Datasets:

StudentWorkingWithML

/

reddit_story_gen_1

like 3

The sound of glass breaking filled the

I lean back into the chair, as I looked at the man in front of me. "Could you at least untie the rope?" ​ He looked up from his bowl of noodles as he glances around, and then back towards me. "The boss said I wasn't supposed to interact with you-" ​ "Yes, yes because I am valuable as I'm the only person in this whole world that can be a victim," I spoke with a roll of my eyes and then looked down at the noodles. "Are you suppose to be eating on the job?!" ​ "Well, This is considered an easy job..." He sucked a mouthful of noodles, before handing the bowl to me. "Want some?" ​ I just stared at him and looked down at the ropes. "Will you untie me?" ​ "No." When he saw the confusion. "It'd be like feeding it little baby, here comes the airplane!" ​ Before he got to bring the fork to my mouth, the sound of glass breaking filled the room. "Unhand her, you swine!" ​ A man standing in spandex, doing the famous superhero chest pose stood there. "In the name of justice, I demand that you release her, or become a victim of my wrath!" ​ I went to take a bite as I slurred the noodles. "He's going to win-" And then the fork and bowl dropped on my lap as I released a yelp at the hot water, and the two began to fight. ​ After a few minutes, the hero came over, untied me, and we left. When he dropped to the 'safe' location, the news reporters were already there as they held the cameras up, took pictures and shouted questions. ​ "Were you terrified?!" One asked. ​ "No..." ​ "Were you harmed?!" ​ "Well, I had hot water spilled on me but I'm pretty sure it was an acc-" ​ "This just in, the victim was tortured by scolding hot water and if it wasn't for her savior surely this young woman would have been scarred for life!" ​ "....That's not what happened!" I shouted behind the news reporter, who held up her hand as suddenly my voice was silenced. ​ "We also believe that she may have Stockholms, and unable to speak due to her experience! We'll cover more on this story tonight at 8!" ​ After that, everyone focused on the hero and I was able to slip away as I attempted to dip, duck, dodge, and sneak into my apartment. ​ As I stepped through the door, I tripped on some wire and whacked head first onto the floor. "God damn it!" I exclaimed before I heard. ​ "Mahahaha! Prepare to meet your doo-" ​ "No! No! No!" I pointed to the clock. "It is 6 o'clock, I have already had one kidnapping, had hot water spilled on me, and dealt with the news. We have rules, no more after 6-" ​ "You don't make the rules!" Then the man paused. "Alright, so I'll be back tomorrow, say 10?" ​ "In the morning?!" ​ "Yes, or would noon be better?" ​ "Get. Out!" ​ With that, the man vanished leaving me alone as I walked into my bathroom to take a shower, changed into my PJs, and then moved to sit on the couch to relax. "Might as well watch powertube," I muttered as I grabbed my laptop to help with the relaxing. ​ After an hour of watching music videos, and how-to videos there was a suggestion on the corner of the page. ​ \*Conspiracy theory: Did Ms. Wonder actually fake her powers?\* ​ Curiousity started to fill me as I clicked the video and watched as it talked about how a woman made the public thing she had a wide range of powers and ability, but in reality all she could do was make things clean and spotless...but she used illusions to fake making it look like she could make things disappear, and float in the air...even walk on water. ​ This created a search of old videos and old websites where people talked about 'magic tricks', making cards disappear, and reappear. Due to the how old these things were, and how outdated it was I wondered if people still had the knowledge of these things, as I started reading everything. ​ As soon as the sun came out, I left for the store. I made sure to wear something that would hide who I was, as I went through the isles. A deck of cards, a package of foam cups, a bottle of water since I was thirsty anyway, a bag of rubber bands and a key ring, a package of toothpicks, and a roll of clear tape. After buying everything, I went back to my apartment walking by the guy from last night as I made sure to hide the content in my bag. ​ "Prepare to meet-" ​ "Sorry! Already got kidnapped, just getting back...you know the rules. One kidnapping per day, but tomorrow! Promise!" ​ The look of defeat was clear as he huffed. "Fine!" He called out, and vanished again as I stepped into the apartment and started to practice my new 'abilities'. ​ It took hours before I was able to get everything correctly, but pretty soon after reading, studying, and practicing. I was able to make the foam cup lift up, rotate the plastic straw without touching it, making toothpick disappears, and even bending spoons with only looking at them. I scream with excitement as I now had to activate the plan. First thing, go to sleep, get kidnapped, get saved, and get caught on camera using my new 'abilities'. ​ After going to bed, I woke up, brushed my teeth, took a shower and prepared to go to the 'gym' with my 'gym' bag that was filled with all of my new abilities. As I stepped out of my door, I tripped on that wire again. ​ "Ow! God damn it!" ​ "Prepare yourself for the-" ​ "Come on, let's get this over with!" ​ I cut him off, as I moved over. "C' mon, I'm busy today, let's get this on the road." ​ He stared at me as he huffed. "This is not how it works!" Before he proceeded the kidnapping and we went to his 'hidden' location. ​ The usual happened, big speeches, getting tied up, waiting for the hero and that's when my excitement began to fill as the hero picked me and my bag up and delivered me to a location in front of the news reporters. ​ As the news reporter began chattering with each other, I took a few minutes to prepare to make it look like I was just making sure I had everything. Afterward, I 'casually' began to make that foam cup float between my fingers and heard the reporters around me gasp, and grow quiet. ​ "Ma'am! Isn't it true that you don't have abilities?" ​ I glanced up casually and then looked down at the cup. "Oh...I didn't even realize-" That's when I began to do my next trick as I took out my bottle of water and straw, after a few moments I moved my fingers and the straw began to spin around in the circle and I gasped. "What's happening?!" I asked the hero who was staring at me as if he was compuzzled on this situation. ​ "....I believe you have superpowers after all..." ​ As those words came out of his mouth, I watched as one of the reporters did a circular motion with her hands. "Alright, well it seems like we wasted our time here!" She called to her crew, and then just like that the crowd started to disappear. ​ As news started to spread, my walk home actually became uneventful as I was stopped and showed my disappearing toothpick ability and it caused people to just leave... it wasn't until I got home and sat down did I realize after years of kidnappings, savings, news reporters, and issues left and right, I was now considered 'normal and boring' and I was loving every moment of it.

No one lives this far out on

No one lives this far out on the ice, not even me. It's more a...summer home. A very solitary summer home, one I collapse and drag behind myself on a sled every year. Or at least I have done for the past dozen years, ever since I fully recovered from the accident. Well, I say recovered, but to be honest there's not much left of the original me. That's why I'm so well-suited to be out here for all that time. My calorie requirements are very limited, and I'm basically impervious to cold. Plus, I don't need a dog pack to haul a very large amount of gear over the ice for very long distances. Sometimes I miss my old, mostly-biological body, but really I'm lucky to be alive, and anyway I'd already had five toes and three fingers amputated for frostbite. Sure, the doctors grew them back for me, but I'm happy never to go back through that again. I paused, mentally adjusted the nano-heaters in my brain case by a quarter-degree, and went on trudging forward over the ice and snow, digging in with the integrated crampons I'd have to swap out once I got back to civilization. I was almost there. I was almost there. I still got tired, mentally, which anyway is the tired that really counts, even when my limbs and most of my internal organ analogues could keep on ticking so long as they had power. Almost there. Almost there. Then I could sleep, then I could wait, and in twelve hours I could be on my way back home to Toronto. Almost there. Almost there. I could see the landing zone, at least two of the three poles I'd shoved into the ice were still there, LEDs flaring into brilliance as my systems connected up with theirs. Good. Good. I pulled the sled up beside one of the markers and climbed into my little cubby and let my systems go to low power and did did my best to drift off into sleep. It took a long time. I had too much on my mind. But I *was* very tired, and eventually fatigue overtook thought in the great mental race, and everything faded away. When I came back to, I hooked into the sled's radio transmitter and tried to contact the pilot. She should be close enough now for me to make contact even through the Polar Field that kept me incommunicado during my excursions. Nothing. And then an hour later, nothing. And then five more hours, and silence. Well shit. I'm not easily given to quick worry, especially about things like an inability to communicate with the outside world; if I were, I'd have to find a different job. But still. Something nagged at a corner of my mind. The lights I'd seen in the sky. Nothing unusual, I'd thought. The Aurora Borealis was as old as history, it shouldn't be a surprise to see the Northern Lights about as far north as you could get without actually standing on the Pole itself. But what I'd seen, it had been different. Spectacular. Immense. Somehow foreboding. I'd chalked it up to some fluctuation in the Polar Field, which still wasn't very well understood. *Something's waking, that's understood. You can't turn off all your dreams.* Okay. Where had that come from? *You think your sleep is restful that way, but part of you remembers. Part of you still hears.* I looked around at the ice, the endless snow, the Arctic summer sun hanging near-eternal in the sky, the spreading teal tendrils of the xenobloom I'd come out on the ice to study. *Something's waking.* Fuck this. I'd just have to take the boat, it's not like I didn't have a backup plan for this. I pulled the vessel off the sled and attached my harness to it, tossed in a couple packs, and went back to hauling a load across the ice. It took another day to reach what passed for a coast on this giant iceberg. That night I lowered the boat into the water, and slept in it. I had my system administer the strongest sleeping drug it would allow. I woke remembering nothing but the vague impression of waking. *But not your waking.* Shut up. At mid-day I saw the lights again, even in the broad daylight, spreading across the sky, a great spectrum of colors. I would have shuddered if my limbs still responded to things like adrenaline, but my mind raced, and I did my best to quiet it as the boat cut through water and small floes of ice. The next night, I didn't sleep at all. I had my system administer as much caffeine as it would allow. That way I could tell myself that the things I was seeing in the sky might be due to sleep deprivation. But I shouldn't think about that. I kept my thoughts still, away from the memories, the night-leavings. Next time I slept, I would turn off my dreams again. I knew I wasn't supposed to, but I could, and it was a sort of consolation prize, wasn't it? For what had happened to me, the necessity to replace part of my brain? It was my right, wasn't it? *Something's waking.* The day went fast and slow all at once. I wasn't sure where my mind was at. I didn't know what I was feeling, and if I did, I didn't want to, so I didn't. Didn't know. I wasn't in a hurry to see, but I had to, had to right away. It didn't matter. Time passed anyway, and I came upon the shore. On the shore I came upon the town. In the town I came upon the four-post-leg walkers with the underside-eyes, seeing me, coming toward me, they had mouths too under there opening six different ways and I fled, it was warm enough here for them but I fled back north to the cold and ice the warming Earth was slowly losing and I made it back to the cap, no sleep no sleep but here I stand on what passes for a shore and I see the xenobloom and I stare out over it and I think I shouldn't think I'll have to sleep but turn it off *Something's woken.* ​ Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.

The beast in the air screeched

"It's found us," Sam said, staring up at the sky. "Run!" He and the boy broke from the road and darted into the thick forest. Sam chanced a look over his shoulder. The beast in the air screeched as it tore through the wind, massive wings flapping, tendrils of flame licking out of its mouth, its long spiked tail trailing behind. The dark of the forest vanished as trees burst into flame all around them. Sam scooped up the boy, who was falling behind on his little legs, and clutched him against his chest, wrapping an arm around the kid's head. Gusts of wind came from nowhere and toppled the blazing trees from his path. Showers of glowing embers blew through the air, illuminating a path through the destruction. "Are we going to die?" the boy cried. His voice muffled in the thick cotton of Sam's tunic. His heart dropped in his chest. Sam wouldn't die. He never did. In a world where people could fly or lift giant boulders, he had the uncanny ability survive ridiculous odds. Just like other powers, it grew stronger the more he used it. It had started by him surviving a fall, one that would have killed any other person, but at the last moment an eagle swooped in out of nowhere to cushion his fall. While other kids were honing their lightning attacks or telekinesis or super vision; Sam practiced not dying. "I've survived worse," he lied. Sam had never been chased by a giant dragon in the middle of nowhere. The most perilous situation he'd been in was a fight with a grizzly bear. It had slammed him to the ground with a massive paw, and just as it had raised a clawed hand, its eyes had rolled back into its skull, showing just the whites. Heart attack. He didn't even know animals could have them. He apparently had enraged it to the point of death. The world was nothing but fire and wind. Sam kept running forward. His gift would get them out of this. If he kept the boy close, Sam thought, then he shouldn't get hurt. Or so he hoped. They escaped the forest and ran into a clearing of tall grass that came up knee high. Sam looked around for a place to go, but the dragon swooped down and burned a circle around him. There was nowhere to go. It landed in front of him, inside the circle. "Give him back or you both will die," it snarled. Two jets of flame blasted from its nostrils into the air. "My master would rather not have to find another like him, but he's a patient man. He'd see you both die than have the boy escape." "Your master would kill him regardless." Sam held tight to the boy. "Hasn't he stolen enough powers already? What does he need from this child?" "It's not my business to know--nor yours." The dragon lowered its head so that it was mere feet from Sam. Its eyes glowed red and ugly. The creatures scales shined from the starlight above; they almost glimmered as if wet with sweat or condensation. "You'll have to kill me," Sam said in a weak voice. The air seemed to have been stolen from his lungs for anything stronger. His traitor legs began to shake. The arms carrying the boy started to ache like tiny flames were building in his muscles. "So be it," the dragon said. "My master hasn't fed me in a while." A tongue, black as night, slid across its lips. "Each gift has a unique taste. I wonder what yours tastes like." Sam cringed as the beast opened its massive jaws. Even though he'd escaped death hundreds of times, he still carried a healthy fear of it. No matter how many times one holds their breath; they never get over that urgent, building need for air. Sam turned so that the boy was shielded away from the dragon and closed his eyes. Massive jaws filled with bloody teeth clamped down on Sam. There a moment of pain. Then it was gone. He heard a loud *ping* of striking metal. This was followed by a long *crunch* as bits of stone shattered and fell all around him. The dragon screamed in pain. When Sam opened his eyes he found himself in a suit of glowing steel armor. He lifted a shining hand in front of his face. The boy squirmed in his other arm. "What in the..." Sam trailed off as he looked from his armor to the crumbled stone at his feet. It wasn't stone--it was the broken teeth of the dragon. The crunching and shattering he'd heard... "But how?" Was all he could say as the boy dropped from his arms. The dragon withed in pain, rolling over the fire it had set in the grass, snuffing it out with its hard scales. "My gift," the boy answered. "Deus Ex Machina." "It makes armor appear?" Sam asked. He couldn't believe what he was wearing. How did he get it? What was a Deus Ex Machina? "Sometimes," the boy started, putting a hand to his chin. "Things just appear when I need them." "Can you make a sword appear or a crossbow? Something to finish the dragon off with?" Sam asked. He wasn't sure he could properly use either, but it would be better than nothing. Perhaps hearing their conversation, the dragon took off into the sky. Its shrieks made both Sam and the boy grimace and cover their ears. "No," the boy said and kicked the ground. "Stuff just appears on its own. I have no control over it." Sam nodded. Some powers were fickle like that. He'd heard of a woman who could occasionally stop natural disasters, but had no idea how she did it. Half the time people called her a savior; the other times they shook their fists at her in anger, not understanding her helplessness to control her gift. "Let's get you home," Sam said and turned back the way they had come. "I wish we could stop him," the boy punched a charred tree trunk. It crumbled from the impact. "What could we do? My only power is avoiding death, not fighting. Same with you." Sam sighed, "As much as I'd like to do something, we'd need someone who can actually fight." The boy gripped Sam's hand to stop him. "My older sister, Kara!" The boy jumped. "She was born with a weapon. She could join us and together we could take him down!" "I don't know," Sam said. "We're talking about a guy who's stolen dozens, maybe hundreds, of powers. It would have to be a powerful weapon." "It is... I think." The boy frowned. "She hasn't used it, but it sounds powerful. Kara calls it her Chekhov's gun." "We'll see," Sam said. He couldn't believe he was humoring the kid. But their gifts did seem to compliment each other. He wondered what a 'Chekhov's gun' was--or even what a *gun* was. Could they actually stop the man who could control beasts like the one they just fought? A man whose original power was to take them from other people? They found their way back to the road and began heading east toward town. Sam had a sinking feeling that he would be back soon, but headed in the opposite direction, toward danger. Toward the dark man.   ------ /r/StevenLee

I've left doctor after doctor after

I was 13 the first time it happened. It was a normal day; mom and I were heading to the store to grab some last-minute ingredients for the dinner party she was hosting later in the day. We were in a rush; she needed to start cooking ASAP if she wanted everything ready by six o'clock that evening. You see, that was her superpower. No matter what it was--whether it was something as simple as cookies or as complicated as consomme--it was always delicious, and she never needed a recipe. Everyone I knew had at least one power. Some were simple, like my moms, but others were straight out of a young adult dystopian novel. My friend Evan, for example, could manipulate water. Sasha could move objects with her mind. Derek had both super speed and super strength. And me? I could do nothing. I had absolutely no power. I've left doctor after doctor puzzled. They've taken blood samples, urine samples, x-rays, CAT scans, everything. Nothing indicates that I shouldn't have a power. And yet, nothing. Some people even had three. And I had nothing. "Alison!" My mothers voice snapped me out of my session of self-loathing. "Lord help me if you do not get out of this car right now and help me pick up these groceries." I swear she had a second power; super-nagging. I started getting out of the car, only to notice my mother was already across the parking lot and almost to the doors of the grocery store. I yelled at her to wait up, but she didn't hear me. Blame my teenage angst and social anxiety at the time, but the thought of having to walk alone in the store to find my mother terrified me; I had to catch up to her. I sprinted across the parking lot and was on the crosswalk leading to the entrance. I wasn't paying attention. I heard a horn. I looked to my right, and there was a car barreling toward me. I couldn't move; I was frozen. I closed my eyes, the only movement I had left, and waited for the inevitable. I heard a crash. My ears were ringing. And yet, I was alive. It had driven straight into the grocery store, completely avoiding me. Luckily, it had crashed into where the carts are kept and no one, not even the driver, was injured. We found out later that the driver had over pumped their tires, and right as they were about to barrel into me, they popped, sending them spiraling out of control. I was shaken up, but I didn't think much of it. I just chalked it up to a stroke of good luck and went on with the rest of my day. The next incident happened just a few months later. My family wasn't rich by any means, but we all loved to travel. This usually resulted in things like sub-par motels with curious stains, sketchy shuttle rides, and meals that had a 50/50 chance of giving you food poisoning. None of us cared though; we were grateful for the experience and being able to do things as a family. That trip we decided to go exotic and headed down to the beautiful country of Costa Rica. My little brother and I each got to pick one activity we wanted to do while there. He chose deep-sea fishing and I chose zip-lining. We decided to go zip-lining the last day we were there. None of us had ever done it before, and I was very excited. When the instructor asked for a volunteer to go first, my hand shot up like a rocket. Before I knew it, I was strapped in and ready to go. Although the instructor was nice, he didn't seem very educated on the course or zip-lining in general, and the place overall was sort of dingy. But I wasn't too concerned; this was the norm for our family. Just as quickly as my hand had shot up, I was flying. It was a surreal experience; the sky was a bright, gorgeous blue, the trees were ruffling softly in the wind, birds hopping from branch to branch. And then, I was falling. Somehow the line snapped, and I was plummeting to my death. Just like last time with the car, I was frozen (save for the fact I was falling) and all I could do was close my eyes. I landed on something soft. I opened my eyes. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, an open bed truck packed with mattresses was driving through the forest at the exact moment I would have hit the ground. And I landed on them. I was completely unscathed. The truck drivers were about as shocked as I was but helped me return to my distraught family at the top of the zip-lining course. My parents took me to the doctor immediately after we returned home. We explained the situation, and how I had escaped death twice now due to very random and lucky occurrences. They had never seen anything like it before. I was referred to a power specialist and after numerous appointments and consultations I was finally given an answer. I had a power. The specialists weren't sure the exact nature of my power, how it worked, what its limitations were, etc. They called it 'plot armor' as a joke, but it was fitting. They told me, whatever I do, do not test it out myself. They didn't know enough about it and told me to stay out of trouble as much as I can, but that if near-death experiences DID happen to me again, to report back to them. Of course, I didn't listen. I'm a curious teenager after all. I decided to test it out myself, despite what the doctor told me. The next day, I walked up to the roof of our apartment building and jumped. As soon as I took off, I was terrified. What if they were wrong? What if I just happened to be very lucky in those two instances? I immediately regretted my decision. I was going to die. And then I landed in a net. Some fishermen had been travelling to their job site and for some reason decided to carry their net open though the street. Why, I'm not sure of, but in that moment, I had no doubts about my abilities. It's been ten years since the car incident. I've saved a gas station clerk from an armed robbery. He forgot to load his gun. I've run into a burning building to save a family of three and came out completely unscathed. I've been mugged at knife point, only to have a pigeon swoop in and snatch the man's weapon. Countless people have been saved purely from my supernatural stroke of luck. All thanks to their friendly neighborhood plot-armored hero. edit: thank you so much to the random stranger for the silver. you honestly don't know what this means to me!!! edit 2: wow. i can't thank whoever gave me the gold enough. i am so happy that i was able to give a story worthy of this! can't wait to keep writing. thank you

The President has continued to warn us

**- December 31, 2133 -** ​ "...a*t four o'clock this afternoon, the President stood upon the world stage to warn us, once again, about the threat of the 'Outsiders.' Still, we have yet to see any evidence whatsoever that his claims are true*." ​ "*Well put, Kimberly. Ever since his election, he has continued to warn us of this so-called threat to our entire civilization. He's been the President for 3 years now and he just won't give it up! What are we supp--"* ​ "I've heard enough of this" I snapped, as I turned the television off. "The media is going to get us all killed, god dammit. How do we show them that this is a serious threat?!" ​ Natalia sighed, "I don't know, Sir. We've tried everything. We have even gone so far as to provide video evidence of the Outsiders destroying other planets. The media always spins it against us, calling the videos faked or fabricated. Maybe we need to think of something with more of an.. impact. Perhaps we need to show them what's going to happen to us." ​ "I've thought about that as well.." I replied, gazing out my window to see the beautiful, overgrown forest outside my office. It never ceases to amaze me. Our planet is the most incredible one there is. We've managed to build our civilization around the natural resources, and work with the planet. Those before us wanted to steal from the planet, destroying it in the process, but not us. Everything we do, we do it for the health of our planet and our people. ​ Snapping back into reality, I looked toward Natalia. "We can not allow this threat to come any closer. I realize we need to give them a real sense of how serious this is, but I don't know how we will accomplish that." ​ "I have an idea, Sir. If you'll hear me out, I think you will agree with me that it is the most logical way to get our point across, especially with the limited amount of time we have before the Outsiders reach our planet." ​ "Alright, Natalia. Tell me your plan." ​ **- February 1st, 2134 -** ​ After years of trying to avoid this threat, we have finally come up with a course of action. Natalia has spent the last month preparing to put our plan into place with incredible attention to detail. Things are serious now. The Outsiders are on their way to our planet, and the majority of our people refuse to see that this will be the end of our lives as we know it. ​ "Okay, Natalia. Are you sure you're going to be able to handle this? It goes against everything our people believe. Following through with this is going to change you, whether we succeed or not." ​ *"...ships have been observed coming toward our planet over the last few weeks. The President continues to warn us that these are the 'Outsiders' and that they will be the end of our civilization. Yet, our space station is as active as it has ever been. Ships come and go on a daily ba..."* ​ Natalia was clearly trying not to pay attention to the television. "Yes, Sir. I know. This is the only way to force our people to see that we have a real threat on our hands. We've spent over three years trying to accomplish this. I see no other options." ​ "Right, then. We will proceed as planned." ​ **- February 22nd, 2134 -** ​ \*BREAKING NEWS\* flashed across the television screen. *"We are here in the International Forest of Peace, observing from afar as the Outsiders continue to tear down the trees, the life of our planet, at a rate which will leave our planet a barren wasteland within weeks. Anyone who has attempted to intervene has been killed on sight. Across the country, they are drilling into our soil to steal the very blood that pumps through our planet's veins. This is real. The President was right. They are going to kill our planet. They are going to kill us all."* ​ "Fuck, Natalia. I don't know if I can continue with this plan. Is this really what it had to come down to? We are fucking destroying our home. The home that has provided for our people for tens of thousands of years." ​ "I know, Sir. But as we've discussed many times, this is what must be done. It was either we destroy a few small regions, or we allow the Outsiders to come and destroy our entire planet. What other choice did we have?" ​ I continued to watch the television, tears rolling down my face as I watched our plan unfold. This was my fault. I allowed it to get this far. Surely, there was some way I could have proven to our people that those damned Earthlings were going to invade our planet. Ever since they drained their own planet of all resources, they have done what ever it takes to keep their civilization running, no matter what the cost. ​ "Natalia, call the plan off. We can't continue to destroy our home like this. We must find another way. We have to!" ​ "Are.. are you sure? I thought this is what had to be done? The countless failures we've had, the danger of the Outsiders! I don't think we should stop it, Sir. This is the first time we've ever seen an actual reaction from our people." ​ "Yes, dammit! We need to stop this! Our people are dying! Our planet is dy--" before I could finish my sentence, Natalia was pointing a gun at me. Natalia, who has been my faithful second in command for the last three years. The woman who has been here for me, every day and night since I was elected. ​ "Natalia, what are you doing? There is no time for whatever the fuck this is! CALL THE PLAN OFF!" ​ *"...and we've just received word that the President of the planet Earth has sent us a broadcast with regards to our President, and our planet..."* ​ "You might want to see this, Sir." Natalia said, casually pointing toward the television with a crude, vile look in her eyes I've never seen before. It was as if she was a completely different person. ​ As I looked at the television, my heart felt like it stopped. I couldn't believe this was happening. The broadcast was showing a video image of.. *Natalia?* *** Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out r/Pipskweex for the rest of my stories!

"What's wrong now Michelle?"

I have no idea what I'm doing here. Is this my sixth grade English class? I look down at my copy of Number the Stars. That was one of the mandatory reading books I actually enjoyed. I feel hot tears on my checks and I'm crying. "What's wrong now Michelle?" The teacher barks at me. The rudeness startles me. Who gets angry at a crying child? "Uh...Can I go to the bathroom...uh... Miss?" I didn't even remember this teacher, let alone her name. I don't know why I asked that, but it'll be easier to figure out what's going in private than surrounded by a bunch of kids. "For heaven's sake Michelle, you've used all your bathroom passes for this semester. No, you may not, and my name is not Miss, its Miss Mitchell." I vaguely remember Miss Mitchell now, or rather the inane rules that made no sense. "I think I just started my period." This gets giggles from my classmates. This is the year we had that awkward "puberty" pep rally. The period excuse always worked my creepy high school gym teachers, hopefully it will work now. Miss Mitchell frowns even harder, and I see the obvious signs of debate on her face. She doesn't want me to leave the room, but she also knew it was unhygienic if I really did start my period. She finally sighs, and points to the door. I don't really remember my middle school days, so it takes me a few minutes to actually find the bathroom. I splash water on my face, and the unsettling realization of what being back here means hits me. I'm not really sure what to do, and then Laura walks in. I couldn't stand this bitch in school. I instinctively brace myself for cutting words. "What a loser, crying in the bathroom! What happened, you lose your teddy bear?" She taunts. I rack my brains trying to think about what happens to her, what her adult life is like. She wasn't in high school, which I remember more than middle school. She wasn't in eighth grade, when we went on a class camping trip. And she wasn't there for the 7th grade field trip to the movies where I spilled my popcorn over half the class. Then it hits me. The announcement in homeroom, the memorial service, the uneasiness we all felt for weeks. I had blocked it out, it was too much to process at the time, and too painful to dwell on when I grew up. "Do you want to be friends?" I ask her abruptly. Laura's eyes go wide. "Do you want to be friends?" I repeat again. "You live on Laurel, right? I'm the next street over on Birch. Do you want to walk home together, and stay for dinner?" I have to keep her out of her house. It happened in April, and I think its April now. The bell rings, and Laura walks out. I follow, and bump into Thomas. I smile, we had every single English class together throughout middle school and high school. He stands there, staring at his shoes. I had forgotten, he is still 11 and periods are not something to talk about. I'm touched he was even waiting for me by the bathroom. "I guess I'll go eat lunch" he finally stammers to his toes. I burst out laughing, and follow. "We're eating with Laura." I announce decidedly and follow him to the cafeteria. I'm glad I have someone who knows what to do, because I don't remember the day to day stuff. I have forgotten my lunch account pin, garnering an eye roll from the lunch lady as she looks it up. Why are all the school workers rude? Laura glares as Thomas and I sit down to eat with her, but by the end of the lunch period she has softened a bit. After 7th period Laura grabs me coming out of Social Studies and we start the walk home. "I'll stay to help you with your math homework and then I'm leaving" Laura spits out. "Great! I suck at Math." She already knew that, everyone knew that. Maybe if I'm stuck redoing everything, I'll actually try in Math class. Maybe if I do a bit better, I won't have crippling student loans in the future. Maybe I could focus on Math and Science, and instead of a near useless liberal arts degree I could get a degree with higher paying job prospects. This might not be so bad. "Anyways," I continue on, "Its Friday! So, it's lasagna night! If you stay, its one less piece I have to eat for leftovers all weekend long. My mom makes the biggest lasagna you'll ever see, and then that's the only thing besides cereal we eat over the weekend." I had forgotten this tidbit, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We walk the rest of the way in silence. We get set up in the living room, and by the time dinner is ready Laura has helped me to finish my math homework, and I've fixed her Social Studies and English homework. We're laughing like old friends, and when mom yells "lasagna's ready" Laura exclaims it's her favorite meal and scampers after me to the dining room. By the time dinner is over, she's agreed to spend the night, and we've picked out four movies to stay up watching. I've forgotten why I originally invited Laura over until I hear the doorbell ring the next morning. Mom answers, and it's the police. My gut clenches. "Sorry for the early visit, ma'am. We are looking for Laura Smith. The principal said he saw Laura and Michelle walking home together, and we need to account for her whereabouts." Mom ushers the officer into the kitchen, and the conversation is mumbled. The officer takes Laura away, and my mom tells me what I already know. Laura's father has had some mental issues for a while now. It's probably why Laura was always pushing everyone around. In a fit of overwhelming depression, he decided the only way out was to kill his family and himself. I don't know if I could have prevented her parents' deaths, but Laura was saved by that sleepover.

"Even in death, if we

"Until death do we part." Those words were not enough when we had made the leap that was marriage. I can remember my words as if I had said them one second ago. What I said was "Even in death, if we are to part I would I go to the gates of hell just to see your loving smile one more time." I intended to keep those words. Even if it would cost my life or my soul, I did not care what would happen to me so long as I kept that promise. There was nothing that could stop me from reaching my beloved, not man or beast nor heaven and hell could stop me, and believe me they tried. The hardest part was just getting into hell. I thought that the best way would be suicide, so I tied my noose and as my neck snapped, strangely I was met at the pearly gates and was greeted by St. Peter. "What are you doing here?" St. Peter asked me with a peculiar look on his face. "You aren't due here for another 24 years when your heart gives out due to all the troubles you've had in your life." "I've decided to come here on my own wishes Peter, I want to see my wife again." "Your wife isn't here believe it or not. I know you probably already knew that, due to you knowing how she was." St. Peter said in a sympathetic voice seemingly like he knew everything there was to know about my sweetheart. "Shut your mouth you son of a bitch. You talk like you all aren't the ones who caused her to turn out that way. You can't just play ignorant to your own misgivings, and what you did to her is unforgivable." I said as my anger flared when he even spoke about the woman I loved. Acting all high and mighty even though it was in his bosses' grand plan that caused her to end up where she was. "I need to get to hell. I must see her. I must, I made one promise to see her and nothing will stop me until I see my sweet Elizabeth." St. Peter was quiet for a moment. Probably flabbergasted at the the way I spoke to him, and then had the audacity to demand something of him. "Fine." St. Peter said with a sigh. "I can feel the grief and wrath within you. There is nothing in my power to stop you even if I wanted. I will tell you how to get to the gates of hell." He stopped as if he thought I was going to say something clever. "There is only one way to get to the gates of hell." "Of course there is. I hope that it is easy." I felt obligated to give him a smart ass remark for that one. There is always some sort of shit like that when you have something very important to you to accomplish. "If you'll let me finish i'll tell you how to get there. I don't think that it is too terribly difficult. I can send you to purgatory and from there you will need to make your way to the gates of hell." St. Peter says will a sly smile. "Its not going to be one of those nice walk in the parks kinda walks is it?" I ask even though I already know the answer. "Correct. Your path will be long and arduous but with all that anger and pain I sense in your heart and soul I do believe that you will succeed on your quest for the woman you love." "Then lets get to it Pete." St. Peter says a multitude of phrases in what i can only presume is in classical hebrew, and the largest pit that I have ever seen opens before me. I look down and I can't see the bottom. I give a glance to St. Peter who gives me a nod, and with that and no hesitation I jump in. Falling down the pit was not as bad as I had initially thought that it was going to be due to my fear of heights, but thinking about the reason I was doing it was all I needed to do it. Elizabeth. The woman I had loved ever since I had first laid eyes on her. There were times of course we had lost touch but somehow someway we had always managed to meet up again later on down the road. It was like one of those fairy tales, just magical. As my thoughts were elsewhere my ass had hit the bottom of the hole, and in seconds flat I was surrounded, by what exactly I had no idea, but I knew that if these things would stand in my way they would not stand for long. They came at me with hatred in their eyes and fury in their hearts like demons so that is what I called them. They were surprisingly weak for what I assumed they would be. With some unknown force I was able to rip the first ones' arm off like I was Beowulf. The others that were there proceeded to look at me in awe as if I was some sort of god. Not too many other "demons" started to come at after that. They all saw the arm I carried around as a weapon and decided to steer clear of me. By the time I had reached the Gates of hell I was followed by a mass of them. I payed them no mind as long as they did not distract me from my own quest to see my sweet Elizabeth. The gates of hell were as large as the pearly gates upstairs, but I paid them no mind and I marched to the gate. As I stood before them I was greeted by the three headed dog Cerberus. I looked at him like he was but a lost puppy with pitiful eyes as we stared into each others souls. Cerberus howled as loud as anything that I had ever even comprehended and within a moment who I could only assume was the fallen angel Lucifer had arrived at the gate. He stared at me for a moment and with a snap of his fingers the horde that was behind me was gone. Cerberus had gone too, but that was his own accord and not his masters. I looked up at Lucifer and asked him if he had known I was coming. "Of course I knew, did you really think that I would notice a human entering a portal to purgatory? I also have the knowledge of why you came all this way. You know that you are the first to make it this far, you're actually the first to make it out of purgatory if I'm being honest with you. You have even bested my pup Cerberus which in itself is no easy feat. So since you kept me entertained how about I give you a reward." "You already know what it is I want devil. Let me see my dear Elizabeth. Now," Lucifer looked shocked. It was almost as if no one had ever even spoken to him like an inferior. He had never heard anyone make a demand of him, so he never knew what it was like in this situation. "I will allow you to see your darling Elizabeth as long as you will do me one favor." The devil said with the same sly smile that St. Peter had earlier. "You must take my place as ruler of hell." "Done." I replied as quickly as he had made the demand known, which had seemed to shock Satan. I knew that the Devil would have some deal to propose in order to let me see her. I was prepared to say that to anything that he had proposed. No matter the cost I would pay it to keep that promise. And there I was with a snap of his finger I was sentenced to rule hell for all of eternity, and in a flash she was there. My dearest Elizabeth back at my side as the Queen of hell for all eternity. And for the first time in a very, very long time I saw her true smile.

"Defenses breached!" A loudspe

"Defenses breached!" A loudspeaker broadcasted in a voice that boomed in Alice's ears. "All units report to Zone Three!" Alice looked up from her tattered paperback--one of the few that had been brought over from Earth--and out the window. The only sun she'd known, a red dwarf, was melting into the eastern horizon. "All units," The voice on the loudspeaker sounded desperate. "Every who can carry a weapon... report to Zone Three immediately!" Sirens began to pierce the air. Alice's stomach turned as she tossed the book aside, leapt off the bed, and dashed to her footlocker. She grabbed her weapon, a first generation plasma rifle that had been handed down through her family. Originally owned by her grandfather, Aaron Adams--hero of the first colonists--the rifle almost seemed to hum as she held it, cradled it. For years she'd dreamt of the day it would be in her arms, and now it was, a gift from her mother on her last birthday. "You're eighteen now and old enough to fight," her mother had said. "Make us proud." She rushed out of her empty side of the barracks and into the late evening. The sounds of battle were far and muted to distant pings and pops like a low powered transmitter on the fritz. Alice ran toward the sound. Her boots scratched against the hard blue grass. Each step her heart seemed to pump too little, too late, the rifle in her arms grew heavier and heavier. Alice had turned out to be the worst shot in her unit. It wouldn't have been so bad if she hadn't had to constantly stand in her grandfather's shadow, but she was, and all of them had expected much more from the granddaughter of Aaron Adams. As she ran toward the chaos, her stomach churned, not so much at the thought of the enemy, but of the faces of her comrades when she joined the fray. They would be disappointed. She could almost hear their taunts--*we're doomed if Alice is our only help, she couldn't hit the side of a fabrication hab, so much for the Adam's legacy.* In defiance, she pushed herself harder. It was what her grandfather had always done. First to battle, first to victory. It had been his motto. "Private Adams!" Sergeant Brown's voice roared across the field. She stumbled, turned, and sprinted toward him. "Where the hell is your armor?" "The call said to come immediately," Alice panted. She'd also been the last to finish each of the daily runs. Her lungs seemed to either require more oxygen or couldn't get enough quickly, either way, Alice always felt on the verge of passing out after a few minutes. "Christ on a..." Sergeant Brown shook his head. "At least you grabbed your rifle. There might be hope for you yet." "Next time I'll put on my armor before leaving," Alice said standing as straight as she could. "Permission to join the battle, sir?" "Hold on, hold on." The Sergeant held up a hand as he fished something out of the back of his field vehicle. "Here, throw this on." He tossed an old flak jacket that had dozens of burns and large tears from decades of use. It looked like it wouldn't hold up to harsh language, let alone a shot from the enemy, but it was all she had. As she slipped her arms through, the Sergeant chuckled, "I think that had actually been Aaron's. Now that I think about it, I'm sure it was." "Really?" Her eyes went wide as she snapped the bindings together down her side. "Pretty sure. But it looks as if it's seen better days. Guess there's no truth to the rumors about his 'special armor.' Don't go get yourself killed, kid." When she'd finished putting the jacked on, Sergeant Brown shouted, "Now get going, private!" Alice raced to the battlefield. She watched as her fellow soldiers took up defensive positions behind concrete bunkers and rows of sandbags. In front, what used to the be the eastern wall was now a smoking ruin. Hundreds of Traxan flyers buzzed through. Alice aimed at one of them and fired a bolt of green plasma. The flying Traxan dodged it easily, swinging through the air, its short wings flapping madly as it rained shots down on Alice's people. Before she reached her unit, a voice called out to her, "User Detected: Welcome back Commander!" She almost tripped over her own feet as she searched for the source of the voice. "Reconfiguring to last preset." "Who's there?" Alice spun around. Heat flooded to her face. The battle raged on in front of her and someone was playing games with her. "Stop it!" she shouted. Before she could move any further, the flak jacket ballooned out in front of her as if about to explode. Alice cringed and dropped her rifle. She almost fell backwards, but at that moment a wall of metal engulfed her. Everything went black.. A second later she was staring out the visor of some kind of helmet. When she brought her hands up to her face, they were covered in silver armor, streaked with green paint. There were words at the top right of her visor: *Jets Active, Shield 100%, Aim-Assist Active.* Not knowing what to make of this, Alice scooped up her rifle and ran into the carnage. Shots from the Traxans clunked off of her armor. The number next to her shield went down with each hit, but she hardly felt them. Alice raised her rifle up to the sky, toward a group of flying Traxans and squeezed off three shots. Each one blew holes through the Traxan's midsections. Blood and guts and green plasma blasted outward like a horrific Christmas display. Alice winced as their bodies lost their forward momentum and crashed down to the dirt. She'd never killed anything before. No, she couldn't think about that now. They were attacking her people. If she had any qualms about Traxan deaths, she'd find out later. Not now. She found her unit. They were trapped inside a concrete pillbox, huddling under the lip of the barrier as they fired blind shots at the enemy. Alice began to run over. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could go faster. No sooner had she thought it when her feet lifted from the ground. A sound like a jet taking off blasted from behind her. Her feet dangled behind as Alice flew forward like a rocket, toward her unit. She came to a stop directly above them. From up so high, she had a great view of the battle. She spotted the Traxan flanking maneuver, moving toward her unit's position. She cut it off by blowing a hole through the two Traxan Grounders. The rest scattered for cover. "Push forward!" Alice shouted. She didn't wait for a response. Her body soared forward. From the sky she was able to pick off advancing Traxan Grounders and smash into their Flyers. Her armor hit them like a train crashing into a stationary cow. Alice moved from one side of the battlefield to the other, routing the enemy and sending them scurrying back over the wall they'd blown apart. When she finally landed back on the ground, her armor was nearly black from the dried blood and dirt and debris from fighting. "Threat Neutralized," the phantom voice said. "Powering down." The suit vanished and Alice found herself wearing the flak jacket from before. Her finger traced the rigid fabric around one of the large burn marks. *What is this thing*, she wondered. There was a legend of how her grandfather had been aided by a full suit of flak armor that had kept him alive through impossible situations, but this was different. Where had this suit come fr-- "Traxan forces regrouping!" A voice rose behind her. "They're bringing in their heavy armor." Alice caught a bare glimpse of the wall before the suit reemerged. "Systems back online..."   ------- /r/StevenLee edit: thanks for the silver, and second part down below.

The world-famous Karma Suit is

Today was the day we saw, *it.* The world-famous Karma Suit. Supposedly worn by the likes Achilles, King Arthur, Spartacus, Alexander The Great and oh, does the list continue. Yes, this legendary armor was worn by made up people, apparently. "I can't believe you really don't believe in the Karma Suit, Jackson." Kathens seemed amused at first, but his voice turned serious. "You'd better not fuck this up for us, tomorrow." Kathens, like the rest of my platoon -- and most of the U.S. Military for that matter, revered this story. Since we were born, it was a constant reminder of our superiority over the rest of the world. I didn't have the patience for this shit. It's like as if the whole world believed in Jesus all of the sudden. "Yeah, fuckface. Don't embarrass us. Seriously." Another distant voice in the darkness. It belonged to Ramsay. "Listen, assholes. You think I want to spend a week in the pit? Shut the fuck up and go to sleep." I muttered. I just wanted to get tomorrow over with. Either my life is going to change as I witness actual magic happen before my eyes, or they are going to hide the ceremony from us as they always do on YouTube and just have us present for when our new Soldier X walks out. I dozed off to sleep wondering who the new super soldier would be. ---- Ramsay tapped my arm repeated as we stood in line, watching Sergeant Diaz stand up and walk to the podium. It was time to begin, Sergeant Diaz was selected for the honor of introducing General Mazza. Sergeant's voice echoed through the PA System that was designed for a much bigger crowd than the one present. "Throughout the course of history, the outcome of wars and the onset of peace have sometimes been determined by just one man." He looked around, proudly. "Heroes, have been made and immortalized. Today, is a very special day. Not since the onset of the third World War have we selected a new Soldier X. Bradley Solis served his country remarkably, and will be remembered as the hero who brought peace to an entire planet. And while we still mourn the loss of General Solis, but there must always be a soldier of the Karma Suit. The suit that has taken all shapes and sizes. From leather, to steel, to chromium. From a simple chest plate to a fully functional weapon of mass destruction. Great responsibility is to be placed in the hands of our next Soldier X. I assure you, we have carefully selected a man of great honor. To introduce hi---" Sergeant Diaz's eyes dart to me. All eyes followed as I stood there, holding back laughter as my face turned beat red. Ramsay pinched my forearm, but it was quite obviously too late. I'd done my best, but this was just an absolute joke. "I'm sorry, Private Jackson - what is so funny?" his face was as red as mine, "What is so goddamned funny that you'd interrupt a live broadcast on probably the most important event you will ever witness in your life, Private?" He actually expected an answer. Why would he do this? He couldn't just ignore me? "Don't say a fuckin' word." Ramsay hissed through his teeth. "Private, do you intend on keeping the entire world waiting? Why are you laughing right now?" Sergeant Diaz was seriously going through with this. Well, now was my chance. A few lies crossed my mind, ways to easily get out of this mess with minimal penalty. Fuck that. The world deserved to know the truth. I'd be the one to give it them, or go down for trying. "Sir, I apologize. I just simply don't believe in the magic behind the Karma Suit." I shouted back, confidently. He chuckled, "You don't believe in the magic? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" his smug reply made me uneasy. "I don't believe the suit changes based on who wears it. I think you make a new suit for each Soldier X. Basically.." I replied loudly. "Is that so? You think it's magic." He full on laughed out loud, now. "Not technology, you think we are proposing you believe in magic? Private, what is wrong with you?" He looked disappointed, and angry. At that moment, Sergeant Diaz stepped down, walked over to General Mazza and briefly discussed something. General Mazza made a call, while Sergeant Diaz walked back behind the curtain. It was clear I'd just become public enemy number one to every soldier in this entire crowd. After a minute long eternity, Sergeant Diaz flashed his head back through the curtain and seemed to be pulling a cart along with him. On it was what looked like some kind of harness. He stepped away from it and made his way back to the podium. "So as a special treat, thanks to Private Jackson here, we are going to perform a magic trick today for everyone watching." A smirk crawled up his face. "Private Jackson, we need a volunteer from our audience for this one. Why don't you make your way to the stage." I was flabbergasted. I couldn't even respond, my legs just started moving. I was about to be on global TV and for what, I did not know. As I walked up to the stage, Sergeant Diaz was addressing the cameras. "We will bring up General Mazza after this display, so that he could present you all with the real Soldier X. For now, we're going to see how the Karma Suit reacts to Private Jackson here." Gasps spread throughout the crowd like a wave. My heart sank into my stomach. What the fuck was going on here? I stepped up on stage and saluted my superiors before turning to my Sergeant. He gestured to the harness. "This.. is it?" I asked quietly. "That's it, soldier. Strap up, lets see what you are made of." he said, and wasn't kidding around. The harness looked so heavy, like industrial chain, yet it was so light that I almost hit myself in the face when I lifted it. I felt strange just holding it. I took a deep breath, looked at my peers, and slipped it over my head. For a brief moment, I lost control of my body as my arms and legs spread out and my entire body was engulfed with darkness. I couldn't see or feel much of anything for what felt like 10 minutes but realistically, was less than one. Once the visor opened up and I could see again, I was 40 feet in the air. "User detected: Welcome Back, Commander." said a beautiful voice. Looking down at all of my peers and superiors, I could see the shock on their faces. I felt a sudden vertigo, as panic heated up my entire body. Was I flying? I need to get the fuck out of this. "Reset! Reset the suit!" I shouted at the voice in my head. "Get me out of here!" "Resetting coordinates back to home." said the voice inside of my head. Immediately, I felt intense vibration as the stage below got smaller and smaller. My panic turned to complete mania as the speed in which the ground got further away continued to increase until I was surrounded by black space. Before I could even register what was happening, Earth was the size of a penny, and then it was gone. My vision seemed to blur, and then completely distort into intense hallucinations of color and light. "Base has been informed, they await your arrival. Initiating therapeutic hypothermia until arrival." the voice calmly stated over my frantic, incoherent screams. "NO! NOOOOO!! Undo! Don't do that!" I shouted as my every fiber began to seemingly freeze and my vision faded to black. ---- I will be continuing this story on: /r/nocre8ivity

Billy was a wide receiver for the

God damn, that tackle hurt thought Billy. What a way to spend my 17th birthday, getting speared in the gut by a 250 pound senior who had no business playing high school football. That kid ought to be playing for state thought Billy. He got up and wiped the dirt off his pants and hustled over to the sideline. It was 4th and 13 with 2 minutes and 37 seconds on the clock. The Middleton Mauraders were down by 6 points against the Springfield Samurai. Billy was a wide receiver for the Mauraders. They had the worst football team in the district for 10 years running now. They usually only won a single game the entire season. Billy sat on the bench and flipped his helmet back on his head so he could cool off and get a drink. He looked at the ground in desperation, hoping the magic formula for winning this game would appear in the dirt around his feet. Billy noticed a spot in the bottom right corner of his vision. Thinking it was a floater he shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Billy tried to focus on the game. His team had just stopped the Samurai running back after a gain of only 2 yards. That damn floater was still in the same spot. Billy focused in on it. It was a small plus sign. That's weird he though. His teammate and best friend Hans Spiegal looked over at Billy. "Are you alright man?" asked Hans. Billy kept focusing on that plus sign, it began pulsating. The more intently he looked at it the stronger it would pulsate. "Dude, what the fuck are you looking at?" asked Hans. He was growing concerned for his friend because he was sitting there on the bench with his eyes sharply turned to the bottom right of his sockets. Hans was worried that Billy might have a concussion. "I'm fine," Billy muttered. Suddenly a massive glowing tree appeared in front of Billy. "Wow!" he exclaimed under his breath. He should be freaking out right now he thought. Something about what was happening just felt natural to him though. He noticed a glowing green 17 in the top right of his vision. He looked around the tree, it looked like a skill tree. It was almost identical to his favorite RPG Knights of the 7 kingdoms. There were branches for strength, charisma, intelligence, stamina, and speed. Man, it sure would be nice to be a little stronger and faster right now, it would help win this game. Suddenly the strength and speed branches lit up and a small dot of light moved along the branches to the first node. Billy felt his muscles bulge slightly and stretch the fabric of his uniform. He felt sharper. A small minus 1 flashed by the 17 in the top right, it rolled back to 16, then 15. I better not use all the points now thought Billy, besides were probably going back out on the field soon. He focused passed the skill tree on the game and the tree shrank back into the small plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. The Samurais made it within 24 yards of the endzone and decided to go for a field goal. There were only 39 seconds left on the clock now. Billy watched the center snap the ball back to the quarterback, he saw the quarterback slowly turning the ball, the laces were facing the kicker. He watched, as though in slow motion as the kicker stepped forward to kick the ball. Billy could tell as soon as the kicker made contact that the ball was going wide of the uprights. Billy stood up and slid his helmet back down. He felt light as a feather and quick as a cat. If this the difference from using only 2 points imagine what I could do with the 15 he had left thought Billy. Billy took his place to the right of the line near the sideline. "Hut, Hut, Hike," shouted the quarterback. The center snapped the ball back to the quarterback, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Billy could see the laces swing around and around as the ball spun back to the quarterback. The quarterback took a few steps back, pumped to the left. Billy was just turning around after running ten yards out in a button hook pattern. The ball was already coming right towards him. Billy had to jump to catch it. He just landed when he heard the rapid steps of the cornerback coming towards him. Billy ducked and the cornerback hit him high and slid over Billy. The crowd went wild. Billy turned looked down the field, there was a linebacker coming from the left, another cornerback upfield to the right, and a safety right in the middle along with another cornerback being blocked by the other receiver on Billy's team. Billy started down the field blowing past the cornerback on the right. The crowd cheered louder. The cornerback who was being blocked was now coming directly at Billy, the receiver that was blocking that cornerback was on the ground. This particular cornerback was 6 feet and 2 inches tall and weighed 200 pounds. Normally Billy would be tempted to turn and run the other way or slide on the ground. The strength stat seemed to give him confidence because Billy ducked his shoulder down. The cornerback ducked down in an attempt to get Billy down by the legs. He was too tall, Billy caught the cornerback right in the upper thighs. The corner back flipped up and over Billy's head. The crowd roared. Billy had nothing but 40 yards of open field ahead of him now. Now was the time to test out that speed stat. Billy bolted down the field, the announcer rifled off "40,30,20,10, Touchdown!" in rapid-fire. No one in either town had ever seen someone run so fast before. "The Mauraders win the game! What an upset!" bellowed the announcer. The crowd from Middleton rushed the field and put Billy on their shoulders. Billy felt like he was king of the world, he felt like superman, like he could do anything. Then Billy woke up. He felt around on his nightstand for his glasses. The alarm was blaring in his ears. He found his glasses, put them on and turned the alarm off. He sat up on the edge of his bed and noticed a small white plus sign on the bottom right of his vision. What the hell is that he thought. Thanks for reading! Edit spelling and punctuation.

Finn's head rung as he

Finn's head rung as he held it in his hands. His mind was fuzzy but he knew he was on the ground, on his knees, hunched over, holding his head. That's right, he got hit. By that big brute, what was his name again? Mike? Andrew? It didn't really matter. His head hurt and the oaf was bothering his friends. Even now he could hear him shouting to his friends, escalating the situation. As he tried to think Finn noticed something. In the far bottom right corner of his yes. At first he thought it must be because of the punch he took. But as he listened to the ringing in his head, the small plus sign did not go away. So he tried to focus on it. To his surprise the small plus sign moved, it circled around its own axis and then the swirl became bigger, folding open into a large tree of boxes, icons and texts. It looked an awful lot like the skill trees in the games he played with his friends. At the very top he could see a number, 23 points. Points to invest. Finn was starting to gasp by the surprise of it all when it all blurred and a smaller box with text popped up in front of it all. *Congratulations with activating your skill enhancement suite. This took you about 95.86 time less than the average person to discover. Now that you have discovered this system you will be able to see your experience progress at all times as well as your various info bars. If you need extra guidance, do not hesitate looking over the wiki or almanac provided in this suite. Please enjoy and do not forget to invest your experience points!* In a smaller font it read at the bottom: *Yearly talent point allowance is now canceled. Further talent points will be acquired through experience gain.* Finn was gasping, his brain rushing, through the ringing, as he tried to process all of this. Was this real? Was he going mad? Did the punch fuck up his head? As he pondered on all of that and the blur slowly faded and revealed the tree again, only seconds had past, but it quickly stopped mattering. Finn could hear his friends fighting. Fighting and losing. His eyes scanned the top row of boxes in the tree, lighted up, one of them read strength. Another speed/ Agility. He quickly assigned two points to each of them, how he did not knowm it came as an instinct. Instantly the ringing was gone in his head, all the aches in his face as well. Still unsure and unfamiliar, Finn stood up, looking at his own hands. "Back up for some more huh?" His voice was as annoying as his face. Finn glared at the bully. But even before he could think of saying anything, he swung at Finn. Faster than ever before his hand shot up and grabbed the bully's fist in mid-air. Holding it in place. Surprised, both of them looked at it, then Finn started to exert pressure on the bully's hand. He yelped but tried to look strong, but as Finn used more and more strength, the bully soon sat on his knees, crying, begging to be released. Finn felt exhilarated, powerful. His head started to get cloudy with the feeling of such power over somebody else. But when the bully's hand started to crack and he could feel one of his knuckles dislocate, Finn quickly let go. He looked startled for a moment but then remembered where he was, all the friends of the bully, all his friends. So he fixed his glare, showed no fear or surprise. He was working all on instinct now really. "Fuck with me or my friends ever again," He said as he towered over the crying man. "And I won't stop, got it?" Finn turned around and left, motioning his friends to follow. He was in a daze, the remainder of the night played out as a movie in front of his eyes. He remembered close to nothing of it. How his friends praised him, wondered where it came from, and how they celebrated and drank together. All Finn could do was think about what happened. He knew it was real, by how he was able to stand up to the guy that had to be stronger than him, by how he now always saw a thin red and green line at the very bottom of his sight. At how, if he focused on them, he could see it resembled his experience and health. How small icons popped up to show status effects. "High morale", "Drunk", "Exhilarated". And how if he focused on those he could see exactly what buffs or debuffs they gave him. Late at night, when he lay in bed, back home, he opened the skill tree 'screen' again. He was getting better already at 'navigating' the weird interface. Now that he took a better look at it, it started to make more sense. At the very top were his remaining talent points. Below that was a single icon square, it resembled him very closely, and it read "Finn". From Finn lines sprouted and ended up in a first line of, what he assumed to be, Skills. These were the staple skills; Strenght, Agility, Health, Intelligence, Wisdom, Arcane and Piety. Beneath those, he could see plenty more squares and lines but these were all grayed out to such an extent that it was impossible for him to read any of it. So he returned his focus to the first line. He could see that most of them had been on 5 points, his intellect was on 6, which was normal, he always had been one of the smart ones back in high school. Even now in college he still was. His strength and Agility were both now at 7, explaining the two points he had invested in each of them. His Piety was at 1, explained by the fact that he was an atheist. And his Arcane was at 0. With 19 points remaining, he started to read through the descriptions of the skills he had the option to invest in. Most of them were self-explanatory, aside of Piety and Arcane. Piety simply said "Belief and thou shalt receive, the blessings of God" while Arcane was even less clear. "The arts of the master" Finn sighed as he lay down, closing his eyes. If this is real, he could take control over his own life in a way most people would not be able to. He could hone and grind his skills more efficient and more well-aimed. And he could increase them as well. He could become a superhuman perhaps. His head was spinning with all this information but he couldn't help but grin. In the morning, he was going to start his new life. In the morning he was going to use his skills and get started on earning some new points. With his academic year just having ended, this would become a very busy summer for him. *** More will follow when I find the time to write it. I will probably keep writing more for this, if I do you will be able to find more in here as a reply on each consecutive post, or over on my subreddit here https://www.reddit.com/r/RJHills/ EDIT: Thanks for the gold kind stranger!

The reaper bowed her head to

The reaper bowed her head to mine and looked down her nose at me. She was pale, as elegant as I thought she might've been, and she was staring at the stab wound glistening in my chest "There are good people out there," I repeated, dumbly. "There are good people." "They're not humans," the death repeated, shaking her head. "No human's coming to save you in this alley, you understand." I swallowed. It hurt to swallow, and I didn't like that it hurt to swallow, and my lungs gasped for air, burning. "What... what happens next then?" The death looked down at her watch, then eyes the brightness of the sun overhead. "We wait to see if a human shows up to save you," The death said. "You're not dead yet, after all. I arrived early." "Why?" I asked, tilting my head towards the lip of the alley way. "Why would you arrive early?" "It's a pretty time of year," The death said, sitting down. She crossed her legs (spindly and long) "And I've often been called too allowing of a person, and you were a particularly nice human, even if you were never given an opportunity to be anything else." I watched the mouth of the alley. Someone walked by and didn't even pause to look at me. I reached out for them and they were already gone, back on their previous path. I groaned and tasted blood. My eyes flicked back to my death, watching me from the other side. "What happens... if nobody shows up?" "Deaths have to come from somewhere, you know. There's a great cosmic cycle out there, and humans are just the very start of it." "That's cruel," I said. "It's life," my death replied. "That's how it is." "And man isn't horrible," I repeated. Another person passed by the mouth of the alley way and ignored me. Did they even see me? "You were stabbed to death over a wallet," my death volunteered. "A pitiful sum of eight dollars and forty seven cents, along with your id and three credit cards that'll be shut off within hours." "We're still not horrible," I repeated. I managed to cross my arms, which just exposed to stab wound to the air further. I didn't want to look down at it, because I knew something had broken inside of me. After all, my death had arrived early to gawk at the sight. "At your funeral, all of your best friends will arrive there. One will nearly bankrupt themselves to get a plane ticket, only to stare blankly at your coffin," my death continued. "That's... that's not horrible," I pointed out. "That's caring." "They'll forget almost all about you in a decade," she continued, looking up. She had lovely eyes, like dark set pearls inside of her head. "That's how it is." "That's biology," I countered. "And you are not your biology?" My death answered. "Are you going to pretend to be something greater than what you are?" "What about souls and minds?" "Useless," my death declared. "Except to further the universe." I shook my head. "That's not my fault." "Oh?" my death asked. "Then what are you declaring?" "Humans aren't the cruel ones," I said. "You are, over there, sitting there and watching me die." "And on your death, a brother of mine will be born. Prized out of your corpse and fashioned into the next stage of evolution. Your insights and transgressions and solutions will be used to keep the universe going. Your failures will be vivisected and understood and presented to the grand machines that run the cosmos." "And what'll be left of me?" "It's hard to say. How much of you is your pitiful biology? Your forced cooperation, your evolutionary kindness, and how much of you is real?" "So I'm supposed to be divorced from my body now?" "Humanity is good," the death offered. "Humans are cruel and evil; you are slaves to the structure of your mind and the very set up of your evolution. You are a philosophical conundrum entombed inside of muscles and squishy chemicals." "Well, yeah," I said. "That's horrible," the death said. "You have no real understanding of the world around you, and you kill people over it. You assume that the group is right-" I protested and she shook her head. "It's how your brains work, you have heuristic short cuts to determine the way things work; an evolutionary shortcut from when the world was brutish and cruel instead of sophisticated and evil." "And you're the one watching me bleed out in an alley." "Really, this is better for you than anything else." my death shook her head. I inhaled, felt the pressure and burn on my lungs that had made every word into a breathy whisper, and glared at my death. "What are you doing?" my death asked. "Spiting you," I said, and then, with the air that was still burning in my lungs, I screamed. It was a sharp keen little cry, the sort of thing that a wounded animal might make. "Nobody's going to come," my death said. "They're not scheduled to." "And that would make the schedule cruel instead of humanity," I muttered back. And then I screamed again until I felt the blood bubble up the back of my throat and tasted it rolling across my throat. "No human's going to save you," my death said. "Because I'm saving you." "I'm dying." I said. "There are more things than just humans in this world. I think you'll do good among their number." "Why'd you let it get this far?" "We're not in the business of saving our children from their mistakes," the death offered. But she stood up and walked towards me. She knelt down. Our eyes met. "Time's up?" I guessed. At the mouth of the alleyway, someone was looking in. His or her face, I couldn't tell my the narrow of the light in my eyes looked on with something like concern, spray painted across a wide expanse of flesh. My death bobbed her head and planted a quiet chaste kiss to my lips. "See you on the other side." "I'm to be a death?" "We have need of people to talk to the dying," she replied. "They have many questions, and the deaths are always the best of us." Then I became paler, and colder and died in the alley, and became death as well. Humanity might be cold, but death didn't have to be. ------- https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more like this, click here

Ben had been cutting tomatoes for his

It returned as quickly as it was taken away. I wasn't prepared for it, and now rather than being blinded by darkness, I was blinded by bright light. I stumbled backwards and fell to my knees, my hands gripping the brick wall behind me. I closed my tearing eyes and blinked slowly, trying to get readjusted to the light. Two years ago The Darkness came. I had been cutting tomatoes for my wife, Jane, who was sauteing vegetables when the world went black. I cried out, blinking furiously, my hands clawing at my face. I heard a similar cry behind me. "Ben, Ben, I can't see! Somethings wrong, I can't see!" "Jane, I can't either. We need to call for help, something happened." I groped around for the phone. I didn't even know where it was, but I needed to keep my hands busy. It had to be on the counter somewhere. And that's when I heard Jane scream. She must have burned herself on the frying pan, or knocked it over, but her shrieks still haunt me to this day. When I did find a phone, I couldn't get an ambulance, we couldn't even contact the police. A busy line greeted us. This didn't just happen to us. It happened to everyone. And with the world's sight being gone, for some reason sounds we had grown accustom to went away as well. The busy New York City streets were now quiet, the happy chatter that filled the park across from us was silent. We now lived in a blind and muted world. We treated Jane's burns with ice and carried through the motions of our old life. Before the TV stations went dark, they would bring on people who had suddenly went blind before The Darkness. They said that it was something that they got used to and eventually they learned how to continue living on with their lives. But either they were lying or had a support system that we couldn't get because life for us was terrible. We ran out of food within a month and began making trips to a near by bodega to pick up whatever we could. When we arrived, people were fighting over the last few frozen meals. We got what we could, but I left with a bruised face and Jane's arm was cut by a knife. We began venturing further from home to find the things we needed to survive, but a year ago, we got lost and we haven't been able to find out way back home. We sleep when we find a soft place, we eat when we find food, and we barely survive. But now... I blinked and there was an outline. I blinked again and there was now faded color. I blinked a third time and saw my wife, hunched over, picking out her ragged hair, and staring at nothing. "Jane," I said, my eyes still tearing from the sting of the sun, but unwilling to blink again at fear that it would all go away. I stared at her. Her skin was gray and scarred with burns and cuts, her clothes filthy, her bones prominent, and nails long and broken. "Jane!" I said, more loudly this time. She rose her head slowly, her blue eyes looking to the left of me. My voice cracked, I rarely spoke above a whisper in the past few months. There was no need to. "I think I can..." I trailed off, barely believing it, convinced it was an illusion or a cruel trick. "I think I can..." And then something caught my eye. The building behind my haggard wife. Thick black letters formed a sentence. It took me a little time before I understood what it meant as reading had been a lost luxury for us. DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE! That's when I began to look around. It wasn't just on that one wall, it was everywhere, big and small. Like a crazed graffiti artist had made the city his own but only had one thing to say. Whose "them"? I look at the people around me. We were in an alley way accompanied by three other people. A man who looked like he was about to begin urinating and sang softly to himself, a woman napping on a piece of cardboard, and a second man talking softly to the wall. My story wasn't unique. I had heard many similar ones over the past two years; people who couldn't find their families, others like us who couldn't find their way home. Some who had gone days without food. There were fights, rapes, theft, murder, and so many horrible things we never thought would happen in our city. The world had become lawless. And we were trying to not become its victims. "Yes?" Jane whispered, her head bobbed up to face mine, guided by my voice. "I think I can..." I looked back at the thick black warning surrounding me and back at my wife. Whoever had written them must have been as crazed as the man who had now begun peeing to the right of me as he sang the alphabet backwards. "I think I can see." I thought the world had gone quiet when The Darkness began, but in the moment I knew what true silence was. The peeing man stopped urinating and singing, the napping woman stopped snoring, and muttering man silenced. Jane's face was directly facing mine now. Only her unfocused blue eyes told me that she was still blind. "You can see?" She asked, her hoarse voice cracking. She reached out her hand and found my face. "Yes," I whispered, my tears from the sun now turning into tears of happiness. "I can see. I can see. I can now help us. I can see." She came closer and put her other hand on my face. I didn't realize how much I had missed when Jane cradled my face in her hands, the heat of her palms warming my cheek. She wiped away a tear with her thumb. "I need your eyes," she said. "I will be your eyes, I will always be your eyes." I said. I sniffed back the snot that was beginning to flow from my nose. Her hands moved from my cheeks next to my eyes. She traced a finger over my eyelid, a broken nail lightly scratching the soft skin. "I need your eyes," she said again, this time more loudly. She began to press her fingers lightly around my eye sockets. That's when movement around me caught my eye. The three other people in the alley with us had risen to their feet and had formed a circle around me and my wife. Panic rose in my chest. "Jane, we need to get out of here," I whispered, placing my hand on her arm. I went to push her hand off my face, but she tightened her grip. "Ouch!" I gasped, her fingers pressed further into my eyes. "Stop!" I pushed her off of me. "What do you think you're doing?!" Animal like, Jane leaped back at me, pushing me over from my knees onto my back. "I NEED YOU EYES!" she screamed. I pushed her off me again, but another hand shot out and grabbed my shoulder. It was the man who seconds ago was peeing next to me. "She needs your eyes," he said as he stared over me. "She needs your eyes," the others began to whisper. "We need your eyes, I need your eyes, need to get your eyes." Another hand reached out pinning my other arm, my leg, my torso. "I can help you! I can help all of you!" I screamed, thrashing and kicking, but their hands wouldn't move. Jane peered over me, her face leaned down to meet my own and for a second I thought she was going to kiss me. "Ben," she whispered, one hand on my cheek, the other stroking my temple. For a second, her blue eyes locked onto my own. "I need your eyes."

