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[WP] A man releases an evil genie, bent on corrupting his wishes. However, the man's wishes are so boring and mundane, the evil genie struggles to twist them.
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John had run through this scenario in his head so many times. Uncorruptable wishes, that was the key, make everything specific, ironed out. But damn, his genie was kinda pushy.
"Mortal, state your wish, this world of yours disgusts me and I wish to return to my native plane of existence."
John looked at him, getting irritated. Why does an immortal being with infinite life care about spending a few extra minutes here? Isn't this his job?
"I wish you knew what it was like to work a retail job."
"You... you what? You can't be serious."
The genie was forced to obey, his mind was suddenly filled with implanted memories of horrible customers, poor treatment by management, inability to negotiate reasonable hours or pay.
"You worthless creature, I hope your finite life is filled with pain and misery, state your second wish, let this be over with."
John was really getting sick of the Genie's shit. Was it worth wasting his wishes on making the genie's life worse?
"I wish my genie wasn't such a dick."
"You arrogant litt-" the genie grumbled. He couldn't twist this, could he? What did it mean to be "Such a dick?" He couldn't be less of a penis could he? But the alternate interpretation is to take it as the colloquial slang and be forced to be nice to this scum of a human. The easiest of the routes to take.
He seethed internally while giving a flatly fake and blissless reply.
"Your wish is my command. What else can I do for you?" the genie spoke through gritted teeth.
"Wish your mouth tastes like butthole." the genie's eyes bugged out of his head with anger as a foul taste filled his mouth, he could feel himself being pulled back into the lamp as the final wish sealed the pact.
"If I'm every freed of this prison you'll paayyyyyyy!!!" the genie howled as he was sucked inside the lamp and and disappeared.
John pushed up his glasses, stroked his neck beard and went to write about his experience on reddit.
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“I am the Grand Genie Beryl, most feared and envied of all my kind. I’ve brought ruin to civilizations and untold horrors the likes of which you can’t imagine. Tell me, master, how may I exact your vengeance? You have three wishes.”
“Actually, I wish for a vanilla milkshake,” Hector replied to the genie.
“Seriously?” the genie groaned, then wiggles her fingers. In an instant the milkshake appeared on the table before him. “You know, I could take over this pathetic excuse of a country for you, if you wanted. You have but to ask.”
“Nope, I’m good with this,” Hector said while reaching for the milkshake. Tilting the large glass up to his mouth, he missed the quick twinkle in the genie’s eye. He took a big swig then coughed, choking on the liquid.
Beryl let out a wicked laugh. Watching her master sputter to expel the foul liquid, she cackled away at his displeasure.
Regaining his composure, Hector slammed the glass back onto the table. “How could you ... this is made from sour milk!”
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[WP] A man releases an evil genie, bent on corrupting his wishes. However, the man's wishes are so boring and mundane, the evil genie struggles to twist them.
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A Pizza? Could that human Jeb be so stupid as not to realize what the wishes truly meant? How much power he had at his disposal?
The genie was about to conjure a soggy pineapple pizza for this sucker, but stopped and reconsidered. A Test! Of course - a test! The human was just testing him. Testing if he would corrupt the wishes, before going for the big stuff. Smart little fucker.
Very well, this was a dance, he had danced before. "Of course master. Thy wish is my command!" he bellowed and conjured that pimpled boggerface a pizza so exquisite, so perfectly crisp it would have made the greatest pizza chefs in the world cry over their own incompetence.
"What is your second wish, master?" He had even stepped up the servility in his voice a notch. Did the mortal trust him now? Would there be a second test? Or maybe he would go for the prize now, and keep the last wish as a backup?
"And a coke"
So there was a second test. He would really enjoy, twisting this worms dearest desire into a foul nightmare. Jeb would suffer dearly. Was it the love of a girl he craved? She might prove to be more than he could handle. Wealth? The mafia never took it kindly, if someone explained to them *but a genie just gave me that big bag of money. It can't be your's*. Power? Fame? He almost chuckled while thinking of the possibilities, but managed to keep a straight, friendly face.
"Thy wish is my command!"
A can of Coca Cola appeared. The temperature perfect, condensation glistening on it's surface. It had been a struggle for him, not to make it Diet at least shake it, but that might have given away his true intentions.
"Now for your final wish, master!"
The genie felt almost giddy with the anticipation. He would show this chewing gum under ones sole kind of person, what happened to people, that dared to enrage a genie. He could see him thinking, could almost hear the gears in his tiny head turning. A smart ass, trying to make his wish foolproof. Better men than him had failed at that. He would crush him, he would...
Then Jeb spoke: "Nah, I'm good. Why don't you get another pizza for yourself to eat?"
Nooooo! How could the mortal have known? That cruelty! He could forego twisting the first and second wish, but never the third. That was the iron law of the genie. A law that must not be broken. He bowed his head and sullenly said "Your wish is my command!", before conjuring an oily, lukewarm pineapple pizza for himself.
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“I am the Grand Genie Beryl, most feared and envied of all my kind. I’ve brought ruin to civilizations and untold horrors the likes of which you can’t imagine. Tell me, master, how may I exact your vengeance? You have three wishes.”
“Actually, I wish for a vanilla milkshake,” Hector replied to the genie.
“Seriously?” the genie groaned, then wiggles her fingers. In an instant the milkshake appeared on the table before him. “You know, I could take over this pathetic excuse of a country for you, if you wanted. You have but to ask.”
“Nope, I’m good with this,” Hector said while reaching for the milkshake. Tilting the large glass up to his mouth, he missed the quick twinkle in the genie’s eye. He took a big swig then coughed, choking on the liquid.
Beryl let out a wicked laugh. Watching her master sputter to expel the foul liquid, she cackled away at his displeasure.
Regaining his composure, Hector slammed the glass back onto the table. “How could you ... this is made from sour milk!”
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[WP] A man releases an evil genie, bent on corrupting his wishes. However, the man's wishes are so boring and mundane, the evil genie struggles to twist them.
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The beep of the machine notified the world that life still rang through his body. He was so fragile there. A machine to help him for most of his functions hummed quietly in the corner. It was perfect, the need in his wishes would turn to anger and then he would lash out all on his own.
"You have summoned me, The Great Djinni Balfomur, you have three wishes to twist the world to your will. Be careful Not all deeds can be undone" I bellowed, my crimson-purple smoke swirled in the air framing my impressive blue physique.
"Three wishes? I don't know that I want that many things" The man said, "Surely that would be a bother to you. One or two would be just fine." He wheezed softly at the effort he had exerted just now, trying to settle himself quietly.
He was testing me, had to be. No one chained to a bed wanted to stay there. Humans craved experiences and he was being starved of that. He wasn't scared or astonished by me at all not phased in the slightest. He just sat there with the lamp that his brother left him, he had died the previous week and left him all he had.
"With a few words you could walk out of this hospital, immortality would not be out of the question" I tempted. I had a perfect twist for immortality if he ever unwound the healing part. He would be instrument spreading the corruption I wished everywhere he went.
"No, I don't think I could, Margret is waiting for me you know" He smiled and after a pause continued "Only one like that they ever made. Plus it would take more than magic to get me off this bed. Unless ... is death magic?"
"Not specifically. Margret could come back to you, I could make that happen"
"No she is at rest. I'm closer to her now then she is to me, I'll see her soon. She would probably be mad I made her travel. She hated travel you know but loved the destination" He murmured
"Enough make your wishes and be done." A sense of urgency can make someone trip up their wording hopefully into a perfect opportunity.
"Oh right You do have a job to do don't you. Do I have to say I wish or..." He inhaled " I suppose, no, I wish, sorry, that the, uh you would close the blinds on that window the uh so the sunlight is not shining in my eyes"
I paused. He was inadvertently specific I could not see any way to twist this one. I closed the shades in a way that they would not open again the would need to be removed the cost of running the hospital would raise by an insignificant amount.
"Your wish has been granted by Balfomur The Great. What is your next wish?"
"I do get three don't I. So two more. I regret that my daughter and I grew apart. We only seem to have silence between us, I tried to reach out but I forget things so often now."
"The great Balfomur could make you her best friend she would spend all her time with you." this was worded to make her die when he did. This might work.
"Oh she is busy I know with my grandchild you know. I have not met her yet. Oh I know I wish you would tell me her name please?"
He wasn't tricking me into a false sense of security. he was prepared for death. He was just didn't understand the scope of what was offered to him or didn't care.
