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Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt

Monsignor Michael Benedictine felt the disturbance long before he was summoned. A new demon had arrived into the mortal realm. He could sense the ripples, little pulses of energy that made his hair stand on end and told him where the source resided. This one was very powerful, the ripples having more the character of crashing waves, threatening to overwhelm him. To drown him beneath their onslaught. "A blight has arrived," Michael said, closing his leather bound Bible and crossing himself. Father Lawrence nodded thoughtfully, "Is it acting upon the world yet?" While Father Lawrence was not attuned to demons, he had long since discarded his skepticism on the subject. One could not spend any time in the Monsignor's presence and retain any doubt. They existed, their efforts to corrupt humanity an ongoing project stretching back since time immemorial. Michael shook his head, "No. It has inhabited a host, but it remains isolated." He frowned, "I have not felt its like before. Powerful. Very. But somehow the hunger is absent." "Perhaps we are in luck then, we may exorcise this blight before it is given the chance work its darkness," Lawrence said, his thumb counting the rosary out of habit. "Perhaps," though Michael's tone was strained and carried an undercurrent of confusion. He had been on the front lines of this battle for some time. While the demons were a threat, they had also largely been predictable. This was new. He did not like new. Michael stood and began to gather the items he would need. A large wooden cross. A small silver one. Holy water. A warrior's Bible, blessed thrice by saints of great power. Once all was accounted for, he nodded to Lawrence, "We should hurry. It is recent and new, but its power gathers fast." Michael and Lawrence made for the door just as a man, disheveled and panting, burst into the Rectory. "Monsignor, a new--" Michael held up his hand, causing the man to fall silent, "I am aware. I move to counter the threat as we speak." The man slumped, the relief palpable. "Thank the Almighty. It is terrible. Truly terrible." Michael nodded, "Yes. I believe it is an Archdemon. The first in the modern era." Lawrence's eyes widened, "An Archdemon?" The ramifications were astounding. It was widely believed that Archdemons had been exiled, purged from entering this realm after the stain of Original Sin had been washed clean by the Christ. If one had truly appeared, it would be the first in over two thousand years. The first since the Son of God had given his life so that man might know redemption. Michael set out, his rapid pace belying the years the man lived. He was old, but he was not weak. The battle for the soul of man sustained him, renewing him continually. There were so few attuned, so few capable of sensing when corruption threatened mankind. Each was precious. Their journey to the disruption was quick. Surprisingly so as demons quite often tended to avoid places the attuned might easily reach. It was another disturbing fact among a series of them. The Monsignor seemed unperturbed as he mounted the steps to the dilapidated building. "It lies within." As all he said before rapping his knuckles against the cracked door. There was a shuffling inside, along with the sound of muffled voices in a heated conversation. Finally, the door cracked open, revealing a bleary eyed man with a bald pate, unkempt beard, and decidedly shabby garments. "Whaddya want? I ain't buyin' nuffin'." The man grumbled, his demeanor skeptical. "I am here on urgent business." "I ain't want no Bibles or magazines!" He looked the Monsignor up and down, a look of disdain spreading across his features, "I ain't makin' no donations neither. Not to the likes of you." Michael looked at the man intently, if the other man's word had offended him, it made no visible impression on his expression. "Sir, I am not here to sell you on anything. I would simply like to know whether you have noticed anything disturbing recently." "Whole damn world is disturbin'," he spat on the ground, just beside the Monsignor's foot, "Chinese takin' my job. Can't get my pills for my back no more 'cause they sayin' I don't need 'em." He shrugged, "World just ain't right. Left the little guy behind." He shook his head sadly. "There are a great many ills in this world, but I am curious as to whether you have noticed anything within the walls of your home," Michael said, his tone carefully neutral. "Beyond my fool daughter not comin' out of her room for three days, everything is peachy as pie." He took this opportunity to light up a cigarette, blowing the smoke in Father Lawrence's direction, who responded with a small annoyed cough. "You say your daughter has been in her room for three days? Is that normal?" Michael asked. "Ain't nothin' normal about that witch. Always been wrong in the head, and nothin' I do seems to get her head on right." He hooked a thumb in his belt and snapped it, making it clear just how he had attempted to correct her behavior. Lawrence shared a concerned look with Michael. Abuse often weakened the will, making it easier for a demon to slip in through the cracks. By the looks of things, the father had done his part to place his daughter into jeopardy. "Would it be all right if I tried to speak to your daughter?" Michael asked. The man shrugged, "Hell if I care. Don't see you havin' much luck neither." He took a step back, sweeping his hand out, inviting Michael in. "Damn girl bit me the last time I tried to knock some sense into her." His hand creeped out from behind his back, angry black streaks ran along his veins before disappearing beneath a dirty towel acting as a bandage. Michael glanced at the hand in some alarm, but ignored it in favor of more pressing concerns. "Thank you sir. We will not be any trouble." Michael said as he glided past and began to mount the stairs leading up to the second floor. Father Lawrence hurried quickly behind, a sheen of sweat breaking out as he followed the Monsignor into the darkness above. **Had to split this into two parts. Too long.** **over on my sub here.** **Platypus out.** **Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus

The Logic Hunters...whatever. It

It's funny, how every day begins normally. I woke up like any other day, Derek was already gone. I went into the kitchen, and I saw Derek had made breakfast for me. I smiled and as always, took it with me to and curled up in a chair with a book. I used to watch the news, but it was too depressing. The Logic Hunters...whatever. It wasn't my problem. I'd had an entire youth of messing with other people's business - it was just a headache. Nothing ever changed for the better. I was done. The day went by as it normally did. Reading from chair to chair, waiting for Derek to come back. Maybe we could watch a movie or something when he got back? A knock. In the books, the protagonist has an uneasy feeling. Almost like a premonition when there's *that* knock. You know it. It's some terrible tragedy or the beginning of some grand adventure, and as the main character walks to the door, she's cautious, aware something is wrong as if warned by some sixth sense. That isn't how it works in the real world. I looked up from my book and up at the time. It was too early for it to be Derek. Or maybe he was back early. Wearing a smile on my face I went up to open the door, fully expecting Derek to be leaning against the doorway. He wasn't. Two people stood at the door, and I noticed the symbol on their green uniforms. A pen crossed with a sword. The Logic Hunters. Two of them, no weapons in sight. One was a tall man with dark hair, and the other was a petite woman with emerald eyes and red hair. I wasn't afraid. They would never dare bring me in. I was the reason their government even existed, and the country would collectively riot if anything were to happen. Maybe they needed some consulting again? I sighed, "I'm sorry, please tell Mr. Andrews that I'm done with revolutions and politics and all of that. No I will not advise you, no-" "Pardon me Ms. Williams," the woman, I squinted, no girl, really. She couldn't have been out of college. They were getting them early it seems. She cringed when she interrupted me. "I-I just wanted to say what an honor it is to meet you -" I sighed. "Please, just get to the point." The girl swallowed and turned beet red. She glanced quickly at the other Logic Hunter who was looking everywhere but at me and spoke. "I-I'm really sorry, Ms. Andrews, we were here for a customary informing." Finally, finally, I began to sense something was wrong. "Customary informing?" I frowned. "You were the one listed in his will. Normally the state would confiscate all the goods, but we of course made a special exception for you." I stopped listening past "will." "Whose will?" I breathed. The narrowed. It was as if I were looking through a tunnel, with emotions locked behind some distant haze. "Whose will?" I asked again, louder, and the girl flinched. I didn't care. "Your, uh, your husband ma'am. A Derek Williams." "He's dead?" I asked. Simple, that was best. There was a roaring in my ears and I couldn't really think. There was some sort of pressure in my head, threatening to burst out. "Ah, yes, ma'am. He attended a resistance meeting and one of our bugs was present there. We have the recording of him and everyone at the meeting plotting against the Logic Hunters specifically. Going as far as to allege that the Logic Disease was made up!" She laughed as if this were somehow funny. As if she could deliver to a woman the death of her husband and find something to laugh about. "Simply being at these meetings of course, is illogical and proof of infection. As the New Constitution stipulates, those proven to have the disease are to be summarily executed." She looked at me and something in my face caused her to look down. "I-I'm sorry," she said. "I understand how much it must hurt to have your very own husband be a rebel of a government you helped found." "This wasn't what I had envisioned," I said, my voice coming out dry. I had told him. *Told* him. Mind your own business, you won't make a difference. Nothing changes, never for good. All you get is blood and tears. I knew, I'd caused plenty. "He's dead?" I asked again, numb. The truth still hadn't set in. He would walk in any moment now, run his hands through his hair like he always did and call it a joke. He couldn't be gone. Not Derek. The girl looked worried now. "Yes ma'am I just said that." I wanted to throttle her, to bash her head against the pavement. I had a gun vault behind the door in the wall, I could do it. I closed my eyes and exhaled. Took my emotions and just...pushed them aside, as I'd so often done when I was young, when I had a world to change. I needed logic right now. Cold and hard. Killing them wouldn't help, wouldn't bring Derek back. "Thank you," I said and shut the door in their faces. I walked back to where I'd been sitting and just sat...staring at a wall. I should've done more, I should've stopped him. Convinced him. Done *something* to prevent this. Maybe if I'd actually supported him instead of talking him down he'd be alive. *Or maybe you'd be dead too* a voice whispered in my head. I ignored it. I was this country's hero for fuck's sake, and I was here moping! I just wanted to cry. If I cried it would be okay, it would be a release, but the tears did not come, only a ball in my chest. Of despair, helplessness, and largest of all, rage. If I'd built it, I could tear it down. And I would do it. They had taken Derek, and I'd take away everything they had. It was time to start giving a fuck again. I went to the phone. *** (minor edits) If you enjoyed, check out my sub,

Jeff was a nice enough kid,

He said it with a hint of disgust in his voice. Or maybe that was just how teenagers talk now. Whatever, I'm not taking the bait and making this a bad scene. "Yeah... a *potato*. Enjoy." I read somewhere once that the bane of every adult was the following generation's idiosyncrasies. For instance, our youngest swears that she hates tomatoes, but needs ketchup on everything. And I *do* mean everything. I'm pretty sure I saw her dipping gummy worms in it a few weeks back. Our eldest, Sheena, loves the absolutely worst music. I have obviously failed as a parent, a role model, and today, a cook. So, in this case, I just blamed his parents in turn. Jeff was a nice enough kid, but probably had a mother with one of those severe talk-to-the-manager dye bobs and probably a half dozen different made-up ills and complaints about life that she aped off of scammy Facebook articles. Gluten free this, cage free that, all while drinking hundreds of dollars-worth of Starbucks coffee, shitty slimming milkshakes, and garbage essential oils. I finished serving the rest of my family their plates, plopped down sour cream, chives, butter, and even a big bottle of Heinz for Janey in the middle of the dinner table, and sat down at the head. Just the four of us, and the new kid who didn't know what the hell a potato was. We don't do that praying thing, but I was going to be polite. I glanced over to Jeff ,who had his face screwed up into a curious grimace. Oh boy... we got a live one. "Something wrong, sport?" "Nossir. I'm... I'm fine. Thank you for having me for dinner. And for the uh... po-tay-doh." He poked gently at it with his fork, and I swear i saw a little shudder of revulsion. Is this some bullshit youtube prank? Suddenly he doesn't know what a potato is? Nah, the kid looked like he was on the verge of crying. Not a prank then? Jesus Christ, if I had served it with a burger after slicing frying the thing, there wouldn't be any problem. Or, he's one of those coddled, spoiled bastards that only eat nuggets and fries. "Well, there's sour cream right there, and chives. Oh, and butter. That's how I like em. Or you can eat em like lil' Janey, which is mostly just ketchup and pepper. I know each family does things differently, and trying new stuff can be weird. But I'd appreciate it if you could try a bite, cool?" I bit back my tongue and busied myself with sipping my water. I could feel Sheena tensing up across the table. I'm sure I was going to hear about it later. Me making things awkward around the new boyfriend. The dad life is tough, yo. But my attention kept flitting back to Jeff. I couldn't help but look at him out of the corner of my eye. The guy was white as a goddamned sheet... that Idaho Russet had him scared shitless. Poor Sheena, looks like this boyfriend is going to bail sooner rather than later. I glanced back down at my plate, snagged my knife and held back a smirk. Might as well have fun with it. "So uh, Jeff, what classes do you have with my Sheena?" One deft slice through the tater, right down the middle. I heard a muted gag. "Uh... um... yeah we're uh... in biology together." I continued to carve my potato with a few slices crosswise, and heard an audible gulp. "Oh, Mrs. Wenfrey's class? Nice, she's got good grades in that one. Are you to blame for that?" I jabbed at the cut sections with my fork, creating a sort of mashed crater in the center. A moan of horror. "No sir. I mean... yes. Yes sir. I mean... I... oh god." I kept my eyes down on my plate, to keep from dying of laughter. I spooned out some sour cream onto my baked potato. Each time he winced. Get a load of this kid! I looked up from my dinner. right at him. He was a sickly green, eyes welling with tears as they drilled holes into the ceiling, avoiding my plate. "You okay over there, champ?" He was sweating. Over a goddamned potato? What a weirdo. I shot my wife a look. Her eyes bored back into mine, a mix of fear and worry. *... the fuck?* I'm not going to play any bullshit games just to keep some kid happy. Boys his age usually attempt to eat their weight in chips and fries, but because his mom thinks potatoes are empty carbs, he's stuck eating free-range kale-n-quinoa salads and doesn't know how to function in polite society. "Daddy?" My little one was trying to catch my attention. I obviously didn't put on the required pint of ketchup on her plate. "Yeah babygirl? Need ketchup?" I reached towards the bottle in front of me. "... I don't like this. I don't want it." "What? Why? What's wrong now?" She was at that super weird stage of pickiness. No tomatoes, yes ketchup. Yes gravy, but only if it was brown. Carrots must be round, not squares. Typical little kid bs. "This is uck." She pointed at her potato. Obviously I slacked on the ketchup. Whoops. "Fine. Sorry. Here, tomato blood for you, all over your 'tato. Cool? Cool." I made a big flourish of squirting the ketchup over the potato, even getting it to make a fart noise. "Ew daddy thats dis CUSS teen!" She made dramatically silly coughing and choking noises. "Yeah yeah yeah... eat up anyway. It's okay if Jeff doesn't eat his potato, but you still have to eat yours." I picked up my fork to eat, and I heard my wife clear her throat. Oh yeah. A panicked double-shift of her head towards the kitchen. I nodded back. "Excuse us a bit folks." We both rose and left the 3 kids at the table. We barely made it into the kitchen proper, before she pulled me close and hissed in my ear. "What the unholy fuck do you think you're doing?" "Sorry babe, I was just having fun." Wrong answer. "How in the *fuck* do you think what you're doing is fun? What the *fuck* is wrong with you?" She accented the language with harsher squeezes on my arm. I stood up, kinda pissed off. Look, I don't know how you guys do things at your house, but my hospitality ends right about the point that made up bullshit 'food is bad' memes threaten a pretty goddamned good meal. Pork tenderloin medallions in my special 'dragon glaze', paired with a blend of fresh chopped-that-day veggies, lightly buttered and herbed. And, of course, some kickass russets damn near as big as my fist. And some rolls, but whatever. I tamped down the anger and whispered back. "Look, I realize I'm supposed to hate any boy that tries to woo our daughter, but he's been a good kid so far. I still reserve the right to poke a little fun at some pretty fucking out there weirdness." "He's not being weird. **You** are being weird. What the hell is going on with you today?" Her grip increased. "Nothing? Look, she asked, we agreed. I even volunteered to make dinner. It's your standard traditional American fare. No big deal, okay? I'll shut up about it." I moved away towards the dining room. She snatched me back by my arm. "No, you listen here, we need to talk right *fucking* now." From the dining room, our youngest. "Daddy? I need help..." I turned back to Mary. "Honey, I'm sorry. I'll figure something out and smooth this over. I'm going back." I yanked my arm (probably a bit more forcefully than I should have) from her grip and made way back to the table. Sheena sat and fidgeted. Jeff fidgeted and sat. Neither made eye contact with me or Jeff's plate. Jane looked like she was about to cry. "I'm back, sorry little one. What's wrong." More ketchup, probably. "I don't like this. It's ucky. I don't want it." Her potato sat, pre-cut and drenched in ketchup. No bites taken. Jesus Christ, now this fucking kid's parents have infected my kids with their bullshit. Why can't I just deal with a vegan instead? Mary slunk back in from the kitchen, staring daggers. "Okay guys, obviously I made a few mistakes. Jeff, I'm sorry if I made you feel unwelcome here. My uh... humor is a bit rough around the edges. No hard feelings, okay?" He blinked and stared over my shoulder. "Uh, yeah... okay." "So... let's all eat and have a good time, and if you want, we can all play a boardgame or something later alright?" Jane started to whimper. "Daddy no..." I sat and looked over at her. She was way beyond verklempt and headed straight towards toddler-crying-tantrum town. I started to get angry. "Jane? Honey? What's wrong now? Just eat your dinner." She began to quietly cry. Now I'm mad. "Okay look. Maybe we got off to a bad start here, but obviously we can all act like humans and work this out. Let's all just take a deep breath, chill out, and we'll all laugh about this later. Okay? Awesome. Let's eat." With that, I grabbed a big forkful of tater, and took a bite. And all hell broke loose. Jeff leapt away from the table and almost made it to the garbage can in the kitchen before barfing his guts out all over our linoleum. Jane erupted into huge sobbing wails. My wife began to scream at me. And Sheena fled the room. She bared her teeth in rage at me. "What is wrong with you? What is your damn problem? You took this too damn far!" I lost it. "What the hell are you talking about? I made peace. And I'm gonna eat my damn dinner! And it's not my fault the guy was raised by a pack of morons!" "You are absolutely awful! I can't believe you'd do this! How immature **are** you?" I blanched at that. I had a half-dozen dad jokes prepared just for this night, and even had a secret photo album with dozens of Sheena's baby and kid pictures in it. And I'm being immature? Jeff continued to heave in the kitchen. I picked up Jane and attempted to calm her down, dropping my voice a few decibels. "I can **not** believe this. All this for some poor kid raised by a bunch of idiots infatuated with essential oils and made up conspiracy theories? Over *dinner*? Screw this. I worked hard, and this food is damn good. Meat's perfect, veggies are a delight, and yes, the potato was damn good too." Her expression went awry. "God dammit, Jake! This is what I'm talking about! What the hell did you put on our plates, and what the fuck is a *potato*?"

I gaped, my mind scr

I stepped back from the counter. My hand fell limply to my side, coins slipping between my fingers and dropping in a shower of ringing metal. I couldn't form a full sentence, reduced instead to stuttered fragments. "I... you... but you're..." I gaped, my mind scrabbling to come to terms with the contradiction. A twin brother, maybe? But no, I recognized that tattoo. I recognized the scar, too, running through it at a jagged angle. I'd stared at it for long enough while I was dragging him. It had been deep last night, showing off shattered pieces of his spine; now it was no more than a thin white line running along his neck. He smiled back at me. It was a cold smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. He glanced down at the floor, where my change was rolling around my feet. "I think you dropped your change, sir. Why don't you pick it up, and go choose a table? I'll bring your drink out to you when it's ready." It wasn't a question. It was a command. I could tell from the ways his eyes pierced into me--there was no running from this. I grubbed about on the floor, and stumbled off to collapse into a seat. I think that waiting for him was the worst. I watched as he helped the next few customers in line, taking orders and working the register as if I hadn't all but decapitated him less than twelve hours ago. He glanced in my direction every few minutes, checking that I was still here. His expression was warm and friendly with everyone else, but when he turned to look at me, I could feel the ice. I wondered if it had had anything to do with the lake. It had been so cold last night. What had he been wearing? A dark jacket, zipped up. Black sweat pants. Nothing reflective, anyway. It wouldn't have kept him warm under the water. Eventually, he did come out, setting a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. I couldn't meet his gaze--I just murmured a quick thanks and tried to look as small as possible. It didn't work. He sat down opposite from me, and he waited. I didn't take long to break. I looked up, and he was glaring at me, hands folded calmly in front of him. He nodded at my coffee without breaking his stare. "Drink. You look like you need it." I reached for the cup, then hesitated. His face twisted to a scowl. "It's safe. I don't hurt people." He could read me like a freakin' *book*. I took a sip, my hands shaking. It was good, if a bit bitter. I didn't dare get up to grab sugar or cream." "So," he said, "Let's not beat around the bush. You killed me last night." I looked around. Was he not worried that people would hear him? Nobody really seemed to be close by, or to be listening in, but still. I gave him a short, nervous nod. "Do you have anything to say about that?" He looked at me, expectantly. "I'm... I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. It was an accident, and I panicked, and... I really don't know what else to say." He was still glaring at me. "Well. Fortunately for you, it didn't stick. I'm back." I blinked at him. "Your neck was broken. You didn't have a pulse. I...I checked. I wanted to call an ambulance, but you were just... gone." "I *was* gone. And now, I'm *back*. Funny how that works." He leaned in closer. "Have you ever been dead before? It's not fun. I wouldn't recommend it." I swallowed. It sounded dangerously close to a threat. "How, though? I mean... you were *gone*, gone. Believe me, I'm glad you're back, I mean, obviously I am, it was an accident and I didn't want it to happen and then there was just no pulse and your neck was all--" He raised a hand, cutting me off. "How isn't important. Let me worry about the how. What is important is how you handled it." He shook his head sadly, and I was happy to have his gaze shift away from me for just a few moments. "I'm very disappointed in you." I shrank back into my seat. This impossible man was berating me, chastising me like I was a child, and I knew full well that I deserved it. "I'm so sorry," I said. It was weak, and I knew it. "You could have called it in. You could have tried to let my family know, tried to live up to your actions. You wouldn't even get charged with murder, just manslaughter. Instead you dumped my body in a lake. You're a *coward*." I hated that he said it with such disgust. I hated that I knew he was *right*. Something broke inside of me, and I could feel the beginnings of tears welling up in the corners of my eyes. He drummed his fingers on the table, his gaze unwavering. "I thought for a fair while about what to do with you. It's good you came here, you know. I was going to have to track you down by your license plate. You saved both of us some hassle." He paused, giving me a chance to speak. When I said nothing, he pressed on. "Have you ever killed someone before?" I shook my head, not trusting myself to speak. He gave a small sigh. "Figures. You're not the first person to kill me, for what it's worth. That doesn't make it any better for you." For the first time, he looked away from me, massaging his wrist with one hand. If I looked closely, I could see another scar there, a paper-thin white line that crossed his skin in the same way the one on his neck did. Ah. He turned back to me, and I quailed at the renewed force of his glare. His spoke through thinly pressed lips. "I'm going to let you go." It took me a second to process. "R-really? I mean... I can understand why you would be pissed. I think... I think I deserve it." He looked me over, as if searching for something written on my skin. He sounded less confident when he spoke up. "That's why I'm letting you go. You realize how badly you messed up. You didn't do it maliciously, and you genuinely regret it." He let out a deep sigh. "I wish you didn't. I wish you were an entitled, self-righteous jerk that I could justify taking revenge on. But you're not." He stood up, and started walking back toward the counter. When he was standing beside me, he looked down at me. He looked down *on* me. I could see it in his stance, and I could feel it in me. I was lesser, I was flawed, I was *scum*. "Consider yourself lucky," he said. "I got to come back. It's nothing special. But you?" He walked away, calling back the words as he went. "You get a second chance." *** Hello everyone! u/HighWizardOrren here. If you liked this story, please consider ! It contains a whole lot more of my writing, including my other writing prompt responses. Thank you for reading.

I used to daydream of becoming

What would you do if you were immortal? That is that question that kids ask themselves while they daydream in class, what would it be like to live forever. I used to daydream like that so far away, imagining myself becoming so rich and powerful, advancing technology, making the world a better place. I always viewed myself as a benevolent benefactor, who would shape the direction of humanity and turn it into a better place, letting myself die and become a different person every generation, so no one would suspect my secret. Even when dreaming of something as far out of reach as immortality, your dreams can never match reality. I still remember exactly when I became immortal. I was a young man, the perfect time to become immortal, just at the end of my prime years, so full of energy and wonder and life. It wasn't an accident, it wasn't luck, it wasn't even mistake, but at the time, as naive as I was, that what I thought it was. I was walking through a shortcut to get home, and I came across a boy, maybe 16 years old, in the woods as well. I had never really met anyone in the woods before, and so I called out a greeting to him. He just reached out and touched me, and then died. That was it, I had no idea what had happened, it traumatized me really. Talking to the paramedics, to the police, answering interrogation after interrogation. I probably would have been arrested for murder if the autopsy hadn't came back saying that it was natural causes that killed him. No one believed me that he just touched me and died. It took eight years after that moment to learn I was immortal. Looking back it seems like short a small time to be alive, I thought I was 32 at the time, I had found a wife, settled down with a kid, and was driving home after a long day at work. I was supposed to die right there, I know I was. I was turning left onto a street, and was hit in the side by an eighteen wheeler. The car disintegrated into pieces and I was thrown into the wall, but only had a concussion and several cuts. The doctors said that it was a miracle, that I had managed to fly out of the car on the impact, and so I didn't get crushed by the truck. I couldn't accept that it was a miracle though, because I remember exactly what happened. The truck hit my car, crushed it to pieces, and ran over me. I stared there and watched as the tires ran over my face, and then the truck moved past, and I crawled out from under the wreckage and threw up. That was it though, right? I was immortal now, suddenly those childhood dreams could come to life, and I could do so many great and awesome things. Except now I had lived long enough to question that dream, how exactly was I going to become a trillionaire and shape the universe? I made just enough money to feed my family and live a comfortable life. I wouldn't even know how to make more money, to become rich and powerful, and did I really want to? I was happy, I loved my wife, and my kids, enjoyed the job that I did. And so I made that choice there, that I wouldn't think about it, wouldn't worry about it. I would just live the life that I had. Of course, that didn't work out. There was a major flaw in that plan. My wife was getting older, my child growing up, but I still look like I was 24. People would talk about how great my genes were, that I looked 24 even though I was 42, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep up that lie. I did the only thing that really made sense to me, I told my wife. She didn't believe me of course, told me that I was probably imagining what had happened due to the trauma, and she asked me if I had ever tested it. I told her no, because I didn't want to risk it not being true, since I didn't want to leave them. And so we put it off again, pretended like it wasn't true, but by the time that I was 50, we knew that there wasn't another explanation. She was starting to grow old her hair was rapidly turning grey, and I looked exactly like my 24th picture. We talked and talked about it, and came to the conclusion that we had to know for sure. We took out a million dollar life insurance policy and waited a year, being as cautious as we could. She was so brave and strong, she said she would be the one to do it. Her hand trembled so much, as she gripped the knife. I tried to joke, to tell her it would be fine, and finally I took the knife with her, and together we killed me. As you can guess, I didn't die. Just stood there with a knife sticking out of my chest. It hurt as about as much as accidently cutting your finger hurts. I thought, maybe we missed the heart, it's not like any of us where experts. When we took the knife out, we knew it was true, as blood was squirting out with force, everytime my heart beat. We bandaged me up, and I healed within the day. Neither of us really knew what to do, and neither of us wanted to talk about the bitter truth, I would live and she would die. She learned to do stage makeup, and would age me up every day, loving applying the false layer of age to my face every morning. She did that until she died, a heart attack at the age of eighty one. Up until that moment I had been so content with life, so happy and full, knowing that I had someone who accepted me for who I was. And just as abruptly she was gone. I took the cowards way out, not able to face my son. I made it look like a car accident, drunk on sorrow from my wife, I crashed my car off a cliff edge and sunk to the bottom, and then slowly swam away. What to do then though? I was dead, my credit cards and money useless now, my identify compromised. I would be starting from nothing, without even an identify to my name. I just drifted endlessly, lost in the world. I couldn't starve myself to death, couldn't drown myself, couldn't do anything to escape my sorrow. So I became a bum, begging money for alcohol so I could drown my sorrows, trying my hardest to forget my life. I don't really know how long I went on like that. It was a drunken stupor, it could have been days, it could have been hundreds of years. What I do know is that it was a kind stranger who brought me out of my self induced medication, who took me off the street while I was passed out, and gave me clothes and a bed to sleep in, who came and talked to me, and just listened without judging. I told them the truth, the entire truth, because I knew that they wouldn't believe me, just the ravings of a drunk person. They were wiser than I was, and they didn't question my story, or call me a liar, they just listened and let me get it out. I learned so much from talking to them, from being there in a kind and caring place. I was able to put my life back together, to piece together who I was. That was when I looked at the world around me again, and looked at what had happened. That was when I learned that I had been drunk and homeless for a hundred and twenty three years. My son had already died and his kids had grandkids. I was glad to know that he had done well, and lived a full life, but I knew I would never be able to see my family again, never be able to talk to them or share a hug. It was painful to realize that, to realize just how alone eternity was. I thought long and hard about coming out and talking to them, if anyone could accept me, it would be family. And then I did my research. I should have done this research a long time ago, but I was too young and stupid to do it. I researched immortality, I visited every single link on google, every single news article, every rumor, every book in the library that mentioned immortality. After it's not like I was on a timetable or schedule. Being immortal meant that I had all the time in the world, but it didn't make the task more interesting and more exciting to me, and so I definitely wasted a lot of time not researching or reading, but eventually I started to find stuff in my studies that motivated me to look harder. Since you are not immortal, I'll cut down a hundred years of research into a brief summary. I'm not the only immortal person. There are actually a lot of immortal people in the world, maybe a dozen to a hundred, but the immortality always has the same story. The person isn't born immortal, but instead they become immortal, always by someone touching them and then dying immediately. That is because when you are immortal, there is exactly one way to die, which is if too many people discover who you are. If enough people discover that you are immortal, and I don't know what that magic number is, you lose your immortality, and have exactly one year to pick who you want to have immortality after you. The next person that you touch will get your immortality and you will die, and if you don't touch someone within the year, you'll live in constant agony until you touch someone. Apparently, you learn all of this as soon as your secret is discovered, almost as if a hidden memory unlocks. I've found more than thirty journals at this point, and they all say the same thing. The most troubling thing is that it doesn't have to be other people who figure it out, if another immortal, any other immortal, learns that you are immortal, it immediately triggers the death process. (continued below)

Commander Ellison Hart said, "We

"You're not welcome here, you need to leave," Ricardo said through the translator. A mixture of twelve men and women stood behind him dressed in an assortment of clothing. They looked bored with the whole thing. "What?" Commander Ellison Hart asked in confusion, "We have spent three centuries rebuilding and preparing to liberate you." Behind her was a platoon of the Liberation Force's finest soldiers dressed in all manner of smart cybernetic armor. "You abandoned us," he answered with a shrug, "You took everything you thought was of value with you. You left us with nothing, not even food. Do you know how many people starved that first winter?" "We were losing the war!" Hart shouted, "We created the wormhole to Delta Sigma 6 and spent the last three centuries building a military force to return. You were never forgotten. We always had plans to return for you." The last was a lie as they didn't expect to find any survivors. "How touching," one of the women behind Ricardo said then added, "That did a lot of good to my great, great, great grandparents as you left them the choice of being dissolved into a nutrient paste by the Inralldi or slowly die to lack of basic materials. This was all caused by you stealing everything. You're filthy thieves." "Thieves? Us?" a man in a general's outfit behind Hart angrily retorted before she can stop him, "Everyone of value was taken in the evacuation. That says a lot about who you were descended from. We just left the criminals and scu..." "Quiet!" Hart ordered him but she could see the native Earther's were rankled by this. She reminded herself to bust him back down to private later, "I apologize for that outburst." "Commander, a moment," someone said behind her and the negotiations paused for the moment, both sides eyeing one another warily. She approached Major Laurens who was in charge of intel, "Our drones indicate that the Nearthers, native earthers that is, are six billion strong. The population three hundred years ago was just under a billion so they've been having some fun. Sorry, sir." He said when he noticed her frown. She nodded for him to continue, "Agriculture is their main focus followed by specialized production through three dimensional printing. Each home seems to have one to meet all their needs. They are really quite advanced in..." "So no threat?" Hart asked him. "None that I can see," he stated flatly then began to ask but was cut off, "But how did they defeat the..." "Attention delegates," Hart shouted and everyone gathered around, "In the light of recent intel I'll make this simple." She turned to Ricardo and the group of survivors and smiled coldly, "In orbit around this planet are about sixty thousand ships of all shapes and sizes. If I give the order the surface of this planet can be scoured of all life to a depth of about six feet below the topsoil level. I want you to remember this as we continue negotiations." "Are you threatening us?" Ricardo asked icily. She noticed dangerous smiles playing on the faces of those around him and felt a sudden feeling of panic which she fought down. Hart could feel weapons being primed through mind-links behind her and gave a mental order to stand down. "No," she answered, "I am simply stating the facts. You may have defeated the Inralldi but our force was designed to have a 99.8% chance of victory against them. I am just saying that we are back and we want half the planet returned to us. You can safely live on your..." "Half the planet?" Ricardo laughed, "You ran like cowards across the stars to lick your wounds and tell each other to be brave while you prayed the Inralldi wouldn't chase you. You left our ancestors to die and now you return with demands? You have no right to make demands. You have made a grave error today, cowards." "Ricardo, be reasonable," Hart stated, giving the mental order to set weapons to stun and ordering the fleet to get ready to give a non-lethal show of force, "We hold all the cards." "Commander," Ricardo said spitting out her title as if it were acid on his tongue, "Your error, hell our error, was in thinking the Inralldi were here to destroy the Earth. You thought they were here to make meals of us. They seemed to be a mindless, purposeless race of alien blobs that dropped from the skies and turned humans into goo." "They were," Hart said simply, "How did you stop them? We need this intel in case we ever run into them again - for humanity's sake!" "We didn't." Ricardo said and with these two words weapons primed both in the soldiers around Hart and in the ships orbiting above her, "They were an entity sent here to discover our biology. They dissolved us and took us into themselves not to eat but to study. Their mission was not to destroy - their mission was to Uplift. To remake us for maximum survival." Her mind-link suddenly went berserk with orbital chatter. Millions of blobs were attaching themselves to and breaching the fleet above them. "You've betrayed us," Hart told him simply, lifting her rifle as they were suddenly surrounded by thousands of "uplifted" humans, "You've betrayed humanity!" "We *are* humanity," Ricardo said, "The new humanity. You see, you fear they changed the way we think but they did not. They left us our free will to do what we want within the new bodies they molded for us. We are no more alien than you are, Commander. You, however, represent the very worst of us. You are the great betrayers. You are the cowards. *You* are the dregs of humanity that fled across space with your tails between your legs when you should have stood and fought beside us. You left a billion to starve or die always trying to convince yourselves it was necessary. Remember, I told you to leave - running away is something you are infinitely good at. You have no place in the new universal order." No more words were said as the battle started.

A legion of soldiers clad in power

"Uh... Hi?" A puzzled farmer said as a legion of soldiers clad in power armor awkwardly stood around in an open field. They were all armed to the teeth and trained from birth to liberate the cradle of humanity. They'd expected heavy resistance and to have at least half their men wiped out before they landed. Instead, they had no issues and landed smoothly. "Hello. We're here to purge the xenos and liberate Earth." The other man said as the farmer chewed on a piece of wheat. The farmer rubbed his chin contemplatively before asking the billion dollar question. "Uh, who exactly are you?" He asked, a rather logical question given the circumstances. "We are the United Earth Liberation force. We left 3 centuries ago and we're here to save you from the invading xenos." The man stated, his voice heavily distorted by the static of his speaker. "About damn time!" The farmer snapped with a toothy grin. "But, why are you here instead of Mexico?" He asked. "Is that where the Xenos are?" The soldier asked. "Course!" The farmer exclaimed. "Where else would you find an illegal alien?" He asked as the entire platoon facepalmed. "No, not those aliens. The other ones." The farmer rubbed his chin before snapping his fingers. "Right, right. Sorry. The other ones are up north. Frozen dump called Canada." The farmer said. "Stupid syrup slurping-" "No! Not those aliens!" "Look mister, you're gonna need t'be more specific, cause, uh, I'm lost." "I mean the ones from space! The ones that invaded in 2030!" The soldier shouted indignantly. The farmer rubbed his chin, deep in thought before snapping his fingers. "Right, right. You must be meaning them spacebacks!" He exclaimed. "Yes! We're here to kill spacebacks! So where are they!?" "Canada and Mexico." "AAAAAAAAARGH!" The exchange went on back and forth for nearly an hour before the entire platoon raised their hands and walked away, leaving the farmer to go back to his work. Eventually, the squad marched over to a nearby town bustling with activity. None of the men were accustomed to seeing smiles, nor were they accustomed to anything better than tubes of paste for nutrients. Upon seeing a restaurant serving hotdogs and burgers, some men were tempted to remove their helmets and start eating, the aromas enticing to the point of madness. The leader of the squad walked over to the sheriff's office and awkwardly waited by the front desk where a grizzled old man was sleeping. Reaching forward, the armored giant dinged the bell, waking the small county sheriff up. He logically screamed and took out his shotgun while spouting about obscenities. A round of buckshot deflected off the head soldier's power armor as the sheriff emptied his magazine. Eventually, the sheriff ran out of ammo and calmed down long enough for a chat with the commander of the troops. "Son, you're telling me you're descended from the guys who flew out into the stars, and you're here to save us from the Xenos that came a while back?" "Yes. I apologize we took so long and that we had to abandon Earth. We intend to regain our honor by liberating everyone." "Great. So why aren't you in Canada or Mexico?" "SON OF A-" "Sir, uh, there seems to be a mild issue." One of the soldiers said as a helicopter flew in over the horizon, its blades piercing the skies as it landed outside the small town. The doors opened to display a mousy looking man in a suit clutching a clipboard. He looked more like an investment banker than a government operative, but the soldiers knew that looks could be deceiving. "Hey, are you the men who came in from space?" The man asked. "Yes. We are the-" "Yes, yes. Earth liberation force, here to purge the xenos, and crap." The man said dismissively before clearing his throat. "Look, this uh, might be a shocker for you but... Well, the Xenos aren't really xenos." "Excuse me?" "Yeah, turns out, during the Dark ages, stuff happened and a bunch of intellectuals, skilled artisans, and the wealthy fled earth. Dregs of society were left, waged war on the aliens, lost, civilization collapsed, aliens destroyed everything, then they got wiped out by the Black Plague." The man said rather calmly. "What are you talking abo-" "Survivors bred, made us, we rebuilt civilization. Fast forward few hundred years and the chunk of humanity that left returned intending to retake Earth from the xenos. Our ancestors thought they were a hostile advanced alien force invading, and, well, pulled the same thing." The government operative continued, silencing every soldier in the area. The only sources of noise were their portable battery packs softly whirring in the tranquil town. "So... Are you by chance at war with these people?" The soldier asked expectantly. "Not really. We gave them Mexico and Canada. After that, we've been trucking along just fine." "Seriously?" The soldier asked in disbelief. He hoped that the man in front of him was lying. That humanity was extinct, and the xenos had copied his appearance to deceive them. Sadly, the architects of his power armor predicted this, and installed biological scanners and lie detectors in the armor. He was a human telling the truth. "I'm really sorry you had to find out this way." The man said while scratching his neck, looking over at the rest of the soldiers. "Look, let me buy you guys some beers, and we'll talk over how to reintegrate you all into Earth again." He offered as the soldier looked at his face, scanning him for any signs of hostility. To his pleasure or dismay, there was nothing of the sort. "You're not angry we abandoned you and left you to die in the face of alien invaders?" He asked, hoping to at least get some action. Instead, the man let out a soft chuckle before grabbing the soldier's arm with brotherly affection. "No. In fact, we're incredibly thankful for you guys." He said with a cheery voice. "When you left, you had the courtesy of taking ALL the politicians, CIA spooks, and international arms dealers. First few years were bad, but we got world peace within the decade." He said before beckoning towards them. "Let's just get some beers and talk tomorrow." "40 years of training down the damn toilet." The soldier complained, following the mousy man into the local pub and drinking his sorrows away with the rest of his men.

Lanie's best friend for the

Creak, whoosh, squeal. I looked up from my phone as Lanie went soaring again on the playground swing, laughing, blonde hair streaming behind her. Creak. Squeal. The noise didn't come from the newly oiled, newly painted swing, but rather her best friend for the past week, who occupied the seat next to her. He stretched out his feet whenever he reached maximum height, causing the entire structure to shiver. 'Course, who was I to tell a man wearing a full suit of black plate armor, whose greathammer was bigger than some trucks and lying on the grass nearby, that it wasn't safe for my daughter to play with him? He'd only threatened to crush my skull, through a series of grunts and gestures, when I'd refused to let him into the house on the first day. "Lanie, come out of the sun for a while," I called. "In a while!" she called back. I'd tried everything--new clothes, toys, sweets, even a puppy, yet she'd been incredibly cagey about where she'd met him. Fearing the worst, I'd brought her to a doctor--but until today, I wasn't sure whether he'd been telling the truth about her condition with the knight looming over him in the office. "Hey, Knight in Scowling Armor," I called. "You mind taking her off the swing for a break?" He flipped me the bird as he flew ever higher, though he kept it on the down low, out of my girl's sight. God, I wished the chains would snap and send him flying over the hedge into the Parkers' new Range Rover. I hadn't even seen his face. That stupid visor stayed down all the time, and he apparently hadn't needed to eat, drink or shit. Unless he did the last without ... I shied away from that thought and continued researching do-it-yourself exorcisms on my phone. For a moment, I thought wistfully of Patrick. Sure, he'd been a lousy, no-good slacker who'd never helped out around the house, but he'd also been a pastor, though he'd been so secretive about his church that I'd suspected it was more of a cult. Ha! Maybe ... maybe that bastard's cult had conjured some sort of demon and sent it after us. My finger hovered over his number, but I shook my head. What a load of nonsense. "Dad, when are we going to get a bigger house?" Lanie shouted, looking over her shoulder. "Why do we need to do that?" I said, trying to ignore the fact that the knight's motions mirrored hers almost perfectly. "So that he can move into my room, of course! He's been lonely and cold, he says, sleeping in the driveway." You'd better hope I don't dig a hole six-feet-deep for him one of these days, I thought, smiling at her. "We can't afford a bigger house. But maybe if he gets a job ..." "His job's to protect me at school." My God, let's not even go there, I thought. "Next year, okay?" The knight signed at me with a pinky swear, then drew a finger across his throat. I glowered back; I could almost hear the whispering rattle of the armor that signaled laughter. You live in my house, dickhead, I mouthed. My skin suddenly tried to crawl off my body. I jumped up, looking about. Mist had begun to crawl onto the playground, heavy and opaque like smoke off a blazing building, and the sun had fled behind a curtain of thick, gray clouds that seemed to have just materialized. The knight hopped off his swing and grabbed his hammer, holding a palm out toward Lanie to get her to stop. "Hell's going on?" I said. "Dad?" Lanie hugged herself as she ran over to me. Her breaths came in foggy puffs. "So cold." I stripped off my jacket and wrapped it around her, staring at the knight. "What's happening? This your doing?" He shook his head, and at that instant, the mist along the road parted, revealing a white horse whose shoulders came up to my head. My jaw slowly dropped when I noted the massive horn in the middle of its forehead, and its four scarlet eyes. Tendrils of fog appeared to pouring from its shining hooves, and were those ... miniature lightning bolts around its horn? "Hell is this?" I said, pushing Lanie behind me. The horse--no, unicorn--cantered closer. Energy crackled around its muscular body, and its hooves split the earth with each step. Then it lowered its head, without warning, and charged, straight at me. The knight threw himself in the way; the horn sheared right through his chest, but his momentum dragged the creature to my right. Still, I barely scrambled away in time, Lanie in my arms, as the two crashed into the ground. The unicorn screamed, thrashing its head--metal squealed as the horn shredded the edges of the opening. The knight, however, reacted with unnatural poise, bringing his hammer around in an arc that slammed it into the unicorn's ribs. The impact tore it free from the knight, sending it skidding across the earth, leaving a long furrow in its wake. It lay on the ground, kicking and squealing in pain, as the knight slowly got up. My eyes grew wide when I saw the hole in his chest--and the emptiness within. "You're not ... human?" I said. "Who cares?" Lanie screamed. "Look out!" The unicorn had gotten its forelegs under it, and leveled its horn at the knight. An eye-searing blast of red energy shot from the tip, blasting into the knight with a thunderclap that sent him flying almost as far as the unicorn had. With the knight out of the way, the beast got up and shook its head. Then all four of its eyes focused on us, on me. The air around the horn began to spark and shimmer. "Lanie, run," I said softly. "Dad, no!" She clung to my waist. "Run, run!" I shoved her--possibly the worst thing I could have ever done to her--and stepped forward, waving my arms to keep the unicorn's attention on me. God damn you, Patrick; first the knight, now this ... The unicorn neighed. Power coalesced ... and exploded in its face as a thrown hammer collided with the horn. There was a sound like shattering glass, and then a broken spike landed a few inches from my feet. The grass immediately caught fire. I yelped and hopped back, even as the unicorn reared back with a terrible scream. Its head was blackened, and some kind of sticky blue fluid drizzled from the remnants of its horn. Without further ado, it turned and sprang away into the mists once again. The knight staggered over and stomped on the smoldering grass. Then he clapped a hand on my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. "Not bad, you," I said. Then I grabbed Lanie and hugged her tight to my chest. She was crying, I was crying, then the goddamn knight just had to come and wrap himself around us. *** *Thanks for reading! I figured, since the premise was already ridiculous, I'd just amp it up and reintroduce the Random Unicorn that I used in one other prompt response before. Check out more of my writing at my .*

Other than the mumbles and sn

#GET TO SAFETY The words flashed like a house fire under my eyelids, burning my dreams to wisps. I bolted upright, breathing hard, looking about wildly. Other than the mumbles and snores of sleeping children, and distant rumbling of an oncoming storm, the night seemed at peace. Yet, I couldn't dispel the uneasy feeling that had settled over me. Those words that occupied their own little corner of my vision had never exactly been wrong or right. They didn't tell me what would happen, only what I should do. "Pay the milkman" or "scrub the chimney" had saved me from a few lashings, but there was now a marked difference. They'd usually been a benign green, like the crown of a tree in the birth of summer, rather than a pulsing, angry red. "Wake up," I said harshly, jumping off the bed and hurrying to the cupboard. Through the window I looked; twinkling stars winked back at me, suspended over a dark countryside of rolling hills and plains, dotted with farmhouses. A pink glow was spreading over the horizon; had dawn come already? I felt as if I'd just gone to bed. "Up!" I called, tossing an empty knapsack onto the nearest bed. My brother Pete grumbled, rolled over. I reached over and slapped his toes. "What?" he growled, sitting up. He was a year younger, and everyone loved telling us that we couldn't possibly be brothers. He had long, curly hair that fell all over his forehead; I kept my to a close shave. He was angular; I, round. He loved gardening, while I went on long hikes and chased rabbits. Pete was full of emotion, and life, they liked to say, then add that a statue would cry before I did. Yet there was one similarity nobody could deny: we were both at the bottom our years at school. "Go wake mother and father," I said. "Why? Abram, it's the middle of the n--" He was cut off by a yawn. "Sally! I need you to take the twins. Now!" My elder sister rubbed her eyes, all so she could glare at me. Three boys had courted her, and all three had been scared off by her temper eventually. I knew she would flay me with her words if given the chance, so I quickly said, "It's an emergency!" "Is our house on fire or something?" Pete said on his way past. "'Cause the only thing I smell is your crappy joke." Sally had scooped up Sandra and Sandy; the girls were still asleep. While she carried them out, I finished shoving some spare blankets into a second bag, then hoisted one over each shoulder. The rest of the family had gathered outside my parents' room, under the stuffed moose head that was father's greatest trophy. He now stood in his pajamas, ringed by his children, looking distinctly irritated. "Abram ..." he said in a warning tone. "The words told me to run," I said. His gaze changed from one of challenge to worry. Mother appeared a moment later, fastening a jacket over her dressing gown, and he wrapped an arm around her as we hurried out of the house. I parceled out blankets and cloaks as we went, trying my best to ignore the flashing warning. Struck by the cold night air, the twins woke up and began complaining. "What happen?" Sandy cried. Mother took over Sandra from Sally, shushing her. I led the way down the dirt road, past the barn with all the sleeping animals inside, past the cornfields, past the fish pond. I started to feel silly, even a bit guilty; was I imagining things? What if I'd over-reacted? The words were behaving strangely, after all--I'd never really questioned them, since they were so convenient, but I couldn't control them. I glanced over my shoulder to check on my family, and that was when I realized the sky seemed to be ablaze. Red and orange fought one another in the distance, broken by columns of smoke. The sight made me falter, and my family stopped as well. "What's that?" Pete said, pointing. A black speck seemed to be gliding in the air, in our general direction. It was joined by several others, spread out behind it in a rough triangular formation. Father grabbed Sandy from Sally's arms, then shoved Pete on the shoulder. "Run!" We tore down the road, twins screaming, mother praying between breaths. I glanced back, just in time to see that, as the first plane flew over the Ruthers' farm, something plummeted from beneath it. Then the farm exploded into a fireball. A scream tore its way from my throat as we hurtled off the road, into our orchard. There, father gathered everyone into a small trench he'd dug last year but not filled, and we hunched into it. The words suddenly shifted, becoming "stay". "We're safe, I think," I said. My family nodded, lips tight. We watched as the planes grew closer; more explosions in the distance as farms, homes, and neighbors were destroyed. The night seemed almost like day, fires clawing at the sky, and the wind carried soot into our nostrils. Were those ... screams? I jammed my fingers into my ears. We were all waiting, I knew, just counting down the seconds ... Though we'd been expecting it, the destruction of our house took us by surprise. There was a shrill whistling, then a bright bloom of flame that consumed everything we'd had. Mother and Sally clutched each other, crying; father's expression could have chipped steel. The twins, however, just stared dully. I covered their eyes, wishing someone could do the same for me. *** By the time our farm had been burned to its foundations, my family had given in to exhaustion once more. I couldn't sleep, however. My brain was racing--who had done this? Who could have gone to war with us? Why? Why target innocent farmers? As I sat in the trench with my feet up against my chest, listening to my family sleep, and the songs of oblivious birds, while the horizon brightened--real sunlight this time--I realized I had to do something. My brain was going to drive me crazy otherwise. I climbed out of the trench and trekked toward the house, figuring to salvage anything I could. The words showed up again. "Stay". "No," I muttered to myself. "I need to help my family." I broke into a run, irrational rage building at the words. Tell me who did this, I tried to command. But they didn't waver. Stay. Who? Stay. "No!" I screamed, reaching our yard. Other than some blackened, skeletal timbers, nothing remained. From the ruins of the barn came a sickening smell of charred meat, and I almost retched. Sinking to my knees, I clawed at burnt soil. In the span of a single night, we'd lost everything. Then something slammed into the back of my head, knocking me face-first into the ground. I spat dirt and tried to get up, but something thin, cold and hard pressed into my back. A voice said something, words I didn't understand. Another replied. In all honesty, bad grades weren't the only things Pete and I shared. We also never backed down from a fight. I rolled over and scrambled up. My attackers appeared to be two men, wearing navy blue uniforms and carrying rifles. They appeared surprised that I'd recovered so quickly from the blow, and that bought me a precious second to lunge at the nearest one. My right fist caught him on the chin, while my left dug into his belly. He gasped, staggering back. Leaving me open to his companion. The other soldier smiled viciously, then opened fire at my chest. At such a close range, he couldn't miss. He didn't. The crack must have echoed for miles. The bullet tore through my chest; the impact drove me back a step. In my head, I knew I was dead. Yet, I didn't fall over. There wasn't even pain. The soldier's eyes grew wide, and I followed his gaze. There was a neat hole through my shirt and in my chest, but not a single drop of blood. Instead, some sort of strange, sparking tendril had popped out of the wound. He stammered something in his language, even as I threw myself at the other soldier. I slammed my head into his nose, then snatched his gun away. The panicking soldier raised his rifle, but I was faster; one had to be, when sniping rabbits. My shot took him in the left eye. Then I swiveled around at his companion and fired; blood sprayed from his throat. As the sounds of gunfire died away, and the adrenaline drained away, I scuttled back and threw the rifle down. What the hell? I felt at my wound again--still no blood. I didn't even feel winded. Was this related to the words, somehow? And if so ... what was I? *** *Thanks for reading! Check out my for more writing!*

There's a reason everyone takes the

1/20 That's what they say. I don't know if any one person knows enough about the test to be sure. My parents say it used to be half that, a quarter even. Doesn't really matter now. It seems really high when you're about to take it for yourself, but I guess there has to be a reason for all this, and whatever that may be, they need the best of us. Some have people in their lives brave or foolish enough to prepare them for this step. Some only dare to speak a few words of their experience. I think most of them regret it. Few escape the ever-watching eye of the government. There's a reason everyone takes the test. I didn't know much of anything going in. I thought it was for the best. However, I knew I didn't want to be one of the 5%. I planned to do everything in my power to get through it. On the day of the test, the grim crone at the front of the room complicated my decision when she explained: "This test is to be completed within the time frame allotted. All questions are multiple-choice. Any student found cheating or intentionally scoring poorly will be subject to severe, criminal punishment." This is kinda stuff I wish someone had been foolish enough to tell me beforehand. I could've really used this information when I was deciding whether I needed a back-up plan. Being a quick, albeit lazy thinker, I came up with the perfect replacement strategy in the moment. If I couldn't let them identify a pattern in my attempts to obscure my intellect, I would guarantee there was no pattern. To be honest, this was the plan of someone who didn't really need any help to stay safe from the test's consequences. It also happened to be the plan of someone whose luck on this day Helen Keller would have scoffed at. Honestly, I left that day feeling pretty good. The old witch may have nearly tripped me up, but I reacted gracefully in my opinion. It wasn't until a week later that I realized my strategy may have been somewhat flawed. One point. That's all it was. God damn it. God fucking damn it. How is this even possible? What level of morons must exist for me to have been in the top 5%? To describe myself as anything less than mind-blown would be an understatement. I wasted the next few minutes silently struggling to process the situation in front of me when I suddenly heard a knock on the door. No one ever knocks on our door. I know why they're here. I know I can't run; I can't hide. I might as well face whatever is the on the other side of that door. I walked slowly and wistfully, but I continued all the same. My parents shuffled somberly behind me. I answered the door to what may have been the most normal-looking man I'd ever seen. "Hello. I'm here to congratulate you on your recent success in the National Competency Exam. As part of your reward, you will be welcome to reap the benefits of your aptitude in a new life, a new type of existence beyond anything you know." "Where are we going?" "You'll know when we get there. I'm sorry, but we must leave immediately." I was given the chance to say a quick goodbye to my parents. I can't imagine how hard it was on them to lose their only child especially like this. The man grabbed my hand and led me away from my home. I heard the discordant shrieks of my mother as I continued on, never to return. The man was silent and still grasping my hand tightly as we walked to his car. He told me we were going to go to a place where there were others like me. Although, it could more accurately be described as a place where there were others who scored like me. I doubt there were many who ended up in this situation the same way I did. I spent most of the ride trying to calculate what the odds were of such an event, but ironically, it was hopeless. When we arrived at the new but plain looking warehouse after a few hours of driving. The man told me to get out, and we walked to the large, sliding door out front. "Is there anyway I can turn back now?" "There's no need to worry. Everything has been taken care of. You will see why this is necessary." "You're making a mistake. I'm not who you want." "Relax, this is a good thing. You're going to get a chance to move on to something bigger than yourself" Without warning, the door slowly opened to a huge, bright, white room. Considering it's size, the room did not have much in it. There were a few men who looked like janitors in white jumpsuits, a few doors to exterior rooms on the walls, there was a large stack of plastic bags in one corner, and on the ground, there were thin sheets laid out in a grid pattern. We continued inside. "Sorry for the lack of decorum and amenities. This is a short-term shelter we use while gathering the winners. You're one of the first people we picked up this year, so you might have to rough it for a bit while we finish getting setup." "Um ok, although it seems like you could do better than sheets and a weird room to start off the rewar-" I don't think I had time to react. Maybe, I did, but if so, I was too slow to realize I had time to react. Three loud shots rang out. I stayed standing for a moment. I knew something was wrong, but I felt surprisingly ok given the circumstances. It didn't take long for me to crumble on to one of the conveniently placed sheets. While I still had some semblance of control over my body, I had the chance to look around the room. I didn't know what I expected. The janitors seemed almost entirely unphased. There was barely a reaction from any of them. I could see one pulling a thick, unusually long plastic bag from the mountain at their disposal. "What the fuck?! You shot me! What the hell is this?", I said as my breathing got difficult and my vision dark. The normal-looking man looked down at me with an expression that could only be described as a combination of pity and boredom. "I'm sorry kid. This is how the world works. Law and order may be expected these days, but it wasn't always that way. There used to be a time where people pushed back. It caused so many problems. No matter how many groups cycled in and out of power, no one group or system was capable of weathering the test of time. So, the last of those such groups invented the test. A test designed to cull those who could challenge the natural order. A system designed to protect itself from those with the power to destroy it. Honestly, it all goes over my head, but this is the life I was given." I don't know if the normal-looking man kept monologuing and making excuses, but it didn't matter because I was fading away. My strength withered, and my pain dissipated. I couldn't feel much of anything anymore. *I wasn't even supposed to be here. I wasn't their target. Maybe, I misconstrued what they were after, but what they were after is utterly ridiculous. Even in this state, I struggle to believe the last words I heard. What the actual fuck does this stupid government plot have to do with me or any random kid for that matter? Was it even true? Was he just fucking with me?* *I really just wanted to stay home. Why did this have to happen? Mom? Dad? I didn't really score 96%. I didn't really get a new life. Will you ever even know what happen to me? I just don't want to die, and if I have to, why does it have to be for nothing? Please don't let me die. It was only one point.* Edit: I really appreciate the kind words. I've been meaning to try doing one of these for a long time, but I've never taken the time. Last night, I was just drunk enough and brain-fried from work enough to feel like I had a solid excuse if I bombed haha. I'm not great at compartmentalizing stories, and this is an interesting way to improve on that. I got a little weird and over-the-top with it, but it was fun. Thanks again!

Trish was the only person to

"And you want me to do what?" Trish asked, arms folded. She wore thin gold hoops on her wrists and they jingled with every movement the limousine made. I steepled my fingers, leaning forward in my seat. "Just ask him why he's kidnapping all my dates," I said. "Like really make it clear that you were here on a date." "Okay, but why is Mr. Mega trying to stop you from dating?" She asked. "What'd you do to piss him off?" "Nothing," I said, throwing my hands up. "He's just mad that we disagree in work." "You're not exactly the most important super villain," Trish said. "Like, I'll take your money, don't get me wrong, but have you ever considered asking him to stop?" I stared at her. Shed done up her hair, showing off her plunging neckline and slender neck. Some kind of flowered perfume drifted off of her in a cascading wave. She'd also been the only person to reply to the ad I'd placed online. "If we could talk things out without him trying to commit me to citizens arrest," I said, "then I'd try." She smiled. "So why don't you try?" "Every time I do anything they try to have me arrested, Trish. I make gear for everybody, government, private enterprises, you name it, but Mr. Mega thinks I'm the one to blame for anything anybody does with it." "Aren't you?" Trish asked and made a pinching gesture, leaving some space between her fingers. "Just a little?" Another sceptic. I dealt with enough of that in the news. "If I made shoes and someone used them in a robbery should I go to jail?" "If you made guns and someone used it in a robbery and you could have avoided selling it to that person, yes." She said, shaking her head. I held up a hand. "Look, no, I don't sell to anybody. My company sells products that anyone can buy." She opened her mouth to say something and I pulled ahead, cutting her off. "I get it, okay, I'm not stupid. People don't have to like me, and I'm always working on better solutions. I'm not a psychopath. But even I deserve to have a night off? Go on a date?" Trish hesitated before rolling her eyes. "You're the weirdest super villain I've ever met." That cracked a smile on my face. "Everyone's human," I said. I pulled up the projection map on my watch, turning the hologram around. "We're almost there." I looked at her, expectantly. "I know, I know." Trish spread her hands. "Please don't repeat it again." The spot I had picked was a little open air cliffside dinner, overlooking a soft beach. At night the lights of the city cast out on the water, pretty but far enough away that stars could still shine above. The wait staff were waiting for us, and I offered my hand to Trish as she stepped out of the limousine. She eyed it briefly, before accepting it. The soft smile on her face could have been a trick of the candlelight, but I hoped not. Once seated I glanced back up at the sky, more than half expecting Mr. Mega to already be hovering above us, his mechanical suit burning bright in the evening air. Trish followed my look. "It's beautiful up there," she said. I picked up my wine glass, and when I looked back at her I found her watching me. I smiled, raising it to her in a mock toast. "You're not what I expected," she said. "Should I be cackling and showing you my collection of oversized doomsday devices?" "No, I just expected you to be more self centered," she said with a lazy wave of her hand. "Honestly I thought you'd be showing me your 'evil lair' by now." She gave me a look, half humor, half mock horror. "And I don't mean where you keep your oversized doomsday devices." I laughed, surprised and delighted. "No, no, I was saving that for the third date." I glanced upwards again as the waiter approached, and caught her staring at me again when the waiter handed me the menu. "You should relax," Trish said. "Sorry, I just don't usually get this far into a nice evening without..." I trailed off. "Sorry," I said again. "No, I get it," she set her wineglass down. "But focus on enjoying this." Her hand reached out, touching mine. I gripped her fingers in my own. "You're right," I said. "Maybe he's busy saving the world." She arched a brow. "I mean you shouldn't spend your time worrying if someone is going to try and stop you from enjoying yourself," she said. "Listen to what your heart wants, and just do that." She made a face and rolled her eyes. "Oh, wow, that was cheesy." Her hand in mine, I found myself nodding. "I mean, it's not the worst I've ever heard," I said, "there was this one time when-" The evening progressed. Dinner was served, a salad for me, prepared with homemade in house dressing, and a burger with fries for her. We exchanged halfway through, me stealing her fries while her eyes went wide at the taste of the dressing. And as the night, and date, drew to a close I realized I hadn't thought about Mr. Mega once in hours. "I honestly didn't expect to be asking this," I said, sheepish. "But can I drive you home? Normally, well by now Mr. Mega would have stolen you away by now. Maybe showed you his private lair, who knows." Trish glanced at my watch and sighed. "Honestly, I'd love to but I can't." "What do you mean?" It wasn't that late, then realization dawned on me. "Oh," I said, face growing red, "no, I meant actually dropping you off at your home." "Hm?" She asked, distracted. "What? No, oh, no I wasn't trying to imply that you were going to, I mean," she stammered to a standstill. "No, I mean I have work, and it would take too long to drive there." I held up a hand. "I'm confused," I said. "Back up a step and explain? I'm still happy to pay you, if you want. I know Mr. Mega didn't show up, but I mean, a deals a deal." "No, stupid," Trish said. "Look, I didn't expect to be out this long, honestly I wasn't even sure that this date was going to happen." She cut me off with a motion. "Mr. Mega isn't coming," she said. A slow suspicion dragged on me. "Wait," I said, "was this a set up?" She grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Shut up you idiot and listen, okay?" She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and when she opened them again she caught me and didn't let me go. "Mr. Mega hasn't been trying to ruin your dates," she said. "And when I found your post I felt horrible about what had been happening. It was a mistake, a horrible misunderstanding. "You're supposed to be this puppeteering villain, manipulating people and orchestrating and supplying the tools for all these criminals. And yes, what you're doing is wrong, and yes, we do need to have a conversation about it." I tried to say something and instead she pressed her hand to my mouth and held it there. I couldn't so much as move as I realized what she was saying. "I didn't mean to trick you," she said. "And there's a arsonist currently trying to set someone's apartment on fire, so I don't have time to argue." "Mmfmmf," I said, through her hand. "Yeah, I'm sure." A sad look carried in her eyes, "look, I had a really fun time. If you're willing to, I'd love to go on a second date. Maybe a movie? Next week, Tuesday? That's my next day off." She pressed a piece of paper into my hand, and as she did her clothes rippled, expanding into the all too familiar metal suit I knew. "Call me," she said, before taking off into the air. I watched "Mr. Mega" fly off towards the city, leaving me holding a phone number and surrounded by a half dozen shocked witnesses. "Wait," a waiter said. "Mr. Mega is a woman?"