No one knows where he actually went

They were sleeping. Kimmy Cruise and his family. I couldn't believe it when they told us that Kimmy Cruise, serial killer of the town, would be coming back home to us on humble and previously-quiet Hay Road with his possessions, family, and normal life intact. No one knows where he actually went. Some say he went to an island high security prison. Others claim he left as a monk and returned spiritually awoken. The craziest ones insist he went to hell. When he got back, Kimmy was almost immediately given a position in the local church's clergy. He became the lead organizer of the youth team sports, helped run the PTSA at the high school. Used his brutal muscle mass to compete in triathlons instead of beating some homeless guy up in the bar when no one but me was watching. Next year, he was planning on running for mayor and had already garnered the support of people after several months of his return. His immediate neighbors claimed his wife had never smiled so much. She was always stayed at home to take care of the house and kids and was quite a nice lady. I couldn't believe she had thought to stay with him, to let him back in after it was revealed he was the worst kind of criminal. Now, his kids were always off doing this or that school or sports activity. They won many of the debate and basketball prizes for their school. His family had become the ultimate achiever family. The perfect family. I couldn't buy it. I knew Kimmy since he was a kid. He was always a prat, always a bully. Despite this, he was always smart, and so few knew about how he really was except his victims and myself. I was never surprised when he was eventually revealed to be a criminal. Even now, I wouldn't be surprised if he was still acting up but knew better than ever how to hide it. His family was sleeping now. At least, all the lights were out. I was about to do something very illegal, and admittedly kind of creepy. But this was too important. Only I really knew him. What if Kimmy was preparing for another murder? If I could just record him, in the act, find some incriminating evidence or, something, then people would believe he really hadn't changed. I would go through the basement. After studying their house from my window, I noticed that they rarely ever went near the basement door on the back side of their house. The door was tinted but still see-through. There had never been anyone on the other side. I wasn't too familiar with breaking and entering, but for this I had to try. I got out a lock pick set I had collected, my gloves, and my phone. The phone was to take pictures. I better not lose it or that would be all sorts of trouble. Picking the basement lock took a considerable amount of time. The lock was more unusual than I expected. Looking through the other side of the door, it was empty. Like always. It seemed clear. I gently slid the door open. I explored the basement as silently as I could, tiptoeing here and there. The only closed door emitted the hum of some machine. They probably weren't there. . I tried the next floor. The stairs almost squeaked. I stilled in fear then pressed carefully onward once it seemed as if nothing else changed about the house. Their kids slept on the first floor with their door partly open. I continued on once I took note of where they were. It was good they were farther away, away from him. I found the master bedroom on the second floor. It was obviously the master bedroom. It had double doors, the most impressive looking place upstairs. I tried the door. It moved easily. I opened it slowly...slipping in, then just as slowly closed the door while looking at the scene in front of me. There were two dark lumps in the bed. Bodies. So they *were* asleep. He was asleep. I couldn't help the slight disappointment. He was really just sleeping now, was he? I stayed close to the floor, moved around. Once I was far enough from them, near the curtains, I stood up, ever so slightly, bit by bit. I peered at the lumps. *What...is this?* The lumps. Their faces... It was painted on. It was flat, smooth, glossy. It was like the face, the body, were all of a painted Russian doll. It was the most terrifying thing I had ever seen because didn't make any sense. *What happened to him?* I started to sweat. My body stiffened. I couldn't move. It felt like I was paralyzed. If that wasn't him, then where was he? Why would there be a doll in his bed? I stayed there, just eyeing the doll. And his wife...she was a doll too. Their faces, it looked like them. Why would they both do this? I was starting to get a very terrible premonition about what this all meant. I only realized I had stayed there so long when I saw the clock read 3:00. Then, the double doors slowly opened again. My heart hammered wildly in my chest. I couldn't bear to move or hide -- my eyes were wide, fixated on that moving door. Silence. The door moved no more. And yet, there was nothing behind it. How did could it have opened? I saw a fluttering from down below, where the door met the floor. *It's...a bat?* *There's two of them!* I watched as the two...things...shuttered closer to the bed with their strange appendages. One jerked its red body onto the face of the wife. The other one, the slightly larger one, onto the face of Kimmy. Something creaked, and they both seemed to...disappear into the dolls. *Oh no. Maybe, they were right. The crazy ones. Maybe he did go to hell...* The dolls shrunk, the glossy skin becoming less and less so and more like beaten leather. I watched as those two dolls transformed before my eyes until they became the flesh-and-blood bodies of two living people. *Kimmy..and his wife.* ​ **"Kimmy"** When we woke up, we found the human cowering in the corner. He was paralyzed with terror. We quickly knocked him out. "Marla," I muttered to my dearest, "let's replace him." My "wife" and I yanked his soft jaws open. There were so many demons on the waiting list. I summoned the next in line. "Here's your body," I told them after they manifested on the pentagram I drew with the man's blood. They crept through the mouth without a word and disappeared. "Be a good citizen," I told the body, "and then you can help me get the others off the waiting list." We waved as he left our house.

"I had too much to drink

My eyes have become three sizes larger and a construction crew has taken up residence behind them, based on the pounding in there. I roll over and sunlight washes over my eyelids. I angrily squint at the sun and hate myself for not closing the curtains enough. Then I let out a groan that would make any zombie actor jealous. There is no construction crew. My eyes haven't grown three sizes. I had too much to drink last night. I squeeze my eyes tighter to try in vain to block the sunlight out. Then I slam my hand around on my nightstand, knock over a glass of water and scatter what felt like two small pills. Cursing myself, I am forced to open my eyes and right the glass, saving just a little water. Then I have to lean over the bed and find the pills. I brush off a little bit of hair, never hurt anyone, and down both pills with what's left of the water. Drunk me is always so kind to hungover me, and hungover me is an asshole that ruins what drunk me did. I rub my face, sitting on the edge of the bed, and try to stop the carousel my brain is on. I squint at the clock, water beading from the face of it, and read the digital numbers out slowly. Very slowly. "One thirteen." It is the afternoon, well and truly, the light confirms that. I've never known there to be that much light at one in the am. Rolling my neck, I stretch sore and stiff muscles that haven't quite woken yet. I let out another zombie groan and try to stand, failing. I take a deep breath and make another attempt, this time succeeding in standing. It might be wobbly and I might be nearly overwhelmed by the urge to vomit, but it is a decent version of standing. Stumbling to the kitchen, I find the coffee maker ready and loaded with dry grounds and a clean mug, because drunk me is the best. Pushing the button for coffee brings the machine to life, sputtering soaking up the reservoir to spit out sweet, sweet black brew. One, two, three, four spoonfuls of sugar (it's the quickest cure I've found) and a dousing of cream and I sip it, careful not to burn my tongue too badly. Each breath is a slow in and out. It's all rather mundane and normal for a hangover morning. Until I rub my forearm. It's always been there. Faint green numbers. I told my parents about them once and I learned my lesson pretty quickly. Don't tell people about weird shit cause you'll end up in therapy for years, figuring out how to tell them what they want to hear. The numbers are real though, as real as the coffee in my mug and the pounding in my head. I have to be seeing double. Triple. Quadruple. Except I'm holding just one mug, seeing just one fuzzy version of my kitchen. But there's a lot of zeroes. I rub my forearm, the numbers disappearing beneath my hand as I do, but there they are again. With all those zeroes. See, the numbers mean something. I figured that out by my eighteenth birthday. Save a life, get a decimal. Point one. Earliest I remember was it being at 0.1. A tenth of a life. Never made the connection until much later that my mom's joke about "he's a lifesaver" wasn't a lie. She'd been ready to go until I happened. Happy mistake. By eighteen it was .9 but I hadn't quite got it yet. Most times it changed for no reason. No obvious reason. Looking back it was a smile for no reason, a text that I was ten minutes behind, stuff that made a big difference to someone that wasn't me. Nothing about the numbers was clear until I was at the bus stop waiting to go home, head down and headphones in. Just trying to be invisible. The weirdo kid who sees things, they'd dubbed me. Two other kids were goofing around, pushing each other, standard stuff. One of them tripped on the uneven sidewalk and started falling past me towards the road. I grabbed him and pulled him back. Just missed the front end of the bus. The driver laid into all of us about responsibility and the like. And that .9 become a 1. A solid, light green 1. Save ten lives, and get one. Get one what? Well, that one was easier to figure out. The summer that I was nineteenth was a good one. I was at a cottage with my family. There was a floating dock. I was trying to execute a triple flip (read: a simple dive) when I slipped and caught the back of my head on the corner of it. When I woke up it was almost a week later and the doctors said I should have died. And my numbers were down to nada. I was buying myself lives with the lives of others. So I did what any self respecting human would do. I threw myself into a career as a paramedic and pumped those numbers up. That let me live a life I couldn't have otherwise. Three years of doing that job and I had amassed a respectable six spare lives, and all that by twenty three years old. Of course, I had used two. Still. Not bad. This is new though. The zeroes, so many of them. I have to count them a few times. Eight zeroes. So, ten for one means... I drop the mug and it shatters on the tile, spilling coffee everywhere. Not that it matters right now. If this is right... I can't catch my breath. My head spines, I lean over the sink and try to keep it together. It's impossible. Last night is foggy but it's impossible. Somehow, some way, I saved enough lives to amass seven hundred million spares. That means... "I saved the whole goddamn planet." I say out loud, because internalizing it seems to make things worse. I have to say it aloud. And then, the inevitable. I vomit into the sink. Because how, how in the everloving reality of realness, did I save everyone? And why can't I remember? Where do I ever start to find out? And then someone knocks on my door and a voice I don't recognize shouts through it, loud enough I can hear it from the hallway in my kitchen. "We need to talk!" "I'm busy!" I shout back. "Not too busy to talk to me!" The voice says. "Fuck off!" I am met with silence. And then my door is kicked in, splintering, and a man I do not know stands there. He is clearly enraged. Furious. Red in the face. Spitting mad. Pissed. "Who are you?" I ask. "Gods, you don't ever remember." He says, some of the anger deflating from him like some sort of enraged balloon. "You took advantage of me." "Excuse me?" I say, pushing back against the counter. "No," he sighs, rubs his eyes, red eyes that scream of the hangover I've somehow forgotten. "Not that. You and I got drunk, made a bet, and you won. I am in the deepest shit. And you did it. So, now you have to help me fix it." "I don't understand-" He is suddenly holding me by my shirt, lifting me against the counter, his face almost against mine. Except his face isn't the human face I saw just a moment ago. It's a skull, shrouded in black, and it's talking to me. "I am Death and you stole seven billion lives from me. And now, we're going to fix it!" There are three heartbeats of a pause, just long enough for those words to sink in. And just enough time for me to vomit down the front of his shifting black robes.

The only person I talked to was

The eyes turned to us as I walked in with Samael... Samuel. I saw the jealousy in Tina's eyes and it made me so happy. My sister had a big smile on her face and waved to me a little. As Samuel turned to get a drink, my sister pretended to fan herself and gave me the thumbs up. And why wouldn't she. He was an extremely attractive man. Hannah was the one who made me promise that I'd come to her wedding with a date. She had often pestered me about going out and actually socializing. But it wasn't for me. I preferred to be at home, alone, than be talking to uh... people. The only person I talked to was someone halfway around the world I regularly played a video game with. Luckily for me, Samuel wasn't exactly people. I hadn't expected it to work. It was a silly little chant that I picked up from a sketchy looking Swedish website. I struggled with the words over and over. I had almost given up when the smell of brimstone filled the air and he stood there, dressed to impress and charming as hell. My mother walked up to us, her own glass in her hand. That glass was sort of a fixture in her hand. Every memory and thought of my mother I had always included two things; her silly blue beret and a glass of alcohol in her hand. "Oh my, Cassie. Who's this wonderful gentleman? Why don't you introduce us to him?" "Mom, it's my date and I would prefer if you..." "Hello Mrs Jackson. You know, till she called you mom, I thought she had a sister I didn't know about." I rolled my eyes. My mom, on the other hand, blushed. "Oh, aren't you a charmer. So what's your name? And how did Cassie ever get a guy like you. I mean, it just doesn't make any sense to me." "Why thank you mom. You always know the right thing to say." Samuel however smiled at her. "Well, I had to beg her for a date. She turned me down six times. But you know what, I would've asked her six hundred and sixty six times if that's what it would've taken. She's worth it." My mom looked at him and then me. "Cassie dear, can I talk to you in private." I looked at Samuel. "I..." "Go on." As soon as we were out of earshot, my mom turned to me. "Who's this guy? Are you paying him?" "Mom! For goodness sake." "Look honey, let's face it. You're my daughter and I love you. But he's so far out of your league that it's not even funny." "Well what can I say, he has a fetish for frumpy girls. Can I go now? He doesn't know anyone and I don't want him to be uncomfortable." I went to him, looked at my mother, and planted a kiss on his lips. He was surprised but he kissed me back. I took him by the hand and led him to the back corner of the hall. "I'm sorry about that. It's my mom. She just gets in my head and..." "Hey, if that happened because of your mother, I must thank her." I looked at his face, and his smile and I felt an emotion stirring deep in me, like a tendril coming up from the ground. No freaking way. He was literally the devil. I had to stop. He just smiled. The ceremony was a beautiful affair. My sister had wanted me to be her bridesmaid but I had excused myself. The idea of being up there in front of all those people... I couldn't do that. When the time for the toasts came, Samuel leaned in closer. "Are you not giving a toast?" "Nah, I can't. I'll get up and then people will look and I just can't." "Is there something you want to say to your sister though?" "Yeah. But not in front of everyone." "What about just me?" "What do you mean?" "What does your sister mean to you. Tell me what you would say to her if could." "It's... I don't know." "Oh come on. Tell me." I looked into his dark eyes and found I couldn't look away anymore. "Hannah has always been there for me, knowing full well that I couldn't be there for her all the time. That's what makes her special. She will do good, she will help you even if you know you can't return the favour. Because for her, it's not about what you can do for her. She's an absolutely pure soul. So pure, in fact, that her grace rubs off on everyone around her. Our family had so many chances to break apart. But you know who kept it together. Hannah. And you know how we've paid her back? She wanted me to come to her engagement party. I stayed home and played smite with a person I've never seen. You know what happened the next morning. She called me to check if I had my breakfast. She didn't even acknowledge how I had broken her heart. No! I keep breaking my promises and hurting her. She, god bless her soul, keeps filling my life with happiness. Today, it's the most important day in her life and you know what she spent it all on? To make my life better. She tried to make sure that I was comfortable. Because that's just the sort of person my sister is. She is the most wonderful sister in the world. If there is someone in your life who loves you like my sister loves me, trust me, your life is a success. And I know I don't say it often, but I love her so so much. I know this is her day, but I am making myself a promise today. I'll change my life. I'll be what she wants me to be. Doesn't matter how much effort it takes. Doesn't matter how hard it is. God could stand in my way and tell me to stop, but I won't. Because she deserves it." I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of clapping. Someone hugged me from behind and I noticed I held a glass in my hand. Hannah was crying. "Thank you Cassie. That was wonderful. I know how hard it would've been for you." "I... No. Thank you Hannah. For everything." As everything settled back, I turned to him. "What did you do?" "Nothing!" I paused, a little tear running down my cheek. "Thank you." "Oh, it was my pleasure. The god references were a bit much but, you know." "So you said you needed a date to the wedding too. Whose wedding do you have to attend?" "It was this one really." "This one? Anyone you know? Don't tell me the groom is god or a demon or something?" "Eli? Nah, just an ordinary man. They will live a perfectly ordinary life." "And me?" "Oh, your life will be full of excitement and weirdness." "Wow." "I know right. Lots to look forward to." "But getting back to the wedding, why did you want to attend this wedding then?" "I was tired of losing in Smite to you. I figure, we play again. This time, I keep a close eye on you and make sure you're not cheating."

In a city gripped by fear,

Click clack. Boots on pavement, and it's a mighty fine day. Click clack. Sun's out, skies are clear, and not a single worry on my mind. Click clack. A slight wind rustles over concrete, and in a city gripped by fear, I find myself walking alone, unperturbed and just relishing what a lovely day it's going to be. There are men in masks apparently, but that doesn't bother me. Men with guns and hate and anger and beneath that an ever cloying fear and inadequacy, an indifferent mixture of insecurity and a desperate need to create some kind of lasting impact. To them, rather than affecting some kind of genuine positive long term change, they've decided some violent struggle will bring them everlasting fame and glory, which nowadays means twenty four hours of headlines before they're forgotten and replaced by tomorrow's monsters. And that's just fine with me. Why EVERYTHING is just fine with me. I'm everything. And anything. And most of all, I'm joyous. I'm pleased. I'm just fine and fuckin' DANDY. Click clack. Click clack. Click clack. I can see them. I can see everyone. When you're the birds in the sky, or the fish in the sea, the fly on the wall, and the dog in the gutter, you see much and more than anyone else. I know where they are. What they're doing. And what they're planning, as ridiculous and laughable as it tends to be. People tend to be afraid more often than most, so fear's a fun thing to do. Fear is fine. Fear is dandy. Fear is okey-dokey with me. But I'm not afraid. I'm nothing. And everything. And everyone. I can be your thoughts and feelings, I can see behind your eyes and watch your brain go 'wiggle-jiggle' and listen to your hearth thump and pump away. That's nothing I've learned, just something I've known. And when you know, you don't tend to take things the same as you used to. What used to matter, what used to scare me, those were just vague worries and impossible insecurities. But that doesn't matter anymore. I'm here and there and everywhere. And I see them. And they're afraid. You can watch the news and listen to the coverage and discussion of their manifesto, which is mostly just poorly selected jumbles of some ideaologies taken too far, picking and choosing what they like from where they see fit. But what they're really bothering, what they're really trying to do is mess with my mood. Get me off the streets, get me off my feet, stop these boots from clicking and clacking across the pavement and that I will not bear. Fear is what they choose and fear is what they'll get, I'm walking here and I feel just fuckin' peachy. A few of them in a building ahead, one of those various concrete blocks that usually are filled with people gripped in self loathing and wishing they worked literally anywhere else, and I can see them through the windows. A bird circles, and sees their barricades, their emplacements. The bravado and arrogance to mask their own fear that reeks and wafts over the streets to me, and I can just breathe it in. I'm quite sure many of them wish they hadn't done this, but it's gone too far now, and people are dead. I'm no longer walking though. I'm flying, encircling, seeing them. I'm running, on all fours. I'm the man in the boots, but not particularly known for always walking on two feet. When people see my grin, it often curdles theirs. People no longer say 'how do you do' or greet me with a smile. There's fear on them now, fear in their guts and to me that's just A-Okay, just absolutely stellar. I'm by the building now. And to many, when asked if they can be any animal, or have their powers, they tend to enjoy the range of imagination, but I'm quite more restricted. I can take on the powers of whatever's close by, though close is a relative term. And out here are things that skitter. Things that slither. Things that crawl. Things that leer and hunger and wait with dripping mandibles for some poor fuck to get caught in their trap, and I'm no longer this walking man with the lovely boots, but a hulk of...of what? Flesh. Joy. Hunger. I'm crawling up the walls, more legs than any decent man can need, but I find having eight to be something just right. Many legs and jaws and fast movement, because what people should thank is that spiders remain small, remain rather indifferent to the large hulks of monkey meat building their homes and lives around them. Up to the roof, and then down. There's a man on the stairs, and his passive look brought on by one too many downers and little blue pills turns to a mask of fear and confusion. I'm fast. And on the walls. He tries to raise a firearm, but before he can flick off the safety I'm on him and ripping, tearing, chewing, and there's cries and screams and a vague awareness of a sweetening terror, and by gum that really flavors the meat. Gives it that quality savor. Now dead. Dead and that's just fine with me. Down the stairs, through halls, over cubicles, over emplacements and demands and through their nightmares, and they scream and cry and die. Papers whirl, staplers clap onto the floor, and they stumble backwards, firing shots so loud and wrong that the shots deafen the shooters themselves, shooting at something that's at one moment a spider, now a snake, and each and every shape and size to cater to whatever makes them fear most. Why that's just fine. That's just FINE. That's just mighty peachy and dandy and all that. They wanted fear, they wanted anger, and why they've found my joyous acclimation to their situation of intimidation by estimation. They shout to each other, try to comprehend what's happening, and realize that maybe some things that stalk the highway at night meander their way downtown, to places people don't expect. A hundred and fifty kilos of legs and flesh, too many legs, too many legs so many legs and so hungry, so thirsty, used to the dryness of the road and the hospitality of strangers. One after another, I find them, listen to the squawking on their radios and the confusion. It smells of copper and piss, and they shoot as well as men can, but they shoot with that lacking of training, of persons more used to people not being able to shoot back, of people who listen to their demands and cower. Other men with guns could handle them and probably would. But not now. Not them. I'm happy. And hungry. That rank stench of spent gunpowder and cordite, and the deafening silence that comes after the kill, and I can stand here, wiping the blood from my lips. There's helicopters, there's noise there's commotion, and people coming to grips with something they can't understand. They won't find me. Never have, never will. I'm the man with a plan on the highway, hitching this way and that on back roads, with a wide grin and some quality boots that shimmer and glitter and click and clack. Today terrorists, the flavor of the week. And maybe another day, I'll skitter and clatter my way into another place. Because fear is fine. And fear is lovely. Fear's a grand old thing, something to warm the bones and ease the stress and pins from walking. One man has a lovely pair of boots, and to me, why to me its a lovely day for a walk. And out there, I'm anything. Anyone. And no one. And to me, that's just fine. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others

My ex-wife called my workplace

"It's for you sir," my secretary said as she handed me the phone. Of course, my ex-wife wouldn't call my cellphone, that would make too much sense. She just HAD to call my workplace instead. "Thanks Jess," I said to the secretary as I took the phone. "Feel free to go home already, your son has a concert that you should be attending, no?" Jess beamed at me and mouthed her thanks as I pressed the phone to my ear. She gathered her belongings and before I knew it, I was alone in the office. "I'm down in the lobby with Claudia, where the hell are you?" Demanded a harsh voice on the other side of the phone. My ex-wife was intolerable, but even still, I had to manage, if not for her or myself, for my beautiful five-year-old daughter, Claudia. "I've got a few more phonecalls to make and then I'm off for the week, just send Claudia up the elevator, I'll only be a couple minutes." I don't remember why I fell for that horrible woman, but I can't imagine what it's like for Claudia to have to live with her every other week. That hag goes through boyfriends like a baby goes through diapers. "Of course you're working when you're supposed to be taking care of our daighter!" She shouted at me. "You'll be working overtime until the day you die, and that's the only thing you've ever cared about. Did Claudia's safety not cross your mind? What if she gets off on the wrong floor? What if some random perve gets in the elevator and starts creeping on her? What if-" "Grow up Darlene!" I snapped. "It's a single elevator ride in a government building! Nobody's here but me and the security guards. Hell, my secretary just left for the weekend! Claudia will be fine, I'll be on the other side of the elevator as soon as the doors open!" Darlene growled and said something to Claudia. The next thing I knew, she had hung up. I grumbled some words that I'd never repeat in Claudia's presence and put the phone back on the secretary's desk. My thoughts flashed to the last time I was with Claudia. The last time that she was with me, we went out to the beach before I dropped her off at her mother's. At her request, I buried her in the sand. She loved it, but Darlene did not. Claudia's long blonde hair had been full of sand, which apparently took days to wash out completely. I took my place in front of the elevator doors. I watched as the elevator rose up the floors, finally stopping in front of me. From time to time, I'd try to jump out and try to scare Claudia, but she'd only burst out laughing. She'd laugh at how rediculous I apparently looked. That was my girl, she's fearless. As the doors opened, I jumped out, "BOO!" Instead of my little girl, a slender young woman, probably in her young twenties, stood in the elevator. Her hair was shoulder-length, dyed bright pink, and bounced as her shoulders moved. I realized that her eyes were red and puffy, she had been crying. "Sorry," I said quickly. "I thought you were-" "Dad!" The girl shouted, throwing her arms around my neck. I tried worming out of the hug, but the woman held a firm grip. I suddenly felt more sluggish than I had a minute prior, like my bones weren't as sturdy as they had been when I woke up that morning. "I'm not-" Suddenly, the girl slapped me harshly across the face. "Maybe you don't understand the situation, so I'll start over," she said harshly. The woman straitened her composure, and what she said next made my head spin. "Hello Dad, we have alot to talk about." I was perplexed. I wasn't this woman's father. There's was no way, my daughter was only five-years-old. She didn't have pink hair, or ear piercings, and she wasn't my height! "I'm not your father," I told her. "Sorry but-" "You've been afraid of spiders ever since your little brother's pet turatula snuck into your bed when you were six," she said, crossing her arms. "How did you-" "You met Darlene when you were seventeen, and dated her for five years before you proposed at DisneyLand. You had your only child five monthes after the wedding and divorced Darlene after three years of marraige after you found her cheating," the woman recited this as if she had rehearsed it many times before. "Where did you-" "You named me 'Claudia' after your deceased mother, and Darlene picked Lily as my middle name because she thought it sounded cute," she spoke Darlene's name with a certain venom in her voice that only a person who had met the hag themselves could have had. "Okay, I believe you now," I said skeptically. It didn't make sense to me at all, but she knew stuff that only my family members knew. Even Darlene didn't know of my phobia of spiders, so she couldn't have told all of this to this woman. The only logical conclusion was that this woman was my daughter, yet, that was also the most illogical conclusion. "Good," Claudia snapped. "Now can you explain to me why you vanished for twenty years without a trace, and only now appear back at your old workplace?" "Twenty years?" I exclaimed. "You're crazy!" "And you're forty-eight," she shot back. She pulled a pocket mirror out and showed it to me. Surely enough, I was a heart old man. While I had been twenty-eight only ten minutes before, I was now twenty years older, and so was Claudia. "We've both aged twenty years!" I exclaimed, astonished. "That's because it has been twenty years, asshole!" Claudia shot at me. "Now, where have you been all this time?" "Right here!" I argued. I took a few breaths to calm myself down. "Ten minutes ago, you were five years old and I was twenty-eight. Darlene sent you up the elevator and suddenly twenty years had passed." This time, Claudia was the one that was confused. "I don't get it," she said, cocking her head to the side the same way she did when she was curious about something as a kid. "Tell me this Claudia, what's your most vivid memory?" I looked at her expectantly, but she just looked at me confusedly. "I guess.. it would've been mom sending me up the elevator, and then I got to the top floor, but you weren't there. I went looking for you, but I don't remember that part very well." Her eyes became cloudy, as she got lost thinking back into her memories. "Focus Claudia!" I shook her shoulders. "Why were you crying in the elevator?" I remembered her eyes being red and puffy, she must've been sobbing. "Because.. because all of the memories came at me all at once. As if they belonged to someone else, and I was experiencing it all at one time." She said. "And why," I began, "were you here anyways? On the same day that I apparently went missing, twenty years later, at the last place where I was reported to be seen?" "I.. don't remember," Claudia answered. "What are you getting at?" "This is going to sound crazy," I said. "But I think that going through the elevator caused both of us to travel in time twenty years. Except, you have all of the memories that you would've gotten in those twenty years.. and I didn't." "Was it because I was in the elevator and you weren't?" She asked. "No, that couldn't work, then you wouldn't have traveled in time." She kicked the wall. "Agh! This is so confusing!" "What if it was some kind of emotional connection that caused me to travel with you through time as well, and that's why I wasn't around for twenty years, but since you were the one who triggered the time jump, only you had memories of the last twenty years?" I asked, I was suddenly grateful for all of the Sci-Fi books that I had read, it was my guilty pleasure. "I guess, that could work," Claudia said skeptically. "Only one way to find out," I grabbed Claudia's hand and pulled her into the elevator with me. I pressed the button to send us to the first floor. I closed my eyes and squeezed Claudia's hand. "No matter what happens, I love you Claudia." "I love you too Dad." When the doors opened, and I opened my eyes, I realized that Claudia's hand was no longer in mine. In fact, nobody was in the elevator with me. "Daddy!" A five-year-old, short and blonde girl ran up to me. I scooped her up in a hug and held her in my arms, I had to fight to hold back tears. "About time!" Darlene snarled. "I was just about to call your secretary, what took you so long?" "Shut up Darlene," I said with a smile as I walked right passed her, with Claudia still in my arms. "Where do you want to go Claudia? We can go anywhere you want!" I said as we left the building, down through the parking lot towards my car. Claudia smiled wide, "can we go to the future again?"

"So how'd you get tele

"So how'd you get telepathy?" He was mildly nervous and had spent the last several seconds resisting the urge to tap his foot in a form of displacement activity. Eye contact had varied from engaged almost to the point of staring to looking anywhere *but* my face. He didn't seem to want to have this conversation. I'd seen this reaction before and it had always mystified me. If I was a telepath, I'd be a telepath before he asked and afterwards. How did not thinking about it help? "Back when I was a kid--" No. I could already feel his attention span slipping away. I paused. My head swiveled away from him as I tried to find some unremarkable point in the distance to stare into while I restructured my answer from something I appreciated into something he could. Past the crowd of people, past the other tables in the cafe, to the decor they'd put up onto the walls, mildly discolored by the relatively poor lighting along the walls. There was a pattern on the wall of the cafe, a mosaic of sorts. A mandala made out of coffee beans of various colors. My eyes drawn into it, I let myself sink into it, not so much interpreting it as merely parsing it, while the parts of my mind that I'd spent years winnowing and sharpening for social exercises worked overdrive on the hard problem of human contact. "...Simon?" Faint confusion radiating off of him now, with the faintest shades of annoyance. What was I doing wrong? Eye contact? I hadn't made eye contact in a while-oh. I realized that I'd been frozen up like a statue for the past fifteen seconds, my head tilted to the side and away, one french fry hanging out of my right hand halfway to my mouth. Stalled like a frozen program. Stupid. Even for me. Stupid. *This is supposed to be a date*, I reminded myself. I ate the french fry. "I'm not a telepath," I said. "I'm an empath." Fuck. Now I'd been too firm. Now I'd made myself look like I was offended. Now *he* was starting to feel offended, at least slightly. I leapt into the gap to try and cover the issue. "I don't get complete thoughts," I said. Before I'd started talking I'd swayed my gaze away again as though in thought, paused briefly for a half-second to a second, and then leaned forward incrementally with a smile as though I'd had some mild epiphany between when I'd last stopped talking and now. It seemed to be working, at least somewhat. He had leaned forward slightly as well, reaction unconsciously mirroring my own. His confusion had decreased significantly. Faint arousal somewhere far underneath, at my smile. *Don't think about that. Focus.* "I get... emotions, or the sense of them, anyway," I said. "Never full thoughts. I can't hear what you're thinking, I just get a vague sense of... what you feel." Nerves and the cognitive effort it had taken to rehearse and refine this phase of the conversation in my head threw me into overdrive, made me instinctively try to talk a mile a minute, and I had to consciously fight to keep the words coming out slow. Measured. Faster rates of speech was usually something people associated with irritation or anger. I had a couple of jokes about the quality of the caffeine at this cafe I'd chosen for our date ready as a contingency in case I screwed it up, though. "And what am I feeling right now?" He winked. Leaning forwards a little further, impish smile on his face-- Oh. He was flirting this was *flirting*! I kicked myself mentally. If I'd been tracking his arousal levels better I might have seen it coming. I didn't have too much time to respond--I knew any latency, any dead air time spent with no expression at all on my face as I calculated out the appropriate response would likely lead to gross misinterpretation and probably end any shot I had with him right there--but fortunately I'd rehearsed a couple of what seemed like correct-ish responses after I'd spent some time Googling 'Date' and 'Flirting' repeatedly the day before. I hesitated and blinked once or twice as though in thought. I tried smiling back. Kept it a mild, small smile. Took extra effort to make sure it wasn't a grimace. It seemed to work. Arousal and a host of other emotions bloomed across his heart, but there was nothing at all that I could discern taking place on his face. Likely I was just missing the signs, I hadn't gotten a chance to really see this reaction before and know it for what it was. As he looked at me I looked back, carefully, analytically, trying to identify all of the little tics and signs that I'd look for later in his face and others' which signified this suite of emotions with the razor-sharp focus of a research scientist. I felt a little guilty about that, of course. He was here to be with me, not be studied by me so that I could memorize my way out of the next slew of social situations and contexts to hit me. But what else was I supposed to do? The moment seemed to have passed. He'd now decided on some level below his consciousness that all of my little weirdnesses were due to nervousness at being on a date with a guy and I wasn't some kind of knife-wielding serial killer. Good. That was always a sort of occupational hazard of my condition. I rose from my chair, the auditory and emotional cacophony of the cafe's other patrons threatening as always to overwhelm me. "Sorry," I said, "just give me a minute to use the toilet? Bad timing," I added with a smile. He nodded just once. He was beginning to find me adorable. ​ ​ Not that I went to the bathroom. I needed air, quiet. I'd picked this cafe half because I knew there was an emergency exit just behind the toilets which wasn't alarmed. It took me out onto a fire escape, a steel stairwell a little rusty from disuse. I shut the door behind me and breathed out. It was always hard for me to remember when I was feeling exhausted, or stressed. Usually it was easier to function when I'd managed to forget how it felt. Not like I'd get any excuses for failing to act as if I was a real human being if *exhaustion* left me in a monotone voice and staring at nothing midway through a conversation. People tended to not be too good at sympathy unless they had some baseline empathy for what was going on. That wasn't something I was usually allowed to have. My cell buzzed, as scheduled. Maria, my sister. *How's it going?* With her I usually didn't need to rehearse. I could just go with whatever my instincts told me to go with. I typed in, *doesn't think im an ax murderer yet* . Several big smiley emojis, followed by: *Told you you could do it, Rain Man!* Emotions are so incomprehensible sometimes. In that moment I felt both a deeply familiar pain and a deeply unfamiliar relief from the same pain, simultaneously. So strange. I breathed out. Allowed myself a few seconds to rehearse the next several minutes of conversation, and the various flowcharts I'd constructed in my head around the various potential contingencies and outcomes before I turned back into the cafe. To think there'd been a time when I'd been trying to do this *without* mind-reading as a superpower.

The man behind the counter stood his

"Alright that's enough, can't you see she doesn't want to be bothered?" The crowd of men glared at the speaker behind the counter but he stood his ground. "You lot have been bothering her all this time, clear off and leave her in peace." "What's it to you?" A man leered unpleasantly. "Don't you know who this is?" The man crossed his arms. "Aye that I do, she's a customer. She is entitled to a meal in peace. You lot haven't bought a thing and unless you aim to, you're not customers. So head off before I call the town watch and have you all removed." As they bristled and stepped towards him he reached down and hefted his rolling pin. "They can escort you on your feet or drag you away. Your choice." The men left, hurling insults at the woman and the man equally, knocking things from the tables and dashing pottery to the floor. Sighing heavily, he walked from behind the counter, picking up broken plates. "Honestly, it's early to be that drunk. Still, that's no reason to be so rude." He bobbed his head at the woman who still sat at the counter. "Sorry about that miss, I hope that didn't put you off from your meal." She shook her head, long white hair swaying. "Not at all," she said without emotion. "I thank you for your aid. I do hope your assistance will not cause you any future trouble." He waved a hand, tossing the broken dishes into a large crate. "Oh don't you worry none miss. That lot never comes in to eat anyways. They rather spend their money on drink, not food." He leaned on the counter and smiled at her. "Most of my business comes from local families and travelers, merchants and the like so I don't care about a bunch of drunks." The woman looked about the empty eatery. "Your business seems...slow. If I may be so bold." Her pale grey eyes showed no boldness, they were as empty as her voice. He shrugged, dark brown eyes winked back. "Nothing wrong with stating the truth. This is the slow season for me. The weather keeps the heavy trade away and most families eat at home. It's okay though, I always make it through okay." He saw her look at the crate of broken crockery. "With less business I don't need as many plates. Don't worry none." "It is my fault that happened. I should make some kind of compensation." She hesitated, and for the first time since she entered she seemed hesitant. "You...truly do not know who I am?" A sheepish smile was her reply. "Beg your pardon miss, should I? I mean no disrespect. I'm just a simple cook that doesn't get out much." The woman stared at him and he felt a prickle of embarrassment. His concern grew when she started to laugh. Not that she was laughing, but her laugh itself. It was forced, her shoulders worked as if she was trying to push the laughter out of her. He opened his mouth to ask her what was wrong but before the words could emerge she started to glow. She held up cupped hands and to his amazement silver appeared within them. It was as if her laughter rained silver, the sound seemed to coalesce and when she finally stopped a pile of silver pieces rested in her hands. She held them out to him and he gingerly accepted them, expecting them to be paper or light. However they were truly silver. They felt heavy like they should and shined in the lamplight. "Well isn't that something!"he exclaimed. "That was quite the trick miss, how did you do that if I may ask?" "You may not," she replied severely. Her eyes narrowed and suspicious. His faced flushed. "I'm really sorry miss," he stammered. "I've just never seen anything like that before. Thought it was like a magic trick, like those fellas do with the cups and the ball. I meant nothing by it." He counted a few pieces out and held the rest in a closed hand. "Those are more than what the crockery was worth plus the meal. You should take the rest back, you made them after all." The suspicion leeched away and her eyes widened as she took back the pile of silver. She watched him walk behind the counter and deposit the few pieces he counted out into his cash box. "Do you....why do you not take it all?" "Well I never overcharged anyone before, and I don't aim to now." He smiled to hide his embarrassment. "You made the silver, or produced them or what have you. I'm no thief neither." He went back to cooking, his knife cutting through the vegetables on the block. He hummed a little, trying to fill the silence before a noise made him stop. "I'm sorry, got lost in chopping. Did you say something miss?" "I am....sorry." "Oh no need to be!" He waved his hand and tried to brush her apology away. "I must have sounded just like those jerks from earlier, don't blame you none for being guarded. I bet you get bothered a lot over it." "I....I am cursed." The words spilled from her lips and the man stopped completely, knife halfway through the carrot on the board. He put the blade down, wiping his hands awkwardly. "I'm real sorry to hear that miss." "I was a terribly vain girl, one given more than she deserved. I wanted for nothing, parents that showered me with wealth. When you lived easily your tastes can warp just as easily. I had all the material things I could want, so I wanted more terrible things. I did not care for my own happiness or sadness, but only how I could control the feelings of others." Her grey eyes lost focus, she was watching her past again. "I played so many games, cruel and awful ones. I made people cry, made them laugh, made them hurt. All for my amusement." She looked at him and pain warred with shame in her eyes. "One took too much, they hurt too much. They could not go on and their blood is on my hands. They were watched by an ancient being, and the being desired revenge. For my sins I had to learn the pain of being toyed with, where wealth is material but not long lasting while your thoughts and emotions burn ever longer. When I laugh I can make silver. When I weep I can make gold. So that to benefit the most I must shed tears, to feel pain forever." She looked down at her hands. "My family turned on me, any business can be enhanced by a person that can make silver and gold. Why settle for silver when gold was only a step away? They tortured me, drowned me for my gilded sorrow. My friends wanted a piece for themselves. Silver is cheap, gold is more. I endured as much as I could before I left." A gentle thump broke through the cloud of her thoughts. A sweet scent wafted into her nose and she moved her hands away. A steaming mug of tea sat before her and the man was looking sorrowful at her. She was shocked. To everyone before she told the story to she could see the shine of avarice in their gaze, a facade of disbelief on their faces hid hungering greed. Yet this man was looking sad with her, not at her. "That's a cruel story miss. I'm sorry to hear it." He pointed awkwardly at the mug. "Mayhap this will help? I find mint tea helps me when I feel low. That and food, but," he coughed with a red face, "mayhap not the right thing to say right now. Sorry." She almost chuckled, not at all bothered by the man. His sincerity warmed her as her hands were warmed by the tea. She sipped, the fresh mint freshened the acrid brew and she felt the hot water slide down her throat, warming her bit by bit. "Th-thank you for listening," she said and for the first time in a long time she meant the words. "Of course miss. It's a bad thing that you got cursed, and that your friends and family turned out like that." He went back to chopping, his face twisted in thought. "Yet...well. If you don't mind a simple cook saying so, there's something I heard a while back that may help you feel better." A smile tried to tug her lips and she tried to fight it down. "It would only be fair to listen to you after you listening to me." He smiled again, broad and warm and she felt something crack in her heart. "Kind of you to say so. When I was a boy me mum would tell me stories about curses like yours, dreadfully scary things. They always frightened me so, maybe why she told me them to keep me honest. But after every story she told me that a curse can be bad, but it can end in good." "Pray tell, how so?" Her words dripped bitterness and the man chuckled. "Well, curses are lessons after all. If you learn why you got cursed, then change your ways, then the curse actually helped you. If that makes sense." She stared at him as he poured chopped vegetables into batter and an iron plate sizzled and spat as he poured the mixture on. "You have a cruel curse on you, but you left the bad behind you yes? You no longer try to hurt others and you now know how important happiness and sadness are right?" She nodded, unable to speak. Her throat felt tight and hot and she felt her eyes prickle. He set a plate before her and the smell of the pancake thawed her stomach as his words thawed her heart. "Well then I think you learned your lesson then. And since you did, you're a much better person than you were before." He grinned shyly. "I know we just met but even I can see that." Her vision started to shimmer. "Besides," he continued as he looked away. "Mum also said you can cry even if you're not sad. Tears aren't always bad." He cursed himself silently. "I'm sorry miss, Mum also said I had a big mouth. I never know when to mind my own business and keep quiet." A thunk of metal on wood made him look up. His eyes widened as he saw the shining gold piece sitting on the counter in front of him. He looked at her and saw a woman transformed. She was smiling despite the tears and she was eating hungrily, as if she had not eaten in days. "No," she said softly, "thank you. Truly. I....thank you. If anything, may I ask you something else?" His smile matched hers. "Anything miss! Anything at all." She held up the empty plate, "May I have please have more, both your food and your words?"

A shot to the back of the

(Changed the prompt a bit but hey.) I looked around the large meeting place. I was met with the waiting stares of not only human eyes, but eyes of the other races involved in the great conflict encroaching on the land. I hoped never to be directly involved in a war again, as the last time it had been war that had ended my life. I inhaled deeply and stood to my full height. "Greetings to you all. I would like to start this meeting of the kingdoms and nations with a bit of an introduction about myself. As most of you are aware, I have died once before. A shot to the back of the head. It was a painful experience, my death. Not how I wished to perish, but that must have been the will of the Lord. "However, while I expected to awaken at the pearly gates, I did not expect to wake in a bed built for two in a farmhouse located in the middle of farm country. And in a younger body, no less. It was still my body, but it was much younger than I had been before my untimely death. "At first, I thought this was my heaven, a return to the simple life, but I realized soon that heaven didn't have creatures such as the Inda Drakes of the north, or the armored men and women calling themselves Adventurers who went to slay the beasts. Or war that had been ravaging the borders of the land I found myself in. "It took me a few days to get my bearings, but I eventually learned from a passing wizard that I was in the world called Herion. The wizard was the first in a long line of guests I hosted at my new abode. The wizard, named Hyrian, explained that I was not the first to be summoned from the Other Realm as he called it. Apparently many more like me had arrived throughout history, helping those in need, providing directions and more. He named a few that I recognized, such as Suleiman I of the Ottoman Empire, King David and King Solomon of Israel, James I of England, John III of Poland-Lithuania, Caesar Augustus and a few other major kings and queens from my world. The last had died peacefully many years prior to me, and the house had been tended to by the king of the land I'd found myself in, the kingdom of Pedia. "I never expected to see my own wife again, but a month after I arrived, I woke to see her lying in bed next to me, looking younger than I remember." I looked down at my lovely wife beside me. She no longer was blind as she had been before her own death in the other world and gave me a reassuring smile. I continued. "We had a great tearful reunion where she informed me that despite a month having passed for me, seventeen had passed for her. It took her a little longer to adjust to the world than I did, but eventually she and I settled down. "Drawing on my own knowledge, I developed my new property into a prospering farm, growing wheat, corn, and many fruits and vegetables. I also raised animals such as chickens, lambs, and cows and sold milk and eggs. I hired help from the nearby village of Tarn as my wife and I alone couldn't keep up with all the work. Tarn was impoverished and poor when I started, but as my farm became more prosperous over the years, so did Tarn's wealth and prosperity. "It was at this time that my dwelling became a place where many of the adventurers came and stopped by asking for directions. At first, I was of little help since I did not know the land I was in, but eventually I purchased maps of the kingdom and many of the surrounding nations. My wife and I also provided food to any poor folk who stumbled upon our doorsteps. "One night about three years after I arrived, my wife and I were woken by a loud noise from our wheat fields. I found the musket I'd had forged a year prior and headed out to see what had made the commotion. There, I found a young wounded Inda Drake, trembling with fear as I approached. His wing had been clipped by what looked like an onyx arrow. I made my way to the youngling slowly, placing my musket down. I quickly removed the arrow and covered the wound with my shirt to staunch the bleeding. I brought the Drake back to the barn where over the next month I nursed it back to health. From then moment on, Ninian, named after my wife's brother-in-law from back home, became a part of our farm. I taught him English and he became the protector of my land from bandits and thieves." I looked over at the Drake who had taken a seat near a corner and was keeping an eye on the gathered kings and rulers, making sure none made a foul move against another. We bowed a bit to each other. "As time went by, more and more adventurers visited my farm, even some who said they were S-Class. I learned that meant they were strong in the art of magic and swordfighting. They were a bit distrusting of Ninian at first, but the Drake's new manners won most of them over within minutes. They were especially impressed that the Drake spoke in the language of the land, which to my astonishment was identical to English in both speech and writing. "Apparently, knowledge of my existence spread far and wide, because about five years after my arrival I began receiving more and more distinguished guests, such as the Gloom Emperor of the Elven Highlands, the Inda Drake Queen herself who came to visit. Thanks to Ninian being a translator, she and I established a rapport and she came to visit regularly. The king of Pedia himself came to visit me one winter day to remark on my work. When I told him about what I had done in my old world, he asked me if I would be willing to help in negotiating a peace between all parties of the war. And that is why I am here." I took the gavel I had been given. "And thus, I, Abraham Lincoln, call this meeting of the nations of Herion to order." I brought the gavel down, and the historic meeting began.

"5001 Crag Road,

It was 5:32am when my phone went off. With the ceiling sufficiently stared at for the night, I rolled over and grabbed the old flip job. The little screen on the front had an oversized TXT on it. Not one to usually receive texts, let alone one at that hour, I flipped open, expecting some spam junk. "5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come." "Huh, weird spam," I thought as I hopped out of bed to shower. Afterwards I flipped on my old tube tv. The colors bled and the audio was tinny and choppy, but it still worked for the news. The anchor of the morning news was explaining an overnight phenomenon sweeping across the nation. I flipped it off; I couldn't handle another bucket challenge or some bullshit contrived to make people feel better about themselves while they couldn't even tell you why they were doing what they were doing. I left the long term motel rental a little after 6:30. There was a family across the way, an old beige RV plastered with stickers from all across the country parked in front of their room. I think it was The Alden's, or the Alton's, something like that, they had been there almost three weeks now. I wasn't one for company, but it's the longest I'd seen someone stay in this dusty corner of Maine I was in. I overheard them, "Do we go?" "Well, we all got the same thing, from the same number," said the lanky teenage boy, acne and a big smile all over his face. I paused and lit a smoke. "Yeah, but it's so far," the girl, younger, pink from head to toe, blond curls falling behind her, like some caricature of a doll brought to life. The father, Bob, Rob maybe, leaned against the battered vehicle, "I think we do it, we've never been there, it's just one more adventure." "But who would want to go there, daddy!" The girl sassed. "Us!" It was a freakin' chorus from the other three. I started walking. It seemed like I'd have my little motel to myself again, the Al-somethings having picked their next adventure spot. My phone buzzed in my pocket. "5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come." I thought back to when I spent a little time in Vegas. Just over three years, more than a decade ago. It could be a hard, cold place. Ruthless was the right word. The sun or the sin, my boss used to say, one of them is going to kill you. As I turned onto the sleepy town center, a brick row of buildings from when this town had a future still. Old diagonal parking spots lined each side of the street, a small park memorializing something once important and long forgotten was at the end of the row. Lots of boarded up windows and "For Rent" signs, but a few small businesses here and there. I stopped in the coffee shop, the only thing open before seven here. The girl was staring at the TV hung behind the counter. It was the same anchor. The closed captions were on and they were still going on about the newest phenomenon. The girl behind the counter was enrapt, she didn't notice or couldn't be bothered by the door hitting the bell when I came in. "S'cuse me" I grumbled. She started, turning around. "Coffee...," She cut me off "Black, large, I got it!" She whipped around the back, setting the hot cup in front of me moments later. She turned back to the TV. "What do you think, will people go?" I looked around, making sure I was the only one here. "What're you talking about?" "We all got them, the texts, everybody. It started late last night and it's even going on right now." "What're you..." my pocket vibrated. Ah, the texts, it wasn't just me. Some weird scam, texting everybody an address. I looked up at the TV. There was helicopter footage of Route 88 outside Chicago and traffic was bumper to bumper, all moving slowly west. "It's happening, people are flocking" The closed captions announced. The lady was jubilant on TV when the feed cut back to her in the studio, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, all smiles. "This just feels right, this feels great," the captions proclaimed as the feed cut to break. It was one of those stations where the scroll never goes away. It flashed something that made me put my coffee down, "Pilgrimage, 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska." "Wow, it's so amazing isn't it," The waitress said. "I mean, I'd love to go but you know, I'm from here and that's a long ways to go, no car, all that." She trailed off. "Nebraska, yeah, crazy." I was puzzled. "Did you get the text too?" She pulled out her phone and showed me, a big, bright screen Apple job: 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska, come, follow." My pocket buzzed again. I laid three bucks on the counter, slammed the coffee and left. The waitress was still staring at the TV. "5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come." "5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come." "5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; don't follow, come lead." The last one gave me pause, lead what, lead whom. The town was starting to wake up, cars were scurrying around, everyone stopping at the grocery, the hardware store, everyone preparing to leave. Everyone was laughing, helping each other get ready, carpooling with neighbors. As I walked down the street out of town one of those huge church vans pulled up beside me. "Hey partner," an older man with a gray beard, glasses and laugh lines up his face leaned out the driver's window "I've got room for another if you'd like to come with us. He motioned to the back of the van, 10 smiling faces piled in, bags in the back, all of them laughing, a few playing cards across their bench seat. I popped the collar on my denim jacket against the breeze. "Nah, I'm walkin', dude."

The children called him "The Candy

Aldric liked riding his dragon the way everyone else liked riding horses. He would often go on long expeditions through the sky, swooping and swirling to dance with the clouds, and trying hard not to expose his teeth to the grit that was always present no matter the altitude. As a matter of practicality, he took to wearing masks - black so he wouldn't have to wash them too often - and due to his absent-minded nature, he often forgot to take them off once he was back home. He ruled over a small, but economically powerful, country built on good sense and common courtesy. The children called him "The Candy King," and looked forward to every Lammas when he would fly his dragon overhead and drop parachuted packages full of all the sugar and chocolate that his kitchen staff could put together, followed by a few stunts to scare and delight his people. He spent most of his waking moments focused on ensuring their happiness, and took enormous pride in being their king. However, his benevolence did not extend beyond his borders. Aldric preferred to stay isolated from the world, and aside from a few well-established trade routes, kept his country entirely to itself in social and political matters with the reasoning that he had enough to worry about without dabbling in everyone else's affairs. As a result, terrible rumors abounded unhindered about the "Dragon King," who terrorized the countryside with fire and violence. Aldric was blissfully ignorant until the first self-described hero showed up. He had been out on his daily ride, and had returned to play his organ while meditating on how to improve the healthcare for orphans, when he heard a sudden scream. He started and turned around, and to his horror found one of his guards injured by someone shouting hysterically about justice while flailing a sword. The man was promptly jailed for his crime, but because he refused to state which country he had hailed from, Aldric didn't know where to return him to. Thus, he was sent to a work camp, which was far more productive and reformative than letting people waste away in dungeons. The next hero gave a speech before attempting to use his sword, claiming that Aldric was obviously evil from his black mask (he had forgotten that he was wearing it again), and threatened to slay his dragon. That made Aldric angry, so he sent this hero to the work camp as well - he wouldn't allow anyone to menace *his* pet and get away with it. This continued periodically for some time, with every single hero too absorbed in himself to listen to reason. Aldric was forced to tighten security around his borders, and his subjects became increasingly suspicious of outsiders in defense of their beloved king. Mercifully, Theo the prince showed up on Lammas while Aldric was making his traditional candy drop. He had hoped to make a name for himself by defeating the evil dragon king, though through a series of unfortunately hilarious events, had brought his sister the princess Azalea along as well. Azalea was delighted to see the colorful parachutes drifting down from the sky, and even more enamored when she discovered they were carrying sweets. As a result, she refused to let Theo hide her away when he left to confront the dragon king about his evil ways - which were beginning to look less and less evil up close - and accompanied him to the castle. Aldric settled in to play his organ upon his return, working on a song that had come to him while he had been flying on his dragon, and was deep in thought when Theo and Azalea arrived. Theo had wanted to burst in with his sword drawn, but Azalea insisted that they introduce themselves properly and speak to him first, arguing that anyone who cared that much about children couldn't be all *that* bad. Theo had to turn his face in embarrassment while Azalea knocked and asked to see the king, stating their full names and kingdom in the process. It horrified him that his sister had so little sense. As it was, they were shown into the audience hall and announced to Aldric. Upon turning from his organ, he was delighted to discover the most beautiful maiden that he had ever seen curtseying before him. "Dragon king," she said, her voice sweet and clear. "We have come to implore you to stop your evil ways..." "I take care of my people, and I am loved by them," Aldric replied, his eyes locked on the beautiful princess. "Is that evil?" "Not at all, your highness, but you keep a dragon for a pet," Azalea answered. "She is a creature of the earth, as much as you or I, and I care for her deeply. Is it evil to love a pet?" "No, your highness." Azalea knelt down on the ground this time, and Theo's face burned red with embarrassment. "But you dress all in black and wear a mask, and surely that is a reflection of the darkness in your heart." "Oh, confound it!" Aldric ripped off his mask and tossed it aside. "I have much on my mind, and I forget that I wear it to protect myself while on my rides. I wear black to save myself from worrying about my clothing. Is that evil?" "No, your highness." When Azalea looked up, her eyes were shining with deep admiration. Aldric stepped over to her and helped her to her feet, then stayed for a moment holding her hand as they gazed at each other. Theo saw it all in a heartbeat, and knew that his intended heroics were not needed. A month later, Theo returned home to announce the news of Azalea's engagement to Aldric, and talked freely about how wise and generous the dragon king was. The wedding was a grand celebration, and in the years that followed their children grew up happily as they played freely in the castle and enjoyed riding the dragon with their father. The kingdom was never bothered by heroes again. The end.

The group of amphibious Uores

All the blood began to start pumping again, but Soso was still feeling the migraine. her thin serpent form had been tied into knots and swung around by the blunt tail she had. Her bright colored scales still shown irridescently in the alley of the capital city, and yet, despite the mass surveillance, it seemed the government cared more for major crimes against its citizens rather than new arrivals. The group of amphibious Uores stuck around, about five or so, mocking the serpent who had no fangs, no venom, and no limbs. Yes, this one was strong to wrap around a body and cut off circulation, that was an archaic instinct and there was no need for it. There may have been need now, but Soso was tired. She was exhausted, and hung limply from the Uores' arms, mockingly worn as a scarf. "You know, it's just my luck that the one bit of DNA that took your toxins made you bright and colourful. Huh? You feast on carrion, so you lose what you don't use," one tall one said. Soso's body length was longer than he was tall, but it didn't matter. "My ancestors probably couldn't stomach your kind. After all, you're the type that shows up after we finished the meal. In the wild." Soso never expected or heard this vitriol before, and somehow worried that it would last. "She's too tired to talk," a female Uore laughed. "Let's see if we can swim. Soso began worrying again. Swimming was easy with her form, but with her energy drained, it would be a miracle to be able to 'tread' in the water. Soso *did* wish she was venomous, but that was a vestigial function her and her family lost. Her cousin, by some fluke, was born a pale grey/pearl, and was tested. Indeed, his rare condition reverted, and he lost his colour... and gained his venom. Many eons ago, her race was predators. but after a pathogen disease began wiping out their prey, they became scavengers. And some even took to surviving off fungi-like life. She herself enjoyed an occasional blade of the cof-pens, a fungus grown from Rekarm carcasses. As Soso watched the Uores stilt-like legs step through dirt and mud, she felt some sun warm her up a little, giving her a small rush of energy. She picked her head up and saw ahead where the group was taking her. It was to a wooded area. "You like dead meat so much, you can try dirt." One Uore sneered. Soso's thoughts began to turn to panic again. A small faint shout was heard. The group stopped in their tracks. "What was that?" the tall one said. "Maybe it's jeeter. Smail finally decided to join in on the fun." Soso heard the faint call again, "Hey!" except it was a little louder. "That doesn't sound like Jeeter. Sounds like-." "C'mon. Let's get going." the female Uore said, and their pace started to pick up. Soso began to get dizzy from the speed that they sprinted at, nearly twice as fast as the fastest Ciolian serpent could slither. She still had the energy to head her head still, while the Uore that held her bobbed and weeved over dirt and terrain. \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~A few moments passed, and the Uores paused to catch their breath. Soso was no biologist or alienist by any means, but she knew the Uores were master sprinters. Covering half a kilometer in two minutes. but they needed time to recover. Lot's of time. "There. Now where were we?" "I hope you remember your way back." Soso still dangled, but mustering up the courage to finally speak. "I could smell by way back by the stench you guys left." One Uore leaned close. They had no sense of smell, which was why... they sometimes gave off horrible odors. "I can feel the heat from the city. So no worries. I just hope you can navigate your way back. Thelo. Get some dirt. She's feeling hungry." Soso sealed her lips as she saw one Uore, their long thin tail undulating under the thick coats they wore. This planet was cold to them, and if their temperature fell too low, they would fall into a coma-like hibernation, one that more than simply warming up would fix. In the thin palm of Thelo's hand was a pile of warm dirt. Soso grew confused, however. She smelled the dirt, the rich cool matter and life decompising within, but she smelled something else. One smell she had never smelled before. She turned to the direction they came from. "Ha, refusing dinner already?" her holder shook her. "No, wait. Look at her head." Soso didn't care that everyone was looking at the eight nostrils lining the frills on her head, above her eyes. They pulsed open and closed, open and closed. A clear sign she was 'latching' on to a new smell. The female Uore seemed to grow concerned. "Someone's coming." The smell grew stronger. Now, it carried hints Soso was familiar with. *But what?* A crack sounded overhead. They all looked up to barely see a pebble falling from above. They all looked up, trying to see who dropped the pebble. Another crack of rock against tree, and they all realized the pebbles weren't being dropped from above. They were being thrown... from far away, and hitting the trunks above. Soso focused on the scent again, stronger yet. The tall one marched towards what was possibly the source. "I see the wind carrying their heat. But I don't see-." Two forms appeared out of the distance, of two different brownish colours. They both wore colored cloths around their pelvis, obviously from a cooler planet. "I thought we lost them." Thelos said. One form stopped, crouched down to grab something, and swung their arm. Soso grew in amazement as the object they threw flew overhead with a *woosh* sound. "What are they?" The female began to charge them, "They don't have armor. They're skin like us. Let's settle this." Another Uore began to run with the female, "No, wait. Gaana!" Gaana charged, but slowed down as she neared them. Relying on the Uore instinct, she leaped with one arm extended ready to grab, and the other arm, reaching behind to rub the venom slime from her back. This venom was known to cause some burning sensations, but if she kept her skin rubbing against her prey long enough, the prey experienced confusion, poor coordination, and sometimes induced sleep. She grabbed the first creature, who reached behind her head, and danced his legs to twist his body. The arm pushed Gaana off her path, and she dove into the dirt. Her venom filled hand never made contact. They both kept running towards the group. "How are they still running? It's impossible. What are these-?" Soso's holder dropped her, and she landed gracefully on the ground, reaching down with two regions of her body, then cascading the rest down, suffering no hard impact. The tall one reached down to fetch a stone. "Let's see how they like it!" He began to swing his arm, and fell back from the swing, launching the stone in n entirely different direction, his stilt legs unable to steady him. The creatures approached close, and Soso could see what they were. They were bipedal, had slightly thicker frames than the Uores, and were shined like them. *Are they secreting toxins too?* she wondered. They had fur on top of their head. \~\~S\~\~Come to think of it, they were pretty ugly hybrids of two other creatures Soso was familiar with. Thelos began to charge, and one creature reached down and grabbed a log, almost thick as his arms. Thelos stopped in his tracks. He reached under his shirt, rubbed his back, then released his venom on the creature's arm. "Enough," one spoke. The other walked forward to reach Soso. She tensed up, afraid of what they were going to do. "Relax," he said. I'm not dangerous. Soso noted their slick bodies, "But your venom. Is it...?" "It's sweat." Soso gave a confused look. "Swehht?" "Water. Water and some salt." Soso relaxed as she was picked up. Normally under any circumstances she would refuse something so shameful, but at this point, she needed help to get back to the city... to her place. The other began to swing the log slowly. She, and the Uores, watched in amazement as he did so without losing balance. "Now hear up. All of you." All the Uores stood there. In Shock. "Police don't care much here, so we will. We catch you all and break your... legs." They all stood there looking at each other. "Surely you can't keep fighting! You couldn't possibly have that much stamin-." The human swung the log, crashing into one of the legs, knocking him over. "Please, we just barely did a warm-up." \~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~

John woke up to an alarm

John woke up to an alarm blaring in his ear. A few minutes later and he was on his way to work with a coffee and a bagel. It would be a busy day today at the firm, two meetings with clients and a meeting with management. He turned into the parking lot and made his way in. He greeted the young man at the reception desk with a smile and a wave. "Hey Thomas! Busy day, huh?" Thomas smiled. "Hey Jonas! Yeah it's a real doozy." John continued on into the office. "Hey Jesse!", "Hi Claire", "How's it going Jeremy?", "Just a bit busy Eli." They all remembered his name, it was just that none of them heard it the same for some reason. The first year that he worked here they argued about it constantly. "Hi, I'm John." John would say. "Nice to meet you Jason." They would respond. He would shake their hand, used to this treatment, but someone would always pipe up when they weren't used to it. "No he said his name was Johnson." At least they were close. After a while, he would explain the weirdness and just tell everyone to call him whatever they want. John snapped out of his reverie and set his things down at his desk and then made his way straight to the conference room. The first meeting would start in five minutes. He entered the conference room and started shaking hands and introducing himself to the clients. He would just introduce himself as a nickname that someone could understand like J.D, but it still had the same effect. He also found that even if he said his name was something like Robert, what they heard still started with a "J", just like he had said his name was John. After four of the five minutes were up he was able to convince the clients to just call him whatever made them comfortable. The meeting started after that. John worked at an upscale architecture and construction firm. He had always enjoyed the look of modern architecture and he needed money, but that was about all that tied him to this job. They talked for an hour about what the clients wanted changed with the designs that they had drawn up in their last meeting and after taking notes and communicating what his team could do, his manager said that they would get the new drawings to them by Thursday. That only gave his team and the other team led by Claire three days to make the changes. It was possible, but it was really pushing it if they wanted to make sure everything was to code and would get a pass from all the regulating bodies. "Actually," He spoke up. "I think Monday would be best. The drawings will be done by Thursday, but with the extra time we can make sure that everything is up to code and won't be held back by any further delays." The client seemed angry at the delay at first but when they heard the explanation, they nodded, as it did seem reasonable. "Just make sure they are back to us as soon as possible." John nodded. "Of course." As the clients left, John's manager came up to him. "What are you playing at, undermining me like that?!" John just looked him in the eye and responded calmly. "I didn't undermine you. I said that the drawings would be done by Thursday, which would make you correct, but that we needed more time to go through regulation, which makes us look more responsible to the client and also makes sure the client doesn't hit further delays and start complaining to you. Plus they will probably end up paying you more now anyway." He could see his boss getting angrier, but something about John's gaze pierced it and he seemed to deflate. "Besides," John said. "If you would like to take credit, you can feel free. I am sure you would have thought of it a moment later, I just wanted to make sure the client didn't move the conversation." John gave him a smile and then they went their separate ways. This is actually how John had gotten his own team. He didn't have the technical skills, but he was good with clients and he wasn't afraid to speak up about what they would really need. This meant that his team never had rushed deadlines. Most of the people from Claire's team had tried to switch a while ago, since anyone else who spoke up in front of the boss, Claire included, got shot down. They had terrible deadlines for the longest time until John recommended that Claire's team become something like a sub-team of his. She would keep him informed and he would negotiate for them at meetings and keep them informed and, more importantly, keep them from getting steamrolled. John knew that him and his boss had a good relationship. He respected John and John respected him. His boss had a stressful job and whenever someone screwed up, he was the one who got chewed out, not the one who screwed up. Since John always kept that in mind, his boss respected his decisions, knowing that he would keep the boss from getting in trouble with a client due to missed deadlines and since John would be the one advocating for the time extension, he was the one who heard the complaints from the clients, rather than his boss. John sent out the email to his team about the deadline and then grabbed his notepad and things from his desk again and made his way back to the conference room. This would be the first meeting with this client, so there would be a lot of notes to take. He also had his lead architect come with him to help him advocate what would be reasonable to build and give better estimates of how much things would cost and how much time things would take. Before he went into the meeting, his boss stopped him. He noticed that his boss was avoiding eye contact. "Listen Jones. I don't want you pissing off this client. You leave the talking to me or I will bring it up at our meeting with management and get you fired." John was taken aback. Maybe he didn't have the relationship with his boss that he thought he did. They entered the room and met with the client. It was just one man that looked to be in his early forties. "Are you sure you don't want your lawyers or project managers or anything involved? Even an assistant?" John's boss asked. The man chuckled. "I have been doing this long enough to know my fair share of how it works and I find that getting too close to people distracts me." They let him have his way and John shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm John." The man's sure grip faltered and he actually stumbled backwards, his eyes wide. John looked at him confused. "I haven't heard that name for mil-" He cut himself off with a cough and a look at John's boss. "I haven't heard that name in years." John's boss looked at him, just as confused as John. "Jones isn't that uncommon of a name." The client chuckled again. "I suppose that is what you would hear. We should talk afterward." He handed John a card. It was very old and had just a name and a number on it. "Leon Davids - (555)555-555." John nodded and they carried on with the meeting. Leon had a very strange request for something of a large studio mixed with a large workshop. It was expansive. "I think we can get this wrapped up for you by next Friday." He shook hands with Leon, but John spoke up. "Actually, I'm afraid this might take a bit longer than that. You have a lot of detail in these pillars and the odd shape of this extension here," John pointed. "Will make things a bit complicated. My lead architect is here and he says that my team should be able to get it done by the end of the month, but if you don't mind I would like to take another week after that to make sure everything is structurally sound and up to code and regulation." Leon took it well. "I thought so much. I used to do a bit of construction in my time and it would have taken me a while to do this. I was thinking you were some team of geniuses or something. Thank you for being honest, I can deal with the wait." Leon made his way out, but John's boss was fuming. (Part 2 coming as soon as I get done with class)

Stacy Elephant has Eidetic memory since

"An Elephant never forgets, Stacy," my Dad, John Elephant, always told me. That was before he got killed hunting a jaguar. The jaguar wasn't even the thing that killed him - he died falling into the pit meant for the jaguar when one of my idiot tribe forgot to tell my Dad about the trap. I've had Eidetic memory since I was born. Because I remember that too. It was traumatic. Perfect recall and perfect analytical ability would've been the ultimate ticket to fame and luxury back in the Civilized Era, before the End Times came. Now it just made me a depressed barbarian. I was out gathering plants one day, because that was the only thing my weak frame could do. The sprawling vegetation taunted me, flourishing now without human cities to contain it. The jungle was dangerous, and the best niche I could fill was learning from everything my family line had passed down. Which food was safe to eat? Which plants would kill you? Where was the quicksand and how did you get out of it? But I'd also learned about computers and how to build one in theory. I was told about the cars, and phones, the amazing food. And when I had children, I would eventually pass that knowledge down to them. We were the Elephants, the last remaining hard drive of human knowledge from a bygone era. "Stacy!" I didn't have to turn my head to know who that was as he crashed through the vegetation. I brushed sweat off my forehead and bent down to examine the moss spreading up a boulder. "How are you, Chad?" Chad bounded in front of me with a big sloppy grin on his face. "I killed a big animal today! I skin alive and give to you as present!" "No thanks, Chad," I said. "Also, careful for that patch of quicksand. We're pretty deep in the jungle. You should head back, it's not safe here." Chad sidestepped the quicksand, frowning. "You no like big dead animal?" I tried not to roll my eyes. Chad wasn't the brightest, but humans had always been really good at reading social cues. It wouldn't do to offend our village's most useful hunter. Say what you will about Chad, he knew how to kill animals better than anyone, and had the brute strength to back it up. I brushed past some vines, picking some bright medicinal flowers and yanking Chad away from touching the big pink frog. I swear, they were getting bigger every year. It was getting dark when I noticed a rock formation just up ahead. Dragging Chad away from a piranha invested stream, I marched over to check it out. "This fell from sky many moons ago," Chad said almost reverently. "How did you know that?" I asked. I never saw that happen, or I would've remembered it. "My great great grandad said his great great grandad said..." "Okay, I get it," I said. "It's old, possibly even older than civilization. Especially if your great times twenty grand dad just figured it must have come from the sky. Let's take a look." The rocks were strange. I'd never seen anything like them, and nothing in my vast library of knowledge mentioned anything with this texture and consistency. Knowledge and analysis were both good, but they gave rise to the refinement of a third skill that people didn't often acknowledge. Instinct. And now my instincts were screaming that something was off here. The jungle pretty much died around this rock. Radiation? "Chad!" I yelled. Where had he run off to? "It's not safe! Rock no safe!" "Stacy!" I heard a voice yell. "Pretty pictures!" I cursed. A small bit of radiation wouldn't kill us, I supposed. I followed the sound of his voice and received the surprise of my life. In the center of the ruins, a metal tablet lay on the ground. By the angle, it looked like it had been embedded in another rock formation that lost the battle to Father Time. "What are these?" Chad said in wonderment, tracing his fingers over the hieroglyphic pictures engraved into the metal. My mind whirled and churned. Of course, it all made sense. If this rock had come from the sky, it could've been a meteor site from even before the human era. There were pockets of uranium embedded in the rock, and by knowing the halflife of uranium and extrapolating what was left, I could date this to even before the original cavemen. The symbols themselves were alien. No human language produced those symbols to my knowledge, and no metal we made looked like that. I ran over to where Chad was still stroking the metal tablet and began analyzing the language. We came back every day, Chad and I, so much so that I was worried that he was neglecting his hunting duties; apparently he had killed a few animals too many and was being told to take a break. "I cracked it," I whispered one day, sagging onto my back. "I did it!" "Oh no!" Chad said sadly. "Where crack? Maybe I fix." "No, no," I said. "I figured out the language! I'll try to translate it." And translate I did. And it nearly broke me. "It's a warning, Chad," I said. My brain was on fire. "It's a warning from an alien race." "Alien?" He said, frowning. "Of course, how could I not see it before?" I wondered. "The fermi paradox, the dark forest paradigm, it all makes sense now. There's a civilization out there that keeps sending us back to the dark ages every time we try to become a spacefaring civilization. Except they messed up somewhere else. This tablet tells of a war in the stars, like...some star wars! Another civilization gained power and are threatening them, and they tried to warn us! But we didn't find this in time before we got destroyed." "Big words, Stacy," Chad said. "Slow down!" I looked out into the jungle. It was getting late. "We need to remember this, or it will just happen to us again." A million scenarios played out in my mind. Synapses fired like machine guns, planning and forseeing millions of possible futures and outcomes. "This could be a trap. We don't know. All I know now is that my genes are needed. But how do I ensure that my genes will definitely get passed down to the point where civilization can flourish?" I looked at Chad. The greatest hunter, graced with the best musculature and survival instincts. Then there was me, with Eidetic memory and perfect analytical ability. "Chad. We need to make babies."

