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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

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.

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."

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 !

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."

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

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,

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.

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

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.

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 - .*

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

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

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.

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 .*

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.

"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 :)~~

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.

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. ***   To read more of my stories, visit

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!*

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...   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.   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...   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...

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."

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?

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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.

"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.

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."

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.

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

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

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

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

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:**

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

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

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

'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."

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.

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!*

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.

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

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*

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,

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.

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.

"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

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.   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.   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.   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.   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.

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.

"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.   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

"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.

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.   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.   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.   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.

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-

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.

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

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.

"*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.

"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."

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

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.

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!

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

"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."

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

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!*

"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.

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? "

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.   If a serial killer was what they wanted, a serial killer was what they would get. ***** r/AlannaWu

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. -------------

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."

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.

"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/

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,

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. ​ 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. ​ 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. ​ "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.

"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. .... ​ \------ More later, if people are interested

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.   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.

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*,"

"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

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

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/

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

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. # | | | ​ **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**

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

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/

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.

Craigslist truly was a marvel of modern

​ \----- ​ 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."

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."

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!

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. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ ​ 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!

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!

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."

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."

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

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.

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.   ________   ^(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.)

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