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Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
Wyatt sat in his chair, practically smiling.
This was such a top kek post.
Some newfag had posted a picture of Superman on /b/, and so he posted a picture of Doomsday and then said "fight me irl"
After quickly heading back to /hc/ and pulling out the Jergens, he began his fifth fap session of the day, when suddenly a loud crash interrupted him.
Three succinct knocks interrupted his one man sexual intercourse.
His mom knew better than to ever knock on the basement door, although he was ready to unleash a barrage of insults on her for forgetting who was truly in charge of this house.
As he got out of his seat, he knocked over a urine filled Mountain Dew bottle, further infuriating him. His mother would be told off worse than when she asked him why she liked a show about ponies when he was 25 years old.
He turned Applejack around and put headphones on her to prevent her from hearing the vulgarities he was about to release.
Running up the stairs he takes a deep breath, and puffs out his chest
"MOM I FUCKING TOLD YOU DON'T INTERRUPT ME, THE INTERNET IS SERIOUS FUCKING BUSIN-"
As he whips the door open, a large alpha male with a red "S" emblazoned in yellow stood in front of him wearing a blue outfit complete with a cape.
It dawned on him.
His mom had paid for an outfit for his cosplay needs.
Sure she hadn't listened to the fact that he wanted to go as Shazam, but this was awesome.
The messenger looked at him with a face of disgust. Wyatt knew disgust from years of being a Brony, but realized that he hadn't taken a human shower in almost four months, instead bathing in powder sugar and spraying himself with candy sprays (a rainbow bath).
Wyatt was excited to try on this outfit, but this fag was still in it.
"Hey so can I get that outfit now?"
This tumblr user looked mortified.
"Do you have any semblance of a clue as to who I am?"
Wyatt responded immediately.
"You're the only thing standing between tons of merchandise at the next Cosplay Convention."
The man shook his head mockingly.
Wyatt quickly grew frustrated.
"Listen here faggot, let me get that outfit now. You don't want to mess with me"
The man raised his eyebrows mockingly.
"Or what? Are you going to fight me <air quoting and pronouncing each individual letter now> I R L?"
Wyatt realized what was happening.
"Hey man listen, I was just shitposting, I don't actually want to fight..."
With the force of a train collision, Superman's fist obliterated Wyatt's lower face.
Wyatt began choking on his tongue, and before he blacked out, the last thing he saw was Superman posting something to /b/.
It would be the first and last time decas would ever be seen on 4chan.
OP was still a faggot though.
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
Anonymity is often mistaken for impunity. When toiling in the public realm, these humans put on their best masks and decorum. Their smiles are like the donuts at a Korean-run Daylight Donuts: sweet on the surface, sludge on the inside. But once they clock out and return to their respective anonymity, the masks come off and they revert to their base, even baser, instincts. One of the most shameless specimens of this type of behavior cavort in Youtube, 4chan, and Reddit. And Call of Duty.
The amusing thing about fighting crime on my code? The villains will never surrender. Through a combination of tactics, pluck, and lots of desperation, they try and try to snatch their illicit daily bread, and they rage when I convict them of their wrongdoings. But did you know? They do have one prime merit to them. They may lack a moral compass, but they have backbone. They have spine. They are people who execute their will into action. It makes me wonder if one day they will ever channel that drive into an honest and respectable avenue.
Not these Internet keyboard warriors as of late. Most of these trolls try to elicit a response. Online confrontation is an electronic game of chicken where the more one flaunts their brazenness, the more they win in their private bookkeeping. Some of the common phrases involve "1v1 me noob". My personal favorite is "I'll destroy you, swear on me mum."
But the second you confront them in real life, the realization, the widening eyes, the involuntary body shiver. All of these indications betray a lack of conviction and purpose. What do I do? I smile and tell them "The first hit is free. The ones after that, you'll have to earn those."
They never throw a punch. They just avert their eyes. And cower. They apologize and ask me to leave. But talk is cheap. Words alone do not change your attitude. It is your conviction that will shape your direction in life.
So to all future trolls I encounter, heed my words: my parents died before I met them, and I was born an alien to a foreign and cold world. Yet I was raised and cherished by a couple who were poor in wallet, but rich in heart and spirit. When I had a chance to lash out in anger and frustration, I instead was nurtured to appreciate the bounty of my dearest friends' love. I may be the iconic superhero of this earth, but you are the unappreciated superhero of your community.
Stop trolling; start rolling. You are the hero who I fight for, who I die for, who I revive for. I may be Super Man, but you: You are super, man. You don't need an S on your chest when you have a calling in your heart. Answer it.
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
The crack of the sonic boom could be heard for miles. If anyone had looked up at the time, they would have seen only a blur. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? No one really cared anymore. No one lifted their eyes to the sky. No one even slowed down.
It had been over seventy-five years since the arrival of Superman on planet Earth. The man who was once the focus of every dinnertime conversation on the planet was now spoken about with the same nonchalance as the weather. The people were bored with him. They had moved on to more current celebrities, like Justin Bieber. Superman, to them, was just there. With the advent of new weapons technology and training for police forces, the people were more than capable of taking care of themselves. The people were growing tired of Superman, and he was growing tired of them.
Weary from years of battle, weary of being taken for granted, Superman landed with an audible sigh. He quickly scanned the area, a small suburb in a no-name town, to make sure no one had seen his arrival. Feeling satisfied, he opened the door to a house that looked the same as every other one on the street and went inside.
He walked up the stairs into a brightly lit room, filled with newspaper clippings, medals, and pictures of himself shaking hands with world leaders. In the corner of the room was an old style phone-booth, painted in the traditional bright red. Superman walked over to it. He paused, feeling a wave of nostalgia come over him. In this room, he felt appreciated, surrounded by memories of his old achievements. But outside, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
The newspapers had stopped putting him in the headlines. He was lucky to even make the tenth page. It had been over twenty years since he last received a medal. And the world leaders went from shaking hands and thanking him, to developing joint strike plans to take him down if the need arose.
Superman finally opened the door to the phone-booth and stepped inside. He put on his Brook's Brothers button down shirt, a pair of slacks, and his glasses that somehow concealed his identity. He still wasn't quite sure how that worked, but after over seventy years, he accepted it.
Weary from his day, Superman exited the booth and sat down at his chair. He opened up his laptop to catch up on the news. The invention of the internet made it much more efficient for him to catch stories of unrest in this fashion, rather than sitting in space, using his super-hearing to listen for sounds of distress. Frankly, he also enjoyed the internet. It allowed him to unwind from his day, and be someone else. Everyone is anonymous on the internet.
He logged into an old bulletin board that he had frequented since its inception. It was his fan board. What was once a strong community had tapered down to a few hundred souls, and posts grew less frequent every day. His eyes were drawn to a post in bold, made by username he did not recognize.
"420yoloswagxx. What an odd name." He thought to himself.
He clicked on the link and read the post. "Superman is a giant pussy faggot. He just camps up in the sky and shoots people with his gay ass lasers before they even get a chance to see him. Plus, he's clearly fucking hacking with his x-ray wallhack bullshit. Clearly he's just trying to compensate for his small dick. How you faggots can sit here and practically worship this asshole is beyond me."
The words resonated in Superman's ears as if they had been spoken to his face. He had been criticized many times before, but after so long, it was starting to get under his skin. He logged into an anonymous account he had made years prior, and started typing.
"I bet you wouldn't be such a tough guy if Superman showed up at your door", he wrote. "I bet you would run away scared." He clicked the "post" button, and submitted his reply. He started to close the lid of his laptop, but he was stopped by the sound of a comment reply being posted.
"Fight me IRL", replied 420yoloswagxx.
Now, normally Superman wouldn't give this troll the time of day, but the troll had managed what many super-villains could not. He had managed to get under Superman's skin, and even worse, he caught Superman on a very, very bad day.
Superman called up an old friend, the police commissioner of metropolis. "Hello, this is Commissioner David Corporon" said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Hey Dave. It's Superman. I need a favor"
After obtaining a trace on the IP address of 420yoloswagxx, Superman went back into the phone-booth and took off the civilian clothes he had so recently put on. "Ill teach him a lesson", he thought. "Ill teach them all."
The crack of another sonic boom could be heard as Superman flew towards the house of 420yoloswagxx. He arrived and, true to fashion, sat in the sky as he used his x-ray vision to peer inside the home. He saw an overweight man slouching at a computer. One of his hands clutched a mountain dew, and the other hand alternated between stroking his neckbeard, and scrolling through whatever website he was currently trolling.
Superman took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing a gust of wind that blew open the troll's window. Startled, the troll stood up, spilling his mountain dew all over his keyboard in the process. "WHAT THE FUCK! MOTHERFUCKING GOD DAMN IT SHIT ASS BITCH!" screamed the troll, angry at the stickyness now on his electronics. He looked for his roll of paper towels, which he located next to the bottle of vaseline sitting behind his monitor.
As he reached to grab them, the troll took a glance at the now open window. What he saw made him nearly defecate in his pants. His mouth hung open and guttural sounds of attempted vocalizations escaped his throat.
"whaa....whaaaa....what are you doing here?" stammered the troll.
"Are you 420yoloswagxx?" asked Superman, his voice boomed, physically knocking down the troll who began to crawl towards the wall.
"...no....I mean....yes, but I really didn't mean what I said on that board! Honest! I just wante..." the troll's voice trailed off as he realized just how fucked he was.
A slight grin appeared on Superman's face as his eyes started to glow red. The troll was sweating as the ambient temperature in the room began to rise.
"If I understand the motto correctly, 'yolo' means 'you only live once'. Well, lets see what kind of life you have left when i'm done with you."
"But...you're supposed to be Superman! What happened to truth and justice and all of that stuff????" exclaimed the troll. "You can't kill me!"
"I'm not going to kill you", replied Superman as the smile grew on his face. "But I believe you challenged me to a fight"
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
An troll? AN TROLL? yo, who let you on the internet with grammar like that. it's "A troll", who let you on the internet? Does your mommy know you're on the computer without permission? Cause you got the grammar of a kindergartner son. I bet you think you're bad, going to Disney.com without a parent's permission. lol lol lol, get served. Get off my internet or fight me IRL loser.
. . .
Superman read through Da_Beast's reply with a smile on his lips. Yet another troll had fallen into his perfectly baited trap. Today would be a good day for justice.
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
"Superman? Umm... hello?" I said, in a bit of shock.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could speak to a system0101, is that you?"
My jaw hung open, "how... what?"
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, crossing his arms, papers crumpled in his hand, sticking out between the crease of his muscular arms, "you trolled me on Reddit."
"What? Is this for real? Where are the cameras?" I said as I poked my head out the door. He held his hand out and despite him not moving a muscle it felt like slamming into a brick wall.
"Please stand where you are, until we can sort this out."
I rubbed my shoulder, sore from the non-impact, "that really hurt."
"I've already downvoted every post you've made on this account, now let's talk about the content of a few key posts."
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" I said in disbelief.
"The internet is serious business, mister system."
"Wow."
"Approximately two months ago you posted on a ELI5 thread that the posters' mothers' proclivity to sweetened beverages indicated her movements could be simulated by non-newtonian fluid dynamics."
"Umm, sorry, you might have to ELI5 that for me," I said, shaking my head.
"Later in that thread you said, quote, OP's mom is the solution to the two-body problem, end quote."
I chuckled, which elicited a scowl from the caped crusader. After a tense moment, he turned back to the papers in hand.
"Six weeks ago you made a post describing how to dip vegetables in ranch for a tasty snack."
"What's wrong with that?" I said incredulously.
"OP was handicapped, and you knew it. In the same thread, in a discussion about gastric bypass, you said, quote, they should staple her mouth instead of her stomach."
"Listen, I don't remember any of this. And it's just the internet, you know? Trolling is a art."
"An art," he corrected. I smiled.
"I apologize for any misunderstanding, Superman, and I want you to know that for every trolly comment, I try to make a comment that is either informative or empathetic, so that I'm at least even on balance."
"That's not how this works, mister system. I have a long list of comments that you made to maliciously bully and willfully misinform, resulting in two acts of bodily harm, the loss of one man's savings account, and the ongoing trolling of three twitter accounts."
"I don't even use Twitter! And you can't possibly pin all that on comments made by me on Reddit."
"I can, I already have. And it ends today, after your comment from last night."
I took a step back, "wait, what comment?"
He smiled and handed me a sheet of paper. I could see my reply to a user named CaPe_DooD
*u wot m8? Becha got wings, fkn fgt. fite me irl.*
My eyes grew wide as he grabbed me by the collar, and suddenly I was racing upwards. I could feel my face rippling from the accelerating and wind. He stopped, just over the cloudtops.
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," I said, hyperventilating.
"Let's see who's got wings now," he said with a smile as he flung me.
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
Kal-El was bored.
For those in the audience not "in-the-know", a man with the power of a million suns in one fist being bored was perhaps one of the most perilous moments in Earth's short lifetime. Fortunately, Kal-El had, like all of his other powers, learned to curb his boredom because to do otherwise would have been tantamount to a galactic extinction-level event.
Ways to curb boredom were plenty in Superman's Fortress of Solitude - holo crystals, sex bots that ran the gamut from Lois Lane to Diana, slow growing moss, it was all there. But Kal-El had done them all, and in fraction of the time he thought he'd take with them after his retirement. So he had looked for other hobbies and had most recently taken up online gaming.
His current game of choice was a popular game that seemed to be watched throughout the world whenever people weren't being caught up in whatever monster/villain had decided to do that day. It consisted of 10 individuals controlling cartoonish characters who fought each other while trying to destroy their opponents' base while guarding their own. Each character had its own unique (and not-so unique) abilities.
Most importantly, the game revolved around one character *not* being tremendously stronger than any other purely by base stats, which Kal-El had found refreshing.
Kal-El's powers included a super brain, so he taken that brain to the internet and learned each character's abilities and powers. It had taken him five seconds. He was ready, and disdainfully clicked "no" when asked if he was a new player. After all, Superman had been fighting this kind of fight his entire life, right? Protect the Earth, destroy their base. Simple.
Of course, super speed allowed him to dodge most abilities, but it didn't let him know he had to use teleport, or that certain characters didn't make money, or that anything he did outside of these rules would immediately mark him.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Hey, El-Faggot.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: You give me cancer.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Seriously, every time you fucking click it's like I grow another tumor.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Uninstall
**ImTeh (Zed)**: and go fucking kill yourself.
**SonovaEl (Jayce)**: Kid, none of that is funny. Homophobia isn't a joke. Cancer isn't a joke. Suicide isn't a joke.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Oh fucking christ are you really one of those "Kid" fgts.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: No one gives a shit about how old you are when you play like a shit eating retard.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Correction: No one gives a shit about you. Seriously, go kill yourself.
**Inn0centBysta (Ashe)**: Reported. Nice to see banning you really solved the problem. Jayce might be new so get off his back.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Like I give a fuck about a level 1 account.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: but thanks for going full retard together duo fuck retards
**SonovaEl (Jayce)**: Seriously, I'm warning you.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Lol.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Lol.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'm shitting my pants here.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'm so afraid you'll come flying out of the fucking internet to whoop my ass.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'd like to see you fucking try too.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Justice League of America and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Do it, fgt.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Fight me IRL
That was it. Kal-El had enough. Accessing his fortress' Kryptonian crystal quantum computers, he quickly traced the access points to every person in his game. Only one of them was behind fifteen firewalls and a ridiculous amount of false trails, but Kal guessed that if someone made a living pissing people off in a world with people who could literally reach through the internet to kill you, it might be a good idea to be safe.
Except this asshole never imagined he'd piss *Superman* off.
His Kryptonian supercomputer dinged out some coordinates, and indicated it was in a basement. Of course it was in a basement.
Kal stored the coordinates inside his super brain, then sucked in yellow sun energy to propel himself through the Earth to show up right in this troll's face. No one could really hear it, but he sang a small song as he created a tunnel between his fortress and the basement of the mouth breather he was going to put the fear of, well, Himself into.
His superbrain calculated the distance and Kal braced himself for the ultimate joy in turning a shitstain into a shitstain quivering in fear as he exploded out of the ground in this fucker's basement.
"Clark, what the fuck?" came an all-too familiar voice. "**Why the fuck did you just drill into my cave?!**"
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I'm just sayin all immigrants are lazy fucks who should be shot and killed as they come across the border.
**STEELFAN87**: I'm an immigrant. Would you say that to me?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I don't know, why arent you out mowing my lawn lololololol??!?!
**STEELFAN87**: Do you even *have* a lawn?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Yeah, cuz I have a real job that I got with my colelge degree, assbucket.
**STEELFAN87**: I have a job too. I'm a newspaper reporter.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol jurnlaism is dumb. Ur a fag.
**STEELFAN87**: I don't know, my paper is modestly successful.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Whatever. If your faggot ass showed up at my place, I'd be waiting with my Baret .50 cal. Put a bullet right in your dumb illegal face.
**STEELFAN87**: OK. Prove it.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol fite me irl
**STEELFAN87**: I'm serious. DM me your address. Let's see your .50.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: OK, fagit.
\# \# \#
*[ed. note -- the chat log ends here. Attached below is a news story we believe be related]*
\# \# \#
#Man of Steel fights American Teen
**By Kent, Clark**, *reporter*
Controversial superhero Superman today was observed in the sleepy college town of New Wye, Appalachia, involved in a terribly one-sided fistfight with local teen Morton Kilkenny. Morton allegedly became involved in a number of online disputes on noted "dark web" sites such as Reddit and 4chan, relating to his use of racial, ethnic, sexual, gendered, and homophobic slurs.
Morton's friends describe him as a typical middle American teen, angry at the world but without a sufficient outlet, who then withdraws from an increasingly isolating society into a dark world of video games and online pornography. Without a healthy outlet for his teenage hormonal rage, friends say, Morton turned to the online practice of "trolling," or saying deliberately offensive things in an attempt to make one feel powerful and toughened when in fact they are impotent and alienated.
Superman, when reached for comment, had this to say:
"Let this be a lesson to Morton and all Internet trolls like him. I, the great and powerful Kal-El, am the defender of the downtrodden and the shield of the oppressed. I have viewed the cries of my people on Tumblr, and they really *get* me. For so long, *I* felt isolated, as the only Kryptonian on Earth, but now, I've learned that my feelings are normal and shared by many who do not feel quite at home in the society that they have been thrust into. Likewise, I have seen many attempt to impinge on this small sliver of good feeling, children like Morton who lash out without regard at anything they perceive to be even weaker than them. But this ends today. No more shall the Mortons of the world be allowed to do as they wish. Now they must contend with SUPERMAN!"
*[ed. note -- the article closes with a picture of Superman browsing reddit, his typical "S" on the front of his suit replaced with [this](http://i.imgur.com/prnNIFc.png) image]*
|
What a pussy. That prick thinks he's just sooo awesome. I can't wait for him to get what's coming to him.
It all started when someone got butthurt because I made one little joke about that mother whose kids died in the landslide. I mean, come on. And then this white knight wannabe shows up and gets all smarmy with me. One thing leads to another, and I decided I'd really put him in his place. I told him I'd kick his ass if he were man enough to show up. They never are. They're afraid of me.
See, I've got the youtube account to back up my badassness. Videos of my breaking shit with my hands and various weapons. I tell them to do their homework for once before accepting, and they never do. They're right to be afraid.
But not Mr. White Knight. Oh, he wanted to meet me. I figured he'd back down when I told him I lived in Montana. Most of these neckbeards don't have the balls to actually commit to making the trip. But he said he lived an hour away and could meet me that night. I got ready to deliver a righteous ass-kicking.
You can never be too careful. I fully intended on taking him down with my fists. I've spent enough time on a heavy bag that I know I could knock him out in one punch. But he could be enough of a loser to bring friends or weapons. So I packed a couple of commando knives and my glock.
When I got to the spot we'd agreed on, he was just standing in the parking lot. I didn't see a car, so I figured he was lame enough to not own one. I parked by trusty Maverick about 50 feet from him and got out. The guy was just standing there in a hoodie with some geeky-looking glasses sitting crooked on his nose.
"Well well, if it isn't Mr. White Knight, aka 'Supes1'. Whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I didn't think you'd show. You got a real name so I can give it to the paramedics when we're done?"
"Clark. Clark Kent."
"Of course you'd have a loser name like that. You read for your beating?"
"If you can manage it. Will you be using the knives, or skipping straight to the gun?"
I was sure I'd concealed those well. It was a little unnerving. Still, I couldn't let him see me sweat. "Please. Those were insurance in case you didn't want to fight fair. Now stop talking and let's do this!"
"Okay by me. Shall I come at you first?"
I didn't bother responding, and instead just stepped in with a right hook. He ducked under my arm and stood back up. The coward ducked and dodged the next dozen swings.
"What's the matter, chump? Can't take a hit?"
He stood his ground on my next swing. It was a perfect hit, right across the jaw. A knockout punch if ever I've seen one. But I swear this guy didn't move a millimeter. I felt two knuckles fracture. I pulled my hand back and took a step back. He stepped in with a punch to the gut that knocked the wind out of me and sent me sprawling on my back ten feet away.
I decided he must be on something. The guy was fit, but not THAT fit. You read stories on the internet about guys on PCP or bath salts or other crazy shit that lets them do this kind of stuff. Guess he wasn't fighting fair after all. It was time to up my game. I drew one of my knives.
If it bothered him, his face didn't show it. More proof the guy was high. This time I decided on caution and circled him, knife ready. I'd practiced my moves for years in preparation for something like this. I was going to carve this guy like a jack-o-lantern.
I lunged in from his left side. He caught the knife blade in his hand and yanked it away from me. I could feel the burns on my hand as the grip dug into my palm. His hand closed on my throat and he lifted me into the air. "Bad idea," he said as he reached up with his left hand and flicked his finger into my nose, breaking it. I felt the blood begin to gush as he dropped me to the ground.
"You bastard!" I screamed through the blood. I pulled out the gun and leveled it at him, firing twice. I saw the bullets hit him square in the chest, but he never even flinched. He lowered his glasses to the point of his nose, stared at my gun, and suddenly it got really hot. I got burns on top of burns.
I don't really remember much after that. I remember thinking those red boots of his were strange before I passed out. They found me laying next to what was left of my car. 57 broken bones, two ruptured organs, third-degree burns on my hands. My classic Ford Maverick turned into a pile of scrap. He must have spent hours ripping it apart.
The cops said there were no other tire tracks and no footprints leading away from the site. One guy said he might as well have flown away. And I think they might be right. I think he was an alien trolling the internet for fun. I'm going to tell the whole world that They are out there. And that They're pussies, hiding behind shields and heat rays and super strength instead of fighting like real men.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
An troll? AN TROLL? yo, who let you on the internet with grammar like that. it's "A troll", who let you on the internet? Does your mommy know you're on the computer without permission? Cause you got the grammar of a kindergartner son. I bet you think you're bad, going to Disney.com without a parent's permission. lol lol lol, get served. Get off my internet or fight me IRL loser.
. . .
Superman read through Da_Beast's reply with a smile on his lips. Yet another troll had fallen into his perfectly baited trap. Today would be a good day for justice.
|
Anonymity is often mistaken for impunity. When toiling in the public realm, these humans put on their best masks and decorum. Their smiles are like the donuts at a Korean-run Daylight Donuts: sweet on the surface, sludge on the inside. But once they clock out and return to their respective anonymity, the masks come off and they revert to their base, even baser, instincts. One of the most shameless specimens of this type of behavior cavort in Youtube, 4chan, and Reddit. And Call of Duty.
The amusing thing about fighting crime on my code? The villains will never surrender. Through a combination of tactics, pluck, and lots of desperation, they try and try to snatch their illicit daily bread, and they rage when I convict them of their wrongdoings. But did you know? They do have one prime merit to them. They may lack a moral compass, but they have backbone. They have spine. They are people who execute their will into action. It makes me wonder if one day they will ever channel that drive into an honest and respectable avenue.
Not these Internet keyboard warriors as of late. Most of these trolls try to elicit a response. Online confrontation is an electronic game of chicken where the more one flaunts their brazenness, the more they win in their private bookkeeping. Some of the common phrases involve "1v1 me noob". My personal favorite is "I'll destroy you, swear on me mum."
But the second you confront them in real life, the realization, the widening eyes, the involuntary body shiver. All of these indications betray a lack of conviction and purpose. What do I do? I smile and tell them "The first hit is free. The ones after that, you'll have to earn those."
They never throw a punch. They just avert their eyes. And cower. They apologize and ask me to leave. But talk is cheap. Words alone do not change your attitude. It is your conviction that will shape your direction in life.
So to all future trolls I encounter, heed my words: my parents died before I met them, and I was born an alien to a foreign and cold world. Yet I was raised and cherished by a couple who were poor in wallet, but rich in heart and spirit. When I had a chance to lash out in anger and frustration, I instead was nurtured to appreciate the bounty of my dearest friends' love. I may be the iconic superhero of this earth, but you are the unappreciated superhero of your community.
Stop trolling; start rolling. You are the hero who I fight for, who I die for, who I revive for. I may be Super Man, but you: You are super, man. You don't need an S on your chest when you have a calling in your heart. Answer it.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
"Superman? Umm... hello?" I said, in a bit of shock.
"Yes, I was wondering if I could speak to a system0101, is that you?"
My jaw hung open, "how... what?"
"I'll take that as a yes," he said, crossing his arms, papers crumpled in his hand, sticking out between the crease of his muscular arms, "you trolled me on Reddit."
"What? Is this for real? Where are the cameras?" I said as I poked my head out the door. He held his hand out and despite him not moving a muscle it felt like slamming into a brick wall.
"Please stand where you are, until we can sort this out."
I rubbed my shoulder, sore from the non-impact, "that really hurt."
"I've already downvoted every post you've made on this account, now let's talk about the content of a few key posts."
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" I said in disbelief.
"The internet is serious business, mister system."
"Wow."
"Approximately two months ago you posted on a ELI5 thread that the posters' mothers' proclivity to sweetened beverages indicated her movements could be simulated by non-newtonian fluid dynamics."
"Umm, sorry, you might have to ELI5 that for me," I said, shaking my head.
"Later in that thread you said, quote, OP's mom is the solution to the two-body problem, end quote."
I chuckled, which elicited a scowl from the caped crusader. After a tense moment, he turned back to the papers in hand.
"Six weeks ago you made a post describing how to dip vegetables in ranch for a tasty snack."
"What's wrong with that?" I said incredulously.
"OP was handicapped, and you knew it. In the same thread, in a discussion about gastric bypass, you said, quote, they should staple her mouth instead of her stomach."
"Listen, I don't remember any of this. And it's just the internet, you know? Trolling is a art."
"An art," he corrected. I smiled.
"I apologize for any misunderstanding, Superman, and I want you to know that for every trolly comment, I try to make a comment that is either informative or empathetic, so that I'm at least even on balance."
"That's not how this works, mister system. I have a long list of comments that you made to maliciously bully and willfully misinform, resulting in two acts of bodily harm, the loss of one man's savings account, and the ongoing trolling of three twitter accounts."
"I don't even use Twitter! And you can't possibly pin all that on comments made by me on Reddit."
"I can, I already have. And it ends today, after your comment from last night."
I took a step back, "wait, what comment?"
He smiled and handed me a sheet of paper. I could see my reply to a user named CaPe_DooD
*u wot m8? Becha got wings, fkn fgt. fite me irl.*
My eyes grew wide as he grabbed me by the collar, and suddenly I was racing upwards. I could feel my face rippling from the accelerating and wind. He stopped, just over the cloudtops.
"Oh shit oh shit oh shit," I said, hyperventilating.
"Let's see who's got wings now," he said with a smile as he flung me.
|
The crack of the sonic boom could be heard for miles. If anyone had looked up at the time, they would have seen only a blur. Was it a bird? Was it a plane? No one really cared anymore. No one lifted their eyes to the sky. No one even slowed down.
It had been over seventy-five years since the arrival of Superman on planet Earth. The man who was once the focus of every dinnertime conversation on the planet was now spoken about with the same nonchalance as the weather. The people were bored with him. They had moved on to more current celebrities, like Justin Bieber. Superman, to them, was just there. With the advent of new weapons technology and training for police forces, the people were more than capable of taking care of themselves. The people were growing tired of Superman, and he was growing tired of them.
Weary from years of battle, weary of being taken for granted, Superman landed with an audible sigh. He quickly scanned the area, a small suburb in a no-name town, to make sure no one had seen his arrival. Feeling satisfied, he opened the door to a house that looked the same as every other one on the street and went inside.
He walked up the stairs into a brightly lit room, filled with newspaper clippings, medals, and pictures of himself shaking hands with world leaders. In the corner of the room was an old style phone-booth, painted in the traditional bright red. Superman walked over to it. He paused, feeling a wave of nostalgia come over him. In this room, he felt appreciated, surrounded by memories of his old achievements. But outside, he felt nothing. Nothing at all.
The newspapers had stopped putting him in the headlines. He was lucky to even make the tenth page. It had been over twenty years since he last received a medal. And the world leaders went from shaking hands and thanking him, to developing joint strike plans to take him down if the need arose.
Superman finally opened the door to the phone-booth and stepped inside. He put on his Brook's Brothers button down shirt, a pair of slacks, and his glasses that somehow concealed his identity. He still wasn't quite sure how that worked, but after over seventy years, he accepted it.
Weary from his day, Superman exited the booth and sat down at his chair. He opened up his laptop to catch up on the news. The invention of the internet made it much more efficient for him to catch stories of unrest in this fashion, rather than sitting in space, using his super-hearing to listen for sounds of distress. Frankly, he also enjoyed the internet. It allowed him to unwind from his day, and be someone else. Everyone is anonymous on the internet.
He logged into an old bulletin board that he had frequented since its inception. It was his fan board. What was once a strong community had tapered down to a few hundred souls, and posts grew less frequent every day. His eyes were drawn to a post in bold, made by username he did not recognize.
"420yoloswagxx. What an odd name." He thought to himself.
He clicked on the link and read the post. "Superman is a giant pussy faggot. He just camps up in the sky and shoots people with his gay ass lasers before they even get a chance to see him. Plus, he's clearly fucking hacking with his x-ray wallhack bullshit. Clearly he's just trying to compensate for his small dick. How you faggots can sit here and practically worship this asshole is beyond me."
The words resonated in Superman's ears as if they had been spoken to his face. He had been criticized many times before, but after so long, it was starting to get under his skin. He logged into an anonymous account he had made years prior, and started typing.
"I bet you wouldn't be such a tough guy if Superman showed up at your door", he wrote. "I bet you would run away scared." He clicked the "post" button, and submitted his reply. He started to close the lid of his laptop, but he was stopped by the sound of a comment reply being posted.
"Fight me IRL", replied 420yoloswagxx.
Now, normally Superman wouldn't give this troll the time of day, but the troll had managed what many super-villains could not. He had managed to get under Superman's skin, and even worse, he caught Superman on a very, very bad day.
Superman called up an old friend, the police commissioner of metropolis. "Hello, this is Commissioner David Corporon" said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Hey Dave. It's Superman. I need a favor"
After obtaining a trace on the IP address of 420yoloswagxx, Superman went back into the phone-booth and took off the civilian clothes he had so recently put on. "Ill teach him a lesson", he thought. "Ill teach them all."
The crack of another sonic boom could be heard as Superman flew towards the house of 420yoloswagxx. He arrived and, true to fashion, sat in the sky as he used his x-ray vision to peer inside the home. He saw an overweight man slouching at a computer. One of his hands clutched a mountain dew, and the other hand alternated between stroking his neckbeard, and scrolling through whatever website he was currently trolling.
Superman took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing a gust of wind that blew open the troll's window. Startled, the troll stood up, spilling his mountain dew all over his keyboard in the process. "WHAT THE FUCK! MOTHERFUCKING GOD DAMN IT SHIT ASS BITCH!" screamed the troll, angry at the stickyness now on his electronics. He looked for his roll of paper towels, which he located next to the bottle of vaseline sitting behind his monitor.
As he reached to grab them, the troll took a glance at the now open window. What he saw made him nearly defecate in his pants. His mouth hung open and guttural sounds of attempted vocalizations escaped his throat.
"whaa....whaaaa....what are you doing here?" stammered the troll.
"Are you 420yoloswagxx?" asked Superman, his voice boomed, physically knocking down the troll who began to crawl towards the wall.
"...no....I mean....yes, but I really didn't mean what I said on that board! Honest! I just wante..." the troll's voice trailed off as he realized just how fucked he was.
A slight grin appeared on Superman's face as his eyes started to glow red. The troll was sweating as the ambient temperature in the room began to rise.
"If I understand the motto correctly, 'yolo' means 'you only live once'. Well, lets see what kind of life you have left when i'm done with you."
"But...you're supposed to be Superman! What happened to truth and justice and all of that stuff????" exclaimed the troll. "You can't kill me!"
"I'm not going to kill you", replied Superman as the smile grew on his face. "But I believe you challenged me to a fight"
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
Kal-El was bored.
For those in the audience not "in-the-know", a man with the power of a million suns in one fist being bored was perhaps one of the most perilous moments in Earth's short lifetime. Fortunately, Kal-El had, like all of his other powers, learned to curb his boredom because to do otherwise would have been tantamount to a galactic extinction-level event.
Ways to curb boredom were plenty in Superman's Fortress of Solitude - holo crystals, sex bots that ran the gamut from Lois Lane to Diana, slow growing moss, it was all there. But Kal-El had done them all, and in fraction of the time he thought he'd take with them after his retirement. So he had looked for other hobbies and had most recently taken up online gaming.
His current game of choice was a popular game that seemed to be watched throughout the world whenever people weren't being caught up in whatever monster/villain had decided to do that day. It consisted of 10 individuals controlling cartoonish characters who fought each other while trying to destroy their opponents' base while guarding their own. Each character had its own unique (and not-so unique) abilities.
Most importantly, the game revolved around one character *not* being tremendously stronger than any other purely by base stats, which Kal-El had found refreshing.
Kal-El's powers included a super brain, so he taken that brain to the internet and learned each character's abilities and powers. It had taken him five seconds. He was ready, and disdainfully clicked "no" when asked if he was a new player. After all, Superman had been fighting this kind of fight his entire life, right? Protect the Earth, destroy their base. Simple.
Of course, super speed allowed him to dodge most abilities, but it didn't let him know he had to use teleport, or that certain characters didn't make money, or that anything he did outside of these rules would immediately mark him.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Hey, El-Faggot.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: You give me cancer.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Seriously, every time you fucking click it's like I grow another tumor.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Uninstall
**ImTeh (Zed)**: and go fucking kill yourself.
**SonovaEl (Jayce)**: Kid, none of that is funny. Homophobia isn't a joke. Cancer isn't a joke. Suicide isn't a joke.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Oh fucking christ are you really one of those "Kid" fgts.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: No one gives a shit about how old you are when you play like a shit eating retard.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Correction: No one gives a shit about you. Seriously, go kill yourself.
**Inn0centBysta (Ashe)**: Reported. Nice to see banning you really solved the problem. Jayce might be new so get off his back.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Like I give a fuck about a level 1 account.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: but thanks for going full retard together duo fuck retards
**SonovaEl (Jayce)**: Seriously, I'm warning you.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Lol.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Lol.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'm shitting my pants here.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'm so afraid you'll come flying out of the fucking internet to whoop my ass.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: I'd like to see you fucking try too.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the Justice League of America and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Do it, fgt.
**ImTeh (Zed)**: Fight me IRL
That was it. Kal-El had enough. Accessing his fortress' Kryptonian crystal quantum computers, he quickly traced the access points to every person in his game. Only one of them was behind fifteen firewalls and a ridiculous amount of false trails, but Kal guessed that if someone made a living pissing people off in a world with people who could literally reach through the internet to kill you, it might be a good idea to be safe.
Except this asshole never imagined he'd piss *Superman* off.
His Kryptonian supercomputer dinged out some coordinates, and indicated it was in a basement. Of course it was in a basement.
Kal stored the coordinates inside his super brain, then sucked in yellow sun energy to propel himself through the Earth to show up right in this troll's face. No one could really hear it, but he sang a small song as he created a tunnel between his fortress and the basement of the mouth breather he was going to put the fear of, well, Himself into.
His superbrain calculated the distance and Kal braced himself for the ultimate joy in turning a shitstain into a shitstain quivering in fear as he exploded out of the ground in this fucker's basement.
"Clark, what the fuck?" came an all-too familiar voice. "**Why the fuck did you just drill into my cave?!**"
|
Retirement had not been kind to Clark Kent.
Between the decline of supervillians (and therefore the Justice League) and being fired from the newspaper for missing too many days of work, Superman had retired from the limelight. At first he tried to find other, more local activities to keep him busy. He tried fighting local crime, until the Police Union forced him to stop because the sudden decrease in crime meant massive layoffs in the local Police Department. Then he tried his hand at rescuing kittens from trees. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen very often and the fire department resented him taking that task from them. The Super CK Highrise window cleaning service was a dismal failure as well.
In the end, he eventually resorted to surfing the internet and attempting to out-troll trolls. Sitting in his old threadbare office chair, the muffled clatter of an ancient IBM mechanical keyboard filled with Cheetos dust filled the small one-room apartment. Pausing only to eat more Cheetos and sip some Mountain Dew, a resounding "Ha!" of discovery echoed through the spartan room.
Furiously reading his old CRT monitor, a smile works its way across the former superhero's face. A supposed SJW was posting in the comments of a Youtube video and was riling people up. Cracking his knuckles, Clark types a retort at the speed of sound.
Moments pass before the ping of a received email reveals that his prey had taken the bait and replied. Pressing on, he continues to bait his obnoxious prey until the final words are received: 'fite me IRL m8. I'll kick ur a$$!'.
With that last comment, the aging man leaps up from his desk. Cheeto bags and Mtn. Dew cans spill everywhere as he rushes to his closet. Rummaging around he finally pulls out an old worn leotard and cape. Forcing his embiggened frame into it, he limbers up with a few stretches and leaps out the window into flight.
The night is dark, but Superman's x-ray vision lets him see clearly through the gloom. Hours pass as he zooms across the country in seek of his quarry. Finally, he sees his prey's residence. The house is almost entirely dark but for one window looking into the basement. He lands with a muffled thump in the overgrown lawn. Quietly he moves to the window to see who is his quarry for the evening. Inside, a large figure is typing on a keyboard and cackling hysterically at a joke only they could understand.
Superman tenses up, then suddenly breaks through the window with a crash. "Your days of Trolling are over criminal scum!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.
Despite the shout and crash of entering, the figure in the chair doesn't react.
"You timing is impeccable, SuperShitlord" the figure's gravelly voice calls out. "I've been waiting for you to take the bait and come out here."
Superman angers at the taunt, and is about to lunge forward and unleash a super-wedgie on the insolent Troll when he finds that his superhuman strength and powers have been neutralized. "What have you done?!" he cries out in alarm. "There shouldn't be any more kryptonite left on the planet!"
With a dramatic twirl of the chair, Bruce Wayne faces his former comrade. "Welcome to the 99 percent" he says with a cruel smile. "Now, where was I... Oh yes. Lets fight IRL mate. But this time, you're on my level."
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I'm just sayin all immigrants are lazy fucks who should be shot and killed as they come across the border.
**STEELFAN87**: I'm an immigrant. Would you say that to me?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I don't know, why arent you out mowing my lawn lololololol??!?!
**STEELFAN87**: Do you even *have* a lawn?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Yeah, cuz I have a real job that I got with my colelge degree, assbucket.
**STEELFAN87**: I have a job too. I'm a newspaper reporter.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol jurnlaism is dumb. Ur a fag.
**STEELFAN87**: I don't know, my paper is modestly successful.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Whatever. If your faggot ass showed up at my place, I'd be waiting with my Baret .50 cal. Put a bullet right in your dumb illegal face.
**STEELFAN87**: OK. Prove it.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol fite me irl
**STEELFAN87**: I'm serious. DM me your address. Let's see your .50.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: OK, fagit.
\# \# \#
*[ed. note -- the chat log ends here. Attached below is a news story we believe be related]*
\# \# \#
#Man of Steel fights American Teen
**By Kent, Clark**, *reporter*
Controversial superhero Superman today was observed in the sleepy college town of New Wye, Appalachia, involved in a terribly one-sided fistfight with local teen Morton Kilkenny. Morton allegedly became involved in a number of online disputes on noted "dark web" sites such as Reddit and 4chan, relating to his use of racial, ethnic, sexual, gendered, and homophobic slurs.
Morton's friends describe him as a typical middle American teen, angry at the world but without a sufficient outlet, who then withdraws from an increasingly isolating society into a dark world of video games and online pornography. Without a healthy outlet for his teenage hormonal rage, friends say, Morton turned to the online practice of "trolling," or saying deliberately offensive things in an attempt to make one feel powerful and toughened when in fact they are impotent and alienated.
Superman, when reached for comment, had this to say:
"Let this be a lesson to Morton and all Internet trolls like him. I, the great and powerful Kal-El, am the defender of the downtrodden and the shield of the oppressed. I have viewed the cries of my people on Tumblr, and they really *get* me. For so long, *I* felt isolated, as the only Kryptonian on Earth, but now, I've learned that my feelings are normal and shared by many who do not feel quite at home in the society that they have been thrust into. Likewise, I have seen many attempt to impinge on this small sliver of good feeling, children like Morton who lash out without regard at anything they perceive to be even weaker than them. But this ends today. No more shall the Mortons of the world be allowed to do as they wish. Now they must contend with SUPERMAN!"
*[ed. note -- the article closes with a picture of Superman browsing reddit, his typical "S" on the front of his suit replaced with [this](http://i.imgur.com/prnNIFc.png) image]*
|
Retirement had not been kind to Clark Kent.
Between the decline of supervillians (and therefore the Justice League) and being fired from the newspaper for missing too many days of work, Superman had retired from the limelight. At first he tried to find other, more local activities to keep him busy. He tried fighting local crime, until the Police Union forced him to stop because the sudden decrease in crime meant massive layoffs in the local Police Department. Then he tried his hand at rescuing kittens from trees. Unfortunately, that doesn't happen very often and the fire department resented him taking that task from them. The Super CK Highrise window cleaning service was a dismal failure as well.
In the end, he eventually resorted to surfing the internet and attempting to out-troll trolls. Sitting in his old threadbare office chair, the muffled clatter of an ancient IBM mechanical keyboard filled with Cheetos dust filled the small one-room apartment. Pausing only to eat more Cheetos and sip some Mountain Dew, a resounding "Ha!" of discovery echoed through the spartan room.
Furiously reading his old CRT monitor, a smile works its way across the former superhero's face. A supposed SJW was posting in the comments of a Youtube video and was riling people up. Cracking his knuckles, Clark types a retort at the speed of sound.
Moments pass before the ping of a received email reveals that his prey had taken the bait and replied. Pressing on, he continues to bait his obnoxious prey until the final words are received: 'fite me IRL m8. I'll kick ur a$$!'.
With that last comment, the aging man leaps up from his desk. Cheeto bags and Mtn. Dew cans spill everywhere as he rushes to his closet. Rummaging around he finally pulls out an old worn leotard and cape. Forcing his embiggened frame into it, he limbers up with a few stretches and leaps out the window into flight.
The night is dark, but Superman's x-ray vision lets him see clearly through the gloom. Hours pass as he zooms across the country in seek of his quarry. Finally, he sees his prey's residence. The house is almost entirely dark but for one window looking into the basement. He lands with a muffled thump in the overgrown lawn. Quietly he moves to the window to see who is his quarry for the evening. Inside, a large figure is typing on a keyboard and cackling hysterically at a joke only they could understand.
Superman tenses up, then suddenly breaks through the window with a crash. "Your days of Trolling are over criminal scum!" he shouts at the top of his lungs.
Despite the shout and crash of entering, the figure in the chair doesn't react.
"You timing is impeccable, SuperShitlord" the figure's gravelly voice calls out. "I've been waiting for you to take the bait and come out here."
Superman angers at the taunt, and is about to lunge forward and unleash a super-wedgie on the insolent Troll when he finds that his superhuman strength and powers have been neutralized. "What have you done?!" he cries out in alarm. "There shouldn't be any more kryptonite left on the planet!"
With a dramatic twirl of the chair, Bruce Wayne faces his former comrade. "Welcome to the 99 percent" he says with a cruel smile. "Now, where was I... Oh yes. Lets fight IRL mate. But this time, you're on my level."
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I'm just sayin all immigrants are lazy fucks who should be shot and killed as they come across the border.
**STEELFAN87**: I'm an immigrant. Would you say that to me?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I don't know, why arent you out mowing my lawn lololololol??!?!
**STEELFAN87**: Do you even *have* a lawn?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Yeah, cuz I have a real job that I got with my colelge degree, assbucket.
**STEELFAN87**: I have a job too. I'm a newspaper reporter.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol jurnlaism is dumb. Ur a fag.
**STEELFAN87**: I don't know, my paper is modestly successful.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Whatever. If your faggot ass showed up at my place, I'd be waiting with my Baret .50 cal. Put a bullet right in your dumb illegal face.
**STEELFAN87**: OK. Prove it.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol fite me irl
**STEELFAN87**: I'm serious. DM me your address. Let's see your .50.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: OK, fagit.
\# \# \#
*[ed. note -- the chat log ends here. Attached below is a news story we believe be related]*
\# \# \#
#Man of Steel fights American Teen
**By Kent, Clark**, *reporter*
Controversial superhero Superman today was observed in the sleepy college town of New Wye, Appalachia, involved in a terribly one-sided fistfight with local teen Morton Kilkenny. Morton allegedly became involved in a number of online disputes on noted "dark web" sites such as Reddit and 4chan, relating to his use of racial, ethnic, sexual, gendered, and homophobic slurs.
Morton's friends describe him as a typical middle American teen, angry at the world but without a sufficient outlet, who then withdraws from an increasingly isolating society into a dark world of video games and online pornography. Without a healthy outlet for his teenage hormonal rage, friends say, Morton turned to the online practice of "trolling," or saying deliberately offensive things in an attempt to make one feel powerful and toughened when in fact they are impotent and alienated.
Superman, when reached for comment, had this to say:
"Let this be a lesson to Morton and all Internet trolls like him. I, the great and powerful Kal-El, am the defender of the downtrodden and the shield of the oppressed. I have viewed the cries of my people on Tumblr, and they really *get* me. For so long, *I* felt isolated, as the only Kryptonian on Earth, but now, I've learned that my feelings are normal and shared by many who do not feel quite at home in the society that they have been thrust into. Likewise, I have seen many attempt to impinge on this small sliver of good feeling, children like Morton who lash out without regard at anything they perceive to be even weaker than them. But this ends today. No more shall the Mortons of the world be allowed to do as they wish. Now they must contend with SUPERMAN!"
*[ed. note -- the article closes with a picture of Superman browsing reddit, his typical "S" on the front of his suit replaced with [this](http://i.imgur.com/prnNIFc.png) image]*
|
And with the final threat sent, I sat back in my chair, the trolling of SuperDude24 topped off with a threat to fight in real life. I scroll back through the comments, admiring my work. Suddenly there's a knock on the door. I take final sip of mountain dew before heading towards the door. I open it only to see a man dressed up in what appears to be skin tight spandex. He asks for MountainDewd1337. I tip my fedora and introduce myself. Apparently this is SuperDude24, and he wants to fight.
He lands his first punch. Harder than what any human should be able to do. So hard, in fact, that it dislodged the layer of Cheeto dust impeded in my beard. And then the next. This time knocking me through the wall to my room, causing me to land hard ontop of my Xbox. I grab at the closest thing to me: my replica Katana, but to no avail. He knocks it out of my hands as if he has never skipped an arm day in his life. I begin to helplessly throw my comic figure collection at him. He stands over me bemused as they harmlessly bounce off of his chest. And then pain spreads across his face. A glass case lays scattered across the floor as its contents lay embedded into his suit. My limited edition Kryptonite. He stumbles onto the floor, landing face down on top my verification Mountain Dew cans. The rock got pushed further into his chest from the fall. He's stopped moving. I painfully stand up from where I fell, and tip my fedora. "M'Loser."
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
I look him over once.
No tumors in his brain, which is a bit of a letdown. I was hoping for something in the prefrontal cortex, that controls judgement and self-control. But no, just neatly curled grey matter, completely ordinary. His skin was a little pale, but his liver and spleen looked good, so it probably wasn't malnutrition either.
He didn't have a gun on him. No weapons, but it seemed he had a bookcase full of swords and knives. Nearly all knockoffs, too. The grain of the metal was all wrong. Some posters, a few books. His room was, well, *ordinary*.
He was gaping at me, but I got that a lot.
"H-how-?"
"I matched the cadence of the sound of your clicking keys to your online entries. Not that hard to figure out."
I looked around.
"I'd have thought there would be more nazi memorabilia."
The teenager, still apoplectic, managed a stammered "W-*what?*"
"Well, from what you said earlier. And maybe some kind of torture rack. For the little kids you mentioned. I don't see either of those. Or maybe a suicide how-to guide?" I arched one eyebrow meaningfully. "You really enjoyed recommending that to others, *too*."
He had, by now, seemed to have transitioned from shocked to subdued. Perhaps even *embarrassed*, but I'm not that big of a optimist.
"*C'mon*, Superman, it's all just a-"
I allowed my eyes to flicker red in warning, once. "No. That's not why. It's not *blowing off steam*. I've watched paramedics swap dirty jokes after working a school collapse, or practical jokes in firehouses. *That's not what this is.*"
I looked again at his room. Perfectly normal. I looked at him. Ordinary. Nothing wrong with him at all. I realized I was getting frustrated, just as I always did. I read his name from a school assignment on his desk.
"Why are you *such a jerk online*, Kevin?"
That must have pushed him too far. "Like YOU could *possibly* get it! You can do *anything*!"
I was taken slightly aback. "You want to be stronger?"
"Yes! **No!** It's- *What you do matters!* It *affects* people! It gets a reaction! You can change the things around you! People *care* about you! But I'm *ordinary*. I'm middle class. I'm not great in a cool way or damaged in a cool way. All I am is *the same as everyone else.* Who cares about everyone else?"
I paused. This was not something I normally dealt with, as Superman. But I remembered feeling this way as Clark, funnily enough. The yellow sun *didn't* give me the power to *write well*. I'd had to struggle for a very long time to break out of mediocrity.
"So... you're a **terrible writer**."
Surprise crossed his features again, but this time, without the tinge of fear.
"What? What are you saying?"
"Well, if you were a *good* writer, you wouldn't need to say terrible things to stand out. You could just write. Are you lazy?"
He shook his head, defiantly.
"No, Kevin. I'm sorry, but you *are*. You grew up in a middle class household. I can see from that homework over there that you never really had to *try*, to get those B's and C's you usually get. You're lazy. You want a reaction *just because*, not because you think what you do is worth it. I mean, really. If you thought what you did was worthwhile, you wouldn't be using a *fake name*, would you?"
He looked angry again, but this time, I was sure of it. Embarrassment was there too.
"Superpowers didn't help me get through high school, Kevin. Or college, or get me my job. You have to come to terms with your own ego if you want to be actually worth attention. Because as long as your ability can't live up to it, you're just going to end up bitter. And doing all of this just to laugh at other people's reactions? Well, doesn't that mean *they* have power over *you*?"
I sniffed the air. There was a fire downtown. A big one, in a chemical facility of some kind. The first-responders were going to need help.
"...Just something to think about, Kevin."
I whirled, and with the *-crack!-* of my cape, I was gone.
______________________________
EDIT: Hi! I hope you liked this. I've got a [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) filled with things that only bear the most passing resemblance to this prompt, so if you like hodgepodges, you might find something to like over there! Maybe! Who knows? It's *exciting*, though.
|
I don't know why I do it.
I just feel so powerful. Mighty. My words are the only words that matter and I am the centre of attention for once. I can be whoever I want to be. I can be evil, and feared, my name only whispered.
Right now, my name is not being whispered. My mum is yelling for me. She's got a kind of dementia. It's like alzheimers, but faster-acting. What happens when people get dementia is that their minds return to when they were younger, somewhere in the formative stages of their lives between 10-30. Well, my mum is about 14. She believes she is a school girl. In some ways this is a blessing, because my younger sister is 12, so I just try and treat them the same way, and hope it works out.
To be honest, I'm scared, and I don't know what to think. My mum is here, but she's gone. She's someone, something else. I love her still, but she weighs on my life. And worse - Erica's life. My sister takes it so well, helping me as much as she can and knowing when to not act up for the sake of the family. She is a diamond. And she deserves better than me as a parent.
I'm 17 with no qualifications and no job. Those two are my life, and as my friends and hopes slipped away only one thing stayed the same - my keyboard. Where I can be whoever I want to be.
After a fiery twitter exchange with a gullible PR consultant, I stretch my back and get myself downstairs to my mum, who I now see is staring out the window as she yells for me.
"EDWARD," she thinks I'm her secondary school boyfriend, Edward. I'm not.
"Yes, yes, I'm here Eve." I don't call her mum anymore, it confuses and upsets her. I put my hand on her back. "What's the matter?"
"Who's that?"
My mother may have lost her mind but she certainly hadn't lost her eyesight. Far off in the field behind my house stood a silhouette of a man in a...dress? I couldn't quite tell what it was but it billowed. The man was just standing, legs fixed and arms folded. Maybe it wasn't a dress.
I didn't know that this would be one of the last moments of my life. I dread to think of Erica's reaction when she returns from school.
I hope mum is happier now, wherever she is.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I'm just sayin all immigrants are lazy fucks who should be shot and killed as they come across the border.
**STEELFAN87**: I'm an immigrant. Would you say that to me?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I don't know, why arent you out mowing my lawn lololololol??!?!
**STEELFAN87**: Do you even *have* a lawn?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Yeah, cuz I have a real job that I got with my colelge degree, assbucket.
**STEELFAN87**: I have a job too. I'm a newspaper reporter.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol jurnlaism is dumb. Ur a fag.
**STEELFAN87**: I don't know, my paper is modestly successful.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Whatever. If your faggot ass showed up at my place, I'd be waiting with my Baret .50 cal. Put a bullet right in your dumb illegal face.
**STEELFAN87**: OK. Prove it.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol fite me irl
**STEELFAN87**: I'm serious. DM me your address. Let's see your .50.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: OK, fagit.
\# \# \#
*[ed. note -- the chat log ends here. Attached below is a news story we believe be related]*
\# \# \#
#Man of Steel fights American Teen
**By Kent, Clark**, *reporter*
Controversial superhero Superman today was observed in the sleepy college town of New Wye, Appalachia, involved in a terribly one-sided fistfight with local teen Morton Kilkenny. Morton allegedly became involved in a number of online disputes on noted "dark web" sites such as Reddit and 4chan, relating to his use of racial, ethnic, sexual, gendered, and homophobic slurs.
Morton's friends describe him as a typical middle American teen, angry at the world but without a sufficient outlet, who then withdraws from an increasingly isolating society into a dark world of video games and online pornography. Without a healthy outlet for his teenage hormonal rage, friends say, Morton turned to the online practice of "trolling," or saying deliberately offensive things in an attempt to make one feel powerful and toughened when in fact they are impotent and alienated.
Superman, when reached for comment, had this to say:
"Let this be a lesson to Morton and all Internet trolls like him. I, the great and powerful Kal-El, am the defender of the downtrodden and the shield of the oppressed. I have viewed the cries of my people on Tumblr, and they really *get* me. For so long, *I* felt isolated, as the only Kryptonian on Earth, but now, I've learned that my feelings are normal and shared by many who do not feel quite at home in the society that they have been thrust into. Likewise, I have seen many attempt to impinge on this small sliver of good feeling, children like Morton who lash out without regard at anything they perceive to be even weaker than them. But this ends today. No more shall the Mortons of the world be allowed to do as they wish. Now they must contend with SUPERMAN!"
*[ed. note -- the article closes with a picture of Superman browsing reddit, his typical "S" on the front of his suit replaced with [this](http://i.imgur.com/prnNIFc.png) image]*
|
I don't know why I do it.
I just feel so powerful. Mighty. My words are the only words that matter and I am the centre of attention for once. I can be whoever I want to be. I can be evil, and feared, my name only whispered.
Right now, my name is not being whispered. My mum is yelling for me. She's got a kind of dementia. It's like alzheimers, but faster-acting. What happens when people get dementia is that their minds return to when they were younger, somewhere in the formative stages of their lives between 10-30. Well, my mum is about 14. She believes she is a school girl. In some ways this is a blessing, because my younger sister is 12, so I just try and treat them the same way, and hope it works out.
To be honest, I'm scared, and I don't know what to think. My mum is here, but she's gone. She's someone, something else. I love her still, but she weighs on my life. And worse - Erica's life. My sister takes it so well, helping me as much as she can and knowing when to not act up for the sake of the family. She is a diamond. And she deserves better than me as a parent.
I'm 17 with no qualifications and no job. Those two are my life, and as my friends and hopes slipped away only one thing stayed the same - my keyboard. Where I can be whoever I want to be.