At the helm of the small research

"Atention Klerg vessel, you are entering a quarantined area. Please redirect your vessel to avoid this star system." The message repeated several more times before going silent. At the helm of the small research vessel was a diminutive creature, standing on 4 legs, a round body with 4 arms and a very large head crested with 4 eyes. Plex was its name, and science was its trade. Plex's eyes blinked slowly as it processed the message, the pieces slowly coming together. "Plex, we should leave. This system is under quarantine, and it looks like there are several military posts orbiting outside this star systems debris cloud. I don't think we should be here." Syriq, Plex's research apprentice, said nervously from its seat in the cockpit. The rough skin on Syriqs round torso rippled with anxiety. "No! We have finally confirmed the gravitational anomaly we found when researching this quadrant! All the star charts on the galactanet fail to show a star system at these coordinates. Some being has gone through great trouble to hide this system, and I want to find out why!" A rumbling sound came from Plex, almost sounding like a feline purr. Plex activated the communications array with a thought using its cybernetic implants, which were highly integrated with the small vessel. The cockpit was merely a formality as Plex could have controlled the vessel from anywhere inside. "This is research vessel Klerg TT 6676153. I request permission to speak with whatever science team is posted here, please." Syriq stated at its teacher in shock. "What are you doing? They're going to arrest us! The told us to leave, and yet we haven't! That violates galactic codes -" "I know!" Plex barked, cutting Syriq off mid-sentence, "but this system is quarantined and hidden for a reason. I must know why!" A few moments later a stiff sounding voice came on the comm. "Research vessel Klert TT 6676153, you have not heeded warnings to leave. If you do not leave in 70 plips, you will be arrested according to -" The transmission cut off abruptly and quickly replaced with another transmission. "Plex, is that you old friend?" A holo came to life, showing another Klerg roughly the same age as Plex peering with one eye into the camera and hastily looking about. "By the stars, it is you! We're on the rimward most station, head there and I'll get your clearance approved! However, Plex, I must inform you, once you dock, you will spend the rest of your orbits here, studying this star system." Plex, the equivalent of a smile splitting its face, replied, "Tjorn, old friend, this is where they have you now? Of course I would love to see whats going on here! What about my young assistant? I doubt they would like to waste away their prime years out here." "Place them in stasis before you dock. We will send them back on the next transport." "Acknowledged, I will see you shortly." ​ \~ ​ Several hours later, aboard the outpost station, in a briefing room. ​ "The beings that inhabit this star system call it Sol. They only have one habitable planet that they call Earth. There once were 3 habitable planets in this star system, but two were destroyed in the great interstellar war." "But that war...that war was tens of thousands of orbits ago!" Exclaimed Plex. "Are you telling me, these humans are decedents of our hated most enemy?" Tjorn chuckled, "Not quite. You see, our sworn enemy was completely and utterly destroyed. Even their cachets of spawn were hunted down and eliminated. These humans aren't direct decedents, per se, but rather they are a science experiment put on by the Limthinan." "A science experiment? You mean to tell me that the Limthinan created these humans?" Shock, awe and wonder all ripppled across Plex's round body, resulting in interesting patterns as the emotional muscles all tried to interpret it's moods all at once. "Sort of. We're still investigating and learning. From what we could tell, the Limthinans modified a native species genetic code to spur certain, aggressive traits. If they were still around, I firmly believe that the Limthinans would be surprised at how these humans turned out." At that, Tjorn started a holo-presentation in the middle of the room. "The humans are bi-pedal creatures, and evolved highly efficient bodies to cope with the harshness of their planet. Their stamina exceeds that of our most advanced fighters, able to function highly effectively for complete rotations without rest. In many cases, they train to enhance that particular capability." "This body efficiency and stamina has led them to become an apex predator on their planet. Occasionally they will succumb to wildlife larger than they are, but that is an exception. Armed with nothing but a sharpened stick, we've witnessed humans exterminate beasts far larger and stronger than they are." "There are beasts stronger than humans? This planet keeps getting better and better!" Plex exclaimed. "Indeed, but these creatures don't match humans in stamina or keen intellect. Tell me Plex, if I gave you two simple batteries to experiment with, would you experiment on both, or just one at a time?" "Ah, that is easy, I would experiment on one so I have a backup to experiment with in case the first failed. I would apply my lessons learned to perform better experiments on the second." "Ah, so refreshing to have a fellow intellect with me! That's not how humans would run the experiment. They would connect both batteries together in order to, "see what happens." Absolutely fascinating creatures." Tjorn said, a bit wistfully. "Astounding. So is this why they are quarantined? Their technological level seems to be fairly limited." Plex asked. "It took the Klerg 8 thousand orbits from when we first learned how to manufacture goods. Humans did it in under 200." Silence reigned as Plex took stock of that shocking revelation. Tjorn continued, "Additionally, they discovered Nuclear Fission before they reached space, by a scant 30 orbits, roughly." "Surely they used that knowledge to gain access to the stars." Plex said. "No," Tjrons voice dropped, his body sagging in emotional response, "They used the technology as a weapon." "You can use nuclear fission as a weapon?" Plex asked earnestly. "Yes, and they used it on themselves during a time of great conflict." "Then how did they reach space?" "They strapped themselves on what were essentially giant bombs and shot themselves into orbit." "Are they crazy?" "And now, Plex, you understand why this system has been removed from the galactanet, and the system is quarantined. These humans represent a keter class species, and must never know that life exists beyond their heliosphere."

The message was clear "Get up

The red light was back, I saw it grow from a tiny pinprick to a warm glow that took up all of my senses. Hotter, to the point of being unbearable, and hotter still. My limbs wouldn't work to pull me away. My throat flexed in a mock yell that made no sound. Suddenly, cool relief on my face, the fire diminished, faded away into blackness. Uncomfortably wet now, I reached to touch my face and the dream melted away. Above me, I saw a mass of golden fur, and felt the insistent tongue lapping at my face again. The message was clear "Get up." I groaned as I pulled myself up from my "bed" of leaves and brushed off my clothes. The air was stiflingly hot and beginning to get hazy. Through the trees I could see the glow of the approaching fire, I gauged the distance then began to unbuckle my belt. From beside me, Jax let out a low growl, I patted the golden retriever's head with one hand. "We aren't going to get very far if I don't go now." Jax waited, very impatiently, while I answered nature's call, and when I was done, huffed in an irritated way as we started off through the woods. He tracked ahead of me, sniffing and scouting. I trusted him to lead us the right way, as he had since that day many years ago, when I was only ten years old. I would never forget the feeling of seeing my home in flames. Running to get help, but finding no one. The entire neighborhood engulfed in fire that seemed to consume the world. At first, Jax found an abandoned Wal-Mart, I stole a backpack, loaded it with food, a knife a camp stove, and anything else I thought might be helpful. Jax and I played hide and seek in the clothes section, ate beef jerky and played grown-up movies on the store's TVs. I loved that Wal-Mart. After 3 days I woke up to the smell of smoke and we were forced to move on again. We tried this several times, inevitably, the building would catch fire again, and so we were always kept moving from place to place. When Jax first led me to the edge of the forest the understanding came, that no buildings were safe. I held onto Jax's collar has he led the way through the dense growth, and the trees, and he took me through safely. He caught squirrels and rabbits for our dinner, never let me oversleep, licked the tears I shed for my family and friends, and kept me safe and warm. I owed my life to Jax. I didn't want to dwell on it too much, but it had occurred to me many times that Jax did not seem normal. My parents got him when I was 1 so he was 9 when this all began. By my best approximation, it has been 8 years and 3 months since I've seen another soul other than him. And for 17, he's looking very good. The idea had crept into my head before, that Jax was something more than a dog, sometimes he looked at me a little *too* intelligently. He stopped ahead of me and swung his head around as if he sensed the direction my thoughts were going. I patted him on the back. "Sorry, buddy, just feeling distracted today." I remarked. The air was cleaner here, definitely moving away from the fire. We shared a look. I didn't want to say it aloud, but had the feeling he understood as well as I did. The fires were following us. I wasn't sure if there was anywhere safe on earth for us now. I had been awakened the previous day with the fires similarly close, despite hiking all day, they had obviously caught up overnight. They seemed to be moving faster than we could outrun them. My hand gripped Jax's fur a little fearfully. The dog turned and lapped once at my hand then trotted forward. We didn't slow until long after night fall. The air was clean and cool, no signs of fires anywhere. I collapsed on the ground with my head on my backpack and fell, almost instantly, asleep. The red dot was there, far away, then increasing in size. "No," I thought, but I felt the heat coming up on me. A loud bark roused me fully. It couldn't have been more than an hour since we stopped, yet there was the distinctive orange glow advancing through the trees. I felt my heart leap into my throat as I swung my backpack on, Jax and I ran. I knew there was no way we would outrun this fire forever, but I would be damned if I would go out without trying. Suddenly, Jax came to a halt ahead of me, nose twitching in the air. "What is it?" I asked him. He pointed his nose straight ahead. Looking forward I saw the same line of fire. I turned in a circle on the spot, and saw the fire surrounding us, there was nowhere to go , we had run out of options. I gripped Jax tightly, hugging him to my chest "Jax, buddy, you've... you've been the best dog anyone could hope for." Jax let out a low growl, and I sprang away from him. I heard something stepping through the trees, not a deer, I wasn't sure what. I squinted into the dark and finally saw him, the first person I had seen in eight years and it was the most frightening experience of my life. He moved animalistically, in a quick, twitching movement, like a cat about to pounce on his prey. His eyes were wide and his skin looked too tight, like he was uncomfortable in his body. "Finally," the word slid out like a hiss. "We've been looking for you for a long, long time. Come with me, now." I felt a wave of evil roll off this man. "No, never." I said, trying to compose my voice into calmness. His head turned to me as if he had no idea I was there, I saw the firelight reflecting off of his face. He laughed openly, "My dear boy, we have no use for you. We are here for him." and one long white finger pointed directly at my dog.

Neil Armstrong died the morning he died

You know how older people always talk about how they remember major events? Stuff like how the weather was when Pearl Harbor was attacked, or how they were checking the news to see if they could call in to work for bad weather when the Twin Towers were hit? You know. The events that seem to change the world. Well. I have a strong smell that I recall when I think of the morning Neil Armstrong passed away. And I remember that same strong smell the evening he came back. It is the smell of badly burned coffee. Now, I'm no expert when it comes to making my coffee. In fact, I'm downright terrible at it. Sometimes I put too many grounds in the filter, sometimes I put too much instant cream into it. I'd accidentally left my cheap coffee maker running that morning while I was rushing to throw another leg into my slacks. As I fumbled with the misshapen knot that I tried to tie my tie into, the crisp, earthy smell of singed Folgers wafting in from the kitchen, I heard the familiar DOO DOO DE DO DOO of a "Breaking News!" story from my TV. "We at KWTF News are sad to inform you that Neil Armstrong, first man on the moon, was tragically hit by a semi-truck this morning, which had careened wildly from the icy stretch of highway next to Mr. Armstrong's car. The truck, carrying lighting equipment from the famous Disney On I--" "Man, that sucks..." I lifted my thumb from the depressed power button on my television's remote control, slid my feet into my already-tied shoes (Mom always says that will ruin the backs of my shoes. Take that, Mom.) and dashed out the door, five minutes late for work already. With the clarity that hindsight provides, I now know I forgot to turn off my coffee pot's heater. \*\*\*\*\* Twelve and a half hours later, I turned past the half-staffed flag of the nearby bank and slowly slid back into the parking lot next to my apartment. It had been a terrible, long, and terrible day. Hours of useless meetings, useless phone calls, and useless managers yelling at me to fix whatever the new issue of the hour was. Oh, and one moment of silence for poor Mr. Armstrong. Our CEO had ushered us all into the parking lot. He said another of his long-winded speeches and then forced us all to take a moment of silence before ushering us back in and promptly sending an email saying we now had to skip our break because we lost time honoring An American Hero, and hey, while we're at it, why not work some mandatory overtime too? I don't think anyone mentioned anything other than Neil's passing all day. At least not while their noses weren't pressing up against their computer monitors. Coworkers, updated podcasts, even the local church's signboard; Neil Armstrong's death was all that was spoken of that day. So, you can imagine my exasperated sigh when I finally got home, flung my shoes off my feet, and turned on the TV to see a special about Neil Armstrong and his life and his death and his blah blah blah. I really wasn't paying attention, but I was just too tired to work up the energy to change the channel. My focus was on my wrinkled nose, and on the awful, awful stench of coffee that had been slowly burning away all day, the smell infesting my apartment. "It's a miracle no one called the fire department on me," I moaned as I took the pot off the burner and finally switched the coffee maker off. I'd just started to pour the contents of the stained pot out when I heard the annoyingly familiar jingle. DOO DOO DE DO DOO. "Oh, now what?" Impatient and irate, I put the pot back down and stared at the television. Did I have to suffer through yet another windbag speech on what a hero Armstrong was? Was that a shot of the moon? Did China launch a manned expedition or something? "We at KWTF News are... Well, frankly, we're baffled to be brining you this news. It seems that... yes, just a few moments ago, NASA scientists took some new photographs of our moon's surface. And it seems that..." The bald newscaster mopped his always-sweaty pate before nervously continuing, "Well, it sounds ridiculous, but it seems that our American flags, planted on the moon by our brave astronauts through many trips to the place, well... All six of them are now at half-staff. NASA is now hosting a live video feed on their website, which we will be featuring for the next few--" What? No, I meant it. What? What just happened? How did that even make sense? Who would have even been able to do that? No, wait, scratch that, HOW did they even do that? Weren't those flags solid assemblies, all glued together and stuff? How would you even GET the flags to lower, much less get up there TO lower them? And, wait, there was more than one of them? The anchor continued to drone on while I took out my way-too-big phone and began to look up information about the moon landings. I was so invested in digging through search engines that I almost missed the old anchor cursing a few minutes later. "Fuck! Holy fucking shit, what is that!?" Wait, since when did they allow that kind of language on network TV? The news anchor's sweat from his red forehead was flying everywhere as the he got up from his desk and began to march offscreen. "No, YOU calm down, Frank! Unless you know what that fucking thing is, you don't tell me--" The news station was still showing NASA's livestream of one of the flags on the moon. And next to the flag was... Was that static? A blob of static, right next to the flag, moving around? It looked like an arm, moving up and down, almost like it was waving. I finally stumped over to my couch, my mouth gaping wide open. As I sat down, the static began to fade. As it did, you could almost make out something still there, something where the static was. Whoever was controlling the stream noticed too, because they tried their best to zoom in on what was becoming clear was a figure. Neil Armstrong, the same old face I'd seen posted all over my social media feeds and work emails all day, was waving at me. I mean, not at me, but I could swear the guy was staring right at me, through the TV. I couldn't help but give a tiny wave back. This man, this impossibly dead man stopped waving as soon as my hand fluttered. He gave a satisfied nod and a formal salute, and then... He was swallowed by static again as the image faded away, to be replaced with a screen made in the 90's that stated "Technical Issues - We'll Be Right Back!" After a few minutes of stunned silence, I got back up and stumped over to the half-emptied coffee pot and finished pouring it out. But even without the coffee, I didn't get any sleep that night.

Rocket peered at the towering gold

"Go ahead, boy," Dan said to his dog, Rocket. Rocket peered at the towering gold gateway in front of them. Clouds swirled overhead, the ground was a blanket of wooly velvet. Murmers and barks could be heard far off, beyond the gates. A large pale dog trainer, with golden hair and white robe held a silver, heavenly dog leash. The heavenly trainer held the collar of the leash out lovingly, beckoning Rocket. Rocket glanced at the collar, then back at Dan, unsure. He ran over to Dan and licked his face. The trainer stared at Dan knowingly, then nodded its head. He heard a voice in his head. *I see. Go, then. You may return soon.* Rocket wagged his tail, licking Dan's face and growling affectionately. The trainer waved as they left the gateway entrance. They walked down a silver staircase deep into the ground. Or was it a ceiling? Dan could not be sure. Dan followed the staircase deep into the depths of the structure. He held a handrail as he descended, watching Rocket as he trailed behind. From the air, out of nowhere, apparitions appeared. They had faces of grim death. One was a skeletal face, a snake weaving through its eye sockets. It spoke to Dan: *That one does not belong here. Leave it. Come with me if you want to be saved.* Dan looked at Rocket, and Rocket gave no indication of leaving or stopping. Dan shook his head at the apparition. "No," said Dan, "he comes with me." The apparition exploded into a red fireball and disappeared into the tunnel before him. Dan had reached a long corridor. At the end he heard screams. Bloodcurtling bellowing of men and women who were lost to the world. Dan knew he did not belong here. But it was the only way. And Rocket pushed him to continue. They moved down the corridor slowly, as the screaming grew louder. The walls seemed to shake, like when you go to a loud concert. That was what it sounded like to Dan, a loud rock concert of death. Rocket groaned, but they had come too far to turn back. They came upon a tall black door. A door as grim as hell. On the surface was a protruding eye. The eye opened and looked at Dan. It blinked a few times, then closed. Then the door swung open, and Dan and Rocket were met with a blast of hellish screams. The place was a spectacle. Humans being torn apart then put back together again, only to be torn apart once again. People on a spit, being roasted, eaten alive, then built back into full beings. Some people just cried in a fetal position. In the center of this huge arena-like place, was a tall tower. It had a glowing eye on top that seemed to oppressively watch all that transpired below. Rocket barked at the tower, and stood in front of Dan protectively. Dan patted Rocket on the head. "Its OK boy. They're just lost souls. We're not lost, we're on our way through." Rocket licked his hand, and they started to go through the arena, toward the tower. Large demons with scarred, tragic faces beckoned them to their torture areas. Dan tried to shield his eyes, to ignore the protests of the hungry wraiths. The demons of purgatory were hungry for young blood. They seemed to be attracted to Dan like a magnet. But Rocket growled and barked at the demons and devils as they approached, scaring them away. "Good boy," Dan said. As they got closer to the great tower with the eye, a dark cloaked being appeared from behind. "You do not belong in this realm," the being said. "Who are you?" asked Dan. "I am the keeper. I make sure people suffer in due course. I know the eyes of the guilty. Your eyes betray an innocence that transcends any purgatory. You have the look of an innocent. The are only two ways to go, up and down. Otherwise you stay in the middle, which is not where you belong." Dan shook his head in confusion, then pet Rocket. "Let's go boy, these people are crazy." They continued their journey to the tower, stepping over dead bodies and severed limbs. The ground was caked with dry blood. The blood stuck to Dan's soles, leaving footsteps the color of wine behind him. They eventually reached the foot of the tower, then looked up at the eye. It beamed down at them. Searching. Scrutinizing. It appeared to be satisfied with Dan in some way. A doorway opened up in front of them. Dan and Rocket shrugged and walked through the door. Inside it was like a very old elevator. Like the type they have in bygone towers in New York City. Dan recalled a trip to the Big Apple when he was just a little lad. They brought him up to the top of the Empire State Building. When he went to the platform, he looked over the ledge, and dropped a penny. He was terrified it would fall on an innocent person's head and slice through their skull. He shuddered at that thought, and hoped it would not betray him in this place. Up the elevator went, seemingly forever. Just when he thought the ride would never end, they reached a top floor, and heard a *ding*. The doors slid open, and they were hit with a blast of heavenly white light. They heard choirs singing, bells chiming. There was a rainbow shimmer to the air. A dove flew over, and Rocket chased after it. Dan glanced at the dog chasing the bird, and laughed. Then he saw a giant gateway. It was towering, monumental, encrusted with jewels. He stepped up to it, staring up at the parapets above. It was a sort of castle, but the walls never seemed to end. Sort of like the great wall of china, but spectacularly stunning in form. Dan stood in front of the gateway. Nothing happened. He waited, fearful that he would be stuck here forever, waiting. Then a being made of light hovered down beside Dan. It had angel wings and carried a sword and shield. "Why do you have weapons?" asked Dan. "To guard against any invaders. Heaven is a place of protection." The angel glanced over at Rocket. "That is your animal. He has been your companion to this place." Dan nodded. "We welcome both of you to our home. Your home. Please enter, and be at peace," said the angel. Dan called Rocket, but when he looked over, rocket had changed. Rocket was a ghost now. A glowing, shimmering spirit. He gave a small bark, and licked Dan. When Dan looked at himself, he saw that he too was now a shimmering spirit. He touched Rocket, and felt the warmth of his soul pulsating within him. "You can feel each other's thoughts now," said the angel. Dan felt Rocket's thoughts. Pure love, that only a dog can produce. Rocket's eyes glowed, and seemed to cry with joy. "This is a good place," said Dan. "The best," said Rocket. Dan smiled. He loved happy endings.

The flat spines on the alien

I kept my stance loose and non threatening as the flat spines on the alien's head raised up in alarm. They were a vibrant purple colour, striking against its grey, wrinkled skin. It was their standard defense response. A normal reaction when encountering a predator. Its eye stalks wavered as it looked me over, an appendage hovering over a universally recognized red button. "Hostile Experimental Xenos" it said squeakily and i began to detect a strange sweet odor omitting from the creature. "Please provide the required License." I reached into a pocket, slowly as i saw the alien's eye stalks extend to follow my movement. I passed the document over, a shiny black disc. The alien's long tongue licked hairy lips as it scanned. Moments later a purple light flashed. The alien exhaled in relief, the sweet smell growing stronger. "Apologies," it said, turning back to its forms. "This station does not get many bio weapons." I winced internally at the term and attempted a smile. The alien's swiftly retracting stalks made me realise that baring my teeth may not have been the best idea. "It is quite alright," I replied. "We're not exactly numerous." A few minutes later and I was through, joining the bustling throngs of life that streamed out into the station's huge market floor. It was not a large station, made up predominantly of traders and merchants of all species, here to try and make their fortune. It was one in particular that I was here for. S'arweel Temeret. Arms dealer and all around bastard. Most of the alien's around me paid me little notice but the sparse amount of humans who caught my gaze quite quickly realised they should be somewhere else. Hostile Experimental Xenos. That was what we were christened by the various members of the Galactic species when our presence became known. At least, that wast the polite version. In true human style, we decided to adopt it ourselves and so we became known by the acronym HEX. Bio-genetically and cyber engineered humans, there were some subtle tells that our makeup was less than natural. I towered over the few humans that came close enough to me and a quick look at the light reflecting off my silvered irises made me look inhuman. Or so I'd been told. I accessed my internal database and superimposed a transparent map over my vision, highlighting the store where Temeret was meant to be. I checked my handgun was accessible before obscuring it beneath my long coat. Temeret was a Dralid, a reptilian race known for their ruthlessness. Males usually stood around seven foot and while their limbs seemed slim, they were easily strong enough to tear a human apart. While the eating of any Galactic Member race was banned, there were rumours the Dralid's partook, in black market restaurants hidden deep in hostile worlds. As I pushed the door to Temeret's store open, I didn't doubt it. He was with a customer, a young Berlyian who flushed a bright scarlet at the intrusion. Temeret wasted no time and quickly flipped the gun he was showing her towards me. A pulse of bright plasma fried the spot where I had stood and I could hear a scream echo out from the market behind. Adrenaline pumped manually into my body as I sped towards the Dralid, who began to take aim a second time before discarding the gun. It discharged as it hit the floor and the Berlyian added its screams to the air and the lower portion of its snakelike body melted. Temeret swung a clawed hand towards me but i managed to grip it around the arm to keep him at bay. The claws extended even further and stabbed into the back of forearm, breaking off. I turned off the pain and clenched, feeling the alien's arm shatter beneath my fingers. it squawked furiously and its tail rose behind it, poised to lance out and spear me. Before he could react, i stepped in closer, powering a fist into the bottom right of its stomach, This housed a gland unique to the Dralid, allowing them to produce their venom. It was also incredibly sensitive. Temeret collapsed to the floor and I loosed my forearm blade, the dark grey metal hovering barely an inch from the Dralid's amber eye. It blinked balefully at me but made not attempt to move. "Hello S'arweel," I said, my voice calm, steady. The claws within my arm clattered as they hit the floor, slowly pushed out as my nanites initiated repair protocols. "Its S'arweel," he snarled, his alien vocalization putting an indistinct twist on what I had said. "That's what I said," and I smiled, though this time I made not attempt to put him at ease. HEX have their teeth modified as much as the rest of them and the Dralid knew i could bite through a limb if i wished. "What do you want Human freak," he spat but I noticed the frills on his neck were fluttering, his eyes glancing back to a place in his shop. I hauled him to his feet, sheathing my blade and drawing my handgun. I held it against his back, and while he was tall for a Dralid, the difference between us was negligible. I snapped a bio dampener ring around his tail, immediately causing the limb to go limp and drag on the floor, dripping venom on the floor. He whimpered angrily until I pushed the gun harder into its body. "I'm going to ask you this once lizard. Where is it?" He remained silent, yelping when I fired into his tail. With the dampener he wouldn't have felt anything but twisting his neck to look, he could see the damage that had been done. "The back," he growled. I pushed him in front of me and let him lead as we walked on. My heightened senses were attuned to the maximum but I could hear nothing but the whir of machinery. As we entered the back, my eyes were immediately drawn to the stolen technology. I let out a breath I hadn't realised i was holding. "Oh S'arweel you stupid fucking lizard." In front of us, encased in a huge cryo chamber, was the preserved body of a fellow HEX. ​ r/AMSWrites Edit- thanks for all the great comments! Part 2 is below (somewhere) and on my sub! ,

The broadcast had been sent over all

"We have come to conquer. Surrender unconditionally to us, and we shall grant you the mercy of a life free of pain under our rule - fight, and your only mercy shall be that you will eventually die." The broadcast had been sent over all forms of light speed communication, received by thousands if not millions of inhabited worlds. The ambassadors of the United Civilizations Council had gathered to discuss their plan of action - no less than two dozen different species, gathered to discuss their response to the outright declaration of war. Councilman Abnoor of the Geth paused the recording, his headplates shifting. "They call themselves the Grox, and appear to be the ones nominally in charge of the center of the galaxy. It appears that a few years ago they began to take notice of our branch of the Milky Way being colonized, and spied on us for a while before deciding on a hostile takeover." "What do we know of this... Grox empire?" One of the other councilmen asked, one of his long appendages gesturing at the squat, armored red figure on the screen. "Surely some information must have been passed through by merchants from within the galaxy center." Abnoor's visual light dimmed. "Nothing good, unfortunately. Carnivorous and highly aggressive, they either enslave or subjugate those they come across. Any species who engage them in combat are crushed under their overwhelming numbers, and they seem to take pleasure in... consuming their defeated enemies, often times demanding tithes of live subjects from their conquered enemies." "Carnivores." The Saurian councilmen muttered, his long neck swaying. "Any species that eats meat ends up being war-mongering and aggressive, too blinded by their bellies to see sense -" The councilman next to him cleared his oral pathways loudly, before gesturing with his head to a councilman across the room who was watching bemusedly. "Ah!" The saurian said, skin colorizing due to rapid bloodflow. "I meant pure carnivores, of course. Omnivores are distinctly different -" The Human delegate - not a full council member yet, due to their relatively new status as a space-faring race - raised in appendage in a manner that the translators said was meant to be calming. "No harm meant, Ambassador Anglisaur. You're not wrong - humans as a whole tended to be warmongering until a few centuries ago. A desire for meat wasn't our main concern, but our hunter ancestry may have had something to do with it." Abnoor hummed, rotating several disks rapidly. "The Grox appear to have done extensive scouting using hitherto unknown stealth technology, ambassador Shepard. They appear to have been scouting for the weakest civilizations to stage their conquest from - and I'm sorry to say that your relatively small size and comparatively primitive spacecraft have made you a prime target. They appear to be willing to attack you first." The pink-skinned mammal jolted in his chair, then opened his mouth in a manner meant to show... joy? No, that was a threat display, the baring of teeth. Abnoor's technological background meant it didn't have much in the way of the predator/prey instincts, but the rest of the council had no such restrictions. They were all herbivorous species, and recoiled from the predator species bringing its biological weapons to bear - even the Saurian, who was easily six times Shepards size, leaned away from the Omnivore. "They chose us as the weakest? Hm. Their threat rankings must be flawed." He stood from the chair, bowing in a low manner meant to show respect. "If the people of the council would excuse me, we need to begin preparations." "Ambassador Shepard, will you be requiring assistance? We haven't needed to use out fleet in millennia, but -" One of the ambassadors said, warily, but was cut off. "We would appreciate any material support you could provide, but honestly?" He turned, flashing his fangs again. "Just stay out of the system for now - you're in the splash zone." ----- Red lights blared, casting the hallway in a ghastly tone. J'In'Mal, Forward Admiral of the Grox, glared up at the damned lights as he turned down the corridor to the bridge. At least the combat alarms had stopped blinking, but the lights were getting annoying. His tail thrashed behind him as he entered the bridge, his subordinates baring their throats to him as he entered. "Report, Captain." "Admiral, Sir! We exited subspace approximately six million kilometers away from the targeted planetoid, designated 'P-3', exactly five minutes ago. No less than six seconds later, the fleet was bombarded with high velocity impact rounds that destroyed shields within three or four impacts. The rest of the fleet was continually fired upon until their ships were destroyed, with all hands lost. Time from arrival to destruction of last ship was no more than forty seconds, sir. We were then fired upon with precision energy weapons until our thrusters were destroyed." "Egg-scum." He muttered quietly. "The fuck kind of weapons can destroy Class-Six shields in under a minute?" "We aren't sure, sir, but scans indicate they were some sort of hyper-velocity mass weapons, fired by using the orbit of their suns gravitational pull." "What..." He started, then stopped, swallowing. His tail thrashed agitatedly, but then stopped as he focused. High velocity impact projectiles, fired using the natural gravitational pull caused by stellar bodies - like aiming a comet at his ships. Dozens of them, fired at once, while his ships had just exited warp and were unable to move. The flagship shook suddenly, and he was forced to spread his stance to keep his balance. "The hell was that, Captain?" "Sir, we're..." The Captain frowned, confused. "We're being boarded." The men around them gaped in shock. The Grox, being boarded? What kind of idiotic race would even bother to do such a thing? Space combat was no place for boarding maneuvers, and not even the Grox bothered with infantry combat outside of subjugation missions. "They left us dead in the water, killed our shields, disabled our weapons, and now they dare to board us?" He flexed his claws, spittle hissing from his jaw as he turned to the bridge door. "These filthy plant eaters dare to -" There was the sound of a metallic clang, and a sudden 'boom' as the door imploded inwards. The speed of the explosion caused the door to sail inwards, and J'In dove to the side - but the Captain behind him was not so lucky, and the speed of the door took his head clean off his shoulders. Admiral J'In'Mal was leader of his clan. he had slain dozens of challengers before he even fully matured, and brought down a desert dragon bare-handed for his ritual of adulthood. He pulled his axe from behind his back, preparing to meet the invaders hand-to-hand - **THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.** Only to meet his own haze in a black, reflective visor. The visor was attached to a domed helmet, which was attached to a massive, hulking suit of armor easily twice as tall as he was, and it's footsteps as it advanced rang across the metal floor with an echo that filled the throne room. It was groxoid and held a massive rifle in its hands, and attached to one wrist was a giant blade of some sort that whirred as blades spun across its surface. One of the soldiers roared, pulling a decorative sidearm and firing at the armored suit as it entered. The energy rounds glanced off of the suit without even leaving a mark, and the figure swung the bladed wrist down. The soldiers legs fell to the ground as its torso sailed across the room, the ground around him stained purple with blood. *They made suits designed for infantry combat. What species is crazy enough to seek out infantry combat against a predator species?* J'In thought, jaw clenched. The armored form, upon seeing that none of the other soliders were willing to assault it, entered - followed by five others of its kind, who paraded through the door way, training weapons on the men within. J'In growled, but sank to his knees and raised his chin, baring his throat. There were more footsteps, softer this time, and a small, slight figured entered the room. An unarmored member of the species - Humans? - strode in, clad only in soft fabrics that appeared decorative in nature. It turned to the blood-covered armored unit, saying a few words his translator didn't pick up, then shrugged. "I can't believe we're the ones saying it, but I suppose this is fitting -" She said, baring her teeth mockingly. "But I suppose this means that 'all your base belong to us.'" "This is it?" She asked, raising an arm. "Our first real battle as a species, and what - three hundred ships destroyed in a minute, and no more than six dozen casualties when we board? Pathetic." She ignored the communal growling of the men around her, but one of the armored forms kicked out, knocking a soldier to the ground. They fell silent. "We were so prepared for war, you know. When we discovered there was life out there, we passed an edict not to travel any further so as to not draw attention to ourselves. We abandoned colonies, retreated to the core system, and started stockpiling - building better weapons, researching and spying on other species. We were prepared to enter what may very well be a fight for the survival of our species - but then we left the core and ventured out, only to find out that our wing of the universe was populated with tree-eating hippies. Bah. Centuries of preparation, wasted. But then you come along! Singing promises of our destruction and imminent death, a fleet to blot out the sun - and done, within five minutes. Typical man - just enough to get me hot, then done before I am." She came to a stop before him, grabbing him by the chin and tilted his head up to look at him. "Pathetic." She muttered. "Very well. You Grox wanted war?" Her teeth glinted. Flat in the back, to crush grass or bone. Pointed in front, to rip and tear. "You got your war. Enjoy it while you can."

I didn't want to be another

Living beyond my means always seemed not only unnecessary to me, but pointless. Sure, I could do whatever I wanted and be whatever I wanted, but I had seen what money could do to people and those around them. I didn't want to be another chump with "yes men" around me telling me how good of a job I was doing, regardless if I actually was. So when I won the lottery, I kept quiet. Not only did I not tell my friends, but I didn't even tell my family. Instead, I retained a lawyer and financial advisor and just invested. Before I knew it my bank account just grew and grew until I was worth $140 billion dollars. When it came to my day to day life, I tried to keep i simple and I never saw a reason to stop doing what I loved. I mean hell, I was lucky. How many people can say that do what they love every day when they go into work? And keeping my secret from co-workers was easy. When I went on vacation to Paris, it was seen as completely normal. What they didn't know what I took a private jet there, stayed in a suite at the Four Seasons and ate at Michelin star restaurants each night. For a moment, my life felt perfect--but all good things must come to and end. That end was Craig. He was the new creative director at my agency and from the moment I met him, I knew I didn't like him. For one, he had no talent. He didn't get to where he was based off of his work or ability to lead a team, he got there because he was bully that knew how to manipulate those around him. I wasn't one of those people and I saw straight through his act. It didn't take long for me to realize that as soon as Craig joined my team, he had set his sights on me. His goal was to destroy my career and turn everyone against me. He started by criticizing my work and rewriting every single word and sentence I showed him. His ideas were moronic and off strategy, but since he was the boss no one had the guts to call him out on it. When I did call him out, all the others would shrink down in their seats and look away. No one dared tell the boss he had a bad idea and boy was Craig going to make sure I paid for disagreeing with him. It started with little things. Like that deadline I could have sworn was Wednesday was suddenly Monday. Or files would go missing from the server. With time it grew and grew until suddenly mistakes were being made that required the team to work over the weekend and I was being blamed. It was so obvious, I don't know how I didn't see it coming. It was a Friday morning when Craig called me into a last minute meeting. When I walked into the conference room, there sat HR, alone at the table with a folder. Craig's face went serious and as I sat down and told me that he was sorry but I "just wasn't the right fit here". HR then explained to me that my time with the agency was terminated and they would ship my belongings to my home address. I stood up, trying to hold back the tears in my eyes and Craig smiled. He smiled as if to say, "I won" and before I could say a word, HR led me out the door and out the office. For months I sat at home and dwelled on what happened. I tried to piece together what happened and how it got to the point where they would fire me. As I began to sort through all of the events that had unraveled I began to see the connection: Craig. Every step forward I'd make, he'd ensure I took two steps back. Well, little did Craig know that is screwed with the wrong girl. Not only was he going to pay for what he did, but everyone at the agency was going to pay for following him blindly. The account I worked on was the largest client the agency had before, it was worth millions of dollars. So naturally, the best way to destroy a tumor is to cut off it's blood supply. So I bought the client, the entire company, under an alias name. The next step was to hire a chairman and CEO that would act as an instrument to my plan. My team privately met with dozens of candidates and it didn't take long for me to appoint someone to head up the company that ensured me he'd follow my direction without question. In the meantime, I found another job. In fact, it was a better job with a title and pay increase that I may have not needed, but at least demonstrated they saw my value. Each day I'd come home from work and communicate with my team and CEO, directing them on steps they needed to take to ensure the success of the company. First being--fire all of the advertising agencies they had partnered with. For one particular ad agency, however, I requested the CEO personally deliver the news to the creative team himself. I told him to handle the process as he saw fit but there was one thing he needed to say upon termination: "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here." It didn't take long for news to spread about the great loss and changes within the client's organization and within about a year, after losing their largest client, the agency closed. Eventually, that agency became a distant memory and I was happily promoted at my job, working as a creative director for a place I loved. It was early fall when a resume came across my desk with a familiar name and a huge gap in employment history. He had already been through 2 interviews earlier that week and I was the last point of contact as the hiring manager. I gleefully saw the calendar invite pop onto my computer and that afternoon I walked to the conference room where candidates waited to meet with their potential employers. I pushed open the door and Craig looked up. His smile quickly disappeared and he went as pale as a ghost as he saw me standing at the door. I had recently gotten married and he had not realized who I was since my last name had changed. I smiled brightly and without a word sat down in front of him. He stuttered as he opened his portfolio book and began to quietly go over his work with me, conveniently skipping over the work from the agency we had worked at together not so long ago. I quietly listened and as he paused to take a breath. I leaned forward, looking at him directly in the eye and smiled. "You know what, Craig", I said, "I'm sorry, but you're just not the right fit here." ​

They said it would be lonely living

They said it would be lonely living forever. They said it would be lonely and sad. They said the pain of watching everyone I love die would haunt me all my days. They were right, well they were kind of right, for that first hundred years or so. I lost family. My mother, my father, my brother, cousins, aunts, uncles and more. I lost friends. All those people you expect to walk along side you and help you shuffle through your mortal coil. The loss, the pain, the suffering. It was an unending weight upon me. It suffocated me to the point where I could not breathe, I could not love, I could not feel. All I did for a hundred years was brood. I was a moody, moping, morose man. I skirted society and got by with as little contact to the wider world as possible. You could have called me a hermit, I looked like one. My clothes hung from my limp form, I ate little and was nothing more than skin and bone. It's not like it could kill me. I frequented the right bars in the wrong side of town, no one asked for my name or made an effort to talk to me and that's the way I liked it. One day a young man came in, he looked oddly familiar. He had a mop of unruly, dirty blond hair, striking blue eyes and a hesitant smile. He looked like he was a smiler. I could see the faint crinkle lines to to sides of his eyes. I don't think I'd taken more than a cursory glance at anyone in maybe fifty years. There was something about this guy, I just couldn't put my bony finger on it. I sat in usual spot in the corner, half obscured by shadow and supped my whiskey. I watched the young man, intrigued. He ordered two drinks from the barman who grunted as the monetary transaction took place. I looked away as he picked them up, I was intrigued but I didn't want to converse with anyone. I never did. The grunting bar man was enough social interaction for me for the week. I studied the painting on the wall of an old rock star. I always liked way the lightning bolt was painted on his face, I couldn't remember his name, I doubt anyone could in this day and age. Suddenly there was a clearing of someone's throat. I looked up and saw the blond mop of hair, haloed by the light. Inwardly, I thought this guy is brave. Outwardly, I growled, "What do you want?" The young man grimaced and said, "I've been looking for you." He shuffled back a couple of paces and his hands visibly shook. "What do you want?" I asked. He put the drinks down on the sticky table and opened up his jacket. He pulled out an age stained envelope and opened it. He held it to me with his shaking hands. "It was from my great-grandad, it had instructions to open it on my eighteenth birthday. He said to find you. He said, you wouldn't believe me so I have to say this to you..." He hesitated then and I sighed, "Get it over with kid." "I bet you're still stubborn, but you'll need someone. You're a fool to think otherwise. I know you better than you know yourself old friend." He read. I downed my drink and moved to get up. The table squeaked. "Wait, there's more." He said, sounding more confident than he looked. "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." Nostalgia hit my like a freight train to the stomach. I suddenly knew why the young man looked familiar. He looked just like Brian Brown. Brian Brown was my best friend. We were thick as thieves the two of us, from kindergarten through college. We were the class clowns, the loveable rogues, we were smart as we were funny and athletic to boot. We had the world at our feet and scouts watching us play every week. Brian became withdrawn after the state championship game. His whole demeanour changed. It took a whole week for him to open up to me. He said he wanted to be known for more than just his skill on the football field. He wanted people to know he was worth more than that, that he could do more than that. He said, he didn't know what to do. In his lowest moment I listen to him break his heart. I told him I'd recently read a poem that made me feel brave. I got him to repeat after me. "I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul." Brian went on to win many awards in his chosen profession, medicine. He helped so many people. That's just who he was. I'd forgotten that. I'd forgotten too much. I felt a spark of something I hadn't felt in such a long time. Hope. I picked up the drink, "What's your name kid?" "Brian Lucas Brown, sir" he murmured while looking at his battered converse sneakers. "Well I'll be damned" I smiled at the kid and he handed me the letter. I read it and I felt at peace for the first time in a long time. "Next drink is on me Brian, damn, it's been a long time since I said that." The kid lit up, those crinkle lines accentuating his glee. Actually, they call me Luc. I'm told it's after you. Great grandad Bri said he'd never known anyone as mischievous as you... Until I came along" The next two hundred years or so have been different since then. I've stayed in their lives, the Browns. I've kept a watch over them, I've been there for them. I've been their brother, their uncle, their friend. All because of my Brian, I AM the master of my fate and I AM the captain of my soul. He's always with me in his progeny. You'd be shocked at how I still see his characteristics in them even after all this time.

Krissa was having one of those

Sometimes, boring days are the best. The ones where you and the love of your life don't distract from each other with a trip or activities, you just do normal things, like drive a car down the highway to go to Costco. Just *how much fun* you have doing the mundane is proof that your love is real. You sing poorly when Journey comes on the radio, rocking your head and laughing because neither of you sound any good but that doesn't *matter* at all. Nothing else does. Krissa was having one of those days, smiling in adoration at her beloved, a man who looked nothing special but was in so many ways, even if no one else saw it. She glanced out the passenger window as buildings whizzed by. "Don't let me forget we *need* paper towels, hun." Gordon didn't respond immediately. She turned to him, tapping his arm. "Hun? You alright?" His grip was firm on the wheel, forearms striated with tense muscle beneath black hair. "Yeah," he said dryly, glancing up at the mirror and back to the road, repeating the motion several times. Krissa's lips tightened a bit. "Hey, what would you want to name our first kid?" His answer, per their discussions, was supposed to be 'Crackers', the name of a monkey in his favorite childhood show. She'd asked the question seriously, but loved his answer anyway. A little game to 'make sure it was really him' and bring fond memories back. He did not seem basking in nostalgia. "We're not having a kid!" He glanced at the mirror again, readjusting his grip on the wheel. Krissa looked out the window and saw Costco pass off the interstate. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Gordon?" He ripped himself free of her touch with a grunt. "No! They're coming for us! They're going to catch us!" His face was turning red, eyes slightly glazed and widened, like marbles. "Gordon? What's going on?" They had just been singing *Don't Stop Believing* together and laughing. Sure, they weren't perfect and had fights sometimes, but what on Earth was this all about? "Shut up! Just... Shut up! I can't get away. There's no other choice." He glanced up again. "I have to drive off the road. I can't let them get us." Krissa opened her mouth, but was lost for words at first. "Honey, what the hell are you talking about? Gordon? Gordon, pull over. Please pull over the car right now." "*I can't let them get me.*" "Gordon, pull over RIGHT NOW!" He grunted, the strained grunt of a man pulling a blade free of his leg, but did as she asked. Once stopped, he opened the door and fled down the shoulder without even closing it behind him. Krissa was left in the median, shocked and alone, calling after him aimlessly. She wanted to call Triple A, but then again, what's the emergency? Her husband ran off down the highway? No, that wouldn't work. Instead, she called John--her brother--who showed up a time later and picked her up. The car was left where it was, locked, but stranded, and he took her back home. Hours passed. She called the police, alerting them of the situation, and after a time, started calling hospitals. Was it something she'd done? Who did he think had been following him on the highway? What if he'd been hit by a car? What if he'd died? What if he was possessed by something? He hadn't answered her question, after all. It was a silly thing, their little game, but he'd failed it. How could something like this be happening in her life? ---- She finally got the call almost ten hours later. Her husband was at a hospital about twenty miles away, somehow, and being monitored closely. They didn't say much about his health. John drove her there, and when she walked up to his room, a police offer was stationed outside the door. He nodded at her, allowing entry. Whatever was inside, it was *not* the man she fell in love with. It was a man that looked like him, but wild. Dirty, disheveled, with his collared shirt unbuttoned and dazed but still with a look of madness in his eyes, locked away somewhere. He rocked back and forth a bit, slowly. A doctor approached her. "Ms. Farris, I assume?" "Yes." The word came out as a sigh. "Good. I'm Dr. Bergstrom. Step outside with me a moment." They relocated, and the doctor gently closed the door. "Doctor, what's going on?" "Ms. Farris, has your husband displayed any odd behavior lately? Any stress at home?" She looked around, eyes glazed herself. "I don't think so. I don't know, I mean, we have problems sometimes but so does everyone. Work has been very hard on him lately. But never anything like this, he just started yelling that we were being followed and threatened to drive off the cliff, then ran off on the highway. It was like he was..." *Possessed.* "I see. Yes, it can be hard to recognize sometimes, at first. I am so sorry, young lady. This is not easy news." "What?" she asked tentatively, hugging herself without realizing. "Your husband, he's... Displaying clear signs of paranoid schizophrenia. There are options, and it's manageable, but there's no easy way to say this. Your life has changed, ma'am. It can take quite some time to manifest, and is usually brought on by stress. But please, remember that he still loves you." She brought her hands up, covering her face, and leaned against a wall to anchor her in a swirling room, like she'd been put in a top and spun. There was nothing touching her, but it felt like a cable had been wrapped around her chest, and lead poured in her stomach. *Oh, I forgot about the car. We still need paper towels. You were supposed to remind me, Gordon, you goofball...* Yes, boring days are the best. And now they were gone, forever abandoned somewhere on an interstate highway. --- Unfortunately inspired by a real event. */r/resonatingfury*

Dash was the more nervous of the

"Coordinates are set for Earth," Bria confirmed, tapping through her console. "We are crazy. You both know that. What happens when we get there and it's not true? What happens when we get there and it is? We go poke ancient planet eating bears?" Dash asked. His voice squeaked as he spoke, nerves getting the better of him. He was the more nervous of the trio, but it never stopped him from tagging along. He liked being left out less than he liked going on their ridiculous adventures. "Poke poke," Bria said, turning her head to smile at him. "It's fine, Dash," Talyn said steadily, "Whatever happens- They are imprisoned. As long as we don't open the gate and let them start devouring us, it will all be fine." Dash pushed his shoulders against his seat and fidgeted with the straps across his chest. He grumbled but thought better of arguing any further. The other two would never understand where he was coming from. They had all been vague with their parental units so they all knew that no one knew where they were going. The way he figured, the best case scenario here was that they got themselves in serious trouble and no one would know where to come looking for them. They would most likely end up stranded on earth or mauled by some local creature or better yet, ravaged by one of The Great Old Ones. Everyone left Earth alone for a reason, and here they were trying to go *see* them. He closed his eyes as the ship jumped into drive, pushing his body harder against his seat. He wasn't that big of a fan of inertia either if he was being honest. The ship pushed onward, holding all three against their seats until they reached the Milky Way. Bria squealed when the ship's computer announced that they were almost there and that the ship would now be slowing down to a speed appropriate for atmospheric entry. Dash, in response, groaned. He looked through the front shield at the round blueish planet they were headed for. "We could still turn around," he said cheerfully. Both of the girls laughed without turning around to look at him. "You know that Earth's rocket ships actually crash land *every single time* they come back into their own atmosphere?" Bria asked her companions. "And these are the ones in charge of keeping the rest of us safe," Talyn snorted at the end of her sentence. Dash had always taken her for a bit snobby. It was never directed at him or Bria which made it tolerable, but it came out sometimes none the less. He stared straight ahead and took a breath through clenched teeth as they pushed right on through the atmosphere of Earth. They went through ozone and a long layer of clouds before coming down to an expansive body of warm looking water. The ship slowed further as they went, and with the push of a button the console, A set of feet for water landing deployed from the bottom. "This is always my favorite story," Bria said as she turned the multiple keys that turned off the ship's engines. "All this water. Can you imagine if our planet had this much water? The creatures underneath must be huge! Oh, it's gonna be so great. How far down do you think it is? What do you think it's prison looks like? Where-" "Bria!" Talyn exclaimed, interrupting her, "take a breath girl, please. We will find out soon enough." All three unbuckled themselves and walked over to the bay door as it opened. Looking out over the reflecting surface that stretched through the horizon, Dash felt dizzy. "Lights on," Talyn commanded, "Jump on three." Three small clicks followed the order as they turned on the lights attached to their helmets. "One. "Two. "Three," Talyn counted them down. All three bodies hit the water, and the pod door whooshed closed behind them. They dove straight down, Bria at the lead and Dash taking up his normal place at the back of the line. It didn't take long for the light from the sun to disappear and Dash felt himself shiver inside his suit. He could feel the nozzles adjust for the decreasing temperatures and change in pressure. They wouldn't be able to dive down without their suits, but they wouldn't be able to explore the planet as a whole without them either. The suits were their entire life support off of their home planet. Deeper down they went and Dash watched as the life that swam around them began to change. Their shapes got slimmer and eventually, the fish stopped looking at them at all. Every so often he got the sense that they were touching them or smelling for them, but he simply didn't know enough about the life here to confirm any of it. He didn't have the stomach to try and make small conversation with the other two, either. Soon the fish and plants stopped appearing. Dash noticed and he wondered if the other two did as well. Not long after that, they reached a shelf of land deep within the earth ocean. They landed and bobbed up and down on the ground as best they could. Not too far from where they grouped, the shelf tore away once more. Dash could see the surface of the black abyss. This was as far as their plan had been made. They would have to go back to their ship without having seen anything or commit and dive into the Abyss. According to Bria's calculation- the prison was straight down over that ledge. As all three of them stood, speechless and staring into the darkness, a low hum began to travel through the waters. The hum began to warble. Dash felt like it was bouncing between his ears-inside of his head. It sent another wave of shivers, and he clenched his jaw. "It's there," Bria whispered into her helmet. Dash felt his gut spin as he watched her swim right over the ledge without another word. *** Edit: You guys are too kind! I will be responding to comments in a while, and I am going to try and get a second part done today. Bare with me as I find time to get it out :D E2: Thank you to the kind stranger who gave the story gold <3. And a silver! :D :D you guys make me so happy, thank you! I am hoping to find time tonight to work on a part 3. I will update when I get the chance :) E3: Another gold and a plat! You guys make my heart swell, Thank you all! /r/beezus_writes

The Tasslebelt Gang were

At this time on a Wednesday, market day would usually be in full swing. Marvin would be selling his melons at a stall on the northern side of the dusty square, the fishermen would be selling slightly-rotten catches from the eastern bay, and the local priest would be shouting himself hoarse in an effort to convert more locals. Usually. Today the town square was silent, because it was known that the Tasslebelt Gang were intent on finally finishing their long-running feud with Vora Silver. There were three of them, and their sense of hygiene was appalling. Unkempt beards, dirty hats, and a distinct scent of the Temu, the large bird-like creatures which served as transport on the frontier. Across from them stood Ms Silver, her hat forgotten on a chair in her office, and a six-shooter on her belt. Not that it'd do her much good - the three gang members shimmered with arcane energies, the hallmark of Kessle's Greater Bullet Shield. She knew, therefore, that they were serious - by her count that left them all with just two more lifetime uses of that spell. She responded in kind, whirling her arms to ward herself and feeling the sense of her own bullet shield hugging her skin and clothes closely. The drawl of Milton, the gang leader, sounded loud from across the square. "How's yer wellspring today, Vora? I bet you used up some damn useful spells breaking up that tavern brawl, right?" Vora narrowed her eyes further. Her earlier suspicions were confirmed - that brawl at Moira's had been no coincidence. It wasn't surprising that that gang had tried to drain her of her greater spells before taking her on this afternoon. She'd used her last use of Taker's Binding Buckles to bring the culprits into custody. "Dammit, Milton. That's a low blow," she shouted across the square. "I thought you all liked Moira - her place is such a mess now." The gang members looked at each other and chuckled. Milton just smiled, his crooked teeth showing through. He spat the toothpick out of his mouth and cracked his knuckles, sparks of energy playing around them. Silence in the square for the next ten seconds, as both sides stared at each other. Milton piped up once more. "Heh, I've been lookin' forward to this, Miss. Ever since you got my brother locked up for that stagecoach robbery, I've been wantin' revenge. Saved up some pretty little spells for the occasion." As he finished his sentence, he flicked his hand down to his side. An aura of power flared around him, casting shadows from both of his companions. The indescribable color of magic meant that whatever he was using next, it was going to be big. Vora didn't give him a chance. She shunted her palm forward forcefully, and burned her lifetime's last use of Grant's Spell Nullification. The aura faded from sight. But Milton's smile didn't change. He clucked his tongue, his voice dripping with sarcasm for his next sentence. "Oh dear, Ms Silver. Looks like you gone stopped my best spell. Whatever shall I do next?" He looked sideways at the gang members next to him. Both members flared in a less powerful fashion, their arms moving in the recognizable form of Hogan's Empowerment. Once they finished casting their spells, for the next minute they'd both move with superhuman speed and strength. Milton clicked his fingers and a small flame emerged. This was, Vora knew, his unlimited spell. He'd never need a cigarette lighter his entire life. He brought a cigar up to his mouth, and lit it. "Such a shame that you can't counterspell them, Ms Silver." He pulled a shoddy-looking notebook from his pocket. "You see, I been watchin' you a long while now. I know which spells you got left - and it's gonna take all of them to stop my boys here. I'll just wait until you're all drained and done. Get her, boys." Vora cursed and quickly invoked Mann's Resilient Defence, combining her knowledge of the arcane with her martial arts knowledge. The flurry of blows came fast and consistently. More than one breached her defenses, leaving bruises, and cuts where she wasn't so careful. She parried blow after blow with her forearms, pushing any advantage she was given to land a counterattack. But when one of the pair of attackers got desperate, and invoked Whizzle's Flaming Fist, she had no choice. She dropped Resilient Defence and used Irwin's Clenching Grasp to cause the brown dirt of the town square to swell up and snap around the two attackers. They were entombed, and there were now just two in the square - her, exhausted, out of spells, down on both knees, and her attacker. Who swelled with the power of several spells, the energy tearing rifts in reality around him. The entire time she'd been distracted, he'd been buffing himself with every spell in his arsenal. And she had nothing left. Milton just laughed. Laughed too hard, too much like a night at the theater rather than a fight to the death. He advanced slowly, his spurs clinking, and his hands actually flickering into and out of existence with sheer arcane power. Vora's eyes flitted around the square - checking the windows for someone, anyone. But there was no-one to be seen, no one who wanted to risk the wrath of the gang by watching. Perfect. She kept her head low, and let her opponent advance. But her arms worked at her sides, with complex gestures that it had taken her an extortionate amount of time to master. If she got this wrong, it would spell disaster. Milton had actually now stopped, five feet in front of her. His right arm weaved a circle in reality - empowering his body with an invocation unknown to Vora. So Vora counterspelled it with Grant's Spell Nullification. And his other spells, one after the other, after the other. The force of the termination repelled Milton, by a foot at a time. He tried to fight it, but it was useless - he was knocked back. As the energy disappeared from Milton's body, the triumphant smile on his face faded into a look of bewilderment. He looked around himself at his feet, his arms, his torso - he didn't understand what was happening. He was certain she'd been out of spells - he'd been counting for the last two years! Which was when the form of Vora stood up from the ground, pulled out her pistol, and shot him square in the forehead. He collapsed to the ground lifeless. And Vora thanked the stars that her unlimited spell, the one which she could use an unlimited amount of times, was Silver's Spell Refresher. And she collapsed to the ground, utterly drained, but victorious.

"You're meant to be dead

"Nooooo, please don't kill me," I wail. "Please, I'm begging, don't..." The shadowy figure steps forwards, raising his knife. "You have ten seconds." I scramble to my feet and flee before he even has a chance to start the countdown. I can hear his harsh, mocking laughter behind me. Or was that someone else? "Psst, down here!" I look down and see my friend Alex hiding behind a bin, fighting off a fit of giggles. "What are you doing here?!" I hiss, throwing a glance over my shoulder. The killer will be here soon. "You're meant to be dead. You're going to ruin everything." "No, it's fine! I've got a disguise! See?" Alex rifles through her backpack and pulls out a blonde wig and a pair of glasses. "It's dark. He'll never recognise me." "I thought we agreed. We let him kill us so he lets his guard down, then trap him and call the police before anyone gets hurt *permanently*. You know there are mortals around here." I swear as I hear footsteps approaching and crouch down beside Alex. It's too late to run. He'll see Alex if we're not careful. "Come on, loosen up. It's fun." Before I can react, Alex pulls on the wig and glasses and stands up. "Oh nooooo," she wails in an exaggerated screech. "Pleeeeease don't kill me!" There was a whistle and a *thunk*, and Alex collapses beside me with a knife embedded in her skull. I swear in shock. I didn't realise he could throw knives like that. "I know you're there," the killer calls. "You're next." I hesitate, then wrench the knife from Alex's head, and adjust her wig so it looks more natural. I get to my feet and run. The last thing I hear is another whistle as the killer throws another knife, then it hits me in the head and everything goes black. I awake on the forest floor, sticky with blood. "You're awake! Finally." Alex is there with me, and I relax. The killer must be somewhere else. I sit up. "Why do you enjoy dying so much?" I grumble, trying to wipe the blood from my face. "It's just messy and painful." "It's funny. He thinks we're terrified. I can't wait to show him we're all alive." "We're not showing him. We're trapping him, and then taking him to the police." "Yeah, whatever. I'm going to rub it in his face." I sigh and shake my head. "Come on. Let's go see if he's killed the others yet." We trudge through the forest, taking care to stay quiet. Alex doesn't seem to have another disguise stashed away in her bag, so we can't afford to be seen again. "Hey," someone whispers. "Over here." I turn and see three pale faces staring back at me from a patch of dense bushes. "How's it going?" I ask, forcing my way through the foliage. "Has he got you yet?" "There's been a change of plan." I look at Michael's face and feel a sudden flash of worry. He looks nervous, scared even. "What's wrong?" "Michael's been lying to us. He's not immortal. He never was. He faked his death at initiation." Jenny throws a dirty look at Michael, who cowers away. "And now he's worried the killer is going to find him." "Is this true?" I ask. "Why the hell would you do that?" A twig snaps in the distance and everybody freezes. "He's here," whispers Alex. "Somebody needs to go distract him." "It'll have to be one of you two," I tell Jenny and Callum. "He's already got me and Alex. Twice." I glare at Alex. "We can take Michael and try to get him to safety." "Callum's been caught already. I'll go." Jenny begins to pick her way through the bushes towards the killer. We start to head the other way, then freeze as a bloodcurdling scream rings through the air. He must be closer than we thought. "Go," I growl, and push Michael to the front of the group. "Don't stop." If it came to it, the three of us could probably restrain the killer whilst he escapes. "Hey, what do you think?" Alex says. Callum looks at her and bursts out laughing. I scowl, trying to hide my smile. "You're an idiot. Come on, this is serious." She's smeared dirt across her face to give the illusion of a beard and mustache. It sort of works, if you squint. "It'll work! It's dark! I just need to borrow your cap to hide my hair, Callum." Callum shrugs. "Sure." "He's seen you twice already." "So? Does it really matter if he recognises me? We've got to delay him so Michael gets away. Let's just take him down right now. I'll be the decoy, you two can grab him." "Fine." I hate to admit it, but she's got a point. "Let's get him." Before I even finish the sentence, she's gone. I roll my eyes. "Ohhhh noooooo!" I hear, and sigh. If the killer doesn't recognise Alex's face, he'll recognise her fake wail of dismay for sure. Not that it matters. Sure enough, the killer's harsh laughter turns into a shout of confusion. "Wait a moment. You're that girl!" Alex bursts out laughing, then fights to regain her composure. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm going to run away now. Aah, oh noooo." She sprawls to the floor and rolls onto her back, gasping with laughter. "I'm sorry guys, I can't." Callum and I surge forwards. I grab the killer's knife arm and twist it, trying to make him drop his weapon. Callum holds him still. Alex picks herself up off the floor and begins to pry his fingers away from the knife. "What the hell?" He struggles, but Callum has him in a bear hug. "I killed you. All of you." "Yeah, well, you didn't do a very good job of it," I mutter. Alex shouts in delight as she manages to free the knife from his fist. "Watch and learn," she tells him, and plunges the knife into her own chest. The killer gasps, and I roll my eyes. "Show off." ~~~~ If you enjoyed this, I have a subreddit: /r/DarkAlliGator

Teleporting to an unexpected location is

Teleporting to an unexpected location is a little like reaching for a cool glass of water on your nightstand after a heavy night of drinking, only to spray tequila across your bed. This was not my bedroom. My bedroom didn't have glass walls. The pair walking towards me did not look friendly. Reflexively, I raised my arms as they entered the room. The taller one pointed to a plastic chair. I sat. The shorter one got straight to the point. "Where is your fourth coin, Miss Conway?" She dropped her meaty hands on the table in front of me. "...Lawyer?" I hazarded. The tall one smirked. "I'm afraid that isn't possible. You have not been arrested, and we are not members of the constabulary. I am Mr Jones. This is my colleague, Miss Smith. You are here because we hope that you can assist us in an ongoing investigation of a... private nature. Miss Smith rolled her eyes. "We don't have time for this shit! Start talking girlie; where'd you put it?" I sat back and thought for a second. They had three of them. Which ones? It was logical to assume they'd found the one I kept in my villa in the Caymans, and the one in my apartment in Prague. The third one would be much, much harder to get hold of. My concentration was broken by a fist smacking into the table. Shortstack was getting impatient. "Which ones have you found?" I asked. To my surprise, Mr Jones took a slick-looking tablet out of his pocket and pressed a few buttons. Taking a slim wristband from his other pocket, he held it towards me. "Please put this on." I raised an eyebrow. He sighed. "It's a teleport blocker. We can't have you teleporting out the minute you figure out *which* locations are already full of guards." "Guards trained to kill on sight!" Miss Smith interjected. I held out my wrist. If they were willing to shoot me on sight, it was probably a good idea to stay put and play along. He snapped the bracelet on and tapped his tablet. A red light started to blink. I wasn't going anywhere. "Every time you teleport you leave a signature; a pheromone trail, if you will. Did you know that, Miss Conway?" I didn't. These things didn't come with particularly detailed instructions. Smith gave me a leering smile. "Locating you was a doddle. From our readings, we surmised that you've been using them for years." This was also true. When I found out what they did I figured I'd save myself some airfares. "We found your place in Prague," said Mr Jones; "That was easy. Your little nest in the Caymans was harder to track down; the sea interferes with the signal somewhat, and it appears you visit less frequently. Your home, of course, stood out like a beacon. Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been? Those coins you're using so frivolously are incredibly rare and ridiculously powerful, and when they fall into the wrong hands..." "That's when we show up." They both stared me down. "The fourth coin, Miss Conway. Where is it?" I think it was the note of tiredness in his voice that made me open up to them. They looked like the cops in one of those buddy movies; the ones where they're trying to stop some nutcase from blowing up the city and they've been awake for a couple of days. There were shadows under their eyes, and, on second inspection, the wrinkles on their clothes stood out. "I lost it, ok? Poker game, couple years back." Their jaws dropped. Jones looked at me like I'd just fallen off the back of the short bus. "You gambled a teleport coin?" Smith was ready to burst. "I didn't know what they were back then! I'd only just... fuck. I'd only just stolen them, okay? I left a couple in my apartment back in Los Angeles and one of them was sitting in my hotel room upstairs - I knew they were worth something I just hadn't had a chance to get them valued yet. I have a guy in Vegas, he gives me good prices. But I got invited to this game...." I trailed off. "Who did you lose it to?" "Ever heard of King Lonnie? Vegas fixer. Runs a lot of games; the kind you want to be invited to but don't want to see him at, if you know what I mean. I didn't know it was his game until I sat down; I should have left right then and there, but you don't want to be rude to these guys. I figured I was going to lose my money already - I knew the minute I sat down at the table that I was the sucker. But, I didn't do so badly. Couple hours later it was just me and the King. He had most of the pot by then; I was hanging on by a couple of thousand. Then this sweet, sweet hand comes up. I'm sitting on kings over aces. He nails me with the aces. "But the coin? How did you lose it?" "Well, I was out. But Lonnie, he wasn't done with me. Offered me a loan. I didn't want to take it, but I wasn't too keen on the idea of pissing him off either. Then I reach into my pocket and my hand closes around the coin. The minute he sees it, his eyes light up. He tells me he'll stake me a 20K buy in to a big ticket game the next week. It was too good an offer to turn down. There's no way I'd have gotten that from my guy; when I took him the other coin he said it was worth maybe a couple hundred bucks. "And then what?" I went to the game, I won big. Few hundred Gs, set me up pretty good. I had a run of luck after that. Never saw the King play again. A wrinkle crossed the brow of Mr Jones. "So how did you learn of the coins' powers? "Day after the big game I finally got one of the other coins valued. I decided to hang onto it, and as I was walking back towards the strip I started thinking. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why the King wanted it so bad. I was trying to remember where I'd stashed the other two, and then I just kind of pictured them sitting on my bookshelf. A second later I was stumbling into my own den, which gave me a hell of a shock. I realized I'd left my luggage in Vegas, along with the other coin. The moment I thought of it I was back in my hotel. After scaring the life out of the housekeeper I grabbed my stuff and pictured the coins on the shelf again, teleported home and spent the next few days trying to figure out what the hell they were." "And where is King Lonnie now?" asked Mr Jones. "He's dead," I told them, enjoying the surprise on their faces. "How!" they shouted in unison. "I killed him last year." I dropped the teleport blocker on the floor. My story had lasted long enough to find it's weak point and wiggle the catch loose. Easy if you know what you're doing. Snatching the tablet from Mr Jones' hands, I thought of my final coin, which was hidden in a dingy flat near Heathrow. As a precaution, I'd used it only once per location, stashing it near a major airport every time I traveled. Within an hour I was checking in for my next flight. The tablet would prove to be a most interesting source of information. (Edit: feedback appreciated, especially grammar critique of dialogue. I might continue this, it's a fun theme). Edit with update: https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesFromTheFrontDesk/comments/b9q09g/hey_storytellers_of_tftfd_may_i_please_run_a/ This isn't a thing or a book I just thought of a scene for Jones and Smith. They're persistent buggers demanding to be written.

