is that? Danny? Danny, Mia's tutor?' ""Oh my god, Danny, Danny get out of there!"" I cried out. 'He has flowers. And a bag. He's pulling candles out of the bag. What... No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO!' My hands grabbed my mobile and I called Danny as the words became erratic, covering the entire pages as I began flipping through them to keep up with his train of thought. ""Hello?"" ""Danny! Get the fuck out of my apartment, someone's broken in and is in the closet!"" ""What- How did you know I was in your apartment?"" 'This is my chance. He's distracted, I will end him. Then she's mine.' ""Danny listen to me! Get out now! Danny please!"" 'Almost there-' ""Danny!"" I screamed as I heard a Yelp of shock come from the phone. Then the sound of scuffling filled the phone call as I hear shouts. The pages began filling with information of the fight, Leon Andrews tried to shove the knife into Danny's chest, only for Danny to head but his face. ""Danny! Danny fight!"" 'The knife plunged into Daniel Harrows' chest, knickin his artery.' ""Danny!"" I screamed. I picked my phone up and hung up before dialling 000. ""Danny please-"" 'Daniel soon stopped struggling and Leon slowly sat up while staring down at Daniel. Smugly Leon began moving Daniel to the bathroom to hide him for when Mia comes home...' ""Miss, I can't understand you-"" ""My boyfriend was attacked by a intruder while I was on the phone with him. The address is 13F Heather Circuit. Please hurry, he's been stabbed!"" I picked up my bag and began running out of the library as I tried to explain to the dispatcher what was happening. I had hoped it wasn't too late. I should have known. I should have stopped him. How can I have not known? This is all my fault... Daniel's book ceased at 6.07 PM 31/10/2019. Mia's book continued writing. As did Leon's. Mia never returned to the hidden archives, but a new comer did arrive shortly after Mia's departure, only to find a blank desk, an empty trash can and a inviting light on the only desk within the facilities with their own reference number written on a fresh new post it note. Authors Note: I really tried to write inbetween work, sorry!",1231
" ""It was never supposed to be","""It was never supposed to be like this."" His words cut into the night, shattering the silence that had forced its way between us. I leveled my gaze with him across the yard, the lights of our small home illuminating his silhouette. Shadows crawled across our back garden, the dead and dying plants hidden in their depths. The air was still, and the wind was crisp against my bare arms. I could barely make his features out in the darkness; just some movement at his jaw as he spoke again. ""I never meant to--"" ""You never meant to what, Dad?"" I snapped, my hands curled into fists. ""Never meant to become one of the most powerful people in the world? Or never meant for me to find out that you hate me?"" His figure stilled, and I took a step forward. ""I was there. I heard the agreements. Our house is small, Dad, it's not like I wouldn't have heard. You had to have known."" ""I didn't know. I thought you were asleep--"" ""If you knew me *at all* you would remember I can't sleep, Dad. If you ever even cared about me--and it's clear now you didn't--"" I flinched at my voice cracking. I wanted to sound strong. As strong as I was now, with what my father's hatred for me had granted. But I couldn't. All the power in the world couldn't make me strong enough for this conversation. ""--you didn't *love* me, Dad! You've never loved me!"" ""That's not true!"" He stepped forward; I stepped back. ""It is true, Dad, it is--you don't have to lie anymore."" Flames tingled at my knuckles, and sparks showered from my hands like hot tears. ""I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be *born.""* ""I know, believe me, I know--"" I forced a laugh; it boomed with a crack across the yard, echoing into the empty sky above us like thunder. I watched my dad flinch; saw a glimmer of light shine protectively over him, as if anticipating my attack. Maybe I wanted to hurt him. The way he hurt me. The idea caused a surge of heat to crawl down my back, and blades of fire erupted from my curled fists like daggers. This power was still new to me, and I had no idea how much I could do. But with every physical sensation, with every response my body supplied to me, I felt a little more in control. A little more like myself. ""I never wanted this,"" he said, taking another step towards me. I held my ground. ""I'm not going to fight you. You're my child."" ""That's never been reason enough before,"" I bit back. ""Me being your child has never been enough for you to care to get up in the morning. To make me breakfast. Make sure I get to school. To buy me clothes, or feed me. No--I had to raise *myself.* So why stop now? Why *not* fight the...the..."" A sob betrayed my true feelings. ""'The person you hate most in the world'?"" We were both still, staring at each other through the darkness. The lights dancing at my hands were just enough to illuminate the shine of his eyes; the eyes we shared. He was my only family. My only family betrayed me. An anguished cry slipped through my lips and the heat rolled over me again, a wave of flame burning through me and charring the ground at my feet. With this small burst, I saw his features more clearly; his set jaw, his crinkled forehead, his unkempt hair. He looked exhausted. Like he had finally, truly given up. But that would imply he had actually been *trying* at all these last few years. Suddenly, it was as though a giant fist closed around me; the flames snuffed out as I was forced to release my control on them. His hand was out, feet from me, yet somehow seizing me with great strength. A pressure squeezed my body; I felt the tightness across my torso, and chest--in my lungs. ""Dad--!"" The word came out strangled. ""Stop--!"" ""You killed her,"" he said simply, and with my fire gone, he was back to being a black shadow. ""You killed my wife."" I let out a cry as he squeezed harder. My shoulder turned in hard; I could swear I heard a rib crack. I was breathing in rasps now. *You killed her,* he said again, although this time his voice, his face, filled my head. A sharp pain rocketed across the back of my skull. My eyes rolled back in pain, a wheeze leaving my lips. *If you had never been born, she would still be alive.* Memories of the woman I had never known flashed across my vision; long blonde hair, bright green eyes. A bright silhouette against fluttering white curtains; a glimpse of a smile on strawberry lips; the sound of a tinkling laugh. It was the most I had ever seen of her. Even as my father crushed me with his powers, my brain soaked up the memories with hungry fervor. He never showed me pictures, never once spoke her name. I heard it now: *Diane.* It took all of my focus to send my internal voice back to him. *Diane wouldn't want to see her husband kill the child she died for. She died for me, Dad. She died so that I could live.* More flashes of my dad's memories as the night seemed to blacken further: Him by her side as she gave one last push; my shrill, infant cry; the monitors going haywire; the frantic beeping followed by one long, grave tone. Something broke; air rushed into my lungs and I collapsed to my knees, heaving. I still felt his presence so nearby; nearly close enough to touch physically. I risked a glance up, saw his head bent forward, his shoulders heaving. Without a moment's hesitation, I spread a hand before me and slammed it to the earth. As though a puppet on strings, my father fell to my will, sprawling to the ground without grace or dignity. I forced myself to my feet, the tendons in my hand trembling as I kept my grip on him, the weeping man at my feet. ""In all my life, you never once told me you loved me,"" I whispered, knowing my voice would reach him. ""You treated me like I was *nothing.* Worse than nothing. You treated me like I was some kind of murderer. I didn't choose to be *born.* YOU did. YOU brought me here. And now you made me into this."" *This.* You made me into this hurt, drowning, broken being. You turned me into this emotionally damaged, forever-untrusting person. You turned me into a superfreak with superpowers. This was where the list of what you gave me ends. ""I could never love you."" I didn't know if he said the words verbally or if he thought them. Before he could say more, I reacted instinctively, crushing my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my skin. His body crumbled before me in a symphony of cracks and snaps, and just like that, it was done. Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. The fire within me grew and spread, and alighted beneath the figure that was once my father--by blood and nothing more. As his corpse burned, I swiped my tears away. I let the darkness flood me, fill me with something other than self-loathing and dread. I let the fire cleanse my soul; let it destroy the person that destroyed me. Let it reach into my very soul, allowing it to burn, so that something new might take its place. The darkness and the flames danced in my chest, in my heart, in my vision. I snarled: ""It was never supposed to be like this."" \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out r/HAltBooks for more future content, NaNoWriMo developments, and more!",1336
 Those who whispered thought very little of,"There were whispers still. Tales about the times that were long ago and mostly forgotten except in dusty tomes. Back when the world was different and things were different. I liked those whispers. Liked to sit amidst the marble tombs and headstone and just listen to the rustling rumbling of how things used to be. Those who whispered thought very little of things as they stood. They said we had fallen. All of us. Mankind. What we are was less than what we were and it was all our fault. Our fault that we had lost our cities. Our fault that we had lost the spark. They talked a lot about the spark. About the gift it brought with it. Magic. Everyone knew about magic, but it was just part of the stories. I liked stories, that was why I listened to the whispers. But they said it was real. That the spark could be rekindled. They used that word a lot. Rekindled. I had to ask my pa what it meant the first time they'd whispered it to me. He looked at me strange but then gave me the meaning of it, not that it made much more sense now that I knew. I sat on a soft patch of grass, my back leaning against a faded tombstone. Among the oldest. It had a funny dates on it from back when the world wasn't broken. This was my favorite perch, mostly because the whispers here were the most interesting. ""How do we rekindle?"" I wasn't sure if that was the right way to say it, but the whisperers never seemed to mind when I stumbled over the things they told me. They were patient. Like they had all of the time in the world. The wind picked up, the leaves rustling around me and I could just make out a faded voice amidst the muddle. ""The right vessel. The opportune time. The fortuitous place."" This whisperer always spoke in riddles. Maybe it was because it came from such a far off place and that was just how things used to be. Maybe it was because the whisperer was bored it was fun to play games. I would want to have fun if I was stuck whispering in graveyards for forever. ""Vessel?"" I asked. ""Mmmm...vessel,"" it replied. ""Like a carrier? A jar or something?"" I closed my eyes and rested the back of my head against the tombstone, thinking of the jars lining the pantry in our little caretaker's house. ""Yes. Carrier. Of the flesh. Of the blood."" I frowned. I didn't think my mom had any jars made out of flesh and blood. It seemed like a bad way to store things. ""I don't think I have any jars like that."" ""You,"" it said. I waited for it to continue, the word feeling out of place amidst thoughts of flesh jars. When it did not continue, I prompted it. It wasn't the first time a whisperer had forgotten it was having a conversation mid-sentence. ""Me?"" ""Yes. You. Vessel. Carrier."" My eyes opened, blinking in confusion. ""I'm the vessel?"" I didn't see how I would make much of a flesh jar, I was already filled up with all of my insides. ""I think I'm already full."" ""No...empty. But open. Available. The right vessel."" It hummed in satisfaction, the wind twirling around my ankles. ""We have watched. Tested. You can rekindle the spark."" I gawped, my mouth dry as my pulse ran thick in my veins. ""Why? Why me?"" ""You listen. You feel. You learn."" ""I just like the stories. Like to have someone to talk to,"" I replied. I couldn't remember when I had first heard the voices, but it had been some time ago. They had come to me as I went about my tasks in the graveyard. I had responded, allowing myself to be guided. I unearthed tombs long forgotten, bringing them back into repair only to find a new whisperer appear as my reward. This very headstone had been long buried, only surfacing when I had followed the call and set forth with a shovel until I found it. I had never questioned these tasks, they had just felt natural to do, and the reward of feeling closer to the whisperers had been enough for me. I never expected it to turn into something different. That all of this had been some test. Some effort to determine my value. I felt strange knowing it now, as if the relationships had not been real. As if they were tainted by these other goals. But the feeling was fleeting, replaced by a desire to know what I might do next. Learn next. Vessel. I did not know if I liked the sound of that. But I could rekindle the spark. That sounded better. ""What will happen if I...become the vessel?"" ""Many things. Many possibilities."" ""Will it be good?"" I asked. There was a silence, the wind dying down for a few heartbeats before picking back up. ""Good. Bad. Everything. The spark will spread. The world will change. Man will change."" ""What kind of bad things?"" ""Terrible. The spark brought the breaking of the world. Its rekindling could be the end."" I swallowed, ""That's...um...pretty bad."" ""The right vessel. The opportune time. The fortuitous place."" It replied. ""You said that already,"" I said, not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to end up in a circle. That happened sometimes with the whisperers. They lost their way and we ended up back where we began. ""The spark will be safe with you. The bad is a possibility but not a probability. We trust you."" ""But how will I know what to do? What is the right thing?"" I asked, growing increasingly worried I might destroy the world. ""We will be with you. Guide you."" I nodded, ""So I just come back to the graveyard when I have trouble then?"" ""We will come. The spark will allow it."" ""Come?"" I mulled this over, ""Like even when I'm not here?"" ""Here. There. Everywhere. Always."" ""We'll be together?"" ""Yes. You will be a Spiritus. The first in an age,"" it replied, the tone somehow somber. ""Spiritus?"" I asked, the word unfamiliar. ""A Boundary Mage. A foot in both life and death. A beating heart connected to a sea of souls."" I thought about that, trying to decide if that was what I wanted. It sounded scary. No. Not scary. It was who I already was. I already spent my time with the spirits, we would just be closer. I liked that. Wanted that. ""How do I start?"" I asked. ""You already have."" **Platypus OUT.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus",1115
 Some people just don't know how,"\[Part 1\] Some people just don't know how to retire. They really try, but after a week or two, they start to realize they don't know what to do with themselves if they are not working. Without work to do, they seem to lose their sense of purpose. When I chose to retire, I never thought I would be one of those people. I always told myself that I didn't enjoy the work, I just did it to put food on the table. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't wrong at first, after all, I felt sick to my stomach for weeks after my first kill. Overtime that feeling became weaker, and weaker. My hands no longer shook when pulling the trigger. In the end, I stopped thinking about them as people, and began to see them as simply targets. Sometimes I liked to imagine I was playing one of those games at the carnival where you shoot the balloons with a pellet gun. Just... POP... POP!... POP!.. Still, I held some naive idea that deep down I was a good person, and that I would one day set down the guns, and spend my days staring out the windows sipping coffee, spending more time with my daughter, and my grandson, and solving crossword puzzles. I made it to about week 3 before I unlocked my gun safe, and began pretending that the squirrels in my backyard were high value targets. By week 4 I couldn't find any more squirrels. Just as well, it had begun to become boring by day 4 anyway. Eventually, I decided I needed something more to get my blood moving. The first time I did it, I had spent most of the night drinking, and drunk me thought it was a fantastic idea. I went online and hired a clearly inexperienced hitman, and I asked him to take out a target. Myself. By the morning I had forgotten that I had even requested it. I woke up the next morning to start my hangover regiment, and began to get ready to spend some time with my daughter and grandson. Things went by normal enough. I began my journey down the road through the woods, and all was going well. It wasn't until I got out into hilly areas that something seemed amiss. I noticed on the top of one of those hills a familiar glint of light. Before the thought could fully process, I quickly stepped on my brakes, and watched a bullet zoom a few inches in front of my face, shattering my side windows. I quickly brought the truck to a stop, and exited the vehicle from the passenger side, so that I could use the truck for cover. It took me a while, but I finally realized what had happened the night before. My heart was beating out of my chest at this point, and my mind was running faster than it had in years. I remembered that I always kept a few weapons in a secret compartment in the bed of my truck. I popped my head up, and immediately brought it back down. A bullet whizzed above my head, implanting itself in the ground somewhere in the distance. Now, he would have to load the next round. This gave me a couple of seconds to operate. I quickly vaulted myself over the side of the bed of the truck. As soon as I landed on the bed, another round went off, and buried itself into the truck. I moved with lightning speed to remove my rifle from it's compartment, and just as quickly moved to get back over the side of the bed, onto the ground. Another shot rang out, but it seemed my luck had run out this time. It embedded itself into my arm this time. I let out a little yelp of pain, but otherwise started about my task. I quickly assembled and loaded my rifle. I sat completely still while I waited for the perfect opportunity to retaliate. At first, the sniper tried a few random shots, trying to scare me out of my hiding place, but I assume he began to run low on ammo and waited patiently. It took about half an hour, but finally my opportunity arrived. An SUV was coming down the road, and would be here any moment. It wouldn't be much of a chance, but it was the best I had given the situation. As the SUV began to pass my position, I swung my rifle up, and rested it on the side of my truck. As soon as the SUV had fully passed, I already had my shot lined up. I felt the familiar kick of the rifle as my bullet flew true, and struck my opponent directly between the eyes. I expected to feel relief after this ordeal ended. What I didn't expect was the giddy laughter, and excitement. I felt truly alive for the first time in weeks, years maybe. It took a week or two, but before I knew it, I had put out another hit on my head. Then another, and another. It became a weekly habit. I never knew what to expect, so it always kept me on my toes. I spent hours setting traps around my home in the woods. I almost lost my little game one time when I almost didn't notice the faint smell of almonds coming from my milk. So many creative attempts, but they all ended the same. The assassin community isn't exactly large, so talk began to spread about a target that just couldn't be taken out. Before I knew it, fewer and fewer people were accepting my contracts. I got it flowing again by increasing my bounty, and this brought some fun back as well. It got some slightly better assassins to attempt their best. I still came out on top in the end, although there were certainly some close calls. Eventually it resulted in the same as before, no one would accept my contracts. At this point, I had run through most of my savings I had from my years of professional killing from expenses related to my hobby. I still felt empty inside though. I needed that excitement again, something to make me feel alive. So, I put out the largest bounty yet. One more time was all I needed, and then I would quietly go work security somewhere, or do something else with my life. I knew this had to end, it simply wasn't healthy, and I didn't have the funds the continue. One last go at it, and then I would be done. It took 2 months, but finally someone accepted the contract. I was absolutely giddy. Every bush rustling, every tree movement, every strange sound could be my end. I felt great, better than I had ever felt in my entire life. Yet, the assassin never came. I reached back out several times, and each time the assassin replied that he would be making his move soon, but needed some time to get everything set up. Eventually, I gave up on him. I figured it simply just wasn't meant to be.",1201
 Rolf was always considered an odd,"My uncle Rolf was always considered an oddball amongst the people of Glen River. The rumors that swirled around the parochial little town only intensified after he died. In confidence, my aunt, who had divorced him many years earlier, told me it was like a breath of fresh air for the community. I travelled up to the place after the funeral, so we could clean out his gothic manor, which towered over the little houses, standing like a bastion atop an elevated ridge. ""He had a lot of power over the folks in Glen River,"" my aunt had reiterated. ""There was something to him that really scared and awed people. Nothing criminal, but I reckon he was into some strange things that he continued with after I left. I can't say that he was hated, but I never thought he was really liked, either."" My aunt's words echoed in my mind as I shivered in the lofty halls, worker after worker bring out large boxes with labels hastily scrawled on their sides. The bannister was caked in dust, and the gossamer strands tumbled to the floor with the slightest brush of my hand. Aunt Ruby had sent me alone to Glen River, for reasons uncertain to me. From the moment I drove past the ""Welcome"" sign that was half-rotten and signified the subtle township line, I felt the same feeling of bottled-up silence that my aunt had told me about. ""God rest his soul."" Father Bansley of the Glen River Parish had announced, as I sat in the cramped confines of his office, which was overrun by books and stained documents. ""He was a, ahem, good man. I'm afraid that in his last days he was far from Christ, far from the Parish, you know. He *was* a man of the lord, Miss--?"" ""Just Mirabelle, thank you."" I had interjected. ""Were folks scared of him, around here? I'd only met him a couple times. I always likened him to an oversized walrus."" Bansley had looked around, clutching the tarnished silver cross hanging around his neck just a little harder. ""I'd hate to be the one spreading rumors, but in a small town like this,"" he pursed his lips. ""Things get around the grapevine real fast. Rolf was always a strange man, and he kept to himself when he wasn't askin' for favors. But you see..."" He leaned closer, and gave a little whisper, mixed in with a slight hiccup. ""People always obliged."" The paintings in Uncle Rolf's home were, to me, not the kind one would hang. Surrealist pictures, sharp self-portraits with eyes that seemed to peek out at all angles. As I would round one corner, making a note of the peeling wallpaper, the eyes would look me in the soul and I felt I had no option but to turn away. *I wonder, did he have a heart attack after being surprised by one of these eyes?* The bountiful trinkets and tablecloths, mantle-pieces and pictures, were taken out, leaving the house as an empty shell with no inhabitants. I sent Aunt Ruby a message: the job was done, and I would be returning to Alexandria. I wasn't unhappy to leave the paranoid little village. Last though, was a series of boxes from the musty attic, which a worker set down with a great thud on the hardwood floor in the foyer. ""What's that?"" I asked, as I gently ran my hand over the cardboard. The label on the side read something nigh undecipherable. ""What does it say?"" ""Beats me."" the man replied. ""It was already here when we cleaned the place out. Must be one of old Rolf's trinket collections. God knows that he loved those."" Only hours earlier, I had wandered into the antique shop. Cramped, grim, and dimly-lit store, filled with baubles and glass figurines on every shelf that the eye could make out. The owner, a mousy, petite woman with her hair straightened and her expression hazy, widened her eyes as the bell that signified a new customer gave off a familiar ring. We conversed for a little, about her unusual purpose in the town as a linchpin between the old and the new. The parochial ways, and the influx of new, and more contemporary movements. ""No longer does Glen River feel like,"" she bit her lip slightly, the crinkles of her eyes growing narrow. ""A town frozen in time. Things from outside are flowing in, and your uncle, Rolf-- he was a man who loved to mix the past and the future. He was a man of the Church, yet he had some sort of outside influence, and there--"" I pressed on. I asked about the rumors that swirled around my uncle. The reason that the townsfolk were so eager to grant him favor after favor, chance after chance. Eager to leave him be in the sentinel-like home that cast a shadow over the little homes. ""Well, he's gone, so..."" she began. ""It's just a rumor, but there are always whispers that he has ways to hurt people without even touching them. Not something criminal, but forces. Of darkness, able to destroy life itself."" She chuckled, a bit shakily. ""Just silly rumors."" Kneeling on the foyer floor, I opened the flaps, and took out one of the wrapped pieces enclosed within. I tore off the fragile paper. It was a glass ball, transparent and reflective. I surveyed it, holding it out to the light that streamed in through the partially covered window. A name was engraved onto it. *Edward Williamson* I gasped slightly as my fingers slipped, and the sphere tumbled to the floor, separating into large shards of glass. As it cracked, I could have sworn it gave out a shriek. A chill ran down my spine, as a faint breath of mist emanated from the broken relic. *They look like eyes. The eyes in those paintings. Looking right into my soul.* Outside, I heard a series of screams. Roars. A wail. ""Ed, no, Ed. Stay with me, Ed, oh Lord, stay with me."" I thought to myself at that moment. *What curse did my uncle put on this little town?* \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK",1030
" A lanky, bony,","Grasping the terrifically large metal door-knocker with my hand, I smacked it against the wooden door and waited against the ensuing hollow *thud*. Tapping my foot as I waited, the billows of smoke brushed against the back of my head, courtesy of the hellfire lake behind me. The door opened, hinges squealing. A lanky, bony, and unnervingly angled man with a stone face-mask answered, his gaunt fingers brushing up against the mahogany. *Show him the pass, show him the pass*, I recalled the message saying. *Bad luck up there is nothing down here*. I fished the laminated rectangle out of my knapsack, and flashed it in front of me. Wordlessly, the strange man gave a deep nod, and unfurled those clubbed digits in a gesture of beckoning. I obliged, stepping forward onto the elevated stone, and took a step over the ledge into the lofty hall. ""Uh, hello?"" I said falteringly, feeling stupid the moment the words exited my mouth. I received no answer, as the man, arms twisted above his stone-clad head, feet seemingly travelling ground like the feelers of a centipede, rushed across the cobbles. In pursuit, I did my best to keep up, the multitude of chandeliers, disturbingly realistic paintings, and adorned taxidermied heads attempting to distract me. The walls narrowed, and the door my erstwhile harbinger stopped at was engraved, basalt and granite, circular with a deep hole at the center. The man clicked his tongue, and the hole suffused with a crimson liquid, which poured into each nook and cranny like the waters of a canal. Slowly, the irregular door rolled to the side, the room within lit gently by candlelight. ""In there?"" I attempted to ask once again. ""Do I go--?"" His neck twisted, and he gave an awkward nod, and as fast as his legs could take him, dashed back over the stones and out of sight. Giving a deep sigh, I carefully tiptoed into the candlelit room, where, facing away from me, was a cyan velvet chair. ""Grandma? My God, they weren't kidding when they said--"" I began, drawing closer. She whirled around in the chair, and the taxidermied deer head above her yelped ominously. My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed in, attempting to regain my composure. ""Grandma?"" I asked, tentatively. ""It's me, your grandson? Alexander?"" She stood up, nary any sign of arthritis, and gave me a warm smile. ""Silly child, of course I know who you are."" she glowed, her arms outspread. ""Come embrace your darling grandmother. We have so much to talk about, and of course, you are to meet my husband."" The lines on her face seemed to have mostly disappeared, and her eyes were neatly shadowed and heavy on mascara. I still recognized her completely, my Grandma Ruby. Besides, my sister had already shown me a picture of this newly youthful matriarch before my sojourn into the Underworld. She brought me close for an embrace, before pushing away and reaching into my knapsack. ""Ah, yes, a New York Cheesecake, you remembered."" she exclaimed, holding up the neatly tied box. ""Louis will be pleased."" ""Louis?"" I wondered aloud. ""He's here? Now?"" ""He does love his sweets."" she grinned, as the lights dimmed, and the taxidermied head squealed once again. It had been ten years since she'd died. We'd known for long time that she'd become the wife of the Devil himself, but it was my first time to his palace. I stumbled around Hell before, at the very least, the part of Hell that a human can walk around in without becoming a corpse of conflagration, but never had I really met my step-grandfather. I turned around slowly, to see a slender, mustachioed man in a gaudy pink vest, rhinestones arranged in a heart around his collar, and sunglasses shaped like stars. Around his neck, a fall scarf hung limply to one side, and replacing a pocket-square was a used paintbrush, immersed in chartreuse. ""Lou, you're late. Again."" Grandma said with a hint of displeasure. ""Mustn't keep a socialite waiting. Look, I have cheesecake."" Louis Cipher, the Devil and my Grandma Ruby's husband, the secret to my family's fortune, leapt spryly towards the chair, and grabbed the box, taking a deep sniff. ""Excellent."" He practically drooled. ""Not at all a disappointment."" He swung his hips back and forth, and teetered around the room. ""He's in his Liberace phase."" Grandma whispered, as I watched in utter confusion. ""Just give it a few minutes."" At last, he ceased his uncomfortably stilted dance, and looked straight at me. ""My, my, my, my, my. My."" he whispered, his tongue lashing back and forth like a serpent. ""My goodness, look at you. You bought me this cheesecake?"" I nodded, struggling to find the simplest of words. ""Uh, yes. I did. Grandma Ruby told me you like worldly desserts."" I managed, swallowing. ""I'm Alexander LaRue, by the way."" *Keep it cool, keep it collected. This is what screwed you over up there.* ""I'm the Devil. Louis, but don't call me Louis."" he snarled. ""I know who you are. Nice hair."" ""Th-thanks?"" I wanted to kick myself for stuttering. ""You too?"" ""Wrong answer,"" he grinned, showing off the most untouched of pearls. ""Wrong, wrong, wrong fucking answer, ya know?"" ""Don't tease him like that."" Grandma giggled, touching his forearm. ""You know what he's here for."" He laughed, his throat making odd guttural noises as he clutched at his forearm. ""I'm just messing with you."" he chuckled slowly. ""I'm a young joker. Young, foolish, joker."" He paused for a moment, standing completely still. Everything but his left eye, which twitched ever so slightly. ""Even though I'm 7009, you skank!"" he spat, as he recoiled slightly. ""Settle down, Louis."" Grandma instructed, her tone for the first time stern and cold. The frenzy left the Devil's face, and his shoulders moved up and down. He gave a deep sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. ""I know what you're here for, sit down."" he said, pursing his lipsticked mouth. He raised his arm, and in a circular motion, the air seemed to ripple around, as it was consumed by a slowly encroaching space of darkness. Slowly, the corners of a large piece of furniture began to stick out from the void, and the materializing armchair gently laid itself on the flooring. ""Sit."" he repeated, this time as more of an order. ""Ruby, get you gone. Take the deer."" ""Good luck, dear."" Grandma said, putting an arm on my shoulder. ""We'll have plenty of time to catch up later."" In a puff of smoke, she and the taxidermied head ceased to be visible. I gasped slightly at the sudden rush of air that they left in their wake. ""Scary, right? First time for everything, no?"" began Louis, the Devil. ""So, I hear you had some bad luck up there with an accidental murder? I could use a new Beelzebub, so let's see what you got, boy."" I sighed, settled into my chair, to begin the job interview for a Lord of Hell. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK",1181
 Bond knocked firmly on the door to,"Bond knocked firmly on the door to the apartment, expecting to be greeted by Ms. Hudson or Mr. Watson. It was unfortunate, but collateral damage was unavoidable. So he felt the relief as he heard the thin voice answer through the door. ""Ah, Mr. Bond. Come to kill me, have you? Well it won't do for you to have to liquidate the entire block, now will it? Do come in."" The door swung inward to reveal the tall, thin figure. He stepped cautiously over the threshold and surveyed the landing for some trap. ""Upstairs, I presume? Dead bodies in the hallways are a ghastly business. I suspect your employer would rather the body be found in my favorite smoking chair, perhaps surrounded by the syringes you've got in your left pocket."" Bond's hand went to his pocket instinctively. ""You're quite perceptive, Mr. Holmes."" ""Nobody likes an arselicker, James. It's unbecoming. And please, call me Sherlock. It's only right that a man's last moments on this Earth are spent speaking to someone as an equal."" The thin man nodded up the stairs. ""And we are equals here, are we not?"" Bond eyed him carefully, looking for weapons. Apart from the sash drawing his dressing gown closed, he seemed to be completely unarmed. ""If you insist, Sherlock."" And he followed the man up the stairs into the sitting room. It felt to James like stepping back in time, the old decor, the over-stuffed chairs. A portal to the 19th century, hidden within the frame of the door. He paused on the threshold. ""Bringing the gun and the needles was, perhaps, a miscalculation. It's not often that a druggy shoots himself in the back of the head during an overdose."" Sherlock waved a long arm toward the chair closest to the window before laying his hands on the nearest one. ""You'll forgive me, but I'd like you to take a seat in that chair. This one is my favorite."" ""Perhaps I'd rather not sit down."" James countered. ""Perhaps."" Sherlock settled into the chair. ""But you will, because of your curiosity."" Bond drifted around the puffy chair as Sherlock carefully lit his pipe. ""Surely you want to know how I knew today was the day and now the hour that you would come to kill me. Or did you think it coincidence that Ms Hudson, a woman who hasn't left this house since Sainsbury's began delivering groceries, suddenly found herself with pressing business in Westminster?"" He looked the man over. Unarmed, seated, and well out of arm's reach from the chair. There was little harm in playing Sherlock's game, and listening to monologues was an all too common hazard in his line of work. Still, to be careful, James drew his gun and laid it in his lap as he sat in the chair. The chair seemed old, as old as the man who owned it, and nearly as uncomfortable. James shifted, feeling the tacks that held the stuffing press against his back before looking at Sherlock. ""Westminster? That does seem unlikely."" ""Indeed, well when one has been given a job, it must be seen through. Something I'm sure you understand. Ms. Hudson understands that perfectly, and so she will see the task I gave her through to the end."" Sherlock leaned forward and studied the spy opposite him. ""But that is immaterial. You want to know what I know. *How* I know."" A puff of smoke and Sherlock prodded a log on the fire with an iron poker. ""I know, for instance, that you favor your left hook when sparring, despite being right handed."" The poker dropped into its stand. ""I know that you were relieved not to have to kill Ms. Hudson or Dr. Watson, despite your reputation as a cold-blooded killer. And I know that you were sent here to kill me by the Queen."" ""Well, that last one is hardly a revelation, Sherlock. I'm the queen's man."" ""Indeed you are, or rather you were."" Sherlock sat back and James shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. ""I'm not sure quite what you did to upset her, my dear boy, but I'm afraid it must have been quite the faux pas."" Sherlock continued hastily. ""But it hardly matters. Once my associate phoned me that you had left your house, your fate was sealed."" The fireplace seemed to roar in James' ears for a second as Sherlock finished. He looked at the sedate fire, but when he looked back to Sherlock he found the room beginning to swim. He reached for his gun, but his arms felt like someone else's and the weapon clattered across the floor. Sherlock stood and kicked it into the other room as James fell from his chair after the weapon. ""You're wondering how on Earth I poisoned you."" James mouthed the word chair. ""Ah, good! Yes, I would never allow my guests to sit in a chair so poorly stuffed. Do you know what else I know, James? I know you aren't worried, you've been poisoned by your quarry before. You're already plotting your escape. Trying to envisage which room in this house will be your prison. Trying to predict what improvised weapons I might leave within arms reach. Relishing the exact moment when you'll interrupt my ramblings with a sudden strike."" James struggled to breathe as Sherlock bent down and clasped his jaw in a vice-like grip. ""But you've forgotten something, my dear James. I already have someone to listen to my monologues and he'll be here shortly to help me dispose of your body."" James felt the man's hands in his pocket, fishing out the syringes. ""Goodbye, Mr. Bond."" \--- Sherlock Holmes bowed low as he entered the room before taking a seat and passing the file carefully across the table. ""It was unfair not to tell him he was in a duel, not a hunt, Your Majesty."" The Queen sat back stiffly in her chair. ""How did you know I had told the two of you to kill each other?"" ""Elementary, Your Highness.""",1007