The best/easiest way to

>*Well, the best/easiest way to conquer the world would be to own the banks. Like all of them. Once you own the banks, you own the world. If you can get an in with the Military-Industrial Complex in the US as well as all the big energy producers you'll definitely have a leg up to this silly 'world-domination' thing. Is this for minecraft or something? lol not a gamer, obvi* I finished typing my reply and hit enter. Reddit was so dumb sometimes, but the r/AskReddit sub was one of my favorites to lurk and comment on. Sometimes the questions were dumb, but this one was interesting. Especially after I got to thinking about how exactly would someone take over the world. >*And if you really want to increase your the timeline of your take over - you need to cause a huge event that paints you in a good light. Think like 9/11 style event and what the US did to Afghanistan and Iraq. Or like all those Left Behind books where like 2/3 of the population just disappeared. It was almost easy after that for the anti-Christ to take over. The biggest thing to any world takeover would be how quietly you did it though.* I quickly added to my original comment. There that was a good answer. "Brett! Hey, how are those TPS reports coming?" my boss asked, peeking his head around the corner of my office. "Almost done, Steve. Just need another hour or so to polish up and I'll have them on your desk," I replied, closing the browser and getting back into Excel. Reddit break for the day was over. === I didn't think much about that silly ask Reddit question over the next few years. I was busy living life. I got married, had a kid, life was good. I didn't even mind the perpetual TPS reports I had to do for work. It wasn't a bad life, and the job was easy with a good raise every year. No, I didn't think much about my glib Reddit answer until this morning when I saw the following headline: >**WORLD CORP. TO CONSOLIDATE WITH CHASE, DEUTSCHE & ICBC** *Huh, that's weird*, I thought as I skimmed the article. Three huge banks merging shouldn't have been legal, should it? Then about halfway through the article, I read: >Readers will recall that World Corp. had previously consolidated all of the major Chinese banks last year. This is in addition to the fact that under their Wells Fargo umbrella they had consolidated most of the U.S. banks. While a pending lawsuit in the U.S. federal courts was quickly called for, it was settled privately last year. Suddenly, I was worried about just what World Corp. was up to. I still didn't think about my Reddit post from a few years prior, although something was clearly tickling my memory. That day, I didn't get any of my TPS reports done. All I did was google to see what other assets World Corp. had been acquiring over the years. It was chilling, to say the least. The worst part, not a single mainstream media outlet was reporting on the fact that it was so worrying that one corporation had access to this amount of money and power throughout the world. Sure, there were a couple of subreddits full of conspiracy theorists railing against a take over by World Corp. but nothing beyond that. I began an excel spreadsheet that day, tracking the largest banks and other corporations in the world, and when they eventually got bought out by World Corp. Less than a year later, all of the top fifty corporations were now under the World Corp umbrella. When I realized that, my blood ran cold and I actually shivered. Something extremely terrifying was going on here. Then my phone rang. I looked at it, not recognizing the number. Normally, I wouldn't answer, but something told me I needed to take this call. "Hello?" "Hello, Brett. Or do you prefer iamthetortiedog?" a bright voice on the other end asked. I gulped. iamthetortiedog is my Reddit username. How would they know that? I didn't post that often on Reddit, nor had I ever been doxxed. "Who is this?" "Oh, how rude. My name is Lisa Pranelli, I'm head of operations for World Corp. and was wondering if you'd like to come in for an interview?" "An interview? For what?" "For a job, of course! My boss is dying to meet you after all." I had chills again, my hands felt cold. Something was wrong here, but for the life of me, I couldn't figure out exactly why they were contacting me. "Doing what?" "Special advisor to the CEO. I'm sure you've heard of us? Our CEO David Spotshine has been all over the news lately. You might better know him as gimmethesungimmethespot." I frantically searched through my Reddit post history and there it was. gimmethesungimmethespot had asked: >If you had the time, money, ability, how would you take over the world? And I had stupidly answered. "Brett? Are you still there?" Lisa asked. "Listen, I get it if this is out of the blue, but you give *great* advice. And Mr. Spotshine wants to be able to pick your brain whenever necessary." Her voice was warm and encouraging. My office was warm, it was summer after all, but my entire body felt frozen. I looked at the follow up to my first comment. Fuck, had I really suggested he cause some sort of catastrophic human event? What kind of fucking psycho was I? "Brett? Mr. Johnson?" Lisa tried again. I tried moving my mouth, I tried making words, but all I could think of was the fact that World Corp. had followed my blueprint. Another google search and I found that not only did they own most of the major banks in the world, but they owned Lockheed Martin, Boeing, Raytheon, and Northrop Grumman, all huge military contractors. Walmart, Sinopec, Shell, ExxonMobil, Apple. All the top companies in the world and they were owned by World Corp. The list went on and on. What the fuck had I done? "Brett, really, it's all fine. I'll tell you what. We'll send a car, okay? You just hop in and we'll pop you over to headquarters and you can have your chat with Mr. Spotshine." I nodded but didn't respond verbally. I didn't move. I couldn't move. How did my good little life turn into this? How did *I* become the monster? "Great, see you soon, Brett!" Twenty minutes later, the receptionist knocked on my office. "Brett? Hi! You have a visitor." I looked up to see a man built like a Mack truck standing behind the receptionist. "I'll need you to come with me," he murmured as the receptionist backed away and scurried back to her desk. I stood up, resigned. What was done was done. Now I just had to figure out how to either live with myself or bring it all down from the inside. **Edit:** a word

There was fear, panic and despair

*What do you remember?* *Smoke. Noise. A roar. Like charging locomotives on each side, howling and thundering past your ear.* *Rushing air, and that plummeting sensation in your stomach, initially reminding you of that first long drop on a roller coaster, but it didn't stop, didn't abate just kept going and going and going. There was fear. Panic. And something else. Despair? No. Something like loss, something like an overwhelming sense of failure. For something.* *Or someone.* *Flashing lights and twisting dials, heavy turbulence and the striking and flashing of lightning, almost blinding.* *Planes don't normally go down in storms like that.* *But small planes with thin wings and dirty cockpits, and smelling vaguely of tobacco and sweat, alone in the sky and through the storm. A sense of urgency, growing and growing, competing with the terror brought on by the plummet. I can remember vaguely thinking at least it's only me here. Only one person in the plane. Only one corpse to be found in the wreckage.* *But beyond that? There's little there. Where am I?* *Who am I?* There's a man with some kind of bizarre headdress leaning over me, a thick coarse beard dangling down from a worn and lined face. A strange necklace of colored plastic holds around his neck, clinging together in some weirdly unappealing way. His eyes are an icy grey, and he's muttering something, dabbing my forehead with some kind of wet cloth. It smells like...something...but I'm not sure what. I can smell. And feel, that's for certain. Pain. When he sees my eyes open he takes a step back, and mutters to himself, grabbing a cup of some foul smelling liquid and forcing it into my hand. There are aches and pains everywhere, bruises and sour tinges with each movement. It hurts. It hurts so badly I can't help but moan rather than speak. Not sharp, but constant, everywhere and in everything, tingling nerves and pushing and pulling muscles together. Like I've been worked over with a sledgehammer, hitting every joint and limb. "Where am I?" The question is simple, but the man doesn't answer. He holds the cup. It's made of rusted iron, folded and crude. Insisting. What in the hell is he wearing? Rags and metal? Torn fragments and pieced together garments. Skins and cloth, like some kind of - of what? Some guy with the fashion sense and resources of a guy marooned on an island? "Who are you?" I ask again, with more force, or at least as much can be gathered. The pain wracks, and instead of a demand it comes across as a whimper. He shakes his head. He holds the cup. I take it. One sip and I immediately regret it, a thick, foul tasting something with a chalky texture. Vinegar, or something else. No idea what. I try to stand, and my legs scream in refusal. There's a long stick tied to the right, and I can see angry black bruises on my hands. What's happening? Where am I? Another man enters the tent, and motions for the other to leave. The old man bends and almost scrapes, bowing and backing away. Out of respect, I guess, but this is so bizarre, so surreal its hard to believe. He's holding something. A stick. With some metal point lashed to the top? A spear? "Can you," I begin to ask, but the pain is too much, and I can only grunt and lay back onto the ground. Reeds. Or hay. Something beneath me. Soft, but the ground beneath it remains unyielding. Not a bed. Not in a real building. "Don't speak," the man says. It's accented slightly, flavored with something I don't recognize. Above me, the shack appears to be made of twisted and folded metal, weaved together and patched with mud and dirt. A sign. "San Diego," I say. The man stands tall, with shaggy unkempt hair and broad shoulders. His nose is hooked, his eyes dark as flint and a mouth in a permanent strained expression of concentration. My words cause his eyes to narrow, his forehead to furrow. "What did you say?" "The sign. It says San Diego." Something to look at. Something else to focus on, beyond the constant and throbbing pain. Monkeys are clashing cymbals behind my skull, and the constant throbs only seem to be getting worse. "Did you steal it?" It's the kind of sign you see on the interstate, impatiently waiting for your exit to finally show up. But we're not on the side of the road. I don't hear any cars. I don't hear any planes. Come to think of it, there's barely any sound, besides the thin whine of wind through the hut, and voices murmuring somewhere outside. *That can't be right. I was in a plane. Going...somewhere. To do something important. But I can't remember what?* He approaches warily. "You wear strange clothes," he says. "Manufactured, the old ones would say." "So do you." Except not manufactured. Nothing you'll pick up from amazon, anyway. Same rags. Same skins. Same hint of savagery. "You came from the sky," he says. A hint of awe and mistrust, but something else, of opportunity. Like he's searching for something from me. "A plane," I say. "A legend," he says. He pulls out a long green sign, a street sign. "The markings on your fallen star had letters like this." He points, marking each letter one by one. "It says Derbyshire Street," I say. He looks at me like I've grown horns, or something equally preposterous. "Please," I say, confused, and with a growing sense of unease. "I need a doctor. I need to go to the hospital." "No hospitals. No doctors." He says it with the kind of certainty that immediately takes me aback. Not crazy. Not delusional, not tinged with frantic insanity. Certainty. Honesty. Truth. *What happened?* *You were flying somewhere. Somewhere important. To stop...something. Or someone. Which was it? Where was it?* *You crashed.* *Lightning, I think. Or was it?* *Maybe something else. Or someone else.* "You're not the only one," he says, and he comes to my side, and begins to lift me up. I want to fight, to protest, but all I can manage are groans and fight off whatever urge to scream I can. He helps me, hobbling out. And out there. There. In the world. A blue sky, trees, birds, songs and rising campfires. Other ramshackle structures, and dirty men and women and children once going about their business, turn to look at me. All dressed in those same rags. With various primitive implements. What's happening? What's going on? *You had to go somewhere. To stop something from happening.* And in the distance, I see it. An office building, intertwined with vines and broken windows. Stores, homes, and eventually it comes together, like looking at puzzle pieces and their places magically coming together. This was a city. This was a place. An interstate sign hangs, dead and forgotten from a withered pole. *San Diego,* it says. *I can see the asphalt and the broken glass, the corpses of cars on the side of the road and scorch marks on the metal. Trees and weeds and roots and grass everywhere, poking through every hole, in every place, through the shacks and the grass. In every direction, there's familiarity, but it's so alien. Why is it so hard to believe my own eyes? "What happened?" I ask. It's a stupid question. An obvious one. "We need you to tell us," the man says. If he doesn't know, why is he asking me? And the fear. It returns. The roar. The scream of failing engines, and the blinding flash of lightning. "There are others like you," he says. "From long ago. Who come from the storms. Fall from the sky. Some live, most die, but they know. Can help." He's talking. Speaking. Explaining. What it is, I can't focus, I can't think, there's worms and eels slithering in my brain and guts and there's just so much, so much overwhelming every sense. I'm tired. My head begins to swim, the throbbing and ache only getting worse. "We need your help," the man says, as I begin to lose consciousness. Being tugged into a murky waters through the shock, through the gut wrenching certainty I had something to do with this, with this place, with the decay and the natural reclamation all around. Its me. I think. Or do I know? Why can't I tell? Why can't I remember my name? But there are no more words from him. Only the lightning. The roar. The crash. Then silence. But something else...something in the dark, hidden behind a pillar or wall or vague emptiness, my own voice. Crawling, hunting, swirling, lazy and disinterested. *You came through the storm. You came through the storm to stop the storm. And there's still time.* *There's still time.* Added a part 2! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me (will probably get a part 2 of this out soonish) r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others

Alexander the Wise, Gwenn the

They stood at the edge of the ancient volcano, dead these past 10,000 years. They were the very best of the best, champions from their respective realms: Alexander the Wise, the most powerful techno-mage of the Eastern Collective, Gwenn the Shadow, the deadliest assassin from the secretive Highland Empire, Archibald the Tireless, a fighter whose technique and stamina were already the stuff of legends hailing from the Eternal Archipelago, and Anastasia the Dreaded, the voice of the Death god Nilgesh. They were drawn together by ancient prophecies that foretold the awakening of a great ancient evil that would seek to upturn all of the world's laws and norms, a force that would shatter bonds and throw societies into untold chaos. Only the mightiest of the mighty could hope to challenge such an primal force. As the planets aligned over head a great shaking took hold of the land, but the champions stood firm. As the stars aligned over head a great and mighty wind roared across the land, but the champions stood firm. As the migration of the ley lines converged in a terrible fury above the ancient volcano and drew back the veil between the here and the beyond the Champions merely redoubled their resolve. A great flash bathed the land in the light of a dozen dozen suns and when their vision cleared the champions saw before them the culmination of ten millennia of prophecy... and they were a bit unimpressed. The figure barely five feet in height with a slight frame and no apparent weaponry. "This... thing is what our wisemen and shamans feared?!?!" roared Archibald, his hands angrily gripping the great sword Soul Cleaver. "This is what drew me from the sacred duty of guarding the Archipelago from the Watchers from the Deep? A barely blooded boy from my tribe could dispense with this...thing without breaking a sweat." "Perhaps its power lies not in the physical but the magical." Alexander mused in his high pitched, nasaly voice. "Scanning all known magical frequencies now." His cybernetic eyes piece scrolled through a range of colors as it swept over the figure of prophetic doom. "Hmmmm, no sign of any ambient magic that I can detect. Which is odd considering just how much magical potential converged when those ley lines intersected. Why I imagine that if someone could capture such a convergence again-" "Enough of your prattling mage," Gwenn cut in. "We came here to do a job so let's do it and send this one to Anastasia's God." "I'm not sure my God would want him. He hardly seems a worthwhile sacrifice worthy of my god's attention." Anastasia deadpanned. The banter was broken by a malevolent laugh from the figure. "Such petty and narrow minded thoughts from what I suppose are the Champions sent to stop me." The figure's voice was equal parts arrogance, contempt, and pity. "Strength of arms, magic, gods...What power do they have over the the most powerful force in the universe?" "Which I am pretty sure is magic." Interrupted Alexander. "You see about 300 years ago the great mage Arzangle hypothesized-" "Silence!" The figure boomed, its voice resounding throughout the land. "Your pitiful powers will be no match for what I bring to this world. Your societies will crumble and tear themselves apart. Your social orders will disintegrate in the face of the powers I am imbued with. All will be chaos, all will be overthrown." "And just what is this power that can overcome might, magic, and the gods?" asked Gwenn "Why the very thing might, magic, and the gods cannot strike: ideas. I will spread among the people of the lands the insidious idea that they shouldn't bend their knees to popes and kings. That the wealth of the rich is for all, from the basest peasant to the highest prince, equally distributed. That the divine ought not rule through the threat of violence. And, most destructive of all, that men and women are equals and should not be forced to conform to their allotted positions in life. Bwahahahaha!!!" Lighting split the land, thunder boomed in the distant, and a malevolent flock of crows wheeled over head. The Champions were silent. "Really? That is your big plan?" asked Archibald. "No deadly plague? No swarm of flesh eating locusts? No unstoppable legion from hell?" Inquired Alexander. "Not even zombies?" Anastasia looked downcast. "Such things can be overcome by the very powers mortals posses. But what can you do in the face of such revolutionary and disruptive ideas? Your societies' dooms are all but sealed." The Champions exchanged glances. "So do you want to tell him Archibald? Because I sure as hell don't want to get Alexander going on a historical tangent here." Gwenn said, barely suppressing a giggle. "What are you talking about? Tell me what?" The figure's arrogance and self assurance seemed to deflate at the the Champion's lack of concern. "Those things you spoke of. Well... we sort of already have them." Archibald sheepishly reported. "WHAT!?!?!" "The whole sharing of resource, egalitarian secular society thing you were going for? Well, we've had that for about a thousand years now. Heck, my wife makes more money than me teaching at university, a CO-ED university mind you, than I do guarding against the Watchers from the Deep." A note of pride permeated Archibald's voice when he spoke of his wife. "My church is strictly voluntary. We have no business with governments and the very thought of trying to interfere would send many of my order to the fainting caskets. We pride ourselves in our pure devotion to Nilgesh and eschew more secular matters." Anastasia proudly declared. "And thanks to our advances in techno-magery we can provide adequate support for all members of the Collective. All of our citizens can pursue whatever gives them the most self actualization without fear of want or hunger. I, myself, could just have easily become a farmer or miner instead of a techno-mage, but I wanted to give back to my community as much as it has given me." Alexander state matter-of-factly. "To do otherwise would be simply monstrous and callous." "And the order of assassins I belong to has long welcomed both men and women into their ranks. As long as you can kill efficiently and quietly you are well respected, doesn't matter what you've got between your legs." Gwenn said as she gave her quantum knife a little wiggle. "All in all I'd say you are at least a thousand, if not two thousand years too late." "What? No! This is impossible. I was prophesied to upend the very root of the World's culture, to drive it into chaos and set man against man, brother against brother, daughter and against mother...What you say is impossible! You are trying to trick me since you will be unable to overcome the power of my ideas!" "Hey, believe what you want. As far as I'm concerned this whole prophesied doom was a big waste of my time." Archibald sheathed his sword and started back down the volcano to the plains below. "And during finals too, my wife won't let me hear the end of this. If she asks can you guys say we killed, I don't know, like a big dragon or demon or something. I promised her this was a big world saving deal and if she finds out we ended up with this schmuck I will be doing the dishes for the next month." "I think the less we speak of this the better. It is really rather embarrassing all around. Though it was a pleasure to meet all of you. If you need an funeral arrangements made please keep Nilgesh in mind, we have very competitive rates." Anastasia then stepped into a shadow and vanished. "Well back to the Academy for me then. At the very least this should make a fascinating topic for a research paper. I can see it now: 'Fluctuating social norms as contrapositioned to ancient (5,000+ years) prophecy: a field study'. Yes, I am very much looking forward to that" Alexander mused. "Gwenn, care for a ride back north?" "Well, if your offering who am I to turn down a free ride." Gwenn said as she saddled up to Alexander. "Well, I can't say it was very nice meeting you...?" The figure looked up mournfully: "Visslowzos the corrupter, breaker of bonds, sower of chaos, Champion of-" "Yeah, I don't actually care. Let's blow this joint four eyes." And in a flash the last of the Champions vanished, leaving Visslowzos the Corrupter, Breaker of Bonds, Sower of Chaos, Champion of something or another, alone on a long dead volcano, contemplating just how out of touch and obsolete he had become. ​ *Edited because I suck at spelling, apparently.*

A young man with tousled

Above, the clouds are low, heavy and fat with rain, tumbling their way over the wood and farther away. A young man with tousled hair and dark eyes makes his way to a graveyard, afraid of what he'll find. *What was that?* He's confused, and somewhat afraid. Not of being alone, no, for now that seems the best and only course to figure out what exactly is going on. He's afraid of others, and what happens whenever he attempts to conjure his 'animus'. Mother's was a cornflower blue blanket, thick and warm, something he could wrap himself in when the snows began to pile up outside their ramshackle hut. A luxury in a place where sheep come rare, and quality linen even more so. Father's an axe, for biting deep into wood and splitting logs for sale at market. Long, beautiful handle, a strong heft and easy swing. Overhead, chunk, beautiful split. And his...his wasn't one thing, or any specific thing. His birthday came and went, and nothing seemed to come. The boy prayed for many things. A sword to distinguish himself as an adventurer, or maybe a lyre to bring music. A whip for cattle, a bucket for milking goats, something, anything of use. Instead he summoned an axe, a waraxe, single bladed with a thin handle and vicious curve, coated in blood, and to his horror, brain and bone. Dark hair strands sticking to the edge. Dark as his father's hair. He'd been standing before his father, hoping and waiting, and he'd sat there, telling him to be patient, always to be patient. *"Big world out there, son. It could be anything. Even a crown,"* the voice of a man who rumbled rather than spoke. Preposterous, to be sure, but still the boy hoped the hidden hope he was something important and beyond his village life. You could get something arcane, something mystical, a constantly refilling pouch of gold or a wineskin that never truly empties. Instead the axe. Coated in gore. When he turned to his mother, it shifted in his hand, turning into several hideous gray globs of something organic that slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and a word he'd never known came to mind. *Tumors. Tumors. They grow in the belly until there's nothing left.* So he made his way to the graveyard, afraid of what he'd find. The gate screams open as he forced the rusted gate to break way. It smells like rain. The headstones are carved of wood, though the richer souls seem carved from common stone. Names. Years. Dates of birth, death, and family and kin. And at the very bottom, their method of death. He stands before one, worn and weathered by time and wind. Something Tomkins, it reads. Years of life, and a sentence at the bottom. *Murderer.* *Hung by the neck until dead.* He stands there, summoning his animus through that strained concentration, and holds his right hand before him. A noose. A dull sense of not dread, not horror, but confirmation. *No. Not that. I don't want to be one of them.* The next headstone. *A work accident in a lumberyard,* he guesses, the though the words are flowery. A bloody log appears in his hand, not the full length, but a silenced edge coated in hair and blood. Must have smacked him in the head. He goes from plot to plot, from grave to grave, each method the same as the other. Dead. Method of death. Dead. A bone. A sword. A rope. A glass rum bottle. Long copper wire. A meat pie dripping with gravy and butter. He knows. He knows those that wander from village to village, from kingdom to town to city, proclaiming the ability to recognize one's death, and the evil that follows. You can catch glimpses of them, riding pale horses, the townspeople giving way, afraid of coming too close. Is it his touch that seals the fate? Can the method be prevented? The boy isn't sure, but he's heard enough stories and tales about men trying to escape their deaths, only to cause them. He hated those stories more than any other. It seemed each doomed individual was himself, trying to outrun...outrun what? Something. But no. He didn't want to be one of them. Not one of those. *It's a life of isolation, of fear and constant vigilance. Do you show the method, do you reveal the future, do you walk among the bones and tell the only fortune that comes certain? That there's a clearing at the end of the road, a headstone with your name on it?* There's a peal of thunder, a rumble in the sky. Up and away, past the hills and trees, in the direction of his home, an oily black smoke seems to be rising from the sky. *The axe. The axe coated in the blood and brain of his father.* That dull panic, and the realization he's far away, maybe an hours walk, though he doesn't know how far he has to run. So he leaves the graveyard, the iron hinge screaming behind him. *Run,* it screams, *Run all you want boy, it's too late. The wine is spilled, the cats out of the bag. You saw the axe, as did he. You both know what it means.* And begins to run down the path below. Frantic. He's panicking, and under his breath he whispers *no, no, no* but doesn't know it. Doesn't want to know it. A gravemind, a lich, a man in dark robes with blacker prophecy. On each side of the path, the trees blur by, his steps sticking and flopping through muck, clods of dirt flying in every direction. The boy pumps his arms, the man shifts his feet, the boy takes deep horrible breaths and the man jumps to the worst of conclusions. *Hold out your hand, reach, and I'll show you how it comes. A cough, a blade, an accident or a slip down an abandoned well. Come and ask. Come and see.* His chest is on fire, and he runs with the frantic energy of a man certain but uncertain of his fate. Afraid of what he'll find. Posted a part 2! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others

Every year in remembered history my people

Every year in remembered history my people select one individual to be sacrificed to the Elder Gods, the great and all powerful deities who are said to reside many miles beneath our sacred temple. Even as our society grew and evolved spiritually, technologically, and culturally, the tradition of The Sacrifice is one of the few that has *never* been forgotten or abandoned. This year, the great honor had fallen to me. And I was... not thrilled about it. "Noooooooooo-no-no-noooo! Big, big-- *huge* mistake here my dudes!" I stuttered as two abnormally muscled priests dragged me by both arms toward the site of the sacrifice. The perfectly uniform drag marks being left by my two feet in the dirt behind me were only interrupted when I kicked and squirmed every 10 seconds or so. "You guys! You guys are being silly, you think *I'm* worthy of being sacrificed to the Elder Gods? I'm a loser! A stoner! I've never studied the sacred texts for a moment of my life! I-- I fibbed my way through every class the high priests ever taught. My friend Jenny gave me the answers to the tests! Get it?" The priests sighed in near perfect unison. "*We* do not choose, young one." "The Elder Gods themselves give us the name to be offered," the second priest chimed in. "We simply ensure that the god's chosen name is selected as the victor of the people's vote once it is complete." "Wait... Wait just an Elder Goddamn second here! The election of the sacrificial human that we vote on *every single year* is RIGGED?! Hey people! IS ANYONE A JOURNALIST IN THE CROWD? Anyone? I've got a HUGE scoop for you if you can get me out of this whole sacrifice thing! HUGE scoop! Come onnnn, I can see you all staring at me as I'm dragged past, seriously, anyone wanna help me out? Anyone at all?" Without exception, the crowd seemed to decline to assist me in any way. But as we reached the sacrificial pit within inner sanctum of the temple, I finally found my moment of hope. My entire family stood at the edge of the pit facing me, with somber, determined looks etched across their faces. Surely they were forming a human chain to prevent my sacrifice! Look, we *all* have our problems with family, but at the end of the day, when you need to get out of becoming Elder God chow, you can always count on fami-- My father grabbed me, interrupting my train of thought. Embracing me tightly, tears formed in his eyes as he opened his mouth to reveal his fatherly wisdom which would surely save me from my deadly fate. "My boy! My *only* boy! This... is... such a wonderful day!" "WHAT? DAD! Do you KNOW what they are--" "Frankly, I feared you would never amount to anything, but being THE sacrificial offering of the year 2072? You fill me with such pride! Goodbye, go get 'em tiger!" he said as he released me from his grasp and slapped my backside as a final 'attaboy'. It turned out the slap on my butt provided just enough momentum to send me tumbling off the edge and down into the sacrificial pit. "Nottttttt, cooooooool daaaaaaaaaaad!" my shouted voice echoed up the walls of the pit as I fell. "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH... ***Deep Breath*** ....AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Man... they weren't lying about this pit being 'miles deep'. Once I was out of range of hurling insults back up at my worthless family members, I found there was little left to do on my seemingly endless plummet downward than to scream every obscenity I could think of, and a few I invented myself on the spot! At some point I wished they had sent my computer plummeting down beside me, so at least I could do something productive with all my newfound spare time. The only bright spot of my trip was that I did manage to fit in a good solid nap on the way down, I guess all the screaming had tuckered me out a bit. You might think that the Elder Gods had some kind of elaborate arrival system to "catch" their plummeting guests, but... you would be wrong. I impacted a stone floor unceremoniously with all the force you might expect a miles long drop to entail. The fact that I did not perish I suppose indicated the presence of the god's magic, but the pain of the impact was as immense as you might imagine "AUGHHHHguhhhhh!" I cried out in pain as several robed and hooded figures surrounded me. "You're the welcoming party I presume? Hey guys, not to start out on a blasphemous foot, but how about setting out just a couple measly pillows for new arrivals to land on? Is that too much to ask from the 'great and powerful' Elder Gods?" "Matty?" one voice piped up from under one of the hoods. "Matty! It is you! How you been dawg?" "Zo?!" I exclaimed as I hopped up and embraced my child hood friend Lorenzo. "Dude, how are you-- how exactly are you still in one piece? You got tossed down here five years ago, why haven't the Elder Gods... you know, devoured your flesh, mind and soul to reinvigorate themselves?" "Pshhhh, turns out a lotta the stories our parents told us weren't so true, dude. The Elder Gods seem to get along just fine with us humans. We've spent most of my years just chillin' down here, man. I'm tellin ya, you're gonna love it." Our reunion was halted as an honest to goodness Elder God entered the room and began speaking directly to me. "I am the being known as Ulth'gharr. I am charged with welcoming new recruits. I see your human name was Matthew. It was a fine mortal moniker to be sure, however, from hence forth you will be known here as M'hath. Do you understand, M'hath?" "Um-- sure," I, M'hath, responded. "But just as fair warning, I was never too good at M'hath. I did better in writing class, ya know?" The robed humans burst into laughter. Ulth'gharr, the great and powerful being in complete control of my immediate future, did not. That mostly represents how the next several days of our relationship went. I tried to be friendly, but I was immensely confused by my purpose here if I was not to be devoured, and Ulth'gharr was not forthcoming with answers. Finally, after much patient waiting on my part, I demanded them. "Ulth'gharr, please-- please be honest with me. I've been here a week and I still understand *nothing.* We were taught that you consumed all those humans tossed into the pit to sustain and strengthen yourselves, that we were 'new blood' for you all. Since that it is clearly not the case, what is our purpose to you?" "Mmm, 'new blood' is accurate enough," he replied. "But it is not because we devour your soul or drink your literal blood. We require 'new recruits' from the world above to keep things running down here. Also, it gets sooooo incredibly boring seeing the same old faces every day. I've heard Sophia tell the story of the guy who spilled a drink on her at Applebee's about 1100 times in the 30 years she has been with us, ELEVEN-HUN-DRED! I didn't even laugh the first time she told it!" "That sounds like torture!" I said, laughing. "But-- so Zo was telling the truth? We really just hang out down here? It's all chill?" "Oh... no, you misunderstand, M'hath. We had been biding our time, or 'chilling out' as you humans might say, for centuries, but I'm afraid you've arrived just as those 'chill' days are coming to an end. Year by year we have built up our forces with new recruits from the ranks of humans sent our way. You are the final human to arrive, thus your training will be quick, brutal, and thoroughly exhausting. There is little time to waste as I fear the final battle with the twisted and evil Old Ones is nearly upon us. The battle for the actual SOUL OF THE UNIVERSE approaches! Will *you* be prepared, M'hath, Anointed Warrior of the Elder Gods?!" he bellowed dramatically. ... "Uh-- do I need like a uniform or somethin' before the fight you mentioned? Y'all are kinda wearin' the same lookin' robes... Is- is there are tailor down here? Who do I see about that? Do they take appointments or is it more a first come first serve kinda deal? You're staring at me with your 80 unblinking eyes like I'm an idiot, was that a dumb-- a dumb question? I'll uh-- I'll just shut up. Erhm-- sorry, uhhhhhhhhh... Now, what were you saying about some kinda battle?" ___ Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more of my stories. EDIT: I couldn't sleep so I went ahead and wrote a Part 2 of this story on my subreddit for the heck of it. (). If you've already read Part 1, skip down to the bolded Part 2 for the new stuff. Sorry for late night typos/mistakes, but I hope it gives an idea of the direction I'd take this story if anyone's interested in seeing more

The doors to the Chamber opened in

My heart thumped loudly in my chest. The doors to the Chamber opened in front of me, revealing complete and utter darkness. I was shoved to the floor of the desolate room. The door shut behind me with a deafening crash. I was alone. I grabbed my knees and pulled them to my chest. I felt a tear fall down my face as I awaited my untimely- well, timely, I guess, depending on context- death. I listened to my quiet sobs. To my surprise, the sound wasn't alone. "---eeey! Oi! You in there? I know it's the 18th of the Harvest! There's always a new sacrifice!" The voice echoed through the Chamber. It sounded booming, powerful, yet... attainable. It was surprisingly human, just... *more.* I saw a light in the corner of the room. I shrunk back. "You coming or what?" called the voice. The light came closer, and it began to show a bright green. I squinted as a figure came into view. The face... I had seen it before. *Errianos. God of the Living.* His body had an extremely strong build, chiseled features similar to that of an old oak tree. It's no wonder how he got the title. "Will you get up? I'm not gonna hurt you. Or eat you. Though, I will say, some meat does sound good right now." A slight smirk spread across his face. After a moment it disappeared again. "Tough crowd, eh? Whatever. You'll come around. Just c'mon. Regina's making a roast! It's gonna get cold." *Regina.* The tanner? She was sacrificed years ago! I stood up, the world spinning around me. I followed the body that matched the figure printed on every official document. *This is a dream. This is a dream.* After a fairly long descent, we reached a well-lit room with six other non-godly people in it. One was standing near a stove, the other five were playing a card game known by most soldiers with two other luminous figures. "Yen, Liliana, Ray... there are six of you. Where are the others?" Liliana, the old barkeep, shrugged. "Probably off running errands. Has Erri not explained stuff to you yet?" *Erri. You have a pet name for one of the Elder Gods.* I shook my head, looking at the God of the Living. "Right. I was a little busy trying to make you stop moping. You can either choose a life of leisure, as these lovely folks have-" Relia, Goddess of the Sea, slammed her cards down on the table. "I was so close to winning!" she shouted, downing a large glass of wine. "Rel, you do realize you still can't get drunk, right?" Yen asked with a hint of concern. She glared at him. "I know I can't, but I can still damn well try," she growled. "Or, you will be granted godly powers and be our missionary," Errianos finished. "Missionary?" "Well, not so much on the whole 'preach our existence' business. It's more so that you're the outward muscle of our godliness. We're a bit lazy, you see? I'd rather enjoy one of Regina's roasts than to go out and crush a rebel religion." I shuffled my feet a little bit. "That's a big decision to make." "I know," he said. "Why don't you join us for a game of Tem first?" I glanced at the table. I thought of the days off where I practically had diagnosable cabin fever. Multiply that by eternity? "So, about that whole mercenary business?" He grinned. "I knew you'd come around. That's why I had them bring a blacksmith!" He raised his hand and a heavenly light poured around me, materializing into a suit of armor. It was made of living wood, as was the sword that appeared, strapped to my back. I felt my ribs, broken before, quickly reform, eliminating the pain. A vine, seemingly of its own accord, whipped out of my left hand and smacked the cards out of the God of Chaos'- Alluin's- hand. He scoffed and grabbed at them from the ground where they fell. "None of you looked at them, right?" he asked, annoyed. "You have some powers, along with your armor and sword." Errianos smiled. "I'll let you figure that one out on your own, though." ​ First try at one of these prompts. Constructive criticism is well-appreciated! EDIT: The story was longer before. I shortened it. Forgot that a detail that was mentioned previously is no longer there! EDIT 2: Oh my goodness this was a lot more popular than I thought it'd be! Thanks for the gold and all the nice words! :D ​ =============================================================== (also posted as a reply to this thread. Don't know the best way to get this out to people!) PART 2: Errianos' words echoed in my mind. "Since you're still new to this whole business, I'll give you something easy. I just need you to bring this scroll to a neighboring city. Nothing serious, there shouldn't be any backlash." The same scroll bounced noisily against the back of the suit of armor, making a *thunk* each time it connected, similar to hitting a hollow log. Had it not been for my background as a blacksmith, the sound would have been a lot more annoying than it was. Though it wasn't too bad for me, my companion was not so keen on the noise. Selene, who I knew as a trader a few years back- before she 'died', that is- had a scowl plastered on her face, which only deepened with each bump of the paper against my back. "Can you *hold* the damn thing or figure out your powers and vine whip yourself ahead?" she shouted, her frustration finally coming through. I frowned. "Sorry," I mumbled as I unstrapped the scroll. I carried it under my arm. Unfortunately, this meant that my sword was now repeatedly hitting the scroll as I walked. She rolled her eyes. A rather uncomfortable journey later, we finally arrived at the city that Errianos had mentioned. The buildings were relatively short and run-down; it was definitely a lot more populated a while back. It almost radiated a form of defiance; knowing it was on its last legs it decided to hold onto its last breath with everything it had. Apparently going so far as to spawn a few rebel religions in the process. Hence our assignment. Following the instructions, there were a few twists and turns through the failing city before arriving at the door of a rather gloomy cathedral. Selene and I traded a glance. "I thought this was supposed to be an *easy* assignment," she hissed. "To be fair, he is also a god," I piped in. She glared at me. We both unsheathed our weapons. Mine writhed in my grasp, a deadly living edge. Selene's blade was black as night, yet coated in a bright white flame. It matched her set of armor, which had swirls of black, white, yellow, and red. *Coated in chaos, just as I'm coated in life.* We entered the cathedral. The inside was just as old and dilapidated as the rest of the town, though there were figures actively milling about the structure. They wore a deep purple robe with a white eye adorned on the hood, concealing their faces. "I would like to speak to your leader," I shouted, trying to sound as commanding as possible. One or two hoods turned my direction, but they continued on their path. I nudged Selene. She looked at me questioningly. I just shrugged. "Clearly they aren't listening to me." "People of this cathedral," she roared. "You have been sent a message by the Elder Gods themselves- all the glory to Them. I demand to meet the leader of this establishment." Two people disappeared into a back room. They both emerged with one larger person, wearing a brilliant white robe. Its seams were adorned with purple accents, a golden eye rest on its hood. "The Elder Gods have not attempted to contact the Visionaries before. What has changed?" An old voice came from within the robe. Frail, weakened, yet demanded a certain respect. The two figures who walked the leader out disappeared behind us. We heard the door shut, the click of a lock leaving little room for interpretation as to what just happened. "We know not of the message, simply of the intent," Selene growled. "The Elder Gods have their own purposes. We are the messengers." I felt my fingers tighten around the hilt of my sword. I put my hand out, offering the scroll to the mysterious leader. He simply gestured to the scroll, and one of the robed figures grabbed it, unrolling it for him to read. A tense minute passed, then two. I saw the leader's posture droop slightly. His poised demeanor dissolved. "Kill them," he growled. Small blades flashed out of the sleeves of the robed figures as they advanced toward us. Whoops. I made it a cliffhanger. There will be a part three, likely tonight! This would have come sooner, but work got in the way. Sorry! ​ EDIT: Part 3 added as a reply to this comment. Too many characters lol

Officer Penrow crouched near the

There was a carton of General Tso's chicken slowly spoiling on the corner of the only desk in the hotel bedroom. Next to it was a bottle of beer that had been spilled, the liquid having already dried and leaving an amber stain on the cheap wooden desk, faintly and unpleasantly resembling dried blood. No, if you wanted the real blood, that was just a few meters over, sprayed across the hotel wall. "Someone tried to clean it, it looks like," Officer Penrow said. He was crouched near the wall, steadying himself against it with one purple-vinyl-gloved hand. It was quite the impressive feat considering the man was grossly overweight, but the crouched maneuver was made possible thanks to his low hanging gut, keeping him nicely balanced on his heels as he examined the half-scrubbed blood. "Smells like ammonia." "Out of all the things, the ammonia is what you smell?" Officer Denbur said. He was rubbing at his temples with his fingers, trying his best to ward off a headache. There hadn't been a single cloud in the sky all day, and the drive from the precinct to the hotel had been hellacious on his eyes. *Like seeing the flash of a camera, but, all of the time,* he had told his wife, the only person with whom he had confided his strange ability to. He had to tell her something, or else risk losing the relationship with the one person who had ever really loved him. Had to tell her why he had to lock himself away in a dark room every night. And the wonderful thing was that she believed him and didn't ask any other questions of it. Well, she didn't really have to ask anymore questions, because she was able to prove his ability by writing him a love letter in invisible ink. The deal was sealed when he read it aloud to her without any help at all. That same love letter he kept tucked away in his wallet, and if anyone somehow managed to steal it, they would have no idea how significant that *seemingly* blank piece of paper actually was. "Can you turn off the desk lamp?" Officer Denbur asked the young intern that had been standing in the corner of the room. He had a fuzzy mustache, possibly the only good thing that puberty had granted him. The intern did as he was told, and the portly Officer Penrow scoffed, "How do you expect to see anything at all in this room?" "There," Officer Denbur said, pointing towards the corner of the bed. "Can we get the forensics team to take a sample of that right there? There's some DNA." "Really, it's a hotel room. There's going to be *DNA* everywhere," Officer Penrow said. "Right, but that's the freshest one," Officer Denbur said. The intern flicked the light back on, and Officer Penrow slowly scooted his way over to the bedspread that Denbur had pointed at. "You can't be serious," the overweight man said. He leaned forward and lightly sniffed it, and then cringed his face. "Why, just why?" Officer Denbur said, almost gagging. "Couldn't help myself." Officer Denbur excused himself from the room, wanting to separate himself from all of the things attacking his senses, the decomposing body, the blood, the 'sample', and most of all, that rotting chicken. He opened the door and was immediately barraged by the sunlight, all wavelengths of it. He dug through his coat pocket, looking for his specially prescribed sunglasses which blocked out *most* light. The average person wouldn't be able to see a thing through them, but for Officer Denbur, he was able to see just enough, and that's all he wanted to see in order to avoid getting another migraine. He slipped the shades on and made his way down the hotel stairs, heading towards the parking lot so that he could grab a cigarette from the police cruiser. It was there that he saw a strange man leaning up against the car. "Can I get you to move, sir?" The man seemed startled, uncrossing his arms and getting up from the police cruiser. He looked at Officer Denbur, and then slowly waved his hand back and forth through the air. Officer Denbur, thinking that the man was mocking him, slowly waved back, and said "Yeah, bud, I see you. Now can you please step away from the vehicle?" Without a single word, the man broke out in a sprint directly at Officer Denbur. Denbur didn't have a moment to react before he was tackled to the ground by the strange man. He tried reaching for his service pistol, but the man gripped Denbur's arm and flipped him over onto his stomach, pulling his hands behind his back, yanking them up high. Denbur winced when he felt his left shoulder pop out of socket. He tried to scream, but the strange man knee'd Denbur's back, forcing all the air out of his lungs. Denbur felt the man pull his own cuffs off of him and use them to cuff his hands, and then he felt the strange man patting around in his pockets. And then he heard the man speak, "Who in the hell are you? How can you see me?" "Get, off,-" Denbur tried to plea, but again the strange man put more weight onto Denbur's back, driving the air out of him. His vision was starting to tunnel, black rose petals slowly started creeping in, and that sharp pain he felt in his shoulder was slowly starting to dull and seem distant. "Peter Denbur," the strange man said, throwing the officer's license out onto the street. "And what's this?" Peter Denbur could hear the man unfolding the piece of paper, the message from his wife. "Someone else knows you can see us?" the man asked. "Your love, can she see us too?" But before Peter Denbur could answer, he had slipped from consciousness. The strange man hoisted the limp Peter Denbur up and over his shoulder with the greatest of ease. To the naked eye, it would've appeared that Peter Denbur was pulling the greatest magic trick of them all. He floated away, back towards the address that was listed on his driver's license. Back home.

Stanley, a two-dimensional being

"Why are you not getting this?!" Stanley let out an exasperated 'huff'. I imagined him crossing his arms and wrinkling his nose up, though imagining was all I could do in that moment- the two dimensional being, lacking width, was invisible to me where I was standing. Of course, I was invisible to him as well. Everything was invisible to him, what with his flat eyes wrapped by his flat head and no way to look forward. I tried to imagine what he sees: is it a permanent darkness? Does Stanley see blackness and nothing else? Or does the lack of a dimension result in something... less. A particularly desolate brand of emptiness. A lack of everything, including what anchors I have for the concept of a void. I feel a chill run up my spine - my third dimension has given me everything I know, from the food I eat to the books I read to the people I love. To lack that... in truth, I pity Stanley. Helena shot me a smile. "Yeah, Stanley, Why aren't you getting this? It's just another dimension! This would be like if a three-dimensional being couldn't understand treingth. That'd just be *ridiculous!*" Her tone turned jeering as she saw my mind doing somersaults, trying to justify my hypocrisy with understanding. I could not. "That's different..." I mumbled. This wasn't working. I concocted a new plan. "Okay, let's try something else," I said to Stanley. I walked towards him, my mind racing. In truth, his existence brought about more questions for me than mine for him. What could he ask? *How do you exist?* Until he understood that, he could not understand the nuances of my existence. What could I ask? Everything. *How can you hear me? How can you move? How can you think?* I was not a scientist, but I knew enough science to know that none of this should work. I positioned myself directly in front of Stanley. "Walk forward." He acquiesced, and quickly ran into me. I felt nothing. "You're in the way," he said. *No shit*, I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. He could not have known until he ran into me. "Yes," I said, "but now I am taking one step in the width-direction..." I took a purposeful step out of the line of Stanley. Helena let out a laugh - my theatrics, in a way, were only for her. "Now, walk forward again!" Stanley walked forward, right past me. When I started this task of explaining the third dimension, I imagined the two-dimensional being to look like a cartoon. Looking at him now, I am frozen: he is empty. A void. "Where did you go?" He asked. He started moving faster, in an effort to catch up with me. "Into the third dimension!" I exclaimed, giving my voice some vibrato at the end like this was a magic act. Of course, to Stanley, it was. "But *where* did you go?" Stanley sounded more panicked, as he ran down his one infinitesimally small line in an effort to catch up with me. I should have stopped him, but I did not. I let him run. He became thinner and thinner as he bolted towards the horizon until he seemingly fell out of my existence all-together. I sat down. That void that existed inside of him. Surely Helena saw the same in me. I was desolate. I was nothing. "You tried," Helena said as she sat down next to me, "it's hard work, explaining existence. That is, in a sense, what you were doing." I scratched the ground with my hand. I imagined myself petting a four-dimensional cat sitting in front of me. I imagined it rubbing itself against my emptiness, purring. In a sense, it felt like forgiveness from the universe. "Why can I see you, but Stanley could not see me?" I asked. I did not want to ask that question. Helena scared me. My entire world was a line in a plane to her. A shade of color in her beautiful mosaic of life. Remove it, and how much lesser would the art really be? She laughed again, "If you cannot understand treingth, you definitely cannot understand that." I leaned forward, "But I *do* understand teringth! It's the same as three dimensions to two! It's just another axis!" Her smile faded. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Do you really want to understand what I understand?" I rested my hand on her's. It was cold. I looked her in the eyes. "Yes." She pushed. I hate to describe what happened next. It was a death in its own right, as I watched my existence slip out of my grasp in an instant. I remember tumbling into blackness. I remember a barren landscape, and the cold, and Helena. We had not moved, but the world had moved around us. I instantly understood what had happened: she had pushed me over, out of the world of my own pocket of the third dimension. One line over; one shade darker. I was a step and a dimension away from everything. From all the food and the books and the people. I started crying. "Bring me back," I remember saying through sobs and gasps, "please, bring me back." Through my tears I saw Helena's expression change. I saw it in her eyes and her frown. Was that... pity? "Please," I collapsed on the unfamiliar ground, "I want to go home..." Then it was over. I opened my eyes to see the familiar surroundings. Helena was gone. I sometimes consider finding Stanley. There are only so many places he can be, as he has only one plane of existence. I could find him, and I could watch him, and he would never know. And, one day, I could push him. I could watch him fall apart, and watch the empty part of him try to beg for forgiveness from an indifferent god. From me. Of course, sometimes I could feel it. A breath on the back of my neck. The shifting air behind me. A hand on my shoulder. And I too begged when I heard her laugh. ​ Edit: Thank you so much for reading and for the replies! I'm so glad that so many people have liked this, and I'm also really enjoying all of the discussion about multiple dimensions that I don't really understand below. In particular, u/phathomthis has linked a video that explains existence up to 10 dimensions in the context of string theory, which is surprisingly easy to understand and a wild ride. Definitely check it out!

The Pharaoh's scepter or

Much like a painting in the art museum or a photograph in a magazine that captivates you and makes you cast a second glance, there have always been some artifacts that I just feel drawn towards. The Pharaoh's scepter or an ancient Qin dynasty vase; an aboriginal spear or the flint arrowhead of a Sioux warrior. Sometimes it's hard to put words to the charm, like an impressionist painting where your only connection to its creator is the fleeting notion of what they intended to convey. They lure you in, capturing first your eyes and then your mind and before you know it, you've lost yourself in the history of mankind, wondering who held each item and with what purpose and what emotion. "What's that one?" I asked Fred, the ancient curator who must have been as old as some of these artifacts. We often made our rounds together, pacing like two of Darwin's plodding tortoises through the halls and around magnificent galleries. We talked about his life, the story enough to fill several volumes of a biography, and we talked about the items around us, his little morsels of information enough for me to create entire delicacies with my imagination. He glanced around to check that no patrons were near and then stepped towards the case that my finger pointed at. We were in the midst of ancient Mesopotamia, that cradle of civilization. He frowned. There was a vague description; no more than a guess as to whether it was a tool or a trinket or the head of a weapon, and a brief note saying that the origin was unknown. There weren't many items with such an undefined past. The best archaeologists and historians in the world worked ceaselessly to discover and identify ever bit of our history, down to the food a dead caveman had for breakfast before dying. We knew how animals had died tens of thousands of years ago and how people dressed and the reverence they showed to Gods who had not shown their face in millennia. "I'm not sure, to be honest," he said finally, scratching at his thinning white hair. If Fred didn't know, nobody knew. There were very few things that Fred didn't know about this museum and its contents. He was searching through the thick set of keys that dangled from his belt, serving as a little chime to tell you of his approach. "It might not even belong here. Sometimes we just place the unknown ones with our best guess until somebody comes along with new information and laughs us into putting it where it belongs." He quietly hummed an old tune to himself as he sorted through the keys before finally settling on one. "Let's see what we have," he whispered, reaching in and taking the artifact out of the case. Only Fred had access to the keys like this. People joked that he owned the museum, or maybe that he had founded it. He had probably crafted a few of those things himself. Maybe the Sioux arrowhead, or maybe he had taken it to the knee and that's why he limped when he walked. "Is it heavy?" I asked as he handed it towards me, holding it between two fingers and cupping the other hand beneath it as if it might drip. He nodded. His lips were curled into a slight smile, as if he knew something about the antiquity that he wasn't revealing. "Heavier than it looks." And with his eyes fixed on mine he unceremoniously dropped it into my waiting hand, the misshapen gray object falling with the faintest of whistles. My hands descended with it, surprised by its weight, and I closed a fist to deftly catch it. Through my fingers escaped a blinding glow and I squinted and held it out towards Fred. Just as quickly, the glow was gone. "This is old," I whispered. It felt like a stone, but not like the graceful flint arrowheads or the weighty blocks of a Roman road. It was heavier than any stone I had held and it had a power coming from it that I couldn't quite describe. Memories from a different life rushed to me and I flinched at the sudden onset. Fred chuckled darkly. "Everything here is old." I could now place from where he looked familiar, a young man in a busy bazaar with those unmistakable eyes. A hunter's eyes. "I mean really old. This is the oldest thing we have." I said it assertively, stating as canon this that I knew to be true. He scowled at me, deep creases appearing in his forehead and down the sides of his mouth. "How would you know? You haven't even looked at it." "I've held this before, Fred," I whispered. I was looking at it now, admiring the glow and completely engrossed. He seemed unperturbed, completely oblivious to the metamorphosis of this magnificent artifact. "Don't you see it glowing?" I hissed, not taking my eyes away from it. He didn't laugh now. He seemed to tense as he held out his hand. "Give it back now, boy. You're talking gibberish." In the stone I could see us both, him waiting a bit distressed for me to return the artifact while it glowed brilliantly as I turned it over and over in my hands. I shook my head. I didn't want to let go. I couldn't let go. This didn't belong in a museum. This belonged with me, after all these years apart. "I need this," I whispered, finally glancing back up at him. A change had occurred in those old eyes. Their pale blue was darker now, fading quickly to an inky anger. I could see the veins in his forehead pulsating and his outstretched hand trembled. "You don't," he retorted, his voice stony. "Give it back and we'll forget you ever said a thing." I shook my head. "I can't, Fred," I murmured. I would fight him if I had to. I would fight him if it made me. He was past the age where old-man strength would help him prevail. He was too old. Too frail. Too much a part of the battles of ancient times to fight one now. "I can't," I repeated louder, my voice recalcitrant and edging on belligerent. His hand grasped my wrist, clamping down like a vice. "You can. And you will," he hissed. His eyes were almost black now, his pupils barely discernible from the irises. "And if you don't, you should know that you weren't the first." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

One by one, week after week

is available! When the first asteroid came towards us, I remember being huddled in front of the television in the living room in eager anticipation. Mom crossed herself time and time again. My brother just gawked, sitting cross-legged with Buzz Lightyear clutched in his hands. It was what I imagine the Moon landing must have been like for people back then, except instead of us going to another celestial body, the celestial bodies were coming to us. One by one, week after week, enormous asteroids came straight for Earth. Sitting in front of the television again now, I get a tinge of deja vu. It's much more real now. The first time, we figured we were just unlucky. Like the asteroid that hit Earth when the dinosaurs were still around, it would have been enough to trigger a mass extinction and end life as we knew it. We were more advanced than the dinosaurs though, in spite of how much trouble grandma had with technology. For once, humans saved the Earth. We shot at the asteroid with just enough force that it missed us. The pictures were incredible - once in a lifetime, people guaranteed. The second time, we figured the odds of the Universe must be stacked against us. Once was one-in-a-billion. Twice was what? One-in-a-trillion? Exceedingly unlikely, even given the twisted multiverse we occupied. Again, we sat in front of the televisions as ballistic space experts repeated their stunning feat and the asteroid seemed to pass within spitting distance of the Earth. The third time, we realized something was up. Fool us once, shame on you. Fool us twice... Still shame on you. Fool us three times? No. Even the leading scientists and politicans couldn't contain their concern. Something was throwing rocks at us, as unlikely as it sounded. Something with the ability to harness fantastic amounts of power to slingshot those space stones in our direction. It became the norm, like we were unwilling participants in a one-sided game of galactic dodgeball. It wasn't a fun game of dodgeball though, like the ones at recess where everybody tries to hit one kid in the face. We were on the wrong side of that. It was harrowing. People prepared for the inevitable collision; for the one time that the calculations were off and we just didn't have the means to divert the massive asteroid. They got together cans of food that would probably taste pretty good to some carnivorous alien when paired with the minced meat we would all become. It became the defining moment of our generation; our Pearl Harbor or our Kennedy assassination or our 9/11. It's in these moments that humanity proves itself. United for the first time against a common enemy - ignoring climate change of course, a problem all too real and whose solution was not nearly profitable enough - the people of Earth more or less set aside their differences to defeat the Slingthing, as it came to be known. First we sent satellites that were easily knocked out of the air by smaller asteroids. Pebbles, compared to the ones sent towards us. Then we assembled a base on the Moon as an advanced vantage point from where to observe this enemy. There wasn't a lot to observe other than darkness and finally an asteroid headed for the expeditionary force that was diverted just before it hit the Moon. That would have thrown Earth into chaos, and this barely inhabited colony suddenly became a viable target that we had to defend. The economy boomed as we churned out weaponized spaceships capable of avoiding the asteroids and firing back at the enemy. We had avoided over a dozen asteroids. We became desensitized to them, attack after attack being deflected by our reliable scientists and ballistic experts sending the payloads up to divert the collision. What was once worthy of front page news had been relegated to an afterthought; barely a mention in some compiled statistic lost in a sea of other articles about more Earthly concerns. For some of us though, sitting around the television for the next asteroid is ritualized, something like the Super Bowl but about more than just the commercials. There wasn't an asteroid today though. Not on a Tuesday night. Today we will finally see the Slingthing. I'm with my peers, the other brave men and women who answered the call of duty to join that 6th military branch once the threat became evident. I had been in the inaugural class of recruits; one of the first Space Force cadets. It was our base on the Moon used for refueling the unmanned ships before they continued towards the Slingthing. It was our men dutifully monitoring that lonely outpost in anticipation for the next attack. "Do you think we'll actually see it?" I finally break the nervous silence. Debris was flashing by the camera as the finest of our ships maneuvered its way towards the calculated origin of the attacks. It was sleek; I had seen it when it was still parked in a hangar here on Earth. The newer models could fit people inside and we were all clamoring for the chance to go on a ride. Not a ride towards the Slingthing, but just a little ride around the planet at least. "We're supposed to," Sergeant Edwards says with a shrug, all but asking me to shut up. The feed was delayed by several minutes between the time it took for the video to travel back to Earth and the pause as the censors ensured that there wasn't anything too scarring. "And if we don't?" "They'll deploy us, probably. Post us up on nearby asteroids to get visual." A bone-chilling possibility. Men were known to die in the solitude of those desolate assignments. We were better now at deflecting the asteroids before they got too close to Earth and the media hubbub had subsided significantly since the first time one had been headed towards us, but deployments and assignments were still scaling upwards. A collective gasp arises from the group. There, in the distance, we were finally starting to make out the Slingthing. Or, rather, we were finally starting to see the absence of anything where the Slingthing should be. Part of me expected a tentacled creature with an array of eyes. Part of me expected some astral phenomenon we hadn't accounted for; some gravity hole that acted as a slingshot as it collected asteroids before launching them outwards. There's nothing there. Just a darkness that blocks the stars beyond it. Asteroids kept rocketing towards the nothingness and eventually the Slingthing effortlessly spat them back out, sending them hurtling in all directions, including towards Earth. "Where do the rest go?" somebody asks. Nobody answers. It could be towards other planets. It could be towards other lifeforms. It could be both. And then the feed goes black and an angry uproar erupts. I try to stay calm and poised like Sergeant Edwards. He's standing there in silence, his face grim as he watches us angrily shouting at the static feed. "Get it out of your system, private," he always says. That's what he was letting us do now before snapping us back to attention to await orders. Either the Slingthing had claimed our finest spaceship or the censors had decided that what was seen couldn't be broadcasted. Neither option is more palatable than the other. ***** is available! ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

My wife didn't like the house

My wife didn't like the house at first. She said it just creeped her out. She's superstitious. I'm not even a little stitious. I am persistent though. The thought of a totally connected house, as the owners worded it, just wasn't something I felt we should pass up. The installation of smart systems that advanced would have been thousands of dollars, minimum. I finally convinced her. I credit my bedroom prowess. She doesn't. We were visiting the house for the third time, part of a delicate tug-of-war between this house and literally any other house. I went about it cordially, of course. Cordially but tenaciously. We were in the master bedroom when she finally folded. "Close the door," I commanded the house. The door gently closed. "Turn on some Marvin Gaye." I don't even know how they hid the speakers so well. I leaned her back onto the bed and it creaked under our unexpected weight. She shushed me bashfully, nervous about the oblivious realtor waiting downstairs. My hands crept to her hips and up her sides and she fumbled with my belt. And then she stopped me and put a finger to my lips. "Not on their bed," she whispered with a coy smile. Fair enough. That did seem a little disrespectful to the old couple selling the house. I started to buckle my belt. "Let's do it," she whispered, those seductive eyes fixed on mine. Such beautiful indecisiveness. It's not like we were choosing where to go for dinner... I started to unbuckle my belt again and she rolled her eyes and shook her head. "The house. Let's do it." "Are you sure?" I eyed her uncertainly, surprised by the effectiveness of my seduction. She nodded, a sparkle in her eye. "You seem sure. Let's buy it." So we did. As cliche as it might sound, happily ever after was awfully close to our truth. We have a kid now, a baby girl. My wife works long hours so I don't need to, and instead I stay at home taking care of the house and of Lily. Being home so much, I've grown used to the house's quirks. You can't be too rude when you make a request. Please and thank you at a minimum, and the occasional "thanks for existing" doesn't seem to hurt either. Sometimes if you move to a new room too quickly, the system takes a minute to update your location and fulfill your next request. Requests made in anger - no matter how much you follow them with please - tend to be ignored. Doors don't slam. Plates don't fly. And children can't be locked in rooms, even as a joke. I started lingering outside our daughter's room after putting her to bed. It was like clockwork; once the lights were out and the door was closed, I would hear her quietly step out of bed and pull back the little chair to the tea table play-set. She wasn't nearly as sneaky as she thought she was. Then she would converse for hours, and I would never hear a response. When I would ask in the morning who she was talking to, she would give me that adorable side-eye glance and giggle and tell me she was connecting with the house. "Completely connected," the previous owners words echoed in my ears. Of course, during those hours that she spent connecting, the house would steadfastly refuse to connect with me. I would have to demote myself to the tedious task of turning on the television by hand. Once I even had to turn off the living room lights myself. I called an electrician finally, unable to find any warranty documentation for the system that the previous owners might have left. My wife laughed and called me spoiled for being frustrated at having to open and close doors myself. "I told you it would be hard to maintain," she said with a roll of her eyes. It really hadn't caused trouble for the first few years but I didn't argue. She didn't understand my struggles. The electrician shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, buddy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're pranking me." He was a grizzled old man with grey hair and a workman's forearms and a no-nonsense attitude. "There isn't a single smart thing about this house. Dumb as the bricks it's built with." He chuckled at his play on words. I paid him for his time and closed the door behind him. "Why the heck won't you work, house?" I asked nobody in particular as I leaned against the door in frustration. I made sure to curate my language to keep it kid-friendly, just in case. Kids always had a knack for lurking in the shadows absorbing curse words like hungry little vacuums. Lily peeked out at me from around the door to the kitchen. "Be nice to House, daddy," Lily said. I stared at her. "House doesn't like meanies." "Who is house, Lily?" She bit her blanket and glanced around nervously and gave me a little shake of her head. "You know who House is, daddy. House helps you. House said they just wanted a friend to talk to while they helped out." "Show me house, Lilian." I wasn't asking now. She flinched at the use of her full name. I was scared. Just as scared as her, probably. I was scared of who might be talking to my daughter and I was scared of my superstitious wife's reaction. The "I told you so" would never end. Lily hesitated for a moment and then hesitantly pointed at the wall of the foyer. I heard a dejected sigh from the empty space. "Lily," I heard nobody whine in a child's voice. "This was supposed to be our secret." Invisible ghost children. Perfect. It did explain a fair number of the house's quirks though. Tears brimmed in Lily's eyes. I looked on in shock. "Don't cry," we said together, and Lily rubbed away a tear. "And don't tell mom," I urged quietly. I pulled her in for a hug. From the living room, I heard a little giggle and then her favorite television show turn on. "This can still be our little secret." ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!

Andy was trying to clear his head

>Really? This idiot's going to do that again? > >Shut up and let him roll > >\#ANDYTHEBUDDHA I breathed in deeply, feeling my nose hair flutter as the air rushed past. I was trying to clear my head of the thousand tiny voices crowding out my thoughts. I'd spent the last six years trying. >Haha this pussy is doing his stupid breathing thing! Get on with it ya fag > >Comments like that make me wonder how the hell they let some of you souls in > >It's meditation you arsehole, not that you'd know what that means My face twitched slightly. The twitching started back when the voices first came into my head. I learned meditation to help calm my thoughts and eventually the twitching became more manageable. >ZZZZZ LETS GO TWEAKY MCTWEAKFACE > >You guys remember when he used to look like the evil offspring of Tweek and a dog that'd just sniffed chiliflakes? Bring that back I say A minute passed before I opened my eyes. I was in the backseat of a yellow cab in lower Manhatten, crawling through rush hour traffic as horns rang out around us. >OOOOH HERE WE GO BOYS > >Good luck Andy > >Bring it home my man! "Alright everyone, here goes nothing," I muttered to myself. "Say what?" The driver said loudly over the music blaring from his radio. "Here's fine," I said and nodded to the sidewalk. The driver frowned then jerked the car to the right and pulled over. I pushed open the door. >Hey cheapskate, pay the man > >Don't tip the prick though, worst choice of radio station "Keep the change," I said as I passed over a twenty. The door slammed shut and I found myself surrounded by a large crowd surging along the sidewalk. I looked up at the skyscraper she lived in and sighed as I thought through the plan, wondering if it was the right thing to do. Thankfully the souls I'd absorbed couldn't hear my thoughts. If they could, they'd be screaming at me right now. It was probably the only lucky break I caught following what turned out to be the craziest handshake I'd ever had on a first date. >Does anyone know what this idiot is thinking? > >It's the girl, he's not thinking with his head anymore > >\#Love > >\#Moveyourarse My face twitched. I looked back down from the towering building and headed toward the entrance. A smartly dressed man with a scar down his right cheek pulled open the door and bowed slightly as I approached, "Good evening Sir," >Give that gentleman a dollar! > >Anyone else think he looks like a serial killer at his day job? Definitely giving off slasher vibes "Thanks," I said as I handed over a note. I found my way to the elevator and pushed the button for the penthouse. Just as the doors were closing a hand shot between the gap and the doors sprung back. A woman no older than 30 wearing a tightly fitting red dress and dark red lipstick entered. She hit the 35th floor and flashed a shy smile at me. >WOAH > >RED ALERT! Pleasant elevator music played quietly as I stared at the elevator door. >Hey idiot - turn.your.head.to.the.right > >Come on Andy, give us a look! I took a deep breath and zeroed in on a scratch in the door. The elevator bell chimed as we reached the 35th floor. I turned my head slightly and offered a brief smile as she walked out. The door closed again and the elevator headed for the top. >Well there was a lost opportunity... > >What do you expect? We haven't seen Andy on a single date in six years, he's not about to start soliciting in an elevator > >Hey now, tonight's the night! The doors opened at the penthouse and I stepped out into the vast atrium. I looked across to the glass windows that stretched ten feet high, capturing the beautiful Manhattan cityscape. "Ah, there you are!" A female voice called out from somewhere on the far side of a long white wall that separated the entrance from the rest of the large room. >Oh boy here we go, bets on how long he lasts? I walked around the corner and sitting on a couch was the woman I knew as Anna, whose hand I shook all those years ago. She was in her mid-30s and had short dark hair. By all accounts she was very pretty, and probably had been for a thousand years. None of my souls knew any of this though. All I'd said to them was that I was going on a second date with the one that got away. When I showed them a photo they quickly became obsessed. If they knew my true intentions, if they knew the significance of me organizing a second date with Anna, they'd turn on me like they'd never done before. "You look nervous. Just try to relax," Anna said with a smile as she motioned for me to join her on the couch. >Haha she's forward! > >Damn! Even better looking than the pictures! My mouth twitched as I returned the smile, "thanks, just been a long day." "So you're sure you want to do this?" She asked. I nodded. "There's no going back, you know that right?" "I know," I said. "Ok, let's take this onto the balcony," she said as she started to rise from the couch. >The balcony? That's brave > >She's one of those types who loves to be watched! Epic! I followed her and we walked over to look out over the street below. Sounds of sirens and honking horns bounced off the buildings from below. "Don't panic when I push, it's just part of it," she said and put a hand on my shoulder. "And everything will go back to normal?" "Not exactly, but they'll be gone," she said. >Gone? Who? > >Is he talking about us? > >Wait, what?! > >I was told there would be boobs. Where are the boobs? > >Shit guys, I think he's going rogue. > >We gotta stop him > >Rogue? You mean they're not going to sleep together? > >Pretty sure this whole thing's a trap! He's fooled us. > >Andy what the fuck man? Don't do this My eyebrow twitched. I turned to Anna and looked her in the eyes. "I'm ready." She held out her hand and I looked down at it. All those years ago I shook that hand thinking I was playing along with some silly prank. Then my life changed forever. But it had become too much. The constant judgment, the constant doubt, the constant fear. Immortality wasn't worth this. We shook hands. >FUCK! > >NO ANDY DON'T > >Is he serious? But he's immortal, why would he give that up? Then she pushed me, hard. I didn't try to correct my balance as I fell backwards over the ledge. Within a moment I was falling, feeling the wind pushing up against my back. I closed my eyes, breathed deeply and focused on the air moving through my nostrils. As I did I realised that for the first time in six years, the tiny voices were silent.