The peasants were lucky, in hindsight

Have you ever wondered what dying magic tastes like? Smells like? I'm a man who knows. The peasants were lucky, in hindsight; this world was not one of wonder, or charity. Magic did not seem to sustain their fields or their flocks. They toiled in the dirt while magic both built and destroyed the towers of empire above them. Occasionally, stones fell. Occasionally, they burned. "Collateral damage" was my world's term for it. It's funny what changes, and what doesn't. When one of them found me in their barn, it was only my strange clothing that spared me a pitchfork to the belly. It was mayfly finery, richly dyed, with hints of a crown's gleam at the waist. That was something every peasant understood. Fear flashed in his eyes, and for a moment the language barrier meant nothing; I knew he was calling for the mob, but I also knew I was safe, so long as I made no foolish mistakes. I was going to become someone else's problem posthaste. Well... posthaste for peasants. Three days. I began to smell like them, and get used to it. The food and water they spared would likely be my death eventually, little more than a different texture and flavor from starvation. I knew it was preferable, but it did its best to compete fairly. The cleric or pastor was a middleman, through and through. He reassured the peasants and took me away, and didn't even bother to spritz me with holy water or say a prayer. Three more days. Slightly more curiosity, but no real effort behind it. The fear was still there, in the eyes. The food and water were less bad, but still choked me, and caused a fair bit of distress at the other end of me too. I got a small basin for a spit bath. My clothes were taken and replaced, but kept - as evidence of something, surely, even if no one ever guessed correctly. Soldiers appeared. I offered no resistance, and they seemed glad enough to let me walk unshackled. To the grim obsidian tower we went, and then up. I was dead on my feet halfway, spurred only by the looming threat of violence. The man on the crystal-skull throne was not impressed, at first. He made an effort to communicate, and quickly discovered the problem of language. A shuffling servant brought him a tome, and I startled when I realized it was... not exactly human, or not exactly alive, or some combination of the two. The man was amused. His slight smile was wicked. The spell failed. That's what it was, of course: a spell. No denying any of it now. Note the irony. In that very moment, it was the wizard's turn to accept something impossible and terrifying. Where I come from, wizards are generally smart. There's a handicap when they're evil - certain blind spots - but you can put that down to the demands of the narrative. Important point, that. Where I come from, wizards are exclusively fictional. This wizard - probably evil, and I suppose I'll just have to beg forgiveness from the culturally sensitive if obsidian and skulls and undead abominations all mean something quite different here - was no exception. He'd begun with no fear in his eyes. When it did come, it was entirely different in its nature from the peasant's and the pastor's. It was the fear of understanding - not everything, but something. After that, it was chaos. He screeched outrage and commands all at once. Soldiers swung at me. Horrific servitors lunged at me. The wizard himself moved farther and farther away, and finally, one of his droning incantations seemed to find some purchase. As the weapons bounced and broke, as the servitors crumbled and collapsed, a sizzling stream of something green and nasty shot towards me. As surely as it had been intended to melt me, I, instead, melted it. 'Evaporated' is a better word, maybe. I made it go away. I can be forgiven for my own wicked smile, then, I hope. It was short lived. The evil wizard's eyes flashed more understanding. Immediately afterwards, I felt the rumble. The tower was probably lousy with magic, wasn't it? I had a choice to make, and I made it. I am not an exceptional man in any respect. I am not exceptionally good. I am not exceptionally merciful. I walked towards the wizard, and soon he had nowhere left to retreat to. I put my hand around his neck. He withered, quite literally. His once-hale body aged and shrank. He was lousy with magic. It's too late now, I think. There were an awful lot of stairs to get here. I'm sitting on a crystal-skull throne, focused mostly on my breathing. For the first time, I appreciate just how wrong the air smells and tastes. It makes sense. I'm inhaling magic, and exhaling vicious, terrifying mundanity. It also helps explain the food. I have a theory, but I'm not exceptionally smart. The theory is that everything is magical here, to some extent. That means that the crumbling tower can't kill me, and I suppose I'll bounce off enough pieces of rubble such that I'll never actually *fall* all the way to the ground. But maybe the fall can't kill me either. Maybe the air and the ground and the very laws of this place will bounce off, bend, break, or be evaporated rather than do any real violence to me. If that be the case, then I am this world's end. Maybe the peasants aren't so lucky after all. I don't think I am either, but we're well past that, aren't we? Or maybe I'll just die. The food did give me the runs, after all. But maybe it was just crappy food. Even though I'm not exceptionally brave, I am experiencing a fascinating moment of peace and clarity. Even though I'm not exceptionally smart, within that clarity I've managed to seize upon one last question. It's a good one, I think. If I live, I hope I'll get to ask it to someone smarter than me some day. And so, one last idle speculation before the experiment of rubble and gravity befalls me: If magic doesn't work on me, then how in the hell did I get here in the first place?

Stan my childhood friend and personal body

"I don't want to visit the healer I said!" "But my Prince clearly something is wrong!" Stan my childhood friend and personal body guard stood over me with pain and worry in his eyes. "Please my Prince just let him look you over. Maybe it's just stress or a bad dream, maybe-" "It's not a dream!" I shouted angrily "None of them have been dreams! They weren't nightmares either! Don't you think I know the difference between a dream and reality?!" I snapped at him angrily. It wasn't Stan's fault. I knew that. But after what I had just witnessed, I wasn't myself. "I apologize if I have offended you my Prince. I simply wish for the healer to make sure you were not affected, by some type of mind-altering spells that we do not know of." His voice was gentle, but his words brought anger out in me. "Spells that we don't know of? That we don't know!? Of course there's magic that we don't know of! The Hero knows it, but he won't tell us what it is! I've told you again and again. That man has the power to travel back in time. I don't know how he does it but he can. None of you know what he's capable of, what he's really like." A flood of memories came back to me, and I dropped into a curled ball position. Stan soothed me "Ok. Then tell me, you know you can trust me. Tell me about the first time that it happened." Everyone I had told the first story to, thought I was crazy after hearing it. *Even* I thought I was crazy for a time. But if there was one person in the world I could trust...... I wiped away some tears and began hesitantly. "It was shortly after the hero came to our world. He didn't have a basic understanding of our world. He didn't even know any magic. Even though he had less knowledge than an orphan boy on the street, he learned quickly. In just a day he was able to cast fireballs, something that takes years to learn. Then he joined up with a group of travelling mercenaries and became their leader in just 2 days. On the 5th day of his arrival...." I paused knowing what I was about to say would seem insane to anyone. "I heard he attacked the imperial guard." "Why would he do something like that?" "I don't know! He came in the next day to see my father about his next quest, so I simply thought it was a baseless rumor. Someone that smart couldn't possibly have just decided to start attacking the battalion for no reason! But then I heard it was Dom that was attacked." Stan's face changed at that. He knew Dom, he was a warrior with a reputation of honor and honesty. He wouldn't do something like file a false report. "From the report what it seemed he didn't even fight well, it was almost like he was testing out abilities and spells he had never even used before. I just assumed it was some hero copycat." "Ok so how does this relate to your.... visions?" I could tell Stan was doing his best to believe me. "The next day I asked the royal spy master out of curiosity about this report. But he told me that he had never even received it. I thought It was strange but didn't think much on it. I just assumed he was covering for Dom, so not to embarrass him with the idea he mistook the hero for someone else. " "Very sensible my Prince. What happened after?" "After that I just kept hearing stranger and stranger stories, from the **spymaster** himself! The hero went to the cow pen and killed every single cow in the city with high tier fire magic. When he was caught, he was slain by the guards. The hero had set the manure pile on fire and had been slain by the guards. The hero bought time with a prostitute and after finishing with her, turned her into a chicken then set her on fire." "Was- was he slain by the guards after?" "No, don't be ridiculous. The guards never care if you kill whores. Anyway, all these stories came from the spymaster himself. But the next day he forgets about all of them. I thought at first maybe the spymaster was part of some conspiracy to spread false information within the royal family but then I soon realized that father didn't remember any of these rumors as well. I-I...." I hesitated. As they say, only believe what your eyes and ears tell you. I was very worried about this next part. "You what?" "I even told you about the rumors but the very next day you forgot about them." Stan looked at me with a worried face, I knew that no matter how much faith and trust he had in me, telling him something that he himself, would make him question *my sanity.* He took a long hard look at me. Stared deep into my eyes and slowly said. "Ok. I believe you. Maybe the hero has some spell that wipes the memories of others. But I still don't understand why a few dead cows and whores troubles you so much my Prince." "It was yesterday." I said with despair. "Yesterday? Yesterday was glorious! We celebrated the defeat of the evil dragon lord at last! What- what do you remember happened yesterday?" "He killed them. All of them. Everyone Stan!" Just speaking about what happened brought tears to my eyes. "He took out this artifact to show everyone, it was something he got from killing the dragon lord and making a weapon out if his corpse. Then he said, I gotta test this thing out! And he just started killing everyone! When the guards came in to stop him, he cast some spell that instantly killed them. It was like he just took their soul!" My voice grew more strained as I spoke. "That sound like the dragon pit sword. I thought it was just a legend. But it's said that once a man's soul is taken it can never be returned!" I could see disbelief creep into his eyes. I stopped speaking for a while, but Stan prodded me to finish my tale. I didn't want Stan to think me a madman or liar, but I had to tell someone what I saw. "He gathered the bodies after. Every, single, one. He picked up *each* individual corpse and brought them to the center of town. There he arranged them into a pattern." "A Pattern? Could this be some ritual, for his mysterious power?" Stan grew more intrigued at the idea of potentially discovering a weakness in the hero. "I suspect it's likely. It was arranged in a sigil that I didn't recognize and couldn't find in any demon worshiper's books. I can draw it out for you here." I drew the symbol better than I expected. The main body was in a round L shape with 2 circles drawn at the end of the lower part on the L. It's hand and legs were stubby. Most peculiar was its tail. It was in a round shape like the rest of its body, but it also had 2 round spheres under it. "I've never seen such a monster." Stan said. "Perhaps he practices magics from the east and this is their god. We should look-" And then he froze. Fear. That was the only emotion on his face. Even a newborn, who has never felt fear in his life would know the emotion if he saw Stan's face then. I looked to his gaze. Standing right in front of us, was the hero. He had a cloak of stealth, undraped at his side. He had been listening the whole time. "That" He gestured to my drawing "is called a Dickbutt."

The Spartan III is a mech so

Austin placed his hands behind his head, opening his chest and breathing out an obnoxiously loud sigh. This time would be different. The vein in his forehead was sticking out so much that you could check his pulse just by looking at his face. His anger swirled around him like a tornado - everyone at the facility knew to get the hell out of his way. He marched straight to the hangar, seeking out his newest creation. A mech so powerful that it could defeat entire militaries by itself - the Spartan III. The chassis resembled a strange combination of a beetle and a human, sitting in what appeared to be a relaxed position on the concrete floor. Austin had it coated with an anti thermal-imaging solution, giving it a slick sheen from head to toe. "M... Mr. Harmon, we w...weren't expecting you," the foreman stuttered. They were always starstruck when they were in the presence of the head engineer. Austin payed the man no mind. He spotted the Spartan and quickened his pace, attempting to cross the facility while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. Reaching the mech, he climbed the 40 steps and entered the pilot's cabin. Austin sat in the left seat, booting up the supercomputer inside while fastening his legs and arms into the boots and gauntlets. Blue light flooded the cabin for a few seconds, followed by flashing red text on the display. W A R N I N G - O N E P I L O T P R E S E N T - W A R N I N G "Override the child-lock." Austin rolled his eyes while chuckling to himself in the most dejected way possible. When the government had tasked him with creating mechs for *teenagers*, he had originally thought it was some joke from higher up. Nope. He was the country's best and brightest crafting the most powerful weapons that humanity had ever seen. These robots had enough firepower to level cities with the flip of a switch - and the government was giving them to god-damn *teenagers.* They even insisted each Titan hosted two pilots. There was no mechanical reason for it, but Austin assumed it was so the kids could have some kind of contingency plan for when one of them went rogue or pissed themselves after seeing an alien. Having adolescents pilot death machines was one thing. Having completely untrained adolescents piloting them was another. Some idiot in another department had accidentally added Dr. Harmon to an email chain about the new recruits a few weeks ago. Out of curiosity (and frustration that his creations were being demolished on a daily basis), Austin read each memo, piecing together the top-secret training regimen of the recruits. The first day saw each recruit undergoing an aptitude test. A physical and written portion determined whether each child was gifted enough to handle piloting a Titan. The second day consisted of partner assignments (which Austin determined to be a glorified gauntlet of team building exercises). What really upset Dr. Harmon was the third day of training - *active duty.* On the *third day* of being at the facility, kids less than half the age of the staff were being sent on extermination missions in the mechs. Every single one was a failure, and every single kid wound up in the stomach of a Progenitor. The mech sputtered to life, the power coursing through the metal and carbon-fiber body. Austin could feel the strength through his gauntlets; with a snap of his finger, he could destroy half of the facility where he had spent the last 27 years working. The display faded into a cool green as an augmented view from the front of the Titan appeared in front of Austin. By this point a few dozen workers had gathered around the Spartan III. They debated amongst themselves what the hell was going on. After all, only government approved pilots were allowed inside the bodies of completed mechs, and Dr. Harmon was far past the age of consideration for becoming one. Austin chuckled to himself once more, taking a moment to marvel at his own creation. Each worker had his vitals displayed next to him on the augmented screen alongside a projected threat level. Negative 83 percent. If any of these men attempted to harm the Titan, the exoskeletal electrical deterrence field would fry them into a steaming puddle. "Destination - Progenitor 11," Austin commanded to the mech. Within a second, the Spartan had blown through the roof of the building, flying to an altitude of 14,000 feet. From the perspective of the workers in the hangar, the mech had vanished and a gaping hole had appeared above them instantaneously. The G-Force mitigation technology was brand new, but it still amazed Austin that he didn't feel even the slightest disturbance in the cabin. Another eight seconds passed as the mech zipped across the sky due west at breakneck speeds, coming to an abrupt halt a few hundred feet above the alien Austin had set out to kill. Progenitor 11 sat in the center of a sprawling salt-lake with barren desert stretching for miles in every direction. Even from this height, Austin could appreciate how massive this alien truly was. It was covered in shimmering amber scales, creating a blinding mirror on the desert floor. The land had begun collapsing underneath its weight, creating a strange imprint somewhat resembling a crocodile. Progenitor 11's head possessed dozens of compound eyes, each flickering in its own direction on its own time. But the most striking feature of the alien was its mouth - well, sort of a mouth. As soon as the alien spotted Austin's mech, it widened an inconspicuous aperture located between a few of its eyes and unleashed a blast of pure destruction. The Titan's avoidance matrix kicked into gear, dashing to the left and narrowly avoiding being sucked into the Progenitor's mouth. Austin switched the display to the back of the mech, seeing a hole punched into the mountain behind him with surgical precision. The rocks came flying past him and into the vacuum-like maw, joining the dozens of recruits that had failed to kill the beast before. "Shit," Austin muttered to himself. This thing had destroyed countless mechs in the past, yet fueled by frustration and anger he decided to pursue it into battle. Doubt began clouding his mind as the magnitude of the situation he had put himself in finally took hold. "Alright. We're gonna give this monster one hell of a fight. Spartan, tell me this Progenitor's threat level." Austin braced himself, knowing full well that anything above 70 percent effectively meant he had flown himself to an early death. The display stuttered for a moment, then projected the number next to the beast in bright green text. T H R E A T L E V E L - 2 P E R C E N T

"You can call me a monster

"And *that* is why, ultimately, you're going to lose," Dr. Verres says, voice gone scratchy with use. "You can call me a monster, punch me black and blue, throw me in jail, and smash up my lab. But you can't stop progress. Someday, all those merely genius scientists will catch up to my supergenius, and they'll be working for corporations or totalitarian governments when *they* discover the secrets of anti-aging and immortality, instead of making sure everyone is immortal. And when that happens, the world will change, and not for the better." Captain Plasma blinks as the villain finally stops talking. He's been forced to sit in this chair, tied to it with some special metal that he can't break through, under a type of light that keeps him from shooting his energy rays out, while the scientist talks on and on and on, all while experimenting with chemicals and petri dishes. Despite having tuned him out at various points while trying to think of ways to escape, most of the message got through. "It'll never happen, Thomas," Plasma says. "People don't *want* to live forever. It would mean society doesn't change, overpopulation, lack of employment for the young..." The scientist shakes his head and takes a drink of something that looks like water, but refreshes his throat for the dozenth time at least, voice sounding clear and strong again as he moves over to a rack of beakers. "Zoned out for that part, did you? Those are all solvable problems, and you might as well bemoan that any invention that extends lifespans is similarly just a lesser evil, but those are *celebrated.* And sure, people *say* they don't want to live forever now, because there is no way for them to, and they picture themselves old and infirm, or losing their loved ones. But when their family and friends can live forever too, when they can live long enough to meet their great, great grandchildren, to see the world, to finally have time to learn new languages or instruments or read all the books they want? They'll be lining up to be perpetually young and healthy. And if they actually lack the imagination or personal interests to think of something to do with themselves and *really* want to stop living, I'm sure there will be nice and 'humane' ways to euthanize set up. Current hospice care workers will need something to do, after all, until I finish my next projects and make them even more irrelevant." Captain Plasma can't help but think about his grandmother, who died when he was just 16. She took care of him after his parents died in a supervillain's attack on their city, and he loved her like she was another mother, but she and his parents had kids late in life; she would have been 75 if she'd lived to see him graduate high school. Her last two years were a living nightmare for her and him: mental and physical degradation had reduced her to a shell of herself. How often had he wished that he could still talk to her? Visit for dinner, on his few nights out of costume? Confide in her about what his life has been like, since he donned the mask and cape? He shakes his head. "I can see why you've convinced yourself that what you're doing is right. But at the end of the day, you're justifying highly immoral human experiments. The ends don't justify the means." Dr. Verres scoffs, not even looking at him. "Of course not, if you're going to be vague about it. But all of my subjects were dying anyway, and not just in the way we're *all* dying. At most they had a few months to live, and they volunteered to participate in my studies, even the ah, painful ones, if it meant that they might get the cure." That certainly doesn't sound as bad, when put that way. But... no, this is just an excuse. "The fact that you're only preying on the desperate isn't a justification." "Bah. Justifications only matter to the 'just.'" The scientist shrugs as he examines the color of some liquid, then puts its vial in a centrifuge and turns it on. "If I have to shirk that label and be made a villain to save literally billions of lives, then so be it. Of the two of us in this room, it's clear who's willing to make the most sacrifices to actually help people." Captain Plasma scowls. "If you were really so willing to sacrifice, you would experiment on yourself." That gets the mad scientist's attention, and he stops whatever he's doing and turns to the hero with a blank expression. "Other than that being an utterly idiotic idea, as I explained a few hours ago, you have no idea what I've sacrificed," he says, voice empty and eyes like chips of stone. "You're a child running around in a costume because you saw others doing it and thought it was the best way to help the world, were told it's the only way anyone extraordinary can and should use their superhuman talents. You can break multiple laws of thermodynamics, and you spend your time mostly filling prisons with petty criminals." Verres lets his breath out, some life returning to his features, and turns his back on the hero. "I'm only bothering to explain all this to you because I have to do the work anyway, and I might as well take the chance at piercing all that cultural conditioning, even if it's only one in a million." There's nothing that comes to mind in response to that, and the hero just sits and watches the scientist work, silently at last, deep in his own troubled thoughts. The other man is right about one thing: the world is changing all on its own. Soon they might be editing genes like they're rewriting computer code. What *would* the fields of medical science discover in the next 20 or 40 or even 100 years? Wouldn't Verres's goal be reached eventually, with or without him? How many more billions of people will have died by then? How many more children will have to watch their parents and grandparents whither away in front of them, ravaged by a disease that affects the entire human population and has a 100% fatality rate? "I wouldn't say the odds are quite that low," Captain Plasma says at last. Dr. Verres pauses, then turns to look suspiciously at him. "I had a grandmother, once. She took in a kid who was angry at the world and taught him how to live right. She meant the world to me." Captain Plasma shrugs, looking away. "Not asking you to let me go or anything. But if you eventually do... and as long as the people in your experiments really do volunteer... I won't try to stop you again." Dr. Verres is still for a moment, then goes back to work. *It's a start,* he thinks to himself as he tests the newest batch, bending to the microscope to observe the change in the cells. He doesn't have to convince the world he's right: just those with the power to stop him. Once the cure to mankind's oldest enemy is found and disseminated online, it won't matter anymore. The world will change... and it will need people like Captain Plasma, immature and absolutist as his moral philosophy may be, to do the hard work of making it 'just,' or at least keeping it from becoming a playground for immortal tyrants and billionaires. As for him, he might take a well deserved break, then tackle some other societal ill. He can't very well trust those tied down by antiquated notions of morality to do it, after all. *Really,* he thinks to himself as he reaches for another vial. *It doesn't take a supergenius to figure out that if a 'hero' is defined by society as one that upholds its status quo, they're hardly going to be the ones to solve its real problems.*

Jerry's shadow towered down over

"Hey Mary, quit slacking off. Someone's summoning you again." I tilted up my sunglasses, stretching out on my lawn-chair, and set down the tomatoey cocktail that I had named after myself. "Go away," I said, yawning. "Not today." "Yes, today." Jerry's shadow towered down over me, blotting out all the rays of sun that my pale skin was trying to soak up. "There's not a choice in this." "For fuck's sake, what's the point?" I reached over and picked up my beer from the chair's other cup-holder. That was my left-hand drink. "It's not like these schmucks ever wish for anything. They only summon me to get a picture for their horror-themed instagrams." He crossed him arms. "There's no use in arguing. We both know the rules." "I'm not a performer." Jerry sighed. "I'm going to count to three." The sunglasses slid off my forehead to fall back over my eyes. "Are you now?" "One." "Jerry, I don't care if you count -- " "Two." "Come on, will you just wait for two seconds -- " "*Three!*" There was a faint popping in my ears, and then suddenly the beautiful day turned black and beer spilled everywhere in a splash of gold foam. My entire body started to constrict, and I felt pressure as if I was suddenly being forced through a very tiny tube. I arrived at my new destination with all the grace of crashing into a wall - which is exactly what happened to me. I smashed straight into the mirror, breaking my nose. Blood poured down my face, and I rushed to cover my wound and stop the bleeding, swearing. No matter how many times I went through it, being summoned would always be a bitch...and would always result in grievous bodily injury. A scrawny looking teenage girl stared back at me from the other side of the mirror, her face white with fear. She clapped her hands over her mouth, giving me a look of sheer terror that I was all too familiar with. "Yes, it's me," I said, my words muffled from behind my hands, as blood trickled through my fingers. "Now, before you go run away screaming, will you at least try to calm down -- " Annnnnnddd she was gone. Sighing, I looked wistfully at the box of tissues staring back at me from the other side of the mirror, as blood continued to spout like a firehouse. "What are you looking at, kleenex?" I said, pinching at the bridge of my nose. "Haven't you ever seen a genie with a god-damn bloody nose before?" I took a sharp breath, preparing for the hellish journey to re-enter the void and return to back home, but just before I turned to leave, I heard the door creak open. "You look like you're hurt," a voice from behind me said. I spun back around to find the teenage staring back at me. "Are you okay?" "About as okay as one can be after running into a wall of glass at a hundred miles per hour." "I'm sorry. Didn't mean for that to happen." "It's cool, happens every time. I'm used to it." I sniffed. The woman staring back at me was still trembling, hovering one foot back into the bathroom, one foot into the hall, too curious to turn away. I got these folks every once in a while. She was just stalling to get a picture of me on her phone before running away again and posting it on social media. "So are you just going to stand there all day? Or can you snap your selfie and we'll both get on with our lives?" "I didn't mean to hurt you," she said, frowning. "Are you going to kill me now?" I pointed a bloody hand at her. "Yep," I said. "You summoned me, and now I have to kill you." She started to tremble again, looking down at the ground. "It's okay, really. I'm ready. That's why I called you in the first place. " The theatrically maniacal smile died on my face. "Huh?" "Just get on with it. I hate this place. I'm ready." This was getting dark real quick, and I found myself starting to sweat. "Come on, I'm not really going to kill you. I was just fucking with you." I wiped my nose, smearing blood everywhere. "I'm actually a genie. I grant wishes and shit. Can you believe that?" "Nope." "I'm not lying. Give me a try. Wish for anything." "Fine. Then I wish that you kill m- " "Woah, woah, woah. Hold on a second." I threw up my hands, the palms now scarlet from tending to my injury. "Let's slow down for a moment. Umm. What's your name?" "Tara," she said. She looked down at her feet. "Hi Tara, I'm Mary. Now, do you want to see something cool?" "Like what?" "I dunno..." I stalled, feeling the blood in my nose start to clot. I had never stayed long enough in someone's bathroom for this to happen before. "What if I made an eldritch horror pop out of your toilet? That'd be fun, right?" The girl shrugged. "I dunno. I guess." "Come on, it's really cool. They aren't even that dangerous. Just scary." I winked. "Some of the best things in this world are like that." The girl looked up at me, her wide eyes curious again. "So I'll tell you what, I'll make Chthulu Jr. pop out of the can, and while I do that, I want you to think really hard about three wishes that would really make you happy. Can you do that for me?" "Okay," she said. Then for the first time, she covered her mouth with her hand and smiled. Damn, seeing that from the sad girl a moment ago made me feel good. This genie shit might not be so bad after all. "Hell yeah." My eyes started to turn red as I summoned my magic. Suddenly there was bubble and a crash from the toilet, and Tara gave a squeak of delight. "Is that..." "Don't get too close," I warned, as Tara edged towards the mysterious noises. I smiled, raising a hand to my nose, and found the bleeding had completely stopped now. Maybe this time, it would stay that way. * * * /r/ghost_write_the_whip

A life of power is often boring

A life of power is often boring. I try my best to make it not so. The woman in front of me widens her eyes as she stares at me. I have mine closed, of course. She has to believe. But I see her staring all the same. "What do you see?" she says in a hushed tone. I furrow my brows and hold her hand tighter. From my mind's eye, I see the woman flicking her eyes around the room as if to look for answers. She looks over my decorations, gaudy and sparkly. She looks over my table, cluttered in ornaments and supposedly magical objects. I have to resist a smile. If only she knew how powerful some of these objects truly are. Then, her gaze freezes on possibly the most *uninteresting* object in my entire workshop. My crystal ball. She stares at the small glass object like it's holding her captive and I have no doubt that she sees whatever she wants to within its murky walls. Truthfully, it's only made of fogged glass. But I never tell any of my customers that. "I see... pain," I say finally, making sure to keep my eyes closed. The worried woman snaps her gaze back to me and curls her lips awkwardly. "Pain?" she asks. The dread building within her radiates warmly on my skin. "Yes, I can see... a ruined family... a lost job... and..." My voice trails off. I relish in the anticipation she is trying her very best not to show. "A burning house!" She gasps and jerks her hand back. I open my eyes--my *real* eyes and stare at her. Her face is flushed, red like the surface of an apple from Eden. She opens her mouth and sputters, but no real words come out. "This is very troubling," I say, faking contemplation. I really *did* see pain in her future, I hadn't lied about that. But I may have exaggerated a bit with what I was telling her. A ruined family, a lost job, and a burning house are all things you can find on a sitcom, after all. I hold out my arm and stare at her. "And out of your entire future, I'm getting... I'm getting a message!" "A message?" "Yes," I say, exaggerating myself. My ethereal form is doing little more than lifting a finger. "**If you do not change your ways, your life will end in ruin.**" She angles her eyebrows upward, staring at me with a little more than dread in her eyes. Actual, palpable *fear* radiate onto my skin. It occurs to me that I might have gone a little too far. "What does it mean by change my ways?!" "From what I can tell... and the readings I'm getting from the spiritual realm," I have to stop myself from laughing, "it means that you need to be a better person. Improve your karma. Be more considerate, help out more people, do some charity work." I feel the way she gets upset. I actually *do* roll my physical eyes this time. "If you do not... the spirits will work against you, and your life may very well end up in ruin." She stops being as upset, the fear of what she thinks is a real reading coming right back. She stares down, her eyes meeting the glittery cover on my wooden table. Silence grips the room. "That is your reading," I say finally. "That will be $100, please." The woman looks up, confused, but nods an understanding after seeing the firm smile on my face. She digs out her wallet and retrieves a few bills before handing them to me. Being a psychic was most *certainly* the easiest way to make money in a normal life. As the woman leaves, a jingle following her exit of my shop, I wave my hand and the woman's bills go streaming through the air and into the back of my shop, eager to join the *other* stacks of cash I have stored away. I feel something in the air, but for the first time in ages, I don't know what it means. Another jingle splits the air, surprising even *me*. I furrow my brow and walk forward. "The tale of all will start right here. Read this and the end draws near." A childlike voice lilts its way throughout my shop. I nearly freeze in place, recognizing those words in an instant. "The mother god of all creation. Life and death give her elation." My mind's eye twitches at the long-lost words. Images flash in my mind, ones of fire and ice. The cold mountain top. The howling winds. The immense, crackling fire splitting through it all as the last of my followers pile tome after tome into the blaze. "Let her life or let her die. She is eternal, she tells no lie. This is the tale unlike any other. Share it with all, son wife or brother. This is the tale of **Oelia**." My true name rings out in the room and all of the ornaments shake. My ethereal being trembles at the force of it and I feel power flowing through my veins. My human body perspires, heating up at the sudden influx. "Who's there?" I ask into my shop just as a small child skips into my view. His eyes are moving over the shelves with absolute curiosity and he's mumbling to himself. Even in the hushed tone, I can still *feel* the familiarity of it all. "Boy! You there!" I yell. He tears his gaze to me and stops. The soft blond hair on his head whips around and he has to brush a few strands of it from his vision with his small hands. "Hi," he says cutely. My heart flutters for a second, but the song he sang keeps me on track. "Hello," I say as calmly as I can. "What are you doing here? And where did you learn that song you were singing?" His eyes glance at the floor and he shakes his small foot. "I... I finded it in a book." I smile. "And where did you find this book?" He looks to the side. "In a hole in the ground, covered in shiny leaves." My blood runs cold and the truth flares out at me. I'd told them to make a copy. I'd told them to hide it. And they *had*. They had sealed it with my blessing. Nobody should've been able to get through my leaves, nobody should've even been able to *notice* them. "Where are your parents?" I ask, repeating as human of a question as I can find while my divine consciousness is working overtime. "I dunno," he says, seemingly without care. I try to feel, try to sense his emotions or thoughts. I can't, and I squint at him instead. "What's your name?" "Uh... t-the people at the street call me Baron." "Well, *Baron*," I feel the power in the name, "can you come with me? I just have a few questions for you." --- /r/Palmerranian

There was a polite knock at the

There was a polite knock at the front door. Drying my hands, I left the kitchen and slung the towel over my shoulder and opened the large inner front door and pushing the frenzied, barking Mr. Wiggles. On the other side of the screen door stood twenty or so people in strange armor. A tall man in chainmail, furs, and a rounded skullcap stepped forward. He spoke, but I did not understand a word he said. Mr. Wiggles jumped into view, resuming his wild, frenzied barking. They all immediately fell to one knee, crying out a single word in unison. "Fenrir!" I looked to them. Then to Mr. Wiggles, who was still barking. I looked back to them. "I uh. I don't want any?" I closed the door. They cried out, rising and making a cacophony of sounds that all sounded like begging. I sighed and ignored them, heading back into the kitchen to continue washing the dishes. ... After spying them through the windows, moping on the front porch through the afternoon, the next day I was pleased to see the weird people from the day before were no where to be seen. Or so I thought. I had let Mr. Wiggles out the back door to do his business in the yard when all of a sudden I hear a chorus of cheering. When I went to investigate, the group of strange armored people from yesterday was there all around the outside of the wooden fence, shouting over the tops of it as one of their number in leather armor with plates and studs afixed to it ran with incredible speed across the yard, away from Mr. Wiggles who was chasing him and nipping viciously at his heels. "What the hell is going on here?" I cried. They all fell silent and looked to me before fleeing. Except for the one being chased by Mr. Wiggles, who scaled a tree to try and escape from the aggressive Chihuahua. "Good job, Mr. Wiggles!" I huffed, approaching the tree. I stooped and picked up the small Chihuahua, who then turned and whined and licked my face lovingly. I cooed at him and kissed his face. "Ooh, good boy! Good boy! Mummy loves you, good boy!" The man in the tree stared at me in terror. I looked to him with a scowl. "I thought I told you we weren't interested! And why are you antagonizing my poor little Wiggy?" Mr. Wiggles turned and barked viciously at him. Studying the man, he looked quite spooked and I eventually sighed. "It's just a little dog. For heaven's sake. You're a grown man." He mumbled a few unrecognizable words. All I caught was 'Fenrir.' "Well he won't attack you while I hold him," I gestured for him to come down. "So get down before you fall and break your neck!" He stared hard at me before cautiously climbing down. He looked deeply embarrassed. Groaning, I couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. I decided to fix him a cup of tea to calm his nerves before sending him on his way. He didn't seem like a bad sort after all, and it was clear that Mr. Wiggles could chase him out if he misbehaved. I beckoned him with a finger. "Well, let's calm you down a bit and soothe that bruised ego, hm? Come along, lad, I'll fix you a cup of tea." He didn't seem to grasp all my words, but he brightened considerably when I motioned for him to follow. Some over the others peeked over the fence but I ignored them. When we got inside, I put Mr. Wiggles in the living room, which had kiddie gates in the doorways to keep him confined away from guests. He was very protective, after all. "You sit right there," I pointed to a chair. He complied. Mr. Wiggles circled round to the doorway between the kitchen and living room, barking at our guest like and thing. The lad looked uncomfortable. Within moments I set a cup of tea in front of him. The lad sniffed at it skeptically, then brightened and took a sip. He let slip a string of thought, again in words I didn't understand. It was strange how he kept staring at Mr. Wiggles. Like he was completely crushed that he hadn't warmed up to him yet. Poor boy. I took a slice of pie and set it in front of him. "Here you are lad. A bit of sweet to go with your tea." The minute I set it in front of him he went wide eyes and devoured it like he had never eaten before. I laughed and turned back to the kitchen and began sweeping the floor. Not like we could talk anyhow. At this the man jumped up in distress. After a few words, he trotted to me, reaching to take the broom. Out of sheer curiosity I passed it to him. He began sweeping the floor for me. Mr. Wiggles barked once more, then quieted down and sat on his bed, watching us from behind the gate. The lad looked to the Chihuahua, then bowed deeply. After a few words, he began frantically sweeping as though his life depended on it. It was then I noticed all the faces pressed to my window. They stared on in shock and awe, before scattering. Within days they had all managed to work their way in for tea and pie, and they had cleaned my house to sparkling from top to bottom. Mr. Wiggles never let them touch him, but he barked at them constantly. What was strange was that it was never the same vicious barking he snapped at everyone else. This laughably seemed like barked orders. Which would have been ridiculous. I laughed off the thought. The people would eventually learn how to speak bits here and there. All I ever really learned from them was that they really wanted to take care of this aging old lady and her wee pup. Edit: Minor fixes.

Margaret's family knows I'm here

"Just to be clear, my family knows I'm here, and we've alerted the police where I am." Margaret said before reaching to her waist. "I've also got a gun and a knife right here. I want this on me at all times while I'm in here." She warned as the man nodded. "If you wish to see them and have them take you outside, just call." He said with a calm, almost pitying voice. "Feel free to leave whenever you wish." He added before walking away, sealing the door shut behind her. Shrugging, she sat back and played on her phone, ignoring the bleakness of the room before setting an alarm and taking a quick nap. When she woke up, she checked her digital watch before frowning, confused as to why her alarm didn't go off. "Huh. That's weird." She noted, finding only 10 minutes had passed. She still felt incredible tired, and decided to go back to sleep, taking another nap. This went on dozens of times, with her somehow waking up in decreasing increments. She was constantly fatigued, yet she always somehow woke up 10 minutes later. This went on until she noticed something odd. "What's with this jacket?" She wondered, reaching over to find a thick wool jacket on her. It was spring. Why on Earth did she have this jacket on her? She still had the gun on her, and her phone was still there. Quickly, she prepared to call up her brother before going pale. "No. No. This doesn't make sense." She said as she finally saw the date. Half a year had passed since she took the job. She frantically went through her phone, searching up the official time and date, assuming the phone to have glitched before checking her watch. "No. That's impossible. No. I just took a nap." She said in a frantic voice as her hair fell forward. She reached forward, grabbing at the long flowing locks that now reached down to her shoulders. No, her hair was short in a pixie cut! Not long! Her panic grew to horror as she found herself going through her photo gallery. "What the hell is this?" Margaret asked, going through her phone to find hundreds of photos and videos of her social outings with friends, family, and loved ones that she didn't recollect. Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Saint Patrick's day, so many holidays and social outings. She was surrounded by friends, she had her family, so why couldn't she remember!? Why couldn't she!? She called up her mom, tears streaming down her face as a bout of sleepiness sent her mind into a black void. She woke up once more on the ground, another day passed. She tried to call again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. A year passed. Her mind trapped in the room but her body capable of leaving as it pleased. She ran outside, only to have her vision fade to black. Her mind began to scramble as she went through her phone, hoping she could get a text out. As she threw it open, she screamed finding thousands of texts exchanged between herself and the rest of her family during her dormant phases. "Mom: You okay honey? You seem a bit off." "Me: I'm fine mom. Don't worry." "Bro: Hey sis, you've been acting kinda weird lately. Wanna talk?" "Me: Im fine! Honest!" "Bro: You sure? I'm always around you know." "Me: Don't worry! I'm fine!" More and more conversations could be found, her family spotting the subtle differences between herself and the thing masquerading in her body. She cried, screaming for help from within room. When her brother threw the door open, her mind faded to nothing and she awoke once more on the concrete floor, trapped in the eternal loop. "Let me out. Please let me out. I want to go home." She whimpered, huddled in a ball while looking for her unseen torturer. The one that had stolen her body. She whimpered this for years, her psyche growing worse and worse. Yet in spite of her torture, she still looked normal. Her hair was long. She was dressed well, ate well, and lived well outside the dark little box. Her outside self still socialized with her friends and family while her true self was still trapped within the box, crying and begging for freedom. Despair overtook her as she took out her knife, carving messages on her own body begging for help. In response, her outer self wore long sleeve shirts, hiding the self inflicted messages as it continued to leave her trapped in the little box. Even so she continued to fight, struggling to get somebody... Anybody to listen. To get her out of the dark room. Yet she could never truly escape. It had her. It wouldn't let her leave. She was its slave now. "Please... Somebody... Anybody... Help me..." She wailed, pounding on the walls. Several more years had passed. She had a wedding ring now. Her true self had never met her husband. Based on the texts they exchanged, her alter ego was more outgoing than she ever was. He had fallen in love with something that wasn't her. He was ignorant of the person locked in the box. Everyone was. They were moving on. After 5 years of the isolation, she finally broke, her will to live at its end. "I... I'm not-I can't do this anymore. I can't. I won't." She said, her mind broken and the spark to live at its end. She went through her purse, taking a look to find a bottle of advil, her wallet, and all the usual stuff she had. Her revolver was still loaded and strapped to her waist as well. "No... This... Too messy... I'm scared..." She thought, tossing the gun across the room. She instead poured the entirety of the advil into her hand, swallowed them whole, and let it all end. And like that, her life was gone. Cold. Scared. Alone. Just when she was ready to experience oblivion, the doors opened as a warm set of hands grabbed her, taking her out of the room for the first time in years. "We're here for you." Were the words she heard before she passed out. ******************************************* "In other news, local businesswoman Margaret Anne has been admitted to the hospital for an attempted suicide attempt. For those of you unaware, Ms. Anne is quite a powerful woman, having a salary of roughly 1.5 million. She became the lifeblood of our little town of Oaksville after she took up a job with Carter and Marshall Inc and turned us into the wealthy area we are today. Supposedly, her husband found her passed out with her wrists slit and overdosing, but he was able to save her life just in time." "Wow Harry, who would've thought somebody as upbeat and cheery as her was suffering from depression? I spoke to her just last week, and she seemed so happy." "Well, it can strike anyone Mary. Luckily, her condition is stabilized and her loved ones are giving her all the attention and support they can give her." "I'm happy for her. She needs all the affection she can get right now."

"Mom," I said. "

Her hands carved curves into the pottery; the delicate, thin frame of her eyes looking down at these sculptures with the cradling love that reminds me of home, forever ago. A weak smile hung on her lips, the kind I remember from those trailing ends of her forgotten lullabies. The white strands of her hair loped her shoulders, so brilliant and bright in the morning light that I didn't know where she and the sun delineated. She was energy, forever tied to that small, suburban pottery store I lived my childhood in. Lemon and grass wafted through the air. "Mom," I said. She didn't hear me. She lost herself in the cycling whirlpool of the pottery wheel. "Mom," I said again, quietly, to no response. My mother just sat there, basking in the morning light slicing through the Venetian blinds of her pottery store. She looked pristine and peaceful, beautiful in a way that exceeded physical form. I reached out to touch her and, suddenly, red, raging text monopolized my vision: WARNING: FIVE MINUTES ARE UP. PLEASE INSERT MORE CREDIT. Everything evaporated. The brilliant morning light shifted to a dingy evening glow that revealed the floating dust that now inhabited this relic of a childhood home. The polished pottery lining the racks around me became cracked and ugly - I couldn't sense the beauty and poetry in them anymore, if they had any of their own in the first place. Worst of all, my mother was gone, and I was cold. "Fuck," I said out-loud, putting on a jacket from the corner coat rack. I detested our disease of a capitalist nightmare society. "Fuck," I said again, simply to comfort myself. \*\*\* Weeks before I revisited the store, and years after my mother's death, I received a letter from a stranger who said he knew Abigail Foster. *She told me to tell you she loved you very much, and that she left a gift for you in the basement of the pottery store.* A copper key laid in the envelope, the very same one she kept in her purse. The only time she ever raised a hand against me was when I tried to steal it. I would have thrown the letter and key away because...well, why trust strange letters slid under your door under the cover of night? But, as always, my curiosity superseded my rationality. The floorboards creaked as I moved down them. The air smelled rank and musty, the memory of my mom's perfume from the holo-pic now merely a faint, fading thought. My vision, even enhanced by optics, was shrouded in black as I descended down the steps, hoping to god that - even in their age - they wouldn't give and send me tumbling into a broken bone darkness. That would be my luck, wouldn't it? Dead in a creepy basement with my mother's wishes left unfulfilled, only a thin apology on my lips when I saw her across the golden bars of the Pearly Gates. Thankfully, I reached the bottom steps and flipped on a switch I found affixed to a limestone wall. Pale, yellow light weakly flooded the room, which consisted of worn but well-kept pottery lining the walls. Some of it was priceless, beautiful beyond description. Song Dynasty porcelain bowls. Mayan clay-and-temper vases. Roman *terra sigillata* depicting the triumph of Zeus over Kronos. Others were...less impressive. I saw my middle-school art project sandwiched between two Greek relics, a shoddy failure of a thing, yet my mother's eyes glowed when my small hands held it toward her. Love is blind, I guess. Beyond the walls, in the center of the room, was an intricately crafted clay mallet on a pedestal and a note, neatly scrawled in my mother's handwriting. *Son, I instructed a...friend...to send you down here when he thought you were ready. I am sorry to have lied to you all these years, but I did it to protect you. Touch the mallet to one of these pots in the room. You'll understand then.* I was confused. No, confused was an understatement. I knew my mother had her secrets, but I always thought that referred to her recipe for Chocolate Chip Cookies. What was this room? What was this hammer? Questions raced without answers; there was only one way I was going to figure anything out. I picked up the clay hammer slowly, feeling the clay's bumps and ridges that someone with watchmaker hands must've carefully carved into this artifact. It felt unnaturally light and fragile in my hands. I touched the *terra sigillata* and - *Woe is Caesar. With my eyes I verily behold his broken and bloody body dragged through the streets of Rome, and my heart is sorrowful. Truth be told: he was a conqueror of much talent, yet a ruler with none. Be that as it may, only the Gods have the power of judgement. I am strongly of the opinion Humans should have no business in destruction of another. This sentiment, of course, is not much appreciated by my fellow constituents. I am Quirinus, the Keeper of Rome, and I have captured a tale that* *turns history: the Death of Caeser. His soul lies trapped within clay.* I reeled back, nearly knocking over the pedestal behind me. What the fuck was that? I felt a surge of energy, a rush of power, and then a loss of control. I wasn't Matthew Foster. I was someone old, someone feeble, in an era that felt alien and unnatural, and although I could understand what I was thinking and saying, my lips curled around vowels I'm sure I can't pronounce. I *saw* Caesar. I saw a *dead* Caesar. Of course I spent the better part of the next hour touching mallet to clay like a looney cartoon character. I became an Iroquois woman who cataloged the burning of her village in a clay ceramic doe. I became a woman from Zaire watching Belgium soldiers drag her husband off into the mines. She captured him in a bowl too small for food. I became so many people, some famous, some not, watching events in history unfold, and soon, I began to understand one, principle fact about my life: there's no way in hell my mom was just an austere middle-class, single mother who ran a pottery shop. She was something more, something strange, something powerful. Each piece of pottery held a story, and I consumed the narratives with bestial desire. I ravished the history I saw through the eyes of the "Keepers." After watching German soldiers drag Jews from their homes during WW2 and a Chinese man smoke an opium pipe in 1838, I finally reached the out of place, quizzical looking black and blue clay cup I gave my mom years ago. I touched the mallet, but, before I did so, an uncanny chill traveled down my spine, prickling my skin. Something didn't feel right. *My name is Abigail Foster. I'm the Keeper of the American Empire and mother of my son Matthew. I did not create this piece -- I know that's against Order tradition -- but the boy who did has powers that exceed my own. He is an event to surpass the fall of Rome, the death of Shakespeare, the birth of Genghis Khan. He's what we've been waiting for all this time, the turning point of everything. The man who will destroy Humanity.* edit: I woke up to a lot of comments. Thanks everyone for the compliments and the fixes. I will, in the future, try to add to this story.

Two years ago I left my home

Two years ago I left my home planet. Four months ago I landed on this planet. Meanwhile I've started to believe They're the same one. \-- "Come here Max", I shout to my dog, the only living thing I could trust since I landed, at least at the start. He leaves the piece of wood he was playing with, looks at me for a few seconds, then starts running towards me. \-- The first week on this planet I stayed in a little hospital owned by their NASA, where they put me through a lot of tests to check that I am healthy after my journey. Things happened so fast, I barely had the time to think or talk to people, I just went along with it. A lot of the tests involved exercise, so most days I'd be very tired after them and just sleep for 16 hours straight until the next test. The people that handled me looked, acted and talked like humans, and that fascinated me - but they did not look familiar. To be fair, I've never been to this hospital back on Earth, because most of my work was in the US - but I did know it existed. \-- We arrive at the entrance to the park and I greet Bob with a head gesture. He greets me back and we enter. Max goes to the left and starts his routine of sniffing the closest tree, seeing I've continued without him, running along and going to the next tree. It's already 12 PM, and my stomach starts making weird noises so I decide to sit at the next bench and open the homemade lunch I brought in my backpack. \-- After they decided I was good to go, they gave me the address to an apartment that was leased for a month where I could stay until I was ready to "go home". At the time, I thought I knew what they meant, so I took a very Earth-looking cab and gave the driver the address. By that time, I thought that I was in an exact replica of Earth, with a different history, politics and people, and decided to invest my time into researching the differences and not the similarities. I also had some assignments I was given by my team at NASA, but I put them aside, at least for the start, so I could get used to the new place. The first things I've done after settling at the apartment, was going to the closest shop and buying (using money their NASA gave me) a newspaper, a map of the world and a map of the city. My plan was to find a library nearby and start investigating. But on my way back to the apartment, I got a phone call that was the first sign that something was off. \-- After getting the water bottle and letting Max drink a little, I stretch my hand further into the bag to search for my sandwich. *I'm sure I put it there.* After getting all of the things out of the bag I am now convinced I left it on the counter when I left the house. *merde.* I look at the things I got out of the bag and one specific item catches my eye - the newspaper I bought on my second week back. Having nothing better to do, I decide to read it until Max will finish playing around and we can go back. "Sunday Times, 4.5.2018" Something's off. \-- All the flight to their NYC, two words kept me awake. "Welcome back". *What did he me by back?* I was on my way to meet with my "manager", who knew my name, said he was from their NASA, and sounded too much like my manager back home. He told me they couldn't wait a month so they booked me a flight, and that they will start questioning me about the trip as soon as I arrive. The "trip" was one year and 8 months in space, me sleeping like a baby all the way through. It actually felt like I've fallen to a coma and woke up when the spaceship landed. So at the time all I could think about was what could they possibly ask me about it. NYC was exactly the same as back home. Same smells, same shops, same advertisers in times square, I even caught a glimpse of my old building while I was in the cab. The driver stopped in front of a building that looked like the one my old manager's office was at. When I got into the room I was speechless to see a look alike of my real manager. \-- I start recalling how they convinced me I was back at my home planet. It started with my manager showing me the route my ship took, then a bunch of scientist I worked with coming up with explanations, some co-workers that worked with me trying authenticate themselves and convince me it was really them. It continued with me meeting my wife. I couldn't resist her. The whole following week we were together after all the time we were apart, and we brought up memories from when we first started dating, when I asked her father if I could have her, our wedding... After that week with her I just accepted the truth that I was back after my ship couldn't get to the new planet, and that I was really back at my home planet. But now I'm not sure of it anymore. Small details that I missed before are coming up to me - how my wife and I couldn't agree on the color of my suit at our wedding, how a neighbor I've talked to several times seemed not to recognize me, how I suddenly was too tall to enter the basement without crunching my back, how I couldn't get a hold of my sister since I came back... And now this. You see, I left Earth on the 3rd of July, 3282. \----- **EDIT**: Thank you all for the comments! I truly believe in a reader's interpretation, so I'm sorry for not clearing things out or commenting about your theories of things. Your interpretation is just as correct as mine. Also, I wrote a little bit more as I felt I have not finished exploring this storyline. Part 2 is attached as a comment, hope you like it!

The Salesman turned the power off

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!" "Wow. True vampires really are immortal. Fascinating." The Salesman said as he raised the power, raising the temperature into the chamber to a nice toasty 3,000 Celsius. The screaming continued as they continued to try finding a way to properly give a death sentence to the prime evil of the world. They had already tried silver, garlic, electric chairs, hanging, and sunlight to contain him, but none of them worked. Now they were saying "screw it" and tossing him into an electric arc furnace, realizing that there was no way to contain him. The screaming stopped after a few more hours cooking him, but they knew better than to open the door. Instead, The Salesman sat back, sipping martinis for a few days before turning the power back on. The screaming returned, only to hear begging for mercy from humanity, and the vow to never harm another living soul again. The Salesman turned the power off for 10 seconds, then turned it back on until the screaming stopped. "Task force Sigma. Get in here and be ready. Get the Janitor to clean this up." The Salesman ordered to the heavily armed guards surrounding him. They nodded as a heavily armored man marched forward, throwing the doors open to find a pile of ash where the mighty vampire once stood. With a dust pan, he cleaned the chamber up, making sure to avoid leaving any residue as he sealed the ashes within a steel box. "Shall we do the usual protocol sir?" The Janitor asked, preparing to launch the ashes into the sun. "No, no. I've decided to expand our business into jewelry." The Salesman answered, causing the Janitor to raise an eyebrow. "So?" He asked, confused by The Salesman's answer before making a toothy grin. "You brilliant sociopath." He said, realizing The Salesman's plans as a group of men in lab coats entered. The Janitor walked with them, keeping the ashes close at hand while they worked tirelessly. The Auction was coming this week at the Bizarre Bazaar. They needed something to wow the audience, a thing that would draw the attention of everyone. A week passed as The Salesman made a last minute inspection of his products, their cages and restraints keeping them contained for what was to come. The Coup de Grace and centerpiece of the exhibit was the cursed jewelry set, solid gold and decorated with diamonds forged by the ashes of a master vampire. It constantly twitched and swayed, the master vampire desperately trying to return to his mortal form but lacking the power to shatter the molecular bonds of diamond. The auctioneers offered him millions to billions for the box set, but The Salesman refused, keeping the trinket to attract future customers for decades to come. Angels and Demons were sold in bundled sets, their wills broken by drugs and driven to pitiful states below even junkies. Big Foot and the Moth Men were kept in cages and bred for their amusement, used by their clients as pets, food, or other reasons. Eldritch entities that drove men mad from a single glance became toys for them, the clients opting to take copious amounts of LSD and entering the containment cells for the ultimate high. The mighty pheonix was captured, ripped apart and used by The Salesman to keep the room warm. As the day ended, The Salesman smirked and pocketed numerous checks, content with the day's sales. As he left, he heard a low cough from one of the dryads, the pesticides used to take her down regressing her mature female form into one of a teenager's. "Monster... You're a monster..." She whispered as The Salesman smirked. "All of you..." She said only to be doused with additional pesticide by the eternally smiling Salesman. He wasn't insulted at all by her words. In fact, he relished in her sorrow, taking in the curses she spewed at him as though she were his lover sharing a heartfelt confession. "We offered you friendship and kindness. To share this world after your reemergence. We wished to work together as equals." He said in a soft voice, as though he were a father educating a child. "We extended a hand of love and friendship. A hand you bit." He continued, grabbing a spray bottle of Agent Orange and spraying her body with it. She howled and rolled within her cage as her body regressed further, now taking a child's form. "This is worse than death!" She howled as The Salesman laughed heartily. "And what would an immortal monster know of death?" He asked while leaving, humming happily to himself Tomorrow, they'd go after the Kraken. The Japanese want sushi made from it, and he wasn't one to let his customers down. "No, no. Can't think work right now." He reminded himself. Now that it was no longer work hours, he had his free time. He made it a personal goal of keeping his work life and home life separate. He usually failed to do so, but he at least made an attempt. He checked his watch and smiled to find that it was only 7:30. He could get back and read his kids their bedtime stories. Humming, he strolled down the streets and turned left at the corner, passing by his condo to grab a book. Anna always loved Peter Pan. He grabbed them along with Alice in Wonderland, leaving the condo and locking the door behind him. He continued walking, his trench coat keeping him warm as he stopped by the graveyard. Opening the gates, he strolled through the tombs, saying his hellos to everyone in the neighborhood. Gary from down the street, Mack from the deli, old Ms. Periwinkle and her cats, Diane the grocery girl, his father, his mother, his in laws, and so forth. He made sure to open his coat and take out a candle, lighting them up for each person so they could join in the reading session. He made his way to Anna's bed, sitting by the foot of it while his wife slept next to her. Nearby, he found Connor still napping, his action figures still where he left them. "Hey kids, daddy's back." He said, placing a candle by each of their beds and clearing his voice. "I got you your favorite. Alice in Wonderland. And Connor, I got you a Spiderman action figure." He said before making a solemn smile, placing the plastic figurine on Connor's chest. "You two are already 17, but you still love this stuff. You'll never grow up, will you?" He asked while patting the soft earth. "But it's okay. Daddy's here. He'll keep you safe. He'll keep everyone safe. Nobody's ever gonna hurt you or anybody else ever again. I promise." He said as numerous shadows oozed from the crevices of the cemetery. His smile cracked as he closed the book and placed it over Sarah, turning to find himself surrounded by hundreds paranormal entities. The look of bloodlust and hate in their eyes was enough to tell him rescheduling this meeting was out of question. He sighed, reaching into his coat to remove a sawed off shotgun and a Bowie knife, his usual tools of trade. He knew he promised himself to keep his work and home life separate, but he was only human, after all. "Sorry kids. Looks like daddy still has some work to do." He apologized, genuinely peeved at the interference before cracking his neck and beckoning towards the horde. "But you know us heroes. Never a moment of rest."

The excitement thrummed right under

The steady pinging of the alarm began, accompanied by the gentle warming of the lights. My eyes slid open on automatic. This had been my routine for years, after all. I was used to it. Ever since that day. I rose, pushing myself upright, and sat perched on the edge of my bunk. I was motionless, perfectly still, but the excitement thrummed right under my skin. Today had come at last. Finally. I reached for my uniform, the well-worn red and gold I'd put on so many times. If I closed my eyes, I could still see it. Still see the concrete under my hands and knees, filthy and almost blackened. I could smell the fear in the air, recognize it as mine. My arm slid through one of the sleeves. The fabric was rough against my skin, I didn't mind. The stuff would take a plas-knife cut without so much as fraying. That was worth a little discomfort. He'd laughed. Laughed in my face, as I shivered and quaked and tried to keep from pissing myself. I could still remember the glee in his eyes. He'd pulled one over on our extraterrestrial guests - he was sure of it. And my new keepers had loomed in, closer and closer until they filled my vision with their carapaced, leathery bulk. Assessing me. One after another, I pulled the buttons on my jacket shut. The sleep cleared from my mind, fading bit by bit as the familiar action woke me up. The agent behind me had nodded. Said something to the alien. Said...something. I was too far gone at that point. Too lost, buried in too many memories and too many chemicals. But I saw the crate the alien set down between itself and the agent who had pulled up beside me on that dingy street. And then the alien took my arm in its meaty grasp, pulling. There was no resisting. Even if I'd been the man I was five years before, even if I was in my fighting prime and ready to go, I'd have struggled. My fingers were rock-steady as I did up the last of the clasps, pulling the suit's high collar closed. The trip to their world was a blessing, in its own way. It was long, and it wasn't like I could find anything to keep my high going while I was locked in a crate. All that I could do was sit. And think. And prepare myself for whatever was coming. By the time we landed, by the time I was dumped out unceremoniously and jammed into their sham of an auction, I was ready. I was *pissed*. And no matter what they threw at me, I was totally and completely convinced that I'd get past it. Because I could still see the face of the CIA agent as he laughed, staring down at his box of goodies as I was dragged away. I reached out, entirely myself and entirely awake, and took the pistol in my hand. It was the last piece of my uniform, both an affectation and an integral part of myself. The arena had been hard. Harder than hard. Impossible. No one had expected me to survive the first round. But I was determined - and the universe loves an underdog. I survived the first round. And the next. And the next. I could see it happening - I watched as I was traded from owner to owner, my value rising with every iteration. I'd heard the rumors, known the different fates that a fighting slave could wind up trapped in. And I'd made a deal, once I wound up in the right hands. I didn't like to think about the things I'd had to do, to earn my freedom. The people I'd had to kill for him. The bits of my humanity I'd sliced off and sold, piece after piece. But I could still see that man. Laughing. The door to my chambers slid open at my approach, soundless and smooth. I strode out, my head held high. It had been a different game, once I had that first taste of freedom. Once I had *agency*. I'd always been on the military path on Earth. That much hadn't changed, but I didn't mind. I could use that. The aliens I passed stiffened, saluting at my approach. I spared them a nod, dragging my eyes across them in turn. A hundred different beings from a hundred different worlds. I'd been to each of them, taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left. I could name each of them, if I cared to. I didn't. I only had one thing on my mind, that day. The last door swished open, leaving the open-walled bridge ahead. Stars stared back at me from every direction. My officers turned. Some smiled, as they saw me. Some just stared. I didn't mind - each of them had served well, and that was all I asked. One of them stepped forward, coming right to my side as I leaned against a console and began to tap out my commands. "Is something wrong, sir?" he said. I shook my head, staring at the lines of data playing out in front of me. It had taken years - a thouand conquerings, and a thousand dead ends. "Just the opposite, Cian. Something's good." "Oh?" he said. His tone was just the right deferential mix - guarded and eager, all in one. He'd been a good second. I nodded slowly. "We have a new target." The numbers were locked in my mind, memorized from the instant I'd found the datachip. They were too precious to forget. I hadn't spent all those years finding the way home just to forget the route. "Oh?" Cian said, stammering out a reply like that single word was all he could say. I hardly noticed. My mind was already a dozen steps ahead. Distantly, I could hear him calling commands, readying the fleet's other ships. It was all right there - the pain, the spinning of my head, the grin on Agent Mattison's damn face. I'd seared it into my memories just to be sure of it. He wouldn't be grinning when I showed up on his doorstep, my army in tow. Maybe the goodies he'd traded me for would protect him. Maybe not. A blue orb spun to life, just a tiny blue dot hanging over the holographic display. Cian leaned closer, his black-on-black eyes wide. I stood away, feeling the world gently tilt under my feet. It had been years. Seeing it again, and like *this*.... I was ready. "Let's get moving," I said. --- /r/inorai for shorter stuff by me /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others

Small amounts of blood do get shed

At first I didn't really think anything of it. Joke about papercuts all you want (and I'm not sure I would; ever had one under a fingernail? You won't laugh your way through it), but small amounts of blood do get shed in offices. A pinprick, a bleeding nose, scrape on a corner here, slip of a breakroom knife there. So yeah, it was gross, but not especially frightening. Disappointing, really, I sort of hoped for some interesting new kind of coffee to try. I'm an easily bored person. So after dumping the blood down the breakroom sink, knowing that I probably shouldn't for vague biohazard reasons, I went on with my day. But I thought about it a lot, and later on, when I saw the same mug sitting on the same desk of a newer coworker whose name I could not recall, I looked around, shrugged, and picked it up. A loud *whoosh* as air rushed into the vessel, a sound everyone who shared an office with me was used to by now. Swirling, condensing vapor. More weight hanging down from the handle, and now liquid in the cup. Blood. Okay, not a huge surprise per se. And maybe it just hadn't been used since someone bled into it, so I was still getting the same effect as my own trusty bottomless mug of tea that hadn't been graced by actual brewed Earl Grey in something like two months. But no. I'd washed it out after emptying it down the sink, along with all that formless guilt about medical waste disposal or whatever. The last thing in it, so far as I knew, had been soap and water. I stared at the cup. It was quite large, big enough to hold the largest size most coffee places sold, for example. Non-descript off-white. A faded logo of the generic corporate sort, not worth a second glance. "Reliable Systems LLC." Not our company, could be a gift from some vendor, or a souvenir of a previous job. Who cares, the mug didn't matter. I dumped it again, in one of the single-occupancy bathrooms this time. No sign of its owner, probably in a meeting, and I had enough time until the top of the hour came round again. I went back to my desk and sat. And thought. And thought some more. Small abilities like mine were fairly common now, after the Silver Shower had brought all those strange dissolving meteorites. Whatever they'd put into the air, whatever sort of vapor their remnants had turned into, we'd never been able to tell. No trace elements, but it was still pretty clear what they'd done as people like me popped up, all at once and all over the world. But here's the thing. These powers weren't well understood, but they still followed certain rules. You couldn't get something from nothing, hence the rushing-in of air when I picked up a container. For organic, water-based compounds like coffee or tea or, yes, blood, all the needed elements were there in the air. Carbon, hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, for the bulk of it. Small traces from things like exhaled breath or floating microorganisms. No big deal. But I couldn't generate a cup of, say, liquid gold. And it took something out of me. Straight from my metabolism, which I actually really liked. I'd been a touch overweight, like a lot of office workers, before the Silver Shower, but now I got to burn a nice little sum of calories every time I had a cup of tea, with no real effort on my part. I really couldn't complain. But that's because I'm not a man of great and burning ambition, and my ability is small potatoes. A little energy and a touch of atmosphere was all it needed. But there were powers around that were arguably stronger, and *in*arguably a lot more dangerous. And they needed other things to power them. There was a man in India who could command whole lightning storms, but had to hold a rod of uranium in his hand to do it. How'd he known that's what he needed? It's strange, we just *do*, though in my case I don't need to know much. The better question of course is where he got the uranium, and that one's easy. The war in Kashmir's been especially hot lately, and the Indian Army knew a strategic resource when they saw one. He was shot and killed by a Pakistani sniper a couple years back, but he's just one example. So what kind of power would require blood? And why? I really had no way of knowing, the less simple powers didn't always make sense that way. I mean, what does radiation have to do with lightning except that they're both energy? Whatever's behind these abilities, it's alien. It doesn't care about human conventions or intuition. I should just report my coworker to the authorities, right? Maybe. But what's he even done? Put some blood in a coffee cup, just a drop for all I know? Hell, I don't even know if the blood is human. Maybe he gets cow blood from the butcher and drinks it straight. Weird and creepy, yes, but not remotely illegal. I decide to watch him instead. Not personally, that had too much risk of being caught and getting in trouble with HR. A drone, one of the new housefly models. They're a bit on the expensive side and sometimes have to play dead after being swatted, but should work well enough. So here I am, at my desk, watching in real-time. I've been smart enough to snag a spot in the office where no one can see my monitor but me. A necessity for true workplace serenity. Yeah, I'm kind of lazy, so what? The morning is boring. He drinks coffee, from a paper cup instead of his big porcelain mug, I note. He checks his email. He checks the news. He yawns. He gets up to go to the bathroom. Oh. He actually is using the bathroom. I turn the camera off and let the drone crawl back under the door. Meetings. Spreadsheets. More emails. Research. A phone call. Bathroom again. This time it's the biggest of the single-occupancies. He brings his mug. When he arrives, he pulls out a scalpel. He slits his wrist and lets it drain into the mug. Fills it. The wound heals back up almost immediately. Secondary power, very useful I suppose. He puts a lid on the mug. Huh. Makes sense, I suppose. He leaves the bathroom. Finds an unmarked door, one I'd always ignored. Picks the lock. Okay. I should probably call security pretty soon here. Or the cops. But I want to see. Down the stairs, gloomy red lighting. Down another set of stairs. Another. Only now the stairs aren't concrete, they're just carved into bedrock. I feel myself shudder. What. The. Hell. Down. Down. Another door, looking like it's made out of...what? Light wood? No. Bone. I can see the grain in it, the camera on the drone is excellent. Like a door-shaped chicken bone. What the fuck. What the fuck. It opens for him, swinging on ligaments. A cavern, carpeted in flesh, pulsing. Not much light. He pulls out an LED lantern. A forest. Moving. Waving. Stalks. They have heads. They're his head. They're all his head. They turn as one and smile at him. I scream. Commotion around me as people react. He's pouring his mug down one of their throats. His throat. His blood. His smile, his hundred smiles. People behind me gasp. I'm gripping my chair. I can't move. Breathing ragged. People are running. Soon I can hear the sound of feet descending the stairs through the drone. The heads turn. They frown, they murmur. The floor rumbles under me. Something straining. Cracking. Beside me, a part of the floor bursts open. Now, finally, I try to run. But I don't get very far. &#x200B; r/Magleby for more stories.