 Mercury was spread out long on a,"Mercury was going to die, again. This time, he wore the body of a man. He was spread out long on a pike, his arms and legs bound to the pole. Two pairs of huge human men carried him--pale-faced and bearish in their thick winter coats--between them, the pole balanced between them. They learned, quickly, that Mercury was the slippery kind. They never untied him after they caught him nearly sweet-talking his guard out to the water, where he would have stolen a canoe and paddled desperately away. But he was caught now. Surely trapped now. Here on an icy planet on the ass-end of nowhere. They had no idea he was a god in his own right. That out there beyond the unblinking stars, he had his own kingdom. An entire spinning world--still alive in those days, before the darkness came. His world still carries his name: Mercury the trickster, Mercury who always spun too close to the sun. And this time, he got burned. The god wrestled against the bounds, tying him to the pole. He cursed and struggled. One of the pallbearers spat something at him, unrecognizable. A dribble of gibberish language. ""Yeah, alright,"" Mercury muttered. ""Because that makes sense."" A crowd of hooded cult members walked with them. They all wore those strange human faces. They trudged through the ice-crusted snow, just as grey and cold and wind-swept as the barren mountain all around them. ""Really funny joke, guys,"" Mercury said. ""Really great. Are you going to let me go now or not?"" One of the hooded figures walked alongside him. The hood was pulled too high for him to see the stranger's face. The god growled and fought against his bonds. Ahead of him, the cult leader walked at the lead of the procession. He carried Mercury's staff, the source of his power. Its stone was the heart of a star, but it burned dead and lifeless in that mortal's hand. Without it, Mercury was useless as a fire without oxygen. ""This is just fucking humiliating,"" the god muttered, but his guards only gave the stick an aggressive shake. The rope bit even deeper into his aching arms. The figure alongside him spoke at last in that unmistakable, ancient language: Mercury's mothertongue, the language of the stars. ""It's your own fault, you stupid asshole."" Mercury hesitated. It took him a long second to recognize his brother's voice. ""Oh,"" he managed. He did his best to do dignified, despite shuddering from his back and ass dragging miles through the snow. ""Funny seeing you here."" ""Yeah. Funny."" ""You don't happen to know why a bunch of your creations want me dead, do you?"" Earth gave Mercury a hot knifing glare. He was a young god like Mercury, his planet just as much a cosmic accident as Mercury's own. But he had a few million years on Mercury's kingdom, and Earth never let him forget it. ""Certainly you can't be that surprised. This is all your own making."" All around them, the humans were carrying on like they couldn't hear or see Earth at all. Of course. The damn bastard still had his own staff. All his powers. Mercury did his best to look innocent. ""I've no idea what you're talking about."" ""Really? You don't recall how all this started?"" ""I just came down here to give my beloved elder brother a visit--"" maybe steal a resource or two, start a tiny war, knock down some dominoes to see how long it took for Earth to notice; the usual ""--and these monsters of yours attacked me."" ""Not this time. The other time. When you told them that the lord of their universe was a great ass-faced bastard and the next time they saw someone flying out of the sky, they'd better take his fancy glowy-stick and sacrifice him by tying him up and tossing him off the face of the tallest mountain, least the ass-faced god of the world kill them all. Remember that?"" Mercury fought off his grin. He looked around at the peach-esque sigils on the hoods of all the cult members--notably, not his brother's. ""Oh. You heard about that one."" ""I certainly did."" ""I hoped they'd catch you, you know."" Mercury flexed his numb fingers. ""Didn't quite predict this."" ""Oh, I know."" Earth gave him a plain smile. He wore a stranger's face, but Mercury had the double-sight of the gods. He could see Earth's true form underneath. The smugness of his smirk. ""And that's why I'm not going to stop them."" ""Oh, you *prick*."" Mercury wrestled hard against the bounds. He cringed as he imagined falling through the air forever, breaking apart. The death-system on Earth's planet reknitting his atoms and spitting him back out into his god-self once more. ""You have absolutely no sense of humor."" His brother just smirked and said, crisply, ""Whenever you regenerate, Father wants to see us both."" Mercury scowled as he imagined their creator Sol, lord of the sun, just cackling if he heard about all this. It was bad enough losing to a bunch of animals on his brother's kingdom, much less having to *admit* it. ""What does he want?"" ""I don't know. I was too busy savoring this moment."" Earth grinned around at all the cult members trudging up the snowy mountain. They still didn't seem to realize he was even there. ""If you can make these idiots not see you, can't you make them let me *go?*"" ""I could. But I'm an ass-faced god, aren't I? And I do demand my sacrifice."" ""You can't be serious about this!"" ""Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."" His big brother grinned as he leaned down to pat Mercury's shoulder, which trailed through the ever-deepening snow. ""Guess you'll find out soon."" Mercury fought and screamed all the way up the mountain. *** /r/nickofstatic for more stories from me and my best friend NickofNight. I decided to write something new about a world that I've been working on for trad publishing for aaaages instead of a more familiar pantheon because idk it sounded fun ;3 If you want to read more, here's a",1023
 The artist met Lily in a painting,"All my life I have loved to draw, to paint. To give form to the beautiful images that haunt my imagination. I think I like painting because of my power. My power is to just take a peek at someone's soul, to see what they were in their previous life. I can do the same for landscapes, I can stare at a heavily industrialized area and watch the years peel away as the region turns into something beautiful and long forgotten. I met Lily in a painting camp, she was one of the models and she was stunning. She was the first time I'd painted a person, not a landscape but it was easy because of how beautiful she was. Her hair is the color of a thousand burning suns, a searing golden and her eyes are a stark contrast. A cool, deep dark blue that you find at the depths of the ocean. She had skin so pale and smooth that I just wanted run my fingers over it the moment I saw her. She was perfect. Shortly after we met, we started dating. It's been nearly three months now I realize smiling as I stare at her lying down next to me, so pretty and serene as she sleeps. I find the temptation rise in my stomach and claw at my throat but I fight it off like I have for the past three months. I haven't taken a peek at her soul yet, I don't want to ruin everything we have. I'm happy, she's happy. Looking at her soul might unnecessarily put all that at risk. Before I met Lily I'd become obsessed, I'd noticed that all my friends had something in common. They were all powerful rulers in their previous life and this pattern had been running through my life for as long as I could remember. My best friend from Middle School, an Indian boy named Mukesh turned out to be reincarnation of Chandragupta Maurya, a famous Indian ruler. My girlfriend in high school happened to be none other than Cleopatra. In college, my roommate, a stoner turned out to be Genghis Khan. My ex-girlfriend to my utter shock and I have to admit, disgust was Charlemagne. Apart from these people so many of my acquaintances and close friends have been pharaohs and emperors. I'd ignored the pattern for the longest time until I looked at the soul of my current best friend and saw that he was Abraham Lincoln. Abraham fucking Lincoln. I'd completely lost my mind and done a whole load of research about my powers, tried to find other people who possessed the same power and thrown my life completely off-track. But Lily had distracted me from all that, shown me that this soul stuff wasn't important and yet I feel the curiosity burning through my veins as run my hands through her beautiful soft blonde hair. Before I can stop myself I feel it happening, I feel Lily blur out as I lift the veil of her mortal body to look at her everlasting soul. I watch with dread as her smooth golden hair turned into red curls and her big blue eyes turned chocolate brown. I felt my heartbeat rise as a large royal gown formed around her. I felt my heart drop to my stomach as I recognized her from my history textbooks - *Queen Elizabeth I.* No worries, just the most powerful Queen of all time I think as my mind spirals down the road of discovery I was on before I met Lily. I jump off the bed as I think of what I'd been planning to do before I met her. I'd been planning to take a peek at my own soul. I know it's dangerous, the books I'd read said that if you peeked at your own soul your consciousness might leak into your previous life. I didn't know the complete repercussions of that but it had sounded bad so I'd hesitated and not taken the step. Soon, Lily had walked in to my life and whisked me away from all that. I walk to the bathroom like I'm in a trance, I need to know what my soul is, what I used to be. I need to know why so many powerful people flock around me, why have I been drawn to these people and them to me my whole life. I look in the mirror at my unkempt brown hair and my sea green eyes that I've always loved and feel the image strip away slowly. My blood turns cold as my hair shortens and my eyes change color and as a signature mustache forms on my face. *Adolf Hitler.* I stare at the mirror in disbelief as I feel my mind strip away. Your consciousness will leak into your past self. The words from the book echo in my mind as I feel myself float away. I am Adolf Hitler. The most hated man in the world. I ordered and oversaw the death of 6 million Jews. I started the most devastating war mankind had ever faced. Suddenly I'm not in my bathroom I'm in dingy looking bathroom surrounded by concrete walls, I stare into the dirty mirror on the wall and see that I am Hitler. Of course if I had the power of seeing souls, Adolf would have too. I look into the mirror and the face of the world's most hated man peels away. My hair grows long and my mustache gets bigger. My nose turns hooked and I stare at myself in horror as I recognize myself once again. *Vlad The Impaler.* The array of thoughts and relaizations fill my mind again. Another cruel king. I am the man who inspired the myths of vampires. I am the man who's tyrannical rule consisted of vast amounts of torture and cruelty. I am the man people had nightmares about for centuries. Suddenly, I sit in a lavish room with lavish robes and look at the mirror in a gold frame and feel myself peel away again. My hair shortens into a military cut and my features turn conventionally Roman, I don't need to recognize my face to know who I am. *Marcus Brutus.* No big deal, only the perpetrator of the most famous assassination in history. I betrayed my best friend and killed him cold blood. It doesn't sound like much in comparison to the previous ones but betraying someone you love to me is worse than killing thousands you don't know. Do I not have a shred of love in my body? I stand in a military encampment of sorts staring at my reflection in the broken shard of a mirror. Brutus's features don't change vastly as I stare in horror at my next reflection. *Nero.* I killed my entire family systematically and tortured thousands of innocents in the most unimaginable ways I am batshit crazy and self obsessed. I set Rome on fire and blamed it on the Christians. My reincarnations seem to get worse and worse. I stand in an extravagantly beautiful room and stare into and bedazzled mirror and feel Nero strip away as I take on the face of a man I don't know. I hear his name and his deeds echo in my head as my minds borders on insanity. *Alec Hored* *Poisoned three whole villages.* I stand in front of several more mirrors, lakes, ponds as my face takes on so many masks I do not recognize but I know their names, their brutalities. *Remese The Fourth* *Ordered the execution of all the all children below the age of 5 in his kingdom.* *Evangeline* *Killed all of her 10 husbands and 15 children with an axe.* I lose all sense of time until I'm met by a familiar face again. I look at myself in reflection, my face is beyond beautiful with beautiful golden hair and charming twinkling eyes. I see my enrapturing smile and recognize myself in an instant. I recognize it from the countless statues and paintings. I know the name before it even echoes through my barely functioning mind. *Lucifer.* *All the evil in the world.*",1367
" The capsule was dented, warped","Jaharis, in my peripheral vision, stopped breathing. The conference room was silent--execs and astronauts and physicists circled around a table, some of them the original curators of the capsule, each now mulling over the returned capsule. They were not overjoyed at its return. The capsule was dented, warped, and mostly empty. And I read the note aloud. ""Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."" It was a translation Ga Mun made this morning, from Cantonese to English, when the three of us opened it to see what was inside the now-returned capsule. The note sunk in. This told us three things, I announced to the room. One; whoever they are, they understood Cantonese. The vinyl we had sent into space had hundreds of languages on it, virtually no vocabulary for learning Cantonese this fluently. Ga Mun assured me, I told them, that this was unusually clear for a non-native speaker. Two; they listened to the vinyl. The amount of work that went into curating the record, recording the sounds of kisses and hellos and waterfalls was not for nothing. They *heard* it, I insisted. That was a victory. We were right. Which left the third thing: the favor returned. The biological weapon part. I let it hang in the air for a moment, unsure how to tackle it. So, Jaharis, seeing my uncertainty, composed himself and addressed it. ""Three; whatever we sent obliterated them,"" Jaharis said. ""Whether it was the material or the audio..."" We didn't mean to hurt anyone. It was just supposed to be a social gesture--a hand reaching out. But there was more than a note in the capsule. Inside was also a thumb-sized metal alloy, almost square-shaped. There were no grooves on it--there was no input of any kind, no features whatsoever. How anything was in here, I couldn't tell. I held it up for the conference room. People winced. People recoiled. A rush of whispering rose in the room, until I put it down. ""What did they mean by 'biological weapon,'"" said one physicist. Phrased as a question, but it was a demand. ""What could vinyl have done to them."" ""I don't know,"" said his neighbor. ""We should throw it out,"" another person said. ""We will want to look at it,"" said another, leaning forward in her chair. ""What harms them probably doesn't harm us. It was *vinyl*,"" she reminded us. Her logic was not un-sound. If they misinterpreted the vinyl as an attack, then they might have chosen to attack us the same way: music. Music doesn't hurt humans, generally. Then again, if they were able to glean Cantonese from an hour of sound effects on vinyl, who knows what else they know about humanity. Even the term biological warfare was so specific to the last fifty years. ""And why Cantonese?"" an exec asked. \---------------------------- It took some engineering. Ga Mun turned the square over in her gloved hand multiple times, with the Outspoken Physicist from before prodding it and doling out suggestions. They searched for anything on it that would indicate how it was a vehicle for warfare of any kind. It took three weeks. Occasionally, I would present the question as a hypothetical. *What would you do to hurt someone who hurt you?* Many people promised they would not retaliate at all. Neighbors, cafe baristas, annoyed Uber drivers. Each one told me that revenge was a lot of effort. ""Why bother?"" ""What about in the face of a pandemic?"" I would ask. People stiffened. People changed the subject. Even now it's fresh in our minds, how two years ago panned out, how things escalated when people thought the curve was flattened. So I felt bad bringing the trauma up again. But I needed an answer of some kind, to help figure out this impossible, extraterrestrial puzzle, so I had to ask. I had to dig in the wound. Ga Mun called me when she found it, but she did not say much. Just ""help."" Jaharis and I rushed over to the office, not saying a word to each other and not listening closely. But we ran, as fast as we could. Until we walked in to see Ga Mun and Outspoken Physicist sitting on the carpet. Their red and puffy faces didn't turn to us--their cheeks were so wet with tears they could barely blink. They held up the square between them, and very gently shook it. Outspoken let out a sob. And when they shook it in just the right way, I went deaf. I could hear nothing--not even the muffled sound of an air conditioner. Jaharis's face had the same look of panic. He stopped breathing for a moment. And so did I. The deafening was so loud I could hardly think about how painful it was. But it was dull pain that vibrated through my ribcage, through my kneecaps. I shouted to stop, but nothing came out. And the Ga Mun held very still, keeping the square between her fingers. She huddled, putting the square down, and she whispered to herself. We keep the square in a safe, underground, far from a fault line. Whoever sent us that small metal alloy square gave it the property of deafening everything on the planet. Even just Ga Mun's test had caused thousands of minor disasters across the country. Ten seconds of deafness killed a hundred and fifty people. Everyone voted unanimously to lock up the square, and treat it like any other biological weapon. Scientists study it. Teachers lecture on it. And we, who found it, force ourselves to move on. Because of our social behavior, we killed some entire alien species. We will never know how. Maybe they went mad listening to Philip Glass. Maybe they could not stand the frequency of the sound. Maybe this was just a practical joke. But what we agree on is that one person, on that planet, knew enough Cantonese to send us a prank, and terrify our extraterrestrial program into indefinite hiatus. He kept the vinyl of ambient earth noises and gifted us silence, utter loneliness, deep and intimate guilt. And what do we do when faced with something horrible and vulnerable and revealing of our psyche? We hide it, and forget it, and say nothing.",1055
 Always thank the babysitter if you,"Rule number 1: Always thank the babysitter. It was a simple rule to remember in our small town. When you left your house for work, if you were the last adult out the door and had children in the home, Always thank the babysitter. The babysitter just appreciated gratitude. It was said that if you didn't they wouldn't return again. Our town had a sort of... peculiarity. Some mght call it a curse, but that wasn't the proper word. It never seemed to cause harm. Well never intended to. Instead it was a spirit that looked after the children of our town. Everyone knew of the babysitter. If you grew up in our town it was just an everyday thing. Mom and dad would leave for work, and your imaginary friend, the same one everybody had, would look after you. They'd play games with you, like hide and seek. They'd cook for you. They even learned your favorite shows and reminded you when they would come on! I remember Saturday mornings running down stairs when I heard the T.V. come on. Just barely seeing the last wisps of shadow snake around the corner of the living room as my ghostly friend went to prepare breakfast. Rule 2: Don't go outside. It seemed the babysitter couldn't leave, and only really had power in, any house it was invited into. Once it appeared, it had to remain indoors. No one knew why, but no one ever saw it outside, not even once. So once mom and dad left the doors and windows remained closed until they returned. and as soon as either parent walked in the door, the baby sitter would disappear until it was next needed. I remember when I was in second grade, we had a new girl in school who was in tears a few days after she joined. She told us of a ghost in her house, and when she saw it she tried to run, she found the doors wouldn't open. She was absolutely terrified, and cried until her father came home and scared it away. We found it peculiar that anyone would be scared of the babysitter, after all we had grown up with it all our lives. It rocked us in our cribs, it warmed our bottles when our parents could not. It was like a third parent for us, the idea that everybody didn't have a ghostly guardian was foreign to us. We comforted her, we played with her. Soon the babysitter was her friend too. Rule 3: Always pay the baby sitter. I remember one time mom and dad seemed to be away for a long time, very long. The day seemed to stretch on far longer than it should. It wouldn't be until I would grow and have little ones of my own that I'd learn what that meant. But in all that time my spectral friend treated me just the same. We played, we watched television, it fed me. It made sure I was cared for. Suddenly however, my parents were in the living room. The babysitter disappeared, shrinking into the dark corners of the room, and my parents simply took it's place. One moment they were gone, and when I blinked, there they were! They hadn't even walked in the door! They had simply forgotten to 'pay' the baby sitter, and so the baby sitter took me with it. Hidden me away until it received it's payment. I don't know where I really was, all I know is that it hid me away someplace that looked like my house. At some point my house wasn't my house anymore. Rule 4: Do not harm a child, ever. It may seem negligent to leave children in the care of a shadowy omnipresent ghost like figure, but It has an impeccable track record for keeping children safe while the parents are away. not once has a child protected by the babysitter ever been harmed. I know this for a fact. One time our house had been broken into while my parents were out. I was surprised when I heard the sound of breaking glass and ran downstairs. The baby sitter was setting the table at the time, so it was close to the living room. It had been watching the intruder sneak in through the now broken window. It had seen this strange man violate the sanctity of the home it was sworn to protect. We had both seen the gun in his hand... The man hadn't seen either of us right away. I watching from the stairs, the baby sitter from the darkened kitchen. He slid inside and looked out the window, I heard a siren pass by and saw the flashing of red and blue lights on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around. He saw me, a 10 year old boy watching from the stairway. A witness to this strange man clearly wanted by the police. My eyes went wide as he raised his weapon, but suddenly the shadows from the kitchen engulfed him. I briefly heard him scream before the whole world went black, and the sound cut out. I thought he managed to fire off a shot, that I had been hit, that I was dead. the thought raced through my mind for just a moment before I started to hear... song... Music. Soothing, beautiful music. I couldn't really place it then, and I never could since. However, it was definitely some sort of lullaby. A beautiful, peaceful, melodious chorus that spoke of good times and places of tranquility. Suddenly I was in my bed. I hadn't been harmed. I raced downstairs to find my parents home, the window undamaged and mother cleaning the dishes. Evident I slept through their return. I thought I had just had a nightmare until I saw that mans face on the news, the police wanted him in connection for the murder of his girlfriend. Rule 5: The payment is different for each person. Once you make a contract with the babysitter, you'll know what your payment is. It's like an instinct. You'll know, everyone does. It's always something personal, some memento, a token that represents your bond with your child. Apparently my parents would always stop at the arcade on the way home and get an arcade token, as I loved that place. when it shut down they had to make arrangements to go to the one the next town over. they tried making alternate arrangements with the babysitter, but it just doesn't work that way. Now that I'm grown up, I have a small stockpile of Cinderella dolls. My little girl, Cindy, is precious to me, and she loves her Cinderella toys. I have to keep the stockpile secret, she'd go crazy if she knew I had close to 100 of them in my shed. Every time I come home, I go to the shed and grab one. and when I walk in the door I leave a doll on the table. The shadows take it, and I find her playing in her room, safe and sound. Us grown ups don't get to see the babysitter much anymore, but I'll always remember my shadowy friend, and I'll always respect it for keeping me, and my little girl safe.",1221
 A coral pebble that shone,"""Honey, don't forget to tip the Babysitter!"" Aron called out to his wife as he retreated to the bedroom to get ready to go to sleep. ""Of course!"" Erin said, as she reached in her wallet to retrieve not the 20 dollar bill from the fold in her wallet, but a coral pebble that shone with irridescence. ""This will please her more than a dirty piece of paper, I know it."" she mumbled as she walked into their twin's room. The boys were sleeping soundly, they always did on date night. She placed the pebble on a silver plate on the boy's dresser. She understood the rules. ""May this please your instincts and keep your heart happy, until we need you again."" Erin uttered the spell. She knew some people didn't believe, but she knew. After all these years, she knew. *10 years earlier...* ""I can't believe how perfect she is, Erin."" Mary, Erin's mother held her first grandchild close to her chest. Erin had gotten ""in trouble"" as they say, and while the family was worried about impressions, those thoughts went out the window when they met Erin's daughter, Maricel. She was perfect, with dark eyes and a little tuft of brown hair on the crown of her head. Erin was having a hard time adjusting to motherhood as she was not ready at 16 years old. The father was of course out of the picture, once he had gotten what he wanted. There was no talk of paternity tests, or child support. Erin's parents would make do, and enable her daughter to continue school while they helped her raise their new granddaughter. ""Erin, I must tell you something, something important."" Mary said the morning after they returned from the hospital. ""We..."" she paused, ""have something, someONE special, in our town who can help us, who does help us. She's the *Babysitter.* "" Mary paused for a moment. She wasn't sure if Erin understood. ""Erin, honey, it's a special gift to our village. She helps us mothers, when we need it, even if we don't *KNOW* we need it."" ""Oh Mom, that's just, well, that's crazy!"" Erin didn't believe in spirits, especially after she had prayed that the child's father would die in a car crash, or some other horrific way. He didn't. he was still captain of the basketball team, and had 5 or 6 other girls all trying to get him to be their guy. She knew the real world. The real world was that she made a mistake of trusting a boy asking her to trust him, and now she had this baby to show for it. Maricel, she didn't even know where the name came to her from, but one day, it was there, and while her parents weren't fond of the name, they were absolutely smitten with their new grandchild. ""Erin, one day, you will come in here to the nursery and see Maricel's diaper has been changed, or perhaps her pacifier has been returned to the crib after she flung it out by mistake, you need to make an offering to, 'the Babysitter' to show your appreciation."" ""Okay Mom. I will."", Erin had learned how to appease her mother, like most teenage girls. ""This is serious. You need to do this, and the offering can't just be like a dime, or a dollar. It has to *mean* something to you. And you will need to put the offering in the silver plate up in Maricel's room."" Erin knew the plate she was talking about. It had symbols that were often attributed to the Occult on it. It was real silver. She knew, because before the baby was born, Erin had found it and tried to pawn it at 3 pawn shops in town. NONE of them would take it in on pawn, especially seeing she was pregnant. They assured her, she NEEDED it. Every now and then, Erin did notice things. Maricel crying like she needed a diaper change, only to find that her diaper (that she was wearing) was clean, and the dirty was in the pail already. Or perhaps, waking from a nap and discovering that there was a snack on the kitchen table. After a few weeks of this, and Erin not placing any offerings on this superstitious silver plate, one night she awoke in a cold sweat. She looked at the new video baby monitor and saw a dark shadow cross the screen. She ran into the next room to see a 6 foot bipedal demon covered with slime over scaly skin, with huge antlers coming from his head holding her Maricel. ""Shhhhh, don't wake her, Erin."" the creature whispered so softly that she wasn't even sure if she heard him or not. ""Why are you holding my child?"" the words slipped out, and she realized that probably wasn't the best question for the time. Other questions like, ""Who are you, what are you?"", would have been more appropriate. Yet, those words came out like normal conversation. ""She woke up, she had a dirty nappy, *AGAIN*, and you didn't **know**, child."" Again with the whisper. ""She's sleeping again, but I'm not sure you deserve her. The Babysitter is NOT pleased with your commitment to her services, so she asked me to come, discuss this with you."" ""You're not the *Babysitter*?"" Erin asked softly. Still not really freaking out at the obvious demon in front of her. ""No, I'm Gnorblad, a demon of the 18th plane of a dimension that I cannot speak its name, because it will be loud, and wake this child."" He paused a moment and gave Maricel a very gentle kiss on the head and placed her in her mother's arms. Maricel cooed slightly, and Erin knew she was OK for now. ""We get a bad rap you see. Demons. But we aren't all bad. The Babysitter wanted something *bad* tonight, do you understand? You've 'dodged a bullet', as has your daughter. Might I suggest something special in the offering plate?"" ""For you not killing my baby?"" Erin said softly, worried about the answer. ""No, for her..."" Gnorblad tilted his head ever so slightly to the dark corner of the room where a rocking chair sat. Erin realized that there was a *person* in that chair. Or maybe not a person. Gnorblad was the scariest thing Erin had ever seen with her two eyes, he was the stuff of nightmares, until she looked in the corner. That shape made her stomach go cold, and she couldn't help but lose slight control of her bladder. ""Put the baby in the crib, it will be alright, she won't hurt you with me watching."" Gnorblad slowly spoke the words. ""Go get the thing. yes, that one, you know what I mean, and place it in the plate. Do it NOW"". Erin did as she was told. The instant her baby hairbrush with a lock of her hair tied around it in a bow was placed on the plate, the shadow reached from across the room to grab it. Erin let out a hushed squeak to see the hair disappear from the brush. The silver looked polished. In the corner, she saw a smile and two glowing eyes. ""Yes, this will do... don't wait so long next time..."", the words were in her head, whispered, yet a shout. at that moment, the shadow was gone. ""Be a dear, go clean yourself up. You've had a rough night. Don't forget this,"" He twirled his finger around in the air. :She's not pleased with me, She will call *someone* less forgiving next time. It will be messy."" Gnorblad tilted his head to the side, ""You understand right?"" ""Yes... I think I do. What about Robbie, the baby's father? is there nothing for him to worry about? Why doesn't he have to pay the Babysitter?"" ""Do you have a picture of this, Robby?"" Gnorblad asked. ""Why don't you just think of him."" Her images were of this beautiful boy who talked her in to giving up her innocence, as well as the horrible creature who abandoned her, she saw visions of him telling his friends, bragging about how he has gotten away with this, with girls at other schools as well. ""Oh! Don't you worry about him, "" The demon smiled knowingly, ""He and I have an *appointment*. "" Erin woke up in her bed, she was wearing different pajamas then she went to sleep in. She walked across the hall to Maricel's room. She was still sleeping, safe and snug. ""It was all a dream..."" then she noticed the slime on the door knob.",1442
" Up in the mountains, gold was","Down below her, she could hear the bells ringing in the town. She knew she was desperate, coming here, but up in the mountains, gold was getting scarce. All the bigger and older dragons had massive hoards, and trying to wrest a single, ancient coin away from the other dragons was liable to wind up with her getting soundly beat. There were no more ancient barrows or lost temples up in the mountains that hadn't been picked clean by the other dragons. A lot of the younger ones had come down to the hills and plains, trying to take gold from humans or dwarves. A few had even tried to strike down the elves, but between the excellent elven archers, and the fact that most elves in this region are more inclined towards living wild and free, rather than rich and decadently, they wound up getting very little for their trouble, besides arrow wounds. But she'd been listening from a distance to some of those bothersome lesser races that sometimes come around to try and drive some of the other young dragons away, or perhaps kill them. She had mostly listened because their troubadour sang very beautifully, and to know if they were hunting her. But when they spoke to one another, they spoke of something called a ''quest''. A form of task, given to you at something called an ''Adventurers' Guild''. And if you completed this task, you were given gold. Gold, which is what all dragons desire. For a number of reasons. Mostly for purposes of social hierarchy. A dragon with more gold is respected, while one with little gold is considered a nuisance, and is usually expected to obey richer dragons, or face social exclusion. And since these mortals get paid in gold for doing tasks, she reasoned that she too could get paid for doing these quests. Certainly sounded easier than trying to dig up the burial mounds of dead kings, or stealing it from mortals. It was early morning when she landed in front of the building, which had a sign outside of it proclaiming it to be the local offices of the Guild of Heroes, Adventurers, and Associated Trades. She had flown above the town for a couple of days before she'd gone down there, having observed how these quests worked. Outside of the guild building, there was a large place for posting various tasks. Some adventurers, usually in groups of four or five, took a piece of paper from the board, and then walked inside the building. So she did essentially the same. She landed in front of the board, and picked one that sounded feasible. Capture or kill the centaur highwayman Artonak. She wasn't too big, so she could still fit through the main door of the building. The people on the other side were dumbstruck by her sudden appearance. She looked around, ''*I want to do this quest thing. Bring in a bandit? Yes. I get paid in gold?*'' A gnome, who had fallen on his back when she'd walked in got up and looked at her incredulously. ''*But you're a dragon?*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. You pay in gold for centaur highwayman?*'' She handed the gnome the piece of paper detailing the quest. The gnome then turned to his the other people and started a conversation with them, speaking hurriedly. Her common wasn't good enough to follow the conversation that the gnome had with the other people in there. But when she coughed, they all turned back to her with obvious terror. ''*Uh. Yes. We'll pay for Artonak in gold. The bastard has been hitting merchants and travellers for months. Supposedly his lair is somewhere in the hills outside of town*'' Happy to have been proven correct, she was about to back out of the building before the gnome spoke up hurriedly again. ''*Uh, you just have to register as an adventurer first.*'' She thought it over, and nodded. She didn't exactly understand the language enough, but the staff at the building managed to make her understand that she needed to tell them who she was, and write down her name on a piece of very small paper, otherwise she would not get the gold. She signed as Teristrolkanovy de Wrelros'Dai, which was only the first part of her name. She might not entirely understand what they talking about, but she recognised a contract when she saw one, and no dragon ever reveals their full name. After that, she bolted, and flew away, following the highway out of town. And from above, it was a lot easier to spot where the centaur was setting up a trap for a stagecoach. As he kicked down a partially felled tree in front of the horses, and jumped out with crossbows in his hands, she swept down and grasped him in her claws. The shocked centaur dropped his crossbows, and the sheer shock of her sudden swooping attack, allowed her to completely disarm him, using a tactic her parents had taught her when dealing with armoured knights on armoured horses. When she landed again, the centaur was completely stripped naked, and also in deep shock. She'd landed in front of the guildhouse, where a number of armoured adventurers, and the staff from inside of the building were standing, and talking in very heated tones. Those were silenced when she landed, and placed the centaur in front of the gnome that had talked to her earlier. ''*Please give money.*'' The adventurers had all drawn forth a truly astonishing amount of rare and unusual weaponry when she landed. But the staff explained that since she'd brought in her first quest target, she was technically an adventurer. And since she'd brought in an outlaw, she wasn't an enemy. The adventurers all sheathed their weapons, and the gnome fetched her prize. 200 gold pieces. Which was a lot more gold pieces than she'd thought, as she was still very new to the business. She placed the gold in the crudely crafted bag she carried on her back, which contained the only things she'd owned before getting kicked out of her parents' cave. Which consisted of a large and worn velvet blanket, a breastplate with a mirror enchantment on it, allowing her to look at herself in it, woolly earmuffs made from woolly mammoth, and a toy rabbit. She had many questions about more quests, and eventually, the guild staff had to bring in a translator, as her questions got more complicated, and so did the answers. They explained to her how adventurers travelled between towns, doing quests, helping people, and how it was important that she circled around in the region. Which they had added because if they didn't she'd probably stop anything bigger than goblins on her own, leaving most of that town's resident adventurers out of a job. And since her name had been added to the great scroll of adventurers, every guildhall now knew that she was an adventurer. Happy with having earned the first part of her hoard, she flew on to the next town, where the locals were equally confused and worried about a young dragon swooping in and accepting quests. They were quite happy when she managed to track down a band of slavers, kill them, and bring back the people they'd taken in raids. That town too sent her on, and like a knight errant, she travelled from town to town, earning a lot of gold, till her backpack was swollen. She was worried about suddenly having to leave her gold behind, but having learned more about the common speech, she enquired with the guild, and discovered a new concept, new to dragons at least. Banks. Put your hoard inside of a vault, lock the door, and it'd be safe. So she happily deposited her hoard, especially after they explained how compound interest worked.",1313