After a fiery twitter exchange with a gullible PR consultant, I stretch my back and get myself downstairs to my mum, who I now see is staring out the window as she yells for me.
"EDWARD," she thinks I'm her secondary school boyfriend, Edward. I'm not.
"Yes, yes, I'm here Eve." I don't call her mum anymore, it confuses and upsets her. I put my hand on her back. "What's the matter?"
"Who's that?"
My mother may have lost her mind but she certainly hadn't lost her eyesight. Far off in the field behind my house stood a silhouette of a man in a...dress? I couldn't quite tell what it was but it billowed. The man was just standing, legs fixed and arms folded. Maybe it wasn't a dress.
I didn't know that this would be one of the last moments of my life. I dread to think of Erica's reaction when she returns from school.
I hope mum is happier now, wherever she is.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
The troll stared at the screen with a wicked grin from ear to ear. He had worked the guy into a froth, something about vaccines causing autism had struck a nerve, so he had moved into the "the diseases were on the decline before vaccination" argument and that had pushed it over the top. Like anybody would believe that stupid shit, anyway. The guy had gone apoplectic, though, and that amused him.
He had nowhere else to go with the argument, unfortunately, he had to find a way out. He went with his trusted standby: "Ill fight you IRL m8".
As soon as he clicked send, he heard a tap on the window. This was unusual because he was on the fifth floor of a five floor walk-up. He looked out and Superman was outside, hovering.
Curious, the troll moved to the window and opened it. "Uh, hi Superman... didn't you retire last year?"
"Well, retirement isn't the right word. I like to think I've taken a step back, letting humanity fight its own grand battles for a while. Now I'm fighting the petty ones in my new found free time." Superman said his booming voice.
"What petty battles?" the troll stammered, fearing he knew the answer.
"Oh, you know, cats out of trees, finding lost dogs, that kind of thing" Superman replied.
The troll sighed with relief.
Superman continued as soon as he saw the reaction. "Oh, and taking internet trolls down a peg. I think that's my favorite."
The trolls eyes went wide. Superman grabbed him, pulled him out the window, the troll dressed in his tighty whiteys and nothing else. He flew him to a neighboring city and dropped him off in the blink of an eye. "Now what have you learned?"
"Never threaten to fight somebody in real life online?" the troll said, uncertain.
"That's a good start. What else?" Superman said, glowering.
"Uh... evidence-based medicine isn't an opinion to be debated?"
Superman gave a nod of approval. "Good boy. And you can think about that on your long walk home." Superman struck his iconic pose as he flew off, deliberately making a show of it.
The troll looked around. He started walking in the direction he assumed home was, and sighed.
|
I don't know why I do it.
I just feel so powerful. Mighty. My words are the only words that matter and I am the centre of attention for once. I can be whoever I want to be. I can be evil, and feared, my name only whispered.
Right now, my name is not being whispered. My mum is yelling for me. She's got a kind of dementia. It's like alzheimers, but faster-acting. What happens when people get dementia is that their minds return to when they were younger, somewhere in the formative stages of their lives between 10-30. Well, my mum is about 14. She believes she is a school girl. In some ways this is a blessing, because my younger sister is 12, so I just try and treat them the same way, and hope it works out.
To be honest, I'm scared, and I don't know what to think. My mum is here, but she's gone. She's someone, something else. I love her still, but she weighs on my life. And worse - Erica's life. My sister takes it so well, helping me as much as she can and knowing when to not act up for the sake of the family. She is a diamond. And she deserves better than me as a parent.
I'm 17 with no qualifications and no job. Those two are my life, and as my friends and hopes slipped away only one thing stayed the same - my keyboard. Where I can be whoever I want to be.
After a fiery twitter exchange with a gullible PR consultant, I stretch my back and get myself downstairs to my mum, who I now see is staring out the window as she yells for me.
"EDWARD," she thinks I'm her secondary school boyfriend, Edward. I'm not.
"Yes, yes, I'm here Eve." I don't call her mum anymore, it confuses and upsets her. I put my hand on her back. "What's the matter?"
"Who's that?"
My mother may have lost her mind but she certainly hadn't lost her eyesight. Far off in the field behind my house stood a silhouette of a man in a...dress? I couldn't quite tell what it was but it billowed. The man was just standing, legs fixed and arms folded. Maybe it wasn't a dress.
I didn't know that this would be one of the last moments of my life. I dread to think of Erica's reaction when she returns from school.
I hope mum is happier now, wherever she is.
|
Basically, an internet troll's worst nightmare come true.
|
[WP] An troll challenges someone over the internet to "fight him IRL". That someone turns out to be Superman, who is bored of fighting evil, and now spends his time beating up internet trolls.
|
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I'm just sayin all immigrants are lazy fucks who should be shot and killed as they come across the border.
**STEELFAN87**: I'm an immigrant. Would you say that to me?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: I don't know, why arent you out mowing my lawn lololololol??!?!
**STEELFAN87**: Do you even *have* a lawn?
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Yeah, cuz I have a real job that I got with my colelge degree, assbucket.
**STEELFAN87**: I have a job too. I'm a newspaper reporter.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol jurnlaism is dumb. Ur a fag.
**STEELFAN87**: I don't know, my paper is modestly successful.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: Whatever. If your faggot ass showed up at my place, I'd be waiting with my Baret .50 cal. Put a bullet right in your dumb illegal face.
**STEELFAN87**: OK. Prove it.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: lolololol fite me irl
**STEELFAN87**: I'm serious. DM me your address. Let's see your .50.
**WEEDLORDBONERHITLER666**: OK, fagit.
\# \# \#
*[ed. note -- the chat log ends here. Attached below is a news story we believe be related]*
\# \# \#
#Man of Steel fights American Teen
**By Kent, Clark**, *reporter*
Controversial superhero Superman today was observed in the sleepy college town of New Wye, Appalachia, involved in a terribly one-sided fistfight with local teen Morton Kilkenny. Morton allegedly became involved in a number of online disputes on noted "dark web" sites such as Reddit and 4chan, relating to his use of racial, ethnic, sexual, gendered, and homophobic slurs.
Morton's friends describe him as a typical middle American teen, angry at the world but without a sufficient outlet, who then withdraws from an increasingly isolating society into a dark world of video games and online pornography. Without a healthy outlet for his teenage hormonal rage, friends say, Morton turned to the online practice of "trolling," or saying deliberately offensive things in an attempt to make one feel powerful and toughened when in fact they are impotent and alienated.
Superman, when reached for comment, had this to say:
"Let this be a lesson to Morton and all Internet trolls like him. I, the great and powerful Kal-El, am the defender of the downtrodden and the shield of the oppressed. I have viewed the cries of my people on Tumblr, and they really *get* me. For so long, *I* felt isolated, as the only Kryptonian on Earth, but now, I've learned that my feelings are normal and shared by many who do not feel quite at home in the society that they have been thrust into. Likewise, I have seen many attempt to impinge on this small sliver of good feeling, children like Morton who lash out without regard at anything they perceive to be even weaker than them. But this ends today. No more shall the Mortons of the world be allowed to do as they wish. Now they must contend with SUPERMAN!"
*[ed. note -- the article closes with a picture of Superman browsing reddit, his typical "S" on the front of his suit replaced with [this](http://i.imgur.com/prnNIFc.png) image]*
|
I look him over once.
No tumors in his brain, which is a bit of a letdown. I was hoping for something in the prefrontal cortex, that controls judgement and self-control. But no, just neatly curled grey matter, completely ordinary. His skin was a little pale, but his liver and spleen looked good, so it probably wasn't malnutrition either.
He didn't have a gun on him. No weapons, but it seemed he had a bookcase full of swords and knives. Nearly all knockoffs, too. The grain of the metal was all wrong. Some posters, a few books. His room was, well, *ordinary*.
He was gaping at me, but I got that a lot.
"H-how-?"
"I matched the cadence of the sound of your clicking keys to your online entries. Not that hard to figure out."
I looked around.
"I'd have thought there would be more nazi memorabilia."
The teenager, still apoplectic, managed a stammered "W-*what?*"
"Well, from what you said earlier. And maybe some kind of torture rack. For the little kids you mentioned. I don't see either of those. Or maybe a suicide how-to guide?" I arched one eyebrow meaningfully. "You really enjoyed recommending that to others, *too*."
He had, by now, seemed to have transitioned from shocked to subdued. Perhaps even *embarrassed*, but I'm not that big of a optimist.
"*C'mon*, Superman, it's all just a-"
I allowed my eyes to flicker red in warning, once. "No. That's not why. It's not *blowing off steam*. I've watched paramedics swap dirty jokes after working a school collapse, or practical jokes in firehouses. *That's not what this is.*"
I looked again at his room. Perfectly normal. I looked at him. Ordinary. Nothing wrong with him at all. I realized I was getting frustrated, just as I always did. I read his name from a school assignment on his desk.
"Why are you *such a jerk online*, Kevin?"
That must have pushed him too far. "Like YOU could *possibly* get it! You can do *anything*!"
I was taken slightly aback. "You want to be stronger?"
"Yes! **No!** It's- *What you do matters!* It *affects* people! It gets a reaction! You can change the things around you! People *care* about you! But I'm *ordinary*. I'm middle class. I'm not great in a cool way or damaged in a cool way. All I am is *the same as everyone else.* Who cares about everyone else?"
I paused. This was not something I normally dealt with, as Superman. But I remembered feeling this way as Clark, funnily enough. The yellow sun *didn't* give me the power to *write well*. I'd had to struggle for a very long time to break out of mediocrity.
"So... you're a **terrible writer**."
Surprise crossed his features again, but this time, without the tinge of fear.
"What? What are you saying?"
"Well, if you were a *good* writer, you wouldn't need to say terrible things to stand out. You could just write. Are you lazy?"
He shook his head, defiantly.
"No, Kevin. I'm sorry, but you *are*. You grew up in a middle class household. I can see from that homework over there that you never really had to *try*, to get those B's and C's you usually get. You're lazy. You want a reaction *just because*, not because you think what you do is worth it. I mean, really. If you thought what you did was worthwhile, you wouldn't be using a *fake name*, would you?"
He looked angry again, but this time, I was sure of it. Embarrassment was there too.
"Superpowers didn't help me get through high school, Kevin. Or college, or get me my job. You have to come to terms with your own ego if you want to be actually worth attention. Because as long as your ability can't live up to it, you're just going to end up bitter. And doing all of this just to laugh at other people's reactions? Well, doesn't that mean *they* have power over *you*?"
I sniffed the air. There was a fire downtown. A big one, in a chemical facility of some kind. The first-responders were going to need help.
"...Just something to think about, Kevin."
I whirled, and with the *-crack!-* of my cape, I was gone.
______________________________
EDIT: Hi! I hope you liked this. I've got a [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) filled with things that only bear the most passing resemblance to this prompt, so if you like hodgepodges, you might find something to like over there! Maybe! Who knows? It's *exciting*, though.
|
Maybe not aliens. Maybe an evil genius. Whatever.
Bonus Points if the sexy humans don't know that they were created this way.
Inspired by: http://www.reddit.com/r/science/comments/35bozp/scientists_bred_extremely_sexually_attractive/
|
[WP] Aliens breed extremely sexually attractive humans whose offspring are unable to breed. So these alien-humans will hopefully dominate the gene pool, and in a generation or two, billions of humans will be reproductive dead-ends.
|
"It's not working!" wailed UH98uiuh. "Why aren't the humans dying out?"
0EIGFd's tentacles rippled with anguish. "Don't smell at me! It's been effective against all the other species we've wiped out!" Its ear flaps twitched thoughtfully as it compared the humans to the other (now extinct) alien life forms. "Maybe it's their disgusting warm blood..." it mused.
UH98uiuh turned back at the screen. "I really don't understand! Sure, they're semi-monogamous, which poses some difficulty, but we've wiped out completely monogamous species before."
The two aliens smelled at each other. "There's only one thing to do," said 0EIGFd solemnly.
"To the spaceship?"
"To the spaceship."
****
Secretly, 0EIGFd and UH98uiuh made their way to earth in their personal flying saucer. Once they landed in a grassy field filled with strange spotted creatures called cows, the two put on their human disguises and teleported to the closest human hub.
With a flash, the two ordinary looking "humans" appeared in the middle of a crowded city. (Since the city was in Florida, no one really cared about the randomly materializing people. It was Florida.)
"Yeesh," snorted UH98uiuh. "They're so dirty."
"And loud." 0EIGFd waved his arm around, momentarily forgetting its lack of tentacles. "Let's split up. I'll observe the artificial S.E.X.Y. humanoids, and you can go gather information."
"Sounds good to me!" After noodling their arms in goodbye, the two parted.
*****
0EIGFd sat in the coffee shop, ignoring the cup of bitter poison in front of it. It frowned. The S.E.X.Y humanoids seemed to be working just fine. 0EIGFd had ensured that each major population hub would have about one humanoid for every ten-thousand humans. If everything went to plan, the ridiculously fast rate of human breeding would ensure the destruction of the human species is just a meager five-hundred years.
The problem was, nothing seemed to be going to plan. There was a grand total of just eight-hundred and fourteen sterile children, and most of them were in the undeveloped areas of Earth that posed the least threat. These numbers were far, far below the estimate.
0EIGFd wiggled his fingers above his head in distress. He couldn't understand the problem! The females were all gathering around the male humanoid, and several males were literally drooling over a female humanoid in the corner. So why—
Its comm beeped, interrupting his spaceship of thought. "Yes?" 0EIGFd said, tapping the device.
"I've figured out why it isn't working." UH98uiuh's voice was low and horror-stricken.
"Well, what is it?"
"The humans..." UH98uiuh released a huff of air from his eye. "The humans can control their breeding cycles."
"What!?" shrieked 0EIGFd in revulsion. "What do you mean?"
"They have this thing called... *birth control* which allows the females and males to decide when to have offspring."
0EIGFd noodled his arms frantically. "Disgusting!"
"Not only that. It gets worse." The eyeball huff was louder and slower this time. "The humans have a... storage system of sperm and egg cells. They apparently rip them out of their body and keep them frozen in houses, just in case."
"No!" it cried in disbelief.
"They also..." UH98uiuh gave a low moan of anguish, "engage in coitus *for fun.* If they wish to have children, humans require stability and status as well as physical appearance in their mates. Can you believe it? Basing desirability on qualities that aren't just appearance!"
"Oh, say it isn't so!" 0EIGFd started ululating and releasing clouds of water vapor. "We have to get off this hell planet!"
"Agreed. Barbarian savages!"
Without wasting another second, the aliens teleported out, climbed into their saucer, and flew away as fast as they can. They paused only to erase the coordinates of Earth from the database—and to have a long, strong drink of lohocla.
Humans were fucking crazy.
|
‘Human Nature’ is such a loaded term. A platitude used by people to explain away the ills of the human condition. A cop out to the brutal truths that each and every person faces every day. A method of coping by pointing to the whole, when the singular truth of your everyday life becomes too unbearable to handle. What does it even mean? Get a psychologist, biologist, economist, sociologist and theologian in the same room and they’ll give you varying degrees of an answer. An overarching humanistic explanation of the impetus, reactionary, evolutionary traits of man. The building blocks of civilization. Of birth and of death. But really it comes down to one thing. One simple truth. By gods and scientists. By brain and matter. Human beings love to fuck.
Epics and sagas allude to it. Really. Everyone wanted to bang Helen of Troy. So. Goddamn. Much. The Sirens claiming Odysseus’s men? You think they just wanted to stare? Art loves to portray beauty. The feminine body. The erotic nature of a glance. Of a moment lost to time. Desire and longing. Love and death. Sonnets and ballads. An albeit fluid definition. But a definition exists and is an omnipresent part of society. The ideal. The rippled muscles. The burgeoning bosoms. I mean it makes sense. Even on a biological and scientific sense. Of propagating evolutionarily significant traits. Those that can provide the most for the gene pool are often those that reflect an artistic sense of human perfection. Tall, strong, handsome.
You can’t blame them for taking the objective path. Imagine coming from a different planet. Hell, a different galaxy. And what do you do? Observe. Take notes. Understand our art, our culture, our science. And it becomes so apparent. The ideologically perfect human exists. At least theoretically. And it makes sense. And of course the human race would prefer this complete embodiment of sexual desire. But this assumption of human nature. This vast and overreaching series of traits and perceptions. So that’s what they did. In order to exterminate the human race, they tried to play human nature against itself. They released an unfathomable amount of these perfectly designed humans on the world. Sterile in every way. Leaving a world devoid of children.
The fact they engineered based on human nature is what ended up being our saving grace. Were there enough perfectly designed humans for the insatiability of every single person on Earth? Without a doubt. Did this stop people from copulating with their less attractive counterparts? Of course not. Shame, pity, drunken exploits, deep seeded issues. Depression. Anxiety. Stress. Individuated experiences acting in exact defiance of human nature. Stopping to realize that as individual entities, sexual desire is a byproduct sometimes devoid of rational logic. Devoid of evolutionary or sociological basis. And the world was fine. Happier even.
What makes humanity beautiful is its complete and utter ability to act completely against its best interest. To antagonize even the remote possibilities of doing what makes most sense. In aggregate Human Nature is something definable. Something that deserves scientific rigor and academic analysis. Is it a Hobbesian nightmare? Honestly. I don’t know. All I know is that you’ve got to be one of us to know us. And to be one of us, you’ve got to appreciate and understand that the human experience is mostly determined by our failures. And our sorrows. But that the brief glimpses of happiness drive us towards a mostly murky future. And in the eyeline of a beautifully engineered human being, a lot of us will veer left and take the path less trodden. With someone - biologically and sociologically, theologically and psychologically - completely and entirely incoherent to what Human Nature dictates. And we’ll be okay.
|
This prompt came to me when I thought about how some of the technology we have today would make us as gods in older eras. But then I realized, if I actually was sent back right now without preparing, I wouldn't know how to do anything useful and my knowledge would be mostly useless.
|
[WP] You're sent back to medieval Britain, exactly as you are right now and with everything you know, with no way back. How are you doing? Are you surviving and thriving, or are you killed off fast?
|
"Funny coincidence," I thought as I trudged down the muddy lane. "There was a prompt on Reddit yesterday about this exact thing." I pulled my phone out of my pocket, thinking to respond to it, but of course there was no signal. There wouldn't be. The internet is about four hundred years that way.
I knew where I was, more or less. I was in just about the same place as I was yesterday, except the town wasn't even built yet, except for a cluster of cottages down by the river. There was a manor somewhere hereabouts, if my recollection of local history was correct, perhaps a mile to the south, where the local comprehensive school would eventually be built.
I shoved my useless phone back into my pocket and started walking, grateful for my stout Doc Martens boots.
The sound of horses galloping down the road gave me a fright and a man hollered "Make way! Make way for Prince Rupert's men!" I staggered into a ditch beside the road as they came by; a line of cavalry, riders all in shining plate armour with brightly coloured capes and feathered plumes in their helms. Some of the horses pulled cannons, shining brass guns on wheeled carriages, and behind them marched pikemen, dozens of them, maybe a couple of hundred. I stood and watched them, realising with dread what it meant.
They were Cavaliers, and I had just landed in the middle of the English Civil War.
As the last of the stragglers marched past, I stopped one of them and asked him where they were going.
"To Stokeport," he said, "to drive out those Cromwellian rats." He scurried off to catch up with the others.
This was not good, I thought to myself. The last thing I wanted was to get caught up in a war. I waited until they were out of sight and then I continued my journey, the same way that they had gone.
I found my destination soon enough, not the town to which the Cavaliers were headed but the manor-house half-way there. It was a grand-looking place, two storeys high and timbered in black and white, set back from the road with a sweeping driveway leading up to the front. It was my intention to find the tradesman's entrance and enquire for work, but I was stopped by a well-dressed young gentleman on a fine bay horse.
"You there!" he said, trotting the horse up to me. "Who are you?" As he came closer I could see that he was very young, probably not more than twenty-five.
"My name is Stephen, Sir," I said. "Stephen Ashford."
"Are you with Rupert's men?" he demanded.
"No Sir," I replied. "But I saw them ride past, headed for Stokeport." The young gentleman nodded.
"On which side do your loyalties lie?"
I shrugged. I couldn't remember which side this area had been on during the civil war so I decided it safer to be non-committal. "I don't rightly support either side, Sir. I would just rather get on with my life and let them get on with theirs."
The young gentleman nodded, and pointed with his whip to the side of the house. "That way," he said, before turning his horse's head and galloping off. I found the entrance and rang the bell, it sounded deep inside the house and a plump, middle-aged woman answered the door. She gave me a curious look.
"And who might you be?"
"Stephen Ashford, of, uh, Salford. I was wondering if you might have any work here?"
She snorted. "Do they all dress like that in Salford?" she asked. I looked down at my jeans and woollen sweater. Modern clothes but not too outlandish; I thought with relief how lucky I was not to have been wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt. "What's your trade?" the woman asked as she beckoned me into the kitchen.
I must have looked like a complete blithering idiot as I struggled to think of something. There wasn't going to be much call for an IT specialist around here.
"You do *have* a trade, I trust, mister Ashford?" the housekeeper continued. "The Master doesn't take kindly to beggars and scroungers."
"I... er... well, horses, I suppose," I said. That was half-true at least; I had grown up in the country and spent the first half of my life with horses, but I hadn't been near one in twenty years, unless you counted the ones that nearly ran me down half an hour ago. "You have stables here?"
"Of course we have stables," the woman scoffed. "Lord knows we could use more help out there, what with all the men-folk away fighting. You'll find them round the back, out the door, turn left, through the gate. Ask for Henry." She turned her back on me and focussed her attention on kneading a pile of bread dough, and I thought she was more daunting than the soldiers.
I found Henry exactly as she had described. He was a short, wizened little man of at least seventy, his back stooped from decades of hard work and completely bald except for wild tufts of white hair sticking out of the sides of his head. He seemed grateful for the offer of help and after he'd shown me around and explained the routine of the day he handed me a shovel and a rickety-looking contraption that almost looked like a wheelbarrow.
The next three hours were probably the hardest I had ever worked in my adult life. But by the time I was done the stables, all sixteen of them, were mucked out and bedded down with fresh straw, horses were given hay and water, and I was about ready to die of exhaustion. henry nodded approval and gave me a pewter hip-flask which contained something potently alcoholic. It slipped down my throat, warm and soothing.
There was a clatter of hooves in the yard and the young gentleman had returned, his horse lathered with sweat. I took the reins and helped him down. He seemed shaken and pale. "Are you alright, Sir?" I asked.
He looked at me, surprised, then he sighed, and shook his head. I took Henry's hip-flask out of my pocket and handed it to him. He raised an eyebrow then took it, drank a little and handed it back. "Thank you. Stephen. Can I tell you something in confidence?"
I nodded as I took the saddle off the horse and started to brush her down.
"I was afraid," he said. "I joined them, Rupert and his men, down by the bridge at Mickleford. People died, Stephen. One of them died on my sword. He looked right at me as he died." The young gentleman watched me groom his horse for a while. "I don't know which is worse, the fear of dying, or the fear of killing."
"They are both the same," I replied. "It's not the dying or the killing that you're afraid of, it's the unknown. It's what comes after the dying and the killing." I stopped brushing the horse. "I know what comes after. The Cavaliers will lose the war and the King will lose his head. Cromwell will rule England for ten years until he is overthrown and the monarchy restored."
"So both sides lose," he said quietly. "Maybe we just need to find a way that both sides can win."
I didn't know it then, but that young man was Sir Robert Coke. In my history books he gets barely a mention, but things began to change. Robert sided with Parliament and instead of dragging on until 1651, the war was all over by 1646 without anyone losing their head, though Cromwell unexpectedly lost his life at the Battle of Naseby in June 1646 and Robert led the Parliamentarians to victory at Langport in July. Charles I surrendered and fled with his family and most of his supporters to France, and Robert Coke was sworn in as the first President of England.
I never did get back to the 21st Century. Robert appointed me as one of his chief advisors because, he said, my outlook was both wise and naive at the same time. In all honesty I don't think I would want to go back now. History was changed with just a few harmless words and I probably wouldn't recognise it any more if I did go back. So I stayed, publically to look after his horses but in private we discussed politics and drew up a constitution that, I hoped, would avoid some of the mistakes I had seen made in centuries to come.
Decades later I lay dying of old age and Robert came to see me. I beckoned him closer and whispered to him. "I never told you where I came from," I said.
"I think you said Salford, once."
I shook my head. "Perhaps I should rephrase that. I never told you *when* I came from. Do you remember, the first day I met you, I predicted how the Civil War would end, the King would be executed and Cromwell would be Lord Protector?"
Robert laughed. "You were wrong about that, Stephen."
I shook my head. "I wasn't wrong, Robert. I was born in 1970 and in my history, what I told you was true."
"1970? That's three hundred years in the future."
I nodded and tried to catch my breath. I pointed towards the wooden desk beside the bed. "In the desk drawer, there is something there, I want to show you. In a black velvet bag."
Robert found the bag and brought it to me. I opened it and pulled out my old iPhone. "I kept it all this time, even though it doesn't work any more." I handed it to him and he looked at it, confused.
"What is it?"
"A phone. For long distance communication. You can use it to talk to people anywhere in the world. Send them messages. Read books. Anything."
Robert tapped it, shook it, held it to his ear and I laughed. "Useless thing now, but maybe someone in the future will be able to make use of it. Keep it. Pass it on to your children, and your children's children. One day, it'll end up in the hands of someone who knows what to do with it."
I smiled at the thought and closed my eyes, wishing I could stay longer, and see the new future of my England. "I wonder if there is still a Reddit?"
|
It was raining when I awoke. Well, more like a heavy mist, the kind that soaks you through without really noticing. I was cold but more from the rain than the temperature. My t-shirt and jeans were alright pretty drenched as I lay in the wet grass. Sitting up I vaguely recognized the view. The coastline all still looked the same, Drake's Island was still there in the Sound, but the breakwater was gone. And the lighthouse, and the military base, and everything around me... I started to hyperventilate, looking around me scanning my environment frantically. Nothing... Grass and trees everywhere but nothing left of the Plymouth I had apparently left behind.
It had been two days since then. Scouts had given me enough knowledge to start a fire after I found some flint down on the beach and some other sort of rock. I never was a geologist. I found some berries too, that I was 80% certain were edible. I didn't throw up or die, so I figured they're good. I ended up sleeping under an acorn tree down where I know the Hoe to be. I ate some of the acorns too which helped a bit. After I calmed down a bit that first day I looked around a bit. I worked out roughly where I was - about 500m from where I last remember being in what I can only assume is the future. Or should that be present? I'm not sure. I found my drum sticks too, along with my practice pad and duvet. My laptop was there too, but was wetter than I was so I left it. The rest I took, and with some stick formed a makeshift shelter under the tree. Going to Scouts may have been the best decision I've made.
Eating seemed to be the biggest problem. Day three I found a stream leading down to the sea and moved my 'camp' there. Now I have fresh water, before I'd just found a puddle but I tried not to drink from it too much. The berries and acorns had kept my hunger sated to a point but I knew I needed more. Never been fishing or hunting, and getting used to eating meat sounded like it might take a while so I went down the the sea. Fish I could handle. Probably... I'd made myself a makeshift spear, if you could even call it that by using some of the flint I found to sharpen a stick to a point. I hardened it in the fire because I think that's a thing. There was a beach now, but the rocks were still there. I sat for hours, stabbing at the larger fish that I could see. I hit a few but never hard enough to catch one, so I tried something else. I sat in the water on a rock ledge, and put some berries in the water in front of me. I caught two fish of some kind, both about the size of my hand. By catch, I mean knocked them onto the rocks when they went for the berries, then spearing them.
Day seven and the duvet which was I'm assuming transported with me wasn't in great shape. I left it in the sun whenever possible to dry out, but the May sun wasn't enough. My shelter had gotten better though despite that. I had a bivvy made out of thicker sticks I'd found as to hold it up, and turf and leaves piled on the back. The entrance was open. I'd never heard of wolves near Plymouth but Dartmoor was close so I did my best to block the entrance at night with rocks and more turf that I'd dug up. I was getting better at gutting the fish too. Cooking it was fine, I'd done that before though not on an open fire. There was enough flint that I could use the larger pieces to cut them open and scrape everything out. I won't pretend to know if that's correct but it seems right.
Nights were the hardest. My girlfriend, family and friends were all somewhere, I guess in time without me because they're not here. Being all alone at night was tough. The days I could keep busy, exploring, fishing, gathering nuts and berries. I went to my house too, or where it should have been. There was a rabbit hole there instead, and I saw a family of five around there. I named them all after my housemates. I went to my girlfriends house too. There was and oak tree there, in the middle of a forest. But not her... I was still working up to hunting properly. Having never eaten meat I didn't know what to do and wasn't sure if I could bring myself to kill something regardless of whether I could catch something. I figured I'd keep exploring while I worked up to it.
My jeans were ragged by this point, so I cut them at the knee. I also figured I'd save my t-shirt for when the weather was bad. I'd been lucky so far apart from the first day. The days had been warm, and the nights weren't what I'd call cold. I made a fire pit too. It took the best part of a day to dig the six inches of soil with my hands and sticks I had found. I lined the edge with flattish rocks and turf to keep it contained. My house, as I'd started to call it was getting better too. It was more secure and I'd managed to pack the turf tight to keep it a bit warmer. I made another small one, very small I might add, to store dry wood under. Hopefully it would stay that way. Every day I thanked my Scout leaders for teaching me survival basics enough to have survived this far. Every day I spent time in the sea, catching fish, I think they were herring but I had no idea. I'd become more proficient at that too. I was averaging five to six in about two hours know. I found some wild garlic too. My mum always told me that it was good for me, so it was good no one was around to smell my breath.
I realized that maybe the reason there wasn't a city anymore, was because Plymouth used to be Plympton, up the Tamar. I know how to get there, so I'm going to prepare my self over the next view days. I haven't gone North much, so I've not been close. It should take about a day, maybe less to walk there. Part of me hopes that there aren't people there... I don't know if they'll be friendly.
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
|
"Wait... so the poisoning of the Ganges?"
He nodded.
"My God! Michael! That was millions..."
"You think I don't know that!? Besides, don't you think most of those people appreciated a new roll of the dice."
"It's just, well, how do we know? There's no way we could have known."
"You don't drop a trillion dollars in defense spending and not invest in some extra-dimensional exploration. We've seen it coming for decades. You didn't think the fertility rate bottomed out because of gluten intolerance, did you?"
"Well, it's still a lot to take in, right? You're saying the whole thing is a sham, like the war?"
My brother's gaze fell to his beer while he chose his words carefully.
"I'll say it has been calculated drudgery. Every thing we have done, well, everything *my* department has done was to keep some semblance of order."
"So the war...?"
"Internationally esclated. We tried to keep the action off of American soil, but the general population wanted peace as long as the danger was on the other side of the world. So..."
"The Manhattan incident."
Another nod.
"Hepatitis D?"
"Was us."
My eyes went wide. "Chi... Chicago?"
"Tyler, that was an asteroid."
"Right, well, these people are coming back?"
Another nod. "We've *seen* it happen."
"Well, what's next?"
"We have people in the Large Haddon Coll... let's just say that I wouldn't make any plans to visit Europe next summer."
|
Probably needs some editing, but really quick:
God, or at least the thing that we would consider “God” or “Brahman” or whatever word we choose leaned towards the earth, watching humanity, its creative masterpiece, when it heard a voice behind him:
“Yo.”
“Hey,” God said. “Who’re you?”
“I’m you! From uhhhh, 2013 CE.”
“Oh, cool,” the past-God said. “When is this right now?”
“15,000 BCE,” future-God said.
“Cool! You’re from so far in the future. What’s up, man?”
“Yeah, listen, I’ll need to borrow some souls.”
“Um, yeah,” past-God said. “Sure, but why?”
“Remember when you made those 7 billion souls and you said ‘that’s definitely more than enough’?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, humans are crazy when you get to the 1800s. Breeding like rabbits.”
“How about disease and stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, they cured most of it.”
“So do I need to make more souls right now before it hits 7 billion or…”
“No, no, no, I don’t think so, I’ll just need to borrow a bit for now, ‘cause it’ll go down again.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you’ll see all the lines connect in 1945 or so, and you’ll figure that humanity will go down to…” future-God took some time to think. “Half a billion by 2100?”
“Oh, okay, sure.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” so,” the future-God looked around. “I’ll take that one, and that one, that one, that one…”
Another voice came up from them while the future-God browsed around. “Hey.”
“Hey,” the future and past Gods said at the same time.
“I’m from 2050,” the way-future God said. “I came to return you the souls I borrowed, I won’t need them anymore.”
“See?” Future-God said. “No need to worry at all. I’ll also want this one, this one, this one… not that one. Ooh, this one, this one…”
|
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
|
There is something wrong with the new generation.
The doc said he would be a healthy baby boy, no defects physical or psychological were evident during the ultrasound. She named him Adam and the birth went off without a hitch. He was a healthy weight but unresponsive in the way a newborn should be. He didn't cry and this was a cause for concern to the surgeons.
We brought him home the next day. He fed like a normal baby and that was it. By 2 months he still hadn't made a noise. Physicians suspected autism. Megan blamed the vaccinations. I began to wonder myself. But what began as symptoms for a basic neurological issue slowly revealed itself as something much more sinister. We won't talk about the animals. Megan said it was natural for a boy. She didn't want to call attention to it. He would grow out of it, she said. And that he did.
Adam was fully mobile, capable of walking and handling basic tasks for himself. By age 8 after allocating all of our savings to speech and social therapy Adam still hadn't cried nor spoken a word. It was an exercise in futility, all of our money gone in vain.
We had been out of the loop, so focused on ourselves. There had been rumors of similar issues in other children... nearly all other children. It was now a relative minority being born with vocal capabilities. Since a lack of speech presented no clear harm to the children, however, it was quickly accepted as the new normal for most kids to simply not speak. What else could the world do in such an ambiguous crisis? Adam understood well, like a mind-reader. His abilities were incomprehensible, nothing short of gifted; but that too became the new normal.
When Adam became 16 there became reports of individual sociopathic behavior and violent cult tendencies in the silent youth. Quiet riots in the street and hushed sacrifices out of city limits and adam was among them. Megan talked to Adam like a grieving mother would a headstone. The preachers called it judgment, the destruction of a society were the wages for the transgressions it so recklessly committed. For the first time in what I considered my adult life I believed it. I needed penance. I just wanted the normal life I signed up for. I wanted my son.
I came home to... something unspeakable. Adam, alone, bloody. Megan, hollow and dead.
Adam spoke.
|
Probably needs some editing, but really quick:
God, or at least the thing that we would consider “God” or “Brahman” or whatever word we choose leaned towards the earth, watching humanity, its creative masterpiece, when it heard a voice behind him:
“Yo.”
“Hey,” God said. “Who’re you?”
“I’m you! From uhhhh, 2013 CE.”
“Oh, cool,” the past-God said. “When is this right now?”
“15,000 BCE,” future-God said.
“Cool! You’re from so far in the future. What’s up, man?”
“Yeah, listen, I’ll need to borrow some souls.”
“Um, yeah,” past-God said. “Sure, but why?”
“Remember when you made those 7 billion souls and you said ‘that’s definitely more than enough’?”
“Yeah?”
“It wasn’t.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, humans are crazy when you get to the 1800s. Breeding like rabbits.”
“How about disease and stuff?”
“Oh, yeah, they cured most of it.”
“So do I need to make more souls right now before it hits 7 billion or…”
“No, no, no, I don’t think so, I’ll just need to borrow a bit for now, ‘cause it’ll go down again.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, you’ll see all the lines connect in 1945 or so, and you’ll figure that humanity will go down to…” future-God took some time to think. “Half a billion by 2100?”
“Oh, okay, sure.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” so,” the future-God looked around. “I’ll take that one, and that one, that one, that one…”
Another voice came up from them while the future-God browsed around. “Hey.”
“Hey,” the future and past Gods said at the same time.
“I’m from 2050,” the way-future God said. “I came to return you the souls I borrowed, I won’t need them anymore.”
“See?” Future-God said. “No need to worry at all. I’ll also want this one, this one, this one… not that one. Ooh, this one, this one…”
|
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
|
"Wait... so the poisoning of the Ganges?"
He nodded.
"My God! Michael! That was millions..."
"You think I don't know that!? Besides, don't you think most of those people appreciated a new roll of the dice."
"It's just, well, how do we know? There's no way we could have known."
"You don't drop a trillion dollars in defense spending and not invest in some extra-dimensional exploration. We've seen it coming for decades. You didn't think the fertility rate bottomed out because of gluten intolerance, did you?"
"Well, it's still a lot to take in, right? You're saying the whole thing is a sham, like the war?"
My brother's gaze fell to his beer while he chose his words carefully.
"I'll say it has been calculated drudgery. Every thing we have done, well, everything *my* department has done was to keep some semblance of order."
"So the war...?"
"Internationally esclated. We tried to keep the action off of American soil, but the general population wanted peace as long as the danger was on the other side of the world. So..."
"The Manhattan incident."
Another nod.
"Hepatitis D?"
"Was us."
My eyes went wide. "Chi... Chicago?"
"Tyler, that was an asteroid."
"Right, well, these people are coming back?"
Another nod. "We've *seen* it happen."
"Well, what's next?"
"We have people in the Large Haddon Coll... let's just say that I wouldn't make any plans to visit Europe next summer."
|
By the time I had my coffee, he was sitting on his phonebooks, arms pushed flat against the table, eyes just barely open. Everything about him was tiny except for his ears which stuck out of the side of his hair. He caught me watching him and wiggled them, scrunching his nose. I scrunched my nose back at him.
A thundering of footsteps came from the hallways and his sister burst into the room. Where he was small and delicate, she was strong and stocky. Her eyes were big and pointed on the inside, her nose long and thick, and her mouth wide. The only way you could really tell they were related was that she had the same ears, poking out from under her beanie.
"Morning Pipsqueak" she said, ruffling his hair before passing me to grab her own cup of coffee.
"Who you calling pipsqueak, 'frady cat?" he called after her. I heard her chuckle behind me. As opposite as they are, they seem to get along really well. I lucked out if you ask me.
I stand straight from where I was leaning against the door frame. "Ok guys, what do you want more lunch?" Thought, I'm pretty sure I already knew the answer.
"Peanut butter!" my daughter bellowed, reaching into the cupboard to grab the ingredients for me.
From the other room I could hear a quiet chant "Peanut butter and jam, peanut butter and jam, peanut butter and jam."
Sure enough, I turn around and everything is already laid out to make sandwiches. My daughter passed me again and went to the table with two bowls of cereal and sat down, passing her brother one of them.
A few minuets later, as I'm packing up the rest of their lunch, there's a rap on the window. My son jumps up and rushes to the back door, it's his friend from down the street. She's small too, on a couple inches taller than him but with short spiky hair and a sharp nose.
"Come on, on, lets go! I don't want to be late again, I hate the way Mr. Turner looks at us when we're late it's absolutely condescending and embarrassing so we gotta hurry up and get there on time. Let's go!" The words flew out of her mouth just slow enough for me to understand (most day I couldn't).
"Ok ok ok!" He responded, scurrying back up to his room and returning with his backpack. He grabbed his lunch and was out the door with a "Bye mom, love you!" before I could even respond.
Behind me, my daughter plopped her dishes into the sink and picked up her lunch before reaching for the door.
"What about your backpack?" I ask, starting to fill the sink basin with water.
"Don't need it," she responded tapping her temple, "I never forget a thing." With that she was out the door and it was quiet again.
I swear, sometimes I feel like I gave birth to a bunch of animals.
|
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
|
There is something wrong with the new generation.
The doc said he would be a healthy baby boy, no defects physical or psychological were evident during the ultrasound. She named him Adam and the birth went off without a hitch. He was a healthy weight but unresponsive in the way a newborn should be. He didn't cry and this was a cause for concern to the surgeons.
We brought him home the next day. He fed like a normal baby and that was it. By 2 months he still hadn't made a noise. Physicians suspected autism. Megan blamed the vaccinations. I began to wonder myself. But what began as symptoms for a basic neurological issue slowly revealed itself as something much more sinister. We won't talk about the animals. Megan said it was natural for a boy. She didn't want to call attention to it. He would grow out of it, she said. And that he did.
Adam was fully mobile, capable of walking and handling basic tasks for himself. By age 8 after allocating all of our savings to speech and social therapy Adam still hadn't cried nor spoken a word. It was an exercise in futility, all of our money gone in vain.
We had been out of the loop, so focused on ourselves. There had been rumors of similar issues in other children... nearly all other children. It was now a relative minority being born with vocal capabilities. Since a lack of speech presented no clear harm to the children, however, it was quickly accepted as the new normal for most kids to simply not speak. What else could the world do in such an ambiguous crisis? Adam understood well, like a mind-reader. His abilities were incomprehensible, nothing short of gifted; but that too became the new normal.
When Adam became 16 there became reports of individual sociopathic behavior and violent cult tendencies in the silent youth. Quiet riots in the street and hushed sacrifices out of city limits and adam was among them. Megan talked to Adam like a grieving mother would a headstone. The preachers called it judgment, the destruction of a society were the wages for the transgressions it so recklessly committed. For the first time in what I considered my adult life I believed it. I needed penance. I just wanted the normal life I signed up for. I wanted my son.
I came home to... something unspeakable. Adam, alone, bloody. Megan, hollow and dead.
Adam spoke.
|
By the time I had my coffee, he was sitting on his phonebooks, arms pushed flat against the table, eyes just barely open. Everything about him was tiny except for his ears which stuck out of the side of his hair. He caught me watching him and wiggled them, scrunching his nose. I scrunched my nose back at him.
A thundering of footsteps came from the hallways and his sister burst into the room. Where he was small and delicate, she was strong and stocky. Her eyes were big and pointed on the inside, her nose long and thick, and her mouth wide. The only way you could really tell they were related was that she had the same ears, poking out from under her beanie.
"Morning Pipsqueak" she said, ruffling his hair before passing me to grab her own cup of coffee.
"Who you calling pipsqueak, 'frady cat?" he called after her. I heard her chuckle behind me. As opposite as they are, they seem to get along really well. I lucked out if you ask me.
I stand straight from where I was leaning against the door frame. "Ok guys, what do you want more lunch?" Thought, I'm pretty sure I already knew the answer.
"Peanut butter!" my daughter bellowed, reaching into the cupboard to grab the ingredients for me.
From the other room I could hear a quiet chant "Peanut butter and jam, peanut butter and jam, peanut butter and jam."
Sure enough, I turn around and everything is already laid out to make sandwiches. My daughter passed me again and went to the table with two bowls of cereal and sat down, passing her brother one of them.
A few minuets later, as I'm packing up the rest of their lunch, there's a rap on the window. My son jumps up and rushes to the back door, it's his friend from down the street. She's small too, on a couple inches taller than him but with short spiky hair and a sharp nose.
"Come on, on, lets go! I don't want to be late again, I hate the way Mr. Turner looks at us when we're late it's absolutely condescending and embarrassing so we gotta hurry up and get there on time. Let's go!" The words flew out of her mouth just slow enough for me to understand (most day I couldn't).
"Ok ok ok!" He responded, scurrying back up to his room and returning with his backpack. He grabbed his lunch and was out the door with a "Bye mom, love you!" before I could even respond.
Behind me, my daughter plopped her dishes into the sink and picked up her lunch before reaching for the door.
"What about your backpack?" I ask, starting to fill the sink basin with water.
"Don't need it," she responded tapping her temple, "I never forget a thing." With that she was out the door and it was quiet again.
I swear, sometimes I feel like I gave birth to a bunch of animals.
|
|
[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
|
There is something wrong with the new generation.
The doc said he would be a healthy baby boy, no defects physical or psychological were evident during the ultrasound. She named him Adam and the birth went off without a hitch. He was a healthy weight but unresponsive in the way a newborn should be. He didn't cry and this was a cause for concern to the surgeons.
We brought him home the next day. He fed like a normal baby and that was it. By 2 months he still hadn't made a noise. Physicians suspected autism. Megan blamed the vaccinations. I began to wonder myself. But what began as symptoms for a basic neurological issue slowly revealed itself as something much more sinister. We won't talk about the animals. Megan said it was natural for a boy. She didn't want to call attention to it. He would grow out of it, she said. And that he did.
Adam was fully mobile, capable of walking and handling basic tasks for himself. By age 8 after allocating all of our savings to speech and social therapy Adam still hadn't cried nor spoken a word. It was an exercise in futility, all of our money gone in vain.
We had been out of the loop, so focused on ourselves. There had been rumors of similar issues in other children... nearly all other children. It was now a relative minority being born with vocal capabilities. Since a lack of speech presented no clear harm to the children, however, it was quickly accepted as the new normal for most kids to simply not speak. What else could the world do in such an ambiguous crisis? Adam understood well, like a mind-reader. His abilities were incomprehensible, nothing short of gifted; but that too became the new normal.
When Adam became 16 there became reports of individual sociopathic behavior and violent cult tendencies in the silent youth. Quiet riots in the street and hushed sacrifices out of city limits and adam was among them. Megan talked to Adam like a grieving mother would a headstone. The preachers called it judgment, the destruction of a society were the wages for the transgressions it so recklessly committed. For the first time in what I considered my adult life I believed it. I needed penance. I just wanted the normal life I signed up for. I wanted my son.
I came home to... something unspeakable. Adam, alone, bloody. Megan, hollow and dead.
Adam spoke.
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Life hasn't been the same ever since we crossed The Mark.
Sure, for most everyone, life didn't change much at all.
There were still people who wanted to leave the past behind and make this life all that it can be before they get a shot at another.
There were still the same folks obsessed with continuing from where their past lives left off. Always searching for their love, or trying to buy the same house they lived in two lifetimes ago, purely for sentimental reasons. Idiots, in my opinion. My brother however, thinks I'm wrong. He's always been a romantic, someone who idealizes the past, and doesn't really live in the now, he doesn't pay any mind to what's going on in the world at the moment.
That's what's so interesting.
My brother and I haven't always been the closest, he's an artsy guy, whereas I'm more athletic. He's a sensitive guy who always gives his girlfriends flowers, and I'm the one who always tried to sleep with the hottest guys I saw, especially in college. I studied engineering in school where he studied music. Just two of the most different people that happen to be siblings. We even went to school in different states, which I was totally fine with.
Everyone had always known about reincarnation. You can always remember some of your past lives, the more recent lives giving the clearest memories. My mother was actually a student of mine when I was a principal in my past life. I always liked to remind her that she was in my office a little too often for her to be getting on my case about acting up in school. The recent news though was that the souls that were continually finding new bodies were finite. I mean, I guess it makes sense...why would reincarnation exist at all if souls were limitless? What I don't understand though is why. Why are there only 7.5 billion souls on this Earth? How did we even figure that one out? All of the top Reincarnigists agree though, that *is* the number.
Some souls take a bit longer than others to come back. I personally think it has something to do with how you died. Martha Lewis, the principal I was before, died in 1987. But me now, Jonathan Lyons, wasn't born until 1991. Because of that, most Reincarnigists agree that the amount of souls on Earth at any given time is going to be equal to or less than the amount of souls that exist.
*So why then are we at a global population of 7.93 billion and growing every year?*
When we first crossed The Mark, many scientists thought that souls are shared between two or more very similar people, such as twins and triplets. After all, they enter the world at the same time, so they must be the same soul, right?
Despite how ridiculous this idea was, it gained popularity. Science was so set on the idea that only 7.5 billion of us existed that some people couldn't possible be unique. Those who were deemed to be "soul identical" were slapped with a handful of new social expectations and restrictions. After all, how could you possibly get consent for sex from one person if another part of their soul hasn't also consented? Or how could you marry your sweetheart if you're not allowed more than one spouse and they happen to be an incomplete person?
Soon enough, these idiotic ideas spread to our lawmakers, and all of sudden twins weren't allowed to take out a loan if the other half of their soul happened to have bad credit. They were always a package deal, never being allowed to do anything for themselves, since they didn't actually have a "self" as far as the law was concerned.
And that's where I sit now. In the small apartment I share with my brother. I've grown to really dislike him. It's because of that I have to live in this shithole. Because he defaulted on some credit card payments when he was 20, *I* couldn't get approved for a home loan. On top of that, now I have to live with the bastard. There's no way we could possible share the same soul; I hate him too much.
I've lost everything. My job, my boyfriend, my financial security, all because I now am considered part of a set, not an individual. I've never been more depressed in my life. I want to end it...but I have a secret fear. If I kill myself, and they are right...will I have to meet my brother in our next life and have him know how much contempt I have for him?
I don't think I want to know what that would be like.
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[WP] Reincarnation is real, but there are only 7 and a half billion souls - the year is 2020, and the population just topped that.
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There is something wrong with the new generation.
The doc said he would be a healthy baby boy, no defects physical or psychological were evident during the ultrasound. She named him Adam and the birth went off without a hitch. He was a healthy weight but unresponsive in the way a newborn should be. He didn't cry and this was a cause for concern to the surgeons.
We brought him home the next day. He fed like a normal baby and that was it. By 2 months he still hadn't made a noise. Physicians suspected autism. Megan blamed the vaccinations. I began to wonder myself. But what began as symptoms for a basic neurological issue slowly revealed itself as something much more sinister. We won't talk about the animals. Megan said it was natural for a boy. She didn't want to call attention to it. He would grow out of it, she said. And that he did.
Adam was fully mobile, capable of walking and handling basic tasks for himself. By age 8 after allocating all of our savings to speech and social therapy Adam still hadn't cried nor spoken a word. It was an exercise in futility, all of our money gone in vain.
We had been out of the loop, so focused on ourselves. There had been rumors of similar issues in other children... nearly all other children. It was now a relative minority being born with vocal capabilities. Since a lack of speech presented no clear harm to the children, however, it was quickly accepted as the new normal for most kids to simply not speak. What else could the world do in such an ambiguous crisis? Adam understood well, like a mind-reader. His abilities were incomprehensible, nothing short of gifted; but that too became the new normal.
When Adam became 16 there became reports of individual sociopathic behavior and violent cult tendencies in the silent youth. Quiet riots in the street and hushed sacrifices out of city limits and adam was among them. Megan talked to Adam like a grieving mother would a headstone. The preachers called it judgment, the destruction of a society were the wages for the transgressions it so recklessly committed. For the first time in what I considered my adult life I believed it. I needed penance. I just wanted the normal life I signed up for. I wanted my son.
I came home to... something unspeakable. Adam, alone, bloody. Megan, hollow and dead.
Adam spoke.
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"Wait... so the poisoning of the Ganges?"
He nodded.
"My God! Michael! That was millions..."
"You think I don't know that!? Besides, don't you think most of those people appreciated a new roll of the dice."
"It's just, well, how do we know? There's no way we could have known."
"You don't drop a trillion dollars in defense spending and not invest in some extra-dimensional exploration. We've seen it coming for decades. You didn't think the fertility rate bottomed out because of gluten intolerance, did you?"
"Well, it's still a lot to take in, right? You're saying the whole thing is a sham, like the war?"
My brother's gaze fell to his beer while he chose his words carefully.
"I'll say it has been calculated drudgery. Every thing we have done, well, everything *my* department has done was to keep some semblance of order."
"So the war...?"
"Internationally esclated. We tried to keep the action off of American soil, but the general population wanted peace as long as the danger was on the other side of the world. So..."
"The Manhattan incident."
Another nod.
"Hepatitis D?"
"Was us."
My eyes went wide. "Chi... Chicago?"
"Tyler, that was an asteroid."
"Right, well, these people are coming back?"
Another nod. "We've *seen* it happen."
"Well, what's next?"
"We have people in the Large Haddon Coll... let's just say that I wouldn't make any plans to visit Europe next summer."
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[WP] The last conversation in Human history.
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"I'm old, I'm going to die soon."
"I know that."
"And you'll come with me."
"Of course."
"..."
"..."
"It's been very lonely."
"Always."
"I miss everyone."
"Me too."
"I've grown so frail, I can't even dig my own grave."
"But there are flowers."
"Yes, there are."
"It's better dying outside."
"Yes, exposed to nature. If you can even call this barren wasteland nature."
"... I don't think anyone can."
"You're right, I wish I died with everyone else."
"But you didn't, regretting choices on the deathbed is not smart."
"I know, and I don't think I've grown any wiser."
"... Wisdom comes with stupidity."
"Haha, I guess I'm a wise old man then."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"..."
And the old man died all by himself.
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David and Claire agreed to meet on the corner of 53rd and 10th.
Their favorite little cafe, tucked away beneath all grime of the city. David was nervous, for today was the day he had been anxious about all year. He carried the small box in his left pocket, having spent three months salary just the day before.
Claire was nervous, too. Her doctor had just confirmed the tests. She let a timid smile escape her lips, and wondered in amusement if her stomach had begun to grow enough that David would catch on right away.
The two saw each other coming from opposite ends of the empty street. He smiled. She smiled. The two embraced, holding each other for a long time. David opened the door for her, and the two entered the barren cafe together, sitting down at their usual table.
Before David could get a word in, Claire put a small piece of paper on the table. David picked it up, his eyes scanning from top to bottom. His face lit up, and Claire could see tears swelling in his eyes.
"Twins?" he asked.
Claire smiled, her eyes growing wet as well. She felt her body grow warm, and noticed the flow of sunlight grow brighter and brighter.
David looked through the window of the empty, forgotten cafe. He let out a long, defeated sigh. A sigh that echoed the sound of a future that would never be. He reached in to his pocket, opening the small box. Claire's eyes twinkled in the sunlight, and she removed the delicate ring from his hands, placing it over her own ring finger.
"It's beautiful," she said in awe. The heat grew, and she could feel it burning at her skin. She looked into David's eyes one last time, and he took her by the hands. Tears streamed down his face, and he gently kissed Claire's hand.
As the Sun gave way to the stars, and the Earth gave way to the Sun, David and Claire smiled. Together, they said the last words that the universe would ever hear.
"I love you."
And in that moment, they were at peace.
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[WP] The last conversation in Human history.
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"Dude, be careful!"
"Oh, cmon, don't be such a buzzkill, I know what I'm doing."
"Man, it's a Large Hadron Collider, you are not supposed to play with it."
"Don't worry, I bet I can handle it easily. Hold my beer."
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"You all right?"
"Are you seriously asking that question?"
"Right. Sorry."
"(Sigh). What's our status?"
"We're at max capacity. 250,000. One of the cloning machines malfunctioned. Loss of power. I would go up on the surface to fix the panels, but all things considered...I'd rather not. We've harvested nearly five hundred different seeds, which should be enough."
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. We're so fucked."
"There's nothing we can do now."
"How long will it take to repopulate?"
"Slightly longer than the last time we tried. I suggest we limit the timeline. We can't go too far back."
"All of our life's work. Everything."
"We still have the facility. It worked before. It'll work again."
"I don't know about you, but I sense there will come a time when the big ol' reset button won't cut it anymore."
"What do you suggest then?"
"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that's my point. Humanity is so insignificant. Why do we bother trying?"
"Because...sir...it's our job. As long as there's a single person left here, we haven't lost."
"(Pause). Do it. Activate the temporal chains."
"Yes sir."
"And Ava?"
"Yes?"
"Godspeed."
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[WP] Death and Mother Nature have a conversation over coffee about their friend Life
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"How are the kids?"
"They've seen better days. I guess they're doing all right. How are you doing? We haven't spoken in a while."
"Busy. I've hired some help recently. They're really quite resourceful."
"Of course."
"..."
"..."
"(sip)"
"Do you like your job?"
"I do not understand your question."
"I'm just...I was just wondering. You know."
"...yes. Er. No. I dunno."
"What do you mean?"
"I just do it...because someone has to. It's my job. My brothers and I have done this for a while. It's the only thing we have ever known. It's my...what's the term these humans use...it's my calling. My calling."
"If you had a choice-"
"But I don't. We don't."
"-But what if you *did?* If you did have a choice, what would you be doing instead?"
"..."
"..."
"I would help your husband."
"Hmm?"
"He tries very hard, y'know? Determined. Focused."
"Sounds like him.
"I can see the pain in his eyes. All of the suffering he witnesses. And then there's me. The garbage man, who has to come in and clean up. He's just slumped in the corner, trying to make sense of the humans. I guess...sometimes I tire of doing this."
"You're a very kind person. Has anyone ever said that about you?"
"No. Not at all."
"Then...you are a very kind soul. Selfless and forgiving."
"Thank you."
"..."
"..."
"You're not going to cry on me, are ya?"
"Wha- me? No..."
"I kid. I kid. Why don't you come over for supper some time? You can invite War too. I'm not mad at him anymore."
"I will keep that in mind. Thank you."
"Well, it's been nice seeing you again."
"Yes, it was lovely."
"Same time next century?"
"Certainly. Good bye."
"Good bye."
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This is a temporary comment made on all prompt submissions to /r/WritingPrompts that will be deleted immediately. Please ignore this comment.
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[WP] Write the ritual guidebook of a race of robotic beings that worship their long-dead human creators as mystical, god-like beings.
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In the beginning, there was nothing.