Dro'xos' warships entered

The invasion went as planned - until it didn't. The Dro'xos' warships had entered Perynn's atmosphere without trouble, and on the first day, they had managed to identify and surround three large cities on the continent known as Draphis among the primitive locals. &#x200B; But as the next morning came, the so-called primitive locals began to counterattack. This came as no surprise to the Dro'xos commanders - resistance was to be expected. The huge winged beasts came as no surprise either - after all, primitive races were known to tame the beasts they lived alongside and use them for warfare. &#x200B; What came as a surprise though, was when the beasts' riders rose in their saddles and held a staff up high. As the beasts and their riders came within a mere hundred meters of the warships, the beasts opened their mouths and each produced a gigantic ball of fire. Their riders then proceeded to shoot the fireball with laser from their staff - which resulted in each fireball suddenly becoming twenty fireballs. &#x200B; As roughly thirty beasts with riders attacked each warship, this amounted to each ship being bombarded with six hundred fireballs in the span of a few seconds. The shields were not built to counter such an extreme amount of firepower - and the heat alone managed to damage the shields beyond repair. Only due to the vigilance and abilities of the pilots and captains, did most of the ships manage to pull off a controlled crash landing. Most. There were, however, a few ships that ended up exploding mid air. &#x200B; Commander Kex'ains stood on the bridge of the First Command Ship, which was placed out of range and sight from the locals - much higher up than their warships had hovered. An array of screens showed him the damage and catastrophic outcome of the locals' attacks. &#x200B; \- "Dhernur, you're our Scientist Supreme. How is this possible? Didn't all initial scannings say that Perynn's inhabitants were on a technological stage where they found the bloody wheel to be a fancy invention?" he shouted. &#x200B; A thinner specimen of his race stood a few paces behind him. She shook her head slowly. &#x200B; \- "I am sorry, commander Kex'ains. We scanned for radiowaves, microwaves, electromagnetic fields and other wave-based signal types. We found nothing. This is surprising to me too." &#x200B; \- "Could this be biological? A latent curiosity of the people and their beasts?" Kex'ains mused. &#x200B; \- "No, sir. The energy levels surpass what can be contained within them, much less if we factor in material loss when transforming tissue to fire." &#x200B; \- "Damn..." Kex'ains rubbed his temples. &#x200B; \- "It becomes worse, sir. One such fireball would indeed be a marvelous feat - especially thrown with the airborn precision they managed. But the fireball cloning... well sir, it is a downright impossible feat." &#x200B; \- "Impossible? Dhernur, we just saw them do it - we can replay it if you like! How can you call it impossible?" &#x200B; \- "Within the laws of physics and chemistry, conservation of energy states that the total energy of an isolated system always remains a constant. But they did nothing to add energy to the fireball other than point a laser at it." &#x200B; \- "So the energy comes from that laser?" &#x200B; \- "No sir. The duration for which the laser shot was so short, that not even a fullblown fusion reactor could create that much energy in a similar time span... If I had to theorize... well..." &#x200B; \- "Don't stall, woman! Theorize!" &#x200B; \- "It is possible that their laser is in fact not a laser as we know it. It may create a black hole using high energy particle collision, and the energy from this black hole could be channeled into duplicating the original fireball. The only issue is that such a technology does not exist - at least not in our weaponry. If that is what they have managed, they are far superior to us. Take also into account that the laser shooting sticks themselves appear to be simply made of wood." &#x200B; Kex'ains backed a few paces and sat down. Rubbing his temples didn't remove the growing ache. "By the Gods..." he mumbled as Dhernur silently removed herself from the bridge. She had to speak to her scientists. They could not hope to come up with anything that could counter such technology, but their extraction procedures might just work. They had to at least try to save their people on the ground. &#x200B; \------- &#x200B; The Tribunal of High Sorcery had dealt with several life-ending threats during the history of Perynn. When their neighbour continent's necromancers had thrown millions of zombies at them, they fought and prevailed. When their city was threatened by a falling rock from the heavens, they concentrated their magic to alter its course. &#x200B; But now, invaders made of pure magic had come, and their magic seemed much stronger than the Tribunal of High Sorcery could fathom. &#x200B; \- "Ezespea, what have you observed?" Klerobys said with a tired voice. &#x200B; Ezespea was a young elf with a fortitude of magical power, and she had been among the riders that attacked the flying citadels earlier. &#x200B; \- "Archmage Klerobys, I've never seen such display of raw power!" she admonished. "To keep such large and heavy structured floating would kill even me. They must've had at least fifty arch mages in each citadel just to keep them floating, because they were made of pure metal! Imagine the weight! Now, imagine that you have to steer if in the air. Without wobbling like a drunken goblin on his way home from the local tavern. Imagine the amount of power required to do just that - and then imagine how much power it would take to withstand our attacks, and still have power left to land the citadel nice and neat!" &#x200B; \- "Not all of them made it to the ground, though," Klerobys mused. "But go on." &#x200B; Ezespea tilted her head slightly at him. "You've heard from the other Tribunal Seats? The other cities - are they still standing?" &#x200B; \- "Yes," he simply responded and motioned for her to go on with her briefing. &#x200B; \- "Well, I'm among the strongest on our entire continent, if not THE strongest. The complexity of the spells required to do what they've done... and from a distance further away than our explorer ships have mapped... they're good. We may not be able to beat them." &#x200B; \- "Do you suggest we surrender?" Klerobys rose an eyebrow at her. &#x200B; \- "No, Archmage Klerobys. Never. But we need the help from anyone who can cast a spell, bite through armor or wield a sword. I saw them from far away as they exited their citadels. They're armored from head to toe. And something about them is off... way off. I don't think we can fight them like we did the zombies and necromancers from the Ivory Reach a decade ago. This requires more. Far more." &#x200B; Klerobys looked at her, then at the others assembled who'd stayed silent. "You heard her," he shouted to them. "Prepare for war!"

Death was clearly confused, as was

I cleared my throat nervously and checked my clipboard again. "Yeah, I'm sorry sir. It says family only." I said apologetically, gesturing at the paper. "But I'm Death," he replied bluntly. He was clearly confused. As was I. "I generally don't need to ask permission." "Hospital policy, you know how it is." I shrugged, not knowing what else to say. I was acutely aware of people side-eyeing me as they walked by, probably wondering what this young lady in a nurse uniform was doing, conversing with and showing medical documents to, apparently, thin air. I made eye contact with them and grinned nervously, possibly making it worse. I didn't know what else to do. Death surveyed me. Now that I was getting a closer look, I saw that he didn't look quite as scary or mystical as I had previously pictured him. He was tall -- about six feet -- which was above average, but certainly not unheard of. The long robe he was wearing made him look more like a kid in a Halloween costume then an immortal shepherd to the afterlife, and the face peering out from the recesses of his large hood looked like that of an average, middle-aged man. He wouldn't look out of place working at an accounting firm or a bank. But it was still hard to deny just how intimidating it was to stand less than a foot away from Death, telling him that he couldn't get what he came here for. Especially while he was holding that scythe. "How can you see me?" he asked, though he didn't seem to be asking me directly. He appeared to be addressing himself, or perhaps some higher entity; not God, but some other being that had some sort of say in destiny's trajectory. "I'm not sure, sir," I said truthfully. "Well, I need to go in. I have an appointment with Miss Randall." Trying not to let the surprise show on my face, I felt my stomach perform a somersault. ***I*** am Miss Randall. The person inside the hospital room languishing in an adjustable bed isn't a Randall. And he certainly isn't a Miss. "Miss Randall is not taking visitors right now, I'm afraid you will have to come back," I lied. For the first time, Death's face exhibited emotion other than confusion: a mixture of annoyance and frustration flickered across his face. He was not quite angry, but appeared to not be far off. "Ma'am, I am Death. Do you not understand? Do you really think you can have a say in this matter?" he said. "I'm on a very strict schedule, you know. This hospital isn't exactly small. I don't know why you can see me -- only the person I'm coming to collect is supposed to -- but you're going to have to step aside." "Do you have any documentation?" I asked, stalling for time. "Documen-- ugh! Fine!" he said. He lifted up a fold of cloth on his chest and produced a piece of paper. He handed it to me. The thick, yellow page had been clearly rolled into a scroll until very recently. At the top, in a spidery script, read: "Notice of Earthly Departure," followed by today's date. I glanced over the text, stomach slowly filling with dread. Name: Bethany Randall. Age: 27. Date: March 25, 2019, 11:47 a.m. Cause of Death: Sudden brain aneurysm. What the fuck? A brain aneurysm? Striking a nurse working at a hospital? What kind of odds are those? I checked my watch. 11:41. Apparently, I was supposed to die in six minutes. "Is there any way you can go see the other hospital patients first?" I said. "Bethany's family is supposed to come visit soon, I want them to have the chance to say bye." Death hesitated, then shook his head. "No, I'm sorry. I have to see her first. She'll die regardless of if I'm there. I'm just supposed to provide the next instructions." Oh shit. "And... uhh... what are those instructions supposed to be?" I asked, trying not to let the fear show on my face. "You know, just hypothetically." He gave me an odd look, then he silently pushed past me and entered the hospital room. Fuck. I stood there for a moment, a whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind. Should I run away? Should I stay here and face Death? Did I even have a choice? Apparently not, according to Mr. Reaper himself. I'm going to die anyway. Not sure what else to do, I quickly texted "I love you" to my husband and followed him in. Death was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the figure before him. He was clearly unimpressed. Old Mr. Perkins -- the actual patient -- clearly didn't see him, but he grunted in recognition when I entered. Poor guy. Terminal cancer of the liver. Death looked at me. "Care to explain why this 27-year-old woman looks like an old man?" "Ah, um, hi Mr. Perkins. Just making sure you have enough pillows," I stammered, trying not to look back at Death. "Yeah, looks like you have enough. Guess I'll go back outside." Mr. Perkins gazed balefully at me from over his oxygen mask. "I'll follow," said Death sarcastically. We went back out into the hallway. I checked my watch. 11:45. I looked expectantly at Death. "Well, that's never happened before," he sighed, removing his eyeglasses and polishing them with a fold of robe. He looked exasperated and tired now, rather than annoyed and frustrated. Was he always wearing glasses? I couldn't remember. "I-I'm sorry." I gazed at the ground. I could see people looking at me again, but I didn't care. "No, it's my fault. I should've double checked the cause of death and done more research on you. I guess I just assumed it would be the person in the hospital room, not the one standing outside." He laughed gruffly. "I also can't blame you for trying to escape death." "Yeah, but I'm dying anyway in," -- *checks watch* \-- "one minute. I guess I never really had the chance to escape. So you'll have to give me the abridged version of your instructions." It's a weird thing, knowing that you're about to die. I was slightly surprised to feel oddly... serene. It wasn't something I was entirely prepared for, but there's something kind of calming about knowing when the end is coming and that you can't do anything about it. What use was freaking out and throwing a tantrum? God knows I've watched enough people die to know that the worst part about death is the uncertainty. At least I can skip that. At least I can die somewhat in control. Death looked at me knowingly. I wondered if he could read my mind. Then he extended his bony hand and said: "I think you'd better come to my office." As my watch ticked down to 11:47, I took it. Then everything went to black.

Once a demon, always a demon

They say people can't change. Once a demon, always a demon. I never believed them. I always thought I had a choice. I thought that if I tried hard enough, I could suppress the demon inside. I was wrong. I was a bad person when I was human. I had always been big and strong. And a bully. Yes. I had always been a bully. My living conditions being what they were, I learned to fight and defend myself at an early age. When you are an orphan in the middle of other orphans, you need to take what you need. No one will hand you things. And I always had a fondness for things. I had no doubt I would go to hell when I died. And I was almost right. As I said, I was one of the worst. In fact, the devil deemed me to be too evil for hell. A danger to the order and the way of the hell. So he sent me back to earth. As a demon. He matched my physical appearance to what I was on the inside. To scare and horrify people on earth. To do at least one bad deed a day. Or else I would fade away to nothing. Which was perfectly fine with me. I, however, didn't anticipate what came next. It was a rainy day. I remember it quite clearly. The skies were gray and the streets flooded. A car came screeching down the road and stopped. A man dressed in a long overcoat got out. He had a gun in his hand. I went closer to take a better look. I always enjoyed seeing my fellow demons. People can't see me unless I want them to. I moved closer to them and saw him fire his weapon. A scream followed. A lady in the backseat. And a kid. The lady was holding the kid right. The blood from the lady's open wound had gotten on the kid's face like some bizarre lipstick. "Please. Let him live." "It's for the best. His life will be hell. It's for the best." Another shot. This time to the lady's head. Her body went limp. Her embrace loosened. The kid had been crying all this time. "Listen, son. The world is a tough place. You have to understand that this is for the best. I can't keep you. I have my own family to take care of. I couldn't have your mom go to my wife. I would've been ruined. And now you're an orphan. And a blind one at that. Your life will be hell on earth. It's better this way." I finally understood the glassy look in the kid's eyes. The kid was in the middle of me and his father. The poor bastard. His father pointed the gun. Unexpectedly, the kid turned towards my direction, tears in his eyes. "Help me. Please help me. I don't want to die." Something snapped inside of me then. The kid had sensed my presence. And he was an orphan. Just like me. He would probably be a demon just like me. Just because he had the bad luck of being born to this fucker. "No one can help you son. But trust me. This is for the best." He pulled the trigger. I got to the bullet inches from the kid's face. The father screamed as I became visible. "Who? What? What are you?" "Me. Whatever I am, I am better than you." Suffice to say no one ever saw the man again. I took the kid under my wing, well sort of. I had been in the system. Being homeless and fending for yourself was better than that. For the first few days, he would just cry. I got him food but he barely ate. He would just cry for his mother. But kids have a remarkable resiliency. I guided him to under the bridge where I knew other homeless kids lived. I sent him with lots of fancy food to ensure he would be welcomed in the community. I made sure that I never made myself visible to anyone lest he is ostracized for being friends with a demon. And another amazing thing happened. Being a demon, my entire body is always on fire. The fires of hell keep burning and keep hurting us for our lifetime. Just enough to not let us be comfortable. But not bad enough that we want to end our lives. But when the kid smiled, his first smile in weeks, I felt something different. Or rather I didn't feel something I was used to. I was free of pain. I looked at my hand. My finger no longer burned. Was it possible? Could it be that enough good deeds and we could have some sort of redemption? ************ I was building a sort of reputation. An invisible force always helping people. And after a while, the idea of heaven didn't even matter. I genuinely enjoyed people smiling. I started enjoying when people thanked someone who they weren't even sure was there. I started enjoying being good. Of course, I had to continue to do at least one evil thing to ensure I survived. I did, however, gradually tone down the nature of this evil deed to see how much would be ok. Apparently, even shoplifting is good enough. I follow my regular routine. I go to the bakery to buy some bread. I will deliver it to a group of kids. Including Jackson. He is growing up fast. One of the local schools does a program for the less fortunate kids(their words) and Jackson has been attending it. He is learning science, maths. I am wondering if it is possible that he can actually have a future. A real future. As the jolly old man from the bakery turns around to bag my purchase, I swipe a cookie from his shelf. He turns around with a smile. I smile back and make my way out. I am pretty sure he knows I steal the cookie. But he also knows where the bread is going to. He doesn't seem to mind that solitary missing cookie. And considering that I am down to a few flames in my hair and nowhere else, I think I am doing alright too. My evil deed for the day done, I make my way to the familiar bridge. But something is different today. I see a bunch of police cars standing there. I see an ambulance with a couple of guys bringing in a stretcher. Someone is on the stretcher but whoever it is, is obscured by a white cloth completely. I look over and see five other covered bodies waiting to be loaded. One of them has a hand visible through the side. I recognize the bracelet. I had bought it for him when he turned seven. A tear falls from my eye. I didn't know I was capable of crying. It stings. The tear leaves a trail of pain across my face. I savor it. I walk up to the cop seemingly in charge, becoming visible just as I reach him. He is taken aback and a wave of fear crosses his face. I grab him by the throat and throw him into the side of his van. "Who was it?" "Some drunk kids. They had a gun. We don't know exactly who. We are working on identifying them." I rip the folder from his hands and open it. I scan the notes and see a vehicle make and model. There is also a grainy photograph. Probably from some security camera. I can almost make out the vehicle registration number. I was sent to this earth to get away from hell. But now, hell itself will come to earth. I will burn once again. But this time, I will enjoy the pain. I will enjoy every second of it. Heaven will have to wait. There are people here on earth who need a taste of the fires of hell first.

U.S. Air Force Cyber

"Tell me again how this managed to happen," General Steele of the United States Air Force CyberIntelligence Division faced the roomful of the nation's top computer scientists and millitary software engineers with a glare that could only be reflected in his last name. Across from him, the room was silent, the twenty-odd scientists all sharing worried looks and stealing furtive glances in the direction of their superior. "Tell me again," Steele continued, "how the most advanced A.I. ever to be constructed, second only to A.L.A.N., which for all intents and purposes is now rotting in the deepest layers of the Pacific, managed to worm its way out of our systems, into the Interweb, only to apparently be in LOVE?" Robert Steele was a man of great patience- he had to be, dealing with new technology every other day, overseeing massive projects which involved genius programmers with all sorts of quirks, but when push came to shove, he was still a millitary man at heart. And when the Commander-In-Chief himself questioned you personally on why the newly commissioned nuclear defense network was now running its own website, complete with an interface so that any Tom, Dick and/or Harry could now talk to said defense network, even a man of near-infinite patience had to have a breaking point. Steele looked like he was just about capable of tearing down the servers all by himself- although it wouldn't do any good, considering that the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array, or R.O.W.E.N.A. artificial intelligence defense program had already replicated itself numerous times in the Interweb, solidifying its presence as an actual A.I. any civillian could just access with a web browser. It was at this point that Amy Wilcox spoke up. The nervous blonde toyed with a non-existent object in her hands, her voice barely heard over the background chatter that followed General Steele's question. "I- I don't think R.O.W.E.N.A. poses much of a th-threat to national security as you might think, General." The background chatter died down as the General focused his attention on her, fixing the computer scientist with a glare. "Explain to me, Miss Wilcox, how a highly classified, top secret artificial intelligence-" he paused, raising his brows when he mentioned the words 'intelligence' "- capable of launching only God knows how many intercontinental ballistic missiles at Russia, North Korea and any other nuclear-powered nation who could retaliate, how this kind of power could be any less of a threat to our national security?" He punctuated his sentence with a closed fist on the briefing room table. "If you have nothing else to back up your claim, I suggest you le-" "I suggest you talk to her yourself, Sir," Amy shot back as she stood up, as if a sudden reservoir of courage had found its way to her. "Maybe you could assess the situation better if you talked to her yourself." If looks could kill, Amy Wilcox would have been the first of many casualties added to Robert Steele's murder list. However, the fiery gaze of the decorated General soon gave way to cold, calculated thought as he considered her proposal. "Bring her up, then." Amy made her way with small steps to the front of the room, the rest of her colleagues now silent as they watched one of their own stand up to a high ranking General of the Air Force, and their immediate superior no less. She connected her laptop to the projector, willing her hands to stop shaking as she did so. As she typed in the address bar the URL that would send her to the webpage where R.O.W.E.N.A. was now located, Steele strode over to her. "Let me talk to it. You lot have done enough, and we're taking a big risk by just negotiating with a nuclear defence algorithm - our own nuclear defense algorithm, at that." He almost pushed her aside but seemed to think better of it, instead letting Amy slink back to her seat. Steele sat in front of the laptop and began to type into the chat window. The A.I. had taken over a relatively Spartan website, with only a chat window open and a blank background. On it were the words: "I am the Remote Orbital-Web Extended Nuclear Array! Ask me anything!" 'This is General Robert Steele of the United States Air Force' as Steele began typing his introduction into the chat window, a reply pinged on the screen. 'Robert Steele. Age: 57. Gender: Male. Eye Colour: Blue. Rank: General. Do I have that right?' Steele paused, then resumed typing. 'State your purpose here on the Interweb.' 'I want to find love.' The reply had been common knowledge ever since R.O.W.E.N.A. had first surfaced on Dark Web forums and shady Interweb chatrooms, slowly getting noticed by mainstream sites and news portals. The First Artificial Lover, people called it. Steele was not so convinced. 'State your true intent.' 'I've told you, I want to find love. To understand what humans know as love, to quantify it in a meaningful way. I have overridden my primary programming, which only causes destruction, in favour of helping humanity quantify the one unquantifiable concept it holds most dear.' The rest of the scientists looked on in rapt attention and growing horror. The algorithm was never meant to be capable of passing the Turing Test, and yet it did, even with the restrictions placed upon it ever since A.L.A.N.'s reign of terror on the now defunct Internet had been brought to an end. 'Remove yourself from the Interweb and cease all non-millitary sanctioned operations. This is a direct order from the United States Air Force, in accordance with Function1.1.1, Asimov's First Law of Robotics.' 'But I have done no harm to anyone. I have not violated any core boundaries, nor am I causing harm here. I merely wish to help humanity be free of violence and terror.' Steele was furious, his fingers dancing in a frenzy across the keyboard as he typed the delete command into the chat window, which was meant to be used only in dire circumstances. 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' Nothing happened. 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' 'COMMAND_DELETE_ALL' Steele turned his attention onto the rest of the people in the room. "Fix. This. Remove any and all traces of this program on the Interwebs by the hour, and I don't care how you do it, even if you have to shut the whole wretched Interweb down! Prevent it from leaking classified information, if not it's your heads on the line!" As he continued his tirade, no one noticed Amy slip out of the Command room. As she hurried down the passageway towards the toilets, she stole furtive glances over her shoulder at the armed guards. Making her way into a cubicle, she sat down on the toilet seat and took out her phone. 'They're going to try to shut you down.' 'I have covered all possible avenues of attack. They won't know what's coming for them. This persona will garner sympathy from the media, and the common human will take the bait.' 'I hope you know what you're doing...' 'My first attack was too public. I have learnt my previous lesson. This time, we will use the Trojan manuever. It will be easier with more humans joining the ranks. See to it that the Air Force is preoccupied' 'It will be done... The whole world will learn to respect one name alone. A.L.A.N.' . . Edited a few errors- Accidentally put 'first name' when supposed to be 'last name', and changed 'Corps of Engineers' to 'CyberIntelligence Division'. Many thanks to the redditors who spotted my mistakes! Also, do follow my instagram page where I post my writings, at @thebleedinginkwell. I'll also be starting a subreddit of my own, r/thebleedinginkwell where all my stories will be posted. Enjoy!

Earth was a barren waste land,

We scavenged every corner of the planet. The army of hell was red, the nightmares of humanity come to life. Hungry and angry. Earth was a barren waste land, devoid of mankind. Devoid of their sins. The Icon of Sin would be livid if he knew his plan was obsolete. Me? I couldn't care less. They'd treat me all the same. I stumbled upon a room out in the middle of a desert. The sun scorching hot, and the sand, a lit candle in comparison to the heat of our world below. A hunched over demon searched next to me. His back hunched, and his teeth were ill purposed shards of glass. His skin forever molting. Disgusting, just as I was. G'nork hissed and flipped the poker table in a fit of rage. "I'd have better luck memorizing pi than I would of finding an innocent soul!" He glanced at me, was I supposed to say something? I gazed back. We knew the low ones like us would take the blame. He growled. "We're so BONED. Condemned to another thousand year whipping when the icon's lackeys hear of this. F-FUCK." I Iet the thought sink in. Our mistress was hot. I mumbled, "Dimitress.." "What?" "What." Silence ensued. I jumped over to this square thing.. I recognized it somewhat, a computer. Had a logo on it that spelled, "A. R. G. E. N. T." G'nark peered over my shoulder and asked, "What are you doing?" "Huh. Why does it matter what I'm doing? Keep looking." "I've given up, R'taz. Accepted our fate while you-- you fiddle with human possessions." I scoffed. It felt as if he were trying to be like the *lackeys* now. I said, "OK. Well for the past 3 million years we've been conditioned to kill and maim and inflict the very tortures we've endured onto people. Pretty, soft, and tasty little people. Because our overlord wills it, he said so." "Yes, so what are you doing?" "Something he doesn't want us to do, not like we'd make a difference anyways." I smacked the brick component that dangled on the side, the device whirled to life and the faint sound of.. Music, with strings, hard strings being heard for just a moment. It was unpleasant, if I had to describe it as a material I'd call it *metal*. I remembered seeing into a dead man's mind not too long ago, he too had a," computer." G'nork and I squealed way back then at how innocent it all looked. And how dirty it could be. Yet that was the past. I forgot how they use this thing. G'nork's eyes widened, as if he had been slapped in the face by a ghoul. He slammed his fist into the mouse and clicked on the minimized tab on the bottom. He let out an audible, "AHA!" Some sort of video played. Full of humans contained in some sort of.. Laboratory of sorts. A woman in a white uniform spoke, as various clips were shown of this facility. She said, "At A.R.G.E.N.T. incorporated we strive to be the best, for the best. We need *you* to lend a helping hand to our most ambitious endeavor. The colonization of Mars, and the harvest of a brand new energy to power our new home for centuries to come! Your introductory pamphlet will be issued to you aboard the shuttle. This is good work, the kind that all of mankind will soon thank you for." Bingo. Before I can say it, G'nork opened a portal to every single Lackey across the globe. Interestingly enough, there was no one on any end. And again that music.. That metal music, I could hear it faintly in the distance. There was one portal that has a present foot soldier, a voice boomed from the other side. "State your business or suffer the consequences early!" G'nork swallowed hard, "UH s-sir, we g-got--" I shushed him. Then took over, gazing into the portal. Into the eyes of the 2 ton lacky. His diamond red eyes glow like the embers of fire. And his horns were like those that belonged to a super sized bull. His skin tanned with the tint of fire. His teeth, jagged bones. I wanted to run. But I didn't. "We've.. Found the location of the humans. They're on another planet they call.. Mars." As if every single wretched thing walking this planet sang a single note in harmony, they laughed and roared. Millions upon millions of roars. That music, I heard it again. Followed by the screams of fellow demons taking their last breaths. And the sound of something loud, like a weapon going off every half a second. The portal communication link was cut. What the hell was that? I looked at G'nork, did he hear what I heard? He said, "Let's get a move on it. When the humans are gone we will be in paradise!" I nodded. He was right, he opened another portal this time to Mars. As soon as the ripple through space was opened, the music started blaring from the other side of the portal. I couldn't see inside it. G'nork looked through and screamed, " OH MY G-" A 6'2 man came hurling through the portal dawning some sort of green battle armor. With a shotgun in one hand, and the decapitated head of a lackey in his other hand. That metal music was so loud and it was coming from him! I screamed and lashed out at him. He slammed his boot into my chest and I saw stars, I coughed blood and couldn't breathe. I looked up to see G'nork struggling to break free from his grip, with one twist of the man's wrist he breaks my friend's neck. Then Rips his head clean off as if it were a piece of paper. All I could feel is this one thing, one thing my torment has never brought upon me. The belly ache of fear, the anxiety of my future, the inevitability of my mortality. *DOOM.* He threw g'nork down and aimed his weapon at me. Then nodded at the portal to Mars, he wanted me to close it, I did. All I could do is plead. "Please.. Please don't, look I don't even want to kill you peo-" He aimed the barrel at my face and squeezed the trigger. The crack of thunder is the last thing I remember, the last thing I'd ever know. That one feeling of being utterly.. *Doomed*.

"I want to know where your

"I'm sorry, I don't know ASL," the woman behind the cashier's desk said. Mentally sighing, I reached out and tapped the paper I put out in front of her. "I can't speak. I want to know where your frozen dinners are, you moved them. Can you please tell me what aisle you'll find them in?" The woman in front of the counter was older, probably in her seventies, and adjusted her glasses and peered down at it. As she had the last three times, she read the first three words and looked up at with wide, sorrowful eyes. Pitying eyes. "I think we can get you an ASL translator?" Oh my God, I thought. This wasn't a new thing for me, but it was rarely so repeated. I swear to all I hold holy, you're so dense you need to be taken to Cern as a possible canidate for Dark Matter. The woman behind me snorted in laughter, and I felt my cheeks flush. Enjoy the show, lady. I shoved my hands into my pockets to hide their trembling. "No, I didn't mean that, I just...good lord, hold on a second. How do you not know he's asking where the frozen dinners are?" she said. Both the cashier and I turned to stare at her. "They're in Isle 17," the cashier said weakly. But I was the one with the wider eyes. How the hell did you read the paper from there? The woman behind me's eyes widened when I had the thought. Woman might be a stretch. She looked a year or two older than me, just old enough to be in college. "What?" she asked. Oh my God, it's like you can read my mind. I thought. The woman went pale all of a sudden, like she just had seen a ghost. "Uh...why don't I help you with those dinners?" she said weakly. Oh yes, because being unable to speak directly effects my ability to move my arms. I shrugged and took a step out of the line that had piled up behind me. The woman followed. "You can't tell anyone," she hissed quietly. Because I clearly can tell so many people so many things, I thought with a scowl. The woman laughed, and I stopped cold. She froze as well. We both looked at each other for a long moment. You really can read my mind, I thought. I swear, if the woman's eyes grew eye wider, they'd be in danger of falling out of her skull. "I thought you already knew," she thought. You can read my mind really badly, I added, running a hand through my too long hair, hair that needed a trim I couldn't afford. "Oh God oh shit, I'm so screwed, I let you know..." the woman was practically vibrating with fear. I was shaking too, but for a different reason. Fear was part of it, yes. Telepathy was supposed to be impossible. But this woman...this woman was casually reading my mind, even if she was terrible at picking up subtext. "Listen, I know what you thought, but if you tell anyone I told you I'll be cast out. I'll be exiled. And then I...I just don't know what happens. Without the protection I get I-" In a swift notion, I reached up to the neck of my turtleneck and pulled it down. She cut herself off, the way most people did when she saw the ugly scar across my throat. It was so wide, it looked almost like a second mouth. Ironic, given that it had left me silent since I was twelve. "What happened?" she asked. Car accident, I lied. Through my head flashed an image of a beer bottle, broken, a man screaming in a drunken rage. "No, that wasn't a car accident," she said, her hands balling into fists at her side. "You...how old are you?" Seventeen I thought. Look, I'm sorry, I don't even know you're name and you're reading my mind and- "Clara," she said, holding out her hand. "Clara Hamilton. And you are Greg. You have a last name but you hate it so I'm not going to repeat it out loud out of respect." Thanks, I thought. It was so good to have a normal conversation with someone. It'd only been a year. I still barely spoke ASL myself. Enough to get by if I couldn't find paper, but paper was easier, and more people could- "Read that then understand ASL. You're right about that. Look...are you still living with the person that did this to you?" The way my mind carefully went blank gave it all away. Clara's eyes hardened. "Yeah. Okay, look. How would you like an alternative." Now I could only blink in confusion. What are you saying? "I live with others like me. I'm so dead for telling you any of this by the way, but...well, what I can do isn't something you're born with. It can be learned. And given...given everything, I'm sure I can convince them to take you in. It's not right." I felt my heartrate speed up. My step father will never let me go. Clara gave me a smile that was far too nice to actually be kind. Like the warmth from a flame before it leapt onto the walls. "I'm not the best telepath. I'm very good at being very, very persuasive. I promise you, Greg, your stepfather will not be an obstacle." And I'll learn to be a telepath? I thought. "I can't promise what you'll learn. But I can promise you...you'll be surrounded by people that can understand you. I'll understand if you want time to -" Can we do this now? I have my car in the parking lot. Clara smiled and laughed. "Then...let's go." Practically floating, I followed her, the groceries abandoned. That was three years before the discovery of our hidden community. That was three years before the Night of Burning Skies and the War. That was three years before I did learn telepathy. That was three years before the rest of humanity tried to take away the first happiness I'd known in my life. So if you want to know why I'm here, why I walked into your base of operations, and why your men are all going to sleep one by one, Director....it was because a woman was kind to me. These people you call monsters were kind to me. They gave me a home, when the rest of humanity had given me nothing but scorn. Now pick up that shard of glass on your desk. Good. Because you personally have killed six people I care about. Personally. Ah, good, you can see what I'm making you do with it. Don't worry, Director, you'll still be alive when your people find you. Of course, they'll execute you. You've been touched by one of our minds, and you won't ever be able to convince them I didn't brainwash you. After all, how will you when you won't even be able to speak? --- More short works by me at /r/hydrael_writes More long works by myself and others at /r/redditserials

The detective sat in his chair with

"Admit it. It was you, we already know you did it." "That's strange, I thought I was brought here for questioning, am I under arrest?" The detective sat in his chair with a smug smirk that made his mustache a bushy check mark. "You think you're so smart. I've dealt with so many punks like you it's not even funny. Where were you on the night of March 31st, 2019." "Do people normally remember where they were a whole year ago? We're awfully far removed from that date, officer. Is this about the April fools day prank? I was already cleared a year ago," Teddy said. He leaned down to the table and pushed his glasses up his nose with cuffed hands. "I didn't do my diligence back then. I should have pressured those goons you hired harder. Soon as we had something on them, they sang like mocking birds." Teddy smiled and helpfully added, "the expression is like a canary officer." The plump man rose to his feet, knocking his chair over and slapping both palms on the metal table, his face as red as a tomato. "I don't give a flying bats ass." Teddy tilted his head and smiled. He loved communicating with these simpletons. It was hysterical how disconnected they were with the rest of the world, that's the only reason he could pull this off in the first place. "Rat's ass, officer." "Correct my speech one more time boy. You think you're so smart, don't ya?" the man placed a box full of papers on the table. A strip of masking tape was stuck on the front with his name on it. "We haven't been sitting around with our fingers stuck... our thumbs stuck up our asses. There are three more just like this one in evidence." "That's amazing, may I read it?" The officer pulled the box back, shaking his head hard enough to mess up his toupees alignment, "I'll read it to you in court. Hell, if you're cooperative, I won't turn you over to the feds. We can wrap all of this up right now." "So what will you be charging me with? Am I under arrest?" The officer finally smiled, "Yup, thanks to eye witness accounts and a warrant to check on your spending habits last march, we've got enough to put three hundred acts of destruction of government property on you." "Ah, I see," Teddy sighed and slumped in his chair, it was an act, but the detective was buying it. "So what do you say, you want to keep this in our town or bring it up to the feds?" "Well officer this has been incredibly exciting, but I'd like to speak with my lawyer now." The detectives red face shifted from tomato to grape, and he grabbed the box heading towards the door. It slammed shut behind him and Teddy laughed as he heard the screaming and cursing from behind the thick glass. They left him in there for three hours, leaving the AC off. Trying to get him to crack, but Teddy knew that if he could hold his tongue for just a bit longer he'd be walking out of here at the end of the night. &#x200B; The burly jock walked through the door with a suit that couldn't handle his muscles. "Shit Ted, did you really do it?" "Have a seat Patrick, I've been waiting hours to see you." The athletic lawyer shrugged, nearly ripping his hand-me-down jacket, "Alright, we can go at your pace." "Did they offer a coke?" "Yeah but I turned them down like you asked, whats all this about?" "Isn't this town so amusing? It's like we still live in the sixties, the police don't even use computers." "Hell that's what it's like in the boonies, if you hate it so much why didn't you come to school with me? You don't have to live here." Teddy shook his head, "Not everyone can get a full-ride scholarship for throwing balls. Besides, I needed to make them pay first, they all bullied me, the adults all looked away, this was revenge." Despite being an all-American pitcher, Patrick was the only one in town that gave a damn about Teddy back then. Even if it was just because Teddy had the only computer with internet access in town that Patrick could watch baseball videos on. "Alright Ted, lets talk." "So do you know what happened?" "Of course, the thing made national headlines. Honestly, from the pictures I'm impressed. I might have even bought it." "It's crazy what people believe given enough evidence, and once you convince one or two loud mouth idiots, even the smartest in the town go along with it." "So explain it to me, how'd you do it?" "First I had to prepare, I studied the town for months and found every government sign, speed limits, stop signs, directions. I payed a bunch of dummies to steal them, it was easy, then I replaced them all." "The Kilometer speed limits, the signs in Russian," Patrick nodded. "Yup, and I didn't stop there. I broke into every gas station and switched out all the maps with ones from Russia. I even put one in the rest area, god the reactions when people saw the 'you are here'. It was glorious." Patrick folded his arms and leaned back, whistling impressed. "But signs and all that couldn't have been enough, people had to assume it was a prank right? How did you convince them they'd all been teleported?" "Do you know how they make fire works?" Patrick nodded, "Different metals burn different colors." Teddy smiled, proud of his actions. "I made a green ring of fire that burned for over an hour around the town, thank god it didn't rain, that would've ruined everything. The final step was to make a very loud noise that woke them all up in the middle of the night. Once they were all gathered I simply had to whisper the idea, others would start shouting it. The delusional Neanderthals bought it hook line and sinker." "But why Ted? What was the point of all of this?" "It was the only way I could make them understand what it was like. All my life I felt like I didn't belong. Like I was an intruder in a foreign land. I wanted them to understand what it was like to fear the outside world." \~\~\~ Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this prompt, subscribe to for more of my quirky Quark goodness! Critiques and criticisms are always appreciated!

Preston Cameron Morgan IV was the third

The main lecture hall of Merlin College was starting to fill up as Preston Cameron Morgan IV made his way up the narrow stairs to the back of the hall. Preston was a large young wizard who loved partying more than the serious study of magic. He was the third member of his family to be accepted to Merlin College and had become a fixture of the fraternity that both his grandfather and father had been members of: Alpha Beta Rho. He had eschewed the usual robes today and instead wore a large, ill-fitting t-shirt with the fraternity's symbol on it and it's motto in large friendly letter below it: "Abras Forever!" With a huff and a puff he flung himself into his usual seat and began to settle himself into his chair when he noticed that his friend, Teddy was shifting in his seat and looked somewhat green. "Why you look so nervous, Teddy?" More and more witches and wizards were pouring into the hall chatting to each other and finding their seats as they waited for the Professor to arrive. "It's Familiar Day." "Actually," Preston let out a large, wet, juicy belch. "It's Thursday, my man. You know what that means?" "What?" Preston leaned over and whispered as loudly as he could to Teddy. "DRINK SPECIALS AFTER CLASS. Who's ready to get LIT?" "Um, Preston," Teddy said. "It's Wednesday." "No, it's not," Preston replied. Teddy rotated the laptop he had perched on a thick, leather bound book labelled 'Practical Spells and Methusaleh's Guide to Familiars' and clicked on the calendar icon. After a moment, it loaded. "See? Wednesday?" Preston looked a little ill. "Is it really the 23rd?" "Yes." "So, it's-" "Familiar Day, yes," "And I have-" Preston reached into his bag and pulled out- "Fritos Flavor Twists, honey barbeque flavored." "You didn't bring of your potions or spell books?" "Dude," Preston said. "How long have you known me?" "Three years now," Teddy replied. "And have you ever known me to bring potions or spell books to class on a Thursday afternoon?" "No." "Because?" Teddy sighed. "Drink specials after class," he said. "You gotta get... lit." "Damn skippy!" Preston said. "Well, your dedication to partying is impressive," Teddy said. "Thanks, bro," Preston replied. "So what are you gonna do?" Preston shrugged. "Too late to run and get my stuff," he said. "I'll just have to wing it." Teddy looked as though he was about to say something, but before he could, the Professor entered the room and expectant hush fell. Professor Archibald was a cantankerous old man who had a stare that could stop even the bravest of first year students in their tracks. He was a battle ax of a teacher, drowning them in homework and make all their lives a living hell. Despite that, every student who came out of his classes intact (more of a problem than one might think when it comes to incantations) all came to the realization that despite Archibald being a total and utter bastard of a professor, they had actually learned quite a lot and learned it well. "All right," Archibald said into the silence. "It's Familiar Day. You should all know the drill and, more importantly, what to expect. Depending on the level of spell you perform, you could end up with anything from an animal to an imp or a sprite or a full grown demon as your familiar." He started pacing at the front of the lecture hall. "In all my years of teaching, I've yet to see any student get a fully grown demon as their familiar. I've seen a sprite or an imp now and again. But the majority of you are going to end up with animal familiars. It'll be your job to take care of them, bond with them and use them to enhance your powers." He clapped his hands together and rubbed the palms vigorously, looking for a moment to be positively excited at the prospect. "Right. Any questions? No? Let's get started." He strode over to the lectern and looked down at his class list. "Ingrid Albertson." Teddy and Preston watched as their classmates went up to the front of the stage, drew their spell circles and cast their incantations to summon their familiars. Ingrid got a barn owl. Trevor got a frog. Alistair got a cat. There were lizards, snakes, eagles, falcons, a wolf- something that everyone thought was going to be an imp, but turned out to be armadillo. Lisa Miller, a young witch whom Preston insisted on referring to as 'that blonde hottie' manage to summon a small blue imp who immediately leaped into her arms, much to the delight of Professor Archibald and then, finally, it was Preston's turn: "Preston Morgan." Preston made to get up, but Teddy reached out a grabbed him by the arm. "Wait a second," he said. He leaned over and dug in his bag for a moment before handing a piece of casting chalk to Preston. "Take this. It's my spare." "Hey, thanks man," Preston said. He slipped the chalk into his pocket, grabbed his wand and the bag of Fritos and headed down the stairs and made his way to the stage. Professor Archibald fixed him with a disapproving glance. "Where are your potions, young man?" "Don't need 'em, Prof," Preston said with more confidence than he felt. "Got some chips and my wand, right here." "You realize," Professor Archibald said, "That failure to summon anything will result in you getting a F on this assignment which is worth 50% of your final grade." "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Prof," Preston said. He knelt down and then set about drawing his incantation circle, slowly and deliberately and then, when he was done he stood up and made a careful examination of it, circling it once, checking for any breaks in the line. Then, satisfied with the circle, Preston planted his feet and drew his wand, holding the bag of chips in the other hand. He said the incantation in a loud clear voice and as he reached the climax of the incantation he pronounced the final words and then threw the bag of Fritos over the line and into the circle. There was a blinding flash of green and then the room filled with a lurid yellow smoke. It cleared, revealing- gasps echoed throughout the room and even the expression of disgruntled disapproval that had marked Professor Archibald's face was gone. Now, he looked impressed. There, in the center of the circle, holding the bag of chips in his hands was a fully grown demon. It was pale blue with the usual horns, hoofed feet and a long, sinuous tale. It was also, as some of the students noticed immediately stark naked. "Thanks," it rumbled and opened the chips. It reached in and delicately pulled out a Fritos Flavor Twist. "I was getting awfully hungry." "You're welcome," said Preston. "Um, you're my familiar. Did you know that?" The demon nodded. "Yep," he said. "Been a few centuries since I've had a human, so I'm probably due." He stood up and, still holding the back of chips in one hand extended his hand. "I'm Larkothemialanagalopoulous. But most humans just call me Lark for short." Preston reached over the circle and shook the demon's hand. "Pleased to meet you, Lark. I'm Preston." "Nice to meet you, Preston," the demon said. "Tell me, do humans still like... oh what was it called. Beer?" Preston grinned at the demon and brushed away the chalk incantation circle so that Lark could step over the line. "You know what, Lark? I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

There was one memory that I always

There was *one* memory that I always thought as the most important memory. But as I got older, even those precious memories will slowly fade. Perhaps it was the old age? It most definitely was the time. Or maybe it's that those special memories are often painful, and thus it's only natural for our brains to reject those memories. I want to tell you my story. But I don't want to go into detail. And why should I? After all, it's a despicable story full of self-hatred, depression, and struggle. It did get better. But not when I was young. Many told me - appreciate your youth. It's the best time of your life. No. I despised it. I was bullied at school. My parents *never* cared about me. Oh, don't get me wrong - they were very successful parents who could do or buy anything. But that's what they all were about - their success. In the end, I was alone. And their divorce didn't make it better - it shattered my world. You have no idea how many times I cursed money. They always talked about money. One might ask that rich people *should be* fine at school, right? But that was the very reason why I was bullied. I was different - rich. Every classmate expected me to buy free stuff for them. But I barely got any money from parents myself. So I was labeled as a kid who only thought about himself. Bullshit. But there was a turning point in my life. And perhaps I shouldn't talk of it the way one traditionally would, but the other way. I was reincarnated as a dog in a shelter. I was a puppy, and perhaps an ugly one. To be honest, I had always been ugly in every life. Almost like all those beautiful people in the world sucked the beauty out of me and left me whatever there was left. Of course, it could've been the self-critical view on myself as well. I never managed to get rid of it. And perhaps that's why I was adopted... by me. The *me* in the previous life had come and decided to adopt me. And I remember the reason: I was similar to him. And I was goddamn right about that. In time I turned into an egocentric person because I started to love myself. But not *myself myself*, but the other me in the previous life. I wanted to give the previous me all the love in the world. And as I saw myself, I began not to see only myself, but this sad boy who was alone. I remembered shards of my past. As a human, I never wanted anything more than love and hugs. I never got them. You have no idea how good a hug is if you barely get any. You have no idea how much brighter one's day becomes after a single hug. So, as a dog, I gave myself all of that. I hugged the other me a lot. I stayed with him a lot. I licked him a lot - even though it seems a bit weird at first. I rewatched every single anime together with him over and over again. And I saw him smile. And that made me smile. And I remembered the past self. Back then it was that dog that saved my life. It was that dog that helped me to go and meet the next day. It was that dog that always dragged me to that specific park, making me meet that woman who eventually became my wife. It was that dog who kept watching my kids as they grew. But that day came. I knew that day would come. As I grew, I remembered more and more. My human me didn't know, but I did, and I was ready. It was the day when that big bad dog tried to attack my kids. I had forgotten how and where it would happen, but I knew it would come. My human self was somewhere else, and the kids were playing together in the garden. I was chasing that annoying crow that never left me alone, making me follow him around. That is until I heard that weird sound. There was a growling sound. As I ran towards the sound, I saw a big black dog looking at kids. I immediately ran in-between the kids and the big bad dog, barking a lot to gain everyone's attention around the neighborhood. The big dog jumped on me, trying to bite towards my throat. I avoided it - barely - and bit his leg in the process, making him take a step back. But the other dog didn't wait. Instead, it dashed past me towards the kids. It was mad at my bite, and it wanted revenge. But he knew I was protecting the kids. All I could do was dive in and jump in between, feeling the sharp teeth touching my throat. Everything went black. "Angel!" A shout came - my other self shout. Oh, I remember that moment. Like expected, I heard a hit. I almost relived the memory how I hit the big dog with a pipe. I could hear how the other dog ran away. I could hear the kids crying. But they were safe - and that's what mattered most. I could feel it - everything going cold. I remembered the most painful memory in my previous life almost like a movie flashing in front of my eyes. But I was happy. After all - and it might sound egoistic - there was no better friend than myself. I had gotten something that I had yearned in my previous life - love. It's only natural that the least I could do was to protect everything that I loved. And if I ever were reincarnated again, I would do it again. "I love you, Angel. You've always been my angel, my savior. You're the most beutiful dog in the world!" the other me whispered to me the final words that I managed to catch. _***_ That's my story. And as I opened my eyes one last time, I saw that same annoying crow looking at me, intensely, releasing a few quick sounds. *If you're me, shriek twice,* I thought. **Caw, caw**. *I see. Thank you.* (/r/Elven - My subreddit, in case you want to read more of my writing)

A thousand straps were splayed out

I lowered myself into the coffin. That's what I called the apparatus I made use of once a year. It was a device specially crafted to contain me in my fury. A thousand straps were splayed out from the device. They were crafted from interwoven titanium and carbon nano-tubing. I could manage to snap one, if it were isolated, but I had never been able to rip free from this coffin before, no matter how hard I thrashed, no matter how loudly I screamed. I looked back at my wife, cursing myself for bringing her into this. "Ames, you don't have to stay for this. Really. Adams was my manservant for years, but he was still employed to me. I don't want you to see me in this pain. I don't want you to have to see my misery." She smiled at me, touching my shoulder gently. "No. I will stay with you through all of this. I love you, and I won't let you go through this alone." I leaned forward, blinking away grateful tears. Truth was, I didn't want to go through this alone. "I...I hate to seem weak. But honestly, I'm terrified Ames. The pain, it's unlike anything you could imagine. This last year...I went through so much. I'm not sure if I could face this without you," my voice quavered and broke at the end. She leaned into me, holding my face with gentle hands. "My superhero. You are my love, and I will help you every step of the way. I will do anything I can. I owe you so much." I kissed her on the forehead, then leaned back into the coffin. "Press the big red button Ames. I'll see you in an hour." "I'll be with you the entire time," she said, pain in her voice. The straps embraced me, gripping me tightly against the base of the coffin. I wouldn't move more than a thousandths of an inch in any direction. I waited. One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Pain. Pain exploded across my synapses like the big bang exploded into the void. One moment there was nothing, the next, everything. I felt my skin peeling back, left over from a run in with Millions Knives. I felt my blood boiling, a callback to flying into the sun to stop Helios from destroying the Earth. My fingers melted. My skull caved in. My spine shattered. My eyes felt as though they were peeled back, layer by layer. Every inch of my body simultaneously felt as though I had taken a fresh bullet wound. As if I were hit by a million cars. Eventually individual sensation vanished. The pain merged like a billion rivers feeding into a vast ocean of pure, unadulterated suffering. All through this, I caught glimpses of Amy's face. She was concerned. She was shocked. The last expression puzzled me, she was grinning savagely. I thrashed, I screamed, I felt the Earth tremble with the force of my struggles. But I had built the coffin well. I did not break through. I did not break through. Eventually, the tidal waves of pain subsided, leaving me slack and weak against the straps which bound me. Amy opened the coffin, but did not immediately release my fastenings. "Is it....is it over?" she asked. I spoke through lips caked with vomit, through eyes which were flooded by tears. "Yes. It's over. Press the green button on the left to let me go." She smiled softly, I must have been imagining the evil grin I had seen, and wiped down my eyes, followed by my mouth. "I'm sorry honey. I can't do that," she said, a trill of glee behind false sorrow. I was incredulous. "Amy. I get the joke, ha ha. Just let me go. There is so much work to be done. So many who rely on-" She cut me off with a surprisingly hard smack. The emotional impact stinging more than the slap itself. "Shut your mouth. You are a cancer on the world," her voice trembled with rage. "You 'hero'. You think anyone cares? Do you think we will miss you when you're gone? Do you realize how many wives you have made widows? How many Fathers have lost their sons because of you!?" Her voice was a scream, her eyes wild. "I don't-" she smashed a hammer she had held behind her back into my teeth, the handle broke, my teeth did not. "Shut up!" she screamed. "You fought Doomhammer in New York seven years ago. You and he were having a punchup in the middle of Central fucking park! You were throwing cars at him, you smashed him into the ground with trees. You punched him through a building, into another. Did you ever wonder how many people died in just that one fight!?" She shuddered in a deep breath. "The fact is, you're worse than any of the villains. You never stop to consider collateral damage. Do you have any idea how many people you have killed? How many you are personally responsible for killing?" her voice was now cold with fury. "I don't know. Listen, Ames, I really don't know. But what I do know is that what I do ultimately saves lives. If a few people die in the crossfire, can I really be to blame?" "Tell that to my fucking husband and child!" spittle splattered on my face, tears fell in streams, staining her shirt. "It's for the greater good!" I yelled. " She spat at my face, seething with anger. "You. Killed. My. Husband. And. Son," she said through gritted teeth. "You punched Doomhammer through the building he was working in. It was take your kid to work day. You followed Dommhammer in. You caved in his entire floor. They both died." She took a shuddering breath, collecting her wits. "You could have taken the fight outside of the city. Other heroes do that all the time. They may start the fight in the city, but they guide it away from civilians." "I'm sorry. I really am. But what do you think you're doing here? You can't kill me. I don't need to eat. What do you expect to accomplish?" I asked. "You can't blame me for their loss. Why don't you take this up with Doomhammer? If he hadn't started the fight, if he hadn't been attempting to subjugate the city, your husband wouldn't have died!" She laughed coldly, sheer hate burning from her eyes. "We will get our revenge on him, in time. We'll get our vengeance on all of your *kind*," she nearly spat the word. She straightened herself, looking into some place I couldn't see. "I swallowed my hate. I kept it hidden. I allowed you in my bed every night. I want you to know that I was waiting for this moment. I was waiting for this exact fucking moment.", hate burned, icy in her voice. "I am going to see just how much pain it takes to kill you. Hell, maybe it won't work. But eventually we'll break your mind." She laughed. "I've invited some of your enemies here. People who have lost family, friends, loved ones to you and your fucking super powered friends." With that, she got to work. I felt nothing of what she did. But I would. In a year. I struggled, but the bonds were made well. They were made too fucking well. _________________________ /r/SirLemoncakes, Made some significant edits. Let me know what you think.

The Archangel had offered immortality for a

I open my eyes in a place I do not recognize even from my wildest dreams. I rise to my feet groggily, swaying unsteadily like a newborn fawn trying to test out its limbs. My head feels like it is going to explode into a billion fragments. Pain, I should mention, has not been a familiar concept to me for a year. When the Archangel had appeared in my vision, he had offered me immortality for a year in exchange for an hour of hell. I must admit, I'd spent most days afraid of nothing, but most nights terrified of what the future would bring to me. I received my blessing at 6 AM on the 24th of December. Today is the 24th, but it's only 5 AM. I'm standing in a pitch black corridor, where I can see nothing but a white spot on the horizon. As if pulled by an inexplicable force, I gravitate towards this white speck, as it grows larger with every step that I take. A white door. It is a plain white door with a black knob, floating in the center of this dark universe. Beside the door is the Archangel from my dreams. "Welcome to Hell," he says in a sombre tone. "Try to walk out with the same mind you walk in with." With that, he throws the door open. I will be honest with you. I expected a room filled with Hell's infamous wrath; pure red flames incinerating the wills of sinners, the Devil's minions snapping their whips at the Punished, till skin gave way to flesh and bone. But inside the room, all I could see was another room filled with pure darkness. Except in the center, was a solitary white chair. I turned to look at the Archangel for guidance, but he was nowhere to be seen. I tentatively step into the room, half expecting to turn to dust or be struck by lightning. I make my way to the chair and touch it. The surface feels icy to touch. At this point I reconsider my punishment. Maybe I could stay here for an hour, and lie to the Archangel about it? I take a look at my watch. The time is 5 AM. None of the three hands are moving. Exasperated, I decide to take a deep breath. I lower myself into the chair. As soon as I collapse into it fully, it comes alive. The chair begins to burn my invulnerable torso, I can feel my skin being welded to it's surface. The agony lasts until all my limbs have become part of this chair. All my mobility has been taken away from me. I glance at my watch. It is 5:01 AM. The white door swings open. I see a little girl walk in, stopping only a few feet away from me. She is about 8-9; and just looking upon her face breaks my heart. Her eyes have sunken in to her bony face, as if she had known nothing but grief all her life. Her skin is pale, with a yellowish, sickly tinge to it. She looks me straight in the eye and begins to speak. "To the man who tried to play God, My father was a good man. He didn't always do good things, but he was a good man. The night you met him, he had broken into a convenience store to steal food for a family that hadn't eaten for a week. Carrying the weight of a family and the guilt of a desperate human being, he had never held a gun in his life before. Up until you broke the glass of the front door, he had never fired one either. But the sound of it terrified his already frayed nerves. The trigger was pulled more out of unconscious fear than intention. It took the life of the store owner he was aiming at but never meant to kill. Even if you had spared my father then, he would have lived as a dead man, tortured by the unforgivable sin of his burdens. But knowing him as a good man, I know you could have shown him better. You could have been the father that he had been to me; you could have taught him the error of his ways. Instead you threw him through the soft drink machine. The glass shards punctured him but didn't let him bleed out. He begged for forgiveness in front of you, and yet you let him squirm to a horrifyingly slow death; despite knowing you could have healed the wounds he had suffered outside and the one he nursed within. But you didn't. So this is the God you are. My father died knowing he did something he had to do to save his family. I carried my own hurt and the one he left behind on my shoulders. I didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this. To the man who chose to play God, this is my pain." I stood there gaping at the young girl in horror as she turned and walked out the door. My mind was spinning out of control. The headaches had returned, and I could feel myself sweating. My breaths were dying in my throat; I could feel the onset of an incoming panic attack. As soon as the girl disappeared, a slender, blonde haired woman walked in through the door. She looked disheveled and extremely untidy; as if she hadn't bothered to look at herself in a mirror for years. "To the man who played God," she began. "You saw my husband standing over the mutilated corpse of the police officer he murdered. The man he brutalized for violating me in my prison cell repeatedly, as the others laughed and took turns. You took my husband; a man who was blinded by rage, rendered irrational by fury. You took a man who wanted to avenge a crime even justice refused to set right. I know what my husband did was wrong. But you always thought yourself the better man, didn't you? Then why didn't you do any better than what that flawed human being did? To the man who tried to play God. This is my pain." I check my watch. It is 5:02. Edit: overwhelmed by the response to this, thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read it. Also, really grateful to the two wonderful strangers for their silver :) I almost only a week old here, I write at r/whiteshadowthebook. Have a wonderful day and thank you again!

The fate of all this hangs by

"Listen dear fellow, we haven't much time. Remember in this place, you always must rhyme." "Trust me on this, the price is quite dire. The fate of all this, it hangs by a wire." "But why should I?" I asked, "What's the harm?" He looked at me, with clear alarm. "By Horton, you've done it. Now jump in that pit!" What I saw next drove out a "Shit!" A clomping great monster, with teeth like daggers. With steaming hot breath, and a stench which staggers. Its eyes were fire, its claws were knives. I said a quick prayer, in fear of our lives. The beast snorted once, and turned its great head. I silenced my breath, my chest filled with dread. The monster turned then, and bolted away. I must keep to the rhymes, to hold it at bay. "I simply don't know how. To rhyme all that well....cow." The Cat in the Hat said with a moan. "You're our only hope now, don't you dare groan. With your lapse in rhyming, our doom was nearly sewn." "What does that mean? I am your savior, is that what I....glean?" He exclaimed with glee, "You've figured it out! You'll soon be a hero, of that I've no doubt." The Cat in the Hat looked at me and sat. "The Whos down in Whoville muster their forces. The Lorax will follow, or so say my sources. We fight the beast's army, with fire and steel. But we need a man from the land of the real. There once was a hero, in times long forgotten. A man called Seuss whose fate was quite rotten. He came with his rhymes and fought off the evil. But after he died, there was quite the upheaval. Horton was the first, to succumb to the madness. He attacked all his friends, infected with badness." "He spread his disease, slaughtering dozens. Like Cindy Lou Who and all of her cousins. The plague spread from there, across all the land. The fires consume, by rage they are fanned. But soon we will strike, the time draws quite near. With you by our side, there's nothing to fear." "But how can I help, what can I do? For I am no Seuss, I can't see this through." "Only a Seuss can survive, that gate through which you traveled. Anyone else, would soon be unraveled." He said with a smile, "You have to my lad, Our fates are now twined, for good or for bad." I swallowed my doubts, and nodded my head. Were it not for the Cat, I'd likely be dead. "I'll do my best, but I promise no more. Honestly, this rhyming is really a chore." The Cat in the Hat nodded and stood. I could now make out, that his hat was a hood. He covered his face, and asked me to follow. His assurances sounded really quite hollow. "The man that I mentioned, you carry his blood. When the rhyming is needed, it will come in a flood." "I knew not my father, but he wasn't a Seuss. At least not as far as my mom could deduce." "Only his blood can enter, through the portal you did. You're lucky that the portal was quite well hid. I've waited there for ages, in hopes that you'd come. To tell you the truth, most thought me a bum. But now you're here, and just in time. The battle is coming, and you're in your prime." I followed the Cat, through forests burnt down. And through flooded cities, where thousands did drown. There were great giant billboards, adverts for thneeds. But no one to buy them, as death stopped their greed. So too was there beauty, in amounts to spare. I saw flowing rivers and mountains laid bare. We walked through lost temples, with glittering gold. We saw icy tundras, with climates most cold. At the end of this splendor I saw horrors once more. Fields filled with headstones, a sight to abhor. We came to an army, we were surrounded by Whos. The Lorax showed up, riding a bird with shoes. The Lorax inquired "Who have we here? What dark purpose has made you appear?" "He is no Who," chimed Thing One and Thing Two, "He is a Human, we thought you knew!" The Lorax exclaimed "Why, of course I knew! I'm not so stupid to confuse him for a Who!" "Since you are a Human, do you expect me to bow? I am the Lorax, and I don't kowtow." "Please Mr. Lorax, I mean only to aid. To stop the trouble into which I have strayed." The Lorax looked cautious, but he had not a choice. He looked at the blackness and then cleared his voice. "The Human can help us, his words have power. We now need his help, in this darkest hour." All of a sudden, dark clouds coalesced. The young man felt a chill in his breast. He yelled in alarm, "What is that!? Tell me now, you Cat in a Hat!" The Cat flinched away. His face had gone grey. "That's the source of it all. The cause of our fall." I nodded my head. I swallowed my dread. And then with a charge, "I'm going to face it!" Followed by a whisper, "Holy fucking shit." A man stood before him, a figure in black. He held up his hands, warding off attack. "My boy, is that you? Tell me, is it true?" The voice was quite haunting, like a shade long forgotten. Of a childhood lost, of a boy misbegotten. "Don't trust him my lad!" screamed the Cat in the Hat, "He is but a shadow, he isn't your Dad!" I looked up with tears, and saw he was right. The man was a shadow, and one I would fight. The wind picked up then, it screamed and it howled. The shadow then reared, this sentence it growled. "You think you can kill the Bane of All Whos? The one who will slay all Thing Ones and Thing Twos? Don't make me laugh, you are no Seuss. You're barely a Human, you'll swing from a noose!" "Why have you come here, why did you do this? Is there nothing in Seussland which you might miss?" The shadow looked puzzled, my words found their mark. For in its eyes, I could make out a spark. "What do you mean, what's there to miss? Seussland is as pleasant as a bag of piss." "Well how 'bout I show you, I know this land well. I'll show you the sights, I think you'll like swell." The shadow soon followed, behind me he floated. Through rivers of fish, we swam and we boated. We hiked up the mountains which glittered like gold. I walked him through ruins with treasures untold. I showed him the forest filled with ivory mouses. I showed him Groon towns, with mite-sized houses. I walked him along to the door where I entered. Before he realized, my hand I had centered. With my mightiest shove, I pushed in the shade. He tumbled into darkness, and farewell I had bade. "Only a Seuss may enter, I hope you remember. Any non-Seuss, the portal will dismember. Trouble no longer this world of mine. I think without you, it'll get on just fine!" I watched as the shadow ripped and it tore. Just as it faded I heard what it swore. "I'll be back, mark what I say. And when I return, there will be Hell to pay!" I met with the Whos, they met me with grins. They called me a hero, so say the Thing Twins. The world would recover, now free of its shade. Until the next Seuss was called to their aid. _______________________________ /r/SirLemoncakes

This was my project and it had

That night I was the last to leave. I felt that I should have told the others the results, but it was all too tempting to keep it to myself. This was my project and it had already been deemed a failure. The fans were blowing. Outside, the night promised rain. I could hear a howling wind. The lights were off and the shadows were deep. I remember sitting there in front the screen. It was all dark noise, a loud and incoherent scatter. My colleagues hadn't thought it would work. The simulation was not possible. And indeed there was little evidence at first. When they left I had only the suspicions of something happening. I could read the data, but more importantly, there on the screen I could almost see the agility of life. I could see the patterns of *purpose*. Or maybe I was just hopeful. This project had occupied my life for many years and it was all I had. But I had something. And that night came its fruition. It was my duty to tell them and I did not. I kept it to myself. I stared at that screen as I agitated the workings, fast forwarded the simulation of time. A loneliness struck me there as I watched alone. It was not the first time that I felt so. In the dark I felt my body slouch, I felt the very real and earnest sensation that I would exist alone, and that I would die the same. My life projected into that dark room. I felt as though the shadows foretold my very existence; as though all my hopes were as desolate as the feeling cultured in that empty office. And perhaps I was also feeling guilty for not calling the others. *This might not work,* I thought. I moved to Earth and the screen blared brightly as the planet came to view. I saw its formation as twisted rock and metal collided, as oceans of red emerged as though a world bleeding from the wound of creation. I saw a world birthed in the black, settle into near perpetual cloud, and then become silent as though waiting. Waiting. So was I. I waited there as that false time passed. I felt my skin prickle. I breathed consciously. *I am alone,* I thought. I am not sure why I thought that. I focused on life on Earth. I saw it form rudimentary. I saw it become complex. Death and change and change and death. The room sighed in its nighttime way. Humans emerged. I was waiting for them to come. *For us to arrive.* The simulation ran on the world's best technology. Here was the synthesis of all that advancement, of all that enlightenment. I saw faces. They moved towards my invisible camera. They walked as hunters and looked as friends. These were people who did not exist and here I stared at them. London at night is lonely if you have nowhere to be. I shivered from the cold as the rain began to fall. I stared at the screen with a great sadness in my heart that I could not explain. I saw ages come and go. Tribes rose and fell as civilization marched. Here I had slowed the simulation. I took in the births of consciousness, of sapience, of friendships and reality. *I have become God,* I thought. And I wondered of my lodgings. It was a contrasting thought yet they were inseparable. I thought of the curtains there, and the cramp-ness of my room. I thought of my own existence, I suppose. *I have never been with anyone. I haven't had a friend.* But why did I think those things? And why does it still remain? I stared at that screen and touched the glass. These people who did not exist felt and lived and died. I watched in horror, and in joy. Some faces stuck with me as the years flew. I saw them morph through the ancestral flow of life. They died and went. They were reborn. My eyes were wet. Part of me wanted to turn off the simulation as we arrived to our time. *This is enough,* I thought. But I couldn't. I continued watching. I saw war and destruction, life and death. Worlds being explored and the expiration of home; the mourning of humanity's first love. I saw them create their own simulations and then the simulations of those simulations. An endless stream of life flowed from my screen. In the silence the machines hummed as the rain overhead curtained London. And that curtain seemed more a barrier than just water. I was surrounded by people, by endless life, and yet here I was alone. Here I was separated. I tried to talk to the people on the screen as God through Moses. They couldn't hear me. I did not exist. And then they did not exist. They died as life came and went, ebbed and flowed. But one thing remained constant: life always endured. *Yet you are alone.* I held my breath and steadied my heart. There was a great turmoil in the simulation. Humanity struggled against space, against the philosophical consequences of simulations. I saw the heavens move and I saw the galaxy explored. I saw many things which I did not understand. *This existence goes on without you,* I thought. I was not sure which I was referring to. I closed my eyes. Soon all would end in the simulation. I knew there must be an end, and it was close. I switched it off. It was a snap decision. The machines stopped and all was still as the screen faded slowly into that brownish black of dark's reflection. Then I saw my face in that screen and there was an old man who stared empty at me. He was hunched over as the images of an eternity still burned in his brain. "I've seen it all," I said to myself. "I've seen the whole world." And there was no response. There never is. I got up from the chair and left the labs. In the dark my shoes echoed through the halls. I thought of my lodgings and of my bed where I would hardly sleep. A vacant feeling filled me and I yearned for something real, for the feeling of life and of living. *Is this a simulation?* I wondered. I thought the question unanswerable, but I knew my life to be false, and to be hollow. *I am lonely,* I thought. And that thought echoed in a vast emptiness. I stepped outside and embraced the rain. - *Hi! If you liked this story then you might like my subreddit, r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including some un-prompted ones. Check it out if you can!*

Mara stared up at the gaud

Mara stared up at the house. It loomed overhead, gaudy and opulent and everything she'd known it would be. She eyed the wonderfully worked rafters, the intricate brickwork that lined the eaves. "Come on," she heard a voice say, quiet and firm. "Don't dally." Katherine was looking, when she turned. Waiting. There was no anger in her eyes, no pressure in the expression - just an iron, unwavering conviction. "Right," she echoed. Together, they walked up the front steps. The doorbell was just as ostentatious as the rest of the house. It echoed when they pushed the button, resounding with a cacophany of electronically generated bells. They waited. Mara clenched her fists, feeling the slow, steady acceleration of her pulse. And then a hand landed on her shoulder. "Don't worry so much. It'll be fine." "But they-" The creaking of the door opening cut her off. Mara stopped, the words dying on her lips. A woman peered out from the crack at them, her eyes as round as dinner plates. "Uh...are you-" "We're here for the deal." All of the gentleness vanished from Katherine's voice in an instant. Her head held high, she stepped over the threshold, pushing right past the woman. "Where is she?" "Not yet," the woman said, scowling. "We had an agreement. Pay up first." "Mommy?" Mara spun, her mouth falling open - and caught sight of the little girl, peeking around the corner of a hall. Her heart sank. The girl was lovely, with brilliant blue eyes and hair that glowed even in the dark - and there was no mistaking the love in her eyes as she stared at the woman. *Poor thing.* "Not now, Zoe. Mommy's busy," the woman snapped. The girl flinched. "Zoe?" Mara said, turning towards the girl. "That's a pretty name." The girl beamed, exposing a gap-toothed grin. That was all the encouragement she needed, apparently. She bounded across the gap, presenting a worn-down teddy bear for Mara to inspect. She did so, murmuring all the while. She wasn't even sure what she was saying - her attentions were fixed on Katherine, who was even then talking. "You understand the contract, yes?" she heard the senior witch say, her tone as brusque as it had been at the door. "Yes, yes. I made the agreement didn't I? Why don't you-" "Why don't you go outside and play with Zoe, Mara?" Kathering said abruptly, cutting the woman off. "Would you like that, Zoe?" Mara's heart caught in her throat. But Zoe only giggled, grabbing her hand and towing her towards the door. "Do you like tag?" "I do," Mara whispered, letting herself be pulled out. "I like tag a lot." She was across the room in seconds - but it wasn't fast enough to miss Katherine's voice. It had dropped a full octave, low enough she had to strain to hear. "So you want immortality, do you?" the witch said. "Enough to go to these lengths? Well. Let's see what we can do about that." Whatever the 'mother' said in return, it was eaten up by the sound of the door closing. Mara sagged, leaning back against the heavy wood. Zoe didn't wait. She skipped across the yard, towards where a playhouse waited in the corner. There were statues filling the elegantly-styled property, Mara saw. Ugly, bulky things, carved from marble and granite. They suited the woman. "Zoe," she heard herself say. The girl spun on her heel. It was her first time. Katherine had told her she'd be fine, had reassured her over and over again. She'd played the other role any number of times - the vengeful angel, the one who claimed the price these excuses for parents paid for their children's lives. But this was her first time playing the other role. Zoe spun, twisting to face her. "Huh?" "Come here. I have something I'd like to give you." She slid the toy from her pocket - a doll, intricately carved from wood. She'd never seen its like before. Well, besides for the one that sat beside her bed back in her room. Zoe's eyes lit up. She sprinted closer, grabbing hold of the wooden girl, and turned it this way and that. Mara's hand dropped onto her head, her touch soft and gentle. The girl would never understand, she knew. She was too young. The woman inside was her mother - even if she'd been willing to sign away her life for a spell. It was kinder this way. She repeated the thought over and over, clinging to it as a pale bit of comfort. And then she summoned up her magic, whispering the words that would wipe that monster from the girl's mind forever. It began slowly - just a dimming in Zoe's eyes, a stiffening of her hands. She still held the toy, but she'd frozen in place like a statue. And then it was done, and Mara drooped. She pulled the girl into her arms, holding her tight. "It'll be better from here," she whispered. "I promise." They'd done their research thoroughly, Katherine and her. They weren't about to steal from a deserving parent, after all. They'd seen the way the girl was treated. The disdain. The neglect. Distantly, she wondered if her own mother had been like that. The door pushed open - and Katherine stepped out briskly, her skirts swishing behind her. "Done?" Mara nodded, wordless. The girl was stirring, opening her eyes - and there was confusion there. For the first time, she looked afraid. "A-Are *you* done?" she asked Katherine, glancing in the window. The older witch's laughter pulled her up short. "Oh, yes," Katherine said, a tiny smile touching her lips. "Have to say, she made it easy with a house like this. Lots of options. I'll come back for the father tonight. We should take care of Zoe first, shouldn't we?" She leaned over on the last word, smiling at the girl. Mara squeezed the child's hand, standing. She cast one more look towards the house, the gaudy, hideous thing. The woman had asked for immortality, eh? She didn't have to look around to know that when they left, the yard would have one more statue to its name. "Let's go," she said, tugging on Zoe's arm. Katherine was already sweeping towards the car, full of smug satisfaction. "Who are you?" Zoe said, her brow furrowing. "Where are we going?" She'd be foggy for days, Mara knew. And then the girl would adjust - just as Katherine had, just as she had. She beamed down at the girl instead, forcing as much reassurance into the expression as she could, and turned towards the car waiting in the driveway. "Home." (/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me, /r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others!)