 Those on the top called us Rats,"Below the marble facade lay a web of shantytowns, partially-constructed houses, and a people composed of the darkness. Those on the top called us Rats, scurrying about in our cage, blind to the cruelty of the world. We ignobilities, after all, could not discern our own mistreatment. We lived, we world, we died. Our corpses were briefly wept over, before it was lost to the harsh earth. Sometimes I used to stare into the darkness and imagine the spirits swirling all around me. Sometimes, I swore I could really see them, just for an instant. But time was a construct, something abstract, something hard to keep track of. The Rats were kept in their places by both a strict social hierarchy and by the will of the gods. The Morgenstern, a device of pure, divine light-- an obelisk that supposedly penetrated the skies above and reached deep down into the pits of the Cage-- gave every denizen of Norstria their Powers. Some received the ability to fly, others to shoot starlight from their fingertips. They say the king had the ability to transcend death, to live for decades upon decades without sickness or age beckoning him to the grave. Of course, those were only the ones I'd heard of from the manuscripts I'd found in the filth. Barely colored, hastily scrawled pieces of art with a brief platitude about the Monarchy's glory, covered with the grime and muck of a table that hadn't been cleaned in years, or a shelf that had collected an armor of dust. I read what I could get my hands on, but sometimes the Monarchy would send down enforcers to quell the occasional rebellions that formed when a Rat became too wary of their place. That was when I saw the superior Powers with my own eyes. Men incinerated in the blink of an eye, on the ground, coughing up blood as they were pummeled with tendrils of dirty air. I used to watch from a partially-broken window, the flashes and booms feeding my deepest fantasies and my worst nightmares. The dimness of the Morgenstern's light had reduced the blessings it gave to the people of the Norstrian underbelly. Some received the Power to grow flowers, others the ability to cast stones from their hands. I received nothing, absolutely nothing. I had asked my caretaker, Rousseau, the reason why many times. She had always said the same thing. ""You were too pure for the Morgenstern's light,"" she consoled me time and time again. The other children of Tomami Orphanage all had their due, and I was left both without parents and Powers. I always had a dream, as a child. My mother, as an angel, soaring above the slums, and crashing to the ground. My birth, the light of the Morgenstern filling me until there was nothing left but diffused stars. *Why did I exist?* That was the question I had asked. The gods had abandoned me, leaving me down in a cesspool. Leaving those who cared for me to be oppressed and beaten by demigods that stood over our heads. All because I was too pure for the Morgenstern's light, supposedly. One smoky evening, I had an odd encounter with a strange old woman. She wore a tattered old shawl, and nothing behind her eyes. Though, her face had an uncanny expression as she pulled me into her shop. I obliged, dumping a few coins onto her decrepit table, and waiting as she read my future. There was no harm in it, not that I believed in. ""I see light,"" she had whispered. ""I see, I see a stone, a stone moulding itself into you. I see providence, I see a crown. I see the new magic."" It was ethereal. There I was, in a house that was little more than salvaged walls and a tin roof, speaking to an old woman who seemed like she had gathered spirits all around her. The same spirits that I had imagined falling into the void, had made themselves known to me, and they hovered around me, biting at my ears, laughing in my face. I had closed my eyes, and ran from the little house. I have no doubt that the strange woman, who I never did see again, was as shaken as I was. Yet, her face was one of certainty, mine of doubt. I never knew what my purpose was until the enforcers came running, some on flames, screaming for sweet death and casting themselves into the pit. Monarchy soldiers fell down through the gaps in the marble, coated in thick blood. Laughter, laughter from the very tops of society that echoed its way to the dredges. Not a happy laughter, but a righteous laughter. Perhaps a laughter of liberation, as bits of the Morgenstern began to crack and crumble, flaking off as alabaster during a tremor. The dim light that had not chosen me faded fast, covered by the encroaching darkness, and there was an air of rebellion, of liberation. A distant booming, voices, the military march of thousands of boots plodding their way to the underbelly. ""Death to the king,"" they chanted, louder and louder. ""Death to Norstria. Death to the king, death to Norstria. Long live the new magic,"" they yelled in a frenzy, dragging the king, naked and bloody, down into the depths. They brought him to the center of the slums and impaled him on a pike, a reminder of their conquest. Yet, in their brutality, they cracked the marble facade upon, and the Rats scurried out into the light for the first time in decades. The sun was blinding, the sky a cyan blue. The marble city of Norstria had crumbled, stained with blood. Perhaps the conquerors planned to butcher us too, if we did not support their zeal? Fate had different ideas, one twisted and cruel. The Morgenstern's disappearance had dispelled every Power whatsoever. As we left the city for the first time, every Power that had ever been fed by the dim light of the morning star was gone, to be forgotten forever. But me, powerless, too pure for the Morgenstern's light-- my body convulsed. My mind was cast into complete chaos as I floated around the sky, impaling our liberators with shards long-forgotten light. I judged unconsciously, with impunity, my wings wide and my eyes tinged with fury. I was the new king, I was the imperator, and I was the new magic. This was the Providence that had been promised. As I took to the skies to carve out the superiority of the Rats, I realized for the first time that I was not worthless. I was made for a purpose. And as my brethren and my conquerors realized as crystals protruded from every inch of my body-- I *was* the Morgenstern. I was the way to the future. I was the next source of light, for a new Norstria. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK",1158
" ""Oh mom! Please. The","""Mom. Please..."" I heard coming from my daughter in the chair next to my bed. ""Oh sweetie, we all have to go eventually. You have given me the best life I could possibly have ever had. I gained a lovely son, and you've shown me the best grandchildren that I, and the rest of the retirement center, have ever seen."" I said in a weak voice. ""Oh mom! Please. The rest of the family is on their way! Just hold on for a little bit longer."" My daughter pleaded with me. I could feel my breathing become shallow and lighter. My coughing has become more aggressive as my daughter wiped away the saliva on my cheek. I felt a sense of calmness overcome my body. Like floating along a calm river as my fingers and toes became numb. ""97 years. 3 more and I would have had a free ice cream at the local parlor"" I said with a toothless grin. My daughter wiped away her tears as she chuckled at my joke. My hearing became difficult and I could no longer hear my daughter but could see her mouth moving. My eyelids slowly began closing as I could no longer feel my pulse. I could feel my lungs slowly inhale 1 last bit of air but not exhale as everything became dark. Nothingness. Then I felt a giant rush of air overwhelm my body. I startled awake as the man sitting across from me in the train put a 5 euro bill in his pocket. ""Wie Ich sagte. Speicherpunkt."" My head felt a massive headache as I looked around. This wasn't the medical hospital I was admitted to after another fall. ""Where am I?"" I said as I looked around. I looked at the window I was next to and saw myself in the mirror. Not as the 97-year-old senior spending her last days in a retirement home in Florida. But as the young mid 20 girl backpacking throughout Europe as a graduation gift. ""Du warst lange weg. Geht es dir gut?"" the man sitting across from me said as he looked on with concern. ""uhhh uhhh... bitte. Eine minute"" I said shaking my head of the mental cobwebs as I looked around. I tried my best to recall the little bit of German I knew all those years ago. ""sprichst du Englisch?"" I said in my worst attempt at a language I haven't spoken for almost 70 years. He gasped slightly before coughing and leaning forward. ""I'm so sorry."" He said in a mild German accent. ""I often don't do this for foreigners. More for die local folk. Good thing our education system teaches us multiple languages. Like I said before. Save point."" I Looked again in the window and felt my hands. The smoothness of them. My hair, silky smooth and not a bit of grey to be seen. My chest no longer sagging, but something I was proud to show off. I turned back to the man as he was raking a sip of beer from a bottle. ""What happened? I remember so much happened. Why am I here?"" He put his drink down on the floor before turning to me. ""You paid me to show you your future. So I did."" I looked at him in utter shock before speaking. ""I thought you would read my palm, or look at the stars or some random crap, not actually let me see my future. I was 97! I saw my kids, grandkids, I married Phillip. I was at his funeral... I walked Melody down the aisle when she married Charles. Her beautiful white dress. We even got to include the dog Rambo as the ring bearer. Where are they?"" ""Gone. A figment of your mind. Or rather, not gone, but not existing yet. You have to live that future. Or don't. I don't care for die future of your life"" ""What will happen if I don't follow that future? If I decide to not go to Texas A&M? If I don't meet Phillip during senior move-in day at the dorms? Or take that job over in Arizona?"" He took another sip of his beer as we entered a tunnel. The sounds of the train echoing as he spoke. ""Then die future changes. Besides die mind is a fickle thing. Very smart sometimes, but sometimes it is very forgetful. Tell me, who is your husband?"" I looked at him in shock at his question. ""It obviously... wait. What was his name?"" I said, shocked at how quickly I forgot the man I married and had a child with. He smiled and finished the last of his beer. ""Where did you go for university? What was your child's name? Who did she marry?"" I stammered as I tried my best to recall all the information I had in my prior ""life"". ""Why can't I remember any of this?!"" I shouted at him. ""It is like ven you have die dream and you wake up only to find out, you cannot recall any details. The train exited the tunnel as I could see us approaching a stop. ""Do not worry about die future. Whatever happens, happens. It is up to you and only you to determine how you approach it."" He said as he gathered his backpack from the chair next to him. ""What happens now when I die? Will I come back here again and see you again?"" I said as the train began to slow down. I heard a chime from the PA system before hearing a German woman begin to speak. ""Nachster Halt, Berlin."" as the train slowed to a stop. ""That depends mein Fraulein. Do you have another 5 Euros?"" he said to me as he stood up and placed his backpack on his shoulder. I placed my hands quickly in my pockets to search for more money. ""Sorry, I don't have anymore."" I said to him with a defeated look. ""Then you will have 1 chance like everyone else. Pass auf dich auf"" he said as he made his way to the doors and onto the platform. I heard another chime as the doors closed and the train began to slowly chug along down the tracks. I sighed as I looked out the window to see the man waving one last time before walking down the stairs of the platform. Side note: apologies if the German is wrong, blame Google translate! r/nywarpath EDIT: Thank you to all the German Redditors for helping me with the accent and more commonly used phrases. Danke!",1098
 Alex woke up in a place he,"Alex woke up in a place he couldn't remember, without a name, place or identity. On the first iteration, if you could call it that, he awoke alone in an apartment he assumed to be his own. His head had felt like a herd of buffalo had thundered across his forehead, but beyond that, he felt fine. Even the throbbing pain in his skull began to subside like a tide, becoming less and less important as his consciousness returned. Beyond this ebb, his body didn't seem damaged in any way. He flexed his fingers, breathing deeply through his nose. Slow in, slow out. Beyond the amnesia, beyond the strange surroundings, beyond the fact he couldn't even remember his name, he felt fine. In fact, he felt fantastic. He checked his own wallet, as it probably wasn't normal to wake up without knowing your name, and more importantly how or why you woke up where you did, and couldn't find a license. There was a university student identification that only had a first name, Alex, on it, so he supposed that must be his name. Or he could be wrong. He stood up, half naked, looking at the long and intricate stitching into his side. It was a strange tapestry, starting near his right shoulder and meandering down to his hip. It circled around, and with one hand felt it on his back. As if someone had taken a giant chunk of his body, casually flayed it open, and then sealed it up. So naturally, he made his way to a local hospital. No name, no insurance, no real form of identification. But showing the giant and recent crochet job someone performed on his flesh was enough to get a few doctors to check him out and admit him. Worst case scenario, he's some kind of ghost. Best case, the staff can figure out some kind of way to identify him. Maybe help him. Whoever he is. There were scans, tubes poked and prodded into various body parts, but beyond these initial disturbances, Alex couldn't particularly find anything wrong with himself. His arms felt fine, he could take deep breaths, and beyond a randomly pulsating throbbing sensation in his forehead, everything seemed fine. It was the looks on the medical staff's faces that seemed to ring invisible warning bells. Their faces seemed not exactly concerned for him, but almost as if they were afraid. When they looked at the chart, they pursed their lips, looked away, and refused to explain what was wrong with Alex. But he knew. Somehow, he knew. When it came to bad news, staff would either downplay the news, or a doctor would hit you with a massive wall of jargon and specific terminology that the average layman couldn't understand. So Alex sat there, shirtless, and began to poke and prod his side. And for a single moment, felt something...off. Something hard. Something metallic. What the fuck was that? The door to the observation room swung open, and a pair of burly men entered, one in a plain black suit, and another in standard nurse's garb. *He's not a nurse,* a thought flashed across Alex's mind. *Not a nurse. Something's wrong.* In his minds eye, Alex is running through another hallway, white and sterile on either side, sprinting for freedom, away from the pounding of feet behind him, telling him to stop. Not telling, no, ordering, commanding, threatening him to stop and submit. His side a carnival of pain, his lungs almost bursting in his chest, but his feet pounded down. He had to get out. To escape, before they brought him back. As soon as the vision appears, it vanishes. Was it a dream? Alex couldn't recall. Where was that voice coming from? Why couldn't he remember? ""One last test,"" the nurse said, and before Alex could realize what was happening, he felt the flashing cold of bare metal on his own flesh. He was handcuffed. Before he could even protest, his other wrist found itself shackled to the opposite side. The man in the suit said nothing. Was nothing. Could not contribute anything. Alex knew he was the kind of man who looked at his orders, and nonchalantly carried them out. Regardless of time, place, or morality. ""What's going on?"" There was fear now in Alex's chest, there was something growing in that uncertainty. ""You know what's going on,"" the man in the suit said. He held up what must be an x-ray of some kind, and to Alex's sudden and growing horror, saw some kind of geared mechanism intertwined with bone and musculature. There were no intestines, a single lung, and a liver, but it looked like someone had taken a shovel and scooped out half his guts to replace with gear and metal. ""There's something seriously wrong with you,"" the man in the suit says as if speaking to a child. ""We need to help you, and help you now."" There's concern in the man's voice, but to Alex it feels feigned. Alien. ""Help me how?"" he asks. What else can he ask? ""You're missing a ton of organs, kid, we need to get you in the operating room ten fucking minutes ago."" Alex's mind gave another sudden pang. There was something there, hidden beneath some kind of invisible blizzard of forced what? Information? Was something blocking his memory? That seemed so inconsequential, so unnecessary. What was abhorrent was the metal within him. While he wasn't on a first name basis with his own organs, he preferred them there. *I still have a liver,* he thinks to himself insanely. *At least I can drink.* Can he? He didn't see a stomach. ""Administer the sedative,"" the man in the suit says to the nurse, already preparing a syringe. ""No,"" Alex says. It's a croak, rather than speech. His throat has gone dry as sand paper. He pulls with his left arm against the restraint, fighting, and an increasing sense of terror gripped him. *They want to take me away,* he thinks. *They want to take me back!* There was some instinct, some hidden and intense hatred of needles. He'd stomached it for now, just assuming it was something normal to deal with, but now, in this man's hands, he couldn't stop himself, no there was no way he could stand still. There was something familiar in them. Something familiar and utterly horrifying in their presence. *How did they find me?* He would ask who *they* were, but that no longer mattered. There was a deeper part of him that already knew they were a people with no name or face, an invisible group. Omnipresent and omniscient, and Alex could hear a voice, distinctly not his own, hammer across his skull. ""Test four a partial success,"" it intoned. A dispassionate monotone. ""Subject eight prepared for test five."" When Alex jerked his right arm, the handcuffs snapped with an innocent clink, and before Alex understood what he was doing, he'd freed his other arm and leapt onto the nurse, bringing him down in a single movement and cracking his skull with a right arm with a strength he cannot comprehend. It simply crunched like a giant egg. Alex's body moved on its own, as if some kind of invisible training had kicked in, something he couldn't know or possibly remember. The man in the suit reached for something, most likely a pistol, but Alex brought the right arm out again, a metallic and powerful hook cracking into the man's jaw. The shock reverberates up his arm, so strong and fast as to cause his teeth to click together from effort. The man's jaw is made of metal. *Like me,* Alex thinks to himself. *Metal men. Toy soldiers.* Was he one of them? The man in the suit staggers backwards, his eyes unfocused, shifting and shimmering as the pupils changed color. Before he thinks, he swings again. Once. Twice. Three times. A fourth, final crash, and instead of blood and brain and bone, a tangled mass of metal and gears along with a thick, black oil oozes in a terminal flood across the floor. The overpowering scent of burning rubber and frying electronics, so strong as to cause Alex's eyes to water. There's jostling outside the room now, and the fear returns, a sledgehammer to the gut. His hands were sweating, coated with that viscous fluid. Sweat began to bead on his neck and forehead. *I need to get out. I need to get out of here. They found me,* he thinks, though the thoughts are half formed and frantic. Alex threw his shirt back on, looking at the pair of dead men on the floor with both confusion and pity. That voice again, making his skin crawl, causing a shiver to run down his spine. If you could call it a spine. ""Subject eight has completed test five, and is ready to begin augmentation procedures. Schedule him for first thing in the morning."" He throws the door open, and finds the hallway deserted. No medical staff anywhere. No other patients. A ghost town, a place that had been crowded only thirty minutes before. More men in suits in the halls, eyeing him coolly, as if expecting an escape attempt. As if waiting for an opportunity to use force. To hurt him. To take him. Alex saw, with his heart hammering within his chest, that each man was as identical as the other. More metal men. More fake men. Coming for him, and Alex could see their grasping, implacable iron fingers grasping and pulling. That came with certainty, and he could feel now the strange clanking and clacking of the metal within his own body grinding itself together. And he ran. He ran for his life. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wrote a",1633
" ""Gerard you son of a","""Gerard you son of a bitch!"" My wife shouted. This was probably the worst possible way to wake up from a nap. Especially, considering I had been dreaming about twins. Twins! Suddenly I was tumbling ass over head out of my hammock. My face cushioned my graceful decent to the ground, and a loud ringing sounded in my ears. I groggily sought out for my blade, only to grasp dirt, grass, and some remnants of cloth. It took a moment for my fuzzy brain to catch up with what was happening to me. ""Gawk?"" I responded helpfully ""How could you!"" She shouted unhelpfully. ""Love, I know I wasn't at top...erhm...of my game last night, but this seems like a bit of an overr--"" Her hand shot out at lightning speed and that ringing in my ear picked back up in decimal and volume. I scrambled heroically backwards and attempted to shield my face from her blows. Thankfully no follow up strike occurred, and in the moment of brief reprieve I took a moment to glance out from behind my flimsy hand shield. ""Look!"" She screamed. Again, rather unhelpfully. I looked around, my bleary eyes going in and out of focus. My head began pounding. Whether from the hangover or from my wife's impossibly strong blows I could not tell. Finally I focused in on her finger, and followed that to the direction it pointed and my mouth dropped open in shock. ""What in the fuck?"" I croaked out rubbing my eyes in disbelief. There playing in the meadow patch in front of us was my little boy Trip. Well technically he was Gerard III, but honestly I was hoping if we called him Trip he'd have better luck then the rest of his Gerard lineage. He was playing with the neighbors kid Ginny. Or was it Geri? Damn, but my head hurt. This in, in of itself was no big deal, the neighbors seemed like alright folk. The girl's mum had always been kind of nice to me. What was her name? Cera? Morgan? Whatever. The name wasn't the problem. The problem was that the damn five-year-old girl with a mop of curls was staggering about with my damn sword. Realization began to dawn on me. ""What did you do!?"" I yelped staring wild eyed at my wife. ""What did I do? What did I do? WHAT DID I DO!?"" She roared, a look of incredulous fury darkening the storm cloud of her expression. ""Well yeah love, only direct descendants of my bloodline can wield the blade!"" Her storm cloud turned to utter ice, she grabbed a bucket of water from the nearby well my hammock had been partially attached too and flung it in my face. The chilled liquid was a shock to my system, and left me blinking as my brain struggled to function. She bit out each word with a frigid chill that could freeze a cactus. ""Do you think I'm related to you Husband o mine?"" ""Well uh, no love obviously--"" ""Do you think we hail from the kingdom of Halabama?"" ""Of course not I-"" ""Did you recall me delivering two babes within weeks of each other?"" ""That does seem highly unlikely-"" ""So, great and mighty hero, how is it that you think this young lass happens to be able to wield your heroic blade?"" Sobriety hit me like a Manticore's tail. The ringing in my ear subsided to just a bothersome pinging as I stared at the two children. They staggered and weaved back and forth. Giggling and laughing uproariously. The girl waiving about an impossibly massive 8 ft tall blade as if it was light as a feather. The girl, my erhm, daughter hiccuped and tumbled to her rear end. Shit. ""But how?' I mumbled dejectedly. ""Well Heart o' mine, as much as I would love to explain in great detail how such things work - since obviously you need the refresher - we don't have time the time. Don't you think it'd be wise to take that gargantuan magical sword away from the children?"" I rubbed my eyes again, still unable to comprehend what I was seeing. ""The blade is magically and permanently dull, there really isn't much damage they can do to one another."" I said trailing off as the withering glare of my wife told me it was time to get off my ass, get the blade, and then tell a really convincing tale as to how I managed to impregnate my neighbor without realizing it. I mean, truthfully I had no recollection of sleeping with the lady. But then again, many evenings were a blur for me. I didn't think that telling my wife that really I always tried to be faithful to her would stem this tide of rage that she was currently beset with. I stumbled over to where the children played. They hiccuped and giggled at nothing unable to keep their footing. That wasn't a good sign. It meant they had both touched the blade. I sighed, and thanked the gods that we lived far enough out in the country that the kings family management council wouldn't see that two five year olds were fantastically and completely drunk before it was even midday. ""Come now, come now children let me have the sword."" The girl, Celeste maybe? Looked as if she were going to be belligerent and make me fight her for the blade. ""Fatherrrrr"" my boy sung out. I groaned in understanding. ""Fatherrrrr could we have some milk?"" ""Some Milk father, some milk"" she chorused with him, snapping her fingers. ""We need some milk tied with silk!"" He sang out uproariously. Damn it they had struck each other with the blade as well. They'd both be only able to communicate through song for the next fortnight at least. It was an annoying side effect of the blade. Made worse due to the fact that children were hardly bards or master lyricists. Especially these children. I steeled myself. Than I plucked the blade from her distracted fingers. The earth instantly lurched sideways, as euphoria spread across me like a warming blanket. Things began to make sense again as I became as drunk as drunk could be. The girl began to protest. But just at that moment my boy stumbled into her and they collapsed into a tangle of giggling limbs and out of key song. I took that opportunity to slip away, well rather lurch away, and back into the cross armed hell storm that was my wife. ""Are they ok?"" She asked with barely concealed malice. ""They could use some milk"" I replied trying not to hiccup. She really hated when I hiccuped. ""A poor effort at distraction, even for you."" ""Listen love, I swear, I don't remember sleeping with uh Alyce. What was it? Four years ago?"" ""Five and her name is Staci."" ""Staci...er..yeah Staci"" I fuzzy memory of flaxen hair, some unexpected freckles, and...nothing. ""What was I fighting five years ago?"" My wife wrinkled her nose in consternation. ""Does that matter?"" I shrugged ""It might."" She sighed heavily, the anger far from gone but being the chronicler of my exploits she was pretty good at this sort of thing. ""Six years ago was the Hyrda, Four was that horrid pack of Fire Breathing Fowl's."" She mused to herself. ""I believe at the five year mark was when you battled that Siren."" I grinned despite myself. ""Ah yes, that bitch"" I hiccuped and she glared at me. ""She loved to talk to herself. Hell of a fighter that one. Had to get so drunk I could barely hear anything."" ""Yes, yes, I was there."" She said impatiently. ""Smacked her good with this."" I said gently patting my blades blunt edge. Careful to do so lightly enough to not trigger the singing spell. ""She started Mono-lodging. Er Mono-blogging--"" ""Monologuing."" ""Right, that. Monologuing. Accidentally sang herself to death. That was actually pretty funny."" ""She killed two dozen townsfolk."" ""Well that part wasn't funny."" My wife sighed and gave the universal hand sign for I better be getting on with my point. I gulped and continued. ""How'd I, How did I, erhm how'd I get home?"" ""I took you home. I even put you into bed."" Right right, and we tried that one position for the first time. Where you did the uh...thing."" ""What thing?"" ""You know."" I said waggling my eye brows. ""No we didn't try that until after..."" Slowly my wife's eyes widened. Understanding breaking across her face. Understanding that I certainly didn't understand. ""Hold on. After putting you to bed that night, I went to my parents that evening..."" She trailed off, her head snapping to the distant outline of our neighbors house. ""My father needed help finding some of his sheep. I had asked Staci too check up on you...that bitch!"" She turned to her shoulders toward our neighbors house. Righteous fury, and the scorn of a thousand suns in her eyes. ""So we uh, good"" I squeaked out tentatively. ""Love?"" She glanced back over her shoulder. ""Magical drunkenness is no excuse oh light of my life. We will have our reckoning later. But first, I have business to attend to with that wench Staci."" ""I'm gonna have to slay something epic as an apology aren't I?"" I groaned as the magical alcoholic effect went sour in my stomach. ""Epic enough for the ages."" She said her eyes beaming beneath her storm clouded mask. ""Shit."" I moaned. I stumbled back into my hammock as she charged valiantly up the hill to poor Staci's home. It took me four attempts to right the sling, and collapse back into it. I let the unwieldy menace that was my blade tumble from grip. Faintly I thought I could hear a voice laughing faintly, drunkenly in the back corners of my mind. That was new. But I shook it off, I was stupendously inebriated after all. Authors Note: I really didn't think I would write about the drunken sword again. But this seemed like a fun prompt for it. If you liked it, you can read the origin story",1691
 Omega Fall crouched in the shadows,"*You should have kept your heart closer to your chest, Electra,* thought Omega Fall sadly. She wasn't going to take any pleasure in what she was about to do, though it had to be done. Omega crouched in the shadows between slumbering suburban houses. Directly across the street sat the single-family home she'd been hunting for the past year. It was small, but well-kept. An illuminated porch stood in sharp contrast to the dark windows. It was late at night. Hopefully, the family would be asleep, and Omega could deliver them to their deaths painlessly. She began compressing energy. A bright, crackling blue glow emerged between her outstretched hands. No Sensors went off. Omega had checked earlier, but she thought she might have made a mistake. Why would Electra not establish a defence system near her home? The energy began to tighten. The ghostly glow washed over her face. She prepared to unleash and run. Suddenly, Electra's front door opened, and a thin, wiry man stepped out. He was dressed in pajamas with tiny elephants. It looked like he was wearing pink nail polish on his fingers. The father, most likely. Mr. Marco Oblian. The man looked oddly familiar, but Omega didn't consider it for another moment. She let loose her compressed blast. The energy tore through the air, a sharp missile of kinetic force aimed directly at the man, and at the house, and at the children sleeping within. Two girls. 7 and 9. Marco Oblian simply raised his hand, and the energy slammed into him but immediately disappeared. Omega's jaw fell. She turned to run, but the man reached out and pulled on the air. Space folded; Omega tripped backwards and landed at the bottom of the porch steps. She turned around. She now knew exactly who this man was. ""Nice nails,"" said Omega, before he could speak. ""Hot pink. Very cute."" ""You've got some nerve attacking my home,"" rumbled Marco Oblian, his voice surprisingly deep. The lower half of his face was covered in a bushy beard, his lips pressed into a straight line. There were more lines around his dark eyes and on his wide forehead than in the textbooks. ""I thought you were enjoying your retirement in Tibet,"" muttered Omega, standing up. She was surprisingly calm for someone facing their imminent death. He shrugged an elephant-dappled shoulder. ""Cover story."" He didn't seem in a hurry to kill her. ""So, you and Electra?"" He nodded. ""Congratulations,"" said Omega. ""Well, better get on with it."" She closed her eyes. She hoped it wouldn't hurt. Instead of crushing her into a human ball, Marco said, ""Did you know my girls were in the house?"" Omega didn't expect that. She opened her eyes. Marco was leaning on the porch pillar, arms crossed. He had a strange look on his face that might have been pity, or sadness. It made Omega angry. ""Yes,"" she spat. ""I knew. I was going to blast you and your daughters into the ground without blinking an eye."" She grit her teeth. Marco shook his head. ""Even in my worst days, I would never consider harming children,"" he murmured. There was a scar on the side of his neck that seemed to glow in the light of the porch. ""Your time is long gone, old man,"" said Omega proudly. ""The New World is here, and we the Soldiers will deliver unto the Earth an era unmatched in glory and prosperity."" ""Sounds like classic Archleague propaganda,"" said Marco, sitting down on the porch steps. He winced slightly and rubbed his hip. ""Have you ever considered that there might be a life for you outside of all this?"" He waved his hand vaguely in the air. ""My life does not belong to me. My life belongs--"" ""To the Archleague and all her people, yes, yes, I know,"" interrupted Marco. ""But are you happy? Are you at peace with your actions?"" Omega had had enough. ""You're one to talk, *Magistrate*,"" she hissed, stepping up to him and stabbing a finger in the air. ""One of the Archleague's most esteemed veterans, the Judge of Life and Death, is trying to *guilt me* for being a villain? We study and learn about your entire career. I've practically memorized your treatise on mental warfare."" She laughed harshly, the sound echoing down the empty street. ""And yet, you say *I* have nerve."" To her surprise, Marco just smiled sadly. ""I guess I deserve that. I have done a lot of things I regret. I will likely continue to do more, but the difference is, now I try to do better. To be better. Whereas before, as the Magistrate, I didn't care. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I made it seem right. Like it had to be done."" He gazed at her with those dark, forlorn eyes. ""It doesn't have to be this way, you know."" Omega felt the fight drain out of her. She tried to grasp onto it as it left, to fuel her hatred and anger against this hypocrite of a man, but she couldn't. ""Are you going to kill me or not?"" she said wearily. ""If you don't now, your wife will eventually, or I'll kill her and leave you a widower and your daughters without a mom."" She didn't know why she was taunting him. She was tired. Marco's eyes flashed angrily. He stood up, slowly. Omega felt the world around her shrink and compress, like reality was simply a ball of energy in Marco Oblian's hands. The porch creaked and groaned, as the pressure on her body grew to unimaginable depths. The door opened again, for the second time that night. A little girl in matching elephant pajamas came out. The pressure stopped immediately. Omega breathed a ragged breath. ""Dad?"" murmured the girl, rubbing her eyes. ""What are you doing? I felt something weird..."" She blinked, seeing Omega staring at her. ""Who's that?"" Marco's jaw clenched, and Omega thought somehow she was in even more danger than before. Then, suddenly, Marco deflated. He looked as tired as she felt. He turned to his daughter and picked her up. ""Charlotte, this is Omega Fall, a friend of your mother's,"" said Marco, brushing some stray hair out of Charlotte's pert face. ""She was just... coming by to say hi."" Omega didn't know how to react. She froze, like a newbie Soldier in her first bout against a Hero. ""Hi,"" said Charlotte shyly. She had her father's eyes, but her mother's nose. Omega could recognize Electra's nose anywhere. ""Hello,"" whispered Omega, her heart beating incredibly fast. She felt tears prick the back of her eyes, for some stupid reason. ""Omega was just leaving,"" said Marco to his daughter. ""I don't think she'll be coming back, so say goodbye."" Omega understood. She was being let go with a warning, but there won't be another one. ""Bye, Omega,"" said Charlotte. She buried her face into Marco's shoulder. ""Dad, I'm cold."" ""Me too, baby,"" replied Marco, rubbing her back. His nearly overwhelming gaze fell on Omega, but there was no anger in it. Just a cold certainty, and a weary sadness. ""Goodbye, Omega Fall,"" said Marco quietly. He thrust his hand out, and swiped at the air. Omega felt herself spin around, like she was in a revolving door, and she stumbled onto a hill outside the City. From here, she could see the sleeping walls, and the metal towers that shone like candles in the night, keeping the encroaching darkness back. She collapsed onto the soft grass, and began to cry. --- Check out my profile for other stories I've written! :D Edit : never thought I'd be one of these people... but thanks for the awards and upvotes everyone. It's my first time receiving such love, and I'm very grateful. Edit 2 : Chapter 2 is below. Was a little nervous to post this because I feel like there's more pressure now? Anyways, here it is :) https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/httjoe/wp_the_villain_uncovers_the_heros_true_identity/fyl53cl/",1331