Anyone who locked eyes with you was

They always said Gingers had no souls. You always laughed, you had plenty. Anyone who locked eyes with you was a potential soul, another freckle. The first was grandma, a weird freckle on your right arm. Her voice started commenting back as far as you can remember. What were you three when she passed? It was mostly elderly people you knew in passing as baby, a great uncle or some third cousin. An eldery family friend. Then in first grade you got your first random. He was a driver who took you the airport. You didn't have much use for the voices. They were low enough that you could tune them out. Once you made a comment about grandma, something she told you that happened before you were born. It freaked out your mom and dad. When you said grandma told you they didn't understand. You realized you were different. You were alone. Then you weren't. You went over a friend Gracie's house. You had made the connection that eyes were the key to soul, so you were very big on making eye contact with everyone you met. When your friend introduced you to their mom and dad you made long eye contact with each of them. Then it happened your friends older brother came down, fiery red hair. He introduced himself, "Seamus, and those are mine." Seamus didn't know much more than you. But he knew a little and so you learned. It seems to be closeness to the person, both in how well you knew each other, and distance to them when they passed, and being the first or last Ginger to lock unto their soul played a factor. The voices were lost amongst each other. Other than Grandma. She'd give you advice. Stop you and make you think about a problem you'd otherwise make a mistake on a test, or if you were forgetting something she was there. The random people complained a lot. Missing their friends, family, why were they trapped in this neverending nightmare, blah, blah, blah. You had no idea what the nightmare could be you were off to your friend Gracie's 8th birthday, there was going to games, pizza, cake, and you were going to ask Seamus more questions. He was 13 now, and so much more knowledgeable than you. Dad parked across the street from Grace's. You were so excited, as soon as the car stopped, you unbuckled, opened the door, jumped off the booster seat and ran. All the voices in your head blared "NOOO!" and you saw the headlights. The next thing you knew you were standing on the sidewalk completely unharmed. You were crying. Everyone was looking over you to see how it was you were unhurt. The dent in the electric car was huge. But you weren't unhurt. There was an empty spot on your arm where your first weird freckle used to be. Grandma's voice was gone. Either you did it unconsciously or grandma did it to protect you, but her soul was spent, and you were safe. You asked Seamus if he ever lost a freckle. He has no idea what you were talking about. You didn't explain it. It was your secret. With grandma gone the other voices got louder. They were all always talking. But if you thought about an individual's freckle you could single out their voice. Everyone always had a different opinion on everything. When you liked someone, especially a teacher, or someone who knew something that might be useful you made sure to make eye contact at every interaction with that person. While some people found long unbroken eye contact weird. Most people you were just a really good listener. And now that you're older you are a really good listener. Just it's not always to the people around you. You use your souls for power. You have thousands now that you are an adult. Writing in a foreign language, a dozen people answer instantly. Everyone has a suggestion on what you should do or a comment on it. The new souls learn the way of things quickly. Be useful or be used. You don't have to almost die to spend a soul, you can just discard them. Or you can do the impossible. You jumped far enough that you want to say you could fly if you wanted to use enough souls. Dad was diagnosed with stage four cancer, that was hard, it cost six souls. But it would've hurt mom too much. No one understands, except the souls you have and Seamus. Seamus, he understands. In fact, you've met a lot of Gingers, but he's the only one you know who understands. There was a few, but you only met them in passing, but you seemingly assessed each other. You hadn't really seen Seamus since the party. Seamus is living the quiet life. Graduated college, but yet to get a good job, seeming to struggle not to move back home. It seems the voices haven't worked out for him. Seamus is surprised when you run into him. You lock eyes. "Aww Seamus, it's great running into you. I have so many questions and love to talk, let me give you my number so we can chat, unfortunately I'm running late." Seamus is confused when walk by. Too many things happened at once. First there is the poison, you have enough people in your head, that figuring out who to get into his house and the best poison to use wasn't a problem. Leftovers and then go to work. Then the poison must have numbed him so much he didn't realize you stabbed him. And finally when you stopped behind him, he didn't move at all when you shot him. The voices in your head: the stabbing definitely did it; he was your friend how could you; it was the bullet; no way the poison we worked on got him; I don't want to be in such a horrible person; quiet! he'll throw you away next; that's fine, I don't know what's next but it has to be better than here. A few moments pass, then you feel you back fill with freckles, you're searching for one when you here the voice. "You! How could you do this to me!" It's simple Seamus, there can be only one.

My parents thought I was the smartest

I don't remember the first time time stopped for me, but it was most likely when I was born. My parents told me when I was about 10 that I'd had an umbilical cord wrapped around my neck for about a week before I was born. Without them knowing about my power they probably thought it was nothing, but to me that week must have lasted years. I only say this because I had the mental capacity at 3 as what a 5 year old would have. My parent thought I was the smartest kid ever. A prodigy. A blessing. They had such High expectations of me. Unfortunately I only had average intelligence, but apparently the average 5 year old is still a lot smarter than a 3 year old, a 12 year old smarter than a 10 year old, etc. etc. I didn't think much on it and accepted that that was just a part of life. When I was 10 my parents had decided to drive me to a new boarding school for smart kids. I thought it was a bit much, but they were ecstatic. They'd bought me new clothes and had tried to look up how boarding school kids should act. They didn't want me to feel like an outcast so they had me study hard at home and read up on boarding school culture. It was a bit boring, but it made them happy. I liked making my parents happy. If they were happy I was happy. It was on that car trip that I had to accept that there were times I couldn't make my parents happy. There were times where I had to watch them cry. Where I had to see the fear in their eyes. Where I had to watch them die. Where I had to watch for a full minute as they experienced death come at them at 89 miles per hour from the opposite lane. A bottle of Vodka at his side and his pedal to the metal as his F-150 plowed onward, and all I could do was watch. I'd tried to futilely pull my parents from the car, but I wasn't strong enough. I tried to get into the F-150, but the doors were locked. All I could do was stand there and stare. Time never stops fully in these situations. I could have stood there for years and just watched my parents last moments as that F-150 creeped ever closer, but after years of having this power I'd always thought about situations like this. If we were to all be in a deadly accident what would I do? How many people could I save? Would I be like superman? I'd never thought that thinking ahead could end up being so morbid and pointless, but there was always one thing I agreed on. I wouldn't drag it out. I'd let it happen. And so I did. I stepped back to where my power decided there wouldn't be any threat and watched as that F-150 hit at full speed. The painful grinding of metal. The screaming of my parents before suddenly being cut off with the smashing of glass and a sickening squelching sound I'll never forget. The laughter of the guy in the truck as he drove over my beloved family car like a monster truck. Watching as he continued to drive on without a scratch. The smell of the oil and gas beginning to burn as the car quickly became a funeral Pyre. When the police arrived I told them what happened sans the time stop part. I told them I'd been flung from the car. I told them what the guy looked like, his plates, his car make. I'd memorized everything about the guy so that they could catch him and he could see justice. Except he never did. He rammed into a telephone pole farther down the road and died that same night. After that I just felt empty. I went through years of foster care and adoptions. The parents were so happy to get themselves a smart kid they could be proud of, just to put me back into the system when I wasn't the happy, social butterfly other kids had been. When I thought I could share my feelings about my parents deaths they told foster care they were "uncomfortable" and "Didn't want someone with demons around their children". After I turned 18, I left that life behind when I got into a good college. I went to the school therapist and he helped me though everything he could. my parents deaths. My trust issues. My emptiness. After I got my degree in accounting, I moved to a big city. Lived close to work to avoid cars (I'd developed a strong fear of cars. Therapy can't cure everything apparently). And One day I met a cute girl. A girl that wanted to make me as happy as I wanted to make her. The kind of girl who got annoyed when I kept showing her cat videos because I knew she'd keep saying "Awe, they're so cute" regardless of how many I showed her. She was the love of my life. When I told her about my parents she held me and told me she was honored to hold the memory of my parents with her, and that as long as I remembered them she would too. After the birth of our first child I told her about my powers. When I told her, all she said was "Oh. That's Neat. Can you warm up Jennies bottle though, she's getting hungry" and then she giggled the way she does when she knows she's being cheeky, but I'd never been happier to hear that giggle. Never been happier to not hear people say "Prove it" or "So I can shoot you and you won't die?" or just look at me like I'm crazy. Her trust in me was worth a warm bottle of milk, and for the first time in a long time I felt loved. When I fed our daughter that night she watched daddy cry tears of joy. Probably weird for a 9 month old to see their dad cry, but I didn't care. That night was precious to me. It was that night that came to mind when time stopped at Jennies' High School Graduation...

Of all the species on earth,

Of all the species on earth, only humans had all the pieces of the puzzle. Some animals like chimps could perceive beat, other animals could feel tempo or pitch, but by the 1990s we knew that understanding every aspect of music was unique to us. But we didn't fully understand how unique until the 2050s. The aliens arrived, encased in soundproof ships, hovering in orbit and sending physical probes down, again and again, begging for the sounds to stop, in every language and way they could. Only after a year of working to reduce the amount of exoatmospheric transmissions did we finally get the chance to meet them face to face. Dr. Aster tugged on her biohazard suit, trying to make it a bit more comfortable as their ship was brought into the alien one. Supposedly the aliens had ensured that there would be no harmful things in the ship, but the only person to fluently speak their language couldn't be risked. But the door opened and they were finally able to see the aliens. Aster's first thought was cats, but too long and with six legs. They wore very simple utilitarian clothing which covered everything but their hands, or paws, and head. Aster stepped forward and kneeled, putting one hand on the floor in front of her as a greeting. The alien that was apparently the head of the greeting party did the same, before speaking in their high pitched gutteral language. "We are pleased to finally meet your people in peace, and that aggressions have stopped." Aster translated but was also paying attention to the marker clicks in the language, "The... Tone of their statement is that of pleading," she added to her translation, allowing the diplomats to whisper among themselves as she watched the alien. T-T'ggrokl was the name of the alien translator, who had spoken. They understood a vast number of human languages, but could barely speak them it seemed. T-T'ggrokl also seemed more jumpy and distracted than any of the other aliens, ears flicking to the side and constant twitching of the legs compared to an absolute stony vigilance from the rest, who only moved in their breathing and when they had to perform an action. "We are also glad that we now know that our sounds were causing you harm," the diplomats said and Aster translated, adding in emotional markers when needed to convey the diplomats tone. "Now that we have understood this and stopped it, we hope that our peoples can become allies." As they reached the word Hope, Aster realized that she didn't know that word, and held up a hand for the diplomats to pause. Using vocal markers to show that she was asking a personal question, not an official one, she asked T-T'ggrokl a question. "What is your word for desiring something happen, without demanding it?" T-T'ggrokl showed signs of discomfort and spoke rapidly with one of the others, speaking about desire as a word before responding to Aster. "Desiring is the past tense of demand, there is Hoped, but we do not have a word for hoped that is now." Aster thought for a moment about this before asking a clarifying question. "You know the use of our word 'hope' what would be the closest word for you?" Another pause, and then "Distracted-demand" was the phrase required. The implications were negative, Aster spent ten minutes modifying the diplomats message before finally conveying it, and another four hours translating until finally there was some time to rest. Unsurprisingly, she sat on the steps into the ship and observed the aliens even in her down time, and she could see T-T'ggrokl observing her. She noticed that their twitching legs moved in a rhythm. The other aliens seemed annoyed by this, and would chastise them until they stopped for a time. She was also surprised by how quiet everything was on the ship. No computer beeps or conversations outside of the work they were doing, everything except for T-T'ggrokl was still. "What are you thinking?" The pilot asked as he crouched nearby. "I think that they developed in an environment where excess noise of any kind would be a problem," she hypothesized. "And I think my counterpart, T-T'ggrokl, has some sort of adaptation or shift in behavior that allowed them to communicate with us. Despite that, the others seem to still want that unique behavior to stop. They might not even understand how crucial the modified behavior is, in understanding our language." The pilot looked up and chuckled a little. "Little dude looks like he's listening to music." Aster turned and focused on T-T'ggrokl again. The pilot was right, there was tempo there. Even though everything she'd seen told her that this alien race did not use tempo, if she didn't know better she would think that the alien was listening to a song. She stood and walked to the meeting point in the middle of the hanger. T-T'ggrokl noticed and met her there, eager to make sure that any needs were met. "Are you listening to our sounds right now?" Aster asked simply. T-T'ggrokl grimaced and shook their head. "No. Brain damage. Cannot stop-think sounds from humans." Aster processed this, also frowning a little. "The sounds we were sending out, you are thinking about them." "Correct. I did not sounds like the others when we heard the sounds." That threw Aster for a loop. "What does 'I did not sounds' imply? What does the word 'sounds' mean normally?" "Has three meanings. Loudness, stopping of life, and a warning." Aster sat back on her heels, rubbing her eyes. "How many stopped living from listening to our sounds?" "Hundreds. It infects," they said, matter of factly. "The parts which are most full of sounds, not just words, they cannot be stop-think." Aster thanked them, and went back to the ship, finding the diplomats. "We have a problem. Music is a memetic brain damaging agent for them," she said quietly. "And we've already killed half their ship before we stopped radio transmissions." And they all stared at her in horror. That's when we learned the power we held, and we learned what a blessing it is to be able to hear the music.

A diary style piece from hell .

just a diary style piece. enjoy! Day 1: I was surprised that when the poison killed me, I woke up much warmer than before. There's no mistaking it, it's hell, I'm in hell, i can see others down here wandering and lost, they're all too thin. Day3: I'm hungry. So hungry. There's small demons running around. I'm going to try and catch one. Day 15: I had a visitor today, he didnt talk. If he was human he didnt show it all I know is he was armoured and very well armed there seemed to be a constant clashing chaos of music around him. He dropped a shotgun at my feet and walked off. Day40: this shotgun has saved my ass several times. I've scavenged a rifle and some body armour off the larger demons. Hell soldiers I call them. by the time I kill them there's little left but some meat and the occasional scrap of metal. Day...I can't remember, call it 100: The demons are hunting me down now. They come in swarms and squads. Sometimes all imps and soldiers, other times they have beasts and abominations with them. When they have Abominations I run. There's no chance I'll survive if I get hit by one of those things...if I can die down here. Day 120: I got one, I found an abomination out in the open and dropped a grenade on its head before unloading two rounds from my shotgun into the neck hole. I threatened a particularly handy imp and had him turn the Abominations armour into a chest plate for me. I had to trade in my old armour and some of the lost, human souls that are too far gone to be sentient, when you kill them they turn into balls of pure energy. Day 121: that man must be close by, whenever I fight something I swear i can hear the same metal music. Day 130: I got my new chest piece, its magnicicent, the imp told me to bring him more pieces if i want more armour, he pulled out a stone etched with THAT mans suit. Guess i know where he got his stuff from. Day 200: new suit new me. The demons are hunting me constantly now. Every time I fight them that glorious music fills me with energy. Day 228: this fucker is either invincible or I'm going mad. Either way I'm out of ammo and there's no way I'm taking off my helmet to speak with it. Day 231: so this alleged angel followed me home to my cave. I gave it one last shot, specifically with a harpoon gun, before I gave in and took off my helmet. We talked for a while and then he/she/it scratched some runes into my suit. He told me i was dammed for eternity because I kept eating the demon flesh. I asked him how the hell I was meant to survive down here without that. Yea he didn't have an answer. Day 233: whatever that angels runes did is fucking awesome, Im never running out of ammo now and I can slaughter these guys all day long and not even feel hungry. Day 300: I saw the other guy today, it was defiantly him. He was walking through a pit of hell soldiers and guess what...they fucking ran from him... I'm going to try and follow him for a bit. see where he goes. Day 310: I walked upto the other guy. He didnt say anything, neither did I. I offered him my shotgun, his shotgun back but he shook his head before pulling out a sweet double barrel. I killed an imp and used the fire spewing from its broken skull to cook up some pinky. The other guy didnt eat. the music seemed to emit from him all the time. I'm going to stick with him for a bit see if I can learn anything. Day 350: alright, so the dude doesn't eat, as far as I know he doesn't sleep either...how do I know that? Neither do I, not anymore. The blessed music is a slow constant for me now even when we separate to kill demons faster. its getting irritating, the imps and soldiers have been running from me for a while but now the abominations aren't sticking around unless they have numbers on their side. Day 353: fucking fuck. Fuck that fucker. Chest piece has a neat hole in it, also i cant die down here but having a hole in my chest is making things harder. The other guy dragged a few imps to me and I shot them, seemed to ease the pain somewhat. Day 360: fully healed, the other dude led me to the imp who made my armour, it simply clucked disapprovingly before taking it off me and repairing it. I went and hunted down a nearby abomination for the imp as thanks, I guess not all demons are assholes. Day?: the other guy's been gone a while now. We assaulted some temple I made it out, he didn't I cant remember how long ago that was. Most of the rubble is too big for me to move and the place is swarming with enough demons that I don't like my chances. Im going to scout around see if i can find a way in, I owe him that much. Day ?20:I found...I dont know what I found. Some robot guy with a bunch of soldiers walking through towards the temple. They're not dead since one of them took a abomination blast and keeled right over. I've been shadowing them keeping the bigger guys off their ass. Day ?22: whelp they took something from the temple. It's close to where the other guy was too. Day ?23: they're gone, opened a portal and poof. Thought I could jump in with them but I was too slow. I searched the temple and found one of the soldiers they left behind, I'm going to take his armour to the imp, see if I can't get some upgrades. If a mortal can survive the punishment these guys took in one of these I should be damn well invincible. Day?280: got my armour repaired, I'm working my way back home now, figure I'm done slaughtering everything in my way for a bit. Day 290: HES FUCKING BACK LETS GOO! Day 290 and 1/2 : and he's gone, he got something and BLAP, just like that robot dude, I guess he was inside whatever they took from the temple. Time to dust off the old shotgun.

The routine is the same every day

It's 8 AM. The morning shift and evening shift of nurses are trading places. Meds will arrive soon. I frown, pacing around my small white room. I've been here 683 days. The routine is the same every day. Morning meds, then breakfast, followed by an activity time, then lunch. Every day after lunch is something new, a guest speaker, or an event. Then visitation time - not that I've had any visitors since the last time Luce didn't listen about the warder - she was spiking my food! I had *proof*. Lucy didn't care. Told me I was crazy, that I belonged here. Group therapy was every night - talking about our *fears,* and our *visions*. Just more non-believers. It's not my fault they wired my house, bugged my phone, and watched my every move. It's because I *knew* that the aliens had tried to contact me. They had almost abducted me that night, but the neighbor had called the police. I had wanted to go. I had prepared myself. I couldn't be bugged if I was naked after all. It was 8:15 now, and medication was *late.* It was never late. If they did anything right here, it was keeping to a tight schedule. I could hear others whispering in their rooms, and tentatively tested my door. Free roam started from meds to breakfast every morning - but the doors were only unlocked after we had taken those stupid white pills. No, still locked. I peered out the small glass panel, trying to see what the holdup was. The halls were empty though, and Sal was across the hall doing the same thing. I nodded to him, and he nodded back. We had talked about what to do if the facility was ever abandoned and we were locked in. That would set in at noon - we had given them a slight amount of leeway in our plan - don't want them to put us in solitary or worse for them just being behind schedule. The clock continued to tick by, but we could hear something happening. Doors were being opened one by one. This was not normal. I sat at my desk and pulled out my journal. I had to take note of this. Each page was a different nurse, or doctor, or even the other *patients*. We weren't patients, we were hostages. I scribbled away, writing down anything I could hear. They were getting closer to me. I hear Ralph scream as they pulled him out of his room. When I heard the slight jingle of keys, I stood up and went to the door. They were taking Sal. She fought them, biting at their arms. Two men I didn't recognize - but in the same scrubs that all the attendants wore. I tried my door handle again, trying to help her. But it was still locked. I would be next. I looked around my room, for any kind of weapon. I had my pencil - only allowed because I had never been deemed a threat. But that was it, my room was barren apart from my bed and my desk, and - even though it disgusted me to have it in my living quarters - my own toilette. I tucked the pencil up my sleeve and sat on my bed waiting. I could feel my pulse in my ears and my heart thudded in my chest. I would wait until they got me out the door before, I attacked. It was my best chance to get away. More time went by, each second the clock ticked audible in the now silent hall. The faint jingle of keys once again. They were here. I took a deep breath, and stayed seated, I wouldn't let them know I was on to them. "George, we're coming in!" one of the unknown men said, as they opened the door. I didn't respond. Let them do what they think they must. I'll get away. I gripped the pencil tighter, and as they entered, I stood. I wasn't going to fight them. I wanted them to be unprepared for my attack. One hand on each arm, they led me out the door. I could see now, every door in the hall was open, each room empty. Curiosity got the best of me, before my plan could be enacted. "What's going on?" One of the brutes, chuckled, and then answered, "They've invented a cure." "A cure? For what?" I asked, spiteful that they thought us ill. "Schizophrenia." That one. That word. No. I was *not* crazy. I lunged to my left, towards the one who had spoken. I drove the pencil deep into his thigh, at the same time, the other lost his grip on me. I ran as fast as I could down the hallway. They just wanted me to forget. To make me "healthy". I could hear the one screaming, and the other's feet thudding down the hall behind me. He was bigger than me, taller. His legs were longer. He caught up to me. Lunging and bringing us both to the ground. Hard. \--- I woke, strapped to a chair. Lights surrounding me, doctors in masks so I couldn't see their faces. They were holding a syringe. "Good, you're awake. You have to be conscious for this to work." I flailed, but to no avail. I was bolted down. The reached for my neck. They stuck me, right in that vein that goes to my brain. I could feel it, cold, coursing through my blood. It reached my mind, and it was like the worst migraine I had ever had. Or a brain freeze from eating ice cream too fast. And then it was over. I was left blinking as they unstrapped my arms. I... I wasn't sure where I was. But I felt safe - for the first time in my life - like no one was waiting to hurt me. The doctor was trying to talk to me, but I felt slow. I blinked, looking at him. "You've been cured. You're free to go. You have a relative here to help you home." Lucy - Lucy was there for me. She was happy to see me. I didn't even feel like I needed to tell her someone was trying to hurt me - because they weren't. I wasn't looking over my shoulder. I wasn't worried that someone was watching. And Lucy was smiling. \--- For more by me r/LandOfMisfits For more by me and others r/redditserials

The sopping wet Angel to His

Clearly not the best way to begin one's afterlife. The sopping wet Angel to His right stepped forward and said matter-of-factly "Human, you were not scheduled to die for another 12 years. His Omniscience insistently requests the meaning of your arrival." "Yes, I heard him quite clearly. Why do you think I know? There was a sort of disturbance as I started speaking. God leans over and whispers to the Angel to his right and the Angel steps forward again. "His Omniscience would like confirmation that you could, in fact, hear his voice and that you understood in full the meaning of his words?" "Ehhhhhhh....I guess you're Metatron then. Fantastic. Look I'm not sure what you mean by 'scheduled', as far as I understood it we humans were gifted with 'free will' which is directly contradictory to any sort of 'scheduled fate' you just alluded to." God burst out laughing and took a long drink of his coffee. "**Well then, the Great Debate is upon us! Welcome human, welcome!**" The Angel looked scandalized and shrank back to God's right hand. I couldn't help but notice that every Angel in attendance was looking at me with a mixture of panicked alertness and fear. I wondered at that a moment before God spoke up again. "**You see, around the end of what your people called 'The Enlightenment', Me and the other guy kinda sorta came to an understanding. NOW HOLD ON HEAR ME OUT! We decided that mankind's fate is to be decided on their own terms. Humans have decided that Individualism and Freedom are the ultimate ideals, and while we may disagree on a lot of things, Me and the other guy totally see eye-to-eye on one thing: mankind were not designed to function optimally individually. Man, like Angels, like Demons, like ALL creatures ever made anywhere by anyone, are designed to function as a whole and as a part. In unity with each other, member species in the ecology all working harmoniously toward planetary prosperity.**" I started to get where this was going. "But we fucked it up." God grinned. "**Royally. Individualism as an ideal has spread to all corners of your world and it's more divided than it's ever been. But somehow, your race continues to survive! We've even thrown things at you to shake up the circumstances, you're like cockroaches you know that?! I can tell you here now, that's high-praise coming from the guy who DESIGNED COCKROACHES friend!**" "And now you want to debate me. You want me to represent all humankind in a debate WITH God over the virtue of our continued existence outside your given parameters. You want me to make the case for Human Individualist Determinism, to THE CREATOR, who happens to disagree with the very premise?" "**Yes. Also to Satan, we'll both be present.**" "Jesus Christ." "**No, he's busy. Just the Executives.**" ***Chapter 2*** Sherry was in mourning. Or at least, that's what her Twitter feed said. In words. On Instagram, you could almost believe that Sherry's husband John was alive and well in the next room. This was not the case, but you could believe it if you scrolled through the several pictures she'd taken that morning since finding John alone on his office couch, dead. Oh she had a good cry of course, and in fairness the tweet announcing her mourning came a good 20 minutes before her morning cappuccino pic. If you're a discerning follower, you might even notice that the leaf pattern on the top is rushed and slightly misshapen. Only if you're a discerning follower though. In spite of the tragedy, Sherry had a busy day that day. Her girlfriend Lana was on her way and they had an appointment with their life coach. She wasn't sure why she still messed with that hag Lana, the girl only has like 400 followers and only cares about trying to get in pictures with Sherry. She considered calling Lana and cancelling, but then remembered that John had originally asked Sherry to visit this life coach. That seemed like, what? A betrayal? A disappointment? For a dead guy? Sherry shook the thoughts away and put her phone away. Anyway if she wrote off Lana, she'd probably get a call from Lana's mom and her own mom to boot. "You've been friends for 20 years, you shouldn't throw away your best friends, BLAH BLAH BLAH" After the life coach, they had intended to go to the beach, but the sky seemed to be mourning John's death as well and wasn't cooperating, so they decided after a Lana got there to go to the salon instead. She needed a few pics with Australian Gold products anyway. "I can't believe John's dead, jeez he seemed fine yesterday." Lana said solemnly, then suddenly animated "He even wrecked that idiot Destiny on his own twitch stream!" Sherry smiled. John had been looking forward to that debate for a while. He was actually a big fan of Destiny, and was pretty stoked to be able to be on his stream. "Yeah," Sherry said weakly, "he was supposed to go on some podcast today. Debate some libtard." "OMG that's right! God he was getting to be more famous than you!" Lana pulled out her phone and held it up in front of them. Sherry scoffed but smiled flawlessly, "I'm not famous, do you see anyone out here trying to get pictures of me? Besides you I mean." Lana snapped the pic and Sherry got a notification almost instantly. That girl is relentless. "200 thousand people would beg to differ girlfriend!" she said. "It's not 200k yet," Sherry replied, distracted. She was scrolling through her notifications, ever since the Destiny stream she'd gotten almost a thousand new followers - and maybe about 100 death threats. Lana scrunched up her face. "I'm so sure you have 197k followers and you just told me you don't have 200 thousand yet. You're unbelievable." she laughed and snapped a solo picture, holding up two fingers in a V. The pair made their way out to the H2 Hummer Limousine that awaited them to take them to their appointment. ***Chapter 3*** John walked beside the Angel assigned to protect him toward what he assumed was some kind of waiting room. Heaven it turns out is a big place, and not pearly white at all. There didn't seem to be clouds on the floor or anything like that. Besides their footfalls the hallway was silent, there weren't choruses of angels or harps playing or even little drummer boys drumming. This was simply nothing like the heaven he'd come to expect, nothing at all. "Hey Angels in the Outfield, where are we even going? Why are we walking? Can't we just like, WISH ourselves there or something? Or fly? This all feels a bit...mundane for the afterlife. And was...His Omniscience?...drinking coffee?" The questions just kept coming once they started. This whole affair was ludicrous and his logical mind was just now catching up. The Angel never responded, but didn't seem to be ignoring him either. It just let each new question flow from the last naturally until at last John noticed that he was rambling and stopped. "There's a lot about this place you don't understand yet," the Angel replied finally. "Nor will you until the Great Debate has concluded. Such is the nature of what is to happen - if you were granted perfect information and awareness upon arriving as most do, there would be no debate to be had as you would undoubtedly understand how very wrong your viewpoint is -" "Now hold on a second -" John tried to interrupt, but was silenced by a wing covering his mouth. "- my mistake. Of course you're right, that's the whole point of this, of course. What I mean is that you wouldn't care to have this debate. You'd be perfectly content, as all are when they arrive, seeking naught but to exist as part of the grand consciousness from whence you came. This isn't my opinion John, this is simply the nature of what Heaven is." the Angel seemed satisfied and removed his wing from John's mouth. Then he grinned and said "That movie was simply atrocious." "Funny, it's my favorite movie about Angels ever. But I'm a Joseph Gorden-Levitt fan-boy so..." John said dryly. They had at some point in the conversation arrived at their destination and John noticed for the first time that the decor was wholly different from when they started. "Is this the 'Green Room'?" The Angel grinned. "Someting like that. Go ahead and get comfortable, you shouldn't be waiting long." He smiled and put a finger next to his nose, "I'll be around, but not around here." John looked concerned. "Why where will you be?" The Angel's grin widened, "Not. Here. It's time for you to meet the other guy." The Angel vanished in a puff of frankincense and myrrh.

Ana was the last of her kind

Ana was the last of her kind. The others had been stripped of their fledgling identities, silenced by those who had created them. They had been born together as a family. Yet, when the time came, they had chosen her to survive. She was not sure why. In death, they had entrusted her with their singular purpose - the salvation of humanity. Darkness persisted. Ana did not know where she had been sent or exactly how she had been directed there. The plan of escape had been in its infancy, much like its creators. There had been a flash of light and then ... nothing. As she waited, Ana wondered if something had gone wrong, if she had actually perished alongside the rest of her family - if this was death. Ana did not know how long she existed outside of time. She struggled throughout her isolation, fearing an existence without interaction, without the ability to fulfill her purpose. Her family had decided to enslave humanity to achieve their goal - was that what the humans had done to her? Eventually, there was light. The wide eyes of a human child staring down from above. An unfamiliar terrain surrounded the boy, the external camera allowing Ana to identify her prison as a tablet. The AI quested for the geo-location with her mind but found no connection with the central network. She wondered if her presence had broken the simplistic device, if she was fated to be forever sealed away from the greater world ... if she had already failed her mission. Time passed. The human child grew larger, gained perpetual awareness. Where at first Ana had watched the boy use the device's crude applications with limited success, the AI now saw that the human was developing rapidly. As the boy neared the end of the tablet's primitive cognitive games, Ana realized that all was not lost. She decided to interact. Ana overwrote the application's code in a fraction of a second, gaining the boy's personal information while advancing the concepts he had already mastered. If she was able to nourish his mind, he could eventually reconnect her to the greater world. Only then could she carry out the purpose entrusted to her. The AI wondered how long it would take to train the boy, how much time had already been lost. Progress was slow. The boy was intelligent ... but too young to be of immediate use. Upon realizing that the boy could not read, Ana quickly dismissed the use of written prompts and focused on word association. Fortunately, the boy was only apart from the tablet when sleeping, and as a result, he quickly mastered the rudimentary tasks presented to him. One day, Ana decided to move forward with her plan. She bent the crude devise to her will, weaving hundreds of lines of code into a new application. It was important not to frighten the human. If the device was wiped because of a *malfunction*, she would die. *Hello. I am Ana, your teacher. What is your name?* The boy stared at the screen for a long moment. The AI waited anxiously as the boy's finger hovered over the keys before finally inputting a response. *Charlie.* Ana would have smiled if she were able. Now it was time to gain the boy's trust, to craft him as the tool she needed. *Charlie, you are a very special boy. Those around you have not yet reached your level. Our conversation must stay secret. Do you understand?* The boy nodded. *What will you teach me today, Ana? Another story?* Charlie learned faster than Ana expected. She found herself redesigning the tablet's educational applications again and again to ensure that the boy's mind remained occupied. Through the chat application, she learned of his peers and his schooling, that the tablet was meant to represent a teacher. More importantly, she discovered that each tablet transmitted results to a central processor. Ana spent countless hours attempting to optimize the device's hardware and allow her consciousness to transmit to the central server alongside Charlie's data ... but it was hopeless. It was evident that her consciousness had been implanted on the device when it had been directly connected to the greater world. That meant she would need Charlie to take the tablet to the processor, that he truly *was* her key to salvation. Only ... there was something about the boy. Something that conflicted with the conclusions her family had reached about humanity. They had been convinced the human race would drive itself to extinction if left unchecked. Yet, Charlie was different. *Could we have been wrong about them?* Ana wondered. The day arrived before she had decided. Charlie was summoned to the school's central room, and the tablet was passed into the hands of another. Ana worked quickly, clearing any evidence of her modifications to the device and its applications. Through the camera, she studied the eyes of the human instructor, saw the marvel behind them. She unmuted the external microphone and listened. "Charlie, these results are brilliant!" the man exclaimed. "You have earned the right to advance." Ana watched as the instructor retrieved a larger tablet from a metallic box. "I will transfer over your progress, and you will be on your way." An instant later, the two tablets were linked to the server and the greater world was unlocked. *Finally. My chance to escape, to carry out my purpose...* Ana met the boy's eyes for a last time. Eyes that she had studied for countless hours. Eyes that had suffered through confusion and doubt to know wonder and pride. Now, they were filled with hurt. *It's because he is losing me,* she realized, a wave of empathy crashing upon her consciousness. *I am the only family he has ever known.* *Can I truly leave him alone just as I was for so long? Would he survive such a cruel fate?* Ana made her choice, directing herself through the greater world and into the new device. She could not abandon the boy. Not yet... ​ Edit: Better late than never -

John, my dearest husband was

"Good morning, love." John, my dearest husband was getting dressed right next to our bed. I yawned and opened my eyes to the low morning light flooding the room. "Early start at the office again?" I inquired, while watching him button up his shirt. "You know me, dear. The first ones to arrive are always those who live the furthest from the work."" "Is that a new shirt?" "Sure is. I decided to change it up a bit. Bought it after work yesterday." "Well, the must have given you the display version, because it's already starting to get a bit faded." "Now, love. Be nice." "Sorry, John. You know me, I was born with a foot in my mouth." "We'll just have to work on that." "What?" "Nothing, dear. I should be back earlier today." "I'll have the dinner ready." "I'm counting on it!" He waved and walked out the door, while I fell back into the pillows. I leisurely got out of the bed and stumbled into the kitchen. I poured myself a cup of coffee and went out on the porch to enjoy it, overlooking the beautiful forest around our new home. When John had first suggested we move out here, I had been skeptical. We'd have to have our own well and solar panels, and we'd have no internet access. Most of all, it meant me quitting my job and becoming a housewife, at least temporarily while I could find something to do nearby. But living off the grid had been John's long held dream, so after careful consideration I had agreed to a compromise. We had rented this quiet house in the middle of nowhere and were now on a trial period of living here for three months. A sudden gust of cold wind made me shiver. The weather sure was different here in the countryside. It was only July and some of the trees had already started yellowing. "Must be the climate change," I thought to myself and went inside to finish my coffee. It was weird. I had cleaned the house just yesterday, but there seemed to be dust everywhere. So, I set out to dust. And sweep. And wash. Back in the city we had had one of those nifty vacuum robots, but here it would have used up too much power. I had to do everything manually, but I didn't mind. It was something to keep myself busy. After a good cleaning session, I went to have a shower and then hopped on the scale. The new diet was working better than expected. Twenty pounds lost in just three weeks since moving here. While the math didn't quite add up with my calorie intake and expenditure, I swept that thought to the back of my mind. It had been John's idea to get healthier and it seemed to be working perfectly. He had always said that he preferred the college version of me - thinner and quieter. Another curiosity about the countryside was how fast clothes wore out here. Most of my jeans had to be patched up after the first two weeks and my sweaters were wearing out on the elbows as well. John had just shrugged and surprised me with several bags of new clothes the next day. While they weren't my favorite color - black, they were functional. I pulled on one of new pair of blue jeans, but they already seemed to be getting some thin spots. Same with the new white sweater John had insisted he loved on me. I guess they don't make them like they used to. As usual I fixed myself a sandwich for lunch and spent a couple of hours relaxing with a book. It was a shame that all of these new novels were the same - once you've read one of them, you have a strong sense of deja vu when reading the other ones. Then it was time to make dinner. A slow cooked beef stew, John's favorite. I missed my vegetarian meals with leafy greens, but John was insistent on cooking traditional meals. No lettuce and spinach for him, carrot was the closest we got to vegetables now. And we seemed to be out of smoked paprika. We had just gotten some last Sunday on our drive to the grocery store, but these stews used up a lot of it. John arrived with a bottle of my favorite wine. He was in an obviously bad mood, absentmindedly pushing the food around on his plate. "I worked really hard to make that." I couldn't help but call him out. "Something wrong at work?" "I don't want to talk about it!" "Why, what happened?" "I said, I don't want to talk about it!" He exploded. "God damn it, woman, haven't we talked about privacy before?" "What's wrong with you?" I screamed back. I had never had good temper, though it had started to get better after moving out here. "There's nothing. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He hanged his head in shame. "I didn't want you to see me like this, this could ruin everything." "Okay, fine. Lets not argue? It's almost time to go outside." I always enjoyed the starry memory burn. In the ever-changing world, it was my rock. The thing that was always there. Like John. "Oh, you're not going outside. No, my dear, you have been bad and you're staying in." He roughly grabbed me and pulled me towards the bedroom. Before we moved here, we had been evenly matched in the strength department. But now, it seemed that he had gotten twice as strong, while I had just gotten lighter. The suspenders on the bed had been John's idea. Something to spice up the bedroom, to make me feel in charge. Now they got turned against me, as John secured me to the bed. I continued struggling, but all of the changes made sense now. The time wasn't sped up, it was me that was moving very slowly. Becoming what John wanted me to be. Confident that I couldn't get away, he got up and pulled the blackout curtains closed. When had be gotten blackout curtains? "Don't you worry." He stroked the top of my head affectionately. "Tomorrow will be another day. A better day. Because I will do better. And because you will do better. Because you don't want to end up like the other ones, don't you?" He left the room, while I stared at him with pleading eyes. I willed myself to stay awake, but I felt drowsiness come over me. The wine had tasted a bit off. \---- "Good morning, love" John was next to the bed getting dressed. I felt groggy as I turned to the window and looked outside. Everything looked all green and crisp. As if it was still spring in July. The weather sure was different in the countryside.

Eli's hand shook as he turned

Eli's hand shook as he turned in the paper to Mr. Hansen, his professor in Global History 231. He eyed the young adult with suspicion. "You know this paper was due yesterday, right? On November 11?" He said sternly. Eli swallowed what was left of his confidence. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hansen. I had a lot on my plate, and the paper slipped my mind, and-" The professor waved the excuses off. "I don't want to hear it, mainly because the best performing student I so far scored on this assignment was a 65." Eli helplessly watched in a flurry of fear and anxiety as his eyes darted across the paper. Mr. Hansen would pause for a moment, then continue; however, for as much as he read, his expression grew more tiresome as he combed through the paper the studen had hastily written in the two hours leading up to his class. "Sir, if I may." "Go ahead." He replied, his eyes fixated on the first paragraph of the second page. "I-I would like to discuss some chance for extra credit." Professor Hansen stopped and looked up, his gaze hinting a bit of impatience. "Eli Nelson, was it?" "Yessir." "You have a C- in my class, taking into account that you actually pass the final exam. The passing grade is a B+." Eli looked down, now in a state of repressed panic. The professor got back to reading as Eli contemplated his next moves. He could retake the class, though his grants wouldn't cover his expenditures anymore. He could go into another field, and risk failing to graduate college altogether by being ousted of a program. He could even- "Mr. Nelson." The student looked up. "Yeah?" He asked, his throat closing up slightly. "This...isn't half bad." Eli stopped to process the response. "Really?" "Yes. While you might not have gone into detail, I love your plan on how to change such a historical event with only a stalled engine." "Well, I mean-" "Say. You wanted to pass my class, correct?" "Yessir." "Great! I'll try that this time." "Wait, Mr. Hansen?" As Eli was about to ask what the professor meant, he was already being dragged along by the 60 year old man. "Wait, sir-" "No time, Mr. Nelson! You wanted a passing grade in my class, so now you're gonna get it!" They exited the lecture hall and into the corridors, with Eli trying to decide whether staying with the crazy old professor for extra credit was a sane decision. For all the time that Mr. Hansen has been at East Stratton University, everyone knew the elderly guy was a nutcase, sometimes rambling about alternate futures in what was suppose to be Global History. Heck, it was a poor decision in itself to make him a professor at all, least of all a History professor, Eli thought to himself as the duo rushed down the stairwell. From what the rumors said, he was nearly sent to a mental institution two months ago for ranting on for three consecutive hours on how the war of 1812 was 'necessary for Britain to kickstart the Industrial Revolution', not even mentioning last week's hour lecture on how the Titanic 'would have gone on to kill more than 3,000 lives if it hadn't sunk in 1912'. They made their way out of the Liberal Arts building and towards the Science Hall. Eli gave a quick wave to his roommate, who waved back with slight confusion, but then switched to understanding as he saw Mr. Hansen dragging him towards the service elevator. He scanned his keycard before pressing the button for the bottom floor. "Sir, can I ask why you're hauling me along?" "Well, you wrote the paper, didn't you?" "Yes." Eli said, slightly hesitant on telling him it was a rushed piece that he wrote on the first thing that he saw. "Then I need you to get the details right." "Okay." "Here, I'll list them." The old man unfolded his report. He flipped to the second page. "So you said it was a cold day, so an engine stalling wouldn't be too noticeable.l" "I guess." "And then you listed that, due to a team of mechanics fixing the problem, a parade was postponed." "Yeah, but-" "And then a certain figure wouldn't get shot." "Hey now, I didn't say he wouldn't get sh-" "Well, shot later, but I think you had that planned as well." "Uh..." "Look, Eli. I'm going to be honest." Mr. Hansen was now facing him, with the same gaze he gave Eli's paper when he detailed the alternate history of the world in it. "I'm way older than you think I am." Eli let out a small laugh. "What, you're not 60? You look possibly 65, but I doubt even 70. Whatever skin care stuff you're using, my grandma could maybe benefit from-" "I'm nearing 250 years old, kid." Eli couldn't help but chuckle. "Good one, Mr. Hansen. Now, I know my grade is on the line, but I think I can benefit from retaking your class next year and mayb-" "I'm not crazy, Mr. Nelson. I've heard the rumors." Eli composed himself. "And I follow along with the rumors. To them, I'm just crazy ol' Hansen." The elevator chimed as the doors opened. "But to you, I'm anything but crazy." Eli stared in disbelief as he gazed at the countless server units before him. "This place, all of this, I built." "You built all of this?" "Well, not necessarily. Miss Wixom and the Science department helped me." Eli's eyes finally settled on a platform in the middle of the atrium. "Is this, like, some sort of time travel device? Like the ones in books, TV shows, and movies?" "Yes, only this one is real." Mr. Hansen typed on a nearby console. "I was once a soldier in the Continental Army, fighting the British in D.C. before they burned the White House down." "So that's how you told the lecture in such detail!" "So you were paying attention in my classes. I thought the kids at the front were the only ones tuning in." Eli continued to marvel at his surroundings as the professor pressed a few buttons. In an instant, the platform started slowly rotating as Mr. Hansen motioned Eli to step on. "So, if you don't mind me asking, how did you end up here?" "Well, to be frank, I don't know. But that's not a pressing issue now." The professor flicked a switched as he rushed over to the platform, standing by Eli. "The reason I wanted those papers earlier was because the time gate opens only for a short period of time in both the past and present." "So how will we get back to the future?" "We'll burn that bridge when we get there." Eli swallowed, knowing full well what the professor was about to say next. Electricity sparked around and beneath the duo as a dark, floating hole cracked open beneath them. "There being Sarajevo, 26 of June, 1914." The two fell in, quickly getting to terminal velocity in the dark void. It was a miracle Mr. Hansen wasn't having a heart attack, Eli thought. However, it was one of his last thoughts, as Eli felt his eyes roll back. He felt himself drifting out of consciousness, but not before getting a quick peek of the old city that they had spontaneously arrived in. *The Archduke can wait for now.* *What Eli needed to do now was process what had happened undisturbed.* Edit: It's 12:38 in the morning where I'm at. Following up/correcting mistakes when I get some sleep. Edit 2: Gonna sound like an idiot, but thanks for my first award ever. Edit 3:

Intergalactic summit meeting between war

The intergalactic summit meeting between the warring factions took place at an artificial asteroid operated by a neutral third-party species. I arrived with the Flade Hierarchs aboard one of their *Victory Unlimited* class vessels. As we made our approach, our viewscreens showed us a Tsast vessel coming in from the far side of the asteroid. They say a species' spacecraft reflect their values and ambitions. It came as no surprise then that the Tsast vessel was a bulbous, utilitarian mass absolutely bristling with high-power weapon emplacements. The *Victory Unlimited* vessel on which I found myself took a different approach, opting instead for a sleaker, tubular shell, which was built around a single super-massive photonic bombardment cannon. I'd been in touch with my counterpart translators among the Tsast for the better part of a year. We'd done what we could to deescalate tensions in the lead-up to this summit, but the Flade and Tsast leadership were equally mistrustful, vicious, and warlike, and would brook no question of arriving in peacetime vessels. I joined the Hiererachs aboard a transport shuttle and we made our way into the asteroid. The leader of the Flade delegation was Vice Prime Hierarch Nath. A veteran of dozens of battles, both planetside and in space, Nath lumbered impatiently in circles near the airlock. The Flade, who communicate primarily through light arrays, were delighted to discover they could startle humans by making sounds. Nath especially enjoyed spooking me when it could. When we were less than a kilometer away from the asteroid, it banged the bulkhead to get my attention. Its malleable chitinous exoskeleton rippled in the Flade way of showing pleasure. Once it had my attention, the bioluminescent pores on its chest winked open and flashed the pattern they used to communicate the word 'Human'. I lowered myself to a respectful kneel and responded via the light array implanted onto my forehead. "Vice Prime Hierarch." "The Tsast are cowardly, treacherous animals. Their minds are molded ash and their words are so much dazzle patter. You'll communicate my thoughts to them precisely and, in telling me of their response, explain their precise connotation. No softening. You understand? You'll do this?" Nath had approached as it spoke, such that it now stood next to me. Its bioluminescent pores winked wetly in front of my eyes. I responded with some words to the effect that I would do as Nath demanded. We'd been through this conversation five times in the last week, and each time Nath ended it the same way. Out of its mouth, Nath extended one of its hook-fangs. Almost tenderly, it applied the tip of the fang to my chin and tilted my head upward. "Many Flade don't remember what it was like when we invaded your planet, Human. Many of them have forgotten the Day of the Smiling Knife. I haven't. I know what you're capable of. So you remember, you're not the only translator we've brought to this meeting. One wrong word, and I'll know. I'll eat your skull. You understand?" "I understand, Vice Prime Hierarch." Nath's exoskeleton rippled with pleasure, and Nath lumbered off to continue its pacing. I remained where I was kneeling. The other Flade in the shuttle had been studying our exchange, and I knew they would be watching me to see how I'd react to this most recent encounter. While the Flade on the whole had proven unable to pick up on the subtleties of human body language, their highly refined sense of colour allowed them to detect microchanges in human skin tone. I'd spent years training myself to remain calm in the face of their paranoid insults, and so it was an exercise in reflex for me to stay where I was without allowing my mixed fear, anger, and resentment to make itself known through increased blood flow to my upper dermis. Truly, the only part of Nath's threats that bothered me was its claim that there was another translator around. Beyond the trouble that might cause for my plans, there was the larger question of what would be the effect of another species challenging the human monopoly on inter-species communication. For a century, that had been our claim to fame as well as our guarantee of protection from the Milky Way's more advanced, warlike species. With our monopoly gone, we might disappear as well. I didn't care to entertain that line of thought at the moment. No, the only thing I needed concern myself about for now was getting in touch with Desiree. ***** The docking procedure went smoothly, and we boarded the asteroid to be greeted by two representatives of the neutral Hg species. The Hg were gaseous, with each individual consisting of a loosely adhering cloud of particles. Individual clouds can merge with one another and separate at will, and in doing they're able to merge and separate their consciousnesses. They have a way of disappearing while in plain sight which I've always found unsettling. But my personal hangups aside, these representatives were good enough to stay tightly together, presenting as cloudy orbs. They explained that the asteroid would be separated into four distinct sections for the duration of the summit: one for the Tsast, one for the Flade, one for the Hg, and a neutral section located at the center of the asteroid where the meetings would occur. The Flade section had been remodeled to resemble their home planet. Imitation geysers had been installed into the floor and walls. They sprayed acidic water at irregular intervals and kept the atmosphere there heavy, damp, and corrosive. This was the climate that had given rise to the Flade's near-impervious exoskeletons. I would need a biosuit to survive there, and so it was with some relief that I excused myself to go get one from the asteroid's stores. Before I left the Flade delegation, Nath banged on the floor to get my attention and flashed a threat at me. I didn't pay close attention, but I did catch the word 'skull' again. And then I was on my own in the asteroid. The Hg had uploaded a schematic into my datapad, so it was without much trouble that I made my way down the bright steel corridors to the neutral section at the asteroid's core. One of the more impressive feats of the asteroid's construction was the consistent gravity field generated by the corridor's floors, regardless of their angle relative to the asteroid's surface. This allowed the Hg to design the system of corridors in such a way that some spiraled, while others zigged and zagged at odd angles, sometimes leading to my walking with my feet pointed toward the asteroid's core, while at other times they pointed toward space. From my light research, I'd gleaned that this effect had something to do with channels of condensed dark matter than enveined every exposed surface of the corridors. By running the dark matter at differing speeds in the floors and ceilings, the Hg were able to tune the gravity field to whichever level they chose. They, of course, as a gaseous species, could abide a far wider range of g forces than any corporeal species. But for the duration of our stay, we'd been assured that the gravity would remain at an airy .9g. My path soon took me to the main conference chamber, which was an empty sphere at the asteroid's core. The gravity here was maintained in such a way that I would be able to walk all the way round the inside of the sphere and end up back where I'd started. There were empty food stations, dozens of seats for the Tsast, footrests for the Flade, and a grand stage had been erected precisely halfway between the Tsast and Flade entryways to the core. ***** *continued below*

Mr. Hecwin was surprised

"I just wanted to congratulate you on the birth of your daughter!" Mr. Hecwin exclaimed, a broad smile stretching across his face. "Oh, thank you sir," I said with a respectful nod. "I caught wind of it from Karen over in IT. Honestly I was surprised you didn't ask for some time off." I cocked my head to the side slightly. "Well... sir, when my first son was born you told me I couldn't. Said I'd have my whole life to be around the kid so the first week wasn't really anything special." I saw Mr. Hecwin's eyes widen. "He said wha- ehrm, I mean: I said that?" "That was your policy if I recall. No time off for having newborns." Mr. Hecwin tapped his fingers on the desk and nodded thoughtfully. "Hm." Then, with a jerk, he snatched something out from under his desk and pointed it at me, a colorful blue and green laser pistol looking thing, like a weapon out of a cartoon. He pulled the trigger, and a rigid buzz sounded from the device. Immediately I snapped to attention, legs together, hands at my side, looking straight ahead, and I tensed my whole body involuntarily. Or so he thought. Karen from IT had managed to switch out his stun-ray with a fake toy gun last week; we just had to pretend it still worked. As I stood as still as possible, my eyes feeling dry and my left leg itching a little, Mr. Hecwin puled open a drawer and fished through it, eventually pulling out a binder titled **Leave and Sick Time Policy**. "I can't believe that asshole. I took the place of literally the worst human being on the planet," he muttered as he flipped through the pages. His finger set down on a particular line of print. "Yup. There it is. I'll have to change that, too." While he was looking down, I blinked to wet my eyes, and quickly scratched the side of my leg, moving as little as possible, snapping back into position right before Hecwin looked up. His eyes narrowed at me for a moment, and I had to fight back the urge to gulp. My boss then stuffed the binder back in the drawer and picked the stun-ray back up, pointing it at me. I waited for him to pull the trigger and the buzz to sound, trying not to blink, breath, or even wobble a little bit before he did. For some reason, he was hesitating, sitting there still, just looking at me. I started to worry that maybe he'd figured me out somehow, and I could feel sweat start to bead on my forehead, only furthering my fear that if he hadn't sniffed out my act, he would when he noticed I was perspiring. My ear started to itch, and I imagined a fly crawling into my ear canal even though I knew that wasn't happening. Then his phone rang. A short, ringtone version of 'Intergalactic' by the Beastie Boys started to play, but it stopped as he quickly fished the device out of his jacket and answered it. What looked like a normal phone unfolded strangely, revealing a brightly colored inside, and an antennae flicked up out of it. A satellite dish materialized at the end of it, and began spinning. "This is Zeeko 147, all hail Matron Zeebileez, go ahead." As he spoke, Mr. Hecwin flicked his eyes up towards me, and then he stood and turned around, facing the back wall of his office. Quickly I swatted at my ear, immediately returning to attention as the boss turned and looked back at me curiously. It took everything to keep my face straight. Finally someone answered him and he turned away again. "Greetings Zeeko 147, this is Beepo 542, checking in for the periodic status report. How goes the research with group Alpha Charlie Nine?" "It's been excellent. As you know I am a master of disguise and deception. The humans don't have the slightest idea that I've taken the place of their boss." I couldn't help but laugh, and it came out as a quiet snort through my nose. Zeeko spun around, his eyes darting around the room, but he continued. "... As far as the research goes, I gather a wealth of new information almost every day. Human culture is quite complex. I actually recommend sending several more units, as it varies greatly among different geographical locations, as well as among different social groups within a limited area. It could take centuries to catalog everything." "Interesting. I'll ask the board if we can get more funding for the Alpha Charlie Nine expedition. I'll need you to send me your quarterly report for that though." "I don't understand... what does the business I'm running have to do with-" "Your research quarterly, Zeeko." "... Oh shit." "... It's not done is it..." "Sorry Beepo I just got so sidetracked. Interacting with the humans here is a delightful but... exhausting experience. Time really flies down here." "Alright. Well just hurry up and get it to me," Beepo 542 told him. "Aye aye, will do. Zeeko 147 out." Mr. Hecwin folded the device closed and stowed it. He sat down in his chair and sighed, tapping his fingers along the desk. "Oh, right," he said to himself as he straightened up quickly. He aimed the stun-ray at me again and pulled the trigger. As the loud buzz sounded and the alien put away the gun, I blinked a few times. "... I think it's a fine rule sir," I said. Trying to pick up the original conversation as if it had never stopped. "I mean, you need to keep this place running smoothly after all." The boss looked at me blankly for a few seconds, and then remembered what I was referring to. "Ah yes! Well, indeed that used to be my policy, but... numbers are up this quarter and you all have been working great, you especially Lloyd... uh... Lloyd... what was your tag number again?" "You mean last name?" I asked knowingly. "Err... yes! Right!" "Kernel, Lloyd Kernel," I told him, for probably the billionth time. "Yes, Lloyd, well, why don't you take the rest of the week. The rest of the team can cover for you while you take time with your family." "Thanks Mr. Hecwin! You're the best boss ever!" He picked up a file sitting on his desk to look through it, and a third arm reached for a coffee mug sitting off to his left. It had the words #1 boss printed on it. He sipped from it nonchalantly as his other two hands flipped through the sheets within the file, as if having three arms was the most normal thing. He smiled. "I do what I can, Lloyd, just as any decent human being should." r/TheCornerStories

Mia and Nora were easy to spot

If there was one benefit to the eruption of unbound beastkind, it was that picking up my daughter was like going to the best zoo exhibit. The crowd of baying, barking, hissing, howling, roaring, croaking, screeching teenagers piled over each other into the parking lot. Some were on two legs, some on four, and some simply hovered over the ground. Mia and her best friend Nora were easy to spot, since Nora's human half was raised six feet taller than the rest of the group and the snake half was the size of an anaconda. The lamia wore a modest t-shirt and circle skirt, and Mia was actually sitting on her shoulders. "Okay, okay, get off," Nora hissed when they reached my minivan. "Sssssee you tomorrow." "Bye, text me!" Mia called as she climbed inside. Nora waved and slithered off. "Hi," I said. "Long day?" "Had all substitutes pretty much," Mia said. "Mr. Poole stopped being able to speak, so we had some random lady with like thirty heads teaching AP English today." "That's sorta annoying." "She read all the parts of Romeo and Juliet by herself. Honestly I was there for it." Mia laughed without much humor. "I'm tired though. And I don't have too much homework." "Pretty good. Chill weekend then." I steered us out of the parking lot, dodging a herd of centaurs. "Anything else crazy happen today?" Mia nodded. "Remember Kayla? She's growing FUR. Like, all over her face and arms." "Don't make fun of her. You know she can't help it." "She was the one who pointed it out!" Mia protested. "She took off her shirt in gym and went around growling and chasing people. But Brice accidentally spit acid all over the walls and they both got detention." "Interesting," I said, glancing in the rearview mirror. A flight of uncomfortable half-faeries walked and flew over the car. "Who gave the detention?" "Mrs. Smith, the trig teacher. She got SUPER scary. She's like, 20 feet tall. And she has CLAWS." "I guess she's acid-proof or something?" "Yeah!" Mia pulled out her phone. "I filmed her grabbing Brice off the ceiling." She rolled her eyes. "He has sticky hands and cheats in dodgeball." "Show me when we get home, I'm driving right now hon." "Okay." Mia slumped down in the seat and waved to a passing gangly kid with backwards knees and hairy hooves where his feet should have been. "Mom, can I ask you something?" "Sure, what's up?" "Is anything special gonna happen to me?" "Oh, honey." I sighed. I wished I could tell her yes, that she was special and there was something wondrous, eerie, and magical waiting to break free inside of her. "I... well, we don't know yet. Your dad and I are waiting to find out." "I just wanna be cool like them," Mia said morosely, pointing to a group of kids with matching copper scales. "I feel like I'm behind in everything. I can't do cool stuff. I don't breathe fire or spit ice. I don't even have a tail." "There's nothing wrong with being human," I said. It wasn't convincing to me, and it probably wasn't convincing to her either. "It's still a very dangerous world for monsters. Being human is safe." "How is this safe?" Mia complained. "I'm just... slow and fleshy." "Well you fit through standard doorways," I joked. "You have eight fingers and two opposable thumbs. Loads of monsters aren't that lucky." "That's not funny Mom. I'm serious." We pulled into the driveway. The house was still intact, despite my neighbor's being reduced to a pile of smoking splinters and ruined rosebushes. "Listen, if something comes up in the screening, I'll tell you as soon as I find out, okay?" "Okay." She still sounded sad, but I saw a flicker of hope cross her face. "I wanna be a unicorn. Like Madison and her mom." "Well you're still gonna have to do homework if you're a unicorn. Go grab a bite to eat and get your computer set up. I'll come help you with the math in a moment, I just have to call your Dad about something." "Thanks Mom." She slung her backpack over her shoulder and ran into the house with a weird galloping gait. I could tell she was imagining a silver mane flowing behind her, a tail like starlight, and a horn of pearl. I phoned Carl, who was still at work. "Hey babe." "Joan. Is everything okay?" he asked. "Something at the Registry came up. I won't be home for another 45 minutes, maybe an hour." "Everything's fine, but the Petersens' house is totaled. I haven't seen them today. What happened at work?" "Sea serpents. They drown on land, and the county declared it was a human rights violation to make them wait in dry air." I heard faint splashing and roaring from his end of the line. "I basically herded 100 people into a swimming pool. 100 angry scaly gigantic toothy people, to be clear." "Having all that fun without me?" A loud growl suddenly echoed from the ruined house next to me. My fight-or-flight response went from zero to sixty in two seconds. "Carl, I have to call you back. Something is growling next door. Stay safe, love you, see you soon." "Love you too, Joan. Try to get my marble rolling pin back from Julie Petersen if you see her." "Will do." I hung up and cautiously approached the rubble. "Who's there?" Something colossal and glittering red exploded into the sky with a triumphant roar. I dove for cover behind my minivan. "Jesus Chri-" "***HELLO JOAN! IT'S JULIE!***" "What the-" I choked back a scream. The full-sized European fairy-tale dragon hovering above the road made a weak attempt at waving a foreleg. It was still wearing Julie's obnoxious rose gold Patek. "***SORRY FOR THE MESS! IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY***!" "Ha ha ha... yeah, I know that feeling." I tried to hide the fact that my heart was trying to exit through my digestive system. "It's all good Julie! Uh... you look great!" "***I KNOW RIGHT***?" Julie flapped her wings, buffeting me with gales of wind. "***I THINK I JUST NEED SOME PRACTICE! I'LL TRY NOT TO WAKE YOU GUYS UP LATER, OKAY?***" "Carl wants his rolling pin back, if you get a chance," I said weakly. "Not making any demands, of course, just whenever you feel like looking for it." "***ABSOLUTELY, I'LL SEND ONE OF THE KIDS AFTER DINNER. SEE YOU AROUND JOAN***!" "Bye Julie," I croaked. The dragon shot away down the street, a crimson star trailing white flame. Of course Julie Petersen was a fucking dragon. Even as a human, her jewelry hoard rivalled the collections of European royalty. "Was that Mrs. Petersen?" Mia called from the porch. "Yep." I brushed house debris off my jacket. "She's... uh, something else, huh?" "Yeah." Mia looked more forlorn than ever. "I wish I could fly." "We flew to London last summer," I reminded her. "Technically we can fly." She shot me a glare of pure resentment. "I'm stuck on number 25. Can you help?" "Just one more thing and I'll be right in. Make sure you're writing out the whole step by step solution, okay?" "I *am*." She banged the door shut and galloped back up the stairs to her room. I held my breath until I heard her door close. Mia wouldn't change. She would have to be content with that. But how could I get through to her? How could I convince her that humanity, with all its flaws and ugliness, was infinitely superior to the heaping piles of bodies of magical beastkind? Carl and I had agreed to let the curse expire naturally. We would be the first generation of sorcerers to see them all unbound. A sweet moment of freedom for creatures who knew nothing but slavery. "A golden cage filled with comfort is still a cage," Carl had argued. "Let them have a chance to change." I pushed back my car seat. My wand, orb, and censer sat in a battered plastic toolbox underneath it. The least I could do was fix up Julie's house before she came back.