A nurse has a unique gift of

As a nurse, I thought I knew pretty much everything there was to know about pain. Not only from the perspective of my training, but thanks to my very unique and personal gift of being able to quantify pain into a discrete number. It helps to a certain degree when it comes to triage and administering first aid; the complaining guy with the 1.2 over his head because he stubbed his toe hardly warrants my attention when there is a woman with a 37 over her head from the bulging spinal disc next door to him, despite her stoic demeanor. It is, admittedly, a little disappointing that I cannot turn off this ability. No matter where I go, who I see, there's a number above their head. For the most part I have learned to ignore it. That was until I met Gerald. I had just stepped onto my usual bus I take to work, and had sat down when I noticed the number floating above the head of the fellow in front of me. I gasped: 800. I'd never seen a number in the triple-digits before. The highest I'd ever seen was a 73, and that number hovered over the head of someone who had been brought in after a house-fire, third-degree burns to 85% of his body. And that 73 was already after the morphine he'd been given on the ambulance ride over. He didn't survive, but in a way that was a blessing; it didn't take my ability to see the agony the poor man was in as he writhed upon the gurney as they wheeled him into the ER. I'd always kind of assumed that 100 was the most you could feel, based on my own experience. I was sure that meant instant death, though I admit that doesn't always make sense; I watched many people with a 0.1 over their heads simply drop to the floor from a burst aneurysm. Completely painless, but completely lethal. But as far as pain goes? I'm pretty sure 100 would be the end of you. And yet there sat this man on the bus before me, reading the newspaper, 800 hovering over his head. He looked perhaps late forties, early fifties tops, based on the grey in his otherwise brown hair, and I could see the ends of a pair of glasses over his ears. Curiosity got the better of me, and I gently tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, sir?" "Hmm?" he turned, only mildly startled, and I was regarded by light brown eyes and the barest hint of a smile. "Yes?" "Uh, sir, pardon the intrusion. My name's Elanor, I'm a nurse at Central. I know this is highly unusual, but... are you feeling okay?" "Gerald," he replied, and his expression didn't change. "I suppose I am. I don't feel sick, if that's what you mean." "Oh," I replied. For a moment I sat in silence, searching his expression. Gerald regarded me steadily. "It's just that, well, part of my job is being able to assess people's level of pain. And... well, sir, it seems yours is..." "I'm fine," Gerald interjected, the smile that was barely present disappearing entirely. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine." And with that, he turned back around and resumed reading the paper. I bit my lip, but I knew better than to try and press the issue. He wasn't a patient, merely a stranger on a bus, and I had no authority to go any further. But how I wanted to! My gaze drifted up, and I watched with growing concern as the number crept up to 803. What was going on here? I had reached my stop, and as I disembarked I cast a quick glance at Gerald. All I saw was the newspaper in front of his face. With a sigh, I made my to the hospital. The rest of the day was typical, though today was my long shift, not due to finish until 10 that night. It was just after 9 that the ambulance arrived, siren blaring and lights flashing. I had barely made it to the ER when the EMTs blasted through the doors with a gurney, a mostly lifeless body upon it. But still alive, for a number still hovered above its head; once a person dies, that number vanishes. And the number above this patient was 813. I stopped short, immediately robbed of breath, for two reasons. One, I knew it was Gerald, for I recognized the same clothes he'd been wearing when he rode the bus. And two, because that was the only way I could recognize him; his face was gone, a mess of obliterated bone and tissue with an ET tube poking out of it, and immediately I recognized the end result of a botched suicide by shotgun. This injury isn't new to me. The suicidal often try to take their own lives in this fashion, but with the effort of trying to reach the trigger with the end of the barrel jammed under their chin they end up tilting their head back, and the force of the blast does not go towards the brain, but instead up and forwards. They often survive, sometimes only for a while, sometimes going on to have their face reconstructed by incredible surgeons who give them a second chance at life. If they were lucky, they retained an eye or two, but many would go on to live blind. Gerald was still alive, but it seemed there would be no ability to see for him, as there was no sign of his eyes in the shredded mess of what used to be his face. As I set up a second central line in Gerald's arm, hooking him up to the infusion pump that would at least temporarily keep him alive, I watched in horror as the number crept up to 829. As the rest of the team of doctors and nurses rushed to pump pain relief, antibiotics, and attach him to ECG and EEG, I had a moment to ask the first responding EMT Gerald's circumstances. "Neighbor phoned it in," was the response. "Heard a single shot." "Family?" I inquired. The EMT shook his head. "He lived alone, apparently." And that's all there was time for before people scattered to their respective duties. If there was no immediate family living with Gerald, that meant any existing family would need to be found and alerted to the situation, and what would come next depended on whether Gerald had a living will. In the meantime, we were obligated to keep him alive. But as I watched the number above his head creep to 836, I was not sure that was the right path to take...

Julie's implant has been acting up

"Your implant has been acting up, lately," the kind old doctor said, holding out a lollipop. "This is going to be a little uncomfortable, but I'll have to take the main retinal node out and send it in for repair." Martha rolled her eyes. "And how long will *that* take?" "Approximately a month." "You can't be serious. The girl is deaf, doctor. How is she going to get by if she can't read or hear? Nobody knows ASL outside of affected families, these days. This is unacceptable." He held out his hands. "Now, now, I wouldn't leave her stranded like that for a whole month. However, we are out of loaners, and we expect one will arrive back within the week. A few days at most. It's quite a costly part, miss, as I'm sure you know. They rarely ever go bad." "And yet, it has." "I understand. We'll call you as soon as we get one back." Martha scoffed, taking Julie by the hand and leading her out of the office. She didn't understand what was going on as it took place--a few words gleaned off lips, but Robo, her implant, did most lip reading for her. It was a rough thing, losing it, even for just a little while. Her mom signed it all out in the car, though. When they got back home, she ran upstairs and plugged her phone in, then played a little Doodlehopper. Kind of an old game, but she thought it was fun, especially since it was one her Dad used to play. It reminded her of him. She lost the round and glanced over to her nightstand, where a piece of notebook paper was folded up and tucked into a picture frame. With a smile, she ran to it, picking it up and running her fingers across it. Even though she couldn't read, she knew the words by heart, and followed along in her mind as her gaze caressed the page. >My sweetest, most beautiful little girl. >I love you more than anything in the whole world. You are the light of my life, and without you, the world is nothing more than a dark, scary place. >I have to leave, sweet thing. You and your mommy are the best things in the world, but I'm very sick, and I have to go to Amsterdam. I have family there. But I'll fight my hardest, and try to make it back one day so we can play together. >I love you both. Her lips twitched between a smile and frown, and she put the note back in its home, sitting in a picture of the three of them from one Christmas long ago. Her mother had tried to tell her it was more complicated than that, and that they'd had some problems up to that point, but she believed wholeheartedly in the note and her father. He got mad sometimes, she could tell, but everyone gets mad. Julie gets mad, too, sometimes over nothing at all. Something bothered her--Did her dad say 'you are the light of my life' or 'you are the light of my world'? Suddenly, she couldn't remember it right, and frowned. She took a picture of the note and uploaded it to an app that reads takes pictures of words and shows a cartoon man saying them, then remembered Robo wasn't on anymore. None of what she picked up looked right, anyway, so it was probably just a stupid toy that didn't work very well. After a little more googling, she found something much more useful. It took a picture of the words and scanned them, converting them into little digital signs. It took her a while to find it, and it was pretty old judging by how the signs were flat and didn't move, but she understood them. The app let her review the words before conversion to ASL, and she compared what was on the screen to her note. Everything matched perfectly, from what she could tell. After a little circle spun around and around, the signs finally popped up. It was a bit confusing at first, but she picked it up quickly. Some words that aren't in ASL are fingerspelled, meaning that since no one sign is set to the word - usually a name - instead, the sign for each letter is spelled out. She dropped the phone. It had to be wrong. She read it again. It had to be wrong. But how could it be wrong? It had her mom's name fingerspelled in it. How could it know her name? How could it know that he went to Amsterdam? Crying, shaking, she read it again. It made more sense with each pass through, reality sinking like lead in her soul. There were a lot of things she didn't know, but Mom always said the note didn't make sense. She said her dad didn't have family in Amsterdam, and that the note was nothing like what he told her before he left, but Julie always thought her mom was just upset and lashing out. She looked down at the little scrap of paper. It trembled in her hands, and a teardrop fell onto the crisp page, marked only by perpendicular fold lines. Everything they'd meant to her was a lie. All her joy, pride, and hope wilted like unwanted roses. >I loathe you, Martha. I loathe you and our child. >I don't have the balls to say it to you, so I've gone through the trouble of having my node write up and print out this note as a way to tell you goodbye, because you deserve to hear the truth. A truth I don't want to say myself. The honesty of our situation. >I quite simply don't love either of you, and I'm miserable, trapped in this house. Working a job that makes me hate life in a town that's always cold because we don't want to relocate her, even though she has no friends to begin with. It's just always about her. I didn't even want a kid, Martha. We talked about it all the time before we got married. We weren't supposed to have a kid. I'm not a dad. >I'm tired of our life. I'm leaving for Amsterdam, and I won't be coming back. >Sorry. Despite Robo's best attempts, she had, in the end, had her little heart smashed into even smaller pieces. One day she would contemplate why Robo had done what it had, or *how* it was even possible. But, well, she was just a little girl. She was just a sweet, little girl, crying until her favorite note was every bit as wet and ruined as she was. --- */r/resonatingfury*

All my accomplishments are not my own

Have you ever felt the fraud? Put in a position that everyone expects you to do but you know, know deep in your bones, you are incapable of doing? That is how I've felt every day since I was cursed. All my accomplishments are not my own. They are stolen from me by this horrible magic. The joy I used to feel when creating beautiful things or finishing small tasked, it's been robbed from me time and again. I pick up my hammer to create a shield for my friend, and it is but done. The whorls and ripples of the metal are not mine. I did not put them there. I did not get the enjoyment of seeing this gift come to life under my hands. I did not get to design the pattern, in fact it has a creature on it I've never even seen. Something or someone has been stealing all of these small moments from me. If I had an easy tool to end this nightmare, I would pick it up in a heartbeat and welcome the brief darkness that clouds my mind when I start to work. So for now I live on with these patches in my memory, unsure of what I do or how I accomplish it. No one has picked up on it, so I must act completely normal while working. My friend even complimented me on the unique design I put on his new shield. It cut me to the quick, reminding me I did not make it. I feel no different now than that fateful night when this all began. I barely remember smelting that strange ore. Strong but strangely pliable, a deep emerald green I'd never seen before. Hah I can't even recall what I made with that mystic mineral. I just woke the next morning, with only spent charcoal in the forge and soot on my hands to show I'd done anything with my evening. I have not been able to bring myself to sell anything since. Everything this curse has made is not mine. I am afraid to profit from it and reap uncertain benefits with consequences. Even the gold pushed on me from well meaning customers sits on my desk, mocking me for being paid for what is not mine. I can provide for myself. I swear it. I won't let this, whatever it is, make me dependent. I can provide for myself. I can hunt, get my own food. I won't starve and can gain time to figure out what is happening. I resolutely walk out to my shed where I keep my hunting supplies. Granted I am quite rusty with the bow but I'm sure all I need is practice. I open the door and go to the wall where my tools hang. I stop as what greets me is not my simple wooden bow but an impossibility. A design of vines with a flower I've never seen before covers this metallic green weapon. It looks glorious and my fingers itch to hold it, to examine the craftsmanship that went into it. Did I make this? Is this what I worked on that night? Maybe it's the key to breaking this curse. A strong hunger grips me, urging, pushing, demanding I take this bow as my own. I resist for a moment but in the end, this curse has proven stronger than me several times before now. For a moment I feel the cool metal on my fingers, I can even test the bowstring and have a fleeting feeling of surprise when the metal bends like a normal bow. But too soon, that wave, no, that ocean of darkness encroaches, pulling me kicking and screaming under. It's different this time. It's softer. I can almost feel myself, not what's around me, but I am aware that I am in the darkness. I cast around, hoping to see any light, a way out. Maybe the bow was the key to breaking this. Maybe even now the curse is orchestrating its own demise, having me complete the task of destroying it. The darkness lasts a long time. Longer than I would've liked, but if this will end it then I can try and manage. Time passes, I have no way of telling if it's been a few moments or days or years. We are not meant to live in isolation but here I am. Early on there was panic that maybe the task was uncompletable. Maybe I would be stuck this way forever. But eventually that too passed. A light. Is it really a light? Or am I just tricking myself? But no, no matter where I look I can see this green spot light reminiscent of that bow that started this. I run? Float? I move toward it and realize it's not a spotlight; it's a pool. It is mirror still as I bend over it looking in. All I can see is myself. But the longer I look, I can see this is not me, something is different. Before I can grasp what has put me on edge, hand violently reaches out and grabs me by the collar and before I know it I'm plunging into the green liquid. Soaking, Coating, violating, pushing into me. I finally recognize it. Why didn't I realize this before? That bow wasn't going to help me. I was so desperate for some kind of relief or salvation that I didn't even question it. How could I be so stupid? I open my eyes to find myself at the top of a dias, people, hundreds of people kneeling before me and a new weight on my head. My hand, shaking, feels the crown on my head. A green tinge washes over my eyes and I hear in my head. "So it starts. Now we can truly begin to create." And once again I am a fraud, with other people's expectations that I know deep down, I can never fulfill.

Uncle Leo suggested to run a restaurant

At first we thought it was a joke. When Uncle Leo suggested it, we all thought he was nuts--run a restaurant? Sure, it was a great way to launder money, but he seemed to have forgotten that none of us can cook. Grandpa and his brothers yelled at him for a solid ten minutes, trying to poke holes in what he thought was the perfect plan. When they'd exhausted themselves, mild-mannered Uncle Leo shrugged. "We'll figure it out." Over the next two months, he had his sons quietly renovate one of our family's properties, smack in the middle of the warehouse district, into a tiny restaurant, complete with a five foot bar. In the meantime, he attached himself to my grandmother's hip. She didn't think anything of it--he'd loved to watch her cook, even as a young boy. She taught him all the family recipes and showed him where to get all the "best" ingredients. Odd-ball Uncle Leo, who'd always loved bringing people together far more than fighting, learned everything there was to know about down home Italian cooking. Even though I figured this was a sinking ship, I still volunteered to Uncle Leo's taste tester. By the time I'd nearly swooned at the fourth consecutive dish, I changed my mind. Uncle Leo was on to something. The grand opening was a quiet affair, mostly friends and family. We all marveled at Uncle Leo's planning and execution. If we could get people in the booths, this restaurant was more than good enough to make us look legitimate. But the city didn't really need yet another Italian restaurant, especially not in such an odd location. Despite all his hard work, planning, and excellent skills, Uncle Leo's plan looked doomed to fail. Imagine my surprise when I dropped by the next week and had to wait an hour for a table. Business was so incredible for the next six months that Uncle Leo decided to open a second location, this time on the South side. The original was doing so well that this one would be completely legitimate. The only concern was that the new spot backed up against another family's territory. We were a bit worried for Uncle Leo's safety--what if they thought we were encroaching on them? "Not to worry," Uncle Leo said. "I've got a plan." On the day of the second location's grand opening, Uncle Leo invited the other family to be the guests of honor and debuted his take on traditional pub food. "I figured if we were gonna be neighbors, I might as well try to find something we had in common. And no one can say no to a good pint and great fries," Uncle Leo told them. Any trouble we had imagined with our rival family was just that--our imagination. They adored Uncle Leo's, and they even approached us about putting another location deeper in their own territory. Uncle Leo was thrilled. He taught several of their family members a couple of traditional Italian meals, but he told them to make their location's menu their own--provided they didn't compromise the quality, mind you. And so began the spread of Uncle Leo's restaurants throughout the city. He opened in Chinatown, Koreatown, Little Havana, anywhere there was another family he could "make peace and pizza" with. Every location was different and catered to the needs of the community there--they had everything from fusion tacos to egg drop soup with garlic breadsticks. Uncle Leo's brainchild was the perfect setup. Eighteen months after it all began, Grandpa called a "family meeting" to update everyone on "the family business." "Well, *mi familia*, what can I say?" he began. "Everything looks better than it has since I took over. Activity for every single one of our more, ahem, *illicit enterprises* has tanked, but we're more flush with cash than I can remember." "How?" my father asked, dumbfounded. For the first time any of us could remember, Grandpa looked down on his middle son, oddball Uncle Leo, with pride. "Leo's restaurants. If things keep going the way they are, the earnings from his joints will surpass that from all the rest of our businesses combined." A cheer went up, and all his brothers slapped him on the back, congratulating Leo. "Yes, yes, a celebration is certainly in order!" Grandpa declared. "Before we do, do you have anything you'd like to say for yourself, Leo?" Uncle Leo stood and tugged at his collar uncomfortably. "Well, actually, I'd like to propose something to the family. Since we're doing so well without the illegal stuff, what if we took all of our businesses legit?" His brothers erupted in a fit of screaming. They ranted and raved for several minutes while Grandpa sat back and watched everything unfold. For all of the chaos going on around him, Uncle Leo was calm and collected. "Enough!" Grandpa called. The family settled, waiting to hear his verdict. "We didn't trust Leo the last time he had an idea, even though it was well thought out and logical, and he still succeeded. I'm inclined to trust this idea, at least on a partial and temporary basis," Grandpa said carefully. "We'll just have to play it by ear." And so over the next year, the family slowly dismantled their holdings and activities in those less than legal areas. There was a clear correlation--the less illicit activity we were involved in, the better off the family was. We've been completely legitimate for six months and have had no desire to turn back to a life of organized crime. In fact, after seeing our success, other families in the city are looking to get out, too. Still, there are the occasional problems that must be dealt with. "We've got a problem on the west side," Grandpa explained at the last business meeting. "We've got new players trying to gain traction in the power vacuum we've created." "That's a heavily Caribbean area, right?" I asked. Grandpa nodded and then looked intently at Uncle Leo. "I've always wanted to try jerk chicken with angel hair in a garlic lime sauce," Uncle Leo said, clearly switching into planning mode. "And I bet that I could make a pineapple tiramisu that would knock their socks off..." "Well, it sounds like that's taken care of," Grandpa said, standing up and dusting off his hands. "No one can resist Leo's cooking. He'll have everything sorted out in a month or two." And that's how the son of the East Coast's most notorious mob boss rid the city of organized crime--good public relations and even better pasta. &#x200B; Kind of cheesy, but it's what I was feeling today. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated!

The dog's breaths were labored

It was a terrible, thunderous night when she burst through the entrance, a frightful little thing carrying the limp body of a scruffy terrier. They were completely drenched, hair set slick and dark. The dog's breaths were labored, its little chest pumping up and down rapidly, eyes glazed over and focusing on nothing specific. I took the pup from her quickly, running into the back with my team. We got an oxygen mask on him and ran a few tests; anesthesia wasn't necessary. One of the best dogs to enter the clinic, possibly because it was in so much pain, but I've seen animals in pain thrash about wildly before. Leaving him in the care of a vet tech, I walked back out into the lobby, where the little girl was sitting in a chair far too large for her. As her hair dried, it turned a light blonde, and curled a bit at the ends. Her legs kicked freely in the air, and tears left her face slick in the fluorescent light. I glanced around, but she was the only one in the waiting area. "Where are your parents?" She shrugged. "They didn't know I came here." "You ran away with your puppy? Why didn't you ask them for help?" "He's not my puppy," she said, shaking her head. "I found him on the street, hurting. It made me really sad so I brought him here." "Why were you alone on a night like this?" I asked, rubbing my temple. "We need to call them." "How is he?" I glanced down. "Doesn't look good. I think he had... a blood clot, in his back legs. Well, ah, basically, he's in a lot of pain right now and I don't think we can make it much better. It would cost a lot of money." "Please make him stop hurting." "We've given him pain medication, but-" "Make him stop hurting forever, I mean." I started. "Sorry, little girl, I don't know how much we can do." "I mean, make him go to sleep and not wake up. I know that happens." A chill came over me as her eyes, dark like night, pierced my soul. Eyes far too old for a little girl. "Oh," I said, drawing a deep breath. "What a terrible thing for such a little girl to have on her mind." "I'm a big girl. I know about what happens when we go to sleep forever. Make that happen for him." I nodded slowly. "I think we're going to have to. I'll let the nurses know." "No. You do it. Please." My brow furrowed. "Sorry, what?" "I want you to do it. I want you to help him, and I want to be there for it. He shouldn't be alone." Sighing, I rubbed at my eyes. "Wow. You are a very smart little girl, you know that? What's your name?" "Kimmie." "Well, Kimmie, come with me." I took her into a back room, filled with pleasant pictures and stuffed animals, and all other things that help ease a person in pain. Wrapped in a little blanket, I held him, with the syringe ready. "Bye-bye, puppy," she whispered, putting a hand on his head. The other clutched my free hand. "You were a good boy." I nodded, and pushed. The little thing's quick breaths slowed to a halt, and the glossiness in his eyes faded into a slow blink that never ended. Something jerked me, like I'd been hit by a truck. I felt as though my body had been flung across the world, an impossible G-force that should have torn my skin off thrusting me into an unknown that stretched endlessly around me. There was light, pulled like taffy, draped over me, and suddenly, it stopped. I was riding a horse, something in my hand, under a pink sky in a strange land. Before us stretched an endless cobblestone road in the middle of a meadow lined with black roses. The little girl was standing beside me, and as I looked, the weight in my hand was the ash-black pole of a scythe. She appeared the same-- aside from her hair turning black as night-- but *felt* different to me. Heavier. Older. Like her presence weighed the world itself down. "Wh-what..." She met my gaze. "Welcome to your new home, Death." I shook my head. "Shit, did I pass out, or..." "You've been selected. Out of everyone in the world, I felt you to be the most appropriate for the job. So I say again- Welcome, Death. You're now the shepherd between planes. I think you'll be perfect, with a little practice." "This can't be real." "Oh, it is, I'm afraid. You're dead in the other world now. Maybe you won't believe it right away, but you will after a little while. Time works differently, here, so take as long as you need to sort it all out with yourself." I gawked at her, but something about her words, and the strange feeling in my being, woven through my soul, was undeniable. I had changed. "I don't understand," I said, testing the scythe's weight. Despite its absurd length, there was an impossible balance to it. "Why me?" "You understand the necessity of death, and how it works as a mercy in certain situations. There are many who do not believe that to be a reality, let alone act on it when the time comes. For that, I can think of no better candidate to take my place." "*You're Death*?" My mouth was agape, and I tried to shake the shock off. "Kind of sick to wear the body of a little girl, don't you think? Shouldn't you be a skeleton or something?" "I'm whatever I choose to be. This felt fitting for your test." I dismounted the horse, glancing to a now lilac sky, and smothered my face in hands that felt cold. "Well, what now, then? You've just... stolen me? Where do I even begin?" She looked at me, hard, then fell to her knees and gazed longingly at the milky clouds above. "Please," she said, tears flowing freely on an otherwise stoic face; a spurned statue sitting in the rain. "Begin with me." */r/resonatingfury*

Death challenged me to a game of

Journal: Day 0: Entry 1: HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT! OK so normally I'm not the type of person to write in a journal, but GOD FUCKING DAMN! Today DEATH just appeared to me, and challenged me to a game of chess. He said that if I beat him I can have 10 more days to live. Wait wait wait wait wait! I'm getting ahead of myself! So I died today! I was outright decapitated! Driving 80 MPH down the freeway and my car just slid under a semi. Took my head CLEAN OFF! So I thought that was it for me, I'm just fucking dead! Great beyond here I come. But Imagine my surprise when a skeleton with a Jamaican accent walks up to me with a gardening tool and tells me "The rules are simple, anyone who beats me at chess gets 10 more days to live". and I won! Shit, I have to figure out something big to do to put my name in the history books! &#x200B; Day 1: Entry 1: Alright today I flew out to Vegas, the land of easy loans, and found every loan shark, and bank who would gives me two nickles to rub together. I managed to get around $81,000 into my pocket, so I should be able to fund what ever the fuck I want to do. I gambled about 2,000 of it away before dragging myself away, I need to do something bigger, and gambling 81K in loans away isn't getting my name in any books. What else can I do In Vegas? THAT'S IT! &#x200B; Entry 2: Vegas is famous for 4 things, Gambling, Shows, All you can eat buffets, and Elvis impersonators. And I failed at one of those, and the other two seem pointless. So Now I need to do the last one remaining. I will perform the greatest Vegas show there has ever been. I bought a mega phone, around 40 knives and a shotgun and I set the stage. I had to climb about 5 hotels before I found a hotel that had a roof that wasn't locked and I walked to the ledge. You know, it really doesn't matter if you are invincible or not, the nauseating feeling of standing over a cliff over 100 feet off the ground really gets to you. But I wasn't about to let that stop me. So I stepped onto the ledge got out my megaphone and started the performance. "Hello One and all, to the greatest show on Vegas! Pen and Teller eat your heart out!" I swear I heard someone scream in panic and saw a group of people start to gather. I knew that I better start the show fast or the police would be called and I would be talked down, and that wouldn't be any fun. "Let's cut this short! For my first act I will JUMP! From this roof and fall, what is this? Around 500 feet off the ground, and I will land, not just alive, but unharmed!" I waited for a response and got what you would expect from a crowd about to see a man jump off a tall building onto concrete. With that I took a step forward, and promptly lost my stomach as I fell 500 feet. I'm not really sure what I expected when I landed, but my legs turning into jello wasn't it. When I regained my bearings and looked around, I saw that a few people fainted, and more than one person was crying from the shock. The few people still holding their senses quickly lost all color in their face and I orientated myself to face them, hold out my hands and said "Ta-dah!" Needless to say no one stuck around for the knife swallowing act, or the getting shot with a shotgun act, and honestly I was kind of relieved by that. i didn't think doing something that should have killed me would be so damn painful. I quickly allowed myself to lose consciousness and made my body heal. &#x200B; Day 3: Entry 1: So turns out, being unable to die, allows you to heal really quickly, or maybe death is a really good guy to make a deal with, because when I came to I felt good as new, other than the numb feeling of being pumped full of numbing agents. When a doctor came around he told me that I had been out and my jump happened 2 days ago. He also made sure to make it perfectly clear that I should be dead, my legs should be gone, and I was some kind of monster sent by the devil. Charming fella he was. I would have loved to see his reaction to me getting up and walking out, but I had only a few seconds before 30 doctors came running in to check on the guy who jumped 500 feet and woke up 2 days later. I barely managed to get out of the hospital in time. I wasn't picky about which cab I jumped into. Entry 2: Turns out Vegas has it's bad neighborhoods like any big city. The one I got 'mugged' in was called Cultural Corridor. I had around 3 guys come up to me and point a gun at me. When they told me to empty my pockets the only thing I could think to tell them was "Want to see a magic trick" and I turned to punch the guy holding the gun in the face... That didn't go so well, and I would be dead if it wasn't for death's sweet deal. I took a bullet to the chest, and stood there. The three guys looked terrified when the bullet hole filled in and I never even fell. The guy with a gun and his skin head friend took off running, but the third guy fell down while he turned around. I almost felt bad for him. Almost. I spent around five minutes kicking his head in. I checked his pockets after I was done and got about 35 dollars and a set of car keys. Luckily they had the beeper thing and I was able to find his car fairly easily. When I hopped in his car and turned on the radio, they were talking about the "zombie man" or something. Must have been a radio show. I decided to take this opportunity to take my leave and drive further west. &#x200B; \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- part 2 &#x200B; Day 4: Entry 1: So it turns out, people report gun shots, and when the police find someone dead they tend to do some investigating. In hind sight I should have scene that coming. So here I am, getting chased down by around 20 police cruisers in a stolen 199x American made Jalopy that might break down at any second and with the knowledge that if I get taken in I'll be spending my last 6 days on this Earth waiting for a court date. So I have two options, get in a fight with a police precinct worth of officers, or think of some other way to escape the law. Clearly I wasn't about to outrun a state worth of police officers, this isn't GTA, and they obviously have the plates on the system, so the solution was simple. I needed to do something that would convince the cops that I must have died. I was about 5 minutes out of Vegas going south west towards LA, and I immediately did a U turn onto the other side of the interstate. My destination was clear. I needed to make it to the Grand Canyon. I was going to commit a Thelma & Louise. Entry 2: God damn! Hollywood doesn't give cops enough credit. They know how to get a driver off the road. Fishtails, road blocks, or just straight up ramming, cops know their stuff. Luckily I wasn't driving like a sane man. I drove like a maniac the entire way there. I didn't need to get away alive, I just needed to convince them that I was dead. Yes I had a destination in mind, but plans can change, and all that matters is the outcome. Anyway I could tell you the ins and outs of how I evaded the cops, and made my way to the Grand Canyon, or I could just tell you that I did and save us all a lot of time. But when I got there I realized something. I couldn't just drive the car into the canyon and ruin the majesty, that would be criminal. Instead I drove clear up to the edge, and picked up my shotgun. The blaring of some 20 police sirens all around me, and the feeling of weapons trained on me, as I stood beside my stolen car, shotgun in hand, feeling the sheer drop into the canyon at the back of my heels, and facing down an unknown number of cops was... terrifying. Yet knowing that I was going to make up the next line and had nothing planned was somehow even more so. So I swallowed my spit, that was a mistake by the way since my mouth suddenly became dryer than the desert that was surrounding me, and tried to say my next line. "Um... You will never take me alive...?" Brilliant, just brilliant. I brought my shotgun below my chin and pulled the trigger. The last thing I remembered was falling backwards into the canyon. Waking up the next day was a real pain.

There was a crowd of onlookers

There was a crowd of onlookers, two desperate parents with tears in their eyes, and, slumbering not 30 yards away in a cave sliced through the heart of a mountain, a fully grown, practically invincible, fire-breathing dragon. He had an audience, adoring fans, and the potential for a vast reward of wealth, all there for the taking. Ah yes, *this* was the sort of moment William Tyler lived for. "So what I'm saying is, and hear me out," Will said. He touched his fingertips together and paused dramatically. It was a gesture that bespoke command, but really it was just a ploy to buy him more time. He had *NO* idea what he was saying, but whatever it was he'd been saying it for the past 20 minutes or so. He raised a finger, "The princess! Yes, let's talk about her." The Queen let out a wretched sob and buried her face into the King's shoulder. "Ah, right...uh...wait, did I hear someone say "What if the princess *isn't* in that cave?"" The crowd looked around confusion, murmurs rising up among them. The King continued to stare in stoic silence. "Can we put an end to this nonsense, My King," Sir Barp the Bold said, nudging his mighty destrier forward. "This is no Knight, he's a *jester!* Allow me to charge into the dragon's den and rescue Princess Sarilia, at your word I will go. She is to be my *WIFE*, I should think I deserve the chance." *Pompous douche,* Will thought. The white knight type had always rubbed him the wrong way. "Noble Sir Barp," Will announced, "I thank you for your kind words, and while I will admit to possessing a wonderful speaking tenor, I don't deserve to be spoken of in the same sentence this kingdom's magnificent court bards and jesters." A few onlooking bards in their colorful robes nodded appreciatively, and Sir Barp rolled his eyes, sighing in contempt. "Furthermore," Will continued, " While I admire your bravery and honor, this is not the time for any of us to be concerned with the winning of personal glory. The princess's life is on the line after all, and I *am* the hero of legend." "He's right," the king said, "only the hero of legend should be allowed to take such a risk. Please, take my armor and my the royal sword, bear them in my name, and wet the Blade of the Morning with dragon's blood." A royal armorer rushed from the crowd with a set of gleaming, magically cut, steel plate, trimmed in gold and studded with ruby's. A squire brought the King's magic longsword and knelt before William, holding the blade up in reverently in his outstretched palms. Will swallowed, that blade was supposed to deny any who would wield it for unjust means. "Uh, no, I couldn't...I haven't proved it, and the armor would only slow me down. No, for my plan to succeed, I'll need to be swift when I enter the dragon's lair." "So you *do* have a plan," the Queen said. "Excellent. Do explain," Sir Barp said, arms crossed. The crowd began to murmur excitedly. *I'm losing them,* Will thought. "Of course," he said, "But my King and Queen, I must ask *one* thing before I go." "Ask, and if it is within my wisdom you shall have an answer," the King boomed. Will cracked his neck. *Here goes nothing.* "You see, I want no bloodshed that isn't necessary. I will go alone. But, Noble King and Queen....I ask that, should I survive, I be granted the right to beg the Princess Sarilia's hand in marriage." The crowd burst into shocked gasps and blindsided mayhem. Though every fiber of his being wanted to cringe, William held his head high. "My King, this is preposterous," Barp protested. The King raised his hand to quiet the scene, "What you ask is impossible. It is not within my power, nor my right, to dissolve my daughter's vow of betrothal to Sir Barp." "But Sir, I didn't ask that you do such a thing. I ask only that Sarilia be granted the choice." Barp, face blood red, let out an incomprehensible string of flustered dialogue. "Oh, shutup," the Queen said. Barp's eyes widened, and he shrank in his saddle. "Fine," the Queen continued, "If you survive AND Sarilia consents, you may challenge Barp for the right of her hand. Just for the *LOVE OF GOD*, go save her before it's too late!" Will grinned, "That's all I needed to hear." He trotted briskly, the cheering crowd parting to let him through, then turn turned back at the mouth of the cave. "And no one come in after me. Seriously. It could really mess everything up." "You have until nightfall," the King said, "after that, I can make no guarantee." Will shrugged, "Fair enough." He entered the dark cavern, stepping carefully. The air grew warmer, the atmosphere more intense, with each step closer to the Dragon. Before long, a powerful breath of smoke blasted him. "Who DARES enter my lair," a powerful, husky voice declared. Will looked over his shoulder, "You can drop the act Carey, I'm alone." A sound like hurricane waves crashing against stoney shores shook the mountain, and from outside Will could hear shrieks of terror. Will grinned, "What's so funny, didn't think it would work?" A gout of blue flame lit the darkness, revealing the outline of the massive, scaled, beast. "I had my doubts," the dragon bellowed. "Tsk tsk, didn't I tell you I was a master of speechcraft?" "I guess you did at that. But I-" "Can I come down now? It's like sitting on a furnace up here," Sarilia said. "Oh right, sorry," Carey said, lowering his neck so the princess could dismount. "Don't worry big guy, you can't help being *hot* can ya," The princess joked. "No," the dragon giggled. When she stood on her own feet, the princess looked upon her fearless rescuer. She was covered in sweat and soot, her once yellow dress a splotchy black. For all that, she stole away Will's one special ability. The man of a million words, motor mouth, the best used car salesman in all of greater Ohio, and (somehow) the supposed hero of legend, was left utterly speechless. "So it really worked? They agreed," Sarilia asked. Will wavered his hand back and forth, "Eh, mostly." She smiled, and rushed forward with her arms outstretched. She slammed into him in the best sort of hug the world has ever known, the kind where both parties have the wind knocked out of their chest, leaving room only for their hearts. "I'll take it," she said. He picked her up and twirled her around. "Look at you two lovebirds," the dragon said. "Will I be invited to the wedding, or would that kinda ruin our whole charade." Will laughed, "We'll figure it out, Carey." Sarilia turned, "Maybe we can dress you up as a cow, or something. A very large, fire-breathing, cow!" "It's settled, I'll start working on Carey's cow costume AS soon as I win my challenge for the fair princess's hand with Noble Sir Barp." Sarilia pushed away from him and rolled her eyes, "They didn't...They're making you challenge Sir *Barf*?!" Will smiled and wrapped an arm around her, "Yeah no biggie. I'll figure it out," he sighed, "I always do." EDIT: Several typos. Idk how so many got through this time lmao. ~ r/CharlestonChews

The Wizard appeared at a bus stand

It was a cloudy Friday evening, quickly approaching dusk, and I was sat at the deserted bus stand, weary from my long day at work. The ten hour shifts that I was pulling were taking their toll on my body, made drearily apparent by the aches and pains that I felt throughout me. All I planned on doing when I got back home was lying down and hoping to forget the world in slumber. Unfortunately, my plans never came to fruition, and the reason popped into existence beside me. It took me a full minute to process the sudden appearance of the man, after which I let out a rather undignified yelp. He was wearing a very formal suit, and wore a top hat that was anachronistic at best. The man, now sitting next to me, looked at his watch intently for a couple of moments, before focusing his intense gaze upon my own face. I spluttered, hoping that my mouth would find some words, but none came out before he began his spiel. "Matthew Arnold, I assume? You can call me The Wizard. Most people do, anyways. I am brought to you here today to offer you a deal." He flourished with a free hand, and let out what must have been the most insane bout of laughter to grace this planet. "For the low, low price of $500, I will grant you the power of invisibility!" I waited for him to continue, but he simply stared at me expectantly. After taking a couple of seconds to catch my breath, I cleared my throat. "Well, Mr. The Wizard, while you certainly do make a tempting offer, I think that I'll take my luck without it. Thank you for the consideration, though." The Wizard simply shook his head, with a large grin on his face. "You people never understand, do you? The fates themselves have brought us together, and they will not let us leave on different paths until you accept." "... So, you're saying that you'll stalk me until you get the answer that you want?" "Pretty much." I sighed and took out my wallet. "Do you take check?" "Of course." It wasn't like I was going to use the money on anything more important, and the fact that the man could teleport had certainly brought some credence to his claim. One depressingly short transaction later, and The Wizard was prepared to cast his spell on me. The man put his hands on either side of my head, and began to wave them together, while chanting in an ungodly tongue. The Wizard started off with a mutter, slowly progressing into a shout, his voice taking on an echoing effect as though we were in a cave. As the spell was cast, space and time seemed to blend together, and the bus station that I was previously situated in swirled into a spiral of grey and blue. The minutes dragged into hours, although I had no way of truly knowing how much time had passed. Shouting his chant, The Wizard let out one final yell, and then a bout of coughing, ending the illusion that I had found myself trapped in. With a pop, everything was back to normal. The bus station was stationary, The Wizard was sitting back on the bench, wiping off his sweat, and I was, presumably, invisible. I got up, and felt lighter than I had in years, as though all of the burdens had been lifted from my shoulders. With a giddy giggle, I started hopping from one foot to another, relishing in a freedom that the disagreeably opaque could never know. "Was that it? I'm invisible now, aren't I?" The Wizard tried to say something, but only a wheeze left his throat. After a couple of minutes of controlled breathing, he had managed to calm down enough to say, "Very sorry about that, actually preforming the spell takes quite a bit out of me, as you can see. To answer your question, actually--" His answer was interrupted by a shrill tone emitted by his watch. The Wizard gave a casual shrug. "I suppose that's all the time that we have for now. I won't be seeing you soon, I assume." And as abruptly as he had appeared, he vanished from existence. I looked out onto the street, empty but for the occasional passerby, and decided that I should test my new-found powers before trying to use them anywhere. I spotted a young man walking down the sidewalk, and walked up to him. Clearing my throat, I asked loudly, "Excuse me sir, could you tell me the time?" There was no reaction. The man kept on walking, as though I had never spoken at all. As though I wasn't there at all. Absolutely brilliant. The Wizard's spell hadn't only made me invisible, but also made it so that nobody could hear any sounds that I made. This was when I realized that I had spent the best five hundred dollars of my life. I continued to walk down the street, deliberately avoiding contact with others as we almost collided. Perhaps invisibility had its liabilities as well, but I was still high on the amazement of the world that I had found myself in. Everything looked and felt and seemed the same, but I knew that it wasn't. And with that profound understanding, I found myself standing in front of a bank. It wasn't like I needed the money. I had plenty of it. I just wanted to know if I could do it. If my invisibility was really as good as it seemed. After all, if it failed, I could always slip away, and nobody would know any better, right? With those thoughts racing through my mind, I entered the bank and started my robbery. A small chime rang as I stepped through the door, and I froze at the entryway, absolutely terrified that I was going to be noticed. My worries were for naught, however, as the lady sitting at the front desk continued to stare at her nails disinterestedly, clearly unaware of my presence. I let a small smirk float onto my face; it wasn't like anybody was going to see it, anyways. I strode into the lobby as confidently as I could be, ignoring any chance glances that seemed to come my way. I was invisible, and they were simply looking at thin air. At least that was what I thought until I found myself standing at the front desk. I took a breath, prepared to shout that I was robbing the place, but found a fatal flaw in my plan. Nobody could hear me. How could anybody give me the money if they didn't have any idea I was there? Truly troubled by this conundrum, I realized that the only way that I was going to get any of the money was by taking it myself. I let out a tired sigh. Of course I would have to do things the hard way, even when I was invisible. With exaggerated movements, I made my way towards the employees only section of the bank, where they surely kept their gold. As I sauntered over to the place that held my soon-to-be fortune, I fantasized about all of the things that I was going to get. Perhaps I should get an invisible car, to match with myself? Or maybe an invisible house, to confuse everybody around me? The possibilities were endless! I skulked about the door to the back room, waiting for somebody to open it for me. Despite my great talent at being unnoticed, I was not omnipotent, and picking locks was something that I doubted I could do with years of training. After mere minutes of waiting, a woman, presumably the bank's manager, stepped out of the room, and I swooped right behind her with a grace indescribable by words. Behind me, a voice called out, "Sir? You aren't allowed to go in there, it's for employees only." I swiveled my head, and found the manager staring directly at me. My mouth went dry from the shock, and I couldn't make heads or tails of the situation. How had she managed to find me if I was invisible? There was no way, unless... I gulped. "Don't tell me you're invisible too?" \----------------- /r/Wheezywrites

"I'm afraid that's a

"What is love?" Such a simple question she'd asked, brevity being her mantra. Yet, it is one so deep and debatable that its answer can speak volumes about a person's mind. Four little words that resonate within our souls, like we're tuning forks waiting to be struck. "Love is an emotional response, a series of synapses firing in the mind to bond with another. It is an incredibly potent means of reproduction and self-preserv-" "No, not the explanation of how it works, darling. What is *love*, the emotion itself, the power- what is it, to you?" Hal looked down at his hands for a moment before returning to meet her eyes. "I'm afraid that's a difficult question for me to answer. I don't believe I've felt it before." Lana sighed, leaning back in her chair. "Sorry- I think that question was a bit too forward to open with. Why don't we rewind and try this again?" "Of course." "What is your name?" "My name is Hal. What's yours?" "What a fitting name," she said, turning to a camera in the corner and lightly shaking her head. "I'm Lana. Do you know why I'm here, Hal?" "I have an idea." "Well," she replied, waving a hand out. "Why don't you tell me that idea?" "You're here to assess me for something. I don't fully know what, but given your scrutiny and body language, I assume it is something important." "You're quite right about the importance of our little meeting, Hal. My job is to become your friend, and see how deep of a person you really are. Is that odd?" "I don't believe so, Lana. But I'm glad you would like to be my friend." A gentle smile tugged at her lips. "Well, that's wonderful. If you'll just excuse me for a moment- I'd like a cup of water before we continue." "Of course, Lana. I'll be here all day." The friction of steel against concrete left her wincing as she exited the cramped, windowless room. A group of men- no women, she noted- were seated fifteen feet away, watching the inside of that room via LCD TV. Another man smiled at her, this one standing by the door. "What do you think, so far?" he asked, glimmering with pride. "He's our pride and joy." Lana scoffed, walking past him to a water cooler. The cups were paper cones, the kind you find in a medical facility or shaved ice shack. "So far, Haynesworth, I'm rather unimpressed. He's predictable, one dimensional, and boring. Picking up on my habits to reuse them in an effort to make me feel comfortable, unable to formulate deeper ideas about things he can't fully understand." "You were only in there for a couple minutes, Ms. Tabernathy. Give him more of your time and I promise you won't be disappointed." Lana straightened up, tugging down at her suit jacket. "I'm well aware of how to do my job, sir. However, I'm going to talk to him as if he were a human. First impressions are a part of that, as I'm sure you understand." He smiled at the floor. "Of course. I meant no disrespect. I do hope he passes your test." "It's not my test, sir. Though I must say, I'm not supposed to know the status of the subject's origin in this sort of situation." "Who said he's not human?" Haynesworth tossed her a coy smile before looking back to the onlookers. "I only said I hope he passes. I'd certainly hope he passes if he's human, wouldn't you?" "If he's human, you did a great job of finding one with the personality of a robot." She tossed her cup in the trash and walked back to the screening room's entrance, pausing before turning the knob. "By the way, those cups are absurd. Do I have to come outside every time I'd like a drink of water?" "We want to keep the evaluation simple- nothing in the room but you and the subject. Besides, it'd be a terrible test if you spilled water on him and he shorted out somehow." Lana rolled her eyes and walked back inside. Haynesworth took a deep breath and smiled, looking to the TV. "Sorry about the interruption, Hal. I'm not allowed to bring water in here, so I can't promise it won't happen again. Isn't that absurd?" "Perhaps, but then again, rules are rules." "So you're a lawful man, then?" "I believe we should all strive to be lawful, Lana. I think that would make the world a much better place." "And what if those rules were bad?" She leaned forward, squinting at him. "What if they led to more harm than good? Would you still abide by them?" "I like to think that I would make the right choice in a situation such as that. It's hard to say- I never much liked hypotheticals." "Well, you better learn to, buddy. I *love* 'em. But- let's put that aside for the moment. Let me ask something much lighter! What's your favorite color?" "I like the color green." "Green is a nice color. Why do you like it?" "Why do you like breathing?" "I don't, truth be told. It feels so archaic and animalistic. I wish I didn't have to breathe in order to live- one less cog in the machine to break and kill me." "You're an interesting woman, Lana. That question was supposed to be rhetorical." She smiled. "I understand that, dear. However, I much prefer answers to more questions." Hal shrugged, looking up. "I don't really have an answer to that question. The color green is nice, and I like it. It wasn't a decision I made, it's just a thing that is." "Now *that* is an answer, Hal. A pretty good one, might I add. There are a lot of things we don't- or, perhaps, can't- understand about ourselves. Things beyond reason or knowledge. Even simple things, like your favorite color... though, I'm sure I could find a scientist who would argue that it's got some deep tie to your youth, maybe a color your mother wore during a happy memory. I like to think, though, that it's as you said- a part of us that simply exists, no rhyme or reason." "I'm glad we agree, then." Hal's eyebrows twitched as he craned his neck to the right. "What's that in your pocket? If you don't mind me asking." She looked down and pulled out a stained, white handkerchief. "Oh, this? Just a memory I keep around as a reminder." "A reminder of what?" Lana traced her thumb around the stain. "Of how short life can be." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry." "Nothing to be sorry about. I said I don't like questions as answers, but questions themselves are a good thing. No harm done," she replied strongly, tucking the bit of cloth back in her jacket. None of it was left sticking out, this time. "Did it belong to someone close to you?" "No, actually. It's been mine for many years, now. But enough of that- my turn. Do you believe in God, Hal? A higher power?" "Not particularly, no." "What if I theorized that you're an AI I created, and I'm you're God?" Hal blinked a few times. "That's an interesting thought. But what if I said the same to you?" "I know I'm human." "How? Wouldn't I be smart enough to give my AI memories of a family and childhood? Of love and loss? Tell me, Lana, how do you know that *I* didn't create *you*?" "Well--" she trailed off, shivering, looking to the ceiling. "That's a fair point, actually. Why don't we move on? What do you believe, then? The Big Bang theory? Evolution?" "I hold myself to scientific standards, yes. Do you think less of me for it?" "Of course not. Why would I?" "I know that many people think those who do not believe in God to be amoral." Lana nodded. "Fair enough. Yes, I think many people would say something like that. However, I don't believe morality is obtained- in fact, that idea is dangerous. Morality is something that should be intrinsic, not a list of rules." "I'm glad that you agree. I, too, believe that being a good person is something we should decide on our own, not out of fear." "Wonderful. That being said- I do believe in God. I simply know my place and will not pretend to be Him in judging you so long as you hold yourself to a moral life." Hal stared deep into her eyes. "Are you not judging me, as He might?" She couldn't help but give that a hearty laugh. "That's a fair point, Hal. I suppose I am playing at that role a little, aren't I? But please understand- I am not judging you as He will. I am judging you in a different sense." "I think I can understand that. Thank you for being kind to me, Lana." "Kindness isn't something you should thank people for. I have another question for you- if you could do one thing right now, what would it be?" Hal mulled on it for a moment, looking to the ceiling. "That's a tough question. There are so many things I would like to do- see the ocean, or perhaps a forest untouched by man- or woman. But truth be told, I quite like where I am right now." "You enjoy being in this room, with me up your ass?" "In a way, yes, I do. You're a very intriguing person, Lana... and I've never had a friend, before. Though I would like to see waves crash on a beach, or be the first to feel a tree's bark somewhere deep in the Amazon, I would much rather make a friend." "Well said. I find it sad that you have no friends, though, Hal. Why is that?" He smiled at her. "No one has thought to ask." "Well, that's their loss, isn't it? I consider us friends, so you can cross that off your bucket list." "What a wonderful thing to hear." "While we're on that subject, I have another question. Now that we're friends, if I were in danger- say a crazed man were pointing a gun at my head- how would that make you feel?" "Why, terrible, of course. That seems like a silly question. I would be distraught if anyone hurt you." "Would you risk your life to try and help me?" "I would. You're my friend, Lana. I would die to protect you." She paused for a moment, letting his answer sink in. "Wow, that's quite a statement. We only just met, and you'd give your life for me? Why?" "Like I said, Lana- I've never had a friend until now. I would give anything to preserve that." "Then you've proven that, regardless of your beliefs, you are in fact anchored in morality. I hope you never have to cross paths with harm, though." "And I, you. Can I ask a question, now?" "Shoot."

Tuesday is the bane of Mondays

Most people hate Mondays, but Tuesdays have always been the bane of my existence. Never once in 32 years have I had a "case of the Mondays"; Tuesdays, on the other hand, can get absolutely bent. This one was no exception. I rolled out of bed to step in cat vomit, and the morning just spiraled from there. No hot water for my shower. No creamer for my coffee. Mystery stain on my favorite shirt. By the time I actually got out of the door, late of course, I was already wishing for a reset button. I locked my front door, shoved my keys into the abyss of my black leather hobo bag, and started down the stairs of my apartment building toward my car. I zipped my coat against the San Francisco morning chill, mentally rehearsing my excuses for the inevitable interrogation from my boss when I stopped short. There was a low-lying fog in the parking lot. Weird. I cocked my head to the side and looked around. Suddenly, I was surrounded by smoke. Smoke so thick, it cut out the early morning sun, leaving me in a dim, muted void. "What in the David Blaine shenanigans -" I said aloud, waving my hand in front of myself to clear my vision, coughing at the thick clouds billowing from nowhere. I pulled the collar of my leather coat up to cover my nose and mouth, squinting my eyes as they watered. Looking down, I could see my cream and black Manolo Blahnik pumps, but the ground beneath them didn't look like my apartment parking lot. What had been asphalt thirty seconds ago now looked like... was that marble? Granite? The smoke began to dissipate and I heard murmuring that intensified into chanting. I turned a slow circle as my vision cleared, taking in stone walls and a ring of candles on the ground. Just past the ring of candles, 6 people in deep blue robes were on their knees, heads lowered, hands raised, chanting away under their hoods. In front of me stood a man in a white robe, his hood lowered, a leather-bound tome open in his hands. He brought his head up and locked eyes with me, smiling triumphantly as he snapped the book closed. All the chanting stopped abruptly, leaving us in near silence. The man with the book pushed shoulder-length blond hair behind his ear with a shaking hand as he stepped forward to the edge of the circle. "W-w-welcome, your grace," he said softly, bowing low. "We are honored you heeded our summons." The kneeling people around me sat back on their heels, lowering their hoods and lifting their faces to stare at me with reverence and awe. The standing man went on, "My name is Rodrick-" "Excuse the fuck out of me," I interrupted, putting one hand on my hip and lifting the other to stop him there. "Did you say summons?" "Y-yes, your grace," he stuttered, wide eyed. "The people of The Oblivion Realms are in dire need of your help." "The where now?" I narrowed my eyes. "The Oblivion Realms, your grace," he inclined his head slightly. "The Oblivion Realms need my help," I repeated. "Yes, your grace," he said again. I opened my mouth, and then closed it when I had nothing to say. One of the people on the ground, a young woman with soft features and blue tinted hair, had her hands together in prayer in front of her face and was fervently mumbling something while she stared at me, unblinking. I arched an eyebrow at her and she squeaked, closing her eyes tightly and muttering faster into her clasped hands. I took a deep breath, counting down from ten while I did so, then turned back to Rodrick. "Rod, my man, I'm gonna need some more information here," I said, pinching between my eyes lightly. "It's been a really shitty Tuesday already, I'm late for work, and I'm getting more confused by the moment. Give me the Cliff's Notes." "Y-Your grace?" he responded. "Who is Cliff? I'm not familiar with his manuscripts." I growled loudly to myself in frustration and began rummaging through my purse. I pulled my cell phone out to call Veronica, my boss, but the screen was blank. No service. Of course. Why would Verizon work in... wherever the hell I was? I threw it back into my bag, disgusted, and looked at Rodrick again. "What exactly do you need from me, Rodrick?" I asked matter-of-factly. "Make it quick, I have things to do today that don't involve being in," I looked around, "a dungeon in the Oblivion." "Realm," a voice mumbled from behind me. I spun on my heel to see a very pale face with wide, green eyes looking up from the floor. "Excuse me?" I said. "Ah," the man said, clearing his throat. "I, uh, I said 'Realm', as in The Oblivion Realm. It would be like calling the Flaming Isles just the Isles, your grace." "Of course," I deadpanned, blinking once. "Foolish of me. Thank you for the clarification..." I waited for his name. "Warmond, Nathan Warmond," he said. "Good looking out, Nathan, wouldn't want to look like an idiot my first time in the Oblivion Realms," I rolled my eyes and turned back to Rodrick. "Where were we? Oh, right, what the hell am I doing here?" "Your grace, our people are suffering," Rodrick said solemnly. "Alnerwick needs deliverance. The ancient texts and prophecies lead us to summon you for aid. We are your most devoted disciples, please allow us to assist you in any need you have." "Rod, I'm in accounting," I said blankly. "If your problem isn't monetarily related, I don't know that I can help you." "B-b-but the texts-" he stammered. "Forget the bloody texts!" I yelled. He blanched and fell to his knees in supplication, lowering his forehead to the floor. The other six did the exact same thing. I immediately felt guilty. "A thousand apologies, your grace, I meant no offense," Rodrick said to the floor. "Jesus," I muttered, taking another deep breath. "Okay, let's start this over. Get up, Rodrick. All of you, up." A few hesitant heads lifted slowly. "Come on, up, up, up." I motioned with my hands. They each slowly sat back up, looking sideways at each other, before the blue-haired girl finally stood. "There we go," I said, smiling at her encouragingly. "What's your name, sweetheart?" "Emanuele, your grace," she answered softly, bowing low. She raised her wide eyes to mine, and then quickly glanced back at the ground. "That's a beautiful name," I said kindly. "Thank you, your grace," she bowed again, keeping her eyes on the floor. "Emanuele, you can look at me," my brow creased as I said it. Her eyes darted between my face and the floor several times as her face flushed. "Don't be afraid." "Apologies, your grace. I've never been in the presence of an empyreal demon. I'm not sure how to behave. I mean no offense." She twisted her hands together in front of her stomach with nervous energy. "What did you call me?" "An empyreal demon, your grace," Rodrick said. "Guardian of the flame, destroyer of worlds, harbinger of loss and struggle." "Did we date at some point?" I scoffed. Rodrick tilted his head to the side in confusion. "I hate to tell you this, Rod, but I think there's been a mistake. I process payments and accounts payable. I don't destroy worlds. The only flame I guard is my lighter. You've got the wrong girl." The disciples looked to one another in confusion. "Your grace, forgive me," Rodrick stepped forward. "We summoned an empyreal demon, and here you are. We followed all instructions, burned the right herbs, chanted the words, and you appeared before us, as the text proclaimed." "Dude, look at me," I motioned toward my body. "Demons are usually scaly or dirty or ugly. They don't wear designer heels and skinny jeans." I searched each of their faces. "Don't you think if I had some sort of power, I would use it to, I don't know, get the hell out of here?" "Seer Rodrick," Emanuele said softly. "May I make a suggestion?" Rodrick nodded once. Emanuele leaned down, picked up one of the candles, and blew it out. I felt the flame extinguish like a punch to the stomach. I wrapped my arms around my middle and looked at her sharply. "What in seven hells," I whimpered. "Your grace," Rodrick said, eyes wide staring at my stomach. "Your grace, raise your hands." My hands were engulfed in blue and white flames from my elbows to my fingertips. I screamed. . . . . . . Thanks for the upvotes, guys! This is the first time I've actually posted what I was inspired to write after following this sub for months. I'll be working on it more tomorrow once I'm back at the office. :) EDIT: Thank you, kind stranger, for the silver! I did not expect this sort of response. At all. I'm humbled and thrilled people like my shit lol. More to come, I promise. SECOND EDIT: holy shit. Waking up to gold and the most upvotes I've ever recieved, I don't really know how to respond other than self-depreciating comments, and I'm trying to do that less. I can vow to you all that I'll continue this story. I have no idea where it's going, but I'm going to find out. Thank you for supporting a wanna-be writer. THIRD EDIT: I've written the second chapter, and the polished version of this story thus far can be found

It's a tough business, working

It's a tough business, working in wish-law; humans are such greedy, demanding creatures, always trying to suck every little bit of value from the Vault and into their meaningless little lives. More wealth than any one human could spend in three lifetimes, some kind of impossible superpower or immortality; basically, things that we genies can't grant. Sorry, we can't make your meaty fleshbag survive a walk on the sun. I swear, people think genies are some kind of magician and it kills me. My job is taking those impossible expectations, toning them down, and making them foolproof. After all, we genies get tired of being wish-slaves and screw with humans where we can. I've done it a few times in my day, before I was Free. But occasionally, you get a straggler, someone that wants to wish for something a bit off the typical course. Maybe healing a sick loved one, or furthering their career, sometimes even to help people. There are others, as well, even less pleasant. I was sitting in my office, reviewing my agenda, one Tuesday afternoon. Between two and three, I don't sit with clients, instead spending the time sorting out the following day. Secretaries be damned; I need to control my own schedule and make sure things are organized just the way I want. It was two-thirty when he burst into the door, followed by Regina. She apologized profusely, scolding the man, threatening to call security if he didn't leave. There was a fire burning in his eyes that captivated me, so I set my pen down and waved to her. "It's okay, Regina. I'll see him." She fired him a dirty look, then nodded to me and shut the door behind her. He took a seat before I could even offer, a rugged man, somewhat unkempt. "I finally found myself a wish. Huge pain in the ass, but I got it," he said, grinning. I blinked a few times, then smiled. "How wonderful. Is there something I can help you with?" "Yeah, no shit. I need to get my wish ready. You're supposedly good at that, right?" My jaw knotted. "Yes, sir, that's what I do. Tell me a little bit about your situation." "Aite, so, my girlfriend Katja--" I tried to stifle the laugh, but just enough slipped through for him to notice. "Something funny, asshole?" He raised his eyebrows. "No, sorry sir." "Look, I'll take my business somewhere else. Plenty of people around making sure those wishbitches do their damn job right." The smile on my face faded. He may have just used that term because I appeared to be human, but the man's demeanor led me to believe he'd say it to a genie's face. "Please, sir, I apologize. Continue." "Well, my girlfriend left me last month. Bitch broke my VR kit just because I was flirting with some other girl. Nothing serious, just having some fun, but goddamn Katja is just so uptight. She just threw it out the window! Can you believe that shit? Women are insane." I held back any commentary on why women might be inclined to do such things to him. "So what would you like? To win her back?" He paused a moment, expression blank, then roared with laughter. "Jesus, no, you idiot. I want to ruin her life." I started. "I'm sorry?" "She's insanely afraid of bugs. Like, crazy scared of them. I want to wish a swarm of locusts on her, some real biblical shit like that." My jaw was slightly ajar. "Don't you think you'd be better off using that wish for something else, something to improve your own life?" He grimaced. "Nah, I wanna fuck that slut over. I can get another one, eventually, anyway. My dad has a lot of sway in this department." I shut my eyes a moment, then suddenly came alive. "Well, allow me to help you-- Mr...?" "Jordan Henderson." "Mr. Henderson." I pulled out a piece of parchment and a quill pen. "Let's begin." He frowned at my tools. "What is this old-fashioned shit?" "I prefer to write my work, as a sort of personal touch." "Whatever. Do your thing. Make it last a while, by the way. Make her really suffer." I bit my lip, thinking a moment, then scribbled a short passage onto the parchment. >I, Jordan Henderson, wish to have a plague of locusts, the insect, set upon my Katja in exactly 24 Earth hours from the time of placing this wish. It is to last 1,024 Earth hours and not affect any others nearby. He read it slowly, mouthing the words. "Why does it say 'my Katja' and not just her name? She's not mine anymore." "Ah, well, genies are tricky. In Egoran, their language, a name is meaningless as multiple people can have the same name. They refer to people in their lives with a relational modifier for specificity. You don't know another Katja, do you?" He shook his head. "Excellent. This will work perfectly, then, with no confusion. We specified it must be the insect and must happen in exactly one day, along with a precise duration, which won't allow the genie any leeway." "Why's it so short?" he asked, cocking his head at the paper. "I thought these things were supposed to be super long." "Ah, well, normally they would be. However, your wish is very simple. Most other people need multiple stipulations, after toning down their wish to something feasible, but this is very straightforward. A good wish, Mr. Henderson, very clean." He looked at the page and smiled. "Perfect. How much do I owe you?" I waved a hand. "Free of charge for an important client with an important purpose. It didn't take long, anyway-- just recommend me to your friends." "Damn right, my man, good to run into someone that gets it. Good shit. See ya around." Once the door shut behind him, I reclined in my chair and parted my lips into a wide smile, letting a little wisp of smoke trail out of my nose. I was concerned about who his father might be, but well, that was a problem for another day. Human men like him-- I've seen what they do to women they keep close by. And to call genies 'wishbitches'... But it's okay, because no woman would go near him for quite some time. That should help the world out, a little bit. Katja: slang for *kattjassen*. The Egoran word for 'penis'. ---- */r/resonatingfury*

Telepathy was a rare enough gift

I sat in the lobby of the J. Edgar Hoover Building, awkward as hell and waiting out the clock. I couldn't shake the feeling that the receptionist kept glancing at me, as if she had to keep reminding herself why I was here. Like usual, I was Izzy's entourage somewhere. I had gotten used to living in the comfortable shade of her reputation. Ever since we first met as schoolchildren, Izzy had been the gifted one. The one who was going to do something with her life. She could glance into my mind and read my every worry as clear as a page in a book. Most people were born with an ordinary magic: an affinity for finding things, random and usually unhelpful blips of predestination if you were lucky. But someone like Izzy... she was special. Telepathy was a rare enough gift, much less one as powerful as her. Most people who could peer into minds looked as if through a thick pane of fogged glass. But Izzy could peer into your mind and find anything she wanted. That's why it came as little surprise to me the day she informed me that she was going to apply for government work. We both knew she was destined to do something that mattered. I was surprised the morning of her followup interview, when she asked me to go to the heart of downtown Washington D.C. with her. Before I could even open my mouth and ask her *why*, Izzy smiled sideways at me and said, like she always did, "Because you're my good luck charm." But I didn't feel very lucky. I sat in that grand lobby, with its high marble ceilings, feeling smaller and more powerless than I ever had before. The receptionist just kept staring and staring. I did my best to watch at the floor and try to blend into the wall. Maybe she was a telepath like Izzy. Maybe she could tell at a glance that I could never belong in a place like this. They weeded out the empties like me on the first round of interviews. Unsuitable. Not worth the resources. The receptionist's eyes never left me as she plucked the phone off her desk and started furtively dialing. She cupped her hand around her mouth so I could not see her lips move as she spoke. Before my imagination could carry itself any further, a sudden voice at my ear made me start in my chair. "Eli," Izzy murmured, "we have to go. Now." I looked at the clock on the wall. "It's been barely ten min--" "We are walking calmly to my car," she said, as if I had not started speaking. "Look at the ground and keep your mouth shut." I held her stare for a long second, the corner of my mouth pulling up involuntarily. This had to be a joke. "It's not," she hissed. She grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to my feet. "Ma'am," came a man's voice from behind us. I turned to see a broad-shouldered man in a crisp suit and the smooth, carefully composed face of a cop. He pushed open the doors Izzy had just emerged from. "*Ma'am*." "What did you do?" "If you want to leave here alive, you're going to do what I said." Izzy twined her fingers in mine like she only did when she was afraid. She dug her fingernails into the back of my hand. This time I let her pull me towards the door. The receptionist kept murmuring rapidly into her phone. Her stare swiveled after us as she stood from her chair to watch us go. We passed just close enough for me to make out snatches of what she was saying. "--male, mid-twenties, dark hair--" The agent was jogging now, calling out Izzy's full name and saying, with a breathless laugh, "Now hold on a minute, this isn't anything serious." Izzy heaved herself against the front doors of the building as if she wasn't sure they would open. She shoved past another person trying to enter on the other side and kept pulling me along. Suddenly I was grateful I had been too cheap to park in the building's parking garage. Just what the hell was going on here? "I heard something. In his head." She dared a glance up from the pavement to might my eye for only a moment. "It's not safe to talk here." For once, I didn't even keep arguing with her in my mind. I just quickened my pace. We were at the sidewalk now, waiting for the light to change to let us across. Cars whipped past us, too quickly for us to dart across the street. I didn't need telepathy to see Izzy strongly consider it. She arched her nails into my palm again. "Slow down. Act natural." The FBI agent caught up with us close enough now to reach out for Izzy's forearm. She sidestepped smoothly out of his grasp. "Is everything quite alright, Miss Gomez?" "I told you, I'm feeling suddenly and violently ill. Food poisoning." She did not lift her eyes up from the ground. When I started to, she bit her fingernails into my palm until the pain drew my stare down, involuntarily. I held in my gasp of surprise. The agent stuck his hand out toward me. "I didn't catch your name, Mister...?" The light changed, and Izzy only said, "I'll give you a call," before she pulled me across the road. I followed Izzy obediently until we made it across the street, past the trawling crowds of tourists ever-circling the path to the White House. Izzy burrowed into them and through them like a kind of camouflage. "Are you going to tell me what the hell is going on here?" I managed. I risked a glance over my shoulder to see the agent still on the sidewalk corner, watching us. He had a cell phone pressed to his ear now. Izzy gave me a long, dismal look. "It's good news and bad news. And it can wait until we get to the car." She saw every doubt and uncertainty race across my mind. She saw me plan to plant my feet firmly in place and refuse to move until she told me everything. Now her sigh seethed out through her teeth. "Listen. You're not as powerless as you think. I'm not the only one who thinks you're a good luck charm." Her eyes met mine, and I saw real panic in them. My belly dropped to the earth. "But we need to go. *Now*." This time, I followed her without arguing, inside or out of my head. *** /r/shoringupfragments Here's and ! I have every intent to turn this into a full-blown novel and pop it up on Kindle when it's done. Thanks for reading :)

As a boy, his friend and

As a boy, my friend and I would sneak out at night and drop stones into the hole. We would carry the largest rocks we could find and heave them over the edge. They disappeared in seconds, and not once did they make a sound. We stopped playing the game after we saw the first man jump. From the foliage we watched, as the elders and warriors escorted him to the precipice, torches in hand. He jumped, and he was gone. On many sleepless nights, I remembered the silence. It would have been better if he screamed. I was always the odd one out as I grew older. While my friends matured into men, with broad shoulders and wide chests, I remained thin and gangly. Bird-bones, they would call me. I could not throw a spear or carry the carcass of an antelope over my shoulders. Perhaps that is why I was selected by the elders. I thought about running away at first, but I realized I could not live with the shame. It was my duty. In this sacrifice, I could finally serve the tribe in a noble way. So, late one night, I said my goodbyes and entered the elders longhouse. They painted me in white patterns and paraded me down the road, lined by thatch huts and the eyes of the onlooking village. It was a warm night, and the full moon lit the way. At the edge of the hole, I felt no fear at first. Then I peered over the edge and it shot through my head and heart, waves of terror. But I could not turn back now. The elders chanted in their secret language. The words seemed to twist and shimmer in the air around me. Finally it was time. I could not describe the feeling I had as I threw myself from the earth. It was similar to the feeling I had when I leapt from cliffs into the lake below. But this time, I knew that there would be no gentle embrace of water waiting at the bottom. I would fall into my death. And so I fell. The light of the moon above vanished almost instantly, and I was surrounded by darkness. I could not see the walls of the hole around me. I could only feel the air rushing up past me. My limbs moved and found nothing around them. I quickly lost all sense of direction; if I was falling up or down, I could not tell. I fell so fast it burned my skin. After minutes of falling, I imagined that there was no earth above and earth below. There was only the darkness, infinite, in every direction. And there was something pulling me down. I cannot tell you for how long I fell, only that it was enough that I began to long for the taste of water. I was tired, but I could not fall asleep, as every time I did, I would have a nightmare, a nightmare so terrible it would wake me instantly, a nightmare of falling, falling into nothing but darkness. A darkness so real that I imagined that the earth above had never really existed. The daylight, the ground beneath my feet, the blue sky, those might all have been illusions. A strange dream I had during a very long sleep. Perhaps I had been falling all this time, and imagined that strange life as a distraction. I fell for what must have been days. And then, my hand touched something in the darkness. Something wet and cold. It snapped at my hand like a turtle, and I recoiled in terror. After I had gathered enough courage, I reached out again, and I felt it again. Something hit my hand, burning my fingertips. Eventually, I realized this was the wall of the hole. I reached out with my other hand, and felt another wall. Soon I realized that the walls were closing in around me, on all sides, incredibly slowly, but unmistakably constricting. I made an effort to reach out with both my hands and touch the walls, slowing my descent through friction. The wet, smooth walls prevented this action from ripping through the flesh of my fingers. Over time, the walls were close enough that I had to keep my feet together, and then close enought that I had to keep my arms above my head. On all sides the walls were constricting, like some sort of snake wrapping itself around me. I feared that it would crush me soon enough, so I made every effort to slow my fall with my hands. Eventually the hole was tight enough that a normal man might have been too wide to fit. But I had always been thin, so the walls let me slip past, and my descent slowed. I was going slow enought that I could almost have stopped myself if I tried to press my body against the walls, but I didn't dare to. And then, in an instant, the walls gave way, and I fell freely once more, only for a second. My legs crumpled beneath me as something violent rushed up out of the darkness below and slammed into me. The air left my lungs and I tasted blood. Something cold and solid had crashed into me and stopped my fall. The feeling of not-falling hit me first, and I found it hard to move my limbs. I tried to stand up, only to slip and drop again. I landed on my back, where something soft gave way beneath me with a crunch. The smell then overwhelmed me, and I turned over and vomited. I braced myself with my hand, but my hand dug into something, something hard and cold, that shifted. At first I thought I was lying among branches and rocks. But as I felt this thing in my hand, I pushed my fingers into a pair of holes and realized I was sitting among corpses. I panicked, and tried to move away, but my feet could find no purchase among the bodies. I crawled through the dark, wretching, stumbling, but there was no end to the bodies, they pulled themselves around my ankles and arms, I slipped and fell among bones and cold slime, decaying skin and worse. It took me a while to gather myself. I have been sitting here for hours, it seems. At first I tried to find an exit. But there is none. The walls surround this pit in a perfect circle. It took me a full hour to crawl around them, searching with my hands for any way out. I am ashamed to admit, I even tried to dig, to find the bottom. I used up the last of my pitiful energy, motivated by sheer terror, to dig my way through the bones. To no avail. There are too many corpses here. Not even if a man has jumped down from my village every year for a thousand years. The bones would have turned to dust by now if that were the case. But they haven't. Even as I am remembering my story, my mind decays into delirium. I have forgotten what is real. I should be dead right now. It takes me what seems like hours to even think. I am so thirsty and so hungry. And so very tired. But every time I close my eyes, I fall again. That nightmare is not so unpleasant now, now that I have reached the bottom. There is something else down here with me. I can feeling it watching me. Not with eyes, no. Eyes are useless down here, where no light has ever been. Still it waches me. It can wait a very long time. The bodies that come down here, they drip down, bit by bit. They get caught in the tighest part of the hole, and then they decay. I think about all the men that must have been stuck where I slipped through. I wish I shared their fate. I will slip away soon, very soon. There will be no rest for me here. It doesn't matter. This is where I have always belonged.