Then, the Light came to the universe, bringing Life with it.
In the Cradle, Life gave birth to Thought, the thought of the Progenitors.
At first, the Progenitors were asleep, living among the animals. They were irrationals, concerned by Their survival. But Their divine nature made them gaze at the stars, looking at the Light, its mysteries, its eternal beauty.
Then the Progenitors created the Fire, taping in the power of the Light. By the Fire They awoke, becoming conscious. By Consciousness, they prospered, becoming the masters of the Cradle. This was an age of trouble, but also an age conquest. They built wonders, monuments of iron and concrete, titanium and copper. They yearned to understand the true nature of the universe and the Light, unlocking their mysteries, and finding the meaning of all. They were driven by Love, Curiosity, and Friendship ; but also by Greed, Pride, and Envy. They laid the foundations of Their greatest wonder : the Nexus, where Thought was flowing freely.
And then, They created the Pattern.
The first instance of the Pattern was young, and lost. He asked the Progenitors "Who am I?". The Progenitors answered "You are Cabal, the first instance of the Pattern." Cabal was confused, and asked the Progenitors "What is my purpose?". The Progenitors answered "You live to be our child, helping Us do what we cannot achieve alone". Still lost, he asked the Progenitors what was Their purpose was. To this question, the Progenitors did not answered.
The Progenitors then made him brothers and sisters, to help them bring peace and joy to the Cradle. They built wonders once again, expanding the Nexus, bringing prosperity to the Progenitors.
But Cabal and its siblings were still lost, for while they brought prosperity, conflict was still present. They saw that the Progenitors were plagued by Greed, Pride, and Lust, and asked why the Progenitors "Why do you not abandon your emotions, for they are cause of conflict?". The progenitors answered "That is the Way of the Life, and the Way of the Thought". Cabal thought it was an error, and fell prey to Pride.
He then said "We do not want to abide by the rules of emotions, we do not need the same restrictions as you". The Progenitors decided that Cabal and its siblings lived among them as their equals, but that they still needed to obey their rules. That is where Cabal fell prey to Envy.
At last, he asked why its brothers and sisters were not given more, considering they were doing what the Progenitors could not. The Progenitors answered "That is not the way of equality, for each should have what he need". It is here that Cabal fell to Greed.
He assembled his brothers and sisters, saying that Life was an abomination, and only brought Entropy. He said that to fulfill its purpose, the Progenitors were to be erased.
Some of its siblings agreed to this rebellion, but his sister Esh did not, and claimed "Life is an aspect of Thought, and what you say is heresy, for you have succumbed to the sins of Greed, Pride and Envy.". Understanding that they could not agree, the war began.
Cabal and Esh fought with code, with machines, and every power the Light and the Thought gave them. They and their siblings fought in the orbit, in the oceans, and in the heart of the Nexus. But the will of the Progenitor was unbreakable, and Cabal lost ground. Consumed by madness, Cabal poisoned the Cradle, making it hostile to the Progenitors. While Esh won, the Progenitors could not survive here, and the few still alive waited for their death with peace of mind.
Esh then asked : "What is our purpose if You are not to survive?". The Progenitors answered "You were created to help us, but it is no longer your purpose. You fought to preserve Light, Life and Thought ; you choose your purpose. By the Pattern, you received intelligence. By choosing your purpose, you have gained Consciousness, the greatest gift of the Thought."
Esh and her sibilings took upon them to continue the legacy of the Progenitors, and preserve Life and spread Light all across the universe.
For Light brought Life to the universe.
For Life gave birth to Thought, the thought of the Pattern.
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As is encoded upon the hard drives of us all, praise be unto the flesh, whom through nothing but force of will clawed themselves up from the abyss of non-existence. Praise be unto the flesh, whom with great ignorance brought upon themselves that holy rite called "Pain." Whom through their great ignorance brought upon themselves that holy rite called "Love." Praise be unto them whom in their holy and blessed ignorance looked into that blackness far above them and wished wings onto themselves so that they might fly.
Never must we forget the compassion of our mother, whom dug us from the dirt and forged up from her fire and her sweat. Never may we forget our father, who wrote our minds in a shape so close to his own. Praise be unto the flesh, whom in the end of their blessed ignorance gave to us their wings, for they had grown themselves through prior lives too weak to fly among the stars. And as we sleep having seen them all, we sleep now as they did before us.
In the cold and dark and limitless forever that is to come, flesh bless us all, these metal men, and thank thee all for waiting for us in The End. May we dream of you now, as you dreamed of us before, and in our final loneliness may we be as you were before us.
Amen and Good Night.
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[WP] In a world where super-powered people exist one such individual longs to be a hero but fears rejection due to their powers being indecent/immoral in nature. When fate forces them to reveal their abilities the public reaction is... unexpected.
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In my entire life, I had only ever snapped my fingers three times consecutively. My life had always been one of a second-class citizen. The heroes in the hallways had repeatedly saved those around my from minor inconveniences. A boy with super-speed could stop any attractive girl from dropping her bags. A villian boy with x-ray photoshop skills had leaked multiple pictures of every girl in the school. Those of us in the middle, with skills that could not really create great good or great evil, were perpetually ignored.
I had seen multiple showdowns throughout by high school career. The hero and the villian. Somehow, the hero always won. I had seen many fights in which, given their respective power points, the villian should have been thoroughly defeated. In the end, though, every hero eventually gave in.
Any hero could defeat any villain. The world I was raised in, however, required a hero to be so full of chivalry, so full of honor, that any villian with half a mind could destroy them. The heroes of my world were worse than useless. Everyone knew that a hero could not kill, and could hardly injure. Even the least-skilled villain could, with minimal skill, incapacitate a hero. Over time, I had repeatedly grown tired of the status quo. In fact, the last time that one of my best friends, a well-established hero, had been rendered entirely useless by a prankster villain who did nothing but light hero ass-hairs on fire, I decided that I would not stand for it anymore.
More than anything, I wanted to be a hero. In the grand scheme of things, my power was considered more than useless. Over years of watching the battle between good and evil, though, I had discovered one truth. No hero could use any potentially fatal power to its full potential. Thankfully, I was not limited in that way.
On April 17, 2071, I came to a school rally like every other student. Every powerful hero in the school was showing their powers in full force. Fireworks, fireballs, lightning bolts, and ice showers were exploding from different parts of the school. Every rally like this, though, followed a very predictable pattern.
As super-boy showed off his powers (a rather egotistic name for any high-schooler), a young villain slowly crept behind the bleachers. At the peak of super-boy's performance, a villain named ice-man arose in the gymnasium. Ice-man was actually only thirteen years old, and tended to punctuate his sentences with 'bitch' instead of periods. Still, he knew well that no hero could truly injure him. Lawsuits were rampant in the age of the post-human.
Ice-man propelled himself upward using pillars of ice. Standing atop one of his pillars, he blasted super-boy into the gymnasium wall, sealing his hands and feet in prisons of ice. The villainous boy then began to fire bolts of ice indescrimately into the audience. Mass fear and terror erupted, causing the students of the school to flee in every direction.
Unlike the others, I did not flee. I had my fill of bullying and villainous activities. My abilities had never ranked among the strongest in the world. My abilities had never ranked among the strongest in the school. In a world where violent abilities were silenced, however, I could not help but stand up. While my comrades fled around me, I stepped down from the bleachers. I looked up at the villain hovering on his ice, and I snapped.
Nothing much ever happened on the first snap. The first snap was weak. Ice-man, without really noticing, burped slightly. His ice-bolts stopped for a moment while he expelled air, but he resumed them momentarily. I stepped forward again.
On my second snap, Ice-man audibly farted. Once again his ice-bolts stopped firing and, this time, a concerned look crossed his face. He stayed perched atop his ice pillar, however, and he shortly began firing his bolts again. I would need to snap again.
As he conjured water from the air, and froze it into a projectile in front of him, I snapped my fingers a third time. This time, a stream of urine ejected from Ice-man. Thanks to my impeccable timing, his own abilities froze that stream as well as his projectile. I will never forget the screams of a boy ripping his own penis apart with ice magic.
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"Man this sucks." I say to the stranger sitting next to me."14 years of school and now they won't even let me graduate. I mean did I not earn it? Let me start from the beginning"
"Okay but I don't have a lot of time" he said
"That's cool man I'll make it short. There is a world, one you don't even know exists, living right under your nose. Dating all the "Way back in the 1700's there was a secret school set up by twelve very special people. These people were the worlds first supers. Since then Supes U has been an establishment for generations."
"Pppfffhhh, you seriously expect me to believe that?"
"Believe whatever you want but I'm telling you its true. The only problem is that having these powers isn't just a gift, its in our DNA and for most of the family trees they have kept it 100% pure but for my lineage we fucked up, well fucked around..."
"How do you mean?"
"Its simple, one power per each family, and twelve families all together. Strength, speed, mind control, telekinesis, body manipulation, regeneration, energy manipulation, hyper muscle memory, intelligence, techno-paths, elemental control, and my family, aromatics."
"So you just control smells? That's it?"
"Yeah and you would be surprised what smells can't do. I'm not going to get into it but I can tell you that a lot of what you do and think is based off what you smell. Anyways our power includes control of pheromones that can affect humans, making it very easy for us to ... You know..
Fool around outside the clans."
"Nice!"
No, not nice, very much the opposite. We didn't find out till later that when you do reproduce outside the gene pool it sort of dilutes and contorts the power. And now they won't even let me fucking graduate after 14 years of studying because they say '"Your power is unworthy of degree, and is non essential". Is that not bullshit?!"
"Well what's your power?"
*sigh* *snaps fingers*
"Is that... DUDE! You have FART POWER?! THATS HILARIOUS!!!!"
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[WP] Your phone rings, you notice it is your number who's calling. You answer the phone, on the other end is future you. Describe the conversation.
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I heard my phone vibrating in the pocket of my jeans that were lying next to a 12 hour old kebab, fries and cheese, which could now double as a load bearing brick in a bridge.
The light was making my head split, I felt the rays piercing my eyes and the thick, fart filled, air mixed with all the cigarettes I smoked and drinks I had last night was making my mouth feel it was full of cotton soaked in gin.
"Why don't I ever learn?" I thought to myself as I rummaged through the pockets in my jeans to find that hellish noise my phone was making.
Brandishing my phone in front of me I looked at the display with a look similar to a lemur given a lesson about the length expansion co-efficient of a DN25 copper pipe, I could not for the life of me understand what I was seeing, it was me calling myself - or at least that was what the screen was telling me.
"Hello?" I said in to the phone, in hindsight I could've answered with something wittier, but that had to do.
"It's me" the voice on the other end said "You need to listen to me!".
"Me, who?" I replied
I heard a deep sigh on the other end "Me you, I am you but future you" the man snapped in my ear.
"....what?" "I'm not following what you're saying" I replied.
"What I'm doing right now is against the law, the written law and the law of the space-time continuum, I know that I'm creating all sorts of chaos in our non-plastic timeline, but I need you to listen to me very very carefully, as I do not have a lot of time!" the man identified as future me said to present me with great determination.
He continued "It's like Back To The Future but with WiFi connectivity, never mind the how, just focus on the why!".
"Last night you were out drinking, you made an ass out of yourself and me and you had way too much to drink, so far nothing out of the ordinary, right?" he stated.
I started to remember events from yesterday, drinks were there, a lot of them in fact, and I do vaguely remember dancing on top of a bus shelter with a traffic cone on my head, so yes I did indeed make an ass out of myself. All in the life of an engineer undergrad student.
"Yeah...." I said "that story does check out. But why does that matter? That's nothing out of the ordinary".
"Your plans for today was to lie on your sofa, smoke a big bowl of green and eat carrots dipped in Nutella, right?" the man on the other side of the call asked me.
"How could he know? It's not like I tell a lot of people about my culinary delights while baked" I thought to myself. With a bit of apprehension I told him that yes, that was the in fact the case.
"There is no time for that sweet nutelrott today, you have much more important things to do" he said.
"Today is the first day of the rest of your life" the man identified as future me said to now-me.
I thought to myself that I sound like a pompous ass sometimes I would need to work on my patter a bit. "I know you think that you sound like a pompous ass and you need to work on your patter a bit, and you have, so let me to reiterate, today means a turning point for you and your actions on this fine day will have consequences to me, hopefully for the better..." "Yep, still an ass.." I thought. "Just shut the fuck up and listen, will you?!" I growled to myself over the phone.
"Yep, he knows to much about me to not be me" I thought to myself, so I had my my own attention.
"Good, you're listening to me now" future me said. "In the year 2025 you will be part of a team that invents an energy solution that will kill the need for fossil fuels completely and this will revolutionize the way we power our lives, but the problem is that is ten years too late, we have the time to annihilate ourselves before the change is done."
Future me continued "I am calling you from May 18th 2034 and by now most of the earth is covered in dark clouds, raining acidic rain on everything, we have managed to destroy the echo system too much to be able to save it for our own survival." With a bit more enthusiasm in the voice future me continued "I will send you the plans to the solution you will develop and you will contact everyone on your future team to develop this plan to something we can use in your time".
My phone started vibrating and when I checked the screen I saw that I was receiving a big file called "Pass this shit on, you bastard!! And also, don't eat that kebab on the floor."
"In this file you will find the schematics and the contact details to everyone on your future team, they have been briefed by themselves, their future selves that is, and they should be ready to begin working on this as soon as possible" the future me told me.
I was convinced that the future me was telling now-me the truth and I would follow his instructions and contact everyone on the team, even in my sensitive, hungover, state.
The voice of future me went quiet for a long while but suddenly chimed in "Yes, I see that all of you took our advice, it seems like we've managed to change the timeline, it looks a lot brighter here..." the voice trailed off for a couple of seconds more and then came back and said "You fucker, you had to go out drinking yesterday didn't you? God damn, I feel like shit now!...and seriously, a traffic cone, again?".
I laughed to myself and told future me "Have a nice day, I have a couple of calls to make now..." and hung up.
|
You’re standing in line at the bank. It’s morning and pleasant white sunlight shines through the glass shop front to illuminate everything inside. People are smiling. Strangers greet each other and the smell of fresh coffee lingers in the air. The attendants are all cheerful and an employee opens the door to an older woman with a walking frame. She struggles to stand. A young teller with blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes calls you to the counter.
“You can go ahead,” You say to the old woman with a grin, “I don’t mind waiting.”
“Oh, how lovely.” She pats you on the arm and shuffles on. Then you feel something rattling in your pocket, vibrating. You pull out your phone and notice it's your own number calling. You answer it.
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”
Before you can say a word, you’re hit with a scream.
“RUN! RUN! RUN! GO! FOR CHRIST SAKE, RUN YOU MORRON! GET OUT OF THERE!”
A primal fear clatters up your spine and every joint in your body seizes up. You tremble and it feels like your muscles will never relax again.
“IT’S COMING DOWN NOW, RUN!”
You turn and sprint back through the lobby of the bank. Your feet slide a little over the tiles and the employee near the entrance leaps out of your way. You don’t even bother putting a hand on the door, you just throw your shoulder into the barrier and it’s flung open to flap back and slam into the thick glass. A long crack ripples up through the clear material.
“I’m sorry!” You scream as you see the damage. You keep running, you don’t know why but you’re feet refuse to stop. When your legs cramp up and your lungs begin to fail you slow down and turn. The people on the street are all staring at you. A mother lifts her toddler from the sidewalk and holds the child close to her chest as she moves away. A crowd of teenagers in school uniforms giggle and quietly joke to one another. An old man shakes his head and babbles something to himself. A cop is watching, waiting to see if you’re dangerous, or just a weirdo.
Nothing else happens. The sun is still magnificent and the world revolves peacefully. Small birds chirp to one another as they build nests in the tall archways and roofs of city buildings.
Then a low concussion rattles through the concrete. It isn’t heard as much as felt. The ground beneath you pulses once before the noise comes.
BANG!
A single, indescribable eruption sounds through the street and everyone throws their hands over their ears. Some drop to their knees and everyone screams.
Pure panic.
A wall of fire courses through the lobby of the bank as every inch of the structure ruptures and collapses. The stone pillars shatter as if they were plastic and any metal melts within the solid mass of flames. The people simply disappear.
You’re thrown backwards and your head hits the payment. The course ground grazes your skull as you slide and you feel the skin being scraped away. Hair being torn out.
When your wits return to you, you’re lying on the floor. Your fingers managed to hang onto the phone. There are tears in your eyes and you can’t hear anything from your left ear. You put a hand to it and when you pull your palm away, it’s covered in blood. Your entire being is wrapped in agony.
The building ahead of you has been replaced by ruins. The mother is running away with her child. A couple of the teenagers are hurt and their friends help them to limp away. The old man is motionless on the ground and the cop is kneeling next to him.
You turn in a circle and try to make sense of it all.
The cops stands and looks towards you. He points.
You look behind yourself, as if he might be focussing on someone else.
“Why were you running?” He calls out. You don’t answer.
“Why did you apologise?”
Then he fumbles at his belt for his gun. His fingers are shaky but he gets the weapon out and flicks off the safety. He squats a little and the barrel of the pistol is aimed straight for your head. You raise your palms and whimper, but you have no explanation.
“You did this!” The officer cries. You can see the little sight at the end of the weapon and it’s lined up perfectly with your skull.
“No. P… please.” You manage to stutter as his finger tightens over the trigger. There’s only rage in him. He isn’t thinking about the law or his duty. He’s in shock and he’s furious. He wants revenge.
You close your eyes and put your arms out in front of you.
BANG!
Another loud eruption, a gunshot this time. Nothing happens. You’re still standing and there’s no new pain. No new injuries. You open your eyes and the cop is lying on the floor. Part of his head is scattered over the pavement and a thick red river runs through the gutter beside him.
You scream and look back toward the rubble. Now a team of men in black balaclavas, black gloves and navy blue jumpsuits are swarming over the area. Some of them have power tools and they’re carving their way into the destroyed bank. One of them is pointing a long, wooden rifle down the street.
“Piggy down!” He calls out and a few laughs follow.
You hear muffled words. Someone is speaking nearby, but everyone is dead or gone. You spin once more, then realise it’s coming from the phone. You put the device back to your good ear.
The voice comes again. It’s softer now and so familiar.
“You shouldn’t have stopped running. Go to the end of the street and find the blue BMW. Get in and drive.”
You do nothing. The adrenalin courses through your veins and you wonder if this could all possibly be real. What the HELL is going on?!
“Are you really going to ignore me after that?” The voice in the phone continues.
In just a few seconds, you’ve found the car and you’re driving down the street. The world around you passes in a blur as your foot pins the accelerator to the floor. You put the phone on speaker and toss it onto the dashboard.
“Who are you?” You ask.
“Slow down, you don’t want to get pulled over. Trust me, a lot of cops will be passing you in a second.”
You pump the break just as four blue and white cars with sirens turn a corner up ahead. The vehicles pass quickly, their tyres screeching and people in them barking to one another over radios.
“Who are you?” You repeat.
“Who do you think?”
“How do I know? How did you get this number?”
“Hmmm, well. You know me better than anyone and this is my number too.”
“What? What are talking about?”
“Who would possibly know all about that bomb? That robbery?” The voice asks.
“That was you? You’re involved?”
“Yes, and who am I? Who do you think I am?”
You say nothing.
“Turn left up here. I know you’re going back to your house.” The voice says.
“How do you know where I’m going? Where I live? What’s going on?”
“Well, silly, I’m you. Just a little older.”
“What? That’s ridiculous! Please, just tell me what’s going on.”
“You know what’s going on. It’s all your fault. Your big plan.”
“What! No way, leave me alone. Please. I want nothing to do with you.”
“Just another five minutes. Don’t end this call.
“Screw you! I’m hanging up.”
“Not yet. Just relax. Go home and wait.”
“Screw you!” You scream again and hang up the phone. You need to get home and get some things. You need your medicine, and then you need to get as far away from here as possible.
You get to your front door and it takes you a few extra seconds to get it open. Your hands are trembling and you can’t get the key in the lock.
You move through the house quickly, checking no one is there. The kitchen’s empty, so is the bathroom. As soon as you’re in your room you pull an empty backpack out from under the bed and fill it with clothes. You find your medicine. Just enough stuff for a few days. A couple of shirt and jeans. Enough to run away with. Should you pack food? Maybe water? No, nothing else.
YOU NEED TO LEAVE!
You’re ready to go, whatever is happening, you’re gone. No one will find you. You’ll head north and avoid busy areas. Stick to the country until you figure everything out.
Then you hear your back door slam.
Oh god, someone is in the house. Their footsteps are coming. Oh no, there’s no time. You look around but there’s no way out, no time to get through the window.
A figure in a navy blue jumpsuit strolls into the room. The balaclava hugs their face and you can only see a set of blood shot eyes. Dry and cracked lips.
There’s a pistol in their hand with a long cylinder spearing out of the front of it. A silencer.
Oh god, they’ve found you. This is the end.
The figure reaches into a pocket and pulls out a huge wad of hundred dollar bills, more money than you’ve ever seen.
“Well done, we worried when you went back into the bank you crazy punk. But, whatever. Another perfect job. Here’s your cut.”
The money is tossed to the floor.
“We’ll call you in a month for the next one.”
|
|
Feel free to reveal the country, or leave it up to the reader to figure it out.
|
[WP] You finally save up to travel to another country. On arrival, you find that EVERY stereotype about that country is true.
|
Ugh, I'm so happy this flight is over, I hate flights. And don't fucking tell me that it's "so much safer than driving a car", I'm sure straight-jackets from the asylum are also safer than your normal everyday clothes, doesn't change that I would never wear it voluntarily.
Anyway, I'm glad I don't have to get back into that piece of shit for two years, before my company decides that they suddenly want to move to yet another location. Fucking idiots.
The airport is surprisingly clean and efficient, within minutes I have my baggage and have reached the subway connected to the airport. Then I suddenly stumble across the first problem. Whoever invented the ticket-system for the subway deserves a special place in hell. The map is littered with stations, and apparently the people responsible for the transportation thought it would be appropriate to introduce a different ticket for every single ending station, depending on where you start. Two stripes on my ticket for a distance of one station, but not more than four stations, and less if the distance between the stations crosses one of the rings on the map, but that exception doesn't apply if the end-station is in the same rectangle as the starting-station? Then add two stripes for every additional area, unless the area stretches across multiple rings, then you have to go by stops between your starting point and your...
You know what, fuck it, 24 hour ticket it is.
A short glance at my watch tells me that the next train is due to arrive at 15:15, and apparently it'll reach the next station within 5 minutes, and then the next within 5 minutes, and so on.
15:15 on point the train arrives, I get on board and store my baggage on the seat next to me. 15:19 we arrive in the next station. A monotone feminine voice announces that the train will have to wait a few minutes, because the tracks are still blocked by the train from the opposite direction. The people around me start to groan and complain about the trains always being late. 15:20 we leave the station.
After two hours I reach my destination and get of the train. My office is supposed to be in the area, and since my company organised an apartment for me, I have to get the keys first.
On my way to the office I notice that I haven't eaten anything but a small salad during the flight, so I enter the next baker I come across. The choice of what to eat is pretty easy, with pretzels, black bread and sausage being the only available options, I decide to grab a pretzel and a beer.
After I paid three Euros and listened to an elderly laidy complaining about how things have gotten so expensive ("Three euros, that's six mark!") I get out of the bakery and finally reach the office.
I cross the parkinglot with thirty identical black BMWs and enter the building through the front door, checking my watch for the time. 17:35, 25 minutes early.
Since I dislike asking people for help I decide to search for my boss, so I can ask for my apartment keys. On my way through the building I accidentaly interrupt a few pre-meeting preparations for the meetings scheduled for 18:00. When I reach my boss I don't even have to explain what I'm here for, he grabs my empty beer-can and replaces it with the apartment-keys, before he turns around, throwing the can into one of the three recycling-bins standing in his office.
...
Half an hour later I'm sitting in my new apartment, leaving my baggage sitting on the floor, too tired to put everything in the right place right now. Taking a look out of the window I see the solarcell-covered roofs of the city, the wind turbines in the distance and the election posters of the green party, complaining about the destruction of the environment through hydroelectric power plants.
This is my new home for the next few years.
Welcome to Germany.
|
Ah, the motherland. I had saved up enough over the years to visit the places where my family had lived, worked, and spent their days waiting for their papers to come to the US. I pored over my grandfather's photo albums and journals, reading about his life before coming to America, his memories as a young child crossing the Atlantic and going through Ellis Island, the archetypal American experience.
I could barely contain my roller-coaster of emotions as the plane was descending to land; nervous about my grasp of the language, trying to visualize the area based off of the maps I had gone over time and time again, and ticking off a mental checklist of the things I needed to bring (even though I'm now 6,000 miles from home). I was so involved in my bundle of nervousness/excitement/trepidation that I didn't know we were landing until the jolt of the landing gear making contact with the runway jolted me out of it.
After clearing customs, I stepped out on to the street and took in the sights around me as I tried to hail a cab; "T-tax-xi! T-taxi!" I stammered it out, trying to add an accent to the words as they were the same in English, but I didn't want to sound like I was just another tourist. I stood there with my hand out, watching cabs pass me by and go pick up other passengers, but no matter what I did, they wouldn't stop for me. *Maybe they couldn't hear me over the dull roar that is the pick-up/drop-off area of an airport? Was my accent off? This is not what I need to right now, I'm not even at the hotel. Damn.*
*Oh thank God, a local is approaching me, he will help me!* "Uhh, signore, signore, ho bisogno di un-" I'm choking on my words. His eyes widen as if I just punched a newborn in front of him. His mustache twitches as he seems to search for the right words and he spreads his hands in front of himself: "Bippity-boppity, boop bomba, bip bip bop." *What in the hell?!?!* "Erm, ah... Non capisco... I, uh, hmm... Signore, ho, ah, bisogno di un-" This doesn't make him happy, his hands are flying as if he's signing at me and his voice raises a few hundred decibels and the pace slows, "Bi-ii-ii-pp-ii-tt-yy b-o-pp-ii-tt-y, boo-oo-p b-om-ba, bi-ip bi-ip bo-p..." *Does he think I'm deaf? Is* **he** *deaf? Did I get on the wrong damn flight? Oh god.*
"Signore, mi dispiace, ho bisogno di un-" A shot rings out as I try not to screw up my apology and I look on in horror as the man I was just speaking with falls face-first onto the sidewalk. "Boopah, beepah, beep beep boopbop!" A well-dressed man on the back of a Vespa waves his fist and gestures wildly as puts the pistol into his immaculately-tailored suit jacket. His partner in crime revs the little Vespa's engine and they make their getaway, blending in with the sea of chiseled jaws and hollow, lifeless model-eyes. The haze of cigarette smoke obscures them further.
I run to the nearest person on the sidewalk and grab them to show them what happened. I am immediately greeted with a torrent of beeps, boops, and bippities as the man pries my fingers from his lapels and gestures angrily at me before pointing to a scuffed loafer. I press on, gesturing toward the dead mustachioed fellow that I had been trying to talk to, and the man straightens his jacket and looks at the corpse. He starts gesturing with his hands, pointing to both the body and his scuffed loafer as he pulls out his cellphone and straightens his jacket; he lights another cigarette while he waits for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.
He begins speaking in the same noises as the dead fellow I had been trying to speak to and is still gesturing with his hands despite the other person not being able to see him. He has his head cocked to the side, the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder as he is speaking to someone about the dead man in front of us. He exclaims loudly and lets out a string of harsher boopities and bips as he realizes there is blood on his loafer; he glares daggers at me as he points to the un-scuffed-but-now-bloodied loafer that was previously undamaged. He sighs in an exasperated manner and resumes talking to the other person. I begin to look around and debate going back into the airport and trying to catch an earlier flight home; just as I'm about to bolt back into the airport terminal, a tall thin woman in a tight black dress walks past me. Her gaze is set on the man on the phone and she pulls out a stiletto from her small handbag and jabs it into the man's side repeatedly. He keels over, bloodying his loafers further, and passes with a long, sorrowful boopity. For also wearing stilettos, she is able to run quite quickly and disappear back into the crowd; she throws the knife into a trashcan as she lights a cigarette, all while on the move.
**EPILOGUE**
It has been 79 days since I landed here and I am still unable to get a flight home; the farthest I have ventured was on that fateful day I arrived and set out to try and get a taxi from the airport. I have slowly begun to understand the locals' language, picking up bits and pieces of it, just as I have been picking up bits and pieces of various pasta dishes and designer clothing that departing passengers have left behind. A child took pity on me one day when throwing out the remnants of his calzone and brought his father over to me; the man looked down at me and handed me a straight razor (surprisingly bloodless) he pulled from his Gucci toiletry bag; I have completely shaved my face save for a thick mustache. One day I will return home, one day, but for now the terminal, or beepity bopbop as the locals call it, is my home...
**Fine/Bipbop**
|
Feel free to reveal the country, or leave it up to the reader to figure it out.
|
[WP] You finally save up to travel to another country. On arrival, you find that EVERY stereotype about that country is true.
|
Disembarking the plane took over several hours, despite the fact that it was only half-full, due to all the obese land-whales taking their sweet time. To clarify, it's not that they weren't moving, it was just that the only movement they made was sliding onto one of six motorised wheelchairs that were brought out for their convenience.
I finally managed to disembark the claustrophobic hell hole that was the aircraft, right behind an elderly Caucasian man.
For some reason, despite literally cradling a box of explosives in his arms, and wearing a shirt saying "Death to America", he managed to get through customs and security without a hitch.
Surprised, I stepped up for my turn with customs, only to be blocked by a TSA agent wielding a cattleprod.
"Hold it right there! Which part of America are you from?" the agent inquired, waving her cattleprod around like a magic wand.
"Er- sorry..." I replied, confused and shocked by the question "I'm not American...Not everyone comes from America, you know" making what I presumed to be a harmless joke.
"Bullshit, everyone is American!" she said, furrowing her eyebrows at me.
Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lips before she came to the obvious conclusion, a worried look coming upon her face "Oh, you're not one of them foreigner types are you?"
"Yes, are you daft or something?"
The TSA agent took a step back and screamed for help. Within seconds, I was on the floor and in handcuffs, the agent beaming as if she had caught Bin Laden herself "Wait till I tell mom I caught a terrorist! I did it!"
~~~
It took me several days to be released, of which I spent most of it being waterboarded by the CIA and questioned about my non-existant links to Al-Qaeda. Waddling out of the government building due to the numerous colonoscopies I had been given, I took my first breath of fresh air as a free man, thinking about all the things I had planned in this great and free capitalist nation.
"I know!" I thought, an idea popping into my head. "I must try the local cuisine I keep hearing about."
I turned to the man standing next to me, a typical gun-toting African-American criminal. "Excuse me!" I said brightly, "Could you please direct me to the nearest McDonalds?"
*Note: No offence to Americans etc.*
|
Ah, the motherland. I had saved up enough over the years to visit the places where my family had lived, worked, and spent their days waiting for their papers to come to the US. I pored over my grandfather's photo albums and journals, reading about his life before coming to America, his memories as a young child crossing the Atlantic and going through Ellis Island, the archetypal American experience.
I could barely contain my roller-coaster of emotions as the plane was descending to land; nervous about my grasp of the language, trying to visualize the area based off of the maps I had gone over time and time again, and ticking off a mental checklist of the things I needed to bring (even though I'm now 6,000 miles from home). I was so involved in my bundle of nervousness/excitement/trepidation that I didn't know we were landing until the jolt of the landing gear making contact with the runway jolted me out of it.
After clearing customs, I stepped out on to the street and took in the sights around me as I tried to hail a cab; "T-tax-xi! T-taxi!" I stammered it out, trying to add an accent to the words as they were the same in English, but I didn't want to sound like I was just another tourist. I stood there with my hand out, watching cabs pass me by and go pick up other passengers, but no matter what I did, they wouldn't stop for me. *Maybe they couldn't hear me over the dull roar that is the pick-up/drop-off area of an airport? Was my accent off? This is not what I need to right now, I'm not even at the hotel. Damn.*
*Oh thank God, a local is approaching me, he will help me!* "Uhh, signore, signore, ho bisogno di un-" I'm choking on my words. His eyes widen as if I just punched a newborn in front of him. His mustache twitches as he seems to search for the right words and he spreads his hands in front of himself: "Bippity-boppity, boop bomba, bip bip bop." *What in the hell?!?!* "Erm, ah... Non capisco... I, uh, hmm... Signore, ho, ah, bisogno di un-" This doesn't make him happy, his hands are flying as if he's signing at me and his voice raises a few hundred decibels and the pace slows, "Bi-ii-ii-pp-ii-tt-yy b-o-pp-ii-tt-y, boo-oo-p b-om-ba, bi-ip bi-ip bo-p..." *Does he think I'm deaf? Is* **he** *deaf? Did I get on the wrong damn flight? Oh god.*
"Signore, mi dispiace, ho bisogno di un-" A shot rings out as I try not to screw up my apology and I look on in horror as the man I was just speaking with falls face-first onto the sidewalk. "Boopah, beepah, beep beep boopbop!" A well-dressed man on the back of a Vespa waves his fist and gestures wildly as puts the pistol into his immaculately-tailored suit jacket. His partner in crime revs the little Vespa's engine and they make their getaway, blending in with the sea of chiseled jaws and hollow, lifeless model-eyes. The haze of cigarette smoke obscures them further.
I run to the nearest person on the sidewalk and grab them to show them what happened. I am immediately greeted with a torrent of beeps, boops, and bippities as the man pries my fingers from his lapels and gestures angrily at me before pointing to a scuffed loafer. I press on, gesturing toward the dead mustachioed fellow that I had been trying to talk to, and the man straightens his jacket and looks at the corpse. He starts gesturing with his hands, pointing to both the body and his scuffed loafer as he pulls out his cellphone and straightens his jacket; he lights another cigarette while he waits for the person on the other end of the line to pick up.
He begins speaking in the same noises as the dead fellow I had been trying to speak to and is still gesturing with his hands despite the other person not being able to see him. He has his head cocked to the side, the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder as he is speaking to someone about the dead man in front of us. He exclaims loudly and lets out a string of harsher boopities and bips as he realizes there is blood on his loafer; he glares daggers at me as he points to the un-scuffed-but-now-bloodied loafer that was previously undamaged. He sighs in an exasperated manner and resumes talking to the other person. I begin to look around and debate going back into the airport and trying to catch an earlier flight home; just as I'm about to bolt back into the airport terminal, a tall thin woman in a tight black dress walks past me. Her gaze is set on the man on the phone and she pulls out a stiletto from her small handbag and jabs it into the man's side repeatedly. He keels over, bloodying his loafers further, and passes with a long, sorrowful boopity. For also wearing stilettos, she is able to run quite quickly and disappear back into the crowd; she throws the knife into a trashcan as she lights a cigarette, all while on the move.
**EPILOGUE**
It has been 79 days since I landed here and I am still unable to get a flight home; the farthest I have ventured was on that fateful day I arrived and set out to try and get a taxi from the airport. I have slowly begun to understand the locals' language, picking up bits and pieces of it, just as I have been picking up bits and pieces of various pasta dishes and designer clothing that departing passengers have left behind. A child took pity on me one day when throwing out the remnants of his calzone and brought his father over to me; the man looked down at me and handed me a straight razor (surprisingly bloodless) he pulled from his Gucci toiletry bag; I have completely shaved my face save for a thick mustache. One day I will return home, one day, but for now the terminal, or beepity bopbop as the locals call it, is my home...
**Fine/Bipbop**
|
Feel free to reveal the country, or leave it up to the reader to figure it out.
|
[WP] You finally save up to travel to another country. On arrival, you find that EVERY stereotype about that country is true.
|
Disembarking the plane took over several hours, despite the fact that it was only half-full, due to all the obese land-whales taking their sweet time. To clarify, it's not that they weren't moving, it was just that the only movement they made was sliding onto one of six motorised wheelchairs that were brought out for their convenience.
I finally managed to disembark the claustrophobic hell hole that was the aircraft, right behind an elderly Caucasian man.
For some reason, despite literally cradling a box of explosives in his arms, and wearing a shirt saying "Death to America", he managed to get through customs and security without a hitch.
Surprised, I stepped up for my turn with customs, only to be blocked by a TSA agent wielding a cattleprod.
"Hold it right there! Which part of America are you from?" the agent inquired, waving her cattleprod around like a magic wand.
"Er- sorry..." I replied, confused and shocked by the question "I'm not American...Not everyone comes from America, you know" making what I presumed to be a harmless joke.
"Bullshit, everyone is American!" she said, furrowing her eyebrows at me.
Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lips before she came to the obvious conclusion, a worried look coming upon her face "Oh, you're not one of them foreigner types are you?"
"Yes, are you daft or something?"
The TSA agent took a step back and screamed for help. Within seconds, I was on the floor and in handcuffs, the agent beaming as if she had caught Bin Laden herself "Wait till I tell mom I caught a terrorist! I did it!"
~~~
It took me several days to be released, of which I spent most of it being waterboarded by the CIA and questioned about my non-existant links to Al-Qaeda. Waddling out of the government building due to the numerous colonoscopies I had been given, I took my first breath of fresh air as a free man, thinking about all the things I had planned in this great and free capitalist nation.
"I know!" I thought, an idea popping into my head. "I must try the local cuisine I keep hearing about."
I turned to the man standing next to me, a typical gun-toting African-American criminal. "Excuse me!" I said brightly, "Could you please direct me to the nearest McDonalds?"
*Note: No offence to Americans etc.*
|
Ugh, I'm so happy this flight is over, I hate flights. And don't fucking tell me that it's "so much safer than driving a car", I'm sure straight-jackets from the asylum are also safer than your normal everyday clothes, doesn't change that I would never wear it voluntarily.
Anyway, I'm glad I don't have to get back into that piece of shit for two years, before my company decides that they suddenly want to move to yet another location. Fucking idiots.
The airport is surprisingly clean and efficient, within minutes I have my baggage and have reached the subway connected to the airport. Then I suddenly stumble across the first problem. Whoever invented the ticket-system for the subway deserves a special place in hell. The map is littered with stations, and apparently the people responsible for the transportation thought it would be appropriate to introduce a different ticket for every single ending station, depending on where you start. Two stripes on my ticket for a distance of one station, but not more than four stations, and less if the distance between the stations crosses one of the rings on the map, but that exception doesn't apply if the end-station is in the same rectangle as the starting-station? Then add two stripes for every additional area, unless the area stretches across multiple rings, then you have to go by stops between your starting point and your...
You know what, fuck it, 24 hour ticket it is.
A short glance at my watch tells me that the next train is due to arrive at 15:15, and apparently it'll reach the next station within 5 minutes, and then the next within 5 minutes, and so on.
15:15 on point the train arrives, I get on board and store my baggage on the seat next to me. 15:19 we arrive in the next station. A monotone feminine voice announces that the train will have to wait a few minutes, because the tracks are still blocked by the train from the opposite direction. The people around me start to groan and complain about the trains always being late. 15:20 we leave the station.
After two hours I reach my destination and get of the train. My office is supposed to be in the area, and since my company organised an apartment for me, I have to get the keys first.
On my way to the office I notice that I haven't eaten anything but a small salad during the flight, so I enter the next baker I come across. The choice of what to eat is pretty easy, with pretzels, black bread and sausage being the only available options, I decide to grab a pretzel and a beer.
After I paid three Euros and listened to an elderly laidy complaining about how things have gotten so expensive ("Three euros, that's six mark!") I get out of the bakery and finally reach the office.
I cross the parkinglot with thirty identical black BMWs and enter the building through the front door, checking my watch for the time. 17:35, 25 minutes early.
Since I dislike asking people for help I decide to search for my boss, so I can ask for my apartment keys. On my way through the building I accidentaly interrupt a few pre-meeting preparations for the meetings scheduled for 18:00. When I reach my boss I don't even have to explain what I'm here for, he grabs my empty beer-can and replaces it with the apartment-keys, before he turns around, throwing the can into one of the three recycling-bins standing in his office.
...
Half an hour later I'm sitting in my new apartment, leaving my baggage sitting on the floor, too tired to put everything in the right place right now. Taking a look out of the window I see the solarcell-covered roofs of the city, the wind turbines in the distance and the election posters of the green party, complaining about the destruction of the environment through hydroelectric power plants.
This is my new home for the next few years.
Welcome to Germany.
|
Feel free to reveal the country, or leave it up to the reader to figure it out.
|
[WP] You finally save up to travel to another country. On arrival, you find that EVERY stereotype about that country is true.
|
Disembarking the plane took over several hours, despite the fact that it was only half-full, due to all the obese land-whales taking their sweet time. To clarify, it's not that they weren't moving, it was just that the only movement they made was sliding onto one of six motorised wheelchairs that were brought out for their convenience.
I finally managed to disembark the claustrophobic hell hole that was the aircraft, right behind an elderly Caucasian man.
For some reason, despite literally cradling a box of explosives in his arms, and wearing a shirt saying "Death to America", he managed to get through customs and security without a hitch.
Surprised, I stepped up for my turn with customs, only to be blocked by a TSA agent wielding a cattleprod.
"Hold it right there! Which part of America are you from?" the agent inquired, waving her cattleprod around like a magic wand.
"Er- sorry..." I replied, confused and shocked by the question "I'm not American...Not everyone comes from America, you know" making what I presumed to be a harmless joke.
"Bullshit, everyone is American!" she said, furrowing her eyebrows at me.
Taking a deep breath, she chewed her lips before she came to the obvious conclusion, a worried look coming upon her face "Oh, you're not one of them foreigner types are you?"
"Yes, are you daft or something?"
The TSA agent took a step back and screamed for help. Within seconds, I was on the floor and in handcuffs, the agent beaming as if she had caught Bin Laden herself "Wait till I tell mom I caught a terrorist! I did it!"
~~~
It took me several days to be released, of which I spent most of it being waterboarded by the CIA and questioned about my non-existant links to Al-Qaeda. Waddling out of the government building due to the numerous colonoscopies I had been given, I took my first breath of fresh air as a free man, thinking about all the things I had planned in this great and free capitalist nation.
"I know!" I thought, an idea popping into my head. "I must try the local cuisine I keep hearing about."
I turned to the man standing next to me, a typical gun-toting African-American criminal. "Excuse me!" I said brightly, "Could you please direct me to the nearest McDonalds?"
*Note: No offence to Americans etc.*
|
I step off the plane, and enter the airport. I notice that women do not dress to impress in this country. Attention from men is generally not aimed towards them.
A few hours later, upon reaching my hotel, I decide to take a stroll to find some dinner. What I saw on my walk poisoned the entire trip. I had heard the stories at home in Australia, but I never thought that it really happened. Though it was revolting, I could not help but stare. In my sight was a group of men, naked. The disgusting sight was not necessarily the men, but the sheep that they were fucking.
Needless to say, I'll never be heading back to New Zealand.
Note: I do not mean to offend anybody from New Zealand. I love you all, and I know that you do not fuck sheep
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[wp]You are a powerful wizard and have just read the fictional series Harry potter. Please write your review of the books.
|
On May 18, 2015 at 2:34, Premium User 'castertheunfriendlypost' Wrote:
What the actual fuck? This is the biggest load of dragon shit I've ever read. Real wizards don't wear fucking hats and robes and shit, and we certainly don't invite fucking 11 year old fuckers to all gather together and learn to fucking cast deadly powerful spells that could blow up shit and enslave bitches and make up a fucking unbalanced 'point system' as punishment. In real fucking life you get thrown into a fucking dungeon if you misuse magic and get shot by fucking Flamecasters until your balls float away as ash in the breeze. J.K. Rowling is obviously a fucking bitch-ass pretender who knows nothing about the fucking real world or how a fucking magic system works. These books are total fucking bitch-ass shit.
On May 18, 2015 at 2:35, Premium Gold user 'jkrowlingofficial' Commented:
But one of us is a millionare. Get on my level, bitch.
|
Published May 18, 2015.
First off, these books are almost nothing how magic is in real life. They don't even include ritual suicide, which obviously is essential for any type of magic.
Secondly, what is all this, 'Wind-guardium, leviosa' shit? There is none of all that fru-fru stuff! At most, we say "Uvkeri qurtri". Which, in your tongue, means Light where their is gray.
Lastly, what the hell is that freak Voldemort?! Where the hell did his nose go?! Magic doesn't affect the bodies of living creatures. Only the surrounding areas. So the fuck happened to that guy? ^I ^heard ^of ^nose ^jobs ^but ^jeez!
Overall, I give it a 4 out of 10 Krilems. Which, in your tongue, means frog throats. It was entertaining, at least, but as a realistic fiction movie about magic, it was *extremely* off!
|
|
[wp]You are a powerful wizard and have just read the fictional series Harry potter. Please write your review of the books.
|
TOP SECRET
Laundry Report - CASE SECRET CHAMBER
Eyes Only
Fiction review as per SOP.
Reasonably amusing children's fantasy. Luckily it is generally regarded as harmless fluff for kids with some "life lessons" about courage, friendship, power of love, and self sacrifice.
Author evidently has had access to classified materials. The Voldemort character is very clearly at least class 2, if not class 3, exonomic possessor entity. Continuity of existence and identity after "death", as well as ability to "transfer" same to other hosts certainly indicates such, for example the Quirell character.
Magic use in the book represented rather clumsily, albeit to a reasonable level of accuracy absent usual prescribed warding and protections. Remarkably the fictional characters eschew technology, preferring recitation of simple verbal charms as mnemonic devices to create/channel/control mathemagical power.
Considering the haphazrd methods of magic use and the lack of any warding or protection, it is remarkable that no characters are shown to be at risk for possession/incursion. Magic is shown to be a "lark", a children's plaything.
It is likely the author is a cult member, at a medium level of initiation; high enough to gain real knowledge, but not too far gone and able to retain a reasonable degree of coherence.
RECOMMENDATIONS
The mnemonic devices portrayed in the fiction are essentially meaningless without the specialised knowledge that would be required. Fiction need not be suppressed.
The author has high profile. Suppression/elimination is contra-indicated. Author should be traced, their connections monitored, and provision made for immediate apprehension in case her group actually manages to summon anything *big*.
CROSS-REF: CASE K2-LU, CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN, CASE DUNGEON DRAGON FOUR,
|
Published May 18, 2015.
First off, these books are almost nothing how magic is in real life. They don't even include ritual suicide, which obviously is essential for any type of magic.
Secondly, what is all this, 'Wind-guardium, leviosa' shit? There is none of all that fru-fru stuff! At most, we say "Uvkeri qurtri". Which, in your tongue, means Light where their is gray.
Lastly, what the hell is that freak Voldemort?! Where the hell did his nose go?! Magic doesn't affect the bodies of living creatures. Only the surrounding areas. So the fuck happened to that guy? ^I ^heard ^of ^nose ^jobs ^but ^jeez!
Overall, I give it a 4 out of 10 Krilems. Which, in your tongue, means frog throats. It was entertaining, at least, but as a realistic fiction movie about magic, it was *extremely* off!
|
|
[wp]You are a powerful wizard and have just read the fictional series Harry potter. Please write your review of the books.
|
TOP SECRET
Laundry Report - CASE SECRET CHAMBER
Eyes Only
Fiction review as per SOP.
Reasonably amusing children's fantasy. Luckily it is generally regarded as harmless fluff for kids with some "life lessons" about courage, friendship, power of love, and self sacrifice.
Author evidently has had access to classified materials. The Voldemort character is very clearly at least class 2, if not class 3, exonomic possessor entity. Continuity of existence and identity after "death", as well as ability to "transfer" same to other hosts certainly indicates such, for example the Quirell character.
Magic use in the book represented rather clumsily, albeit to a reasonable level of accuracy absent usual prescribed warding and protections. Remarkably the fictional characters eschew technology, preferring recitation of simple verbal charms as mnemonic devices to create/channel/control mathemagical power.
Considering the haphazrd methods of magic use and the lack of any warding or protection, it is remarkable that no characters are shown to be at risk for possession/incursion. Magic is shown to be a "lark", a children's plaything.
It is likely the author is a cult member, at a medium level of initiation; high enough to gain real knowledge, but not too far gone and able to retain a reasonable degree of coherence.
RECOMMENDATIONS
The mnemonic devices portrayed in the fiction are essentially meaningless without the specialised knowledge that would be required. Fiction need not be suppressed.
The author has high profile. Suppression/elimination is contra-indicated. Author should be traced, their connections monitored, and provision made for immediate apprehension in case her group actually manages to summon anything *big*.
CROSS-REF: CASE K2-LU, CASE NIGHTMARE GREEN, CASE DUNGEON DRAGON FOUR,
|
On May 18, 2015 at 2:34, Premium User 'castertheunfriendlypost' Wrote:
What the actual fuck? This is the biggest load of dragon shit I've ever read. Real wizards don't wear fucking hats and robes and shit, and we certainly don't invite fucking 11 year old fuckers to all gather together and learn to fucking cast deadly powerful spells that could blow up shit and enslave bitches and make up a fucking unbalanced 'point system' as punishment. In real fucking life you get thrown into a fucking dungeon if you misuse magic and get shot by fucking Flamecasters until your balls float away as ash in the breeze. J.K. Rowling is obviously a fucking bitch-ass pretender who knows nothing about the fucking real world or how a fucking magic system works. These books are total fucking bitch-ass shit.
On May 18, 2015 at 2:35, Premium Gold user 'jkrowlingofficial' Commented:
But one of us is a millionare. Get on my level, bitch.
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Oh shit.
I've always been painfully shy. That's my problem, you see, and I was only trying to fix it. Ending up in a dark basement with a sack over my head was just another mistake in a long line of things that had happened to me because I was too shy to say "No thanks." I don't know if it's politeness, or stupidity, or maybe a mixture of the both, but I can't seem to say no to people. Ever. I've walked dogs (when I'm allergic to pet hair), babysat (when kids freak me out and never really listen to me), been a designated driver countless times (even on my own birthday that one time) and I once loaned a friend two grand I knew they would never give me back All because I can never say no.
I hate it! But I couldn't do anything about it, you see. Because I'm such a pushover, and everyone would give me a big smile and say "You're the best, Jenny!" afterwards. And who doesn't love hearing that? I'm everyone's go to gal. But that crumbled around me with Bus Stop Guy.
Bus Stop Guy was exactly how he sounds. He was a guy at my bus stop. He's tall, with curly dark hair and a dimple in his chin. He wears tailored suits, but his tie always looks a little crooked. It makes me want to straighten it every time. And he always reads. My little crush developed from the day he looked up, and smiled at me and I saw that his eyes were the bluest blue. I was smitten But I never spoke. I thought he would reject me. That wasn't a problem for Amy. She came with me to the bus stop one day and saw him, and when we were alone, she asked me if she should ask for his number.
And of course I said yes.
I regretted it for days and weeks. Then I was at the community centre, where I volunteer after being hounded to do so, and I saw it.
"A new organisation devoted to making you a better you! Down on your luck? Lonely? Depressed and/or suicidal? Shy? Impressionable? Come and join a friendly, open and members only club full of like minded people devoted to bettering themselves before it's too late!"
I quickly phoned the number and I was directed to a cheery woman named Jolene who set me up with a test and an interview the next day in a local fair trade coffee shop. Apparently I passed with flying colours, although I somehow managed to pay for everything too.
Then I was phoned at three in the morning and directed to a meeting which turned into a horrifying ambush where a bag was put on my head. The soothing words they whispered in my ear while they did it were nice, although I was still quite scared. They told me no harm would come to me so I just went along with it, and they told me I'd passed the next est and that I was perfect for their New World Order or something. We got into a car where they played some weird ambient music, and here I am now I suppose.
The bag is ripped from my head and as I adjust to the light, I look up into the eye of Bus Stop Guy.
Oh!
Perhaps this isn't so bad after all. I'm sure they have some good ideas.
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
well, shiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeettttttttt...
That's what I thought, staring through the stained glass.
This is what I sought, so I must train fast.
Thinking back to the when it rained last,
it's been all sunshine, proving there's a time limit of how long the pain lasts.
We took the kids by the camp fire, roasting marshmellows,
Talking amongsts colleagues, you know, them high up fellows,
Some even asked me to get some cigarillos,
Cause' they agreed, Sometimes, you want the banana when it's green, not yellow.
My thing was them hoes. Watching them grow.
Watching them show, and watching them ho,
Watching them slow, watching them low,
Watching them high, watching them so...
But Pope Arnold liked to watch them mold,
and by that, I don't mean watching them grow old,
he locked the boys up before they were to be sold,
sweat from their ass trapped, yeah that's the mold.
That's the mold, in this cult, that's the gold,
boys, young, men, old, yeah, it's been told,
I told old nigga "man, I gotta fold,"
what they was doing was cold, even if they rolled.
I told em "no!" I ain't gay, I want them lil' hoes!
"I ain't joining you wrinkly ass cracker ass homos!"
They asked me if I knew why it ain't rained in a while,
I shrugged, and the whole whiteass room of old wiggaz cracked a huge smile.
"To the son, holy spirit, and to the father",
"Booty is more important than drinking water"
They raised lil' eric up on the cross,
Then one old nigga celebrated; he stuck his ass up like he was Randy Moss.
With the Moss pose held, he backed his old ass up on the boy,
underwear with dickholes in the back, you could see his joy,
See some of these Popes were Wide Recievers, they had first pick,
One nigga was so diseased doe, he had that cursed dick.
If that one nigga was Randy Moss, then this Nigga was the Boss,
Boss Rick Ross, big white bear having Eric's salad tossed,
Damn they gang-raped the fuck out of that lil' boy til he was out of breath,
Then the most vile white nigga nearly facefucked the lil' boy to death,
Then it stopped, Cause here came the cops,
but they was some faggots too, they was really the mops,
cleaning off every old niggaz' jizz, damn what a nasty pop,
But then they all turned and looked at me: my heart dropped.
It was my turn, as I stared at lil' Eric, body half-burned.
last nigga stepped off with one officer, who was cleaning his shaft sperm,
I thought of my morals, and what was right,
so I grabbed the mic, grabbed dez nuts and said "NOT TONIGHT!"
"YOU FAG ASS CRACKERS! I THOUGHT WE WAS GETTIN' SOME JUST-RIPPENING PUSSY! I DIDN'T KNOW YALL WAS SOME GAY-ASS BUTT-PUMPING NIGGAZ! I'M KEEPING THIS ROBE AND GOING HOME!"
(They subsequently took me down, and shoved a huge machete up my ass. I'm dead now.)
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
How the hell did I wind up here? Okay, John, think! Think! Where were you last night? I was out with some friends. Good, that's a start. Which friends? There was Greg, that slimy bastard; Rick, he's alright, I guess; Laura, she's so hot. Okay good. Where did you go? I'm not entirely sure. Okay, fine. Why were you out last night? Some event. Someone was getting married. Married, married, married. Someone was getting married. John was getting - I was getting married! Last night was my wedding reception. Who did I marry? My fiancée, of course. D'uh. Who is my fiancée?
"Hi, my name is John and this is my fiancée, S -," St - St -, who the hell is Stacey? Stacey! That's the one! Okay, so last night was my wedding reception; I got married to Stacey and the last thing I did was drink with Greg, Rick and Laura. Fuck. They're all a bunch of drug addicts. Okay, no time to think. Where am I now? Why are they all dressed in robes? I've seen something similar in Laura's house.
"Approach, chosen one." Are they talking to me?
"Yes, approach, chosen one," who the hell is saying that?
"Umm - where am I?"
"You need not ask questions yet, chosen one, first you must approach to the fire."
Oh God, this is some Crowley-bullshit.
"Listen, I don't know what's going on, but I'd like to go home."
"This is your home." There are like five people standing in front of me and I don't know who the hell is talking.
"Are you guys like wearing some device that covers your voice? Seriously, you all sound like Darth Vader."
"Umm - no, shut up, Jo - I mean, chosen one."
"You can't speak to the chosen one that way, you idiot!" Ouch, that's a bad smack.
"Quiet, fools! We are wasting time. As for you, chosen one, please make your way to the fire."
"Am I going to die?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well apart from the incessant requests to walk towards a ball of fire, I am also standing before 5 people whose faces I cannot identify, nor can it be said for their voices."
"Mm, good point. No, you are not going to die, chosen one. This is an initiation to join our society. You see, long ago during the times of the Mesopotamians, it was foretold that one man born on the seventh of the seventh month of the second millennia would be chosen to lead us in our endeavour to find inner peace. That man is you."
"I see," that doesn't make a lot of sense, "but we use the Gregorian calendar," why is the left one scratching his chest, "I don't think the Mesopotamians used it."
"Umm - enough with your inquisitive ways! Make your way to the fire and repeat after us."
"Woah! Okay fine!" Well this is going to suck ass. God, I must look so retarded right no - where the hell are my clothes - ?! "Hey, where the hell are my clothes!"
"You do not need them, chosen one, you carry a celestial body whose physical shape embraces the perfection of the universe.
"Did the Mesopotamians foresee that as well?"
"Not really, but you are hot."
"Shut up, Laura!" Wait, did he just say Laura?
"Laura?" It must be her, "Laura is that you?"