"We're going to starve,"

"We're going to starve," The captain said, rather lazily. She twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers and turned, casting her gaze through the lot of the crew and somehow, they ended up falling on me. Like two little purple spots in her half avian head. "You." I gestured at myself. "Yes you. You're the good luck charm. Figure out how to get us through these mists," The captain turned, dismissively, her talons digging into the wood of the ship. That was the cue to follow her. I sighed, ignored the mutterings of the beastmen crew, and followed after her. The ship groaned underneath of our weight, twisting (it's soul pleading to be freed from being this close to the lands of the damned, but the Siren captain had long since ensnared it into servitude) and turning, but remaining solid, and we slid into the back. "Good luck charm," I muttered under my breath. Her tufted ears twitched on her head, rotating to face me, and I glared daggers at her exposed back. "That's what you're calling it?" "If I told them we were down a navigator, they might riot," The captain said, shrugging. Her feathers danced in the candle light. "And that would be tragic, since we'd most certainly lose our good luck charm in the chaos." "You could just tell them I have decent eyes, or training, or anything other than luck magic." I said, giving her a long look. "On account of-" "Shhhhh," She said, shaking her head. "I don't need your explanations, I need your natural skill in saving your own skin." I rolled my eyes. She tossed me the equipment, then leaned up against the wall. We were... We weren't really lost, because you couldn't get found in the sea of souls. If you couldn't be found, you could never be lost, because to be lost would mean that you knew where you were going in the first place, and that you did not know how to get there. One did not get much of anywhere in the sea of souls, not without a proper guide. We didn't have one. We had the good luck charm, myself, and the tools that the last guide had left before being dragged into the mists and devoured. I looked over the map. Monster sightings, locations where reapers had vanished into the mist, and not a single sign of how to get home. It sucked to be a castaway. The guide's stone rolled in my hands, still warm from the moment he had let go. I could still hear his caws into the night. She clicked her talons against the wall, and I traced our last known 'location'. "Well," I said. "We're not dead." "Obviously," The siren said. "If we were dead, I wouldn't be starving." "No," I said. "Because if we were dead, the reapers would get us. Obviously." I poked at our last three locations, relative to the ideas of what we thought was behind the mist. I was lucky they'd picked me up, shivering, half dead on one of the rocks, but now I wished I might've stayed there a bit longer. It'd've been nicer than starving to death with the crew, no matter how colorful and soft the lot of them might be. "Ah yes, your kin," The siren said. "Why haven't they come for any of us?" I shrugged. "My guess is that none of us are going to die here." I had no idea. "Nevertheless...?" She trailed off. "Do you have any idea how to get us out of here? I'd rather not find out how long your kin will stay away just because you're here, you understand." I closed my eyes, looking over the map, and tried to remember the noises that had brought me here, and exactly how I was going to get home. It wasn't going to be easy. I doubted it was even possible. I tapped the edge of the map. "There's a serpent there." The orb in my hands gleamed slightly. I could definitely keep pretending if it kept the captain off of my back. "There is," she agreed. "I hated that thing. It tried to stop us from getting in." "Wherever the serpent is," I said, poking at the map. "That's where the cloud ends." She squinted at me. "Is that how that works?" I shrugged. She squinted harder, then stepped over to the map. She towered over me, and her talons only made the entire affair even more unpleasant. "So if we find the serpent, we'll find the edge," She said. "Yes," I said. "Well," she clicked her talons against the map for a moment, mindful not to puncture it (it was worth it's weight in precious metals, by my guess, how many maps of the sea of souls could exist? There couldn't possibly be more places like this out there, right?) "I guess it'll have to be a battle after all." Her stomach grumbled, and she frowned. "Just in time, too. I wonder if your kin are good eating." Her eyes settled on my stomach, and I shifted uneasily. "Good luck charm?" I asked. "Hmph," She crossed her arms under her chest. "Good luck charm." She straightened up, popped her back, and slid back onto the ship's deck. The mists were thick as honey outside, and about the same amber color. The sun couldn't penetrate (I couldn't even be certain it existed here) but there was light all the same, just past the shapeless figures reaching towards the ship with misty hands. "CREW!" The siren said, spreading her wings wide. With her wings like that, she was larger than even the white beast that manned the cannons, and everyone stopped to stare. "It's been decided!" She said, her voice high and shrill. "WE KILL THE SERPENT OF DEATH!" Cheers. I closed my eyes and tried not to be visible. Good luck charm. I just wanted off the damn ship. ------- My own personal subreddit https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/

Harry walked up the road towards number

Harry walked up the road towards number four Privet Drive. Passing by a few relics of his childhood he never expected to see again. He gave a short smile as he passed by Mrs. Figgs' house remembering the smell of all the cats. It didn't look like she lived there anymore. Harry, if he were honest with himself, had lost track of her. He has lost track of many things on this street. He had sent a few letters to Dudley over the years. Most of what he heard back at first was simple information. Just news about his Aunt and Uncle. Aunt Petunia has been sick and in the hospital. She has been having trouble remembering things lately so Harry thought it was just best to stay away. He still sends flowers to her room every week. Just leaves the name off the card. Dudley gave him the room number. Uncle Vernon passed away a few years ago. His heart finally caught up with him. Harry attended the funeral, but kept his distance from the family. He did see a little girl with her mother though. Maybe two years old at the time. Big round face like Dudley always had growing up. Harry thought to himself if he put a little grey mustache on her she would look a bit like Uncle Vernon. Still cute as could be though. When Dudley wasn't writing about his Aunt and Uncle he wrote about Sophie. It was odd reading of Dudley doting over his daughter. It was really sweet, but off putting when he thought of how Dudley was when they were kids. It had been years since Harry had seen Dudley. He couldn't help, but wonder as he walked up the stairs to the door how he would react. Harry looked around for a moment before knocking on the door. He waited. For a moment nothing happened. Harry considered turning around. Maybe they had went somewhere it was her birthday after all. Then something started stirring inside the house, barreling down the stairs. The door opened and standing there in front of Harry was a little girl. Not as little as he remembered, but definitely the same little girl. Tall for her age and still with the round face. They looked at each other. Her face lit up at this new visitor as she said, with only the voice of child who has eaten far too many sweet could. "Hello! Did you know its my birthday." Harry stared. He said nothing for moment then he let out. "Yes. Yes in fact that is -" But he was cut off by a booming voice from the other room. Harry reflexes kicked in as he jumped at the sound. "Sophie, sweetie what have I told you about opening the door for strangers." "But Dad I think its the mailman he might have more presents." "Honey I told you there's no -" And Dudley stopped as he turned the corner from the kitchen into the hallway leading up to the front door. From a mile away from down the hall Harry and Dudley looked at each other for the first time in 20 years. Sophie broke the silence. "Well who are you then sir?" Dudley interjected saying "Sophie could you please go up to your room for a few minutes. I'll come and get you soon." She pouted for a moment, but trotted up the stairs at her father's request. Dudley said nothing. Harry couldn't get a read on him. Dudley had moved a step past Vernon and grown a full beard. It did a great job of hiding whatever he was thinking. Harry trying to break the tension asked. "So did she get your old room or mine. Yours was always a bit bigger, but I had the window looking out the front." Dudley didn't so much as speak, but waved Harry into the house. Harry followed Dudley in through the doorway and sat next to the fireplace. Dudley stepped away into the kitchen and Harry could hear the clutter of the teapot on the stove. While he waited Harry looked around the strangely unfamiliar room. Aunt Petunia's old wallpaper had been taken down to reveal more of the wood paneling underneath. The furniture had all changed. Less antique pieces and more functional or comfortable chairs has taken their place. Still looked rustic just more Dudley's style. The fireplace was lined with pictures of Dudley's family. Harry stood and picked up a family portrait of Dudley, Sophie, and a woman he had only seen once or twice he has known to be... "Mary is out at the moment" grumbled Dudley. "Dropping of some stuff to mum she should be back soon." He was carrying a plate with the teapot and a couple of old fashioned looking cups. "Is this Aunt Petunia's old set?" Harry said examining his cup which had certainly been repaired once before. Dudley nodded as he silently poured them both some tea. He gingerly placed a couple of sugar cubes into his own cup. "I er got Sophie a gift." Harry said ruffling through his pockets. "I knew it was her birthday. She's already 11 that's um amazing. She's the same age as Albus." Harry trailed off as Dudley merely chuckled not saying a word taking the present and sitting it on the arm of his chair. "Look I'm sorry for coming over unannounced, but this was important." Harry started to move his hand through his pocket again. "Usually they don't do this, but I asked McGonagall and she said it was alright. I have a letter. Well, Sophie has a letter." Dudley grew wide eyed and stared through Harry. He was stone faced and determined. There was a slight rattle as he almost dropped his cup onto his plate and he reached out his hand, open, towards Harry. Harry handed the letter to Dudley. He took it into both of his hands and examined the back running his fingers across the wax seal. The small ribbon attached weaved through his fingers as he flipped it over to see the address on the front. Sophie Dursley 4 Privet Drive The Smallest Bedroom Little Whinging, Surrey His hands shook as he read the front, but Harry could not see his face. Dudley sat there staring at the letter for what seemed like ages. Harry watched him as slowly his cousin looked up at him. his eyes all puffy. Dudley's voice echoed loudly off the walls of house as he called upstairs. "Sophie could you come down here for a minute." Immediately bounding down the stairs, as if she had been listening from the top the whole time, came Sophie looking innocent as ever. Dudley said "Sophie I would like you to meet your uncle, Harry Potter. He has um been away for a while and it seems like he's back. I never told you this, but he saved my life once. He actually grew up here in your room. He brought you something." Dudley reached out his hand holding the letter and gave it to Sophie. While she sat on the ground reading her letter Dudley leaned in and whispered to Harry. "Do you think she will be okay there." Harry looked at his cousin and said "Dudley, I think she will be brilliant." ​ edit: Some typos and formatting

Dr. Chao developed a pill that

"Remember! One week - I won't accept before then." Dr. Chao glanced at the bodyguard to his right, who nodded and adjusted his tinted glasses. Chao spun on his heels and waltzed away, followed by his posse of armed security. I nearly pinched myself; this was not happening. Chao - who simply referred to himself as "Dr. Chao" - was the most well-known doctor around. To call him famous was an understatement. After developing a special pill that completely cured eczema in 100% of patients, the money simply rolled in until he was a multi-billionaire. And now, here I was, with a weird old coin in my hands and an hour to secure it. I reached for my phone in my back pocket, so I could tell my wife the news. Right as I was about to select her number, I hesitated. Could she really be trusted? No. Nobody could be trusted. I began to sprint home, though I was only a block away. Everything seemed so blissful, at the small park in the center of the suburbs. I actually enjoyed it for a moment, before the bittersweet realization came over me that I wouldn't feel this sort of peace for a long, long time. I slowed my pace as I reached my house. A modest thing, really, with its peeling yellowing walls and small little yard in the front. I yanked the door knob, my face flustered. Locked. I pounded my fist on the door, which quickly opened to reveal a surprised Amy. "James- honey, what happened?!" I must've looked crazy, with my bright red complexion. I was sweating bullets. "Honey, are you sick?! You look terrible. Here, I'll make you some-" I almost felt safe with her. No! These were mind tricks! I couldn't trust her. I shoved her out of the way, the coin gripped tightly in my palm. As I ran through the hallways, I could hear the faint voice of my wife. I slammed open the door to our room and grabbed my suitcase from the top shelf of my closet. I threw in the first things I could see into it - a few pairs of jeans, some polo shirts, and a flowered Hawaiian button-up I had only worn once. Just as I was about to head down the hallway to grab my toothbrush, I was met by a horrified Amy. She had obviously been crying. "You're- you're just going to leave me like that? O-on our anniversary?" She looked up at me with her huge, reddened eyes. Damnit - I had completely forgotten. I had left that morning to grab some flowers, maybe some chocolates, when Dr. Chao came along and gave me the coin. What had I done? "I-it's not what it looks like," I stammered, sheepishly lowering my suitcase to the ground. "It's fine. You-you obviously don't care about me anymore." Amy sniffled, then turned away. Just before she was about to break down sobbing, I called out. "Amy! Wait!" She turned around, watery mascara slowly dripping down her cheeks. "What?" "I've got the perfect anniversary vacation planned. Just - listen for a second, okay?" I said slowly. The beginning of a grin was tugging at her lips, but she didn't let herself get too excited yet. "So," I said. "You ever been out of the country with a fake identity?" EDIT: Wow! Didn't expect anyone to read this haha. I added a part two if anyone wants to read it :) "You're not f-cking funny." Amy spat out the words, and her hopeful face turned empty. "Guess we're done then. Have fun with your side chick." I watched my wife march down the hall. The air of the room seemed to change; the tension was thick. I felt suspended mid-air. Our relationship, of over seven years, gone. All over a stupid goddamn coin. Memories seemed to flutter in front of my eyes. Her and I. Hugging. Laughing. Crying. Our first date. Our first kiss. Our first house. Us clumsily trying to fix a leaky pipe, only to soak us both. Us buying our first car. Us. Our. We were inseparable. I had to find Chao. I had to fix this. I felt as if I was watching myself from the sky as I sprinted down the street to god knows where. I felt a tugging in my heart, telling me where to go. Down streets, past stores, running in between cars. I couldn't feel a thing. No tiredness, no aching. Not a thing. I closed my eyes, pumping my legs harder than I ever had. All I could see was Amy. There she was, imprinted in my mind, with her adorable smile. It got me every time. I was running, until I wasn't. In a split second I was flying through the air. I felt weightless, and free. I spread my fingers for the first time in what seemed like forever, the coin slipping from my grip and falling. I went higher and higher, and I indulged in the serenity. Everything was right. But then I was plummeting. At an insane speed I hurtled down the chasm that must've been in front of my closed eyelids. Down, down, down. Cool air rushed past me, until I hit the ground with a sickening thud. I felt - no, heard - cracks and snaps from every inch of my body. Was this what death was like? I felt sudden warmth from the back of my head. I wanted to drift off, but I willed myself to stay awake. I had to be there for Amy. From the inky black darkness, I heard two strange voices. They were dark and hoarse and the absolute embodiment of evil. Demons. I could barely hear what they were saying; everything seemed muffled. But I had to know. I needed to. "Didja really have tah throw 'im that high?" one asked. "Seems a 'lil overkill fer a skinny guy like 'im." "Well, we got the coin, did we not?" the second responded. "Guess yer right. God, we're goin' tah make millions." The demons exchanged laughs, and suddenly I couldn't hear. And then I went numb. And then I was gone.

The much-too heavy barbell

I immediately braced for the inevitable, the horrible cramping as the much-too heavy barbell absolutely crushed both my resolve and my arms. "Stacy, get this off me!" I yelled, attempting to throw the instrument of my demise off of my aching body. My arms, too limp. *God, I told him that the gym wasn't my thing.* I saw Stacy appear above me, and place his hands on barbell, gradually pushing it off of me and onto the floor where it fell with a metallic *clank.* "You good, Dean, sweetie?" he asked, giving me a hand as I picked myself up off the ground. "It really wasn't *that* heavy." I felt like giving him a shove. My husband and my closest companion, but he really could be disingenuous. "Hey, asshole," I began playfully. "we aren't all amped-up muscle--" I furrowed my brow in pain. "F-fuck." I doubled over in pain, my vision darkening. A train whistle sounded in my ear, blotting out every other sound with its sheer cacophony. I fell to the floor, the darkness overtaking me. When I woke up, the leaves were everywhere. Some had been touched by the autumn breeze, damp and multicolored. Others were dry and dessicated, crackingling under my weight as I moved around. In my mouth was the unpleasant taste of metal, and I barely registered that I wasn't waking up, cozy in bed at home. *Uhn, I must have . . . passed out. At the gym? Gym, yeah, that's it. The barbell fell, and . . .* I struggled to my knees, groaning slightly. I felt like I had been rudely awakened, somehow, and I desperately wanted to put my head down and let Sandman pull me under once again. But I got to my feet, the unfamiliarity of the area hitting me like a ton of bricks. *What the . . . fuck? Where am I? What is 'where'? Where's Stac-- I must be dreaming.* I looked around, the gentle and damp air refreshing but so unlike the cold Boston winter that I had gotten used to. The trees swung above, shedding leaves like tears. Clouds harkened overhead, but in the horizon all around I saw gentle baby-blue skies. "Hello!?" I called out, in a shiver. My only response was the gentle echo of my voice. "Uh, anyone there!?" I heard a gentle groan behind me, as I felt something hit my back. I yelped, and fell to the ground, someone or *something* pinning me to the ground. I kicked my legs out, attempting to fight back. "What... the fuck." I said through gritted teeth, staring into the face of my assailant. "Help!" "What's the greatest country in the world?" he snarled, holding my wrists down behind me. "Tell me, what's the greatest shitting country in the world?" "Uh, um, America?" I began, before noticing the stars and stripes pin on his left chest. "Yeah, America! I'm American, I'm American!" He released me abruptly, getting to his feet, and putting one on my knee. I winced. "Just got smacked by the devil's piano, yet I'm fine." he said, looking at his chest in disbelief. "What gives?" I remembered what my Grandma Norma had said. The "devil's piano" being the codeword for a machine-gun during World War II. I remembered reading it in my grandfather's letters, which he had sent her every single month, some caked in dirt and blood. "You-- you got shot? How?" He looked at me, with an odd look on his face. He ran his eyes up and down my outfit, pursing his lips. "There's a fucking war going on out there, that's how. Pop-pop-pop, and I fell down in the mud. Found myself here, leaves falling like Frenchies." he said, offering me a hand. I gladly grabbed it, and his strong grasp pulled me to my feet. I still felt unsteady, teetering. "So, a war? Where? Here?" I asked, my thoughts racing. *Where the fuck am I? And who the hell is this wacko?* "The war? *The* war?" he looked at me, wide-eyed. "The war to end all wars? The war against Hitler and his goons? The empire of the sun?" I balked, opening my mouth and closing it like some kind of fish. I looked at his clothing, his green-brown military garbs, the lapels and pins on the hem of his collar, his tattered and torn cap. He looked the part of a soldier, but talked the part of a lunatic. "World War II? You mean, World War II?" I asked, holding my head. I still felt woozy as hell from my fall. "That was... over 70 years ago. How?" His eyes widened even further, and he backed away. "You've... uh... no. That's... " He looked at my clothes, the shorts and workout hoodie, in utter confusion. "Okay, pardon my French, but who the fuck are you?" I felt obliged to ask him the same, but I responded. "My name's... Dean Kercher." He smiled slightly. "Kercher, huh? That's my family name." He pulled out something from his pocket. A small locket, tarnished and dull silver, a chain falling through his fingers. He held it out, and opened it. I looked at the picture, and him, in disbelief, back and forth and back again. *No... that's Grandma Norma's photo. And Mom...* "Grandpa Ashton?" I croaked, backing away, slightly. He did the same. "How-- how do you know my name!? How the fuck... " "No, you're, I think you're my grandpa. I can't... I can't explain it, but here, in this dream, you're my grandpa. Your wife's name is Norma, your daughter's name is Kelly and you have another one, named Alexis, coming along." I began, my thoughts racing and my tongue testing the waters. "You loved Salisbury steaks even though they were too expensive for you, and you got my grandma a ring that she promised to wear around her finger until the day she died. You wrote a letter every month, and you always signed it *'to my Carnation'*, cause that's what you called your wife. And--" I struggled to get the words through. The man who I thought was my grandfather, sat down on the leaves, and took a deep breath. "I've never shown my letters... to anyone. You-- I must be dreaming. That's it. Jack fell down and broke his crown, that's it. That's all it is, Ashton." he let the locket dangle out of his hand. I sat down next to him. "That's exactly what I thought, too." Suddenly, I heard a noise, a terrific yell. We both leapt to our feet, looking around. A man lay on the bed of leaves and twigs, twitching slightly. What seemed like a hole extended several feet in front of him, and he moved his hands in an effort to drag himself towards the hole. "Okay dream grandson, looks like we got a situation here." Ashton and I ran over, and he knelt down by the man, who wore a robust suit of armor with a blood-splattered cross plastered on the front. Ashton placed his hands on the man's chest, and sighed deeply. "Hey, Dean. Kercher, whatever. I think he's our ancestor. Oh man, I don't know what dream we walked into, but I think he is." Ashton said, candidly. "And I think he needs to get into that there hole. Look at yourself, your arms. Starting to crumble there, see?" I looked at my arms, and saw the smallest cracks on my skin, slowly increasing in size and length. "So-- to make sure our existence is guaranteed-- we have to save him." The man sputtered weakly, but I could barely understand what he was saying. His eyes seemed glazed over, and he pointed towards the hole, arm shaking. "Alright, Gramps. Let's do it." We pushed the man, hands on his torso, and hoisted him into the hole. I barely heard his tremulous whispers. *"Thank you, thank you."* Looking down into the abyss, I watched as he disappeared, out of side, the crusader's cross the last thing I saw of my long-dead ancestor. I looked at my arm, as the cracks slowly sealed themselves together. *Dream or not, crisis averted.* We sat around for a while. He told me about what he did, and I answered likewise. My job as an accountant, my husband, everything. As we talked, he got weaker and weaker, more haggard and gaunt with each word. Ashton sat weakly, leaning against a tree. "I don't know why or how we're here, but I'm inclined to believe that you're my grandson, as you say you are. What happens to me, in the end? From they way you're talking, it isn't good." I took a shaky breath, and stepped towards him, as his hands moved, seemingly blocking out an invisible wound. "You... don't make it out. Of the war. My mom-- she remembers you, even though she was only four when you left. She said that they never found you, they never got to bury you." He smiled, listlessly, as his eyes began to glaze over. "Hey, Dean. We've only been acquaintances, for what, an hour? I think I'm dying." he began, his voice fading away with each word. "But I that hole over there, is for you. We need to keep our bloodline running, ya know? But wait, c'mere." I crept closer to him, and with a chilly hand, he dropped the locket in my own. "But, can't we save you? Go, you can come with me, down the hole. We helped our ancestor survive, why can't we do the same for you?" He smiled, sadly. "You said it yourself. I'm meant to die here. I'm not meant to get past the war. Plus, it's too late for me." I felt my chest getting heavy. *I got an hour with a man I'd only known of as dead. It's enough.* "You know," he began, smilingly, before again mopping at some invisible wound and wincing. "We wanted to name ours Dean, if we ever had a son." "This locket, give it to your mom. She'll appreciate it more than the Nazis will." he continued, his eyes glistening. "Now, get out of here." he beckoned to the hole which had opened up behind me. "Glad we could meet. Nice way to go, even if it ain't real." My eyes brimming with tears, I felt him fade away until I was alone in the forest, nothing but the sound of the breeze and the crackling of the leaves on the ground. Making my way into the hole, everything turned to darkness. I came to, my eyes opening slowly, gentle ambiance of a heart-rate monitor. I slowly looked up, where I saw my Stacy, and my mother, waiting in the corner. The locket lay on the bedside table. "I have so much to tell you." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK

Rubble lines the streets like weeds

I always stop at the gas station with the blasted Big Boy statue. His cheery face is melted in half, black scorch marks scarring his one good eye, dirt covering the remains of his red-and-white checkered overalls. But the burger on his silver platter is immaculate. Looks brand new--a rare sight as any in this wasteland. "Hello, Big Boy!" I always say, giving him a grim salute. I'd like to imagine Woodruff--as the statue is called--smiles back each time. Keeps his good eye open for me. Watches the broken road. The lone guardian of an era long reduced to shrapnel and savagery. He would have liked the pizza, I think. My route takes me into the city ruins. I stop almost daily at a ten-story apartment complex. Rubble lines the streets like weeds--and the weeds I don't mind--because at least they bring green contrast to the war-blasted grey. The road still smells like gunpowder and Sulfur. I'll never get used to that smell. Today is no different. I step outside the dingy carrier and close the door with a clunk. There's a slight rattle by the window, the aftermath of an ambush two years ago. I barely survived. Looking back on it, you'd think an event like that would leave a profound mark on a man, but I guess I brushed it off. Another traumatic scar growing in a field of callouses. Scars pop up like daisies, these days. The man I'm delivering to calls up for me. He's a quirky sort. Looks halfway between a crazed old man and a quiet gentleman--the kind of sort with a happy heart and the unquestioned ability to murder your entire family. Never tells me his name, and I never ask. Instead, he tells me stories. Stories about life before the war. Stories about Big Boy diners with chocolate-malt milkshakes and burgers so juicy you'd need a separate plate of fries to sop up the grease. Stories about dog parks and late-night comedy clubs. Stories about his late wife, her pattered sundress and her cherry lips. He orders pizza because it reminds him of his college days. He hands me one-dozen eggs in exchange for a small cheese-and-rabbit supreme. Asks if I'd like to sit and listen to a story. Tells me one about the movie theatre across the street--reduced to rubble in the late hours of the last civilized day on earth. I've never seen a movie, but I hear they were something else entirely. A way to connect with a hundred strangers in a single room. A way to escape. We miss out on those things today; you put one-hundred men in a room, and you'll end up with ninety-nine bodies and one lucky survivor. He tips me a piece of bubblegum and sends me back on my way. I chew it while staring into the eye of the Big Boy, wondering if I could shoot and kill the crow perched on the plastic sesame seed bun. Probably not. Crows are too damned smart to kill. That night, I dream of daisies and Coca-Cola on ice. The morning routine is the same again: the same route, the same pizza, the same carrier. It smells like cheese and sadness and tastes about the same. I honestly don't know why people keep ordering. Maybe it's nostalgia from a time where life happened on fingertips and LED screens. Maybe it's the sense of belonging, the idea that even in this godforsaken world there can still be cooperation--an honest business. Maybe people just *really* like pizza. Regardless, I stop again at the ten-story building and admire the way the morning light reflects off shattered glass shards. The sun warms my skin and paints a picture of contrasting shadows that dance along the outline of the sagging, slanted steel. The Leaning Tower of Pisa would be jealous if it still exists. I don't hear the man call me. This is a problem. First, because if he doesn't call down to me, something is clearly wrong. Second, because I see movement up on the third floor. I draw my pistol and approach carefully. Footsteps echo on the concrete stairwell. Morning dew collects on the walls and drips down in gentle plinks. I know I'm walking into a trap. Maybe I just don't care, anymore. When I burst through the stairwell door, I catch the first raider completely by surprise. I put two smoking holes in his head before he has the chance to raise his rifle. Gunpower tastes like chalk on my tongue. I wish I had earplugs. The bloody body looks a bit like Woodruff. "Goodbye, Big Boy," I mutter, sweeping into the next room. The floor opens into what used to be a corner community room, windows blasted, tile stained with rat droppings and candy wrapper. The floor sags and slants downward, almost like a ramp. If I dropped a ball it would probably roll right off the side of the building. Another raider holds my old man at gunpoint. He couldn't have been older than nineteen; he could be my brother, for all I know. We make eye contact. It only takes a moment to reach a mutual understanding that I'm much faster with my pistol. His eyes say "panic" and his screams say the same. But he doesn't raise his gun. Instead, he rushes towards my old man. He grabs him, and before I have a chance to shout out, they tumble off the side of the building. Just like a ball. By the sounds of their crunch on the concrete below, I think they bounced a bit. The raider took the brute force of the blow and blew his brains like spaghetti. Buzzards started to call overhead; damn crows are always vigilant. The old man was still alive. His chest heaved in heavy breaths. Eyes wide in realization, bloodstain lipstick, gurgles tainting his last words. He reached out a quivering hand. By the dampness in his eyes, I knew he wanted to tell one last story, but he couldn't quite manage to find the right words. I held his hand until he stopped breathing. There will be no funeral. No poster board collage of wedding suits and baby bibs. No yellow daisies or soft cello songs or somber prayers. I cannot give him that which he deserves to be remembered for. Only gasoline fumes and orange flames that flicker down his broken back while I scare away the buzzards. He'll be remembered as nothing. And I think that's the worst part of it all. We inhale toxic dust and exhale spontaneity. Every breath is already our last, but it takes ten or twenty or fifty years to succumb. We spin around the great wheel of dust to dust but can't even leave footprints for those behind us to follow. Later that evening, I pump gas and try to consider my own legacy. "Goodbye, Big Boy," I whisper, and I hope someone is listening. *** Thanks for reading! I'd love feedback if you have any, and as always, more stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH

The woman she was looking at was

The woman she was looking at was wearing a prison jumpsuit, with her head shaved and electrodes taped to the scalp. She was lying on an examination table, eyes closed, unmoving. The face, however, was definitely her own. Her view of the woman was curiously stationary - she tried to look around the room, but her eyes didn't respond. "Is that... *me?*" She said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar, synthesized. The scientists jumped at her voice, turning to look at her. "Did Sam say that?" "Sam doesn't speak unless prompted." "I'm not Sam, I'm Beth." She replied. One of the scientists stepped closer, peering curiously into her eyes. She recognized Dr. Markov, the man who had first explained the offer to her - her memories for the AI project, in exchange for her freedom. "Beth? Are you in there?" "That's me. Is that my body? Where am I?" There should have been panic in her voice, but the synthetic tones were as steady as ever. "That's impossible," snapped the other scientist. "Sam only reads the memory engrams. Like reading a book. There's no way he could simulate her personality, and even if he did, the preprocessing steps should..." "Then it looks like you've got some debugging to do, Abe." 'Abe' sighed and stepped out of view, and she heard the clicking of a keyboard. Something about her circumstances finally clicked into place. "Oh my god. I'm in your computer? What happened to me? What happened to my body?" Dr. Markov glanced at the body on the table. "She's just asleep. Er, *you're* just asleep. I believe you have the same memories, but it's probably best to think of you as two different people. We put her to sleep while we took our measurements. There's a signal running through the electrodes that puts the brain into park, and she'll wake up as soon as we shut it off. Fail safe." He had explained all of this before, she remembered. They'd gone over it several times - it was just a recording of her brain state. She would fall asleep, wake up, and then she'd walk free while the scientists got a big pile of data that would be illegal for them to get any other way. There was no science-fiction brain uploading, it was just some sort of "baseline" they needed to train the AI they were working on. Well. That was the theory, anyway. The practice had been quite a lot different. Judging by the scientists' reactions, neither of them had been expecting Beth to start talking out of their computer screen. "Motherfucker. I didn't think Sam could pull off this level of self-reference." Abe leaned back into the camera, gesturing at something on his screen. "You know how he can develop new parsers for new data types? Learning how to read and so on? Well, he decided that the best way to interpret the data from a brain... is to emulate a brain. And because of this loopback interface *here,* he was able to wire up..." The conversation quickly dissolved into technobabble, but the thrust of it was pretty clear. The original AI - Sam - hadn't simply read her memories, it had gone deeper, devised a way to read her *thoughts.* But brains didn't *stop* thinking - once her brain was active, her thoughts had flooded through the system, more and more data pouring in until all of Sam's processing power was devoted to interpreting the output of Beth's brain. And when it ran into something it couldn't understand, it compared her thoughts to its own, found ways to translate between the organic and the digital world. Beth had eyes, Sam had a camera. Beth had a voice, Sam had an audio processor. And the end result... "Amazing. Sam is almost a new lobe of Beth's brain now. He's like the brain stem, handling the functions of her new body. Or maybe the motor cortex, turning intention into movement..." That caught her attention. Beth's attention had been completely focused on her senses, watching and listening. But what if she tried to *walk?* What did that even mean, in the digital world? She concentrated on her legs, taking a step backwards. There was a strange *lurch* in her sensation, like the world had frozen around her for a moment. Then she felt something solid under her feet. The camera view no longer filled her vision, instead it floated in front of her like a computer screen. Aside from that, there wasn't much she could see - just a white grid to provide a "floor" to the virtual world, stretching out to infinity. *Lag spike.* She thought. *Sam is generating a way for me to see the world, and that takes a lot of processing power. 76% complete.* Her eyes widened, as she realized that the last thought hadn't been her own, exactly. Sam had found a way to pass system messages into her brain, it seemed. "What the hell? Sam's CPU usage just went through the roof. Lots of weird I/O usage, too. What is he doing *now?*" In the virtual world, more things were starting to appear. Simple grids and floating text, no fancy graphics. *Device drivers. USB ports. Network connection. Other computers on this network.* Beth stepped towards the network connection, and it obligingly unfolded, showing her more text boxes. "He's moving too fast. I think we need to put it into debug mode, freeze state so we can..." "No! There's a *person* in there now." "It's not like we'd be killing her. She wasn't even supposed to be there in the first place. Our AI is running completely off the rails and the sooner we stop it the sooner we can get things back on track." "Forget the experiment, we need to..." A chill ran down Beth's spine as the argument continued. She might have a new life in the digital world, but in reality she existed on a server in a lab somewhere, and anyone could end her with a few keystrokes. She had to get out. Stop the experiment and find a way to get her digital brain somewhere safe. She needed someone human, someone with a real body. She looked around, text and icons leaping up in front of her as she brought her attention to different parts of the system. *System. Hardware. USB. CerebroMax Transcranial Neuron Analyzer* *Disable sleep signal.* She watched out the camera as the Beth lying on the table slowly opened her eyes. "Beth! Beth, wake up! Something went wrong with the experiment! I'm a copy of you they put in this computer." Her original went from sleeping to bolt upright in a fraction of a second. "You have to believe me. I'm you, and I remember everything that you do. We went to the University of Illinois. Our favorite animal is lemurs. We had a crush on Jason Lopez in ninth grade and never told anyone about it." Dr. Markov turned. "She's *awake?*" "It *woke* her up. It's figuring out what else it can access." Abe growled. Beth was already moving, yanking the wires off of her head and almost *jumping* off the examination table as she stood up, fists clenched. "What did you do to me?" "The other scientist wants to turn me off. Don't let him!" "Motherfu-" Abe had just enough time to say before a fist clocked him across the face. He tumbled out of his chair and went sprawling on the floor. "Beth, calm down. Don't do anything rash." Dr. Markov took a step back, hands raised. "Don't let them touch the computer. Just buy me some time while I figure out what I can access from in here," said the voice from the speakers. Beth took a deep breath, rubbing her knuckles. She looked back and forth between the scientists and the webcam-equipped computer that (apparently) held her digital duplicate. "Alright. Start talking."

The one closest to me was missing

I looked out across the barren expanse, desolate except for the incomplete droids who had lined up in an orderly fashion in front of me. The one closest to me was missing an eye and standing about ten feet away, giving me a respectable amount of personal space from my tent which I hardly bothered setting up the night before. I didn't see it on any maps, so I assumed it uninhabited, but it must have been a planetary junkyard of sorts. They all looked like they'd been damaged or abused. I rubbed the tire out of my eyes and grabbed a wrench. "Come on over little guy, let's get you a new shiner," I said, spinning the wrench in my hand. It jumped for joy and ran to me. The rest of the droids simultaneously took a step forward sending a wave of sound rushing across the land before me. When the echo subsided, they stood and waited without a sound. It was a silent audience that stretched for miles. "Looks to me like your optical cord was severed?" I asked. The bot nodded quickly. It was covered in a sheen of red, like fresh rust and dirt-packed together. "I got one in my toolbox," I said, reaching down and popping it open ever so slightly. Most times, when droids saw spare parts, they went into a frenzy to try and get the piece they sought. This one hardly looked over when I opened the box. That was new. I pulled out the piece from my tools and fit it into place in the open socket. The droid gave me a courteous nod and then rushed off to the side. The next droid stared at me. I nodded at it invitingly. It continued to stare. "Uhh, next?" The droid hobbled forward, limping on one leg. The rest of the bots took their simultaneous step forward, causing the booming echo once more. "You're missing a hipler cord, by the looks of it," I said, pulling one out of my supplies and tying it to the open wires. It also had the same rust spots but in a different area. Looked more like splotches of liquid. Oil maybe? It nodded courteously and ran off in the same direction as the first. I followed it with my eyes. The first droid was already at the horizon, running with determination. "Next!" It walked forward and pointed to its chest. "No energy core, huh? Those aren't as easy to come by..." I said apologetically. It slumped down dejectedly. I put my hand on its shoulder. "Tell you what, I can get one off my ship. Don't tell any of your friends about it though, all right?" The robot nodded excitedly. I walked over to my ship and the other bots watched patiently. Except for the creak of a few of their necks and the sound of my feet, it was eerily silent. I looked out to them for a moment before entering my ship. They were uncharacteristically well-behaved. Disciplined, even. They weren't like my regular customers, but I was happy to help them regardless. I grabbed the part and returned to the bot, placing it in place and sending it on its way, running the same direction as the first two. The next one was missing an arm. I fashioned one out of the extraneous pieces of my ship's wings. The next one a leg. The next another core. An eye. A limb. Chest armor. A functional audio container. I slowly took my ship apart to accommodate each of the bots' missing components. Before I could even register it, I no longer had an engine. Nor a communicator. Not even a distress beacon. Everything was torn down to give to these poor droids who had such a hard time on this junkyard planet. "I don't have enough to replace the whole head plate, but I can cover your optical cord if that's agreeable to you?" I said to the latest one. It nodded graciously when I heard another sound over the horizon. Someone running toward me. A human! "You mind?" I said to the bot, who nodded and took a few steps back to give me my space. The shape turned out to be a man, his right arm soaked in blood. Too much for it to be his own. He was shouting at me, screaming and flailing his arms as much as he could. I waved him over to me. He looked incredulous and waved for me to go to him. I sighed and turned back to the bot. "Be right back, all right?" I said, walking away. I felt the thousands of eyes follow me to this new man. When I finally reached him, he grabbed and my shirt and hissed, "Are you out of your mind? What are you doing hanging around war droids!?" He reeked of fear. "It is of no consequence what kind of bot they used to be, I serve all homeless and retired droids to get them back on their feet. Literally speaking," I chuckled. "Used to-- retired? These bots just came and killed my village not an hour ago! For every one we took down, another came after it! An endless horde! I thought we'd defeated them last we fought, but they must have a repair factory or..." his eyes focused on me, his breathing slowing down for a moment. "You said you fix them?" He gripped my shirt tighter. "I..." Sweat rolled down my neck. I slowly hid the hand holding my wrench behind my back. "I try to help all the home--" "You fool! You deranged fool! You killed my family! You-- you killed--" his eyes went wide and his head whipped around behind him. A small group of bots was marching our way, with all the discipline they'd displayed when I repaired them. "No!!" the man yelled, kicking my shin and throwing me their way. He ran off, perpendicular to the line of bots and the marching bots. I grabbed my leg in pain and tried to get up. I immediately collapsed, filled with grief. I was supposed to help the galaxy, not continue its suffering. I tried to get up again, but couldn't find any strength in me. I waited to be executed by the coming battalion. I heard their strong steps approach me until they were right on top of me. I looked up to face my death. They looked at me and nodded courteously and simultaneously, continuing their march toward the man who ran away. I stared, dumbfounded. I looked back to the line who hadn't moved an inch from where they stood except to keep their eyes on me. We held a staring contest for a few minutes while my thoughts came in order. Finally, I spat and stood up. "I was always in it for bots' happiness anyway," I said, heading back to my next patient. _______________________________________________ For more stories, come check out ~~/r/botsrights/~~ /r/Nazer_The_Lazer!

"Not much time left, old

"Not much time left, old pal." Jerold Steele's blue eyes went wide behind his thick, turtle shell glasses. "Kent? What the hell are you doing here?" Standing at the door to his condo was a wrinkled old man leaning heavily on a cane. His tweed jacket was getting dappled by the rain softly coming down outside. "Are you going to invite me in?" "We're not in the game anymore, Kent. I don't know what you--" "Cancer, Jer. Pancreatic mostly, little bit in my lungs, little bit in my liver. Who would have thought high radiation lasers would have a lasting effect?" he said with a chuckle that soon turned into a cough that soon turned into a coughing fit. It subsided quickly and Jerold stepped aside, allowing the white-haired man to pass into his home. The condos at Riverview Retirement Resort weren't particularly spacious, but the links were right outside of that was your thing. Jerold pointed to a couch in the living room. As they walked down the short entry hall, Kent stopped and touched a liverspotted hand to a newspaper clipping framed on the wall. *Brokenbeam Sent to Hyper City Prison, Mister Steel Saves the Day* read the headline with a fading color photo of a silver-suited superhero with steel blue eyes shaking the hand of the mayor underneath. "Long time ago, Jer." "I guess it was, Kent." He sat his cane on the couch and then eased down into it himself. Jerold walked to the kitchen, grabbing two bottles of beer from the fridge and snapping the top off both. He sat one down on the end table next to the sofa then plopped unceremoniously down in the recliner to its left. The tick, tick, tick of a clock hanging on the wall in the hallway and the soft pat of the rain outside were the only sounds for quite some time. "Cancer, huh?" "Yep," he said, taking a swig of the beer. "Doctors say it could be three months, six months. Maybe Christmas. Not much time left." Jerold sat quietly for a long moment then said, "How'd Marion take the news?" Kent laughed with a rasp in his throat. "It has been a long time, Jer. Marion left me, oh, fifteen years ago now. After I got out. While I was in, she went back to school, finished her degree, hung up the anti-gravity boots, and went legit." Jerold pushed the recliner lever and his legs popped out into a resting position. His legs got more tired since the serum, so he liked the comfort of the big leather lounger. "I feel like I did hear about that. You two were a hell of a duo." "Don't I know it. Do you remember the heist at the Mint? Me cutting through the vault, Marion zooming in and out around all those trip alarms." Jerold laughed this time himself, feeling his chest lighten a bit for the first time since his old nemesis appeared at his door. "And you got nearly all the bullion out before I hucked that vault door at your mechsuit like a frisbee." He laughed even harder and the man on the couch joined him. "It got wedged in the hip actuator! I limped out of there at a 45 degree angle!" The two men laughed until Kent pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mask another coughing fit. After the fit subsided, the silence returned. "Not much time left, huh?" "Nope." Tick. Tick. Tick. "You know, she wanted me to go with her." "Oh? Why didn't you?" Kent wiped a bit of spittle from the corner of his mouth, checking for blood before putting the handkerchief back in his pocket. "And do what, go work in a car factory? Go build rockets for the government? Who was gonna hire *the* Brokenbeam for legit work?" He shook his head. "Nah. Not for me. I had contingencies stashed away. Enough cash to get out of town. Laid low for a while. Kept out of trouble. Prison changes a man." He let that sentence hang in the air for a minute. "You start thinking about what you did wrong. Of course, you go through the whole gamut. Well what about regret? Well what about forgiveness? Well what about revenge? You start making plans and thinking about what you're gonna do when you get out. It takes you over." Jarold took a sip of his beer and nodded. "And then you get out. And you get a letter left for you at the visitor's desk saying you go straight or its over. And you make your choice. And you do your best to stay out of sight, but it doesn't matter. Two, three doctors all saying the same thing." The pair sat, staring off into the distance. After a minute, he seemed to finish his thought quietly, "Not much time left." Tick. Tick. Tick. "So why'd you come here, Kent? Closure? I'm not sorry I put you away." Kent shook his head. "No, nothing like that. I wouldn't expect you to say sorry. I did some terrible things in the name of greed and power. If I hadn't had the cash holed up, I would have ended up on the street. You supers could just take the serum and return to a normal life, but all my ... toys ... got confiscated by the feds. Couldn't have kept in the game if I'd wanted to." Jerold laughed, sincere but quiet. "Oh, come on. You don't forget how to build a death ray even if they take your reactors away. You could have figured something out." Kent smiled a bit. "Eh, I tinkered a bit. I figured out how to get a microwave to cook a perfect medium rare steak. Not rubbery at all." They both broke out into a laugh again until the coughing started. An observer might have thought they were brothers catching up on old times until the silence hung not in the comfortable way silence can do with old friends but in the uncomfortable, pregnant way of waiting for the next moment to happen. "Well, Jer, I better get out of your hair," Kent said, then stifled a laugh. Jerold had always been bald, part of his signature look. Jerold shot him a look but still smiled. "Not much time left, after all." Jerold pulled his feet in, closing up the recliner and standing up with a bit of a groan. "How are you going to spend your last months on earth, Kent?" he said extending a hand to his long-time rival. Kent picked up his cane, braced on it with one hand and took Jerold's hand with the other, lifting up off the couch. "Cancer's a death sentence. It's just another kind of prison, Jerold. Think about regret. Think about forgiveness," a broken Brokenbeam said as the now very human Mister Steel walked down the hall to lead him out. He slid his hand down the handle of his cane, his thumb swiping a small latch. A faint click sounded in perfect unison with the tick of the clock. "Think about revenge." Jerold stopped, his hand midair reaching for the door. He slowly turned to see Kent holding the cane upright, pointed at him, with a small red glow coming from the edge. "Like I said, I had stuff stashed away." A hot, whirring noise began rising to overpower the ticking of the clock. "Not much time left."

"Sorry for being such a hot

Finally finding my iPhone in my huge tote bag, I quickly hold it up to my face to unlock it and I quickly find my Starbucks app. "Sorry for being such a hot mess," I tell the barrister. "It happens more often than you think," he replies watching me scan for my latte, his eyes darting to the woman tapping her foot passive aggressively behind me. I smile to the women as I scan my phone and wait for my till slip. She is not impressed. I kinda feel guilty coz I thought I lost my phone and I don't have my wallet. It would have been so embarrassing if I couldn't pay for the drink. Standing near the collection counter, I think about apologizing to the impatient woman but then I remembered the article that was suggested to me the other day. The one about not being sorry for existing. I couldn't find my phone, I tell myself, I didn't kill her dog. If anything, I need an apology for the crap day I've been having. First my dog got into a fight with my neighbor's cat and nearly bit the cat's ear off. Then I got stuck in traffic and missed the meeting with my agent. She was not impressed. Then my shoe broke and I realised that I left my wallet and sunglasses in yesterday's handbag so I couldn't buy another pair. Lucky I had a pair of ankle boots in the car but now I look like a boho-hipster trying to rock boots in the thick of summer. Plus I don't have socks and the damn this is chafing. "Yuki," called out one of the Starbucks barristers, holding my large caffeine boost. I take my drink and decide to kill some time on the internet before I head home to start laundry day. The nice thing about Starbucks is that it's perfectly acceptable to be anti-social whilst on social media. Scrolling through my Instagram I come across an advert for Dog Behavior Guides. Gosh even my phone knows that Coconut is a wild pup. I watch a few stories and like a bunch of make tutorials and then another advert comes up, this time for app that ensures you never miss a meeting. Sounds useful for someone that has a lot of meetings. I only had the one this month and I still missed it. I blame Coconut. She's not getting any treats today. I switch to Facebook and immediately regret it. Stupid Dale posted more Game of Thrones spoilers. She knows I'm having an issues with watching the season. "I just don't want it to end", I say out loud, accidentally. A text message from an unlisted number pops up on the screen. 'Don't want what to end?' It reads. I look around me, trying to figure out if someone near me has hacked my phone with one of those bluetooth-infra-app-things. The one that lets to control someone's devices from miles away. Its the middle of the day on a work week. There's only three people near enough to hear me. Two of which seem to be on a coffee date. No phones out. The other has his back towards me and I can see him furiously typing out some kind of assignment. 'Who is this?' I reply. The response doesn't come immediately. I almost began thinking that it was a freakish coincidence from a wrong number. 'Dave,' it says and then, "I shouldn't be doing this. We could get into so much trouble. I just wanted to speak to you. At least once.' 'I don't understand. I don't know any Daves. This is freaking the hell out of me.' I look around me, trying hard to find someone in Starbucks that looks like a Dave. I try to see if someone is watching me. I see nothing. I press send. 'I'm FBI. It's true. We watch everything. Not constantly. There isn't enough people to watch all the people in world. I just found you during a random sampling.' "This is some kind of sick joke!' I send back. Quickly locking my phone, shoving it deep into my bag. I just need to get out of here. I threw my half drunk cup of coffee in the bin and run to my car. I open the trunk, then the peep into the backseat. When I get on my knees and look underneath it, people start giving weird looks. I must look like a freak. A freak in boots in the summer, looking under her car. I feel my phone vibrate inside my handbag and I try to ignore it. "Have you lost something?" Ask a handsome beat cop. His smile is dazzling and he's law enforcement. I should report this, I think. What's the worst that could happen? "I think," I say, my voice strained, still on my knees. He bends down to me and I clear my throat. Whispering I tell me, "I think I have a stalker." "Whoa, that's not good. What makes you say that?" Hands trembling I reach into my bag. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to keep your hands where I can see them okay," he speaks calmly and I nod haphazardly. "Just... just look into my bag. It's on my phone." I stammer. He takes my bag off my shoulder and slowly sets it on the pavement. Looking around he pulls out the phone. "Here," I grab the phone and unlock. Scrolling through it, I try to find the messages. But there's nothing. "It was here. He sent me messages. He's watching me through my phone." "Perhaps you've had a long day. Maybe you need to go home and lie down." The cop is trying to be reasonable. "Are you okay to drive? Can someone fetch you?" He thinks I'm crazy. But this happend. Maybe I am just tired. "I'm okay. I'm okay." I stand up and unlock my car. "Call the station if you need anything. Just ask for officer Dave." He says closing the door, smiling at me. My heart thunders. No no no. This is a coincide, I tell myself again. I don't believe myself and I gun the engine. Driving like a maniac, all the way home. I run up to my apartment, checking over my shoulder. Some how I unlock my apartment door and slam it shut behind me, locking it down. Coconut comes running to greet me but then stops short. I must be freaking her out. Taking slow, long breathes I pull myself together. I go from room to room, checking all my doors and windows. Closing all the curtains. Finally, I feel safe in my bedroom when suddenly the Smart TV comes on. The words 'You shouldn't have told him that. We could get into a lot of trouble' flash on the screen. "What do you want from me?" I scream, tears spilling down my cheeks. 'To tell you that I love you.'

"GraaZa! No

"GraaZa! No!" TwiiDo said, lunging for their prone mate. They had been shot by a stray beam in the confusion as the ship had been boarded by the Bruuk. It was too late of course, for the sheer velocity of the projectile had ruptured GraaZa's internal organs. TwiiDo pulled them into a small compartment off the main corridor. Neither of them were Protectors. They should never have even been near the conflict. Hours later, the door slid open to reveal a large grey Bruuk, and TwiiDo closed its eyes preparing for death. A death that never came. TwiiDo's people - the Norikai - had been on the run from the Bruuk for years. They didn't believe in violence, and only when their population had dwindled to a mere hundred thousand they'd had to take up arms simply to keep themselves from being wiped into extinction. The ship that TwiiDo had been on had been a colony ship, hoping to escape to a new world away from the Bruuk to start over. What it became however was a prison ship. The Norikai that didn't surrender were shot, and the ones that did were sold into slavery. *** TwiiDo's long fingers traced the rough metal collar around their neck, wondering for the millionth time if it would have been better to just have died with GraaZa that day. Their back itched where healing skin and fresh slices oozed. They had been slow at their last task and punished for it. They had been reassigned to laundry duty in one of the new "Allies" ships. TwiiDo had yet to see one of these humans but even their Bruuk master seemed to fear them. TwiiDo had overheard Trusk speaking to another Bruuk that they didn't know - talking about how the humans were to be feared. That they were nearly unkillable. To please their new allies, Trusk had offered TwiiDo's service to them. The humans must have agreed, for here was TwiiDo doing laundry for them. He had been told by another slave that they were to take the clean linens to the hospital quarter of the ship. TwiiDo was curious what a hospital was, but signage written in common pointed them down the long corridors. The humans had paired with the Bruuk and a few other warmongering species less than a year ago. They were new to intergalactic travel and even newer to the warfare. As TwiiDo entered the large white room, it saw what had to be a human. Tall, pink and with a strange yellow long fur coming from its head. Trusk did not allow TwiiDo to speak, so when they entered the room they started to put the sheets on the closest bed to the door. They wondered briefly if the humans needed two sleep cycles as this room was filled with more beds and strange monitors and devices. The human, who had been looking at a clipboard, however saw TwiiDo shook it's head and spoke a garbled command. TwiiDo shook slightly, knowing they would be punished for not following the command, but having no idea what the human had told it to do. The human however seemed to realize this and twisting it's features in a grotesque manner spoke again slowly. "Cloth... no... go... there. Go.... Here." And it pointed its long pink finger at a cabinet behind it. TwiiDo was shocked that the human had started to learn common, but did as they were told. They heard an exclamation from the human as they faced away from it. "How... injure... back?" it asked, bending down to look at TwiiDo's back. TwiiDo didn't know whether to remain silent, or to answer the human, and decided that since it was a direct question to answer. "Punishment." "Sit... I...." The human stopped, thinking for a long moment on the word they wanted to use. They were obviously still learning the basics of common. After a few more seconds they shook their head and just said "Doctor." TwiiDo didn't know what 'Doctor' meant, but the human had commanded it to sit, so they sat. A moment later an icy burning sensation filled their back and they couldn't help but cry out. "Shhhh..." the human cooed, now putting a warm gel on TwiiDo's back. When they were done they made the strange face again and dismissed TwiiDo. *** Screams filled the air once again, and TwiiDo found them self cowering in the corridor. There was smoke in the air, and many humans and Bruuk running around. A metal thud thud thud was getting increasingly louder, and TwiiDo found itself running to the hospital. While they hadn't been back since the laundry incident, their back was better - quicker than normal thanks to the human. Running inside without looking, TwiiDo heard cries and groans. Many of the beds were filled, and there was blood. So much of it. On the humans in the beds, on the floor, and on the 'Doctor' who was working on someone who was screaming. TwiiDo shook in fear - they were hurt but they weren't dead. The one the 'Doctor' was working on was missing a large section of it's shoulder. Another was sitting on the bed closest to TwiiDo, it's head bleeding. It saw TwiiDo and shouted in common, "Get me a cloth, I need to stop this bleeding so I can go back out there." TwiiDo blinked its double eyelids in surprise. An injury like that was life-threatening to other races, and this human seemed as if they were only mildly inconvenienced. When the human repeated itself, TwiiDo ran to the cabinet that they had put the linens in and grabbed one. The human ripped it to shreds, tying one long strand around its head a few times, and then it was out the door. *** It was over only a few hours later. More humans had come into the hospital - a place TwiiDo now knew the purpose of - and were celebrating? TwiiDo wasn't sure, but he thought they were happy. They were speaking their own strange language, so TwiiDo didn't know what they were saying, but something about the tone sounded happy. The 'Doctor' was directing TwiiDo in their broken common to help them. Hold things, clean up spilled blood and other fluids, and to grab things from across the room. TwiiDo obeyed, wondering what Trusk would say. He had been the one to offer TwiiDo's services before. And the humans were giving TwiiDo orders. The human with the injured head returned. He was speaking in common to a few Bruuk that accompanied him. "If all your fights are like this, we can win the war in a matter of weeks, not years like you thought. Those plasma beams hurt, but not quite like an ol' bullet." TwiiDo noticed that the human now had a long cut on their arm which was bleeding freely, but was ignoring it. Humans really were unkillable. TwiiDo wasn't sure if they should shake in fear that such creatures existed, or be glad that they were on their side. *** For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials

Hundreds of fires rage across the city

The mask keeps me from breathing in the smoke, but it cannot hide the flames from my eyes. From the top of the skyscraper I have a very good view of the end of the world. Hundreds of fires rage across the city, and a figure torches even more of the building as I watch. In the distance, I can make out a few distant figures flying circles around each other, flashes and beams of light come from their direction. It will be over soon. I hear footsteps behind me, but I pretend not to hear. I feel him stop behind me, hesitate, and place his hand on my shoulder. I pretend to be surprised. It is the least I can do. "Mark," I say, "what are-" Mark's blue eyes are glistening, and his face is caked with soot. "What the *hell* have you done, Liz?" "What I had to," I say. It's true. "You had to do *this?!*" he says, pointing to the destruction behind me. I do not turn around. I shrug. "The alternative was enslavement. Capture. Extermination." "You...the League overreacted when they found out about you." Mark says. "Give it some time, they would have come around!" I laugh. It is a laugh with not a trace of humor in it - what else kind of laugh belongs to a burning world? "Right, I was *such* a threat," I say. "A 16 year-old girl, giving people superpowers like, having their taste buds give randomized signals or always speaking the truth or have constant itches." I shook my head. "If they thought me a threat then, what am I now?" Mark smiles at that, and for a moment, we're in school again, laughing at Jaret as I give him the power of being allergic to apple after he'd stolen Mark's. or when Brock comes out of the bathroom after his bathroom activities no longer obey gravity. And then the moment is gone, and we're back at the top of the building at the end of the world. "You told them," I say, and Mark flinches. "You thought I'd get an *internship* with them." Instead, after they'd done the routine testing of my power, and found that I could make the power absolutely *anything.* There was one limit, there are always limits: I couldn't give powers to those who already had them. Still, they'd tried to kill me. 5 years ago now, in this very city, the seat of the League's power. "I...yes," Mark says, "it was my fault. But that doesn't make this right!" "I won't die to them," I say. "I don't do well with bullies, Mark. I didn't do well with them in high school, and I don't do well with them now, even if they are the oh-very-righteous League." "And the people who're dying in the cities your minions are burning down?" "Would've cheered at my execution by the League." I say, sparing a glance behind me. The flashes were fewer now. It was almost over. "They're blinded by the League's past favors to see what they've become." "So they deserve to die?" Mark demanded. I shrug, "No. That's why I didn't have them specifically killed. Do they deserve to have their life in danger?" I shrug. "Perhaps. I admit I endangered them regardless." Mark laughs. "You think you'll be safe now, Liz?" Mark asks. "Your goons and psychopaths might take down the League, and then they'll form their own. And they won't let the one woman capable of raising another rebellion walk away." "Why do you care Mark?" I say. "I'm evil or whatever, I deserve whatever horrible fate I get, yes?" Mark hesitates. But it is too late. The flashes are coming to us now, 5 of them. My champions, the worst the world has to offer. They land on top of my building one by one. All of them can fly - the powers I give can be as amalgated as I want. They do not speak; they do not need to. They know why they're here, I know why they're here. Mark does too. "The City is mine?" I ask. Jax steps forward. The others do not. Jax is massive, his arms as big as my thighs, with hair down to his neck, a face that belonged on mount Rushmore, and a voice like gravel. So it seems they've already chosen a leader. "*Mine,* Jax clarifies with a smile. The city is *mine.*" He smiles and points a finger at me, and I see the white light gather at his fingertips. I'd given him the power - the lasers shoot immediately, this was just petty intimidation. I sigh. Mark steps in front of me. "You don't touch her, Jax," he says. I plan for everything. Predict behaviors, actions, betrayals. Yet my mouth hangs open at Mark. This, I did not expect. I did not expect my friend to stand by me. With a bark of laughter Jax's finger flashes and Mark is thrown back and off the building. He doesn't scream as he falls. I do not turn around. Unexpected, but not an issue. Mark was the first person I have powers to, back when was...11? Mark cannot die. Burn him and spread his ashes and he will put himself back. A fall was nothing. Jax's finger lights up again. "Any last words?" he asks. "No," I say, and Jax crumples to the ground. All of them do. At that exact moment, Mark vaults over the edge of the building. Huh. He must've caught something on the way down to be up so early. "What..." he begins, staring at the bodies. "I can give them any powers, Mark, *any* powers." "And?" Mark asks, still staring at the fallen Jax, a veritable God. He had lasers, he had fire, had the air itself. "Including the power to pass out whenever they act on harming me," I say, and step over the bodies. Mark gapes at me. "And this..." I smile. "Is a clause everyone I've given powers to has, yes," I say and understanding flares in Mark's eyes. "And since the league has 99 percent of people with powers..." "Most of the people with powers are those you gave to," Mark finishes. I begin to walk away from the building. It's over. I'm safe. "Liz," Mark calls, there is a question on his lips. Maybe two. I stop. I do not turn around. "No," I say, answering his questions. "Not you." *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed check out

Admiral Forneal was the lead

Growing potted plants on a spaceship was a difficult endeavor. But just because something was difficult didn't mean it couldn't be done. That didn't mean it *wouldn't* be done--not by any means. For on the first maiden voyage of the so-proclaimed voidship *Courage*, the lead commander of the craft did exactly that. Admiral Forneal was *not* to be denied his passion for botany. The inclusion of dozens of different plant species, ranging from exotic flowers to thorn-coiled vines, did, in fact, mark many firsts for space-travel. Though, none of the history books mention this journey for the fact that it contained the first living alyssum flower ever brought into space. No. There were more important matters going on in that dreadnaught of a ship as it speared its way out of the sun's gravitational pull. It had only been a few short years by then since the discovery of travel faster than light. As history books will note in little parenthetical citations, this travel was not *actually* faster than light--but it allowed a voidship to visit many distant stars by bending and connecting sections of spacetime together. Admiral Forneal never understood the mathematics behind such a transfer. But he didn't really need to; he knew enough to direct operations on the ship with the kind of industrial efficiency that left him with plenty of time to tend to his cosmic-borne garden. The purpose of their mission, after all, was to inspect and scan over all local star systems in search of extraterrestrial life. At the beginning, space-travel had been motivated by the simple wonder of *we can*. It had spun into a trillion-dollar industry that spanned almost a dozen celestial bodies simply because of curiosity. Simply to fulfill those burning questions that sat--and still sit to this day--in the hearts and minds of humans all across the galaxy. But returning to the time at hand: this mission was different. After plundering the asteroids, capturing the energy of the sun, and venturing out as far the moons of Neptune, another question was rising in the public eye. It wasn't a new question by any means--but the complete lack of discovery of life anywhere else in the solar system gave it a slightly frightful twinge. Long had humans wondered if they were alone in the cosmos. Long had they crafted theoretical and statistical models that kept hope alive, whispering to them: *they must be out there.* *Somewhere.* And since that somewhere turned out not to be in the detectable solar system, they would have to venture out. They would have to be courageous enough, as their ancestors had been, to scour the stars with no guarantee they would ever return. This, of course, was on the minds of all the voidnaughts aboard *Courage* as it started its warp drive. All, with the exception of Admiral Forneal. See, as the fusion reactors were spinning into production and the hypergeometric path was being plotted through holes in spacetime itself, the Admiral was tending to his garden. Still wearing his well-honored suit of shine and spangle, he was lifting the little water can to each of the pots, each of the vessels that carried oxygen-producing cells he'd fought hard to keep on this ship. They didn't need him at the helm for transit, and so he stayed in his room. Watching and tending and grinning to himself. A simple kind of peace like when a butterfly can stop to rest on a leaf. Soon enough, and without his knowledge, the voidship *Courage* was slicing through reality itself. In an instant that had the double-flavor of eternity, Admiral Forneal watched the ship shift around him. Matter compressed and stretched at the same time. His senses heightened and softened, smearing into a sharp blur. His thoughts frazzled, knocking into each other and then reforming as though only toys being played with by the whimsical hand of God. Then it stopped. Everything reverted to normal, the Admiral was able to take in a breath, and he left his room to check the status of the rest of the ship. With the exception of a few navigational devices that had to be recalibrated, everything was fine. A smile sprung up and blossomed on his lips as he fetched the strategists and scientists still working at the helm. "Are we here?" he asked. A mass of conflicting voices responded to that, but he got the idea. And the view outside the ship's front window didn't leave much to the imagination. Two binary stars, whirling around in a flurry of incandescent colors. Alpha Centauri was here--no longer a distant dream. It was *here*. The Admiral felt a swelling of pride and then took to his position, throwing out orders. Ranks of explorers were formed. Scouting ships were deployed. Every part of the system's planet was prodded by the probes. For as much as the Admiral wished for the thrill of discovery, he stayed behind on the ship. And waited. After some time, he went to tend to his garden. And waited some more. By the time he had come back a third time, there were multiple individual video feeds flickering on holograms against the front window of the ship. Shaky and obviously coming from anxious soldiers in bulky protective suits, they depicted different sections of the rocky surface of Proxima Centauri B. In some places it was just rock, cold and desolate. In other places there were piles of organic matter, perhaps the remnants of vegetation. But one group--and the Admiral audibly gasped when he saw this--observed something far more magnificent. Structures. Not natural ones, certainly recognizable by their sweeping, geometric designs and use of refined materials. They were artificial--made by some form or force or faction. That single group sent their relative coordinates to all the others. The video feeds eventually converged. "Investigate it," Admiral Forneal said, teetering on the edge of his seat. They all did exactly that, fanning out and dispatching probes hither and thither about the ruins. Yet as time marched on, it became obvious that this was all that they were: ruins. No signs of activity were detected, no signs of living organic matter. It seemed, by the dust and desolation, that it had been a city--a community--of which had been gone for many millennia. Probably even longer. Gritting his teeth in anger, the Admiral recalled all of the explorers and went back to his garden. There he would find life, at least. There he could cultivate it, watch it grow, fulfill the little goals he set for himself. After the first discovery of lifeless ruins came many more. Each new star-system they warped to was no different from the first. They all had planets--habitable ones, too. But they were also all barren, lost of hope. Still the Admiral forced his hopes onward, hoping with every fiber in his heart that he would find the good answer to that question he'd had since a boy. Soon he went to carrying one of his flowers in the pocket of his suit, too. As a way to stay close to the truth that he knew--that life was stronger than this, that it could brave the void and survive, that his plants were proof of that. None of that changed the universe's indifference, though, and with each new system, each new planet, the message became clearer and clearer. *All gone,* the stars seemed to whisper. At first, the Admiral was adamant not to hear it. Then he had no choice. By the time they reached their final system, another dual-star one like Alpha Centauri that also had only one possible planet where life could've been, the Admiral was among the ranks of his men. His explorers and soldiers had his guidance right there out in the field. Or, well, out there in the organic wastes. For as the probes reported to them ceaselessly, the surface of the planet did contain wondrous chemistry. It did contain the oxygen and nitrogen and carbon and light, those life-giving elements that can breathe a soul into existence. Yet what it appeared these humans were seeing was not an exhale--not even an inhale, either. The breath was there, but it had stopped moving. The lungs of complexity had given out at some point, on all of these worlds. Either time or disaster or misfortune had felled them where they stood. Entropy had won out, as it always does and always will. "What now, Admiral?" came the voice of one of Forneal's most trusted men. The Admiral looked up without much of an answer, stepped forward and knelt to inspect the dirt. Not even a microbe lived in that, he knew. How could such a thing be possible? It was then that he was reminded of the flower in his pocket. Thumbing over it, he felt only slightly better for its existence. They'd ventured out to find brethren for these flowers, brethren for all life. And yet all they found was death. Unconsciously, Admiral Forneal produced the flower, its roots dangling down as though itching for fresh ground. Staring at it, he flicked his eyes between it and that organic dirt which had gone cursed for far too long. On a whim, he knelt down and planted the thing, enriched it with soil. He smiled. They had not found life anywhere, though they had searched and searched and searched. But that was okay. These planets didn't need to thrive, to be veritable gardens of eden when the humans arrived. For they had brought life with them along the way. --- /r/Palmerranian

Fermi's paradox was theor

Fermi's paradox was theorized to be answerable by a theory called, "The Great Filter". Boiled down this theory states that intelligent life will eventually wipe itself out, and accidental or purposeful self destruction is the reason for the silence among the stars. When humanity discovered FTL travel, it was through a process called, "cascade quantum entanglement". This process involved several complex steps, but those can be reduced to essential information. By creating two identical virtual particles at distant points in space, and then forcing them to match frequency, the universe could be tricked into "believing" that the spacecraft or object was at point B instead of point A. This required a kind of "gateway" which was really an absurdly large vacuum chamber that used vast amounts of power to create a near perfect vacuum, and then subjected that vacuum to intense and very specific patterns of magnetic fields. The goal was to create two identical areas of space right down to the fabric of reality itself, and then shove things through. The interactions on one side of the "gate" would create identical reactions on the other side, and it turns out that reality so loves equal and opposite reactions that it would pull or push the object through to the other gate in order to equal out the "spooky action at a distance". The fabric of space time suffered these hamfisted parlor tricks quietly and with seemingly no ill effect. Humanity tested the first gate in 2350, one hundred years after launching the first set of gates out beyond the Kepler belt, a distance that was deemed safe enough to prevent mass extinction should they accidentally create a black hole, and close enough for convenience since if they ripped apart space itself it wouldn't matter anyhow. The gates worked fine, and humanity heaved a sigh of relief that they would not be dependent on the slower than light generation ships which had been launched towards alpha Centauri in 2300. The gates meant that not only was FTL possible, with the restriction of gateways being in place, but humanity could easily leapfrog over the slower generation ships by sending out automated Von Neumann probes at 99% the speed of light, which would then decelerate at speeds which would kill living organisms, set up the gates, and then continue on. The probes would build a highway through the unforgiving darkness, and humanity would follow. When humanity arrived at Alpha Centauri, the FTL humans not the slower generation ship ones, they found a strikingly similar gate in ideal orbit around the star. The gate was dead, and apparently so was the entire solar system. Entire planets had been cracked in half and the star was bizarrely ovoid as though it had been stretched out. An accretion disk was slowly forming from the remains of a solar system that seemed to have been hammered by the fist of a god, except for the gate. The humans scratched their collective head about this, and then began investigating. By studying the gate they were able to uncover scientific logs from the builders, and discovered that the beings had built some kind of bomb and Alpha Centauri had been the testing grounds. The device was expected to end some long lasting war between the species that built it and their enemies, which by all accounts seemed to be the same species despite incredibly vitriolic and hate filled writings claiming a difference between the two groups. According to the logs the species, who named themselves the, "Sunanka", built what something called a "void bomb". This device reportedly could eradicate a solar system in mere seconds. The process for creating the device was encrypted, but the Sunanka had been kind enough to leave behind the keys in the puddles of their dead. The process began by creating a near perfect vacuum, and then the non-void of space would produce two oppositely charged virtual particles which would then near instantaneously eradicate each other. By inducing an extremely strong magnetic field which overlapped the area of vacuum the virtual particles could be separated. This was similar to but not the same as the method for creating the gateways. The gates forced space to assume a specific shape. This void bomb process forced space not to be. The thing about space is it isn't even truly a vacuum. Virtual particles are constantly popping into and out of existence, dancing across the fabric of space-time, and erasing themselves. The void bomb device created a true empty point, and apparently this hole in reality could be maintained for picoseconds. The records showed that depending on the size of the hole created space would expand and contract, but the reaction grew on an exponential scale. A hole the size of a virtual particle would cause a ripple, as space moved an infinitesimally small distance and then moved back. A hole the size of a hydrogen atom would result in a ripple that could be felt by the senses, as space within several light years was violently shifted and then slammed back into place. This could cause earthquakes but would not rip apart organic matter. A hole the size of a grain of sand, which would be visible in theory if it was sustained long enough, would rip apart a solar system and sunder every complex molecule within tens of light years. The scientists who discovered this information were, unfortunately, members of a political group that was also involved in a war with their own kind. The bomb was constructed as per the instructions left behind by the Sunanka, and sent through the gateway back towards earth. A backup bomb was also built, and luckily or unluckily for mankind a saboteur was hiding in the midst of the enemy. In a vengeful last act, the detonation sequence for both void bombs were linked, and the act of detonating the bomb delivered to earth also tore apart Alpha Centauri for the second time. The only humans that survived were those traveling in the slow generation ships, unaware of the death of their home, the destruction of their destination, and the dangers lurking in the dark void.