 Six-one-eight-nine,"Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn. I repeat it again, just to be sure. Too often, the smallest details and the mistakes that comes from failing to remember them spelled disaster for me. I've always though that the night suited me, it might be one of the reasons that villain's work just came to me naturally. I must admit, it's odd though, *walking* though the neighborhood, just... strolling along on the side walk. The leather jacked rubs against my undershirt. It's not that I feel uncomfortable, per se, it's just.. I feel almost... *exposed.* The chilly air tries to pry it's way past the folds, but I clutch it tighter too me. Without my outfit, the strobe lights and blackened armor plates, I feel almost naked as I walk past another bloody shrubbery. Just when I think that that informant's going to get a black eye for his troubles tomorrow, I come across it. Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn. I stand at the edge of the grass, hesitating. It's... small. Much smaller than I expected, more like a cottage than a house. There's the occasional potted plant and the line of box hedges, a errant splash of paint or two. The whole thing is the picture of suburbia. I step to the concrete path, making sure to grind a good heel into the grass as I do. It's not much, but at least, if nothing else, I might make a good hole in his greenery. *A journey of a thousand evils starts with a single step,* I seem to recall one of my teachers saying as I plod my way up to a wooden door with iron inlays. In my case, my single step was a foot through my sister's lego house at the age of four. Hurt like a bitch, but the pain was well worth her bawling face. I almost lose myself to nostalgia as I stand before the door, hand half poised before a twisted ring knocker. First came the sibling rivalry, then came the delinquency, the occasional minor offence, and finally you got to know someone, or they got to know you. Then it was off to the races, to see if you could make it big - find yourself an archnemisis, get film rights, etc. I'd found the former, the latter... I was still working on that. That reminded me, I needed to call that blonde agent from... what was it? Harford publishing? She said something about a good advance for a biography. Well, that would be the treat after the night was done, with some coco and a rom-com. I almost wanted to turn away to walk back down the path, but business was business. The black ring collided with the red wood. Knock. Knock. Knock. I briefly wonder what I'm going to do. Not burst in ranting and raving obviously, that'd be slobby. Maybe an implied threat, a bit of knife play? How subtle should he be? He really should've made a plan for these type of things before- The door creaked open, light spilling across the concrete steps. The sound of classical music, and children's laughter came with it. Chopin, a ballade no less! He felt a little drop in his stomach as heard that. They were some of his favorites. There was a pale hand on the door, red hair, red dress, a vision of crimson before him. A pair of fiery eyes glimmered in a heart shaped face. ""Hello?"" he said, quickly clearing his throat. ""Good evening,"" said a warm voice that flickered like a candle. ""Ah yes..."" he trailed off as he realized that he had nothing to say, ""uh..."" ""I don't think I know you. Can I help?"" ""I'm a friend of your husband,"" he said, the shamelessness of the lie nearly bringing color to his cheeks. ""Oh, well why didn't you say so?"" she said, a bubbly radiance spilling forth as she practically pulled him in. She didn't even close the door as she waved him through to a spacious kitchen. ""Who's that?"" said a voice from a side room amid a confluence of gunshots. ""Just a friend of your father's, you deal with your game, I'll deal with the guest,"" she said, as she shut the door to the room, muffling the affirmation. He was twirled into a chair before he even had time to react, the crimson women weaving her way around the island to see to the preparation of dinner. The lusciousness of onions, the sweetness of carrots, simmering meat and fresh baked bread all filled the kitchen as she fiddled with this pot and this oven. He relaxed as he saw her roving around, sinking into the smellscape of that space. Then, nearly dropping it to his horror, he slid out a knife under the counter. As she pulled out a long wooden board onto the counter top, she began to speak to him. ""So, are you a friend from work, then?"" ""Yes, I've often worked with your husband,"" he said, grateful for the way out. ""Oh, what department? Sorry for being curious, he so rarely talks about his job, no matter how much I ask,"" she giggled, shifting the board slightly, then leaning over to look him in the eye. ""Yes,"" he said, ""uh, I work, in... accounting."" ""Accounting,"" she said, drumming her fingers on the marble as she glanced up and down, ""why how lovely. I always loved the number game, they way they all... tumble together and such."" ""Yes, quite,"" he said dryly. He played with his collar, feeling rather warm. ""Do you have an hobby, mister..."" ""Smith. James Smith. Not a lot, mostly work, that who I am. Archery too, every now and then."" ""Ooh. A work man, I understand. It's so easy to get lost in a career, then suddenly your life twists and turns and you're not quite sure where you've ended up. It's funny how that works isn't it?"" At this point, he was considering if the rom-com might've been the better choice. ""Me? After I retired, oh, how I loved my work though, I picked up gardening. Not really much good at it, my green thumb is more of a red one, in the line of Poe, I'm afraid."" They both shared a laugh, but something felt very fragile as it hung in the air. ""Look, I was-"" ""And fertilizer, do you know anything about fertilizer? I've been reading a lot lately, learning so many new and interesting things. Like ash, for instance. Makes for lovely blooms."" ""I-"" ""Animal ash, now that.."" she said, bringing a loaf of bread on top of the board, ""makes for some *killer* flowers."" ""You, er.. don't have a knife,"" he said. Okay, it was definitely not his imagination. He was starting to sweat. ""Oh right, of course,"" she said. His right knee slammed into the counter top, causing him to gasp as he reeled to maintain his balance. Once he did, he started to speak, his irritation beginning to peak at this constant chatter. ""Look, I came here to threa-"" ""Oh, thank you!"" came her voice. *Will you shut up for thirty seconds?* He thought as he inhaled, preparing to simply say the fucking thing. Then he stopped. She was standing there, holding out a hand to offer him a piece of bread, wafts of steam peeling off its darkening surface. A knife, his knife, was clutched lazily in one hand, a wave of white, yell and red crawling down the once dark metal, rippling the air above it. Her eyes were alive with circulating streams of those same reds and yellows, ambers and purples screaming their way across the edges of the irises. It was indescribably beautiful, but in the same way a nuclear explosion was beautiful. The smile that slashed its way across her face made his heart freeze, even as he continued to sweat in the sudden heat. ""You were saying?"" &#x200B; &#x200B; *Want more of my stuff? Check out* /r/The_Alloqium*!*",1344
" Frank's spirit was trying, unsuccessfully","""Frank, come on. This is getting ridiculous."" Frank's spirit was trying, unsuccessfully, to walk out the open door of the bedroom. He looked a little bit like a man on a treadmill, his spectral feet sliding over the floorboards, his semitransparent hands pawing at the air. ""Shut the fuck up. Get out of here. Don't look at me."" Like all spirits, Frank was insubstantial, like a dimmer switch had been dialed down on his presence in the world. The borders of his body were fuzzy, and all the color in his flesh was desaturated. Plus, he was naked. It's just how it went. ""Hey, man, I'm here to help you."" I tried very carefully to put on my best professional voice. Dealing with spirits was always a tricky business, but usually the problem was that they were traumatized, horrified and frozen in place, unable to stop staring at their own dead bodies. Frank was a whole other set of problems. ""Let me in to hell, or whatever!"" Frank was ignoring me. He stamped his foot on the floor, (or tried to) a move that made his fat, ghostly ass jiggle, and once more tried to walk out through the door. I shrugged, giving up for the time being. Leaving Frank to his own devices, I turned to inspect the room. It was not a pretty sight. I'd been in plenty of awful places on the behest of the police. Filthy squats beneath freeway overpasses, dust-blasted abandoned houses in the burbs filled with rotting bodies, chilly mansions in the hills with blood on the walls. Each of them was, in the end, awful in their own way, and this hotel room was no different. All around me was the evidence of a lost, last weekend in the middle of the week. Tall cans glittered in the dim light from the dirty window, clothes and scraps of paper lay all around like shed skins. The small card table in the space next to the bed was dusted with white powder, and the short metal straw of the professional coke-sniffer lay like a spent round near the center of it all. Worse yet was the bed - a bloody mess. I didn't have the stomach to look at it for too long. No matter how many of these I was called out to, I seemed unable to develop the mental callouses that allowed some of the cops I worked with to laugh, or smoke, or eat a sandwich while staring at a corpse. ""Frank, you won't be able to leave."" ""Why, because you're holding me here?"" Frank turned, incensed. He was clutching his fists by his side, his face screwed up with fury. He was a big guy, had been an intimidating guy in life - six foot two and heavy with muscle. The kind of guy who wore TapOut shirts to the bar and bumped into people intentionally. The kind of guy who reveled in the fog of unease he could generate. ""No."" I sighed, wishing I could sit down in one of the chairs. I felt tired. ""Because murdered spirits always stick around. It's... it's a hundred percent thing, man. That's why-"" ""I can't *fucking believe* this!"" Frank looked like he really, really wanted to hit me. ""If I'm dead, why can't that just be *it*!?"" I shrugged again. ""Just the way it is."" ""I just- I just want-"" I could see it coming now. This happened, occasionally. Usually with people like Frank. They'd moved through the world powered by their own anger, brimming with it, using it as fuel to impose their sense of self on the rest of us. In death, often it took a little time for the last of the fuel to burn out. ""Holy... holy shit."" Frank half-collapsed to the floor. ""I can't believe..."" He shook his head, spectral hair falling in his face. ""I always thought... I'd fix it. I'd have time... this was just... a dip. You know? A dip, and then I'd be back to... who I really am."" He looked up at me, and I felt a sincere stab of pity. This hotel room was no place for anybody to die. ""She's going to find out about it."" Frank's face was a mask of agony. ""I won't be able... to fix it. I was going to stop everything. I was going to fix it."" I took a chance and sat on the ground next to him, giving him the same space I would have done if he were alive. ""Look, man, I mean - I see this stuff all the time. People die with unfinished business. Murder is wrong, not just because it's scary for the rest of the world to think that somebody can take a life, but because it cuts off all possibilities. I don't think you're a bad guy, Frank. I mean, you've helped the family out a lot. We like having you around."" These were lies. ""I could tell you were having a hard time. Katie talked to me about it. But she wanted stuff to work out. She loved you, she thought you were a good Dad. You could have worked stuff out."" Frank was crying now, tears coursing down his face. ""I wanted that for you, and now somebody's taken it away, forever."" Frank sniffed, rubbed some spectral snot away with his wrist. ""I can't... I don't want to tell my brother-in-law all the fucked up stuff I've done."" I shrugged again. ""Unfortunately, I'm all you got, man. If there was anyone else, they'd be here."" A long silence stretched out. I stared at a tipped-over tall can on the carpet, a dead rocket in a field of its own fuel. The sun was just rising, if the pale light beneath the crack in the door was any evidence, and I was starting to feel the bleary-eyed exhaustion that a sleepless night always gave me. ""Frank, it's not just for you. We've gotta know who she is."" Frank didn't look at me. I twisted my head and looked back at the bed. Frank and some woman, tangled in a bloody embrace. Limbs intertwined, soggy hair hung over closed eyes. ""I said it was a hundred-percent thing, man, and I meant it."" I spoke very carefully, now, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. ""So we want to know who did this, right, but I *need* to know-"" I looked around, like a kid searching every corner for the boogeyman, ""-why isn't *she* here?"" Frank looked up, then, and I could see the terror on his face. I knew it was a bad, bad sign. Edit - The response to this has been truly overwhelming. Thanks to everyone for the kind words, they really mean a lot to me. Part II is below if you'd care to read.",1143
 The Volcanic Region is the,"The Volcanic Region stretches long and intimidating before me but I clutch my staff all the tighter. This place is my birthright. It may have taken me the better part of my life to piece together the clues, but I know it now. The first hint were the scortch marks on the blanket that lay wrapped around me as I mewled on the doorstep of my soon-to-be-parents' front stoop. It smelled of sulfur and ash. As I cross the border from swamp to cracked earth, the air fills with a familiar, almost comforting scent. The Volcanic Region is the home to the devastating force, King Rednaxela, that had taken over the world as long as I've been alive. His power has waned in the past decade, with many regions successfully fighting for their freedoms. The volcanoes, however, have held fast as his stronghold. No one is allowed in or out. I'd always been raised to keep my nose to the ground. I'd have lived this life contently had I not learned the truth of my heritage. I am of the volcanoes and my people need saving. The path slopes down in front of me and I inhale one more time before starting down the path to the capital, Mount Moonsault. It's been hard to do research as the embargo on the region has been so absolute. From what I've learned, the people here live inside dormant volcanoes, structuring their homes down the massive chimneys. It's no wonder they fell so easily to a being of fire and magma. The king could, with very little power, cause an eruption. I know this for I too have fire powers. It's a mark of the volcanic folk, so I'm told by those who once stared at me in terror when I excitedly showed off my power. I learned in short order that fire magic was forbidden in most of the world. If only they could see me now, traversing deep into the heart of the enemy. Few understand my so-called arrogance. A boy of sixteen, traveling into the last occupied territory of King Rednaxela when so many have failed? But that's what they miss. None have failed for none have tried. They left the Volcanic Region as a peace token to the demon king. The kings and queens of the various regions all sent messengers to the Volcanic Region, promising the realm to the demon king if he let them have their lands back. None know why he accepted the deal. But as the wars fought out in the other lands, no response came from the mighty Mount Moonsault. Well, they can keep their treaties but I'm going in. I have a chance to do some good and avenge my people. I must try. As I crest Mount Moonsault, my breath is taken away. The massive city lines the inside of the volcano in a way I've never seen before. Everything is oriented vertically, connected by ladders and stairs instead of streets or roads. *Alright Alex, be brave.* ""Oh boy, a newcomer. Didn't know we were allowed those now."" The woman jumps out at me as I descend a twisting staircase. If I hadn't been prepared for an attack, I may have fallen in surprise. She stares at me through strange, colored spectacles. ""Ah, Salamay be confounded, I think this boy's one of us. Lookit him. Got our markings in his hair."" The hair was a hint I learned only weeks ago. The Volcanic people tended to have reddish lines in their hair, a mark of those who grew up with demonic stench in the air. ""What city do you hail from?"" she asks. ""Murkham,"" I say. ""By the Swamp."" She gasps and clutches her chest. ""By the Swamp? You're from the outside?"" Then she clutches the front of my tunic and begins dragging me down the stairs. ""The others must know. This is serious indeed. Come, boy."" We wind through more of the strange and wonderful city before we enter a large building carved into the side of the volcano. ""Everyone! I present! An outsider!"" The woman thrusts me into the center of a massive circular room. All around me sit men and women, each dressed in garb more peculiar than the next. ""What is the meaning of this?"" asks a large man, breaking the hushed whispers with his booming voice. ""What is the meaning of this intrusion?"" I take a deep breath. ""Good folks of the Volcanic Region. I am Alexander Nomed and I have come this long way to liberate you. By the power of my flame I will-"" The hall erupts into noise. Voices shouting, a cacophony from which I cannot derive meaning. Is it anger? Joy? Fury? Sorrow? People wringing their hands and sobbing. Furrowed brows. Mouths moving so fast that spit flies from them. Then I hear ""Alright then, can we kill him?"" and I know something is wrong. I look to the woman who dragged me here, who's giving me a long, annoyed look. But annoyed isn't murderous, so I make an appeal. ""Ma'am,"" I say, ""there's some misunderstanding."" ""Look, m'lord,"" she says, ""we made a deal. And we're proud folk, we don't take to this kindly."" Her lips jut in almost a pout. ""I have no idea what you're talking about."" She scoffs. ""Oh come now. Come *now.* It's been sixteen years, not a century. We were all there. We watched the showdown with Salamay. You really didn't even do that good a job disguising yourself, your majesty. Shame shame."" She shakes her head, tutting away. For my part, I'm stupefied. It's as if I've walked into a story halfway. I thought I was at the beginning of my path and now it appears I'm at the end. And it's looking like a grisly end. ""Alright alright alright!"" the lady shouts, so loud and unexpected, that the hall falls quiet. ""Let's recall the original words of the deal."" The people in the room, who had devolved into almost a brawl, stare through wild but slightly confused eyes. ""Oh right,"" says one woman. ""The original words. Uhhhh..."" ""I got 'em,"" says another woman. ""King Rednaxela will henceforth leave the Volcanic Region, returning it back to its good and proper owner, the dragon Salamay. In return, the people in the Volcanic Region will close their borders to any not native to the region. In this manner, we will keep the abdication of the demon king a secret, for his own nefarious purpose."" ""Where'd it say that he wouldn't come back though,"" asks a man. His fingers run up and down various pendants around his neck. ""We did agree he wouldn't come back, right?"" The hall is quiet as everyone ponders this, myself not the least. The king has gone? He left, years ago? The Volcanic people made a deal for their freedom? The past five years have passed with the world holding its breath, waiting for him to leave the Volcanic Region and strike down the rest of the realm. But if he's not here, then where is he? ""Oh boy,"" says the woman who brought me here. ""Guess we really do gotta kill you."" ""Wait!"" I shout. ""I'm a native! I swear. I was dropped a doorstep when I was a baby, but I'm from the volcanoes, I swear."" ""That's not why we're killing you!"" says one of the oldest women in the group, hobbling at me and squinting her one good eye. ""We gotta stop you from taking over our here lands! I ain't never going back to worshipping a demon and switching your name backwards like that isn't about to fool an old woman. I seen every trick in the book."" My blood goes cold at her words. Closing my eyes, I mentally construct my name. Alexander Nomed. Then I turn it backwards, one letter at a time. Rednaxela. Demon. As if a spell were broken, a million memories flood my mind at once. Memories of bloodlust and fire, of wrath and sadism, of victory and triumph, of boredom and discontent. It floods back over the course of a mere second but it leaves my body and mind blow open like a destroyed dam. What had I done? What blood was on my hands? How much death, how much sorrow? I choke back tears and fall to my knees. ""I didn't know,"" I say. I'm sure they can't hear me but I say it again all the same. ""I didn't know."" ""Should ignorance be considered a fair excuse?"" asks the old lady, arms crossed as she towers before me. ""Should such a weak plea be accepted?"" The room falls to murmurs and I bow my head. All I can do is make myself heard. ""I know what I am. What I was. I know that the atrocities I have committed are vast and endless. But at the same time... When I erased my memories..."" Something had gone wrong. In my head I can hear myself planning aloud to my servants. *The memories will be stored away until the truth of my name is revealed. Then all shall return to me and with it, my wicked person shall arise.* But that hadn't happened. The memories sit in my head like someone telling me a story. It didn't fuse with my personality. ""I don't know if you're planning on killing me to stop me from taking over your region again or out of revenge. If it's revenge, then go ahead. I cannot excuse my actions. But if it's protection, then you have my word, I did not come to harm you."" I swallowed hard. ""I came to free you from the demon."" My voice breaks a bit. The people fall quiet, shifting uncomfortably. ""He's just a kid,"" someone says. ""Doesn't look evil."" ""Well,"" says another, ""we have to be sure. We could take him to the scrying."" Whispers break out. ""The scrying?"" I ask. ""It's a way to look into the mind and heart of convicts,"" the woman who escorted me here responds. ""It's a way to know what might be hidden in the mind. It's dangerous, it's risky, but it may help prove your innocence."" I swallow and look up at everyone. It may be a long shot but it may be worth it. Besides, I would then more fully be able to understand my past. What I am, what I was, what I will be. Innocence or not, I would be mad to pass up the chance. ""I'll do it,"" I say. ""The scrying."" They fall silent one more time and turn to me. ""Are you sure?"" asks the ancient woman. ""None return the same."" I nod. ""I'll do it. I want to prove myself to you and learn about myself. If the scrying will do that, then lead the way."" ___ Check out for more stories. Return to the Volcanic Region in the tales of",1822
 The last thing I saw as the,"The last thing I saw as the world darkened about me was my little girl's face. Her voice echoed through my head, through the rushing of blood, through the roar of death in my ears. ""Mom? The ambulance is here. You're gonna be ok, you're gonna be..."" There's nothing more unfair in the world than leaving a child behind. Her twelfth birthday was that weekend. I was going to take her friends to get manicures. Now I fly. The world falls away from me in a feeling like nothing I could have ever pictured. I know I go to see God's face. I know he'll look over my Cara. But it doesn't make leaving Earth easier, even as figures, beings of light clad in silver and white gowns hold me, bringing me up to the face of the Lord I have worshipped since I could first speak. The first sensation I notice is that of singing. In my heart, I knew to expect it but as it comes into focus, something is wrong. The language, the cadence, it's hard and triumphant but almost angry. And it's not Latin or Hebrew or anything I expected. It almost sounds Nordic. And mixed in it is the sound of clashing and clanging and raucous laughter. Then my vision returns and I know something is wrong. The place, what should be a temple-like haven of worship and piety, is a massive dining hall, blazing with torches and bonfires and full of... debauchery. Gluttony and drunkenness and loud shouting. I freeze on instinct, as if I'm a child starting school in the middle of the semester. Where are my soft organs and filtered light? Where are my smiling grandparents? Where is my God? ""Ah, greetings lass. Welcome to the hall of the slain. Can I interest you in some mead?"" The voice takes me by surprise, a big loud boom. Not what I should be hearing here. ""Uh, no,"" I say. ""I don't really drink."" The blood of Christ on my lips, every week at mass, was about the limit of it. I inhale and smell the alcohol on his breath and I want to cry. He sees my face and his grin falters. ""Ah. Why don't we find a place quiet, where we can talk a bit away from this noise, eh?"" I nod because if I were to say more the tears would spill. We make our way to the edge of the hall, where we can look out over a massive expanse of clouds and stars. For the first time since I died, something feels right and I exhale. ""This isn't heaven,"" I say. ""You're right on that. This is Valhalla. Were you not a great warrior, lady?"" I laughed, a shuddering noise accompanied by a few tears. ""I'm a pharmacist."" But then I understand. ""I died fighting a home invader from my house. I got him. I... I don't know if he died but he was out cold. He just-"" I swallowed. ""Got me too. I spent my last minutes walking Cara through calling 911 and told her it was going to be alright."" My stomach lurches and I feel sick. ""Oh God. The last thing I told her was a lie."" The great man is quiet for a moment as he listens to me talk. ""Does she have anyone else to take care of her?"" he asks. ""Her father. Her Gramma Jones and Brown. Woofles-"" My voice breaks. ""I always thought heaven was going to be this bright hall of light. I'm so stupid. I went to church every week, I knew what to expect, I did right by the world, I did!"" I wiped my eyes, which ran overabundantly now. ""I should be looking out over my daughter. Helping her, visiting her in dreams or in her prayers. I don't want to drink with a bunch of hooligans."" ""Alright there, ma'am, there's no reason to be hostile towards the other souls."" He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. ""Didn't your God ever party?"" I want to say no but as I open my mouth, he gives me a knowing smile and a little wink. ""I've read your books too,"" he laughs. ""Way I heard it, the most holy Son of God was invited to a party once that went so wild, they ran out of wine. And what did the good lad do? Admonish them for drunkenness?"" I give a watery chuckle. ""I suppose Jesus wasn't above a good party."" Then I sigh. ""It isn't that I'm judging the people here. I don't want to. Fighting judgment was always something I tried so hard to be good at but right now I'm so angry. I'm so angry because I want to be on Earth with my daughter."" ""Way I see it, maybe you wouldn't even be content with touching her dreams and prayers. Could it be that it's not the afterlife you're angry at, but rather the fact that you're here at all?"" His words touch me too deeply and I'm uncomfortable again. ""If it was the right afterlife, I'd be alright."" ""Well, pardon me for saying, but 'alright' seems like a weak word there."" He stands up from my side and stretches. ""This is a place for fighters. Not just those who died fighting, but fighters."" Out in the distance, I see a flash of lightning dart from one towering cloud to another. Really, the more I look out at it, the more beautiful it is. Inside, however, the crowd must have noticed the brewing storm, for they soon rush from the hall, shouting and laughing, slamming into each other as they go. Just as they reach us, the man I stand wth holds me away from them, keeping me safe. The boisterous crowd stops short of the edge, but there's no fear on their faces, and I wonder what happens were someone to fall. ""If I went over the edge,"" I ask, my voice a whisper, ""would I go back home?"" ""Ah, no, that'd just take ya to another part of the afterlife. I think you'd know where you'd fall to right before but I can't well recommend it."" He relaxes his hold on me, now that the crowd has passed, but still keeps a hand on my shoulder. I sigh. ""I just want to go home. I can't get my head around being here forever."" ""And what makes ya think it'd be forever?"" I blink. ""The Bible?"" But again my stomach clenches. The Bible has done nothing but lead me astray. How could I trust it now? ""I guess I don't know anything."" ""The world, existence, the universe, heaven and hell and everything between, it was always going to be more complicated than a book could hold."" He grins. ""You all meant well but it was an arrogant pursuit at best. Knowledge is easy to crave. Trust and faith are a lot harder."" ""Especially when they're totally shattered,"" I say, my voice bitter. ""I think,"" he says, his hand tightening on my shoulder, ""that you aren't angry because you're here. I think you're here because you're angry. Imagine showing up to heaven furious at your death? What a show that would be."" He throws his head back laughing, probably picturing me in my 5'3"", 160 pound, pixie haircut glory bursting through the pearly gates and demanding to speak to God, demanding he send me back to my little girl. I'm laughing too at the image but there are far more tears on my face than his. ""So what now?"" I ask. ""I don't want Cara to end up here. She's a poet and loves tying up her friends' hair. She's not a warrior. But if she doesn't and I never see her agai-"" ""Every stop isn't always the destination, is it?"" the man asks. ""Have some patience, little one."" Another sob chokes my voice at this. I've been a mom for twelve years. Been a wife for fifteen. Before that, I was a big sister for eighteen years. ""I'm not the little one here,"" I say, trying for a laugh. ""You're thinking my daughter. She's the one who needs faith now. Strength."" ""Be that as it may..."" When he looks at me this time, all the drunken merriment has faded from his eyes. ""You need looking after too, lass. Been too long a time since you were someone's child."" Then the somber expression is gone, replaced by a big grin. ""What I'm recommending is a mug of mead and a leg of lamb. If mead ain't your cup, we have lots of other drink here. You'll find something to your suiting."" He looks down at the crowd watching the lightning storm. ""And if you don't mind me saying, you may want to hurry before the storm stops and the others rush the table."" Though I'm still not sold on Valhalla, I let my shoulders relax and take a few steps away. ""I'm going to miss her whole childhood, getting drunk in the afterlife with a bunch of knuckleheads,"" I grumble. ""No judgment on said knuckleheads but-"" ""Oh ye of little faith,"" the man says as we walk back to the table. ""When you told your daughter all will be well, it was no lie. All will be well. Let your soul rest and put down the mantle of mother, wife, and sister. All will be well. Those mantles will lie undisturbed for when you pick them up again. You will miss nothing that you crave to catch. For now, don the robe of the warrior and release that anger you've bridled up inside you."" ""I don't feel like a warrior,"" I say as we reach the massive feast. It's not the piles of grapes and bread and delicate glasses of wine that I expected but I'd be lying if I say the smell of mutton doesn't make my stomach grumble. ""Just follow that anger and fear and passion,"" the man says as he hands me a plate. ""For once, you've got no one to hide it from."" I nod and begin piling up my plate. I haven't quite gotten the answers I wanted but I feel calmer nonetheless. All will be well. \_\_\_ Jenny walks away from the table, her chin held high in a way I remember well. It's the same set that she wore the first day of fourth grade, when she transferred into a new class mid-semester. This time, though, it's about keeping herself confident, not trying to convince others. It's a good look and it makes me smile. I laugh as one of the 'knuckleheads' almost crashes into her as he sprints back from the storm to the table. The two exchange loud words and I can see each phrase slip past an inhibition. 'A mother must not say-' 'A woman must not say-' 'A wife must not say-' A warrior is allowed to. ""Remember, though you may don and shed many roles, there is one you'll never hide from."" I grin as the two make their peace and head off together, talking animatedly. ""You will always remain my child."" ___ Check out for more stories.",1864
 Once-upon-a-better,"Water-paint clouds dabbed the evening sky, the setting sun slipping into them, stirring them red. Snow crunched beneath Sarah's boots as she traipsed through the park. She'd hadn't seen Izzy in a year, maybe more. Once-upon-a-better-time they'd been inseparable, a pair of princesses not waiting in the tower for any hero to come rescue them, but fighting the dragon themselves, subduing it with a throw of their pillows and a stomp of their feet, then splintering open the door that held them. When you're a kid, especially when with a best friend, that's what the world's like. You know however bad something is, you'll overcome it. Movies always had a happy ending. Things changed, of course. Always did. Like this park that had once boasted a copse of towering oaks, that Sarah and Izzy would make dens in, burrowing into their own little world. But the trees were torn down because perverts used to hide amongst them. Reality sure won that one. Now, the slick concrete slopes of a skateboard area replaced the dreamy woods. Sarah saw Izzy sitting alone in front of a frozen pond, the water an azure eye sheened by winter's breath. Izzy's hair tangled itself out from beneath her wool hat and sat over her shoulders like the tentacles of some golden octopus. The demon shivered itself up behind Sarah, growling in her ear. ""Don't go near her. I told you last time what I'd do if you ever did. I forbid it. It's for your own protection."" Sarah could have turned to look at it, but the monster that stalked her, that protected her, was more feeling than thing. A cold darkness that clung onto her shoulders like a backpack straight out of a freezer. ""I know what you said,"" said Sarah, quiet but sharp. Determined this time. ""Now leave me alone. *Please*."" ""I'm not leaving you now!"" Its voice softened to a seductive croon, that Eden snake. ""Not when you most need me. After all, I only exist to look after you."" ""I'm not a child any more. I'm twenty. I don't need looking after by you or anyone else."" The monster wrapped its chilly arms around her chest and her heart slowed, heavy from the cold, entombed by ice. Still, she forced herself on, heavily trudged the last few paces to the bench. ""Sarah!"" Izzy got up from the bench and sprinted towards Sarah, arms stretched out in a welcome. Then, her left foot slipped, and she fell almost like a cartoon character on a banana peel. ""Jesus!"" Sarah said, tugging her friend up to her feet. ""Iz? Are you okay? Talk to me!"" The monster whispered, ""Next time, she breaks her neck. Leave now, before that happens!"" No, thought Sarah. Not this time. I already lost her once because of you. I'm at least staying a few minutes. ""I'm the only friend you need,"" said Monster. Sarah tried to ignore it and asked, ""Are you okay, Iz?"" Izzy grinned like a maniac, dusting snow off her coat. ""What a way to make an impression, right?"" She laughed--to Sarah it sounded like a wind chime in a spring breeze. ""You never were graceful,"" Sarah said, smiling. ""Some things never change, I suppose."" Arms reached out and coated bodies pressed against each other. ""I've missed you,"" they said in unison, before moving to the bench. Sitting, staring at the pond in front. The cold wrapped tighter around Sarah, shoving itself into her throat, clogging and closing it, leaving no room for words to come out. Barely for breath. Izzy broke the silence. ""It's been an age, hasn't it? And last time we met... You went as soon as we said hi. I hope you're not planning on leaving so quickly this time."" Sarah nodded. It was all she could manage. The monster screamed in her ears now, deafening, roaring, a fiery blaze. ""Go! Go or I kill her. Kill you both!"" ""I know why. I've always known,"" said Izzy. ""Things were never really the same after that day. Were they?"" She shook her head. Knew instantly what Izzy meant, although they hadn't talked about it since. Not properly. Instead, the monster had appeared and forced them apart. Forced Sarah to ignore her best friend in all the world. ""I'm sorry,"" Sarah said, unsure if to Monster or Izzy. Waves of razor cold wind froze damp patches on her face. The wold spun, danced itself nauseous around her. ""LEAVE! NOW!"" ""I wish we'd been able to fix things,"" said Izzy. ""Even if it just meant going back to how we were before."" ""LEAVE!"" it bellowed, cracking the frozen pond. Sarah hadn't heard it this furious since... since it all happened. She managed to choke out: ""I do, too."" ""It's okay. Don't cry."" Izzy placed an arm around Sarah's shoulders; the monster jerked Sarah away, yanked her to her feet. ""What is it, Sarah?"" ""I..."" ""You're still afraid of her, aren't you?"" Of her? Of *her*. Yes, of course she was still scared. Mom had been dead six years and still her shadow stalked her, replaced Sarah's own. Still her shrill screaming voice echoed in her ears. ""Yes,"" she gasped. ""Yes. Because she's here with us, Iz. I can feel her here."" Izzy stood up, walked to Sarah and took her wrists. ""Look at me, Sarah. Please, look at me."" She did. Stared into those green eyes the way she'd done years before. Become lost at sea in them. ""She's not real. She's long gone and anything you see or hear, it's just you imagining it. Just your subconscious. Do you hear me, Sarah?"" Sarah had been staring into that sea the day her mom had walked into her room. Had found her daughter kissing another girl. Mom screamed. Told Izzy to go and never come back. Later that night, when Mom calmed, her voice now the crooning serpent, apple-sour breath, she said it was for Sarah's own good. That a man, children, they were her future. Never see that slut again. But Sarah wanted to see Izzy. Even, a few months later, when Mom passed away, she'd wanted to see Izzy. She couldn't, though. Because Mom never left her, not really, not fully. The screaming disapproval clung to her, cold and heavy. Her new shadow. ""Sarah?"" Sarah looked up at Izzy. At those stormy ocean eyes. Her chest warmed, heart beat faster, no ice casketing it. And yet she shivered. ""She's gone, Sarah. Has been gone for a long time."" Sarah turned. Turned to look for the darkness that had remained with her since that day. But all she saw were the last rays of sunset weaving through clouds like fingers through hair. Then she fell into her friend's arms and wept.",1127