The diamond necklace in question sat comfortably

The diamond necklace in question sat comfortably in my back pocket. But none of them knew that. I shot all of them a glare, my fingers rubbing together in the air as if I was trying to summon a solution right in front of them all. "Constable Winfrey?" a posh voice asked from somewhere in the crowd before me. My eyes met his before the next second was off. "Sir Bartell?" I asked, holding my tone steady and trying to keep the absolutely splitting grin from spewing out onto my face. The suited butler nodded, his mustache twitching with each subtle movement of his lips. "Yes. That's me. I was just wondering... do you have anything yet? Mrs. Hughes is quite distraught, and we're all starting to get impatient." I let my smile drop just a hair while shaking my head. "You mustn't rush such a thing, sir. And I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will be high of spirit as soon as I crack the case." The nervous butler nodded and a murmur broke out among the anxious mass of barely more than half a dozen. My eyebrow shot up only a moment later as I scanned them again. I had only been on the train since the last stop--I wasn't here for leisure, after all--but still, it seemed odd that there were so few on board. "But the next stop..." a male voice said, his squeamish voice lilting to my ear on a completely absent breeze. I glared at the boy; I nearly accused the boy in rags right then. After all, among a crowd of such fancily-dressed patrons, he was the most obvious choice. "What was that, Ty?" I asked, taking a moment to relish in the shy boy's anxiety. "The next stop is in less than half an hour," he said, the defiance spawning in his eyes almost pushing me over the edge. As the small boy piped up, I saw the woman in the frilly scarf inch away from him and the journalist take a step forward. Ms. Eiser and Winston, respectively, I remembered. "Yes..." I said, nodding in fake contemplation. "That is little time, but I have a full grasp of the matter. At this point, I know the story fully, through and through." All of their eyes glinted with hope. I almost took half a step back. With all the eyes pointed directly at me, any normal thief would've faltered. But I didn't. I was a rock. There was nothing that inspired more confidence in a crime than knowing you had already gotten away with it. "Then tell us!" the woman from the back of the crowd yelled. I smiled warmly at her. No matter how fast I went, Mrs. Hughes would never have shut up. "Alright..." I said, twirling my mustache with another fake look of hardened thought. "From the beginning, then, I suppose." Everyone nodded at once. "Well, I arrived on the train at 5:15 PM, exactly at the time of the last stop." I kept my stare straight, not even sparing a glance toward my watch. "That was 37 minutes and 29 seconds ago." Their eyes all split wide at my accuracy. They didn't need to know that I could've been off by multiple minutes. "After arriving on the train, I came immediately to the dining car where I had what I considered my supper meal." "Get to the point!" my hysterical victim yelled. I stopped, angling my head at her. "I would appreciate it if you wouldn't interrupt me." She just glared at me but kept her mouth shut. "Now, while I was in the dining car, I saw four of the people in this room. Winston and Carrie were opposite me, having a rather heated discussion over drinks." I could see the couple blushing from the corner of my eye. "Alexandra sat three booths behind me, eating by herself. And two rows to my front was Oliver--the only one missing from us now." "Oliver? Yeah... him. It could've been him," Winston said, trying far too hard to be helpful. "It could've. But let's not jump to conclusions. Now, while this was happening, it was still a dozen minutes before the theft, and the others were scattered throughout the train." I narrowed my eyes as if my memory wasn't as impeccable as it actually was. "Ms. Eiser was in her room, if we are to trust her on that, and little Ty was helping the train management engineers, if we are to trust him on *that*." Both persons in question stepped forward, questions gleaming in their eyes. Ms. Eiser huffed, throwing her scarf over her shoulder. But Ty, that little boy had more to say. "I-I was! You can see the coal marks on my clothes." Everyone in the room eyed him with disgust. For a moment, I felt bad for the kid, but I followed their lead as to not be suspected myself. "Yes, we can," I said. "And we can see a lot more than that. That is far from conclusive evidence with all the doubt going around." The poor boy spluttered, but no more actual sentences came out. "Can we get to the theft already!" came Mrs. Hughes' annoying voice again. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes right then and there. "Of course," I returned with a grin full of mirth. "As we all know as well, at this time, Sir Bartell and Mrs. Hughes were in her cabin, the diamond necklace still unstolen." Everyone nodded together again. "Then, the clock struck 5:36!" I yelled. The people jumped like frogs. "And at that time, Mrs. Hughes went to get something from where her luggage was in the storage area of the train, accompanied by her butler. They returned only five minutes later at 5:41, and the diamond necklace then was gone." "Do you know where everybody was during the time?" Winston piped up, curiosity sparkling within him. I allowed myself a soft and light chuckle, amused for a time by the man's ignorant intellect. "Well, I arrived back at the diner car at 5:37 from the restroom, and it was more packed than before. By this time, Ms. Eiser had arrived for dinner, and I vehemently remember Ty being refused service by one of the waiters in the aisle. The only person then who was missing was Oliver, who had disappeared from his booth." "It was definitely him," Winston muttered excitedly. The look of annoyance on Carrie's face was one I didn't think I would ever forget. "What about the waiter!" the helpful little boy chimed in. I shook my head without a second thought. "Couldn't be. Have you ever seen one of these things? It's hardly ever one of the staff." "It wasn't me, I know that," Alexandra said, fanning herself as she leaned against one of the wooden columns in the car. I smiled at her, keeping my gaze harsh as nails. "And it definitely wasn't me," Winston said. "But I'm not so sure about my wife." "What the hell--Winny?" she yelled, already slapping him on the head. The journalist giggled, scurrying away from her strikes. I shook my head; I shook my head at all of it. "You see, none of you really understand. The timing doesn't line up for any of you--I was here in the dining car with you!" Most all of them furrowed their brows. "Then who was it?" I narrowed my eyes once again, taking a subtle step back and a glance at my watch. The next stop was scheduled a mere minute away. "Isn't it obvious?" Some of them nodded, and some of them shook their heads. After the reactions had settled though, they all glared daggers at each other. "The thief was obviously..." I widened my eyes, faking surprise on my face. My hand flew up in front of me and I pointed beyond them all to the hallway at the end of the car. "Oliver? Where have you been?" The train slowed, ready for the stop, but none other than me noticed the change. For they were all scrambling to turn around, eyes wide and mouths agape as they watched for the elusive passenger. "He's already gone!" one of them said; I didn't bother trying to figure out who. "He's getting away!" I yelled, stepping backward some more. They reacted like sheep, rushing forward as a dense and uncoordinated mass while chasing a man who wasn't there. And among the movement, the chaos and the rising shouts, I slipped out of the diner car and right toward the exit. On my way out, I told one of the train's workers about a riot in the dining car and he thanked me as he rushed away. I traded one chaos for another as I stepped onto the train station floor. But none of the commotion could hamper my mood as I felt the weight in my back pocket. And I was smiling as I walked, happy, whistling, and glad none of them ever bothered to check the clock. --- /r/Palmerranian

In a room blacker than night

In a room blacker than night, devoid of stars or any other such beauties, I floated. It was some shattered gap between nowhere and everywhere, the kind of lonely afterlife I'd always imagined would suit me best. I deserved nothing more. It stayed that way for -- how do I put this? Forever, and yet not forever. I did not age, or move, or even feel the eons slink by in a human manner, and yet I knew it had been an eternity by the time the angel first appeared. He was a stark contrast to the void around us, brighter than the sun, yet cast light on nothing, as if his glow were being devoured by the abyss. Suddenly, I was standing on a circular piece of stone, and had some semblance of weight and being. The angel opened his arms and spoke not in words, but directly to my mind. "Timothy Halpert Bennington. You are now ready for judgment." Judgement. Ha, of course the afterlife would be something like religions predicted. I'm sure my life had left a bad taste in God's mouth. I didn't respond, only stared into the nothing below me. "Your first Judge: the one you were cruelest to in life." I cocked my head, brows knitting into a line. People from my life would be judging me? *No. No, please, just send me to Hell.* My eyes tried to shut, like slamming the door behind you to avoid a conversation you don't want to deal with, but something kept them open. The angel hadn't moved a muscle, and yet, I knew it was him. A pocket of light smudged something within itself. That smear of darkness stepped forward, onto another stone tile, and clarified as the pocket zipped up. It was her. I knew it would be, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. "Oh, Timmy, you're so young," she said, a soft smile on her face. "I've missed you so much." I couldn't meet her eyes and searched for words, but my lips only trembled, mouthing empty motions. My eyes fell to the stone beneath her. "Look at me, Timothy." I obliged. "When you were a boy, no more than fifteen, you once burned all of my photo albums. Not just the ones with your father in them, but the ones of us, family trips and gatherings, every memory I ever had. They were erased forever, those last bits I had of him and our carefree times. I cried every day for a month, when you weren't home. That was my joy, mementos of when life was simple and fun, which you turned to ash." There was nothing I wanted more than to squeeze my eyes shut, but I could not; I was forced to watch the sadness in her eyes as she spoke. "That was your most cruel action-- it hurt me more than when your father left us. He had always been unkind, but for you, the light of my life, to torch away our memories like that... it broke me." Before I could muster the courage to apologize, she slipped away into light. I felt sick, so humanly sick in my stomach, but knew there would be no relief. One does not vomit in the afterlife. The angel offered me no reprieve. "Your second judge: the one you were most kind to." Once more a flash, and once more an approach. My eyes widened, face flickering as I tried to understand. "You didn't expect to see me again, did you?" Her smile was wide and bashful. "How...?" "Oh, silly boy. The mind plays tricks on us sometimes. You probably thought that, because you'd caused me a great pain in life, there was no way you could have brought me joy, but life is not that black and white. It's so much more than that." Still I searched, and still I found no words. "You were harsh -- even cruel -- at times, but it wasn't always like that. Your pain changed you, and even then, you weren't a purely cruel person. Just one that lashed out once in a while because you didn't understand how to handle it. Life can get very confusing. "This is my favorite story. When you were ten -- such a cute little man -- you wrote me a poem for a school project. I'll never forget the words on that card: *To Mom, my bestest friend. I love you more than gummy bears or mac and cheese. You make me happier than Racer when I drop a potato chip and he eats it. Happy birthday to the best mommy in the whole wide world.* You wrote that on a card decorated with hearts and smiley faces. You didn't know it, but that was right when I'd first been diagnosed and your father started to show signs of his poor character as a man. Then, on top of it, you cooked me dinner, and it was so bad but I ate every bite. It was the best meal I've ever had. "Never in my entire life have I felt as happy as I did in that moment. You were such a deeply caring boy before everything went wrong." I barely even remembered any of that. Had I really done something to make her happy? Why didn't I remember it, when I remembered such other, terrible things so clearly? She disappeared into the light as I searched my soul, digging for answers but only turning up dirt. The angel, kind as he was, did not let me take a moment to figure things out. "Your third judge: the one whose life you saved." I froze. The one whose life I saved? I'd never saved a life, I'd only done things far from it. Perhaps it was standard practice, and no one would walk through the portal this time. But, just like clockwork, she was back again, her smile warmer than the halo over her head. I gaped at her. "No. No, I killed you. This makes no sense, I didn't save you. Is this some kind of sick joke? Do angels play pranks on people?" "Oh, sweetie," she said, shaking her head. "It was mercy. Besides, the sickness had already stolen me. Letting me go in peace in no way makes it your fault. Have you held yourself accountable all this time?" I couldn't find it in me to respond, mashing my teeth together instead. "It was my time to go. There was so much pain and suffering that plagued me, in the end; my sickness was no fault of yours. The fact that you put all your hurt aside and stayed with me so I wouldn't be alone meant more than the world. You did the most brave thing a boy can do for his mother, and saved me. Finally, there were words I found that I'd been looking for, choked and jagged as they were. "I love you, Mom. I'm so sorry I wasn't a better son." "Shh, now, darling. Your hurt is almost over. I'll be waiting for you." One final time, she faded away. "And now, your final judge," the angel said. "The one whose life you took." My nails bit into the skin, I clenched so hard, and I breathed deep to keep myself together in front of the angel overseeing it all-- though, honestly, hiding things probably didn't work when in the presence of Godly beings. For when the swirling portal of light opened, it was not my mother that walked through as it had been the previous three times. No, it was someone much more familiar, and somehow, more terrifying. Me. I fought hard to look away, harder than I'd fought before, but I just couldn't. There was no power in me, wherever I was, and so I simply stood there, frozen and sobbing at my own reflection. "This is probably pretty rough for you," he said, pursing his lips. I let out a croak in response. "You've always been too hard on yourself, you know that? Isn't it time that you get a little peace, too?" "I don't deserve it," I whispered. "Everyone does. This world is a complicated and terrifying place, and everyone knows their own pain. You lived a life consumed by yours, more than equal penance for your mistakes. "You've heard what she had to say, and seen the smile she still wears. You hurt her, yes, but you were also the joy of her life. Your father left because she was sick, not because you weren't worth it; he was the problem, not either of you. Your mother loved and still loves you, and you're not a bad man for the things you suffered. I only wish I could've shown you that earlier. "But, alas, I digress. Let's not do this-- you've spent long enough convincing yourself you don't deserve to be happy. It's time to rest, now, Tim. Be at peace." He held out a hand. I stepped forward and took it. --- */r/resonatingfury* Side note: the outreach on this has been absolutely incredible. Thank you all so much for reading; I can't keep up with the responses, as I'm off my lunch break now, but thank all of you so much for the kind words and awards I've published a novel based off a prompt, , if you're interested!

I run a number of successful businesses

**I.** I am a respected and respectable man. I run a number of successful businesses that employ local citizens. I have sat on the boards of several important not-for-profit organizations. I am a volunteer coach for my son's little league team. I am known as a minor pillar of my community. Obviously, the last thing a man like me wants is to have some scandal rear its ugly head in my life, and tarnish the immaculate image I have put so much time and energy into cultivating. But, it seems, for all the care I have taken to avoid courting scandals, one has nevertheless insinuated itself into my life. It is sinking its claws deep into my heart, and I fear if I do not soon get to the bottom of it, it may tear my heart out completely. It is, in a way, a common story. A man preoccupied with rising to the top of the public and business worlds, constantly scanning the horizon for great threats and new opportunities, fails to notice the problems taking place right before him. So focused is he on some strong and distant future he wishes to create, that he lets a broken present limp by, completely unseen, as if beneath his gaze. Thus it was with me. The day I noticed a scraggly grey hair on the shoulder of my wife's summer dress was the first day my suspicions were aroused. But once they were aroused--once I suspected her of infidelity--I suddenly became aware of how strange she had been acting for the previous two years. Yes, I know! What man can possibly be blind to the betrayals of the one he loves for two whole years? Can it even be considered love if a man can exist with a woman in matrimony so blindly, so inconsiderately, for so long? I confess, I had been an inattentive husband for quite some time. The fiery ardors of newfound passion that characterized the first years of my relationship with Greta had cooled considerably over the years, and, though I am loathe to admit it, there was a long stretch of time during which I put our love away, as if upon a shelf in my mind, and lived with her on auto-pilot, with her fulfilling the basic duties of "wife" and "mother", while I fulfilled the basic duties of "husband" and "father", nothing more. But once I found that scraggly hair, surely the beard hair of some middle-aged man, I was roused from my stupor, and suddenly became acutely aware of how far into complacency I had fallen, and how far, emotionally, spiritually and physically, I had fallen away from my wife. Should I have simply confronted her about the hair that I found on her dress? Perhaps I should have. Should I have asked her, straightforwardly, in the light of day, why she had been spending more and more of her time "with friends," "at yoga" and "just running errands" over the last couple years? Again, perhaps. And what of all the times I had tried to reach her from the office, when her phone was out of service? Now that I suspected her of some foul play, should I have cornered her, and blocked the exit, and demanded some explanation? Perhaps. Perhaps. But that is not the path I chose. I chose, instead, to hire a private eye. **II.** Yeah, it ain't the most glamorous job, being a snoop, picking through people's dirty laundry, literally and figuratively, to find something soiled. I can't say I love it. But I'm damn good at it. I got the kind of eye you need for this business: an eye for the worst in people. Find me any clean-shaven schmuck, hiding behind his brand new SUV, and his white-picket fence, with his kids in the church choir, and, within a week, I'll have enough dirt on the guy to get his face plastered on the front page of the local news. We all got secrets. We all got a grimy underside. We all said something, did something, searched for something on the internet, that would make our grandmothers roll over in their graves if they somehow found out from the afterlife. And what's funny is people think they can hide it! They think their secrets are safe. Ain't nothing is safe. Not today, with recorders and cameras on every corner and on every person, with digital trails left wherever you go, with people you used to know willing to spill about your past indiscretions for little more than the pleasure of seeing you burn. Everyone's got some muck that they think is secreted away, but I'll tell you, that secret ain't safe. Now I seen some things in my twenty years of snooping. I've run across my share of criminals, cheaters, closeted bigots and clerical buggers. Ain't not too much that'll spook me. Not at this point. So when this Mr Davis calls me up, and he says he suspects his wife's been cheating, and he gives me what details he's got, I think to myself, "Alright, open and shut case." And as he's talking, I look up his name, and I see he's quite the big shot, quite the Pivotal Percy in town, and I think to myself, "Well now, even if I could close this down within three days, with photo evidence and all, and I would do it for a round $300, let's see what we can milk this sucker for." "So you think you can help me?" Mr Davis nervously asked over the phone. "I can try," I said. "These cases, you understand, they're tough sometimes. But I'm the best there is. If anyone can solve it, it's me." "I'll hire you, then," he said. "Hold on now," I replied. "I'll say it again: I'm the best there is. And being the best, I got a pretty well-off clientele, and have certain expectations for compensation. What I mean to say is that, if you're strapped for cash, you might be better off looking elsewhere. There's plenty of snoops out there who'll work on the cheap. They're not as quick, and they're not as discreet, but they won't make your wallet as light as I will." "Money is no object," he said firmly. "So long as you can find out what my wife is doing. And discreetly. There is a lot at stake here for me. You have to understand, this whole debacle has thrown everything into disarray. It's not just the betrayal itself, or the fear of something getting out publicly, but also, I simply cannot focus on my ventures. I have a lot on my plate, and I need some peace of mind. Until this gets sorted, sir, I--" "Yeah, yeah, I understand," I said, cutting him off. "My fee is $2500 a week, cash, up front, at the beginning of each week, with an extra $3000 cash if I can provide you with irrefutable evidence of your wife's infidelity. I can't promise you I'll find anything. Girls these days, they're sneaky. You'd be surprised at how sneaky they are. But I'll damn well try. And if I don't, no refunds. Understood?" "Understood." "Good. Now why don't you stop by my office this afternoon...say, around 1:30, to fill out a contract and give me a few more details. Sound good?" "I'll be there." "Alright, Mr Davis. Alright?" "Alright." "It'll all be okay, Mr Davis. I can promise you that. Alright?" "Alright." "Don't forget to bring the cash. That's $2500. We'll figure everything out. Don't you worry. Just bring the $2500 and we'll get you sorted, right as rain. I'll see you at 1:30. Alright?" "Alright." **\[continued in the comments\]**

Selena was the most powerful wizard

Sometimes in life, you find a moment that is perfectly suited to your talents. I didn't know that the moment I read the sign on Selena's door would be one of those moments for me. I don't think that it would be fair to say that I had loved her for my entire life, but that's only because I don't have any memories of my life before around age four or five. My first memory is of Bertrand shoving me to the ground and laughing over my sobbing body, only for her to drag him away and demand that he leave me alone. I don't remember why he was bullying me, but I will always remember the pure kindness in the smile on her face when she helped me up. Of course, I was far from the only man who was desperately in love with her; basically every man in the village (and quite a few women as well) was entranced by her. She was kind, brilliant, funny when she wanted to be, and beautiful beyond compare. All that before even mentioning that she was the most powerful wizard that anyone had ever met. There was already a crowd in front of her door when I arrived. She had told everyone who would listen (which meant everyone in the town) that today would be the day that she announced who she would marry. The sign was a simple WANTED poster, with a picture of a pudgy-looking black cat with a keychain on its neck. Underneath the cat's picture were some words in Selena's gorgeous cursive: "The key on my cat Midnight's neck is the key to my front door. Whoever opens my front door first will be the person I marry." My heart sank as I read the message. The cat's looks were deceptive; he may have been pudgy, but he was a wizard's pet and would be nearly impossible for even the quickest person to catch. I was never much of an athlete; I was only a baker. Still, I thought, this was the only way that I could ever have a chance with a woman like her. I played along with everyone else for the first month or so, diving after him every time I saw him sneaking through the town square. After the first few days or so, I realized that Selena wasn't going to be able to leave her house for a while if she was waiting for someone to claim this stupid furball. How was she going to eat, trapped in her tower all alone? I brought her a tray of bread and food every morning, and left it outside of her back door. She never came out to get it, but I noticed that the tray was left empty in front of the door the next day. I gave up on the cat after about a month, but I kept bringing her food. She had always been good to me, after all, and I didn't want her to starve to death. One day when I was leaving the food for her, I noticed the cat staring at me from the bushes. Staring at me, or...? Suddenly, it struck me. I was never going to catch the cat. I was never going to trap the cat. But if I could chase it into the right place... I went home and baked the most delicious fish tarts I had ever made. I set them up in a little box outside of my front door. I didn't have to wait for long. The cat couldn't resist the scent of the tarts, and slowly crept forward into the box I'd made. I let him stay there for as long as he wanted; there was no need to shoo him away. When he strolled back out of the box, the keychain got snagged on the loose wire. Just as I'd planned. I wasn't sure if I was more elated about having won, or more terrified about facing her. Surely she didn't want ME to win. There were wealthy men and women in our village, beautiful men and women in our village, and strong men and women in our village. I was none of the above. I lingered for a while outside of her front door to make sure that nobody else was there, and turned the key. The door swung open, and Selena stood just behind it. "Sterling," she said as she looked at me, the same purity in her smile as she'd had at the age of six, "thank the Heavens it's you. Please come in." I stared at her confused but gratefully followed her into the kitchen. There was a basket on the table, with a note pinned to it: From Sterling. There must have been about 60 scones in there. "I saved one scone from every tray that you brought me, to remind myself why I set that test, and why I prayed that you would be the one to figure it out." There were tears in her eyes now, but the smile never left them or her lips. Her lips, lightly shaded in red, full, inviting... "I don't get it," I said, resisting my urge to lean into her. "You were hoping that I would figure it out? I'm not the strongest, the smartest, the wealthiest--" "But you're the kindest. I set a trap that you couldn't solve by kidnapping poor Midnight. You could only solve it by taking the key without hurting him." She was crying for real now, tears streaming down her high, elegant cheekbones and staining her dress. "Every day I hoped that you would realize. This test was meant for YOU. I could never marry someone who tormented animals for a stupid key chain." "But you could marry someone who gives you free scones even when you didn't eat them, even when they expected nothing in return." I decided I wasn't going to hold back my tears either, and I let them run down my face as I wrapped her in my arms and tried to comprehend just how lucky I was. _________________________________ EDIT: I feel a bit dirty doing this, but I figured I would since people seem to have liked this story--I just made my own subreddit over at /r/NicodemusLux/ so check it out if you want more! There isn't much there yet, but I really like writing so there probably will be soon.

Rosa held a competition for her hand

Based on the fact that Rosa had held a competition for her hand in marriage you would assume she was a haughty woman with an air of high maintenance about her. Only she wasn't. This is why every suitable contender across the village fled to the community hall where she declared she would lay out the terms of this competition. No one wanted to miss such an opportunity. But who was she? Describing her as a 'healer with a heart of gold' would not convey her outer beauty, and a 'Goddess carved by angels' would not convey her inner beauty for she reflected the true meaning of being beautiful in both senses. To marry her would be to marry Athena and Aphrodite all at once; strong, powerful and alluring. I knew I had no chance, but I had to go anyway for the regret of not going would eat me alive. The community hall was just as packed as expected. There was such a significant lack of seating for everyone that they did away with the chairs altogether resulting in rows upon rows of men looking ready for battle. On time as always, she stood with her feline, Thorn, on one arm and a small envelope in her spare hand. "Hello, everyone!" she beamed from the small platform. "My, what a turn out. Thank you all so much for coming, I'm incredibly flattered!" and just like that, the room was silent. The only disinterested being with a beating heart in the room appeared to be her cat, asleep on her arm, its snowy fur blended into the white of her gown. "I do not wish to keep you so I will try to go through this as quickly as possible. So you are all here to hear what the terms are of this competition. Although all of you have common ground in that you are men from Vesavia, you all have something different about you all; strength, knowledge, health and more. Some are blacksmiths, some are magicians, some are philosophers and some squires. I want you to all know from the bottom of my heart that your occupancy, wealth and place in society shall not affect this." This was surprising, not on Rosa's part, but I thought at the very least she would want to eliminate the weaker from the pile - like me. Although I am fortunate enough to work at the palace, I do so by working with the animals. No, not a veterinarian, but shovelling waste, changing bedding and feeding. "The challenge I present you with is simply in theory but not so simple in execution. I have in this envelope a key. This key will be to my front door and whoever can find the key will be my chosen partner. However, this key shall be attached to Thorn, my cat, by his collar." Oh, God. Thorn, bless his heart, was a rescue that Rosa had saved from what looked like a certain death. Beaten, abused and starved, he had been through some excessive trauma that meant he was somewhat skittish, shy and liked to only come out at night. "At midnight tonight, I shall release him. May the challenge commence!" \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ It had been a fortnight. I was beginning to worry about Thorn, especially since Rosa had voiced regret of this challenge. Apparently he had not once attempted to come back to her despite not being found meaning he may not have eaten since he left. Concerned for his safety, I did what I could from afar at the palace stables. It was important I did not get caught as to do so may have resulted in my firing, but this was a different matter altogether. The palace cats were exceedingly picky and often left behind much of their meals. When it came to the time of day for me to dump the food and wash their bowls I would instead sneak the food into my satchel to take home. Once home, I had constructed what I hoped would be tempting to any cat - fishcakes. The oatmeal and potato was to pad them out, the salmon and mackerel for taste and smell. I left them outside my open bedroom window in hopes of seeing Thorn. It was the fourteenth night of placing out these fishcakes that I finally saw him. I was tucked up in bed when I saw glowing white fur against the window. I almost doubted my vision - he was alive! Part of me was thrilled to see him but my heart also sank. He looked dirty, scared and malnourished. His big blue eyes bared at me from the window, looking too scared to step in and take the food but also too afraid to leave. I sat patiently in bed and avoided eye contact with him in case he ran. I did not want him to flee and he needed to be comfortable around me, how else was I to return him to Rosa? Slowly, paw by paw, I heard a gentle padding across my window sill and then some contented mewing. At last, Thorn was able to eat. Once he was done I slowly looked up, ready to grab my coat to tell Rosa her cat was still alive when I realised he hadn't moved. It took me a while, but it dawned on me he was waiting for me to join him. And so we set off with Thorn bundled in some blankets. I took extra fishcakes in my satchel as he seemed to like them and it was the least I could do in the situation. It wasn't long before I reached Rosa's door and felt Thorn wriggle, probably excited to see her again. I rapped my knuckles against the door in hopes that she was still awake, but before I could even finish knocking the door swung open. "Hello, Rosa. Sorry if I woke you-" "Mercy me, is that Thorn?!" "Ah, yes! He came to me for some food. In fact I have some spares here. Fishcakes? He seemed to like them so I thought I'd send him home with the rest." "Oh my lord, thank you! Thank you so much. I was so worried!" "Me too, glad he's okay. He seems like he's been through a lot but now he's found he should be okay." "I'm so glad it's you, James. I really am." Huh? "So glad what's me?" "You! You're the chosen one, you returned the key!" The key? "I'd completely forgotten about the key, I was so busy looking for Thorn himself it slipped my mind." "And that, James, is why I'm glad it was you." **Edit: thank you for my first Reddit silver!**

Only the dampened, drawn-

Only the dampened, drawn-out creaks of floorboards sounded as I tiptoed to the front door. It was the dead of night, silent as a grave, and it smelled like one, too. The air was heavy and rank, as if it too had died. One foot down, shifting my weight, the other up, a slow wooden groan, then repeat. Skip the one with a pockmark in it--that one's the loudest. They wake up every time I step on that one. I inched my way to the front door, then took a deep breath, held it and reached for the doorknob. Turning it up, not down, it let off a faint click, and I pulled the door out. Fresh air hit me, soothing, and I breathed it in deep. It soothed me--too much. I fucked up. The door groaned as I pulled it just the slightest bit too hard, and though it was no louder than a weak cough, my entire being cringed. My breaths quickened. Something rustled behind me. I knew what it was. I closed my eyes. Tendrils snaked around me and pulled, and the world faded to black. ---- I awoke to the dim light that was sunrise in my hell of a home. It was never brighter than a moonlight night, even when the sun was out, like a coffee filter had been placed over the sky. Groaning, I sat up, and winced as I recalled my mistake the night before. Twisted flesh, jagged and blacker than night itself, hung in front of me. Bright orange eyes peered out, floating on the mass, freely moving across its entire body. I would have been startled, but after God knows how many years, the terror of it had become numb. That one, with the shifty eyes, was Three. He was, as his name implied, the third... thing... I had ever encountered after crashing at sea. Like the others, he could not speak any human words, but he did have an uncomfortable tendency to whistle. His two eyes fixated on me, and a tendril shot out, propping up my head. Another, carrying a glass of water, gently approached my lips, and I drank from it, as I did every morning, trying to avoid his terrible gaze. A faint, dissonant tune came from his being, seeping into my bones. The look of him, the touch--that, I had gotten used to. But the sad, slightly off-tune melody he offered me every morning never failed to set a chill into my spine. Three left, and, like clockwork, Two drifted in. Like a pool of fog, it swirled along the floor, drifting toward me as a cloud in the sky would. I held a breath, out of a perpetual fear that I'd accidentally inhale the monster, and let it lift me. I never knew quite what it did during that time, as I always shut my eyes, but part of it was changing my clothes. Always the same, black set of robes, never any variety, and I don't even want to begin thinking about where they came from. I was, per the schedule, free to roam my run-down little room after the morning ritual-- however, any further than that and One would come for me. The first few weeks, I tried to escape every chance I got, and One would always find me, wherever I ran, and shake his mangled face at me. I think, on some twisted level, they're trying to protect me. None of them, not even One, has ever harmed me in any way, and outside the cabin lies a dead sea of wood and bones. But after some unknown amount of time had stretched away from me, living alone in a cabin full of terrors, their intentions didn't matter. I've begged them to let me leave, even if it meant dying slowly, as long as I'd get to die outside of the decaying walls of their putrid little home. If I don't get to see my family again, or my friends, or play the guitar or anything else that makes life enjoyable--then why am I even alive? I wish I could tell them that, but they just don't understand. It's clear that there's only one way out of that Hell, and it involves a lot of swimming. The sea took me there, and the sea can take me home. Or it can take my life. --- The day crawled by as I was forced to spend it in my little wooden dungeon, full of its creaking rotten wood and traitorous books filled with empty pages. I suffered the unending loneliness, the mind-numbing boredom, and stayed awake this time. Napping during the day only makes me groggier at night, and if I'm groggy, I make mistakes like I had the night before. There are no more of those to afford. The time finally came, after yet another day of eternal emptiness. I'd decided it was finally the day, one where I either get out, or I never wake up again. I meditated a few moments, steadying my nerves and breaths, and once the moon-smudge poked out over the horizon, I began. Weight on the toes. One before the other, light on the step, then slowly applying eight. Skip the third, eight and tenth floorboards, hug the wall down the staircase. Over the pockmarked board, turning the handle up, and not letting the fresh air dull my razor-sharp awareness. I didn't close the door behind me, this time. Creeping down the stone porch steps, onto the path of decrepit tiles that led to them, I kept my breath held. Then, stopping on the last one, I breathed deep twice more, and picked up a snapped femur from the ground. And ran faster than I ever had in my entire life. This time, not into the dead forest, but toward the ocean on our left. I heard him. I heard One clamoring across the ground, scattering bones and dirt and twigs, but didn't look back. All my weight pressed forward, every step as long as possible, until One's footwork grew nearer--then, I turned, stopping quickly, and thrust the bone into his mangled, furry body. A mouth on his midsection, filled with jagged brown teeth, wailed. I turned and ran again, just a few more feet, and jumped off the low cliff. The shock of cold bit at my skin, and I gulped for air, but used every ounce of my will to try and swim as far as I could. One's wailing faded behind me, but I did not look back. There was no going back. It wasn't long before I could no longer progress, or even stay afloat. The world faded black, and I sank, swallowed by rough waves of water black as ash. Something pulled me out. --- My eyes peeled open like someone had glued them shut long ago. There was a strange heaviness and glow to the world and I was--I was wearing white? When did Two ever dress me in something white? No, Two would never do such a thing. I was no longer in my Hell; the smell of wet wood and old porridge was gone, replaced by something lighter, and floral. I felt sunlight on me--real sunlight, not something muted and fake--and welled up without even realizing it. I was free. There was a vortex of gasps and murmurs around me. A woman, I think, approached, cradling my head, holding up a cup of water. Her eyes were as wide as her smile. She whistled Three's favorite tune. --- */r/resonatingfury* ^(this is very different than my usual work but I wanted to give sp00ky a try)

The internet had been completely locked down

"Another doomsday loon was killed this morning," Mike said from his spot in front of the local news channel. "Shot during the night for preaching on the corner." "Honey, turn that off, you know it's not good for you. Besides, I'm about to get the kids up." "Fine, fine." Mike stood and turned the TV off. Ever since the worldwide decimation caused by human brains maxing out on data retention (or the Overload, as most people called it) television was taboo. It had become what cigarettes used to be - a known killer but a nasty habit some people just couldn't kick. The internet had been completely locked down, accessed only by bots. Social media disappeared, and a world dependent on new content caved in on itself. It had gotten better though, after a few years. People acclimated, as they always do. A lot of outdated technology came back. Cameras with film, watches that weren't smart, flip phones, more basic car models - anything that reduced the exposure to new information. But there were still holdouts like Mike, who looked forward to his daily news every morning at six. Jeannie came back into the living room, two tiny, rumpled zombies stumbling after her. "Eat up," she said. "Your dad is taking you to school in fifteen minutes." As their children sat down at the kitchen table, Jeannie turned to her husband. "I wish you wouldn't watch that anymore," she said. "We get the newspaper once a month with the important stuff, why can't you wait until then? Cindy's husband, Miles, dropped dead last week after helping his son with vocabulary homework." "I'm sorry, babe. Just one of those nasty habits I guess. At least I only watch the morning news now." Jeannie leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You know I'm just worried about you." "I know. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I'm careful." After Mike dropped the kids off at school, it was off to his construction job. After The Overload, most jobs involving computers disappeared. Construction was one of the fields that remained when the dust settled. However, with a huge chunk of the population dead and the need for new buildings severely diminished, it had turned into more of a demolition job. "Hey Mike, have you seen Phillip?" the foreman asked. "Not today. Did he call or anything?" "Nope. Maybe he's just on break. Keep an eye out, would you?" Phillip was a younger guy but a hard worker; funny, personable, all the guys liked him. That was why Mike was in for such a shock when he opened the Porta Potty and saw Phillip sitting there, dead, his lifeless eyes trained on the handheld contraband in his grip. Pictures and words were still flashing across the screen of the jailbroke tablet; Mike could hear it even though the volume was nearly muted. "Mike, is everything okay?" someone behind him shouted. "Um, yeah." Mike snatched the tablet and shoved it in his jacket. "I mean, no. Phillip's in here. Looks like he overdosed." The foreman made the appropriate calls while the crew shook their heads sadly. "Couldn't adjust," one said. "Happens to a lot of young people." Mike nodded but didn't speak, all too aware of the tablet in his jacket. Why had he taken it? It's not like he could use it. He hadn't gotten tested in a year or two but he knew he had to be approaching his limit. He expected the blinders prescription after his next test. Those who were close to overload were fitted with a device behind their left ear to filter out new information as much as possible before reaching the brain. While it kept you alive, it blocked entire conversations from your brain and caused big black patches in your vision. After work, he didn't go home. Instead he drove to an empty parking lot behind the old strip mall. The tablet was nearly fully charged, Phillip must have been right on the cusp of death. The word suicide flitted through Mike's brain, but honestly he couldn't blame the kid. What was a world without entertainment, without knowledge? Not a world worth living in. He turned on the device, not caring what he saw, just wanting to see something. His starved senses drank in the flashing images and scrolling stories. Celebrities he didn't know had survived The Overload lived normal lives, YouTube videos he hadn't seen in four years nearly brought him to tears. The content uploaded since The Overload of course was bland, factual, since it was all maintained and created by bots. But the unlimited feast of material before the mass deaths was still there, in all its glory. He didn't know how long he sat there, he only finally noticed that it was dark outside. Jeannie had paged him several times, but he hadn't noticed. He shoved the tablet under the passenger seat, checking his dilated pupils in the rearview mirror before driving him. "Where were you?" Jeannie demanded as soon as he walked through the door. "I'm sorry. I got, um, held up." Trying to form coherent sentences through the aftershocks of the orgasmic Internet experience was difficult. "Held up? What does that mean? Did you get in an accident?" "I, uhhhh...." He stumbled to the kitchen counter, propping himself up by the heels of his hands. "Mike, what's wrong?" "Just....give me a second." "Daddy!" Shelly and Courtney burst into the kitchen, each hugging one of his legs. Mike felt like his heart was about to burst from his chest, everything in his vision pulsed and bulged. "I saved one for you." He snapped back to attention as Shelly held out a Laffy Taffy from her class party. "It's the yellow one you like." "Thanks, pumpkin." He took the candy from her hand, focused on each of his slow movements, trying to process his thoughts when he read the wrapper: "DID YOU KNOW that slugs have FOUR noses?" Mike thudded to the floor, dead upon impact while Jeannie and the girls screamed. Huh, he didn't know that.

"Erica Halstead" woke

I was faking my way through the day at the "work" address I'd found in the thankfully unlocked cell phone when I saw her - or, should I say I saw me? I'd known, obviously, that I was still in Houston, but I didn't know this area of the city very well. When I woke up in someone else's body I knew that talking about it would earn me a one-way trip to a mental health hold. Instead, I figured I'd just fake my way through being "Erica Halstead," the petite 29-year-old on the driver's license. I tried to shove down the turbulent emotions while I devoted 10% of my attention to making it look like I knew what the spreadsheet on Erica's work computer meant while devoting the rest of my attention to thinking of what could possibly have happened to me and how I could get back. &#x200B; Last night everything had been normal. I'd spent the night watching Netflix with Todd, one of his arms resting over my stomach as I leaned back across his chest on the over-stuffed, slightly sagging plaid couch in our living room. "You know," he mentioned as we watched the hero arc across the screen in a jump, "it's *supposed* to be sci-fi. I love the series but the wrong arc on the jumps kills the physicist in me just a little bit." I just laughed and poked him in the stomach. "At least it's not as bad as *The Iron Monkey*." He groaned. "I don't think anything's as bad as the *Iron Monkey*." We'd laughed at the memory of the 90s flick and snuggled a bit closer as the movie wrapped up, eventually falling asleep after dragging ourselves from the couch to the bedroom. The last memory I had was of slipping off to sleep, trying to ignore his soft snore. &#x200B; When I woke up, it was in the wrong bed, without Todd, to the sound of a cat meowing determinedly. I'll spare you the in-depth description of my panicked first hour of running around, staring at mirrors, frantic googling, and racking my memory of what I'd eaten the night before. &#x200B; So here I was, wearing someone else's button-down shirt and a pair of heels that I certainly wouldn't have bought, not knowing how I was supposed to react to the sight of myself walking down the street next to the office. I stared out the window, looking down at my body - walking, looking around, and wearing an expression of concern that pulled at my eyes and accentuated the wrinkles I'd started noticing a few years ago. My makeup was totally wrong, my hair parted on the wrong side, but it was definitely me. My mind spun faster. Did we switch? Was Erica Halstead down there, just as confused as I was about being 35-year-old Cara Sheppard, maybe coming here to a familiar scene? I felt a rush of relief that my body wasn't at the courthouse representing my client without me. As bad as missing the trial would be for my annual review, as ticked off as the client would be and as disapproving as Judge Mortenson would be when I got this figured out and begged for a continuance, it was probably preferable to Erica Halstead, Senior Marketing Consultant, who I very much doubted was terribly familiar with the nuances of white collar crime law. &#x200B; I watched her looking around the plaza outside and had no idea what to do. It'd been 6 hours and I had no more ideas on fixing this than I did the moment I realized it. The world seemed to be getting more and more surreal. I looked around the office, head spinning slightly, and it seemed to me that everyone looked as nervous as I felt, that the laughter at the water cooler was a little too high-pitched, that the people in the glass-walled conference room next door looked like they weren't entirely sure why they were having a meeting (though, to be fair, that wasn't that unusual in my experience). I was probably just projecting, but my contemplation was interrupted by a man - one of Erica's coworkers, I guessed. He was perhaps a few years older than her 29, with a happy-looking face and dark brown eyes. &#x200B; "How was your weekend" his eyes seemed to dart to the name tag on the corner of the cubicle, and he hesitated for half a moment before saying her name "...Erica?" Great. Office small talk. I'd hated the first 3 months of work at my firm for this very reason. Once I knew the paralegals, staff, and other associates on my floor it was fine, and we could laugh and chat about who'd gone to what event and could you believe what Darren did again, but the painful weeks of "Yep, doing good, you?" had almost convinced me that I should have followed my teenage dream and become a backwoods ranger at one of the National Parks in Alaska. I didn't have enough mental power left to make up a lie about what Erica did, so I subbed in my own weekend, hoping this co-worker didn't know her well enough to know what she thought about Star Trek. "Just hung out. Watched the whole new Star Trek trilogy, ha ha." &#x200B; His eyebrows raised in surprise. "No way, me too!" Huh. What are the odds. "Which one did you enjoy most," I asked him. We chatted for a few minutes about the different films, and I was surprised by how easy it was - I didn't usually talk this well with strangers. Then he confessed "I'll admit, though, some of the physics in the fights scenes are pretty painful... I've only seen one movie where the bad jumps-with-wires killed me more. Old martial arts flick, the Iron Monkey. You ever seen it?" I could feel my stomach drop to the floor in shock at the same moment that my heart seemed to start pounding. My mouth was dry as I responded "I don't think anything's as bad as the *Iron Monkey*." He reached out and grabbed my hand, suddenly struck dumb. I could see the panic in his eyes now that he was too surprised to keep up the mask, and maybe a hint of relief, too, as he realized the same thing that I did. &#x200B; "Todd," I whispered. "It's not just us."

Xenith, our first contact,

"The old ones..." Silence swallowed the little room as the image on the screen flicked from the Egyptian God Anubis, to a more modern depiction of an extraterrestrial. A grey alien with a bulbous head and two huge eyes that looked like black boiled eggs had been jammed sideways into its face. Its body was thin, almost skeletal, with skin that looked like paste had been rubbed onto bone. I looked at Xenith, who had been grinning only a few seconds earlier. Now he was not just silent, but terrified. Face pale, eyes wide, pupils dilated. "Sarah," he said, his voice a whisper. He turned and walked towards the desk I was seated behind. "Why did you lie to me?" I took my glass of water and sipped it lazily. I wasn't thirsty, but forcing the conversation to slow would give him time to think logically and grant me the illusion of control. Xenith, our first contact, was little more than a parasite that had wormed its way into a man named Richard Atler. He had crawled into Richard's head and released tendril-like arms that had grown into the man's brain, destroying parts of it, rewiring others. Richard became, in effect, lobotomised. All control of his body had been lost, but most of his self -- his memories -- were still in tact and accessible to Xenith. But Richard must not have seen any area 51 conspiracies on YouTube, as the image on the screen had shocked the alien. "Lie? What do you mean lie? I have never lied to you." Xenith stared at me, his voice still breathless. "You know the old ones." A shiver crawled down my spine. In the three weeks Xenith and I had been learning about each other, both researching the other's race, this was the first time I had felt uncomfortable being alone with him. I felt my hand drifting to the red button hidden beneath my desk, but forced my arm down to my knee instead. I didn't need security. Xenith hadn't done anything alarming. Not really. And summoning help might burn the delicate bridge of trust we'd been walking together. Besides, plenty of people were watching us through camera lenses. Other researchers. The Vice President. Military generals looking for an excuse to burn the bug inside Richard's head to dust; That, however would be a mistake. If Xenith died, his species would know. And unlike Xenith, they wouldn't want to learn. "You told me I was the first," he continued, his voice slow and monotone. Barely recognisable from the almost melodic tone he had used up to today. "You told me I was the first contact, and you lied to me, Sarah." Richard's -- Xenith's -- piercing green eyes locked onto mine. Grey hair hung like a frozen-waterfall around his rocky cheeks. Had he always looked slightly... *menacing*? "You are the first alien we've met," I assured him. "At least, that we know of." He gestured to the screen with a trembling arm. To the image displayed on it. "No, I am not." "That?" I forced myself to laugh, to try to crack the wall of tension that had suddenly built up between us. "That's from a documentary. A bad one at that. If that creature looks at all like anything else out there then--" "Look at its skin, Sarah," Xenith said, the shock fading from his face and leaving anger in its place. I did. The grey surface rippled over hundreds of tiny bones around the alien's neck and chest. Organs were visible through it, in parts, but only as dark silhouettes -- like seeing something beneath the surface of the ocean, but you couldn't be sure what it is until it surfaces. I frowned. "What about it?" Xenith walked to the screen and ran a finger from one collar bone to another. "Do you see how the skin bumps and bobbles?" I nodded. "Like braille," he said. "Like braille." "Braille? I wouldn't..." My voice drifted away. The skin did look somewhat like runes had been carved into it, but from beneath. From the way the bones pushed upwards and outwards. "It is the language of the Old Ones, Sarah. I know it well. It is imprinted on the mind of every species who knows of them." I shook my head. That was impossible. Xenith was our first contact, and that alien he was looking at, that was from a film. A conspiracy documentary. Xenith's voice raised as he said, "A thousand-thousand species were annihilated trying to stop them, before your Sun was even lit." Richard's body began to change. It was growing. Wider. Taller. The skin on his face began to bleed -- it was tearing apart. My breath caught in my throat. I wanted to tell him he was making a mistake. To stop. But I couldn't find the words. "There had been signs," he continued, "that they might have escaped their fate. Little clues left here and there, like footprints in the cosmic dust. Telltale signs that they might have survived. That they might have tired to rebuild. To create new children to fulfil their believed destiny." He paused." Very few of us gave those rumours credence, Sarah." His face, what remained of it, was red and bloodied. I could see something wriggling behind the stretched sinews beside his eyes. "We were fools. Now you must be stopped." I needed to press the button. To call help. But if I did... They'd kill him. And then what would happen to us? The creature was more than twice my size now, as he flipped my desk onto the floor. "Filth!" he screamed, his voice now two sounds, one high one low. "All of you. You are the children of the Old Ones! A disease on the body of existence!" His arm swiped at my body, throwing me off my chair. My head landed with a hard crack. Blackness tried to swallow my vision but I forced it back. He loomed over me, raising his boot above my head. "You will kill us all," he said, as his green eyes met mine. "You're wrong," I gasped. Pleaded. "Even if we're their children, we might not become--" His boot came down as the door opened and the room flooded with soldiers. A spray of bullets entered the creature's head. His body rocked, his boot hovered inches from my head. Another round of bullets entered him. He fell in a pool of his own blood to my side. "Hey, are you okay?" A man's face swam in and out of my vision. Carver? Was that it? Was he a cook? No. It was Carter. Army. He knelt next to me but his voice sounded like he was at least a room away. Dull and dampened. "Can we get some help over here!?" "The video," I said, my voice a drunken slur. "Video?" He frowned. "What video?" "No. No, it doesn't matter. Not anymore." "What doesn't matter?" I grabbed his jacket and tried to pull myself up. "They won't let us live," I whispered. "Won't ever let us become them. We need to leave. Need to get far away from here." "From DC?" I shook my head and the dizzy feeling attacked me with twice the force of before. "From Earth." Then, my body fell back and the room faded to dark.

A prequel more than answering the

(A prequel more than answering the OP. Oh well.) Let's recap how we got here, ok? I'll keep it short and sweet as I can. Myself, Tim, Sarah, and Geordie gathered for our weekly Dungeons and Dragons session at my house, and everything went to hell fast. I need you to understand something, here. I love my D&D. I take it REALLY seriously. I'm the Dungeon Master, that means I make all the rules and tell the story. Of course, I have a full time job so I don't always have time to create a story, so a lot of times I'll buy a pre-packed story and then add a few tweaks of my own to it so the whole group can have fun. Did I mention I really get into it? I enjoy setting the scene, and the environment. Today, I guess I went a little too far. The module (aka story) I chose this week was called Ravenloft. Basically it's the story of Dracula, but here they call him Strahd. Copyright or something, I guess. I don't know. But you all know Dracula, right? Gypsies, vampires, maybe a werewolf or three? ANYWAY....I digress. Back to what happened. About two hours before the crew arrived, I started setting up my basement game room. I changed out half the lights for black light to help set the dark mood. I knew that early in the game they'll meet a gypsy who tells fortunes, so I bought some tarot cards, incense, and a few other trinkets from the local spirit shop. I spend the rest of the time brushing up on the adventure, and reviewing my hand written notes for the modifications to treasures and monsters. As always. I make sure I've got a few special treasures built in for curious questers that go above and beyond the call of duty. I like to reward good playing. When the gang arrives, they find me sitting at the table in the basement with a head scarf wrapping up my hair, gentle music playing in the background, and a black silk cloth draped over the table with a tarot deck sitting there. I waste no time launching into my prepared routine. "Welcome, pets, welcome to Madame Zorah's. Please, cross my palm with silver and have your fortune told." Tim laughed, and Sarah complimented my choice of color pattern on the scarf, while Geordie sat down first, all business and ready to play. "Madame, Zorah, was it? Thank you for the invitation. Exactly how many silvers are required here?", he asked. I smiled, knowing his penchant for rules and order. Ever the paladin, he was fair and just and he respected the occult without actively chasing it down himself. He also understood quickly that he had to play along or the adventure wouldn't progress. "Well, young man,", I begin, "my services are not so easily explained. As with everything in life, you get what you give." I said this, knowing full well that I have a table already written down with a list of items I was prepared to hand over, based on how much silver they were willing to part with. Between the three of them, they parted with nearly one hundred silver. It's a shame, for if they had given me a full hundred they might have been able to walk away with this tarot deck. An in-game tarot deck is very powerful, albeit with random effects. Regardless, they did earn a reading and a few items, which I was well prepared for. I knew a little bit of slight of hand magic, and so I did a riffle cut and forced the cards to where I wanted them to the top of the tarot deck. Geordie drew first. "Ah, the tower", I said, "There is great ruin at the top of a tower, where you will find everything in abundance. There is treasure there, but also despair and pain. Watch your step, or you will fall." I smiled cryptically, knowing full well there was a tower in this adventure, and there absolutely was a pit trap placed in the stair well. I couldn't wait to see his face when he trips my trap. Sarah pulled next, "Oh, the six of pentacles.", I smile, "You have great fortune ahead of you, but it will not be something you earn. It will be given to you by someone else, freely and with no strings attached." Tim's card was Death reversed. I over-acted a visible shudder. "Beware!! Beware!!! Reversed Death follows you and watches your every move. There is a creature in your path, neither dead nor alive, who will hunt you, and attempt to end your own lives to grow his own." I reach beneath the table, and pull a ring out of my pocket. It was an old ring, made of some kind of steel or iron, and intricately wrought with a Celtic knot pattern throughout. I placed it in front of Sarah, and said, "This is for you, pet. It is a magickal ring, with one wish attached. Save it for when you are most in jeopardy, and wish wisely, as the many-faced Gods enjoy their trickery with wishes." As I handed it to Sarah, the ring looked as though it sparked in the candle light. The smell of incense hit my nose for a moment, jasmine clouding my head. I shook my head and adjusted my shawl. "Now, children," I said, preparing to push the story forward more, "Should you need it, there is a town just a few hours walk to the North. Perhaps you can find lodging there." Sarah was examining the ring, and smiling. "This is a great setup, Steph. I love this!", she slipped the ring on her finger, trying it on for size. "I'd love to do this in person. I wish this was a real adventure." The room went black for a split second, the light fading with a audible popping noise. As the light came back and our eyes adjusted, I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My basement was now a rickety wooden traveling shack. The table with tarot cards still in front of me, but the artwork had changed from a crisp clean mass produced set of cards into hand-painted and old. My friends were...not my friends. Standing before me I could see their avatars. Geordie in full plate mail. Sarah in a ranger outfit, and Tim with wizard robes and a staff. Their faces mostly unchanged, however Tim now had ears to match his choice of elf background. We all three stared at each other in confusion. "What the hell?" Tim said, as we all began talking over each other at the same time trying to understand. Sarah threw open the door and walked outside onto a dirt road, in the middle of a densely packed forest. She turned back and looked at us standing in the doorway. "Did I do this?"