"I do not know who this Laura is. Cease your questions and walk to the fire!"
"I thought I recognised those breasts."
"What!" Why is this cult-person so obsessed with what I'm - oh shit, it's Stacey.
"What do you mean you recognise those breasts?" Oh shit, I'm fucked. I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked I'm - wait a minute.
"Wait a minute, Stacey, why the hell are you a member of a cult?"
"This is no cult, John, this is the answer to all of life's problems. This is - oh, fuck it. Rick, inject him with the Flunitrazepam."
Flunitrazepam, I recognise that word, isn't that a roof -
"Ow! Sweet Jesus, what the hell was that for, man? Hey, why is -" everything going so funny. I feel kinda weir -.
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Chuck glanced down at the watch on his wrist, his left foot tapping steadily on the pearl tiled floor. He realized his visit to the DMV wouldn’t exactly be a quick stop-off, but rather an elongated, slow, and otherwise unpleasant ordeal. Still, he didn’t think it would be quite this bad. For starters, he had no idea that so many people would be cutting their own arms and bleeding into some sort of golden chalice as they “patiently” awaited their turn to enter the building. Likewise, he didn’t expect to find all of the employees adorned in long, black gowns, with elaborate, golden designs stitched into them. Regardless, the experience was about as unpleasant as it had been the last time he’d stopped off at the DMV.
The man ahead of Chuck inched forward slightly, Chuck taking a step to keep up with the pace of the nearly unmoving line to enter the building. It had been a while since he’d visited the DMV, mostly because he absolutely despised the entire event. He hated the employees that always seemed to hate him more; hated the lines that usually encircled the building; hated the photo that was guaranteed to ruin his driver’s license for the next six years. There was nothing pleasant about it. Yet he’d put it off as long as he could, received two—almost three, had the first officer not taken pity on him—tickets for driving with an expired license. Anymore and he’d risk jail. As such, he hopped in his car, illegally drove to the DMV, and found himself waiting to simply get into the massive, foreboding, brick building.
The last time Chuck had been to the DMV was roughly five years prior. He remembered it being just as dingy, depressing, and utterly lifeless as it currently looked; however, it seemed they’d done quite a bit of redecorating the interior—or at least what he could see from the windows. Gone were the drab, emotionless beige curtains that lined the cigarette-stained walls. Instead, everything was covered in black veil, with what looked like blood-colored streaks spelling out some sort of words Chuck could not recognize. It was clearly some other language, or perhaps just English instructions made completely illegible at the great pleasure of the DMV employees. In fact, the workers as well, adorned in their black and gold robes, seemed even more lifeless than they had been in the past. They looked much paler, their voices monotone as they chanted some sort of Latin-sounding verse. The ominous song, however, Chuck was pretty sure he’d heard during his last visit. This time, however, more people were joining in. In fact, everybody on line seemed to be.
Chuck glanced up at the lettering that lined the black-veiled walls through the window, squinting in an attempt to make out the words. He was sure they were some sort of instructions, some tips on how to quickly and efficiently make use of his time at the DMV. That was why they were so illegible, to spite the people taking off work to come in and address their driver-related issues. Chuck sighed, knowing he’d now probably end up getting to the desk and find out he’s missing some sort of form. The angry, overly-aggressive employee would then point to the illegible characters on the wall and explain “he was a fucking retard for not reading the tips.” He’d then probably be sent to the back of the line. He so hated the DMV.
“Next,” said an employee, his face buried beneath a black hood. The man ahead of Chuck stepped forward and held out his arms, his wrists covered in blood. He had previously been standing over some sort of golden chalice, the ruby liquid spewing from his veins into the cup. Now, the blood fell uninterrupted to the cold, pearl tiled floors of the DMV. The man in the black and gold robe seemed to nod at the fellow ahead of Chuck, who then disappeared beyond the door of the DMV.
“Next,” repeated the employee. Chuck glanced up at him and stepped forward.
“Hello,” Chuck said, digging his hand into his pocket and reaching for his wallet. “I’d like to renew my license.”
The man stared at Chuck, his pale face shrouded by the hood over his head. “Dhsula Laquia?”
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, not even remotely sure of what the man had said.
“You seek a new path?” the man said, now speaking in English. He had a thick, Eastern European accent. Possibly Russia or Poland; Chuck was never good with dialects.
“Sure,” Chuck shrugged.
“Present the pale of your limb, the underside of your skin.”
Chuck held out his arms, assuming that was what the man meant, and flipped his palms toward the ceiling. The man reached his right hand into his robe and pulled out a long, silver sword. Chuck stared at it for a second before thrusting his hand backward.
“What is that?” Chuck said, staring at the sword and hiding his arms.
“Your path,” the man said, running his palm along the blade hard enough to draw blood. “You may not enter without showing your faith.”
Chuck stared at him for a moment, his head tilted. It had been a while since he’d been to the DMV, yes, but he didn’t recall any blood rituals. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, though. “Fine,” Chuck sighed, holding his arm back out.
The man lifted the blade and slashed it down Chuck’s wrist horizontally, splitting the skin. Blood spurted out several inches, falling back down and splattering onto the pearl tiled floor beside where the prior man’s had. It felt genuinely unpleasant, but was pretty much what he expected from the DMV.
“Pass,” the man said, nodding toward the entrance to the DMV. Chuck glanced at it, a trail of dark, thick blood leading into the halls beyond. “Enter the Halls of the Department of Motor Vehicles.”
Chuck again shrugged his shoulders, blood spurting out of his hand. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had a pretty good feeling that he’d just accidentally joined a cult. He stepped forward and pulled back on the massive, steel doors to the building, the trail of blood continuing on within. He moved inside, following the specs and pools of dark, arterial blood until he reached the innards of the DMV. Within it sat dozens of people in colorful and obviously uncomfortable plastic chairs, their blood-soaked hands clutching small, paper number tickets. A counter stood above them in a hard to read location, displaying whose number was up next. Several desks sat unoccupied in the middle of the back of the room, with just one employee—a clearly angry, and overly-aggressive woman—yelling something about a driving test to a crying elderly man. Chuck nodded slowly, scanning the room. He had definitely been wrong about the cult, it was simply the DMV.
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Well shit...
You know that saying, "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything"? Well it turns out, being an asocial, asexual, apolitical, apathetic asshole has made me too trusting. Fuck you, Todd. You are not my best friend anymore.
If you ever really were. Maybe that was just another lie to get me here.
Where is here? Here is about twelve people back from a stained copper altar that, if it were in the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, would be titled, "Naked Fat People Can't Play Twister Well." Behind that altar is the so-called Grand Visionate of Community of the Peoples of the United Family. Right now, he is twenty minutes in to the third forty minute initiation ritual. Because when you're a community of Peoples, you have to make sure everyone gets equal attention. Fuck you, Todd.
Four months ago, for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed the presence of another human being. I originally met Todd online while I was trolling people on Facebook. Not that I'm on Facebook. I just like to go into the Apple store on my way back from getting smokes and see which dumbass left their account open. Nothing like good "It's complicated" update add a little chaos to an otherwise happy marriage. But four months ago, the iPad on display was occupied. What I thought was another doofus who couldn't go five minutes without checking his social status in the world, was in fact, Todd. I watched Todd on a facebook page which was clearly not his, saying some really hurtful things to whoever's fat thirteen year old niece. It was friendship at first sight. So I thought. Fuck you, Todd.
After a few months of hanging out, getting high, and causing a little well deserved misery to our fellow human beings; Todd tells me he'd like to introduce me to his other "friends." He tells me they're like us. Real fuck society, fuck the system kind of people. Cool, I say. What he didn't tell me was that we had to drive two hours out to the middle of fucking nowhere so some asshole could put a bag over my head and then drive me another two hours to who knows where. I just know, that the first thing you do not want to see after two hours of total darkness is the underside of naked fat guy. Fuck. You. Todd.
So here I am, waiting in line to see the Grand Visionate. I see Todd right behind him shoot me a comforting smile. Asshole. The third guy just finished up. He hobbles off the altar with tears in his eyes. He looks... happy? I don't know how. Number four is stripped naked and restrained across the altar. Everyone has struggled but when the Visionate marks them, they relax and get this serene, glazed-over look like they're becoming at peace with the universe. Honestly, it sounds fucking terrible. But the worst part is what the Grand Visionate is using to mark them with. What I get to look forward to. What is being smeared all over their face and naked torso.
What is it?
Well... His shit.
Fuck you Todd.
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Only five minutes had passed when Alice began wishing that she had been born the opposite gender. Since she had joined the end of the line, it had only moved forward once, giving her the impression that the bathroom had no more than three stalls. The sheer number of people was to be expected; the hall was always booked with various events on the weekends. She had just wished that whatever architect who designed the place had a more thorough understanding of the ladies' restroom.
She pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. It had taken her six months just to stitch the varying sashes and symbols onto it. As an amateur seamstress, she was quite proud of the fruits of her labor, and to have to drag it into a dirty stall was a thought as unappealing as one-ply toilet paper. The twenty other individuals ahead of her wore similar robes, but theirs seemed less homemade.
They seemed to all have bought their costumes from the same manufacturer. Alice frowned disdainfully; they were probably the kind of rich cosplayers who paid absurd amounts of money for their pre-picked uniforms. She had given up her blood, sweat, and tears for her own.
The other robed individuals kept their hoods up. She considered this strange; after all, it was the middle of the summer, and the air conditioning was nowhere near as high as it should have been. As she stepped forward in line, the person ahead of her turned around. Her robe was a deep blue, with the sleeves and hems embroidered with a beautiful silver star pattern.
"Nice stitching," Alice remarked.
The figure pushed her hood back slightly, revealing a young woman likely in her early twenties. "Thanks! I've chosen to follow Astrolia, obviously." She smiled, glancing at her costume. "Who did you pick?"
"I'm not familiar with that character. What franchise?" She readjusted her cloak, as to make her hard work more visible. "I'm Barrin, Master Wizard. You know, Magic the Gathering."
The woman suddenly looked angry. "How dare you mock us?"
"What?"
"You're comparing us to wizards?" Her face was growing closer to the color of her robes, and as her voice grew shriller, more of the people on line began to turn towards them. "You heretics have no respect!"
Alice backed up, her need to pee pushed to the back of her mind by this sudden confrontation. "Whoa, I respect all fandoms. I'm just here for the bathroom."
The rage dissipated. "Bathroom?" She asked.
"Is this not the line for the restroom?"
"Uh, no. This is for initiation into Roghar's Shade. We're picking our gods to devote our lives to." The woman looked at Alice critically. "Why are you in a robe if you're not here to declare yourself?"
Alice stared at her in horror, and then at the five people ahead of her. "This is my cosplay for WizardCon!"
"You're in the wrong place." The cultist pointed behind her. "*That's* the line for the restroom."
Alice turned to see a long line of women stretching from the door and wrapping around the corner.
"Well, shit."
|
"Well, shit. How did I end up here again?" ...Oh yeah, I was drunk and this group of men came up to me and said they have a 'surprise'. Bullshit, all they gave me were a bunch of pamphlets and a coupon for McDonald's. ^^I'll ^^still ^^use ^^the ^^coupon, ^^but ^^still...
Anyhow, why do cultists always get people when they are drunk at parties- actually, now that I think about it, that is probably the *only* way they can get people to join their cult.
"*cough cough*- So, um, what does this cult do... per say? Not that is matters, of course!"
"Our goal is to unify the universe and let humanity obtain the power of god!"
Of fucking course! They're a bunch of mentally unstable nut-jobs. Fuck it, I'm too afraid to ask what this cult is called so I'll nickname it squirrel.
A man in a brown bag gets up and says "Will their be any ritual sacrifice in this cult?"
*What the actual fuck?! Is this guy insane! Of course they don't-*
"Yes. Yes there will be."
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Any more questions?" said the tall skinny one. "Uh, yes. What should we call you guys? And the cult itself?"
Man, that guy has some balls. I'm too afraid to ask to use the restroom.
"We're known as the Advancement of Humanitarians. And my name is Bob."
**What teh fuck?! How is this cult ANYTHING humanitarian!** Anyway, I got to run, because if I don't I'll be *fucked* up! "Okay, now if any of you think of running or leave this cult, we'll shoot you with this here crossbow." Bob then points at the crossbow held by the other member.
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
"Now, please stand in a row and we'll initiate you all. Welcome!" says Bob.
"Uh, Bob." I say "May I ask you a qu- question?"
Bob replies, "Of course my brother! No need to be shy! Ask me anything!"
"May I go to the restroom?"
"No. Hold it."
*Well, fuck! Now I am going to crap my pants-...
^Shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit,shit
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Oh shit.
I've always been painfully shy. That's my problem, you see, and I was only trying to fix it. Ending up in a dark basement with a sack over my head was just another mistake in a long line of things that had happened to me because I was too shy to say "No thanks." I don't know if it's politeness, or stupidity, or maybe a mixture of the both, but I can't seem to say no to people. Ever. I've walked dogs (when I'm allergic to pet hair), babysat (when kids freak me out and never really listen to me), been a designated driver countless times (even on my own birthday that one time) and I once loaned a friend two grand I knew they would never give me back All because I can never say no.
I hate it! But I couldn't do anything about it, you see. Because I'm such a pushover, and everyone would give me a big smile and say "You're the best, Jenny!" afterwards. And who doesn't love hearing that? I'm everyone's go to gal. But that crumbled around me with Bus Stop Guy.
Bus Stop Guy was exactly how he sounds. He was a guy at my bus stop. He's tall, with curly dark hair and a dimple in his chin. He wears tailored suits, but his tie always looks a little crooked. It makes me want to straighten it every time. And he always reads. My little crush developed from the day he looked up, and smiled at me and I saw that his eyes were the bluest blue. I was smitten But I never spoke. I thought he would reject me. That wasn't a problem for Amy. She came with me to the bus stop one day and saw him, and when we were alone, she asked me if she should ask for his number.
And of course I said yes.
I regretted it for days and weeks. Then I was at the community centre, where I volunteer after being hounded to do so, and I saw it.
"A new organisation devoted to making you a better you! Down on your luck? Lonely? Depressed and/or suicidal? Shy? Impressionable? Come and join a friendly, open and members only club full of like minded people devoted to bettering themselves before it's too late!"
I quickly phoned the number and I was directed to a cheery woman named Jolene who set me up with a test and an interview the next day in a local fair trade coffee shop. Apparently I passed with flying colours, although I somehow managed to pay for everything too.
Then I was phoned at three in the morning and directed to a meeting which turned into a horrifying ambush where a bag was put on my head. The soothing words they whispered in my ear while they did it were nice, although I was still quite scared. They told me no harm would come to me so I just went along with it, and they told me I'd passed the next est and that I was perfect for their New World Order or something. We got into a car where they played some weird ambient music, and here I am now I suppose.
The bag is ripped from my head and as I adjust to the light, I look up into the eye of Bus Stop Guy.
Oh!
Perhaps this isn't so bad after all. I'm sure they have some good ideas.
|
Rows of robes
donning auburn cowls
making their way up the pews
with priestly scowls
a hand reaches to my shoulder
his hands are cold, his face is colder
with worried frown
his stomach growls
through the troubled hymn
he lets me know his chagrin
the blood wafers just won't settle
and the corpse wine tastes of metal
he turns to run but its too late
his shit drops in the collection plate
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
well, shiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeettttttttt...
That's what I thought, staring through the stained glass.
This is what I sought, so I must train fast.
Thinking back to the when it rained last,
it's been all sunshine, proving there's a time limit of how long the pain lasts.
We took the kids by the camp fire, roasting marshmellows,
Talking amongsts colleagues, you know, them high up fellows,
Some even asked me to get some cigarillos,
Cause' they agreed, Sometimes, you want the banana when it's green, not yellow.
My thing was them hoes. Watching them grow.
Watching them show, and watching them ho,
Watching them slow, watching them low,
Watching them high, watching them so...
But Pope Arnold liked to watch them mold,
and by that, I don't mean watching them grow old,
he locked the boys up before they were to be sold,
sweat from their ass trapped, yeah that's the mold.
That's the mold, in this cult, that's the gold,
boys, young, men, old, yeah, it's been told,
I told old nigga "man, I gotta fold,"
what they was doing was cold, even if they rolled.
I told em "no!" I ain't gay, I want them lil' hoes!
"I ain't joining you wrinkly ass cracker ass homos!"
They asked me if I knew why it ain't rained in a while,
I shrugged, and the whole whiteass room of old wiggaz cracked a huge smile.
"To the son, holy spirit, and to the father",
"Booty is more important than drinking water"
They raised lil' eric up on the cross,
Then one old nigga celebrated; he stuck his ass up like he was Randy Moss.
With the Moss pose held, he backed his old ass up on the boy,
underwear with dickholes in the back, you could see his joy,
See some of these Popes were Wide Recievers, they had first pick,
One nigga was so diseased doe, he had that cursed dick.
If that one nigga was Randy Moss, then this Nigga was the Boss,
Boss Rick Ross, big white bear having Eric's salad tossed,
Damn they gang-raped the fuck out of that lil' boy til he was out of breath,
Then the most vile white nigga nearly facefucked the lil' boy to death,
Then it stopped, Cause here came the cops,
but they was some faggots too, they was really the mops,
cleaning off every old niggaz' jizz, damn what a nasty pop,
But then they all turned and looked at me: my heart dropped.
It was my turn, as I stared at lil' Eric, body half-burned.
last nigga stepped off with one officer, who was cleaning his shaft sperm,
I thought of my morals, and what was right,
so I grabbed the mic, grabbed dez nuts and said "NOT TONIGHT!"
"YOU FAG ASS CRACKERS! I THOUGHT WE WAS GETTIN' SOME JUST-RIPPENING PUSSY! I DIDN'T KNOW YALL WAS SOME GAY-ASS BUTT-PUMPING NIGGAZ! I'M KEEPING THIS ROBE AND GOING HOME!"
(They subsequently took me down, and shoved a huge machete up my ass. I'm dead now.)
|
Rows of robes
donning auburn cowls
making their way up the pews
with priestly scowls
a hand reaches to my shoulder
his hands are cold, his face is colder
with worried frown
his stomach growls
through the troubled hymn
he lets me know his chagrin
the blood wafers just won't settle
and the corpse wine tastes of metal
he turns to run but its too late
his shit drops in the collection plate
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
How the hell did I wind up here? Okay, John, think! Think! Where were you last night? I was out with some friends. Good, that's a start. Which friends? There was Greg, that slimy bastard; Rick, he's alright, I guess; Laura, she's so hot. Okay good. Where did you go? I'm not entirely sure. Okay, fine. Why were you out last night? Some event. Someone was getting married. Married, married, married. Someone was getting married. John was getting - I was getting married! Last night was my wedding reception. Who did I marry? My fiancée, of course. D'uh. Who is my fiancée?
"Hi, my name is John and this is my fiancée, S -," St - St -, who the hell is Stacey? Stacey! That's the one! Okay, so last night was my wedding reception; I got married to Stacey and the last thing I did was drink with Greg, Rick and Laura. Fuck. They're all a bunch of drug addicts. Okay, no time to think. Where am I now? Why are they all dressed in robes? I've seen something similar in Laura's house.
"Approach, chosen one." Are they talking to me?
"Yes, approach, chosen one," who the hell is saying that?
"Umm - where am I?"
"You need not ask questions yet, chosen one, first you must approach to the fire."
Oh God, this is some Crowley-bullshit.
"Listen, I don't know what's going on, but I'd like to go home."
"This is your home." There are like five people standing in front of me and I don't know who the hell is talking.
"Are you guys like wearing some device that covers your voice? Seriously, you all sound like Darth Vader."
"Umm - no, shut up, Jo - I mean, chosen one."
"You can't speak to the chosen one that way, you idiot!" Ouch, that's a bad smack.
"Quiet, fools! We are wasting time. As for you, chosen one, please make your way to the fire."
"Am I going to die?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well apart from the incessant requests to walk towards a ball of fire, I am also standing before 5 people whose faces I cannot identify, nor can it be said for their voices."
"Mm, good point. No, you are not going to die, chosen one. This is an initiation to join our society. You see, long ago during the times of the Mesopotamians, it was foretold that one man born on the seventh of the seventh month of the second millennia would be chosen to lead us in our endeavour to find inner peace. That man is you."
"I see," that doesn't make a lot of sense, "but we use the Gregorian calendar," why is the left one scratching his chest, "I don't think the Mesopotamians used it."
"Umm - enough with your inquisitive ways! Make your way to the fire and repeat after us."
"Woah! Okay fine!" Well this is going to suck ass. God, I must look so retarded right no - where the hell are my clothes - ?! "Hey, where the hell are my clothes!"
"You do not need them, chosen one, you carry a celestial body whose physical shape embraces the perfection of the universe.
"Did the Mesopotamians foresee that as well?"
"Not really, but you are hot."
"Shut up, Laura!" Wait, did he just say Laura?
"Laura?" It must be her, "Laura is that you?"
"I do not know who this Laura is. Cease your questions and walk to the fire!"
"I thought I recognised those breasts."
"What!" Why is this cult-person so obsessed with what I'm - oh shit, it's Stacey.
"What do you mean you recognise those breasts?" Oh shit, I'm fucked. I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked I'm - wait a minute.
"Wait a minute, Stacey, why the hell are you a member of a cult?"
"This is no cult, John, this is the answer to all of life's problems. This is - oh, fuck it. Rick, inject him with the Flunitrazepam."
Flunitrazepam, I recognise that word, isn't that a roof -
"Ow! Sweet Jesus, what the hell was that for, man? Hey, why is -" everything going so funny. I feel kinda weir -.
|
Rows of robes
donning auburn cowls
making their way up the pews
with priestly scowls
a hand reaches to my shoulder
his hands are cold, his face is colder
with worried frown
his stomach growls
through the troubled hymn
he lets me know his chagrin
the blood wafers just won't settle
and the corpse wine tastes of metal
he turns to run but its too late
his shit drops in the collection plate
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Chuck glanced down at the watch on his wrist, his left foot tapping steadily on the pearl tiled floor. He realized his visit to the DMV wouldn’t exactly be a quick stop-off, but rather an elongated, slow, and otherwise unpleasant ordeal. Still, he didn’t think it would be quite this bad. For starters, he had no idea that so many people would be cutting their own arms and bleeding into some sort of golden chalice as they “patiently” awaited their turn to enter the building. Likewise, he didn’t expect to find all of the employees adorned in long, black gowns, with elaborate, golden designs stitched into them. Regardless, the experience was about as unpleasant as it had been the last time he’d stopped off at the DMV.
The man ahead of Chuck inched forward slightly, Chuck taking a step to keep up with the pace of the nearly unmoving line to enter the building. It had been a while since he’d visited the DMV, mostly because he absolutely despised the entire event. He hated the employees that always seemed to hate him more; hated the lines that usually encircled the building; hated the photo that was guaranteed to ruin his driver’s license for the next six years. There was nothing pleasant about it. Yet he’d put it off as long as he could, received two—almost three, had the first officer not taken pity on him—tickets for driving with an expired license. Anymore and he’d risk jail. As such, he hopped in his car, illegally drove to the DMV, and found himself waiting to simply get into the massive, foreboding, brick building.
The last time Chuck had been to the DMV was roughly five years prior. He remembered it being just as dingy, depressing, and utterly lifeless as it currently looked; however, it seemed they’d done quite a bit of redecorating the interior—or at least what he could see from the windows. Gone were the drab, emotionless beige curtains that lined the cigarette-stained walls. Instead, everything was covered in black veil, with what looked like blood-colored streaks spelling out some sort of words Chuck could not recognize. It was clearly some other language, or perhaps just English instructions made completely illegible at the great pleasure of the DMV employees. In fact, the workers as well, adorned in their black and gold robes, seemed even more lifeless than they had been in the past. They looked much paler, their voices monotone as they chanted some sort of Latin-sounding verse. The ominous song, however, Chuck was pretty sure he’d heard during his last visit. This time, however, more people were joining in. In fact, everybody on line seemed to be.
Chuck glanced up at the lettering that lined the black-veiled walls through the window, squinting in an attempt to make out the words. He was sure they were some sort of instructions, some tips on how to quickly and efficiently make use of his time at the DMV. That was why they were so illegible, to spite the people taking off work to come in and address their driver-related issues. Chuck sighed, knowing he’d now probably end up getting to the desk and find out he’s missing some sort of form. The angry, overly-aggressive employee would then point to the illegible characters on the wall and explain “he was a fucking retard for not reading the tips.” He’d then probably be sent to the back of the line. He so hated the DMV.
“Next,” said an employee, his face buried beneath a black hood. The man ahead of Chuck stepped forward and held out his arms, his wrists covered in blood. He had previously been standing over some sort of golden chalice, the ruby liquid spewing from his veins into the cup. Now, the blood fell uninterrupted to the cold, pearl tiled floors of the DMV. The man in the black and gold robe seemed to nod at the fellow ahead of Chuck, who then disappeared beyond the door of the DMV.
“Next,” repeated the employee. Chuck glanced up at him and stepped forward.
“Hello,” Chuck said, digging his hand into his pocket and reaching for his wallet. “I’d like to renew my license.”
The man stared at Chuck, his pale face shrouded by the hood over his head. “Dhsula Laquia?”
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, not even remotely sure of what the man had said.
“You seek a new path?” the man said, now speaking in English. He had a thick, Eastern European accent. Possibly Russia or Poland; Chuck was never good with dialects.
“Sure,” Chuck shrugged.
“Present the pale of your limb, the underside of your skin.”
Chuck held out his arms, assuming that was what the man meant, and flipped his palms toward the ceiling. The man reached his right hand into his robe and pulled out a long, silver sword. Chuck stared at it for a second before thrusting his hand backward.
“What is that?” Chuck said, staring at the sword and hiding his arms.
“Your path,” the man said, running his palm along the blade hard enough to draw blood. “You may not enter without showing your faith.”
Chuck stared at him for a moment, his head tilted. It had been a while since he’d been to the DMV, yes, but he didn’t recall any blood rituals. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, though. “Fine,” Chuck sighed, holding his arm back out.
The man lifted the blade and slashed it down Chuck’s wrist horizontally, splitting the skin. Blood spurted out several inches, falling back down and splattering onto the pearl tiled floor beside where the prior man’s had. It felt genuinely unpleasant, but was pretty much what he expected from the DMV.
“Pass,” the man said, nodding toward the entrance to the DMV. Chuck glanced at it, a trail of dark, thick blood leading into the halls beyond. “Enter the Halls of the Department of Motor Vehicles.”
Chuck again shrugged his shoulders, blood spurting out of his hand. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had a pretty good feeling that he’d just accidentally joined a cult. He stepped forward and pulled back on the massive, steel doors to the building, the trail of blood continuing on within. He moved inside, following the specs and pools of dark, arterial blood until he reached the innards of the DMV. Within it sat dozens of people in colorful and obviously uncomfortable plastic chairs, their blood-soaked hands clutching small, paper number tickets. A counter stood above them in a hard to read location, displaying whose number was up next. Several desks sat unoccupied in the middle of the back of the room, with just one employee—a clearly angry, and overly-aggressive woman—yelling something about a driving test to a crying elderly man. Chuck nodded slowly, scanning the room. He had definitely been wrong about the cult, it was simply the DMV.
|
Rows of robes
donning auburn cowls
making their way up the pews
with priestly scowls
a hand reaches to my shoulder
his hands are cold, his face is colder
with worried frown
his stomach growls
through the troubled hymn
he lets me know his chagrin
the blood wafers just won't settle
and the corpse wine tastes of metal
he turns to run but its too late
his shit drops in the collection plate
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Only five minutes had passed when Alice began wishing that she had been born the opposite gender. Since she had joined the end of the line, it had only moved forward once, giving her the impression that the bathroom had no more than three stalls. The sheer number of people was to be expected; the hall was always booked with various events on the weekends. She had just wished that whatever architect who designed the place had a more thorough understanding of the ladies' restroom.
She pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. It had taken her six months just to stitch the varying sashes and symbols onto it. As an amateur seamstress, she was quite proud of the fruits of her labor, and to have to drag it into a dirty stall was a thought as unappealing as one-ply toilet paper. The twenty other individuals ahead of her wore similar robes, but theirs seemed less homemade.
They seemed to all have bought their costumes from the same manufacturer. Alice frowned disdainfully; they were probably the kind of rich cosplayers who paid absurd amounts of money for their pre-picked uniforms. She had given up her blood, sweat, and tears for her own.
The other robed individuals kept their hoods up. She considered this strange; after all, it was the middle of the summer, and the air conditioning was nowhere near as high as it should have been. As she stepped forward in line, the person ahead of her turned around. Her robe was a deep blue, with the sleeves and hems embroidered with a beautiful silver star pattern.
"Nice stitching," Alice remarked.
The figure pushed her hood back slightly, revealing a young woman likely in her early twenties. "Thanks! I've chosen to follow Astrolia, obviously." She smiled, glancing at her costume. "Who did you pick?"
"I'm not familiar with that character. What franchise?" She readjusted her cloak, as to make her hard work more visible. "I'm Barrin, Master Wizard. You know, Magic the Gathering."
The woman suddenly looked angry. "How dare you mock us?"
"What?"
"You're comparing us to wizards?" Her face was growing closer to the color of her robes, and as her voice grew shriller, more of the people on line began to turn towards them. "You heretics have no respect!"
Alice backed up, her need to pee pushed to the back of her mind by this sudden confrontation. "Whoa, I respect all fandoms. I'm just here for the bathroom."
The rage dissipated. "Bathroom?" She asked.
"Is this not the line for the restroom?"
"Uh, no. This is for initiation into Roghar's Shade. We're picking our gods to devote our lives to." The woman looked at Alice critically. "Why are you in a robe if you're not here to declare yourself?"
Alice stared at her in horror, and then at the five people ahead of her. "This is my cosplay for WizardCon!"
"You're in the wrong place." The cultist pointed behind her. "*That's* the line for the restroom."
Alice turned to see a long line of women stretching from the door and wrapping around the corner.
"Well, shit."
|
Rows of robes
donning auburn cowls
making their way up the pews
with priestly scowls
a hand reaches to my shoulder
his hands are cold, his face is colder
with worried frown
his stomach growls
through the troubled hymn
he lets me know his chagrin
the blood wafers just won't settle
and the corpse wine tastes of metal
he turns to run but its too late
his shit drops in the collection plate
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Chuck glanced down at the watch on his wrist, his left foot tapping steadily on the pearl tiled floor. He realized his visit to the DMV wouldn’t exactly be a quick stop-off, but rather an elongated, slow, and otherwise unpleasant ordeal. Still, he didn’t think it would be quite this bad. For starters, he had no idea that so many people would be cutting their own arms and bleeding into some sort of golden chalice as they “patiently” awaited their turn to enter the building. Likewise, he didn’t expect to find all of the employees adorned in long, black gowns, with elaborate, golden designs stitched into them. Regardless, the experience was about as unpleasant as it had been the last time he’d stopped off at the DMV.
The man ahead of Chuck inched forward slightly, Chuck taking a step to keep up with the pace of the nearly unmoving line to enter the building. It had been a while since he’d visited the DMV, mostly because he absolutely despised the entire event. He hated the employees that always seemed to hate him more; hated the lines that usually encircled the building; hated the photo that was guaranteed to ruin his driver’s license for the next six years. There was nothing pleasant about it. Yet he’d put it off as long as he could, received two—almost three, had the first officer not taken pity on him—tickets for driving with an expired license. Anymore and he’d risk jail. As such, he hopped in his car, illegally drove to the DMV, and found himself waiting to simply get into the massive, foreboding, brick building.
The last time Chuck had been to the DMV was roughly five years prior. He remembered it being just as dingy, depressing, and utterly lifeless as it currently looked; however, it seemed they’d done quite a bit of redecorating the interior—or at least what he could see from the windows. Gone were the drab, emotionless beige curtains that lined the cigarette-stained walls. Instead, everything was covered in black veil, with what looked like blood-colored streaks spelling out some sort of words Chuck could not recognize. It was clearly some other language, or perhaps just English instructions made completely illegible at the great pleasure of the DMV employees. In fact, the workers as well, adorned in their black and gold robes, seemed even more lifeless than they had been in the past. They looked much paler, their voices monotone as they chanted some sort of Latin-sounding verse. The ominous song, however, Chuck was pretty sure he’d heard during his last visit. This time, however, more people were joining in. In fact, everybody on line seemed to be.
Chuck glanced up at the lettering that lined the black-veiled walls through the window, squinting in an attempt to make out the words. He was sure they were some sort of instructions, some tips on how to quickly and efficiently make use of his time at the DMV. That was why they were so illegible, to spite the people taking off work to come in and address their driver-related issues. Chuck sighed, knowing he’d now probably end up getting to the desk and find out he’s missing some sort of form. The angry, overly-aggressive employee would then point to the illegible characters on the wall and explain “he was a fucking retard for not reading the tips.” He’d then probably be sent to the back of the line. He so hated the DMV.
“Next,” said an employee, his face buried beneath a black hood. The man ahead of Chuck stepped forward and held out his arms, his wrists covered in blood. He had previously been standing over some sort of golden chalice, the ruby liquid spewing from his veins into the cup. Now, the blood fell uninterrupted to the cold, pearl tiled floors of the DMV. The man in the black and gold robe seemed to nod at the fellow ahead of Chuck, who then disappeared beyond the door of the DMV.
“Next,” repeated the employee. Chuck glanced up at him and stepped forward.
“Hello,” Chuck said, digging his hand into his pocket and reaching for his wallet. “I’d like to renew my license.”
The man stared at Chuck, his pale face shrouded by the hood over his head. “Dhsula Laquia?”
“I’m sorry?” Chuck said, not even remotely sure of what the man had said.
“You seek a new path?” the man said, now speaking in English. He had a thick, Eastern European accent. Possibly Russia or Poland; Chuck was never good with dialects.
“Sure,” Chuck shrugged.
“Present the pale of your limb, the underside of your skin.”
Chuck held out his arms, assuming that was what the man meant, and flipped his palms toward the ceiling. The man reached his right hand into his robe and pulled out a long, silver sword. Chuck stared at it for a second before thrusting his hand backward.
“What is that?” Chuck said, staring at the sword and hiding his arms.
“Your path,” the man said, running his palm along the blade hard enough to draw blood. “You may not enter without showing your faith.”
Chuck stared at him for a moment, his head tilted. It had been a while since he’d been to the DMV, yes, but he didn’t recall any blood rituals. His memory wasn’t what it used to be, though. “Fine,” Chuck sighed, holding his arm back out.
The man lifted the blade and slashed it down Chuck’s wrist horizontally, splitting the skin. Blood spurted out several inches, falling back down and splattering onto the pearl tiled floor beside where the prior man’s had. It felt genuinely unpleasant, but was pretty much what he expected from the DMV.
“Pass,” the man said, nodding toward the entrance to the DMV. Chuck glanced at it, a trail of dark, thick blood leading into the halls beyond. “Enter the Halls of the Department of Motor Vehicles.”
Chuck again shrugged his shoulders, blood spurting out of his hand. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but he had a pretty good feeling that he’d just accidentally joined a cult. He stepped forward and pulled back on the massive, steel doors to the building, the trail of blood continuing on within. He moved inside, following the specs and pools of dark, arterial blood until he reached the innards of the DMV. Within it sat dozens of people in colorful and obviously uncomfortable plastic chairs, their blood-soaked hands clutching small, paper number tickets. A counter stood above them in a hard to read location, displaying whose number was up next. Several desks sat unoccupied in the middle of the back of the room, with just one employee—a clearly angry, and overly-aggressive woman—yelling something about a driving test to a crying elderly man. Chuck nodded slowly, scanning the room. He had definitely been wrong about the cult, it was simply the DMV.
|
How the hell did I wind up here? Okay, John, think! Think! Where were you last night? I was out with some friends. Good, that's a start. Which friends? There was Greg, that slimy bastard; Rick, he's alright, I guess; Laura, she's so hot. Okay good. Where did you go? I'm not entirely sure. Okay, fine. Why were you out last night? Some event. Someone was getting married. Married, married, married. Someone was getting married. John was getting - I was getting married! Last night was my wedding reception. Who did I marry? My fiancée, of course. D'uh. Who is my fiancée?
"Hi, my name is John and this is my fiancée, S -," St - St -, who the hell is Stacey? Stacey! That's the one! Okay, so last night was my wedding reception; I got married to Stacey and the last thing I did was drink with Greg, Rick and Laura. Fuck. They're all a bunch of drug addicts. Okay, no time to think. Where am I now? Why are they all dressed in robes? I've seen something similar in Laura's house.
"Approach, chosen one." Are they talking to me?
"Yes, approach, chosen one," who the hell is saying that?
"Umm - where am I?"
"You need not ask questions yet, chosen one, first you must approach to the fire."
Oh God, this is some Crowley-bullshit.
"Listen, I don't know what's going on, but I'd like to go home."
"This is your home." There are like five people standing in front of me and I don't know who the hell is talking.
"Are you guys like wearing some device that covers your voice? Seriously, you all sound like Darth Vader."
"Umm - no, shut up, Jo - I mean, chosen one."
"You can't speak to the chosen one that way, you idiot!" Ouch, that's a bad smack.
"Quiet, fools! We are wasting time. As for you, chosen one, please make your way to the fire."
"Am I going to die?"
"What makes you say that?"
"Well apart from the incessant requests to walk towards a ball of fire, I am also standing before 5 people whose faces I cannot identify, nor can it be said for their voices."
"Mm, good point. No, you are not going to die, chosen one. This is an initiation to join our society. You see, long ago during the times of the Mesopotamians, it was foretold that one man born on the seventh of the seventh month of the second millennia would be chosen to lead us in our endeavour to find inner peace. That man is you."
"I see," that doesn't make a lot of sense, "but we use the Gregorian calendar," why is the left one scratching his chest, "I don't think the Mesopotamians used it."
"Umm - enough with your inquisitive ways! Make your way to the fire and repeat after us."
"Woah! Okay fine!" Well this is going to suck ass. God, I must look so retarded right no - where the hell are my clothes - ?! "Hey, where the hell are my clothes!"
"You do not need them, chosen one, you carry a celestial body whose physical shape embraces the perfection of the universe.
"Did the Mesopotamians foresee that as well?"
"Not really, but you are hot."
"Shut up, Laura!" Wait, did he just say Laura?
"Laura?" It must be her, "Laura is that you?"
"I do not know who this Laura is. Cease your questions and walk to the fire!"
"I thought I recognised those breasts."
"What!" Why is this cult-person so obsessed with what I'm - oh shit, it's Stacey.
"What do you mean you recognise those breasts?" Oh shit, I'm fucked. I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked, I'm fucked I'm - wait a minute.
"Wait a minute, Stacey, why the hell are you a member of a cult?"
"This is no cult, John, this is the answer to all of life's problems. This is - oh, fuck it. Rick, inject him with the Flunitrazepam."
Flunitrazepam, I recognise that word, isn't that a roof -
"Ow! Sweet Jesus, what the hell was that for, man? Hey, why is -" everything going so funny. I feel kinda weir -.
|
|
[WP] "Well, shit." You think to yourself, standing in line to be initiated into the cult.
|
Only five minutes had passed when Alice began wishing that she had been born the opposite gender. Since she had joined the end of the line, it had only moved forward once, giving her the impression that the bathroom had no more than three stalls. The sheer number of people was to be expected; the hall was always booked with various events on the weekends. She had just wished that whatever architect who designed the place had a more thorough understanding of the ladies' restroom.
She pulled the black cloak tighter around her body. It had taken her six months just to stitch the varying sashes and symbols onto it. As an amateur seamstress, she was quite proud of the fruits of her labor, and to have to drag it into a dirty stall was a thought as unappealing as one-ply toilet paper. The twenty other individuals ahead of her wore similar robes, but theirs seemed less homemade.
They seemed to all have bought their costumes from the same manufacturer. Alice frowned disdainfully; they were probably the kind of rich cosplayers who paid absurd amounts of money for their pre-picked uniforms. She had given up her blood, sweat, and tears for her own.
The other robed individuals kept their hoods up. She considered this strange; after all, it was the middle of the summer, and the air conditioning was nowhere near as high as it should have been. As she stepped forward in line, the person ahead of her turned around. Her robe was a deep blue, with the sleeves and hems embroidered with a beautiful silver star pattern.
"Nice stitching," Alice remarked.
The figure pushed her hood back slightly, revealing a young woman likely in her early twenties. "Thanks! I've chosen to follow Astrolia, obviously." She smiled, glancing at her costume. "Who did you pick?"
"I'm not familiar with that character. What franchise?" She readjusted her cloak, as to make her hard work more visible. "I'm Barrin, Master Wizard. You know, Magic the Gathering."
The woman suddenly looked angry. "How dare you mock us?"
"What?"
"You're comparing us to wizards?" Her face was growing closer to the color of her robes, and as her voice grew shriller, more of the people on line began to turn towards them. "You heretics have no respect!"
Alice backed up, her need to pee pushed to the back of her mind by this sudden confrontation. "Whoa, I respect all fandoms. I'm just here for the bathroom."
The rage dissipated. "Bathroom?" She asked.
"Is this not the line for the restroom?"
"Uh, no. This is for initiation into Roghar's Shade. We're picking our gods to devote our lives to." The woman looked at Alice critically. "Why are you in a robe if you're not here to declare yourself?"
Alice stared at her in horror, and then at the five people ahead of her. "This is my cosplay for WizardCon!"
"You're in the wrong place." The cultist pointed behind her. "*That's* the line for the restroom."
Alice turned to see a long line of women stretching from the door and wrapping around the corner.
"Well, shit."
|
Well shit...
You know that saying, "If you don't stand for something, you'll fall for anything"? Well it turns out, being an asocial, asexual, apolitical, apathetic asshole has made me too trusting. Fuck you, Todd. You are not my best friend anymore.
If you ever really were. Maybe that was just another lie to get me here.
Where is here? Here is about twelve people back from a stained copper altar that, if it were in the Metropolitan Museum of Modern Art, would be titled, "Naked Fat People Can't Play Twister Well." Behind that altar is the so-called Grand Visionate of Community of the Peoples of the United Family. Right now, he is twenty minutes in to the third forty minute initiation ritual. Because when you're a community of Peoples, you have to make sure everyone gets equal attention. Fuck you, Todd.
Four months ago, for the first time in my life, I actually enjoyed the presence of another human being. I originally met Todd online while I was trolling people on Facebook. Not that I'm on Facebook. I just like to go into the Apple store on my way back from getting smokes and see which dumbass left their account open. Nothing like good "It's complicated" update add a little chaos to an otherwise happy marriage. But four months ago, the iPad on display was occupied. What I thought was another doofus who couldn't go five minutes without checking his social status in the world, was in fact, Todd. I watched Todd on a facebook page which was clearly not his, saying some really hurtful things to whoever's fat thirteen year old niece. It was friendship at first sight. So I thought. Fuck you, Todd.
After a few months of hanging out, getting high, and causing a little well deserved misery to our fellow human beings; Todd tells me he'd like to introduce me to his other "friends." He tells me they're like us. Real fuck society, fuck the system kind of people. Cool, I say. What he didn't tell me was that we had to drive two hours out to the middle of fucking nowhere so some asshole could put a bag over my head and then drive me another two hours to who knows where. I just know, that the first thing you do not want to see after two hours of total darkness is the underside of naked fat guy. Fuck. You. Todd.
So here I am, waiting in line to see the Grand Visionate. I see Todd right behind him shoot me a comforting smile. Asshole. The third guy just finished up. He hobbles off the altar with tears in his eyes. He looks... happy? I don't know how. Number four is stripped naked and restrained across the altar. Everyone has struggled but when the Visionate marks them, they relax and get this serene, glazed-over look like they're becoming at peace with the universe. Honestly, it sounds fucking terrible. But the worst part is what the Grand Visionate is using to mark them with. What I get to look forward to. What is being smeared all over their face and naked torso.
What is it?
Well... His shit.
Fuck you Todd.
|
|
[WP] A proud, intelligent alien race has landed on Earth in peace. There's only one problem: humans find everything about them hilarious. Describe first contact.
|
The fantastic gleaming structure languidly hovered over the huddled masses of times square.
None had imagined that this ordinary day, would be the day of first contact.
Hundreds fell to the ground in paroxysms of spiritual awakening. How could such unimaginable beauty exist? The structure, lazily and confidently shifting through nth dimensional geometry and patterns of light.
A solitary beam touched the asphalt, the people prostrating themselves instantly as god himself descended along the pillar of light.
The alien looked on in joy, another planet of subjects to adore him, to love him, to respect him. He would bring light to this backwards world and his name would echo in their eternity.
Gracefully the 10 foot tall anuboid figure descended, it seemed as though even the ground deferred to him as his fetishistically beautiful feet touched upon the earth.
The prostrated humans dared not to look up at his glory as he opened his speech organ to declare his patronage of this blighted land.
Out of his rear the loudest, smelliest, slobberiest fart emanated for nearly a minute, crescendoing and softly tapering out, ending with a wet burping sound.
All was silent.
A child looked up, smirking uncontrollably, loudly he queried "Mommy, did he just fart?".
The mob trembled, lips uncontrollably turning upwards, erupting in convulsions of laughter.
Pointing and laughing uncontrollably.
The alien being stood in silence as the laughs echoed along the tall buildings, taking in the ridicule, the contempt. Rage built in his heart.
The solar system that once held the planet called earth is now nothing more than a cloud of asteroids and nebulae.
|
A large space ship loomed not far overhead. It blotted out the sky for most of downtown, casting a darkness over the city. Some people panicked, others were frozen with fear. When a loud siren emitted from the ship, everyone erupted in a pandemonium. They knew, they knew it was over. The world they knew would end.
Then they beamed down.
At first people looked in awe at the mushroom-shaped aliens. Their fear then turned to confusion as they shuffled slowly, their attempt to walk. There was about a dozen of them, and they were pink or gray, covered in what looked like hair and wrinkles. As they shuffled their heads wobbled side to side, as if being shaken. Confusion turned to amusement as they then heard the noises the mushroom aliens were making as they shuffled.
"WOBBLE WOBBLE WOBBLE"
They shuffled and wobbled until they reached city hall, where they were met by an array of police officers armed to the teeth. They pointed their weapons at the intruding aliens, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Curiously, the biggest alien wobbled forward, then stood at attention. It grew in size as it stood in front of the phalanx of armed offiers, it grew until it resembled an eight foot erect penis. The alien, who was most likely breathing, throbbed as it stood there. Then, it spoke.
"AYYYY BUMBACLOT!"
The police couldn't hold their laughter. Many dropped their weapons as they keeled over, laughing heartily. Their laughter only grew as all of the other aliens grew to resemble eight foot erect penises. With a snort, the aliens went on their way, saying "WOBBLE WOBBLE WOBBLE" as they stood erect.
The aliens were notable for making weird noises. In their way, they were merely greeting the people of Earth, but to humans, they looked ridiculously hilarious. A meeting with the president of the United States took a peculiar turn as the erect alien began shouting "BUMCUDDLE" AND "BUMDRIZZLE" into the microphone. The president failed to contain his amusement.
The peculiar aliens would eventually leave in frustration, confounded as to why the people of Earth kept never seemed to take them seriously. They came in peace, but the Earthlings would always point and laugh, ignoring the aliens' pleas. When the race of planet reapers came and destroyed Earth a few weeks later, the mushroom aliens could only look on from afar and do nothing. Earth did not heed their words of warning. If only they listened, they would have had a chance.
|
|
[WP] A proud, intelligent alien race has landed on Earth in peace. There's only one problem: humans find everything about them hilarious. Describe first contact.
|
"Look, we need someone who has no sense of humor to take over as Ambassador."
The President sat silently in his chair, with his fingers interlocked over his mouth. He slowly unclasped his hands and said, "How... How bad is it? How funny are they?"
"Well sir, uhm, take a look at this youtube video..."
The President took the tablet in his hands and pressed play. He saw two normal looking, yet strangely dressed, humans walking towards a crossing guard. The crossing guard, unaware that these visitors were from another planet, asked plainly where they intended to go. Immediately, the aliens turned their backsides to the crossing guards, bent over, spread their butt cheeks, and began speaking to the guard as if they were in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Before every word, an audible fart noise could be heard, prompting the crossing guard to laugh even harder. Eventually, the Alien leaders shrugged and walked away from the guard.
The President was in tears.
"It's not done sir..."
The Aliens reenter the frame, and approach the crossing guard again. Again, they bend over, and begin speaking to the guard through their buttocks. This time, one of the Aliens sneezes, and a full key lime pie flies out of his mouthrectum and hits the guard in the face.
"He... He just shot a pie out of his ass. A pie. His Ass. A PIE FROM HIS ASS."
The president's aid nodded solemnly.
"Now you see what we have to deal with, sir. What... who should we have talk to him?"
The President thought for a few minutes. Then it came to him.
"Get me Jim Carrey!"
|
"They foretold their coming", he said.
Unsure of what he meant, I tilted my head quizzically.
"Who is they?", I barked with a sense of desperation.
He let me know he heard me with a nod, but stared silently at the TV. I saw what I saw, but I couldn't believe it. It seemed like one dumb joke. But there it was in my face, being broadcast around the world. Some sick caricature-like creature has come to our planet.
"Answer me!" I growled, more upset with the fact that no one knew what was going on than his silence.
I gave up, turned to the TV and raised the volume.
Just then he muttered "you know, we use to pass around a joke on the internet about them".
It dawned on me slowly. There was this uncanny likeness to this cartoon I had seen once before. The site escaped me but I remember the context. It was some sort of internet gag or troll.
"Dickbutt is real!", he said, almost chanting it. I could hear the conviction in his voice, as he was telling a truth he had known all along. I immediately questioned my friendship with him. Why did I choose such people in my life? I grew angry in my mind to think my idiot friend believes some joke on the internet is part of some conspiracy or prophecy. I was just about to tear into him, explain how this is just some coincidence, to be mature, all the things I could only scream in my mind when I was interrupted. The newscaster gasped, and reported the mayhem that was ensuing in the city.
She said it, and I understood immediately we where doomed. Our alien friends where not amused by our laughter. Humanities humor and immaturity was our end. I always thought it would be some nuclear disaster, plague, something us.
Laughter killed us all.
The attacks of our extra-terrestrial friends was lethally comical. They seemed to spit this acidic liquid from an appendage on their posterior. It wiggled before each burst! The fools never stood a chance, their laughter was incessant and ultimately fatal. I saw crowds melted down with the shiny liquid. It was surreal to hear both laughter in terror in the crowd. The camera man was in utter stitches when they came and got him. As the camera fell to the floor, the newsroom burst into laughter, then it literally burst and the team screamed in horror as they melted away. They where hunting us. Hunting anyone who dared laughed and here I was, sitting next to the biggest stoner dummy I knew.
"We're all getting screwed by Dickbutt", he grinned then burst into laughter. The ground shook almost on queue. Then it hit me, like a brick to the face. The name that had escaped me. Was it my own selfish need to place blame for this disaster that caused me to remember in my final moments? Was this epiphany or moment of clarity my one last feeble attempt to sooth my rational mind? I uttered my last words, "Reddit".
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[WP] A proud, intelligent alien race has landed on Earth in peace. There's only one problem: humans find everything about them hilarious. Describe first contact.
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"They're cat girls, Mr President," said the Secret Service Agent.
"Cat girls?" asked the President.
"Yes sir, cat girls," said the agent, "In maid outfits."
The president had to take that in for a moment. The stood by his desk in the oval office overlooking the lawn. A small alien shuttle craft they had been waiting for weeks after first contact by radio had landed near the kitchen garden. As though first contact with an alien race was trying to find a discrete place to park. The creatures, not too tall but very attractive, disembarked wearing a vast array of colourful maid outfits. It looked like the White House lawn was being overtaken by a cosplay convention.
Then the President asked, "Do they all wear maid outfits?"
"All we have seen so far, Mr President," said the agent, "Including their males. They look pretty much the same as the girls, except they don't have breasts."
"Are they cute?" asked the President.
"The first lady has gone 'Squee' Mr. President," said the agent.
"Oh dear," said the President, "When she went squeee did she do that thing with her hands that sort of looks like jazz hands?"
"She made a little heart with her thumbs and forefingers Mr. President," said the agent.
"That's not good," said the President, "Right, let's get out there and meet them."
The alien dignitaries were milling about the garden, looking very attractive and friendly. The Whitehouse staff stood by the entrance near the West Wing. They laughed and giggled amongst themselves as they pointed to the dignitaries. All the female staff stood up front trying to get the closest look. Whenever they spotted one of the male dignitaries they waved, cheered, and made little heart symbols with their thumbs and forefingers. When one of the cat boys waved back one of the ladies nearly fainted.
"He's so *cuuute*!" she exasperated.
The President rolled his eyes and wished his press secretary was a little more stoic.
The shortest of all the male dignitaries, and the most elaborately dressed, approached the president. He was flanked by two taller cat girls with cleavage more than large enough to be distracting. The President had to exercise to a great deal of mental discipline to maintain eye contact, as well as fighting the urge to laugh. The jeers coming from the vice President and his male staff was not helping.
Up close the tiniest of the male dignitaries appeared to be a beautiful boy. His maid outfit was so colourful and adorned with so many elaborate accessories he looked more like a magical girl suited to fight mythical monsters. His cat ears were definitely accessories worn on his crown as he had very human looking ears on the side of his head, both of which pierced with beautiful earrings. Confidently the small cat boy approached the President with a dignified look.
"Greetings Mr. President," he said as he held up a tiny hand.
For just a moment the President contemplate should he shake the cat boy's hand or kiss it like he was a princess. He went for a dignified manly shake. This caused an eruption off camera flashes and cheers coming from all around.
"I am Ambassador Qunhua, and behalf of my planet and my people, we greet you," said the Ambassador.
"Greetings Ambassador," said the President, putting on a smile.
For a moment the President was relieved things were going smoothly, but that was interrupted by a chorus of laughter coming from the onlookers around the West Wing.
The President glanced at his staff for a moment, then he lowered his voice to address the Ambassador.
"Listen, I'm really sorry about this," said the President, pointing to his staff.
"That's okay," said cat boy Qunhua, "We expected this."
"Really?"
"Yes," said cat boy Qunhua, "There is no such thing as an intelligent species without a sense of humour. If you didn't laugh, we never would have contacted you."
"So was all this a test to see if we had a sense of humour?" asked the President.
"Unfortunately, no," said cat boy Qunhua, "When we first intercepted your television signals in space it turns out our queen and ruler is a huge fan of anime. So she ordered all the dignitaries to dress like this."
"Oh."
The ambassador waved his hand to move the conversation along.
"So if you can round up some cute guys in maid outfits to come back with us to temporarily serve as her harem, that would make our queen *really* happy. Like... happy enough to share all our technology and stuff with you."
"Right," said the president, "So you're not like conquerors or invaders looking for resources."
Cat boy Qunhua wave his head dismissively, "The universe is lousy with resources. What we need are cat boys in maid outfits."
The President thought for a moment and asked, "What does you Queen look like?"
The ambassador pointed to the two beautiful voluptuous cat maid on either side of him and said, "Kind of a taller bigger breasted version of these two."
"How much taller?" asked the President.
"Oh, about eight feet tall," said cat boy Qunhua, "With of course cat ears. And wings, too, but they're just cosmetic."
"I think its doable," said the President.
"Great!" said cat boy Qunhua as he slapped his hands together as he anticipated a successful negotiation.
The two started to pace about the garden negotiating early stages of trade talks. The women were still giggling unrelentingly from the West Wing. In the middle of a trade talk the ambassador suddenly remembered some important piece of etiquette and relayed it to the President.
"Oh when you find these men who are going to meet the queen, tell them it's polite to maintain eye contact with her breasts at all times."
"Stare *at* her breasts?" asked the President.
"Yes", said cat boy Qunhua, "When you're addressing her always talk straight to her boobs."
"I think your people definitely landed on the right planet," said the President.
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"They foretold their coming", he said.
Unsure of what he meant, I tilted my head quizzically.
"Who is they?", I barked with a sense of desperation.
He let me know he heard me with a nod, but stared silently at the TV. I saw what I saw, but I couldn't believe it. It seemed like one dumb joke. But there it was in my face, being broadcast around the world. Some sick caricature-like creature has come to our planet.
"Answer me!" I growled, more upset with the fact that no one knew what was going on than his silence.
I gave up, turned to the TV and raised the volume.
Just then he muttered "you know, we use to pass around a joke on the internet about them".
It dawned on me slowly. There was this uncanny likeness to this cartoon I had seen once before. The site escaped me but I remember the context. It was some sort of internet gag or troll.
"Dickbutt is real!", he said, almost chanting it. I could hear the conviction in his voice, as he was telling a truth he had known all along. I immediately questioned my friendship with him. Why did I choose such people in my life? I grew angry in my mind to think my idiot friend believes some joke on the internet is part of some conspiracy or prophecy. I was just about to tear into him, explain how this is just some coincidence, to be mature, all the things I could only scream in my mind when I was interrupted. The newscaster gasped, and reported the mayhem that was ensuing in the city.