 The Boneless One first appeared on,"The Boneless One first appeared on my fourteenth birthday. I remember like it was yesterday. My whole family had gathered around the kitchen table to watch me blow out the candles. As I took a deep breath, I spotted it lurking behind the patio doors. I screamed. Loud. Everyone started freaking out. ""What's wrong? Is everything OK? Did you burn yourself?"" With a trembling hand, I pointed. They couldn't see it. They looked right past it, as if it weren't there at all. For the longest time, I thought I was mad. It followed me EVERYWHERE. At home. At school. The bus. It was always there, hovering at the edge of my vision. Never getting too close, never vanishing completely. And then, I just sort of got used to it. That sounds weird to say. But, I mean, there wasn't much I could do, y'know? It never came too close or tried to hurt me or anything like that. And I was afraid if I told anyone about it, they'd cart me off to the looney-bin. Fuck that shit. It was good ol' denial for me. Well, my policy of pretending everything was normal worked out fine until I missed my train home. I had to wait almost an hour for the next one. That meant it would be dark by the time I got off. I am not, how you say, a strong man (which is a nice way of saying a twelve-year-old could kick my ass) so this made me nervous. I hurried away from the station, clutching my backpack extra tight. Then I heard footsteps. A tall man with a scraggly beard followed me along the street. He kept his eyes fixed forward, pretending not to see me. But I got a knot in the pit of my stomach. It was one of those times where you can *feel* something's wrong, y'know? I moved faster, practically jogging. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and screamed. He spun me around, punched me in the chest and grabbed my backpack with both hands. I would have given it to him if I hadn't doubled over and gotten tangled in the straps. That's when I heard it. The writhing sound. I was still seeing stars--I thought the guy had just hit me too hard. But then he let go of my purse and looked past my right shoulder wide-eyed in amazement. I spun around. The Boneless One closed in. The man shrieked and tried to run, but it engulfed his legs, his waist, his chest. Sparkling foam encased his face and invaded his mouth. His scream turned to a gurgle. He fell to the ground, completely enveloped by The Boneless One. I grabbed my bag and ran. I ran all the way home, burst through the door, and pressed my back against it. Tears streamed down my face. What was gonna happen next? Would The Boneless One come for me? Had it killed him? Would it kill anybody else? Had anyone seen me? I didn't call the police. I didn't do anything. Instead, I kept an eye out for reports of...I don't know, drowning, I guess? All I found was a report from the local hospital. They'd stumbled across a comatose man and were looking for help identifying who he was or where he came from. The description matched my attacker. I visited the hospital. Told them the description matched an ex-boyfriend who had went missing. They took me in to have a look. It was my attacker all right. But he was...different. Absent. He was sitting on a chair in the corner staring off into space. Even when I leaned in close, he didn't seem to notice me. ""Is he liked this all the time?"" I asked the nurse. She nodded. ""Completely comatose. We have to wipe his ass and spoon feed him three times a day."" I told them it wasn't my ex. Even said there a remarkable resemblance to make my story sound believable. Then I got in my car and cried. Had I done that to him? Was it my fault? I screamed at The Boneless One, begging it for answers. What the fuck are you? Why me? It didn't answer. It just continued stalking my every waking moment. I went back to trying not to think about it. To pretend it wasn't there. Like I said, you just kinda get used to it. It happened again, a few years later. This time it was a girl-a local junkie. She jumped out in front of me while I was jogging through the park. She held up a knife, and said, ""give me everything you've got."" When I tried to run, she wrestled me to the ground. The Boneless one sprang into action. It started with the writhing sound, just like before. Then the foam. Then the screams. Then...nothing. The good news is, she came from a well-off family. That meant her Mother could afford round-the-clock care. The years drifted on. The Boneless One stayed with me. Sometimes months passed where I hardly thought about it at all. Life changed. I finished college, got a job, and even married my childhood best friend. The wedding was super cute. We got matching suits and everything! Life was perfect. For about six months. Then the honeymoon period came to a screeching halt. My adoring husband left his phone on the counter. I saw the messages. So far as I could tell, he was having a fling with someone he met at work. An intern. I stalked the guy on Instagram. The dude loved showing off his sixpack. A lot. I gave my husband every chance to confess. I danced around the issue, STRONGLY implying I knew what was going on but never stating it explicitly. He just laughed, said I was being paranoid, and bopped me on the nose. Bastard. Things got...toxic. There were arguments. Endless arguments. We were so loud the neighbors called the Police a few times. Our resentment towards one another grew and grew. I kept snooping his messages. He was a sloppy bastard. Piece by piece, I figured out his plan. He wanted to negotiate a way out of the marriage, keep half of everything, and start a new life with the intern. He told him he just had to be patient, while the lawyer got all his 'ducks inline'. And by getting his 'ducks inline', he meant clearing out our joint bank accounts. Did he really think I was gonna sit back and let that happen? Fat fucking chance. He called late one night. ""It's a disaster. Work's a nightmare. I'll be burning the midnight oil on this one."" I smiled. ""That's fine, I know how it is!"" I waited at the front door. The hours raced past. He staggered through the door a little after midnight, a faint scent of cologne on his collar. ""That was a late one!"" I said, trying to sound concerned. He rubbed his neck. ""I know. Absolute madhouse."" I followed him into the kitchen. ""Well, how about a glass of whiskey for my hard-working man?"" Without waiting for him to answer, I poured a glass. He looked me up and down, then tossed it back. ""Thanks."" ""Of course. Have another."" He did. Before long, he was completely hammered. That's when I dropped the bombshell. I handed him an envelope. Screenshots of all his little love letters to the intern. He ripped them to shreds then tossed a chair across the room. ""What the fuck is this? You fucking asshole, you've been spying on me!"" Ah, classic deflection. I've had to hand it to him--he was determined to act like a prick right up until the bitter end. We argued. Then I slapped him. Hard. He held his cheek and tried to leave. I stood in front of the door, blocking his escape. Called him an asshole and a selfish prick and a cheating bastard and yadda-yadda-yadda. When he'd finally had enough, he grabbed my shoulders and tossed me aside. He wasn't trying to hurt me or anything, he just wanted to leave. But that's not how The Boneless One saw it. Like always, it started with the writhing sound. Then The Boneless One flooded the room. When my husband saw it, he screamed. The sparkling foam surrounded his legs and rose. I picked myself up off the ground, blew him a kiss, and wandered into the kitchen. There, I poured myself a glass of wine and listened to his gurgles echo through the house. \-- I wrote this in a hurry, apologies if it sucks. Thanks for reading. Subscribe to for more",1446
 Gene started digging graves as a summer,"It's not my idea of a long-term career but it pays the bills, which for a summer job, can't really be beaten. Many people just assume I'm the old guy's apprentice and I don't really try to prove them wrong. It's not the most insulting misconception I've been given. Over the years I've been called many things. Graveyardkeeper's apprentice for one, that's at work. The pride of my hometown, that's the one my family calls me for being the only person from my podunk hometown to make it into the prestigious Celestial Academy. A damned, bloody cultist, that's what I'm called at school. Some of these are accurate. Some aren't. I'll let you guess. But the ones I really hate are from the locals of the village nearby the graveyard. Gene the Just. Gene the Gentle. Gene the Valiant. Gene the Magnficient. Gene the Paladin. Oh if only my classmates could see me now. They would never stop laughing. I started digging graves as a summer gig when I was twelve and visiting home for the first time. People assumed I was there year round cause most people only visit the graveyard in the summer, for picnics and whatever else nonsense. Somehow the same idiots who'd confuse a blood mage for a paladin, the same idiots who fear the occult, are the same idiots who think picnicking on top of a graveyard is a pleasant idea for a summer stroll. It wasn't until Blythe's cult moved nextdoor to the graveyard, when I was twenty, that the real trouble started. Blythe was a pretty blatant necromancer. No one could really miss the tattoos around her eyes or the stones embedded in her ancient ears. I'd just barely started work digging my first grave that summer when I heard noises down the rows and saw several hooded figures wrestling bodies out of holes. Stealing them! From my graveyard. I didn't have to be valiant or just to take pride in my work, but I was also almost certainly sure that the men were necromancers and I didn't want to tangle with that. Not yet. Not unprepared. I sent a letter to the professor who ran my cult back at school as high priestess. It's kinda weird, talking to your teachers outside of class, but she was someone I trusted with my life. Someone, in a sense, that I had. She was also incredibly powerful and wise, so I figured if there were anyone who could let me know a discreet way of clearing out some necromancers, it'd be her. *Hmm. Oh dear, that does sound like a pickle. I'm not sure the laws of your region (actually, I am, I looked them up for this) and unfortunately, necromancy isn't illegal. Making a nuisance is, however. Such an odd place, the Tundras. Anyway, unfortunately, if you simply eviscerate them, you'll likely end up an outlaw. I can't really say* ***don't*** *because I'd be very impressed if you managed to (and if you do try, I'd suggest that lovely toxic cloud you've gotten so good at.)* *However, I can't in good faith, recommend you do this at all. The best course of action for you would be to thwart their plans until they become sufficiently irritating for the town. Generally necromancers make themselves obnoxious after a decade or so. You may be able to speed this up if you take out their constructs, which aren't protected by the law. I can brainstorm a bit more. I've never personally dealt excessively with necromancers but I know some of the staff dabble in it... I can probably blackmail them into giving me more info.* *Til then, toxic cloud and jailtime, or construct targeting and effort. Choice is yours.* *\~G* Thanks professor. Unfortunately, home had kinda become a legal haven for me. School was all about ducking the law and faculty alike as I tried to steal oxen and chickens and stuff for blood sacrifices. I needed home to be a place of peace. Which meant obliterating a dozen necromancers was off the table for now. And thus the smiting of zombies began. It didn't take the villagers long to notice, but instead of demanding the cult pack up their tents and leave, they began to herald me as a clear servant of the God of Life. I sent a letter back to the inner sanctum of my cult the first time I heard it. Figured they'd get a kick. Illisandra and Vera absolutely did. Carlosi tried to scold me but I could tell she was amused. The youngest cultist in the group, however, ratted me out to our high priestess. I could've kicked the kid for it, but this actually didn't backfire, as the professor was delighted. *Brilliant. Truly brilliant. I knew I picked right in bringing you in. You're going to want to continue winning over their goodwill. Consider it a summer project in bamboozling zealots. That's an important skill you'll need in life anyway.* *Give it the summer. Come back next year when they're overrun. Then you'll have your chance.* *\~G* It wasn't a bad plan but it did mean I needed to spend a summer being praised as a Paladin. I actually think going home every night to my parents was the worst part of it. They knew I 'didn't want to talk about it' but their proud beams did all the talking they promised they wouldn't. And at night I'd hear them murmuring, eyes teary with joy, about how I'd shaken my older two siblings' 'wicked paths' and gone down a righteous one. Kelly was a highway bandit. Tommy peddled cheap drugs in the city nearest. Compared to those two delinquents, I was evil supreme overlord. And here I was, being considered a bastion of the light. It was a rough summer. Even the affections of the local priestesses-in-training couldn't really soothe the sting to my ego. At first I loved being the center of their affections, but there's really not much the girls of the Church of Chastity could offer me. I wasn't exactly looking to marry a lawful order girl, not really in this lifetime. Only one really tempted me to even try something long term, a blue-eyed girl named Sabey. But she wanted me to make a vow, three years of celibacy. I almost did it for her. Her laugh was like geese honking, but I liked geese, and she made me laugh back so much that I probably sounded like an unflattering bird as well. Unfortunately, being a cultist, it never would have worked out. She would have ultimately either found out or been driven away by my secret-keeping, leaving me with a magically enforced three-year vow. Plus I'd also made plans with one of the inner sanctum at my cult to fulfill a prophecy in the next year or two. A prophecy that involved sex. It never would have worked out with Sabey and me, but rejecting her was still pretty rough. Even getting the attention of girls just ended up making the summer worse. Damned misconceptions. She just couldn't get why a paladin of light had been unable to even tell her why he couldn't date her. Oh, Sabey. Never change. I left my hometown in a hurry that September, ready to reclaim my semi-open reputation as an evil cultist. I can't complain too much about that year. I was really able to throw myself into the occult, really able to reclaim the wickedness I'd been avoiding showing back at home. The worst part of it was that the other cultists mocked me relentlessly, calling me Paladin Gene for the entire year. By the time summer rolled around, I was almost eager to get out and get back home. I can't say I was excited to see my hometown overrun by zombies, but I was eager to see what mess they'd caused while I was gone. Death and devastation, likely, but whose fault was it that no one ever stepped in to do anything about the necromancers? Whose idea was it to just let them ransack the graveyard and not try legal action? Not my idea, that's for sure. This is the worst part of the story. The part that makes my face flush with shame whenever I tell it. The part that highlights my failure but more importantly, cemented my reputation. When I got to my hometown, I walked up clean, well-kept streets. No destruction. No fires. No nothing. When I got to my house, I saw a small pony parked out front. We had a visitor? When I entered, I heard my mother call ""Oh Gene! Oh Gene, we have a visitor!"" Her voice was bubbling with excitement and my heart skipped. That wasn't supposed to be the response. When I walked into the kitchen and found my parents across the table from Blythe the Necromancer, who was sipping at a cup of tea while playing a game of Parcheesi with my father, I had some serious, serious misgivings. And when Blythe rose to her feet, her tattoos faded, the stones missing from her ears, and bowed cordially to me, with an ""I've wanted to meet you for so long. I owe so much to you..."" I knew it had all gone wrong. ___ Read more stories, in this world and others, at",1559
" ""Arent you cold?"" it","""Uhmmm, excuse me sir! Excuse me!"" I shouted at the man who had just walked briskly passed me. He was wearing a 3-piece suit that looked like it was dry cleaned recently, despite the fact that it was well below freezing this high up in the mountains. He stopped and turned around, appearing slightly annoyed ""Yes? Can I do something for you?"" I slowly made my way up to him, trudging through the snow that he had made his way through. Once I got close enough for him to here me over the snow that had started, I asked him ""Uhmmm, where are you going?"" &#x200B; As he pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, he said without looking up ""Where am I going? Is that not obvious? Or, maybe it isn't. I'm going to work."" Although slightly rude, I suppose it was the answer I was expecting, even as odd a situation as this was. ""Arent you cold?"" it wasn't the most important question, but it was the most prescient one on my mind. Either this guy had some supernatural resistance to cold, he was crazy, or he was going to die in less than an hour due to exposure. ""Not in particular. Is that all? I'm late, and I really must go now,"" he said rolling down his sleeve and picking up his suitcase, before walking off while I stood there bewildered. &#x200B; I started to chase after him, and had to push close to my physical limits just to keep pace with him. ""Does your workspace have a restroom? I've got to use it and I would prefer not to do so out here in the snow,"" I said. It wasnt necessarily a lie, but it was mostly just a reason to follow him and see where he would go. Maybe he hadn't heard me over the snow, but he kept pressing onward. It wasn't long until we approached a large boulder, and with what looked like random fiddling with pebbles near it, a set of elevator doors opened up on the boulder. The man entered the boulder, and looked at me as I sat there stunned, until he cleared his throat and said ""Well? Are you coming?"" as he put his hands on the door. &#x200B; I made my way over as fast as I could, and entered the boulder. As I got in the doors shut behind me, and the ""boulder"" started to move. Inside was the room of a standard elevator, except it only one button. I looked around in stunned silence, and after a couple minutes, the man turned to me and offered out his hand, ""I don't believe I introduced myself. I'm Robert Johnston. I work here as an systems technician."" Not to be rude, I shook his hand, but was still very confused. ""Henry. Where exactly is here?"" I asked as the elevator continued to descend. He rubbed his temples with his left hand, and replied in a voice that seemed to be between tired and stressed ""You know, its probably best that someone else explain that to you."" &#x200B; As our conversation finished, the elevator came to a soft stop and opened its doors to a lobby room. It was a round, and had a table in the middle with a woman sorting papers and a man pacing back and forth on the floor talking to her. As the door dinged the man pacing looked up from the woman at Robert and said lightheartedly ""Ah, speak of the devil."" It seemed he hadn't noticed me because as he turned to me, his face went from shock to joy. ""A visitor, how exciting!"" He said as we walked up to us. ""Mr. Johnston, I will excuse your tardiness for now, please introduce me to the guest you brought, "" He said looking at Mr. Johnston as he enthusiastically shook my hand. ""This is Mr. Henry, he saw me walking here and followed me. Mr. Henry, this is my boss Frank Spiduh. Frank, he would like to know where the restrooms are and what this place is."" He gave us a factory introduction, and began to walk off to the other side of the room and got into another elevator. &#x200B; Frank took me by my hand, and led to another elevator, this time closer to the entrance. As we got in, I saw this one was different. The wall were glass, and through them I could see an absolutely large facility. This elevator also had an assortment of buttons, and Frank pushed one as the doors shut. As soon as the elevator began descending, Frank started talking. ""The best way to describe what we do here is scientific research. Over there is our nuclear research sector. Right now they are attempting to figure out the secret of nuclear fission."" As the elevator continued past that floor, we soon came to a much smaller laboratory filled with people in hazmat suits and scientific instruments I couldn't name. ""This right here is the facility where we research viruses and diseases. Just this weak they figured out a formula to determine how a bacteria is likely to adapt to antibiotics,"" Frank said as we quickly descended past that floor as well. Soon we passed a floor absolutely filled with computers, as well as people working on them. ""This is our cyber security room, this is where they try and find any exploits or issues within other computer systems around the world that might result in a global electronic shut down."" &#x200B; As the elevator counited to descend I remembered something. Although I wasn't someone who paid attention to news all that much, I remember hearing that an infamous terrorist group had developed nuclear capabilities as well as potentially having access to bio weapons. It seemed Frank had realized that as well, as he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. ""It seems you've finally noticed. Well, there's really only one option I have."" I stood there, tears welling in my eyes as I realized that I had no escape from what ever he was about to do. ""P-please don't kill me. I promise I wont tell anyone that you're here,"" I blurted out in fear. Frank look shocked, ""No no no, you have the wrong idea. I wasn't going to kill you, I was going to offer you a job. We offer a great health package, complete with dental. We also offer 10 weeks paid vacation per year, as well as a year of paternal or maternal leave."" I suddenly relaxed, and began shaking his hand excitedly, 'Yes Mr. Spider, Thank you Mr. Spider."" He gave me a hearty chuckle and said ""Dont call me Mr. Spider, It's Mr. Spiduh. And don't call me that either, call me Frank""",1142
 Seven of the eight recon squads have,"""Sergeant! Report!"" ""Sir!"" A lightly armored man responded to the commander quickly. ""Seven of the eight recon squads have returned from the Kansas Landing Zone, no friendly casualties and an estimated 72,500 dead Spacos. The hurricane got 'em."" ""A hurricane. Just like the earthquakes in the CLZ, and the ALZ freeze event,"" the commander muttered. ""But why would they just march into a natural disaster? Sergeant, reinforce the lines. I want eyes on the sky for the next Landing Zone!"" ""But sir,"" the sergeant responded. ""By the reports from across the world, the Spacos have been dropping like... like... well, like Spacos. Even flies don't die this quickly!"" The commander stood from his seat and frowned an even deeper frown than before, the lines in his face deepening into veritable chasms. ""Are you stupid Sergeant? You think that aliens would master the inhospitable hell of the void, to travel across an endless space and invade Earth, only to fall to the most mild natural events our planet has to offer? No."" He began shaking his head. ""This is a ploy. If they can waste 580,000 lives on the United States alone, and another 2.4 million at Landings across the globe, then this is just the scout force. They've got more up there, they have to. Millions. Billions maybe."" The sergeant shuddered at the thought of billions of Spacos landing on Earth with their horrifying plasma throwers and kinetic shields. There'd been three pitched encounters when they first arrived in September a month ago. One in eastern China, another in Russia around Moscow, and a third in what was once Arizona. Alone, by simple fact of the sudden attack, the three nations had thrown everything they had at the marching legions, only to have hundreds of thousands of men and women turned into glowing green sludge -- entire battalions melted into goo, with their equipment fused together in the aftermath. What was worse, their own guns didn't seem to faze the Spaco menace. The best anybody could muster was a sustained artillery barrage, but even that only slowed the enemy onslaught. Literally. The Spacos just started moving like in slow motion, the energy of the explosive blasts absorbed somehow into their alien gestalt. And once the energy dissipated, they began moving again like nothing had happened. Russia had tried to nuke the aliens before they got into Moscow proper -- all they bought was a day of immobilized, invincible Spacos, and then they just started right back up. To be fair, they also annihilated any hope of the Moscow region supporting Human life for the next several centuries. Nobody else had tried nuclear weapons. China proved the tactic of massed infantry assault a flawed prospect, and America? Well, seemed like somebody in the US chain of command had read their Livy: the USA just avoided them. And they started dying. It wasn't the viruses like Wells wrote, or plucky air force geeks breaking into the mothership that turned the tide. It was, for lack of a better term, the stupid shit that killed them. 300,000 Spacos died in Alaska when the first snow fell in early October. Every man, woman, and homeless child had the clothes necessary to survive a 30 degree Fahrenheit night, but the fucking Spacos just... well, the previous day they'd been marching on Anchorage, and the next there were legions of Spacosicles lining Route 1, ten miles from town. Another hundred thousand Spacos died when a Magnitude 3.5 Earthquake hit just east of San Francisco in late September. Total casualties? Four already-condemned buildings, one lost dog, and 100,000 elite alien invasion soldiers. ""Madness,"" the commander thought. ""Utter, fucking madness."" The military man frowned and settled back into his seat, shuffling through reports from other nations around the globe. 50,000 dead in a Central Asian sinkhole. 2 Million lost in a monsoon. The numbers were impossible. Just daft. The commander looked up as a commotion came into range of hearing outside the command tent. It sounded like the soldiers were shouting? Yelling? ""What in the fuck do they think they're doing!?"" The commander rose, anger erupting from him at the idiocy of his troops. Hadn't he made clear? No sound, no partying, and no GIVING AWAY THEIR POSITION! Checking the pistol at his side, the commander stormed out of the tent into the chill air - a cool day to be sure, but not below freezing. He doubted even a lifelong Floridian would need much more than a jacket for this weather. The Spacos in front of him, by contrast, looked like they were on brink of freezing to death. The first hundred or so that he scanned had their thin, spindly arms in handcuffs tightened almost as far as possible to get a good fit on their biceps. The next hundred were tied up with ropes, cables, and other random camp assortments. The thousand behind them just stood shivering, weaponless and without the telltale shimmer their shields emitted. The commander's sergeant came out of the tent as well and whistled. The commander found the highest ranking soldier in sight and said, ""What is this?"" The soldier smiled, showing the characteristic lack of teeth so common in the Kentucky Brigade, a nickname for the mass recruitment of literally anyone who was willing to serve against the alien threat. ""We gots the Spacos boss man sir,"" the man drawled. ""They just came up on us, no weap'ns, no arm'r or anyth'n."" Bemused, the commander became ever more confused when one Spaco stepped forward and said in passable English, ""Grave request. Surrender invasion. We are lost."" --- In the coming years, the scientists, sociologists, and military folk would conduct a full analysis of the Black September War, where aliens first landed and faced the truth of our deadly world. Not deadly humans - no. The aliens showed us quite effectively how useless humans were, in the grand scheme of things. They'd killed an estimated billion people in a month, carving through the armies that we threw at them across the globe. Humans were useless. Earth, though. Turns out Earth is a tough bitch of a planet; in fact, more than that, it turns out, the eggheads were wrong -- life out there? In the cosmos? Generally its pretty freaking great. The vast majority of planets are perfect landscapes of temperate weather that basically provide everything a living being might need. The concept of ""Seasons"" was so foreign to the Spacos that they never considered the temperature might drop below 50, (or for that matter rise above 70 -- a couple hundred thousand Spacos seemed to have died in the Australian desert during one of their ""balmy days""). And then throw in the other effects of living on a geologically active planet, and the aliens were doomed. They'd never heard of 'earthquakes' before, or 'hurricanes' or 'quicksand'. If only they'd caught up on middle school boys literature before they invaded, maybe then they'd know not to keep walking into quicksand, tsunami flood, or gale-force winds. The price was high, but Earth was getting ready. The aliens had come for earth and found it impossible to tame. Now, the best scientists readied their creations and loaded them on the captured alien ships, prepared to take off and plant Green and Blue flags on the worlds of their would be conquerors. Mankind knew their weaponry was useless, but their Earthquake Cannons? Their Weather Rays? Alien science provided the mad geniuses of the world that last step necessary, and with the rage of a billion dead humans, they prepared their assault. The universe might be a pleasant place to live now, but that time was coming to an end. Humanity was coming.",1288
 Commander Yuuel was renowned for his,"""General Zogg!"" I felt one of my hearts skip a beat as I whirled around. I knew that voice; it belonged to Commander Yuuel. He was renowned for his calm demeanor and rationality. To hear that kind of tone in his voice was unsettling. ""Commander. Give me some *good* news."" He remained in the doorway with a Collection Cube in his hands. He did his best to regulate his respiratory emissions, the gasses turning from a panicked red to a softer orange and then finally back to yellow as he closed his eyes and became still. ""There isn't any."" He wasn't one to waste words, and although I'd never voiced it to him, it was one of the qualities I appreciated the most about him. He made his way across the command center and placed the cube in the expulfilater. It whizzed and hummed for a moment before projecting the hologram onto the strategy table, showing battles between the forces. ""Things were going well initially, General. It would seem we're still about three or four hundred years more advanced than they are, even with the known unknowns. For example, the United States of America was hiding some kind of antigravity gun that managed to even the playing field as far as aerial superiority goes, but when our troops on the ground engaged them, their best weapons were still projectile. Finely tuned, but primitive kinetic weapons nonetheless. Their forces were quickly routed."" ""I've already been briefed on our *successes*, Commander,"" I interrupted him. ""What I'm interested in is what in the name of Glakmar I'm hearing over the comms."" His respiratory gasses turned a shade of orange as he turned his eyes back to the holograms, seemingly avoiding my gaze. ""Sir... Keep watching."" I watched the video of the war on the table. It was going well. Better than we'd hoped even. I was about to speak when suddenly I saw something that I considered to be impossible. The ocean seemed to reach out and drag my men out to sea. I leaned in as I watched it assail my ships. ""What... What is going on there? I was aware that the ocean itself was not sentient."" ""That's not all, General,"" he said with a somber tone. He reached out and rotated the video cubes and enlarged the recording of our conflict in western Bharat. The footage was shaking terribly. ""Stabilize that video,"" I commanded. ""It... It isn't the video sir. The planet is shaking... violently."" I took a step back as I tried to sync my eyes with the mayhem. After a couple of seconds of calibration, I had stabilized the video for myself. My soldiers were being... swallowed alive by the planet itself. It was like watching a horror movie. ""What... What in the universe is... Could their planet be... Could their planet be a *living organism?""* ""Dr. Kalcemaar has some theories,"" Yuuel offered. ""He'll be here in a moment."" I rotated the video cubes and witnessed atrocity after atrocity. Within moments, the door opened and the doctor rushed in with his arms full of scrolls and leatherbound parchment. He threw them on the table and spread them out. I made my way to the expulfilater and cut the feed with a heavy sigh. ""What have you got for me, doctor?"" I asked as I made my way to his side. ""These, General, are books if you've never seen them before,"" he said quickly. ""Most civilizations keep records and information in these up until they develop stable quantum computing! These are detailed records of the planet's, um, spiritual beliefs, a-and-"" ""Get ahold of yourself doctor,"" Commander Yuuel spoke firmly. ""If you were a Pyrathian, this room would be full of hot purple gas. You need to speak clearly and concisely when in front of the general."" The doctor held up a book towards me, seemingly ignoring the commander. ""Look at this! These texts depict... *beings,* um, *not* of flesh and bone. No, they're *unbelievably* powerful! And there are *many* of them!"" I took the book and looked down at the ancient depictions as he rambled on. ""I believe with everything I'm worth that they're fighting these things down there, and, um, they're going to lose if we don't do *something!*"" I pored over the pages, my eyes translating for me as quickly as they could. They were called deities. Gods. Divinities. ""These beings... They fight with the natural elements themselves?"" ""Indeed!"" Cried the doctor. ""We aren't prepared for this! How can we fight a- a- a planet?! How can we *settle* on lands that rebuke us of their own accord?! We would have to, um... *destroy* the very planet we're trying to *exploit!* It's! It's-"" ""Pointless,"" I finished for him as I closed the book and set it down on the table. ""General. Your orders sir?"" Commander Yuuel asked impatiently. I stared at the pages of deities on the table. To think something so incredible could have been hiding all of this time out in this corner of the universe. We had settled all across the stars. We were the most prolific race of people to seed the cosmos. We thought we had truly and honestly seen it all. ""Order a full-scale retreat,"" I commanded gravely. ""Get everyone out of there..."" ""Sir!"" Commander Yuuel responded before rushing out of the room. As the doctor babbled on about spiritualism, I made my way to the command window and stared down at the blue planet. Retreat. Those words had never passed my lips before, and although it pained me to speak them... I couldn't deny that I was excited. To know everything there is to know is... boring. To find something new in the universe was titillating to every one of my twelve senses. ""Doctor,"" I commanded. He silenced for the first time as I saw him lift his head in the reflection of my window. ""I'm appointing you head of Earth Studies. We are to wage war with them no longer. Go and gather information about the planet... and extend to them a peace treaty. I wish to know more about these... gods."" - - - I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos",1073