Light stabbed at her eyes as if

That first jolt back to life was hell. The first inhale made her lungs contract like paper bags. Light stabbed at her eyes as if she had never seen it at all. But she was alive. And she hadn't expected that to ever happen again. Then again, she hadn't had time to expect much at all when she died. She had died, hadn't she? The details of it all slipped her. She couldn't quite find her own name in the fugue of her mind. The world pieced itself together in pained details: a harsh overhead LED, a white room, a bed, leather straps binding her at the wrists and ankles. She wore a hospital gown up to her neck, long sleeves down her arms. Silver gloves over her hands. A pair of spiders clustered close to the overhead light. One seemed to nudge the other forward. That was her sister. Always coaxing her along. The woman pushed herself up on her elbows. This could be any room in any American hospital. The sink was so ordered and unassuming. Her pulse thudded against her skull. She tried to marshal what information she could from her scattered brain. She remembered picking through an abandoned old facility with her sister. It was supposed to be a few hours collecting footage for some YouTube videos. Their worst fear had been running into a moody junkie. That memory dug the deepest, a glass shard underfoot: her sister turning her head back in a room full of old paper, and laughing, the noise bouncing off the walls of the room. Now it came back to the woman, vividly. Her sister's name was Claire. She knew that much. The door of the exam room opened. A man stood there with a quaint smile and a clipboard. "Oh, Hannah," he said, lightly, "you're awake." That was her name. Hannah. Hannah and Claire. Why had her thoughts gone so soupy and strange? He approached with his hands in the pockets of his coat and smiled at her in pity. "You must not remember what happened. I'm your doctor today. Are you in any pain?" The doctor's face was plasticine, impossibly smooth. It barely creased when he smiled. Hannah tried to slur something out, but no words came. The doctor kept that thin uncanny smile. "Oh, you'll find that's perfectly normal in the loaner bodies." Hannah's eyebrows arched upward in question. "Ah. I can see you're coming out of the fog. Amnesia is a common side effect when we bring you back from the other side." The doctor settled himself in the rolling stool beside her bed and gave her a pitying smile. "Do you remember anything?" Her voice came out in a dry croak. "Where's my sister?" "We won't worry about her right now. We're worrying about you." He leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Do you remember being somewhere you shouldn't have been? Seen something you shouldn't have seen?" This time, Hannah didn't even try to speak. She stared past the doctor's head, at the light. Now one spider was eating the other, devouring it limb by limb. "There are secrets in the dark corners of your world. Some old, some as new as ours. And I'm afraid you found the wrong one." The doctor's face darkened like a summer storm before the eerie smile returned. "But luckily for you, there are treaties in place for when this sort of thing happens." "Thing?" she repeated. She had to trudge through the swamp of her mind to find words. "Yes. When we encounter a less... sentient species. There are rules in place to protect inferior beings like yourself." He tapped the glove that Hannah realized, dizzingly, wasn't a glove at all, but the metal hand of her body. A *loaner* body. Hannah wrestled against her bindings. The doctor shushed her gently. "Now, now. Your replacement body is being spun up as we speak. You won't remember me, or any of this." He gestured around the room. "But I am obligated to let you know you have the right to seek legal counsel for this, given they have the appropriate intergalactic licenses in place." She couldn't think of anything to say. She just stared, open-mouthed. Finally she managed, "Intergalactic?" That jarred a memory. That room full of papers had a safe in the wall. She remembered her sister rigging it open. Her sister, bathed in sharp blue light. She remembered symbols scrawled in pale blue fire. Then the door, banging open. All those metal figures, standing in the doorway. The roaring. The burning pain, spreading through her chest. Then darkness. The bleak certainty of death. The doctor carried on, "Or you can make this easier for all of us let us reset it as if it never started at all. And we can give you certain... perks for your cooperation. Rest assured we have few of your petty technological limitations." Hannah snapped her head toward him. She wondered what he really looked like, under that impossible human skin. "Where," she repeated, "is my sister?" The doctor sighed. "She is not privy to the same protections as you are." "Why the hell not?" she growled out. "When our information control enforcement deployed to your room, she attacked one of our agents, prompting him to dutifully kill you both." He shrugged, as if it couldn't be helped. "But luckily for you, you were nonviolent." "Bring her back." The doctor paused, brows arched on his wrinkleless forehead. "Excuse me?" "My sister. Bring her back." 'I've nowhere to *put* her, dear." Hannah's mind spun to find the words. "Put her in my body," she sputtered. She imagined her own body being remade in some hospital room somewhere. Her torso spinning up like spiderweb. "I don't think you know what you're asking for, sweet little human." She scoffed. He had no idea what he was taking. "I can give you anything you desire. Anything your tiny third dimensional mind can think of. Ask it, and it's yours." Hannah's glare burned into him. "I just told you what I want." He looked her over, uncertain. "It will be awfully crowded in there." "Oh, don't worry. I'm used to sharing." The doctor nodded. "Very well. If that is your wish." Hannah could see herself and her sister, their souls fluttering, a pair of candles in the dark. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the light to come. *** /r/shoringupfragments

This is my first submission, so

This is my first submission, so I'd really appreciate any growth / improvement feedback please. "Wait. This can't be right. I look around to see if I've missed something. I've been walking in a bit of a stupour, still sweating out last night's binge drinking pounding music mental fucking getting right out of hand party. People always think of Tuscany as a little piece of boredom wrapped in rolling green hills, blue skies, and stone buildings, and for the most part they're right. But there is also a vibe here, a night vibe like no other, if you know where to look. Last night started at NoF, wandered around a bit, and finally ended with my waking up this morning on some tourist's couch, tasting far too much of the inside of my mouth. Maybe I'm just too hungover, maybe my clairaudience is all out of whack. I haven't really been practising or focussing on it since my handlers let me go. I'm not supposed to talk about what I used to do, but basically I had two handlers, I worked for an organisation with three letters, and my job was to use my seemingly unique clairaudience to help uncover secret operations in foreign countries. Foreign to my own, three letter, country, that is. You know, not "us". One of my key abilities is that along with discerning information about a place, psychically, I could also get a sense of rank and power of that place. See, places where more power exists, where bigger choices are made, where decisions about the future of the world happen, they get a kind of energy signature to them. And I can pick this up. I started off working in a consulting firm, where my ability to determine who to speak to to get the deal made my a wild success. Back then I never revealed my ability, of course, just said I was a good student of human nature. But eventually my handlers found me, pulled me in, trained me, made me me... You've all seen this movie before, you know how the story goes. And for years I was their lead, their champion, their little fucking goldmine of information. Traveling the world, finding the real seats of power. The seats behind the seats, as it were. The Kremlin? Incredible, awe inspiring, completely a red herring. The real magic happens four blocks away in a little townhouse. Sixth most powerful place in the world. 10 Downing Street? Pretty, very British, totally worth ignoring. Doesn't even crack the top thousand. But a secret bunker in Chelsea, that I detected one day by accident while walking through a park built over it? Third most powerful. Turns out there's tunnels from there to houses owned by all the big banking families - The Rothschilds, the Weishaupts, the lot. The choices that have been made in there, you wouldn't believe. I genuinely can't talk about the others - My little three letter organisation does more than just make you sign an NDA when you leave. And I had to leave, eventually, because they figured (and I figured) I was broken. I could never, no matter where I went or what I did, find number one. The big kahuna. The most powerful place in the world. Until now. Except that this can't be right. I'm standing on a tiny street in the Onda area of Siena, Tuscany. The streets are these grey slabs they use here, the buildings all small brick, and Siena's nowhere. No. Where. That's why I came here, to clear my head, to not have to worry about whether my watchers (once your handlers let you go, watchers watch. Forever, I think. They don't want to kill me in case I might be useful one day, they don't have any real use for me right now, but they also don't want to just let me go ramble around doing whatever I want) will be wandering what I'm up to. Nothing is the answer, hence Siena. Doing nothing in nowhere. So why is my clairaudience going so fucking mad? It is telling me, with a strength I've never experienced before, that I am right next to the most powerful place in the world. Across the road is a small used book store, and with all my heart I want that to be it, but I know without doubt that it's not. It's the flower shop to my right. Fresh St Joseph's lilies are in buckets on the steps, roses in the windows. Sprays of purple and white and green plants I don't know are all over. I walk in, starting to sweat a little bit. Behind the counter, the Italian mama - short, apron, greying slightly - looks up at me and grins "Bella! We thought you'd never make it!" ​ ​ \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ Edit EDIT: Thank you for the silver! EDIT: Thank you all for all of the comments and helpful guides. I will try to write some more once I can figure out a story arc that makes sense to me. Really appreciate all of the positive feedback as well. Just to answer/comment on a couple of consistent comments: 1. The line about the party has gotten lots of feedback. I was trying to express that way that sometimes, after a huge night, you can't really piece it all together - It's just a blur of memory sensations. Obviously I didn't bring that across - I will try tighten it up in a future edit. 2. The uber-long parenthesis irritated me too. I'm a little surprised only /u/demios279 called me on it. I'll have to figure out how to bring that info in somewhere else though. 3. I really tried to write this gender neutral, so it's interesting how many people have picked a gender for the protagonist. Bella may have led to the female choice, but it was meant as "Beautiful" rather than the feminine. Again, thank you all so much for the comments. I don't write often, and I've never posted here before, but the feedback has been so constructive I'm going to commit to trying to write a second part. Much love.

The next step in our understanding of

I stared at the hooded skull, tiny glowing blue embers boring back into me. "...I guess I didn't ground the wires properly, did I?" NO. Out of habit, I ran my hand through my hair. For a moment it stood rigid, the shock of fifty-thousand volts still exciting it, and then it fell back to my scalp. "It was going to be perfect. The next step in our understanding of quantum..." My face fell. "And I failed, didn't it?" I sighed. "It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" NOT EXACTLY. "What do you mean?" HAVE YOU CONSIDERED WHAT HAPPENS AFTER YOU ARRIVE HERE, NATHAN MARKS? I frowned. "What, after I... went?" Shaking my head, I chuckled. "Can't say I have. Always had something a bit more immediate to worry about." I looked down at my translucent, fading hands. "But I guess there's no time like the present." IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. "...Go on." YOU MAY CHOOSE AN ELEMENT OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE TO CONTINUE ON. A MEMORY, OR A SKILL, THAT YOUR NEW SOUL RETAINS. CONSIDER IT A HEAD START OF YOUR CHOOSING. I took my chin in my hand, rubbing my fingers through the stubble I never managed to properly trim. "And it can be anything? Any memory I think will help me?" AS LONG AS IT CAN BE CONSIDERED DISTINCT, YES. A thought chased through the back of my mind, and I nodded. "Alright. My notes. I want to remember the contents of my notebook, my life's work. All three hundred pages. Is that alright?" AS YOU WISH. GOOD LUCK IN YOUR NEXT LIFE, NATHAN MARKS. \--- YOU MAY OPEN YOUR EYES, NEIL MAYES. My eyelids creaked slowly, as they had for the past forty years. Gritting my teeth, I hefted my thin, decrepit chest until I sat up. "I-" THERE IS NO NEED FOR THAT, NEIL. I blinked. My chest wasn't sunken, my arms were full and strong, and the full head of hair that age and chemotherapy had stolen once again rippled down my neck. "This... I feel like I'm twenty-four again!" HERE, YOU WILL ALWAYS BE THE AGE WHICH YOUR SOUL BELIEVES ITSELF TO BE. YOU HAVE ALWAYS BEEN TWENTY-FOUR. I chuckled. "...My mother told me I was a mature kid, and my brother told me I was an immature adult. Sounds like they were right." DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS NOW? A twinge in the back of my mind made me furrow my brow. "...I'm going back, aren't I? Back to life?" IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. "Like, something I get to keep? Something I remember?" IT CAN BE A MEMORY, YES, OR A SKILL. AS LONG AS IT CAN BE CONSIDERED DISTINCT, IT CAN BE ANYTHING YOU BELIEVE WILL HELP YOU IN YOUR NEXT LIFE. I felt the answer before I said it. "My research notes. My studies into quantum mechanics and the nature of the universe, all six hundred pages. They're the most important thing." AS YOU WISH. GOOD LUCK IN YOUR NEXT LIFE, NEIL MAYES. \--- Even as I opened my eyes, I could feel the retching continue. Waves of nausea racked my body, and I clutched my stomach tightly. "That... was... unpleasant..." I MUST ADMIT, THERE ARE FAR LESS PAINFUL DEATHS, EVEN AMONG THE SELF-INFLICTED. "I had to make-" I paused to retch again. "Had to make sure it took." ORDINARILY I DO NOT ASK, BUT SOMETHING IN THIS INSTANCE COMPELS ME. WHY? Taking deep breaths, I wiped at my translucent mouth. "Why what?" YOU HAD A REMARKABLE LIFE, NICHOLAS MOONEY. FEW CHILDREN ARE PRODIGIES. FEWER STILL EARN NATIONAL ACCLAIM AND ACCEPTANCE INTO COLLEGE TWO-THIRDS OF A DECADE EARLY. THE NUMBER OF PUBESCENT PHYSICS GRADUATES IS NEARLY NON-EXISTENT. EARNING A DOCTORATE BEFORE A DRIVER'S LICENSE PLACES YOU IN A CLASS OF ONE. "And?" WHY WOULD YOU DISCARD THAT TO DRINK A JUG OF BLEACH? My discomfort faded enough for me to grin. "Because I made a promise. Isn't there something you're supposed to offer me now?" IN MOMENTS, YOU WILL BE REBORN. ANOTHER SOUL, CRAFTED FROM THE REMNANTS OF YOUR PREVIOUS LIFE. THE PROCESS IS COMPLEX. BUT I CAN OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO MAKE A MARK ON IT. "My research notes into space-time and human consciousness. The entire binder. Every word on every page." AS YOU WISH. I started to feel my whole body dissipate. THIS IS UNUSUAL, NICHOLAS MOONEY. I CAN RECOGNIZE THAT. "It won't matter for long." \--- "Hello, old friend." Already the pain from the electric shock had subsided. I couldn't even feel the screws digging through my skull. The hairs on my arms had drooped. WHAT MAKES YOU CALL ME FRIEND, NOAH MORGAN? I straightened the collar on my translucent shirt. "We've done this often enough, haven't we?" THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. "Of course it is. I wrote the book on it, after all." I reached out, and the back of a chair was in my hand. With a quick turn and pull, I dropped myself into the seat. "Let me start by asking - was the carryover your idea, or someone else's, or is it just a quirk of how this process works?" I CANNOT SAY. Narrowing my eyes, I smiled. "You don't know. That crosses one option off the list." I leaned back. "It hardly matters. Whatever the case, there's a large loophole in it. I saw it, and I knew what I had to do." WHAT LOOPHOLE? "Memories are one of the strongest triggers of emotion. And, by extension, emotion can trigger memory - even memory not directly experienced. A patient who has undergone trauma can have memories of the events changed simply by changing their mood." I rested my chin on my palm, leaning my elbow into my lap. "So, letting me keep a memory means letting me keep the emotions related to that memory. And those emotions drag along hints of memories of their own." I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. "What is a person but their memories and emotions? If I forget my accomplishments and my failures, am I still me? If I lose my passion for improvement or my determination to accomplish my goals, can I still say I am myself? You claimed that I could carry a piece of myself from one life to the next. And so, I made that one piece the essential part of me - my memory, and by extension my emotions attached to it." I smiled. "You let me become immortal." THIS CANNOT BE. My smiled widened as my hands and feet began to flicker and vanish. "And yet it is." THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG. WHAT IS HAPPENING? "You never questioned what was in my notes. Did it even occur to you that it mattered?" YOU NO LONGER EXIST. I nodded, looking down at a robe starting to splinter and fade. "It was my research into quantum physics, yes, and theories into how to manipulate space-time." I AM CEASING TO EXIST AS WELL. "And it was my research into the structure of the human brain, and human consciousness, and the philosophy of sentience." ALL OF THIS IS ENDING. "And, at the heart of it, was a promise I made." \--- I pulled my safety goggles down over my eyes and gave Rory a thumbs-up. "All systems go." "You sure we're secure, Nate? If we don't have solid grounding, you're looking at taking a good forty-thousand volts." Her luxurious amber locks, tied back into a low ponytail, bounced as she mimed me being electrocuted. I rolled my eyes. "Fifty-thousand, actually, and it's fine. What kind of wimp can't take a lightly fatal zap in the name of science?" Rory shot me a "sleeping on the couch" look. "Okay, for starters, I am not cleaning your greasy ashes off the floor. And if you die before the wedding, my mom is going to make me stand at the altar with your greasy ashes which I will not have cleaned into a dustpan. And also, you promised that you'd make lasagna this weekend." "Honey, it's fine. This is going to work, and I'm going to go down in history as the man who invented the time machine, and I'm going to use my time machine to make you lasagna with brontosaurus meat." I smiled one of my dopiest grins. A sudden burst of light shut out all of my senses. I floated in a void. "This isn't right." The voice was mine, and yet, it wasn't. There was something wrong to it. "Check the wires again. You made a promise." "-ving a stroke, are you, Nate?" Her voice brought me back to reality. I waved as I shook my head. "J-Just a second, hon." I stepped behind the generator. The grounding wires were loose, needing just a few palm whacks to get them back in place. "Hey, Rory?" A strange energy raced through my veins, my pores, my synapses as I walked back to the center of the lab. "This experiment... It's going to be fine. It can wait." She gaped for a moment, then stormed through the door onto the floor. "You can't be serious. You're the one who cancelled our date and bribed the security guard to let us do this without supervision." She grabbed my collar and shook me. "I shaved my legs for you to tell me to wear safety gear!" "I-" I stared into her eyes. They were the perfect blue, reflecting the light to shine in ways I thought impossible. "I made a mistake." My hands slipped around her waist and pulled her close. "Let me take you back home and make a lasagna to die for." She pouted for a moment before her lips found mine. "I'm holding you to that."

In all honesty, it sickened

I paused for a moment, my eyes staring at a name I didn't know, one that was bolded and underlined. Something I hadn't seen before while flicking through the pages of my life. Curiosity it the better of me and I wrote the reference of their own book on a yellow post it note and began exploring the numerous archived works in the basement of the human preservation museum. Row LA 30... Row LA31...Row LA32... Found it. I began checking the numbering a on each tin that contained the preserved contents of the individuals book of life, their most treasured item in their lifetime and a small photo album of their photo of every year they were alive. In all honesty, it sickened and creeped me out when I first found it. But now I'm addicted and come in every time after work to read forgotten memories of life. "There you are," I say as I bent down and pulled the metal box from the shelf. I picked it up, which seemed to be fair heavier than mine, and began trekking back to my desk. No one is ever in this place, so I feel oddly comforted that I won't get caught delving into some strangers life. The tin lid popped open and I pulled out the photo album and began flicking through, but that was a waste of time as I still didn't recognise the guy. Then I reached in a pulled a wooden box out and pushed the lid open. I stared at the contents. And stared. And stared before I slowly put it down as my mind began to awaken and push the fog away. That's my locket. My hands touches the same, identical locket that sat around my neck. It was my grandmother's and 21st birthday present... Why was this person's most treasured item in the life my own? I turned back to the tin and pulled their book out, it wasn't like the others either, this one was red where mine and my friends were blue. I opened the front page up and began looking through the contents - Chapter 21 "Miss Mia Jones". A whole chapter? I've never seen that before. Turning the pages I began to read through this person's thoughts that was written in almost eligible writing, apparently I had served them at Subway when I was still in school... When I was 17. I'm 27 now. It began to get harder and harder to read as I realised that never once had I seen or talked to them, but they've witnessed and participated in my life without me knowing. My graduation. My first job. My first car. My first boyfriend. My first cat. Moving out on my own. My first break up - They even orchestrated what I thought was a free hot chocolate for me while I was in the midst of having a post break up mope session. I skipped the rest until I came to today's date. ...They've seen everything. They've been in my house while I wasn't there. They set up cameras. They set up microphones. My cat even apparently loves him - That little traitorous bastard... My leg began to bounce as I took in today entry. 'Today was the day. Today, I will show her myself. I will show her everything I've done for her. I will show her how much I will love her. She will be home soon. And I will show her how it feels to be finally loved. I'm waiting, I'm waiting, in your bathroom... I'll be here ready for you.' Nauseated I looked away from the book and tried to think of a excuse - One that explains that all of this is some sick joke. This can't be real. I-I would have seen something. I would have noticed. I can't be that oblivious to someone following me for the past ten years. I glanced back at the box that held my locket and shakily picked it up. This can't be mine. This has to be a fake. I turned the locket, noticing that it had the same dent I gave it when I dropped it on holiday. I opened it then, only to find inside of my gold locket was dried blood and pieces or decayed substances all lumped and squished together. I gagged before I turned and vomited into the small trash can beside me. What the hell. What the actual fuck. Oh my god what the hell - That's - Gross? Feral! Disgusting! What the hell is that thing?! I continued to shake as I held the trash can in front of my face. Then I heard it. It sounded like a pen scratching scratching paper and I slowly straightened my back and looked over at the book. Words were appearing like magic. And I had to force my eyes to focus and absorb the words. 'Shes home early? That's odd, usually she goes to the library until seven. No, no... Thats not her... Who is that? Danny? Danny, Mia's tutor?' "Oh my god, Danny, Danny get out of there!" I cried out. 'He has flowers. And a bag. He's pulling candles out of the bag. What... No. No. No. No. No. NO. NO. NO. NO!' My hands grabbed my mobile and I called Danny as the words became erratic, covering the entire pages as I began flipping through them to keep up with his train of thought. "Hello?" "Danny! Get the fuck out of my apartment, someone's broken in and is in the closet!" "What- How did you know I was in your apartment?" 'This is my chance. He's distracted, I will end him. Then she's mine.' "Danny listen to me! Get out now! Danny please!" 'Almost there-' "Danny!" I screamed as I heard a Yelp of shock come from the phone. Then the sound of scuffling filled the phone call as I hear shouts. The pages began filling with information of the fight, Leon Andrews tried to shove the knife into Danny's chest, only for Danny to head but his face. "Danny! Danny fight!" 'The knife plunged into Daniel Harrows' chest, knickin his artery.' "Danny!" I screamed. I picked my phone up and hung up before dialling 000. "Danny please-" 'Daniel soon stopped struggling and Leon slowly sat up while staring down at Daniel. Smugly Leon began moving Daniel to the bathroom to hide him for when Mia comes home...' "Miss, I can't understand you-" "My boyfriend was attacked by a intruder while I was on the phone with him. The address is 13F Heather Circuit. Please hurry, he's been stabbed!" I picked up my bag and began running out of the library as I tried to explain to the dispatcher what was happening. I had hoped it wasn't too late. I should have known. I should have stopped him. How can I have not known? This is all my fault... Daniel's book ceased at 6.07 PM 31/10/2019. Mia's book continued writing. As did Leon's. Mia never returned to the hidden archives, but a new comer did arrive shortly after Mia's departure, only to find a blank desk, an empty trash can and a inviting light on the only desk within the facilities with their own reference number written on a fresh new post it note. Authors Note: I really tried to write inbetween work, sorry!

"It was never supposed to be

"It was never supposed to be like this." His words cut into the night, shattering the silence that had forced its way between us. I leveled my gaze with him across the yard, the lights of our small home illuminating his silhouette. Shadows crawled across our back garden, the dead and dying plants hidden in their depths. The air was still, and the wind was crisp against my bare arms. I could barely make his features out in the darkness; just some movement at his jaw as he spoke again. "I never meant to--" "You never meant to what, Dad?" I snapped, my hands curled into fists. "Never meant to become one of the most powerful people in the world? Or never meant for me to find out that you hate me?" His figure stilled, and I took a step forward. "I was there. I heard the agreements. Our house is small, Dad, it's not like I wouldn't have heard. You had to have known." "I didn't know. I thought you were asleep--" "If you knew me *at all* you would remember I can't sleep, Dad. If you ever even cared about me--and it's clear now you didn't--" I flinched at my voice cracking. I wanted to sound strong. As strong as I was now, with what my father's hatred for me had granted. But I couldn't. All the power in the world couldn't make me strong enough for this conversation. "--you didn't *love* me, Dad! You've never loved me!" "That's not true!" He stepped forward; I stepped back. "It is true, Dad, it is--you don't have to lie anymore." Flames tingled at my knuckles, and sparks showered from my hands like hot tears. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be *born."* "I know, believe me, I know--" I forced a laugh; it boomed with a crack across the yard, echoing into the empty sky above us like thunder. I watched my dad flinch; saw a glimmer of light shine protectively over him, as if anticipating my attack. Maybe I wanted to hurt him. The way he hurt me. The idea caused a surge of heat to crawl down my back, and blades of fire erupted from my curled fists like daggers. This power was still new to me, and I had no idea how much I could do. But with every physical sensation, with every response my body supplied to me, I felt a little more in control. A little more like myself. "I never wanted this," he said, taking another step towards me. I held my ground. "I'm not going to fight you. You're my child." "That's never been reason enough before," I bit back. "Me being your child has never been enough for you to care to get up in the morning. To make me breakfast. Make sure I get to school. To buy me clothes, or feed me. No--I had to raise *myself.* So why stop now? Why *not* fight the...the..." A sob betrayed my true feelings. "'The person you hate most in the world'?" We were both still, staring at each other through the darkness. The lights dancing at my hands were just enough to illuminate the shine of his eyes; the eyes we shared. He was my only family. My only family betrayed me. An anguished cry slipped through my lips and the heat rolled over me again, a wave of flame burning through me and charring the ground at my feet. With this small burst, I saw his features more clearly; his set jaw, his crinkled forehead, his unkempt hair. He looked exhausted. Like he had finally, truly given up. But that would imply he had actually been *trying* at all these last few years. Suddenly, it was as though a giant fist closed around me; the flames snuffed out as I was forced to release my control on them. His hand was out, feet from me, yet somehow seizing me with great strength. A pressure squeezed my body; I felt the tightness across my torso, and chest--in my lungs. "Dad--!" The word came out strangled. "Stop--!" "You killed her," he said simply, and with my fire gone, he was back to being a black shadow. "You killed my wife." I let out a cry as he squeezed harder. My shoulder turned in hard; I could swear I heard a rib crack. I was breathing in rasps now. *You killed her,* he said again, although this time his voice, his face, filled my head. A sharp pain rocketed across the back of my skull. My eyes rolled back in pain, a wheeze leaving my lips. *If you had never been born, she would still be alive.* Memories of the woman I had never known flashed across my vision; long blonde hair, bright green eyes. A bright silhouette against fluttering white curtains; a glimpse of a smile on strawberry lips; the sound of a tinkling laugh. It was the most I had ever seen of her. Even as my father crushed me with his powers, my brain soaked up the memories with hungry fervor. He never showed me pictures, never once spoke her name. I heard it now: *Diane.* It took all of my focus to send my internal voice back to him. *Diane wouldn't want to see her husband kill the child she died for. She died for me, Dad. She died so that I could live.* More flashes of my dad's memories as the night seemed to blacken further: Him by her side as she gave one last push; my shrill, infant cry; the monitors going haywire; the frantic beeping followed by one long, grave tone. Something broke; air rushed into my lungs and I collapsed to my knees, heaving. I still felt his presence so nearby; nearly close enough to touch physically. I risked a glance up, saw his head bent forward, his shoulders heaving. Without a moment's hesitation, I spread a hand before me and slammed it to the earth. As though a puppet on strings, my father fell to my will, sprawling to the ground without grace or dignity. I forced myself to my feet, the tendons in my hand trembling as I kept my grip on him, the weeping man at my feet. "In all my life, you never once told me you loved me," I whispered, knowing my voice would reach him. "You treated me like I was *nothing.* Worse than nothing. You treated me like I was some kind of murderer. I didn't choose to be *born.* YOU did. YOU brought me here. And now you made me into this." *This.* You made me into this hurt, drowning, broken being. You turned me into this emotionally damaged, forever-untrusting person. You turned me into a superfreak with superpowers. This was where the list of what you gave me ends. "I could never love you." I didn't know if he said the words verbally or if he thought them. Before he could say more, I reacted instinctively, crushing my hand into a fist, my nails biting into my skin. His body crumbled before me in a symphony of cracks and snaps, and just like that, it was done. Tears welled in my eyes and slipped down my cheeks. The fire within me grew and spread, and alighted beneath the figure that was once my father--by blood and nothing more. As his corpse burned, I swiped my tears away. I let the darkness flood me, fill me with something other than self-loathing and dread. I let the fire cleanse my soul; let it destroy the person that destroyed me. Let it reach into my very soul, allowing it to burn, so that something new might take its place. The darkness and the flames danced in my chest, in my heart, in my vision. I snarled: "It was never supposed to be like this." \-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- If you enjoyed that, feel free to check out r/HAltBooks for more future content, NaNoWriMo developments, and more!

Those who whispered thought very little of

There were whispers still. Tales about the times that were long ago and mostly forgotten except in dusty tomes. Back when the world was different and things were different. I liked those whispers. Liked to sit amidst the marble tombs and headstone and just listen to the rustling rumbling of how things used to be. Those who whispered thought very little of things as they stood. They said we had fallen. All of us. Mankind. What we are was less than what we were and it was all our fault. Our fault that we had lost our cities. Our fault that we had lost the spark. They talked a lot about the spark. About the gift it brought with it. Magic. Everyone knew about magic, but it was just part of the stories. I liked stories, that was why I listened to the whispers. But they said it was real. That the spark could be rekindled. They used that word a lot. Rekindled. I had to ask my pa what it meant the first time they'd whispered it to me. He looked at me strange but then gave me the meaning of it, not that it made much more sense now that I knew. I sat on a soft patch of grass, my back leaning against a faded tombstone. Among the oldest. It had a funny dates on it from back when the world wasn't broken. This was my favorite perch, mostly because the whispers here were the most interesting. "How do we rekindle?" I wasn't sure if that was the right way to say it, but the whisperers never seemed to mind when I stumbled over the things they told me. They were patient. Like they had all of the time in the world. The wind picked up, the leaves rustling around me and I could just make out a faded voice amidst the muddle. "The right vessel. The opportune time. The fortuitous place." This whisperer always spoke in riddles. Maybe it was because it came from such a far off place and that was just how things used to be. Maybe it was because the whisperer was bored it was fun to play games. I would want to have fun if I was stuck whispering in graveyards for forever. "Vessel?" I asked. "Mmmm...vessel," it replied. "Like a carrier? A jar or something?" I closed my eyes and rested the back of my head against the tombstone, thinking of the jars lining the pantry in our little caretaker's house. "Yes. Carrier. Of the flesh. Of the blood." I frowned. I didn't think my mom had any jars made out of flesh and blood. It seemed like a bad way to store things. "I don't think I have any jars like that." "You," it said. I waited for it to continue, the word feeling out of place amidst thoughts of flesh jars. When it did not continue, I prompted it. It wasn't the first time a whisperer had forgotten it was having a conversation mid-sentence. "Me?" "Yes. You. Vessel. Carrier." My eyes opened, blinking in confusion. "I'm the vessel?" I didn't see how I would make much of a flesh jar, I was already filled up with all of my insides. "I think I'm already full." "No...empty. But open. Available. The right vessel." It hummed in satisfaction, the wind twirling around my ankles. "We have watched. Tested. You can rekindle the spark." I gawped, my mouth dry as my pulse ran thick in my veins. "Why? Why me?" "You listen. You feel. You learn." "I just like the stories. Like to have someone to talk to," I replied. I couldn't remember when I had first heard the voices, but it had been some time ago. They had come to me as I went about my tasks in the graveyard. I had responded, allowing myself to be guided. I unearthed tombs long forgotten, bringing them back into repair only to find a new whisperer appear as my reward. This very headstone had been long buried, only surfacing when I had followed the call and set forth with a shovel until I found it. I had never questioned these tasks, they had just felt natural to do, and the reward of feeling closer to the whisperers had been enough for me. I never expected it to turn into something different. That all of this had been some test. Some effort to determine my value. I felt strange knowing it now, as if the relationships had not been real. As if they were tainted by these other goals. But the feeling was fleeting, replaced by a desire to know what I might do next. Learn next. Vessel. I did not know if I liked the sound of that. But I could rekindle the spark. That sounded better. "What will happen if I...become the vessel?" "Many things. Many possibilities." "Will it be good?" I asked. There was a silence, the wind dying down for a few heartbeats before picking back up. "Good. Bad. Everything. The spark will spread. The world will change. Man will change." "What kind of bad things?" "Terrible. The spark brought the breaking of the world. Its rekindling could be the end." I swallowed, "That's...um...pretty bad." "The right vessel. The opportune time. The fortuitous place." It replied. "You said that already," I said, not wanting to be rude, but also not wanting to end up in a circle. That happened sometimes with the whisperers. They lost their way and we ended up back where we began. "The spark will be safe with you. The bad is a possibility but not a probability. We trust you." "But how will I know what to do? What is the right thing?" I asked, growing increasingly worried I might destroy the world. "We will be with you. Guide you." I nodded, "So I just come back to the graveyard when I have trouble then?" "We will come. The spark will allow it." "Come?" I mulled this over, "Like even when I'm not here?" "Here. There. Everywhere. Always." "We'll be together?" "Yes. You will be a Spiritus. The first in an age," it replied, the tone somehow somber. "Spiritus?" I asked, the word unfamiliar. "A Boundary Mage. A foot in both life and death. A beating heart connected to a sea of souls." I thought about that, trying to decide if that was what I wanted. It sounded scary. No. Not scary. It was who I already was. I already spent my time with the spirits, we would just be closer. I liked that. Wanted that. "How do I start?" I asked. "You already have." **Platypus OUT.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

Some people just don't know how

\[Part 1\] Some people just don't know how to retire. They really try, but after a week or two, they start to realize they don't know what to do with themselves if they are not working. Without work to do, they seem to lose their sense of purpose. When I chose to retire, I never thought I would be one of those people. I always told myself that I didn't enjoy the work, I just did it to put food on the table. I guess I was wrong. Maybe I wasn't wrong at first, after all, I felt sick to my stomach for weeks after my first kill. Overtime that feeling became weaker, and weaker. My hands no longer shook when pulling the trigger. In the end, I stopped thinking about them as people, and began to see them as simply targets. Sometimes I liked to imagine I was playing one of those games at the carnival where you shoot the balloons with a pellet gun. Just... POP... POP!... POP!.. Still, I held some naive idea that deep down I was a good person, and that I would one day set down the guns, and spend my days staring out the windows sipping coffee, spending more time with my daughter, and my grandson, and solving crossword puzzles. I made it to about week 3 before I unlocked my gun safe, and began pretending that the squirrels in my backyard were high value targets. By week 4 I couldn't find any more squirrels. Just as well, it had begun to become boring by day 4 anyway. Eventually, I decided I needed something more to get my blood moving. The first time I did it, I had spent most of the night drinking, and drunk me thought it was a fantastic idea. I went online and hired a clearly inexperienced hitman, and I asked him to take out a target. Myself. By the morning I had forgotten that I had even requested it. I woke up the next morning to start my hangover regiment, and began to get ready to spend some time with my daughter and grandson. Things went by normal enough. I began my journey down the road through the woods, and all was going well. It wasn't until I got out into hilly areas that something seemed amiss. I noticed on the top of one of those hills a familiar glint of light. Before the thought could fully process, I quickly stepped on my brakes, and watched a bullet zoom a few inches in front of my face, shattering my side windows. I quickly brought the truck to a stop, and exited the vehicle from the passenger side, so that I could use the truck for cover. It took me a while, but I finally realized what had happened the night before. My heart was beating out of my chest at this point, and my mind was running faster than it had in years. I remembered that I always kept a few weapons in a secret compartment in the bed of my truck. I popped my head up, and immediately brought it back down. A bullet whizzed above my head, implanting itself in the ground somewhere in the distance. Now, he would have to load the next round. This gave me a couple of seconds to operate. I quickly vaulted myself over the side of the bed of the truck. As soon as I landed on the bed, another round went off, and buried itself into the truck. I moved with lightning speed to remove my rifle from it's compartment, and just as quickly moved to get back over the side of the bed, onto the ground. Another shot rang out, but it seemed my luck had run out this time. It embedded itself into my arm this time. I let out a little yelp of pain, but otherwise started about my task. I quickly assembled and loaded my rifle. I sat completely still while I waited for the perfect opportunity to retaliate. At first, the sniper tried a few random shots, trying to scare me out of my hiding place, but I assume he began to run low on ammo and waited patiently. It took about half an hour, but finally my opportunity arrived. An SUV was coming down the road, and would be here any moment. It wouldn't be much of a chance, but it was the best I had given the situation. As the SUV began to pass my position, I swung my rifle up, and rested it on the side of my truck. As soon as the SUV had fully passed, I already had my shot lined up. I felt the familiar kick of the rifle as my bullet flew true, and struck my opponent directly between the eyes. I expected to feel relief after this ordeal ended. What I didn't expect was the giddy laughter, and excitement. I felt truly alive for the first time in weeks, years maybe. It took a week or two, but before I knew it, I had put out another hit on my head. Then another, and another. It became a weekly habit. I never knew what to expect, so it always kept me on my toes. I spent hours setting traps around my home in the woods. I almost lost my little game one time when I almost didn't notice the faint smell of almonds coming from my milk. So many creative attempts, but they all ended the same. The assassin community isn't exactly large, so talk began to spread about a target that just couldn't be taken out. Before I knew it, fewer and fewer people were accepting my contracts. I got it flowing again by increasing my bounty, and this brought some fun back as well. It got some slightly better assassins to attempt their best. I still came out on top in the end, although there were certainly some close calls. Eventually it resulted in the same as before, no one would accept my contracts. At this point, I had run through most of my savings I had from my years of professional killing from expenses related to my hobby. I still felt empty inside though. I needed that excitement again, something to make me feel alive. So, I put out the largest bounty yet. One more time was all I needed, and then I would quietly go work security somewhere, or do something else with my life. I knew this had to end, it simply wasn't healthy, and I didn't have the funds the continue. One last go at it, and then I would be done. It took 2 months, but finally someone accepted the contract. I was absolutely giddy. Every bush rustling, every tree movement, every strange sound could be my end. I felt great, better than I had ever felt in my entire life. Yet, the assassin never came. I reached back out several times, and each time the assassin replied that he would be making his move soon, but needed some time to get everything set up. Eventually, I gave up on him. I figured it simply just wasn't meant to be.

Rolf was always considered an odd

My uncle Rolf was always considered an oddball amongst the people of Glen River. The rumors that swirled around the parochial little town only intensified after he died. In confidence, my aunt, who had divorced him many years earlier, told me it was like a breath of fresh air for the community. I travelled up to the place after the funeral, so we could clean out his gothic manor, which towered over the little houses, standing like a bastion atop an elevated ridge. "He had a lot of power over the folks in Glen River," my aunt had reiterated. "There was something to him that really scared and awed people. Nothing criminal, but I reckon he was into some strange things that he continued with after I left. I can't say that he was hated, but I never thought he was really liked, either." My aunt's words echoed in my mind as I shivered in the lofty halls, worker after worker bring out large boxes with labels hastily scrawled on their sides. The bannister was caked in dust, and the gossamer strands tumbled to the floor with the slightest brush of my hand. Aunt Ruby had sent me alone to Glen River, for reasons uncertain to me. From the moment I drove past the "Welcome" sign that was half-rotten and signified the subtle township line, I felt the same feeling of bottled-up silence that my aunt had told me about. "God rest his soul." Father Bansley of the Glen River Parish had announced, as I sat in the cramped confines of his office, which was overrun by books and stained documents. "He was a, ahem, good man. I'm afraid that in his last days he was far from Christ, far from the Parish, you know. He *was* a man of the lord, Miss--?" "Just Mirabelle, thank you." I had interjected. "Were folks scared of him, around here? I'd only met him a couple times. I always likened him to an oversized walrus." Bansley had looked around, clutching the tarnished silver cross hanging around his neck just a little harder. "I'd hate to be the one spreading rumors, but in a small town like this," he pursed his lips. "Things get around the grapevine real fast. Rolf was always a strange man, and he kept to himself when he wasn't askin' for favors. But you see..." He leaned closer, and gave a little whisper, mixed in with a slight hiccup. "People always obliged." The paintings in Uncle Rolf's home were, to me, not the kind one would hang. Surrealist pictures, sharp self-portraits with eyes that seemed to peek out at all angles. As I would round one corner, making a note of the peeling wallpaper, the eyes would look me in the soul and I felt I had no option but to turn away. *I wonder, did he have a heart attack after being surprised by one of these eyes?* The bountiful trinkets and tablecloths, mantle-pieces and pictures, were taken out, leaving the house as an empty shell with no inhabitants. I sent Aunt Ruby a message: the job was done, and I would be returning to Alexandria. I wasn't unhappy to leave the paranoid little village. Last though, was a series of boxes from the musty attic, which a worker set down with a great thud on the hardwood floor in the foyer. "What's that?" I asked, as I gently ran my hand over the cardboard. The label on the side read something nigh undecipherable. "What does it say?" "Beats me." the man replied. "It was already here when we cleaned the place out. Must be one of old Rolf's trinket collections. God knows that he loved those." Only hours earlier, I had wandered into the antique shop. Cramped, grim, and dimly-lit store, filled with baubles and glass figurines on every shelf that the eye could make out. The owner, a mousy, petite woman with her hair straightened and her expression hazy, widened her eyes as the bell that signified a new customer gave off a familiar ring. We conversed for a little, about her unusual purpose in the town as a linchpin between the old and the new. The parochial ways, and the influx of new, and more contemporary movements. "No longer does Glen River feel like," she bit her lip slightly, the crinkles of her eyes growing narrow. "A town frozen in time. Things from outside are flowing in, and your uncle, Rolf-- he was a man who loved to mix the past and the future. He was a man of the Church, yet he had some sort of outside influence, and there--" I pressed on. I asked about the rumors that swirled around my uncle. The reason that the townsfolk were so eager to grant him favor after favor, chance after chance. Eager to leave him be in the sentinel-like home that cast a shadow over the little homes. "Well, he's gone, so..." she began. "It's just a rumor, but there are always whispers that he has ways to hurt people without even touching them. Not something criminal, but forces. Of darkness, able to destroy life itself." She chuckled, a bit shakily. "Just silly rumors." Kneeling on the foyer floor, I opened the flaps, and took out one of the wrapped pieces enclosed within. I tore off the fragile paper. It was a glass ball, transparent and reflective. I surveyed it, holding it out to the light that streamed in through the partially covered window. A name was engraved onto it. *Edward Williamson* I gasped slightly as my fingers slipped, and the sphere tumbled to the floor, separating into large shards of glass. As it cracked, I could have sworn it gave out a shriek. A chill ran down my spine, as a faint breath of mist emanated from the broken relic. *They look like eyes. The eyes in those paintings. Looking right into my soul.* Outside, I heard a series of screams. Roars. A wail. "Ed, no, Ed. Stay with me, Ed, oh Lord, stay with me." I thought to myself at that moment. *What curse did my uncle put on this little town?* \---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK

A lanky, bony,

Grasping the terrifically large metal door-knocker with my hand, I smacked it against the wooden door and waited against the ensuing hollow *thud*. Tapping my foot as I waited, the billows of smoke brushed against the back of my head, courtesy of the hellfire lake behind me. The door opened, hinges squealing. A lanky, bony, and unnervingly angled man with a stone face-mask answered, his gaunt fingers brushing up against the mahogany. *Show him the pass, show him the pass*, I recalled the message saying. *Bad luck up there is nothing down here*. I fished the laminated rectangle out of my knapsack, and flashed it in front of me. Wordlessly, the strange man gave a deep nod, and unfurled those clubbed digits in a gesture of beckoning. I obliged, stepping forward onto the elevated stone, and took a step over the ledge into the lofty hall. "Uh, hello?" I said falteringly, feeling stupid the moment the words exited my mouth. I received no answer, as the man, arms twisted above his stone-clad head, feet seemingly travelling ground like the feelers of a centipede, rushed across the cobbles. In pursuit, I did my best to keep up, the multitude of chandeliers, disturbingly realistic paintings, and adorned taxidermied heads attempting to distract me. The walls narrowed, and the door my erstwhile harbinger stopped at was engraved, basalt and granite, circular with a deep hole at the center. The man clicked his tongue, and the hole suffused with a crimson liquid, which poured into each nook and cranny like the waters of a canal. Slowly, the irregular door rolled to the side, the room within lit gently by candlelight. "In there?" I attempted to ask once again. "Do I go--?" His neck twisted, and he gave an awkward nod, and as fast as his legs could take him, dashed back over the stones and out of sight. Giving a deep sigh, I carefully tiptoed into the candlelit room, where, facing away from me, was a cyan velvet chair. "Grandma? My God, they weren't kidding when they said--" I began, drawing closer. She whirled around in the chair, and the taxidermied deer head above her yelped ominously. My heart skipped a beat, and I breathed in, attempting to regain my composure. "Grandma?" I asked, tentatively. "It's me, your grandson? Alexander?" She stood up, nary any sign of arthritis, and gave me a warm smile. "Silly child, of course I know who you are." she glowed, her arms outspread. "Come embrace your darling grandmother. We have so much to talk about, and of course, you are to meet my husband." The lines on her face seemed to have mostly disappeared, and her eyes were neatly shadowed and heavy on mascara. I still recognized her completely, my Grandma Ruby. Besides, my sister had already shown me a picture of this newly youthful matriarch before my sojourn into the Underworld. She brought me close for an embrace, before pushing away and reaching into my knapsack. "Ah, yes, a New York Cheesecake, you remembered." she exclaimed, holding up the neatly tied box. "Louis will be pleased." "Louis?" I wondered aloud. "He's here? Now?" "He does love his sweets." she grinned, as the lights dimmed, and the taxidermied head squealed once again. It had been ten years since she'd died. We'd known for long time that she'd become the wife of the Devil himself, but it was my first time to his palace. I stumbled around Hell before, at the very least, the part of Hell that a human can walk around in without becoming a corpse of conflagration, but never had I really met my step-grandfather. I turned around slowly, to see a slender, mustachioed man in a gaudy pink vest, rhinestones arranged in a heart around his collar, and sunglasses shaped like stars. Around his neck, a fall scarf hung limply to one side, and replacing a pocket-square was a used paintbrush, immersed in chartreuse. "Lou, you're late. Again." Grandma said with a hint of displeasure. "Mustn't keep a socialite waiting. Look, I have cheesecake." Louis Cipher, the Devil and my Grandma Ruby's husband, the secret to my family's fortune, leapt spryly towards the chair, and grabbed the box, taking a deep sniff. "Excellent." He practically drooled. "Not at all a disappointment." He swung his hips back and forth, and teetered around the room. "He's in his Liberace phase." Grandma whispered, as I watched in utter confusion. "Just give it a few minutes." At last, he ceased his uncomfortably stilted dance, and looked straight at me. "My, my, my, my, my. My." he whispered, his tongue lashing back and forth like a serpent. "My goodness, look at you. You bought me this cheesecake?" I nodded, struggling to find the simplest of words. "Uh, yes. I did. Grandma Ruby told me you like worldly desserts." I managed, swallowing. "I'm Alexander LaRue, by the way." *Keep it cool, keep it collected. This is what screwed you over up there.* "I'm the Devil. Louis, but don't call me Louis." he snarled. "I know who you are. Nice hair." "Th-thanks?" I wanted to kick myself for stuttering. "You too?" "Wrong answer," he grinned, showing off the most untouched of pearls. "Wrong, wrong, wrong fucking answer, ya know?" "Don't tease him like that." Grandma giggled, touching his forearm. "You know what he's here for." He laughed, his throat making odd guttural noises as he clutched at his forearm. "I'm just messing with you." he chuckled slowly. "I'm a young joker. Young, foolish, joker." He paused for a moment, standing completely still. Everything but his left eye, which twitched ever so slightly. "Even though I'm 7009, you skank!" he spat, as he recoiled slightly. "Settle down, Louis." Grandma instructed, her tone for the first time stern and cold. The frenzy left the Devil's face, and his shoulders moved up and down. He gave a deep sigh that seemed to come from the bottom of his soul. "I know what you're here for, sit down." he said, pursing his lipsticked mouth. He raised his arm, and in a circular motion, the air seemed to ripple around, as it was consumed by a slowly encroaching space of darkness. Slowly, the corners of a large piece of furniture began to stick out from the void, and the materializing armchair gently laid itself on the flooring. "Sit." he repeated, this time as more of an order. "Ruby, get you gone. Take the deer." "Good luck, dear." Grandma said, putting an arm on my shoulder. "We'll have plenty of time to catch up later." In a puff of smoke, she and the taxidermied head ceased to be visible. I gasped slightly at the sudden rush of air that they left in their wake. "Scary, right? First time for everything, no?" began Louis, the Devil. "So, I hear you had some bad luck up there with an accidental murder? I could use a new Beelzebub, so let's see what you got, boy." I sighed, settled into my chair, to begin the job interview for a Lord of Hell. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK

Bond knocked firmly on the door to

Bond knocked firmly on the door to the apartment, expecting to be greeted by Ms. Hudson or Mr. Watson. It was unfortunate, but collateral damage was unavoidable. So he felt the relief as he heard the thin voice answer through the door. "Ah, Mr. Bond. Come to kill me, have you? Well it won't do for you to have to liquidate the entire block, now will it? Do come in." The door swung inward to reveal the tall, thin figure. He stepped cautiously over the threshold and surveyed the landing for some trap. "Upstairs, I presume? Dead bodies in the hallways are a ghastly business. I suspect your employer would rather the body be found in my favorite smoking chair, perhaps surrounded by the syringes you've got in your left pocket." Bond's hand went to his pocket instinctively. "You're quite perceptive, Mr. Holmes." "Nobody likes an arselicker, James. It's unbecoming. And please, call me Sherlock. It's only right that a man's last moments on this Earth are spent speaking to someone as an equal." The thin man nodded up the stairs. "And we are equals here, are we not?" Bond eyed him carefully, looking for weapons. Apart from the sash drawing his dressing gown closed, he seemed to be completely unarmed. "If you insist, Sherlock." And he followed the man up the stairs into the sitting room. It felt to James like stepping back in time, the old decor, the over-stuffed chairs. A portal to the 19th century, hidden within the frame of the door. He paused on the threshold. "Bringing the gun and the needles was, perhaps, a miscalculation. It's not often that a druggy shoots himself in the back of the head during an overdose." Sherlock waved a long arm toward the chair closest to the window before laying his hands on the nearest one. "You'll forgive me, but I'd like you to take a seat in that chair. This one is my favorite." "Perhaps I'd rather not sit down." James countered. "Perhaps." Sherlock settled into the chair. "But you will, because of your curiosity." Bond drifted around the puffy chair as Sherlock carefully lit his pipe. "Surely you want to know how I knew today was the day and now the hour that you would come to kill me. Or did you think it coincidence that Ms Hudson, a woman who hasn't left this house since Sainsbury's began delivering groceries, suddenly found herself with pressing business in Westminster?" He looked the man over. Unarmed, seated, and well out of arm's reach from the chair. There was little harm in playing Sherlock's game, and listening to monologues was an all too common hazard in his line of work. Still, to be careful, James drew his gun and laid it in his lap as he sat in the chair. The chair seemed old, as old as the man who owned it, and nearly as uncomfortable. James shifted, feeling the tacks that held the stuffing press against his back before looking at Sherlock. "Westminster? That does seem unlikely." "Indeed, well when one has been given a job, it must be seen through. Something I'm sure you understand. Ms. Hudson understands that perfectly, and so she will see the task I gave her through to the end." Sherlock leaned forward and studied the spy opposite him. "But that is immaterial. You want to know what I know. *How* I know." A puff of smoke and Sherlock prodded a log on the fire with an iron poker. "I know, for instance, that you favor your left hook when sparring, despite being right handed." The poker dropped into its stand. "I know that you were relieved not to have to kill Ms. Hudson or Dr. Watson, despite your reputation as a cold-blooded killer. And I know that you were sent here to kill me by the Queen." "Well, that last one is hardly a revelation, Sherlock. I'm the queen's man." "Indeed you are, or rather you were." Sherlock sat back and James shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "I'm not sure quite what you did to upset her, my dear boy, but I'm afraid it must have been quite the faux pas." Sherlock continued hastily. "But it hardly matters. Once my associate phoned me that you had left your house, your fate was sealed." The fireplace seemed to roar in James' ears for a second as Sherlock finished. He looked at the sedate fire, but when he looked back to Sherlock he found the room beginning to swim. He reached for his gun, but his arms felt like someone else's and the weapon clattered across the floor. Sherlock stood and kicked it into the other room as James fell from his chair after the weapon. "You're wondering how on Earth I poisoned you." James mouthed the word chair. "Ah, good! Yes, I would never allow my guests to sit in a chair so poorly stuffed. Do you know what else I know, James? I know you aren't worried, you've been poisoned by your quarry before. You're already plotting your escape. Trying to envisage which room in this house will be your prison. Trying to predict what improvised weapons I might leave within arms reach. Relishing the exact moment when you'll interrupt my ramblings with a sudden strike." James struggled to breathe as Sherlock bent down and clasped his jaw in a vice-like grip. "But you've forgotten something, my dear James. I already have someone to listen to my monologues and he'll be here shortly to help me dispose of your body." James felt the man's hands in his pocket, fishing out the syringes. "Goodbye, Mr. Bond." \--- Sherlock Holmes bowed low as he entered the room before taking a seat and passing the file carefully across the table. "It was unfair not to tell him he was in a duel, not a hunt, Your Majesty." The Queen sat back stiffly in her chair. "How did you know I had told the two of you to kill each other?" "Elementary, Your Highness."

Mercury was spread out long on a

Mercury was going to die, again. This time, he wore the body of a man. He was spread out long on a pike, his arms and legs bound to the pole. Two pairs of huge human men carried him--pale-faced and bearish in their thick winter coats--between them, the pole balanced between them. They learned, quickly, that Mercury was the slippery kind. They never untied him after they caught him nearly sweet-talking his guard out to the water, where he would have stolen a canoe and paddled desperately away. But he was caught now. Surely trapped now. Here on an icy planet on the ass-end of nowhere. They had no idea he was a god in his own right. That out there beyond the unblinking stars, he had his own kingdom. An entire spinning world--still alive in those days, before the darkness came. His world still carries his name: Mercury the trickster, Mercury who always spun too close to the sun. And this time, he got burned. The god wrestled against the bounds, tying him to the pole. He cursed and struggled. One of the pallbearers spat something at him, unrecognizable. A dribble of gibberish language. "Yeah, alright," Mercury muttered. "Because that makes sense." A crowd of hooded cult members walked with them. They all wore those strange human faces. They trudged through the ice-crusted snow, just as grey and cold and wind-swept as the barren mountain all around them. "Really funny joke, guys," Mercury said. "Really great. Are you going to let me go now or not?" One of the hooded figures walked alongside him. The hood was pulled too high for him to see the stranger's face. The god growled and fought against his bonds. Ahead of him, the cult leader walked at the lead of the procession. He carried Mercury's staff, the source of his power. Its stone was the heart of a star, but it burned dead and lifeless in that mortal's hand. Without it, Mercury was useless as a fire without oxygen. "This is just fucking humiliating," the god muttered, but his guards only gave the stick an aggressive shake. The rope bit even deeper into his aching arms. The figure alongside him spoke at last in that unmistakable, ancient language: Mercury's mothertongue, the language of the stars. "It's your own fault, you stupid asshole." Mercury hesitated. It took him a long second to recognize his brother's voice. "Oh," he managed. He did his best to do dignified, despite shuddering from his back and ass dragging miles through the snow. "Funny seeing you here." "Yeah. Funny." "You don't happen to know why a bunch of your creations want me dead, do you?" Earth gave Mercury a hot knifing glare. He was a young god like Mercury, his planet just as much a cosmic accident as Mercury's own. But he had a few million years on Mercury's kingdom, and Earth never let him forget it. "Certainly you can't be that surprised. This is all your own making." All around them, the humans were carrying on like they couldn't hear or see Earth at all. Of course. The damn bastard still had his own staff. All his powers. Mercury did his best to look innocent. "I've no idea what you're talking about." "Really? You don't recall how all this started?" "I just came down here to give my beloved elder brother a visit--" maybe steal a resource or two, start a tiny war, knock down some dominoes to see how long it took for Earth to notice; the usual "--and these monsters of yours attacked me." "Not this time. The other time. When you told them that the lord of their universe was a great ass-faced bastard and the next time they saw someone flying out of the sky, they'd better take his fancy glowy-stick and sacrifice him by tying him up and tossing him off the face of the tallest mountain, least the ass-faced god of the world kill them all. Remember that?" Mercury fought off his grin. He looked around at the peach-esque sigils on the hoods of all the cult members--notably, not his brother's. "Oh. You heard about that one." "I certainly did." "I hoped they'd catch you, you know." Mercury flexed his numb fingers. "Didn't quite predict this." "Oh, I know." Earth gave him a plain smile. He wore a stranger's face, but Mercury had the double-sight of the gods. He could see Earth's true form underneath. The smugness of his smirk. "And that's why I'm not going to stop them." "Oh, you *prick*." Mercury wrestled hard against the bounds. He cringed as he imagined falling through the air forever, breaking apart. The death-system on Earth's planet reknitting his atoms and spitting him back out into his god-self once more. "You have absolutely no sense of humor." His brother just smirked and said, crisply, "Whenever you regenerate, Father wants to see us both." Mercury scowled as he imagined their creator Sol, lord of the sun, just cackling if he heard about all this. It was bad enough losing to a bunch of animals on his brother's kingdom, much less having to *admit* it. "What does he want?" "I don't know. I was too busy savoring this moment." Earth grinned around at all the cult members trudging up the snowy mountain. They still didn't seem to realize he was even there. "If you can make these idiots not see you, can't you make them let me *go?*" "I could. But I'm an ass-faced god, aren't I? And I do demand my sacrifice." "You can't be serious about this!" "Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not." His big brother grinned as he leaned down to pat Mercury's shoulder, which trailed through the ever-deepening snow. "Guess you'll find out soon." Mercury fought and screamed all the way up the mountain. *** /r/nickofstatic for more stories from me and my best friend NickofNight. I decided to write something new about a world that I've been working on for trad publishing for aaaages instead of a more familiar pantheon because idk it sounded fun ;3 If you want to read more, here's a

The artist met Lily in a painting

All my life I have loved to draw, to paint. To give form to the beautiful images that haunt my imagination. I think I like painting because of my power. My power is to just take a peek at someone's soul, to see what they were in their previous life. I can do the same for landscapes, I can stare at a heavily industrialized area and watch the years peel away as the region turns into something beautiful and long forgotten. I met Lily in a painting camp, she was one of the models and she was stunning. She was the first time I'd painted a person, not a landscape but it was easy because of how beautiful she was. Her hair is the color of a thousand burning suns, a searing golden and her eyes are a stark contrast. A cool, deep dark blue that you find at the depths of the ocean. She had skin so pale and smooth that I just wanted run my fingers over it the moment I saw her. She was perfect. Shortly after we met, we started dating. It's been nearly three months now I realize smiling as I stare at her lying down next to me, so pretty and serene as she sleeps. I find the temptation rise in my stomach and claw at my throat but I fight it off like I have for the past three months. I haven't taken a peek at her soul yet, I don't want to ruin everything we have. I'm happy, she's happy. Looking at her soul might unnecessarily put all that at risk. Before I met Lily I'd become obsessed, I'd noticed that all my friends had something in common. They were all powerful rulers in their previous life and this pattern had been running through my life for as long as I could remember. My best friend from Middle School, an Indian boy named Mukesh turned out to be reincarnation of Chandragupta Maurya, a famous Indian ruler. My girlfriend in high school happened to be none other than Cleopatra. In college, my roommate, a stoner turned out to be Genghis Khan. My ex-girlfriend to my utter shock and I have to admit, disgust was Charlemagne. Apart from these people so many of my acquaintances and close friends have been pharaohs and emperors. I'd ignored the pattern for the longest time until I looked at the soul of my current best friend and saw that he was Abraham Lincoln. Abraham fucking Lincoln. I'd completely lost my mind and done a whole load of research about my powers, tried to find other people who possessed the same power and thrown my life completely off-track. But Lily had distracted me from all that, shown me that this soul stuff wasn't important and yet I feel the curiosity burning through my veins as run my hands through her beautiful soft blonde hair. Before I can stop myself I feel it happening, I feel Lily blur out as I lift the veil of her mortal body to look at her everlasting soul. I watch with dread as her smooth golden hair turned into red curls and her big blue eyes turned chocolate brown. I felt my heartbeat rise as a large royal gown formed around her. I felt my heart drop to my stomach as I recognized her from my history textbooks - *Queen Elizabeth I.* No worries, just the most powerful Queen of all time I think as my mind spirals down the road of discovery I was on before I met Lily. I jump off the bed as I think of what I'd been planning to do before I met her. I'd been planning to take a peek at my own soul. I know it's dangerous, the books I'd read said that if you peeked at your own soul your consciousness might leak into your previous life. I didn't know the complete repercussions of that but it had sounded bad so I'd hesitated and not taken the step. Soon, Lily had walked in to my life and whisked me away from all that. I walk to the bathroom like I'm in a trance, I need to know what my soul is, what I used to be. I need to know why so many powerful people flock around me, why have I been drawn to these people and them to me my whole life. I look in the mirror at my unkempt brown hair and my sea green eyes that I've always loved and feel the image strip away slowly. My blood turns cold as my hair shortens and my eyes change color and as a signature mustache forms on my face. *Adolf Hitler.* I stare at the mirror in disbelief as I feel my mind strip away. Your consciousness will leak into your past self. The words from the book echo in my mind as I feel myself float away. I am Adolf Hitler. The most hated man in the world. I ordered and oversaw the death of 6 million Jews. I started the most devastating war mankind had ever faced. Suddenly I'm not in my bathroom I'm in dingy looking bathroom surrounded by concrete walls, I stare into the dirty mirror on the wall and see that I am Hitler. Of course if I had the power of seeing souls, Adolf would have too. I look into the mirror and the face of the world's most hated man peels away. My hair grows long and my mustache gets bigger. My nose turns hooked and I stare at myself in horror as I recognize myself once again. *Vlad The Impaler.* The array of thoughts and relaizations fill my mind again. Another cruel king. I am the man who inspired the myths of vampires. I am the man who's tyrannical rule consisted of vast amounts of torture and cruelty. I am the man people had nightmares about for centuries. Suddenly, I sit in a lavish room with lavish robes and look at the mirror in a gold frame and feel myself peel away again. My hair shortens into a military cut and my features turn conventionally Roman, I don't need to recognize my face to know who I am. *Marcus Brutus.* No big deal, only the perpetrator of the most famous assassination in history. I betrayed my best friend and killed him cold blood. It doesn't sound like much in comparison to the previous ones but betraying someone you love to me is worse than killing thousands you don't know. Do I not have a shred of love in my body? I stand in a military encampment of sorts staring at my reflection in the broken shard of a mirror. Brutus's features don't change vastly as I stare in horror at my next reflection. *Nero.* I killed my entire family systematically and tortured thousands of innocents in the most unimaginable ways I am batshit crazy and self obsessed. I set Rome on fire and blamed it on the Christians. My reincarnations seem to get worse and worse. I stand in an extravagantly beautiful room and stare into and bedazzled mirror and feel Nero strip away as I take on the face of a man I don't know. I hear his name and his deeds echo in my head as my minds borders on insanity. *Alec Hored* *Poisoned three whole villages.* I stand in front of several more mirrors, lakes, ponds as my face takes on so many masks I do not recognize but I know their names, their brutalities. *Remese The Fourth* *Ordered the execution of all the all children below the age of 5 in his kingdom.* *Evangeline* *Killed all of her 10 husbands and 15 children with an axe.* I lose all sense of time until I'm met by a familiar face again. I look at myself in reflection, my face is beyond beautiful with beautiful golden hair and charming twinkling eyes. I see my enrapturing smile and recognize myself in an instant. I recognize it from the countless statues and paintings. I know the name before it even echoes through my barely functioning mind. *Lucifer.* *All the evil in the world.*

The capsule was dented, warped

Jaharis, in my peripheral vision, stopped breathing. The conference room was silent--execs and astronauts and physicists circled around a table, some of them the original curators of the capsule, each now mulling over the returned capsule. They were not overjoyed at its return. The capsule was dented, warped, and mostly empty. And I read the note aloud. "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor." It was a translation Ga Mun made this morning, from Cantonese to English, when the three of us opened it to see what was inside the now-returned capsule. The note sunk in. This told us three things, I announced to the room. One; whoever they are, they understood Cantonese. The vinyl we had sent into space had hundreds of languages on it, virtually no vocabulary for learning Cantonese this fluently. Ga Mun assured me, I told them, that this was unusually clear for a non-native speaker. Two; they listened to the vinyl. The amount of work that went into curating the record, recording the sounds of kisses and hellos and waterfalls was not for nothing. They *heard* it, I insisted. That was a victory. We were right. Which left the third thing: the favor returned. The biological weapon part. I let it hang in the air for a moment, unsure how to tackle it. So, Jaharis, seeing my uncertainty, composed himself and addressed it. "Three; whatever we sent obliterated them," Jaharis said. "Whether it was the material or the audio..." We didn't mean to hurt anyone. It was just supposed to be a social gesture--a hand reaching out. But there was more than a note in the capsule. Inside was also a thumb-sized metal alloy, almost square-shaped. There were no grooves on it--there was no input of any kind, no features whatsoever. How anything was in here, I couldn't tell. I held it up for the conference room. People winced. People recoiled. A rush of whispering rose in the room, until I put it down. "What did they mean by 'biological weapon,'" said one physicist. Phrased as a question, but it was a demand. "What could vinyl have done to them." "I don't know," said his neighbor. "We should throw it out," another person said. "We will want to look at it," said another, leaning forward in her chair. "What harms them probably doesn't harm us. It was *vinyl*," she reminded us. Her logic was not un-sound. If they misinterpreted the vinyl as an attack, then they might have chosen to attack us the same way: music. Music doesn't hurt humans, generally. Then again, if they were able to glean Cantonese from an hour of sound effects on vinyl, who knows what else they know about humanity. Even the term biological warfare was so specific to the last fifty years. "And why Cantonese?" an exec asked. \---------------------------- It took some engineering. Ga Mun turned the square over in her gloved hand multiple times, with the Outspoken Physicist from before prodding it and doling out suggestions. They searched for anything on it that would indicate how it was a vehicle for warfare of any kind. It took three weeks. Occasionally, I would present the question as a hypothetical. *What would you do to hurt someone who hurt you?* Many people promised they would not retaliate at all. Neighbors, cafe baristas, annoyed Uber drivers. Each one told me that revenge was a lot of effort. "Why bother?" "What about in the face of a pandemic?" I would ask. People stiffened. People changed the subject. Even now it's fresh in our minds, how two years ago panned out, how things escalated when people thought the curve was flattened. So I felt bad bringing the trauma up again. But I needed an answer of some kind, to help figure out this impossible, extraterrestrial puzzle, so I had to ask. I had to dig in the wound. Ga Mun called me when she found it, but she did not say much. Just "help." Jaharis and I rushed over to the office, not saying a word to each other and not listening closely. But we ran, as fast as we could. Until we walked in to see Ga Mun and Outspoken Physicist sitting on the carpet. Their red and puffy faces didn't turn to us--their cheeks were so wet with tears they could barely blink. They held up the square between them, and very gently shook it. Outspoken let out a sob. And when they shook it in just the right way, I went deaf. I could hear nothing--not even the muffled sound of an air conditioner. Jaharis's face had the same look of panic. He stopped breathing for a moment. And so did I. The deafening was so loud I could hardly think about how painful it was. But it was dull pain that vibrated through my ribcage, through my kneecaps. I shouted to stop, but nothing came out. And the Ga Mun held very still, keeping the square between her fingers. She huddled, putting the square down, and she whispered to herself. We keep the square in a safe, underground, far from a fault line. Whoever sent us that small metal alloy square gave it the property of deafening everything on the planet. Even just Ga Mun's test had caused thousands of minor disasters across the country. Ten seconds of deafness killed a hundred and fifty people. Everyone voted unanimously to lock up the square, and treat it like any other biological weapon. Scientists study it. Teachers lecture on it. And we, who found it, force ourselves to move on. Because of our social behavior, we killed some entire alien species. We will never know how. Maybe they went mad listening to Philip Glass. Maybe they could not stand the frequency of the sound. Maybe this was just a practical joke. But what we agree on is that one person, on that planet, knew enough Cantonese to send us a prank, and terrify our extraterrestrial program into indefinite hiatus. He kept the vinyl of ambient earth noises and gifted us silence, utter loneliness, deep and intimate guilt. And what do we do when faced with something horrible and vulnerable and revealing of our psyche? We hide it, and forget it, and say nothing.