"Cynthia Ann Timper" I said "This will be your last wish use it wisely you will get no further wishes."
"That's fine I wish for a corn beef sandwich" He beamed "don't go through to much trouble though"
The sandwich landed with a plop on top of a plate nearby him. I was done not all endeavors help you with your goals but this especially was disheartening. All I could do to this man is make his window not open anymore and but too much mustard on a sandwich I was positive he couldn't eat anyway.
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“I am the Grand Genie Beryl, most feared and envied of all my kind. I’ve brought ruin to civilizations and untold horrors the likes of which you can’t imagine. Tell me, master, how may I exact your vengeance? You have three wishes.”
“Actually, I wish for a vanilla milkshake,” Hector replied to the genie.
“Seriously?” the genie groaned, then wiggles her fingers. In an instant the milkshake appeared on the table before him. “You know, I could take over this pathetic excuse of a country for you, if you wanted. You have but to ask.”
“Nope, I’m good with this,” Hector said while reaching for the milkshake. Tilting the large glass up to his mouth, he missed the quick twinkle in the genie’s eye. He took a big swig then coughed, choking on the liquid.
Beryl let out a wicked laugh. Watching her master sputter to expel the foul liquid, she cackled away at his displeasure.
Regaining his composure, Hector slammed the glass back onto the table. “How could you ... this is made from sour milk!”
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[WP] A man releases an evil genie, bent on corrupting his wishes. However, the man's wishes are so boring and mundane, the evil genie struggles to twist them.
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John had run through this scenario in his head so many times. Uncorruptable wishes, that was the key, make everything specific, ironed out. But damn, his genie was kinda pushy.
"Mortal, state your wish, this world of yours disgusts me and I wish to return to my native plane of existence."
John looked at him, getting irritated. Why does an immortal being with infinite life care about spending a few extra minutes here? Isn't this his job?
"I wish you knew what it was like to work a retail job."
"You... you what? You can't be serious."
The genie was forced to obey, his mind was suddenly filled with implanted memories of horrible customers, poor treatment by management, inability to negotiate reasonable hours or pay.
"You worthless creature, I hope your finite life is filled with pain and misery, state your second wish, let this be over with."
John was really getting sick of the Genie's shit. Was it worth wasting his wishes on making the genie's life worse?
"I wish my genie wasn't such a dick."
"You arrogant litt-" the genie grumbled. He couldn't twist this, could he? What did it mean to be "Such a dick?" He couldn't be less of a penis could he? But the alternate interpretation is to take it as the colloquial slang and be forced to be nice to this scum of a human. The easiest of the routes to take.
He seethed internally while giving a flatly fake and blissless reply.
"Your wish is my command. What else can I do for you?" the genie spoke through gritted teeth.
"Wish your mouth tastes like butthole." the genie's eyes bugged out of his head with anger as a foul taste filled his mouth, he could feel himself being pulled back into the lamp as the final wish sealed the pact.
"If I'm every freed of this prison you'll paayyyyyyy!!!" the genie howled as he was sucked inside the lamp and and disappeared.
John pushed up his glasses, stroked his neck beard and went to write about his experience on reddit.
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"I wish my legs aren't tired" I say, considering I had walked a while before finding this lamp. I then watched the genie look at me confused and stared at my face to face as if he looked at a person that either went mad or so stupid to wish for such a thing.
"Are you sure?" He said confused. It was a great joy seeing this being's confused expression and hopes of its own joy disappearing as he was unable to find a way to twist my words. I had read about genies and how they trick the foolish into their game, and I shall not be another fool.
"Yes" I say with a grin. He breathes a sigh of defeat, knowing that he cannot do anything but do as I wish. He snaps its fingers and, I felt something starting from my toes, and as if diving into a frozen river feet first I felt the rush as the magic rejuvenated my legs, feeling ready to run as far as the horizon."There your legs are now ready for anything" Not a bad first wish I thought to myself.
"What is your next wish?" He said with a voice that was like a grand-master asking a new player to a game of chess. I know that though I can fall into great ruin I may miss the opportunity of having a wish, a real wish something that is legendary. I think about the risks of doing something big but opt out for something more practical. Then it came to me, "I wish that I will never get confused, dizzy, or any ailment of the sort!"
The genie now smiles with a grin having thought of a way to annoy me. It snaps its fingers and my mind feels clear as if I had woken up bright and ready for what is ahead."You are now able to think clearly forever, but the effects of alcohol will never bother you" it said. Ha I thought to myself, "I don't drink" I say, and it loses it's grin.
"Alright then, what is your final wish?". I thought for a while contemplating my options that are safe yet useful in a way. I finally thought of one "I wish for you to never grant another wish" I said knowing that my deed will save other foolish people that will encounter this being. It is angered but snaps it's fingers and disappears leaving a blue smoke in it's wake.
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[WP] After zombie outbreaks, a cure for zombie virus has been developed and zombies got turned back to people. The problem is, they remember everything they’ve done when they were zombie.
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Alice opened the front door with such finesse that it barely made a noise. However, the soft clap of her crutches hitting the wood floors scatted across the foyer.
“Where have you been?” I called out from the living room, “Your curfew is at midnight and it is now a quarter past one.” She arched her crutches toward the doorway, her long honey colored hair was illuminated by the solitary table lamp.
“I was out with my friends” she snorted. Over the past year, I saw her transform from a sweet young lady to a brash and disrespectful teenager.
“That’s no excuse, and you know it, Alice.” My voice thickened as a rose to meet her at the entrance of the room. “You need to show a little bit of respect to your father and me and be home when we tell you to be home.”
“I’ll stay out however late I want to stay out, Mom” she scoffed as she turned away from me and toward the stairs. I watched as she maneuvered her crutches up the steps, her left leg missing from below the knee.
“Oh no you won’t! You’re grounded, missy!” I shouted mutedly in order not to wake my husband who was still recovering from treatment upstairs.
“You can’t ground me” Alice said as she reached the landing, “In case you forgot, you ate my leg six months ago. What right do you think you have to tell me what to do anymore.”
She hobbled to her bedroom and slammed the door. I exhaled as I returned to the couch and adjusted the bandages on my face. Only another week of recovery before my reconstructive surgery of my formerly rotted flesh would be complete.
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The scariest part was having no control. I wandered that wasteland for what seemed like decades. With no real purpose other than to satisfy the immense and unquenchable hunger buried deep within me. Always angry, always tired and always, always hungry. That is what I remember most of all. The pure bloodlust brought me to a hell on earth that I never want to experience ever again. If I feel myself turning again, I'll kill myself...and I'll do it right this time.
Edit: reframed a sentence.
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[WP] After zombie outbreaks, a cure for zombie virus has been developed and zombies got turned back to people. The problem is, they remember everything they’ve done when they were zombie.
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Alice opened the front door with such finesse that it barely made a noise. However, the soft clap of her crutches hitting the wood floors scatted across the foyer.
“Where have you been?” I called out from the living room, “Your curfew is at midnight and it is now a quarter past one.” She arched her crutches toward the doorway, her long honey colored hair was illuminated by the solitary table lamp.
“I was out with my friends” she snorted. Over the past year, I saw her transform from a sweet young lady to a brash and disrespectful teenager.
“That’s no excuse, and you know it, Alice.” My voice thickened as a rose to meet her at the entrance of the room. “You need to show a little bit of respect to your father and me and be home when we tell you to be home.”
“I’ll stay out however late I want to stay out, Mom” she scoffed as she turned away from me and toward the stairs. I watched as she maneuvered her crutches up the steps, her left leg missing from below the knee.
“Oh no you won’t! You’re grounded, missy!” I shouted mutedly in order not to wake my husband who was still recovering from treatment upstairs.
“You can’t ground me” Alice said as she reached the landing, “In case you forgot, you ate my leg six months ago. What right do you think you have to tell me what to do anymore.”
She hobbled to her bedroom and slammed the door. I exhaled as I returned to the couch and adjusted the bandages on my face. Only another week of recovery before my reconstructive surgery of my formerly rotted flesh would be complete.
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Jerry burst into his house grinning from ear to ear, dashing across the living room, practically dancing as he set down his keys and brief case.
"Why are you so happy?" asked his wife Katrya.
"Business is through the roof! Another client came in today, desperate, practically begging for my help. I could have trippled my hourly rate!"
"I don't understand," said Katrya
"The zombie cure! Everyone is back to normal, but no one anticipated the psychological burden of having been a zombie! They did terrible things, Katrya. Normal, middle-class men and women, fathers, mothers, teachers—they murdered... they maimed... Mrs. Patrarkis, the church lady down the street, ate two people! How do they now look themselves in the mirror each morning? They can't shake the memories; they can't sleep; their psychological health has been shattered!"