 Sydney was ten when she found the,"Sydney was ten when she found the lamp, ten years old, fifth grade, a rough time for a young girl trying to prepare herself for middle school. Middle school, they said, was when life stopped being about fun and started being about work. Life got serious at middle school. Gone would be the days of games and laughs. In their place would be tasks that had a lasting effect on your life. Gone were the days of 'want to be my friend?' instead replaced by harsh judgment. Sydney, ten years old, shivered at the thought because fifth grade hadn't been much in the rainbows and sunshine department. The idea that sixth grade would be worse was enough to make the girl do anything to wish for a better experience. It was enough to make her wish she could be good enough for it. *Please let it be better,* she thought. But that's not what she said as the small bedroom filled with blue smoke and the booming demand for a wish. Not 'better'. Not 'ok'. Not 'good'. 'Perfect.' And there started the problem. Sixth grade started on her eleventh birthday and was heralded in with enough of a summer transformation to keep the students' jaws dropped. It was flattering attention but when Syndey's cheeks flushed, it wasn't the ugly red tomato face she was used to. No, her face remained its ivory hue, so subtly different from the blotchy pale, and only her cheeks blushed glowing apple red. The first day of classes flew by, a blur of perfect answers and new friends. Invites to clubs, tryouts, study groups. *The genie was right. This is going to be perfect.* A child often lacks a degree of foresight. It's why we ought not let them make permanent decisions on their future without a degree of time to think it over. And really, maybe all Sydney needed was time. But with the gusto of a little girl, she plunged in headfirst. She greeted high school a changed person, all smirks and eyerolls cause why not? Why be bubbly, why take any shit, why let even the slightest thing bother her? Do homework at home? She could doodle idle thoughts in her notebook on the bus and get As. So home was for clubs and hangouts. But as the shine of winning games, acing performances, and collecting awards, those too faded from her schedule. More hangouts. More parties. By senior year, she rocked the heroin chic look as effort faded from her wardrobe, leaving her 'would look good in a trash bag' body decked out in slouchy, effortlessly sexy torn jeans and ratty, unwashed t-shirts. Why wash them? She never smelled bad anyway. She got into Harvard. MIT. Oxford. If you've heard of it, she got into it. Got the Ivy League gamut. Tried them all out too. Bounced from school to school, semester to semester. Why not? Every scholarship was a full ride, every subject a breeze. Every bit of it boring. It's not really fair to judge her for what would have almost certainly become should the wish have tumbled from the lips of anyone else. It's not fair to judge her. But perhaps some did as she turned from legitimacy to a new high. Why stay within the lines? Could anyone catch her if she blurred them? Stepped over them? Rules were meant for people who couldn't get away with breaking them anyway. And thus the next chapter of her life began, the evening after getting her Ph.D. at age 21. It had been easy. Of course it had been. Maybe this would be harder. Break-ins quickly lost their charm. Vandalism was child's play. Bank robberies, gallery robberies, scams and cons, they were good fun for a little while but Sydney was rapidly losing interest and within a year, found herself looking for something a little more thrilling. Twenty-two is an awful young age to have run out of passion for anything but the most terrifying. But terrifying is the next path she took. Perhaps it started with the idea of good. After all, somewhere deep down there, ten-year-old Sydney is still longing for fulfillment. And ten-year-olds like nothing more than superheroes. Twelve years of reading 'someone ought to do something' on articles about murderers and rapists cleared led Sydney to her first kill. It had been so simple. So obvious. The man had been so clearly guilty. Guilty and lucky. Guilty and wealthy. Guilty and popular. But not guilty and perfect. He'd paid for the string of deaths in his wake. They ended with Sydney. Finally, here was something she could do without fear of it getting old. Gone was the old drug of adrenaline, replaced by the thrill of justice. Why hadn't she done this sooner? Of course, even the evil of the world can become boring. Everything can become boring. Why hadn't Sydney seen that at a younger age? She didn't ever come to enjoy the actual act of killing. The lust for righteousness, maybe, but never the act. Three years in and she was done with it too. It wasn't the right way. The right way was to instill a system that wouldn't have allowed them to get away with their crimes in the first place. You likely understand where this story is going now. Or why I have to tell it in muted whispers when the enforcers aren't around to hear. She never really meant any harm. To any adult who'd studied any degree of history, her path was predictable. But she'd only been a child. And life is hard for a child. School and peers, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. I hope that, amid this story, you've had some ideas for how to move forward, how to save us from the tyrannical rule of our benevolent dictator. I'm out of time for the rest of her story. Her rise to power. How that all went down. Perhaps another time, but the enforcers are returning shortly. If you've heard enough, please send help. Sydney may, at heart, still be a child worth saving. Perhaps she's nothing more than wicked and blighted. Maybe she's just confused and yearning for something to fulfill her. But she's also something so much worse than all that. She's perfect. ___ Read more stories at",1058
 The lettering was all in gold,"Heaven, LLC I read the first page of the huge packet again and then flipped over the large envelope it came in. *Heaven, LLC. Your own personal paradise awaits,* it read in flowing golden script. I read the first page again. *We are sorry to inform you that your soul has been tampered with by an external force, and you didn't have a chance to live your life as it was intended. You have a few options.* It was clearly junk mail. Some scam artist trying to offer me salvation for just a few thousand dollars or something. But whoever it was put a lot of effort into it. The paper was so smooth and soft, like holding silk, and the lettering was all in gold and that same flowing script. And the paper itself smelled slightly of incense. I dropped it on the counter and started my electric tea kettle. As I stood waiting for the quiet beep that was the precursor to a cup of hot deliciousness, my mind wandered back to the envelope. I picked up the envelope and read the flowing inscription again. Then picked up the packet and read the first page. I shook my head and dropped it. Why was i putting so much thought into such an obvious - ""Oh my Lord, will you just read the darned packet already! Pardon my language but I've been waiting for 2 minutes now and that's a lot of time when you have to be literally everywhere!"" I screamed and dropped my empty mug, which shattered, raining ceramic daggers all over my kitchen floor. Grabbing the nearest thing I could find as a weapon I whirled around and pointed my teaspoon menacingly at the intruder. ""Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in my house?"" ""First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, 'how in *Heaven* did I get in your house,"" the tall, dark haired man said. He was roughly 6 feet tall, give or take a few inches, with shoulder length straight black hair. He had a chiseled jaw and olive complexion. He looked like a character out of one of my girlfriends smut books. ""You may call me Zazriel, Seraphim of the highest order, second only to the Lord Himself, at your service,"" he gave a deep, elaborate bow. I've never been much of a fighter. I once hit someone with a pillow when they tried to mug me while I walked home from the store, then apologized to them as I ran away. I spent good money on that pillow. It was memory foam and had the cooling gel on one side. So anyways, I did what any self respecting man would do when his possessions or life are threatened. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the door. The man calling himself Zazriel stepped slightly to his right, cutting off my exit. *Shit,* I thought, *I did that thing I always hate in horror movies.* You know when the main characters hide in a room with only one exit. I looked around for another means of escape. The window! I started running towards the window. I sprinted with all my might. I mean, I probably could have beaten Usain Bolt in that instant. But the window never got any closer. I looked down at my pumping legs, only to realize that I was roughly 2 feet above the floor. Apparently, as I entered the Speed Force, Zazriel had somehow managed to find his way behind me, and lift me off the floor by my armpits. He waited until I tired myself out, then sat me gently back on the floor. Then he handed me my shattered mug, now filled with hot bitter tea. ""Please, John. Be not afraid. I am no common thug here to harm you or your possessions. I'm here to deliver a message,"" He handed me the packet and smiled, ""And go over your options for the afterlife."" ""The...what?"" I said. Taking a sip of my tea, which was the perfect temperature. ""The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself."" ""The...what?"" I repeated, dumbly ""The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself,"" repeated Zazriel, as if it was the first time I had asked. ""Am I...."" ""Not yet, but you should be. You were scheduled for a soul retrieval two business days ago. However, something happened. This is not uncommon. Sometimes souls don't get the message and linger for a little longer, however when we attempted to contact your soul a second time, we received no response."" ""We?"" ""Yes, *We*, the angels, John. please try to keep up."" ""You're not an angel. Angels are terrifying things with eyes and wings."" ""No John you're thinking of birds,"" Zazriel shuttered visibly, then handed me my shattered mug, filled with delicious bitter tea. ""Thanks,"" I said, setting my mug on the counter and reaching for the one he - ""Wait..."" ""Don't think about it too much. You have plenty else to think about,"" he said, pointing to the packet in my free hand. ""See someone has tampered with your soul. It cannot be retrieved as wwe are unsure where it is. There could be many reasons for this. Demonic possession is the typical suspect, however you do not exhibit any of the typical signs, such as speaking in unknown languages, higher than normal body temperature, aversion to holy symbols, and smelling of brimstone and sulfur. In fact, you smell like,"" He sniffed the air around me, ""lavender and shea butter."" ""I have very dry elbows."" ""Indeed. Anyways we have a few options, outlined in this packet. The first is to remain on earth without a soul. You will live eternally, however without a soul your body will soon begin to decay. This will throw a wrench into any social plans you might have. The second is to come with me to a temporary holding cell in heaven, known as Purgatory, until your soul can be retrieved. And the last option is to hunt for your soul yourself. See, He has many enemies, and I don't just mean old Lucy. Many of whom remain at large and must be brought before the Lord for judgement. Should you choose this option, you will be granted immortality, as well as a temporary soul, and in exchange you will become a sort of...supernatural bounty hunter. Take a few days, read the packet, and consider your options. I'll return to get your answer shortly. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ""Why are you telling me this story?"" ""Because I've had a very long day,"" I ejected the clip of my gun and checked the ammunition, slipped the clip back into the gun and chambered a round, then looked back up at the demon. ""I'm hoping you'll come peacefully, and we can skip the whole 'chasing you through the streets and shooting up the entire block' bit."" *He won't come peacefully,* I thought, *they never do.* The demon sprung from his chair and ran towards the door. I sighed, stood, and aimed my pistol.",1234
 Captain Adumar looked around his bridge,"The crew of the Voyager IV released their white knuckled grips on their consoles as the passed through the outer reaches of the Kuiper Belt, the last asteroids impacting harmlessly against their shields. They had done it, and as Captain Adumar looked around his bridge he could see the triumph written on their faces. He stilled them with a word, there was still more to come. ""Ahemm,"" he growled, eight pairs of eyes turning towards him. ""My compliments to the helm on the excellent flying but we've still got to light that sucker up."" A smile creased his face as he saw the crews expressions change, triumph falling back to Earth to be replaced by naked hunger. He had selected for fearlessness and wanderlust on this mission, and every man and woman about had that in spades. Touching a button on the console attached to his seat Adumar opened a comm-link to engineering. ""How are we doing down there Arroyo? Are your people ready to go?"" The heavily accented tones of chief engineer Evangeline Arroyo were tinny in the small speaker but her confidence shone through all the same. ""Yes sir!"" she said brightly, ""we can light the torch anytime."" The bridge crew were all at their positions, ready and waiting for the order. They hung on his word like they too could feel like winds of history blowing. ""Light 'er up!"" the Captain called as he pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket. Cuba's finest, the first one into space. History was accompanied by a long, dull roar, the sound of the massive inter-system engines powering up for the first time. A tremor began to run the length of the ship from the engine bank to the tip, dissipating out into space through a specially constructed pylon that looked like a spear grafted onto the bridge. From his position Adumar could see number flashing on the helmsman's console as the ship began to pick up speed, inching closer and closer to the second stage of their burn and the twisted embrace of relativity. Their excitement was shattered a moment before the button was pressed as a siren ripped through every system on Voyager IV capable of producing sound. It rose in a deafening wail, echoing back on itself in tight corridors and claustrophobic bunks while the crew scattered like rats, searching for any cause or worse any respite from it. The bridge alone was calm although Adumar himself had bitten off the end of his cigar in surprise, choking on tobacco for several humiliating seconds at the start. ""Comms!"" he yelled, struggling to be heard over the din. ""What the hell is that noise? Did we trip an alarm or something?"" ""No sir!"" the young officer shouted back, ""the signal is external! ""I'm getting something out the forward viewport!"" the sensor officer, ensign Stryga, said. ""Then put it up!"" The viewport flashed on, focused on a small pinprick of light in the distance. It ran through its first magnification, then its second, and on the third the object had finally taken shape, racing toward them at a chillingly fast percentage of the speed of light. It flashed brightly on the way in, a cascade through the full range of colors and then some. ""Stryga,"" Adumar said, ""what is that thing?"" ""Unknown sir, but likely a ship"" the ensign responded, her voice cool despite the pressure. ""I'm detecting evidence of a fairly powerful shield around it that's dispersing my scans but the object is clearly artificial. Furthermore I-"" The siren cut out as the unknown vessel began to fill the magnified viewport, and in its place was an unknown voice. ""Unidentified vessel deactivate your engines and shields and prepare to be boarded. Have your license, ship registration, and manifest ready at your airlock upon our arrival."" The bridge was silent as a tomb in the wake of its message. Adumar almost wished the siren had never ended. He knew he had to respond, it was his ship, his duty, but he couldn't find the words. ""Unidentified vessel, please activate your transponder or respond to our hails if you cannot. This is Inter-Galactic Police light cruiser designation #631-990. I repeat, this is the Inter-Galactic Police. Your cooperation is mandatory."" ""Captain?"" the comms officer asked, his voice shaking, ""should I say something?"" This was all wrong. This had been a test exercise, proof of concept for humanity's newest space drive, not first contact! Earth had ambassadors for that sort of thing! Teams and elected officials, not old navy Captains who had risen up from the test pilot corp. Adumar thumbed on his ship to ship comms. ""Uhh, roger uhh...631-99 uhh, this is Captain Adumar of the Earth ship Voyager IV, conducting a peaceful training exercise. To whom am I speaking?"" He could practically feel the history books crucifying him now. The first words spoken to alien life and three of them were 'uhhh's.' ""This is Captain Dor'cha, IGP. I need you to stand down and prepare to be boarded."" ""Well uhh, Captain,"" damnit, he'd done it again, ""my world has not yet made formal contact with the organization you claim to represent, that puts me under a bit of a strain as you must understand. I'm afraid I can't consent to any boarding. Also, what is this for exactly?"" ""You have several inter galactic code violations. Your engines are burning way too hot for one, and you aren't displaying any of the proper transponder licenses to access the hyperspace lanes. I'm really going to need you to let me on board."" All the while the damned alien ship had kept blinking like a strobe light in the viewport, so close now it was practically blinding. ""Sir,"" Adumar said, ""I wasn't aware of any of those laws."" ""Ignorance of the law is not a defense,"" Dor'cha responded. Three hours later, feeling more alone and isolated from Earth than he ever had in his years in the service, Captain Adumar and his senior officers stood at rigid attention by the airlock doors, their number 1 dress uniforms on. They had all prepared themselves they thought, for whatever creature might walk through those doors. What they found however, was something else entirely.",1037
 Danya Trellwright's next,"Danya Trellwright was perpetually short-changed. Currently in her jean pocket she had PS29 of Mortal money... and precisely zero in the currency she needed to settle her debts. Her next pay day - again, Mortal money - wasn't for a fortnight, which put her in the ridiculous position of having to live off scraps and turn off her heating for the upcoming Winter nights. She'd have once deemed such hand-to-mouth hardship impossible for a graduate of the Royal Warlock's Conservatoire. Now she knew better. Danya hated to reflect on that blasted degree. It turned out that studying 'the Origin of Incantations' didn't afford one the time to master the actual incantations themselves. She could tell you all about the 1854 feud between Grilby Dockervitch and Thelma Tchlabakan and the consequent blinding charm that arose from such a legendary duel... but could she cast similar shadows over men's eyes for even a second? Not a chance in hell. She was therefore feeling decidedly sorry for herself. Picking up part-time jobs alongside the Mortals; a call centre role that involved more apology than it did selling, a stint in a bar pouring pints with too much foam. Her degree had led to only a couple of Wizarding roles; both low-paid cash-in-hand jobs teaching 'the theory of incantations' to rich Warlock offspring. These stints as private tutor had both ended prematurely when the children scoffed at the lessons for being meaningless. They wanted to learn actual magic. She couldn't blame them. Still, there was one silver lining in all this: her days scrubbing toilets and waiting tables amongst the Mortals had given her an insight to their world that few wizards cared to concern themselves with. She could conceal herself amongst the Mortals like she was one of them; she could dress like them, talk like them, pretend to engross herself in their technology and media, pretend that it mattered to her. Her Mortal disguise was so convincing that it enabled her to slip into their world; out of the wizard community and the formidable cloaked Dept Collectors that roamed it. She sat now in her flat in Hackney, sandwiched between identical flats occupied by builders, sales clerks and nurses. She thought it would be impossible to track her down here, so camouflaged like this. But the Dept Collectors of the Wizard world were shrewd. They'd invested their own university time more wisely. And now one of them stood before her in all his cloaked and powerful glory. ""Did anybody see you?"" Denya asked. Funny, she'd only been living here a few months but she'd already inherited the Mortal's collective obsession for keeping up appearances. She hated to think what the neighbours would say about her visitor's unusual attire. She'd be branded some devil worshiper or something. ""I've come for what we're owed."" Denya scoffed. ""Look around, Marius. Does it look like I have that kinda cash?!"" Marius's eyes raked over the flat's interior, not bothering to hide his contempt. There were ashtrays, inspirational fridge magnets, television guides, scented candles. All the clutter that Mortal's accumulated that were unfathomable to the Wizarding kind. ""You bring shame on your University."" he hissed. ""Yeah, well, I don't care much about what they think anymore."" ""Perhaps you should. They'll deploy more Collectors the longer you evade your dept. And believe me, the others will have far less tolerance for such... life choices."" ""Choices?! I didn't make a choice. I got scammed into a shitty degree with no prospects to follow."" ""Oh please."" ""I spent three years in that damn place, watching others hex and curse and charm and what did I learn, huh?! A bunch of ancient history. Fat lot of good that'll do me."" Marius's lips folded into a smirk. ""You think the Collectors are interested in your self-pity?! You took out a loan, you pay it back."" ""Tell them they'll get it when I get something worthwhile in return."" ""You are a fool!"" He spat. His face was contorted with anger now... most unusual for someone in a Collector's role, where poise and inscrutability were part of the job criteria. But Marius appeared to have lost himself; beneath those velvet robes he was shaking, fists clenched. ""You think it's on Wizarding kind to provide you a life?!"" He demanded, ""You think those imbeciles with their tickle hexes and fire-breathing charms were carried and dumped into positions of success straight out of graduation?! No. It's not what you learn, girl, it's what you do with it. And that's on you."" ""And what am I supposed to do with a bunch of old stories?!"" ""I was on the panel for your enrolment."" Marius proclaimed. ""I was one of many that advocated for your acceptance into the university. You showed great promise. And modesty. That modesty was rare. But perhaps it wasn't modesty at all... just pure, simple denseness."" ""Look!"" Denya snapped, ""I don't have your money so maybe you should---"" ""You really don't know? The extent of your power?"" Denya wasn't in the mood for this. She'd just done a 9 hour shift on tired blistered feet, pouring coffee for jeering men who'd called her 'bruv' and 'geezer', slapped her hard on the shoulders in what had to be the Mortal display of domination. She'd have done anything to have turned around and cursed those Mortal cretins... but she'd refilled their mugs instead. She certainly didn't need Marius here now forcing her to re-live such obvious failure. ""We guided you towards 'The Origin in Incantations' because we felt you hardly had need for those other subjects,"" Marius whispered, ""A gift like yours... no blindness or concealment charms would have put you in better stead, but learning from history certainly would."" ""I don't know what you're talking about."" ""Look in the mirror, Denya."" Denya didn't own a mirror. She didn't need to look at her own tired and disappointed face each day. She didn't need to be reminded that the incantations uttered into the reflection rendered no results. But Marius, in his brilliance, swiped his hand across the air like brushing fingertips on an invisible window. Where his fingers trailed now hovered a shimmering reflection too tantalising for Denya to turn away from. She edged close to it... and where she expected her own face to look back at her, she saw only his. ""You can shape-shift Denya."" Marius said this with zero pride, just disappointment that his target had been so obtuse to have never picked up on it for herself, ""You can shift into people you despise, or people you want to be or...... into Mortals, apparently. You've never bothered to channel and discipline your gift, so who knows exactly how it works. But it is exceptionally rare."" Denya continued staring. She touched the tip of her finger to her face... in the reflection, it was Marius's older, wrinkled hand that tapped to sharper cheeks. ""How has nobody ever told me this?"" She breathed. ""Because you were admitted to a university, not a nursery. You took course after course on the greatest shape-shifters of the Wizarding world, absorbed all of their triumphs and failings, scored highly in your essays and never once did it occur to you......"" He trailed off, disgusted. Denya swiped a tongue across her - or Marius's - lips. She tasted blood. She'd never read anything about shape-shifters accessing their counterpart's tastes, smells or sensations before. She mentally logged it in the back of her mind. For now she had to concentre on not having *her* blood ravished next. ""And why are you telling me all this?"" She asked. Marius dragged his eyes across the flat again, eyebrow cocked. ""Because you clearly have no money. But I'm going to keep coming after you, Danya, and next time I do - I'd like it to be a little more interesting."" Then he jerked his head so fast in made Denya jump; his neck cracking grotesquely, his body shuddering, before he shifted into a smaller, balding Wizard that Denya recognised as the faculty administrator, Dustin. ""Perhaps,"" mused Marius... or Dustin... ""Once your debt is paid, you might consider becoming a Collector yourself.""",1358
 Leper was the common way to,"*Leper* I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way. But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores. Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm. ""Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person,"" Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly. ""Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."" The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally. But still my heart pounded in my chest. Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands. Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground. ""Ambassador,"" he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room. I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting. I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel. I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through. On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days. Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief. I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled. ""Thank you,"" I said, ""thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless."" My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly. ""You are welcome,"" the ambassador said, still smiling, ""we know all to well the devastating effects of disease."" For just a brief moment his smile dimmed. I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him. Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did. I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end. And potentially a terrible danger. ""Is it true?"" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away. Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion. ""Is it true it's made from.....human blood?"" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice. The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding. ""Yes and no,"" he explained, ""it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and,"" he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet. ""Were any of the test subjects harmed?"" I asked. ""No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."" Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing. ""Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?"" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer. ""That has been a matter of great debate,"" I answered carefully. ""We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."" The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds. ""Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."" ""You are most welcome."" He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. ""And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again.""",1560
 Office cubicles were designed to break,"Office cubicles were designed to break a person's spirit. Every day, I would look at my calendar, sighing as I crossed another wasted day off. There had to be more to life than this, surely? I logged off from my computer, needing a coffee break to escape the monotony of the work. Heading past my neighboring cubicles, the faces of strangers greeted me, not one person recognizable. I never understood why that was. It was as if my work changed employees every day, a scenario that would be far too expensive for any workplace to pull off. ""Morning Lester, how are you dealing with the eternal doubt that you will never amount to something in life. The doubt that you are a worthless being who will die never truly knowing love. Does it still keep you up at night?"" One of my colleagues shouted from his cubicle as I passed, his cheery voice not matching the weight of his words. It forced me to stop, unable to walk past and ignore such a direct question. How did he know such a thing? Were rumors spreading around the office about me? The brazen words took me aback, forcing me to play it off. ""Haha, you know life's just going at the moment. I'm living."" I said, not giving a confident answer. Afraid any heartfelt response might cause me to cry. Doing my best to prevent such a scene. ""That is good. Living is good while you still can. Just know your feelings are accurate."" He said, swinging around in his chair, facing his computer once more, tapping away at his keyboard. ""I- uh?"" The conversation left me dumbfounded, staring at the stranger with my mouth agape. What did he mean, they were accurate? Was that intended to comfort me? I cleared my throat, hoping he might realize his rudeness and apologize, but no such luck. He just mindlessly tapped away at his keys, ignoring me. My colleagues were getting stranger, perhaps they were just annoyed with me for ignoring them all. Hell, If I couldn't recognize one face in an entire office of people, I must be ignoring them. I really should try to leave my cubical more. Even as that thought entered my head, I knew I wouldn't make an effort. Trying took work, work that I didn't care to put into my job. When I made it to the kitchen, I quickly prepared my coffee, wanting to avoid anymore awkward conversations, planning to get my beverage before retreating into the safe walls of my cubical. I watched the coffee machine hiss as the steam puffed out of it, pouring the mixture into my cup. The whole time the coffee poured, I looked over my shoulder, making sure no one was approaching. When the machine stopped its noise, I grabbed the cup, turning only for a wide grin to greet me, the face of a woman inches away from mine. She just stared at me, eyes not blinking. I waited for her to say something, only for her to remain silent. When I went to break the silence, she shushed me and spoke. ""Pester Lester! Pester Lester."" She shouted, joyfully shifting from leg to leg as she chanted. ""You fear life Lester, you could have had Elise if you weren't so scared of commitment. Although you know she would never have been happy with you. Like everything in your life, your relationship crashed!"" Her words about my failed relationship hurt. A private affair I was certain I never told aynone about. I went to speak only for the chanting to continue. ""Pester Lester. Pester Lester."" I didn't attempt to make conversation, hurrying past the woman, wiping the unfortunate tears that had formed in my eyes. Did this not count as workplace harassment? I ignored any attempts at conversation, throwing myself into my office, panting as I slipped back into my leathery chair. They never came to my office; I was safe here. My hands shook, spilling coffee over my desk, struggling to get the beverage to my lips. I could hear them giggling outside my cubicle, the occasional knock being heard on the cubicle wall. They were never this bad, sure they could be strange, but this was just different. I tried to log in only for a ringing to hit my ears, a loud wailing of alarms, at least it sounded like alarms. I poked my head out of the cubicle, checking if anyone had gotten up to leave. Did a fire alarm go off? Poking my head out of the cubicle, I saw them, just standing at the end of the cubicles. Each one smiling at me, a sick twisted grin, one that fed off my fear. They watched me for a moment, standing in front of the exit. ""Escape is no longer available to you. We are sorry but your position will be terminated soon."" Terminated? It had to be some sort of sick joke. I waited for a punchline, but it never came. I moved to step out into my cubicle, staring at the group. My mind was telling me to run, to push past them, yet my legs felt weak. I couldn't run, I was tired. I moved back to my desk, sitting down once more, covering my eyes as the monitor grew brighter, blinding me for a moment only to dim. In the bright light I saw a man peering down at me, his face filled with concern as he flashed the light into my eyes. He mouthed something I couldn't make out before fading; the monitor turning itself off, a faint beeping radiating from it. I attempted to push the power button, but the computer seemed dead. No amount of touching able to start it up again. When my gaze left the computer, I saw them all standing against my cubicle wall, peering in with curious looks. Each beginning to speak. ""A failure, you are a useless man."" ""To think this was your place of comfort."" ""Was the money worth the loneliness?"" Each one speaking with rage in their tone, their faces blurring, changing rapidly, unable to keep up the same features. Only one stayed the same, one face that didn't change like the others, one still who hadn't spoken. They pushed their way into the cubicle, taking my hand, tightly squeezing it in theirs. ""I'll miss you. We will never stop loving you."" The voice faintly familiar. I hadn't heard it in so long, but it was comforting. I went to grasp the figure, only for them to fade. When they left, the beeping stopped, falling silent with a small hiss following. In the silence, the room faded, office cubicles falling into the darkness until all that was left was me, floating in a pool of darkness. I felt empty and sore, past aches returning. My body felt the same way it had after that car accident all those years ago, But I survived that, I had woken up. Hadn't I? Doubt crept into my mind but was soon replaced by exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I decided I would figure it out what was happening when I awoke. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",1219