She said it, and I understood immediately we where doomed. Our alien friends where not amused by our laughter. Humanities humor and immaturity was our end. I always thought it would be some nuclear disaster, plague, something us.
Laughter killed us all.
The attacks of our extra-terrestrial friends was lethally comical. They seemed to spit this acidic liquid from an appendage on their posterior. It wiggled before each burst! The fools never stood a chance, their laughter was incessant and ultimately fatal. I saw crowds melted down with the shiny liquid. It was surreal to hear both laughter in terror in the crowd. The camera man was in utter stitches when they came and got him. As the camera fell to the floor, the newsroom burst into laughter, then it literally burst and the team screamed in horror as they melted away. They where hunting us. Hunting anyone who dared laughed and here I was, sitting next to the biggest stoner dummy I knew.
"We're all getting screwed by Dickbutt", he grinned then burst into laughter. The ground shook almost on queue. Then it hit me, like a brick to the face. The name that had escaped me. Was it my own selfish need to place blame for this disaster that caused me to remember in my final moments? Was this epiphany or moment of clarity my one last feeble attempt to sooth my rational mind? I uttered my last words, "Reddit".
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[WP] A proud, intelligent alien race has landed on Earth in peace. There's only one problem: humans find everything about them hilarious. Describe first contact.
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"They're cat girls, Mr President," said the Secret Service Agent.
"Cat girls?" asked the President.
"Yes sir, cat girls," said the agent, "In maid outfits."
The president had to take that in for a moment. The stood by his desk in the oval office overlooking the lawn. A small alien shuttle craft they had been waiting for weeks after first contact by radio had landed near the kitchen garden. As though first contact with an alien race was trying to find a discrete place to park. The creatures, not too tall but very attractive, disembarked wearing a vast array of colourful maid outfits. It looked like the White House lawn was being overtaken by a cosplay convention.
Then the President asked, "Do they all wear maid outfits?"
"All we have seen so far, Mr President," said the agent, "Including their males. They look pretty much the same as the girls, except they don't have breasts."
"Are they cute?" asked the President.
"The first lady has gone 'Squee' Mr. President," said the agent.
"Oh dear," said the President, "When she went squeee did she do that thing with her hands that sort of looks like jazz hands?"
"She made a little heart with her thumbs and forefingers Mr. President," said the agent.
"That's not good," said the President, "Right, let's get out there and meet them."
The alien dignitaries were milling about the garden, looking very attractive and friendly. The Whitehouse staff stood by the entrance near the West Wing. They laughed and giggled amongst themselves as they pointed to the dignitaries. All the female staff stood up front trying to get the closest look. Whenever they spotted one of the male dignitaries they waved, cheered, and made little heart symbols with their thumbs and forefingers. When one of the cat boys waved back one of the ladies nearly fainted.
"He's so *cuuute*!" she exasperated.
The President rolled his eyes and wished his press secretary was a little more stoic.
The shortest of all the male dignitaries, and the most elaborately dressed, approached the president. He was flanked by two taller cat girls with cleavage more than large enough to be distracting. The President had to exercise to a great deal of mental discipline to maintain eye contact, as well as fighting the urge to laugh. The jeers coming from the vice President and his male staff was not helping.
Up close the tiniest of the male dignitaries appeared to be a beautiful boy. His maid outfit was so colourful and adorned with so many elaborate accessories he looked more like a magical girl suited to fight mythical monsters. His cat ears were definitely accessories worn on his crown as he had very human looking ears on the side of his head, both of which pierced with beautiful earrings. Confidently the small cat boy approached the President with a dignified look.
"Greetings Mr. President," he said as he held up a tiny hand.
For just a moment the President contemplate should he shake the cat boy's hand or kiss it like he was a princess. He went for a dignified manly shake. This caused an eruption off camera flashes and cheers coming from all around.
"I am Ambassador Qunhua, and behalf of my planet and my people, we greet you," said the Ambassador.
"Greetings Ambassador," said the President, putting on a smile.
For a moment the President was relieved things were going smoothly, but that was interrupted by a chorus of laughter coming from the onlookers around the West Wing.
The President glanced at his staff for a moment, then he lowered his voice to address the Ambassador.
"Listen, I'm really sorry about this," said the President, pointing to his staff.
"That's okay," said cat boy Qunhua, "We expected this."
"Really?"
"Yes," said cat boy Qunhua, "There is no such thing as an intelligent species without a sense of humour. If you didn't laugh, we never would have contacted you."
"So was all this a test to see if we had a sense of humour?" asked the President.
"Unfortunately, no," said cat boy Qunhua, "When we first intercepted your television signals in space it turns out our queen and ruler is a huge fan of anime. So she ordered all the dignitaries to dress like this."
"Oh."
The ambassador waved his hand to move the conversation along.
"So if you can round up some cute guys in maid outfits to come back with us to temporarily serve as her harem, that would make our queen *really* happy. Like... happy enough to share all our technology and stuff with you."
"Right," said the president, "So you're not like conquerors or invaders looking for resources."
Cat boy Qunhua wave his head dismissively, "The universe is lousy with resources. What we need are cat boys in maid outfits."
The President thought for a moment and asked, "What does you Queen look like?"
The ambassador pointed to the two beautiful voluptuous cat maid on either side of him and said, "Kind of a taller bigger breasted version of these two."
"How much taller?" asked the President.
"Oh, about eight feet tall," said cat boy Qunhua, "With of course cat ears. And wings, too, but they're just cosmetic."
"I think its doable," said the President.
"Great!" said cat boy Qunhua as he slapped his hands together as he anticipated a successful negotiation.
The two started to pace about the garden negotiating early stages of trade talks. The women were still giggling unrelentingly from the West Wing. In the middle of a trade talk the ambassador suddenly remembered some important piece of etiquette and relayed it to the President.
"Oh when you find these men who are going to meet the queen, tell them it's polite to maintain eye contact with her breasts at all times."
"Stare *at* her breasts?" asked the President.
"Yes", said cat boy Qunhua, "When you're addressing her always talk straight to her boobs."
"I think your people definitely landed on the right planet," said the President.
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"Look, we need someone who has no sense of humor to take over as Ambassador."
The President sat silently in his chair, with his fingers interlocked over his mouth. He slowly unclasped his hands and said, "How... How bad is it? How funny are they?"
"Well sir, uhm, take a look at this youtube video..."
The President took the tablet in his hands and pressed play. He saw two normal looking, yet strangely dressed, humans walking towards a crossing guard. The crossing guard, unaware that these visitors were from another planet, asked plainly where they intended to go. Immediately, the aliens turned their backsides to the crossing guards, bent over, spread their butt cheeks, and began speaking to the guard as if they were in Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Before every word, an audible fart noise could be heard, prompting the crossing guard to laugh even harder. Eventually, the Alien leaders shrugged and walked away from the guard.
The President was in tears.
"It's not done sir..."
The Aliens reenter the frame, and approach the crossing guard again. Again, they bend over, and begin speaking to the guard through their buttocks. This time, one of the Aliens sneezes, and a full key lime pie flies out of his mouthrectum and hits the guard in the face.
"He... He just shot a pie out of his ass. A pie. His Ass. A PIE FROM HIS ASS."
The president's aid nodded solemnly.
"Now you see what we have to deal with, sir. What... who should we have talk to him?"
The President thought for a few minutes. Then it came to him.
"Get me Jim Carrey!"
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[WP] An assassin describing their weapon of choice in vivid detail.
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Of course I didn't always do things this way huh huh huh. Started out more traditional like. Smith and Wesson, a Glock, shotgun sometimes - if it needed it. And *of course* knives. You have to know the basics in this job, eh.
But you grow, dun't ya. You *learn*. That's the joy of this job, i tell ya. Twenty, thirty years down the line and you surprise yourself.
You don't mind if i put my arm round ya, do you fella? Course not eh huh huh
Now, let me see, it was 1998 or 1999 if memory serves me. I'd always known I'd had a way with words. Not the most handsome fella, if truth be told. No, no it's ok, you can say it huh huh! But i'll tell you something, i can talk my way into the bed of any young woman i lay my eyes on. Just you try me! Get your wife on the phone and she'll be putty in my hands within five minutes huh huh huh huh huh. No, no, no i'm just playing around with ya young 'un, don't take it to heart!
Where was I? Oh yeah, killing huh huh...
You see, i'd never considered it a professional skill. Oh no. Never crossed my mind. And probably never would 'a either. If it hadn't been for my damn revolver seizing up. Piece of shit. What was i thinking eh? Unprofessional. Learnt me lesson now though. That's the main thing. Never have me tools fail on me now, huh huh.
Anyways...Where was I? Oh yeah, that blasted shooter. What could i do? I stood there like a limp dick at a orgy. Still pointing this flamin' thing at him huh huh huh. Just out of habit huh huh. That's when i started see. I started talking to him like. Just softly, like you would a baba. He didn't answer me at first. Shitting his pants he was, the little girl. I don't know what came over me, god's honest truth.
But i carried on, didn't i. Just kept talking to him, gentle like, calming, like i would to a pretty girl. But i didn't want *that* from him huh huh huh huh huh. No, no I ain't like that, alright. Not me.
He starts crying, dun' he. Like a little baby. "Please, please" he says, huh huh huh. It's too late for please, i say, all nice like. Too late for all that my friend. It's time to go, aint it? It's time to say bye-bye to all this. He understands.
"Come here" I tell him, "Come and give me a hug before you go."
Huh huh.
And he does, y'know. He walks over to me like i'm his dadda. And he's weeping like a little cunt, aint he. "You put your head right here on my shoulder" I tell him, all sweet and nice, like i can be sometimes. And i give him a squeeze and pat 'im on his little head. Can you imagine, can ya, eh?
I take him over to the window. Blasted thing's only got a lock on it. He has to find the bloody key before we can get it open. Tears streaming down his cheeks, checking his pockets huh huh huh.
Well he finds it in the end, dun't he, poor little thing. We get the window open and I help him up, still all sweet, like i can be sometimes. "Watch you 'ead on the frame there" I say. Huh huh.
He stops for a second, looking down. I see he's thinking, ain't he. He ain't done yet. I lean in, real close like. Like i am to you, now. And i whisper in his ear. All soft. All nice, y'know. I can be like that, me.
And off he pops. Looks glad in the end. Even says bye to me before he goes. That's when i knew i had a very special gift eh. That's when i knew, i wouldn't be needing no guns from now on. I had everything i needed, right here. Dunno what it is about me, but guess i just gotta gentle way about me. People listen to me dun't they. That's it little 'un, you let it all out, nearly time now eh. All be over soon.
Ah, seeing as we're in the kitchen, how's about you go get one of those knives off the side. Yeah, that's it, the big 'un. Bring it back over here. Come on now, wipe those tears away. You're gonna be brave now aint' ya? Not long now, that's it. Pull your sleeve up, all the way, past the elbow. Make sure you've got good grip on that handle, don't wanna make a mess of it, do'ya.
That's right, i'm here. I'm here. Huh huh huh huh...
|
Fluid and smooth, graceful and sleek. Sharper than time, it cuts the light in half. I can see it bleed down the side, glimmering as I turn it side to side.
Hooked at the tip, it makes cutting more difficult, but more damaging. The sharp edge flows out like a wave, creating some weight near the end. It feels like the blade moves my hand, even as my hand moves the blade.
The metal bevels in near the base and grows shallower as it runs higher up, until it gently fades. After a kill, I sometimes watch the blood run down like water through a great canyon.
There is no guard. Sometimes the hilt gets wet. But it is wrapped in leather, in an intricate pattern that lends a good grip and feels pleasant on my palm. Sometimes I rest my hand on it, just for the sensation.
It moves like a bird swaying with the breeze. It can bite like a cobra, or swipe like a tiger.
It is the biggest piece of me. My best friend and only love. It is my sword. It is my purpose.
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[WP] An assassin describing their weapon of choice in vivid detail.
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She's smiling under the pale moonlight. Twinkling.
There's an inscription in Chinese characters, painstakingly carved into the ebony hilt. It roughly translates to "Reap what you sow." How fitting.
I've had her in my possession ever since I was a child. It was given to me by my mentor before he succumbed to the dark abyss. I've always cherished it.
She's lightweight, and is so sharp I'm surprised that merely looking at it won't slice your retinas open. A deadly combination in capable hands like mine. Using her is different from any other weapon, be it a pistol or a sniper rifle. With projectile weapons, you watch from a distance as your client falls before you. It's like...you were never there. You become a ghost.
But with her?
You become intimate with your target, you breathe in their stench, you smell the perspiration on their neck and you can almost *feel* the fear radiating in waves off of their soft, exposed skin.
You become a demon.
A quick flash of silver here and a twist there, and then...you can see the life evaporate from their husk of a body like thick mist after a wet morning.
I pride myself in delivering death without pain. It arrives swift and clean. You won't be able to feel it, or expect it at all.
But when she's in my nimble hands?
It won't be swift.
It won't be clean.
I'm sure she's cackling as the cold ground is freshly painted with red.
After all, what good is an artist without a proper brush?
EDIT: Words
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Fluid and smooth, graceful and sleek. Sharper than time, it cuts the light in half. I can see it bleed down the side, glimmering as I turn it side to side.
Hooked at the tip, it makes cutting more difficult, but more damaging. The sharp edge flows out like a wave, creating some weight near the end. It feels like the blade moves my hand, even as my hand moves the blade.
The metal bevels in near the base and grows shallower as it runs higher up, until it gently fades. After a kill, I sometimes watch the blood run down like water through a great canyon.
There is no guard. Sometimes the hilt gets wet. But it is wrapped in leather, in an intricate pattern that lends a good grip and feels pleasant on my palm. Sometimes I rest my hand on it, just for the sensation.
It moves like a bird swaying with the breeze. It can bite like a cobra, or swipe like a tiger.
It is the biggest piece of me. My best friend and only love. It is my sword. It is my purpose.
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[WP] It's 1916. You're a French soldier fighting in the battle of Verdun. One night, you're confronted by a single unarmed German soldier. He says something to you that chills you to the bone.
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**[Taking some liberties with the prompt here by changing it to WWII but the main concept will remain the same]**
Four men sit in a dark room staring through the glass of a one-way mirror at a what used to be a man, but is now only a paranoid cowardly wretch. The only light comes through that glass and if it wasn't for that light the brass emblems and insignia upon their uniforms would be hidden. Despite their secrecy all these men have names, the youngest of them is Daniel Breaker.
Daniel had only been with the OSS for seven months after a transfer off a line infantry unit. He thought now that he much preferred the infantry. Sleeping in trenches may be uncomfortable, but at least there's some freedom. No one breathing down your necks constantly telling you what you're not allowed to speak about. He was a Captain now, which in the OSS means you're at the bottom of the totem pole as far as officers go.
*"Does he ever say anything new?"* One of the dark men asked as he took another drag off a cigar which smelled like the kind only a general grade officer could afford. Rank does have its luxuries.
*"No, he only talks about the things and that damned book."* Daniel replied and turned to look at his esteemed guests. *"I mean he talks about them and only them. He doesn't eat or drink. We've been watching him for three days now, that's three days without food or water. And there's no telling how long he went without before we found him."*
*"Have you considered force feeding him, to keep him alive I mean."* One of the dark men asked. Force feeding was a standard procedure in the event prisoners of war refused to eat. Most people considered it torture, but it was a duty to keep your prisoner alive and healthy, even against their will.
*"It's on my list of contingencies in case he doesn't start eating soon. I suppose soon he'll get desperate and take a bite of the meals we've provided."* Daniel turns again. *"If not then we will take more drastic measures to ensure his survival."*
*"Good, we can't lose this one."* The dark man said. That made Daniel wonder why this one was so important. Technically speaking the man was nothing more than a German private. Not even a member of Hitler's elite SS or Gestapo. Just a lone private by the name of Heinrich Vontur.
They knew his name, rank, and station by the papers they had found in his pockets when they found him wondering through the woods. He had been alone, not a single German patrol for dozens of miles and nowhere near the front lines. It was as though he had simply walked past the front and through Allied territory completely unmolested.
Well, not entirely unmolested. The man had seen some kind of combat. His clothes were covered in mud and blood. His body had received a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing extreme. If he had been in combat then he did all the damage, or so it would seem.
*"Have we found where he came from yet?"* One of the other dark men asked. They had sent troops into the region searching for the man's unit yet so far all efforts came up empty.
*"Nothing yet, but we have a number of units still on the task."* Daniel replied. *"It's likely he came across the front so we won't find his departure location until the front moves back a bit more."* Daniel said with a hopeful tone. If the front moves back a bit more, he thought to himself. If we keep winning this war, if the Nazis don't turn the tide somehow.
*"And what of the book?"* One dark man demanded. *"Is there anything unusual about the book?"* Daniel wanted to laugh at the man, but insubordination isn't something men like this took lightly.
*"Honestly sir, what isn't unusual about the book."* Daniel turned and picked up a file folder off the counter to his right. He opened the cover and began handing out prints to his guests. Each one had a photograph of the book in question and a cursory analysis written out by the translator Daniel had on duty.
*"Written in about three different languages, as far as we can tell. The book seems to be bound in pig skin, except there's something strange about it."* Daniel scratched his head. *"It's too thin, I mean we've all seen a football here I suppose. The skin is tough and thick when dried. The skin which the book's binding is made from is thin and still somewhat supple."* The men looked up at Daniel with a curious look on their faces.
*"Supple?"* One of them asked.
*"Yes, it's still moist. Almost like it was newly skinned. I've been hunting before as a child, my dad taught me how to skin a deer or a boar. This book feels like newly skinned boar hide, except as I said before, it's too thin."* Daniel knew the men wanted answers but he only had so many. If he pushed the facts as far as they'd go without the proper analysis by the proper professionals he'd risk misinforming those men. And in the OSS information was a weapon, and there was only one rule. Never be incorrect.
As the men looked through the handouts Daniel had given them he could see their unease at the illustrations found within the pages of the book. Pictures of vivisection, animal corpses, and strange creatures that could not have existed.
*"It's red. The writing in the book is all red. Why?"* One man asked, almost begged.
*"Our best guess is that's it's blood. It appears to be anyways."* The man who had asked the question promptly put down the handout as though it had been the original book itself.
*"What does he say about it? The prisoner."* Daniel turned to look out the glass again. Now the prisoner was laying his head down on the table whispering to something or someone who wasn't there.
*"He says the book told him to bring it here. Told him to bring it to us."* Daniel turned back to the men. *"He says his commander could read it, or at least some of it. Something about the man having been a professor of literature in Berlin before the war."*
*"So they could understand this writing?"* Daniel heard one man ask.
*"No, but his commander could read it. Pronounce the words at least."* Daniel felt discomfort at what he was about to say next. *"He says he read some words from the pages and that's when it happened. He says the sky turned black and one of the men in his unit began to fly."*
*"Fly?"* Three or four of the men asked in unison. Daniel knew this is where they'd begin to lose interest.
*"That's what he says. He says the man flew about two feet above the ground, dropped his rifle, and his eyes turned red. He says the men began to speak in a voice that was not his own. He says the man told them they'd all be dead by dawn."* Daniel looked at the file and found the mention he was looking for. *"Apparently this all happened at about 10pm, which gives them about seven hours before day break."*
*"So this one soldier, the one who was flying, he killed them all before dawn?"* One of the men asked again. Daniel noticed they hadn't started laughing yet, he had expected laughter.
*"No, they killed him. They were so frightened by him they shot him a dozen times. He fell to the ground and that was over. But he says that throughout the night they began killing each other. More of the men began to change and attack the others."* Daniel put the file down.
*"What's your next step, Captain?"* One of the men at the far end of the room asked.
Daniel didn't expect this to go so far. He expected them to give up on the idea by now. *"If you'll permit me, I'd like to get a specialist to look at the book. I know a professor in the states who'd probably have some insight on the book. His name is Knowby, I took his ancient history course before OCS."*
*"We will allow it, but the book must stay a secret at this point. Take any measures necessary to ensure that his analysis of the book is done in isolation."* One of the dark men ordered.
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I saw him in the corner of my eye, he suddenly moved from his position and stood bolt upright in the middle of the next trench. It was Sebastian, or Doofus, as he was called in the unit. Doofus lowered his gun to the floor, and with crinkled, intense eyes looked round at the other soldiers next to him. He said with a soft voice, "I have now put the gun on the floor".
They looked at him with bewilderment, "What are you doing Sebastian, you have to fight! Think of your family back home in Le Cabidousolmoungefleurpetit".
Sebastian grabbed the mud walls of the trench with his small fingers, and with a look of condescension uttered to the soldiers "I am now grasping the mud walls of the trench with my small fingers".
"What the fuck Sebastian? Are you okay?"
"I am now climbing upwards, out of the trench, using my small fingers as implements" he said loudly and assertively.
I didn't know what the hell was going on, but this kid was about to get his head blown off. I don't know why I did it, it was the stupidest thing I coulda done, but the poor kid had mental disabilities. He climbed out of the trench and started walking across no mans land. Fuck, I thought to myself, knowing the moral impulse I was seized by probably meant my own death, but I couldn't stop it. I jumped out of my hole and scrambled up to get him. He was a good 40 meters ahead of me.
The wind carried his monotonous voice, "I am walking towards the enemy in order to disable him gently, without breaking his arms".
I felt a bullet rip past my shoulder, the Germans had sighted us. How do I stop an idiot?
"Sebastian!!! Go back!!! We have chocolate back in the trench!" I shouted. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to me contemplatively. What a way to die. What a bizarre way to die, I thought to myself as I sprinted towards him.
Shit! He was right on the edge of the German trench. But they were just staring at him pensively, they weren't shooting him. They saw me and immediately turned their guns to me. One of them commanded in perfect french "Down your gun, maggot". I complied. It wasn't worth it. Not for Doofus.
The french-speaking German turned to Doofus and smiled, "Now, welcome Lord Le Cabidousolmoungefleurpetit, we have been waiting for you all summer". Doofus laughed heartily and took their hand as he jumped down into the trench and hugged the Germans.
What the .... what .... I slapped myself. Surely this was a dream?
The German turned to me, "Listen carefully", he commanded. My gun was on the floor, if I reached down he'd blow my head off and I knew it. "Don't even think about it, just listen".
He cleared his throat, coughed and spoke
"My nose is big, uh-uh I'm not ashamed
Big like a pickle, I'm still gettin' paid
I get laid by the ladies, ya know I'm in charge,
both how I'm livin' and my nose is large"
At that moment I heard the ding of a grenade land by my feet. There was no stopping it.
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[WP] It's 1916. You're a French soldier fighting in the battle of Verdun. One night, you're confronted by a single unarmed German soldier. He says something to you that chills you to the bone.
|
**author's note : First time commenting. Taking some liberties. Don't know a lot of WWI weaponry**
*Damn Rain won't stop.* I look to my side. Auguste, just a boy of 17, sat there, eyes focused on the horizon. still red from a night of tear filled misery. His brother, just a kid himself, tried to desert the mission -- desert France. He and about six others were shot on the spot, charged with treason. I can't say I blame them for wanting to flee.
But our orders were to not surrender. The Germans pushed us back about a kilometer from what I can guess. The land doesn't really look the same. Instead of the beautiful scene it once was, it transformed into a muddy cesspool of shells, corpses, and water. Some mornings, the ground would freeze underneath us. I couldn't wait for this to be over. *Defend. Push back. Look out.*
I could hear August let out a small sigh, shifting in his gear. I wanted to say something to him... just one word to make the pain go away, but nothing came to mind. Nothing can replace his childhood. No words could take away the hollow, lost look in his eyes.
"Quiet night," I said, looking at the horizon. It was unusual. Normally we had one guy trying to sneak off, or sneak up. He nodded in agreement. Not much for conversation. I can't blame him. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a small locket.
My beautiful Violette and our boy, Henri. We had planned to get married this summer. We had Henri out of wedlock. Wish I could hold them again. She saved up for months for her wedding gown. See, her family cut her off after she got pregnant. But we scraped by and saved every little bit we had. We bought a small house with a nice yard. We opened a shop in town, but we needed a little more, so I enlisted.
Violette was so happy when I finally brought her a ring. It was a small stone. Blue. Like her eyes. She threw her arms around me and held me tight, Henri cooing over his stuffed dog. We were happy. I missed those times.
I glanced over at Auguste, still staring dead ahead. He shifted a bit more, this time looking forward over his gun.
"Do... Do you hear that?" he whispered to me. I got ready. I grabbed my gun. *Please, God, let this be nothing. Just a bird.* I heard a loud crash. Thundering, fire. And then it went dark.
When I came to, my vision foggy, I looked around. Auguste had gone. I was left. I saw a figure coming at me from the rain and fog.
"Auguste?" I called to him. "Auguste where is everyone?" As the figure walked toward me, I saw he bore the enemy uniform. He came closer. He didn't have a gun. I called out, my German a bit rusty.
"Stop. I will shoot." He continued walking forward. As I pulled the trigger of my gun, it did nothing. Out of ammo. *Strange. I should have a full gun*
The figure stopped, right in front of me. He had a gash on his head. Brown hair matted in blood, He held up his hands in front of him, indicating he was unarmed.
"What are you doing?" I asked. It'd been awhile since I'd spoken German, but it was coming back to me.
"...We don't have to fight anymore." His hoarse voice hung in the fog, resonating in the dim firelight.
"....No?" I asked. It was strange. "Did you surrender?"
"No," He replied. He looked at me sadly. "We never wanted to be here, did we?"
I looked at him. He was broken.
"No," I said, meekly. "I want to go home. Is this battle over?" I asked. He seemed sincere enough. Melancholic. Maybe he would let me go. Maybe I wouldn't be captured.
"...Laurence?" His voice broke a moment as his dull grey eyes looking over me.
"How did you know my name?" I demanded to know. I shivered. How could he know my name?
"I need you to look down." His voice shook with utter sadness as he took another step toward me.
I looked down.
Lying there, the hands clutched around the small locket, was my body. I looked back at the mysterious man, then back down. I would never get to go home.
**edit: Some typos made it present tense and not past tense. Tried to fix**
|
I saw him in the corner of my eye, he suddenly moved from his position and stood bolt upright in the middle of the next trench. It was Sebastian, or Doofus, as he was called in the unit. Doofus lowered his gun to the floor, and with crinkled, intense eyes looked round at the other soldiers next to him. He said with a soft voice, "I have now put the gun on the floor".
They looked at him with bewilderment, "What are you doing Sebastian, you have to fight! Think of your family back home in Le Cabidousolmoungefleurpetit".
Sebastian grabbed the mud walls of the trench with his small fingers, and with a look of condescension uttered to the soldiers "I am now grasping the mud walls of the trench with my small fingers".
"What the fuck Sebastian? Are you okay?"
"I am now climbing upwards, out of the trench, using my small fingers as implements" he said loudly and assertively.
I didn't know what the hell was going on, but this kid was about to get his head blown off. I don't know why I did it, it was the stupidest thing I coulda done, but the poor kid had mental disabilities. He climbed out of the trench and started walking across no mans land. Fuck, I thought to myself, knowing the moral impulse I was seized by probably meant my own death, but I couldn't stop it. I jumped out of my hole and scrambled up to get him. He was a good 40 meters ahead of me.
The wind carried his monotonous voice, "I am walking towards the enemy in order to disable him gently, without breaking his arms".
I felt a bullet rip past my shoulder, the Germans had sighted us. How do I stop an idiot?
"Sebastian!!! Go back!!! We have chocolate back in the trench!" I shouted. He stopped dead in his tracks and turned to me contemplatively. What a way to die. What a bizarre way to die, I thought to myself as I sprinted towards him.
Shit! He was right on the edge of the German trench. But they were just staring at him pensively, they weren't shooting him. They saw me and immediately turned their guns to me. One of them commanded in perfect french "Down your gun, maggot". I complied. It wasn't worth it. Not for Doofus.
The french-speaking German turned to Doofus and smiled, "Now, welcome Lord Le Cabidousolmoungefleurpetit, we have been waiting for you all summer". Doofus laughed heartily and took their hand as he jumped down into the trench and hugged the Germans.
What the .... what .... I slapped myself. Surely this was a dream?
The German turned to me, "Listen carefully", he commanded. My gun was on the floor, if I reached down he'd blow my head off and I knew it. "Don't even think about it, just listen".
He cleared his throat, coughed and spoke
"My nose is big, uh-uh I'm not ashamed
Big like a pickle, I'm still gettin' paid
I get laid by the ladies, ya know I'm in charge,
both how I'm livin' and my nose is large"
At that moment I heard the ding of a grenade land by my feet. There was no stopping it.
|
|
[WP] It's 1916. You're a French soldier fighting in the battle of Verdun. One night, you're confronted by a single unarmed German soldier. He says something to you that chills you to the bone.
|
**author's note : First time commenting. Taking some liberties. Don't know a lot of WWI weaponry**
*Damn Rain won't stop.* I look to my side. Auguste, just a boy of 17, sat there, eyes focused on the horizon. still red from a night of tear filled misery. His brother, just a kid himself, tried to desert the mission -- desert France. He and about six others were shot on the spot, charged with treason. I can't say I blame them for wanting to flee.
But our orders were to not surrender. The Germans pushed us back about a kilometer from what I can guess. The land doesn't really look the same. Instead of the beautiful scene it once was, it transformed into a muddy cesspool of shells, corpses, and water. Some mornings, the ground would freeze underneath us. I couldn't wait for this to be over. *Defend. Push back. Look out.*
I could hear August let out a small sigh, shifting in his gear. I wanted to say something to him... just one word to make the pain go away, but nothing came to mind. Nothing can replace his childhood. No words could take away the hollow, lost look in his eyes.
"Quiet night," I said, looking at the horizon. It was unusual. Normally we had one guy trying to sneak off, or sneak up. He nodded in agreement. Not much for conversation. I can't blame him. I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out a small locket.
My beautiful Violette and our boy, Henri. We had planned to get married this summer. We had Henri out of wedlock. Wish I could hold them again. She saved up for months for her wedding gown. See, her family cut her off after she got pregnant. But we scraped by and saved every little bit we had. We bought a small house with a nice yard. We opened a shop in town, but we needed a little more, so I enlisted.
Violette was so happy when I finally brought her a ring. It was a small stone. Blue. Like her eyes. She threw her arms around me and held me tight, Henri cooing over his stuffed dog. We were happy. I missed those times.
I glanced over at Auguste, still staring dead ahead. He shifted a bit more, this time looking forward over his gun.
"Do... Do you hear that?" he whispered to me. I got ready. I grabbed my gun. *Please, God, let this be nothing. Just a bird.* I heard a loud crash. Thundering, fire. And then it went dark.
When I came to, my vision foggy, I looked around. Auguste had gone. I was left. I saw a figure coming at me from the rain and fog.
"Auguste?" I called to him. "Auguste where is everyone?" As the figure walked toward me, I saw he bore the enemy uniform. He came closer. He didn't have a gun. I called out, my German a bit rusty.
"Stop. I will shoot." He continued walking forward. As I pulled the trigger of my gun, it did nothing. Out of ammo. *Strange. I should have a full gun*
The figure stopped, right in front of me. He had a gash on his head. Brown hair matted in blood, He held up his hands in front of him, indicating he was unarmed.
"What are you doing?" I asked. It'd been awhile since I'd spoken German, but it was coming back to me.
"...We don't have to fight anymore." His hoarse voice hung in the fog, resonating in the dim firelight.
"....No?" I asked. It was strange. "Did you surrender?"
"No," He replied. He looked at me sadly. "We never wanted to be here, did we?"
I looked at him. He was broken.
"No," I said, meekly. "I want to go home. Is this battle over?" I asked. He seemed sincere enough. Melancholic. Maybe he would let me go. Maybe I wouldn't be captured.
"...Laurence?" His voice broke a moment as his dull grey eyes looking over me.
"How did you know my name?" I demanded to know. I shivered. How could he know my name?
"I need you to look down." His voice shook with utter sadness as he took another step toward me.
I looked down.
Lying there, the hands clutched around the small locket, was my body. I looked back at the mysterious man, then back down. I would never get to go home.
**edit: Some typos made it present tense and not past tense. Tried to fix**
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**[Taking some liberties with the prompt here by changing it to WWII but the main concept will remain the same]**
Four men sit in a dark room staring through the glass of a one-way mirror at a what used to be a man, but is now only a paranoid cowardly wretch. The only light comes through that glass and if it wasn't for that light the brass emblems and insignia upon their uniforms would be hidden. Despite their secrecy all these men have names, the youngest of them is Daniel Breaker.
Daniel had only been with the OSS for seven months after a transfer off a line infantry unit. He thought now that he much preferred the infantry. Sleeping in trenches may be uncomfortable, but at least there's some freedom. No one breathing down your necks constantly telling you what you're not allowed to speak about. He was a Captain now, which in the OSS means you're at the bottom of the totem pole as far as officers go.
*"Does he ever say anything new?"* One of the dark men asked as he took another drag off a cigar which smelled like the kind only a general grade officer could afford. Rank does have its luxuries.
*"No, he only talks about the things and that damned book."* Daniel replied and turned to look at his esteemed guests. *"I mean he talks about them and only them. He doesn't eat or drink. We've been watching him for three days now, that's three days without food or water. And there's no telling how long he went without before we found him."*
*"Have you considered force feeding him, to keep him alive I mean."* One of the dark men asked. Force feeding was a standard procedure in the event prisoners of war refused to eat. Most people considered it torture, but it was a duty to keep your prisoner alive and healthy, even against their will.
*"It's on my list of contingencies in case he doesn't start eating soon. I suppose soon he'll get desperate and take a bite of the meals we've provided."* Daniel turns again. *"If not then we will take more drastic measures to ensure his survival."*
*"Good, we can't lose this one."* The dark man said. That made Daniel wonder why this one was so important. Technically speaking the man was nothing more than a German private. Not even a member of Hitler's elite SS or Gestapo. Just a lone private by the name of Heinrich Vontur.
They knew his name, rank, and station by the papers they had found in his pockets when they found him wondering through the woods. He had been alone, not a single German patrol for dozens of miles and nowhere near the front lines. It was as though he had simply walked past the front and through Allied territory completely unmolested.
Well, not entirely unmolested. The man had seen some kind of combat. His clothes were covered in mud and blood. His body had received a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing extreme. If he had been in combat then he did all the damage, or so it would seem.
*"Have we found where he came from yet?"* One of the other dark men asked. They had sent troops into the region searching for the man's unit yet so far all efforts came up empty.
*"Nothing yet, but we have a number of units still on the task."* Daniel replied. *"It's likely he came across the front so we won't find his departure location until the front moves back a bit more."* Daniel said with a hopeful tone. If the front moves back a bit more, he thought to himself. If we keep winning this war, if the Nazis don't turn the tide somehow.
*"And what of the book?"* One dark man demanded. *"Is there anything unusual about the book?"* Daniel wanted to laugh at the man, but insubordination isn't something men like this took lightly.
*"Honestly sir, what isn't unusual about the book."* Daniel turned and picked up a file folder off the counter to his right. He opened the cover and began handing out prints to his guests. Each one had a photograph of the book in question and a cursory analysis written out by the translator Daniel had on duty.
*"Written in about three different languages, as far as we can tell. The book seems to be bound in pig skin, except there's something strange about it."* Daniel scratched his head. *"It's too thin, I mean we've all seen a football here I suppose. The skin is tough and thick when dried. The skin which the book's binding is made from is thin and still somewhat supple."* The men looked up at Daniel with a curious look on their faces.
*"Supple?"* One of them asked.
*"Yes, it's still moist. Almost like it was newly skinned. I've been hunting before as a child, my dad taught me how to skin a deer or a boar. This book feels like newly skinned boar hide, except as I said before, it's too thin."* Daniel knew the men wanted answers but he only had so many. If he pushed the facts as far as they'd go without the proper analysis by the proper professionals he'd risk misinforming those men. And in the OSS information was a weapon, and there was only one rule. Never be incorrect.
As the men looked through the handouts Daniel had given them he could see their unease at the illustrations found within the pages of the book. Pictures of vivisection, animal corpses, and strange creatures that could not have existed.
*"It's red. The writing in the book is all red. Why?"* One man asked, almost begged.
*"Our best guess is that's it's blood. It appears to be anyways."* The man who had asked the question promptly put down the handout as though it had been the original book itself.
*"What does he say about it? The prisoner."* Daniel turned to look out the glass again. Now the prisoner was laying his head down on the table whispering to something or someone who wasn't there.
*"He says the book told him to bring it here. Told him to bring it to us."* Daniel turned back to the men. *"He says his commander could read it, or at least some of it. Something about the man having been a professor of literature in Berlin before the war."*
*"So they could understand this writing?"* Daniel heard one man ask.
*"No, but his commander could read it. Pronounce the words at least."* Daniel felt discomfort at what he was about to say next. *"He says he read some words from the pages and that's when it happened. He says the sky turned black and one of the men in his unit began to fly."*
*"Fly?"* Three or four of the men asked in unison. Daniel knew this is where they'd begin to lose interest.
*"That's what he says. He says the man flew about two feet above the ground, dropped his rifle, and his eyes turned red. He says the men began to speak in a voice that was not his own. He says the man told them they'd all be dead by dawn."* Daniel looked at the file and found the mention he was looking for. *"Apparently this all happened at about 10pm, which gives them about seven hours before day break."*
*"So this one soldier, the one who was flying, he killed them all before dawn?"* One of the men asked again. Daniel noticed they hadn't started laughing yet, he had expected laughter.
*"No, they killed him. They were so frightened by him they shot him a dozen times. He fell to the ground and that was over. But he says that throughout the night they began killing each other. More of the men began to change and attack the others."* Daniel put the file down.
*"What's your next step, Captain?"* One of the men at the far end of the room asked.
Daniel didn't expect this to go so far. He expected them to give up on the idea by now. *"If you'll permit me, I'd like to get a specialist to look at the book. I know a professor in the states who'd probably have some insight on the book. His name is Knowby, I took his ancient history course before OCS."*
*"We will allow it, but the book must stay a secret at this point. Take any measures necessary to ensure that his analysis of the book is done in isolation."* One of the dark men ordered.
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[WP] Years ago, first contact from the alien race was a message. Even from recordings, every person hears the message differently based on their native language and background. Today you hear the message for the first time.
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"Miss Samantha Stevenson, you can go in now." The receptionist said. I put down the magazine I hadn't been reading and started walking to the door. I'm glad I wore heels, as focusing on not tripping kept me distracted from what awaited in the doors ahead of me. Gabriella had told me there was no point getting dressed up for it, but if my world was going to change forever, I wanted to look like I was ready for it.
"Please, take a seat." I took a seat at the only desk in the room, facing a well-dressed man in his late 40s. The man looked at his laptop, "Miss Stevenson, I have a few questions to ask you before we start the programme. I'm sure you're anxious and eager to get on with it, so please answer truthfully so we can get started as soon as possible." He stood up and handed something that looked a lot like a coin to me. I placed it on my forehead and instantly felt a strange dizziness, as if my whole life I had been upside down and had just been turned rightside up.
A few beeps came from the laptop, and the man seemed satisfied. "Okay, everything seems to have set itself up well, let's begin. Firstly, have you ever heard the message or the recording of the message before?"
I paused for a second, trying to get my mouth to work with my brain. "Yes."
The man stared at me. "Can you elaborate?" He said in the manner of an overworked teacher.
"When I was 4, my father found a recording. He told my mother that it was just lying in the street, but when I was older he told me that he had bought it from a friend of a friend. We listened to it as a family, and after the message was over, my mother picked up the cd, and threw it and herself out of the window. I never remembered what I heard. By the time I wanted to know, recordings were worth thousands and you guys had wiped it from the internet."
The man nodded, and typed a few words onto his laptop. "Ok, next question. What careers have you had?"
Again a pause as I tried to get my brain in order. "When I left education I became a therapist. I'm good at listening, in fact I think this is the most I've ever talked about myself. That's kind of sad when I think about it..."
"Hey, focus." The man clicked his fingers in front of my face, and I focused on how much that annoyed me. This man was not good with people it would appear. "Next question. Have you ever committed a crime and if so, what crimes have you commited?"
I paused again, but this time before I could answer, the computer started to beep. The man looked at it, then at me. With a new warmness in his voice, he said "At this point, I will remind you any information given here will be used purely as a basis of your message. We don't plan on using any information for any terrestrial matters. Now again, have you ever committed a crime?"
I looked him in the eyes. "I killed my grandfather. He was never the same after my mother died, he became more bitter. He hated both me and my father the most, so when we needed money and he was our last option, he didn't give it to us. I think he blamed my father for my mother's death but I never knew why he hated me, though I always suspected. So one day, when we were walking on the cliffs near his home, I asked him what I had done to deserve his hatred. He told me that his message said that he should have died in combat like a true man, and that he hated me because I had that chance and I threw it away. I asked him if he still wanted to die in combat, then he punched me. After a scuffle, I won and pushed him over the edge. Oh, and I guess I also drank while underage and did a lot of drugs, like your average teenager who has no idea what's going on."
The man did a lot more typing this time, before turning back to me. "I guess that leads to the next question. Have you ever tried to kill yourself?"
"No." No pause.
The man eyes widened in shock. "Really?" He said, before covering his hand with his mouth.
I smirked. "Yeah, I know. I mean, I thought about it a lot and when I saw my grandfather falling down the cliff, a part of me really wanted to follow him. I thought I had just made the biggest mistake in my life, that it would be over, I would be sent to prison and you can probably guess I wouldn't do well in there. But I didn't. I just looked down, and got ready to move on. Whenever I'm high up, I always have that to do the same thing as my mother, but I never do."
The man didn't type any of that down. "Last question. Who do you plan on telling what you hear?"
"My wife. She heard her message a few weeks ago but we agreed we'd wait until my message so we could both tell eachother at the same time. My father, I think he was always curious. And my patients if it helps them."
The man nodded, and when he finished typing, he looked at me. "Thank you. It's now time for you to hear the message. Before we start, I would like to thank you for doing this. We still don't know how long it will be until they come, but every piece of information we can get before they arrive, the better position we'll be in." He gave me a pair of headphones. "Obviously it doesn't matter, but I've heard this message about 500 times now. It's more for my benefit."
I nodded, and put the headphones on my head. As soon as I heard the voice it all came back to me. My eyes started to tear up, and I understood why I never jumped, never followed.
I took the headphones off, trying not to rub my eyes. Maybe it was a mistake to be formal. "What was your message?" He asked.
"It will be OK."
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“We’re coming”
It’s been 3 years since that message
It was the middle august, sitting in the radiant summer heat that never seemed to dissipate even as the sun disappeared over the horizon, sweat sleeked out of ever pour even as I lay on the soft grass and stared blankly at the sky above. “We’re Coming” my phone rang out to me. “We’re on our way” my phone spoke again. It was strange, the message wasn’t in English, it was spoken in what sounded like complete gibberish but you knew exactly what the sounds meant. “We’re Coming”……”We’re on our way”.
I tried to turn my phone off but it didn’t respond. I had to wait for the battery to run out before finally stopped. “What the hell was that” I thought to myself as I got up. Looking around the park I could spot others in the distance, I’m positive they heard it also. It’s easy to recognize the face of utter fucking confusion while they stared wide eyed at their phones. I started walking back to my apartment, I lived in the shadow of a medium sized city where gentrification allowed an older student like myself live in a trendy part of town. Two minutes later I burst through my front door of brick walled apartment with a cozy but small living room and hopped on my laptop. “We’re coming”….”We’re on my war” I heard in the familiar sounding gibberish as I turned on my computer, “What the fuck, this must be a joke” I thought again as I navigated my way into the infinite amount of information and dialogue that was about to surround this event.
For three weeks the message played on just about every electronic device that was networked and able to emit sound. It finally stopped once they patched the satellite feed to root out the piece of software that kept running the message on loop. The news blamed it on hackers trying to troll, a loosely organized group that usually spent their time hacking into school computers or spanning a Youtubers gaming feed. Everyone knew it was bullshit, but what else could we have thought. Experts didn’t have a clue where the message had come from, the piece of code that corrupted the satellite was unlike anything they have ever seen and it took months just to analyze the damn thing. After a few months everything died down and people returned to the “day in and day out” of everyday life. But through all hours of the day and even through the late at night, people are watching, staring intently at the infinite void of space, waiting to see if the message heard years ago will ever come true.
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[WP] Years ago, first contact from the alien race was a message. Even from recordings, every person hears the message differently based on their native language and background. Today you hear the message for the first time.
|
Everyone had heard it, nodded their heads, and gone about their business. A message of acceptance and tranquility, "we come in peace" sort of stuff, but without the "we come" part. Just a message saying that they existed, and knew we existed, and that we should all get along together. But not me.
I was in a coma that day, the product of bad luck and a drunk driver. So I slept through the message. When I awoke, getting caught up on what happened during the weeks I was out, they told me about. They told about its peculiar nature, that everyone heard it in their own language, even when listening to the same speaker at the same time. That it wasn't any big deal, because we weren't being invaded or anything, the aliens were just saying "hello world" to us. Scientists were still trying to track its origin and figure out how to respond. Finally, someone pulled up the youtube link and played it for me.
"You are the one we've been trying to reach. You are the one who can stop them. The leaders of your world are not your kind, and are not working in your best interest. To save your world, you must follow our instructions. You must build a device, we will teach you the design. Now smile like we're saying a cheerful hello, peace to all message. You must not let them know you've been contacted."
Uncertainly, I smiled somewhat weakly at my family. "It's very nice of them to say hello..."
|
“We’re coming”
It’s been 3 years since that message
It was the middle august, sitting in the radiant summer heat that never seemed to dissipate even as the sun disappeared over the horizon, sweat sleeked out of ever pour even as I lay on the soft grass and stared blankly at the sky above. “We’re Coming” my phone rang out to me. “We’re on our way” my phone spoke again. It was strange, the message wasn’t in English, it was spoken in what sounded like complete gibberish but you knew exactly what the sounds meant. “We’re Coming”……”We’re on our way”.
I tried to turn my phone off but it didn’t respond. I had to wait for the battery to run out before finally stopped. “What the hell was that” I thought to myself as I got up. Looking around the park I could spot others in the distance, I’m positive they heard it also. It’s easy to recognize the face of utter fucking confusion while they stared wide eyed at their phones. I started walking back to my apartment, I lived in the shadow of a medium sized city where gentrification allowed an older student like myself live in a trendy part of town. Two minutes later I burst through my front door of brick walled apartment with a cozy but small living room and hopped on my laptop. “We’re coming”….”We’re on my war” I heard in the familiar sounding gibberish as I turned on my computer, “What the fuck, this must be a joke” I thought again as I navigated my way into the infinite amount of information and dialogue that was about to surround this event.
For three weeks the message played on just about every electronic device that was networked and able to emit sound. It finally stopped once they patched the satellite feed to root out the piece of software that kept running the message on loop. The news blamed it on hackers trying to troll, a loosely organized group that usually spent their time hacking into school computers or spanning a Youtubers gaming feed. Everyone knew it was bullshit, but what else could we have thought. Experts didn’t have a clue where the message had come from, the piece of code that corrupted the satellite was unlike anything they have ever seen and it took months just to analyze the damn thing. After a few months everything died down and people returned to the “day in and day out” of everyday life. But through all hours of the day and even through the late at night, people are watching, staring intently at the infinite void of space, waiting to see if the message heard years ago will ever come true.
|
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edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
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I hung my head low. To live in such a paradise, in a oasis, a place where everyone is equal, where we need nothing, want nothing, own nothing....I had stolen. Well, that's what I had been told I had done. I had simply been a little peckish was all, and it was nowhere near supper. So I simply took food from the mess hall. They were left overs, no? Who would had wanted them? But I was fooled. I tricked myself. It was for the early dinner time citizens, a group I was not a part of. To take food from another here, in Estómago, was not a petty crime; there was only crime. And when one committed a crime, they were forced to face the consequences.
And here I was, sitting in the canal, looking towards a bright light. I was to be born. We weren't told what this "borning" was, but when it happened, you were never seen again. Some said it was a farce, just to make examples of people. But I doubted it. I looked only at body, being shrunk to the size of a mere child, my arms being contorted to odd angles across my chest, my legs bending slightly. Another citizen looked at me disgust, as they attached some flesh colored cord to my stomach. As they finished, they pulled a knife from the air, and looked into my eyes.
"Do you have anything you'd like to say?" I merely stared at them. "I am now required to remove you of your thoughts, skills, and feelings. I shall do this by cutting your brain into tenths, and only leaving one part of it. It shall grow back, but only this once." I held back tears. I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be born. Why would I have to go through this cruel torture? This being "born," this was simply a crime. "Anything you would like to say? I am about to start."
I closed my eyes, prepared for the pain. It would be momentarily, but the long lasting pain of leaving Estómago, my home, forever, to leave this world, to be punished; that was the true pain.
As the cold metal hit my skull, I heard the citizen whisper into my ears;
"Enjoy Earth, you thug."
(Just wanted to say, this is my first post here! Please go easy! Any feedback is welcome, since I love writing, and it could be so much better! Thank you!)
|
You smile when you remember it.
Smiles are so strange, this face is so strange.
You've grown accustomed to all of this movement, though it took time.
It used to be so simple. You could just be warm, happy, content.
That simple state, being, is all you remember from what feels like a distant dream.
Dreaming.
That's the closest you come anymore. The closest to just existing.
All of this new world is so unpredictable, so random.
To think this is what you wanted.
You yearned for a change, something, anything unstable.
This is what you got in return.
When you stop and think, it's almost hard to tell which is the punishment.
To be the immovable stone of contentment, or to feel the rush of change as your world fragments into destruction.
Which one is the real punishment?
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edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
|
They send him to the rehabilitation center first. He comes home and our parents ask him what he learned. He talks about our history, about how the elders operate under the great law and I can feel my parents' relief radiate through the kitchen. My father clasps one hand on my brother's shoulder. "Good boy," he says. "Good man."
But later, at night, my brother sneaks into my room with a flashlight and crawls into bed with me. He pulls the covers over the both of us like when we were younger and would make forts. "It's not right," he whispers. "What they're doing. You can't punish someone forever. They have to let them back when they're ready."
My eyes widen. "You don't know what you're talking about. We can't let anyone with the birth penalty come back."
"They take away everything from them. They take away their memories. They make them make new memories, and then they take those away. Forever and ever. It isn't right."
I don't know what to say. My hands are slick with perspiration.
Three weeks later he bursts into my room, agitated with excitement. "I'm going to go," he tells me. "I'm going to be born. I know how to get back. I'm going to tell the other born souls what happened. I'll help them get back."
My stomach drops. I don't know what to do. It's illegal to even speak like my brother is. If I tell anyone, he'll be condemned to be born for sure. "You can't - "
"I'm going to go. I know how to keep my memories even after they send me, I think. I put it in a notebook. It's in my room, under the loose floorboard. If I'm not back, read it. You can come and help me."
"I can't listen to this," I say. I close my eyes.
"Don't worry," he says. "You're going to be my favorite memory that I bring with me."
"You can't - " I start, but he's all ready gone, running out of the room. I hear the front door slam behind him. I lay in bed and count my breaths until my hands stop shaking. A few minutes later, I hear the sirens.
|
You smile when you remember it.
Smiles are so strange, this face is so strange.
You've grown accustomed to all of this movement, though it took time.
It used to be so simple. You could just be warm, happy, content.
That simple state, being, is all you remember from what feels like a distant dream.
Dreaming.
That's the closest you come anymore. The closest to just existing.
All of this new world is so unpredictable, so random.
To think this is what you wanted.
You yearned for a change, something, anything unstable.
This is what you got in return.
When you stop and think, it's almost hard to tell which is the punishment.
To be the immovable stone of contentment, or to feel the rush of change as your world fragments into destruction.
Which one is the real punishment?
|
edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
|
The loud sea of air rushing past my body. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, an overwhelming sense of joy and excitement. Vague sensations slowly distancing themselves from my reality.
Was that my death?
I think it was skydiving this time.
As the memories gained a sense of unreality, I slowly became more aware of my situation. Back again.
“I hope you learned your lesson this time.”
I looked up at the stern but kind soul welcoming me back home.
“Such a terrible thing, to be born as many times as you have,” she tsked. I stared back blankly. “But I suppose some people just need the time to grow.”
She helped me into my form and I stepped out, blinking in the light. Making my way through a labyrinth of corridors I emerged ready to reenter society as a reformed and forgiven soul.
Birth was an immensely effective method of reforming a troubled soul. Most souls only had to go through it once before they emerged completely content and ready for the bliss that is modern society.
I stared at the wonderfully placid drones contentedly buzzing around me. It felt amazing to be back, drifting around and taking pleasure from everything around me. A deep longing I didn’t know I had was being fulfilled. A tension I didn’t know I carried erased as I joined the drones around me and buzzed with pleasure. I could do this forever, I thought, glancing over at the souls that had no trouble doing just so, never growing bored, never longing for anything other than this perfect existence.
But already I began to grow restless.
Multiple births were not unheard of but were certainly rare. Whereas for me it seemed as if the time between each birth was getting shorter and shorter. It was supposed to make you long for a return to this existence. I thought back to my life, full of struggle and grief. I stared at the happy faces around me.
Why can’t I just enjoy this.
I thought about it as I planned my next crime, sure to land me another stint on earth.
|
You smile when you remember it.
Smiles are so strange, this face is so strange.
You've grown accustomed to all of this movement, though it took time.
It used to be so simple. You could just be warm, happy, content.
That simple state, being, is all you remember from what feels like a distant dream.
Dreaming.
That's the closest you come anymore. The closest to just existing.
All of this new world is so unpredictable, so random.
To think this is what you wanted.
You yearned for a change, something, anything unstable.
This is what you got in return.
When you stop and think, it's almost hard to tell which is the punishment.
To be the immovable stone of contentment, or to feel the rush of change as your world fragments into destruction.
Which one is the real punishment?
|
edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
|
They send him to the rehabilitation center first. He comes home and our parents ask him what he learned. He talks about our history, about how the elders operate under the great law and I can feel my parents' relief radiate through the kitchen. My father clasps one hand on my brother's shoulder. "Good boy," he says. "Good man."
But later, at night, my brother sneaks into my room with a flashlight and crawls into bed with me. He pulls the covers over the both of us like when we were younger and would make forts. "It's not right," he whispers. "What they're doing. You can't punish someone forever. They have to let them back when they're ready."
My eyes widen. "You don't know what you're talking about. We can't let anyone with the birth penalty come back."
"They take away everything from them. They take away their memories. They make them make new memories, and then they take those away. Forever and ever. It isn't right."
I don't know what to say. My hands are slick with perspiration.
Three weeks later he bursts into my room, agitated with excitement. "I'm going to go," he tells me. "I'm going to be born. I know how to get back. I'm going to tell the other born souls what happened. I'll help them get back."
My stomach drops. I don't know what to do. It's illegal to even speak like my brother is. If I tell anyone, he'll be condemned to be born for sure. "You can't - "
"I'm going to go. I know how to keep my memories even after they send me, I think. I put it in a notebook. It's in my room, under the loose floorboard. If I'm not back, read it. You can come and help me."
"I can't listen to this," I say. I close my eyes.
"Don't worry," he says. "You're going to be my favorite memory that I bring with me."
"You can't - " I start, but he's all ready gone, running out of the room. I hear the front door slam behind him. I lay in bed and count my breaths until my hands stop shaking. A few minutes later, I hear the sirens.
|
I hung my head low. To live in such a paradise, in a oasis, a place where everyone is equal, where we need nothing, want nothing, own nothing....I had stolen. Well, that's what I had been told I had done. I had simply been a little peckish was all, and it was nowhere near supper. So I simply took food from the mess hall. They were left overs, no? Who would had wanted them? But I was fooled. I tricked myself. It was for the early dinner time citizens, a group I was not a part of. To take food from another here, in Estómago, was not a petty crime; there was only crime. And when one committed a crime, they were forced to face the consequences.
And here I was, sitting in the canal, looking towards a bright light. I was to be born. We weren't told what this "borning" was, but when it happened, you were never seen again. Some said it was a farce, just to make examples of people. But I doubted it. I looked only at body, being shrunk to the size of a mere child, my arms being contorted to odd angles across my chest, my legs bending slightly. Another citizen looked at me disgust, as they attached some flesh colored cord to my stomach. As they finished, they pulled a knife from the air, and looked into my eyes.
"Do you have anything you'd like to say?" I merely stared at them. "I am now required to remove you of your thoughts, skills, and feelings. I shall do this by cutting your brain into tenths, and only leaving one part of it. It shall grow back, but only this once." I held back tears. I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be born. Why would I have to go through this cruel torture? This being "born," this was simply a crime. "Anything you would like to say? I am about to start."
I closed my eyes, prepared for the pain. It would be momentarily, but the long lasting pain of leaving Estómago, my home, forever, to leave this world, to be punished; that was the true pain.
As the cold metal hit my skull, I heard the citizen whisper into my ears;
"Enjoy Earth, you thug."