"And you're happy about this?"
"YES! It means that my business is booming. My therapy practice has never seen such demand. I am rich, Katrya! Next week, I'm going to tripple my hourly rate, and for the really devastated, I may charge even more," said Jerry, a look of avarice clouding over his eyes.
Katrya stared stunned, and then uttered: "You're a monster!"
"Maybe so, but you married me. Don't you look at me with disapproval! Don't forget what I've done for you Kat, and your mother. I brought you from Ukrain, paid off her debts. She lives happily there now, in her new home, without fear of those bookies. How do you think your life would be if I hadn't purchased you, Kat? You two would still be living in that lice-ridden hovel, with the rats, looking over your shoulds for a burly, leather-jacketed, big knuckled man who strangles people with his gold chain. Don't forget what I've done for you!"
Jerry propped his feet on the coffee table and turned on the TV, now completely oblivious of the woman he had just castigated. Katrya held her words, her indignant disapproval transforming into sullen acceptance, and she quitted into the kitchen.
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[WP] Write a story about a problem with the main characters enacting a complex plan to fix it, but have a glaringly obvious solution shine through the entire story.
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My coffee was hot and strong, the third one this morning so I was wired. Usually took at least three to get me into gear each morning. My crew knew not to bother me for that first hour of the shift while I put my head on straight. That’s why the knock on the office door was so unwelcome. I’d only been at work for 45 minutes and they were already bugging me. I ignored it, but they didn’t go away, the second knock was quickly followed by a click as the door opened. It was Jones, of course it was Jones.
“We got a problem”.
Jones always had a problem, and he always thought his problems were “ours”.
“Then fix it Jones, I’m still planning for the day”.
Jones looked around my office, probably thought my feet on the desk and the T.V. Running meant I wasn’t really doing anything. Screw him, he has no idea what the assistant shift managers job was all about. I could tell he wanted to say something else and he soon did.
“It’s a serious one Carl, the machine is stuck again”.
Oh crap, not good, and this early in the shift. But I know why they come to me. I’m management, the assistant shift manager. Longest serving in the company. All the other weak links quit or got promoted. But not me, I was born to lead these 4 people. I was a problem solver.
“Ok Jones, who got ripped”?
Jones shook his head and his tone softened. “ Darla again Carl, it got Darla”.
That wasn’t good news, it got Darla last time. Ripped her hard, what was it? About 2 weeks ago? I set my coffee down and heaved myself out of the chair. Time to get to work.
“Let’s go”
It was a short walk through the warehouse, and work had ground to a stop. I needed to resolve this before our quota was effected. This kind of thing could set us back days. My entire crew was there, all 4 of them. Sometimes I was amazed any one person could lead this many people so effectively. Company thought the same because I was still here. I’d been doing it 5 long years. That was a company record at this position.
Darla was staring at the machine, barely contained rage in her eyes. Jones just looked resigned. As he walked up with me. The other two were Jay and Spencer. Jay was sitting in the forklift and looked ready to execute the typical plan. Spencer, the snot nosed new guy I was supposed to be training was just standing there like a stuffed olive with 50 cents in his hand. What an idiot. Useless as always. How he thinks he can be an assistant shift manager is a complete mystery.
“Ok Darla, I know it’s hard, but tell me what happened”.
I could mostly tell by looking at the machine, but it was good leadership practice to let them have a stake.
“Just like last time. A1, and then it just stopped”.
I thought she might cry right there. I couldn’t have that. Others needed to use the machine and not be afraid of the outcome. I had to fix this and keep the team effective. Something like this could destroy a units morale.
“It’s ok Darla, not your fault. Sounds like you operated according to best practices and procedure”.
Her eyes lit up, her chin came up and she stood a bit straighter. Bingo, I knew that would get her back on track. I was a natural assistant shift leader! Now to fix the problem. That would be the tricky part. Always was.
“Ok, did you try the first step? I know it’s dangerous. We lost Blakesley last year but it’s the fastest option”.
I needed it done fast. We’d already lost half an hour of work. They shook their head affirmative. But I knew it was unlikely to work anyway. The problem was near the bottom. Rocking it was unlikely to fix it. It was also dangerous. The lower the issue the harder the rocking and the more likely to tumble over and hurt someone. That’s how Blakesly went down.
That’s when Spenser the doofus opened his yap.
“Sir, I have fifty...”
I cut him off immediately.
“Shut it Spence, let the pros handle it. Watch and learn”.
He frowned and mumbled “It’s Spencer Sir, not Spense”.
I stared him down, hard, the kind of leadership stare only a 5 year assistant shift manager can give. The little weasel just looked at the coins in his hand and sighed. What the hell did he think those would help anyway. I got back to the task at hand.
“Ok Jay, you know the drill. Bring the fork up. Jones and Darla, get the stabilizing ropes. Spenser, make yourself useful and get everyone some hard hats and some water. Oh and some ear plugs. Never too safe! We’ll need it”.
This was the tricky bit. The forklift was easy but the weight and pulley system to stabilize the machine was a finely tuned and intricate system. When it was all ready I figured I’d give the team a pep talk.
“Listen folks, we’ve been here before. In the past we’ve lost good men like Blakesly. But just last week we executed this like a finely tuned machine and got right back on quota. So this can be done quickly and safely if we all do our part. Ya with me”?
It was a great speech and I knew they craved my incredible leadership as well as my intuitive problem solving. I was going to make it happen once again and prove my assistant shift manager chops. Glory awaited. I took a deep breath. Time to execute. But of course Spencer just had to act like he knew what’s what.
“Uh Sir, I uhm, so I have 50 cents here and I really think that...”
I cut him off.
“Look Spense, I’m sure that college taught you how to think outside the box. But the problem is that we have something stuck in the box. So all your college boy crap can’t help us. We have to fix this, get the crew straight in the head, and get back on quota, capiche kimosabe”?
He looked even dumber when he was confused. Good, let him be confused, and let him watch and learn.
“Ok crew, execute”.
Jay lifted the machine with the fork. Darla and Jones used the ropes and pullys on each side to start rocking the machine side to side. Slowly at first, and then harder. I positioned to observe the item. It was well stuck, near the bottom. That was why manual rocking didn’t work. Anyway manual rocking was dangerous. Thing could topple over. We lost Blakesly that way. I wasn’t about to let that happen again.
It was stuck hard, and it wouldn’t budge. I told them to rock it harder. Just as I was about to call them off it fell! Right to the bottom. One beautiful, relatively intact Twinkie snack! Victory! Darla whooped with joy. Jay grinned hugely and lowered the snack machine to the floor. Jones just looked relieved.
And the idiot Spenser? Well that moron just walked up and put 50 cents in the machine, pressed A1, and watched the next Twinkie fall to the bottom. I guess he just likes to live dangerously.
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The clock struck twelve. Melissa and Malcolm still hadn't figured out what to do. The mahogany table in front of them was covered with parchments of various sizes, all scribbled with figures and numbers. But it was futile. They were never going to succeed.
"Okay, what if a dragon.. " Melissa began.
"No. Chimney."
.
"I got it." It was Malcolm's turn. "A bullet train.. "
"It won't work, Malcolm. He knows trains aren't punctual."
.
"What about paint? We could tell him it is just a different color and not the original."
"He isn't eight, Melissa."
.
"Your mom. You called your mom?"
"I did. She told me this was all ours. And yelled at me for calling her when she was with the sexy dentist."
"Man, she got Francis? They always give me the other bald guy."
Malcolm shot her an ice cold glance. He wasn't in the mood. Too much was at stake here. At best, they had half an hour.
.
"Alright, Melissa. We have no other choice. Once he gets in, we give him some of it."
"No."
"Oh, let me hear your genius solution?"
"But Malcolm.. "
"Well?"
"Fine," she blurted out after thinking it through. They had no other choice.
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"PAUL!" Malcolm shouted at the top of his voice. "Time for dinner!"
Their nine year old son ran down the stairs at full speed and sat down at the dinner table with an excited look on his face. As soon as he saw the pieces of carrot in front of him, his face fell. His hands turned to fists, and his vocal chords started to warm-up.
"Paul," his father spoke. "Here's a piece of chocolate. Finish your vegetables and you can finish the rest of it."
Melissa looked away, unable to witness the injustice that awaited to happen. It had to be done. There was no other choice.