 Connor was hunched over his desk,"Connor was hunched over his desk, doing what he did best, ignoring everything. The numbers on his screen swirled around into hieroglyphs till he couldn't understand what was going on. What was he doing here, in this place. ""Hey bucko. How're you today?"" Another new face. ""I'm doing good. How're you today?"" Connor had a smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. ""Just happy to be alive."" ""Aren't we all."" The stranger gave Connor the finger guns and walked away. Connor looked at the email he was writing and realized it was all gibberish. He struggled to remember what he was supposed to be doing here. He got up, frustrated. He knocked over his yellow coffee cup with a smiley face on it. No one in the cubicles around him batted an eye. He looked around at the office building, cubicles sprawled as far as his eye could see. Everything was always the same, except the people. The people were all different. He was the only constant, in this unchanging maze that he couldn't escape. As he left to grab a new cup, he looked out the window, where a red car was coming towards their building. It was a pretty ordinary car and would've hardly been noticeable except they were on the 16th floor. Connor wanted to scream but he seemed to have lost his voice. He wanted to run towards the window even if it would likely achieve nothing. The car crashed through window, smashing through a couple of potted plants and destroying a desk. The woman on the desk crashed through the next cubicle's wall. Connor looked at the mess, his mouth hanging open. The woman got up, tidying up her clothes. ""What a mess! People really need to be better about parking their cars. And that plant! Poor dear."" Then she pulled her chair to an upright position and sat in front of her computer, which has been destroyed beyond repair and continued typing. Connor looked at all of this, sure he was losing her mind. The feeling got even stronger when the driver of the car got out. She wore a white wedding dress, and carried a bouquet of flowers. She made a beeline for Connor. ""We have to go!"" ""I'm sorry? Who are you?"" Connor backed away from her. ""No time to explain. Come with me."" Connor looked around at everyone in his office. None of them were reacting to any of it. ""No one's gonna notice anything, Connor. They're not real. Come with me."" ""I..."" The woman in white didn't wait for him to answer. She grabbed his hand and led him to the elevators. ""Who are you?"" The woman looked at the numbers and after much deliberation picked 33, the top floor. ""Where are we going?"" ""You ask a lot of questions. Good for you."" ""I'm not going anywhere with you till you tell me who you are."" ""Ok. You can get off at this floor and go back to work then."" She pressed the button and the elevator stopped at the 22nd floor. Connor hadn't expected this. ""Come on then. I still need to go up."" Connor sheepishly pressed the button to close the doors and the elevator continued upwards. ""I will answer your question anyways. I don't know my name. I have a feeling it's either Caroline or Coraline. But I can't be sure."" ""How can you not know what your name is?"" ""Cause I'm not real. Just like any of your coworkers."" Before he could continue, the elevator door opened and the woman rushed out. Connor meekly followed. She looked around. ""Is there any way to access the roof?"" ""I don't really know. I've never been here."" ""Hmm Ok."" She started walking towards the end of the corridor, looking for something. ""What do you mean you're not real?"" ""Well none of this is real, Connor. We're all just creations of your dying mind."" ""My dying mind?"" ""You're getting weaker. Which is why your delusion is breaking down. The memories are going away. You probably don't remember anyone. Hence, I don't remember myself. I've just been calling myself C to hedge my bets."" ""I don't understand any of this."" ""You don't need to."" She had found stairs leading up to the roof. She tried the door but it was locked. ""Why are we going up there?"" ""We need a kick. A jolt."" ""What does that mean?"" ""Connor, can you open this door for me?"" ""I don't know how I could."" ""Close your eyes. Try and remember something from your childhood."" ""I'm sorry?"" ""What was your mother's name? What was your father's? Any memory would do."" ""I..."" Connor hesitated. It was weird. He had nothing. She looked at her wedding dress. ""Oh! Do you remember the day you got married? Anything about your wife?"" ""I don't rem..."" An image came to him. It was an outdoor ceremony. Very small gathering. He remembered someone... she walked down the aisle. He couldn't see her face but he just remembered feeling lucky. She kept coming towards him as she... ""Cool! It worked."" Connor looked and saw that the door had opened a crack. C pulled at it with all her strength. ""No wait! I need to remember her. I need to remember my wife. Are you her?"" ""No time. Come on."" She led him to the roof. Connor looked around him at the crumbling buildings. ""What's going on? This isn't how things look out of the window."" ""The window is a lie. It shows you a static memory. This is the reality."" ""This is something out of a post apoc movie."" His mind flashed back to a few movies. He couldn't remember any names but he was sure he used to love those. Then as if my magic, the shattered windows on the opposite building repaired themselves. ""Good. You're starting to remember. But it won't be enough. I should've found you sooner."" ""C, what's going on? Are you my wife?"" ""I suppose I am. But very likely this isn't what I look like. As I said, your brain is dying and memories are fading. For all I know, you gave me the face of your celebrity crush."" ""So what now?"" ""We need to give you a jolt. A little push to get everything work again. Turn it off and turn it back on again, if you will."" He remembered something else. A nerdy looking guy with a british accent saying something to the effect. He had loved that show even if he couldn't remember its name. ""What do you mean?"" ""It means you need to jump."" ""I'll die."" ""You aren't exactly alive right now, Connor."" He looked at her horrified. ""C, I can't. I can't do that."" He retreated towards the door. ""Connor, this is your only chance."" ""I can't! I can't jump off a building."" A crowd of people appeared on the other side of the door. It was people he had just seen in his office. At least he thought they were. They all addressed him in unison. ""Come back to us Connor. You'll be safe there."" ""Don't listen to them, Connor. It might be safe there, but it isn't real. This is a chance you have to take."" ""C, I can't..."" The crowd all turned their heads to look at C. They all pointed towards her. ""Temptress!"" They moved towards her as she backed away from them, towards the edge of the roof. Connor rushed towards her. ""Stop!"" But it was too late. She stumbled and fell into the void below. The group turned towards Connor. Everyone had smiles on their faces. ""We will all be alright Connor. We are all safe now."" Connor saw their smiles and knew that he didn't want to be back in the office. Not anymore. He took a step as the voices all shouted at him to stop. But there was no stopping him anymore. He felt the wind through his hair as he fell towards the dark unknown. ********* City News Local Man wakes up after 5 years in a coma. By - Shirley McGrath Connor Smith, a 34 year old man, woke up today after 5 years of being in a coma. You might recall that he had been injured when a construction crane had collapsed and fell into an office building downtown, killing 5 people and injuring 11. Most of the injured had recovered except Connor who had suffered severe head injuries and had been in a coma since then. His wife Constance thanked everyone for their prayers and support she had received from friends, family and strangers alike.",1440
 Being a therapist to near-g,"Being a therapist to near-gods can have its upsides. Sure, I wasn't heralded for my ability to lift a car off a crying child, but I lived my existence with a solid smugness, knowing the depths of the darkness that the heroes would trudge. And I got to hear them rant about the public that loved them so, so dearly. That was retribution in its own, wonderful right. A woman with the ability to control fire, Syna, sits in the chair across from me. Her skin shines like a marble in the sun, glinting and glittering. It was hard, at times, to look at her, even when she wasn't on fire. She was sighing heavily, as if she could expel her frustration through breath. ""I'm just tired, George. So tired."" ""Anything in particular that's weighing on you?"" ""The press."" I nodded. I had this conversation at least twice a day. ""Have they been following you again?"" ""I was eating a croissant! At the cafe! I was having a good time, until that little rat with a camera appeared."" She was talking about Jim, a young, eager man that worked for ""Hero Pop!"" the tabloid that kept the public up-to-date on the latest hero-related gossip. I handed her a tissue; I couldn't tell for sure, but it looked like her shimmering skin was wet beneath her eyes. Taking the tissues and blotting the tears, she continued, ""I mean, it's bad enough I look like this. I can't hide like other heroes. No pair of sunglasses is going to cover up iridescent skin."" I nodded sympathetically. ""Have you thought about talking to Mika?"" She was the go-to for heroes who needed suits. ""Yes, but she says that there's no way to cover up my face."" She sniffled. ""I had a kid tell me I looked like an oil spill the other day. How do kids even know what that means?"" ""Children lack a filter. I'm sure they meant it as a compliment."" ""He stuck his tongue out at me and then farted in my direction."" ""Well, children can be cruel."" ""And so can adults!"" She said, her tone exasperated, her hands shaking. ""It seems like everyone has an opinion these days. Had someone stop me while I was buying an energy drink--little punk thought it'd be a great idea to catch me I was on the way out--and he told me that he was a fan of my work but he thought that I really ought to add some more flair to my fights."" Her eyes were wide; I could see her skin beginning to warm, a glow taking over the opalescent tint. ""The nerve. I put more than enough flair into my fights. I even learned how to do back flips, just so the footage would look good. And what do I get? Some kid in a Metallica t-shirt telling me I wasn't good enough. Honestly, what I outta do is--"" I put my hand up; smoke was wafting off of her, ""Syna, take a deep breath. You're working yourself up and I don't want to have to buy a new chair."" She nodded and the smoke drifted away, leaving the office smelling vaguely of burnt rubber. The rest of the session was about her sister and her new boyfriend. Heroes are people, too, I'd learned. &#x200B; My next patient is an odd one, he's a villain, but I don't discriminate in my practice. His power is a sort of necro-telekinesis. He can raise the dead. And he always brings a friend or two to the sessions. Today he brought three, and thankfully, they weren't bleeding like the last ones. I had used an entire bottle of bleach after our session and I didn't want to have to do so again. ""Good afternoon, Harrison."" ""Afternoon, Doctor."" ""Is there anything in particular you'd like to talk about today?"" One of the corpses let out a low groan. I raised an eyebrow. He smiled, ""Yes. I've been having a lot of trouble lately, just going out. Apparently it's not in good form to bring your undead horde to go grocery shopping."" ""I thought you knew that?"" ""Well, yes, but ever since they passed the new laws stopping heroes from carrying out their fights except in active zones of destruction, I thought I'd be able to go about my day unmolested."" Another groan. ""And that wasn't the case?"" ""No, there was pandemonium from the moment I stepped into the Raley's. I just needed some more butter--I wasn't going to be long, but by the time I'd made it to the register, there was no one there."" ""How many did you have in your horde?"" ""Oh,"" he said, looking at his nails, ""about ten."" ""And why do you think the situation ended as it did?"" ""Well, because someone called Yami."" I nodded. I counseled the young goddess on Thursdays. ""And she came to confront you?"" ""At first, yes. But then I explained to her that I was just trying to shop, trying to get some butter for my parsnip side dish and she asked if she could join me for dinner."" He blushed in a manner I hadn't witnessed before. ""We had a lovely time."" ""How do you feel about fraternizing with a hero?"" He shrugged but all three of his undead creations, now sitting on the floor or leaning against my bookshelves, let out a strange moan. He sighed, ""Fine. It's a little weird. But she's amazing. Really sweet. Wonderful. Such beautiful hair."" ""Do you think her motives are pure?"" The corpses let out a hissing noise, as if deflating. One of them fell to the ground with a thud. ""Yes. Maybe. I don't know. He looked out the window into the bustling city below, ""Are anyone's motives pure?"" ""Most people's, in my experience, are not. They're selfish."" ""I guess I should know."" ""Any plans?"" ""I was thinking about kidnapping the mayor's daughter."" ""Did you run that past Yami?"" He laughed, a sharp, short sound like a cat yelping when struck. ""No. No, all relationships have some secrets."" ""But your plans are a big part of who you are. They're your art, so to speak."" ""Yes,"" he said, his eyes cast downwards now, taking in the swirls on the rug. ""I suppose you're right. Do you think it's a bad idea to see her?"" ""I only worry about you and how it might hurt you. The tabloids will flock to you in a way they hadn't before, if you pursue this."" ""People might start to like me, too."" ""Is that something you want?"" He scowled, ""Goodness, no."" The corpse that had fallen stirred and righted itself, walking behind Harrison and putting its hands on the chair, leaving little bits of flesh on the fabric. I was going to have to clean that up later, wasn't I? ""It might be best, then, to keep the relationship a secret for as long as possible."" ""Yes, I think you're right."" ""Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"" ""I've been having weird dreams lately, do you talk about that sort of stuff?"" Turns out the dreams mainly involved him forgetting to put mayonnaise on his sandwiches, biting into them only to find disappointment. I told him it might be metaphorical. He was satisfied when he left. I cleaned up the bits of flesh from my floor as my next patient came in. She was a hero with very powerful telekinesis; they called her the Puppet Master. Even I feared her.",1253
 Sos: My life has always,"My life has always been mundane. I followed the standard path set by society. I went to high school and met a few people I could talk to put graduated without friends. I went to college for a degree I really didn't care about, and now I work an average job that I don't care about. I was pushed along and wound up in the current of living a meaningless life that I am apathetic about. &#x200B; That changed when I woke up and found myself in what appeared to be some sort of containment area, surrounded by extraterrestrial beings. They seemed related to mollusks, although they had a humanoid form. Their body appeared to be a spire of small tentacles that would be used to get around by using the tentacles like hundreds of tiny worms. They also had 4 larger tentacles that appeared to function as limbs, reaching out and grabbing things. Their ""Neck"" was the fusing point of those hundreds of tentacles, and on top was an egg-shaped head that pulsated different colors. Although I couldn't tell if they had eyes, they seemed to notice me wake up. &#x200B; After a couple of minutes of what looked like a discussion between them, I saw the one closest to the window reach over and press a button on what may have been a control panel out of sight. This time as their foreheads flashed different colors I heard a voice come from inside my head that said ""Greetings. We are a group of scientists sent out to discover and categorizes other species in the universe. Identify the name of your species."" &#x200B; ""We call ourselves humans,"" I say, looking at the creatures. Despite my inherent uneasiness at the situation, I find it surprisingly easy to answer. They seem to hold no hostile intent, which makes it slightly less stressful than my last work interview. ""Human,"" the one at the window says ""you will be kept here for a temporary period for us to study you. You will be provided sustenance and a hospitable environment. We ask that you cooperate in our studies on you."" before slithering away. &#x200B; Although I lost the exact count of the earth's time frame, I would guess that I spent around six months with them. During that time the being performed experiments on me, both routine and entirely unique. Sometimes they would just observe me in the environment they provided. Although some experiments were odd, none of them ever posed a serious physical threat to me, and I interpreted this as a sign of them having no hostile intent. &#x200B; At some point, the lead alien scientist came to the window to ask me something. They broadcasted their voice into a translator they implanted in my head ask said ""We have been observing your planet and have found that humans have little to no natural threat in their lives, so why do you display the traits of a prey species? You are submissive and follow every order we provide you. What is your explanation for such behavior?"" &#x200B; I look at the creature and think for a bit before responding, and I say ""Because it's easier to be told what to do. Many people are afraid to fail, and find the idea that they aren't responsible for their own failure appealing. Failure is a threat that looms over most of our lives and can seem like something that damages someones' sense of self. Although it is not a physical threat, failure is something that can hurt you and others around you, so many are willing to follow orders to push that responsibility onto others."" &#x200B; The creature stands at the window for a while, before opening a door on their side for this first time that I have been here. As they walk over, it says to me ""You have just described a very unique circumstance. If you do not mind, I would like to form a telepathic connection with you to experience this perception of failure and allow you to feel ours."" Before I know what I am doing I say ""Sure, go ahead,"" as the creature touched the time of their tentacle to my forehead. &#x200B; And then suddenly I was overwhelmed with a sense of...acceptance and togetherness. I was alive and connected to others. I could feel that, although failure could exist, it was not a blight on someone or something to fear. It was something to grow and learn from, something to use to help yourself and others. I looked at the creature and knew that I was one with them and that they were one with me. And it wasn't just him, it was every creature on this ship. I was able to accept myself through them, and they were able to accept me. And as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. &#x200B; ""wh-what was that?"" I quietly asked the creature, tears welling in my eyes. The creature appears to look at me with what feels like pity and say ""We are what you may call a hive mind, although we are all still individuals. We are all connected to each other, and celebrate each other's victories and help each other learn from failure. I was able to let you experience that connection through a telepathic link, but it is hard for us to sustain a different creature in that connection."" &#x200B; Suddenly, a bunch of men dressed in earth military uniforms burst through the door to the lab. They had weapons and pointed them at the creatures. And then, I made the first decision I truly wanted to in my life. I ran, and stood in front of the guns pointed at the creatures, and shouted ""Wait! Don't shoot!"" One of the men in the back saw me ran in between them and the aliens and shouted ""They must have placed him in some kind of mind control! Men, open fire!"" and that was the last thing that I saw. \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- A man sits in a courtroom, facing a panel of older men in much more decorated uniforms. One of the older men says ""Mr. Johnson, you have been brought to this court-martial for the charges of the deaths of one civilian and 3 extraterrestrial beings that we now understand were here on a peaceful mission of science. How do you plead?"" The younger man gulps and turns to his lawyer. The lawyer looks up at the older man and says ""Your Honor, my client was just following the order of his superior. You have to understand that here bears no responsibility to the failures of that day.""",1112
 Mr Clobber was a normal,"""What do you want out of life, Mr Clobber?"" I stared at the man, the intense muscle-bound figure nervously scratching at his mutated arm, the appendage resembling a steroid filled log more than an arm. Another victim of a freak accident, a normal man before the mutation. I had to pity the guy, his intense persona a mere way to distract people from his insecurities. ""I don't know, to crush people with my hand. This is dumb, I don't know why I came here, I should have figured it would be dumb."" Clobber said, pushing himself off my couch, only to stop as I frantically stood up, placing my hand on his mutated arm. ""Please Mitchell, let me help you. I'm just asking for a little more of your time. I promise if you still think this is dumb you can leave, just a few more minutes?"" Pleading with him to give me a chance. ""I believe you don't want to be a villain; you don't mindlessly destroy things like others. Hell, when you were throwing cars last week you purposely avoiding aiming at civilians, even when it would have aided in your escape. You aren't evil, you are troubled."" ""You touched it?"" Mitchell stared at his arm, a brief flash of disgust on his face as he pulled it to his side, keeping it out of my grasp. ""I just didn't want to get a longer jail sentence. Killing civilians gets you looked up for years. I did it for myself."" ""I don't believe that. I think you do this because you don't think there's an alternative. There's always an alternative. You have done no heinous crimes, you can rehabilitate. I just need to know how I can help you. What do you like?"" ""Baseball. I guess I enjoy baseball. I used to play it when I was younger before-"" He eyed his arm, letting out a sigh, again going to stand. ""Baseball. I was never good at the sport myself, but please tell me more. Lets not even talk about therapy or helping you, lets just discuss the game for a moment."" I didn't reach for his hand, allowing him the chance to leave if he wished, hoping to reel him back. ""Only baseball. You promise?"" He moved into his seat, a small smile cracking onto his lips. ""It's been so long since Ive talked to someone about it."" I kept my word, allowing him to talk about the topic close to his heart. I struggled a little to follow along, not the most athletic type myself. Occasionally I would scribble a note down as he spoke, using them to help me understand the man further. ""I used to be a great pitcher before the accident, I actually went to try out but they said they couldn't allow a freak to play. It would ruin the integrity of their game."" He hissed, a bitter heat rising as he crushed his hand into a fist. The mutated arm pulsing with rage, urging me to stand up, trying to comfort the man. ""Easy. I understand your frustration, but you need to keep it under control. Sadly, I'm not as durable as those cars you tossed."" I joked, returning to my seat as he took a few deep breaths. ""I see, so that wouldn't have helped your anxiety with your arm. How about you create a superpowered league?"" ""A superpowered league? What a superpowered themed baseball tournament?"" His eyes sparked up at the thought, only to dim at the reality of it. ""How would I convince anyone to join it? Who would even want to compete, all the heroes and villains are too busy fighting each other?"" ""What about some retired heroes and villains? Many of them suffer depression after being out of the spotlight, so allowing them a chance to flex their powers in a safe competitive environment would be healthy for everyone involved. I could arrange Shadow Snatcher to help with the advertisements. Oh, I shouldn't call her by her villain name. Titania Walters would be willing to help with the advertising. She's got a talent for promoting events, maybe it's because of her power of suggestion? Regardless, she owes me a favor, so I would be happy to lend her support to you."" ""You would do that for me? You really would help a freak like me achieve his dream of playing baseball. I'm a villain, not some good guy that deserves this sort of help. Are you sure about this?"" I turned my head, pretending to be distracted by a bird sitting near my window, knowing he wouldn't want me to see him cry. ""Everyone deserves help. I don't see a villain when I look at you, I see the captain of the first superpowered baseball team."" I smiled, standing up from my chair, heading over to open the window, only to feel my stomach drop as they lifted me from the floor, grabbed in a tight bearhug. "" ""Thank you so much. I promise I'll use my winnings to help fund your rehabilitation program. I can't wait, a chance to live out my dream."" I felt myself get a little lightheaded as he waved me back and forth, keeping his tight grip on me. The door snapped off its hinges as a small four-foot man entered. His body covered in an assortment of crude tattoos with a scruffy beard. Despite that, he still dressed in a formal suit. ""Unhand the boss now fiend."" He shouted, pointing a finger towards Mitchell. ""E-easy Dallin, its just a hug, must have sent off my vitals. It's ok. I'm safe."" Mitchell sheepishly dropped me, allowing me to hunch over and get my breath back. ""Gah, you gave me a heart attack kid. I ain't letting you die, not after you helped me. No one else will hire a villain bodyguard, after all. I don't want to have to go back to guarding those pricks again."" Dallin gave me a wave before heading back to his office. ""Isn't he a little short to be a bodyguard?"" Mitchell asked, carefully patting my back as I recovered. ""Heh, don't let him hear you say that. Dallin can lift fifty times his weight. He's a kindhearted guy under that tough exterior, trust me. Dallin only ended up in villainy because of his looks. No one else would hire him, so he had to guard villains. What other choice did he have, he had kids to feed. When he came to my office, he pointed out my lack of security and how he could have snapped my neck at any moment. I agreed and hired him to protect me."" ""You hired the guy that threatened to kill you?"" Mitchell asked, giving me a rather confused look. ""Half the people in this office have threatened to kill me or kidnapped me at some point. I don't hold it against them, I sometimes provoke people."" ""I don't think I get you. But thanks for your help."" He offered me his hand as we exchanged a handshake. I motioned him through the doorway, letting him leave, wishing him the best in his league. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",1218
" ""Evening friends, I brought","""Evening friends, I brought the mead."" Jack held the bag of mead to the heavens. The dragon and princess letting out a small cheer as he approached, placing the booze down before throwing himself onto the grass beside them. ""Sorry I took so long, I had to give a rousing speech to the villagers about how I would slay the mighty fiend, you know the usual."" ""You still give those lame speeches? No wonder all the noble ladies laugh at you in the castle."" Alice reached for one of the bottles, popping the cork off, happily chugging down the mixture. ""Lame? Those speeches inspire hope. What would you know about speeches, Alice? You just get someone else to make yours. I bet you couldn't even make a speech half as good as mine."" Jack said, grumbling to himself as he grabbed a bottle of mead, giving Alice a small glare as he drank from it. ""Fear not noble townsfolk. It is I, Sir Jack, who will slay the mighty beast and return your lovely princess. I shall not let a single golden hair of hers get burnt by the mighty flames."" Alice recited, mocking one of Jack's speeches, causing the knight's face to flush with anger. ""They are a little lame, Jack, sorry."" Maxil snickered, the enormous dragon expelling a few flames from its nostrils, trying not to laugh at Alice's impression. ""Oh, come on, you try making up a speech on the spot. It's really hard. Do you know how much pressure it is to have people looking at you?"" Jack complained, though only Maxil showed the slightest hint of sympathy. ""Today, we have received reports that Princess Alice has been kidnapped by an invading dragon. The dragon came into our kingdom before the rising of the sun and captured her, flying her to a cave northwest of the kingdom. We have sent a knight to retrieve her, there's no reason to panic."" Alice said, creating a speech on the spot, grinning at her two friends. ""That's not bad Alice, it sounds so regal and professional."" Maxil said, admiring the princesses calm message. ""It was decent. It wasn't as interesting as mine, though. You need to add some excitement to it. You think people will write tales and songs about a lame speech like that? Mine will inspire classical stories of great bravery and heroism."" ""And stupidity."" Alice added, shaking her head. ""It's a princess being captured, how much added excitement does it need?"" ""I don't mean to bother you both, but can someone toss me up a beverage?"" Maxil asked, struggling to grip the bottle with her tail., trying to retrieve one without knocking over her friends. Jack grabbed a bottle of mead, tossing it into the air. The open space allowing her more room to move as her tail swiped the spot, latching onto the mead, bringing it towards her mouth. With a sharp tooth, she pulled the cork free, pouring the booze down her throat. ""Insults aside, how have you both been? Ive been waiting for this for a few weeks now. What took you both so long?"" Jack said, expecting these little get-togethers to be more frequent than a monthly basis. ""Do you know how hard it is to prepare a kidnapping? I have to make sure there're no guards around and that Maxil is available. Unlike you, we don't get to sit on our asses and wait for someone to tell us the princess has been kidnapped."" Alice scoffed, rolling her eyes at her knight. ""It is a lot of work. But I think its worth it. Even if its only every month, I enjoy seeing you both. It brings back memories of that first time we met. When you were both bratty children fighting over a stick. To think twenty years have passed since then."" Maxil reminisced about the event only for Jack to speak up. ""Right, when the snot-nosed princess nearly got us killed. You have a house full of gold and wouldn't let me have a stick I found. You were willing to push us both of a cliff over it. Not only that, I got in so much trouble for sneaking you out of the castle, my father nearly lost his head over it."" ""I said I was sorry. It was only through my words of forgiveness that you even got to become a knight. You should be grateful for that, at least."" Alice tried to hide how much she hated being reminded of that incident. He was right. Her snobby attitude nearly killed them both, but at the very least she learnt from it. To some small degree. ""Lucky a giant dragon took pity on you both and swept you up from the edge, only asking one small thing in return. That you come and visit. I never expected you both to return. Its been fun watching you both grow into such influential people. I feel like a proud parent."" Maxil fawned over the pair, tossing the empty bottle of mead aside, using her tail to pull them both into an embrace. ""I love my little friends."" ""Gah, love you too, but stop squishing us. I can't breathe in this armor."" The two fidgeted until Maxil released them, Jack gasping for air, holding his now dented chest plate. ""Now you actually look like a knight, try not to make up some lame story about how you got that dent."" Alice said, giving him a smirk. ""You know he's already thinking of one. Let him have his glory. I believe he's earnt it. He does protect you."" Maxil said, the two watching the knight as he recovered from the hug. ""Fine, he can have one."" Alice shrugged. ""We should get going Maxil, sorry this visit was so short, we only have a few hours before they send reinforcements. Father isn't a patient man. You ready to ride, oh valiant knight?"" Jack picked himself off the floor, tapping his dented chest plate. ""Yeah, Im good. To think I pulled myself out of a dragons death grip using only my bare hands."" He said proudly, causing Alice to groan, while Maxil let out a hearty laugh. ""Be safe, you two. Please come and visit soon, I'll supply the booze next time."" Maxil said, waving her claw at the pair as they climbed onto their horse. The princess and the knight offered a wave back, giving their friend a smile before heading towards the kingdom. &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)",1105
 The dragon's attention was on the,"Sword pressed to his helm, the knight held his back steady against the giant bolder. His deep breaths were cut short by the explosion of flames just on the other side of the rock he hid behind. *Predictable,* he thought, as a bead of sweat began to form on his brow from the heat surrounding him. He took off running to his left, iron suit clanking with each step, sword dragging on the ground behind him as ran. The dragon's attention was on the rock; he would flank the beast and achieve victory all to easily. Or so he thought. The dragon screeched as a flame spewed from its mouth directly towards the knight. Eyes wide and in mid-sprint, the knight slid beneath the flames, his suit hitting the ground with a loud thud. The fire stopped and the knight scrambled to his feet to make his way towards the scorched ruins of a castle. The ruins were farther than he anticipated, but was able to reach the remains of what once was a column to hide behind. His breath heavy and his back against the stone once again, he waited for the beast to attack. Reaching for his sword, he realized he had dropped it in his attempt to dodge the fire. Weaponless, he leaned over to peer around the column, raised his visor to have clear vision, only to see the empty landscape. The earth shook as the dragon landed squarely in front of the knight, he turned in shock, the dragon planted arms and legs on the ground, wings splayed, and bellowed a deep roar. The knight screamed. The dragon fell over on its side, laughing. ""Dang it, Carl! It is NOT funny."" The dragon could barely get a word out through his laughter. ""...your face,"" a tear weld up in his eye (and promptly evaporated), ""...but your face, it was just,"" the dragon held in a laugh for a moment to mimic the knight, opening his eyes wide and mouth agape, arms in the air; then burst with laughter once more. The knight rolled his eyes and began to remove his helmet. His hands were still shaking from nerves, but was finally able to unclasp the helm and remove it. By that time the dragon had sat himself upright, about twice as tall as the knight, his laughter somewhat subsiding. ""You cheated, by the way,"" the knight said. ""What, the fire thing?"" the dragon said with a scaly smirk on his face. ""Yes, the fire thing. You know you can't shoot fire at me when I'm not hiding behind something. You could have killed me."" ""Geoff, if I wanted to have killed you, you'd have been dead a long time ago, my friend. Plus, you have that fancy suit that so beautifully frames that scared little face of yours,"" Carl let out a few more laughs, smoke escaping his nostrils. ""This suit doesn't do anything but boil my skin whenever I'm near your fire. It's a safety hazard, really. I only wear it because all the townsfolk expect a knight to ride into battle with it. But it is extremely uncomfortable."" Geoff began to unbutton pieces of his armour. ""Heavy, too, I am guessing?"" Carl asked as Geoff nodded. ""I figured so when you flopped on the ground below my breath."" The dragon laughed once again. ""Excuse me, I *slid*. I slid valiantly!"" Both Geoff and Carl laughed at that. A piece of ash caught in the back of Carl's throat, turning his laugh into a brief cough, emitting tiny flames with each hack. An alien voice pierced the landscape: ""QUICKLY BROTHER, HIDE! I HAVE COME TO SLAY THIS DRAGON ONCE AND FOR ALL, IN THE NAME OF VALDOLLA!"" Geoff and Carl looked around to find the source of the voice, finding a man approaching from the distance on the other side of the column where they both stood. The man was dressed in all grey and was adorned with a cape and a sword. Carl looked at Geoff, ""what the heck is a Valdolla?"" ""Val's name is Valdolla. Just..."" Geoffey motioned a wave to Carl to back away and put on his helmet. ""UH, NO THANKS!"" he called back, ""I HAVE THIS HANDLED, THE BEAST IS DYING! I'VE ALREADY KILLED HIM!"" Geoff turned back to Carl, ""you're dying. Go die."" ""Well, that's unrealsti-"" ""Just do it!"" The dragon rolled his eyes and flopped on his side with a sarcastic moan. ""SEE? HE IS DEAD! YOU CAN GO HOME NOW! GO TELL EVERYONE HOW BRAVE I AM. KILLED THE DRAGON AGAIN."" The man in grey made his way closer to Geoff and Carl, now in a sprint. Upon reaching the two, the man lowered his sword. ""You have killed him? Is it true?"" The man walked up to the dragon, prodding him with his foot. ""Um, yep, super dead."" Carl gave Geoff a stern look behind the man's back in response. ""Forgive me brother, but you seem to come slay a dragon very frequently,"" he said kicking the dragon as he walked around him. ""I am wondering if maybe not there are more dragons, but that this one just feigns death to live another day. We must be sure."" ""What?"" Geoff asked before he realized what had happened--the man had plunged his sword in to dragon neck. Carl flopped out of his death position and stood upright. ""*What the-""* Carl shouted along with a long roar in a surprised rage, the sword protruding from his neck. ""THE BEAST IS STILL ALI-"" the man began to exclaim, before the jaws of the dragon engulfed his body and, with one swift *crunch*, all that was left of the man were his two legs that stood there--bloody stumps. Geoff and Carl stared at each other. Carl promptly swallowing whole the man that was in his mouth. ""Val is going to kill us,"" Geoff said, breaking the silence after their long pause. ""You better clean this up."" ""*Me?""* ""Yes, you. You can't just eat every person who comes up here. We've talked about this."" Some moments passed as Carl finished disposing of the man in grey, and Geoff began to pull the sword from his friend's neck when Val arrived. ""Hey, guys, sorry I am late. What happened here?"" She said as she finished climbing over several large rocks, eyeing the sword protruding from Carl's neck as she approach the two sitting in the ruins. Geoff and Carl gave each other a look, and then Geoff responded first, ""oh, we were just sparring and I got the better of Carl here. Just got carried away."" Carl gave Geoff a look that said, *really?* Geoff shrugged in response. ""Well that seems unlikely, "" she replied. Carl gave Geoff a big smile, who rolled his eyes. ""Anyway, I met this bard at the tavern earlier. He seemed cool enough, so I invited him up here. I hope you guys don't mind. I figured we can put on a show and give him a good scare."" She noticed Geoff and Carl exchanging looks. ""What?""",1181