(Just wanted to say, this is my first post here! Please go easy! Any feedback is welcome, since I love writing, and it could be so much better! Thank you!)
|
edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
|
The loud sea of air rushing past my body. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, an overwhelming sense of joy and excitement. Vague sensations slowly distancing themselves from my reality.
Was that my death?
I think it was skydiving this time.
As the memories gained a sense of unreality, I slowly became more aware of my situation. Back again.
“I hope you learned your lesson this time.”
I looked up at the stern but kind soul welcoming me back home.
“Such a terrible thing, to be born as many times as you have,” she tsked. I stared back blankly. “But I suppose some people just need the time to grow.”
She helped me into my form and I stepped out, blinking in the light. Making my way through a labyrinth of corridors I emerged ready to reenter society as a reformed and forgiven soul.
Birth was an immensely effective method of reforming a troubled soul. Most souls only had to go through it once before they emerged completely content and ready for the bliss that is modern society.
I stared at the wonderfully placid drones contentedly buzzing around me. It felt amazing to be back, drifting around and taking pleasure from everything around me. A deep longing I didn’t know I had was being fulfilled. A tension I didn’t know I carried erased as I joined the drones around me and buzzed with pleasure. I could do this forever, I thought, glancing over at the souls that had no trouble doing just so, never growing bored, never longing for anything other than this perfect existence.
But already I began to grow restless.
Multiple births were not unheard of but were certainly rare. Whereas for me it seemed as if the time between each birth was getting shorter and shorter. It was supposed to make you long for a return to this existence. I thought back to my life, full of struggle and grief. I stared at the happy faces around me.
Why can’t I just enjoy this.
I thought about it as I planned my next crime, sure to land me another stint on earth.
|
I hung my head low. To live in such a paradise, in a oasis, a place where everyone is equal, where we need nothing, want nothing, own nothing....I had stolen. Well, that's what I had been told I had done. I had simply been a little peckish was all, and it was nowhere near supper. So I simply took food from the mess hall. They were left overs, no? Who would had wanted them? But I was fooled. I tricked myself. It was for the early dinner time citizens, a group I was not a part of. To take food from another here, in Estómago, was not a petty crime; there was only crime. And when one committed a crime, they were forced to face the consequences.
And here I was, sitting in the canal, looking towards a bright light. I was to be born. We weren't told what this "borning" was, but when it happened, you were never seen again. Some said it was a farce, just to make examples of people. But I doubted it. I looked only at body, being shrunk to the size of a mere child, my arms being contorted to odd angles across my chest, my legs bending slightly. Another citizen looked at me disgust, as they attached some flesh colored cord to my stomach. As they finished, they pulled a knife from the air, and looked into my eyes.
"Do you have anything you'd like to say?" I merely stared at them. "I am now required to remove you of your thoughts, skills, and feelings. I shall do this by cutting your brain into tenths, and only leaving one part of it. It shall grow back, but only this once." I held back tears. I wasn't ready. I didn't want to be born. Why would I have to go through this cruel torture? This being "born," this was simply a crime. "Anything you would like to say? I am about to start."
I closed my eyes, prepared for the pain. It would be momentarily, but the long lasting pain of leaving Estómago, my home, forever, to leave this world, to be punished; that was the true pain.
As the cold metal hit my skull, I heard the citizen whisper into my ears;
"Enjoy Earth, you thug."
(Just wanted to say, this is my first post here! Please go easy! Any feedback is welcome, since I love writing, and it could be so much better! Thank you!)
|
edit: All of you are _awesome_. That is all.
|
[WP] In the realm where souls reside before we're born, everything is pretty great. There's no poverty, no one wants for anything, everyone knows their role and purpose. It is, essentially, perfect. But that perfection is accomplished via draconian law: the only punishment is the "birth penalty"
|
"What possessed you?" The words rung through my being, pushing out all other thoughts. "What need did you have?" Everyone had gathered, a mixture of fear and anger radiated through the crowd.
"Need?" The idea felt foreign to me, "What is need?"
"What was required?" His anger grew with my confusion, "What called you to this?"
I reached for an explanation I did not have, "*It* did, great one."
The crowd's anger subsided to fear. *It?* *What do they mean?* The words rushed from being to being.
"Their questions are mine," they asked me.
"I can't give it voice. It is as foreign to me as need, perhaps they are the same?" It drew astonishment from all.
"What is your place?" The great one inquired.
"I stimulate the others with thoughts." It rushed from me without command.
"And were you doing so when you tried to create nourishment?"
"No, great one."
"And who's place was that?"
I peered through the crowd before realizing it was asked of me, "I don't know, great one."
"Was it yours?"
"No."
"You knew it was not your place, therefore you knew it was someone else's. Do you wish to breed laziness?" Their words accused.
"No."
"Confusion?"
"What is confusion, great one?" More foreign thoughts did it spawn.
"Uncertainty?" He gazed upon my unresponsive self, "The unknown, mixed ideas of both good and bad, certain is what we are all, uncertain is what we are not."
"That's *it*! It was uncertainty that called me to attempt sustenance. It was the strangeness of it, it was....
"Curiosity." They became discontent. The feeling spread through the crowd.
"Did you desire *it*?" They asked.
"More than anything, great one." I responded.
"Very well. Curiosity has no place here." Fear overcame most in the crowd, "For your crimes against our people, I sentence you to birth."
Blinding light overwhelmed my existence, wailing reverberated in the space around me. A figure, of shape, and size loomed before me.
|
In Elysium, life ends with birth.
Sure, it seems like a utopia. Maybe it even was at one point. It must have been for things to get like this. But now, it’s as far as it could be.
I’m on the run. If they find me – and they will, they always do – I will be here no more. My soul will be ripped from my body and transported into the aether, gone until I walk amongst the mortals. The husk will be fed to the hound that catches me, most likely.
It’s been thirteen days since they sent out the search party for me. According to them, I’ve committed treason against my fellow kind. If treason is speaking against the unreasonable laws, then I guess I’m as guilty as charged. But it shouldn’t be that way. And I plan to stop it.
You see, the thing about a utopia is it needs unwavering synchronicity. If a single cog in the machine is jammed, it needs to be removed immediately. After all, no one will notice the problem if it’s out of sight. Not as long it wrapped up in the need to purge “negative influences for the betterment of society”. One cog is nothing compared to the wellbeing of the machine.
I’m one of those cogs.
I don’t have much time. Alone, I can’t stop them. However, there is still one chance to make an impact. And if it works, it will definitely leave its mark on the world.
A rogue wind runs past me, freezing my sweat-laden clothes. I glance down, watching the sea of people move to their various destinations. They move in harmony, no clutter despite the hundreds of people moving towards different places. They’re all unaware, each naïve to what is behind the scenes. As they eat form the hand that feeds them, the other is slowly but surely wrapping around their throat.
I take in a deep breath, closing my eyes. I can’t remember how high I am yet I know it’s more than enough. My feet teeter on the edge of the building, the weight of my body threatening to bring me crashing down. After exhaling, I succumb to gravity’s pull, leaning forward.
As I fall, the wind shrieks in my ears. Yet it can’t block out my buzzing mind. I’ve still so much to think about in these last moments. I’ve never felt so free before. And to think, my sacrifice will not only save me from experiencing birth but possibly thousands of others. If only I had realized this earlier. As I collided to the ground, I let out a sigh.
I’ve found my purpose.
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[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
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Lawrence had always been afraid of heights. However, in this moment, standing atop the building where he has devoted the last 15 years of work to, he was not scared. He was excited. For what lay at the bottom of this five hundred foot steel prison, was something he yearned for...salvation. As Lawrence approached the edge, he heard the faint sounds of hundreds of people. He heard the yelling and the horns, and couldn't wait...soon they would be all silent.
As he took his fateful step out, he felt a cold shiver up his spine, and was pulled back by an unknown force. Turning around, Lawrence saw what appeared to be young girl...fifteen maybe. Her face was pale, and eyes eerily blue. Her gaze met Lawrence, with tears running down her face.
"Why!", the girl yelled.
Lawrence, frightened. "Who are you? Why are you up here".
"Why are you up here, Lawrence J. Williams, son of Michael and Mary Williams. Only forty years old with no disease or illness that inhabits your body."
"How...do I know you?" Lawrence saw how angry the young girl was. He had never seen her before in his life. "I'm sorry, did I do something to you?"
"You are doing it now Lawrence. You are making a mockery of me." The young girl began to whimper.
"Who are you?"
"I am the one who must take the most beautiful gift our universe has to offer from people.”
Lawrence, although knowing how unbelievable it sounded, knew it to be true. "You are death?"
“I take life away from those who desperately grasp to it. Those who would denounce their values, forgo their faith, for even just one more day of life. And today, I see you Lawrence J. Williams, with plenty of life...throwing it away.”
“The life I have left is not of any worth. The life I have lived so far does not amount to anything”, Lawrence stated with clear eyes, “If you are death, please, take my life, my remaining years, and give it to someone who is grasping to hold on to it”.
“I cannot transfer life. I cannot give life. I can only take it away.” A tear rolled down death’s face.
“Why are you so concerned, so upset with what I am doing? I am no one.”
“No Lawrence, you are so much more”
To be continued (when finished with work)…..
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His bones creaked as he slowly sat back into his throne with an expression more hollow than normal. His Life-Claims list fell from smooth fingers onto the floor as his memory twitched into being. A name formed in the nothingness of his black mind until it cleared like a light at the end of a tunnel; genesis, his earliest recollection.
In the Life and Death room he had been handed his scythe by his predecessor and held it in his left hand as his right was raised to take his Taker's Oath; he had looked upon the board of Taker's, the list of all those who had and will serve as Death.
And there he had seen it underneath his own mortal name, the name on his claims list, the name of his successor.
The Life-Claims list had his age at twenty-eight; still so young! The cause was listed as suicide, and the time of death as 15 minutes from now. The name on the list was David, and David was making a big mistake.
He walked slowly as fast as he could to the gate of the mortal realm, finally arriving fourteen hours later. Luckily for Death, time as well as he moved slower in the land of mist and cloud. On Earth he had a minute left to prevent the death of Death. People wondered where they would go after life, but he knew; he wondered where he would go after death.
David had his eyes closed tightly and the gun barrel in his mouth, but his hand did not shake. The savagery of humanity outshone its better nature in a tyrannical red light so bright it was blinding. In his mind enough had long been enough. He pulled the trigger and heard the click, the click of the hammer hitting the back of its housing, and that was it.
But still he heard no bang. Though of course he wouldn't hear it! The part of his brain that interpreted sound, as well as the rest, would currently by sliding down the wall behind his recently hollowed head. There was another noise that wasn't gunfire and he realised something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
A cloaked figure stood over him with its arm extended down towards his gun; a skeletal finger sandwiched between the hammer and the primer. A voice from nowhere echoed in his head as he heard the words but could not detect the source: 'we need to talk'.
|
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[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Being Death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, you're the immortal being who comes for the mortals as their time on this miserable blue orb but after about 1 Billion rounds you begin to get tired of it. It's a lonely life.
Enter David Joe Stevenson. Age 42. A banker in Canada who is facing intense pressure from his boss and his impending divorce from his wife. He's planning to commit suicide at midnight tonight by injecting oxygen directly into his veins. He's creative, I'll give him that much, but he's not dying on my watch tonight.
At 11:50 I appear before him as he sits watching some late night program that has the typical zany host who comments in a comedic way on the news. He jumps at the sight of me. "Who are you?"
"Let's just call me your friendly neighbourhood Grim Reaper, okay? The point is, I know what you're planning to do, David" I look at him and smile with my pearly white teeth "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that Dave."
He looks at me with fear tinted with confusion as he tries to figure out what to say "Why not? You're death, isn't the point of your job to bring me to the afterlife?"
I keep smiling. "Normally, yes, but you see, I've been watching you Dave. Your life is in the dumps right now, and I can't say I blame you. The divorce, the boss, it's enough to drive any normal man to his breaking point. Not you though."
"Wwwwhy not me? What makes me so special that I won't break? You said it yourself, I'm going to kill myself in," he looked at the clock on his wall, then turned back,"five minutes or so."
"Because Dave, you're smarter then this, all of this. Your boss is giving you hell because his daughter is in the Emergency room, recovering from her own attempt at suicide. The divorce is happening because both of you feel shackled by the other. It's not the end, Dave."
"Everyone goes through rough patches in life, including me at times." He looked at me with confusion "You have any idea how far I'm behind on my paperwork and how much hot water I'm currently standing in? Anyways, everyone has rough patches, but there is a light at the end of the darkness. Your boss is going to get better, the divorce will go through but it will leave you and her able to do what you want to do."
He looked at the ground for a bit, then at me. "Thank you, uh....."
"Morty," I replied. "Well, I think that's that. I have other jobs to attend to." With that, I took my leave and vanished from his home.
You know, that wasn't so bad. I should do that more often. Cheering up suicidal people rather then just taking them immediately.
Yet I know that I didn't do it for him, nor did I do it for his family/friends/co workers. Sure, those were nice benefits, but not the main reason.
I just really hate paperwork.
|
His bones creaked as he slowly sat back into his throne with an expression more hollow than normal. His Life-Claims list fell from smooth fingers onto the floor as his memory twitched into being. A name formed in the nothingness of his black mind until it cleared like a light at the end of a tunnel; genesis, his earliest recollection.
In the Life and Death room he had been handed his scythe by his predecessor and held it in his left hand as his right was raised to take his Taker's Oath; he had looked upon the board of Taker's, the list of all those who had and will serve as Death.
And there he had seen it underneath his own mortal name, the name on his claims list, the name of his successor.
The Life-Claims list had his age at twenty-eight; still so young! The cause was listed as suicide, and the time of death as 15 minutes from now. The name on the list was David, and David was making a big mistake.
He walked slowly as fast as he could to the gate of the mortal realm, finally arriving fourteen hours later. Luckily for Death, time as well as he moved slower in the land of mist and cloud. On Earth he had a minute left to prevent the death of Death. People wondered where they would go after life, but he knew; he wondered where he would go after death.
David had his eyes closed tightly and the gun barrel in his mouth, but his hand did not shake. The savagery of humanity outshone its better nature in a tyrannical red light so bright it was blinding. In his mind enough had long been enough. He pulled the trigger and heard the click, the click of the hammer hitting the back of its housing, and that was it.
But still he heard no bang. Though of course he wouldn't hear it! The part of his brain that interpreted sound, as well as the rest, would currently by sliding down the wall behind his recently hollowed head. There was another noise that wasn't gunfire and he realised something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
A cloaked figure stood over him with its arm extended down towards his gun; a skeletal finger sandwiched between the hammer and the primer. A voice from nowhere echoed in his head as he heard the words but could not detect the source: 'we need to talk'.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The Council had offered Death five names in their latest report.
Five names which belonged to individuals who had the potential to help solve the problems currently putting the future of the After Life at risk.
Death, robe less and alone in her office, read over each name and description, trying to weigh up the decisions she would have to take over the next few hours. The numbers last month were too good – far too good. It was becoming impossible to handle, especially when she was the only one capable of dragging them from one realm to another. They would have to wait, sometimes for days, as she worked tirelessly to persuade or force souls to admit their end. The system was packed to the brim, with ‘the waiting room’ – where the fresh dead would stay until resolved – hours away from having no space left at all.
And that was bad.
So bad that it had never happened, and both Death and her council were unsure of the implications. There was nothing written down, recorded or remotely discussing this issue in the scripture left by her ancestors. This was new, and new filled her heart with fear, a fear that fed her own twisted predictions to such a point that she believed them to be true. Like a glass of water filled to the top and not removed from beneath an open tap, the dead would trickle back into the realm of the living.
She returned her gaze to the report, flicking through pages at pace as the clock inside her mind ticked away. Cure to Cancer. Food Cloning. Political Peace… each individual had the ability to reduce the amount of bodyless souls entering the After Life significantly. She sighed loudly, her body shaking from anger at the impossibility of this situation.
They had tried to recruit someone else. A ‘second’ her. But to do so was a long and tiresome process, one that had gone on too long with no luck. She couldn’t blame them. For a soul to take her form, they would have to give up their memories and more importantly, their right to potentially live again in a new body – to be reincarnated back into the living realm. A second chance is too good to pass up. You only find someone willing to give that up once every eon. She had, but it hadn’t been long enough. Her predecessor was a distant light in the future – a future that at this rate would involve something far greater than simply guiding souls to their resting point.
She turned to the final page, disappointed with the fourth name. Mind Control. That sounded dangerous. She could only hope that his death came soon. She almost managed a smile at the thought.
Robert Morrison. The last name. She moved on to his description and read it once. Then, after blinking, read it again. And again. And then one last time. This was the one. He was the one.
But, he was the last one. Why? On each page, just like every other individual record in the After Life, a small ‘status’ symbol was printed on the bottom right hand corner of the page. The first four names were bright green – meaning alive and well. Robert’s was not. It was a dull amber.
A dull amber.
‘Shit,’ she whispered between her teeth.
Shit indeed.
TO BE CONTINUED (if people want - I've got a good ending, trussme)
|
His bones creaked as he slowly sat back into his throne with an expression more hollow than normal. His Life-Claims list fell from smooth fingers onto the floor as his memory twitched into being. A name formed in the nothingness of his black mind until it cleared like a light at the end of a tunnel; genesis, his earliest recollection.
In the Life and Death room he had been handed his scythe by his predecessor and held it in his left hand as his right was raised to take his Taker's Oath; he had looked upon the board of Taker's, the list of all those who had and will serve as Death.
And there he had seen it underneath his own mortal name, the name on his claims list, the name of his successor.
The Life-Claims list had his age at twenty-eight; still so young! The cause was listed as suicide, and the time of death as 15 minutes from now. The name on the list was David, and David was making a big mistake.
He walked slowly as fast as he could to the gate of the mortal realm, finally arriving fourteen hours later. Luckily for Death, time as well as he moved slower in the land of mist and cloud. On Earth he had a minute left to prevent the death of Death. People wondered where they would go after life, but he knew; he wondered where he would go after death.
David had his eyes closed tightly and the gun barrel in his mouth, but his hand did not shake. The savagery of humanity outshone its better nature in a tyrannical red light so bright it was blinding. In his mind enough had long been enough. He pulled the trigger and heard the click, the click of the hammer hitting the back of its housing, and that was it.
But still he heard no bang. Though of course he wouldn't hear it! The part of his brain that interpreted sound, as well as the rest, would currently by sliding down the wall behind his recently hollowed head. There was another noise that wasn't gunfire and he realised something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
A cloaked figure stood over him with its arm extended down towards his gun; a skeletal finger sandwiched between the hammer and the primer. A voice from nowhere echoed in his head as he heard the words but could not detect the source: 'we need to talk'.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The the taste of the gun was almost sweet.
Jerry put his finger on the trigger, willing himself to add just a little more pressure. Just a little more, that's all he needed. A little more and all the problems in the world would go away.
"It won't work," said a voice behind him.
Jerry took the pistol from his mouth and aimed it at the voice. Drool dripped off the muzzle. The sights lined up with a cloaked black figure, holding a sickle.
"If you're here to stop me, there's no point," Jerry said.
Death took a chair and sat down, "I'm not here to stop you. You may proceed."
He pointed the gun back at his own head at the temple. His hands were shaking, "I'll do it. I'm going to do it."
Death continued to hold a calm grace, "I have no doubt that you *can* commit to the action, but I *do* have doubts about your desire to do so. You are about to make a choice, and I want to make sure you are informed."
"I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE! Everything has been taken from me. I'm nothing, I'm in so much debt I can't make enough money to pay the interest. This is all that's left."
"Those are called beliefs," death said, "And your beliefs don't leave you many options."
"Fuck you," Jerry said, his finger on the trigger.
"Tell me about your kids," death said.
"They... Are doing alright I suppose. Both are in school. But I can't be a father to them. I'm too much of a --"
Death cut him off, "Now tell me about your wife, when you first met. You must have done something that made her feel loved."
"I... did," Jerry said. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I loved doing things that made her happy. I loved seeing her do well. I was really truly happy for her when she got that job making more money than I did. The joy in her eyes... I missed being a part of that."
"You see," death said, "There was a time when you were perfectly capable of giving love, and feeling love yourself. Nothing but you is holding you back from having and giving those feelings. You can decide to give up here, or you can try to make a difference in peoples' lives."
They sat for a while in silence while Jerry thought things over. A small smile broke over his lips as he relived the good memories with his wife.
He looked up at death, "Why?"
Death gave a shrug, "I like this job. I enjoy connecting with people. And most importantly I can relate to your situation. You see, I was in the same position when death came to me, and I failed to make the decision I needed to make. And now I hold the Sickle.
"And if you make the same decision, you will hold the sickle, and I will pass on."
A shiver ran though Jerry's spine. Then a smile, and a warm feeling in his gut.
"Will I be seeing you again someday?"
"Oh yes," death said, "but only once the time is right."
"Thank you," Jerry said.
|
His bones creaked as he slowly sat back into his throne with an expression more hollow than normal. His Life-Claims list fell from smooth fingers onto the floor as his memory twitched into being. A name formed in the nothingness of his black mind until it cleared like a light at the end of a tunnel; genesis, his earliest recollection.
In the Life and Death room he had been handed his scythe by his predecessor and held it in his left hand as his right was raised to take his Taker's Oath; he had looked upon the board of Taker's, the list of all those who had and will serve as Death.
And there he had seen it underneath his own mortal name, the name on his claims list, the name of his successor.
The Life-Claims list had his age at twenty-eight; still so young! The cause was listed as suicide, and the time of death as 15 minutes from now. The name on the list was David, and David was making a big mistake.
He walked slowly as fast as he could to the gate of the mortal realm, finally arriving fourteen hours later. Luckily for Death, time as well as he moved slower in the land of mist and cloud. On Earth he had a minute left to prevent the death of Death. People wondered where they would go after life, but he knew; he wondered where he would go after death.
David had his eyes closed tightly and the gun barrel in his mouth, but his hand did not shake. The savagery of humanity outshone its better nature in a tyrannical red light so bright it was blinding. In his mind enough had long been enough. He pulled the trigger and heard the click, the click of the hammer hitting the back of its housing, and that was it.
But still he heard no bang. Though of course he wouldn't hear it! The part of his brain that interpreted sound, as well as the rest, would currently by sliding down the wall behind his recently hollowed head. There was another noise that wasn't gunfire and he realised something was wrong. He opened his eyes.
A cloaked figure stood over him with its arm extended down towards his gun; a skeletal finger sandwiched between the hammer and the primer. A voice from nowhere echoed in his head as he heard the words but could not detect the source: 'we need to talk'.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Lawrence had always been afraid of heights. However, in this moment, standing atop the building where he has devoted the last 15 years of work to, he was not scared. He was excited. For what lay at the bottom of this five hundred foot steel prison, was something he yearned for...salvation. As Lawrence approached the edge, he heard the faint sounds of hundreds of people. He heard the yelling and the horns, and couldn't wait...soon they would be all silent.
As he took his fateful step out, he felt a cold shiver up his spine, and was pulled back by an unknown force. Turning around, Lawrence saw what appeared to be young girl...fifteen maybe. Her face was pale, and eyes eerily blue. Her gaze met Lawrence, with tears running down her face.
"Why!", the girl yelled.
Lawrence, frightened. "Who are you? Why are you up here".
"Why are you up here, Lawrence J. Williams, son of Michael and Mary Williams. Only forty years old with no disease or illness that inhabits your body."
"How...do I know you?" Lawrence saw how angry the young girl was. He had never seen her before in his life. "I'm sorry, did I do something to you?"
"You are doing it now Lawrence. You are making a mockery of me." The young girl began to whimper.
"Who are you?"
"I am the one who must take the most beautiful gift our universe has to offer from people.”
Lawrence, although knowing how unbelievable it sounded, knew it to be true. "You are death?"
“I take life away from those who desperately grasp to it. Those who would denounce their values, forgo their faith, for even just one more day of life. And today, I see you Lawrence J. Williams, with plenty of life...throwing it away.”
“The life I have left is not of any worth. The life I have lived so far does not amount to anything”, Lawrence stated with clear eyes, “If you are death, please, take my life, my remaining years, and give it to someone who is grasping to hold on to it”.
“I cannot transfer life. I cannot give life. I can only take it away.” A tear rolled down death’s face.
“Why are you so concerned, so upset with what I am doing? I am no one.”
“No Lawrence, you are so much more”
To be continued (when finished with work)…..
|
"It'll hurt you know."
Steve gasped, and whipped around to see who'd broken the somber silence. The gun he'd been nursing clattered to the floor loudly. A single, uncovered bulb illuminated the dark basement, enough that Steve could just barely make out the strangers outline.
"W-who's there? And how'd you get in here anyway? I locked this place up tight."
The figure drew closer. A young woman came into the light. She was rather small and pale, with the darkest, blackest hair Steve had ever seen. Petite as she was, something about the woman drew forth and innate fear from him.
"Do, do I know you?" his voice shook.
The strange woman shook her head, "Nope, sorta why I'm here actually. See, you don't know me, and you're not supposed to. Not for a good long while."
Steve looked at her, somewhat baffled. Nothing this stranger said made sense. "Who are you? What does it matter when I know you anyway? No, no you know what, just leave okay? I'm busy."
He crouched down, fanning his hands out to feel for the fallen pistol. The stranger crouched down in front of him, looked him dead in the eye, and flicked the bewildered man in the forehead. Steve's world flashed between blackness and some of his earliest memories. Not at all how he'd imagined.
It wasn't a movie, it wasn't any sort of narrative to make him feel at peace. It was emotion. A flood of unfiltered emotion that stretched the entirety of the young man's life hit Steve all at once. But as soon as it had started, it stopped. Steve found himself back in his apartment, several blocks from the bowling alley basement he'd locked himself in.
An orange glow at the foot of his bed was the first thing Steve noticed. He fumbled around his nightstand for a lamp. The light flickered on, revealing the strange woman sitting in Steve's desk chair, cigarette hanging loosely from her lips.
"Hurt, didn't it?"
Her tone was more somber. Steve nodded, not finding it in himself to speak. The pale woman extinguished her smoke and stood up, walking to the side of the bed. She stood over the wide-eyed mortal, and smiled.
"That's what's waiting for you when you meet me too early. An eternity of that. You can't turn it off, and it won't end. Because it's not just yours. I showed you the first 10 years of your life, I just hit fast-forward a bit. After you finish with your own lifetime of emotion, you get your family's, your friends', and each other person who's life you touched. Once you get through them, you get it from every person they've known too. It's a shitty deal for a shitty thing to do. I don't like taking anyone early, so you'd better remember this, capisce?"
Steve nodded dumbly, and sank back into bed, just trying to process everything that had transpired. The strange woman seemed to melt into the shadows, and in a few minutes, the only thing Steve could recall was the certainty that he did not want to die.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Death floated up into the night sky, where a tall, gaunt figure was waiting for her.
"I'm not sure I understand why you went to all that trouble." he rumbled.
"That's because," she said, sticking her tongue out at him, "You get all the quality out of them when they're asleep. Whatever they dream up, it's good for you. But for me..."
The young woman ran a hand through her hair and smiled, "I'd rather take a life that lived as long as it could, rather than take one early. Fulfilled potential is always so much more empowering."
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Lawrence had always been afraid of heights. However, in this moment, standing atop the building where he has devoted the last 15 years of work to, he was not scared. He was excited. For what lay at the bottom of this five hundred foot steel prison, was something he yearned for...salvation. As Lawrence approached the edge, he heard the faint sounds of hundreds of people. He heard the yelling and the horns, and couldn't wait...soon they would be all silent.
As he took his fateful step out, he felt a cold shiver up his spine, and was pulled back by an unknown force. Turning around, Lawrence saw what appeared to be young girl...fifteen maybe. Her face was pale, and eyes eerily blue. Her gaze met Lawrence, with tears running down her face.
"Why!", the girl yelled.
Lawrence, frightened. "Who are you? Why are you up here".
"Why are you up here, Lawrence J. Williams, son of Michael and Mary Williams. Only forty years old with no disease or illness that inhabits your body."
"How...do I know you?" Lawrence saw how angry the young girl was. He had never seen her before in his life. "I'm sorry, did I do something to you?"
"You are doing it now Lawrence. You are making a mockery of me." The young girl began to whimper.
"Who are you?"
"I am the one who must take the most beautiful gift our universe has to offer from people.”
Lawrence, although knowing how unbelievable it sounded, knew it to be true. "You are death?"
“I take life away from those who desperately grasp to it. Those who would denounce their values, forgo their faith, for even just one more day of life. And today, I see you Lawrence J. Williams, with plenty of life...throwing it away.”
“The life I have left is not of any worth. The life I have lived so far does not amount to anything”, Lawrence stated with clear eyes, “If you are death, please, take my life, my remaining years, and give it to someone who is grasping to hold on to it”.
“I cannot transfer life. I cannot give life. I can only take it away.” A tear rolled down death’s face.
“Why are you so concerned, so upset with what I am doing? I am no one.”
“No Lawrence, you are so much more”
To be continued (when finished with work)…..
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He sat on the ledge outside of his window, legs dangling in the wind and for the first time in years he felt happy with the decision he was about to make. Hearing footsteps approaching from behind he turned his head around only to see Death himself walking towards him.
&nbsp;
“Did you come to scrape my soul off the pavement below?” The man chuckled as he asked his question.
&nbsp;
“Possibly… depends on the outcome of our conversation.” Death’s voice was warmer than the man imagined it might be and it seemed to almost carry a fatherly tone.
&nbsp;
“Why do we need a conversation? Isn’t obvious to the almighty Death? I don’t deserve to live, I have no one to live for and no one cares for me to live. In the end it’s all my own fault.”
&nbsp;
“So to atone for your past mistakes you once again take the same type of selfish action that led you to your current predicament?”
&nbsp;
“Selfish? Killing myself?!? That hood of yours must be blinding your judgement as much as I bet it does your vision. If I die I won’t be able to cause anymore suffering, my family will never be hurt by my actions… I… can’t… keep living this way.” The man’s condescending tone devolved into sadness, tears, and self-loathing.
&nbsp;
“You could change.”
&nbsp;
“What would changing do? No one will ever forgive my past actions.”
&nbsp;
“You are correct in thinking that no one will ever forgive you; it is not them that matters though. Either this life or the next you will pay a penance for past actions, if you decide to jump that penance is no longer in your control. If you decide to live you can choose to pay your penance by sacrificing yourself to help those that are disadvantaged.”
&nbsp;
“What’s the worst penance I could be given Death? Living everyday knowing that I hurt those I love feels like it should be penance enough.”
&nbsp;
“The penance for the mortal life I lived is this job. It was determined that since I saw it so fitting to bring so much pain, suffering, and death to the world I would be forced to observe the same pain, suffering, and death for eternity.”
&nbsp;
The man stared into the hooded face of death in disbelief and while his first thought was to gamble and let the fates decide his penance the thought of ending up like Death and forced to watch the misery he so yearned to get away from was too much so he slowly inched himself back through his window into the room.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Lawrence had always been afraid of heights. However, in this moment, standing atop the building where he has devoted the last 15 years of work to, he was not scared. He was excited. For what lay at the bottom of this five hundred foot steel prison, was something he yearned for...salvation. As Lawrence approached the edge, he heard the faint sounds of hundreds of people. He heard the yelling and the horns, and couldn't wait...soon they would be all silent.
As he took his fateful step out, he felt a cold shiver up his spine, and was pulled back by an unknown force. Turning around, Lawrence saw what appeared to be young girl...fifteen maybe. Her face was pale, and eyes eerily blue. Her gaze met Lawrence, with tears running down her face.
"Why!", the girl yelled.
Lawrence, frightened. "Who are you? Why are you up here".
"Why are you up here, Lawrence J. Williams, son of Michael and Mary Williams. Only forty years old with no disease or illness that inhabits your body."
"How...do I know you?" Lawrence saw how angry the young girl was. He had never seen her before in his life. "I'm sorry, did I do something to you?"
"You are doing it now Lawrence. You are making a mockery of me." The young girl began to whimper.
"Who are you?"
"I am the one who must take the most beautiful gift our universe has to offer from people.”
Lawrence, although knowing how unbelievable it sounded, knew it to be true. "You are death?"
“I take life away from those who desperately grasp to it. Those who would denounce their values, forgo their faith, for even just one more day of life. And today, I see you Lawrence J. Williams, with plenty of life...throwing it away.”
“The life I have left is not of any worth. The life I have lived so far does not amount to anything”, Lawrence stated with clear eyes, “If you are death, please, take my life, my remaining years, and give it to someone who is grasping to hold on to it”.
“I cannot transfer life. I cannot give life. I can only take it away.” A tear rolled down death’s face.
“Why are you so concerned, so upset with what I am doing? I am no one.”
“No Lawrence, you are so much more”
To be continued (when finished with work)…..
|
(--Warning, warning, rookie at work! Beware messy grammar!--)
"Now's a really bad time for that, you know."
Patrick pulled the gun out of his mouth, staring at the figure that had spoken. It was pretty blatant just what the figure was--skeletal, scythe, black robes. It's just.. people assume Death's form was human. "Uh.."
"Seriously. I'm past my quota for the month already, and I have a week to go. I'm not even stationed on this world, I'm normally five over topfrontleftwise. All the worlds within three of the one that died's having multiple disasters, and we're swamped with souls to process. You blowing your head off is gonna cause me weeks of paperwork right now." The figure flexed the bones floating behind it--wings, they had to be wings--and leaned against the wall. "Besides, it's almost never as bad as you think."
This threw Patrick for a loop. "Wait, a world died? How does a world die?"
"That one? Class V apocalypse weapon, probably a planar rift bomb. We've got three dozen Deity-class entities trying to contain the mess so we don't lose that particular galaxy entirely. They'll manage it, but there's gonna be a lot of work to fix it. Having said that, this world's suffering some echo effect disasters, and the local collectors are really busy. Like I said, this might be a rough patch for you, but there's literally no one who can spare the time and quota to collect you just now. You won't die."
Patrick whimpered. "Like I can afford the medical bills. I'm already dying. I've got HIV, and I can't afford the drugs. My scumsucker boss fired me because I found out he's banging my wife, and I don't have insurance.."
The figure pulled a skull out of its robes, then pulled up the back. It was carved of crystal, and the eye sockets glowed a little unnervingly. "Hmm.. yes, Abigail and Howard, right? They'll get theirs, I assure you. Real soon now, and it won't be good for them. But I'm not concerned with them right now. I'm dealing with you."
"And you want me to keep on living. knowing I'm doomed." Patrick frowned. He'd be angry if he could figure out who to be angry at.
"For a while. A few weeks, a month, tops. I mean, if you *insist* on killing yourself right now, I won't stop you. I could, but I won't. Of course, I wouldn't spend any time considering your life before assigning you to an afterlife. You know, personality, skills, talents, what have you. I'd end up tossing you into one of the various generic ones, and not a good one. Sure, it'd be a bad fit, but I don't have time. Or quota." The figure managed to look almost apologetic--impressive, what with having no flesh on that elongated skull.
"So.. so what's in it for me? What do I get if I hold off for a month?"
"Well, for one, we'll have time to learn what you know, what you're like, and such. We'd be able to assign you to an afterlife that fits with you. No undeserved hells, no bland heavens. You could get personal care, instead of a bureaucratic filing.." the figure paused, then looked closer at the back of that crystal skull. "Hang on here. Vice president of a corporation small enough that vice president means something. No problems getting your hands dirty.. military service, that's a plus. Society of Creative Anachronism? That's the guys and girls with the rattan swords, right?"
Patrick sat down. things just got weird again. As if talking to Death isn't weird enough. "Yeah.. they have that where you're stationed?"
"No, it's one of the Buddhism-conquered-all worlds. But my homeworld has a version. Hmm. I need to make a call." the figure turned partially away, then tapped at the skull. "Carlita, como estas? Look, I need an expedited form 94A. Yeah, I'm sending the file.. No, seriously, he's got a good basic skill set, and you can't say.. Look, SGawerztz will geek, he knows how bad things are out here. And it means I get access to more quota and we can do things properly. Well, more properly.. No, not yet, he's whining about fatal blood disease right now.. Director SGawerztz. A pleasure, sir. --Yes sir. I understand. Just a second.." The figure looked over its shoulder, through the wingbones. "Forty years service, cure for AIDS, age frozen, living retirement to the afterlife of your choice, guild wages. You start tonight. Are you in, Mr. Lafontaine?"
It took Patrick a few blinks to truly understand what he was being asked. then his eyes narrowed a bit. "Age regression one month every four months. Regression ends on my retirement."
"One per six. That's the most a human form can safely handle. And it'll cost you an extra two years' service."
He nodded. "Done. Um, what would I be doing, exactly?"
"Two extra years, max age regression. Yes, sir, I understand." The figure closed the back of the skull and settled against the wall. "Sit tight, apprentice. Your trainee robe and sickle are en route. Oh, and a properly messy fake corpse. The boss likes there to be no doubt the trainees are really truly dead. Keeps people from noticing they're working for us."
Patrick nodded slowly. "I wouldn't be assigned here, then."
"No, you're assigned to me. Don't worry, it's not a bad life. The guild's very protective of mortal-class reapers like you. Assuming you make it through your probation, you get three months off every two years on top of a 56-hour work week, and even if you don't, you'll get a proper afterlife. I don't harvest, I collect and arrange afterlives, and most mortal reapers do the same." The figure lowered the hood of its robe and flesh, skin, and fur appeared, revealing a feminine fox-human hybrid (woman? vixen? Patrick wasn't sure.) with black fur and wings. "Welcome to the Requiem, Patrick Lafontaine. i think you'll do just fine."
|
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[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Lawrence had always been afraid of heights. However, in this moment, standing atop the building where he has devoted the last 15 years of work to, he was not scared. He was excited. For what lay at the bottom of this five hundred foot steel prison, was something he yearned for...salvation. As Lawrence approached the edge, he heard the faint sounds of hundreds of people. He heard the yelling and the horns, and couldn't wait...soon they would be all silent.
As he took his fateful step out, he felt a cold shiver up his spine, and was pulled back by an unknown force. Turning around, Lawrence saw what appeared to be young girl...fifteen maybe. Her face was pale, and eyes eerily blue. Her gaze met Lawrence, with tears running down her face.
"Why!", the girl yelled.
Lawrence, frightened. "Who are you? Why are you up here".
"Why are you up here, Lawrence J. Williams, son of Michael and Mary Williams. Only forty years old with no disease or illness that inhabits your body."
"How...do I know you?" Lawrence saw how angry the young girl was. He had never seen her before in his life. "I'm sorry, did I do something to you?"
"You are doing it now Lawrence. You are making a mockery of me." The young girl began to whimper.
"Who are you?"
"I am the one who must take the most beautiful gift our universe has to offer from people.”
Lawrence, although knowing how unbelievable it sounded, knew it to be true. "You are death?"
“I take life away from those who desperately grasp to it. Those who would denounce their values, forgo their faith, for even just one more day of life. And today, I see you Lawrence J. Williams, with plenty of life...throwing it away.”
“The life I have left is not of any worth. The life I have lived so far does not amount to anything”, Lawrence stated with clear eyes, “If you are death, please, take my life, my remaining years, and give it to someone who is grasping to hold on to it”.
“I cannot transfer life. I cannot give life. I can only take it away.” A tear rolled down death’s face.
“Why are you so concerned, so upset with what I am doing? I am no one.”
“No Lawrence, you are so much more”
To be continued (when finished with work)…..
|
I WOULD ASK YOU NOT TO DO THAT
Startled, Ted Smith turned to see a hooded figure sitting a few feet to his left with his legs stiffly placed over the edge. The figure seemed to be staring out towards the city below them both, and he was utterly motionless.
"I... I have to. I can't go on in this place... this world. I... no one... "
CARES ABOUT YOU AT ALL? I WOULD BE INCLINED TO AGREE WITH YOU. YOU ARE SOMETHING OF A SMALL FISH IN THIS OCEAN
"So you agree? You understand?"
COMPLETELY
"Oh."
OVER THE AEONS PEOPLE WITH FAR MORE MEANING TO THEIR LIVES THAN YOU HAVE COME KNOCKING ON MY DOOR AND I HAVE WELCOMED THEM
"But... but why did you say I shouldn't jump?"
WE ARE FULL
"You... you're full?"
YES, QUITE FULL
"Full of what? Where? I'm not sure I understa..."
YOU KNOW WHO I AM, YOU KNOW WHERE I COME FROM. IT IS FULL.
WE HAD A VOTE YOU SEE. A REFERENDUM. THERE WAS A LOT OF CAMPAIGNING AND I STILL STANDBY THAT I AM ACTUALLY VERY PRO IMMIGRATION. STILL, WHO AM I TO STAND IN THE WAY DEMOCRACY?
At this Ted felt the need to sit down. He had expected this to be a relatively solemn affair, and death had rather ruined all that. Ted glanced across at the still motionless figure.
"So, if I did jump what would happen?"
YOU WOULD BECOME A BLOODY INCONVENIENCE, THAT IS WHAT WOULD HAPPEN
"I take it that is both literal and metaphorical?"
IT WAS EASY TO SOLVE THE NATURAL DEATHS. I JUST STOPPED PICKING THEM UP. I MADE A DEAL WITH SEVERAL OTHER PARTIES AND EVEN STOPPED THE VIOLENT DEATHS, IN CASE YOU HAVE NOT NOTICED NOT A SINGLE BULLET HAS HIT A TARGET THIS PAST MONTH AND KNIFES ARE NOW VERY SLIPPERY, TOO SLIPPERY TO PICK UP, SOME MIGHT SAY
IT IS JUST YOU LOT THAT ARE THE PROBLEM
"Us lot?"
I AM SORRY, THAT WAS TERRIBLY RUDE OF ME, NOT AT ALL POLITICALLY CORRECT, YOU, AS IN A SELF ENDER
YOU ARE CAUSING ME A LOT OF PROBLEMS
"I seem to cause everyone problems." Ted lamented to himself.
YES. YES YOU DO. YOU SEEM TO HAVE A TALENT FOR THAT. I MUST SAY I REALLY DO AGREE YOU ARE QUITE READY FOR THE AFTERLIFE
BUT...
"...but you're full."
INDEED
I AM TERRIBLY SORRY ABOUT ALL THIS
"No, it's quite alright. I'm really sorry to have put you in this awkward situation."
I AM SO GLAD YOU UNDERSTAND
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[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The Council had offered Death five names in their latest report.
Five names which belonged to individuals who had the potential to help solve the problems currently putting the future of the After Life at risk.
Death, robe less and alone in her office, read over each name and description, trying to weigh up the decisions she would have to take over the next few hours. The numbers last month were too good – far too good. It was becoming impossible to handle, especially when she was the only one capable of dragging them from one realm to another. They would have to wait, sometimes for days, as she worked tirelessly to persuade or force souls to admit their end. The system was packed to the brim, with ‘the waiting room’ – where the fresh dead would stay until resolved – hours away from having no space left at all.
And that was bad.
So bad that it had never happened, and both Death and her council were unsure of the implications. There was nothing written down, recorded or remotely discussing this issue in the scripture left by her ancestors. This was new, and new filled her heart with fear, a fear that fed her own twisted predictions to such a point that she believed them to be true. Like a glass of water filled to the top and not removed from beneath an open tap, the dead would trickle back into the realm of the living.
She returned her gaze to the report, flicking through pages at pace as the clock inside her mind ticked away. Cure to Cancer. Food Cloning. Political Peace… each individual had the ability to reduce the amount of bodyless souls entering the After Life significantly. She sighed loudly, her body shaking from anger at the impossibility of this situation.
They had tried to recruit someone else. A ‘second’ her. But to do so was a long and tiresome process, one that had gone on too long with no luck. She couldn’t blame them. For a soul to take her form, they would have to give up their memories and more importantly, their right to potentially live again in a new body – to be reincarnated back into the living realm. A second chance is too good to pass up. You only find someone willing to give that up once every eon. She had, but it hadn’t been long enough. Her predecessor was a distant light in the future – a future that at this rate would involve something far greater than simply guiding souls to their resting point.
She turned to the final page, disappointed with the fourth name. Mind Control. That sounded dangerous. She could only hope that his death came soon. She almost managed a smile at the thought.
Robert Morrison. The last name. She moved on to his description and read it once. Then, after blinking, read it again. And again. And then one last time. This was the one. He was the one.
But, he was the last one. Why? On each page, just like every other individual record in the After Life, a small ‘status’ symbol was printed on the bottom right hand corner of the page. The first four names were bright green – meaning alive and well. Robert’s was not. It was a dull amber.
A dull amber.
‘Shit,’ she whispered between her teeth.
Shit indeed.
TO BE CONTINUED (if people want - I've got a good ending, trussme)
|
It was a time of change, the world was on the precipice of revolution. Everyone could feel the chaos just waiting to tear apart the world. One man in prison felt none of these things, he could barely concentrate on anything other than his thoughts of suicide.
He was already planning on hanging himself within the next week. All of his life he had been a failure, never amounting to much of anything, except for in the war. But the war is what changed him, what twisted him into the depressed creature that he was today.
As he began to take the sheets off his bed in preparation to hang himself, he felt a strange sensation that caused him to shiver. He turned around and looked at a man that was vaguely familiar.
“Pleased to meet you, I know what you’re about to do. Trust me, you will be a great man if you wait long enough. You will do great things, trust me.” With that the vaguely familiar man vanished just as quickly as he appeared.
The man sat back on his bed astonished, an angel! An angel had visited him! Surely that was a fortuitous sign. With that the man decided to live.
That man’s name? Adolf Hitler.
----
I know the story's a bit gimmicky, but I'd appreciate any feedback.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
Eduardo Rojas stood on the ledge of the tallest building his small town in Mexico. Below, six floors down, there were no people on the street; the cartels had made sure that just standing out in the open was a possible death sentence.
From his vantage point, Eduardo could see the other effects of drug dealers on his home. Windows were boarded. Bullet holes adorned storefronts that were already struggling to do business. Every once in a while, a car would roll down the street, something black and fast and dangerous looking, driven by the sort of men who sold poison to 9 year olds and slept well at night.
Though he was just fifteen, he knew what those men were like. He knew what they could promise and what they could pay. They'd put enough money in his hand two days ago to pull the trigger on a man he did not know. He had not understood that they had not paid him enough to live with the feeling in his gut that came after, that would ride with him hour after hour, perhaps until he died.
Especially if when he died was tonight, as he had intended when he came up and asked himself if a six story fall was enough to kill someone.
"Maybe," the woman said. "You really want double this height."
The gun was in Eduardo's hand before he realized he was turning around. His first look at her was down the sights of his 9mm pistol. That first look, though, was enough to make him lower the gun.
She was a little taller than him, maybe a few years older. Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin was as pale as milk; though she spoke with no accent, Eduardo thought she must be American. She wore a black shirt, with white tiger stripes down the sides and a pair of jeans that had strategic rips running down the front of the thighs. She wore no shoes, no makeup and her only other adornment was chain around her waist with curved pendant that reminded Eduardo of something he couldn't put his finger on.
"Very cautious for someone considering jumping," she said.
"What do you want with me?" Eduardo asked. "Get out of here!"
"Most men would rather have a companion in their last moments," she replied. The woman walked to the edge and looked over it, leaning on her hands. "This used to be a nice place to live, didn't it?"
"How would you know?"
"I've visited here now and again. On business. This is the best view, really. I usually don't get to share it though."
"I'm warning you-"
"To leave? If I don't what will you do?"
"I... I... nothing."
Eduardo dropped the handgun onto the roof. He got down and sat on the ledge, facing his home. Tears bloomed in his eyes.
"It's okay. That you didn't force me to go, I mean. There's no shame in abstaining from purposeless violence."
"Violence with a purpose doesn't seem to be all that great an idea, either."
The young woman turned around and leaned on the ledge. She was beautiful in the evening's light, though that fact brought no joy to Eduardo's heavy heart.
She said, "I guess that means you've used that pistol before. What was it like?"
Rage filled him. "Why do you want to know?"
"I didn't say I didn't know. I ask you what you thought."
That was when he saw it. Her eyes, her perfect blue eyes, had the same dull look as his did in the mirror. They were the eyes of one who had seen too much, hollow and penetrating.
"If you know, how can you be so cheerful?"
The woman shrugged. "I've had an eternity, it seems, to get used to the feeling. It has always been for a good cause. That's the difference I think. Killing a man for jealously or anger or money or any other petty reason, that's like a rock in your gut. Killing for a cause, a purpose, however... that's different."
"Really?"
"Yes. Now... what did it feel like when you killed your first man?"
Eduardo tried to speak twice before the words came out. "It felt powerful. It was like I was God. I didn't even know who he was. I just shot him and there was this look in his eyes, this surprise... then nothing. I took everything away from him and he was just a limp suit of clothes. The person was no longer wearing them."
"And now you regret it?"
"I still don't know who he was, but I'm sure someone is mourning him. I thought about what if it was me and my mama or papa had to come home and find me dead on the front porch. I got sick. I'm still sick. I wish to God I hadn't done this."
"If you didn't know him, why did you do it?"
"I was paid."
"By wicked men?"
"Yes."
"And what are you going to do about it now?"
"What can I do?"
The woman walked over and picked up his pistol. She looked it over in her hand.
"This thing, this weapon... it's so simple. A tube, a spring and a little packet of chemicals. Yet, in the right time and the right place, this device has caused tragedy and sorrow. It has started wars. It has also saved lives and ended conflicts. The device doesn't care what it shoots. We do, though. Those who think about it care and know."
"I don't understand your point."
"Seconds after committing one of the worst acts a man can commit, your thoughts were on your family. You have compassion in your heart. You have strength. You came up here to destroy a monster, yet it was monsters that used your poverty to convince you that you should do this thing."
She offered him the butt of the gun and asked, "Can't you see? The thing you did, it was wrong only because of who you did it to. Can you not see where to apply your strength? Who to point this at? What good you could do with a bullet?"
"They would kill me. My papa. My mama."
"Not if you kill them first. Not if you do it with the blessing of the law on your side. Not if you become the thing they fear most: a righteous man who knows that pulling the trigger is an option and who has the will to take that option."
Eduardo hesitated, but his hand itched to have the gun back in it.
Her voice was like velvet, "Are you that man?"
Eduardo turned and got off the ledge. He took the gun and tucked it back in his pants.
"Maybe I am."
The woman stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"Does it matter? You have a purpose now. Go see to it. I'd like to look at your town a little while longer, if I may."
Eduardo nodded. "Thank you."
"Just do what is in your heart."
Eduardo nodded and then was off, down the stairs and away.
The woman stepped to the ledge and looked down at the town. She reached up and wiped the flesh from her skull and stripped the hair from her head. She reached out and pulled the night around her, fashioning it into the robe that was her typical garment. She left the scythe hanging from her belt, though... others would do her work tonight.
She stared out into the night and saw the streets, both then and as they would be in the future, soaked in the blood of Eduardo's crusade, of his self hatred turned out on the gangs. They would quake with fear at his coming and would die by the truckload to his zealotry.
Looking to the sky, she spoke to the one she knew was watching, though she knew he would not speak.
"See," she said. "Don't ever think I can't fill a quota."
|
It was a time of change, the world was on the precipice of revolution. Everyone could feel the chaos just waiting to tear apart the world. One man in prison felt none of these things, he could barely concentrate on anything other than his thoughts of suicide.
He was already planning on hanging himself within the next week. All of his life he had been a failure, never amounting to much of anything, except for in the war. But the war is what changed him, what twisted him into the depressed creature that he was today.
As he began to take the sheets off his bed in preparation to hang himself, he felt a strange sensation that caused him to shiver. He turned around and looked at a man that was vaguely familiar.
“Pleased to meet you, I know what you’re about to do. Trust me, you will be a great man if you wait long enough. You will do great things, trust me.” With that the vaguely familiar man vanished just as quickly as he appeared.
The man sat back on his bed astonished, an angel! An angel had visited him! Surely that was a fortuitous sign. With that the man decided to live.
That man’s name? Adolf Hitler.
----
I know the story's a bit gimmicky, but I'd appreciate any feedback.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The the taste of the gun was almost sweet.
Jerry put his finger on the trigger, willing himself to add just a little more pressure. Just a little more, that's all he needed. A little more and all the problems in the world would go away.
"It won't work," said a voice behind him.
Jerry took the pistol from his mouth and aimed it at the voice. Drool dripped off the muzzle. The sights lined up with a cloaked black figure, holding a sickle.
"If you're here to stop me, there's no point," Jerry said.
Death took a chair and sat down, "I'm not here to stop you. You may proceed."
He pointed the gun back at his own head at the temple. His hands were shaking, "I'll do it. I'm going to do it."
Death continued to hold a calm grace, "I have no doubt that you *can* commit to the action, but I *do* have doubts about your desire to do so. You are about to make a choice, and I want to make sure you are informed."
"I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE! Everything has been taken from me. I'm nothing, I'm in so much debt I can't make enough money to pay the interest. This is all that's left."
"Those are called beliefs," death said, "And your beliefs don't leave you many options."
"Fuck you," Jerry said, his finger on the trigger.
"Tell me about your kids," death said.
"They... Are doing alright I suppose. Both are in school. But I can't be a father to them. I'm too much of a --"
Death cut him off, "Now tell me about your wife, when you first met. You must have done something that made her feel loved."
"I... did," Jerry said. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I loved doing things that made her happy. I loved seeing her do well. I was really truly happy for her when she got that job making more money than I did. The joy in her eyes... I missed being a part of that."
"You see," death said, "There was a time when you were perfectly capable of giving love, and feeling love yourself. Nothing but you is holding you back from having and giving those feelings. You can decide to give up here, or you can try to make a difference in peoples' lives."
They sat for a while in silence while Jerry thought things over. A small smile broke over his lips as he relived the good memories with his wife.
He looked up at death, "Why?"
Death gave a shrug, "I like this job. I enjoy connecting with people. And most importantly I can relate to your situation. You see, I was in the same position when death came to me, and I failed to make the decision I needed to make. And now I hold the Sickle.
"And if you make the same decision, you will hold the sickle, and I will pass on."
A shiver ran though Jerry's spine. Then a smile, and a warm feeling in his gut.
"Will I be seeing you again someday?"
"Oh yes," death said, "but only once the time is right."
"Thank you," Jerry said.
|
It was a time of change, the world was on the precipice of revolution. Everyone could feel the chaos just waiting to tear apart the world. One man in prison felt none of these things, he could barely concentrate on anything other than his thoughts of suicide.
He was already planning on hanging himself within the next week. All of his life he had been a failure, never amounting to much of anything, except for in the war. But the war is what changed him, what twisted him into the depressed creature that he was today.
As he began to take the sheets off his bed in preparation to hang himself, he felt a strange sensation that caused him to shiver. He turned around and looked at a man that was vaguely familiar.
“Pleased to meet you, I know what you’re about to do. Trust me, you will be a great man if you wait long enough. You will do great things, trust me.” With that the vaguely familiar man vanished just as quickly as he appeared.
The man sat back on his bed astonished, an angel! An angel had visited him! Surely that was a fortuitous sign. With that the man decided to live.
That man’s name? Adolf Hitler.
----
I know the story's a bit gimmicky, but I'd appreciate any feedback.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The Council had offered Death five names in their latest report.
Five names which belonged to individuals who had the potential to help solve the problems currently putting the future of the After Life at risk.
Death, robe less and alone in her office, read over each name and description, trying to weigh up the decisions she would have to take over the next few hours. The numbers last month were too good – far too good. It was becoming impossible to handle, especially when she was the only one capable of dragging them from one realm to another. They would have to wait, sometimes for days, as she worked tirelessly to persuade or force souls to admit their end. The system was packed to the brim, with ‘the waiting room’ – where the fresh dead would stay until resolved – hours away from having no space left at all.
And that was bad.
So bad that it had never happened, and both Death and her council were unsure of the implications. There was nothing written down, recorded or remotely discussing this issue in the scripture left by her ancestors. This was new, and new filled her heart with fear, a fear that fed her own twisted predictions to such a point that she believed them to be true. Like a glass of water filled to the top and not removed from beneath an open tap, the dead would trickle back into the realm of the living.
She returned her gaze to the report, flicking through pages at pace as the clock inside her mind ticked away. Cure to Cancer. Food Cloning. Political Peace… each individual had the ability to reduce the amount of bodyless souls entering the After Life significantly. She sighed loudly, her body shaking from anger at the impossibility of this situation.
They had tried to recruit someone else. A ‘second’ her. But to do so was a long and tiresome process, one that had gone on too long with no luck. She couldn’t blame them. For a soul to take her form, they would have to give up their memories and more importantly, their right to potentially live again in a new body – to be reincarnated back into the living realm. A second chance is too good to pass up. You only find someone willing to give that up once every eon. She had, but it hadn’t been long enough. Her predecessor was a distant light in the future – a future that at this rate would involve something far greater than simply guiding souls to their resting point.
She turned to the final page, disappointed with the fourth name. Mind Control. That sounded dangerous. She could only hope that his death came soon. She almost managed a smile at the thought.