-----
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[WP] Write a story about a problem with the main characters enacting a complex plan to fix it, but have a glaringly obvious solution shine through the entire story.
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The remote was 2 metres away just on the table, and we had a plan. I wait for the perfect moment and announce "Now!". Jack threw the paperweight up onto the ceiling fan and landed after tons of failed attempts. The T.V. kept blaring out the awful show that was on.
I then threw erasers at the switch and kept raising the intensity until it reached the maximum speed and stopped it with my final eraser. Causing it to knock down the remote. "Yes" we both exclaim.
Now Jack had his phone controlling the RC car we had somewhere. Finally, after knocking many things over we had it just where we wanted it. We had the car be attached to a bowl to catch the remote.
Now after carefully driving the car to the couch, we took a combination of interlocking pens, pencils, and soup spoon, and used it to carefully fish out the remote and change the channel. Success!
Sadly what we wanted to watch was too late by the time we got the remote. We put it back to its place on the TV table and go outside and do something less complex.
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“Okay. We need to think this thoroughly. Jenine, grab me the blue prints,” Migel said with a stressful tone.
Jenine was his petite friend with long brown hair and large glasses dominating her face. She was quiet, like a mouse, and constantly did what she was told because she was in utter fear that she would lose her only friend.
Migel spread out the blue print and motioned for Jenine to sit down on the concrete ground with him.
“Listen. We have to think of a unique strategy that will allow us to intake clear, fresh molecules of water into our body. It is a mission Jenine. Something that has never been done.”
“A mission, yes. Hard.”
“And I believe that we can do it. Do you have any ideas to further develop our plan?”
“We can…”
“Aha!”
Migel stood up and began to pace the ground. Jenine’s eyes kept wandering back and forth at Migel’s varying position.
“Jenine!”
“Yes?”
“Listen this is a great idea. Back when I was in 6th grade, we made these homemade compasses, right? And what we needed was a cup, a cotton ball, and a needle.”
“Migel! We can use the cotton ball to absorb the water!” Jenine squealed in joy, causing her glasses to fall off her face.
“Exacly!” Migel matched her joy and a raft of pride swept him as he realized that he has discovered the greatest invention yet—how to drink water.
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[WP] In hindsight, the chosen hero seemed a little too eager to go around slaughtering monsters.
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Desperate times call for desperate measures, or so the saying goes, and this was certainly a desperate measure. The village of Cragpoint was situated at the foot of Spear Mountain, an isolated village of fifty people, they made their livelihood goat herding and farming what they could on the rocky soil. Life was tough and was about to get tougher.
About a week ago they attacked, monsters, shaped like men but far more beast than man. Red glowing eyes framed by a face of dark grey scales, this scale covered their entire body, large hands ending in claws, sharp as a scythe. They walked upright but when running they took to all fours, a horse could outrun them, but not outlast them.
The night they attacked most of the community was gathered in the local inn when shouts from outside roused them.
"Look, the mountain," Tral the miller shouted.
Glowing red lights dotted the mountainside. People spilled out the inn to look and soon most of the village was engrossed by this sight, murmuring amongst themselves. Suddenly a shriek echoed from the mountain and the lights started moving. The red lights were like wildfire, quickly zigzagging down the mountain, people screamed as they ran, the primal shrieks following them.
Poor Eltar was the first to die, stumbling away, slowed from all the mead, the first creature knocked him down and attacked with those wicked claws, it gouged a hole in his chest, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew, so big his spine could be seen illuminated in the moonlight. Three more died that night before they returned to the mountain.
A runner was sent to the city to ask for an audience with the commander of the guard but they would not send men, not with the war, especially since they were wanted for what the city's commander called "superstitious peasant nightmares."
But our messenger did not come back alone, he returned with one man. A powerful barrel chested man who carried a large greatsword. Soon the mayor heard the commotion and met them. After a hushed discussion the mayor addressed the quickly growing crowd.
"This man claims he can defeat the monsters that plague us, I realize he is only one man but it's all we've got." People muttered angrily, one shouted out, "what fucking use will he be, these creatures have torn people limb from limb, he's-
"Silence," boomed the man. He walked towards the crowd, I am the greatest warrior this land had ever seen," a mad grin plastered across his face, "I will defeat these creatures then we will discuss payment, now go indoors, night will soon be upon us."
Night came and those familiar and terrible shrieks followed, this time however cries of pain and fury rang out too, then suddenly stopped....... "Open the inn, I need something to drink," the warrior shouted.
Slowly the bolt of the inn rattled open, it's inhabitants shaking, waiting for the worst. The warrior was there, a mad gleam in his eye, face and clothes covered in crimson gore, "here are the monsters," he said as he threw a large grain sack onto the floor, dripping with blood.
The innkeeper swallowed and with shaking hands, slowly opened the sack, five heads were inside, eyes once glowing red were now hollow and dull.
"It's been a while since i've had a good scrap like that, now lets discuss payment," he said, a twisted smile on his lips.
"How much gold do you want," inquired the innkeeper."
The warrior threw back his head and laughed a booming laugh, then snapped his head forward, a sinister smile on his lips. He drew his sword and said, "i'l take my payment in blood."
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They've finally recognized me for what I am; a hero. I walk past onlookers and hear them murmur, "Did you see how he tore that monsters head off with his bare hands?!", I turn on the TV and see them replaying footage of that ghoul whose leg I chopped off and beat him to death with. The capturing of this moment was ruined however by being filmed vertically by that dumbass onlooker. I get phone calls from top Hollywood executives about a bio movie but I still can't decide who would be good enough to play me.
Before the monster uprising I was just as amazing however, the only difference now is the recognition I get for it. Respect and Recognition I should have been receiving before the events transpired. Brett, the jock who called me a faggot just two months ago rushed up to me for a selfie the other day. I wonder if he remembers that time he called me a faggot, I didn't smile in the selfie just to get back at him a little.
My parents, whose divorce ruined my childhood, go around telling people how proud they are of me. I talk to each of them and tell them that they are not allowed to brag about my accomplishments. I hate seeing them happy. The only paternal voice I heard that night was that of God himself who told me to go fourth with my weapons and kill those monsters.
I have sex with an average of 2 to 3 women a night at my mansion, much more sex than anyone in high school had. I remember when girls wouldn't even look at me. Why did it take me slaughtering a monster uprising before they finally noticed me? I ask Brandi one night, the blonde who never spoke to me when we sat next to each other in science class, "why didn't you show interest in me before?", she looks up smiling "you used to be so weird and quiet". I'm hurt. She's hurt me. I reach for my battle axe, the one I used to decapitate the king of Monsters himself, and begin slashing Brandi to pieces.
I meet another dumb jock the next day who wants a selfie, I tell him to go fuck himself. Fuck everyone, I saved the whole human race and all they want is a selfie, how about some praise? Monsters showed up to our town, I was the only one with the equipment, weapons and a deep understanding of militaristic strategies to ensure they were all killed before anyone was hurt. I put my life on the line and all you want is a selfie? I don't give a shit about the medals, the documentaries, I want what I always wanted, so I killed the dumb Jock with a Katana sword.
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They made a bio movie about me alright, but they got it all wrong. First off I killed 8 monsters, not 6 as the movie shows. Secondly, the actor they got to portray me is nowhere near as good looking as me and finally they portray the third act of the movie as me going on a murderous rampage because I had PTSD, which is not true at all. I know why I killed those people, because they deserved it. They've locked me up because they still can't appreciate how special I am. I was the chosen one, I killed those monsters, no one else could have done it but me and this is the thanks I get from humanity..
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[WP] In hindsight, the chosen hero seemed a little too eager to go around slaughtering monsters.
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"Look, I'm not saying he is fit for the job, *but seriously, have you been round to his house?*"
"Come on Jacob, stop being hero-phobic, what is wrong with his house, does he not have a bed and go around being fuelled by energy from the monsters he kills?" inquired the town mayor, lazily lying on the grass.
Or atleast "the mayor" - The "town" aspect was up for debate.
The local council wasn't really sure that 3 run down hovels, a giant fire and a mansion qualified as a town, half the damn doors had been locked, and the keys scattered across the continent.
The "towns" folk would call a locksmith, but the locksmith had his tools trapped inside his own house, and damaging derelict property is a crime, according to the mayor - Or maybe according to the coffers.
Jacob's temper slowly rose, and receeded, although you could see his face was wraught with anger.