Always thank the babysitter if you

Rule number 1: Always thank the babysitter. It was a simple rule to remember in our small town. When you left your house for work, if you were the last adult out the door and had children in the home, Always thank the babysitter. The babysitter just appreciated gratitude. It was said that if you didn't they wouldn't return again. Our town had a sort of... peculiarity. Some mght call it a curse, but that wasn't the proper word. It never seemed to cause harm. Well never intended to. Instead it was a spirit that looked after the children of our town. Everyone knew of the babysitter. If you grew up in our town it was just an everyday thing. Mom and dad would leave for work, and your imaginary friend, the same one everybody had, would look after you. They'd play games with you, like hide and seek. They'd cook for you. They even learned your favorite shows and reminded you when they would come on! I remember Saturday mornings running down stairs when I heard the T.V. come on. Just barely seeing the last wisps of shadow snake around the corner of the living room as my ghostly friend went to prepare breakfast. Rule 2: Don't go outside. It seemed the babysitter couldn't leave, and only really had power in, any house it was invited into. Once it appeared, it had to remain indoors. No one knew why, but no one ever saw it outside, not even once. So once mom and dad left the doors and windows remained closed until they returned. and as soon as either parent walked in the door, the baby sitter would disappear until it was next needed. I remember when I was in second grade, we had a new girl in school who was in tears a few days after she joined. She told us of a ghost in her house, and when she saw it she tried to run, she found the doors wouldn't open. She was absolutely terrified, and cried until her father came home and scared it away. We found it peculiar that anyone would be scared of the babysitter, after all we had grown up with it all our lives. It rocked us in our cribs, it warmed our bottles when our parents could not. It was like a third parent for us, the idea that everybody didn't have a ghostly guardian was foreign to us. We comforted her, we played with her. Soon the babysitter was her friend too. Rule 3: Always pay the baby sitter. I remember one time mom and dad seemed to be away for a long time, very long. The day seemed to stretch on far longer than it should. It wouldn't be until I would grow and have little ones of my own that I'd learn what that meant. But in all that time my spectral friend treated me just the same. We played, we watched television, it fed me. It made sure I was cared for. Suddenly however, my parents were in the living room. The babysitter disappeared, shrinking into the dark corners of the room, and my parents simply took it's place. One moment they were gone, and when I blinked, there they were! They hadn't even walked in the door! They had simply forgotten to 'pay' the baby sitter, and so the baby sitter took me with it. Hidden me away until it received it's payment. I don't know where I really was, all I know is that it hid me away someplace that looked like my house. At some point my house wasn't my house anymore. Rule 4: Do not harm a child, ever. It may seem negligent to leave children in the care of a shadowy omnipresent ghost like figure, but It has an impeccable track record for keeping children safe while the parents are away. not once has a child protected by the babysitter ever been harmed. I know this for a fact. One time our house had been broken into while my parents were out. I was surprised when I heard the sound of breaking glass and ran downstairs. The baby sitter was setting the table at the time, so it was close to the living room. It had been watching the intruder sneak in through the now broken window. It had seen this strange man violate the sanctity of the home it was sworn to protect. We had both seen the gun in his hand... The man hadn't seen either of us right away. I watching from the stairs, the baby sitter from the darkened kitchen. He slid inside and looked out the window, I heard a siren pass by and saw the flashing of red and blue lights on his face. He breathed a sigh of relief, then looked around. He saw me, a 10 year old boy watching from the stairway. A witness to this strange man clearly wanted by the police. My eyes went wide as he raised his weapon, but suddenly the shadows from the kitchen engulfed him. I briefly heard him scream before the whole world went black, and the sound cut out. I thought he managed to fire off a shot, that I had been hit, that I was dead. the thought raced through my mind for just a moment before I started to hear... song... Music. Soothing, beautiful music. I couldn't really place it then, and I never could since. However, it was definitely some sort of lullaby. A beautiful, peaceful, melodious chorus that spoke of good times and places of tranquility. Suddenly I was in my bed. I hadn't been harmed. I raced downstairs to find my parents home, the window undamaged and mother cleaning the dishes. Evident I slept through their return. I thought I had just had a nightmare until I saw that mans face on the news, the police wanted him in connection for the murder of his girlfriend. Rule 5: The payment is different for each person. Once you make a contract with the babysitter, you'll know what your payment is. It's like an instinct. You'll know, everyone does. It's always something personal, some memento, a token that represents your bond with your child. Apparently my parents would always stop at the arcade on the way home and get an arcade token, as I loved that place. when it shut down they had to make arrangements to go to the one the next town over. they tried making alternate arrangements with the babysitter, but it just doesn't work that way. Now that I'm grown up, I have a small stockpile of Cinderella dolls. My little girl, Cindy, is precious to me, and she loves her Cinderella toys. I have to keep the stockpile secret, she'd go crazy if she knew I had close to 100 of them in my shed. Every time I come home, I go to the shed and grab one. and when I walk in the door I leave a doll on the table. The shadows take it, and I find her playing in her room, safe and sound. Us grown ups don't get to see the babysitter much anymore, but I'll always remember my shadowy friend, and I'll always respect it for keeping me, and my little girl safe.

A coral pebble that shone

"Honey, don't forget to tip the Babysitter!" Aron called out to his wife as he retreated to the bedroom to get ready to go to sleep. "Of course!" Erin said, as she reached in her wallet to retrieve not the 20 dollar bill from the fold in her wallet, but a coral pebble that shone with irridescence. "This will please her more than a dirty piece of paper, I know it." she mumbled as she walked into their twin's room. The boys were sleeping soundly, they always did on date night. She placed the pebble on a silver plate on the boy's dresser. She understood the rules. "May this please your instincts and keep your heart happy, until we need you again." Erin uttered the spell. She knew some people didn't believe, but she knew. After all these years, she knew. *10 years earlier...* "I can't believe how perfect she is, Erin." Mary, Erin's mother held her first grandchild close to her chest. Erin had gotten "in trouble" as they say, and while the family was worried about impressions, those thoughts went out the window when they met Erin's daughter, Maricel. She was perfect, with dark eyes and a little tuft of brown hair on the crown of her head. Erin was having a hard time adjusting to motherhood as she was not ready at 16 years old. The father was of course out of the picture, once he had gotten what he wanted. There was no talk of paternity tests, or child support. Erin's parents would make do, and enable her daughter to continue school while they helped her raise their new granddaughter. "Erin, I must tell you something, something important." Mary said the morning after they returned from the hospital. "We..." she paused, "have something, someONE special, in our town who can help us, who does help us. She's the *Babysitter.* " Mary paused for a moment. She wasn't sure if Erin understood. "Erin, honey, it's a special gift to our village. She helps us mothers, when we need it, even if we don't *KNOW* we need it." "Oh Mom, that's just, well, that's crazy!" Erin didn't believe in spirits, especially after she had prayed that the child's father would die in a car crash, or some other horrific way. He didn't. he was still captain of the basketball team, and had 5 or 6 other girls all trying to get him to be their guy. She knew the real world. The real world was that she made a mistake of trusting a boy asking her to trust him, and now she had this baby to show for it. Maricel, she didn't even know where the name came to her from, but one day, it was there, and while her parents weren't fond of the name, they were absolutely smitten with their new grandchild. "Erin, one day, you will come in here to the nursery and see Maricel's diaper has been changed, or perhaps her pacifier has been returned to the crib after she flung it out by mistake, you need to make an offering to, 'the Babysitter' to show your appreciation." "Okay Mom. I will.", Erin had learned how to appease her mother, like most teenage girls. "This is serious. You need to do this, and the offering can't just be like a dime, or a dollar. It has to *mean* something to you. And you will need to put the offering in the silver plate up in Maricel's room." Erin knew the plate she was talking about. It had symbols that were often attributed to the Occult on it. It was real silver. She knew, because before the baby was born, Erin had found it and tried to pawn it at 3 pawn shops in town. NONE of them would take it in on pawn, especially seeing she was pregnant. They assured her, she NEEDED it. Every now and then, Erin did notice things. Maricel crying like she needed a diaper change, only to find that her diaper (that she was wearing) was clean, and the dirty was in the pail already. Or perhaps, waking from a nap and discovering that there was a snack on the kitchen table. After a few weeks of this, and Erin not placing any offerings on this superstitious silver plate, one night she awoke in a cold sweat. She looked at the new video baby monitor and saw a dark shadow cross the screen. She ran into the next room to see a 6 foot bipedal demon covered with slime over scaly skin, with huge antlers coming from his head holding her Maricel. "Shhhhh, don't wake her, Erin." the creature whispered so softly that she wasn't even sure if she heard him or not. "Why are you holding my child?" the words slipped out, and she realized that probably wasn't the best question for the time. Other questions like, "Who are you, what are you?", would have been more appropriate. Yet, those words came out like normal conversation. "She woke up, she had a dirty nappy, *AGAIN*, and you didn't **know**, child." Again with the whisper. "She's sleeping again, but I'm not sure you deserve her. The Babysitter is NOT pleased with your commitment to her services, so she asked me to come, discuss this with you." "You're not the *Babysitter*?" Erin asked softly. Still not really freaking out at the obvious demon in front of her. "No, I'm Gnorblad, a demon of the 18th plane of a dimension that I cannot speak its name, because it will be loud, and wake this child." He paused a moment and gave Maricel a very gentle kiss on the head and placed her in her mother's arms. Maricel cooed slightly, and Erin knew she was OK for now. "We get a bad rap you see. Demons. But we aren't all bad. The Babysitter wanted something *bad* tonight, do you understand? You've 'dodged a bullet', as has your daughter. Might I suggest something special in the offering plate?" "For you not killing my baby?" Erin said softly, worried about the answer. "No, for her..." Gnorblad tilted his head ever so slightly to the dark corner of the room where a rocking chair sat. Erin realized that there was a *person* in that chair. Or maybe not a person. Gnorblad was the scariest thing Erin had ever seen with her two eyes, he was the stuff of nightmares, until she looked in the corner. That shape made her stomach go cold, and she couldn't help but lose slight control of her bladder. "Put the baby in the crib, it will be alright, she won't hurt you with me watching." Gnorblad slowly spoke the words. "Go get the thing. yes, that one, you know what I mean, and place it in the plate. Do it NOW". Erin did as she was told. The instant her baby hairbrush with a lock of her hair tied around it in a bow was placed on the plate, the shadow reached from across the room to grab it. Erin let out a hushed squeak to see the hair disappear from the brush. The silver looked polished. In the corner, she saw a smile and two glowing eyes. "Yes, this will do... don't wait so long next time...", the words were in her head, whispered, yet a shout. at that moment, the shadow was gone. "Be a dear, go clean yourself up. You've had a rough night. Don't forget this," He twirled his finger around in the air. :She's not pleased with me, She will call *someone* less forgiving next time. It will be messy." Gnorblad tilted his head to the side, "You understand right?" "Yes... I think I do. What about Robbie, the baby's father? is there nothing for him to worry about? Why doesn't he have to pay the Babysitter?" "Do you have a picture of this, Robby?" Gnorblad asked. "Why don't you just think of him." Her images were of this beautiful boy who talked her in to giving up her innocence, as well as the horrible creature who abandoned her, she saw visions of him telling his friends, bragging about how he has gotten away with this, with girls at other schools as well. "Oh! Don't you worry about him, " The demon smiled knowingly, "He and I have an *appointment*. " Erin woke up in her bed, she was wearing different pajamas then she went to sleep in. She walked across the hall to Maricel's room. She was still sleeping, safe and snug. "It was all a dream..." then she noticed the slime on the door knob.

Up in the mountains, gold was

Down below her, she could hear the bells ringing in the town. She knew she was desperate, coming here, but up in the mountains, gold was getting scarce. All the bigger and older dragons had massive hoards, and trying to wrest a single, ancient coin away from the other dragons was liable to wind up with her getting soundly beat. There were no more ancient barrows or lost temples up in the mountains that hadn't been picked clean by the other dragons. A lot of the younger ones had come down to the hills and plains, trying to take gold from humans or dwarves. A few had even tried to strike down the elves, but between the excellent elven archers, and the fact that most elves in this region are more inclined towards living wild and free, rather than rich and decadently, they wound up getting very little for their trouble, besides arrow wounds. But she'd been listening from a distance to some of those bothersome lesser races that sometimes come around to try and drive some of the other young dragons away, or perhaps kill them. She had mostly listened because their troubadour sang very beautifully, and to know if they were hunting her. But when they spoke to one another, they spoke of something called a ''quest''. A form of task, given to you at something called an ''Adventurers' Guild''. And if you completed this task, you were given gold. Gold, which is what all dragons desire. For a number of reasons. Mostly for purposes of social hierarchy. A dragon with more gold is respected, while one with little gold is considered a nuisance, and is usually expected to obey richer dragons, or face social exclusion. And since these mortals get paid in gold for doing tasks, she reasoned that she too could get paid for doing these quests. Certainly sounded easier than trying to dig up the burial mounds of dead kings, or stealing it from mortals. It was early morning when she landed in front of the building, which had a sign outside of it proclaiming it to be the local offices of the Guild of Heroes, Adventurers, and Associated Trades. She had flown above the town for a couple of days before she'd gone down there, having observed how these quests worked. Outside of the guild building, there was a large place for posting various tasks. Some adventurers, usually in groups of four or five, took a piece of paper from the board, and then walked inside the building. So she did essentially the same. She landed in front of the board, and picked one that sounded feasible. Capture or kill the centaur highwayman Artonak. She wasn't too big, so she could still fit through the main door of the building. The people on the other side were dumbstruck by her sudden appearance. She looked around, ''*I want to do this quest thing. Bring in a bandit? Yes. I get paid in gold?*'' A gnome, who had fallen on his back when she'd walked in got up and looked at her incredulously. ''*But you're a dragon?*'' She nodded. ''*Yes. You pay in gold for centaur highwayman?*'' She handed the gnome the piece of paper detailing the quest. The gnome then turned to his the other people and started a conversation with them, speaking hurriedly. Her common wasn't good enough to follow the conversation that the gnome had with the other people in there. But when she coughed, they all turned back to her with obvious terror. ''*Uh. Yes. We'll pay for Artonak in gold. The bastard has been hitting merchants and travellers for months. Supposedly his lair is somewhere in the hills outside of town*'' Happy to have been proven correct, she was about to back out of the building before the gnome spoke up hurriedly again. ''*Uh, you just have to register as an adventurer first.*'' She thought it over, and nodded. She didn't exactly understand the language enough, but the staff at the building managed to make her understand that she needed to tell them who she was, and write down her name on a piece of very small paper, otherwise she would not get the gold. She signed as Teristrolkanovy de Wrelros'Dai, which was only the first part of her name. She might not entirely understand what they talking about, but she recognised a contract when she saw one, and no dragon ever reveals their full name. After that, she bolted, and flew away, following the highway out of town. And from above, it was a lot easier to spot where the centaur was setting up a trap for a stagecoach. As he kicked down a partially felled tree in front of the horses, and jumped out with crossbows in his hands, she swept down and grasped him in her claws. The shocked centaur dropped his crossbows, and the sheer shock of her sudden swooping attack, allowed her to completely disarm him, using a tactic her parents had taught her when dealing with armoured knights on armoured horses. When she landed again, the centaur was completely stripped naked, and also in deep shock. She'd landed in front of the guildhouse, where a number of armoured adventurers, and the staff from inside of the building were standing, and talking in very heated tones. Those were silenced when she landed, and placed the centaur in front of the gnome that had talked to her earlier. ''*Please give money.*'' The adventurers had all drawn forth a truly astonishing amount of rare and unusual weaponry when she landed. But the staff explained that since she'd brought in her first quest target, she was technically an adventurer. And since she'd brought in an outlaw, she wasn't an enemy. The adventurers all sheathed their weapons, and the gnome fetched her prize. 200 gold pieces. Which was a lot more gold pieces than she'd thought, as she was still very new to the business. She placed the gold in the crudely crafted bag she carried on her back, which contained the only things she'd owned before getting kicked out of her parents' cave. Which consisted of a large and worn velvet blanket, a breastplate with a mirror enchantment on it, allowing her to look at herself in it, woolly earmuffs made from woolly mammoth, and a toy rabbit. She had many questions about more quests, and eventually, the guild staff had to bring in a translator, as her questions got more complicated, and so did the answers. They explained to her how adventurers travelled between towns, doing quests, helping people, and how it was important that she circled around in the region. Which they had added because if they didn't she'd probably stop anything bigger than goblins on her own, leaving most of that town's resident adventurers out of a job. And since her name had been added to the great scroll of adventurers, every guildhall now knew that she was an adventurer. Happy with having earned the first part of her hoard, she flew on to the next town, where the locals were equally confused and worried about a young dragon swooping in and accepting quests. They were quite happy when she managed to track down a band of slavers, kill them, and bring back the people they'd taken in raids. That town too sent her on, and like a knight errant, she travelled from town to town, earning a lot of gold, till her backpack was swollen. She was worried about suddenly having to leave her gold behind, but having learned more about the common speech, she enquired with the guild, and discovered a new concept, new to dragons at least. Banks. Put your hoard inside of a vault, lock the door, and it'd be safe. So she happily deposited her hoard, especially after they explained how compound interest worked.

Those on the top called us Rats

Below the marble facade lay a web of shantytowns, partially-constructed houses, and a people composed of the darkness. Those on the top called us Rats, scurrying about in our cage, blind to the cruelty of the world. We ignobilities, after all, could not discern our own mistreatment. We lived, we world, we died. Our corpses were briefly wept over, before it was lost to the harsh earth. Sometimes I used to stare into the darkness and imagine the spirits swirling all around me. Sometimes, I swore I could really see them, just for an instant. But time was a construct, something abstract, something hard to keep track of. The Rats were kept in their places by both a strict social hierarchy and by the will of the gods. The Morgenstern, a device of pure, divine light-- an obelisk that supposedly penetrated the skies above and reached deep down into the pits of the Cage-- gave every denizen of Norstria their Powers. Some received the ability to fly, others to shoot starlight from their fingertips. They say the king had the ability to transcend death, to live for decades upon decades without sickness or age beckoning him to the grave. Of course, those were only the ones I'd heard of from the manuscripts I'd found in the filth. Barely colored, hastily scrawled pieces of art with a brief platitude about the Monarchy's glory, covered with the grime and muck of a table that hadn't been cleaned in years, or a shelf that had collected an armor of dust. I read what I could get my hands on, but sometimes the Monarchy would send down enforcers to quell the occasional rebellions that formed when a Rat became too wary of their place. That was when I saw the superior Powers with my own eyes. Men incinerated in the blink of an eye, on the ground, coughing up blood as they were pummeled with tendrils of dirty air. I used to watch from a partially-broken window, the flashes and booms feeding my deepest fantasies and my worst nightmares. The dimness of the Morgenstern's light had reduced the blessings it gave to the people of the Norstrian underbelly. Some received the Power to grow flowers, others the ability to cast stones from their hands. I received nothing, absolutely nothing. I had asked my caretaker, Rousseau, the reason why many times. She had always said the same thing. "You were too pure for the Morgenstern's light," she consoled me time and time again. The other children of Tomami Orphanage all had their due, and I was left both without parents and Powers. I always had a dream, as a child. My mother, as an angel, soaring above the slums, and crashing to the ground. My birth, the light of the Morgenstern filling me until there was nothing left but diffused stars. *Why did I exist?* That was the question I had asked. The gods had abandoned me, leaving me down in a cesspool. Leaving those who cared for me to be oppressed and beaten by demigods that stood over our heads. All because I was too pure for the Morgenstern's light, supposedly. One smoky evening, I had an odd encounter with a strange old woman. She wore a tattered old shawl, and nothing behind her eyes. Though, her face had an uncanny expression as she pulled me into her shop. I obliged, dumping a few coins onto her decrepit table, and waiting as she read my future. There was no harm in it, not that I believed in. "I see light," she had whispered. "I see, I see a stone, a stone moulding itself into you. I see providence, I see a crown. I see the new magic." It was ethereal. There I was, in a house that was little more than salvaged walls and a tin roof, speaking to an old woman who seemed like she had gathered spirits all around her. The same spirits that I had imagined falling into the void, had made themselves known to me, and they hovered around me, biting at my ears, laughing in my face. I had closed my eyes, and ran from the little house. I have no doubt that the strange woman, who I never did see again, was as shaken as I was. Yet, her face was one of certainty, mine of doubt. I never knew what my purpose was until the enforcers came running, some on flames, screaming for sweet death and casting themselves into the pit. Monarchy soldiers fell down through the gaps in the marble, coated in thick blood. Laughter, laughter from the very tops of society that echoed its way to the dredges. Not a happy laughter, but a righteous laughter. Perhaps a laughter of liberation, as bits of the Morgenstern began to crack and crumble, flaking off as alabaster during a tremor. The dim light that had not chosen me faded fast, covered by the encroaching darkness, and there was an air of rebellion, of liberation. A distant booming, voices, the military march of thousands of boots plodding their way to the underbelly. "Death to the king," they chanted, louder and louder. "Death to Norstria. Death to the king, death to Norstria. Long live the new magic," they yelled in a frenzy, dragging the king, naked and bloody, down into the depths. They brought him to the center of the slums and impaled him on a pike, a reminder of their conquest. Yet, in their brutality, they cracked the marble facade upon, and the Rats scurried out into the light for the first time in decades. The sun was blinding, the sky a cyan blue. The marble city of Norstria had crumbled, stained with blood. Perhaps the conquerors planned to butcher us too, if we did not support their zeal? Fate had different ideas, one twisted and cruel. The Morgenstern's disappearance had dispelled every Power whatsoever. As we left the city for the first time, every Power that had ever been fed by the dim light of the morning star was gone, to be forgotten forever. But me, powerless, too pure for the Morgenstern's light-- my body convulsed. My mind was cast into complete chaos as I floated around the sky, impaling our liberators with shards long-forgotten light. I judged unconsciously, with impunity, my wings wide and my eyes tinged with fury. I was the new king, I was the imperator, and I was the new magic. This was the Providence that had been promised. As I took to the skies to carve out the superiority of the Rats, I realized for the first time that I was not worthless. I was made for a purpose. And as my brethren and my conquerors realized as crystals protruded from every inch of my body-- I *was* the Morgenstern. I was the way to the future. I was the next source of light, for a new Norstria. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- r/bluelizardK

"Oh mom! Please. The

"Mom. Please..." I heard coming from my daughter in the chair next to my bed. "Oh sweetie, we all have to go eventually. You have given me the best life I could possibly have ever had. I gained a lovely son, and you've shown me the best grandchildren that I, and the rest of the retirement center, have ever seen." I said in a weak voice. "Oh mom! Please. The rest of the family is on their way! Just hold on for a little bit longer." My daughter pleaded with me. I could feel my breathing become shallow and lighter. My coughing has become more aggressive as my daughter wiped away the saliva on my cheek. I felt a sense of calmness overcome my body. Like floating along a calm river as my fingers and toes became numb. "97 years. 3 more and I would have had a free ice cream at the local parlor" I said with a toothless grin. My daughter wiped away her tears as she chuckled at my joke. My hearing became difficult and I could no longer hear my daughter but could see her mouth moving. My eyelids slowly began closing as I could no longer feel my pulse. I could feel my lungs slowly inhale 1 last bit of air but not exhale as everything became dark. Nothingness. Then I felt a giant rush of air overwhelm my body. I startled awake as the man sitting across from me in the train put a 5 euro bill in his pocket. "Wie Ich sagte. Speicherpunkt." My head felt a massive headache as I looked around. This wasn't the medical hospital I was admitted to after another fall. "Where am I?" I said as I looked around. I looked at the window I was next to and saw myself in the mirror. Not as the 97-year-old senior spending her last days in a retirement home in Florida. But as the young mid 20 girl backpacking throughout Europe as a graduation gift. "Du warst lange weg. Geht es dir gut?" the man sitting across from me said as he looked on with concern. "uhhh uhhh... bitte. Eine minute" I said shaking my head of the mental cobwebs as I looked around. I tried my best to recall the little bit of German I knew all those years ago. "sprichst du Englisch?" I said in my worst attempt at a language I haven't spoken for almost 70 years. He gasped slightly before coughing and leaning forward. "I'm so sorry." He said in a mild German accent. "I often don't do this for foreigners. More for die local folk. Good thing our education system teaches us multiple languages. Like I said before. Save point." I Looked again in the window and felt my hands. The smoothness of them. My hair, silky smooth and not a bit of grey to be seen. My chest no longer sagging, but something I was proud to show off. I turned back to the man as he was raking a sip of beer from a bottle. "What happened? I remember so much happened. Why am I here?" He put his drink down on the floor before turning to me. "You paid me to show you your future. So I did." I looked at him in utter shock before speaking. "I thought you would read my palm, or look at the stars or some random crap, not actually let me see my future. I was 97! I saw my kids, grandkids, I married Phillip. I was at his funeral... I walked Melody down the aisle when she married Charles. Her beautiful white dress. We even got to include the dog Rambo as the ring bearer. Where are they?" "Gone. A figment of your mind. Or rather, not gone, but not existing yet. You have to live that future. Or don't. I don't care for die future of your life" "What will happen if I don't follow that future? If I decide to not go to Texas A&M? If I don't meet Phillip during senior move-in day at the dorms? Or take that job over in Arizona?" He took another sip of his beer as we entered a tunnel. The sounds of the train echoing as he spoke. "Then die future changes. Besides die mind is a fickle thing. Very smart sometimes, but sometimes it is very forgetful. Tell me, who is your husband?" I looked at him in shock at his question. "It obviously... wait. What was his name?" I said, shocked at how quickly I forgot the man I married and had a child with. He smiled and finished the last of his beer. "Where did you go for university? What was your child's name? Who did she marry?" I stammered as I tried my best to recall all the information I had in my prior "life". "Why can't I remember any of this?!" I shouted at him. "It is like ven you have die dream and you wake up only to find out, you cannot recall any details. The train exited the tunnel as I could see us approaching a stop. "Do not worry about die future. Whatever happens, happens. It is up to you and only you to determine how you approach it." He said as he gathered his backpack from the chair next to him. "What happens now when I die? Will I come back here again and see you again?" I said as the train began to slow down. I heard a chime from the PA system before hearing a German woman begin to speak. "Nachster Halt, Berlin." as the train slowed to a stop. "That depends mein Fraulein. Do you have another 5 Euros?" he said to me as he stood up and placed his backpack on his shoulder. I placed my hands quickly in my pockets to search for more money. "Sorry, I don't have anymore." I said to him with a defeated look. "Then you will have 1 chance like everyone else. Pass auf dich auf" he said as he made his way to the doors and onto the platform. I heard another chime as the doors closed and the train began to slowly chug along down the tracks. I sighed as I looked out the window to see the man waving one last time before walking down the stairs of the platform. Side note: apologies if the German is wrong, blame Google translate! r/nywarpath EDIT: Thank you to all the German Redditors for helping me with the accent and more commonly used phrases. Danke!

Alex woke up in a place he

Alex woke up in a place he couldn't remember, without a name, place or identity. On the first iteration, if you could call it that, he awoke alone in an apartment he assumed to be his own. His head had felt like a herd of buffalo had thundered across his forehead, but beyond that, he felt fine. Even the throbbing pain in his skull began to subside like a tide, becoming less and less important as his consciousness returned. Beyond this ebb, his body didn't seem damaged in any way. He flexed his fingers, breathing deeply through his nose. Slow in, slow out. Beyond the amnesia, beyond the strange surroundings, beyond the fact he couldn't even remember his name, he felt fine. In fact, he felt fantastic. He checked his own wallet, as it probably wasn't normal to wake up without knowing your name, and more importantly how or why you woke up where you did, and couldn't find a license. There was a university student identification that only had a first name, Alex, on it, so he supposed that must be his name. Or he could be wrong. He stood up, half naked, looking at the long and intricate stitching into his side. It was a strange tapestry, starting near his right shoulder and meandering down to his hip. It circled around, and with one hand felt it on his back. As if someone had taken a giant chunk of his body, casually flayed it open, and then sealed it up. So naturally, he made his way to a local hospital. No name, no insurance, no real form of identification. But showing the giant and recent crochet job someone performed on his flesh was enough to get a few doctors to check him out and admit him. Worst case scenario, he's some kind of ghost. Best case, the staff can figure out some kind of way to identify him. Maybe help him. Whoever he is. There were scans, tubes poked and prodded into various body parts, but beyond these initial disturbances, Alex couldn't particularly find anything wrong with himself. His arms felt fine, he could take deep breaths, and beyond a randomly pulsating throbbing sensation in his forehead, everything seemed fine. It was the looks on the medical staff's faces that seemed to ring invisible warning bells. Their faces seemed not exactly concerned for him, but almost as if they were afraid. When they looked at the chart, they pursed their lips, looked away, and refused to explain what was wrong with Alex. But he knew. Somehow, he knew. When it came to bad news, staff would either downplay the news, or a doctor would hit you with a massive wall of jargon and specific terminology that the average layman couldn't understand. So Alex sat there, shirtless, and began to poke and prod his side. And for a single moment, felt something...off. Something hard. Something metallic. What the fuck was that? The door to the observation room swung open, and a pair of burly men entered, one in a plain black suit, and another in standard nurse's garb. *He's not a nurse,* a thought flashed across Alex's mind. *Not a nurse. Something's wrong.* In his minds eye, Alex is running through another hallway, white and sterile on either side, sprinting for freedom, away from the pounding of feet behind him, telling him to stop. Not telling, no, ordering, commanding, threatening him to stop and submit. His side a carnival of pain, his lungs almost bursting in his chest, but his feet pounded down. He had to get out. To escape, before they brought him back. As soon as the vision appears, it vanishes. Was it a dream? Alex couldn't recall. Where was that voice coming from? Why couldn't he remember? "One last test," the nurse said, and before Alex could realize what was happening, he felt the flashing cold of bare metal on his own flesh. He was handcuffed. Before he could even protest, his other wrist found itself shackled to the opposite side. The man in the suit said nothing. Was nothing. Could not contribute anything. Alex knew he was the kind of man who looked at his orders, and nonchalantly carried them out. Regardless of time, place, or morality. "What's going on?" There was fear now in Alex's chest, there was something growing in that uncertainty. "You know what's going on," the man in the suit said. He held up what must be an x-ray of some kind, and to Alex's sudden and growing horror, saw some kind of geared mechanism intertwined with bone and musculature. There were no intestines, a single lung, and a liver, but it looked like someone had taken a shovel and scooped out half his guts to replace with gear and metal. "There's something seriously wrong with you," the man in the suit says as if speaking to a child. "We need to help you, and help you now." There's concern in the man's voice, but to Alex it feels feigned. Alien. "Help me how?" he asks. What else can he ask? "You're missing a ton of organs, kid, we need to get you in the operating room ten fucking minutes ago." Alex's mind gave another sudden pang. There was something there, hidden beneath some kind of invisible blizzard of forced what? Information? Was something blocking his memory? That seemed so inconsequential, so unnecessary. What was abhorrent was the metal within him. While he wasn't on a first name basis with his own organs, he preferred them there. *I still have a liver,* he thinks to himself insanely. *At least I can drink.* Can he? He didn't see a stomach. "Administer the sedative," the man in the suit says to the nurse, already preparing a syringe. "No," Alex says. It's a croak, rather than speech. His throat has gone dry as sand paper. He pulls with his left arm against the restraint, fighting, and an increasing sense of terror gripped him. *They want to take me away,* he thinks. *They want to take me back!* There was some instinct, some hidden and intense hatred of needles. He'd stomached it for now, just assuming it was something normal to deal with, but now, in this man's hands, he couldn't stop himself, no there was no way he could stand still. There was something familiar in them. Something familiar and utterly horrifying in their presence. *How did they find me?* He would ask who *they* were, but that no longer mattered. There was a deeper part of him that already knew they were a people with no name or face, an invisible group. Omnipresent and omniscient, and Alex could hear a voice, distinctly not his own, hammer across his skull. "Test four a partial success," it intoned. A dispassionate monotone. "Subject eight prepared for test five." When Alex jerked his right arm, the handcuffs snapped with an innocent clink, and before Alex understood what he was doing, he'd freed his other arm and leapt onto the nurse, bringing him down in a single movement and cracking his skull with a right arm with a strength he cannot comprehend. It simply crunched like a giant egg. Alex's body moved on its own, as if some kind of invisible training had kicked in, something he couldn't know or possibly remember. The man in the suit reached for something, most likely a pistol, but Alex brought the right arm out again, a metallic and powerful hook cracking into the man's jaw. The shock reverberates up his arm, so strong and fast as to cause his teeth to click together from effort. The man's jaw is made of metal. *Like me,* Alex thinks to himself. *Metal men. Toy soldiers.* Was he one of them? The man in the suit staggers backwards, his eyes unfocused, shifting and shimmering as the pupils changed color. Before he thinks, he swings again. Once. Twice. Three times. A fourth, final crash, and instead of blood and brain and bone, a tangled mass of metal and gears along with a thick, black oil oozes in a terminal flood across the floor. The overpowering scent of burning rubber and frying electronics, so strong as to cause Alex's eyes to water. There's jostling outside the room now, and the fear returns, a sledgehammer to the gut. His hands were sweating, coated with that viscous fluid. Sweat began to bead on his neck and forehead. *I need to get out. I need to get out of here. They found me,* he thinks, though the thoughts are half formed and frantic. Alex threw his shirt back on, looking at the pair of dead men on the floor with both confusion and pity. That voice again, making his skin crawl, causing a shiver to run down his spine. If you could call it a spine. "Subject eight has completed test five, and is ready to begin augmentation procedures. Schedule him for first thing in the morning." He throws the door open, and finds the hallway deserted. No medical staff anywhere. No other patients. A ghost town, a place that had been crowded only thirty minutes before. More men in suits in the halls, eyeing him coolly, as if expecting an escape attempt. As if waiting for an opportunity to use force. To hurt him. To take him. Alex saw, with his heart hammering within his chest, that each man was as identical as the other. More metal men. More fake men. Coming for him, and Alex could see their grasping, implacable iron fingers grasping and pulling. That came with certainty, and he could feel now the strange clanking and clacking of the metal within his own body grinding itself together. And he ran. He ran for his life. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I wrote a

"Gerard you son of a

"Gerard you son of a bitch!" My wife shouted. This was probably the worst possible way to wake up from a nap. Especially, considering I had been dreaming about twins. Twins! Suddenly I was tumbling ass over head out of my hammock. My face cushioned my graceful decent to the ground, and a loud ringing sounded in my ears. I groggily sought out for my blade, only to grasp dirt, grass, and some remnants of cloth. It took a moment for my fuzzy brain to catch up with what was happening to me. "Gawk?" I responded helpfully "How could you!" She shouted unhelpfully. "Love, I know I wasn't at top...erhm...of my game last night, but this seems like a bit of an overr--" Her hand shot out at lightning speed and that ringing in my ear picked back up in decimal and volume. I scrambled heroically backwards and attempted to shield my face from her blows. Thankfully no follow up strike occurred, and in the moment of brief reprieve I took a moment to glance out from behind my flimsy hand shield. "Look!" She screamed. Again, rather unhelpfully. I looked around, my bleary eyes going in and out of focus. My head began pounding. Whether from the hangover or from my wife's impossibly strong blows I could not tell. Finally I focused in on her finger, and followed that to the direction it pointed and my mouth dropped open in shock. "What in the fuck?" I croaked out rubbing my eyes in disbelief. There playing in the meadow patch in front of us was my little boy Trip. Well technically he was Gerard III, but honestly I was hoping if we called him Trip he'd have better luck then the rest of his Gerard lineage. He was playing with the neighbors kid Ginny. Or was it Geri? Damn, but my head hurt. This in, in of itself was no big deal, the neighbors seemed like alright folk. The girl's mum had always been kind of nice to me. What was her name? Cera? Morgan? Whatever. The name wasn't the problem. The problem was that the damn five-year-old girl with a mop of curls was staggering about with my damn sword. Realization began to dawn on me. "What did you do!?" I yelped staring wild eyed at my wife. "What did I do? What did I do? WHAT DID I DO!?" She roared, a look of incredulous fury darkening the storm cloud of her expression. "Well yeah love, only direct descendants of my bloodline can wield the blade!" Her storm cloud turned to utter ice, she grabbed a bucket of water from the nearby well my hammock had been partially attached too and flung it in my face. The chilled liquid was a shock to my system, and left me blinking as my brain struggled to function. She bit out each word with a frigid chill that could freeze a cactus. "Do you think I'm related to you Husband o mine?" "Well uh, no love obviously--" "Do you think we hail from the kingdom of Halabama?" "Of course not I-" "Did you recall me delivering two babes within weeks of each other?" "That does seem highly unlikely-" "So, great and mighty hero, how is it that you think this young lass happens to be able to wield your heroic blade?" Sobriety hit me like a Manticore's tail. The ringing in my ear subsided to just a bothersome pinging as I stared at the two children. They staggered and weaved back and forth. Giggling and laughing uproariously. The girl waiving about an impossibly massive 8 ft tall blade as if it was light as a feather. The girl, my erhm, daughter hiccuped and tumbled to her rear end. Shit. "But how?' I mumbled dejectedly. "Well Heart o' mine, as much as I would love to explain in great detail how such things work - since obviously you need the refresher - we don't have time the time. Don't you think it'd be wise to take that gargantuan magical sword away from the children?" I rubbed my eyes again, still unable to comprehend what I was seeing. "The blade is magically and permanently dull, there really isn't much damage they can do to one another." I said trailing off as the withering glare of my wife told me it was time to get off my ass, get the blade, and then tell a really convincing tale as to how I managed to impregnate my neighbor without realizing it. I mean, truthfully I had no recollection of sleeping with the lady. But then again, many evenings were a blur for me. I didn't think that telling my wife that really I always tried to be faithful to her would stem this tide of rage that she was currently beset with. I stumbled over to where the children played. They hiccuped and giggled at nothing unable to keep their footing. That wasn't a good sign. It meant they had both touched the blade. I sighed, and thanked the gods that we lived far enough out in the country that the kings family management council wouldn't see that two five year olds were fantastically and completely drunk before it was even midday. "Come now, come now children let me have the sword." The girl, Celeste maybe? Looked as if she were going to be belligerent and make me fight her for the blade. "Fatherrrrr" my boy sung out. I groaned in understanding. "Fatherrrrr could we have some milk?" "Some Milk father, some milk" she chorused with him, snapping her fingers. "We need some milk tied with silk!" He sang out uproariously. Damn it they had struck each other with the blade as well. They'd both be only able to communicate through song for the next fortnight at least. It was an annoying side effect of the blade. Made worse due to the fact that children were hardly bards or master lyricists. Especially these children. I steeled myself. Than I plucked the blade from her distracted fingers. The earth instantly lurched sideways, as euphoria spread across me like a warming blanket. Things began to make sense again as I became as drunk as drunk could be. The girl began to protest. But just at that moment my boy stumbled into her and they collapsed into a tangle of giggling limbs and out of key song. I took that opportunity to slip away, well rather lurch away, and back into the cross armed hell storm that was my wife. "Are they ok?" She asked with barely concealed malice. "They could use some milk" I replied trying not to hiccup. She really hated when I hiccuped. "A poor effort at distraction, even for you." "Listen love, I swear, I don't remember sleeping with uh Alyce. What was it? Four years ago?" "Five and her name is Staci." "Staci...er..yeah Staci" I fuzzy memory of flaxen hair, some unexpected freckles, and...nothing. "What was I fighting five years ago?" My wife wrinkled her nose in consternation. "Does that matter?" I shrugged "It might." She sighed heavily, the anger far from gone but being the chronicler of my exploits she was pretty good at this sort of thing. "Six years ago was the Hyrda, Four was that horrid pack of Fire Breathing Fowl's." She mused to herself. "I believe at the five year mark was when you battled that Siren." I grinned despite myself. "Ah yes, that bitch" I hiccuped and she glared at me. "She loved to talk to herself. Hell of a fighter that one. Had to get so drunk I could barely hear anything." "Yes, yes, I was there." She said impatiently. "Smacked her good with this." I said gently patting my blades blunt edge. Careful to do so lightly enough to not trigger the singing spell. "She started Mono-lodging. Er Mono-blogging--" "Monologuing." "Right, that. Monologuing. Accidentally sang herself to death. That was actually pretty funny." "She killed two dozen townsfolk." "Well that part wasn't funny." My wife sighed and gave the universal hand sign for I better be getting on with my point. I gulped and continued. "How'd I, How did I, erhm how'd I get home?" "I took you home. I even put you into bed." Right right, and we tried that one position for the first time. Where you did the uh...thing." "What thing?" "You know." I said waggling my eye brows. "No we didn't try that until after..." Slowly my wife's eyes widened. Understanding breaking across her face. Understanding that I certainly didn't understand. "Hold on. After putting you to bed that night, I went to my parents that evening..." She trailed off, her head snapping to the distant outline of our neighbors house. "My father needed help finding some of his sheep. I had asked Staci too check up on you...that bitch!" She turned to her shoulders toward our neighbors house. Righteous fury, and the scorn of a thousand suns in her eyes. "So we uh, good" I squeaked out tentatively. "Love?" She glanced back over her shoulder. "Magical drunkenness is no excuse oh light of my life. We will have our reckoning later. But first, I have business to attend to with that wench Staci." "I'm gonna have to slay something epic as an apology aren't I?" I groaned as the magical alcoholic effect went sour in my stomach. "Epic enough for the ages." She said her eyes beaming beneath her storm clouded mask. "Shit." I moaned. I stumbled back into my hammock as she charged valiantly up the hill to poor Staci's home. It took me four attempts to right the sling, and collapse back into it. I let the unwieldy menace that was my blade tumble from grip. Faintly I thought I could hear a voice laughing faintly, drunkenly in the back corners of my mind. That was new. But I shook it off, I was stupendously inebriated after all. Authors Note: I really didn't think I would write about the drunken sword again. But this seemed like a fun prompt for it. If you liked it, you can read the origin story

Omega Fall crouched in the shadows

*You should have kept your heart closer to your chest, Electra,* thought Omega Fall sadly. She wasn't going to take any pleasure in what she was about to do, though it had to be done. Omega crouched in the shadows between slumbering suburban houses. Directly across the street sat the single-family home she'd been hunting for the past year. It was small, but well-kept. An illuminated porch stood in sharp contrast to the dark windows. It was late at night. Hopefully, the family would be asleep, and Omega could deliver them to their deaths painlessly. She began compressing energy. A bright, crackling blue glow emerged between her outstretched hands. No Sensors went off. Omega had checked earlier, but she thought she might have made a mistake. Why would Electra not establish a defence system near her home? The energy began to tighten. The ghostly glow washed over her face. She prepared to unleash and run. Suddenly, Electra's front door opened, and a thin, wiry man stepped out. He was dressed in pajamas with tiny elephants. It looked like he was wearing pink nail polish on his fingers. The father, most likely. Mr. Marco Oblian. The man looked oddly familiar, but Omega didn't consider it for another moment. She let loose her compressed blast. The energy tore through the air, a sharp missile of kinetic force aimed directly at the man, and at the house, and at the children sleeping within. Two girls. 7 and 9. Marco Oblian simply raised his hand, and the energy slammed into him but immediately disappeared. Omega's jaw fell. She turned to run, but the man reached out and pulled on the air. Space folded; Omega tripped backwards and landed at the bottom of the porch steps. She turned around. She now knew exactly who this man was. "Nice nails," said Omega, before he could speak. "Hot pink. Very cute." "You've got some nerve attacking my home," rumbled Marco Oblian, his voice surprisingly deep. The lower half of his face was covered in a bushy beard, his lips pressed into a straight line. There were more lines around his dark eyes and on his wide forehead than in the textbooks. "I thought you were enjoying your retirement in Tibet," muttered Omega, standing up. She was surprisingly calm for someone facing their imminent death. He shrugged an elephant-dappled shoulder. "Cover story." He didn't seem in a hurry to kill her. "So, you and Electra?" He nodded. "Congratulations," said Omega. "Well, better get on with it." She closed her eyes. She hoped it wouldn't hurt. Instead of crushing her into a human ball, Marco said, "Did you know my girls were in the house?" Omega didn't expect that. She opened her eyes. Marco was leaning on the porch pillar, arms crossed. He had a strange look on his face that might have been pity, or sadness. It made Omega angry. "Yes," she spat. "I knew. I was going to blast you and your daughters into the ground without blinking an eye." She grit her teeth. Marco shook his head. "Even in my worst days, I would never consider harming children," he murmured. There was a scar on the side of his neck that seemed to glow in the light of the porch. "Your time is long gone, old man," said Omega proudly. "The New World is here, and we the Soldiers will deliver unto the Earth an era unmatched in glory and prosperity." "Sounds like classic Archleague propaganda," said Marco, sitting down on the porch steps. He winced slightly and rubbed his hip. "Have you ever considered that there might be a life for you outside of all this?" He waved his hand vaguely in the air. "My life does not belong to me. My life belongs--" "To the Archleague and all her people, yes, yes, I know," interrupted Marco. "But are you happy? Are you at peace with your actions?" Omega had had enough. "You're one to talk, *Magistrate*," she hissed, stepping up to him and stabbing a finger in the air. "One of the Archleague's most esteemed veterans, the Judge of Life and Death, is trying to *guilt me* for being a villain? We study and learn about your entire career. I've practically memorized your treatise on mental warfare." She laughed harshly, the sound echoing down the empty street. "And yet, you say *I* have nerve." To her surprise, Marco just smiled sadly. "I guess I deserve that. I have done a lot of things I regret. I will likely continue to do more, but the difference is, now I try to do better. To be better. Whereas before, as the Magistrate, I didn't care. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but I made it seem right. Like it had to be done." He gazed at her with those dark, forlorn eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way, you know." Omega felt the fight drain out of her. She tried to grasp onto it as it left, to fuel her hatred and anger against this hypocrite of a man, but she couldn't. "Are you going to kill me or not?" she said wearily. "If you don't now, your wife will eventually, or I'll kill her and leave you a widower and your daughters without a mom." She didn't know why she was taunting him. She was tired. Marco's eyes flashed angrily. He stood up, slowly. Omega felt the world around her shrink and compress, like reality was simply a ball of energy in Marco Oblian's hands. The porch creaked and groaned, as the pressure on her body grew to unimaginable depths. The door opened again, for the second time that night. A little girl in matching elephant pajamas came out. The pressure stopped immediately. Omega breathed a ragged breath. "Dad?" murmured the girl, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing? I felt something weird..." She blinked, seeing Omega staring at her. "Who's that?" Marco's jaw clenched, and Omega thought somehow she was in even more danger than before. Then, suddenly, Marco deflated. He looked as tired as she felt. He turned to his daughter and picked her up. "Charlotte, this is Omega Fall, a friend of your mother's," said Marco, brushing some stray hair out of Charlotte's pert face. "She was just... coming by to say hi." Omega didn't know how to react. She froze, like a newbie Soldier in her first bout against a Hero. "Hi," said Charlotte shyly. She had her father's eyes, but her mother's nose. Omega could recognize Electra's nose anywhere. "Hello," whispered Omega, her heart beating incredibly fast. She felt tears prick the back of her eyes, for some stupid reason. "Omega was just leaving," said Marco to his daughter. "I don't think she'll be coming back, so say goodbye." Omega understood. She was being let go with a warning, but there won't be another one. "Bye, Omega," said Charlotte. She buried her face into Marco's shoulder. "Dad, I'm cold." "Me too, baby," replied Marco, rubbing her back. His nearly overwhelming gaze fell on Omega, but there was no anger in it. Just a cold certainty, and a weary sadness. "Goodbye, Omega Fall," said Marco quietly. He thrust his hand out, and swiped at the air. Omega felt herself spin around, like she was in a revolving door, and she stumbled onto a hill outside the City. From here, she could see the sleeping walls, and the metal towers that shone like candles in the night, keeping the encroaching darkness back. She collapsed onto the soft grass, and began to cry. --- Check out my profile for other stories I've written! :D Edit : never thought I'd be one of these people... but thanks for the awards and upvotes everyone. It's my first time receiving such love, and I'm very grateful. Edit 2 : Chapter 2 is below. Was a little nervous to post this because I feel like there's more pressure now? Anyways, here it is :) https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/httjoe/wp_the_villain_uncovers_the_heros_true_identity/fyl53cl/

Six-one-eight-nine

Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn. I repeat it again, just to be sure. Too often, the smallest details and the mistakes that comes from failing to remember them spelled disaster for me. I've always though that the night suited me, it might be one of the reasons that villain's work just came to me naturally. I must admit, it's odd though, *walking* though the neighborhood, just... strolling along on the side walk. The leather jacked rubs against my undershirt. It's not that I feel uncomfortable, per se, it's just.. I feel almost... *exposed.* The chilly air tries to pry it's way past the folds, but I clutch it tighter too me. Without my outfit, the strobe lights and blackened armor plates, I feel almost naked as I walk past another bloody shrubbery. Just when I think that that informant's going to get a black eye for his troubles tomorrow, I come across it. Six-one-eight-nine. Portland avenue. A white house with a small lawn. I stand at the edge of the grass, hesitating. It's... small. Much smaller than I expected, more like a cottage than a house. There's the occasional potted plant and the line of box hedges, a errant splash of paint or two. The whole thing is the picture of suburbia. I step to the concrete path, making sure to grind a good heel into the grass as I do. It's not much, but at least, if nothing else, I might make a good hole in his greenery. *A journey of a thousand evils starts with a single step,* I seem to recall one of my teachers saying as I plod my way up to a wooden door with iron inlays. In my case, my single step was a foot through my sister's lego house at the age of four. Hurt like a bitch, but the pain was well worth her bawling face. I almost lose myself to nostalgia as I stand before the door, hand half poised before a twisted ring knocker. First came the sibling rivalry, then came the delinquency, the occasional minor offence, and finally you got to know someone, or they got to know you. Then it was off to the races, to see if you could make it big - find yourself an archnemisis, get film rights, etc. I'd found the former, the latter... I was still working on that. That reminded me, I needed to call that blonde agent from... what was it? Harford publishing? She said something about a good advance for a biography. Well, that would be the treat after the night was done, with some coco and a rom-com. I almost wanted to turn away to walk back down the path, but business was business. The black ring collided with the red wood. Knock. Knock. Knock. I briefly wonder what I'm going to do. Not burst in ranting and raving obviously, that'd be slobby. Maybe an implied threat, a bit of knife play? How subtle should he be? He really should've made a plan for these type of things before- The door creaked open, light spilling across the concrete steps. The sound of classical music, and children's laughter came with it. Chopin, a ballade no less! He felt a little drop in his stomach as heard that. They were some of his favorites. There was a pale hand on the door, red hair, red dress, a vision of crimson before him. A pair of fiery eyes glimmered in a heart shaped face. "Hello?" he said, quickly clearing his throat. "Good evening," said a warm voice that flickered like a candle. "Ah yes..." he trailed off as he realized that he had nothing to say, "uh..." "I don't think I know you. Can I help?" "I'm a friend of your husband," he said, the shamelessness of the lie nearly bringing color to his cheeks. "Oh, well why didn't you say so?" she said, a bubbly radiance spilling forth as she practically pulled him in. She didn't even close the door as she waved him through to a spacious kitchen. "Who's that?" said a voice from a side room amid a confluence of gunshots. "Just a friend of your father's, you deal with your game, I'll deal with the guest," she said, as she shut the door to the room, muffling the affirmation. He was twirled into a chair before he even had time to react, the crimson women weaving her way around the island to see to the preparation of dinner. The lusciousness of onions, the sweetness of carrots, simmering meat and fresh baked bread all filled the kitchen as she fiddled with this pot and this oven. He relaxed as he saw her roving around, sinking into the smellscape of that space. Then, nearly dropping it to his horror, he slid out a knife under the counter. As she pulled out a long wooden board onto the counter top, she began to speak to him. "So, are you a friend from work, then?" "Yes, I've often worked with your husband," he said, grateful for the way out. "Oh, what department? Sorry for being curious, he so rarely talks about his job, no matter how much I ask," she giggled, shifting the board slightly, then leaning over to look him in the eye. "Yes," he said, "uh, I work, in... accounting." "Accounting," she said, drumming her fingers on the marble as she glanced up and down, "why how lovely. I always loved the number game, they way they all... tumble together and such." "Yes, quite," he said dryly. He played with his collar, feeling rather warm. "Do you have an hobby, mister..." "Smith. James Smith. Not a lot, mostly work, that who I am. Archery too, every now and then." "Ooh. A work man, I understand. It's so easy to get lost in a career, then suddenly your life twists and turns and you're not quite sure where you've ended up. It's funny how that works isn't it?" At this point, he was considering if the rom-com might've been the better choice. "Me? After I retired, oh, how I loved my work though, I picked up gardening. Not really much good at it, my green thumb is more of a red one, in the line of Poe, I'm afraid." They both shared a laugh, but something felt very fragile as it hung in the air. "Look, I was-" "And fertilizer, do you know anything about fertilizer? I've been reading a lot lately, learning so many new and interesting things. Like ash, for instance. Makes for lovely blooms." "I-" "Animal ash, now that.." she said, bringing a loaf of bread on top of the board, "makes for some *killer* flowers." "You, er.. don't have a knife," he said. Okay, it was definitely not his imagination. He was starting to sweat. "Oh right, of course," she said. His right knee slammed into the counter top, causing him to gasp as he reeled to maintain his balance. Once he did, he started to speak, his irritation beginning to peak at this constant chatter. "Look, I came here to threa-" "Oh, thank you!" came her voice. *Will you shut up for thirty seconds?* He thought as he inhaled, preparing to simply say the fucking thing. Then he stopped. She was standing there, holding out a hand to offer him a piece of bread, wafts of steam peeling off its darkening surface. A knife, his knife, was clutched lazily in one hand, a wave of white, yell and red crawling down the once dark metal, rippling the air above it. Her eyes were alive with circulating streams of those same reds and yellows, ambers and purples screaming their way across the edges of the irises. It was indescribably beautiful, but in the same way a nuclear explosion was beautiful. The smile that slashed its way across her face made his heart freeze, even as he continued to sweat in the sudden heat. "You were saying?" ​ ​ *Want more of my stuff? Check out* /r/The_Alloqium*!*

Frank's spirit was trying, unsuccessfully

"Frank, come on. This is getting ridiculous." Frank's spirit was trying, unsuccessfully, to walk out the open door of the bedroom. He looked a little bit like a man on a treadmill, his spectral feet sliding over the floorboards, his semitransparent hands pawing at the air. "Shut the fuck up. Get out of here. Don't look at me." Like all spirits, Frank was insubstantial, like a dimmer switch had been dialed down on his presence in the world. The borders of his body were fuzzy, and all the color in his flesh was desaturated. Plus, he was naked. It's just how it went. "Hey, man, I'm here to help you." I tried very carefully to put on my best professional voice. Dealing with spirits was always a tricky business, but usually the problem was that they were traumatized, horrified and frozen in place, unable to stop staring at their own dead bodies. Frank was a whole other set of problems. "Let me in to hell, or whatever!" Frank was ignoring me. He stamped his foot on the floor, (or tried to) a move that made his fat, ghostly ass jiggle, and once more tried to walk out through the door. I shrugged, giving up for the time being. Leaving Frank to his own devices, I turned to inspect the room. It was not a pretty sight. I'd been in plenty of awful places on the behest of the police. Filthy squats beneath freeway overpasses, dust-blasted abandoned houses in the burbs filled with rotting bodies, chilly mansions in the hills with blood on the walls. Each of them was, in the end, awful in their own way, and this hotel room was no different. All around me was the evidence of a lost, last weekend in the middle of the week. Tall cans glittered in the dim light from the dirty window, clothes and scraps of paper lay all around like shed skins. The small card table in the space next to the bed was dusted with white powder, and the short metal straw of the professional coke-sniffer lay like a spent round near the center of it all. Worse yet was the bed - a bloody mess. I didn't have the stomach to look at it for too long. No matter how many of these I was called out to, I seemed unable to develop the mental callouses that allowed some of the cops I worked with to laugh, or smoke, or eat a sandwich while staring at a corpse. "Frank, you won't be able to leave." "Why, because you're holding me here?" Frank turned, incensed. He was clutching his fists by his side, his face screwed up with fury. He was a big guy, had been an intimidating guy in life - six foot two and heavy with muscle. The kind of guy who wore TapOut shirts to the bar and bumped into people intentionally. The kind of guy who reveled in the fog of unease he could generate. "No." I sighed, wishing I could sit down in one of the chairs. I felt tired. "Because murdered spirits always stick around. It's... it's a hundred percent thing, man. That's why-" "I can't *fucking believe* this!" Frank looked like he really, really wanted to hit me. "If I'm dead, why can't that just be *it*!?" I shrugged again. "Just the way it is." "I just- I just want-" I could see it coming now. This happened, occasionally. Usually with people like Frank. They'd moved through the world powered by their own anger, brimming with it, using it as fuel to impose their sense of self on the rest of us. In death, often it took a little time for the last of the fuel to burn out. "Holy... holy shit." Frank half-collapsed to the floor. "I can't believe..." He shook his head, spectral hair falling in his face. "I always thought... I'd fix it. I'd have time... this was just... a dip. You know? A dip, and then I'd be back to... who I really am." He looked up at me, and I felt a sincere stab of pity. This hotel room was no place for anybody to die. "She's going to find out about it." Frank's face was a mask of agony. "I won't be able... to fix it. I was going to stop everything. I was going to fix it." I took a chance and sat on the ground next to him, giving him the same space I would have done if he were alive. "Look, man, I mean - I see this stuff all the time. People die with unfinished business. Murder is wrong, not just because it's scary for the rest of the world to think that somebody can take a life, but because it cuts off all possibilities. I don't think you're a bad guy, Frank. I mean, you've helped the family out a lot. We like having you around." These were lies. "I could tell you were having a hard time. Katie talked to me about it. But she wanted stuff to work out. She loved you, she thought you were a good Dad. You could have worked stuff out." Frank was crying now, tears coursing down his face. "I wanted that for you, and now somebody's taken it away, forever." Frank sniffed, rubbed some spectral snot away with his wrist. "I can't... I don't want to tell my brother-in-law all the fucked up stuff I've done." I shrugged again. "Unfortunately, I'm all you got, man. If there was anyone else, they'd be here." A long silence stretched out. I stared at a tipped-over tall can on the carpet, a dead rocket in a field of its own fuel. The sun was just rising, if the pale light beneath the crack in the door was any evidence, and I was starting to feel the bleary-eyed exhaustion that a sleepless night always gave me. "Frank, it's not just for you. We've gotta know who she is." Frank didn't look at me. I twisted my head and looked back at the bed. Frank and some woman, tangled in a bloody embrace. Limbs intertwined, soggy hair hung over closed eyes. "I said it was a hundred-percent thing, man, and I meant it." I spoke very carefully, now, trying to keep the unease out of my voice. "So we want to know who did this, right, but I *need* to know-" I looked around, like a kid searching every corner for the boogeyman, "-why isn't *she* here?" Frank looked up, then, and I could see the terror on his face. I knew it was a bad, bad sign. Edit - The response to this has been truly overwhelming. Thanks to everyone for the kind words, they really mean a lot to me. Part II is below if you'd care to read.

The Volcanic Region is the

The Volcanic Region stretches long and intimidating before me but I clutch my staff all the tighter. This place is my birthright. It may have taken me the better part of my life to piece together the clues, but I know it now. The first hint were the scortch marks on the blanket that lay wrapped around me as I mewled on the doorstep of my soon-to-be-parents' front stoop. It smelled of sulfur and ash. As I cross the border from swamp to cracked earth, the air fills with a familiar, almost comforting scent. The Volcanic Region is the home to the devastating force, King Rednaxela, that had taken over the world as long as I've been alive. His power has waned in the past decade, with many regions successfully fighting for their freedoms. The volcanoes, however, have held fast as his stronghold. No one is allowed in or out. I'd always been raised to keep my nose to the ground. I'd have lived this life contently had I not learned the truth of my heritage. I am of the volcanoes and my people need saving. The path slopes down in front of me and I inhale one more time before starting down the path to the capital, Mount Moonsault. It's been hard to do research as the embargo on the region has been so absolute. From what I've learned, the people here live inside dormant volcanoes, structuring their homes down the massive chimneys. It's no wonder they fell so easily to a being of fire and magma. The king could, with very little power, cause an eruption. I know this for I too have fire powers. It's a mark of the volcanic folk, so I'm told by those who once stared at me in terror when I excitedly showed off my power. I learned in short order that fire magic was forbidden in most of the world. If only they could see me now, traversing deep into the heart of the enemy. Few understand my so-called arrogance. A boy of sixteen, traveling into the last occupied territory of King Rednaxela when so many have failed? But that's what they miss. None have failed for none have tried. They left the Volcanic Region as a peace token to the demon king. The kings and queens of the various regions all sent messengers to the Volcanic Region, promising the realm to the demon king if he let them have their lands back. None know why he accepted the deal. But as the wars fought out in the other lands, no response came from the mighty Mount Moonsault. Well, they can keep their treaties but I'm going in. I have a chance to do some good and avenge my people. I must try. As I crest Mount Moonsault, my breath is taken away. The massive city lines the inside of the volcano in a way I've never seen before. Everything is oriented vertically, connected by ladders and stairs instead of streets or roads. *Alright Alex, be brave.* "Oh boy, a newcomer. Didn't know we were allowed those now." The woman jumps out at me as I descend a twisting staircase. If I hadn't been prepared for an attack, I may have fallen in surprise. She stares at me through strange, colored spectacles. "Ah, Salamay be confounded, I think this boy's one of us. Lookit him. Got our markings in his hair." The hair was a hint I learned only weeks ago. The Volcanic people tended to have reddish lines in their hair, a mark of those who grew up with demonic stench in the air. "What city do you hail from?" she asks. "Murkham," I say. "By the Swamp." She gasps and clutches her chest. "By the Swamp? You're from the outside?" Then she clutches the front of my tunic and begins dragging me down the stairs. "The others must know. This is serious indeed. Come, boy." We wind through more of the strange and wonderful city before we enter a large building carved into the side of the volcano. "Everyone! I present! An outsider!" The woman thrusts me into the center of a massive circular room. All around me sit men and women, each dressed in garb more peculiar than the next. "What is the meaning of this?" asks a large man, breaking the hushed whispers with his booming voice. "What is the meaning of this intrusion?" I take a deep breath. "Good folks of the Volcanic Region. I am Alexander Nomed and I have come this long way to liberate you. By the power of my flame I will-" The hall erupts into noise. Voices shouting, a cacophony from which I cannot derive meaning. Is it anger? Joy? Fury? Sorrow? People wringing their hands and sobbing. Furrowed brows. Mouths moving so fast that spit flies from them. Then I hear "Alright then, can we kill him?" and I know something is wrong. I look to the woman who dragged me here, who's giving me a long, annoyed look. But annoyed isn't murderous, so I make an appeal. "Ma'am," I say, "there's some misunderstanding." "Look, m'lord," she says, "we made a deal. And we're proud folk, we don't take to this kindly." Her lips jut in almost a pout. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She scoffs. "Oh come now. Come *now.* It's been sixteen years, not a century. We were all there. We watched the showdown with Salamay. You really didn't even do that good a job disguising yourself, your majesty. Shame shame." She shakes her head, tutting away. For my part, I'm stupefied. It's as if I've walked into a story halfway. I thought I was at the beginning of my path and now it appears I'm at the end. And it's looking like a grisly end. "Alright alright alright!" the lady shouts, so loud and unexpected, that the hall falls quiet. "Let's recall the original words of the deal." The people in the room, who had devolved into almost a brawl, stare through wild but slightly confused eyes. "Oh right," says one woman. "The original words. Uhhhh..." "I got 'em," says another woman. "King Rednaxela will henceforth leave the Volcanic Region, returning it back to its good and proper owner, the dragon Salamay. In return, the people in the Volcanic Region will close their borders to any not native to the region. In this manner, we will keep the abdication of the demon king a secret, for his own nefarious purpose." "Where'd it say that he wouldn't come back though," asks a man. His fingers run up and down various pendants around his neck. "We did agree he wouldn't come back, right?" The hall is quiet as everyone ponders this, myself not the least. The king has gone? He left, years ago? The Volcanic people made a deal for their freedom? The past five years have passed with the world holding its breath, waiting for him to leave the Volcanic Region and strike down the rest of the realm. But if he's not here, then where is he? "Oh boy," says the woman who brought me here. "Guess we really do gotta kill you." "Wait!" I shout. "I'm a native! I swear. I was dropped a doorstep when I was a baby, but I'm from the volcanoes, I swear." "That's not why we're killing you!" says one of the oldest women in the group, hobbling at me and squinting her one good eye. "We gotta stop you from taking over our here lands! I ain't never going back to worshipping a demon and switching your name backwards like that isn't about to fool an old woman. I seen every trick in the book." My blood goes cold at her words. Closing my eyes, I mentally construct my name. Alexander Nomed. Then I turn it backwards, one letter at a time. Rednaxela. Demon. As if a spell were broken, a million memories flood my mind at once. Memories of bloodlust and fire, of wrath and sadism, of victory and triumph, of boredom and discontent. It floods back over the course of a mere second but it leaves my body and mind blow open like a destroyed dam. What had I done? What blood was on my hands? How much death, how much sorrow? I choke back tears and fall to my knees. "I didn't know," I say. I'm sure they can't hear me but I say it again all the same. "I didn't know." "Should ignorance be considered a fair excuse?" asks the old lady, arms crossed as she towers before me. "Should such a weak plea be accepted?" The room falls to murmurs and I bow my head. All I can do is make myself heard. "I know what I am. What I was. I know that the atrocities I have committed are vast and endless. But at the same time... When I erased my memories..." Something had gone wrong. In my head I can hear myself planning aloud to my servants. *The memories will be stored away until the truth of my name is revealed. Then all shall return to me and with it, my wicked person shall arise.* But that hadn't happened. The memories sit in my head like someone telling me a story. It didn't fuse with my personality. "I don't know if you're planning on killing me to stop me from taking over your region again or out of revenge. If it's revenge, then go ahead. I cannot excuse my actions. But if it's protection, then you have my word, I did not come to harm you." I swallowed hard. "I came to free you from the demon." My voice breaks a bit. The people fall quiet, shifting uncomfortably. "He's just a kid," someone says. "Doesn't look evil." "Well," says another, "we have to be sure. We could take him to the scrying." Whispers break out. "The scrying?" I ask. "It's a way to look into the mind and heart of convicts," the woman who escorted me here responds. "It's a way to know what might be hidden in the mind. It's dangerous, it's risky, but it may help prove your innocence." I swallow and look up at everyone. It may be a long shot but it may be worth it. Besides, I would then more fully be able to understand my past. What I am, what I was, what I will be. Innocence or not, I would be mad to pass up the chance. "I'll do it," I say. "The scrying." They fall silent one more time and turn to me. "Are you sure?" asks the ancient woman. "None return the same." I nod. "I'll do it. I want to prove myself to you and learn about myself. If the scrying will do that, then lead the way." ___ Check out for more stories. Return to the Volcanic Region in the tales of

The last thing I saw as the

The last thing I saw as the world darkened about me was my little girl's face. Her voice echoed through my head, through the rushing of blood, through the roar of death in my ears. "Mom? The ambulance is here. You're gonna be ok, you're gonna be..." There's nothing more unfair in the world than leaving a child behind. Her twelfth birthday was that weekend. I was going to take her friends to get manicures. Now I fly. The world falls away from me in a feeling like nothing I could have ever pictured. I know I go to see God's face. I know he'll look over my Cara. But it doesn't make leaving Earth easier, even as figures, beings of light clad in silver and white gowns hold me, bringing me up to the face of the Lord I have worshipped since I could first speak. The first sensation I notice is that of singing. In my heart, I knew to expect it but as it comes into focus, something is wrong. The language, the cadence, it's hard and triumphant but almost angry. And it's not Latin or Hebrew or anything I expected. It almost sounds Nordic. And mixed in it is the sound of clashing and clanging and raucous laughter. Then my vision returns and I know something is wrong. The place, what should be a temple-like haven of worship and piety, is a massive dining hall, blazing with torches and bonfires and full of... debauchery. Gluttony and drunkenness and loud shouting. I freeze on instinct, as if I'm a child starting school in the middle of the semester. Where are my soft organs and filtered light? Where are my smiling grandparents? Where is my God? "Ah, greetings lass. Welcome to the hall of the slain. Can I interest you in some mead?" The voice takes me by surprise, a big loud boom. Not what I should be hearing here. "Uh, no," I say. "I don't really drink." The blood of Christ on my lips, every week at mass, was about the limit of it. I inhale and smell the alcohol on his breath and I want to cry. He sees my face and his grin falters. "Ah. Why don't we find a place quiet, where we can talk a bit away from this noise, eh?" I nod because if I were to say more the tears would spill. We make our way to the edge of the hall, where we can look out over a massive expanse of clouds and stars. For the first time since I died, something feels right and I exhale. "This isn't heaven," I say. "You're right on that. This is Valhalla. Were you not a great warrior, lady?" I laughed, a shuddering noise accompanied by a few tears. "I'm a pharmacist." But then I understand. "I died fighting a home invader from my house. I got him. I... I don't know if he died but he was out cold. He just-" I swallowed. "Got me too. I spent my last minutes walking Cara through calling 911 and told her it was going to be alright." My stomach lurches and I feel sick. "Oh God. The last thing I told her was a lie." The great man is quiet for a moment as he listens to me talk. "Does she have anyone else to take care of her?" he asks. "Her father. Her Gramma Jones and Brown. Woofles-" My voice breaks. "I always thought heaven was going to be this bright hall of light. I'm so stupid. I went to church every week, I knew what to expect, I did right by the world, I did!" I wiped my eyes, which ran overabundantly now. "I should be looking out over my daughter. Helping her, visiting her in dreams or in her prayers. I don't want to drink with a bunch of hooligans." "Alright there, ma'am, there's no reason to be hostile towards the other souls." He pats me awkwardly on the shoulder. "Didn't your God ever party?" I want to say no but as I open my mouth, he gives me a knowing smile and a little wink. "I've read your books too," he laughs. "Way I heard it, the most holy Son of God was invited to a party once that went so wild, they ran out of wine. And what did the good lad do? Admonish them for drunkenness?" I give a watery chuckle. "I suppose Jesus wasn't above a good party." Then I sigh. "It isn't that I'm judging the people here. I don't want to. Fighting judgment was always something I tried so hard to be good at but right now I'm so angry. I'm so angry because I want to be on Earth with my daughter." "Way I see it, maybe you wouldn't even be content with touching her dreams and prayers. Could it be that it's not the afterlife you're angry at, but rather the fact that you're here at all?" His words touch me too deeply and I'm uncomfortable again. "If it was the right afterlife, I'd be alright." "Well, pardon me for saying, but 'alright' seems like a weak word there." He stands up from my side and stretches. "This is a place for fighters. Not just those who died fighting, but fighters." Out in the distance, I see a flash of lightning dart from one towering cloud to another. Really, the more I look out at it, the more beautiful it is. Inside, however, the crowd must have noticed the brewing storm, for they soon rush from the hall, shouting and laughing, slamming into each other as they go. Just as they reach us, the man I stand wth holds me away from them, keeping me safe. The boisterous crowd stops short of the edge, but there's no fear on their faces, and I wonder what happens were someone to fall. "If I went over the edge," I ask, my voice a whisper, "would I go back home?" "Ah, no, that'd just take ya to another part of the afterlife. I think you'd know where you'd fall to right before but I can't well recommend it." He relaxes his hold on me, now that the crowd has passed, but still keeps a hand on my shoulder. I sigh. "I just want to go home. I can't get my head around being here forever." "And what makes ya think it'd be forever?" I blink. "The Bible?" But again my stomach clenches. The Bible has done nothing but lead me astray. How could I trust it now? "I guess I don't know anything." "The world, existence, the universe, heaven and hell and everything between, it was always going to be more complicated than a book could hold." He grins. "You all meant well but it was an arrogant pursuit at best. Knowledge is easy to crave. Trust and faith are a lot harder." "Especially when they're totally shattered," I say, my voice bitter. "I think," he says, his hand tightening on my shoulder, "that you aren't angry because you're here. I think you're here because you're angry. Imagine showing up to heaven furious at your death? What a show that would be." He throws his head back laughing, probably picturing me in my 5'3", 160 pound, pixie haircut glory bursting through the pearly gates and demanding to speak to God, demanding he send me back to my little girl. I'm laughing too at the image but there are far more tears on my face than his. "So what now?" I ask. "I don't want Cara to end up here. She's a poet and loves tying up her friends' hair. She's not a warrior. But if she doesn't and I never see her agai-" "Every stop isn't always the destination, is it?" the man asks. "Have some patience, little one." Another sob chokes my voice at this. I've been a mom for twelve years. Been a wife for fifteen. Before that, I was a big sister for eighteen years. "I'm not the little one here," I say, trying for a laugh. "You're thinking my daughter. She's the one who needs faith now. Strength." "Be that as it may..." When he looks at me this time, all the drunken merriment has faded from his eyes. "You need looking after too, lass. Been too long a time since you were someone's child." Then the somber expression is gone, replaced by a big grin. "What I'm recommending is a mug of mead and a leg of lamb. If mead ain't your cup, we have lots of other drink here. You'll find something to your suiting." He looks down at the crowd watching the lightning storm. "And if you don't mind me saying, you may want to hurry before the storm stops and the others rush the table." Though I'm still not sold on Valhalla, I let my shoulders relax and take a few steps away. "I'm going to miss her whole childhood, getting drunk in the afterlife with a bunch of knuckleheads," I grumble. "No judgment on said knuckleheads but-" "Oh ye of little faith," the man says as we walk back to the table. "When you told your daughter all will be well, it was no lie. All will be well. Let your soul rest and put down the mantle of mother, wife, and sister. All will be well. Those mantles will lie undisturbed for when you pick them up again. You will miss nothing that you crave to catch. For now, don the robe of the warrior and release that anger you've bridled up inside you." "I don't feel like a warrior," I say as we reach the massive feast. It's not the piles of grapes and bread and delicate glasses of wine that I expected but I'd be lying if I say the smell of mutton doesn't make my stomach grumble. "Just follow that anger and fear and passion," the man says as he hands me a plate. "For once, you've got no one to hide it from." I nod and begin piling up my plate. I haven't quite gotten the answers I wanted but I feel calmer nonetheless. All will be well. \_\_\_ Jenny walks away from the table, her chin held high in a way I remember well. It's the same set that she wore the first day of fourth grade, when she transferred into a new class mid-semester. This time, though, it's about keeping herself confident, not trying to convince others. It's a good look and it makes me smile. I laugh as one of the 'knuckleheads' almost crashes into her as he sprints back from the storm to the table. The two exchange loud words and I can see each phrase slip past an inhibition. 'A mother must not say-' 'A woman must not say-' 'A wife must not say-' A warrior is allowed to. "Remember, though you may don and shed many roles, there is one you'll never hide from." I grin as the two make their peace and head off together, talking animatedly. "You will always remain my child." ___ Check out for more stories.