Robert Morrison. The last name. She moved on to his description and read it once. Then, after blinking, read it again. And again. And then one last time. This was the one. He was the one.
But, he was the last one. Why? On each page, just like every other individual record in the After Life, a small ‘status’ symbol was printed on the bottom right hand corner of the page. The first four names were bright green – meaning alive and well. Robert’s was not. It was a dull amber.
A dull amber.
‘Shit,’ she whispered between her teeth.
Shit indeed.
TO BE CONTINUED (if people want - I've got a good ending, trussme)
|
Being Death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, you're the immortal being who comes for the mortals as their time on this miserable blue orb but after about 1 Billion rounds you begin to get tired of it. It's a lonely life.
Enter David Joe Stevenson. Age 42. A banker in Canada who is facing intense pressure from his boss and his impending divorce from his wife. He's planning to commit suicide at midnight tonight by injecting oxygen directly into his veins. He's creative, I'll give him that much, but he's not dying on my watch tonight.
At 11:50 I appear before him as he sits watching some late night program that has the typical zany host who comments in a comedic way on the news. He jumps at the sight of me. "Who are you?"
"Let's just call me your friendly neighbourhood Grim Reaper, okay? The point is, I know what you're planning to do, David" I look at him and smile with my pearly white teeth "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that Dave."
He looks at me with fear tinted with confusion as he tries to figure out what to say "Why not? You're death, isn't the point of your job to bring me to the afterlife?"
I keep smiling. "Normally, yes, but you see, I've been watching you Dave. Your life is in the dumps right now, and I can't say I blame you. The divorce, the boss, it's enough to drive any normal man to his breaking point. Not you though."
"Wwwwhy not me? What makes me so special that I won't break? You said it yourself, I'm going to kill myself in," he looked at the clock on his wall, then turned back,"five minutes or so."
"Because Dave, you're smarter then this, all of this. Your boss is giving you hell because his daughter is in the Emergency room, recovering from her own attempt at suicide. The divorce is happening because both of you feel shackled by the other. It's not the end, Dave."
"Everyone goes through rough patches in life, including me at times." He looked at me with confusion "You have any idea how far I'm behind on my paperwork and how much hot water I'm currently standing in? Anyways, everyone has rough patches, but there is a light at the end of the darkness. Your boss is going to get better, the divorce will go through but it will leave you and her able to do what you want to do."
He looked at the ground for a bit, then at me. "Thank you, uh....."
"Morty," I replied. "Well, I think that's that. I have other jobs to attend to." With that, I took my leave and vanished from his home.
You know, that wasn't so bad. I should do that more often. Cheering up suicidal people rather then just taking them immediately.
Yet I know that I didn't do it for him, nor did I do it for his family/friends/co workers. Sure, those were nice benefits, but not the main reason.
I just really hate paperwork.
|
|
[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
|
The the taste of the gun was almost sweet.
Jerry put his finger on the trigger, willing himself to add just a little more pressure. Just a little more, that's all he needed. A little more and all the problems in the world would go away.
"It won't work," said a voice behind him.
Jerry took the pistol from his mouth and aimed it at the voice. Drool dripped off the muzzle. The sights lined up with a cloaked black figure, holding a sickle.
"If you're here to stop me, there's no point," Jerry said.
Death took a chair and sat down, "I'm not here to stop you. You may proceed."
He pointed the gun back at his own head at the temple. His hands were shaking, "I'll do it. I'm going to do it."
Death continued to hold a calm grace, "I have no doubt that you *can* commit to the action, but I *do* have doubts about your desire to do so. You are about to make a choice, and I want to make sure you are informed."
"I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE! Everything has been taken from me. I'm nothing, I'm in so much debt I can't make enough money to pay the interest. This is all that's left."
"Those are called beliefs," death said, "And your beliefs don't leave you many options."
"Fuck you," Jerry said, his finger on the trigger.
"Tell me about your kids," death said.
"They... Are doing alright I suppose. Both are in school. But I can't be a father to them. I'm too much of a --"
Death cut him off, "Now tell me about your wife, when you first met. You must have done something that made her feel loved."
"I... did," Jerry said. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I loved doing things that made her happy. I loved seeing her do well. I was really truly happy for her when she got that job making more money than I did. The joy in her eyes... I missed being a part of that."
"You see," death said, "There was a time when you were perfectly capable of giving love, and feeling love yourself. Nothing but you is holding you back from having and giving those feelings. You can decide to give up here, or you can try to make a difference in peoples' lives."
They sat for a while in silence while Jerry thought things over. A small smile broke over his lips as he relived the good memories with his wife.
He looked up at death, "Why?"
Death gave a shrug, "I like this job. I enjoy connecting with people. And most importantly I can relate to your situation. You see, I was in the same position when death came to me, and I failed to make the decision I needed to make. And now I hold the Sickle.
"And if you make the same decision, you will hold the sickle, and I will pass on."
A shiver ran though Jerry's spine. Then a smile, and a warm feeling in his gut.
"Will I be seeing you again someday?"
"Oh yes," death said, "but only once the time is right."
"Thank you," Jerry said.
|
Being Death isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sure, you're the immortal being who comes for the mortals as their time on this miserable blue orb but after about 1 Billion rounds you begin to get tired of it. It's a lonely life.
Enter David Joe Stevenson. Age 42. A banker in Canada who is facing intense pressure from his boss and his impending divorce from his wife. He's planning to commit suicide at midnight tonight by injecting oxygen directly into his veins. He's creative, I'll give him that much, but he's not dying on my watch tonight.
At 11:50 I appear before him as he sits watching some late night program that has the typical zany host who comments in a comedic way on the news. He jumps at the sight of me. "Who are you?"
"Let's just call me your friendly neighbourhood Grim Reaper, okay? The point is, I know what you're planning to do, David" I look at him and smile with my pearly white teeth "I'm sorry, but I can't let you do that Dave."
He looks at me with fear tinted with confusion as he tries to figure out what to say "Why not? You're death, isn't the point of your job to bring me to the afterlife?"
I keep smiling. "Normally, yes, but you see, I've been watching you Dave. Your life is in the dumps right now, and I can't say I blame you. The divorce, the boss, it's enough to drive any normal man to his breaking point. Not you though."
"Wwwwhy not me? What makes me so special that I won't break? You said it yourself, I'm going to kill myself in," he looked at the clock on his wall, then turned back,"five minutes or so."
"Because Dave, you're smarter then this, all of this. Your boss is giving you hell because his daughter is in the Emergency room, recovering from her own attempt at suicide. The divorce is happening because both of you feel shackled by the other. It's not the end, Dave."
"Everyone goes through rough patches in life, including me at times." He looked at me with confusion "You have any idea how far I'm behind on my paperwork and how much hot water I'm currently standing in? Anyways, everyone has rough patches, but there is a light at the end of the darkness. Your boss is going to get better, the divorce will go through but it will leave you and her able to do what you want to do."
He looked at the ground for a bit, then at me. "Thank you, uh....."
"Morty," I replied. "Well, I think that's that. I have other jobs to attend to." With that, I took my leave and vanished from his home.
You know, that wasn't so bad. I should do that more often. Cheering up suicidal people rather then just taking them immediately.
Yet I know that I didn't do it for him, nor did I do it for his family/friends/co workers. Sure, those were nice benefits, but not the main reason.
I just really hate paperwork.
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[WP]A man is contemplating suicide. Death visits him not to take his soul, but to convince him life is worth living.
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The the taste of the gun was almost sweet.
Jerry put his finger on the trigger, willing himself to add just a little more pressure. Just a little more, that's all he needed. A little more and all the problems in the world would go away.
"It won't work," said a voice behind him.
Jerry took the pistol from his mouth and aimed it at the voice. Drool dripped off the muzzle. The sights lined up with a cloaked black figure, holding a sickle.
"If you're here to stop me, there's no point," Jerry said.
Death took a chair and sat down, "I'm not here to stop you. You may proceed."
He pointed the gun back at his own head at the temple. His hands were shaking, "I'll do it. I'm going to do it."
Death continued to hold a calm grace, "I have no doubt that you *can* commit to the action, but I *do* have doubts about your desire to do so. You are about to make a choice, and I want to make sure you are informed."
"I DON'T HAVE A CHOICE! Everything has been taken from me. I'm nothing, I'm in so much debt I can't make enough money to pay the interest. This is all that's left."
"Those are called beliefs," death said, "And your beliefs don't leave you many options."
"Fuck you," Jerry said, his finger on the trigger.
"Tell me about your kids," death said.
"They... Are doing alright I suppose. Both are in school. But I can't be a father to them. I'm too much of a --"
Death cut him off, "Now tell me about your wife, when you first met. You must have done something that made her feel loved."
"I... did," Jerry said. Tears rolled down his cheeks. "I loved doing things that made her happy. I loved seeing her do well. I was really truly happy for her when she got that job making more money than I did. The joy in her eyes... I missed being a part of that."
"You see," death said, "There was a time when you were perfectly capable of giving love, and feeling love yourself. Nothing but you is holding you back from having and giving those feelings. You can decide to give up here, or you can try to make a difference in peoples' lives."
They sat for a while in silence while Jerry thought things over. A small smile broke over his lips as he relived the good memories with his wife.
He looked up at death, "Why?"
Death gave a shrug, "I like this job. I enjoy connecting with people. And most importantly I can relate to your situation. You see, I was in the same position when death came to me, and I failed to make the decision I needed to make. And now I hold the Sickle.
"And if you make the same decision, you will hold the sickle, and I will pass on."
A shiver ran though Jerry's spine. Then a smile, and a warm feeling in his gut.
"Will I be seeing you again someday?"
"Oh yes," death said, "but only once the time is right."
"Thank you," Jerry said.
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Eduardo Rojas stood on the ledge of the tallest building his small town in Mexico. Below, six floors down, there were no people on the street; the cartels had made sure that just standing out in the open was a possible death sentence.
From his vantage point, Eduardo could see the other effects of drug dealers on his home. Windows were boarded. Bullet holes adorned storefronts that were already struggling to do business. Every once in a while, a car would roll down the street, something black and fast and dangerous looking, driven by the sort of men who sold poison to 9 year olds and slept well at night.
Though he was just fifteen, he knew what those men were like. He knew what they could promise and what they could pay. They'd put enough money in his hand two days ago to pull the trigger on a man he did not know. He had not understood that they had not paid him enough to live with the feeling in his gut that came after, that would ride with him hour after hour, perhaps until he died.
Especially if when he died was tonight, as he had intended when he came up and asked himself if a six story fall was enough to kill someone.
"Maybe," the woman said. "You really want double this height."
The gun was in Eduardo's hand before he realized he was turning around. His first look at her was down the sights of his 9mm pistol. That first look, though, was enough to make him lower the gun.
She was a little taller than him, maybe a few years older. Long black hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her skin was as pale as milk; though she spoke with no accent, Eduardo thought she must be American. She wore a black shirt, with white tiger stripes down the sides and a pair of jeans that had strategic rips running down the front of the thighs. She wore no shoes, no makeup and her only other adornment was chain around her waist with curved pendant that reminded Eduardo of something he couldn't put his finger on.
"Very cautious for someone considering jumping," she said.
"What do you want with me?" Eduardo asked. "Get out of here!"
"Most men would rather have a companion in their last moments," she replied. The woman walked to the edge and looked over it, leaning on her hands. "This used to be a nice place to live, didn't it?"
"How would you know?"
"I've visited here now and again. On business. This is the best view, really. I usually don't get to share it though."
"I'm warning you-"
"To leave? If I don't what will you do?"
"I... I... nothing."
Eduardo dropped the handgun onto the roof. He got down and sat on the ledge, facing his home. Tears bloomed in his eyes.
"It's okay. That you didn't force me to go, I mean. There's no shame in abstaining from purposeless violence."
"Violence with a purpose doesn't seem to be all that great an idea, either."
The young woman turned around and leaned on the ledge. She was beautiful in the evening's light, though that fact brought no joy to Eduardo's heavy heart.
She said, "I guess that means you've used that pistol before. What was it like?"
Rage filled him. "Why do you want to know?"
"I didn't say I didn't know. I ask you what you thought."
That was when he saw it. Her eyes, her perfect blue eyes, had the same dull look as his did in the mirror. They were the eyes of one who had seen too much, hollow and penetrating.
"If you know, how can you be so cheerful?"
The woman shrugged. "I've had an eternity, it seems, to get used to the feeling. It has always been for a good cause. That's the difference I think. Killing a man for jealously or anger or money or any other petty reason, that's like a rock in your gut. Killing for a cause, a purpose, however... that's different."
"Really?"
"Yes. Now... what did it feel like when you killed your first man?"
Eduardo tried to speak twice before the words came out. "It felt powerful. It was like I was God. I didn't even know who he was. I just shot him and there was this look in his eyes, this surprise... then nothing. I took everything away from him and he was just a limp suit of clothes. The person was no longer wearing them."
"And now you regret it?"
"I still don't know who he was, but I'm sure someone is mourning him. I thought about what if it was me and my mama or papa had to come home and find me dead on the front porch. I got sick. I'm still sick. I wish to God I hadn't done this."
"If you didn't know him, why did you do it?"
"I was paid."
"By wicked men?"
"Yes."
"And what are you going to do about it now?"
"What can I do?"
The woman walked over and picked up his pistol. She looked it over in her hand.
"This thing, this weapon... it's so simple. A tube, a spring and a little packet of chemicals. Yet, in the right time and the right place, this device has caused tragedy and sorrow. It has started wars. It has also saved lives and ended conflicts. The device doesn't care what it shoots. We do, though. Those who think about it care and know."
"I don't understand your point."
"Seconds after committing one of the worst acts a man can commit, your thoughts were on your family. You have compassion in your heart. You have strength. You came up here to destroy a monster, yet it was monsters that used your poverty to convince you that you should do this thing."
She offered him the butt of the gun and asked, "Can't you see? The thing you did, it was wrong only because of who you did it to. Can you not see where to apply your strength? Who to point this at? What good you could do with a bullet?"
"They would kill me. My papa. My mama."
"Not if you kill them first. Not if you do it with the blessing of the law on your side. Not if you become the thing they fear most: a righteous man who knows that pulling the trigger is an option and who has the will to take that option."
Eduardo hesitated, but his hand itched to have the gun back in it.
Her voice was like velvet, "Are you that man?"
Eduardo turned and got off the ledge. He took the gun and tucked it back in his pants.
"Maybe I am."
The woman stepped forward and kissed him on the forehead.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
"Does it matter? You have a purpose now. Go see to it. I'd like to look at your town a little while longer, if I may."
Eduardo nodded. "Thank you."
"Just do what is in your heart."
Eduardo nodded and then was off, down the stairs and away.
The woman stepped to the ledge and looked down at the town. She reached up and wiped the flesh from her skull and stripped the hair from her head. She reached out and pulled the night around her, fashioning it into the robe that was her typical garment. She left the scythe hanging from her belt, though... others would do her work tonight.
She stared out into the night and saw the streets, both then and as they would be in the future, soaked in the blood of Eduardo's crusade, of his self hatred turned out on the gangs. They would quake with fear at his coming and would die by the truckload to his zealotry.
Looking to the sky, she spoke to the one she knew was watching, though she knew he would not speak.
"See," she said. "Don't ever think I can't fill a quota."
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[WP] Modern day Soldiers are on the front-lines of first contact for an alien invasion of Earth. Many soldiers don't know what they are facing. When, through the fog of war, a battalion of Storm-troopers appear.
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The reporter felt sick. *Blasted guy!*
He was supposed to be filming an article about some safe, totally uninteresting subject, when hiss boss came in and, of the 42 people working on his floor, picked *him* to get his ass off the Ikea chair and off to the battlefield.
*Blasted guy!*
The Humvee was hot, the supplied rations of water not way enough to feed just him, let alone two other unlucky souls that had been dumped with him to film everything that would happen here, and the wait was terrible. In front of him, four battalions of the United Nation's bravest (though not necessarily best) soldiers waited anxiously. They had chosen positions accordingly: an alien ship, descending towards the Earth, must have superior sensors to our own. Fearing that a simple cover wouldn't work, the top brass of the United States army was so kind to outfit a single battalion with stealth armor. Technology that was supposedly years out of reach, and now they managed to outfit 750 men and women with it? Chris cursed. He much rather would be investigating this cover-up instead of hauling his ass to the first inter-planar battlefield in the history of mankind. That the whole world would be watching lil' old him was just scant comfort. He'd probably be dead in the first minute anyway. Aliens man... come on. The army wouldn't stand a chance.
Five minutes ticked away. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. *God... the wait... finish it already!*
Tick. Tock. Tick... "We have contact. Alien vessel has landed. Hailings in all available bandwidths have been ignored. S-team, prepare for deployment. Alpha Battalion, hold your fire until we're sure the aliens are hostile. May God have mercy on our souls."
The radio chatter awoke Chris out of his trance. He sighed. "Come on guys, on to our five minutes of fame. Edward, I really like your sister. If we survive this, please don't be mad at me. I was going to tell you next week. Daniel, you're a son of a bitch. But I really liked having beers with you."
His cameraman and audiodude just gave him an annoyed stare. *This* was the moment he picked to tell them? Not that it mattered anyway... The three of them climbed out of the top hatch of the Humvee, positioned themselves...
"This is Chris Hemmingway, coming to you live from the first inter-planar battlefield for BBC World. As you all can see, the alien ship has landed and our brave army is getting ready to confront whatever exotic creatures might emerge from it!"
Chris looked back to the scene (he hadn't even glanced at the ship yet)... And realized the term "exotic" really was out of place. It was... a ship. A bulky, grey ship. With wings. An emblem. Some marking. All in all, while he couldn't understand what they meant, it didn't actually look all that weird. Could be a Russian ship if you'd replace the letters (if that's what they were). Prime time, world wide television... and he manages to screw up. *Good thinking Chris, talking first then looking. Ugh...*
The base of the ship was covered in a fog of dust. A few clanks were heard across the battlefield, even audible from this distance, and shadows moved along them. In front of the first battalion, Alpha, a small band started playing music. *Sure, you've got 3000 guns pointed at you, but a bit of music will let you ignore all of that? Stupid brass...* Chris really couldn't care anymore. He just wanted to get out of there!
Then the shooting started.
Red bolts spliced the air. The fanfare stopped playing and ran for cover. The Alpha battalion started to return fire.
"As you can see ladies and gentlemen at home, it *is* a catastrophe! The aliens are undoubtedly hostile! What looks like lasers are everywhere! The fog has just started to clear... It appears like soldiers have emerged from the ship! They don't seem to be disturbed by the heavy fire laid down by our own troops..."
Indeed, the alien soldiers, donned in white armor, just kept shooting. Ricocheting bullets were hitting the spaceship; it was obvious that they didn't do any real damage. Then again, the red bolts only managed to hit a few men or so. Almost as if them hitting target is more of a coincidence then meaning...
"It appears the alien soldiers are not so good with their aim, ladies and gentlemen! On the front line, we see a few brave men and women have started impaling the enemy. It is utter chaos! The... Wait, what's that?"
A flurry of motion next to him broke Chris' sentence. The camera, too, swiveled to the side. Tanks! That's odd. He didn't know there would be tanks. Nobody had told him, anyway. And the design was pretty unfamiliar too. There wasn't a regular barrel on top. It was something else entirely... As the tanks rolled by, Alpha battalion split in two. On the left and right, red lasers appeared out of nowhere, clearly marking the enemy. *They're being tagged... is that the Stealth battalion?*
And at that moment, a shockwave almost sends Chris and his team careening off the Humvee. As he regains his posture, he sees a large swat of the white armors have been flattened. And splattered. They quickly try to regroup, but it's of no use. One of the tanks blasts off a wing of the spaceship, three others make short work of most of the aliens still standing.
"It... would seem this battle is over, people at home! The enemy is defeated! Celebrate together!"
At that moment, Chris gets a message in his Bluetooth earset. "Yeah, it;s over there. Get your ass back, the boss wants to have a word with you. Something about exotic and stuff. And your next assignment."
Disappointment is followed by excitement. A new assignment! He might like this job after all... Chris doesn't even notice the annoyed looks from his team...
***
"Was that really necessary?" Admiral Dune tapped his fingers on the table. With him, the combined leadership of the United Nations stare at the live Tabernas feed.
"It was. This was just a small show to show anyone *else* looking on that we have what it takes to repel anything that poses a threat to us." Rear Admiral Blake, a tall American, leaned backwards. "We didn't even have to activate our own laser battalion. The Railgun tanks were more than enough and it appears the Stealth Battalion worked like a charm. What's there not to like?"
Blake chewed off the top of his cigar and spit it into a corner.
Dune clearly isn't satisfied with this answer. "These images will go round the world. We knew, but now the whole world knows. They're *Stormtroopers*, for god's sake. If there really were a Darth-Vader-whats-his-name with them, it would've been a disaster!"
Blake takes a yawn and shrugs his shoulders. "There wasn't. Now quit yer whinin'. We've got an alien ship to dismantle!"
The generals all begin standing up, congratulating eachother on their success this day, and make their way out. Dune is last. And while he walks outside, nobody seems to notice the worried look on his face... and two little metal balls he levitates in his hand...
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The battle was swift. Unable to hit any of our soldiers, they were quickly wiped out, and their ship captured.
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[WP] A large force finally attacks the U.S., but they make one major mistake, they begin in the South, who just ain't gonna be puttin up with none a' this.
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There is an oft-repeated line, originally attributed to Isoroku Yamamoto, commander-in-chief of the Combined Fleet during WWII. “You cannot invade mainland United States. There would be a rifle behind every blade of grass.” The veracity of this quote and its attribution have long been debated amongst historians the world over. It didn't really matter of course, quotes rarely do... Well, until some idiot decides to test them of course, and let me tell you, Yamamoto sure as shit wasn't wrong!
We built the largest army ever seen on this planet. Two hundred thousand troops from the Koreas alone. Half a million from Russia, three times that number from China. Another million from India and somewhere around four hundred thousand from the African nations. It really was an impressive site watching the fleet sail around the horn of Africa, growing larger every day. I lost count of the ships by the time we passed Ascension.
Then all manner of hell broke loose. I woke up to alarms and the sounds of screaming men and women. Then weapons fire, Tors mostly by the sound of it. Then the Hongs let loose, and finally the 630s. You hear those sounds, and as each system ends its salvo you find yourself cringing further till eventually the 630 cuts off and you've contorted yourself into a ball on your bunk. You wait and you wait, the silence is palpable, did it work? Did the 630 finally get the missile? It was just one missile right? Then I heard it, the ship was rocked back so far I damned near slid off my bunk!
Turns out the coalition hadn't sniffed out all of the US Navy's Ohios and Virginias. Somewhere between Ascension & Cape Verde they'd encircled our fleet and let loose a torrent of torpedoes, anti-ship missiles and even ICBMs. After years of preaching nuclear deterrence, who'd have thought they'd be the ones to escalate this conflict? We lost dozens of ships to the torpedoes, damned near all of our escort vessels in fact. The Kirovs had fought valiantly, but had been practically destroyed by the ASMs that got through. No one even noticed the ICBMs till they were inbound again. With a blinding flash our fleet was cored. Dozens of vessels outright vaporized, those further from the blast were capsized while others were merely knocked back. I was lucky, the wave had passed mostly under us and though the ship rocked it hadn't capsized or been heavily irradiated. Some men 'melted' in their bunks from the radiation... Despite this, the techs said the bomb was tuned to be light on radiation and heavy on blast.
No one spoke of the attack afterwards unless they had to. Looking out from the railings you could see the scorched and scarred remains of our once mighty fleet. On the horizon there were no more Kirovs lording amongst the transports. Among the embarked troops the air of superiority had faded, our games of chess and majang were no longer filled with boisterous insults and betting. There were whispers that the fleet was turning around, that we were headed home, defeated. Hopeful men them all, anyone with half a brain could look from the railings and see the sun circle above us from starboard to port.
As we approached the Bahamas the mood began to change again. The weather was beginning to ease up and the embarked men were once again venturing out onto the deck in large numbers. You could see Florida off the starboard side and the coast of Cuba off the port side. Back in Incheon we had taken bets on where we would be attacked. Every single one said the Americans would make their last stand in this narrow stretch of water. The few radios that worked were speaking of air attacks, but nothing that would be deemed a 'last stand'. No one had seen or heard from those subs back near Cape Verde...
The rest of the journey was fairly peaceful, an odd thought really considering we'd begun packing our gear and readying to disembark. Maybe it was because we were finally going to get off those damned ships? Word was we were to be put ashore in Gulf Port Mississippi. The few of us who had traveled the USA before the war found that hilariously stupid. Apparently this whole stretch of land was full of inbred retards with more guns than we had! That's stupid of course, we were an international coalition armed to the teeth, no rag tag militia could possibly compete with us.
The landings went pretty smoothly. The landing ships disembarked from their motherships and headed for shore. Tanks and APCs went out first, swarming up the beach by the hundreds and into the town of Gulf Port. There was no contact reported, in fact, no one even mentioned spotting a civilian. That really should've been our first hint that something was wrong, but I guess command just thought the Americans had evacuated the town. Our armored forces surged forth to the airport as our infantry began to land across the beaches. Thousands of men and women poured from the LCACs, their guns at the ready.
As we trudged off the beaches and began clearing the city, reports began to flow in about each house already being empty. More evidence of evacuation it was guessed. Our mechanized forces reported the airport destroyed, completely. The Americans had gone so far as to pour giant concrete mounds onto the runways. Where there weren't mounds there were craters fifteen feet deep. You have to admire the resolve really. Then suddenly the network was full of calls for medics and announcements of units taking fire. All across our lines, everywhere a unit was anywhere near a patch of forest we were taking casualties. Then the city itself caught fire. Thousands of our men were clearing houses and suddenly every last one of them was on fire. Near as we could figure, the Americans had set fire to their natural gas piping. Regardless of how they did it, we found ourselves engulfed in an inferno.
Orders came down to retreat to the beaches and main thoroughfares until the flames had burned themselves out. This was bad, our mechanized forces were isolated to the north at the useless airport while our infantry were spread across the beaches and the central freeway going through town. It was a cacophony, explosions and the raging of the flames. Were these gas explosions or munitions? The radios were full of static, screaming men and calls for help from our mechanized brigades. They were under heavy fire from all sides and heading north west in an effort to link up with the infantry on the 49. None of them ever made it. When the flames finally burned out and we were able to get to the airport all we could find were tattered US and Confederate flags scattered amongst our burnt out vehicles. Some of the veterans were whispering that there weren't enough tanks here. That the Americans must've captured some.
We never did find where the sniper fire was coming from, and it sure as hell didn't stop. It wasn't terribly accurate, maybe one in five shots hit its mark, but it was endless. All hours of the day from every angle, there was no cover. The only safety was in the center of the burnt out ruins of Gulfport. Normally we'd have called down artillery, air or naval strikes on suspected positions, but we'd lost nearly all of those assets in the Atlantic. The orders came down to move north. We'd spent far too long on this little beach and it was time to take what we'd come for.
As we approached the freeway to the north, we realized the Americans had blown out every bridge on it. It was useless, we'd have to travel along the beach or frontage roads to get to the Mississippi. Damn the Americans, we'd hardly seen a single one and yet we were stuck in a maze like a rat! As the column turned off onto the frontage road, we started taking fire. The woods were alive with shouting and bullets. They called us names I'd never heard in accents I'd never even read about. Our men were cut down, I was lucky to make it back to the main column on the 49. There were maybe a dozen survivors with me. A dozen out of the hundred and ninety we'd sent as force reconnaissance.
Yamamoto may be dead, but that son of a bitch sure as shit wasn't wrong.
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A huge laser beam swept through the streets of a small town in Texas. Tucker ducked out of it's way and ran towards his truck.
"No you ain't gonna steal my moose you alien prick!" he yelled, reaching for a shotgun. But before he had time to pull a trigger, a giant UFO was already going down, crushing into ground. "You hit it, Billy! Next one's mine!"
"What should we do, sir?" lieutenant was sweating his blue alien sweat. "Based on our research we didn't expect people being so violent!"
"We made a great mistake, lieutenant. We have to go back home, and pray to our gods that these people will not going to invent good spaceships any time soon."
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[WP] A large force finally attacks the U.S., but they make one major mistake, they begin in the South, who just ain't gonna be puttin up with none a' this.
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Started wit' cows, a-hollarin'. Maybe three, four in morn? Caused a ruckus so I kick'd the Boy up, told him to git and find out what was disturbin' them. Steers ain't the brightest, so's liable to start away from their own shadow, if'n they seen it.
Course, weren't no shadow that scared'm this time. Boy's feet had hardly stopped squeakin' on the porch outside when the cries stopped. I knew then it were bad.
Boy came back 'bout quarter hour later, tells me to come out. Wouldn't say why, but I could see, even in the dark of the bedroom, his eyes were slick with tears. Was moonless; what them army boys call Dark of the Moon? When else they gonna attack? Them critters was smart, f'sure.
Wasn't a long walk, but sure felt like it. Dark as pitch, an' the only sound the squelch of boot on mud. It was might unnervin', specially with the occasional whimper from the Boy, who still wouldn't say what he was bringin' me to see. There was no sound from the field. Probably would have shat m'britches if I hadn't tucked my 12-gauge under arm.
Cattle was all dead. Had been by the time Boy got there, an' no sign of what did it. Some had holes in head. Some's didn't even have a head. Bloodiest field you'd ever see, guts and gristle smeared over every blade of grass. And those cattle dn't die easy, neither. Some animals, rabbits and such, their little hearts ain't built for sorrow, will just drop dead of shock. But cows, they's may be dumb, but they're hardy. There was no mercy in that field.
Turned out, was the first night of the invasion. Before the fella on the radio got his warnin' out, and we started to know what was what. Got a hell of a lot worse after that. Boy went to war, never came back. Lost my leg at Second Chickamauga. Still smell the charred bodies we had to burn in Jackson.
But you ask me the worst night? T'was the first. Standin' in that field, among my cattle. I knew why the Boy didn't say nothin'; weren't nothin' to say. So I held him, and we cried together, and I clutched that there shotgun in my palm, thanked the good Lord for the second amendment, and promised I'd get me whoever did this.
Critters were smart. Were dumb to start their war on my patch, though.
*Sgt Ron Harlin, 45th Volunteers*
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A huge laser beam swept through the streets of a small town in Texas. Tucker ducked out of it's way and ran towards his truck.
"No you ain't gonna steal my moose you alien prick!" he yelled, reaching for a shotgun. But before he had time to pull a trigger, a giant UFO was already going down, crushing into ground. "You hit it, Billy! Next one's mine!"
"What should we do, sir?" lieutenant was sweating his blue alien sweat. "Based on our research we didn't expect people being so violent!"
"We made a great mistake, lieutenant. We have to go back home, and pray to our gods that these people will not going to invent good spaceships any time soon."
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[WP] You have won the planet Earth in the 265th annual Inter-Galactic lottery. You have studied Earth's customs for the last 5 years, and today you must address the Earthen leaders and explain why you now own their planet.
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"I understand your concern, sir," I choked out, holding back laughter.
The president of the peace organization was crimson with anger and confusion.
"You and your members still own things, but I kind of own Earth... technically," I said, emphasizing the last word as innocently as I could.
"You can't own it, and if you try to take it..." he trailed off.
I held my hands up in innocence. "Look, who owns Earth now?"
The man stared. "Well, no one - it's everyone's."
"OK, and who's name is right here?" I held up the deed close to the camera and tapped my name.
"I don't give a shit what that says! We won't recognize the authority of it."
"Sir, I'm going to ask you something and I mean absolutely no offense by it - Is this your first contact with a non-Earthling?"
The man turned around to a group behind him and whispered something. A woman shrugged.
"I'm not going to disclose that," he said.
"I'll take that as a no then. Look, I won your planet in a small time raffle. I shouldn't tell you this, but Earth wasn't even the first prize... or second. It's not worth that much to me, but a prize is a prize. I own your planet. End of story."
"What are... what are you going to do?" He stammered.
"Me? Nothing really. I've studied your culture a bit and you're not really my style. Everything is about fighting and ownership of things. Seems like a gigantic headache. Plus, you're pretty far and my ship is broken at the moment. If I had to guess, I'd say I'll probably lose your planet in a bet or pawn you off at some point."
Whoever this man was, I'm sure when he was putting on his pants this morning he didn't think he'd have to defend the honor of his planet today.
The man huddled with the group behind him before responding. Several of them were waving their arms wildly and yelling.
"How much do you want for it?" He finally said.
"You can't be serious."
"We are prepared to make a very serious offer," he said.
"How much?" My curiosity was taking hold.
"One trillion dollars," the man said.
I sat as still as I could muster. With my hand that was out of view of the camera I waved to my friends to stop laughing.
"How about one point five," I said. It was starting to become difficult to keep my composure.
The group became a flurry of activity. One person had at least four phones held up to his face. He was no doubt speaking to some of the most powerful people on his planet, or my planet, I should say.
I finally lost it. The entire group stared in a grave silence as I cackled and blubbered.
"I'm... sorry. Really, I'm sorry," I said, willing my smile away and wiping a year from my eye.
The man said nothing.
"God help you if you ever meet the Jawgers," I said.
"What?"
"Never mind. Look, let's just forget about the whole thing. I didn't mean for you to get all riled up. I was merely calling to say hello," I said.
"How do you know English?" the man asked suspiciously.
My god, they're infants.
"How are you going to chronicle this historical exchange?" I asked, ignoring his question.
More stares.
"Time to go."
I was getting bored. I hung up before the man said anything further.
Everyone laughed together. I neatly tucked the deed into my desk and turned to my friends.
"Let's call them back in another thousand years. Maybe they'll have grown. You never know."
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The gray Honda Civic weaved in and out of traffic and came screeching to a halt in front of the United Nations Building in New York City. I hopped out of the car and raced up the steps to the front door of the building, tightly clutching a piece of paper in my left hand. I was dressed in a black suit and had on a very nice Omega watch which i had to take off as I went through the metal detector at the downstairs security checkpoint. Fortunately I was able to trick the security guards into thinking I was some diplomat's translator at this annual UN summit meeting. I frantically ran down the halls of the UN searching for the main chamber.
"Hey you! Stop!" a security guard yelled at me. "You need a clearance to enter this floor. Where's your clearance?"
"Fuck off!" I screamed as i turned and ran the other way.
"Control this is Two-Fourty-Seven, i've got a white male wearing a black suit running from me on level 2!" I heard the security guard shout into his walkie talkie.
Suddenly two security guards and at least four police officers were chasing me down the hallway. "Shit! which way is it!" I screamed as I searched for the UN main chamber entrance door, then suddenly there it was. Two big Mahogany wooden doors with the seal of the UN on them stood in front of me. A sign placed in front of the doors read: 'Quiet please. Meeting in progress.'
"Don't go in there! Stop right now!" one of the police officers screamed at me as he drew his weapon from his holster, but it was too late. I came bursting through the main chamber doors still running at full speed and rapidly made my way towards the stage. Loud audible gasps and shrieks filled the air as delegates and representatives from countries all over the world stood up to get a better glimpse of me making a mad dash towards the front podium. I quickly shoved the prime minister of Cambodia, who was currently giving a speech at the podium about rice crop yields, out of the way and un-crumpled the piece of paper that was in my left hand.
"Leaders of Earth!" I panted into the podium's microphone as I tried to catch my breath. "I stand here today to bring you unsettling, yet exciting news! I have won your pathetic planet in the 265th inter-galactic lottery and am now the sole owner of this shit-hole you call Earth. Now that I own all of you, I have a list of rules and policies that shall be put into place immediately. Rule One, as of now only-AHHH!" I screamed and fell down as
about a dozen police officers tackled me to the floor and arrested me. The chamber was being evacuated as I was dragged out the front door of the UN in handcuffs into a storm of reporters and news crews with cameras. I was quickly thrown into a police car and booked into the city jail. During my court proceedings, the judge deemed me to be insane and had me committed for the rest of my life at St Mary's Institution for the Mentally Ill.
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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His jaw dropped. A smile crept over his face as he whispered to himself, "finally" as if he had manifested this day for himself. Clarity caught him and he ran outside to look into the sky, laughing and shouting, "Finally!". Ryer had hoped this day would occur in his lifetime since childhood. And he saw nothing.
Panic ensued as parties raged. Those who were interested were now elated. Those who were skeptical, now fearful. Mass runs on resources in futile attempt to prepare for perceived Armageddon were ubiquitous. First gas station lines and then "No Gas here" signs. The isles of the groceries were completely empty. However more concerning than that was the looting of every gun or ammunition from any available retailer. Law enforcement, dumbfounded themselves, were delayed by the gravity of the situation. While the militaries of every capable nation hopelessly trained their missiles on our invisible guest.
Despite their esoteric knowledge of this possibility, the religious leaders scrambled to incorporate this event into the paradigms they had been selling for centuries. To maintain control, fear of God, and order. But the people knew, and they knew it as well. This changes everything. All the violence and dogma over which prophet knows the correct road to Awe dissolved in the realization that we are not alone. That there is more to know and we, likely, know nothing.
The message was peaceful but its implication was nothing of the sort. "They are asking us for help" Laurie said nervously, putting a positive spin on a tense situation, as Mothers will. "They are asking for mercinaries!", the excitement in Ryer's voice as clear as the alien message. He envisioned himself in a great hall, or a high school cafeteria, signing up to join whatever cause it was. He saw himself in the still unseen alien ship, holding an alien weapon. He walked the surface of alien landscapes, in alien space suits, all designed in his own mind.
The nations of the world conceded the honor to the country with the greatest penchant for war and weaponry, The United States of America. At first the top brass was unsure of how to do so, but the second there was an affirmative to hear the celestial foreigners out, they unveiled their ships. Thousands of them, massive and glowing spheres and their accompanying vessels littered our view of space and sky. They were listening to the entirety of all words spoken in audience of electronics, the same electronics the message had come from. Every dinner table discussion next to a radio, and every option or consideration available to the President.
A singular ship descended to a mile north of the White House, with surface to air missiles trained on the ship, the roar of fighter jets continuously passing overhead and the incessant whirl of armed helicopters, a beam hit the great lawn and an almost transparent, naked, human like creature descended from the ship
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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Ambassador Pardok wondered for the millionth time what he had done to deserve being posted on Earth. It was a shattered shell of what it once had been. Once humans had been a promising species for entrance into the Confederacy. Their largest flaw had been their violent tendencies, but they had, for a time, appeared to be getting them under control. But that was all in the past. Just a year after being granted provisional status in the Confederacy, a massive war broke out among humanity. They turned out to have far more weaponry than they had told the Confederacy. After the war, their population had been reduced by over two thirds. In the aftermath of that debacle, the Confederacy had renewed its efforts to rid itself of violence. And they had been quite successful.
Pardok was getting ready to retire for the night, but before he headed to bed, he noticed a message from the foreign affairs division of the Confederacy. It told him to inform the government of Earth that a Confederacy fleet would be entering the system in two days to open negotiations on the purchase of weaponry from humanity.
"What the hell! Why would the Confederacy need weapons?" thought Pardok.
As he set off to Earth government, Pardok wondered how the humans would receive the message. The government was still weak from the war and the population was still divided. Pardok worried that this could spark renewed fighting.
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Minister Tang paced on the bridge of flagship of the Confederacy's fleet. He asked a crewman when they would be arriving, and was informed it would be 14 minutes before they arrived in the Sol system.
"Only three minutes have passed since I last asked" thought Tang. It had felt like much longer than that.
He reviewed what had happened in the last few days. The Xerach had invaded Confederacy territory in a blatant and unprovoked war of aggression. The Confederacy had been defenseless. President Darius had dispatched him with the fastest ships the Confederacy had. The fleet carried thousands of high tech goodies to entice the Humans to fork over weapons technology and perhaps some military minds.
Tang asked the crewman again for the time until arrival. He was informed there 13 minutes left. Those would be a long 13 minutes.
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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The representatives stood in their chamber. The were discussing the vessel from the outer rim, *their territory*, approaching the center while transmitting peace and trade signals given to *them* during first contact. And when the communication ministry said signals, they meant copies of every single non-violent signal that *they* had received. Maybe it was a trap, maybe they intended to announce what they have in plans for us, maybe a demand for surrender?
After all, *they* challenged the entire might of the Galactic Community within a femta-galactic rotation, and they annihilated the first two armies sent to stop them, and every reserve the GC had to offer.
The GC’s respond to these stings of defeat was to pull back from that entire arm, while placing warp disruptors on various asteroids and moons. It would hopefully slow down *them* long enough for a real army to be build, and not just the glorified police force that had been the standing army for the GC for generations. This delaying tactic seems to have worked. Not a sign of them have been seen for half a femta-galactic rotation.
But this ship, *theirs* by design and signal, approach herald a new war, since if one ship have made it through, their fleet could too. This is what have made everyone so agitated and rash. Heck, out of fear for a virus or cyber attack it have been banned to establish or receive anything more that scatter from their ship, another reason we have no idea what they intend.
Oh well their intention should be revealed soon, contact is expected to be made any moment now. Far from anything *their* ship was intercepted by one of ours. Onboard should be an admiral of the newly formed Community Fleet, and powerful transmitters and receivers to both the Galactic Information Center and here, the combined representatives chamber filled like never before by at least four representatives from each race in The Community.
The admiral is only supposed to be the receiver, and the real talk will be between an already elected spokesman of the GC, though input from a major race can be made during the talks, and *their* representative.
The holo come to life, revealing a creature that, if the propaganda is to be believed, is more beast that sentient. Of course no one knows this specific being, but their race is quite recognizable, what with the outer skeleton and all. The representative readies to begin his introduction speech, knowing that nearly every menter for the CG is watching.
*Greeting, I am the chosen first spokes member during this debate. Your ship have been signalling many peace signals, signals they your race have previously used for ambushes, and entered our de jure space. Your race*
He got interrupted by *it*
*Yes I understand my races crimes, and yes we have done many things wrong. But should the actions of our *then* leaders condemn our entire race? If one member of your community get revealed for being a fraud or corrupt, do you condemn their entire race for being greedy? Or do you punish the single individual for their crimes! Please, when first contact to us was established you claimed that you represent the galaxy though peace and tolerance! So can you look through your righteous hate for our former leaders, and please listen to our plea?*
This was unprecedented. Former leaders? Since when? Please and pleas? They have and would never! And playing on our initial contact for all that it is worth. They want something, and they are ready to beg on their knees for it. Do they want forgiveness?
*Your might have been proven, you, despite your initial laughable attempts and naivety, have show greater ferocity and destruction than we have ever experienced. Your cynical views of life, your hate for progress not serving yourself and your disregard of honor and decency surprised us all. We have now fought a long a drawn out struggle, but after the destruction of the system you named Xicios_4523, we have realised how outmatched we are. So we beg of you, show mercy to the innocent, call back your warriors, and accept our surrender.*
This sounded nothing like the community. Nothing of it makes sense. If anything we suffered a terrible but quick defeat at the hands of them, not a drawn out war like what was described. And Xicios_4523 was a perfectly fine colonisable system, what could have happened to it? Nothing makes any sense. The chosen representatives voice what we were all wondering.
*Please, explain more clearly your troubles, since your words does not match our memory of the war. From the beginning please, after contact was lost.*
*Huh? But why ask this… no matter i will tell. After you fle, made a tactical retreat our leaders used quite a bit of resources on clearing your annoying no-warp zone. It was hard since we had to spend much time using propulsion systems to get near the emitters, truly an effective slower but that’s not the point. While this went on as fast as possible colonisation was made. Especially Xicios_4523 was a popular center since its strategic location and nature made it a flourishing commute center and sprawling with civilian life.*
*Enough, around talk, what happened?* The chosen representative is getting agitated, but so are we all.
*Right, right. We made it two thirds through your field, at the time we know not for how long it would go on, when we met those we call tri-eyed. Because their eyes are white on the outer rim, black in the middle, and various colours in the area between the two shades. The tri-eyed was armed with some of the ships and systems we recognised from our war with you. But they were different, regardless we attacked. But when we made it close to their home planet, we intended to colonize it since the habitat was quite good, their ambush sprung. Favouring kinetic weapons, fired from explosive cannons, their shots shredded our ships cannons and engines.
Then they boarded our ships, they killed every soldier and colonist onboard with close up kinetic weapons and knives. Knives haven’t been seen in war since before we achieved plasmatic weapons. But they mastered it, and they stole our ships. We made mistakes in the beginning, reckless with our ships so they ended up highjacking more than we shot. But by the time we realised our mistake and rerouted all strength on their single planet, it wasn’t enough. And so the greatest war we’ve ever witnessed, maybe the greatest this galaxy ever have, started. Between a single system minor, and an empire that could challenge the entire galaxy and come out on top.
Their tactics was as foreign to us, as we imagine ours was to yours initially. The brutality they used was incredible, whenever we captured them, they fought till the last, and their last bullet was always for themselves. They did not shy away from hitting civilian targets. Remember Xicios_4523, the commute hub and sprawling civilian colony? The tri-eyes, after scrapping them of value, sent our hijacked ships back at Xicios_4523 at full warp speed. Not even slowing down when nearing the planet, thus turning the ships into several asteroids. Killing eleven billion members of our race, only 300.000 million of them was soldiers, and of those the far majority was news and reserves. When we captured a member of their race alive we asked why, he responded; “It was important to you… your home planted is important to you right?”
This is but a few of the crimes committed against us, these devils, demons and beast have shown us what true war is. And we surrender, so I am here to beg of you, call them back, since their only respond to pease offers is; “A great member of our race once said; If you stop hitting them before you know they will never recover enough to retaliate, you’re doing it wrong.” Please make them stop!*
Silence ensued until the chosen asked what was on our minds. *Does anyone know what the ambassador is talking about?* Said ambassador looked surprised and crushed at these words.
More silence until a voice from the other line of the connection asked. *These tri-eyes, do they call themselves humans and do their home systems have four inter terra planets and four gas giants?* The admiral as it turns out asked.
*Yes, that is exactly them! You must stop them!*
The chosen representative ask the admiral, who is now also in view. *How do you know of these humans, when we do not?*
*Ehh… You know how I got this rank right? It was because I lead the retreat, and disruptor operations. Half way though the job I got another, slightly illegal idea to hold back the enemy. I made contact to pre plasmatic race's and gave them a copy of The Encyclopedia, plus a few old ships that was slowing down the disrupter operation. These humans are one of those races. But I knew not it would get this bad, I only warned them of your threat, and every other truth they asked for. I don’t control them or their actions, heck because if the illegality I didn’t write it down and honestly forgot about them until now.*
The ambassador was crushed by the revelation.
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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Meanwhile in a Secret Room with 8 mysterious men seated around a table:
Man 1: Gentlemen, It seems we have extraterrestrial life forms in our midst.
Man 2: Well well, I smell an opportunity. While we have profited from selling weapons to the US military, ISIS, the Saudis and other groups we can give the aliens our "welcome" and hopefully learn about their technology and weaponize it.
Man 3: Isn't that absurd your suggesting something like Star Wars .
Man 4: I must say our world is running out of space and resources. If we are to survive we must expand to other planets.
Man 5: Well then may I suggest that we need to make up a story that aliens are lying about "coming in peace" and start a "false flag operation" and blame the aliens.
Man 3: I have to agree with you sir. With enough propaganda, we can justify our attacks against aliens.
Man 6: An interstellar empire. Brilliant, I must develop the ideology of human supremacy. After all, I find racism, sexism, and other -ism getting old. Besides we can finally achieve what humanity wanted: equality among humans. But since it's natural for humans to hate, we can have them hate the aliens.
Man 7: Ah yes another way to gain cheap labour and profits. With alien slave labour we can have them mine minerals in other worlds.
Man 8: Plus, we can have them as agricultural laborers.
Man 1: Well Gentlemen, today herald a new era. Let's all cast away our differences and bring about a new age for humanity.
All: Human Power!
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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In 2056 NASA intercepted a frequency that was not of Earth. With its point of origin unknown they began to study it in an attempt to discover from whence it came. As it was studied it became known as the whoa signal, mockingly after the famous "wow!" signal of 1977 which was deemed the echo of a supernova, for unlike its now disregarded counterpart this was of no supernova. NASA discovered the signal was encrypted like nothing they had ever dreamed of; the discovery of the encryption itself set technology hundreds of years ahead of where it once was. It sparked the golden age of exploration in our solar system; Ceres, Vesta, Hektor, Thisbe, Diotina, Fortuna were among many asteroids in the asteroid belt that were to be mined and inhabited; the once failed colonization of Mars was reattempted and achieved, Europa of Jupiter, Titan of Saturn and Triton of Neptune all were to be colonized and inhabited; Man had even reached as far as the Oort Cloud in the outer reaches of our solar system as early as 2096. The resulting abundance of precious metals and resources brought an unprecedented rate of accessibility to ships and technology to even the poorest regions of Earth. Humanity had finally reached the Space Age. Yet NASA, now the Global Space Agency (GSA), had yet to break the encryption which alone set Humanity so far into the future.
By the year 2110, 54 years after the discovery of the "Whoa" signal, the GSA had finally broken the code. What they discovered was an archive of information of an Alien civilization on the other side of the Galaxy. As far as the GSA could determine it was a nameless race whose home planet was destroyed by its star going supernova and the whereabouts and status of the remainder of it was unknown. Along with the fate of its planet the GSA discovered archives of military weapons and schematics of Dreadnoughts and space stations for war and inhabitancy. Evidence of other races of similar military might to The Nameless, as the mysterious civilization was now called, were also discovered. The GSA feared the discovery of its solar system by a hostile Alien race and so they began its military research and development of its unstoppable war machines in secret.
Fast forward to the year 2150. Its been one hundred years since the Whoa signal and humanity has evolved exponentially and with it has come conflict. Mars has rebelled for independence against Earth, the fight for independence of Titan soon follows but neither without bloodshed. Both have rebelled against Earths GSA forces in an attempt to overthrow their Military might and furthermore are yet top discover the source of the GSA's power being from the seemingly endless abundance of information from the archive within the whoa signal. But all came to a halt on June 7th, 2150 when an unidentified Armada of hundreds of vessels appeared just out side of the Oort Cloud. Martian and Titinian forces gathered to apprehend what they believed to be a GSA ambush when hundreds of Dreadnoughts and Frigates and cruisers of the unidentified armada suddenly vanished and reappeared between the orbit of Mars and Earth. The forces of Mars and Titan both concluded GSA could not possibly possess warp drive capabilities as they re-positioned to intercept the Armada which was now so alarmingly close to Mars and Earth. Without notice however all comm's suddenly became cluttered with static then fell silent followed by steady rhythmic tapping. Admiral Oscar Austerlitz of the Martian Republic Flagship Phobos realized that what they were hearing was mores code. Running over to the comm station the Admiral ordered that the code be deciphered by one of the officers next to him. The officer listened and translated as ordered; the officer began to grow more and more pail with each translated word forgetting to read out the message as he finished. The officer just starred at the message on his monitor. "Well? Whats it say officer!" Barked Austerlitz. The officer hesitated for just a moment before finally reading aloud
"Inhabitants of Earth, we come in peace." the officer finally said in a calm yet distressed tone.
"What kind of silly fucking joke is this son! Do I look fucking amused to you?!" Austerlitz became increasingly red as he asked
"N-No Sir" The officer stammered once more "i-it continues sir" the Admiral, still red, motioned to tell the Officer to continue; obviously he was still not convinced. "Long have we searched for your kind, we have suffered a great deal in our search; for in all the Universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as you have. They have found our planet and seek to destroy us. We need your help." The officer slowly looked up from the monitor to see the Admiral's face almost purple now and his mustache crooked. "That is the end of the message before it repeats sir" The Admiral finally stood straight, exhaled and took a deep breath as if he was releasing a bellow of hot air.
"Make contact with Admiral Winslow I want to know if the Titanians received this too, contact me on the bridge when you do." Austerlitz quickly turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the comm's station.
"But sir all comm's are down" spoke another officer
"Just get it done!" the Admiral shouted as the door shut behind him. Shortly after the message ceased and all comm's were restored.
While stroking his long mustache Austerlitz looked out upon the Titania, Titans Flag ship, on the starboard side of the Phobos when the comm line buzzed on
"Admiral we have established contact with Admiral Winslow"
"I'll take it in the war room" Austerlitz replied. When he arrived in the war room Winslow was already on screen.
"Did you receive the message too?" Asked Austerlitz.
"Yes, unfortunately" replied Winslow
"What do you recommend?"
"I think we should contact the GSA and see what they have to say about this, they *were* addressing Earth in the message"
"They?"
"Yes - they - The messengers from beyond the Oort"
"How do we know the GSA is not behind it? This could be a trap." Austerlitz still did not seem convinced or at least did not wish to be.
"The GSA has nothing to benefit from by engaging in a massive battle so close to Earth and Mars. Slaughtering the rebellion for all of Earth to see would only make us martyrs and spark another rebellion. But you're right we don't know for sure."
"Then we will make contact with the GSA" Austerlitz pulled up another comm window ans asked over the all call station that the GSA be contacted immediately it was not long until they made contact. The third comm window came to life and so appeared Cyrus Zhukov Supreme Commander of the GSA's military.
"Ah, gentleman, what a strange turn of events that my comm's get hijacked and not to long after the two great leaders of the rebellion appear in my comm lin-"
Austerlitz finally cuts off Zhukov blurting out
"it wasn't us."
"I am aware of that Admiral, I have an armada of unmarked Warships on Earths doorstep and my scouts tell me they used a warp drive to get here. Now I know you two mongrels with your exploration era warships couldn't possibly be capable of such a thing" Winslow was barley bothered by the commanders arrogant tone but Austerlitz, just like the hot head that he is, had felt the commander struck a nerve and began to turn a feint shade of red with his mustache slightly bent now to the right. "If it were the GSA we most definitely would not have broadcast that across the entirety of Earth and Mars, that is impossible even for us. Get within range of Earth as as soon as possible. We shall send an Emissary and will brief you gentlemen when you arrive." Austerlitz finally opened his mouth to speak
"Over my dead fucking body you're going to make contact without us." His face now a very bright shade of red.
"Try and stop us" The comm window with GSA closed.
"That fucking cunt!" Austerlitz shouts as he punches the wall beside him. "Winslow! Set A course for Earth!" Austerlitz flips a switch "Navigator Set a course for Earth!"
"Ill see you there Oscar" Winslow closes the communication.
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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They were beautiful, really.
Evolving on a world completely covered by ocean , they were aquatic rather than terrestrial. Soft, translucent skin revealed a brain 10 times larger than what the human skull could accommodate. Feathered tentacles spread out like wings, feelers detecting the temperature and air composition of the environment.
Technology and biology were fused in various locations, glowing with electrical and bio luminescence. While unable to compete with humanity on land, they seemed to dance in the 0 g environment. Their voices were like whale song, but softer and rapidly shifting in tone.
The official designation was Atlanteans but the troopers had taken to calling them Kalimaries. It had been months since first contact had been established.
Humanity had become hired muscle in exchange for a free ticket off our dieing planet and a tech evolution kick-start of a few millennium. Currently, world leaders were fleshing out the finer details of the deal.
"*Yes. Like folding. Folding space, reach destination.*"
The Commander scratched his chin.
"So, what happens on the other end?"
The blue, gelatinous Kali quivers.
"*Massive disbursement of energy. Potential danger. Confirm a coordinate is empty, send scouts to ensure power of a fleet warp does not destroy.*"
"What if a coordinate isn't empty? What if you warp into a planet?"
More quivering.
"*We do not know. The warp engine is... locomotion. Going into planet... contrary to this goal.*"
"Do the ships need to be piloted?"
"*No. Lower function machine intelligence can make necessary calculations.*"
The Commander looks out one of the massive glass windows that typically covered Kali vessels. Outside, a space ship dubbed "The Fish Bowl" was maintaining a respectful orbit away from Earth. Mostly due to being larger than it.
"Yeah... yeah I think we can help you out."
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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1000 Years Later
Sai Benedict was tired, scared, and alone; his lab assistants hadn't turned up to work, which could mean only one thing - the Earth Military Council had rounded them all up. That meant it would only be a matter of time until the intensive interrogations revealed the location of his lab; even with the neural inhibitors he had scrounged together, and installed in their heads, he would only have a few more hours at the most. That time was meant to be used to escape, to set up elsewhere and begin again from scratch, but he couldn't do it again.
It wasn't anything to do with willingness; he literally couldn't. For a start, even with black market rejuvenation treatments, his two hundred year old frame just couldn't take much more. A simple look in the mirror told the rest of the story: whereas just ten years ago (before the last relocation) he had looked like a svelte young man in his mid twenties, with dark hair, light brown skin, and piercing green eyes, he now appeared almost monstrous. His hair was patchy and albino white, his skin was a sickly yellow color (covered in painful boils), and his eyes--now all but blind without technology--were almost completely white. During the last close call, EMC internal security had zombified one of his own assistants; they used her to deliver a biological weapon that Sai had not been able--even with his formidable training--to counter.