"I understand he helps keep the monsters away from us, but ever since he got the key to that mansion, he strutted around like he owned the place, the god damn ghosts that live in it don't even bother him"
"Feared monster hunter, what can ya do" - "You should be thankful, that haunting was bringing down the value of the neighbourhood"
Jacob was at loss for words, how could one be possibly so dense, there isn't even a road, nobody bloody wanted to buy this ramshackle village, there wasn't even any form of resource nearby that a company would swoop it up, the value of the neighbourhood is rock bottom.
"I'd bring out the chart to illustrate why that statement is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but as you may know we don't have the money to buy a chart, never mind a stand for a chart"
The mayor flung himself upwards in an overly dramatic style, awaiting for applause with arms outstretched, but none came, much to his disappointment.
"Rightyo buckyo, what seems to be the problem with this hero, he makes our lives far easier"
Jacob sighed, and began chapter one of his self titled and self published book: 'Why are we letting a murderous psychopath live rent free and not provide any economic benefits to us or giving a single positive contribution to the general lively hood of our village'
"It is a working title, and without further adooooooooo, here we go"
"First point: He has furniture made out of monster skeletons, vertebrate and skin - Not the actions of someone well adjusted"
"Second point: He doesn't have a bed, you might be onto something by saying he is fuelled by murder - There are giant bird creatures, he hardly doesn't have feathers to use"
"Third point: Have you seen him fight? He has made armour out of bones, not even good armour, or a helmet, who doesn't wear a helmet, or maybe he has too much brain trauma for that to matter"
"Fourth point: He threw himself off the cliff three times yesterday, before appearing right next back to the big fire, each single time - He could go psycho on us at any moment, and we can't stop him"
"Fifth point: He tried killing our pigs, but they slaughtered him - And you guessed it, he popped right back next to the fire - *Author's note - Why do we have murderous pigs that we can't even use for food purposes"*
And on Jacob went for 3 days and 3 nights, for the mayor to say:
"I see"
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They've finally recognized me for what I am; a hero. I walk past onlookers and hear them murmur, "Did you see how he tore that monsters head off with his bare hands?!", I turn on the TV and see them replaying footage of that ghoul whose leg I chopped off and beat him to death with. The capturing of this moment was ruined however by being filmed vertically by that dumbass onlooker. I get phone calls from top Hollywood executives about a bio movie but I still can't decide who would be good enough to play me.
Before the monster uprising I was just as amazing however, the only difference now is the recognition I get for it. Respect and Recognition I should have been receiving before the events transpired. Brett, the jock who called me a faggot just two months ago rushed up to me for a selfie the other day. I wonder if he remembers that time he called me a faggot, I didn't smile in the selfie just to get back at him a little.
My parents, whose divorce ruined my childhood, go around telling people how proud they are of me. I talk to each of them and tell them that they are not allowed to brag about my accomplishments. I hate seeing them happy. The only paternal voice I heard that night was that of God himself who told me to go fourth with my weapons and kill those monsters.
I have sex with an average of 2 to 3 women a night at my mansion, much more sex than anyone in high school had. I remember when girls wouldn't even look at me. Why did it take me slaughtering a monster uprising before they finally noticed me? I ask Brandi one night, the blonde who never spoke to me when we sat next to each other in science class, "why didn't you show interest in me before?", she looks up smiling "you used to be so weird and quiet". I'm hurt. She's hurt me. I reach for my battle axe, the one I used to decapitate the king of Monsters himself, and begin slashing Brandi to pieces.
I meet another dumb jock the next day who wants a selfie, I tell him to go fuck himself. Fuck everyone, I saved the whole human race and all they want is a selfie, how about some praise? Monsters showed up to our town, I was the only one with the equipment, weapons and a deep understanding of militaristic strategies to ensure they were all killed before anyone was hurt. I put my life on the line and all you want is a selfie? I don't give a shit about the medals, the documentaries, I want what I always wanted, so I killed the dumb Jock with a Katana sword.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They made a bio movie about me alright, but they got it all wrong. First off I killed 8 monsters, not 6 as the movie shows. Secondly, the actor they got to portray me is nowhere near as good looking as me and finally they portray the third act of the movie as me going on a murderous rampage because I had PTSD, which is not true at all. I know why I killed those people, because they deserved it. They've locked me up because they still can't appreciate how special I am. I was the chosen one, I killed those monsters, no one else could have done it but me and this is the thanks I get from humanity..
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[WP] In hindsight, the chosen hero seemed a little too eager to go around slaughtering monsters.
|
Desperate times call for desperate measures, or so the saying goes, and this was certainly a desperate measure. The village of Cragpoint was situated at the foot of Spear Mountain, an isolated village of fifty people, they made their livelihood goat herding and farming what they could on the rocky soil. Life was tough and was about to get tougher.
About a week ago they attacked, monsters, shaped like men but far more beast than man. Red glowing eyes framed by a face of dark grey scales, this scale covered their entire body, large hands ending in claws, sharp as a scythe. They walked upright but when running they took to all fours, a horse could outrun them, but not outlast them.
The night they attacked most of the community was gathered in the local inn when shouts from outside roused them.
"Look, the mountain," Tral the miller shouted.
Glowing red lights dotted the mountainside. People spilled out the inn to look and soon most of the village was engrossed by this sight, murmuring amongst themselves. Suddenly a shriek echoed from the mountain and the lights started moving. The red lights were like wildfire, quickly zigzagging down the mountain, people screamed as they ran, the primal shrieks following them.
Poor Eltar was the first to die, stumbling away, slowed from all the mead, the first creature knocked him down and attacked with those wicked claws, it gouged a hole in his chest, cutting through flesh, bone, and sinew, so big his spine could be seen illuminated in the moonlight. Three more died that night before they returned to the mountain.
A runner was sent to the city to ask for an audience with the commander of the guard but they would not send men, not with the war, especially since they were wanted for what the city's commander called "superstitious peasant nightmares."
But our messenger did not come back alone, he returned with one man. A powerful barrel chested man who carried a large greatsword. Soon the mayor heard the commotion and met them. After a hushed discussion the mayor addressed the quickly growing crowd.
"This man claims he can defeat the monsters that plague us, I realize he is only one man but it's all we've got." People muttered angrily, one shouted out, "what fucking use will he be, these creatures have torn people limb from limb, he's-
"Silence," boomed the man. He walked towards the crowd, I am the greatest warrior this land had ever seen," a mad grin plastered across his face, "I will defeat these creatures then we will discuss payment, now go indoors, night will soon be upon us."
Night came and those familiar and terrible shrieks followed, this time however cries of pain and fury rang out too, then suddenly stopped....... "Open the inn, I need something to drink," the warrior shouted.
Slowly the bolt of the inn rattled open, it's inhabitants shaking, waiting for the worst. The warrior was there, a mad gleam in his eye, face and clothes covered in crimson gore, "here are the monsters," he said as he threw a large grain sack onto the floor, dripping with blood.
The innkeeper swallowed and with shaking hands, slowly opened the sack, five heads were inside, eyes once glowing red were now hollow and dull.
"It's been a while since i've had a good scrap like that, now lets discuss payment," he said, a twisted smile on his lips.
"How much gold do you want," inquired the innkeeper."
The warrior threw back his head and laughed a booming laugh, then snapped his head forward, a sinister smile on his lips. He drew his sword and said, "i'l take my payment in blood."
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Ra-zen. Long ago called the land of jewels for the gemstones found abundantly beneath it. It had been a land of riches, raising up generations of talented craftsmen to carve up the earth's bounty into works of splendor, setting them within frames of most precious metal. At the center of this land was a city that looked like a painting in all its beauty, and in the center of that city a great palace bespeckled by gems, and within the center of that palace the coveted Throne of Rubies. It is said that kings and soon to be kings fought over that throne like clockwork, one replacing the next in an endless cycle while the jewelsmiths and miners simply went about their daily lives as usual. Until one day they say the current king, a young man by the name of Ers, attempted to woo the Witchqueen of the Wastes, and insulting her when she refused him was cursed by a plague of beasts. The creatures proceeded to ravage the land, forcing out the normal animals that had once occupied the same place, preventing the people of Ra-zen from trading their jewels and importing food causing famine. The king, humbled now, begged the Witchqueen to lift her curse, but she instead answered him only with death leaving the land of Ra-zen both infested and ungoverned. In this chaos the people pleaded for a hero, and were only too quick to accept the first person who proved capable. We now know him as the Soul King, he who rules this wasteland which no longer has a name with an unbreaking diamond fist; for no one is allowed to enter or leave this land now, and therefore it no longer needs a name.