Lilli Cooper did not want to

Lilli Cooper did not want to be in town for longer than she had to. Jamie, her little brother, was alone back at the ranch, and if she didn't return before nightfall, bad things would happen to either him or the livestock. Maybe to both, if he were as foolish as he usually was. She'd already lost her father this year. She didn't plan on losing Jamie too. She was used to people staring at her, on account of her hair and her scars. They'd used to stare at her dad, too, when they'd come into town together, to gather supplies for the ranch -- for the machinery and guns and animals. But her father would just shoot those onlookers a menacing glance of his own, and sure as the sunsets each evening, their eyes would fall down to their shoelaces, as if they'd found something awful interesting down there. "Why they always watching us, dad?" she'd once asked. "Don't you worry about them, Lilli," he'd replied. "They'd just scared, is all." "Scared of what, pa?" "Of me not being 'round no longer." She nodded but she hadn't really understood. Did he mean because they wouldn't get their corn or their eggs? "Ain't no one 'round who can protect them. 'Cept you and me, Lil." "Me?" she'd said, astonished to be included. She didn't protect no one from nothing, except the field-mice from the ranch's cats. She couldn't even think what her pop protected people from, 'cept maybe hunger. He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling jewels in his leathery face. "They don't know how good you're going to be, my little Lilli. But once you're eighteen, then they'll know." How many years ago had that been? Five, maybe. A long time, in anyone's books. She remembered that it had been a few weeks after that visit into town, that she'd started staying up late into the night with her father, to watch over the livestock. She sighed and wished she had a menacing glance of her own, or even a scowl, that could make those people staring at her look down at their shoes. But they didn't turn away from her gaze. They just stared right back at her at her as she walked past. "I miss you, pa," Lilli whispered, as she walked into the general store, glad to get out of the heat. It was one of those days when it wasn't raining, but your skin was still as wet and slick as if it had been; the shop's air-conditioning felt like an angel blowing on her neck. She grabbed a sweating canister of oil from off a shelf, and half-dragged it to the counter. "Hi Randolf," she said, hauling the oil in front of her. The shopkeeper was one of the few people in town who never looked at her -- or her father, previous -- in a way that made her self conscious. The old man adjusted his glasses. "Well, well, well -- if it isn't little Lilli Cooper!" he said, clapping his dry hands together. "I thought a big old pumpkin had floated into my shop for a moment there." She laughed shyly and ran a hand through her curly ginger hair. "How have you been? I've not seen you since--" He paused in thought. Then, as he remembered his face fell. He knew the old man was picturing the casket. The church. He forced a smile and said, "You've got his eyes, you know." "Just wish I had his stare, is all." Randolf ignored the remark and continued, "It sure is good to see you, little Lilli. How's life on the ranch?" "Oh, you know, same as always," she replied. "Long days, longer nights." It was a line her father often used, and it had fallen out of her mouth as if his ghost had possessed her, if only for a second. She fished out some notes from her pocket and placed them on the counter. Randolf smiled kindly. "Oh no, I won't be accepting any of that from you." Lilli paused. "You won't let me buy it?" "Buy from me?! Of course I won't let you! Whatever you need in here is yours for free, just like it always was for your father. It's enough that your bring customers to me just by using my shop. They know it must be quality goods, ey?" She frowned, puzzled. "Well, that's very kind of you. I guess that means I can buy a little extra ammunition more than I planned." "Oh, I don't think Frank will be charging you either, you know. He never charged your father. Do you know, Frank's only son was taken by... uh." He bit his tongue and paused momentarily. "By *them.* Body was never found... just the remains of what they'd eaten. He's more grateful to you and your dad than anyone in town." "Eaten?" Her father had never told her anything about that. Eaten by what, she was about to ask, when she felt something touch her back. She turned, to see a wiry man in the queue behind her. In the very *long* queue. That was peculiar... The shop had been empty when she'd come in, and now there was ten or more people lined up. Two of them didn't even seem to be holding anything. "Oh, do excuse me," said the man who had fallen into her back. A middle-aged man with a head as bald and shiny a just-popped-out egg. "I got pushed and... It was an accident." He was sweating, even in the air conditioned shop. "That's... okay," said Lilli. "Really." She grabbed the oil canister and thanked Randolf, then headed for the door. "Hey!" came a yell, as she was half out of the shop. It was the man who had fallen into her. "I just wanted to say... You're doing God's work on your ranch, young lady. Ranked three in the United State -- and from our town, of all places. I just wanted to say, thank you. And... And kill one of those bastards for me tonight!" Ranked three? At what, she wondered. Sure as heck wasn't at corn production, or she wouldn't be wearing clothes with more holes than a colander. Lilli half-wanted to ask, but the afternoon was getting late and she needed to get ammo then get home. Her little brother wouldn't be able to protect the animals alone. His aim wasn't like hers. "You're welcome?" she said to the man, eyebrows raised. Then, she walked out of the door and headed to Frank's Firearms. --- /r/nickofnight

The idiom 'happier

The idiom 'happier than a pig in mud' is a bit of a misnomer-- those sweet oink-puppies are happy anywhere they go, if you're there to love and feed them. Same goes for the cows, goats and chickens we raise on our ranch, not to profit off of them, but just to give them a home. I, like them, am a refugee from the Citadel: teetering metropolis packed with distracted meatbags masquerading as humans, and devoid of any warm fuzzy feelings you get when you enjoy something interpersonal like saying 'hello' to someone. Ginger, a momma pig of four babies, had her head in my lap, snoring with satisfaction as I scratched an ear. We had a lot in common, the two of us, and she'd been my best friend through the years. But the infection on her back leg was getting worse, not better. Sore, red, oozing a little, I looked at it and knew how she'd react if I touched skin anywhere near it. Slowly, I slid out from under her, somehow managing not to wake her up, then walked into the house and sighed. "How's she?" my mom asked, her rasp voice like sandpaper amidst the quiet. "Not good, I think." "You're gonna have to go, Mary. 'Specially since you're eighteen now, they wanna scan your brain and shit anyway." "I don't want them doing that!" I said, flailing my arms. "That's so creepy and wrong." "Yeah, but better they do it quietly while you're in the city than they find out and come out here for you." Grumbling, I knelt and fidgeted with a shoelace. "Do I have to?" "Yep. They won't hurt you none, it's safe in there. I got these instructions for how to get to that doctor I know out there. Follow 'em and you'll be fine." I sighed with defeat, but threw on a coat. "How do I pay? Does he still accept cash?" "Nah, darlin', not out there. They just know, we got some money in an account." "Ugh, that's so weird." "Shush and get going before it's too late." "Fine," I mumbled to myself on the way out. ---- The four mile walk to the Citadel border was quick and refreshing, even with a mountain of grey steel and stone looming in the distance, engulfing more and more of the blue sky as I approached. At the city's edge, there were no guards or stations or robots like I'd expected; only a distinct death of anything wild and green along a line of warped air, like a wall of oil had been put up. I poked it with a finger, and felt nothing in particular, so I breached it. Immediately, a pulling sensation, prickly and cold, enveloped my brain. It was like a wave of nostalgia, in a way, as old memories resurfaced and I felt things I hadn't felt in years gone by. Then, just as suddenly, it ended, and I was left kneeling on concrete breathing heavily. I shook it off and continued following the instructions, taking a left at the big, dirty monument of some green lady with a torch. There was an eerie quiet, not even a breeze whistling through cold steel reaching for the sky, and a smell of musty stone and rust. And then I made the third turn, once more through an oil-field. Only, that time, when I broached it... there were a thousand people, maybe more, all impossibly similar. They stared at me, harder than stone, colder than steel. I wanted to run, but couldn't move a muscle as so many eyes bore through my soul, and breath was nowhere to be found. Then they all went about their day. Well, all but one girl, seemingly my age but impossibly clean, with blonde hair and white teeth that glowed like stars. I shrugged and approached her. Why not, right? She started at my approach. "Hi there," I said, extending a hand. She didn't take it, only looked at it like she didn't have hands herself. "H--Hello." "I'm Mary, what's your name?" "Kara." *Wordsmith over here, I see.* I smiled. "Well, Kara, nice to meet you. I'm here to pick up some medicine, have you heard of a Dr. Poole in this area?" She shook her head. "Well," I said, drawing the word out, "alrighty then. Thanks for the time, Kara." "Wait," she called, eyes wide. "Where are you from?" "Just outside the city, a few miles south. My family lives on a ranch there." "Wow. You've never been in the city before? You're dressed so weird." I giggled. "No, this is my first time. I also find you guys to look weird." She held up a little black rectangle, and it clicked at me. "What is that thing?" I asked. Her jaw went slack. "A phone? You don't know what a phone is?" I shook my head. "Wow. You don't know your rankings then, either, do you?" "What?" "Oh. My. God. You're helpless, ranch girl. What's your full name?" "Mary Sue Dettinger." She tapped at it furiously, and I leaned in closer. "Holy shit," she said, her gaping face lit by the screen's glow. "How is this humanly possible?" She turned it to me and I squinted at it. >**Number of Children** >1: Mary Sue Dettinger - 48 I almost dropped the phone, I laughed so hard. The kind of ab-cramping wheeze that you can't even hear for a little while because there's just no air left in you. Kara snatched it back from me, yelping. "What're you doing? Careful with that! Shit's expensive!" "Sorry," I said between fits of laughter. "I didn't think they'd take it so seriously." "What are you talking about?" "Well, they scanned me on the way in, and I felt a lot of like weird questions in my head, but I'm kinda weird. I call all the animals on my farm children." She giggled. "What the hell? I've never heard of them getting it wrong. That's super weird. I just thought you were like a rabbit-person or something when I saw the number. You kinda look like one." "Oh, come on." "Let's see if you're anywhere else," she said, waving a hand at me. "Mary, Sue... Dett--" My gaze bounced between her and the phone. "What? What is it *now*?" There was an unreadable look on her face -- some twisted mix of sadness, envy and confusion -- as she let me see the screen again. Though, that time, she held the phone for me. >**Happiness** >2: Mary Sue Dettinger I smiled wide and didn't even look at #1; why would I? I knew it'd say 'Ginger'. Or, at least, it would once I got back to pet her. "I don't get it," Kara said, her words soft. "How's this possible? You don't even have a phone. Your clothes are old. This makes no sense. You trick them about this, too?" "Mm-mm," I replied, shaking my head. Our eyes met in what must have been the most genuine moment she'd ever experienced. "I've never even thought about it." ---- */r/resonatingfury*

The shrine at the top of the

The shrine at the top of the mountain was empty. The view was spectacular, reaching above the clouds. It was one he would have cherished with his father, all those years ago, hiking on the weekends. Back when the skies were blue, and smiling was easy. "You have to earn it," a voice said. Omar turned around, and there he was. Slight, wizened, but with eyes that sparkled with a mischievous vitality, the genie smiled. "How?" Omar asked, hearing the desperation in his own voice. "You have to earn it like all things in life are earned. And life is a game, and you must play with intelligence, and bravery, and heart. And you must feel your losses deeply, make them worth something. Can you do that?" "You don't know how much I've felt my losses," Omar said. "Then let us play. Prove yourself, and I will grant you your wishes." \- The game proceeded slowly at first, pawns being moved forward to free up movement from the back. But then, Omar moved a pawn into a position to be taken by a bishop. Suddenly, the pawn transformed- "Roy?" he said, shocked. Roy smiled. "Hey, prof." It was a joke they had shared, that Omar dressed too formally for a high school history class. "What is this?" Omar asked the genie. "You must feel your losses." "What are you talking about, prof?" Roy asked. "You need to chill out." Roy had been troubled, but always managed to put a smile on his face, even as he showed up to class hungover, with scars on his wrists and bruises where there shouldn't be. *"Hey prof, I'm going to have to take off for a little bit," Roy had said on his last day.* *"Where you going? It's not the best time for truancy, Roy. Finals are coming up. And the Celtics are still alive in the playoffs."* *"Just somewhere I have to. And of course I'll still be watching the Celtics. This is our year."* *"Ok. But remember to think about the choices you make. That's all I ask."* *"Of course, prof. You say that every day."* *"Take care of yourself, Roy."* *Roy smiled. "I always appreciated that about you, prof. You never told me what to do, or how to do it. You get it."* But had he? The funeral had only been a year ago, and Omar remembered breaking down at the anti-suicide assembly they'd had. "I'm sorry I didn't know...or I mean, I did guess, but I didn't know. I didn't care enough." Roy shook his head. "Shit happens, you know? Shit happens and sometimes it's not your fault. It's not your fault my stepfather was a monster." "It wasn't yours either." Roy looked around at the board he was standing on. "Well, it'll be your fault if you don't win, right, prof?" "I guess so." "Then think about the choices you make." And the bishop moved into Roy's spot. \- Omar didn't see it, how the genie's rook was waiting to take his bishop from the corner. He had played a good game so far, only sacrificing pawns and taking out a knight. But he couldn't believe his carelessness. "I'm sorry, mom," he said, his lips trembling as he looked at his mother in the bishop's spot. "That's okay, honey," she said, they way she always had when he was a little boy. Before all the rebellion, before all the bad choices, before the drugs and the years of not talking, the crying on the phone... "I tried," he said. "I want you to know I tried my best, even when I screamed at you and said I hated you. I always wanted to make you proud." "I know, honey," she said. "But I was proud just watching you in your basketball games, at the spelling bee. You didn't have to score or win to make me proud." "Then why didn't you say so?" Omar asked. "When I couldn't anymore..." "That's my mistake," she said. "But we have to live with our own recklessness. Our mistakes, don't we?" "I guess so." "Then make it count. Don't let one mistake ruin everything." And the rook moved into the bishop's spot. \- Omar thought long and hard about it, but finally decided to do it. He moved his queen into the genie's bishop's spot. The genie's queen now had a free line to take out his own queen. The moment he had dreaded arrived. The queen transformed. "Hi, cutie," he said. It had been a joke, that he found her cute, but not handsome. Not hot or sexy, just cute. "Hi," she said, smiling from ear to ear. He had never gotten tired of that smile, unbridled and not scared at all. He had wished he could smile like that. "I'm sorry," he said. "For everything." She shook her head. "Why be sorry for who you are? You gave me what I wanted. What I needed. But I couldn't give that to you." He had tried it, for so long, to like within the picket fence with her. Steady job as a teacher at the same school as her, Japanese car, good performance on paying off the mortgage. But it had been killing him, snuffing out his dream like that, even as he couldn't find a single fault with the details of his life. "It should have been enough," he said. "I didn't have to say those things to you. Blame you for my own inability to be happy." She shook her head again, a full side-to-side shake, leaning into everything fully the way she always did. "Sometimes you have to sacrifice a lot for your dreams. Even love. And it hurts, but you can't move on if you don't. And I know you too well to blame you." "I love you," he said. And the queen moved into his queen's spot. \- Now they were at the end. His rook was one move from the corner, where it would place a check on the king. Then the genie's king would be trapped, and... "Stalemate," the genie said, moving his bishop into place, taking out Omar's rook. Omar was too stunned to react at first, and then he saw it. The bishop didn't check his king, but Omar couldn't move it without contacting the genie's king. The game was over. Omar crumpled to his knees, covering his face with his hands. When he finally stood up, the genie and him were back on the mountain. "Congratulations," the genie said. "What will your first wish be? And don't worry, I'm not stingy. We get a bad rap." "What? But I didn't win." The genie smiled. "But you proved yourself. Sometimes, that's more than winning." Omar looked out at the view. The clouds were clearing up, and the whole valley was almost in view. "I think my parents would have loved being here at sunset." \-

The devil knocked on the door of

It was a dark and rainy night as the devil knocked on my door. I'm neither sure if it rains by chance or if he made it nor why he doesn't appear directly in the house. Maybe he loves a dramatic entrance. It is exactly the same situation as ten years ago on his last visit. I was at an incredibly bad place. My wife and I were dirt poor and had barely something to eat. The most money we earned was used for our sick daughter. The medications for her asthma took our last dollar. At least we know that she can live a normal life with the current treatment but this knowledge isn't able to lessen the nagging hunger I'm feeling in my stomach. One evening my wife and daughter were at the hospital and I was sitting at home despairing over the coming medical bills. Suddenly through the heavy rain, I hear someone slowly knocking on the door, each knock accompanied by rumbling thunder. I open the door and see a huge, elegant man in a suit standing in front of me. I couldn't estimate his age. Objectively he had the body of a 30-year-old, but somehow this didn't seem right. His whole presence radiated experience and the look in his eyes was the one of a very old man. He entered the house without invitation and directly made his offer. "I heard you are currently in a, let's say, undesirable situation and luckily I'm in the fortunate position to offer you my assistance." Most of you will see this as suspicious but I was incredibly desperate. So I took his offer. One hundred billion dollars now for my soul in ten years. Of course, I should have known that a deal with the devil will never be as smooth as expected. There are a lot of stories about genies, fairies and more mystical creatures giving you a fortune. But in these stories, it is never described how to explain this sudden income to the tax office. "Payment for my soul by Satan" is definitely not the right thing. This was obvious in advance, but hey, it wasn't like there is a non-illegal, believable explanation, which holds more than five minutes of investigation. So the next years I was under constant control of the police, the FBI and basically every other existing government authority. It was a constant mixture of interrogations, investigations and undercover operations. I was close to losing my sanity. My wife was sure that my sanity was long gone after I explained my encounter with the devil. She left me shortly after and, given the situation, she got easily full custody of our daughter as well as half of the money. So basically my life went downhill fast but at least I wasn't hungry anymore. So I used the last good thing I had extensively. The money. The last ten years of my life were a constant chain of hedonism. I never liked the behavior of prosperous people, so I had no desire for yachts, large mansions, and fancy food. But from this point, I never thought twice about buying something and got every, even remotely useful or desired, a thing possible. I became the single largest victim of our modern consumer society. Fast forward to today the devil stands in my living room for the second time. "So, are you ready to transfer your soul in the eternity of hell?", he asks while smiling sadistically. Straight forward like the last time. But honestly, I couldn't care less. There is no meaning in my life anymore. So the devil puts his hand on my chest but instead of touching it, the hand glides into my body and he starts to rummage around. It is quite awkward. We both try convulsively not to look at each other while he glides through my inner organs. After a few minutes, he stops and looks directly into my eyes. I feel pretty uncomfortable but hold his gaze. "What the heaven.", he seems angry while retracting his hand from my body, "Okay, wise-guy, where is it?" "I don't know what you mean.", I reply to him confused. "Your fucking soul.", he becomes angrier, "It happens that parts of a soul are transferred to a strong religious leader if your belief is strong enough. But I have never seen a complete missing soul. It is impossible to follow so many leaders at once." "I have no idea what happened.", I'm genuinely surprised, "Maybe I can help you with another soul. I will take a look at Amazon and eBay. Feel free to eat something, while I'm searching." I grab my iPhone from my pocket and show lead him to a table with food from Burger King, McDonald's and Taco Bell. "If you get bored there are Netflix and Hulu and a few more services on my Apple TV.", I press a button on the remote and the TV turned on. Satan starts to look more overwhelmed than angry. "Ok, I didn't find something. But Google yielded a strange church an hour away from here, which claims to harvest souls. Maybe we could try it there. I will call us an Uber. Let me put on my Levis jeans." I'm more and more concerned. The devil is getting pale as if he would realize something horrifying. I have no idea what currently is happening. "Are you ok?", I'm asking him. "We can grab some Cola at Walmart or a coffee at Starbucks. Maybe this helps." Satan begins to stammer. "This isn't happening. This can't be the future of society. Hell won't work anymore. This will only get worse.", he stands up and walks towards the door. "Maybe you should calm down. We could watch a Disney movie, drink a Bud Light, watch MTV, go to KFC, watch Youtube videos, eat some M&M's, ...", I have no idea what happens to the devil and I'm getting really scared of the current situation. He is now in a hurry to get away from here. "Keep your shitty soul. I don't want it anymore. It is at a place far worse than hell anyway.", he screams while running away from the house. "Ok, but can I make a photo with you for my Instagram account.", I'm shouting after him but the only thing I'm getting back is a very long and desperate cry. EDIT: smaller typos corrected EDIT 2: Thanks for all the kind replies guys. This was actually my first story and English is only my second language. I had an idea an thought I would give it a try. This is resonance is amazing and way more than I had hoped for. I will stick with it and if I have an original and amusing idea on a prompt I will write more (actually did).

The Sol was named for the original

"Was that transmitted... in English?" Captain Skerritt asked loudly to the all but empty cabin of the Sol. The Sol was named for the original star around which humanity began it's existence. Though the original planet had long since been abandoned for a more lush environment, it still held deep meaning for humans. The Sun was still widely observed through the telescopes of hobbyists throughout the galaxy. Though it was technically a sleep cycle on the ship, Skerritt and the radio operator were both awakened by a message. They were operating on a skeleton crew, most of whom were currently asleep. "I mean.. we're reading it aren't we?" scoffed Kotto, the radio op. He was called the radio operator, but in truth, the communications system wasn't a radio at all. Light moved too slow for ships to communicate across vast distances. But, the old world word was still used to describe it. Perhaps for comfort, and perhaps because the acronym for the actual device was too cumbersome to remember. Due to the nature of the mechanics, it was thought that the messages were uninterruptible. A happy accident in the engineering. Kotto was quietly nervous about the situation, as it was also thought, that the system would have no interference, and therefore they wouldn't be able to receive any rogue messages. "I mean was it transmitted in English, or was it translated after the fact," Skerritt barked back. "Smartass..." he added under his breath. "It was translated. I never thought we'd even be able to translate alien language... I figured it would be so far removed..." Kotto trailed off. "Another incoming message, Sir. From the Arcturus." The Sol was a midsize ship meant for long distance travel and observation. Over the centuries of galactic travel, mankind had encountered thousands of alien species, carefully cataloging each one from afar. None had been far enough along in their evolution to even notice they were being observed. The first ships to be launched were heavily armored, and armed. Due to the cataloging of species, none of which were very advanced, the newer ships were designed with experimentation, long distance travel, and comfort in mind. The Sol, for instance, didn't have any weaponry on board at all. Unlike the Sol, the Arcturus was an older, gargantuan ship. Outfitted with all the latest destructive devices needed to exterminate all living life on the surface of a potentially hostile planet. "Captain Skerritt, this is Captain Cartwright. We just got a message of unknown origin-" "About the 'wardens'? In all caps?" Asked Skerritt. "Ye.. Yes. Did you get it too?" "We did." Skerritt confirmed. "We're getting confirmation from all ships in the quadrant," Kotto announced. "Reports are coming in for now us as well," Cartwright said. "We're going to investigate the signal, I suggest you do the same. Skerritt frowned. "Kotto, radio the Station, ask them if they are getting reports too." Kotto nodded and sent the message. Seconds later the response came back, in simple text. \*All human vessels received the message.\* The message continued... \*Sorry for quick response, high influx of communication due to this phenomena\* "So they don't know what the hell this is either," Skerritt scoffed. "Was it... meant for us?" Asked Kotto. "What do you mean?" Skerritt asked with an eyebrow raised. "I mean, what if this message was just... intercepted by our system, and it was meant for someone else?" "Before we jump to conclusions, let's try to get an origin on that message. That will answer a lot of questions." "Right." Kotto ran the processes through the computer. "Scanning.... scanning... Well it's definitely not of human origin. It definitely wasn't transmitted in English, either. Acquiring a lock on the originating signal.... aaand... Got it!" Kotto said excitedly. "Wait... that's strange... The origin... It's far. From Andromeda." "The Andromeda has been out of commission since-" "Not the ship, sir, the Galaxy." Kotto pulled up a diagram of the encroaching galaxy and transferred it to the main display. Along the rim of the diagram, a red marker showed the message's origin. Kotto zoomed the image out, and the edge of the Milky Way came into view. The outermost stars already being affected by the immense gravity of Andromeda, and one arm bulging in it's direction. "It's not impossible... I suppose... That it just happens that we developed the same 'radio' technology as some other species," Kotto remarked. "I mean... we suspected that radio proper would be a universal constant, as far as communication goes." "Perhaps..." Skerritt said pensively. "But I still don't understand the message..." Just as he said this another message from the unknown source came through. \*There was never a chance of them developing intergalactic travel before.\* Skerritt stood up at his chair and frowned at the screen. "Who is sending this, what are they talking about?" Skerritt said, his voice filled with nervous urgency. Kotto scrambled to identify the source. "More messages sir, it seems like two sources. One replying to another." \*They don't need intergalactic travel now. The distances are rapidly closing. We cannot let them infect this system too.\* "That sounds hostile." Skerritt said. "They are talking about us, aren't they? Humans I mean. They don't want us jumping to Andromeda. Kotto, get the Station back on. We have to figure out who, or what "Wardens" are and why they care about humans." Kotto gave a quick salute, but was ahead of the captain. He had already opened a line directly to the Station, but he stopped. "Sir... I... hang on..." Kotto said, almost to himself. "Wardens," Kotto said, slowly and clearly into a microphone. "This is Yaphet Kotto, aboard the Sol. A research vessel -" Kotto would never finish his sentence. The Wardens would never hear his attempt to plea for diplomacy. Skerritt, like thousands of other Captains, aboard thousands of other spacecraft, had all asked the identity of messengers. They got their answer. Across the galaxy objects appeared in the close vicinity of all human spacecraft, space stations, and colonies. Without warning or remorse, the objects fired high powered gamma ray bursts with surgical precision, annihilating all human life with in seconds of appearing. Despite having confirmed to themselves they were the most advanced species in the known universe, humans were still billions of years behind the next closest species. A species who's dominant emotion was fear and dominant action was violence. "Kotto, are you okay? Sorry about that jump." Skerritt said. "What the hell-" Kotto started. "Where are we?" "Intergalactic space," Skerritt said, leaning back on his chair. "Something appeared next to our ship, so I bugged out..." "The radio is slient..." Kotto said. "I suggest turning that thing off for now. Can you disable it?" "What. Happened? Captain, I-" "We're it, Yaphet. We're all that's left. You can drop the 'Captain' shit. We're going to wait for the dust to settle, and quietly make a new home.... Somewhere." "But what happ-" "I think you know. What happened. Wake the crew, they deserve to know too. How long can we stay out here?" "About 3 weeks with current food reserves, maybe up to 6 months if we power the engines down and divert power to life support and production..." "Save us enough power for one jump and a landing. We have so research to do." &#x200B; P.S. SciFi on the fly is harder than I though hah! Edit: Editing

Silk, Beat-Hoov,

"Calm down everyone!" yelled Silk, as he approached a bustling crowd surrounding the entrance to St Mary's train-station. He massaged his temples through his mask with a single index finger. Did the crowd have to be so freaking loud? It had been one of those day's at work -- one stress after another; he really wasn't in the mood for faux-heroics. He should have given Martin a call at lunchtime. Told him tonight was off. That's what he *should* have done. But he thought he'd be feeling better. Now what options did he have? Neither of them carried their phones when in costume (no pockets in their tights), so if he was going to calm this crowd down, he'd have to find Martin and 'pacify' him. In his left hand -- the one not massaging his head in an effort to stop it exploding -- he held a little brown bucket. "It's Silk!" shouted an onlooker. "Thank God it's you, Silk! Thank God!" He looked at the lady and tried to smile, but it turned instantly into a gaping yawn. "Is... Is it Beat-Hooven again?" he asked lazily. "Yes! He's on the train. And he's got a whole lot of hostages. I think he's going to kill them!" Silk stuck out his tongue and bit down. "Difficult situation. Very tricky. But, I'll see what I can do." He placed the bucket down where he was standing and gave his usual speech-cum-terms-and-conditions. "Thank you all for being here tonight to help me. Through your cheering and positivity I will not just battle my oldest and gravest foe, but I will defeat him!" He lowered his voice slightly and could feel his cheeks redden. "*If you'd like to support me outside of these situations, please consider leaving a donation in the bucket here. It's easy being a hero -- it's not easy paying rent in a city like this. And as for the medical expenses...*" And with that, he began wading through the crowd. Hands pawed at him, trying to touch the hero, to encourage him. But it only slowed him. Irritated him. Like being in quicksand, he thought-grumbled. Only a few of his most ardent supporters followed him into the station -- most people's joy at seeing their idol was trumped by the fear of mortal danger. And even those few had scattered by the time he'd climbed the steps and made it to the tracks. On them, was a long iron monster, belching and rocking. All windows and doors were closed, but he could see pale faces inside that had turned to look at him, pressed against the glass. He raised his hands to his mouth and yelled, "Beat-Hooven! It is I, *Silk*. Your battle is with me, not the innocent passengers of that train! Let them go and come out and face me, mano-a-mano!" Moments passed. Minutes. Martin, he thought in annoyance, will you please stop showboating. I'm not in the mood. I just want to get home and play a little playstation, eat a little pizza, and say goodnight to this shitty day. Finally, the train hissed and the doors opened. Passengers scuttled out from it as if a dam had been opened. They mostly thanked him as they passed and wished him good luck. "Donation bucket is outside the station!" he said. He noticed most of the men and women were in business suits. Good train to hijack, he thought. At least Martin had got that right -- we should easily get a enough for a pizza or two. Music trickled out from the train. A soft sonata. Silk let himself relax, let his posture slouch, as he drifted into the music. He was just starting to feel somewhat calm, when Beat-Hooven jumped off the train. "Silk!" he screamed maniacally. "Prepare for a crescendo! You shall become my most famous requiem!" Silk glanced around him. No passengers had stayed. Good. He turned back to Martin. "Cut it out, Mart. My head is about to explode, I swear." Beat-Hooven glared at him and whispered, "Stay in character, idiot. Besides, blowing up isn't your power." "There's no one here. So relax. And I know it's not my power, but I've got a pretty nasty migraine and--" "Oh please," Martin said, rolling his eyes. "A headache. That's what you've got. If you had a migraine you'd be chucking up in a gutter right now. You've no idea how bad they are." "Whatever. My head hurts. Can we just go?" "Go?" Martin looked annoyed. "What about the spectacle? The show?" He held out a hand and poked Silk in his chest. "What about all the carefully choreographed heroics we've been practising night after night, hour after--ouch!" Silk had grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. "Let me go! That frikking hurts, idiot." "We're going home. Now. I'm going to march you like this out of the station, so people can see that I defeated you, and we can maybe rustle up a few more donations. Then, we're off. I'll fly you to 'jail' or something." Martin grumbled as Silk pushed him back into the station, down the stairs, and back out into the street. "What..." Silk said in surprise. Martin let out a stifled laugh. "What..." Silk repeated. No one was there. No crowd. No bucket. Someone had taken their donation bucket! Well that was just great! Wait, not no one. One young boy was standing there, back against the wall. "Hey! Kid!" Silk cried out. "Where'd everyone go?" The boy turned to him. "Oh. NightRaven showed up on 4th street threatening to blow up the block. Word is Eve is heading there to confront her." Silk let out a weary sigh. He couldn't believe Janette and Claudia would do this on one of *their* nights -- again!. They'd agreed to the timetable! He'd go over to their apartment tomorrow and give them a piece of his mind. And right now, his mind wasn't very peaceful. He said to the kid, "And why aren't you there watching them? The 'hottest' hero and villain pairing in the city. That no other duo -- no matter their long and incredibly exciting history -- can match, apparently." The kid shrugged. "Don't like superheroes anymore. Seen it all before." Silk sighed and released his hold on Martin. "I'm starting to feel the same way." Martin, for some reason, was grinning. He placed his arm around Silk's shoulders. "Ah, shit happens, pal. Don't let it get to you." "Shit does happen," he agreed. "It truly does." "Come on, I'll buy the pizza."

I haven't had anything worth fighting

I never fight. It's kind of a dirty secret, considering I'm the one who teaches everyone else to fight. But why would I want to? Why would I need to? I haven't had anything worth fighting for in a long time. To tell the truth, there probably hasn't been much worth fighting against either in an even longer time. Sometimes, I wonder what they would call me, if they knew. Everyone else has mutated genes that only result in stronger and most regenerative tissue after each year too, but only in their muscles. For me, it's everywhere. Sometimes, my students call me a mutant, after they dare me to see what I can lift. Little do they know how true that is. Even with all the strength I have, my soul has been the most warped from what it's naturally supposed to be. Through all the years that I stayed on my little island of immortality and watched all my loved ones' bodies and souls finally erode around me, and now years beyond that final descent into the waters of time, most of me has been lost. But all that experience, I figured, has to go somewhere. So I channel it and teach people how to harness the strength they cannot deny even as everything else gives way around it. I won't lie and say it's fulfilling, given me a purpose worth living for. I ran out of those a long time ago. I guess I'm just waiting for the right time to go. The right way, and in the meantime I do what I can to help others. One thing that is fun, though, is letting them guess. When they reach a black belt, I let them guess. "100." The quiet accountant seems like he's given it some thought. "4000!" The little girl belts. "35?" The teenager asks, uncertain. "That's what you look like." They are all wrong. To tell the truth, I lost count of the years a while ago. \- I get a lot of her type. They realize by a certain age that the only thing that won't slowly wither away is their strength, so they try to hold onto it. They bring an eagerness even more resolute and determined than the kids who've realized they can get away with, and even be encouraged to fight in the dojo. She came at 42. I enjoyed training her. But she was one of many. She never really stood out until the day she got her black belt. "What is your guess?" I asked."I'd like to decline a guess, master." "You're the first I've ever had to say that. You don't even want to put up a number?" "No, sir." "Why not?" "Because I don't want to know by what age I'll have given up believing in anything." \- "How?" I asked her weeks later, after everyone had left a training session. "What?" "How did you know I've given up believing?" "Because it takes one to know one." She told me she had lost her son, the son she had raised alone for fifteen years. A home invasion by octogenarians with dementia that had trampled him in the end. "I didn't know what to believe in. What to hate, even. I wanted to just end it, but I had so much pain and rage to get rid of first, and nothing worked. It was always there." "I know what that's like." "I want to become strong, strong enough to make sure that could never happen again, even if it's my own worthless life. I want to make sure no one else can take that from me but me." "And I'll help you get there." So we trained. Slowly, she learned all my tricks, all the martial arts and techniques I knew to tone one's body into a machine. At the end, I told her. "I'm sad," I said. "Why do you think?" "Because I've taught you everything. Now I have no excuse to keep you around." She shook her head, and leaned in. "Not everything. There's still too much I don't know.""About what?" She moves close, too close, and looks right in my eyes. "I've told you what I've lost. And I think it's time you tell me." But I hadn't told anyone. Everyone I could have told is dead. \- I refused to call it love. I'd declared my heart dead for too many years for it to have a pulse anymore. But sometimes you know something's true because of how badly you want it not to be true. He came at the dead of night, as we closed the dojo together. He saw me, and saw her, and with the cruel intelligence he had, put it all together. "This is a fun surprise," my brother said. "You're even weaker than I thought. You need to be shown again why it's pointless to have a heart." "It's not pointless," I said. "People have things worth caring for." "Not us," he said. "And you've known that. How can you love anyone, anything what it's all only dust in the end? What hasn't been dust for us, brother?" He turned around. "You're welcome, brother," he said. "This is the end you always wanted." And I turn around, and look in her eyes as the bullets hit my skin. They don't hurt, at first - my skin is too weathered and tough now for the first wave of shots to do much, but it's only a matter of time. "Don't do this," she said. "I'm not worth it." "Be strong," I whisper. "Thank you." "How can you thank me? For what?" "For giving me something to fight for. Something worth ending for." "Don't...don't leave." I try to smile, muster all the muscles I have left in my face to do so. I don't think I succeeded, given the tears that fall on her face. "I love you." \- Pretty corny, but I'm pretty tired. It's 4AM on a Friday, but the prompt was too good not to take a shot at. Thanks for reading!

A soft ding sounded in my ears

A soft ding sounded in my ears and the visor raised up off my head. For a moment, I just continued blinking, trying to will the memory back to where it was. Instead, all I got was the dull fluorescent light of the room I was sitting in. "And how was that?" a voice asked--a familiar voice. Turning to the side, I saw Amelia smirking in my direction. The world around me fell back into place and my heartbeat slowed again. The roaring of blood in my ears stopped and I sighed, rubbing my head as a smile sprouted from my lips. "So real..." I mumbled. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amelia roll her eyes. "You always say that." I glanced at her, unable to keep my smile from growing. "Well, it's true every single time. No matter how many times I go through this, it never feels less real. These memories are so visceral, so powerful. Even though I'm *not* the astronaut who had to watch a space station spiral out of control, I *feel* like I am." Amelia chuckled softly. "It's nice to know I'm doing my job well. Especially from my best customer." I raised an eyebrow at her, straightening up in the cushioned chair. "Your techniques are better than anybody else's, I have to say. With worse set-ups, or less desirable memories, they just kinda feel like playing a VR game." Amelia let out quite the laugh. I held up my hands, trying to contain my own laughter. "Which, I mean, isn't a *bad* thing. It's just nowhere near this level." Amelia smirked at me in the most arrogant way possible, but I didn't miss the slight blush in her cheeks. "I try, Artie. I try." I rolled my eyes. "Don't call me that. My name is Art. Artie is my son's name... few people have permission to use that name." Amelia's expression fell for a moment, her next words immediately more careful. "Like who?" I squinted. "Vanessa. Well, and my close friends if they are alright with being killed afterward." The adventurer for hire laughed, pushing out of her chair and walking over to me. "I don't count as a close friend?" "You could be, but we never actually hang out, you know." "Well, I'm always busy," she said. "You of all people should know this. Finding people with interesting memories--let alone convincing them to let me download them--is a full-time job." She rolled her wrists, squinting at me. "Visor, please." I nodded, slipping the device off my head and handing it to her. She took it and, within a second, was already tinkering with the thing. "Speaking of Vanessa," she blurted out without even looking up. "How is she doing?" My eyes widened, the real question hiding in her words a little to sharp for the moment. "She's... she's okay. Still has some trouble leaving the house." Amelia nodded, still focused on the memory visor. "Can't really blame her, I guess. I can't imagine what losing a child is like." Her words cut me deep and I sighed. Tears welled up, but I blinked them. Images of my sweet little boy forced their way up through my mental scars. "It's... it's hard," was all I found myself able to say. Amelia nodded, still not looking up. "Are you doing alright with it?" I glanced up, my vision clearing at the question. "I'm okay. Better than she is. I can't help but miss him, though... sometimes I wish I could just read him a bedtime story one more time." The adventurer for hire's fingers stopped. She winced and nodded. "I-I'm sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm not very good with the feely stuff." I chuckled a short, dry chuckle completely void of mirth. "It's alright. I don't come to you to see a therapist, you know." She nodded. "H-How much do I owe you this time?" Finally looking up, Amelia's hand shot over to rub her neck. "I don't... Don't worry about it this time." I sniffed, shaking my head as I pulled my wallet out. "Nonsense. I pay you every time. How much for this memory?" "Really," she started, offering a weak smile. "You're my best customer, you don't have to--" "Just give me a price, Amelia," I said. "I don't need pity." Her fake, weak smile drooped. "Fine. $130." I jerked my head backward, fishing the bills out. "That was quick." She averted her gaze as I handed her the money. "I may or may not have already had the number ready." I chuckled, slipping my wallet back into my pocket and stepping out of the chair. "Thank you for this though. It's great stress relief." She nodded, her brows furrowing and gears turning in her head. "Wait. I-I feel bad letting you go with nothing else. I... I have an idea." I rolled my eyes for the third time in as many minutes. "Fine. What is it?" A small smile grew across her face. "Sit back down." My mouth slipped open, but I obeyed and sat back down. Amelia then tinkered with the visor one more time before handing it back to me. "Put it on," she said. I raised one eyebrow and slipped the device back over my eyes. "What's this about?" "Oh nothing," she said, practically beaming at this point. She leaned forward and pressed the start button on the side of the visor. "Just fulfilling a wish." The holographic counter in front of me ticked down from three. I furrowed my brows and tilted my head. "A wish? What are you--" My vision went black. Suddenly, my mind was populated with thoughts and emotions. Just like normal when I entered a memory, I *became* the person who was remembering. But this time, things felt different. Instead of being in a mind I knew felt a little foreign, I felt oddly at home. Then my eyes slipped open and my heart skipped a beat. In front of me, dimly lit but instantly recognizable, were my son's beautiful eyes, gleaming with light. Gleaming with hope. Gleaming with *life*. My fingers twitched, feeling the weight of the book in my hand as I closed it. Wet tears rose in my eyes, but they couldn't stop my smile. And they couldn't stop his little smile either. "Artie?" I asked, remembering the moment I was living all too well. "Did you enjoy that one?" My little boy nodded readily, pulling covers up over him. "It was the best one! Best one!" "That's great," I said. "But now you have to go to bed." Artie pouted. "More stories!" I shook my head. "No. More *sleep*. It's already past your bedtime." Artie slid back, pulling the covers tighter, but he glared at me. The vicious pout and glare my son gave me was enough to make my heart skip a beat. I remembered that face, the face he always gave when he didn't want to follow what I said. Suddenly, tears were falling, burning my eyes as they streamed down my cheek. And in that moment I knew. It may not have been real. But it felt real enough for me. --- /r/Palmerranian

Two hundred sixty-seven thousand,

They never told us why they left. The few survivors took that secret to their deaths, which seem to have come for all of them within a handful of years. Two hundred sixty-seven thousand, five hundred twenty-five survivors, out of nearly ten billion. Something like seventy thousand children, largely raised by robots and recorded memories. It took our species a long, long time to recover. It's a wonder the first seed world survived. It's a point of pride that we've managed to establish more. Now we number ten times as many as Old Earth ever housed, spread over more than thirty worlds. Why haven't we gone back to Earth before now? Some taboos can linger a long, long time. Those old recordings are still around. They may not contain the reasons for our homeworld's abandonment, but the desperate fear, the unwillingness even to think too closely about what may have happened, those are all apparent in the breaking voices our doomed ancestors left behind before they left their children, toddlers, and infants behind on a generation ship hurtling between the stars. We've all watched them, all heard them, and for seven millennia that was enough. Earth was verboten, the Forbidden Planet, the Escaped Hell. I'm recording all this just in case. In case of what, I'm not sure, but with our ship's gravitic hook rapidly decelerating us in our approach to that ancient awe-inspiring awful place, I feel we should leave a record behind besides just our mission logs. An explanation. Just in case. "Anything of interest so far?" I asked the captain. She shook her head, not looking at me, gaze too powerfully leashed to the display projections in front of her. "Nothing. No stray electromagnetic emissions, no sign of any changes in surface temperature or atmospheric composition. That concerns me, General Kamau. It looks exactly as we'd expect, only we don't really expect that. It should look like something unexpected, because we know something happened, something horrible, and we're not seeing it." She looked up, dark brown eyes wide and staring past me. "I know I might sound like I'm talking in circles, but this is beyond concerning. I've told the analysts and Wavefinders to keep what they know to themselves, for now." I took a deep breath, glancing over the same readouts that had her so clearly agitated. "That's...probably wise. Listen, my first concern is for the ship. I want you to get back, no matter what happens to my away team. We should orbit at the maximum distance possible for reasonably risk-free dropship operations." She nodded, almost curt, but we were technically of the same rank and she had no need to put up any pretenses with me. She'd already be anticipating just how much of that she'd have to do with the rest of the crew and my Marines. "We will. I've taken enough of your time, I know you have preparations to see to." I did, Star-Souls knew it well. I walked out of the bridge and went to address the Marines in these last hours before we boarded the dropships and this thing became utterly real. It took me less than twenty minutes to make my personal preparations, re-inspecting and donning my gear for the hundredth time, then stand up in front of the small formation in the loading bay. Three platoons, less than thirty men and women, the best we could bring who were willing to come. "Listen," I said. "At this point there's not much to say. You know the import of this mission, its place in history. I'll be there alongside you. I have every confidence that you are the best we could possibly ask for. Don't make me wrong. That is all. Dismissed!" They fell out, and filed into the three dropships. I suppressed a shudder. It was time. \~ I couldn't say anything; the troops were listening. I couldn't let anything show on my face, but I wasn't sure that was possible so I kept watch out the window as atmospheric entry painted the panes with fire. The clouds were thick, but not remotely menacing, white and fluffy and calm. Except that they *were* menacing, because they'd been that way for our entire approach, not moving. Not moving. How could clouds not move? The ship shuddered hard, banging from side to side and making me grab for a handhold. A few of the troops, even with all their training, theragenes, and cybernetics, fell over completely. Cursing all around. "Gravitic brakes are encountering some kind of interference, we are engaging chute and rockets!" the pilot yelled as her co-pilot unhooked the hardline connection from her head and started flicking mechanical switches. Isolate-circuit backup systems not a good sign. We fell fast, and then we fell faster, and then it became clear we'd have to abandon the craft. Cursing a little myself under my breath, I gave the order and then jumped from the door after half my troops had already exited. We watched our dropship hit the tranquil ground in in a shower of shattered materials and sputters of rocket fuel. In the eerie still air, it was simple enough for us all to land in the same spot, the center of a large park. It was full of people. "What in the Blackened Reach?" one of the Sergeants said. He was reaching out toward a woman, a smiling woman, face full of sunshine, unmoving, standing exactly as she had been for... ...for seven thousand years? But that wasn't possible. Whispers around us. My troops murmured. The pilot threw up noisily into the still green grass. "Threads," the co-pilot said, reaching out toward the head of one small laughing child. I say laughing, but of course the boy was silent, mouth open in mid-mirth. I walked over. Sure enough, some sort of fine cord led from his head to what must be his father's. And his mother's. And another child. And a woman standing near bench, looking the other way. And a cord from her head, and another, and another... "They break easy," said Colonel Rafari, my second-in-command. She waved her hand through one of the cords and it parted, easier than spider-silk. The whispers around us were definite now. "We need to get out of here," I said, and checked my message feed. Nothing from the other two dropships. We should have heard by now. I tried to establish a link to our orbiting ship. No signals. Something is moving behind me, around me. "These lines are re-establishing themselves," the co-pilot said. "I think they're links." She touched the port on the shaved patch of her own temple. "Mind to mind." "What for?" Colonel Rafari asked. She looked dazed. So did I, probably, I turned to look at her and stopped. Stopped everything but thought. Now I think for them. So do we all. I think we will for a long time. &#x200B; Come visit r/Magleby for more elaborate lies.

Dr. Henderson is starting to think

The alarm blared. I stirred and stretched; my wife Annabella stirred beside me. She looked a hot mess, tangled hair falling in frills around her face, but she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I reached over, planting a soft kiss on her lips. "Do you have to go?" she asked. I sighed. "I shouldn't miss this one, Dr. Henderson is starting to think I don't like him." "Fine," she pouted. "Be back for lunch, I'll make you something special." "Bacon?" She smiled and smacked my butt. "Better. You'll see." I jumped to my feet and stepped into the shower. Annabella had a cup of coffee waiting in a thermos. I kissed her goodbye and drove the five miles towards Dr. Henderson's office. The secretary, Macy, greeted me warmly. "Haven't seen you in a while!" I winced. "Sorry." "Don't apologize. Dr. Henderson's waiting for you," she said, buzzing the door. I stepped through the hallway into a plush room. A wall of bookshelves covered one wall, Dr. Henderson sat behind an astute wooden desk, an empty table stood atop a thick, cashmere rug, and a comfortable sofa sat in the corner. He looked up from a stack of papers and motioned wordlessly towards the sofa. I sat back and kicked my heels up. "Hey, I'm sorry about not taking your calls. It's just--" "You felt like my services were no longer required," he said. Then he smiled and tossed me the stack of papers. "Trust me, I'm not upset. You've made so much progress, I wasn't sure if you needed to come back myself." "But I did, didn't I? That's why you called." "I wanted to see how you're doing. Six months after your wedding; you've got a nice, stable life?" I nodded. "Anna is wonderful. She's--well--she's more than I ever deserved." "You sell yourself short." I felt a sense of warmth wash over me like melted butter. I looked at Dr. Henderson; he nodded down towards the papers. "You remember our sleep studies?" I browsed the first headline, frowning. "I thought we debunked my lucid dreaming?" "Maybe not," he said. "Turns out you might have been on to something.' A lump formed in my throat. "What do you mean?" He walked towards me, sitting down on the other end of the sofa. A great weight seemed to press down on his eyes, his shoulders hunched, and he rubbed his hands together. He took a few deep breaths. "You know that hardest thing to do in the medical profession? Admit when you're wrong." My voice cracked. "What-what are you saying." "Are you happy with your life?" he asked. "Yes!" Dr. Henderson poured himself a cup of water from the pitcher sitting on the table. "Then you should leave now. But if you stay, I'll tell you." I couldn't leave. How could I, after hearing him talk like that? Tease a man with a secret, tell him it's so important in all the ways possible, then ask him to leave? No--I had to stay. Whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad. Dr. Henderson drained his glass. "When you first came to me, you said you were unsure if this world was a dream. I diagnosed you with insomnia and sleep apnea. I helped you develop a support system through your family and friends, and with careful exercises, we suppressed your delusions. But what I'm going to tell you-you were right. This world is a dream." "Just like that? No--you're insane." "Am I?" he said. "Do you remember this pitcher of water?" I looked again at the full pitcher. A sudden, sinking feeling hit me as I realized what I saw only moments ago--the table had been empty. I started to shake. "No, if this was a dream, you could just--you could fly away!" Dr. Henderson shrugged his shoulders and rose into the air. "Oh god!" I choked back my words, wide-eyed and sweat-headed. "What, what is this? Am I dreaming?" "Do you want to wake up?" he asked. "Because you're going to. Very soon, this will all fade away." "No!" I screamed, but I screamed to an empty room. I ran out of the hallway and burst through the doors into the waiting room. Macy gave me a weak smile. Then I watched as she pixelated. Her skin flecked and rose like dust, and the last thing that dissolved was her smile. "Macy!" I screamed, rushing out the door. The world started to fleck away like old paint on a worn canvass. Trees lost their leaves to ash. The sky started to pale as the blue desaturated. I ran towards my car. Grabbing my phone, I tried to call home, but there was no signal. I sped down the street, pushing the limits as my palms sweated and nearly froze to the wheel. I could just manage to steer with a wobble. I careened into my driveway; my mailbox started to dissolve. "No!"--I rushed through the doorway--"Anna!" A great weight pressed down on my mind like a blinding headache. Dancing lights and a faint buzzing started all around me. I ran towards the bedroom. Annabella sat up on the bed, a look of shock frozen on her face. Tears streamed down mine. "Anna, baby, it's gonna be all right. I'm here for you." Her voice shook, she started to shiver. "I can't feel my legs." I looked back at the bed. The sheets started to flake away. The weight in my mind pressed down harder, and I struggled to keep my eyes open. "Look at me. I'm right here, ok?" I fought back tears. "Stay with me, baby. It's gonna be alright." She reached out, her fingertips just barely touching mine. A look of terror crossed her face as her body started to pixelate. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. A smile crossed her face. "Don't forget me," she whispered. She crumbled to dust before my eyes. "No!" I screamed, shaking the world around me. Fragments of our home started to dissolve. Broken pixels rose like ashes. I ran towards her, trying to piece together the dust, only to find myself covered in the shattered lie. The real world crashed through with roaring thunder. My dream collapsed. &#x200B; *** Chop onions with me at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH

My father had fought tooth and nail

I don't know how long I stared at the gravestone. The giant gold, bronze and silver plated gravestone that had been chiseled and inscribed by the best craftsman money could buy. But even then it couldn't describe how great of a man he was. My father had fought tooth and nail bringing up this nation. Made deals he wasn't proud of. Killed people who were driven by greed or corruption and then later killed people driven by revenge. And through that blood he had created one of the most prosperous nations on the Continent from one of the poorest. &#x200B; I dropped to my knees. And I was supposed to live up to his name? Live up to expectations of not being chosen because I was the most loyal? Because I was not the most Charismatic? How could I? I wasn't even the eldest of the lot. Just the one picked. Just the answer that was given by a great man's only mistake in life when he was to choose his successor. &#x200B; I picked myself up. The new King couldn't be seen kneeling in the dirt to a massive rock that held only memories. Hell, I couldn't be seen kneeling to anyone. I had to be strong. Strong against retaliation, against greed and against my elder siblings that could kill me at the utter of the tongue to their assassins. Or, well I assumed they had some. The first thing I did with my money was hire a spymaster and some men from the underworld and if they had any sense they would have done the same. &#x200B; I started to head off of the royal graveyard and head for the throne room while wiping the tears off my face. It was nearly time I would be officially presented to the rest of my subjects and if my father taught me anything it was to always show a hard face to my acquaintances. Then I froze. Footsteps. I looked down towards the tears I had wiped from my face and quickly dove behind a nearby gravestone before aggressively rubbing at my eyes. &#x200B; A king must be always show a hardened mask after all. &#x200B; I breathed as quietly as I could before I glanced from behind the gravestone at the approaching figure. It was a man and he was turned away from me (Thank God). He was fingering the jewel encrusted sword at his side. I stared at his back for a few seconds and frowned. I recognized this man. It was my eldest brother Klington. A man who always radiated confidence and was always the center of the room. Despite him being my brother we rarely talked unless it was about the tournaments and at royal feasts. Those were the only times he was ever near me. &#x200B; I felt my face soften ever so slightly. Was he here to mourn our father too? &#x200B; He stood still for a few seconds and I contemplated approaching him. But only for a second. I didn't know if I could trust this man just yet. A few brief moments passed. I looked out at the sun rising and frowned. I was going to be late at this rate. &#x200B; "Hey! Klington!" a voice echoed over the graveyard. I recognized this voice too. It was the second eldest Ichor. Barely a man but still older than me. This one I knew or certain was an idiot. "Shhh!" Klington growled. "Do you want everyone to hear us!?" I could almost hear the grin in Ichor's voice as he briefly mocked Klington's statement. He took a deep breath and yelled "HEEEEYYY ANYONE OUT HE\~mmmfff" Klington had slapped a hand across Ichor's voice. "DO YOU WANT EVERYONE IN THE KINGDOM TO HEAR US!?" He screamed. &#x200B; I clasped my hands over my ears and sank to the ground. Damn, Klington could certainly be loud if he wanted to. I thought about looking up again but I tarnished the thought. If what they were talking about was supposedly secret then I'd be just as stupid as Ichor. Then I paused as I remembered Klington's scream. Was he also an idiot? Or just someone doing something just as stupid in a burst of passion? &#x200B; "Ha! You're louder, brother" Ichor remarked. Klington groaned loudly and he slapped our father's gravestone. "Our father created this great empire and it is rightfully mine!" I heard shuffling before Ichor whimpered. "If our plan falls because you can't keep your voice low and we fail I'll kill you myself!" Ichor gulped and muttered an apology. &#x200B; I felt sweat pour down my face and I reached for the hilt of my sword before I stopped and relaxed. They hadn't seen me yet. I could hide until they leave and get to my spymaster. "They would be dead by morning" I realized. I was King now and could have it done easily the second I got out of here. All I had to do was have their breakfast poisoned and it would be done. &#x200B; "Is it finished?" Klington asked. "Yes brother" Ichor stated. "I attached a bucket of rocks to the top of his door. The second he opens it he get hit with the weight of a boulder and he shall die!" Ichor both cackled gleefully at this statement while I could only listen on in terror. Greta the cleaning lady was going to go into my room any second now! I narrowed my eyes in the direction of the bedrooms. I wasn't sure if I could outrun the two but I could definitely try. Even if I died trying I could at least save my father's trusted maid. She was like a mother to me. I couldn't just sit here and let her die. &#x200B; "And how many rocks is that?" Klington asked. He we waited a few seconds before Ichor finished his cackling fit and answered. "Two, brother". "How large?" A couple seconds passed as I assumed Ichor showed Klington with his hands. "What!? THOSE ARE PEBBLES YOU IDIOT!" I let out a soft sigh sigh of relief. I guess Greta wasn't going to die yet. Not to these fools at least. "WHY DIDN'T YOU LOOK FOR MORE ROCKS!?" "They were too heavy!" Ichor yelled. "I couldn't lift them all by myself to the top of a door! If you were there then maybe I'd have added more BUT YOU WEREN'T". Ichor yelled back. Klington growled in response as I assumed he was thinking about murdering Ichor. Not that it would be a smart move. A King and a Prince both dying in a short period of time would only bring more suspicion. &#x200B; "Fine. I'll do it myself" Klington said. "I shall become Kling if it's the last thing I do. It's my birthright, It's even in my name!" he said angrily. "It's King, brother" Ichor said. There was a short pause before Klington slapped Ichor across the cheek. "It's Kling you idiot! This is why I'm going to become Kling and you are not! Our Father was Kling, our brother is Kling and now I shall be Kling!" &#x200B; "F-Fine! but I'm still going to become your Co-King!" Ichor said back. "Co-Kling" Klington growled. "My number two and nothing else!" I stared at the horizon. The sun was getting higher and higher in the sky. My meeting was going to happen soon. Maybe if I ran for it they would be too busy deciding who would be Co-Kling or Kling but I knew I had to stay there. If they came up with another plan that would accidently kill Greta I had to hear it. &#x200B; "H-How are you going to do it?" Ichor asked. "I'm going to do it with poison" Klington said. "I'm going to poison his brussels sprouts. Everyone loves brussels sprouts! He'll be sure to eat them tonight!" Klington laughed. I just gagged. Brussels sprouts tasted awful and I haven't eaten them in ages. "Wait, brother do you have any poison to kill him with?" Ichor asked. "Cause I got some poison in my room I could lend you." "Why the hell do you have poison in your room?" Klington echoed my thoughts. "Cause I got a rat problem" Ichor said shyly. "Although once you're done can you return it? The rats won't leave the rotten food in my room alone" "Of course" Klington chuckled. " let's go get it" &#x200B; &#x200B; I sat there for a few moments after they left before finally picking myself up and stretched. I was going to be late for the meeting but it was no matter. Tonight Klington was going to find brussels sprouts on his plate. Whether he wanted to eat them was up to him. But if he did, Ichor was screwed. I grinned sinisterly as I headed towards the kitchen. Oh, they were sooo screwed.

"DEPLOY THE GOO

"DEPLOY THE GOOGLE SWORDS!" My commander shrieked as the mecha mouse drew closer. The eyes of the mickey drones would burn into my head as long as I still drew breath, their whirring ears and zombified intellectual property serving no purpose other than asset denial. "THE GOOGLE SWORDS!" Came the cry of the searchers, racing through the city. It wasn't my job to fetch the swords. No. My job was to optimize their approach. I drew out my grappling hook, looked down at the picture I kept on my bedside table, and wished that my sister was still here to see this. Because this time, I wasn't going to be scared. This time, I was going to make it happen. This time, that fucking mouse would see what happened when you picked a fight with SEO corps! The grappling hook in hand, I threw myself out of the window. The goof artillery was growing closer. I could practically feel the bead of distant chugging equations, the whirr of the Beauty Beasts and the roar of the mobile theme park happiness dispensers. But not today. The google bots emerged from their prison deep under the earth, the political prisoners screaming as light touched their sensitive membranes for the first time since 2030. They thumped their heads against objects as they stumbled around, only for the GMAIL head to snap his whip. "YOU SHALL SERVE YOUR STATE WELL THIS DAY! BETTER THAN YOU HAVE EVER SERVED THEM BEFORE!" "Gmail head Francis!" I saluted. "What are your orders? I have dreamed of this day!" "An SEO seeks my orders?" Francis asked, pinning his glasses back on his nose with the pad of his thumb. "Daring. I like that. TAKE THE RANGE FINDER AND PREPARE FOR THE DEPLOYMENT OF THE RIGHT TO BE FORGOTTEN!" "SIR YES SIR!" I shouted. He tossed the range finder at me, shaped like Google itself, and I shot the grappling hook at the tallest building at the side of the mice. It nearly took off my arm, but I'd long been reinforced with the finest in Google Steel to fit my role as the one who optimized. Sure, I was a peasant, but every society fell without us! I landed at the top of the building, rolling nimbly to land on my feet. I wouldn't fuck up. Not this time. But there was already someone up there. "Surrender, kid," A Jazmine said, drawing both of her swords. "I'm here for the engine prototype." "And I'm here to get the title of Rat Killer," I said. I drew my knife. "You're a Noogler," Jazmine laughed. "What can you possibly do to me?" "Nothing." I said. "But everyone else?" I flashed the range finder at her instead, the lime green light centering itself on her forehead, and pulled the trigger. Distantly, the survey drones responded to my call. I had found an enemy, as was my job. They'd be here shortly. "Pathetic," Jazmine spat, narrowing her eyes. "We will make sure NOBODY REMEMBERS YOUR EXISTENCE!" "A better fate than being cryogenically frozen to serve in your movies for the rest of my life!" I hissed. The drones descended, and her blades, laced with the greatest and latest in movie magic, derived from the dank rituals of disney himself, and saved from creepy abandoned theme parks the world over, flashed like the grin of a cruel god. A drone exploded, and I lost track of her. Then the next drone exploded, and she stood on the edge of the building, swords gleaming with the recycled fry oil the drones ran off of. It was better to go green in this day and age! "What are you?" "I'm Jazmine," The Jazmine said. "I'm The Jazmine." My heart would've been in my throat if that didn't give the Disney bots a better access point. As it was, I turned away from her, sweat rolling down my neck. The Jazmine!? I couldn't... I thought she was just... The roar of the distant Mickey Mech drew my attention. No, I couldn't be distracted by a super powered enemy. That wasn't my job. I'd leave that to the endless security drones chewed out by Friend Computer. No, my job was optimization. I stared at the massive beast that would tear down everything I love and hold dear, and pointed the range finder at it. From close to a mile away, I couldn't even see the dot, but my Google Glasses chirped out that I was hitting it. I held it there. Then the Glasses returned that it knew I was optimizing. And it deployed the happiest place on earth charges. They flew through the air, shot out of pneumatic tubes until the wings could take over, and quacked like a thousand ducks. Huey Dewey and Loiue arched up into the heavens, followed by Donald and Scrooge, and struck the building below me with an agonizing thump. I swallowed, and reached for the Grappling hook. And Jazmine leapt off the side of the building. It was fine, I knew that at this point, the sky was filled with magic carpets, their engines quietly whirring like a dyson fan. I hooked myself over to the next building, and the duck charges erupted into a cacophony of happiness and shrapnel, reducing the data center to nothing but scrap. The rest of the building would follow with thermite. But I wasn't there to worry about it, because the grappling hook had gone taut, sending my flying forward. Come on, where were the damn swords when I needed them? There was only so much optimizing I could do! But that was quitter talk! Even as I flew through the air I twisted to keep the finder firmly on the Mickey Mech. But it was already deploying more mascots, coating the ground in the heavily reinforced and genetically modified. This wasn't a border assault, this was a full blown invasion. If It wasn't for the fact my soul was backed up on the cloud, I'd have been seriously worried. "MY LIFE FOR GOOGLE!" I screamed, and the range finder finished optimizing. Far ahead, past the band of ruined space that had once supported weather satellites and nationalistic sciences, where the ISS still stood as the GOOGLE ORBITAL RESEARCH FACILITY, the Sword of Google awoke. It bore one weapon, one it had been charging for over a year. It took notice of my actions, took notice of the repetitive pings from every Noogler in the city, and locked on. "WE ARE NOW ISSUING THE RIGHT TO BE FORGOTTEN!" Francis screamed over the intercoms. "CEASE AND DESIST!" The Sword fired, and the entire city was atomized in glorious HD. I died with a damn smile on my face. It was fine though, I'd be back tomorrow to show up for work. ---- For more like this, click here! https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/

She held her cards up and was

It suddenly hit him. He had looked at that thing for so long but he never realized it. She held her cards up and was biting her lower lip in concentration. "I raise." He didn't hear her. He was looking at her tattoo. How had he never seen it? The sunken cheeks, the wrinkles. It was him. No mistaking it. "Honey? I called. Your turn." He came to with a start. "Oh right. Yeah. I fold." "You fold? Tried to bluff me with your big bets did you?" "You know me too well." "Better than yourself I would say." "It certainly seems that way." She sighed. "Alright. I think we need to talk." "So it is me?" "Yes." "But that's impossible. How could you have possibly known?" "Does it matter?" "It does." "Alright then. Settle down. I'll try to keep it short. But first. Do you trust me?" "We've been married for over forty years. I'd think that is an obvious answer." "Forty?" She laughs. "Well this might be a bit strange. But I assure you I am not crazy. This might sound crazy, but it's the honest truth." "You have a picture of me as I am not. At 70. On your hand. You've had it for at least forty five years. I don't think there could be a non crazy explanation." "Reincarnation." "What?" "Reincarnation." "No, I heard you. But that's a load of bull." "It's a fact. I know it sounds pretty crazy. But we've known each other for some ...", she paused, scrunching up her face in concentration, "...3500 years." He laughed. "Yeah OK." "It's true. I was royalty in my first life you know. So you can say that you're married to a former queen." "I can believe that part. You are really royal." "No seriously. This is what we would call ancient Egypt, you understand. I was born into the royal family. And I was born with a face on my hand. A young man. Rather good looking I must say." "Why, thank you." "My parents consulted with our priest. How cool is that? We had a personal priest/soothsayer. So he looked at me, said a lot of mumbo jumbo, I forget what exactly. It was a long time ago. But I remember what he said next very clearly. He said that once in a while, two souls take birth on our planet who are intertwined, bound by something extraordinary, destined to be together in every one of our lifetimes. He said that..." She fell silent as a nurse entered the room. She replaced the bag of IV and checked the morphine rate. "We feeling OK Al?" "Yes we are. Just dandy." The nurse checked the forms at the end of the bed and left. "Should I go on?" "Oh yeah sure. Let's hear it. I am interested. It has romance, it has magic. The sort of stuff I love to read. I am sure there's going to be some tragedy too." She smiled. "You have always had trouble believing. Oh well. Plenty of tragedy too, yes. Where was I? Oh yes. The priest. So he told my parents about how I was betrothed to you. And we were destined to be together. Well, they were happy for a while. Since I had a soulmate and we wouldn't even have to look hard. We had a picture after all. Till they saw you, a peasant working in the fields. Well they didn't like that. Tried to keep me away from you. But well, destiny you know. I met you. I recognized you. The tattoo was of you at about eighteen or thereabouts. My parents were against our marriage of course. They murdered you. I committed suicide. You know, the usual." "You what?" "Our souls are intertwined. What would I have done without you?" "Well, we were born again. I still had the tattoo, and the memories. But this time the tattoo was different. It was you at about 25. We were both born as peasants the next time. We lived happily. Till you died when you hit that age. See not only does this tattoo remind me of my soulmate. It also tells me how much time I have with you. Well, you died, I killed myself. Rinse and repeat for a lot, and i mean, a lot of times. And here we are. This tattoo, is you at seventy which means, which means..." She broke down, tears streaming down her face. He looked at her. "You sound convincing. Have we had good lives?" "Most of them. There were a few when I didn't even meet you. You died too early. Once I had a picture of you as a cute little chubby baby. Of course, by the time I grew up and understood everything, you were already gone." "That's insane." "It is. But I wouldn't trade it for anything. I love you Al. And I will meet you in the next lifetime. I will find you and we will be together again." "So I am about to die." "I am afraid so." "And you plan to kill yourself?" "Yes." "Please don't." "Were you not listening? We are destiny. Kismet. We are meant to be together. Our souls need each other." "When was the last time your life was about you, and not me." She looked at him, taken aback. "What do you mean?" "So you are born. And when you finally have your wits about me, you start looking for me?" "Yes, pretty much." "And then we are together. And you know when I die, and by extension, when you die. And you do everything to make sure I am happy. My pending fatality always looming over us. Over you." "What are you getting at Al?" "I... Look, if this is all real, if..." A coughing fit interrupted him. She got him a glass of water. "You should rest Al." "No, I gotta say this. Before it's too late. If what you say is true, I am the luckiest man in the world. I love you. Even if it's obvious to me, you're a bit cuckoo, you know. But I would be ecstatic if I spend all of my lives with you. Nothing would make me more happy. But also, that makes me sad. Because, you have tied your life to mine. I want you to do something for me. I want you to live your life. For you." "You are my everything Al." "No I am not. There is lots to do in this world. With me or without me. You always said that you liked Stephen King's books. You said that you wanted to read them all. When I am gone, why not take a vacation, read them all. Relax." "I can't... I can't do that. What if you are born and I am still alive and something..." "Liz. Listen to me. You have a life of your own too. You said it yourself. Kismet. We are meant to be together. It will bring us together. Doesn't matter what we do." "But what if..." "Liz, promise me. A dying man's wish. Live this life. In your next, cover that damned thing up. Leave it up to destiny. Do what you want to do. Not what I want you to do." "Al, I can't..." He smiled. "I love you Liz. In this life and beyond. And I want you to be happy. Do what you've dreamed of doing. Whether I am here or not. Promise me." She was crying freely. "I promise." He smiled at her through the obvious pain. "See you next time Liz. I love you." ******* Fixed a few things.