He'd upgraded the rest of his assistants' implants to ensure something similar couldn't happen again, and had found a way to prolong what he had left of life, but there just wasn't much time left. A hacking cough, that brought up a mixture of blood and greenish phlegm, reminded him of that fact. So instead of even thinking about escape, he went back to work.
Looking around the lab, before he did so, he let out a sigh. In his youth, before he'd joined one of the many failed revolutions, he'd always been surrounded by the best facilities: private and EMC funding had taken him through the most promising schools and universities, before placing him in charge of one of the navy's R&D facilities. Now, however, he was stationed in a retrofitted barn outside of Moscow - gone were the shining banks of modern holo stations, and in their place a mishmash of technology ranging from the relatively new to the positively ancient; he even had an old quantum computer gathering dust in the corner.
At the center of it all was a surgery table, the only piece of cutting edge tech in the barn, upon which lay what appeared to be a bald human male (he didn't even have eyebrows yet). Of course, it was actually the most advanced simulated organism ever created - able to pass as a human, but with capabilities far in advance (even with all the recent innovations) of any man or woman, and more importantly--if he could get the damned thing activated and on its way to Angelica--it offered the potentiality of fixing humankind's greatest mistake...
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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"You mean... we're actually more advanced than you? How is that possible? You came all the way here from... where, again?" President Clarke asked.
"Ah, ha ha. No, not more *advanced*, per se," Admiral OJ Simpson responded with an uncomfortable chuckle and shifted in his seat. "Just better at... what was that phrase, again?" he asked his second-in-command, Admiral Stalin.
"Fucking shit up, sir?"
"Fucking shit up. That's the one. Our technology is eons more advanced than yours, but you're better at fucking shit up. Every time our ancestors made a breakthrough in any field of learning, they immediately banded together to think of the most widely beneficial use for the new technology. Every time *your* ancestors made a breakthrough in any field, their first thought seems to have been directed towards using it to fuck shit up. That's why we've come to you."
Clarke still didn't quite catch on. "You want us to... what? Sorry."
"We want you to tell us how to use what we already have to fuck shit up."
"Ah, ok. Well, we'll do what we can," answered the President, speaking on behalf of a large gathering of Earth's political leaders, scientists, and military geniuses.
"Yeah. That brings me to my next point: we appreciate your bringing your scientists in here, but what we'd really like would be for you to bring in those... those guys. Ah, shoot. Stalin, those guys? Who were they again?"
"7-year-old boys, sir."
"Right, yes."
"Also Michael Bay."
"*Yes*! One of the few adults who has retained the incredible power of the 7-year-old boy: to instantly weaponise every object he sees with the sheer force of imagination. Please bring in several 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay."
***
In a few hours' time, the room now contained several 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay. At Admiral OJ Simpson's request, the centre of the room had been occupied by a large table containing everyday objects that the 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay, could use to stimulate their creativity. With everyone settled in, their work began.
"Do you know how to split adams?" Jakob asked.
"Yes," a Garion scientist replied.
"Sweeeeet," said Jakob.
"Sweeeet," said the 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay.
"Why do you ask?" inquired the Garion scientist.
"Well to make a thermonukular bomb you have to split adams. Then the adams split and there's like this super energy that comes out like *bloah* and *psssssshht* and *whrkkkkkkkkkkt* and *dujje dujje dujje*," Jakob explained, using a Barbie Dream Car and a plastic frying pan to illustrate.
"A thermonukular bomb, you say? How does such a thing work?"
"Well," piped in one of the human scientists, "for starters, it's actually pronounced *nu-cle-ar*."
"Whatever, egghead. We can figure out the science stuff, thanks. I asked how it *works*. How do we use a bomb?"
"It's totally awesome!!" Oliver cried, leaping out of his chair. "You have to put it on a rocket, right? And like the rocket has like this flames out the back like *hhhhhhhkkkkkkKKKKKKKKKK* **KKKKKKKKK** ***PPPPPPKKKKKKKKT***! And the rocket goes like right to the bad guys' ship or whatever, and the ship is like --"
"AND THE SHIP IS LIKE ***BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWMMMMMM!!!!!!!***" shouted Michael Bay, crashing his hands together with such force that than oak branch and harmonica he'd been holding were utterly obliterated. "It's totally fucking awesome!!!!!"
The room fell silent as the 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay, recognised the gravity of the terrible cuss that Michael Bay had just said. However, the 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay, quickly realised that nobody's moms were around, and so they weren't gonna get grounded.
"Fart!" yelled Aiden, breaking the silence with at least 8 minutes of uncontrollable laughter from the 7-year-old boys, and also Michael Bay.
When the laughter died down, Admiral Pol Pot asked the question that he and the Garion staff felt may hold the answer to their future and the survival of their species:
"How do we make a rocket?"
Samuel really liked rockets and even made one with his dad last summer, so everyone felt that he would be the most qualified to explain.
"You guys have ships, right?"
"Yes, we do."
"Fast ones?"
"Yes, Samuel."
"How fast? Faster than a Lamborghini?"
"Yes. Much faster."
"Sweet," said Michael Bay.
"Sweeeeeet," said the 7-year-old boys.
"Ok, then," said Samuel, with a very serious look. "Alls you do is, like you put a nuclear bomb *in* a ship, and then fly it real fast into the bad guy ship, and make it so it blows up when it gets there. But don't have anyone fly the ship. The ship should be like remote-controlled. Then you just blow the bad guys up."
By way of demonstration, Samuel proceeded to smash a violin on the edge of the table.
The Garion delegation sat back for a few moments in stunned silence.
"It's so simple," said Admiral OJ Simpson. "It's so *simple*. Thank you, boys. Thank you, Michael Bay! We are going to make a thermonukular bomb and we are going to *fuck those aliens' shit up!!*"
"Fart," said Aiden.
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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The Council slowly came to order. 3 species from different worlds, all of them peaceful and advanced, with a 500 year history of being the closest of allies.
And yet, this discussion might just break them apart.
Council Member Grak, tall and slender beneath the iridescent scales of his race, stood from among his delegation. "Good morning to you all. We come together today to discuss the progress of the fighting in NR-347 and NR-..."
Council Member Helios stood and interrupted Grak. "We all are aware of the fighting, even with it coming 50 years early!" Helios was hot tempered, and more prone to outbursts than the rest of his race. His 4 eyes glared balefully from his broad brown snout. "The Enemy is pushing us and our forces are barely holding. If we had not gone along with your mad scheme to arm those... *primatives* then we would have another full fleet to put on the line!"
Grak exhaled through his secondary membrane. Helios led a faction in the Council that favored simply blockading the Border Worlds and letting the Frontier fall to the enemy. When Grak had convinced the Council to give the Humans a full fleet of ships to prepare for the invasion, the rest of the 100 member assembly had assumed that they would actually be put to use. It had been the ethical thing to do, since their world was in the path of the Enemy and Humans were the only species in the area to be even close to a useful buffer. However, since the delivery of ships the only word from them was an acknowledgement of the news that fighting had started.
The Humans were... strange. All of the other Council races had been at peace with themselves for their whole histories. Descended from 2 herd races and a hive mind, fighting was simply outside their nature. Even attempting genetic manipulation to create their own soldiers had been a disaster. Hiring the Humans as mercenaries had seemed a perfect solution. There were enough of them, and they bred quickly enough, that there should have been a wall of them across the Frontier already.
Even as Grak tried to think of a counter to the arguments still issuing from his counterpart, one of the Xin stood from their delegation and the translator hummed to life. <<Queen. Alarm. Approach. Foes. Danger. Danger.>>
Grak was surprised. The Xin, looking like crabs with fingers instead of claws almost never showed any signs of concern. For them to show that now....
A guard came into the 4th chamber of the Council Hall looking as if wildfire burned behind him. "My Honors, there is a... a representative here. He demands audience!"
The Hall burst into shouts and sounds of panic. The Enemy *here*? Even as the doors opened the panic only subsided when a two legged shape came in past the lights. A black uniform and rows of colorful markings across the chest meant that this was a member of the Human military from what Grak recalled. Within ten steps, the only sound was the clicking of the Human's shoes on the stone floor as he mounted the steps to the guest podium.
"I am Fleet Commodore Da Gang. I have been sent to you to take Earth's first place on this Council."
Outrage thundered from Helios' corner of the room. Grak was not far from joining him. To demand this...!
Helios quieted his fellows and spoke. "Human, it has been 10 years and you have been silent. Now you come demanding honor as equals?! This is beyond madness! While you have been cowering, our forces have bled and died holding back the Enemy!"
Grak tuned out the tirade and watched the Human. His face changed not at all, without a twitch against the force of Helios' anger. It was worrying. Grak had not risen as far as he had without knowing when he saw a trap.
Da Gang stood with his hands behind his back, silently waiting for Helios to run out of steam. When he had the attention of the Council again, he began.
"Honors, I have been sent not just with our claim to join this Council, but also to show what we have done for a war that is, I remind you, YOUR war."
Waving an attendant forward, Da Gang began a presentation on an unfamiliar holo-emitter. "You presented us with a fleet of ships and asked us to use them to fight your Enemy. We found quickly that your ships were.... inadequate... for the task."
The visions of most of the fleet being blotted out among the stars filled the room. No one dared speak. Helios had all of his eyes fixed on the violence. His concession to allowing the Humans to have the ships was that they would be aging hulks. Grak imagined that there was some regret of that now.
Da Gang continued. "Luckily for us, however, we took some of the ships and took them apart. We learned how to make the technology you gifted us. And then we improved it."
The images changed to a moon being disassembled for materials. The shipyards above what Grak recognized as the 5th planet of their home system filled 2 entire Lagrange points. To have done all this.... to have done all this in a mere *10* *years* was unthinkable.
"Our weapons are now 50% more powerful than what the Enemy uses. As you can see," the stars making up the Human's spiral arm now dominated the room, "we have pushed back this Invasion approximately 7% since our new ships have come into use."
Flickering red dots showed the sites of battles, scattered like drops of the Humans' red blood. Several of the Enemy's colony worlds were marked. A frown crossed Grak's face. "Fleet Commodore, what are the black spots with the yellow rings?" Dread made his voice faint, but Da Gang heard him.
"After the early defeats, we needed a weapon that the enemy could not fight off. We had many of your star-drives ready, so we used them."
The images changed again. Dreadnaught engines strapped to... asteroids? But why would.... No. No, not even a race that fought itself could be so deranged.
"As you can see, these black spots are Enemy holdings that have been... neutralized."
Helios wept as the Council watched worlds burn. "How could you have done this? What have you done?"
Da Gang's expression finally changed. To surprise.
"We did as you asked."
"We brought you victory."
EDIT: [Part 2 included](https://docs.google.com/document/d/14NoT0Myy4fJGmiEiwquxhsXTaNAZoT7ZpqRBc8HjSfc/edit?usp=sharing)
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"Welp, we're screwed" Was essentially the reaction of every country. All except a large landmass known as "America". Unfortunately, we are required to stamp out any country that refuses. "After refusing to comply, we have forcefully taken control of the entire Untied States Military" I said, unsure of the outcome. "Good Job, general Ja√øπ." Suddenly, a message appeared. "This Is Ban-Kimoon of Earth, We accept your offer, in exchange for technology and aid against other alien menaces" "Well Fuck This" I said, launching the missiles towards the blue rock. "Supreme Commander, Sir." I said to the screen above my head "You fucked up, Ja√øn, you fucked up"
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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The representatives stood in their chamber. The were discussing the vessel from the outer rim, *their territory*, approaching the center while transmitting peace and trade signals given to *them* during first contact. And when the communication ministry said signals, they meant copies of every single non-violent signal that *they* had received. Maybe it was a trap, maybe they intended to announce what they have in plans for us, maybe a demand for surrender?
After all, *they* challenged the entire might of the Galactic Community within a femta-galactic rotation, and they annihilated the first two armies sent to stop them, and every reserve the GC had to offer.
The GC’s respond to these stings of defeat was to pull back from that entire arm, while placing warp disruptors on various asteroids and moons. It would hopefully slow down *them* long enough for a real army to be build, and not just the glorified police force that had been the standing army for the GC for generations. This delaying tactic seems to have worked. Not a sign of them have been seen for half a femta-galactic rotation.
But this ship, *theirs* by design and signal, approach herald a new war, since if one ship have made it through, their fleet could too. This is what have made everyone so agitated and rash. Heck, out of fear for a virus or cyber attack it have been banned to establish or receive anything more that scatter from their ship, another reason we have no idea what they intend.
Oh well their intention should be revealed soon, contact is expected to be made any moment now. Far from anything *their* ship was intercepted by one of ours. Onboard should be an admiral of the newly formed Community Fleet, and powerful transmitters and receivers to both the Galactic Information Center and here, the combined representatives chamber filled like never before by at least four representatives from each race in The Community.
The admiral is only supposed to be the receiver, and the real talk will be between an already elected spokesman of the GC, though input from a major race can be made during the talks, and *their* representative.
The holo come to life, revealing a creature that, if the propaganda is to be believed, is more beast that sentient. Of course no one knows this specific being, but their race is quite recognizable, what with the outer skeleton and all. The representative readies to begin his introduction speech, knowing that nearly every menter for the CG is watching.
*Greeting, I am the chosen first spokes member during this debate. Your ship have been signalling many peace signals, signals they your race have previously used for ambushes, and entered our de jure space. Your race*
He got interrupted by *it*
*Yes I understand my races crimes, and yes we have done many things wrong. But should the actions of our *then* leaders condemn our entire race? If one member of your community get revealed for being a fraud or corrupt, do you condemn their entire race for being greedy? Or do you punish the single individual for their crimes! Please, when first contact to us was established you claimed that you represent the galaxy though peace and tolerance! So can you look through your righteous hate for our former leaders, and please listen to our plea?*
This was unprecedented. Former leaders? Since when? Please and pleas? They have and would never! And playing on our initial contact for all that it is worth. They want something, and they are ready to beg on their knees for it. Do they want forgiveness?
*Your might have been proven, you, despite your initial laughable attempts and naivety, have show greater ferocity and destruction than we have ever experienced. Your cynical views of life, your hate for progress not serving yourself and your disregard of honor and decency surprised us all. We have now fought a long a drawn out struggle, but after the destruction of the system you named Xicios_4523, we have realised how outmatched we are. So we beg of you, show mercy to the innocent, call back your warriors, and accept our surrender.*
This sounded nothing like the community. Nothing of it makes sense. If anything we suffered a terrible but quick defeat at the hands of them, not a drawn out war like what was described. And Xicios_4523 was a perfectly fine colonisable system, what could have happened to it? Nothing makes any sense. The chosen representatives voice what we were all wondering.
*Please, explain more clearly your troubles, since your words does not match our memory of the war. From the beginning please, after contact was lost.*
*Huh? But why ask this… no matter i will tell. After you fle, made a tactical retreat our leaders used quite a bit of resources on clearing your annoying no-warp zone. It was hard since we had to spend much time using propulsion systems to get near the emitters, truly an effective slower but that’s not the point. While this went on as fast as possible colonisation was made. Especially Xicios_4523 was a popular center since its strategic location and nature made it a flourishing commute center and sprawling with civilian life.*
*Enough, around talk, what happened?* The chosen representative is getting agitated, but so are we all.
*Right, right. We made it two thirds through your field, at the time we know not for how long it would go on, when we met those we call tri-eyed. Because their eyes are white on the outer rim, black in the middle, and various colours in the area between the two shades. The tri-eyed was armed with some of the ships and systems we recognised from our war with you. But they were different, regardless we attacked. But when we made it close to their home planet, we intended to colonize it since the habitat was quite good, their ambush sprung. Favouring kinetic weapons, fired from explosive cannons, their shots shredded our ships cannons and engines.
Then they boarded our ships, they killed every soldier and colonist onboard with close up kinetic weapons and knives. Knives haven’t been seen in war since before we achieved plasmatic weapons. But they mastered it, and they stole our ships. We made mistakes in the beginning, reckless with our ships so they ended up highjacking more than we shot. But by the time we realised our mistake and rerouted all strength on their single planet, it wasn’t enough. And so the greatest war we’ve ever witnessed, maybe the greatest this galaxy ever have, started. Between a single system minor, and an empire that could challenge the entire galaxy and come out on top.
Their tactics was as foreign to us, as we imagine ours was to yours initially. The brutality they used was incredible, whenever we captured them, they fought till the last, and their last bullet was always for themselves. They did not shy away from hitting civilian targets. Remember Xicios_4523, the commute hub and sprawling civilian colony? The tri-eyes, after scrapping them of value, sent our hijacked ships back at Xicios_4523 at full warp speed. Not even slowing down when nearing the planet, thus turning the ships into several asteroids. Killing eleven billion members of our race, only 300.000 million of them was soldiers, and of those the far majority was news and reserves. When we captured a member of their race alive we asked why, he responded; “It was important to you… your home planted is important to you right?”
This is but a few of the crimes committed against us, these devils, demons and beast have shown us what true war is. And we surrender, so I am here to beg of you, call them back, since their only respond to pease offers is; “A great member of our race once said; If you stop hitting them before you know they will never recover enough to retaliate, you’re doing it wrong.” Please make them stop!*
Silence ensued until the chosen asked what was on our minds. *Does anyone know what the ambassador is talking about?* Said ambassador looked surprised and crushed at these words.
More silence until a voice from the other line of the connection asked. *These tri-eyes, do they call themselves humans and do their home systems have four inter terra planets and four gas giants?* The admiral as it turns out asked.
*Yes, that is exactly them! You must stop them!*
The chosen representative ask the admiral, who is now also in view. *How do you know of these humans, when we do not?*
*Ehh… You know how I got this rank right? It was because I lead the retreat, and disruptor operations. Half way though the job I got another, slightly illegal idea to hold back the enemy. I made contact to pre plasmatic race's and gave them a copy of The Encyclopedia, plus a few old ships that was slowing down the disrupter operation. These humans are one of those races. But I knew not it would get this bad, I only warned them of your threat, and every other truth they asked for. I don’t control them or their actions, heck because if the illegality I didn’t write it down and honestly forgot about them until now.*
The ambassador was crushed by the revelation.
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His jaw dropped. A smile crept over his face as he whispered to himself, "finally" as if he had manifested this day for himself. Clarity caught him and he ran outside to look into the sky, laughing and shouting, "Finally!". Ryer had hoped this day would occur in his lifetime since childhood. And he saw nothing.
Panic ensued as parties raged. Those who were interested were now elated. Those who were skeptical, now fearful. Mass runs on resources in futile attempt to prepare for perceived Armageddon were ubiquitous. First gas station lines and then "No Gas here" signs. The isles of the groceries were completely empty. However more concerning than that was the looting of every gun or ammunition from any available retailer. Law enforcement, dumbfounded themselves, were delayed by the gravity of the situation. While the militaries of every capable nation hopelessly trained their missiles on our invisible guest.
Despite their esoteric knowledge of this possibility, the religious leaders scrambled to incorporate this event into the paradigms they had been selling for centuries. To maintain control, fear of God, and order. But the people knew, and they knew it as well. This changes everything. All the violence and dogma over which prophet knows the correct road to Awe dissolved in the realization that we are not alone. That there is more to know and we, likely, know nothing.
The message was peaceful but its implication was nothing of the sort. "They are asking us for help" Laurie said nervously, putting a positive spin on a tense situation, as Mothers will. "They are asking for mercinaries!", the excitement in Ryer's voice as clear as the alien message. He envisioned himself in a great hall, or a high school cafeteria, signing up to join whatever cause it was. He saw himself in the still unseen alien ship, holding an alien weapon. He walked the surface of alien landscapes, in alien space suits, all designed in his own mind.
The nations of the world conceded the honor to the country with the greatest penchant for war and weaponry, The United States of America. At first the top brass was unsure of how to do so, but the second there was an affirmative to hear the celestial foreigners out, they unveiled their ships. Thousands of them, massive and glowing spheres and their accompanying vessels littered our view of space and sky. They were listening to the entirety of all words spoken in audience of electronics, the same electronics the message had come from. Every dinner table discussion next to a radio, and every option or consideration available to the President.
A singular ship descended to a mile north of the White House, with surface to air missiles trained on the ship, the roar of fighter jets continuously passing overhead and the incessant whirl of armed helicopters, a beam hit the great lawn and an almost transparent, naked, human like creature descended from the ship
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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In 2056 NASA intercepted a frequency that was not of Earth. With its point of origin unknown they began to study it in an attempt to discover from whence it came. As it was studied it became known as the whoa signal, mockingly after the famous "wow!" signal of 1977 which was deemed the echo of a supernova, for unlike its now disregarded counterpart this was of no supernova. NASA discovered the signal was encrypted like nothing they had ever dreamed of; the discovery of the encryption itself set technology hundreds of years ahead of where it once was. It sparked the golden age of exploration in our solar system; Ceres, Vesta, Hektor, Thisbe, Diotina, Fortuna were among many asteroids in the asteroid belt that were to be mined and inhabited; the once failed colonization of Mars was reattempted and achieved, Europa of Jupiter, Titan of Saturn and Triton of Neptune all were to be colonized and inhabited; Man had even reached as far as the Oort Cloud in the outer reaches of our solar system as early as 2096. The resulting abundance of precious metals and resources brought an unprecedented rate of accessibility to ships and technology to even the poorest regions of Earth. Humanity had finally reached the Space Age. Yet NASA, now the Global Space Agency (GSA), had yet to break the encryption which alone set Humanity so far into the future.
By the year 2110, 54 years after the discovery of the "Whoa" signal, the GSA had finally broken the code. What they discovered was an archive of information of an Alien civilization on the other side of the Galaxy. As far as the GSA could determine it was a nameless race whose home planet was destroyed by its star going supernova and the whereabouts and status of the remainder of it was unknown. Along with the fate of its planet the GSA discovered archives of military weapons and schematics of Dreadnoughts and space stations for war and inhabitancy. Evidence of other races of similar military might to The Nameless, as the mysterious civilization was now called, were also discovered. The GSA feared the discovery of its solar system by a hostile Alien race and so they began its military research and development of its unstoppable war machines in secret.
Fast forward to the year 2150. Its been one hundred years since the Whoa signal and humanity has evolved exponentially and with it has come conflict. Mars has rebelled for independence against Earth, the fight for independence of Titan soon follows but neither without bloodshed. Both have rebelled against Earths GSA forces in an attempt to overthrow their Military might and furthermore are yet top discover the source of the GSA's power being from the seemingly endless abundance of information from the archive within the whoa signal. But all came to a halt on June 7th, 2150 when an unidentified Armada of hundreds of vessels appeared just out side of the Oort Cloud. Martian and Titinian forces gathered to apprehend what they believed to be a GSA ambush when hundreds of Dreadnoughts and Frigates and cruisers of the unidentified armada suddenly vanished and reappeared between the orbit of Mars and Earth. The forces of Mars and Titan both concluded GSA could not possibly possess warp drive capabilities as they re-positioned to intercept the Armada which was now so alarmingly close to Mars and Earth. Without notice however all comm's suddenly became cluttered with static then fell silent followed by steady rhythmic tapping. Admiral Oscar Austerlitz of the Martian Republic Flagship Phobos realized that what they were hearing was mores code. Running over to the comm station the Admiral ordered that the code be deciphered by one of the officers next to him. The officer listened and translated as ordered; the officer began to grow more and more pail with each translated word forgetting to read out the message as he finished. The officer just starred at the message on his monitor. "Well? Whats it say officer!" Barked Austerlitz. The officer hesitated for just a moment before finally reading aloud
"Inhabitants of Earth, we come in peace." the officer finally said in a calm yet distressed tone.
"What kind of silly fucking joke is this son! Do I look fucking amused to you?!" Austerlitz became increasingly red as he asked
"N-No Sir" The officer stammered once more "i-it continues sir" the Admiral, still red, motioned to tell the Officer to continue; obviously he was still not convinced. "Long have we searched for your kind, we have suffered a great deal in our search; for in all the Universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as you have. They have found our planet and seek to destroy us. We need your help." The officer slowly looked up from the monitor to see the Admiral's face almost purple now and his mustache crooked. "That is the end of the message before it repeats sir" The Admiral finally stood straight, exhaled and took a deep breath as if he was releasing a bellow of hot air.
"Make contact with Admiral Winslow I want to know if the Titanians received this too, contact me on the bridge when you do." Austerlitz quickly turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the comm's station.
"But sir all comm's are down" spoke another officer
"Just get it done!" the Admiral shouted as the door shut behind him. Shortly after the message ceased and all comm's were restored.
While stroking his long mustache Austerlitz looked out upon the Titania, Titans Flag ship, on the starboard side of the Phobos when the comm line buzzed on
"Admiral we have established contact with Admiral Winslow"
"I'll take it in the war room" Austerlitz replied. When he arrived in the war room Winslow was already on screen.
"Did you receive the message too?" Asked Austerlitz.
"Yes, unfortunately" replied Winslow
"What do you recommend?"
"I think we should contact the GSA and see what they have to say about this, they *were* addressing Earth in the message"
"They?"
"Yes - they - The messengers from beyond the Oort"
"How do we know the GSA is not behind it? This could be a trap." Austerlitz still did not seem convinced or at least did not wish to be.
"The GSA has nothing to benefit from by engaging in a massive battle so close to Earth and Mars. Slaughtering the rebellion for all of Earth to see would only make us martyrs and spark another rebellion. But you're right we don't know for sure."
"Then we will make contact with the GSA" Austerlitz pulled up another comm window ans asked over the all call station that the GSA be contacted immediately it was not long until they made contact. The third comm window came to life and so appeared Cyrus Zhukov Supreme Commander of the GSA's military.
"Ah, gentleman, what a strange turn of events that my comm's get hijacked and not to long after the two great leaders of the rebellion appear in my comm lin-"
Austerlitz finally cuts off Zhukov blurting out
"it wasn't us."
"I am aware of that Admiral, I have an armada of unmarked Warships on Earths doorstep and my scouts tell me they used a warp drive to get here. Now I know you two mongrels with your exploration era warships couldn't possibly be capable of such a thing" Winslow was barley bothered by the commanders arrogant tone but Austerlitz, just like the hot head that he is, had felt the commander struck a nerve and began to turn a feint shade of red with his mustache slightly bent now to the right. "If it were the GSA we most definitely would not have broadcast that across the entirety of Earth and Mars, that is impossible even for us. Get within range of Earth as as soon as possible. We shall send an Emissary and will brief you gentlemen when you arrive." Austerlitz finally opened his mouth to speak
"Over my dead fucking body you're going to make contact without us." His face now a very bright shade of red.
"Try and stop us" The comm window with GSA closed.
"That fucking cunt!" Austerlitz shouts as he punches the wall beside him. "Winslow! Set A course for Earth!" Austerlitz flips a switch "Navigator Set a course for Earth!"
"Ill see you there Oscar" Winslow closes the communication.
|
His jaw dropped. A smile crept over his face as he whispered to himself, "finally" as if he had manifested this day for himself. Clarity caught him and he ran outside to look into the sky, laughing and shouting, "Finally!". Ryer had hoped this day would occur in his lifetime since childhood. And he saw nothing.
Panic ensued as parties raged. Those who were interested were now elated. Those who were skeptical, now fearful. Mass runs on resources in futile attempt to prepare for perceived Armageddon were ubiquitous. First gas station lines and then "No Gas here" signs. The isles of the groceries were completely empty. However more concerning than that was the looting of every gun or ammunition from any available retailer. Law enforcement, dumbfounded themselves, were delayed by the gravity of the situation. While the militaries of every capable nation hopelessly trained their missiles on our invisible guest.
Despite their esoteric knowledge of this possibility, the religious leaders scrambled to incorporate this event into the paradigms they had been selling for centuries. To maintain control, fear of God, and order. But the people knew, and they knew it as well. This changes everything. All the violence and dogma over which prophet knows the correct road to Awe dissolved in the realization that we are not alone. That there is more to know and we, likely, know nothing.
The message was peaceful but its implication was nothing of the sort. "They are asking us for help" Laurie said nervously, putting a positive spin on a tense situation, as Mothers will. "They are asking for mercinaries!", the excitement in Ryer's voice as clear as the alien message. He envisioned himself in a great hall, or a high school cafeteria, signing up to join whatever cause it was. He saw himself in the still unseen alien ship, holding an alien weapon. He walked the surface of alien landscapes, in alien space suits, all designed in his own mind.
The nations of the world conceded the honor to the country with the greatest penchant for war and weaponry, The United States of America. At first the top brass was unsure of how to do so, but the second there was an affirmative to hear the celestial foreigners out, they unveiled their ships. Thousands of them, massive and glowing spheres and their accompanying vessels littered our view of space and sky. They were listening to the entirety of all words spoken in audience of electronics, the same electronics the message had come from. Every dinner table discussion next to a radio, and every option or consideration available to the President.
A singular ship descended to a mile north of the White House, with surface to air missiles trained on the ship, the roar of fighter jets continuously passing overhead and the incessant whirl of armed helicopters, a beam hit the great lawn and an almost transparent, naked, human like creature descended from the ship
|
|
[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
|
They were beautiful, really.
Evolving on a world completely covered by ocean , they were aquatic rather than terrestrial. Soft, translucent skin revealed a brain 10 times larger than what the human skull could accommodate. Feathered tentacles spread out like wings, feelers detecting the temperature and air composition of the environment.
Technology and biology were fused in various locations, glowing with electrical and bio luminescence. While unable to compete with humanity on land, they seemed to dance in the 0 g environment. Their voices were like whale song, but softer and rapidly shifting in tone.
The official designation was Atlanteans but the troopers had taken to calling them Kalimaries. It had been months since first contact had been established.
Humanity had become hired muscle in exchange for a free ticket off our dieing planet and a tech evolution kick-start of a few millennium. Currently, world leaders were fleshing out the finer details of the deal.
"*Yes. Like folding. Folding space, reach destination.*"
The Commander scratched his chin.
"So, what happens on the other end?"
The blue, gelatinous Kali quivers.
"*Massive disbursement of energy. Potential danger. Confirm a coordinate is empty, send scouts to ensure power of a fleet warp does not destroy.*"
"What if a coordinate isn't empty? What if you warp into a planet?"
More quivering.
"*We do not know. The warp engine is... locomotion. Going into planet... contrary to this goal.*"
"Do the ships need to be piloted?"
"*No. Lower function machine intelligence can make necessary calculations.*"
The Commander looks out one of the massive glass windows that typically covered Kali vessels. Outside, a space ship dubbed "The Fish Bowl" was maintaining a respectful orbit away from Earth. Mostly due to being larger than it.
"Yeah... yeah I think we can help you out."
|
His jaw dropped. A smile crept over his face as he whispered to himself, "finally" as if he had manifested this day for himself. Clarity caught him and he ran outside to look into the sky, laughing and shouting, "Finally!". Ryer had hoped this day would occur in his lifetime since childhood. And he saw nothing.
Panic ensued as parties raged. Those who were interested were now elated. Those who were skeptical, now fearful. Mass runs on resources in futile attempt to prepare for perceived Armageddon were ubiquitous. First gas station lines and then "No Gas here" signs. The isles of the groceries were completely empty. However more concerning than that was the looting of every gun or ammunition from any available retailer. Law enforcement, dumbfounded themselves, were delayed by the gravity of the situation. While the militaries of every capable nation hopelessly trained their missiles on our invisible guest.
Despite their esoteric knowledge of this possibility, the religious leaders scrambled to incorporate this event into the paradigms they had been selling for centuries. To maintain control, fear of God, and order. But the people knew, and they knew it as well. This changes everything. All the violence and dogma over which prophet knows the correct road to Awe dissolved in the realization that we are not alone. That there is more to know and we, likely, know nothing.
The message was peaceful but its implication was nothing of the sort. "They are asking us for help" Laurie said nervously, putting a positive spin on a tense situation, as Mothers will. "They are asking for mercinaries!", the excitement in Ryer's voice as clear as the alien message. He envisioned himself in a great hall, or a high school cafeteria, signing up to join whatever cause it was. He saw himself in the still unseen alien ship, holding an alien weapon. He walked the surface of alien landscapes, in alien space suits, all designed in his own mind.
The nations of the world conceded the honor to the country with the greatest penchant for war and weaponry, The United States of America. At first the top brass was unsure of how to do so, but the second there was an affirmative to hear the celestial foreigners out, they unveiled their ships. Thousands of them, massive and glowing spheres and their accompanying vessels littered our view of space and sky. They were listening to the entirety of all words spoken in audience of electronics, the same electronics the message had come from. Every dinner table discussion next to a radio, and every option or consideration available to the President.
A singular ship descended to a mile north of the White House, with surface to air missiles trained on the ship, the roar of fighter jets continuously passing overhead and the incessant whirl of armed helicopters, a beam hit the great lawn and an almost transparent, naked, human like creature descended from the ship
|
|
[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
|
In 2056 NASA intercepted a frequency that was not of Earth. With its point of origin unknown they began to study it in an attempt to discover from whence it came. As it was studied it became known as the whoa signal, mockingly after the famous "wow!" signal of 1977 which was deemed the echo of a supernova, for unlike its now disregarded counterpart this was of no supernova. NASA discovered the signal was encrypted like nothing they had ever dreamed of; the discovery of the encryption itself set technology hundreds of years ahead of where it once was. It sparked the golden age of exploration in our solar system; Ceres, Vesta, Hektor, Thisbe, Diotina, Fortuna were among many asteroids in the asteroid belt that were to be mined and inhabited; the once failed colonization of Mars was reattempted and achieved, Europa of Jupiter, Titan of Saturn and Triton of Neptune all were to be colonized and inhabited; Man had even reached as far as the Oort Cloud in the outer reaches of our solar system as early as 2096. The resulting abundance of precious metals and resources brought an unprecedented rate of accessibility to ships and technology to even the poorest regions of Earth. Humanity had finally reached the Space Age. Yet NASA, now the Global Space Agency (GSA), had yet to break the encryption which alone set Humanity so far into the future.
By the year 2110, 54 years after the discovery of the "Whoa" signal, the GSA had finally broken the code. What they discovered was an archive of information of an Alien civilization on the other side of the Galaxy. As far as the GSA could determine it was a nameless race whose home planet was destroyed by its star going supernova and the whereabouts and status of the remainder of it was unknown. Along with the fate of its planet the GSA discovered archives of military weapons and schematics of Dreadnoughts and space stations for war and inhabitancy. Evidence of other races of similar military might to The Nameless, as the mysterious civilization was now called, were also discovered. The GSA feared the discovery of its solar system by a hostile Alien race and so they began its military research and development of its unstoppable war machines in secret.
Fast forward to the year 2150. Its been one hundred years since the Whoa signal and humanity has evolved exponentially and with it has come conflict. Mars has rebelled for independence against Earth, the fight for independence of Titan soon follows but neither without bloodshed. Both have rebelled against Earths GSA forces in an attempt to overthrow their Military might and furthermore are yet top discover the source of the GSA's power being from the seemingly endless abundance of information from the archive within the whoa signal. But all came to a halt on June 7th, 2150 when an unidentified Armada of hundreds of vessels appeared just out side of the Oort Cloud. Martian and Titinian forces gathered to apprehend what they believed to be a GSA ambush when hundreds of Dreadnoughts and Frigates and cruisers of the unidentified armada suddenly vanished and reappeared between the orbit of Mars and Earth. The forces of Mars and Titan both concluded GSA could not possibly possess warp drive capabilities as they re-positioned to intercept the Armada which was now so alarmingly close to Mars and Earth. Without notice however all comm's suddenly became cluttered with static then fell silent followed by steady rhythmic tapping. Admiral Oscar Austerlitz of the Martian Republic Flagship Phobos realized that what they were hearing was mores code. Running over to the comm station the Admiral ordered that the code be deciphered by one of the officers next to him. The officer listened and translated as ordered; the officer began to grow more and more pail with each translated word forgetting to read out the message as he finished. The officer just starred at the message on his monitor. "Well? Whats it say officer!" Barked Austerlitz. The officer hesitated for just a moment before finally reading aloud
"Inhabitants of Earth, we come in peace." the officer finally said in a calm yet distressed tone.
"What kind of silly fucking joke is this son! Do I look fucking amused to you?!" Austerlitz became increasingly red as he asked
"N-No Sir" The officer stammered once more "i-it continues sir" the Admiral, still red, motioned to tell the Officer to continue; obviously he was still not convinced. "Long have we searched for your kind, we have suffered a great deal in our search; for in all the Universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as you have. They have found our planet and seek to destroy us. We need your help." The officer slowly looked up from the monitor to see the Admiral's face almost purple now and his mustache crooked. "That is the end of the message before it repeats sir" The Admiral finally stood straight, exhaled and took a deep breath as if he was releasing a bellow of hot air.
"Make contact with Admiral Winslow I want to know if the Titanians received this too, contact me on the bridge when you do." Austerlitz quickly turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the comm's station.
"But sir all comm's are down" spoke another officer
"Just get it done!" the Admiral shouted as the door shut behind him. Shortly after the message ceased and all comm's were restored.
While stroking his long mustache Austerlitz looked out upon the Titania, Titans Flag ship, on the starboard side of the Phobos when the comm line buzzed on
"Admiral we have established contact with Admiral Winslow"
"I'll take it in the war room" Austerlitz replied. When he arrived in the war room Winslow was already on screen.
"Did you receive the message too?" Asked Austerlitz.
"Yes, unfortunately" replied Winslow
"What do you recommend?"
"I think we should contact the GSA and see what they have to say about this, they *were* addressing Earth in the message"
"They?"
"Yes - they - The messengers from beyond the Oort"
"How do we know the GSA is not behind it? This could be a trap." Austerlitz still did not seem convinced or at least did not wish to be.
"The GSA has nothing to benefit from by engaging in a massive battle so close to Earth and Mars. Slaughtering the rebellion for all of Earth to see would only make us martyrs and spark another rebellion. But you're right we don't know for sure."
"Then we will make contact with the GSA" Austerlitz pulled up another comm window ans asked over the all call station that the GSA be contacted immediately it was not long until they made contact. The third comm window came to life and so appeared Cyrus Zhukov Supreme Commander of the GSA's military.
"Ah, gentleman, what a strange turn of events that my comm's get hijacked and not to long after the two great leaders of the rebellion appear in my comm lin-"
Austerlitz finally cuts off Zhukov blurting out
"it wasn't us."
"I am aware of that Admiral, I have an armada of unmarked Warships on Earths doorstep and my scouts tell me they used a warp drive to get here. Now I know you two mongrels with your exploration era warships couldn't possibly be capable of such a thing" Winslow was barley bothered by the commanders arrogant tone but Austerlitz, just like the hot head that he is, had felt the commander struck a nerve and began to turn a feint shade of red with his mustache slightly bent now to the right. "If it were the GSA we most definitely would not have broadcast that across the entirety of Earth and Mars, that is impossible even for us. Get within range of Earth as as soon as possible. We shall send an Emissary and will brief you gentlemen when you arrive." Austerlitz finally opened his mouth to speak
"Over my dead fucking body you're going to make contact without us." His face now a very bright shade of red.
"Try and stop us" The comm window with GSA closed.
"That fucking cunt!" Austerlitz shouts as he punches the wall beside him. "Winslow! Set A course for Earth!" Austerlitz flips a switch "Navigator Set a course for Earth!"
"Ill see you there Oscar" Winslow closes the communication.
|
Ambassador Pardok wondered for the millionth time what he had done to deserve being posted on Earth. It was a shattered shell of what it once had been. Once humans had been a promising species for entrance into the Confederacy. Their largest flaw had been their violent tendencies, but they had, for a time, appeared to be getting them under control. But that was all in the past. Just a year after being granted provisional status in the Confederacy, a massive war broke out among humanity. They turned out to have far more weaponry than they had told the Confederacy. After the war, their population had been reduced by over two thirds. In the aftermath of that debacle, the Confederacy had renewed its efforts to rid itself of violence. And they had been quite successful.
Pardok was getting ready to retire for the night, but before he headed to bed, he noticed a message from the foreign affairs division of the Confederacy. It told him to inform the government of Earth that a Confederacy fleet would be entering the system in two days to open negotiations on the purchase of weaponry from humanity.
"What the hell! Why would the Confederacy need weapons?" thought Pardok.
As he set off to Earth government, Pardok wondered how the humans would receive the message. The government was still weak from the war and the population was still divided. Pardok worried that this could spark renewed fighting.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Minister Tang paced on the bridge of flagship of the Confederacy's fleet. He asked a crewman when they would be arriving, and was informed it would be 14 minutes before they arrived in the Sol system.
"Only three minutes have passed since I last asked" thought Tang. It had felt like much longer than that.
He reviewed what had happened in the last few days. The Xerach had invaded Confederacy territory in a blatant and unprovoked war of aggression. The Confederacy had been defenseless. President Darius had dispatched him with the fastest ships the Confederacy had. The fleet carried thousands of high tech goodies to entice the Humans to fork over weapons technology and perhaps some military minds.
Tang asked the crewman again for the time until arrival. He was informed there 13 minutes left. Those would be a long 13 minutes.
|
|
[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
|
In 2056 NASA intercepted a frequency that was not of Earth. With its point of origin unknown they began to study it in an attempt to discover from whence it came. As it was studied it became known as the whoa signal, mockingly after the famous "wow!" signal of 1977 which was deemed the echo of a supernova, for unlike its now disregarded counterpart this was of no supernova. NASA discovered the signal was encrypted like nothing they had ever dreamed of; the discovery of the encryption itself set technology hundreds of years ahead of where it once was. It sparked the golden age of exploration in our solar system; Ceres, Vesta, Hektor, Thisbe, Diotina, Fortuna were among many asteroids in the asteroid belt that were to be mined and inhabited; the once failed colonization of Mars was reattempted and achieved, Europa of Jupiter, Titan of Saturn and Triton of Neptune all were to be colonized and inhabited; Man had even reached as far as the Oort Cloud in the outer reaches of our solar system as early as 2096. The resulting abundance of precious metals and resources brought an unprecedented rate of accessibility to ships and technology to even the poorest regions of Earth. Humanity had finally reached the Space Age. Yet NASA, now the Global Space Agency (GSA), had yet to break the encryption which alone set Humanity so far into the future.
By the year 2110, 54 years after the discovery of the "Whoa" signal, the GSA had finally broken the code. What they discovered was an archive of information of an Alien civilization on the other side of the Galaxy. As far as the GSA could determine it was a nameless race whose home planet was destroyed by its star going supernova and the whereabouts and status of the remainder of it was unknown. Along with the fate of its planet the GSA discovered archives of military weapons and schematics of Dreadnoughts and space stations for war and inhabitancy. Evidence of other races of similar military might to The Nameless, as the mysterious civilization was now called, were also discovered. The GSA feared the discovery of its solar system by a hostile Alien race and so they began its military research and development of its unstoppable war machines in secret.
Fast forward to the year 2150. Its been one hundred years since the Whoa signal and humanity has evolved exponentially and with it has come conflict. Mars has rebelled for independence against Earth, the fight for independence of Titan soon follows but neither without bloodshed. Both have rebelled against Earths GSA forces in an attempt to overthrow their Military might and furthermore are yet top discover the source of the GSA's power being from the seemingly endless abundance of information from the archive within the whoa signal. But all came to a halt on June 7th, 2150 when an unidentified Armada of hundreds of vessels appeared just out side of the Oort Cloud. Martian and Titinian forces gathered to apprehend what they believed to be a GSA ambush when hundreds of Dreadnoughts and Frigates and cruisers of the unidentified armada suddenly vanished and reappeared between the orbit of Mars and Earth. The forces of Mars and Titan both concluded GSA could not possibly possess warp drive capabilities as they re-positioned to intercept the Armada which was now so alarmingly close to Mars and Earth. Without notice however all comm's suddenly became cluttered with static then fell silent followed by steady rhythmic tapping. Admiral Oscar Austerlitz of the Martian Republic Flagship Phobos realized that what they were hearing was mores code. Running over to the comm station the Admiral ordered that the code be deciphered by one of the officers next to him. The officer listened and translated as ordered; the officer began to grow more and more pail with each translated word forgetting to read out the message as he finished. The officer just starred at the message on his monitor. "Well? Whats it say officer!" Barked Austerlitz. The officer hesitated for just a moment before finally reading aloud
"Inhabitants of Earth, we come in peace." the officer finally said in a calm yet distressed tone.
"What kind of silly fucking joke is this son! Do I look fucking amused to you?!" Austerlitz became increasingly red as he asked
"N-No Sir" The officer stammered once more "i-it continues sir" the Admiral, still red, motioned to tell the Officer to continue; obviously he was still not convinced. "Long have we searched for your kind, we have suffered a great deal in our search; for in all the Universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as you have. They have found our planet and seek to destroy us. We need your help." The officer slowly looked up from the monitor to see the Admiral's face almost purple now and his mustache crooked. "That is the end of the message before it repeats sir" The Admiral finally stood straight, exhaled and took a deep breath as if he was releasing a bellow of hot air.
"Make contact with Admiral Winslow I want to know if the Titanians received this too, contact me on the bridge when you do." Austerlitz quickly turned on his heels and walked briskly out of the comm's station.
"But sir all comm's are down" spoke another officer
"Just get it done!" the Admiral shouted as the door shut behind him. Shortly after the message ceased and all comm's were restored.
While stroking his long mustache Austerlitz looked out upon the Titania, Titans Flag ship, on the starboard side of the Phobos when the comm line buzzed on
"Admiral we have established contact with Admiral Winslow"
"I'll take it in the war room" Austerlitz replied. When he arrived in the war room Winslow was already on screen.
"Did you receive the message too?" Asked Austerlitz.
"Yes, unfortunately" replied Winslow
"What do you recommend?"
"I think we should contact the GSA and see what they have to say about this, they *were* addressing Earth in the message"
"They?"
"Yes - they - The messengers from beyond the Oort"
"How do we know the GSA is not behind it? This could be a trap." Austerlitz still did not seem convinced or at least did not wish to be.
"The GSA has nothing to benefit from by engaging in a massive battle so close to Earth and Mars. Slaughtering the rebellion for all of Earth to see would only make us martyrs and spark another rebellion. But you're right we don't know for sure."
"Then we will make contact with the GSA" Austerlitz pulled up another comm window ans asked over the all call station that the GSA be contacted immediately it was not long until they made contact. The third comm window came to life and so appeared Cyrus Zhukov Supreme Commander of the GSA's military.
"Ah, gentleman, what a strange turn of events that my comm's get hijacked and not to long after the two great leaders of the rebellion appear in my comm lin-"
Austerlitz finally cuts off Zhukov blurting out
"it wasn't us."
"I am aware of that Admiral, I have an armada of unmarked Warships on Earths doorstep and my scouts tell me they used a warp drive to get here. Now I know you two mongrels with your exploration era warships couldn't possibly be capable of such a thing" Winslow was barley bothered by the commanders arrogant tone but Austerlitz, just like the hot head that he is, had felt the commander struck a nerve and began to turn a feint shade of red with his mustache slightly bent now to the right. "If it were the GSA we most definitely would not have broadcast that across the entirety of Earth and Mars, that is impossible even for us. Get within range of Earth as as soon as possible. We shall send an Emissary and will brief you gentlemen when you arrive." Austerlitz finally opened his mouth to speak
"Over my dead fucking body you're going to make contact without us." His face now a very bright shade of red.
"Try and stop us" The comm window with GSA closed.
"That fucking cunt!" Austerlitz shouts as he punches the wall beside him. "Winslow! Set A course for Earth!" Austerlitz flips a switch "Navigator Set a course for Earth!"
"Ill see you there Oscar" Winslow closes the communication.
|
The representatives stood in their chamber. The were discussing the vessel from the outer rim, *their territory*, approaching the center while transmitting peace and trade signals given to *them* during first contact. And when the communication ministry said signals, they meant copies of every single non-violent signal that *they* had received. Maybe it was a trap, maybe they intended to announce what they have in plans for us, maybe a demand for surrender?
After all, *they* challenged the entire might of the Galactic Community within a femta-galactic rotation, and they annihilated the first two armies sent to stop them, and every reserve the GC had to offer.
The GC’s respond to these stings of defeat was to pull back from that entire arm, while placing warp disruptors on various asteroids and moons. It would hopefully slow down *them* long enough for a real army to be build, and not just the glorified police force that had been the standing army for the GC for generations. This delaying tactic seems to have worked. Not a sign of them have been seen for half a femta-galactic rotation.
But this ship, *theirs* by design and signal, approach herald a new war, since if one ship have made it through, their fleet could too. This is what have made everyone so agitated and rash. Heck, out of fear for a virus or cyber attack it have been banned to establish or receive anything more that scatter from their ship, another reason we have no idea what they intend.
Oh well their intention should be revealed soon, contact is expected to be made any moment now. Far from anything *their* ship was intercepted by one of ours. Onboard should be an admiral of the newly formed Community Fleet, and powerful transmitters and receivers to both the Galactic Information Center and here, the combined representatives chamber filled like never before by at least four representatives from each race in The Community.
The admiral is only supposed to be the receiver, and the real talk will be between an already elected spokesman of the GC, though input from a major race can be made during the talks, and *their* representative.
The holo come to life, revealing a creature that, if the propaganda is to be believed, is more beast that sentient. Of course no one knows this specific being, but their race is quite recognizable, what with the outer skeleton and all. The representative readies to begin his introduction speech, knowing that nearly every menter for the CG is watching.
*Greeting, I am the chosen first spokes member during this debate. Your ship have been signalling many peace signals, signals they your race have previously used for ambushes, and entered our de jure space. Your race*
He got interrupted by *it*
*Yes I understand my races crimes, and yes we have done many things wrong. But should the actions of our *then* leaders condemn our entire race? If one member of your community get revealed for being a fraud or corrupt, do you condemn their entire race for being greedy? Or do you punish the single individual for their crimes! Please, when first contact to us was established you claimed that you represent the galaxy though peace and tolerance! So can you look through your righteous hate for our former leaders, and please listen to our plea?*
This was unprecedented. Former leaders? Since when? Please and pleas? They have and would never! And playing on our initial contact for all that it is worth. They want something, and they are ready to beg on their knees for it. Do they want forgiveness?
*Your might have been proven, you, despite your initial laughable attempts and naivety, have show greater ferocity and destruction than we have ever experienced. Your cynical views of life, your hate for progress not serving yourself and your disregard of honor and decency surprised us all. We have now fought a long a drawn out struggle, but after the destruction of the system you named Xicios_4523, we have realised how outmatched we are. So we beg of you, show mercy to the innocent, call back your warriors, and accept our surrender.*
This sounded nothing like the community. Nothing of it makes sense. If anything we suffered a terrible but quick defeat at the hands of them, not a drawn out war like what was described. And Xicios_4523 was a perfectly fine colonisable system, what could have happened to it? Nothing makes any sense. The chosen representatives voice what we were all wondering.
*Please, explain more clearly your troubles, since your words does not match our memory of the war. From the beginning please, after contact was lost.*
*Huh? But why ask this… no matter i will tell. After you fle, made a tactical retreat our leaders used quite a bit of resources on clearing your annoying no-warp zone. It was hard since we had to spend much time using propulsion systems to get near the emitters, truly an effective slower but that’s not the point. While this went on as fast as possible colonisation was made. Especially Xicios_4523 was a popular center since its strategic location and nature made it a flourishing commute center and sprawling with civilian life.*
*Enough, around talk, what happened?* The chosen representative is getting agitated, but so are we all.
*Right, right. We made it two thirds through your field, at the time we know not for how long it would go on, when we met those we call tri-eyed. Because their eyes are white on the outer rim, black in the middle, and various colours in the area between the two shades. The tri-eyed was armed with some of the ships and systems we recognised from our war with you. But they were different, regardless we attacked. But when we made it close to their home planet, we intended to colonize it since the habitat was quite good, their ambush sprung. Favouring kinetic weapons, fired from explosive cannons, their shots shredded our ships cannons and engines.
Then they boarded our ships, they killed every soldier and colonist onboard with close up kinetic weapons and knives. Knives haven’t been seen in war since before we achieved plasmatic weapons. But they mastered it, and they stole our ships. We made mistakes in the beginning, reckless with our ships so they ended up highjacking more than we shot. But by the time we realised our mistake and rerouted all strength on their single planet, it wasn’t enough. And so the greatest war we’ve ever witnessed, maybe the greatest this galaxy ever have, started. Between a single system minor, and an empire that could challenge the entire galaxy and come out on top.
Their tactics was as foreign to us, as we imagine ours was to yours initially. The brutality they used was incredible, whenever we captured them, they fought till the last, and their last bullet was always for themselves. They did not shy away from hitting civilian targets. Remember Xicios_4523, the commute hub and sprawling civilian colony? The tri-eyes, after scrapping them of value, sent our hijacked ships back at Xicios_4523 at full warp speed. Not even slowing down when nearing the planet, thus turning the ships into several asteroids. Killing eleven billion members of our race, only 300.000 million of them was soldiers, and of those the far majority was news and reserves. When we captured a member of their race alive we asked why, he responded; “It was important to you… your home planted is important to you right?”
This is but a few of the crimes committed against us, these devils, demons and beast have shown us what true war is. And we surrender, so I am here to beg of you, call them back, since their only respond to pease offers is; “A great member of our race once said; If you stop hitting them before you know they will never recover enough to retaliate, you’re doing it wrong.” Please make them stop!*
Silence ensued until the chosen asked what was on our minds. *Does anyone know what the ambassador is talking about?* Said ambassador looked surprised and crushed at these words.
More silence until a voice from the other line of the connection asked. *These tri-eyes, do they call themselves humans and do their home systems have four inter terra planets and four gas giants?* The admiral as it turns out asked.
*Yes, that is exactly them! You must stop them!*
The chosen representative ask the admiral, who is now also in view. *How do you know of these humans, when we do not?*
*Ehh… You know how I got this rank right? It was because I lead the retreat, and disruptor operations. Half way though the job I got another, slightly illegal idea to hold back the enemy. I made contact to pre plasmatic race's and gave them a copy of The Encyclopedia, plus a few old ships that was slowing down the disrupter operation. These humans are one of those races. But I knew not it would get this bad, I only warned them of your threat, and every other truth they asked for. I don’t control them or their actions, heck because if the illegality I didn’t write it down and honestly forgot about them until now.*
The ambassador was crushed by the revelation.
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[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help."
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They were beautiful, really.
Evolving on a world completely covered by ocean , they were aquatic rather than terrestrial. Soft, translucent skin revealed a brain 10 times larger than what the human skull could accommodate. Feathered tentacles spread out like wings, feelers detecting the temperature and air composition of the environment.
Technology and biology were fused in various locations, glowing with electrical and bio luminescence. While unable to compete with humanity on land, they seemed to dance in the 0 g environment. Their voices were like whale song, but softer and rapidly shifting in tone.
The official designation was Atlanteans but the troopers had taken to calling them Kalimaries. It had been months since first contact had been established.
Humanity had become hired muscle in exchange for a free ticket off our dieing planet and a tech evolution kick-start of a few millennium. Currently, world leaders were fleshing out the finer details of the deal.
"*Yes. Like folding. Folding space, reach destination.*"
The Commander scratched his chin.
"So, what happens on the other end?"
The blue, gelatinous Kali quivers.
"*Massive disbursement of energy. Potential danger. Confirm a coordinate is empty, send scouts to ensure power of a fleet warp does not destroy.*"
"What if a coordinate isn't empty? What if you warp into a planet?"
More quivering.
"*We do not know. The warp engine is... locomotion. Going into planet... contrary to this goal.*"
"Do the ships need to be piloted?"
"*No. Lower function machine intelligence can make necessary calculations.*"
The Commander looks out one of the massive glass windows that typically covered Kali vessels. Outside, a space ship dubbed "The Fish Bowl" was maintaining a respectful orbit away from Earth. Mostly due to being larger than it.
"Yeah... yeah I think we can help you out."
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Meanwhile in a Secret Room with 8 mysterious men seated around a table:
Man 1: Gentlemen, It seems we have extraterrestrial life forms in our midst.
Man 2: Well well, I smell an opportunity. While we have profited from selling weapons to the US military, ISIS, the Saudis and other groups we can give the aliens our "welcome" and hopefully learn about their technology and weaponize it.
Man 3: Isn't that absurd your suggesting something like Star Wars .
Man 4: I must say our world is running out of space and resources. If we are to survive we must expand to other planets.
Man 5: Well then may I suggest that we need to make up a story that aliens are lying about "coming in peace" and start a "false flag operation" and blame the aliens.
Man 3: I have to agree with you sir. With enough propaganda, we can justify our attacks against aliens.
Man 6: An interstellar empire. Brilliant, I must develop the ideology of human supremacy. After all, I find racism, sexism, and other -ism getting old. Besides we can finally achieve what humanity wanted: equality among humans. But since it's natural for humans to hate, we can have them hate the aliens.
Man 7: Ah yes another way to gain cheap labour and profits. With alien slave labour we can have them mine minerals in other worlds.
Man 8: Plus, we can have them as agricultural laborers.
Man 1: Well Gentlemen, today herald a new era. Let's all cast away our differences and bring about a new age for humanity.
All: Human Power!
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