In retrospect we shouldn't have trusted the hero who seemed to slaughter the monsters with glee, but we did not know at the time that he devoured their very souls as he did so. In his gluttony for power he killed every last one, and with no normal beasts to take their place in the delicate balance of nature the once beautiful land of Ra-zen withered and died. So with no more monsters to eat, in his gluttony for power he instead took the unoccupied Ruby Throne and declared himself the Soul King ruler of Ra-zen.
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[WP] In hindsight, the chosen hero seemed a little too eager to go around slaughtering monsters.
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"Look, I'm not saying he is fit for the job, *but seriously, have you been round to his house?*"
"Come on Jacob, stop being hero-phobic, what is wrong with his house, does he not have a bed and go around being fuelled by energy from the monsters he kills?" inquired the town mayor, lazily lying on the grass.
Or atleast "the mayor" - The "town" aspect was up for debate.
The local council wasn't really sure that 3 run down hovels, a giant fire and a mansion qualified as a town, half the damn doors had been locked, and the keys scattered across the continent.
The "towns" folk would call a locksmith, but the locksmith had his tools trapped inside his own house, and damaging derelict property is a crime, according to the mayor - Or maybe according to the coffers.
Jacob's temper slowly rose, and receeded, although you could see his face was wraught with anger.
"I understand he helps keep the monsters away from us, but ever since he got the key to that mansion, he strutted around like he owned the place, the god damn ghosts that live in it don't even bother him"
"Feared monster hunter, what can ya do" - "You should be thankful, that haunting was bringing down the value of the neighbourhood"
Jacob was at loss for words, how could one be possibly so dense, there isn't even a road, nobody bloody wanted to buy this ramshackle village, there wasn't even any form of resource nearby that a company would swoop it up, the value of the neighbourhood is rock bottom.
"I'd bring out the chart to illustrate why that statement is the stupidest thing I've ever heard, but as you may know we don't have the money to buy a chart, never mind a stand for a chart"
The mayor flung himself upwards in an overly dramatic style, awaiting for applause with arms outstretched, but none came, much to his disappointment.
"Rightyo buckyo, what seems to be the problem with this hero, he makes our lives far easier"
Jacob sighed, and began chapter one of his self titled and self published book: 'Why are we letting a murderous psychopath live rent free and not provide any economic benefits to us or giving a single positive contribution to the general lively hood of our village'
"It is a working title, and without further adooooooooo, here we go"
"First point: He has furniture made out of monster skeletons, vertebrate and skin - Not the actions of someone well adjusted"
"Second point: He doesn't have a bed, you might be onto something by saying he is fuelled by murder - There are giant bird creatures, he hardly doesn't have feathers to use"
"Third point: Have you seen him fight? He has made armour out of bones, not even good armour, or a helmet, who doesn't wear a helmet, or maybe he has too much brain trauma for that to matter"
"Fourth point: He threw himself off the cliff three times yesterday, before appearing right next back to the big fire, each single time - He could go psycho on us at any moment, and we can't stop him"
"Fifth point: He tried killing our pigs, but they slaughtered him - And you guessed it, he popped right back next to the fire - *Author's note - Why do we have murderous pigs that we can't even use for food purposes"*
And on Jacob went for 3 days and 3 nights, for the mayor to say:
"I see"
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Ra-zen. Long ago called the land of jewels for the gemstones found abundantly beneath it. It had been a land of riches, raising up generations of talented craftsmen to carve up the earth's bounty into works of splendor, setting them within frames of most precious metal. At the center of this land was a city that looked like a painting in all its beauty, and in the center of that city a great palace bespeckled by gems, and within the center of that palace the coveted Throne of Rubies. It is said that kings and soon to be kings fought over that throne like clockwork, one replacing the next in an endless cycle while the jewelsmiths and miners simply went about their daily lives as usual. Until one day they say the current king, a young man by the name of Ers, attempted to woo the Witchqueen of the Wastes, and insulting her when she refused him was cursed by a plague of beasts. The creatures proceeded to ravage the land, forcing out the normal animals that had once occupied the same place, preventing the people of Ra-zen from trading their jewels and importing food causing famine. The king, humbled now, begged the Witchqueen to lift her curse, but she instead answered him only with death leaving the land of Ra-zen both infested and ungoverned. In this chaos the people pleaded for a hero, and were only too quick to accept the first person who proved capable. We now know him as the Soul King, he who rules this wasteland which no longer has a name with an unbreaking diamond fist; for no one is allowed to enter or leave this land now, and therefore it no longer needs a name.
In retrospect we shouldn't have trusted the hero who seemed to slaughter the monsters with glee, but we did not know at the time that he devoured their very souls as he did so. In his gluttony for power he killed every last one, and with no normal beasts to take their place in the delicate balance of nature the once beautiful land of Ra-zen withered and died. So with no more monsters to eat, in his gluttony for power he instead took the unoccupied Ruby Throne and declared himself the Soul King ruler of Ra-zen.
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[WP] An alien race descends from above to invade a primitive world. But each attack is rebuffed by a single warrior--a man wearing every magic artifact the kingdom could scrounge up.
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The golden circlet about Dimly’s arm began to grow hot, painfully hot. *Stupid damn thing.* The chosen one thought as he stood and made his way over to the stream before him, his pace quickened as the bangle that adorned his wrist continued to grow in temperature, the skin beneath beginning to burn. With a gasp of relief the man thrust his arm into the ice cool waters with a hiss of steam, though as always the relief was short lived as the water around his clenched fist began to heat to near boiling point. *Stupid bloody thing!*
The bracelet was in fact the device that the Plob’s used to alert him to another attack, a ridiculous piece of ancient magic that came in a set, two golden bands identical in every way… except that the one he wore was classed as the receiver, and for lack of better name, the other, the giver. Anything done to the giver would be received by the receiver, so right now it appeared that the idiots had thrown the giver into a fire or something equally stupid.
Eventually the heat began to disperse, the band returned to its natural cool state. Thank the mud. The chosen one thought gratefully as he shook the water free from his hand. *Right then*. Quickly Dimly trotted over to his camp, the four priceless artifacts of his people retrieved. Around his neck he placed the Smigglywotsit, a golden jewel encrusted amulet that when worn, somehow turned his body to an impenetrable rubber-like substance. Swords, guns, even lasers just bounced off of him harmlessly, effectively rendering him invincible.
The second piece he slipped over his index finger, the “Randometrix”. The Randometrix was his personal favourite, the wonderful thing transformed whatever the wearers finger touched into something entirely random, literally anything. From kettles, pots and pans to goats. *Brilliant*. In his last battle he had turned a two hundred foot monstrosity that the invaders had sent down from above, into a rabbit. The battle over in moments.
Thirdly, Dimly went to pick up the unimaginatively named “Invisible sword with sharp edges that can cut through anything.” But when his fingers reached the place he remembered laying the blade, he felt nothing. Panic flooded the Chosen one’s veins as he searched blindly over the ground with his hands, fingers outstretched praying that for one he found the stupid thing and for two he didn’t accidently cut his fingers off in the process. Luckily for him, as he stepped forward to extend his search area, something solid bumped into his boot. *Aha!* Quickly the man gripped the invisible hilt and hefted the heavy weapon, lifted the blade and rammed it home into the sheaf that hung from his belt.
The final piece he retrieved being the Crown of boob. An odd name, yes, though a miraculous object. When worn, the wearer could teleport himself to anywhere he had previous visited with but a thought. Millions of miles travelled in the blink of an eye. *Amazing*. Particularly handy due to his job, being the chosen one and that, mean that he had to protect the entire world. Different reactions from the Receiver band meant different locations around the globe, heat being Moistmoore the land of uh… Moist moores.
*Zoop*
The strange noise sounded without fail every time the crown of boob was used at the exact moment that reality warped and rearranged around him. Quickly Dimly gained his bearings, his feet already sodden from the moist ground beneath his feet. Great drooping trees lined the clearing in every direction with boughs the colour of mould that hung low to the ground like filth coloured strands of hair, the ground lumpy and wet, filled with stagnant puddles every two steps or so. *Ergh.* The chosen one inhaled deeply, his lungs filled with the stale scent of stagnant toxicity that the area reeked of.