 All it cost was your first-,"The figure disappeared in a grandiose display of smoke, no doubt to stroke the ego of the father of pride. The headlights of an old, beat-up VW bug shone brightly through the cloud. You finally allowed yourself to smile, your plan had worked. By tomorrow morning, all of your problems would be gone - and a new life could begin. All it cost was your first-born's soul. Which, since you made the decision years ago to self-sterilize, was something you could never provide. Apparently, the old arch angel was savvy on high-risk investments, and signed off on sub-prime soul mortgages. You slide into the seat of your bug, parked on the berm of the crossroads, and crank the lazy engine over. The sluggish starter gives its best, but despite almost catching a spark, it falls flat on its face. ""Damn it!"" You say, smacking the dash. Your phone showed no service, as you might expect at the intersection of the damned. Maybe you should have added an immediate vehicle upgrade to your request. You knew your luck would begin to turn around at midnight, so you could wait it out and maybe it would magically start - but then you'd have to sit here alone in the desert for hours. Walking alone in the dark didn't seem appealing either. ""Guess we're stuck here for the moment."" You say to no one in particular. You turn the headlights off and release the seat back a little ways, enough to relax but still see the surroundings. You doze for some time, awoken by the alarm you set on your phone for midnight. You startle when you see a new figure standing at the crossroads, a dark blotch against the soft dim glow of the starlight. You flick on your headlights and a young woman recoils from the sudden beam of light. ""Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry I didn't mean to startle you!"" you say, exiting the bug. ""Wow, that was fast."" she says. ""Huh?"" your brow furrows. ""I'm Amelie, I'm guessing you know who I was here to see."" ""Yeah, same."" In the glow of the headlights, her eyes appeared red, as if she had been crying. ""Can I sit with you in the car? I walked here from a few miles away, and frankly I'm finding myself a little afraid of a dark desert now that... well now that this is over."" She says, gesturing around in a circle. ""Oh, uh yeah, of course."" You stumble over your words. Is she into you? It was quite random, and very sudden, but your luck was supposed to turn around and a partner was just one thing you had hoped for. She crosses the intersection and plops into the passenger seat of the bug. ""What were you here for?"" She asks, breaking a short but uncomfortable silence. ""Me? Oh uuhhh..."" ""Sorry I'm not trying to pry, and you don't have to say what you gave up."" ""Everything has just been going wrong. I didn't ask to be a king or anything like that."" you say. She nods, a softness in her eyes. ""No work, no money, I've been spiraling. I guess I asked for a little more than a boost, but really just for my luck to turn around, you know?"" you say, not the whole truth but not a blatant lie either. ""Yeah, I see"" she says, her voice soft. ""Do you have anyone?"" ""Me? No, at least not like that. I have friends, of course. My parents are still alive, but on the other side of the country."" You both go quiet, she looks around outside - what little can be seen from the ambient light of the stars. ""I asked to meet someone, and have kids with them."" She says, finally. ""Really?"" You ask. ""What?"" She turns to you, her eyes filled with sudden anger. ""No please, I didn't mean it like that. I just, you're beautiful, I find it hard to believe you need... help... in that regard."" She stares at you a moment longer, and then breaks out in laughter. After a few moments, you join her. ""Ahh, yes. Sorry, no I get what you mean. I... I meant more that I asked for the person perfect for me. I really want to have kids, but I want to make sure it all happens.. just right, you know? There are some genetic complications in my family I was hoping to bring to an end."" ""I see."" You say, staring at the horn button on your steering wheel. ""Thanks."" She says. You look at her. ""For calling me beautiful."" ""Oh, of course, you are. Thanks for, you know, not calling me a creep for saying it."" You both laugh again, and she takes your hand in hers. You give in entirely to what comes next, knowing you could not provide her the child she wanted. But it felt so right, and she didn't have to know - yet. ===== The figure cloaked in the veil of night watches the VW Bug from a distance as its windows fog. *I always collect my dues* A whisper of a voice floats on the wind. ===== ""Positive!?"" You ask, a little louder than you meant. ""Yes?"" She asked, her hand holding the pregnancy test dropped to her lap. Her usually soft face was creased with worry now, your response not what she expected. ""I'm so sorry, I'm just surprised."" You take her hands in yours. It had been four months since the night at the crossroads, and you almost immediately moved in together. You hadn't understood what people meant by soul mate before. A new job, a new life - it had all come to fruition. The VW Bug had even been replaced by a Jaguar, a car you had lusted after as a teen. Although the worry about your impotence had nagged in the back of your head, today shook everything up. When should you tell her, what you gave up. ""This is great! Lets... lets get married!"" You say, masking your fear. Her eyes were wet with tears now, but the softness in her face returned. You embraced one another and the feeling of her body against yours brought some comfort, but your mind raced. ===== ""Come on, love. You can do this"" You say, her hand crushing your own. Staff buzzed around the bed in a frenzy, you couldn't even keep track of everything being done. Labor had gone on far longer than expected, and induction steps had to be taken due to the baby's dropping heartrate. ""I can do this."" She echoed. ""Ok, contraction is starting. I need you to push, push!"" The doctor said. Her face turned purple as she pushed, twisted from the usually beautiful complexion into something else - still her but something else. ""One more time, push with everything you have"" The doctor orders firmly. She pushes again, this time letting out a quiet yell. A new voice joins her own, the baby's first breaths expended on the squeal of new life. Everything stopped, save for you and your wife. A laugh came from behind you, disjointed and broken. ""*I always collect my dues.*"" It says, a whisper that seemed to resonate with everything in the room. You turn slowly to face your detractor. Your wife grabs your wrist. ""I'm so sorry, my love"" She says. ""What?"" You whip around to face her again. ""I offered myself in return for... for all of this."" ""WHAT?"" You repeated, this time a shrill bark. ""You don't understand! They will live! You will have our child, a part of me, and our time together was the most amazing time of my life."" She said between sobs, her voice cracking. The pit of your stomach plummeted into the void. ""*That's right, she is to come with me. But first, since I do business in the order it comes, I will be collecting from you my good sir.*"" The murky shadow that filled the room now spoke it's sugared words. ""No!"" You yell. Her hand on your wrist tightens. ""What did you give up?"" She says, looking to you. ""No! I can't! You can't!"" You scream, the weight of what was happening was unbearable - your vision beginning to blur from the tears in your eyes. The tendrils of smoke and shadow surround the baby, and then disappears with it in a puff. ""What? NO!"" your wife screams now. ""NO! NOOOO! YOU FUCKING-"" her voice is muted by the cloud that engulfs her. You feel her grip on your wrist disappear. You collapse to the floor. The demon's laughter fills the room, fills your mind. ""I don't understand."" You say. ""*You wished for a better life, and she wished for a perfect genetic match and to bring life into the world - it was a simple matter to* **fix** *you.*"" ""How did you know?"" ""*How could I not know? I know everything.*"" You held your head in your hands. ""*Good doing business with you, do come again*"" the silky voice spoke as the darkness retreated from the delivery room. Time moved once more, and the doctor's and nurse's shouts of disbelief were just background noise to the numbness you now felt.",1543
" Aaron and Aelia, Ulago","Of all of them I disliked the priest the most, though I can admit that was more due to my own prejudices. In my years on the road I had little use for the gods, particularly then and particularly with that party. If I had I might have thought they had cursed me after all. Their names were Aaron and Aelia, Ulago and Xanthippus, and they came to me in pairs that had more to do with accidents at the guild hall than any kind of personal friendships. Still though, we made a strange group, and more than once I joked that the guild had decided I had taken too many bounties, that they'd turned me into some sort of welfare program. And for a while that rang true, until we realized that their talents were better suited to crime than warfare. It started late one night with Aaron and Ulago, our thief and warrior. Quite honestly Aaron was a bumbling fool in every aspect of the physical realm, although to hear him tell it he had been a great acrobat in his youth. Nearing seventy now he'd have broken a bone if he tried to turn a cartwheel and the deft motions of cutting a purse were beyond him, but if there was a heist or a scheme he'd seen it or invented it, and he could scout talent with the best of them. Ulago, for his part, was less a warrior than a dancer. He fought with a matched pair of short swords, and at the school where he'd been trained they spoke of perfect defense, of learning your opponent through every twitch of his muscles and every flick of his eyes, all in the pursuit of one beautiful stroke of the blade. They sat hunched by the fire that night, deep into their cups and speaking in hushed voices, making such frequent glances across the flames at Aelia that finally she sprang to her feet. Dark magic had begun to gather at her fingertips, and a furious blush had risen to her face. She only had three spells she could cast every 24 hours and she had decided their disrespect was worth one. ""No, no, no!"" Ulago had said, leaping up as well. ""It's not like that I swear!"" ""Then why do you keep looking?"" she said angrily, ""shall I teleport you back to town? I recall an inn there where the barmaids had standards that might even fall to you."" I couldn't help myself, the brief snort of a laugh escaped me. ""You too Devin?"" she called. ""If you both scrape your gold together you might even have enough."" I merely shook my head, that was an idle threat. This far from town there was no way she could reach it. Ulago, however bravely decided to continue on. ""I swear we meant no disrespect. Rather, Aaron and I had an idea. None of us are making any money out here,"" he gestured broadly with his arms, walking closer to the fire so the light would hit him just right. ""Pickings are slim in this region and none are falling to us. There's not a more mismatched bunch of souls this side of the Kingdom, and if the other one can match us it's only because those poor sods of Easterners were born with the brains of a cow and the courage of a fowl. To compete against men such as that would be unfair."" He eyed Aelia for a second, seeming to notice the magic that still clung to her fingers. ""And women,"" he added. ""What our long winded comrade is trying to say,"" Aaron interjected, ""is that we're shit at this and it's time to look elsewhere. I propose burglary."" All eyes whipped themselves to the old man now, and his long, thin smile was full with the knowledge of it. ""I know the marks and I know the fences, and Ulago here can buy us as much time as we'd ever need if they have guards. As to why we were looking at you though, well my dear, much of this will hinge on you."" ""On me?"" Aelia's magic had faded now and she had taken several halting steps around the fire. Her eyes were wide and I began to realize for the first time just how young she was. ""Oh yes,"" Aaron said, ""on you. As a mage you're nothing special really, but I've seen you run, you're quick as all hell. I'll teach you all you need to know about picking locks and finding treasures, it's up to you to be my hands. You get into a house, find the two most valuable items and teleport them out to us, then just run out."" ""Two?"" she questioned, ""but I have three casts and I can't teleport myself."" ""Two. I have a spell in mind for you to learn, an old friend of mine in Harrowvale knows it and we're only a few days ride away. My dear, have you ever heard of Shadow Step?"" So it transpired that our party left that roadside firepit and found ourselves in Harrowvale some days later. We scraped together the scraps of our gold, enrolled Aelia in an old mage's tutelage, and a week later she came out with a new trick that would have been utterly useless to her in her previous career as a battlemage but which would soon prove to be our bread and butter. Our first theft came the very next day. We gathered at dusk in the city's narrow alleys only a few minutes from some lordling's manor and Aaron briefed us on what would come. ""Aelia,"" he began, ""the plan rests on you. You will pick the lock on the cellar door and enter the house through there, use my number two pick, the locks bought by lower nobility tend to be all advertising and little actual substance. Once inside you will proceed to the lord's bedroom, find his largest chest and his most expensive looking item and teleport them both to this spot. Ulago, you will approach the guards at the front gate as if you are drunk and then challenge their captain to a duel. Devin you go with him and the pair of you will insult the man until he accepts, cause the biggest distraction you can and then do what you will. I'll wait here and receive the goods."" ""And I?"" Xanthippus the priest asked. Aaron squinted at him as if he'd forgotten the man was there. ""Pray or something, you're as useless as tits on a bull."" With a soft laugh and a newly learned word of power Aelia gathered the shadows of the alley around herself and walked towards the building as silently as the night. To say that our first theft went perfectly would be a lie, although I said that and more many times over. Aelia, with only a few days practice with the lockpicks had been forced to finally give up and simply melted the lock with a spell instead. That left her with only one teleport and the chest we got in the end turned out to be the lordling's mistress's smallclothes, although the price they fetched was surprisingly high. Ulago was a wonder and likely the only flawless part of the plan. He fought the guard captain to exhaustion and then simply walked off laughing, I sketched a quick bow and followed him, my notebook in hand. Whatever god Xanthippus prayed to at least refrained from cursing us further. We improved with every heist however, and soon we found crime was in fact more profitable than adventuring, whatever the guild said about the matter be damned. And my part in this? After all I had no sleight of hand, no skill with a blade. In fact my own riches prior to their joining me were entirely fabricated, which they had been sorely angered to find out. We had the wisest thief, the fastest wizard, the smartest warrior, and the most useless priest, but we also had me, a plain and simple bard. But a damned good one. They fought and stole and prayed, and all the while I sang. Sang us all into myth and legend the length and breadth of the Kingdom, even in the blighted East. Even when our heists turned out to be a lady's smallclothes and the stagelights burned a little too bright I turned them all into a roving band of misbegotten folk heroes, and slowly party members became friends, and friends became family. A family that was a damned sight richer on the wrong side of the law than the right one, even if we had to drag along the useless mouth of the priest. \---------- If you enjoyed that I've got a ton more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! edit: thanks for the gold!",1489
" Kevin knew all his life, from","Kevin had known he was different from the moment he first learned to speak. ""Cold,"" was his first word. ""I'm cold,"" was his first sentence. ""I'm very cold and one day I'm going to do something about it,"" was his first heroic declaration. No matter how tightly Kevin bundled up, he couldn't escape the chill--for it came not from the air around him, but from the Evil inherent within humanity itself. So when the great Soothesayer Tawney knocked at his door on his eighteenth birthday, and told him about The Prophecy, he wasn't surprised. He knew all his life, from the bottom of his heart, that he was The Chosen One--the one destined to bring about an end to all Evil itself. ""We've taken the liberty of assembling a team for you, Kevin"" Tawney said. ""You don't have a minute to spare. If The Prophecy is to be fulfilled, you must set forth at once. They should be here any moment."" Kevin nodded. A moment later a knock came at the door, and Tawney answered it. ""Hello my fellows,"" a scrawny armor clad man stood in the doorway. ""Sir Leidesburg, at your service."" Tawney seemed confused. ""Who are you?"" ""I see my reputation has *not* preceded me,"" he said pushing his spectacles up on his nose. ""No matter. Perhaps you are familiar with Leidesburg's Theory of Hand-To-Hand Combat?"" ""Oh,"" Tawney said. ""You're the warrior then?"" ""Precisely. Though I fight not with my fists, but with my *mind*."" ""Then why the armor?"" ""Well, not everyone fights with their mind. Some people use their fists, and fists can hurt."" ""And the sword?"" Tawney said, gesturing to the over-sized jewel encrusted blade at his side, glowing with power. ""So you've noticed Balthazar,"" Sir Leidesburg said with a smug smile. He tried pulling it from its sheath but struggled for a moment before unstrapping it entirely and hefting it out with both hands, cradling it awkwardly in his arms like a baby. ""I designed her myself. Do you notice the glow?"" ""Yes, I presume that's an immense magical power emanating from it?"" ""Not quite."" Sir Leidesburg flipped the sword over. ""LED lights. You see, the greatest offense is the *perception* of power. Deterrence is a key pillar of Leidesburg's theory. Some might say the only pillar."" ""Very smart,"" another man said. He had appeared out of nowhere, clad in black though his hair and long flowing beard were stark white. ""The greatest warrior is one which never has to fight at all."" ""We didn't see you approach,"" Tawney said, taking in the newcomer. ""So you must be the thief?"" ""My *name* is Slickwood Sly. I may have made some mistakes in my past, but it is not our past that defines us. To brand me as a thief is to reduce my very worth to nothing but a previous occupation."" ""Are you the thief or not,"" Tawney said impatiently. ""We called for a thief."" ""You may have asked for a thief, but you've been given something far more valuable than that--a *friend*. I come not as a detestable rogue, but as a willing compatriot in this battle against Evil."" ""I think there has been some kind of mix up,"" Tawney said, but his thought was interrupted by the sight of slender man in spandex running towards them, arms straight out behind him. ""Here!"" The man panted, as he reached them, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. ""I came as fast as I could. Which, if I do say so myself, is *very* fast. Somebody call for a wizard?"" ""You're a wizard?"" Tawney asked. ""I don't recognize you, what're you known for?"" ""My impeccable stride. I am the fastest Wizard in the land. Two-time participant of the Kingdom's Annual Marathon."" ""Oh so you've magically augmented yourself to reach super-human speeds?"" ""What? No of course not, that'd be against the runners-code. I just have great cardio--all natural, baby."" ""Okay fine, but you do magic too though right?"" ""Well yes,"" the wizard said. ""Of course, that's what I'm here for. I hear it's a special someone's birthday?"" ""Yes that would be me, I am the Chosen One"" Kevin said, holding himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. He was betrayed by a shiver, causing him to hunch over and quake to preserve all semblance of warmth. ""Well, you're a bit older than my usual clientele,"" the Wizard said. ""But a birthday party is a birthday party. Where should I set up for the show?"" ""Show? There's no show! We need you to use your powers to conquer all Evil!"" ""Oh well I don't do so much of that. Do you like card tricks?"" ""I *love* card tricks."" Kevin said, but was interrupted by Tawney, who had just punched the wall in frustration. ""You're a *street magician?!*"" Tawney exclaimed. ""Well yes, if you're defining me by my side-hustle."" ""He likes to do that,"" Slickwood quipped. ""He really is quite rude isn't he?"" Sir Leidesburg said, chiming in. ""I have half a mind to challenge him to a duel!"" Slickwood shook his head poignantly. ""Refrain, mighty warrior. Channel your frustration into something creative, such as poetry, for the pen is mightier than the sword."" ""Well, not mightier than Balthazar here. See how she glows? However, your point is well taken--I will refrain from violence in honor of *you,* noble sage."" ""Are those LED lights?"" the Wizard asked looking around Sir Leidesburg's back. ""Classic. You know I use a similar trick to light my staff at Bachelorette parties."" ""*ENOUGH!*"" Tawney yelled. ""This is madness! That's the last time I entrust the fate of the land in the hands of the clergy! Where the hell is Priest Gunther?!"" ""Here!"" A large man bellowed from the distance. He was positively hulking, dressed in clerical robes, a giant cross around his neck. ""Sorry I'm late! I see everyone's here?"" ""No!"" Tawney yelled. ""Who the hell are these goons?"" ""Uh... the team you wanted? You asked for the wisest thief, the fastest wizard, and the smartest warrior."" ""That's *not* what I asked for! You got that all mixed up! How is the Chosen One going to defeat Evil with these clowns?!"" Priest Gunther seemed taken aback. ""Oh lord, did you say the Chosen One?"" ""Yes! Who else?!"" ""Yeah so there *has* been a mix up,"" Priest Gunther said, holding up a blanket. ""I thought we were meant to help the Frozen One."" *** &nbsp; Thanks for reading! I collect and post my personal favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe",1091
 Mania insisted on surrounding herself with death,"The goddess Mania and I stood, side by side, at the bedside of a dying woman in a hospital, friends and family by her side. I had long ago given up coaxing her back to the underworld. She felt her place was surrounded by death, despite the fact that it depressed her so deeply. Mania didn't even *need* to be here. Her sister Libitina was the one that was the goddess of burials, and spent most of her time funeral-hopping, and Dea Tacita could often be found in the morgue, watching over the dead, their corpses being her domain. But Mania insisted on surrounding herself with death, and even after thousands of years of it bringing her sadness, she persisted in it. Once the woman had passed on, we wandered out into the hallway and Mania sat in a chair a waiting room we passed, prompting me to take the seat next to her. ""Did that family seem at peace?"" she asked, leaning back tiredly in the chair. That was one of her more common questions to me. At first, I found them strange, but now I found them par for the course. ""That woman's death was a long time coming, so I feel they were,"" I answered. ""How are you feeling today?"" ""Mm. Same as usual."" That meant mildly depressed. 'All right' meant just that, an average mood, somewhat thoughtful and pensive. 'Horrible' meant she was feeling burdened by the misery of those who had attended the funerals we'd gone to or those who'd witnessed their loved ones die before their time. Or worse, those who had witnessed the results of a violent, brutal death, or even the death itself. The worst was when I got no response at all. That meant Mania was lost in a churning whirlpool of her despondent thoughts, and I would need to put more effort into drawing her out. She would sometimes return to the underworld, though never at my urging, only to curl up in bed in a state of depression that she couldn't be pulled from, that she just needed to make her way through mentally on her own. But I had a new plan today. It was the culmination of research I'd been doing in my off hours (even Mania had to report back to Pluto, and that could take a while) for a few weeks now. It was difficult to say how it would go, but I'd tried various strategies over the years for helping my goddess through her difficult existence, and I wasn't about to give up now. ""We have a funeral next,"" I told her. ""I'd like to go now, if that's all right by you. So we're not late."" ""Sure. Is it a well-known figure?"" she asked, pushing herself to her feet with me. ""Not quite. But I wanted to arrive with plenty of time to spend there."" I opened a portal in front of us, allowing her through first, and I followed, closing it behind us. We'd arrived in a large room, similar to so many others we'd visited over the years, used for funeral wakes. And I looked over to Mania, whose gaze slid over the people in the room, our presence, as always, invisible to them. ""I...don't understand,"" she said, glancing to me with confused, narrowed eyes. ""They seem...happy."" And they were. Nenia Dea, the goddess of funerals, had tipped me off to this one. As experiments go for cheering up Mania, this was definitely a new one. ""An increasing number of humans are starting to take death in stride, or go even further, and partake in what they're calling a 'celebration of life',"" I said, a subdued smile on my face. Mania shook her head suddenly at that. ""Then we shouldn't be here. This is the domain of Thesan or Artume-"" ""No, this is a wake,"" I said firmly. ""They are here because of a death. That is your domain, is it not?"" The goddess didn't reply, continuing to look around the room curiously and eventually started to mingle, and I followed. There was a slideshow of photos of the deceased playing on two flatscreen televisions up in the corners of the room for everyone to see, but that was common. Less common was the fact that Monty Python's Always Look on the Bright Side of Life played from the speakers as people happily chatted about the life of the deceased, a man named Bailey Hammond. We overheard a story nearby of the man's son recounting something his father had said about shutting his eyes while on a bicycle, unsurprisingly landing him in the hospital in a leg cast. Another had been a student of the deceased and was talking excitedly with classmates about the field of research they were pursuing, explaining how Hammond always made class interesting. The coffin was most surprising, to us. It seemed Hammond was a big fan of a certain sports team, as instead of the typical black suit, his burial clothes were something he would have worn to a football game. Not only that, but his casket was the colors of the team, a cheerful red and white rather than the typical somber dark brown wood. ""Death is an end,"" I spoke up, as we took a respite in the corner of the room, away from the chattering friends and family, ""but it is a necessary end. You don't mourn the end of a party; you reflect on how much enjoyment it brought you. Similarly, humans have started to take on this attitude with their lives. Of course, the more religious think it disrespectful, as the upcoming afterlife is what a funeral should be about to them, but so many humans have become secular that this was an inevitable outcome."" ""It is...pleasing,"" Mania said softly, her gaze going from one human to the next. ""They are all sad, of course, I can sense it, and yet there's an undeniable joy they're expressing of the appreciation of having this person in their lives."" ""And they couldn't have had this day together without Bailey Hammond's death,"" I said. ""He's left them, yes, but they still have countless wonderful memories, and it seems the man's wishes were that they came together in a celebration and appreciation of the time they'd had with him. In laughter rather than in tears. There are so many who aren't fortunate enough to experience nearly as many years, and while making his wishes known before his time came, he must have known that and understood how lucky he was."" As I stood there, friend and therapist to a goddess, I felt the satisfaction of a job well done as I always did, but more than that, I felt something new. There was a small smile on Mania's face, and as someone who spent their days constantly among death, there was an emotion in me that I rarely experienced. Hope. And I looked forward to helping my goddess through this next change in the way humans experienced death. &#x200B; /r/storiesbykaren",1175
" Hephaestus, a hard","""Oh god!"" cried Hephaestus, looking at the pictures my associates took for him. ""That's no god,"" I said with as much sympathy as I could. ""I know who it is!"" Hephaestus snapped at me, as he flipped through the pictures of his wife, Aphrodite, with her lover, Ares. It's my job. It's not glamorous. But it pays the bills and sometimes it feels good to help a fella out like this man here, Hephaestus. A hard worker who worked his way up and now owns three steel mills in the center of the industrial district. Built his company--Vulcan Industries--with his own hands. Now they're living high on the hog, and what's his wife do? She gets playful with the Olympus's chief of police, Ares. It ain't good to have a man like Ares knowing I been spying on him with his sidepiece, but I told Hephaestus I'd help him, and I took his money. So here we are. ""Look I'm real sorry, mister,"" I say to Hephaestus, who is still flipping through the pictures. ""Now how 'bout you get a drink. Head down to the bar *The Bacchae,* Dionysus runs it and is a good friend of mine. Tell him the drink's on me."" Hephaestus dropped the pictures and looked at me, smiling. ""No,"" he said and I didn't like the look in his eyes. ""No, I got plans of my own."" ""Now just take it easy,"" I said to the man. ""Don't go doing anything stupid."" Hephaestus set an envelope down on my desk with my payment and stood up. ""Thank you, Jason, for your service. I knew I could trust you."" ""Just doing my job. Look, I take no pleasure in it. I was hoping it wouldn't turn out this way with your wife."" ""Goodbye, Jason."" ""See you around, Hephaestus,"" I said, tipping my cap to him as he walked out of the room. I leaned back in my chair. Another day in Olympus, this god forsaken city filled with the most spiteful and petty and two-timin' people imaginable. I can't complain though, these people keep me well employed. Bought me a Studebaker just a couple months. It was expensive, but a man's gotta have style if he wants to attract the right customers. ""Mr. Iolcus,"" I hear my assistant, Medea, over the intercom. ""A lady is here to see you."" ""Let her in, Medea. Thank you."" Here we go again, I say to myself, standing up and brushing off my suit, looking in the mirror. I nod in approval. The door opens and a beautiful woman walks in. She is older. Blonde hair down to her shoulders. Enough jewelry around her neck to pay a kid's way through college. ""How many I help you....,"" I say, reaching for her hand, inquiring for her name. ""Mrs. Kronos,"" she said. ""But you can call me Hera."" My heart skips a beat. ""Kronos,"" I repeated. ""I don't imagine you are..."" ""Yes, Mr. Iolcus. My husband is Zeus, the mayor. He's actually the reason I'm here to see you."" What a day, I say to myself. ""Alright, Mrs. Kronos, why don't you just sit right there."" I lead her to a chair for clients in from of my desk. ""Smoke?"" I ask her, pulling out my gold case from my suit pocket. ""No,"" she said, waving her gloved hand. ""No thank you."" ""You mind?"" I ask. ""It's not everyday I get the Mayor's wife in here."" ""Go ahead,"" she said. Her face was serious, drawn tight. She was beautiful, even at her age. And elegant. Her gloved hands held the sparkling purse on her lap and she sat up straight, like a statue. If the mayor was foolin' around on her, he was an idiot. But aren't we all? I took a deep drag on my cigarette, then asked, ""how may I help you, Mrs. Kronos?"" ""Do you know my husband, Mr. Iolcus?"" ""Never met the man,"" I said. ""Well, I'm sure you've heard rumors."" ""Rumors don't mean much, Mrs. Kronos. Now look, I'm a busy man. Is there something I can do for you?"" She looked at me nervously. ""Yes, Mr. Iolcus--"" ""Call me, Jason."" ""Yes, Jason, there is. You see, I believe my husband is having an affair."" I nod, taking another drag of my cigarette. ""Do you love your husband, Mrs. Kronos?"" ""I do,"" she said. ""Then how 'bout you just forget about this? Are you sure you really want what I may find? Honestly, your husband can make my life hard if he finds out about this. I got a license I gotta look out for."" ""What's your rate?"" She asked me. ""I'm not cheap, ma'am."" ""Well I'll pay you your regular rate plus an extra $5,000 if you find anything."" I stroke my chin, thinking. But there ain't much to think about. $5,000 dollars makes it simple. I press the intercom. ""Medea, bring Mrs. Kronos one of our standard contracts, will you?"" ""Right away, Mr. Iolcus."" ""Are you sure about this, Mrs. Kronos?"" ""I'm sure,"" she said as Medea walked in and placed the contract in front of Mrs. Kronos who bent forward and signed the contract. I grabbed the contract and signed it then ripped the carbon copy off the back and handed it to Mrs. Kronos. I walked Medea out of the room and held it open. ""I'll be in touch with you soon, Mrs. Kronos. I'll get started on the case today."" She stood up and I got a whiff of her perfume. She turned and looked at me as she walked past, and I felt weak in the knees. What a knockout she was. ""Let's hope that this is all just a misunderstanding."" She laughed a little as she walked past Medea's desk and out into the rainy Olympus night. \---- I lock up for the night and turn to walk to my car, pulling my trench coat tight. The rain has stopped, and the steam is coming off the street in wavy hoary strings. As I get close to my car, a police crawler pulls up and two thugs with badges get out, looking at me like a dog drooling over a piece of raw meat. ""Where you headin' tonight?"" one of the officers asked me. ""Your wife just called, said she was feeling a little lonely, thought I'd stop by,"" I say, taking a drag of my cigarette. ""Wise guy, eh? Let's see if you're so wise missin' a few teeth,"" the police officer said, tapping his trudgeon on the front of my car. ""Save it,"" I say, blowing out a cloud of smoke. ""That may work on some street walker, but you ain't scaring me."" ""Police Chief wants to see you downtown. You're coming with us, Jason."" I could make a fuss out of this, but that wouldn't really help any. ""Alright, big shot. Let's take a drive then."" I flick my cigarette at his feet and walk towards the crawler. I knew I shouldn't have taken that damn contract with Hephaestus. Ares isn't someone I want to be on their bad side. \---- ***Part II Below***",1188
 Ifandi stood outside the door to,"""Look, I don't give a single frack what it takes, get that law passed and get it passed now! Do you hear me? Now!"" Ifandi stood just outside the door to her boss's office, a steaming cup of khav in hand. She'd left the sugar out this time, the rhetoric around the new prohibitions was infecting everything it seemed and Mr. Krupp's moods were legendary. ""Favors? You dare talk to me about favors? Who got you that office two cycles ago, is your memory really that short? If you don't pass my law I'll find someone else who will!"" There was another pause, the voice on the other end of the commlink said something indistinct. ""Finally!"" her boss said, exasperated. ""I expect it by the end of the day, do I make myself clear? Good, I'll see you at down on the green at the end of the week and I'll kick your hind limbs there too. Thank you Madame Speaker."" Ifandi knocked, Mr. Krupp was a horrific caffeine addict and after stressful calls he needed his fix immediately. ""Enter!"" he called gruffly. Opening the door she was caught, as always, by the contrast between her boss's bearing and appearance. He was young for a power broker (barely 45 cycles) and sometime in childhood one of his horns had been snapped off, leaving his skull with a stilted, almost comical look. ""Thank the Gods!"" he said with an easy grin, ""my savior has arrived."" This was the other side of his moods, the man was like a storm at sea, unpredictable at the best of times. Still though, he always started out nice with her and the other interns. He was a bad man and that was without a doubt, but he still remembered coming up from the bottom as well. Mr. Krupp took the khav gratefully with his upper forelimbs, the lower set swiping articles across screens, sending messages that would end lives and rewrite the balance of power across whole systems. He sniffed at it, making a face and setting the mug aside. ""No sugar?"" he asked. Ifandi nodded. ""I need sugar, a lot of it."" He made a cupping gesture with one of his free hands, pointing at it with the other. ""That much at least, more if we have it."" ""Oh yes sir, sorry sir."" Ifandi bowed deeply, lowering her horns to the ground in formal obeisance. Before taking the mug and turning to race from the room. ""You're not even going to ask?"" he said from behind her. ""Excuse me sir?"" ""Kid, what's your name?"" ""Ifandi, sir."" ""Look Ifandi,"" he said, and a few shocking moments later one of the galaxy's most powerful beings stopped everything he was doing, darkening his monitors and turning his eye stalks on her, a lowly intern. ""You've got to ask things like this, you're here to learn after all, that's how I got where I am. I won't begrudge others doing the same."" He grinned suddenly, ""although I might still scream at you if the question is stupid. No offense."" ""Yes sir,"" she said nervously. ""Sir, if you don't believe in the sugar ban then why are you pushing so hard for it? I've seen some of your business portfolio, I know you have sugar refineries on at least three planets so this will hit your bottom line as hard as anyone else's."" ""You checked my portfolio? Good, I approve."" Mr. Krupp reached out, plucking the khav from her hands and drinking it in a single long chug. ""Gods that stuff is awful without sugar! Look kid, you've heard of the Humans right? Those new bipeds from Sol?"" She nodded. ""Good. I just got word last week that they made their first successful FTL jump and rules are rules, there are some even I can't break."" ""So they'll be admitted to the Federation?"" Ifandi asked. ""Oh yes, they have to be now. I've been watching human politics for a while, I've made it a habit with every new species. All species operate differently, some are cutthroat, some are cowardly, some believe in firmly defined structures, others in diffuse almost anarchical collectives. If you want to be a power broker you have to know things like this. The humans have their own little quirks too, one in particular. Can you guess what it is?"" ""They seem very warlike,"" she offered. ""Not so much more than some. No, the humans have something far more dangerous. They're corrupt as all hell."" He paused for a moment, shaking his head. ""Really, their politics are the most nebulous web of corporate back channels and purchased offices I've ever seen, some of their leaders even report back to multiple buyers! Can you imagine that? At least I fully own my people. ""You mark my words kid, if we let the humans join like we do all the others they'll have a senator in the first century and a minister not long after, its frankly sickening to watch them work."" Ifandi's brain was in overdrive, her eye stalks swiveling back and forth in extreme concentration. ""But why the sugar then?"" ""The sugar,"" he said, ""is a work of art. Each one of those little apes is nearly as addicted to the stuff as me. I got the idea from them actually, they have these things called campaign ads where they engage in something called mudslinging. The goal appears to be to paint their enemy in such a negative light that nobody even takes a look at their politics, they all just vote their guts or some such nonsense. It's a brilliant idea, I've got to hand it to them. We'll paint the whole lot of them as horrific drug addicts and harp on that until that's all the voters can think of. I hope they like mud!"" He chortled loudly, swinging his forelimbs about as if throwing things. ""Now go get me another khav, with sugar this time and enter quietly. No knocking and no disturbances or I'll snap your eye stalks off. I've got a war to start."" \------- If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. I'm nearly 30,000 words into a serial that's all free to read and there's other fun shorts like a psychic space tiger. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!",1056