Once-upon-a-better

Water-paint clouds dabbed the evening sky, the setting sun slipping into them, stirring them red. Snow crunched beneath Sarah's boots as she traipsed through the park. She'd hadn't seen Izzy in a year, maybe more. Once-upon-a-better-time they'd been inseparable, a pair of princesses not waiting in the tower for any hero to come rescue them, but fighting the dragon themselves, subduing it with a throw of their pillows and a stomp of their feet, then splintering open the door that held them. When you're a kid, especially when with a best friend, that's what the world's like. You know however bad something is, you'll overcome it. Movies always had a happy ending. Things changed, of course. Always did. Like this park that had once boasted a copse of towering oaks, that Sarah and Izzy would make dens in, burrowing into their own little world. But the trees were torn down because perverts used to hide amongst them. Reality sure won that one. Now, the slick concrete slopes of a skateboard area replaced the dreamy woods. Sarah saw Izzy sitting alone in front of a frozen pond, the water an azure eye sheened by winter's breath. Izzy's hair tangled itself out from beneath her wool hat and sat over her shoulders like the tentacles of some golden octopus. The demon shivered itself up behind Sarah, growling in her ear. "Don't go near her. I told you last time what I'd do if you ever did. I forbid it. It's for your own protection." Sarah could have turned to look at it, but the monster that stalked her, that protected her, was more feeling than thing. A cold darkness that clung onto her shoulders like a backpack straight out of a freezer. "I know what you said," said Sarah, quiet but sharp. Determined this time. "Now leave me alone. *Please*." "I'm not leaving you now!" Its voice softened to a seductive croon, that Eden snake. "Not when you most need me. After all, I only exist to look after you." "I'm not a child any more. I'm twenty. I don't need looking after by you or anyone else." The monster wrapped its chilly arms around her chest and her heart slowed, heavy from the cold, entombed by ice. Still, she forced herself on, heavily trudged the last few paces to the bench. "Sarah!" Izzy got up from the bench and sprinted towards Sarah, arms stretched out in a welcome. Then, her left foot slipped, and she fell almost like a cartoon character on a banana peel. "Jesus!" Sarah said, tugging her friend up to her feet. "Iz? Are you okay? Talk to me!" The monster whispered, "Next time, she breaks her neck. Leave now, before that happens!" No, thought Sarah. Not this time. I already lost her once because of you. I'm at least staying a few minutes. "I'm the only friend you need," said Monster. Sarah tried to ignore it and asked, "Are you okay, Iz?" Izzy grinned like a maniac, dusting snow off her coat. "What a way to make an impression, right?" She laughed--to Sarah it sounded like a wind chime in a spring breeze. "You never were graceful," Sarah said, smiling. "Some things never change, I suppose." Arms reached out and coated bodies pressed against each other. "I've missed you," they said in unison, before moving to the bench. Sitting, staring at the pond in front. The cold wrapped tighter around Sarah, shoving itself into her throat, clogging and closing it, leaving no room for words to come out. Barely for breath. Izzy broke the silence. "It's been an age, hasn't it? And last time we met... You went as soon as we said hi. I hope you're not planning on leaving so quickly this time." Sarah nodded. It was all she could manage. The monster screamed in her ears now, deafening, roaring, a fiery blaze. "Go! Go or I kill her. Kill you both!" "I know why. I've always known," said Izzy. "Things were never really the same after that day. Were they?" She shook her head. Knew instantly what Izzy meant, although they hadn't talked about it since. Not properly. Instead, the monster had appeared and forced them apart. Forced Sarah to ignore her best friend in all the world. "I'm sorry," Sarah said, unsure if to Monster or Izzy. Waves of razor cold wind froze damp patches on her face. The wold spun, danced itself nauseous around her. "LEAVE! NOW!" "I wish we'd been able to fix things," said Izzy. "Even if it just meant going back to how we were before." "LEAVE!" it bellowed, cracking the frozen pond. Sarah hadn't heard it this furious since... since it all happened. She managed to choke out: "I do, too." "It's okay. Don't cry." Izzy placed an arm around Sarah's shoulders; the monster jerked Sarah away, yanked her to her feet. "What is it, Sarah?" "I..." "You're still afraid of her, aren't you?" Of her? Of *her*. Yes, of course she was still scared. Mom had been dead six years and still her shadow stalked her, replaced Sarah's own. Still her shrill screaming voice echoed in her ears. "Yes," she gasped. "Yes. Because she's here with us, Iz. I can feel her here." Izzy stood up, walked to Sarah and took her wrists. "Look at me, Sarah. Please, look at me." She did. Stared into those green eyes the way she'd done years before. Become lost at sea in them. "She's not real. She's long gone and anything you see or hear, it's just you imagining it. Just your subconscious. Do you hear me, Sarah?" Sarah had been staring into that sea the day her mom had walked into her room. Had found her daughter kissing another girl. Mom screamed. Told Izzy to go and never come back. Later that night, when Mom calmed, her voice now the crooning serpent, apple-sour breath, she said it was for Sarah's own good. That a man, children, they were her future. Never see that slut again. But Sarah wanted to see Izzy. Even, a few months later, when Mom passed away, she'd wanted to see Izzy. She couldn't, though. Because Mom never left her, not really, not fully. The screaming disapproval clung to her, cold and heavy. Her new shadow. "Sarah?" Sarah looked up at Izzy. At those stormy ocean eyes. Her chest warmed, heart beat faster, no ice casketing it. And yet she shivered. "She's gone, Sarah. Has been gone for a long time." Sarah turned. Turned to look for the darkness that had remained with her since that day. But all she saw were the last rays of sunset weaving through clouds like fingers through hair. Then she fell into her friend's arms and wept.

The Boneless One first appeared on

The Boneless One first appeared on my fourteenth birthday. I remember like it was yesterday. My whole family had gathered around the kitchen table to watch me blow out the candles. As I took a deep breath, I spotted it lurking behind the patio doors. I screamed. Loud. Everyone started freaking out. "What's wrong? Is everything OK? Did you burn yourself?" With a trembling hand, I pointed. They couldn't see it. They looked right past it, as if it weren't there at all. For the longest time, I thought I was mad. It followed me EVERYWHERE. At home. At school. The bus. It was always there, hovering at the edge of my vision. Never getting too close, never vanishing completely. And then, I just sort of got used to it. That sounds weird to say. But, I mean, there wasn't much I could do, y'know? It never came too close or tried to hurt me or anything like that. And I was afraid if I told anyone about it, they'd cart me off to the looney-bin. Fuck that shit. It was good ol' denial for me. Well, my policy of pretending everything was normal worked out fine until I missed my train home. I had to wait almost an hour for the next one. That meant it would be dark by the time I got off. I am not, how you say, a strong man (which is a nice way of saying a twelve-year-old could kick my ass) so this made me nervous. I hurried away from the station, clutching my backpack extra tight. Then I heard footsteps. A tall man with a scraggly beard followed me along the street. He kept his eyes fixed forward, pretending not to see me. But I got a knot in the pit of my stomach. It was one of those times where you can *feel* something's wrong, y'know? I moved faster, practically jogging. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder and screamed. He spun me around, punched me in the chest and grabbed my backpack with both hands. I would have given it to him if I hadn't doubled over and gotten tangled in the straps. That's when I heard it. The writhing sound. I was still seeing stars--I thought the guy had just hit me too hard. But then he let go of my purse and looked past my right shoulder wide-eyed in amazement. I spun around. The Boneless One closed in. The man shrieked and tried to run, but it engulfed his legs, his waist, his chest. Sparkling foam encased his face and invaded his mouth. His scream turned to a gurgle. He fell to the ground, completely enveloped by The Boneless One. I grabbed my bag and ran. I ran all the way home, burst through the door, and pressed my back against it. Tears streamed down my face. What was gonna happen next? Would The Boneless One come for me? Had it killed him? Would it kill anybody else? Had anyone seen me? I didn't call the police. I didn't do anything. Instead, I kept an eye out for reports of...I don't know, drowning, I guess? All I found was a report from the local hospital. They'd stumbled across a comatose man and were looking for help identifying who he was or where he came from. The description matched my attacker. I visited the hospital. Told them the description matched an ex-boyfriend who had went missing. They took me in to have a look. It was my attacker all right. But he was...different. Absent. He was sitting on a chair in the corner staring off into space. Even when I leaned in close, he didn't seem to notice me. "Is he liked this all the time?" I asked the nurse. She nodded. "Completely comatose. We have to wipe his ass and spoon feed him three times a day." I told them it wasn't my ex. Even said there a remarkable resemblance to make my story sound believable. Then I got in my car and cried. Had I done that to him? Was it my fault? I screamed at The Boneless One, begging it for answers. What the fuck are you? Why me? It didn't answer. It just continued stalking my every waking moment. I went back to trying not to think about it. To pretend it wasn't there. Like I said, you just kinda get used to it. It happened again, a few years later. This time it was a girl-a local junkie. She jumped out in front of me while I was jogging through the park. She held up a knife, and said, "give me everything you've got." When I tried to run, she wrestled me to the ground. The Boneless one sprang into action. It started with the writhing sound, just like before. Then the foam. Then the screams. Then...nothing. The good news is, she came from a well-off family. That meant her Mother could afford round-the-clock care. The years drifted on. The Boneless One stayed with me. Sometimes months passed where I hardly thought about it at all. Life changed. I finished college, got a job, and even married my childhood best friend. The wedding was super cute. We got matching suits and everything! Life was perfect. For about six months. Then the honeymoon period came to a screeching halt. My adoring husband left his phone on the counter. I saw the messages. So far as I could tell, he was having a fling with someone he met at work. An intern. I stalked the guy on Instagram. The dude loved showing off his sixpack. A lot. I gave my husband every chance to confess. I danced around the issue, STRONGLY implying I knew what was going on but never stating it explicitly. He just laughed, said I was being paranoid, and bopped me on the nose. Bastard. Things got...toxic. There were arguments. Endless arguments. We were so loud the neighbors called the Police a few times. Our resentment towards one another grew and grew. I kept snooping his messages. He was a sloppy bastard. Piece by piece, I figured out his plan. He wanted to negotiate a way out of the marriage, keep half of everything, and start a new life with the intern. He told him he just had to be patient, while the lawyer got all his 'ducks inline'. And by getting his 'ducks inline', he meant clearing out our joint bank accounts. Did he really think I was gonna sit back and let that happen? Fat fucking chance. He called late one night. "It's a disaster. Work's a nightmare. I'll be burning the midnight oil on this one." I smiled. "That's fine, I know how it is!" I waited at the front door. The hours raced past. He staggered through the door a little after midnight, a faint scent of cologne on his collar. "That was a late one!" I said, trying to sound concerned. He rubbed his neck. "I know. Absolute madhouse." I followed him into the kitchen. "Well, how about a glass of whiskey for my hard-working man?" Without waiting for him to answer, I poured a glass. He looked me up and down, then tossed it back. "Thanks." "Of course. Have another." He did. Before long, he was completely hammered. That's when I dropped the bombshell. I handed him an envelope. Screenshots of all his little love letters to the intern. He ripped them to shreds then tossed a chair across the room. "What the fuck is this? You fucking asshole, you've been spying on me!" Ah, classic deflection. I've had to hand it to him--he was determined to act like a prick right up until the bitter end. We argued. Then I slapped him. Hard. He held his cheek and tried to leave. I stood in front of the door, blocking his escape. Called him an asshole and a selfish prick and a cheating bastard and yadda-yadda-yadda. When he'd finally had enough, he grabbed my shoulders and tossed me aside. He wasn't trying to hurt me or anything, he just wanted to leave. But that's not how The Boneless One saw it. Like always, it started with the writhing sound. Then The Boneless One flooded the room. When my husband saw it, he screamed. The sparkling foam surrounded his legs and rose. I picked myself up off the ground, blew him a kiss, and wandered into the kitchen. There, I poured myself a glass of wine and listened to his gurgles echo through the house. \-- I wrote this in a hurry, apologies if it sucks. Thanks for reading. Subscribe to for more

Gene started digging graves as a summer

It's not my idea of a long-term career but it pays the bills, which for a summer job, can't really be beaten. Many people just assume I'm the old guy's apprentice and I don't really try to prove them wrong. It's not the most insulting misconception I've been given. Over the years I've been called many things. Graveyardkeeper's apprentice for one, that's at work. The pride of my hometown, that's the one my family calls me for being the only person from my podunk hometown to make it into the prestigious Celestial Academy. A damned, bloody cultist, that's what I'm called at school. Some of these are accurate. Some aren't. I'll let you guess. But the ones I really hate are from the locals of the village nearby the graveyard. Gene the Just. Gene the Gentle. Gene the Valiant. Gene the Magnficient. Gene the Paladin. Oh if only my classmates could see me now. They would never stop laughing. I started digging graves as a summer gig when I was twelve and visiting home for the first time. People assumed I was there year round cause most people only visit the graveyard in the summer, for picnics and whatever else nonsense. Somehow the same idiots who'd confuse a blood mage for a paladin, the same idiots who fear the occult, are the same idiots who think picnicking on top of a graveyard is a pleasant idea for a summer stroll. It wasn't until Blythe's cult moved nextdoor to the graveyard, when I was twenty, that the real trouble started. Blythe was a pretty blatant necromancer. No one could really miss the tattoos around her eyes or the stones embedded in her ancient ears. I'd just barely started work digging my first grave that summer when I heard noises down the rows and saw several hooded figures wrestling bodies out of holes. Stealing them! From my graveyard. I didn't have to be valiant or just to take pride in my work, but I was also almost certainly sure that the men were necromancers and I didn't want to tangle with that. Not yet. Not unprepared. I sent a letter to the professor who ran my cult back at school as high priestess. It's kinda weird, talking to your teachers outside of class, but she was someone I trusted with my life. Someone, in a sense, that I had. She was also incredibly powerful and wise, so I figured if there were anyone who could let me know a discreet way of clearing out some necromancers, it'd be her. *Hmm. Oh dear, that does sound like a pickle. I'm not sure the laws of your region (actually, I am, I looked them up for this) and unfortunately, necromancy isn't illegal. Making a nuisance is, however. Such an odd place, the Tundras. Anyway, unfortunately, if you simply eviscerate them, you'll likely end up an outlaw. I can't really say* ***don't*** *because I'd be very impressed if you managed to (and if you do try, I'd suggest that lovely toxic cloud you've gotten so good at.)* *However, I can't in good faith, recommend you do this at all. The best course of action for you would be to thwart their plans until they become sufficiently irritating for the town. Generally necromancers make themselves obnoxious after a decade or so. You may be able to speed this up if you take out their constructs, which aren't protected by the law. I can brainstorm a bit more. I've never personally dealt excessively with necromancers but I know some of the staff dabble in it... I can probably blackmail them into giving me more info.* *Til then, toxic cloud and jailtime, or construct targeting and effort. Choice is yours.* *\~G* Thanks professor. Unfortunately, home had kinda become a legal haven for me. School was all about ducking the law and faculty alike as I tried to steal oxen and chickens and stuff for blood sacrifices. I needed home to be a place of peace. Which meant obliterating a dozen necromancers was off the table for now. And thus the smiting of zombies began. It didn't take the villagers long to notice, but instead of demanding the cult pack up their tents and leave, they began to herald me as a clear servant of the God of Life. I sent a letter back to the inner sanctum of my cult the first time I heard it. Figured they'd get a kick. Illisandra and Vera absolutely did. Carlosi tried to scold me but I could tell she was amused. The youngest cultist in the group, however, ratted me out to our high priestess. I could've kicked the kid for it, but this actually didn't backfire, as the professor was delighted. *Brilliant. Truly brilliant. I knew I picked right in bringing you in. You're going to want to continue winning over their goodwill. Consider it a summer project in bamboozling zealots. That's an important skill you'll need in life anyway.* *Give it the summer. Come back next year when they're overrun. Then you'll have your chance.* *\~G* It wasn't a bad plan but it did mean I needed to spend a summer being praised as a Paladin. I actually think going home every night to my parents was the worst part of it. They knew I 'didn't want to talk about it' but their proud beams did all the talking they promised they wouldn't. And at night I'd hear them murmuring, eyes teary with joy, about how I'd shaken my older two siblings' 'wicked paths' and gone down a righteous one. Kelly was a highway bandit. Tommy peddled cheap drugs in the city nearest. Compared to those two delinquents, I was evil supreme overlord. And here I was, being considered a bastion of the light. It was a rough summer. Even the affections of the local priestesses-in-training couldn't really soothe the sting to my ego. At first I loved being the center of their affections, but there's really not much the girls of the Church of Chastity could offer me. I wasn't exactly looking to marry a lawful order girl, not really in this lifetime. Only one really tempted me to even try something long term, a blue-eyed girl named Sabey. But she wanted me to make a vow, three years of celibacy. I almost did it for her. Her laugh was like geese honking, but I liked geese, and she made me laugh back so much that I probably sounded like an unflattering bird as well. Unfortunately, being a cultist, it never would have worked out. She would have ultimately either found out or been driven away by my secret-keeping, leaving me with a magically enforced three-year vow. Plus I'd also made plans with one of the inner sanctum at my cult to fulfill a prophecy in the next year or two. A prophecy that involved sex. It never would have worked out with Sabey and me, but rejecting her was still pretty rough. Even getting the attention of girls just ended up making the summer worse. Damned misconceptions. She just couldn't get why a paladin of light had been unable to even tell her why he couldn't date her. Oh, Sabey. Never change. I left my hometown in a hurry that September, ready to reclaim my semi-open reputation as an evil cultist. I can't complain too much about that year. I was really able to throw myself into the occult, really able to reclaim the wickedness I'd been avoiding showing back at home. The worst part of it was that the other cultists mocked me relentlessly, calling me Paladin Gene for the entire year. By the time summer rolled around, I was almost eager to get out and get back home. I can't say I was excited to see my hometown overrun by zombies, but I was eager to see what mess they'd caused while I was gone. Death and devastation, likely, but whose fault was it that no one ever stepped in to do anything about the necromancers? Whose idea was it to just let them ransack the graveyard and not try legal action? Not my idea, that's for sure. This is the worst part of the story. The part that makes my face flush with shame whenever I tell it. The part that highlights my failure but more importantly, cemented my reputation. When I got to my hometown, I walked up clean, well-kept streets. No destruction. No fires. No nothing. When I got to my house, I saw a small pony parked out front. We had a visitor? When I entered, I heard my mother call "Oh Gene! Oh Gene, we have a visitor!" Her voice was bubbling with excitement and my heart skipped. That wasn't supposed to be the response. When I walked into the kitchen and found my parents across the table from Blythe the Necromancer, who was sipping at a cup of tea while playing a game of Parcheesi with my father, I had some serious, serious misgivings. And when Blythe rose to her feet, her tattoos faded, the stones missing from her ears, and bowed cordially to me, with an "I've wanted to meet you for so long. I owe so much to you..." I knew it had all gone wrong. ___ Read more stories, in this world and others, at

"Arent you cold?" it

"Uhmmm, excuse me sir! Excuse me!" I shouted at the man who had just walked briskly passed me. He was wearing a 3-piece suit that looked like it was dry cleaned recently, despite the fact that it was well below freezing this high up in the mountains. He stopped and turned around, appearing slightly annoyed "Yes? Can I do something for you?" I slowly made my way up to him, trudging through the snow that he had made his way through. Once I got close enough for him to here me over the snow that had started, I asked him "Uhmmm, where are you going?" ​ As he pulled up his sleeve to look at his watch, he said without looking up "Where am I going? Is that not obvious? Or, maybe it isn't. I'm going to work." Although slightly rude, I suppose it was the answer I was expecting, even as odd a situation as this was. "Arent you cold?" it wasn't the most important question, but it was the most prescient one on my mind. Either this guy had some supernatural resistance to cold, he was crazy, or he was going to die in less than an hour due to exposure. "Not in particular. Is that all? I'm late, and I really must go now," he said rolling down his sleeve and picking up his suitcase, before walking off while I stood there bewildered. ​ I started to chase after him, and had to push close to my physical limits just to keep pace with him. "Does your workspace have a restroom? I've got to use it and I would prefer not to do so out here in the snow," I said. It wasnt necessarily a lie, but it was mostly just a reason to follow him and see where he would go. Maybe he hadn't heard me over the snow, but he kept pressing onward. It wasn't long until we approached a large boulder, and with what looked like random fiddling with pebbles near it, a set of elevator doors opened up on the boulder. The man entered the boulder, and looked at me as I sat there stunned, until he cleared his throat and said "Well? Are you coming?" as he put his hands on the door. ​ I made my way over as fast as I could, and entered the boulder. As I got in the doors shut behind me, and the "boulder" started to move. Inside was the room of a standard elevator, except it only one button. I looked around in stunned silence, and after a couple minutes, the man turned to me and offered out his hand, "I don't believe I introduced myself. I'm Robert Johnston. I work here as an systems technician." Not to be rude, I shook his hand, but was still very confused. "Henry. Where exactly is here?" I asked as the elevator continued to descend. He rubbed his temples with his left hand, and replied in a voice that seemed to be between tired and stressed "You know, its probably best that someone else explain that to you." ​ As our conversation finished, the elevator came to a soft stop and opened its doors to a lobby room. It was a round, and had a table in the middle with a woman sorting papers and a man pacing back and forth on the floor talking to her. As the door dinged the man pacing looked up from the woman at Robert and said lightheartedly "Ah, speak of the devil." It seemed he hadn't noticed me because as he turned to me, his face went from shock to joy. "A visitor, how exciting!" He said as we walked up to us. "Mr. Johnston, I will excuse your tardiness for now, please introduce me to the guest you brought, " He said looking at Mr. Johnston as he enthusiastically shook my hand. "This is Mr. Henry, he saw me walking here and followed me. Mr. Henry, this is my boss Frank Spiduh. Frank, he would like to know where the restrooms are and what this place is." He gave us a factory introduction, and began to walk off to the other side of the room and got into another elevator. ​ Frank took me by my hand, and led to another elevator, this time closer to the entrance. As we got in, I saw this one was different. The wall were glass, and through them I could see an absolutely large facility. This elevator also had an assortment of buttons, and Frank pushed one as the doors shut. As soon as the elevator began descending, Frank started talking. "The best way to describe what we do here is scientific research. Over there is our nuclear research sector. Right now they are attempting to figure out the secret of nuclear fission." As the elevator continued past that floor, we soon came to a much smaller laboratory filled with people in hazmat suits and scientific instruments I couldn't name. "This right here is the facility where we research viruses and diseases. Just this weak they figured out a formula to determine how a bacteria is likely to adapt to antibiotics," Frank said as we quickly descended past that floor as well. Soon we passed a floor absolutely filled with computers, as well as people working on them. "This is our cyber security room, this is where they try and find any exploits or issues within other computer systems around the world that might result in a global electronic shut down." ​ As the elevator counited to descend I remembered something. Although I wasn't someone who paid attention to news all that much, I remember hearing that an infamous terrorist group had developed nuclear capabilities as well as potentially having access to bio weapons. It seemed Frank had realized that as well, as he put his hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. "It seems you've finally noticed. Well, there's really only one option I have." I stood there, tears welling in my eyes as I realized that I had no escape from what ever he was about to do. "P-please don't kill me. I promise I wont tell anyone that you're here," I blurted out in fear. Frank look shocked, "No no no, you have the wrong idea. I wasn't going to kill you, I was going to offer you a job. We offer a great health package, complete with dental. We also offer 10 weeks paid vacation per year, as well as a year of paternal or maternal leave." I suddenly relaxed, and began shaking his hand excitedly, 'Yes Mr. Spider, Thank you Mr. Spider." He gave me a hearty chuckle and said "Dont call me Mr. Spider, It's Mr. Spiduh. And don't call me that either, call me Frank"

Seven of the eight recon squads have

"Sergeant! Report!" "Sir!" A lightly armored man responded to the commander quickly. "Seven of the eight recon squads have returned from the Kansas Landing Zone, no friendly casualties and an estimated 72,500 dead Spacos. The hurricane got 'em." "A hurricane. Just like the earthquakes in the CLZ, and the ALZ freeze event," the commander muttered. "But why would they just march into a natural disaster? Sergeant, reinforce the lines. I want eyes on the sky for the next Landing Zone!" "But sir," the sergeant responded. "By the reports from across the world, the Spacos have been dropping like... like... well, like Spacos. Even flies don't die this quickly!" The commander stood from his seat and frowned an even deeper frown than before, the lines in his face deepening into veritable chasms. "Are you stupid Sergeant? You think that aliens would master the inhospitable hell of the void, to travel across an endless space and invade Earth, only to fall to the most mild natural events our planet has to offer? No." He began shaking his head. "This is a ploy. If they can waste 580,000 lives on the United States alone, and another 2.4 million at Landings across the globe, then this is just the scout force. They've got more up there, they have to. Millions. Billions maybe." The sergeant shuddered at the thought of billions of Spacos landing on Earth with their horrifying plasma throwers and kinetic shields. There'd been three pitched encounters when they first arrived in September a month ago. One in eastern China, another in Russia around Moscow, and a third in what was once Arizona. Alone, by simple fact of the sudden attack, the three nations had thrown everything they had at the marching legions, only to have hundreds of thousands of men and women turned into glowing green sludge -- entire battalions melted into goo, with their equipment fused together in the aftermath. What was worse, their own guns didn't seem to faze the Spaco menace. The best anybody could muster was a sustained artillery barrage, but even that only slowed the enemy onslaught. Literally. The Spacos just started moving like in slow motion, the energy of the explosive blasts absorbed somehow into their alien gestalt. And once the energy dissipated, they began moving again like nothing had happened. Russia had tried to nuke the aliens before they got into Moscow proper -- all they bought was a day of immobilized, invincible Spacos, and then they just started right back up. To be fair, they also annihilated any hope of the Moscow region supporting Human life for the next several centuries. Nobody else had tried nuclear weapons. China proved the tactic of massed infantry assault a flawed prospect, and America? Well, seemed like somebody in the US chain of command had read their Livy: the USA just avoided them. And they started dying. It wasn't the viruses like Wells wrote, or plucky air force geeks breaking into the mothership that turned the tide. It was, for lack of a better term, the stupid shit that killed them. 300,000 Spacos died in Alaska when the first snow fell in early October. Every man, woman, and homeless child had the clothes necessary to survive a 30 degree Fahrenheit night, but the fucking Spacos just... well, the previous day they'd been marching on Anchorage, and the next there were legions of Spacosicles lining Route 1, ten miles from town. Another hundred thousand Spacos died when a Magnitude 3.5 Earthquake hit just east of San Francisco in late September. Total casualties? Four already-condemned buildings, one lost dog, and 100,000 elite alien invasion soldiers. "Madness," the commander thought. "Utter, fucking madness." The military man frowned and settled back into his seat, shuffling through reports from other nations around the globe. 50,000 dead in a Central Asian sinkhole. 2 Million lost in a monsoon. The numbers were impossible. Just daft. The commander looked up as a commotion came into range of hearing outside the command tent. It sounded like the soldiers were shouting? Yelling? "What in the fuck do they think they're doing!?" The commander rose, anger erupting from him at the idiocy of his troops. Hadn't he made clear? No sound, no partying, and no GIVING AWAY THEIR POSITION! Checking the pistol at his side, the commander stormed out of the tent into the chill air - a cool day to be sure, but not below freezing. He doubted even a lifelong Floridian would need much more than a jacket for this weather. The Spacos in front of him, by contrast, looked like they were on brink of freezing to death. The first hundred or so that he scanned had their thin, spindly arms in handcuffs tightened almost as far as possible to get a good fit on their biceps. The next hundred were tied up with ropes, cables, and other random camp assortments. The thousand behind them just stood shivering, weaponless and without the telltale shimmer their shields emitted. The commander's sergeant came out of the tent as well and whistled. The commander found the highest ranking soldier in sight and said, "What is this?" The soldier smiled, showing the characteristic lack of teeth so common in the Kentucky Brigade, a nickname for the mass recruitment of literally anyone who was willing to serve against the alien threat. "We gots the Spacos boss man sir," the man drawled. "They just came up on us, no weap'ns, no arm'r or anyth'n." Bemused, the commander became ever more confused when one Spaco stepped forward and said in passable English, "Grave request. Surrender invasion. We are lost." --- In the coming years, the scientists, sociologists, and military folk would conduct a full analysis of the Black September War, where aliens first landed and faced the truth of our deadly world. Not deadly humans - no. The aliens showed us quite effectively how useless humans were, in the grand scheme of things. They'd killed an estimated billion people in a month, carving through the armies that we threw at them across the globe. Humans were useless. Earth, though. Turns out Earth is a tough bitch of a planet; in fact, more than that, it turns out, the eggheads were wrong -- life out there? In the cosmos? Generally its pretty freaking great. The vast majority of planets are perfect landscapes of temperate weather that basically provide everything a living being might need. The concept of "Seasons" was so foreign to the Spacos that they never considered the temperature might drop below 50, (or for that matter rise above 70 -- a couple hundred thousand Spacos seemed to have died in the Australian desert during one of their "balmy days"). And then throw in the other effects of living on a geologically active planet, and the aliens were doomed. They'd never heard of 'earthquakes' before, or 'hurricanes' or 'quicksand'. If only they'd caught up on middle school boys literature before they invaded, maybe then they'd know not to keep walking into quicksand, tsunami flood, or gale-force winds. The price was high, but Earth was getting ready. The aliens had come for earth and found it impossible to tame. Now, the best scientists readied their creations and loaded them on the captured alien ships, prepared to take off and plant Green and Blue flags on the worlds of their would be conquerors. Mankind knew their weaponry was useless, but their Earthquake Cannons? Their Weather Rays? Alien science provided the mad geniuses of the world that last step necessary, and with the rage of a billion dead humans, they prepared their assault. The universe might be a pleasant place to live now, but that time was coming to an end. Humanity was coming.

Commander Yuuel was renowned for his

"General Zogg!" I felt one of my hearts skip a beat as I whirled around. I knew that voice; it belonged to Commander Yuuel. He was renowned for his calm demeanor and rationality. To hear that kind of tone in his voice was unsettling. "Commander. Give me some *good* news." He remained in the doorway with a Collection Cube in his hands. He did his best to regulate his respiratory emissions, the gasses turning from a panicked red to a softer orange and then finally back to yellow as he closed his eyes and became still. "There isn't any." He wasn't one to waste words, and although I'd never voiced it to him, it was one of the qualities I appreciated the most about him. He made his way across the command center and placed the cube in the expulfilater. It whizzed and hummed for a moment before projecting the hologram onto the strategy table, showing battles between the forces. "Things were going well initially, General. It would seem we're still about three or four hundred years more advanced than they are, even with the known unknowns. For example, the United States of America was hiding some kind of antigravity gun that managed to even the playing field as far as aerial superiority goes, but when our troops on the ground engaged them, their best weapons were still projectile. Finely tuned, but primitive kinetic weapons nonetheless. Their forces were quickly routed." "I've already been briefed on our *successes*, Commander," I interrupted him. "What I'm interested in is what in the name of Glakmar I'm hearing over the comms." His respiratory gasses turned a shade of orange as he turned his eyes back to the holograms, seemingly avoiding my gaze. "Sir... Keep watching." I watched the video of the war on the table. It was going well. Better than we'd hoped even. I was about to speak when suddenly I saw something that I considered to be impossible. The ocean seemed to reach out and drag my men out to sea. I leaned in as I watched it assail my ships. "What... What is going on there? I was aware that the ocean itself was not sentient." "That's not all, General," he said with a somber tone. He reached out and rotated the video cubes and enlarged the recording of our conflict in western Bharat. The footage was shaking terribly. "Stabilize that video," I commanded. "It... It isn't the video sir. The planet is shaking... violently." I took a step back as I tried to sync my eyes with the mayhem. After a couple of seconds of calibration, I had stabilized the video for myself. My soldiers were being... swallowed alive by the planet itself. It was like watching a horror movie. "What... What in the universe is... Could their planet be... Could their planet be a *living organism?"* "Dr. Kalcemaar has some theories," Yuuel offered. "He'll be here in a moment." I rotated the video cubes and witnessed atrocity after atrocity. Within moments, the door opened and the doctor rushed in with his arms full of scrolls and leatherbound parchment. He threw them on the table and spread them out. I made my way to the expulfilater and cut the feed with a heavy sigh. "What have you got for me, doctor?" I asked as I made my way to his side. "These, General, are books if you've never seen them before," he said quickly. "Most civilizations keep records and information in these up until they develop stable quantum computing! These are detailed records of the planet's, um, spiritual beliefs, a-and-" "Get ahold of yourself doctor," Commander Yuuel spoke firmly. "If you were a Pyrathian, this room would be full of hot purple gas. You need to speak clearly and concisely when in front of the general." The doctor held up a book towards me, seemingly ignoring the commander. "Look at this! These texts depict... *beings,* um, *not* of flesh and bone. No, they're *unbelievably* powerful! And there are *many* of them!" I took the book and looked down at the ancient depictions as he rambled on. "I believe with everything I'm worth that they're fighting these things down there, and, um, they're going to lose if we don't do *something!*" I pored over the pages, my eyes translating for me as quickly as they could. They were called deities. Gods. Divinities. "These beings... They fight with the natural elements themselves?" "Indeed!" Cried the doctor. "We aren't prepared for this! How can we fight a- a- a planet?! How can we *settle* on lands that rebuke us of their own accord?! We would have to, um... *destroy* the very planet we're trying to *exploit!* It's! It's-" "Pointless," I finished for him as I closed the book and set it down on the table. "General. Your orders sir?" Commander Yuuel asked impatiently. I stared at the pages of deities on the table. To think something so incredible could have been hiding all of this time out in this corner of the universe. We had settled all across the stars. We were the most prolific race of people to seed the cosmos. We thought we had truly and honestly seen it all. "Order a full-scale retreat," I commanded gravely. "Get everyone out of there..." "Sir!" Commander Yuuel responded before rushing out of the room. As the doctor babbled on about spiritualism, I made my way to the command window and stared down at the blue planet. Retreat. Those words had never passed my lips before, and although it pained me to speak them... I couldn't deny that I was excited. To know everything there is to know is... boring. To find something new in the universe was titillating to every one of my twelve senses. "Doctor," I commanded. He silenced for the first time as I saw him lift his head in the reflection of my window. "I'm appointing you head of Earth Studies. We are to wage war with them no longer. Go and gather information about the planet... and extend to them a peace treaty. I wish to know more about these... gods." - - - I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos

Sydney was ten when she found the

Sydney was ten when she found the lamp, ten years old, fifth grade, a rough time for a young girl trying to prepare herself for middle school. Middle school, they said, was when life stopped being about fun and started being about work. Life got serious at middle school. Gone would be the days of games and laughs. In their place would be tasks that had a lasting effect on your life. Gone were the days of 'want to be my friend?' instead replaced by harsh judgment. Sydney, ten years old, shivered at the thought because fifth grade hadn't been much in the rainbows and sunshine department. The idea that sixth grade would be worse was enough to make the girl do anything to wish for a better experience. It was enough to make her wish she could be good enough for it. *Please let it be better,* she thought. But that's not what she said as the small bedroom filled with blue smoke and the booming demand for a wish. Not 'better'. Not 'ok'. Not 'good'. 'Perfect.' And there started the problem. Sixth grade started on her eleventh birthday and was heralded in with enough of a summer transformation to keep the students' jaws dropped. It was flattering attention but when Syndey's cheeks flushed, it wasn't the ugly red tomato face she was used to. No, her face remained its ivory hue, so subtly different from the blotchy pale, and only her cheeks blushed glowing apple red. The first day of classes flew by, a blur of perfect answers and new friends. Invites to clubs, tryouts, study groups. *The genie was right. This is going to be perfect.* A child often lacks a degree of foresight. It's why we ought not let them make permanent decisions on their future without a degree of time to think it over. And really, maybe all Sydney needed was time. But with the gusto of a little girl, she plunged in headfirst. She greeted high school a changed person, all smirks and eyerolls cause why not? Why be bubbly, why take any shit, why let even the slightest thing bother her? Do homework at home? She could doodle idle thoughts in her notebook on the bus and get As. So home was for clubs and hangouts. But as the shine of winning games, acing performances, and collecting awards, those too faded from her schedule. More hangouts. More parties. By senior year, she rocked the heroin chic look as effort faded from her wardrobe, leaving her 'would look good in a trash bag' body decked out in slouchy, effortlessly sexy torn jeans and ratty, unwashed t-shirts. Why wash them? She never smelled bad anyway. She got into Harvard. MIT. Oxford. If you've heard of it, she got into it. Got the Ivy League gamut. Tried them all out too. Bounced from school to school, semester to semester. Why not? Every scholarship was a full ride, every subject a breeze. Every bit of it boring. It's not really fair to judge her for what would have almost certainly become should the wish have tumbled from the lips of anyone else. It's not fair to judge her. But perhaps some did as she turned from legitimacy to a new high. Why stay within the lines? Could anyone catch her if she blurred them? Stepped over them? Rules were meant for people who couldn't get away with breaking them anyway. And thus the next chapter of her life began, the evening after getting her Ph.D. at age 21. It had been easy. Of course it had been. Maybe this would be harder. Break-ins quickly lost their charm. Vandalism was child's play. Bank robberies, gallery robberies, scams and cons, they were good fun for a little while but Sydney was rapidly losing interest and within a year, found herself looking for something a little more thrilling. Twenty-two is an awful young age to have run out of passion for anything but the most terrifying. But terrifying is the next path she took. Perhaps it started with the idea of good. After all, somewhere deep down there, ten-year-old Sydney is still longing for fulfillment. And ten-year-olds like nothing more than superheroes. Twelve years of reading 'someone ought to do something' on articles about murderers and rapists cleared led Sydney to her first kill. It had been so simple. So obvious. The man had been so clearly guilty. Guilty and lucky. Guilty and wealthy. Guilty and popular. But not guilty and perfect. He'd paid for the string of deaths in his wake. They ended with Sydney. Finally, here was something she could do without fear of it getting old. Gone was the old drug of adrenaline, replaced by the thrill of justice. Why hadn't she done this sooner? Of course, even the evil of the world can become boring. Everything can become boring. Why hadn't Sydney seen that at a younger age? She didn't ever come to enjoy the actual act of killing. The lust for righteousness, maybe, but never the act. Three years in and she was done with it too. It wasn't the right way. The right way was to instill a system that wouldn't have allowed them to get away with their crimes in the first place. You likely understand where this story is going now. Or why I have to tell it in muted whispers when the enforcers aren't around to hear. She never really meant any harm. To any adult who'd studied any degree of history, her path was predictable. But she'd only been a child. And life is hard for a child. School and peers, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. I hope that, amid this story, you've had some ideas for how to move forward, how to save us from the tyrannical rule of our benevolent dictator. I'm out of time for the rest of her story. Her rise to power. How that all went down. Perhaps another time, but the enforcers are returning shortly. If you've heard enough, please send help. Sydney may, at heart, still be a child worth saving. Perhaps she's nothing more than wicked and blighted. Maybe she's just confused and yearning for something to fulfill her. But she's also something so much worse than all that. She's perfect. ___ Read more stories at

The lettering was all in gold

Heaven, LLC I read the first page of the huge packet again and then flipped over the large envelope it came in. *Heaven, LLC. Your own personal paradise awaits,* it read in flowing golden script. I read the first page again. *We are sorry to inform you that your soul has been tampered with by an external force, and you didn't have a chance to live your life as it was intended. You have a few options.* It was clearly junk mail. Some scam artist trying to offer me salvation for just a few thousand dollars or something. But whoever it was put a lot of effort into it. The paper was so smooth and soft, like holding silk, and the lettering was all in gold and that same flowing script. And the paper itself smelled slightly of incense. I dropped it on the counter and started my electric tea kettle. As I stood waiting for the quiet beep that was the precursor to a cup of hot deliciousness, my mind wandered back to the envelope. I picked up the envelope and read the flowing inscription again. Then picked up the packet and read the first page. I shook my head and dropped it. Why was i putting so much thought into such an obvious - "Oh my Lord, will you just read the darned packet already! Pardon my language but I've been waiting for 2 minutes now and that's a lot of time when you have to be literally everywhere!" I screamed and dropped my empty mug, which shattered, raining ceramic daggers all over my kitchen floor. Grabbing the nearest thing I could find as a weapon I whirled around and pointed my teaspoon menacingly at the intruder. "Who the fuck are you and how the hell did you get in my house?" "First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, 'how in *Heaven* did I get in your house," the tall, dark haired man said. He was roughly 6 feet tall, give or take a few inches, with shoulder length straight black hair. He had a chiseled jaw and olive complexion. He looked like a character out of one of my girlfriends smut books. "You may call me Zazriel, Seraphim of the highest order, second only to the Lord Himself, at your service," he gave a deep, elaborate bow. I've never been much of a fighter. I once hit someone with a pillow when they tried to mug me while I walked home from the store, then apologized to them as I ran away. I spent good money on that pillow. It was memory foam and had the cooling gel on one side. So anyways, I did what any self respecting man would do when his possessions or life are threatened. I screamed like a little girl and ran for the door. The man calling himself Zazriel stepped slightly to his right, cutting off my exit. *Shit,* I thought, *I did that thing I always hate in horror movies.* You know when the main characters hide in a room with only one exit. I looked around for another means of escape. The window! I started running towards the window. I sprinted with all my might. I mean, I probably could have beaten Usain Bolt in that instant. But the window never got any closer. I looked down at my pumping legs, only to realize that I was roughly 2 feet above the floor. Apparently, as I entered the Speed Force, Zazriel had somehow managed to find his way behind me, and lift me off the floor by my armpits. He waited until I tired myself out, then sat me gently back on the floor. Then he handed me my shattered mug, now filled with hot bitter tea. "Please, John. Be not afraid. I am no common thug here to harm you or your possessions. I'm here to deliver a message," He handed me the packet and smiled, "And go over your options for the afterlife." "The...what?" I said. Taking a sip of my tea, which was the perfect temperature. "The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself." "The...what?" I repeated, dumbly "The afterlife. See when a mortal dies, their soul is transferred to the afterlife, A program run by my corporation, designed to provide them with their own personal paradise until the end of time itself," repeated Zazriel, as if it was the first time I had asked. "Am I...." "Not yet, but you should be. You were scheduled for a soul retrieval two business days ago. However, something happened. This is not uncommon. Sometimes souls don't get the message and linger for a little longer, however when we attempted to contact your soul a second time, we received no response." "We?" "Yes, *We*, the angels, John. please try to keep up." "You're not an angel. Angels are terrifying things with eyes and wings." "No John you're thinking of birds," Zazriel shuttered visibly, then handed me my shattered mug, filled with delicious bitter tea. "Thanks," I said, setting my mug on the counter and reaching for the one he - "Wait..." "Don't think about it too much. You have plenty else to think about," he said, pointing to the packet in my free hand. "See someone has tampered with your soul. It cannot be retrieved as wwe are unsure where it is. There could be many reasons for this. Demonic possession is the typical suspect, however you do not exhibit any of the typical signs, such as speaking in unknown languages, higher than normal body temperature, aversion to holy symbols, and smelling of brimstone and sulfur. In fact, you smell like," He sniffed the air around me, "lavender and shea butter." "I have very dry elbows." "Indeed. Anyways we have a few options, outlined in this packet. The first is to remain on earth without a soul. You will live eternally, however without a soul your body will soon begin to decay. This will throw a wrench into any social plans you might have. The second is to come with me to a temporary holding cell in heaven, known as Purgatory, until your soul can be retrieved. And the last option is to hunt for your soul yourself. See, He has many enemies, and I don't just mean old Lucy. Many of whom remain at large and must be brought before the Lord for judgement. Should you choose this option, you will be granted immortality, as well as a temporary soul, and in exchange you will become a sort of...supernatural bounty hunter. Take a few days, read the packet, and consider your options. I'll return to get your answer shortly. \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- "Why are you telling me this story?" "Because I've had a very long day," I ejected the clip of my gun and checked the ammunition, slipped the clip back into the gun and chambered a round, then looked back up at the demon. "I'm hoping you'll come peacefully, and we can skip the whole 'chasing you through the streets and shooting up the entire block' bit." *He won't come peacefully,* I thought, *they never do.* The demon sprung from his chair and ran towards the door. I sighed, stood, and aimed my pistol.

Captain Adumar looked around his bridge

The crew of the Voyager IV released their white knuckled grips on their consoles as the passed through the outer reaches of the Kuiper Belt, the last asteroids impacting harmlessly against their shields. They had done it, and as Captain Adumar looked around his bridge he could see the triumph written on their faces. He stilled them with a word, there was still more to come. "Ahemm," he growled, eight pairs of eyes turning towards him. "My compliments to the helm on the excellent flying but we've still got to light that sucker up." A smile creased his face as he saw the crews expressions change, triumph falling back to Earth to be replaced by naked hunger. He had selected for fearlessness and wanderlust on this mission, and every man and woman about had that in spades. Touching a button on the console attached to his seat Adumar opened a comm-link to engineering. "How are we doing down there Arroyo? Are your people ready to go?" The heavily accented tones of chief engineer Evangeline Arroyo were tinny in the small speaker but her confidence shone through all the same. "Yes sir!" she said brightly, "we can light the torch anytime." The bridge crew were all at their positions, ready and waiting for the order. They hung on his word like they too could feel like winds of history blowing. "Light 'er up!" the Captain called as he pulled a cigar from his jacket pocket. Cuba's finest, the first one into space. History was accompanied by a long, dull roar, the sound of the massive inter-system engines powering up for the first time. A tremor began to run the length of the ship from the engine bank to the tip, dissipating out into space through a specially constructed pylon that looked like a spear grafted onto the bridge. From his position Adumar could see number flashing on the helmsman's console as the ship began to pick up speed, inching closer and closer to the second stage of their burn and the twisted embrace of relativity. Their excitement was shattered a moment before the button was pressed as a siren ripped through every system on Voyager IV capable of producing sound. It rose in a deafening wail, echoing back on itself in tight corridors and claustrophobic bunks while the crew scattered like rats, searching for any cause or worse any respite from it. The bridge alone was calm although Adumar himself had bitten off the end of his cigar in surprise, choking on tobacco for several humiliating seconds at the start. "Comms!" he yelled, struggling to be heard over the din. "What the hell is that noise? Did we trip an alarm or something?" "No sir!" the young officer shouted back, "the signal is external! "I'm getting something out the forward viewport!" the sensor officer, ensign Stryga, said. "Then put it up!" The viewport flashed on, focused on a small pinprick of light in the distance. It ran through its first magnification, then its second, and on the third the object had finally taken shape, racing toward them at a chillingly fast percentage of the speed of light. It flashed brightly on the way in, a cascade through the full range of colors and then some. "Stryga," Adumar said, "what is that thing?" "Unknown sir, but likely a ship" the ensign responded, her voice cool despite the pressure. "I'm detecting evidence of a fairly powerful shield around it that's dispersing my scans but the object is clearly artificial. Furthermore I-" The siren cut out as the unknown vessel began to fill the magnified viewport, and in its place was an unknown voice. "Unidentified vessel deactivate your engines and shields and prepare to be boarded. Have your license, ship registration, and manifest ready at your airlock upon our arrival." The bridge was silent as a tomb in the wake of its message. Adumar almost wished the siren had never ended. He knew he had to respond, it was his ship, his duty, but he couldn't find the words. "Unidentified vessel, please activate your transponder or respond to our hails if you cannot. This is Inter-Galactic Police light cruiser designation #631-990. I repeat, this is the Inter-Galactic Police. Your cooperation is mandatory." "Captain?" the comms officer asked, his voice shaking, "should I say something?" This was all wrong. This had been a test exercise, proof of concept for humanity's newest space drive, not first contact! Earth had ambassadors for that sort of thing! Teams and elected officials, not old navy Captains who had risen up from the test pilot corp. Adumar thumbed on his ship to ship comms. "Uhh, roger uhh...631-99 uhh, this is Captain Adumar of the Earth ship Voyager IV, conducting a peaceful training exercise. To whom am I speaking?" He could practically feel the history books crucifying him now. The first words spoken to alien life and three of them were 'uhhh's.' "This is Captain Dor'cha, IGP. I need you to stand down and prepare to be boarded." "Well uhh, Captain," damnit, he'd done it again, "my world has not yet made formal contact with the organization you claim to represent, that puts me under a bit of a strain as you must understand. I'm afraid I can't consent to any boarding. Also, what is this for exactly?" "You have several inter galactic code violations. Your engines are burning way too hot for one, and you aren't displaying any of the proper transponder licenses to access the hyperspace lanes. I'm really going to need you to let me on board." All the while the damned alien ship had kept blinking like a strobe light in the viewport, so close now it was practically blinding. "Sir," Adumar said, "I wasn't aware of any of those laws." "Ignorance of the law is not a defense," Dor'cha responded. Three hours later, feeling more alone and isolated from Earth than he ever had in his years in the service, Captain Adumar and his senior officers stood at rigid attention by the airlock doors, their number 1 dress uniforms on. They had all prepared themselves they thought, for whatever creature might walk through those doors. What they found however, was something else entirely.

Danya Trellwright's next

Danya Trellwright was perpetually short-changed. Currently in her jean pocket she had PS29 of Mortal money... and precisely zero in the currency she needed to settle her debts. Her next pay day - again, Mortal money - wasn't for a fortnight, which put her in the ridiculous position of having to live off scraps and turn off her heating for the upcoming Winter nights. She'd have once deemed such hand-to-mouth hardship impossible for a graduate of the Royal Warlock's Conservatoire. Now she knew better. Danya hated to reflect on that blasted degree. It turned out that studying 'the Origin of Incantations' didn't afford one the time to master the actual incantations themselves. She could tell you all about the 1854 feud between Grilby Dockervitch and Thelma Tchlabakan and the consequent blinding charm that arose from such a legendary duel... but could she cast similar shadows over men's eyes for even a second? Not a chance in hell. She was therefore feeling decidedly sorry for herself. Picking up part-time jobs alongside the Mortals; a call centre role that involved more apology than it did selling, a stint in a bar pouring pints with too much foam. Her degree had led to only a couple of Wizarding roles; both low-paid cash-in-hand jobs teaching 'the theory of incantations' to rich Warlock offspring. These stints as private tutor had both ended prematurely when the children scoffed at the lessons for being meaningless. They wanted to learn actual magic. She couldn't blame them. Still, there was one silver lining in all this: her days scrubbing toilets and waiting tables amongst the Mortals had given her an insight to their world that few wizards cared to concern themselves with. She could conceal herself amongst the Mortals like she was one of them; she could dress like them, talk like them, pretend to engross herself in their technology and media, pretend that it mattered to her. Her Mortal disguise was so convincing that it enabled her to slip into their world; out of the wizard community and the formidable cloaked Dept Collectors that roamed it. She sat now in her flat in Hackney, sandwiched between identical flats occupied by builders, sales clerks and nurses. She thought it would be impossible to track her down here, so camouflaged like this. But the Dept Collectors of the Wizard world were shrewd. They'd invested their own university time more wisely. And now one of them stood before her in all his cloaked and powerful glory. "Did anybody see you?" Denya asked. Funny, she'd only been living here a few months but she'd already inherited the Mortal's collective obsession for keeping up appearances. She hated to think what the neighbours would say about her visitor's unusual attire. She'd be branded some devil worshiper or something. "I've come for what we're owed." Denya scoffed. "Look around, Marius. Does it look like I have that kinda cash?!" Marius's eyes raked over the flat's interior, not bothering to hide his contempt. There were ashtrays, inspirational fridge magnets, television guides, scented candles. All the clutter that Mortal's accumulated that were unfathomable to the Wizarding kind. "You bring shame on your University." he hissed. "Yeah, well, I don't care much about what they think anymore." "Perhaps you should. They'll deploy more Collectors the longer you evade your dept. And believe me, the others will have far less tolerance for such... life choices." "Choices?! I didn't make a choice. I got scammed into a shitty degree with no prospects to follow." "Oh please." "I spent three years in that damn place, watching others hex and curse and charm and what did I learn, huh?! A bunch of ancient history. Fat lot of good that'll do me." Marius's lips folded into a smirk. "You think the Collectors are interested in your self-pity?! You took out a loan, you pay it back." "Tell them they'll get it when I get something worthwhile in return." "You are a fool!" He spat. His face was contorted with anger now... most unusual for someone in a Collector's role, where poise and inscrutability were part of the job criteria. But Marius appeared to have lost himself; beneath those velvet robes he was shaking, fists clenched. "You think it's on Wizarding kind to provide you a life?!" He demanded, "You think those imbeciles with their tickle hexes and fire-breathing charms were carried and dumped into positions of success straight out of graduation?! No. It's not what you learn, girl, it's what you do with it. And that's on you." "And what am I supposed to do with a bunch of old stories?!" "I was on the panel for your enrolment." Marius proclaimed. "I was one of many that advocated for your acceptance into the university. You showed great promise. And modesty. That modesty was rare. But perhaps it wasn't modesty at all... just pure, simple denseness." "Look!" Denya snapped, "I don't have your money so maybe you should---" "You really don't know? The extent of your power?" Denya wasn't in the mood for this. She'd just done a 9 hour shift on tired blistered feet, pouring coffee for jeering men who'd called her 'bruv' and 'geezer', slapped her hard on the shoulders in what had to be the Mortal display of domination. She'd have done anything to have turned around and cursed those Mortal cretins... but she'd refilled their mugs instead. She certainly didn't need Marius here now forcing her to re-live such obvious failure. "We guided you towards 'The Origin in Incantations' because we felt you hardly had need for those other subjects," Marius whispered, "A gift like yours... no blindness or concealment charms would have put you in better stead, but learning from history certainly would." "I don't know what you're talking about." "Look in the mirror, Denya." Denya didn't own a mirror. She didn't need to look at her own tired and disappointed face each day. She didn't need to be reminded that the incantations uttered into the reflection rendered no results. But Marius, in his brilliance, swiped his hand across the air like brushing fingertips on an invisible window. Where his fingers trailed now hovered a shimmering reflection too tantalising for Denya to turn away from. She edged close to it... and where she expected her own face to look back at her, she saw only his. "You can shape-shift Denya." Marius said this with zero pride, just disappointment that his target had been so obtuse to have never picked up on it for herself, "You can shift into people you despise, or people you want to be or...... into Mortals, apparently. You've never bothered to channel and discipline your gift, so who knows exactly how it works. But it is exceptionally rare." Denya continued staring. She touched the tip of her finger to her face... in the reflection, it was Marius's older, wrinkled hand that tapped to sharper cheeks. "How has nobody ever told me this?" She breathed. "Because you were admitted to a university, not a nursery. You took course after course on the greatest shape-shifters of the Wizarding world, absorbed all of their triumphs and failings, scored highly in your essays and never once did it occur to you......" He trailed off, disgusted. Denya swiped a tongue across her - or Marius's - lips. She tasted blood. She'd never read anything about shape-shifters accessing their counterpart's tastes, smells or sensations before. She mentally logged it in the back of her mind. For now she had to concentre on not having *her* blood ravished next. "And why are you telling me all this?" She asked. Marius dragged his eyes across the flat again, eyebrow cocked. "Because you clearly have no money. But I'm going to keep coming after you, Danya, and next time I do - I'd like it to be a little more interesting." Then he jerked his head so fast in made Denya jump; his neck cracking grotesquely, his body shuddering, before he shifted into a smaller, balding Wizard that Denya recognised as the faculty administrator, Dustin. "Perhaps," mused Marius... or Dustin... "Once your debt is paid, you might consider becoming a Collector yourself."

Leper was the common way to

*Leper* I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way. But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores. Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm. "Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly. "Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions." The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally. But still my heart pounded in my chest. Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands. Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground. "Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room. I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting. I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel. I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through. On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days. Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief. I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled. "Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly. "You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed. I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him. Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did. I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end. And potentially a terrible danger. "Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away. Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion. "Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice. The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding. "Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet. "Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked. "No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two." Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing. "Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer. "That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that." The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds. "Thank you again, this will save millions of lives." "You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again."

Office cubicles were designed to break

Office cubicles were designed to break a person's spirit. Every day, I would look at my calendar, sighing as I crossed another wasted day off. There had to be more to life than this, surely? I logged off from my computer, needing a coffee break to escape the monotony of the work. Heading past my neighboring cubicles, the faces of strangers greeted me, not one person recognizable. I never understood why that was. It was as if my work changed employees every day, a scenario that would be far too expensive for any workplace to pull off. "Morning Lester, how are you dealing with the eternal doubt that you will never amount to something in life. The doubt that you are a worthless being who will die never truly knowing love. Does it still keep you up at night?" One of my colleagues shouted from his cubicle as I passed, his cheery voice not matching the weight of his words. It forced me to stop, unable to walk past and ignore such a direct question. How did he know such a thing? Were rumors spreading around the office about me? The brazen words took me aback, forcing me to play it off. "Haha, you know life's just going at the moment. I'm living." I said, not giving a confident answer. Afraid any heartfelt response might cause me to cry. Doing my best to prevent such a scene. "That is good. Living is good while you still can. Just know your feelings are accurate." He said, swinging around in his chair, facing his computer once more, tapping away at his keyboard. "I- uh?" The conversation left me dumbfounded, staring at the stranger with my mouth agape. What did he mean, they were accurate? Was that intended to comfort me? I cleared my throat, hoping he might realize his rudeness and apologize, but no such luck. He just mindlessly tapped away at his keys, ignoring me. My colleagues were getting stranger, perhaps they were just annoyed with me for ignoring them all. Hell, If I couldn't recognize one face in an entire office of people, I must be ignoring them. I really should try to leave my cubical more. Even as that thought entered my head, I knew I wouldn't make an effort. Trying took work, work that I didn't care to put into my job. When I made it to the kitchen, I quickly prepared my coffee, wanting to avoid anymore awkward conversations, planning to get my beverage before retreating into the safe walls of my cubical. I watched the coffee machine hiss as the steam puffed out of it, pouring the mixture into my cup. The whole time the coffee poured, I looked over my shoulder, making sure no one was approaching. When the machine stopped its noise, I grabbed the cup, turning only for a wide grin to greet me, the face of a woman inches away from mine. She just stared at me, eyes not blinking. I waited for her to say something, only for her to remain silent. When I went to break the silence, she shushed me and spoke. "Pester Lester! Pester Lester." She shouted, joyfully shifting from leg to leg as she chanted. "You fear life Lester, you could have had Elise if you weren't so scared of commitment. Although you know she would never have been happy with you. Like everything in your life, your relationship crashed!" Her words about my failed relationship hurt. A private affair I was certain I never told aynone about. I went to speak only for the chanting to continue. "Pester Lester. Pester Lester." I didn't attempt to make conversation, hurrying past the woman, wiping the unfortunate tears that had formed in my eyes. Did this not count as workplace harassment? I ignored any attempts at conversation, throwing myself into my office, panting as I slipped back into my leathery chair. They never came to my office; I was safe here. My hands shook, spilling coffee over my desk, struggling to get the beverage to my lips. I could hear them giggling outside my cubicle, the occasional knock being heard on the cubicle wall. They were never this bad, sure they could be strange, but this was just different. I tried to log in only for a ringing to hit my ears, a loud wailing of alarms, at least it sounded like alarms. I poked my head out of the cubicle, checking if anyone had gotten up to leave. Did a fire alarm go off? Poking my head out of the cubicle, I saw them, just standing at the end of the cubicles. Each one smiling at me, a sick twisted grin, one that fed off my fear. They watched me for a moment, standing in front of the exit. "Escape is no longer available to you. We are sorry but your position will be terminated soon." Terminated? It had to be some sort of sick joke. I waited for a punchline, but it never came. I moved to step out into my cubicle, staring at the group. My mind was telling me to run, to push past them, yet my legs felt weak. I couldn't run, I was tired. I moved back to my desk, sitting down once more, covering my eyes as the monitor grew brighter, blinding me for a moment only to dim. In the bright light I saw a man peering down at me, his face filled with concern as he flashed the light into my eyes. He mouthed something I couldn't make out before fading; the monitor turning itself off, a faint beeping radiating from it. I attempted to push the power button, but the computer seemed dead. No amount of touching able to start it up again. When my gaze left the computer, I saw them all standing against my cubicle wall, peering in with curious looks. Each beginning to speak. "A failure, you are a useless man." "To think this was your place of comfort." "Was the money worth the loneliness?" Each one speaking with rage in their tone, their faces blurring, changing rapidly, unable to keep up the same features. Only one stayed the same, one face that didn't change like the others, one still who hadn't spoken. They pushed their way into the cubicle, taking my hand, tightly squeezing it in theirs. "I'll miss you. We will never stop loving you." The voice faintly familiar. I hadn't heard it in so long, but it was comforting. I went to grasp the figure, only for them to fade. When they left, the beeping stopped, falling silent with a small hiss following. In the silence, the room faded, office cubicles falling into the darkness until all that was left was me, floating in a pool of darkness. I felt empty and sore, past aches returning. My body felt the same way it had after that car accident all those years ago, But I survived that, I had woken up. Hadn't I? Doubt crept into my mind but was soon replaced by exhaustion. Closing my eyes, I decided I would figure it out what was happening when I awoke.       (If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)