“Roar” Called the odd two headed invader that pounded from the trees beside him, the Nasties, as they had become to be known, were ugly bastards that couldn’t quite seem to get to grips with scare tactics. For one, the “roar” that the beast had called hadn’t been an actual roar, but a weakly called word. It had literally shouted “Roar” as it rushed from the trees. The Nasties all seemed to have two heads, two arms and one leg, their body like a dual headed upside down pyramid that looked decidedly ridiculous as they hopped toward him like a deformed… thing. They were so damn slow.
“Roar!” The invader called again, this time one arm raised with one of the odd laser emitter things that they carried as weapons pointed toward him. With a *Pew pew* like noise, two red beams shot forth, one missed him by a longshot though the other connected and rebounded directly down the path it had just travelled. Upon connection with the Nastie, two sets of eyes widened in surprise, then boom. Gone.
“Heh.” Smirked the chosen one as he looked about for the next invader. Another thing about these idiots was exactly this. They never attacked alone, two or three at a time at the max, yet they never attacked altogether. They literally waited until their brethren was slain, queued up to fight one after the other. Strange but handy as hell.
“Angry roar!” Shouted another from just beside him, startled, Dimly spun to face it his outstretched finger pressed into the pinkish purple flesh of its chest. *Pop*. The Randometrix transformed the alien immediately, a slug left in its place. “Eww” Dimly spoke as he pressed a boot down on top of the monster, it’s innards suddenly its outards.
“Angrier roar!” Sounded from behind. With a sigh Dimly turned once more, his finger again made contact with the odd fluorescent pinky purple flesh. *Pop*.
“Oh shit.” Dimly stared in horror at the thing before him. One of the drawbacks of the Randometrix of course being entwined in it’s very purpose… it was entirely random. Thus, the Nastie that he had just changed form had just been transformed into a gaping black hole, the kind that swallowed everything about it, the very earth itself beginning to tear free from the ground to feed the ever growing hungry hole. Quickly Dimly shoved his finger forward with the intent to transform the Nastie-now-blackhole into something more killable, though unfortunately he underestimated the suction power of the impossible construct, the Randometrix immediately sucked from its place on his finger to disappear into the void. *Shit*.
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“It seems that all of the preparations are set!” King George III exclaimed. For he was excited for this day, see when the space beasts came from above George knew that a fight was brewing. The beasts gave a simple warning, almost incomprehensible to the humans. “Run and hide while you still can, we are coming, and we are powerful” How was George supposed to take this? As the King of Salthasar he knew he couldn’t just sit idly by while other worldly creatures threatened him and his people. No, for they might have extreme technology far beyond the humans comprehension, the humans had magical energy that they learned how to harness and use for their own gain. Of course George played it smart and kept this fact a secret to the beasts. They seemed to be docile, they landed one day with that warning, and just stayed in their vessel for several days. But today something lit up inside their mothership, and this was all the warning that George needed to send out their ultimate weapon. “Zephyr” is what he was called, for no know really knew his real name. He was a simple assassin for hire, and one day George proposed a deal with him. He will be excused for all his counts of assassination and murder, if he alone acts as a one man army against whatever threats the beasts plan to send out. Of course Zephyr was a highly trained and skilled assassin, but these beast’s threats should not be taken lightly, so the king send several armed scouts on an expedition for any items with magical properties. The journey took fourteen days, and as soon as the last scout came back with the accessories, the light inside their vessel turned on, almost as it was timed. Zephyr was ready, for he had the will of almost all magic on his side. George’s best men escorted Zephyr outside, and with one quick flash of blinding light, a 24 meter tall titanium colossus stood in front of the assassin and the escorts. “I guess that's our cue to leave” the escorts said quickly leaving Zephyr’s side. The colossus spoke with a loud, booming, mechanical voice “Are you the champion of this planet?, What is your name you foolish soul?” Fool was right, Zephyr looked like a fool with all of the accessories on, but he truly was the only hope that this world had. On his head were black demon horns and a golden crown, a pure gold breastplate, an array of different amulets/pendants, and many more increasingly silly items, but it didn’t matter. “Zephyr, my name is Zephyr.” Zephyr spoke with a surprisingly brave voice, but on the inside, he would be lying to say he wasn’t a little frightened by the towering beast in front of him. “It appears you are this worlds champion, is this correct?” Zephyr quickly confirmed this, and without warning the beast struck, a thermonuclear missile was sent into the air descending extremely fast right onto Zephyr. It appeared to be a direct hit. A smokescreen filled the air and the colossus thought it was over. “That was it? For that was the champion you have been preparing?” As the smoke cleared it became more and more evident that Zephyr was in fact not dead. He was the smokescreen. One of his amulets was blessed so that the wearer turned into smoke upon their will. “It appears that your champion is more powerful than I have thought, being able to convert all the atoms in your body into pure gas is impressive, I can’t wait until I take the technology required to perform these actions!” Zephyr had a thought, what if these creatures didn’t know about magic? They appear to not know that this is magic, and not technology. This would give the humans the upper hand. They couldn’t expect what he had in store for them, but he couldn’t either. There was only one problem in the human’s plan, for you see, humans possessed magic that let them know that an item has magical properties, but the magic didn’t let them know what it did. So Zephyr was learning what powers he had as he fought. All he knew was that he was smoke now, and as a gas he could fly. So fly he did, right up close and personal to the beast's face, he sent his smoke form at the beast with all the speed he could muster up, but as soon as he was close enough to the face he let himself be carried by momentum, and punched the beast in the face with his silver gauntlet. As soon as the gauntlet reached contact with the colossus, a ring of fire shot out and a huge explosion was seen by spectators below. The beast was thoroughly surprised. He tried everything under his arsenal, lasers, guns, actual nukes, but everything was deflected by some accessory he had on him. The beast was taking more damage than he was doing and soon enough, the beast surrendered. He self-destructed and all that was left was a small green, glowing blob with eyes. “Hello” was all it said as Zephyr looked down at it. “Wait hold on, were you controlling that colossus?” The blob had a sad look in its eyes “I have been defeated by this world and all of its little mysteries, I submit to you” Applause was heard from all around and Zephyr was acclaimed as a hero by all folks around. George came up behind Zephyr and congratulated him “You have done it, you are truly a hero Zephyr!” Days past and the blob was brought in for interrogation, but no answers were given, the blob just remained silent, and said that the only one he would speak to was the champion of this world. George was weary at this, for he thought that the blob would try to kill Zephyr, but Zephyr insisted on seeing the blob and talking to it, “It is possible that it could give us information about its world and the technologies it used!” The king agreed and Zephyr was brought into a room alone with the blob, less than 10 seconds in, a loud, human scream was heard, and both Zephyr and the blob were gone.
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[WP] An alien race descends from above to invade a primitive world. But each attack is rebuffed by a single warrior--a man wearing every magic artifact the kingdom could scrounge up.
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Ragnar could see the two giant alien motherships coming from a mile away. The motherships saw him too.
Hoisting up his shield, Ragnar emerged unscathed from the flurry of energy bullets unleashed upon him. The shield had always served him well. Forged by the Old Gods, it created an aura of protection that held all harm from bay.
As one of the alien motherships drew near, Ragnar knew it was time for him to act. Clutching the Spear of Loyalty, he flung it towards the mothership. Flying with a grace only those who saw it in person could understand, the spear struck the mothership, cleaving it in two. In the next instant, the spear reappeared in Ragnar's hand, as was the magic enchantment given to it.
The first mothership fell, and the second spacecraft realized it was futile to engage in its slow moving form. Multiple forces were deployed. Metal-men and flying crafts that could pierce regular armor with ease. A single one was enough to lay waste to a whole village.
Ragnar was not afraid. He could not afford to be afraid. After all, his kingdom was depending on him. He was its greatest warrior, even said to be chosen by the Gods themselves. Failure was unaffordable.
With the courage surely bestowed by a divine spirit, Ragnar ran towards the soulless army. Drawing his sword, he unleashed his fury. The sword itself, was no ordinary sword either. It shot forth lightning, felling the metal men as Ragnar pleased.
That day, a great battle was waged. Ragnar emerged victorious, and he returned home to rest, greeted by a grateful kingdom. Tomorrow, of course, would bring more hardship and conflict.
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"Curses! Xoranthor, get here stat!" called out the alien general in anger.
"Yes, how may I help you commander." a wily-eyed but wise lieutenant stepped forth.
"This primitive species has been repeatedly pushing us back. All by a single man! Our campaign will surely fail if this keeps us."
"Understood. I'll send for more reinforcements of course. We must capture this planet."
The Loatic are a race of imperial industrialists. Specializing in brute manufacturing, they have worked to conquer tens of planets. This one, however, was particularly important. A vital beachhead that needed to be established if they were to continue their campaign.