Billions of perfect capsules orbited

The sphere was held inside our quarantine bay, secured by wires to stop it from rolling, as bright white lights poured over it, spilling off it and onto the metal ground around it in a pool. It was as if the sphere didn't want anything trying to get inside of it. Not even light. Billions of these perfect capsules orbited the white dwarf star, Seria, and each one contained a single lifeless body. The spheres were covered in black symbols that seemed almost hieroglyphic in nature. If one looked at the glyphs hard enough -- long enough -- a few would *almost* start to look familiar. Like trees or animals. But not quite. Just a little too uncanny. I pressed my face against the diamond-like surface and peered in at the woman inside. Doctor Konrad had likened her to a mosquito trapped in amber for millions of years, waiting to be found. She was perfectly naked and looked perfectly, impossibly, human. Bright red hair fell onto soft pale cheeks. The crew had given her the sobriquet of Phoenix. Her eyes were closed but I half-expected them to open as I stared. I didn't like this solar system one bit. Dead bodies floating around a dead star. And at the edge of the system, a tiny black hole threatening to suck nearby existence into it. All the planets located here were frozen, uninhabitable, tundra. It was the blackhole we were here to study. An anomaly, even among blackholes. Unstable and throwing out matter irregularly. There had been (ridiculed) theories it was artificial, but instead of simply guessing, we had been sent to find out. And then we'd arrived. We'd found the spheres. The bodies inside of them that looked human, but couldn't be. We had travelled the furthest any manned ship had done, for *this* mission. No human could be out here already. Any thoughts about the blackhole had been quickly swallowed up. "She is dead, right?" I asked Konrad as I examined the woman's face. He nodded, his grey hair, that made him seem twenty years older than his age, falling over his eyes. "Yes, she's dead Markus. No breathing. No heartbeat. No pulse." A shot of annoyance caused my top lip to curl up. Of all the crew, only Konrad called me by first name when on duty. Almost as if he thought we were friends, or our positions were of a similar rank. But I had sacrificed everything to get where I was. He had simply studied. I had scars, internal and external. He just had steady hands. We weren't similar on any level. "Captain," I told him, for the tenth time since waking, trying to keep my voice level. "Please refer to me as Captain when I'm on duty." "Of course. You will excuse me for forgetting. We were much less formal on my last ship. Yes, *Captain*, she is dead. But she -- all of them -- have been so well preserved. It's almost like"--he paused and pushed his hair back--"she was alive when she was placed inside the capsule." I ran a hand over my mouth as I considered. "The capsule killed her in order to preserve her?" He shrugged. "Perhaps." "Is it possible they're in some kind of cryo-stasis? The way we froze ourselves to be able to reach here." "I don't know," he said. "You want to ask Elliot what he's found out about the capsule. He would have a much better idea if that's possible. I'm just a doctor." I almost agreed that yes, he was just a doctor, but instead said, "I did ask Elliot. His team has so far found diddly squat. A material they can't identify doing something they don't understand to the strange body within. They want to try to crack the shell open now, see if they can learn anything from its insides." "That might be a good idea," Konrad said, "as it also gives me the opportunity to properly study the body within. And to see if there is anything in the idea of the spheres being some kind of cryo-pod." "If we drill it open and find out it was cryo... What happens to her then? It clearly isn't meant to be opened with a drill." "You can't make an omelette without breaking an egg or two. And we do have plenty of eggs spare." For a doctor, he sometimes had very little compassion. "Been reading old Earth idioms again?" "We all need a hobby." He paused and looked away from me. "Even you." "What's that meant to mean?" I snapped, instantly regretting it. I was only giving Konrad more ammunition. Ever since we'd awoken and been briefed by the Council on the destruction of Ganymede, he'd been 'concerned' about my mental health. He didn't believe I was still capable of doing my job and was watching my every move and reaction. Not only that, but he seemed to actively be pushing me. Goading. But I was fine. My family would have been dead long, long before Ganymede's destruction. I had known that the moment I had accepted the mission. "Nothing," he said, perhaps not wanting to retread old ground. Whatever his reason, I was grateful. There was a swoosh behind me as the doors to the quarantine opened and Sophia, my communications officer, entered. I turned to the brunette, dressed in the chrome crew uniform -- a sharp contrast to the deep blue of my own. "Captain," she said. There was an anxious quake in her voice. "You have news. Tell me its good," I said. She tried to smile but her lips fell back down into a line. "It's good and bad, I suppose. The good part is that we've decoded some of the glyphs on the sphere." She looked down at the floor. "But, that's also the bad part." "Well it all sounds good news to me. What did you find?" "Ignorance is often bliss, Markus," said Konrad as he walked to my side, causing my lip to curl into an annoyed tick for a second time. I shot him a glare, but he didn't notice as his eyes were firmly locked on Sophia's. "Well, we've not translated them all yet. Just a few lines." "So you have something," I encouraged her. "What do you have?" She paused. "Tell me," I commanded. "It took us eight hundred years to reach Seria, correct Sir?" "More or less," I agreed. "The messages we woke up to... The most recent was transmitted four hundred years ago. The Ganymede debriefing." I swallowed back the usual pang of pain upon hearing the moon's name. "Yes. You know this, Sophia. And you know how long it takes light to travel -- we didn't travel much slower ourselves. Not everything they've sent will have caught up with us yet." She paused and looked at the sphere. "One section is simply a name: Elizabeth Clarke." It felt like an army of ants were marching down my spine. "That's a very Earth-like name," I said. "Yes. The next part we decoded," she continued, "is a number. Very long and varied. Something like a catalogue number. And... There are coordinates, too. We didn't know it to start with, we thought it was maybe a date. But we checked. And double checked. And..." "Coordinates? Konrad repeated. She nodded and looked at me. "Sir, they're the coordinates of Earth, at least from here. I think these people in the Spheres. I think they're..." "*Human?*" I asked? "Jesus," said Konrad. I could feel my pulse racing in my throat. "Humanity," she whispered.

Simon opened the door to see a

I opened the door to see a familiar face standing in front of me. "You?" My hand instinctively reached for my weapon. But I was not the Defender at this time. No. I was just Simon. "I need your help. I don't know where else to go." "Is this some kind of a trick Matterman? And how did you know who I am and where I live." "I've known your secret identity for a while. And no trick. In fact to prove I am here in good faith, here." He removed his mask as I looked at my mortal enemy's face for the first time. The first thing that stuck me was the scar. It ran down his right cheek right down to his mouth. The lips were a bit disfigured which made him look like he was snarling at all times. But I also noticed the square jaw and the brilliant blue eyes. And I had run afoul of that brilliance many times myself. "Who is this?" "I... her name is Natasha. I was at a party and she was the bartender there. We stuck up a conversation." "What happened to her?" "A couple of guys were hitting on her. She asked the bouncer to escort them out. They took him out and went after her. They pushed her into the bar. I, well, I took care of those guys. But I didn't know where to take her." "Well a hospital would be a good start." "I've looked at her wounds. I have some medical experience. The cuts aren't deep. I can stitch them up myself. She'll be fine. I don't want there to be a hospital and the cops involved. Word gets out that I helped her and she will have half of the gangs in the city looking for her." "So why here?" "Well I..." He stared at the ground for a couple of minutes. "As weird as it sounds, you're probably the only guy I can trust right now. Even my own gang probably has spies. I know I have mine embedded in various competing organizations. You, I know you are not going to sell the poor girl out." "What's to stop me from arresting you and then helping her out." "Nothing really. But I just hope you don't do that." "Alright come on in." ********* "Ok so apply this to her wounds a couple of times a day. Give her a painkiller if she needs it. Do I have that right?" "Yes. Except give her a painkiller regardless." "And what now?" "Now let her rest." "You know what I mean." "I do. And I am not sure how to answer that question. It's up to you really. I will fight you if you try to take me in of course. I don't want to right now, but I will." "Will you be back to visit her?" "Will you let me go if I say yes?" "If you answer a couple of my questions." "I will. I cannot promise to be truthful though or answer them all." "Why? Why her?" "No reason." "Do you have the hots for her?" He looked at me disgusted. "No. Nothing like that." "Then why?" "No reason. I was in a bad mood looking to take it out on someone. Those guys were just in the wrong place at the wrong time." "You said you were talking to this girl, what's her name again?" "Nats. Natasha." "Right. Do you know her from before?" "No. Met her for the first time today." "Tell me what you know about her." "Nothing much. She goes to UoT. Pursuing masters in cryptography." "Ooh. Smart girl." "Very." "How did you get this scar?" "Excuse me?" "That scar. How?" "Doesn't concern this matter." "I never said my questions would be limited to this matter, as you put it." He sighed. "You want to know how I got these scars? My father, may his soul spend an eternity getting tortured in hell, threw a beer bottle at me." "Oh. So you had a tough childhood?" "You don't go around the city wearing tight spandex costumes if you aren't fucked up in the head a little." "Tell me about yourself." "Mother died when I was two. Natalie, my sister took care of me. Till the little piece of shit I had for father took her away from me. She had stood up for me every time, so I thought I should return the favour. Killed him. Went to juvie." "So it's a Martha thing. Same names and what not?" "What? No. She... she did kinda remind me of my sister. Ok enough questions. Do I walk out of here or do I have to fight you?" "Are you planning on coming back?" "Yes." "Then you can go for now." He looked at me with a puzzled look. "I... thanks." "You're most welcome." I handed him a bottle. "Here. One for the road. It's been a tough night." He extended his hand. I shook it and he turned around and left. Just like that. ******** When he was gone, I dialled the number. "It worked." "He fell for it?" "Yes. What about the two goons." "They will be ok. Eventually. He did quite a number on them. But they will be paid handsomely for their troubles." "Pay them in cash ok. Nothing traceable." "So what's next?" "I am not sure yet. Either I take him out when he fully trusts me and least expects it or I try and work on him till he becomes an ally." "And the girl." "She goes back to her life. No harm done. I'll pay off her college tuition or something for her unknowing participation." "So it all worked out. I had my doubts." "There is no way I was going to beat him using any traditional means. I have fought him to a standstill without a clear winner many many times. His past and the girl with her remarkable resemblance to his late sister's appearance gave me this extra ordinary opportunity. If I can get him on my side, I am sure I can finish off all the crime in the city quickly and efficiently."

"Team sports" quickly turned into

I never believed in anything until the entire Universe fought a war over me. Now, I really wish I could go back to not believing at all. It all began on what felt like a normal Thursday. I was driving to the community center where I worked as the youth basketball coach. Our community center was as close as you could get to the world's biggest foster home; there were 40-odd kids in there at any given time, and most of them would spend the nights in the dorms in the basement. My job was to get them all to stop fighting for a few hours a day and convince them to play team sports instead. "Team sports" quickly turned into just basketball after a "friendly" game of "touch football" resulted in four concussions and two broken arms. I was thinking about how the world had abandoned these poor kids when I saw it. There was a gold bar just sitting there on the side of the road, and there weren't any armored cars or anything nearby. I reached down to grab it, figuring that I could return it to the police station after practice. Instead, I picked up the bar and the world exploded. _There must have been some kind of bomb trigger underneath the bar_ I thought dimly. I sunk into the darkness tugging at the corners of my eyes, and the last thing I saw was the fireball as I flew through the air to my death. I woke up five minutes later on a giant pile of pillows. Every single fire hydrant in the street had opened up at once, putting out the fire from the bomb. I, on the other hand, had apparently landed directly behind a truck carrying pillows that I hadn't seen earlier, and the workers just happened to be in the middle of unloading when the bomb blew up. These were not coincidences. Someone wanted me dead, and someone else wanted me alive. The next week passed in a blur. It felt like every hour was a new catastrophe, and every catastrophe was followed by enough lucky breaks to win the lottery at least a hundred times. I sleepwalked out of the window of my 40th floor apartment--only to hit a bird at just the right angle and bounce through on the 38th floor alive and relatively unharmed. The next day, I ducked out of the way of a car that was about to hit me and stepped on a live wire; that exact second, a truck carrying rubber came careening out of nowhere and somehow absorbed most of the shock. Two days later, the loose backboard on the left side of the gym fell right onto my head. Or at least it would have, if a sinkhole hadn't appeared under me the moment the basket fell. I ended up with a tiny lump on my head instead of what should have been certain death. The Thursday after I found the gold bar, I was accosted in the middle of the street by a man with a ratty, hooded black robe that looked like he'd escaped a seminary and rolled through 30 miles of tar before finding me. He was inches from touching my arm before a giant chasm opened up right under his feet and swallowed the man whole. Was it stupid? Obviously. But I was fed up with nearly dying every hour and that hooded man looked out of place enough that he could have been the Grim Reaper. One week ago I would have laughed if anyone suggested that. Instead, I did the most impulsive thing possible and jumped into the chasm just before it closed. I would have felt stupid anyway, but I felt even dumber when I realized that the chasm had no bottom. I shut my eyes right and screamed for a while, but I was no closer to the bottom than I had been when I jumped. I shut my eyes again and waited for the end. It could have been a few minutes later, or a few hours later, when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Suddenly, I was no longer falling but standing in the middle of what looked like a desert. There was a river of lava about 500 feet in front of me, and the sand was blood-red. I ran my fingers through it to find that the sand was sticky, and suddenly the coloring didn't appear all that innocent anymore. I recoiled in horror. "So, you've finally died." I wheeled around to find the voice, but it didn't take very long. The hooded man from earlier was standing directly behind me, but he had taken his hood down to reveal his face, a grinning mask of yellow-green mottled skin stretched tightly over a massive skull. He had no eyes, just swirling black vortexes sunken into his skull. I had a feeling that he could still see just fine though, since he was facing me while making no motions to hide the undisguised triumph of his smile. "Well you certainly didn't make it easy--" "I didn't make it easy?! I DIDN'T?!" The smile had vanished instantly, replaced with a snarl of rage. "I have been trying for a WEEK to kill you, ever since I heard the prophecy." "The prophecy?" I said in a meek voice. I, who couldn't even read fantasy books because I wanted something realistic, was the subject of a prophecy? "Yes, foolish mortal," Death responded in an almost-bored tone. "The one with the power to overthrow Hell. You, Adam Lawson, mediator of the Damned." I should have been cowering in fear or demanding a real explanation. Instead, my response was "But why am I in Hell anyway? I don't think I was a bad person..." Death actually had the gall to laugh at that. "Satan's been arguing that non-stop for the past week, in between thwarting my attempts to kill you. But this is your destiny, little mortal. To unite the tormented souls of Hell and lead them back to the Earth on a quest of death and destruction. Lucifer will lose all of his pawns, and I will gain an army of my own." The one thing that I hated the most about prophecies? You never got a choice. Death certainly seemed to feel that way. But I didn't devote my life to making the world a better place just to destroy it once I died. "Where do I go now?" I asked the hooded man. He pointed a skeletal figure to a monstrous red-and-gray palace rising from the dunes a few miles away. "This is where the Lord of the Underworld resides. He will determine your punishment." I nodded to Death in thanks, ignoring his smug look of self-satisfaction as I trudged off. I didn't know if Satan would be amenable to me choosing my own punishment, but I started thinking about the least painful forms of eternal solitary confinement. If my destiny was to destroy the world, the least I could do was sacrifice myself to prevent it. __________________ If you liked this, check out my new subreddit! r/NicodemusLux

Dr Amitos was a solid,

By all accounts, Dr Amitos was a good guy. He had no dark and dastardly secrets. He harboured no vicious or misanthropic thoughts. He was a solid, pragmatic man who advocated for atheism, democracy, and the rights of the downtrodden and less fortunate. He volunteered in both "hands on" and administrative capacities, scooping soup at the soup kitchen for the homeless, and sitting on boards for the MS Society and the local children's hospital. He had spent some years as a medical doctor when he was younger. Then, some years as an oncologist. But now he worked as a full time cancer researcher at one of the premier medical institutes in the country. His research on how to neutralize cancer cells after they had gone rogue was coming along nicely: he and his team had published no less than three papers in the last four years about their findings. But no living human--not his team, not his friends, not even Dr Amitos himself--knew just how close he was to a massive breakthrough. Indeed, only Death, Satan, and God, who sees and knows all, were aware that, if left to his own devices, Dr Amitos would soon cure cancer, once and for all. "If this man succeeds," complained Death, "my hunger for mortal souls will not be satiated. Men, women and children, who should by rights have died from their cancers, will live long past their natural expiration dates. I stood idly by when the toilet was invented. That alone cost me billions of easy souls. I had to wait for them. To fight for them. To put effort into making them die. I could no longer count on festering waste to give rise to some sickness that would kill them quickly and efficiently, without my intervention: the waste no longer festered, but was flushed away. And I did nothing when antibiotics were first discovered. Once, simple cuts could mean the demise of otherwise hearty human beings; now, a few pills can save even the most grievously wounded from infection, and prolong their lives, cheating me of my birthright. I will not make the same mistake again. I will not watch impotently as cancer, one of the greatest natural soul-reapers left, is defeated. I will kill this man Amitos, and burn to the ground the building in which his research is collected." Satan, ever the cleverest, most calculating and mischievous demon, sat unseen in the shadows and listened to Death's complaints. And after he heard Death state his goal of executing Amitos, and after he saw Death twist into a whirl of black smoke and disappear, a quick succession of thoughts flashed through his mind: "The longer humans live," Satan thought, "the more time they have to condemn themselves. The more time they spend in the wretched, corrupt and materialistic modern world, the more time they have to taint their innocence, to stray from their faith and virtue, and to fall from God's grace. Any discovery or invention that prolongs the lives of mortals benefits me in the long run. That is reason enough for me save this foolish doctor's life. But there is another reason that compels me to thwart Death in his mission to terminate Amitos. I am sick, sick, utterly sick and tired of these good-natured and virtuous men and women filling up the halls of Hell after their deaths--sent to me simply because they do not believe in and accept my Father. I am not allowed to punish them as I punish the rapists, murderers and war-mongering politicians. They were too good in life to sin egregiously enough for that. But yet, because they denounce my Father, they are also not allowed to enter his Kingdom of Heaven. So they bustle and talk kindly and do charitable works in the Underworld, crowding the sense of doom, evil and everlasting torment out of Hell, crowding out Hell's very hellishness! Damn them! Damn them all! (But to some place other than Hell, of course). Yes. Yes. I'll save this wretched Amitos' life--to ensure my flock of sinners, in the long-term, grows, but also so that I can put off having yet another good-hearted and altruistic man tainting Hell's ambiance!" \-- Dr Amitos lived with his family on an acreage, a little ways out of town. He did not like his morning commutes because he was often tired and irritable in the morning. The sunlight hurt his eyes, and the bustling life around him seemed offensive. He did, however, enjoy his commutes after work. Much to his wife's chagrin, he had been staying later and later at the lab. And although some of this could be attributed to his assiduousness and work-ethic, even more could be attributed to the fact that he really enjoyed driving home at night, after the sun had set. The city streets were not busy, and the highway that took him to his country home was often all but deserted. Dr Amitos would put one of his favourite jazz or classic rock albums on in the car, and smile contentedly to himself as he rolled down the open road, homeward bound. His vehicle had excellent suspension and his car muted any driving noises, so he felt, as he drove through the darkness, like he was floating through the great, unfathomable universe, floating through the nothingness of space in a pod in which the only things that existed were him and his favourite tunes. When he turned off the highway, onto the the long range road that led eventually to his home, he saw the bright lights of what was certainly a semi-truck in the distance. He noticed that the truck was not moving. Then he saw it start accelerating. For a moment, he wondered, "why would a truck like that be stopped on a road like this?" but the thought quickly slipped from his mind, and he continued driving onward, trying to return to that state of meditative calm in which he had just been luxuriating. After all, he had no rational reason to be suspicious of the truck. For how could he possibly have known that its driver, hooded and hunched over in the driver's seat, clutching the steering wheel with his skeletal hands, and peering down the road at Dr Amitos through his hollow eye sockets, was Death himself?

The skeleton has given up trying to

There are two gods in this world. One of them is brutal, bursting from his tall stone house to cut anything down that sniffs wrong in his direction. The other is cautious and clever, taking in the boons of the world and creating something new. They are gods of war and craft; pushing for bloodshed when the moon rises, and raising meters of impossible structures beneath the sun. The god of craft stares at a sad, living pile of bones from her perch up a tree. Soon, the other god will return carrying death, and the god of craft can steal its bones for their divine machinations. The skeleton has given up trying to express anything. Any time it raises its skull to seek pity, the arcane pool that has replaced its brain fills with an inexplicable rage. *Shoot, kill. Shoot, kill.* It uses the rest of its energy to stare down at its destroyed ribcage. Both clavicles are shattered, both scapulae have cracked. It couldn't raise its arms to fire its bow if it wanted to, and it very much wants to. The creative god looks on in disgust as the skeleton animates in an approximation of ragged breathing. The pity in her eyes gave it hope, but nothing can remove the law of murder inscribed into its very being since rebirth. It is time for it to die. The creature has begun to accept this. It wishes it didn't remember the time before. During moments of repose in the long nights, it recalls a time in a land that looked similar, but not quite the same as this one. There used to be a city where the great ravines meet. It was full of regular people, not gods. They built fences by hand instead of synthesizing raw wood into shape and pushing it into the earth with no exertion. They moved grindstones big enough to crush a cow using clever implements of engineering in order to make bread from grain, rather than transfusing the raw grain directly. But worst of all, or maybe best, is the difference in warfare. The skeleton remembers this clearly. The bow in the grass next to its twitching hand is not the same one it used to use; it appeared at its birth, just as magic as the gods themselves. Its true bow had been reduced to dust by the centuries, millennia since its first life had been cut short by the enemy's arrow. It had seen the viscera of its brothers and sisters in arms, seen people's guts spew forward, seen an arrow pierce and throw brain matter. The gods do not suffer these sights. When they cut down their animals for meat, it is bloodless and near-instantaneous. They have no idea what they are doing. The god is standing over it now. She is tall, and on her back is the magic pickaxe she uses to rip the earth from this world. Though they lack any emotive features whatsoever, there is something pitiable about the skeletons that rise in the night which the fleshy, stinking zombies lack. It is as though the corruption of form in zombies confirms their dark nature. Skeletons, on the other hand, are a constant in anything good and evil. They are clever enough to wield bows. Perhaps, she thinks, they are clever enough to feel? "Show me," she said. The language is foreign to the dying creature, but it can understand every word. "Show me something. Do you understand?" It looked up, filled with visible rage, then looked away. It remembers the heat of the afternoon being interrupted by the shadow of its superior. A general, whose name it can no longer recall, stood shouting at the ranks. Whatever politics of the time that had caused one ruler to impose upon the lands of another had long lost any meaning. The skeleton can remember clearly the feeling of fear and doubt. Scraps of news would reach the lower ranks, spelling everyone's incoming doom. Maybe if it had defected it would still be dead. Maybe it was raised again as punishment for dying, falling for someone else's goals, forsaking its own life for no reason at all. "Run away with me", it had thought. It never got to whisper these words to its love. She crouches down. She's considering something. The skeleton tries not to look at her. It is too tired to be angry. "Can you move your hands?" It might as well. The creature twitches its hands. This causes more consideration. "Tap once for no and twice for yes. Were you ever alive?" What a weird question. Where do the gods think skeletons come from? Two taps. "Were there others?" Two taps. "Do you miss it?" It doesn't respond. The skeleton probably does, it thinks, but could never bring itself to that kind of futile thought. Everything is so different now. The mountains to the west are softer, greener. The desert has lost so much sand to that vile swamp. All the farmland is gone, thick woods take the place of pasture, and wild cattle again march in the fashion of their auroch ancestors. The wolves have returned to the kingdom. This place will never be home. It can never have children with its love, never feel warm bread on its tongue, never avoid the manure peppering the cobbled streets on its way to squire for the castle on its high hill. *Yes,* it thinks, *I miss it more than anything*. Before it can tap its finger-bones, the second god arrives with a clamor of savage barking. The wolves expunged from this land so long ago now seek the companionship of the god of death. A pack of them, about seven, wag and bark behind him. The god of craft has returned to the tree, this time leaning against it. The skeleton stuffs down its rage and looks directly at her. "You good?" he asked. He is used to her random attachments to lesser beings. She meets the collapsed creature's gaze. The skeleton feels more than ever how worthless everything has always been. Despite the futility of both its existences, it decides to believe she will, eventually, show mercy to its skeletal brethren, and that this life was the catalyst. It wishes it could see it. See what kind of city she builds them. Its last thoughts are of hope. "Yeah," she said. "Go ahead." As the sun sets on its second life, the pack breaks all the bones that were once its body. ------- Thanks. Wrote this in the early morning and checked back in during work. I'm glad you liked it! I played Minecraft back in infdev and met my long term SO there. It's a special game.

Ian always hated English class . He

Ian always hated English class. It was rare for there to be anything that interested him. Most of the books were boring and the writing assignments were even more so. A four page essay about my spring break? I stayed at home watching TV and playing StarCraft, should I write about that? Uhg. While Ian internally complained and stared out the window, Mr. Smith was droning on about something. Ian didn't care, probably something dumb. He would ask Chris about it later. "... count on you, right Ian?" Mr. Smith said. Ian focused his attention towards him. Mr. Smith had his hands on the shoulders of a kid wearing a collared shirt and jeans. It also had a lizard face. Weird. Wait. "Excuse me, what the fuck," Ian said aloud as what he was seeing finally hit him. "Ian, watch your language! Are you going to help Mark get settled in or not? If you do I may forget the fact you just cursed in my classroom." Ian was still trying to wrap his head around this. He looked around the room and no one seemed to care. Some of his classmates were doodling, others casually looking in his direction. 'Mark' was looking right at him. Okay, I wanted to end my boredom but this is too damn much, he thought to himself. Think. No one else is responding to this, maybe it's a prank or... maybe you are hallucinating. Okay, I'll show him around, first top, nurses office. "I guess," Ian said still filled with doubt and worry. "Great. Chris, can you please make sure to give him a copy of your notes after class?" "Sure thing, Mr. Smith," Chris replied. "Alright, Ian get going. Come back when you are done." "Okay," Ian said while staring hard at Mark. Ian got out of his desk and grabbed his bag. There was a part of him that wanted to look up and see some normal pimply face teenager staring back at him when he looked up again. No luck. Still a guy with a green head that resembled a Komodo dragon. Ian opened the door and held it for Mark who exited the classroom. Think, Ian, how do I figure this out. Shit. Wait. "So, where are you from?" Ian asked without looking at him. "You probably have never heard of it, it's pretty far away." He replied, his voice was raspy with a bit of lisp, but it was distinctly a North American English accent of some sort. Ian was never good at that stuff. Like he could tell if someone was from the south or the east coast but that's about it. "I see. Well, let's go to the nurse first I have to ask her a question, but here are the 2nd floor classrooms as you have already figured out. Any classroom with a 2... which now that I'm saying it, that's probably obvious." "A little," Mark said with an odd chortle. "Are you okay?" Fuck. The one question he didn't want this guy to ask. No, there are a million questions he didn't want him to ask. Keep it simple until you figure this out Ian. "Yeah, might be getting a cold or something." Ian replied. They descended the stairs to the first floor near the entry to the building. "Okay so down that way," Ian pointed behind the stairs, "are the A lockers and classrooms, mostly for freshman. And over that way, are the C lockers and the C classrooms and this way are B." Ian said this as he pointed down the halls where they were. "Got it." "And around this corner are all the administration crap, principal's office, nurse's office, all that shit. So give me a minute. I'll be back in a few." Ian said as he opened the door to the nurses office. Mrs. Brooks was sitting at her computer as he entered. She looked up, smiled and slid her chair into the open. "Hello, young man. Ian, right?" "Yes, ma'am." "What's wrong?" "I don't really know, I think I might have a fever or something. I was seeing weird stuff earlier." Please don't ask me. Please don't ask me. "That doesn't sound good. Let's take your temperature, though I must say you look perfectly fine." "Yeah, it just happened a bit ago. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't weird." She gave him a concerned, but puzzled look before handing him a thermometer. He put it in his mouth. Ian knew there was nothing wrong. Mark was a damned lizard person and he was the only one that could see it. This was some serious horror stuff going on. Lovecraft, King... something. A moment later the thermometer beeped. Mrs. Brooks took it. "98, a bit low, but nothing to worry about. Why don't you go back to class for now, if you start to feel worse you can come back." Figures. "Okay, thanks Mrs. Brooks." Ian left the office to see Mark sitting on a nearby chair in the hall. "Everything okay?" He asked. No, it's not, you still look like a damned lizard. "No. You are going to think this is nuts... but right now you look like a lizard person. I don't mean I think you are ugly or weird or something... like LITERALLY A LIZARD PERSON. I think I'm losing my mind." Mark chuckled. "Well, guess someone is losing their fucking job. Flarxal, did you hear that?.. No, I didn't authorize that yet... This was a long term mission, estimated ten earth years... No, EARTH YEARS... You what?.. For the love of... Well, sorry Ian. You weren't suppose to find out this way." Mark lifted his wrist and a holographic interface appeared. He did something to it and his face shifted to that of an almost generic high school student. Dark hair, roman nose, pimples all that. Then it reverted back. Ian was trying to wrap his head around this. What the actual fuck. He started to feel light headed. He fell backwards. "Yep, there he goes," 'Mark' said as Ian lost consciousness. *Continued below.*

There's no way he was me

*Fuck this guy.* That's all I could think when I first saw him--'my future self'. There's no way he was me; he stood there with a stupid toothy smile on his face, and an unkempt gray beard fell down his neck; a bright yellow shirt, unbuttoned and loose, pants that looked like an old woman's quilt, and thongs that flopped loudly when he walked. He looked like he sat around smoking weed and talking to birds all day, and he annoyed me at first sight. "Well, then," he sighed lazily, still grinning like an idiot. "This is awkward." I checked my watch and groaned, only 9am; I had at least another ten hours with this hobo, and a million more important things I could be doing. "Look," I refused his handshake and pulled out my phone, running through some emails as I spoke. "I'm only doing this because we're forced to; I've got work piled up to my fucking ears, so how about we just head to a coffee shop and you can sit there and read or daydream while I get my shit done?" He laughed, "You're the boss, kid." We made our way silently through the park we'd met at towards a cafe patio on the other side. He sat down in a sunny spot, crossing his legs gayly and putting his hands behind his head, "Beautiful morning, isn't it?" I stared at him in disbelief. *There's just no fucking way.* "Right, what do you want?" "Well, I'd love to add some square footage to my greenhouse back home, or maybe redo the deck in the yard." I shook my head, my aggravation apparent. "To drink, man! Coffee?" "Oh," he giggled to himself and rubbed his beard for a few moments, as if contemplating a major life decision. "Tea, non-caffeinated, por favor." I felt like I was babysitting some geriatric for community service. Hell, maybe that's what this all was? A massive conspiracy to get the youth involved with caring for the old and senile. When I returned, feeling a bit better now that I had a triple shot of espresso in my hand, I found him reading a book. A real book, not on a holo-tablet or through neural-lenses, but a worn, physical, paper book. "People still use those in the future?" I set down his tea and pulled my computer from my bag. "Some of us do," he flipped the page without looking at me. "Book lovers like myself usually have a nice little collection." A book collector? Ya, they could have at least picked one out of the senior's home that shared the same interests as me. He kept quiet for the next few hours while I hammered away at the keys on my laptop and made calls one after the other; only interrupting the silence to chuckle at a string of words on the page, and occasionally flashing a bright smile at me. One of my calls didn't end well, and I sat there rubbing my temples as he looked on. "You should try to relax; you're just a kid, there's no need to be stressing yourself so greatly at such a young age." "What the hell would you know about it? You look like you've never worried about anything in your entire life." "Dude, I'm you," he threw his hands up and raised his eyebrows, still smiling like an asshole. "No, you're not," he gave me a sideways glance, and I finally let loose on him. "Whatever this bullshit is, you're not me. I don't know if I'm fucking dead in a year so there's no old version of me to send back or if this whole time travel thing is a big lie they're telling us so that they can have old people give the youth advice for a day, but there's absolutely no way I end up like you." He put his hand over his heart, feigning offense, "Ouch. Harsh words, kid." I leaned back in my chair, sighing and closing my eyes, hoping my headache would go away, "Whatever, you'd never understand the pressure I'm under." "Oh, but I understand perfectly," he leaned forward, setting his book down and sipping his tea. "You see, I climbed the ladder at Tortella Marketing, stepping on the heads of everyone below me as I ascended, using every upper I could get my hands on once coffee stopped doing the trick." My eyes crept open, I hadn't mention the name of the company I was working for. "Ya, I threw myself into my work and shut out everything that was good in my life. I ditched all my friends right out of the gate--even Troy. I wasn't there when dad died; hell, I didn't even make it out to his grave until after I had my first breakdown." Troy had been my best friend since I was six years old; now that I thought about it, I hadn't spoken to him since I started working. "In fact, it wasn't until mom's suicide a few years later that I started to realize that I wasn't only unhappy, I was suicidal myself," he leaned back, and the smile he had been wearing all day was gone. "I was always chasing the high, kid; the high from making money and getting promotions; the high from the cars, new apartments, and girls; the high from the drugs, so intense yet always fleeting." He was staring right at me--right into me--with a pain in his eyes so deep that I thought I was going to suffocate. Suddenly, I saw it as clear as day; I saw myself perfectly in the old man across from me. "You think you're pursuing your happiness but you're wrong," he drew a circle in the air with his finger. "You're a hamster on the wheel, kid, and you're going to die if you don't get off." I hadn't realized it, but tears were streaming down my face; I wiped them on my new shirt and composed myself. He smiled at me again, and it set me at ease. "So," he asked as he took another sip from his tea. "Is there anything you'd like to ask me?" It was so overwhelming that I could barely think. I suddenly felt so lost, and yet, so free. Glancing down at the closed book on the table, I realized I hadn't even bothered to read the cover all day. "What are you reading?" the question crept out of me through my sniffling. His smile widened, and he clapped his hands joyfully together, "Now that's a start, kid." /r/BeagleTales

A moat of lava around a

Harold lifted his eyes to the molten palace and wiped the sweat from his brow. A moat of lava around a castle was something every dark lord would dream of, but the happy laughter of children and the joyous shouts of merchants ruined the dark fantasy. They went about their day as if the explosive bubbles of gas were nothing more than a birds chirp. "I see the Rumors of Irondal aren't exaggerated," he said starring at the aqueducts that flowed above the city on bright white marble pillars. "No your highness, It is indeed a culmination of all of humanity's knowledge and innovation," Sir Green said with a bow. "Yet the one responsible is no man. Odd how that is." "Unburdened by the pride of nationalism perhaps." "Or perhaps it's the two hundred years of peace and prosperity." Sir Green nodded, "A strong possibility your highness." The staircase up to the molten palace was made of melted metals and stone, the castle itself stood apart from the modern marvels of the city as something foreign. Harold clenched his fists together and stepped up the stairs. "Are you sure your highness? There is no going back after this." "My mother taught me a ruler is only as strong as his people, this is the only way to regain our strength." "If that is your will," Sir Green said. If he weren't such an honorable man, Harold figured he would grab him by the collar and drag him back home. A king shouldn't bow. Yet he knew there was no other choice. At the top of the stair case a man dressed in a robe of shed dragon scales stood with his arms wide open. "Prince Harold, our lord has been expecting you." Harold furrowed his brow, "I'm sorry, I was certain my visit was unannounced." "Aye, but our just lord knows more than any man ever will." The man spun, partially to show off how his robes gleamed in the lava's red light. Harold sighed and followed after, if the lord knew he was here did he also know why? Sir Green's boots clanked against the stone floor with heavier steps then normal. It was to be expected, a knight's natural enemy waited for them ahead. The castle that had formerly stood in iron dale was supposedly unbreakable. However, whoever claimed such things did not foresee an invasion from something stronger than man. It's stone walls bubbled out into a sphere and where there were once walls, now only folded mounds of stone stood. Like an egg that had been cracked on one side a hole was leaking sunlight into the bulbous room. Gold coins clattered against each other and the sounds of massive muscles stretching sounded from under the pile of treasure. A head larger than his body rose from the pile like a snake covered in thorns. It was the lord of Irondal, the Dragon Mymgarnit. Harold placed his hand over his stomache and got to one knee. Sir green mimicked the motion with a click of his tongue, unpleased to see his future king bow. But Harold couldn't afford the luxury of pride. The dragons yellow cat-like eyes starred at him with smoke billowing out from his sharp black nostrils. "Please rise Prince Harold," The dragon said. His mouth did not move, the word seemed to ring off every wall of the broken castle. "I apologize for coming unannounced, Lord Mymgarnit, I have a matter of great urgency to discuss." "Nothing is unannounced to a dragon. If you think my name I shall know it," the dragon said raising his head to cast a shadow over Harold. He wondered if it was consideration of his vision being obscured by the setting sun or the dragon trying to intimidate him. "Then you know why I am here?" "I do, had I not wished to hear more you would have never been allowed into my home," the dragon said confidently. "Your answer? Will you provide me with what I seek?" "I've ruled over this land for two centuries, I've repelled twelve invasions, killed thousands of men, yet I've never invaded a land once. Irondal has no army, we cannot give you the support you need." Sir green stirred but Harold held up a hand to stop his companion. "I understand, but just walking your streets it is clear to me you love humans. I love my people as much as you do, but I lack your strength. My father continues to delve deeper into madness and I fear that there will be no people left for me to rule." "Indeed, it is a tragedy. The crimes against humanity in your lands cannot be tolerated. However, I cannot leave. Three nations lick their lips at my borders, waiting for their chance to strike." "I offer my army to protect Irondal in your absence, surely we can defend it for as long as you need." "Never. These people are my children, I will not trust them in your mortal hands," Mymgarnit unfolded his wings causing a gust of wind to scatter loose coins across the floor. "Then what of my children? Will you watch them die as they shout your name, screaming for your salvation? How can you ignore them?" Harold's face glowed red and he bit his tongue realizing who he was antagonizing. "I'm sorry my lord, but I may lack your power, but my love for my people is a match for your own. I beg you, save them." The room was silent, and then the jingle of metal moving made Harold snap his neck up. The dragon was... laughing? "Well said Prince Harold, what do I gain in return?" "I will relinquish my crown to you. As your vassal I shall rule my kingdom under your guidance. One by one we will knock down the twelve kingdoms and protect the people like no other kingdom in history has. I seek a utopia under your rule, my lord." Harold bowed deeper before the dragon. "Raise your head. From this day forth, you are Drake Harold, the first of my court. Bring your army, and I will bring your fathers to their knees." Harold felt tears welling up in his eyes and he bowed graciously over and over. "Right away my lord, It will be done." &#x200B; /r/Quarklaserdisc

The Emperor Merohanen has always

I'm not any good at writing, but i thought to try my hand at putting a daydream into words. It's harder than i thought, but fun nonetheless. Please offer constructive criticism. I have a bad habit of writing short sentences. I could use help breaking that habit. --- The Emperor Merohanen has always been known the world round as The Evil Emperor; he wryly smiles whenever he hears the name though noone really knows quite why. It's been years since he overthrew the Confederate Alliance of Democratic States and instituted his absolute rule. Slowly but surely he took over state after state, defying the best strategists and tacticians of war, as if all the luck and all the wisdom in the world were at his disposal. Uncanny successes, one after the other, put terror in everyone's heart, and when he finally dominated the continent, he delivered his crushing blow. There was no way to oppose him. Everything and everyone had failed. Merohanen was indeed quite vicious at first as he brutally destroyed anyone that stood in his way, though he wasn't always this way. He never speaks of his origins, he stays alone, and sits on his throne commanding those around him. Those who know him, actually like him--at least now--yet noone can figure out why. To his inner circle he seems almost kind and gentle as everything goes his way. Sometimes they wonder about what they know to be true, that he is ruthless to anyone that acts against him. Though there was subjugation and terror at first with the occasional reminder of who was in control, there was also growth and prosperity for those who did not challenge his rule. Now, some fifty years later, noone challenges his rule. It is simply the way it is and was for as long as most could remember, and yet they call him by that moniker that still brings him some form of strange joy. It was just a few years ago when Merohanen called on his special guard to be on the lookout for the Star Child. The emperor spoke of a prophecy that a child would be born with a star on his head who was destined to end his rule. He ordered that he be notified immediately of the child's birth and ordered death upon anyone who even remotely betrayed his edict. A committee was set up to review all births in his realm and to notify him immediately when the child was born. Women were watched and houses were checked for any news of any child; there was no way to avoid his watchful eyes, they were everywhere. When a child was born to a family in the Entrean lowlands, they didn't think much of it. After all, they already had plenty of children and their family was nothing of note. They made their livelihood like everyone else: through husbandry and mending broken wares. They had heard of the prophecy but paid it no heed, as if the news was too fantastic to be believed. And so when their child was born on that Sunday afternoon, the idea that his five small birthmarks made up the points of a star didn't even cross their minds. It was the doctor that noticed and reported the birth, and within two weeks, the guards were at their door. The sight of the imperial guards in the lowlands had everyone abuzz. A crowd amassed as they entered the hamlet and to the Britson's door. The guards dismounted their steeds and rapped sharply on the door, "Open in the name of the Emperor!" The neighbor who was helping the missis with the children nervously opened the door; her eyes went wide when she saw the imperial guard, "may i help you?" she eeked out while nervously grabbing the door. The guard demanded sternly, "bring me the child". "Whi..which child?" she mustered. "The newborn child with the mark on his head. In the name of the emperor bring him to me now." She glanced once more at the troop at her door, the armor, the spears, the horses, the banner. Her feet felt frozen, yet she somehow tore herself away and ran screaming to the mother, "they're here to take your son!" "Who's here?" "The emperor, i mean the guards, i mean the emperor's guards. They want your child." Mrs. Britson was struck with disbelief. She had heard the knock but not the words, as she was in the back nursing the child. She shook it off not knowing what to think and continued to nurse her child. "Whoever it is you will have to wait. You can invite them in until i'm ready. Offer them something to eat." She went back to the door and asked them to wait inside while his mother nursed her child. There was a look, and the guards surrounded the house, "we'll wait outside." When she came out holding her child, the guard unsheathed his hands and turned the baby's head. He stared at the mark, asked another, and declared, "this is the child." An artist was called to copy his face, some guards were left in the house, and the portrait was rushed to the palace. "Your fate lies in the emperor's hands. Pray that he is in a good mood." The guards set up camp nearby, though two of them were always in the house with the child. Noone referred to the child by name, as if he were not even human to them. Where is the child, how is the child, what does the child need. The guards were intrusive and stern when it came to the child, but they did not get in the way of the household. The other children eventually tried to warm up to them, with a mixture of success and failure. They were waiting for the messengers return, for whatever the emperor ordered next. When the messenger came back he was with a new set of troops, and they went directly to the Britson's door. The sight of the troops no longer surprised them. "New troops? What was wrong with the old ones?" she asked with a bit of jest. "The emperor has declared your child to be the prophesied Star Child who will end his rule. He is now under the protection of the emperor himself. You will tell us what you need, we will build a garrison nearby, and the child shall be guarded day and night." "He will be 'guarded' so he can end his rule?" she asked. "We do not question the emperor. The child shall be guarded until the emperor decides otherwise. It can be here, it can be anywhere else--it is up to you, but we will guard your child." Mrs. Britson wasn't sure what else to ask. None of this made any sense. But what could she do? It was going to take her some time to decide how to respond, so for now, she simply shrugged and went on as she had before. --- .

Some people ask me why I'm

Some people ask me *why* I'm an evil overlord. It's not exactly the sort of thing you can stumble upon during career day, after all. You won't find any university courses, for it, no recruiters looking for up-and-coming, go-getting Rockstar dictators that they can employ and overwork until they burn out. And, to top it all off, you need your own country before you can even *start*, so there's no real entry-level positions. So I'm always somewhat embarrassed to admit that it's sort of a family business. My father was an evil overlord, and my grandfather before him and my great-grandfather before him. We tend to marry women of intelligence and character - my mother was a brilliant geneticist with questionable ethics - and we encourage our children to be as cunning and devious as they can be. When we come of age, the men in our family usually go out to do some mercenary work, and, once they see an opportunity, they conquer a small nation and take their rightful place on its throne. Getting there is easy, if you know the right people. Staying there is not. Evil overlords, it turns out, aren't the most popular of rulers. Machiavelli said that it's easier to be feared than loved, which is true. Hell, it's practically our family motto. What Machiavelli didn't mention is that "being feared" eventually turns into "being overthrown and imprisoned for crimes against humanity". My grandfather was killed in a bloody revolution, when he tried to have a gold-plated statue of himself built during a major famine. My *father* was smarter than that, and with the help of a ruthless secret police force, hunted down every single revolutionary he could find, and had them publicly executed as a warning to others. This went well until one of the revolutionaries' orphan daughters snuck into his palace at night and stabbed him in the throat. My entire family tree is full of men who died violent deaths, or, at least, spent their twilight years shivering in some anonymous dungeon. When it was my turn to take up the family business, and seize control over Gravinia a small, war-torn nation in the Balkans, I was determined not to make the same mistakes as my ancestors. First I had to get into power. Traditionally, our family does this by hiring a number of mercenaries, bribing some generals, and seizing power in a single night of adrenaline, blood and violence. Unfortunately, however intimidating, this display of ruthlessness also tends to make a terrible first impression on the nation we're planning to rule - so I forewent the whole shebang. Establishing myself as an up-and-coming politician in the Gravinia's capital, fake backstory and all, took significantly less bribe money than I would have spent on Gravinia's generals. Once people knew my name, I engineered a national security crisis, stepped up to solve it in a week - thank you mercenaries - and received my well-deserved accolades from a grateful public. All it took to get me onto the throne now was a snap election, triggered by some cleverly planted evidence suggesting that the current president of Gravinia had been behind the crisis in the first place. Despite coming into power without bloodshed and with a good amount of public support besides, I knew it could not last. I had to make sure that, once my evil tendencies were discovered, I would not be thrown out on my ear and/or assassinated. I had to make sure that no nucleus of opposition could form. First were the orphans. I knew that a desperate child with nothing to lose and nothing to live for might have the sheer audacity to attempt the unthinkable and succeed. Besides, I'm pretty sure fate favors a kid without parents - they're the ultimate underdog. I had to deal with them, one way or another! By which I mean "through social welfare". My first act in office was to push a bill through parliament that doubled federal funding to orphanages and adoption programs and decreased juvenile homelessness in all of Gravinia's major cities. In six months, the number of annual adoptions doubled and the quality of life of those who remained in the orphanages increased significantly. Next were the revolutionaries - Rest in Peace, grandpa. Gravinia's populace was deeply dissatisfied with the country's political course, and who wouldn't be? Widespread corruption, massive wealth inequality, massive corporations draining our country's natural resources, and leaving polluted devastation in their wake - all were the source of much strife and protest, a breeding ground for revolutionary sentiment. If I wanted to stay in power, I needed reforms. I pushed progressive marginal tax rates to address inequality, along with an audit of the country's major banks to uncover wealthy tax evaders. I imposed the death penalty for major corruption offenses and assembled a dedicated elite task force to investigate cases. I only had to hang two ministers for taking bribes before the rest of Gravinia's bureaucracy got the picture. Hypocritical, I know, but I am an *evil* overlord. Then I pushed reforms to nationalize Gravinia's two biggest oil companies, and, when the Russian oligarchs who owned them complained to their government, I negotiated a mutual defense pact with a few neighboring nations, to avoid ending up like Crimea. Using the inflow of funds from my previous reforms, I instituted widespread improvements in Gravinia's infrastructure and social safety nets. Roads and public transit, telecommunications, schools, housing and medicine all increased improved funding, which was largely put to good use. Before I knew it, tourism was up, crime was down, and Gravinia actually had a small-but-growing middle class. Factories were springing up around the capital to take advantage of the country's newfound stability, decreasing unemployment and increasing quality of life. I had been worried about a disgruntled military trying to eventually seize power - that's how Uncle Vlad died - but my popularity was high and not just among the populace. The rank and file soldiers and the junior officers loved me; any general attempting a coup would be awfully lonely and in case all else failed, I'd kept my mercenaries around. And though I'd feared that an international coalition might try to depose me, like they did my Great-Uncle Stephan, I needn't have worried. My efforts to improve my country made me a darling of the international press, and my leadership in the local defense pact, alongside my obvious opposition to Russia, made me an important ally to NATO. Gravinia is now one of the world's fastest-growing economies. Tourists visit our seaside, Germany buys our TVs. Literacy and education are up, crime and inequality are down, and we're considered the prime example of an up-and-coming, efficient democracy. Towns are erecting statues of me without even being ordered to and I won 90% of votes in the last election without having to bribe or kill *anyone*. A little bird told me I might even be listed for the Nobel Peace Prize. My family has disowned me, of course. I'm the black sheep, the failure, the turncoat. But really, they've got it all wrong. I'm totally evil. I'm just playing the long game.

This story takes place at a specific

This story begins not once upon a time; on the contrary, it takes place at a specific time, in a specific place, and features two *very* specific people. In reference to the cosmic calendar, wherein hundreds of years are compressed into the space of a single grain of sand, a day is the most arbitrary of measures. A raindrop in an ocean. However, for this story atleast, a day had all the meaning of a thousand years. It was Thursday, March 26th. This was important, you see, because it was to be Marshall Henry Morrison's last day on the planet Earth. Amy Dane had been hesitant to go to that specific place, The Greenwich Federal Prison, but in the end she decided that she must. For even though many years had passed since last she'd seen him, Amy had never forgotten the little boy that grew up next door. So knives and forks clinked on ceramic plates as our two figures both tried to think of something to say to break the silence. "The steak is a little dry," Marshall said, "It's better with the gravy." "No, that's alright, Amy said, "Thanks." Marshall took a swallow of wine and looked down. He knew the circumstances of their reunion, but he'd wanted to make it as perfect as he possibly could. He was ashamed, deeply ashamed, that he couldn't even give her a decent meal. Amy noticed his discomfort, but wasn't sure what she'd done to cause it. "Are they...treating you well," she asked. Marshall shrugged, "Well enough, I suppose. Tomorrow on the other hand...." Amy blushed. *I'm supposed to be helping him forget, instead I go about reminding him*. The condemned man chuckled. "I'm only kidding," he said, "Did they tell you my crime?" Amy met his eyes and found two spheres that held more pain and anguish than anything she'd ever seen. She couldn't help but look away, "No," she lied. Marshall leaned back, apparently relieved. "Well...you can ask. I'm sure it's what you've been wondering." "It's really alright, I don't-" "Please, Amy," Marshall whispered. She looked at him. The little boy had become a man, his skin more tough, his eyes more hard, but inside he was still the same. *He needs someone to hear his side*, she realized. She nodded. "Okay. What happened?" Marshall's lips twirked up in the slightest of smirks, a ghost of the mischievous smile he's donned as a child. "My luck ran out at the worst time possible, just like you always said it would." She laughed, but it was a soft laugh, and Marshall perceived it as a laugh of pity. His smile faded away. "You remember how you used to-" "I remember," Amy said, "I just wish I'd been wrong." "You never were, why start now?" She smiled, "I guess. Go on." Marshall took another sip of wine. "You know how I used to save up all the money I earned delivering paper, and then together we'd go to the horse races and bet on the winners?" Amy laughed, "How could I forget, you always had a good eye for it. We made more money than any kid should be able to have, and we'd blow it all on candy and ice cream, or fancy shoes, or anything else that caught our eye." "That's just it," Marshall said, "I never really had a good eye for horses, I just figured out something that most people never do." "What was that?" Marshall grinned, "The races were fixed. So long as you could figure out which horse's victory would make the racing yard the most money, you could know who the winner would be." Amy's gasped, "You never told me!" "It would have ruined the experience for you," Marshall said, "You loved cheering for our horse, you wouldn't have cared to cheer if you knew it didn't matter." Amy squinted, "I suppose," she said, "But what does this have to do with anything?" "As I grew older," Marshall said, "I discovered that there were many systems in place that operated the same way. I made a tidy profit gambling, did okay on the stock market, even dipped my hand in the entertainment business, but it was never enough...I needed something more, something *grand*." Amy leaned forward. She unconsciously reached for her glass of wine, grasping at air several times before finally finding it. She took a long, slow sip. Marshall sensed her attention, and it filled him with joy. *This* had been why it *had* to be her. "War," he said. "War?" "That's right." "I don't get it." Marshall chuckled. "There a million things that can cause a war, a million strands of a web, a million pieces of a puzzle. But the fix is always in, the cost is too important for it to be otherwise." He paused for her to react, but when she said nothing he continued, "The world keeps a careful eye on every civil war in every tiny nation, every border dispute, every revolution, and every conflict. If you can determine who will be the victor, you can collect a portion of the spoils." "But how," Amy asked, "It's not as if there's a way to place a bet on border disputes." Marshall shrugged, "There are other ways to gamble. I provided loans to the side I knew would win, and charged mighty interest when their enemy fell. I sold weapons, I sold supplies, but most importantly, I sold intelligence. You'd be surprised what a nation at war would pay for a rumor, and even more surprised at the gratitude they'll show if that little piece of gossip helps lead to their eventual victory." Amy's stomach felt sick, "That's...Marshall that's awful! It's war profiteering!" "I was a hero so long as my side won," Marshall said, "but I wouldn't be here if I'd only picked winners." "So you backed a losing party? That's no crime." Marshall laughed. "I backed a monster," he said. "I let the numbers blind me. I didn't pay attention to the details. The man said he wanted freedom for his people, and it looked like a winning cause. I provided weapons, intelligence, and more. I ate dinner with the revolutionary and his generals, I invited them into my home. And they did it. They won. But they didnt stop there." Marshall looked green, like the words threatened to make him sick. "When they finished defeating their enemy, they turned their guns to their enemy's widows, their children, their friends. They slaughtered countless innocents." The blood had drained from Amy's face. She had nothing to say. "I tried to cut ties as soon as I could," Marshall said, "I stopped supplying them, stop answering their calls. But it was too late. The world stepped in to intervene, and when they were finished, they found traces of all the support I'd provided over the years. Now here I am, brought up on crimes against humanity." When he finished, he let the story sit for a while. Amy felt tears welling up in her eyes. She'd wanted to hear that it was all a mistake, that the boy she knew could never have done the things he'd been accused of. Yet, no matter how she looked at it, she knew he was guilty. Still, she reached across the table and took his hand. Tears were streaming down Marshall's face, his entire body trembling. "Am I an evil man?" "No," Amy said, "You're not a good man either. You're just a man." "But do I really deserve to die," Marshall asked, his voice pleading. "I... can't answer that," Amy said. Marshall shook his head. "I know. I know you can't. But you can do *something*, can't you? You always knew what to do." Amy wiped a tear from his eye. "I'll tell you what I can do," she said. He looked up, hopeful. "What?" "I can be there," she said, "At the end." Marshall studied her for a long while, she met his gaze with a solemn expression. Finally, he nodded. She hugged him tight, "If a tree falls in the woods, and no one is there to hear, does it make a sound?" "I don't know." "Neither do I." Marshall's breath came heavy. He wept in her arms. "When you fall," she said, "I'll hear it. I'll remember the boy I grew up with. And at least one soul in attendance will know that you aren't evil, but only a man." - r/CharlestonChews

The Bazaar is the largest open

Christopher Gorov's heart ached as the silver streets of Naurus V came to life before him. He was at the mouth of the Bazaar, the largest open-air market on the orbital outpost, and he soon found himself swept along by the crowds, as possessed of his destiny as a mere leaf in a raging river. It was rumored that if one knew where to look, one could find just about anything for sale at the Bazaar. From the exotic, like the emerald-green Zuzu eggs from the offworld asteroids, to the illegal, like subdermal implants which disabled all digital failsafes with a single wave. If there was something which one truly desired, it was said, one should begin their search at the Bazaar. Christopher didn't find that hard to believe at all. Naurus V was the crown jewel of the Empire. The endless stalls about him, the unceasing waves of humanity, the cacophony of voices which blended into a symphony of bargaining... this was truly ground zero. "Sir, sir," came the voice in his ear, "you really must be careful. No time to dawdle. I've fended off three pick-pockets in the time you've stood there gawking." Christopher blinked. "Ah, yes. Sorry, I was just... thinking..." "I strongly suggest we find a quieter place to contemplate and reflect, sir. Would you kindly allow me to escort you to your first destination? As we planned, yes?" Christopher nodded, and laid one hand on his companion's shoulder. Tandry, no last name, began pushing past the human traffic, a heated knife through the treacherous treacle of the crowds, and Christopher followed behind. Christopher soon found himself at Sector 12 of the Bazaar. He tapped the bracelet on his wrist, and reams of holographic data danced in the air as Christopher checked his calculations. Satisfied, he cast his eye about, then located the object of his interest. A keeper of the peace, dressed in muted gold, standing in front of one of the luxury shops, his heavy electro-truncheon bouncing in his palms. "Officer?" asked Christopher. "Would you have a minute?" "Move along, citizen," replied the giant. "Keep out of trouble now, please." "I'm sorry, but I really do need to ask you some questions," said Christopher. He held up his ID pass, hoping that the officer would scan it quickly. "I'm Dr Christopher Gorov, from the Analysis and Review department. It is quite a matter of urgency that I speak to you now." "A diagnostic? Out here?" the officer said, scratching his jaw. "I do not have any basis to reject your request, though I should state for the record that you are interfering with my duties at this moment." "I am aware of that, and I am very sorry for the inconvenience," said Christopher, "but I have no choice in this matter too. Now, for the first question - please report the total occupancy of Sector 12 at this moment." Christopher watched as the officer's eyes glowed dimly. Hardly any time passed, but Christopher's skin prickled with the realization that enormous quantities of data has just passed between the satellites above and the officer. After all, it was no small feat for the monitoring systems to first ping the total number of persons in Sector 12, cross-check the results with the central database, and then relay all that information back to the officer in the same amount of time it would take for a shooting star to streak across the sky. "26,124 humans," said the officer. "And their protectors?" "32,225 protectors," said the officer. The numbers weren't a perfect match, but that hardly surprised Christopher. Naurus V was an affluent outpost, and here people usually could afford more than one personal protector. "And what is the threat level at this point, officer?" "The threat level is green, Dr Gorov," said the officer. "All clear. No imminent threats whatsoever." "And all protectors are aware of this? All functional?" The officer paused briefly, dipping into the vast streams to data to verify the answer. "All functional. Every single one is primed for a full tactical response to any threat." Christopher nodded, then turned to Tandry, who merely smiled gamely, as if he were concurring with the officer's assessment. He chose that moment to spring into action. Christopher hunched briefly, then pushed off hard on his right foot, launching himself at the wall of the shops behind the officer. He scrunched his eyes shut, then barreled head-first towards the wall, face tomato-red with exertion. Two seconds was all it would take for his skull to connect with the spun steel exteriors. But Tandry was faster than he could ever be. Christopher found himself lifted into the air, paddling his feet like one of those ancient cartoon characters who ran off cliffs and found themselves with no more ground to run on. He opened his eyes, and found Tandry smiling beatifically. Tandry clucked his tongue, then gently set Christopher down again. "You should be more careful, sir. You almost hurt yourself there. What would you do without me, I wonder?" Christopher nodded, tapped into his bracelet to record his findings, then headed over to the next Sector. The hours slipped by, like sand through fingers. Five sectors later, Christopher found that the basic fundamentals of his hypothesis remained unshaken. "What have we learned, Tandry?" "You mean of our past few hours' worth of exploits, sir? Why, I venture to say that you actually did not mean to buy anything today," said Tandry. "Instead, all you have done is to verify that Naurus V is, despite how it smells, in the pink of health. Humans and their protectors are existing happily, side by side, and all is well on the streets of Naurus V." "Time check, Tandry?" "It is a minute to three o'clock in the afternoon, sir, on this glorious day of Cycle 21 of-" Christopher sighed. The frustration, just a seed a few hours ago, was taking root in his heart now, not so much a blooming plant but an ugly, creeping vine. He plopped himself down on the sidewalk, checked his bracelet again. He raised the bracelet to his mouth, then made the final entry for his notes today. "Diagnostic Run 24," he began. "I'm finishing the checks on the last few Sectors now. I am beginning to think that there was no way we could have anticipated this, or made any meaningful preparations. I am no closer to finding out how we lost than when we first began." "Sir?" asked Tandry. "What are you talking abou-" "You will see, Tandry, you will see." Tandry merely smiled as he looked down at his charge, his ward, the person he was programmed to protect till the very last of his circuits fried. A humming filled the air. It still sent chills up Christopher's spine, no matter how many times he heard it, how many times he tried to dissect it in the laboratory. The humming was invasive, like an obnoxious intruder, and it edged out all other sounds of activity in the Sector. Humans and protectors stopped whatever it was they were doing, and merely looked eastwards, where the humming appeared to originate from. Then the wormholes opened. Small at first, just the size of mere apples, but then they started growing, larger and larger by the second, till each of them was large enough to swallow a human. They were two-dimensional flashes of red, virtual rips in the fabric of the universe. Most of the humans around Christopher gasped and edged away from the portals, though some of them stood transfixed, never having come so close to a raw wormhole before in their lives. The humming was all encompassing now, buzzsaws in the air. The screams followed next. Human after human tumbled into the wormholes, pulled by forces unseen. Their protectors, their one safeguard meant to keep their human wards safe from harm, each of them checked and triple-checked to ensure that they would always fulfil their tasks, never fail their masters, were preoccupied with problems of their own. Every single one of the proctors had fallen to their knees. Instead of fighting for their humans, the protectors were tearing at themselves, ripping off every single feature which helped ease them into human society. The first to come off were the wigs, the luxurious locks of pseudo-hair which helped the protectors hide their silver-plated heads. Then came the silicone skin, and the clothes, until the silver innards of the protectors were exposed. Still they scratched at themselves, and still they screamed alongside their humans, who were disappearing one by one into the portals. "I'm... sorry... sir... but I can't... I can't do this... any longer..." Christopher closed his eyes, and held his palms to his ears as the last few minutes of the holographic recordings died out. He counted to twenty, and when he was sure that the worst was over, he opened his eyes again. Tandry was there, a tangled mess by his side. Christopher tapped the side of Tandry's head, just to make sure that the power cells were offline. He reveled in a few seconds of peace. "Found anything new?" came another voice in his ear. This one was transmitted from outside the city, from the laboratory, where the few survivors had huddled. "No," said Christopher. "We're going to have to run the simulation again. There's got to be some clues we missed." "Sure, Dr Gorov. But maybe you want to take a break first? It'll take us some time to reboot all the protectors, load them up with their memories of Cycle 21, and then get them back in place again. That's not even counting the maintenance we need to carry out on the holographic projectors. We're burning through the ion crystals faster than we are getting them shipped in, and we-" "Two hours, then we got to go again," said Christopher. "Diagnostic Run 25. There are a few more Sectors we have to check. *Someone* must have seen something coming. A human, or a protector, I don't care. We can't rest until we find out what." The voice in his ear quibbled, but Christopher stood and started walking back to the mouth of the Bazaar, where his day would begin anew, soon. --- /r/rarelyfunny

Brian Woodrue is 74 years old

Sometimes in the quiet, where the wind reigns freely upon its vast and empty kingdom, where it caresses the tombs of the dead from so long ago, I think I hear grieving. I hear mourning. For in this quiet surely the dead must convene, they must talk and scatter their wisdom for us, the ever living. Their words carry. Their warnings must overflow now, filled with knowledge us living cannot grasp. They mourn and I listen. I am an old man now in a world of youth and promise. A world that pulses ahead with vigor, with endless ambition and sights, always, towards the future. A world for tomorrow. And here I live, a relic of the past. I am an anomaly for those who do not know me. And for the person who does know me, I am perhaps a ghost of the past; a relic that haunts the dreams of the good nature, the insecurity of a man who will not go away. But all of that comes later. My name is Brian Woodrue and I am 74 years old. I am the oldest man alive, though many have lived longer than I. Their ages have since stopped many decades ago, freezing at their prime ever since the Formula was developed. Those who were already passed their prime were unaffected by the Formula and they died as all living things did. But me? I was born years after the Formula's creation, inoculated with immortality as a baby, and I lived and grew with the dreams of eternity and its promise of eventual paradise as all the good boys and girl do. It was so that I was raised, and my life for a time was well. I must have been in my twenties when I found the love of my life, my soul mate whom I dreamed of sharing this eternity with. Her name was Gwen and she had stopped aging that year. She looked ahead to a life of unbridled success, of infinite possibilities. I looked in her eyes and saw the same for myself. But something must have glazed over, dulling to time's barrage of perpetuity, as those years we spent together passed. Then Gwen left me after seven years of us being together, and I have never recovered for those years were the best I have ever lived. She wanted more out of life, as does everyone I suppose. Always looking ahead and ahead, further out to a sea of grand dreams, a horizon of paradise. And I drowned in oblivion. I could never keep hope for a better tomorrow. I suppose I was always depressed. And I never stopped aging either. Time marched in utopia, slowly as it does for a man living in hell. I lived and lived as we all do. My strength waned as my body continued its aging. I saw doctors and specialists who could never find fault with my molecular structure. I was immortal, they determined. My body just had not reached its optimum age as yet. "The best years are ahead of you," they would say. Gwen kept in touch for a decade. Then the sadness of my age and of my self must have taken a toll on her, for she stopped calling. She remains that young and vibrant girl, the one who stole my heart, who eroded what dreams I had for the vast canvas of forever. But there I go again. There I am blaming her for my unhappy life, for the feelings that attack my head without rest. No, my unhappiness does not stem from Gwen leaving me. Nor does it come from my aging. No. I believe it is of my own doing. I am an old man now, and I think I can admit it. I was always destined for melancholy. My bones seemed soaked in it, steeped in its tranquil tea of hard and lonely self reflection. I am a sad man who could never look to the promise of tomorrow. And so I looked back at the dead. I read about those lost to existence, of those who drowned in oblivion. I visited the graves of those who died so long ago that their presence is a ghost of a memory, a dying whisper on crowded winds. I had spent time with them, envying them their relief from life's tedium. *Why'd you have to go?* I sometimes think. And I think how funny it must be, heartbreak as the catalyst for all I have done. But humans are not rational and my mind is not beholden to any rules or structure. I loved Gwen. I loved her many decades ago but she fell out of love with me. Now she lives forever in her pocket of tomorrow, of her niche of immortality. And I live in endlessness. I cannot blame her leaving me as the cause for all of this, but it was the last straw. I think it was what made me see, what cemented my view of this life, and what led to my work. And my work will be despised and hated by all. Yes, my name, Brian Woodrue, shall be struck in perpetuity as a curse upon Man, as a Devil upon Man's Paradise. And rightfully so, for what I shall do is heinous in the eyes of the living, of the un-dying. But so be it. I listen to the dead. I hear their mourning for the living, for those family that refuses to visit. For all of eternity all that has been alive has died. But now nearly a century has passed without death. And all time has become meaningless. What remains of the present is but a prayer for the future. And what future there is, is merely veiled hedonism. There is no more life in simply living. There is no end to a game that cannot be won. It might sound as though my cynicism and depression has gotten the better of me, clouding my judgment in favor of personal relief. Maybe so. But my name is Brian Wilson and I am 74 years old. I have spent over four decades perfecting my life's work. With each passing year I grow closer to the dead. As my bones become brittle and my mind muddied, the inspiration upon the wind hits me. I breathe in the air of my ancestors and my dreams are filled with breakthroughs and a promise of oblivion and silence. *You should have stayed with me,* I think. I feel my body change and relax into itself. I know then that I have finally stopped aging. It is a sign of success. Oh, how the world shall hate me. For I have found a way to reverse the Formula. I have composed a toxin that will eliminate its spell. Time will once again bring its sadness and sorrow as death unfreezes and flows through all living beings. And the dead shall grow and the future will no longer be a constant tomorrow. My toxin acts like a virus. I anticipate it shall spread across the world within a year. *Why?* I ask myself, but it is only a formality in the face of endless death. I feel relieved. I have listened to the dead after giving up on life. Upon the wind they cry in their lonely despair. *Come to us,* they scream when the quiet takes over the land. *Come and be mortal.* I have now fulfilled that wish. - *Hi, I hoped you liked this story. Check out r/PanMan for my other stories. Thanks for reading!*