"I just don't understand! How can such a primitive planet even go toe-to-toe to our advanced technology!"
the alien general reiterated for what seemed to be the hundredth time over the course of the campaign.
"Well, our recon has returned with important information today. It turns out, they are using weapons that are far more advanced than we expected."
"Outrageous! Look at their villages! No electricity, no computers! There is no way they could face us!"
"Well, this is true. The species seems to be calling these weapons magical."
"Magic? PAH! Magic doesn't exist. Magic is from fairy tales!"
"Yes. I agree. That's why I have a better theory."
"Go on Xoranthor."
"These "magical" weapons, are in fact, created by the Remnadors."
"The Remnadors! But how did they end up here!?"
The Remnadors were a proud race as well. As fierce as the Loatic were in manufacturing, the Remnadors were known for their cleverness and technological superiority. Incidentally, the Remnadors were in the
near campaign path of the Loatic.
"I believe that the Remnadors created these weapons, and placed them on this primitive planet, letting its people weave tales of magic and believe they were from some divine entity."
"So, the shield, spear, and sword of that warrior?"
"Electromagnetic force field generator, locus-based teleportation, and solar powered electricity, respectively sir."
"But why would the Remnadors place theme here!?!?"
"Obviously to slow us down. Arming these primitive planets with these "magical" weapons, in the hopes of halting our advances. The Remnadors are trying to balance out our manpower superiority."
"Clever. Send the information back to headquarters. We need a better plan."
"As you wish sir."
The alien general laid back in his chair, and rested his brow on his hand. This was going to be a lot tougher than he expected. Who knows how many primitive planets the Remnadors have armed besides this.
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I stood upon my little hill and surveyed the carnage before me. Craters littered the ground, smoking husks of their metal beast lay interspersed with the dead. A few moving ones could be seen milling around, scavenging all they could. Many more were just standing there, lost in one of my 267 various illusion traps. I could see their camps in the distance, no doubt planning their next failed attempt.
I sighed in boredom.
I was the kingdoms greatest warrior, I was promised a glorious battle. I received a slaughter.
The first attack, I launched myself into the fray, a whirlwind of fire, ice, lighting and steel. My seven full suits of armor empowered me beyond anything I could have imagined, their many enchantments increasing my strength easily over a hundred fold. My many blades cut through flesh and metal alike. I was moving so fast they could barely bring their own weapons to bear before being cut down.
I escaped that battle unscathed.
The next battle they brought their beasts of war, giant metal creatures who belch fire and launch giant metal objects incredibly fast, too fast for even my augmented eyes to follow. Their attacks did not even penetrate my 367 weak reflective barriers.
It was a massacre, all of their own doing. I watched with a smile on my face as their beasts fired, then exploded as their own shot struck them with enough force to destroy both them and the surrounding terrain.
I realized then that I had won my first battle not through my own strengths, but through all my enchantments.
It was a sobering realization. I had become the kingdoms mightiest warrior through my own deeds, not through some enchanted blade or barrier. It left a sour taste in my mouth.
But still, I pressed on, for if I did not, the kingdom I had spent my life protecting would be destroyed.
The next battle I jumped directly into the fray again, dully slicing all I could.
The next, I just stood their and let them destroy themselves.
And so, I stood here since day 2, not having raised my sword since. watching the endless waves of doomed attacks.
It has been 13 days since then, and I still have not drawn my sword. They show no sign of stopping.
I sighed once more, seeing another wave of troops approaching me. I watched with dead eyes as they fired upon me. I watched with dead eyes as they were cut down.
They still had not found a way through my 367 weak deflection barriers.
I sat down, trying to find something to occupy my time, wishing they would just give up and go home, and end this pointless battle. Victory is impossible for them.
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[WP]You're a double agent with two aliases from different countries. You're assigned by each country to kill your alias on the opposite site
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"I'm getting too old for this shit. I cannot BELIEVE this happened again."
Seven years ago, "James Patton" had rising star in the US intelligence community, with ten years of accomplishments under his belt. Meanwhile, "Crazy Ivan" had had a similar string of accomplishments in his nine years working for Russia. Disguises, both of them, for a man whose real name didn't really matter. But that wasn't the point.
Last time, he'd taken a long time to think about how to deal with the situation. He couldn't let either of his personas "fail" as it would completely ruin his enjoyment of them. And losing either of them would cost him access to the information that allowed the other to succeed so spectacularly.
And so, he'd done the only thing that made sense at the time. He abandoned both personas. He left a charred corpse in Patton's home, as was Ivan's signature. And he left a body double of Ivan in an alleyway near his office in Russia, shot with the pistol that Patton had always used. And then he himself disappeared for four years.
He'd gotten plastic surgery, new disguises, and worked on his accents. He could have just kept to himself, he had the money for a long, comfortable life. But he did so miss the game.
And so, two years ago, "Alexander DeGrey" had begun to climb the ranks of British intelligence. And his counterpart "Yi Il" quickly became a rising star in China. And for the second time in under a decade, his well-connected aliases were directly in one another's crosshairs.
He could probably make a similar show to remove both aliases, but... no. Instead, he booked two adjacent hotel rooms under his aliases names and opened the doors connecting them. Between them, he left DeGrey's signature garotte wire wrapped around the handle of Yi's knife. A neat little mystery for both sides.
"If this happens a third time, I may just give both sides what they wanted."
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A mission brief I’ve read hundreds of times. ‘Top Secret: Retirement.’
The targets? Oh.
I’ve hunted, and hidden, but both?
“HR, can you confirm my wife’s death in service benefits?”
I incinerate the passports and paperwork; she makes the call, sobbing convincingly. It seems time to migrate to sunnier climates.
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[WP] Every alien race that has achieved interstellar space travel did it via peace. Every warmongering race has destroyed themselves in the process. All except for one - humans.
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From the inscription on every North West Wall-Panel in the Palace of Betamax Prime:
*Alexander, favorite of Jesus and Buddha, beloved of Allah and Vishnu, the weapon of the great gods, the mighty king, king of the Solarian Empire, the son of Frederick, the great king, the mighty king of Sol;*
First Private Justin relaoded, counted to ten, and then burst from cover to launch another grenade into a domed civilian apartment building. You could tell a lot about how well a civilization would integrate into the human empire by how they reacted to being conquered. Though the dread emperor never wasted his time with technologically inferior civilizations, Justin had learned that intelligence didn't automatically qualify you for true civilized society. Despite the fact that they could make a better phone, or knew more about how electrons work, most of the creatures he had slaughtered were basic prey animals, who broke and ran at first sign of danger, abandoning children and the infirm. The Bellu were not like that, Justin noticed with satisfaction as he saw a Bellu mother double back to grab her child. Mother was perhaps the wrong word since Bellu didn't have genders, Justin thought as he shot first the mother, then the child. Justin liked the Bellu. They acted just like people should. The civilians fled and soldiers rushed in to defend their retreat. They would make fine additions to the empire.
*The valiant man, who acts with the support God, his lord, and has no equal among the princes of the four corners of the galaxy; The wonderful shepherd who is not afraid of battle; The great flood which none can oppose; The king who makes those who are not subject to him submissive; Who has subjugated all Mankind; all Zorians, all Tribulites, all Xxxtkkxxes, all sentient species of every kind, the mighty warrior who treads on the neck of his enemies, tramples down all foes, and shatters teh forces of the proud; the king who acts with the support of the great gods, and whose had has conquered all worlds, who has subjugated all the mountains and received their tribute, taking hostages and establishing power over all planets and stars in the galaxy.*
A spray of plasma bullets shot geysers of soil into the air around him. Yes, soil. The Bellu didn't pave their roads, apparently. The variety and strangeness of the several worlds he had visited had awed Justin, but what surprised him more was what tended to stay the same. There was always dirt. There were always trees. There was always fire and smoke. And, most shockingly of all, blood was always red. The blood Justin noticed trickling from a shrapnel wound on his thigh was indistinguishable from the Bellu blood on the ground. That last had shocked human scientists most of all. Although if humans had learned anything when we first reached the stars, Justin thought, it was that we were never very good with science. A second spray of bullets burst around Justin, and again, all of them missed. Consciously or unconsciously, this Bellu couldn't make himself kill another sentient being. That didn't disappoint Justin too much, most humans had that problem as well. It has to be trained out of you. Justin calmly raised his rifle and shot.
*When god, the lord who called me by my name and has made my kingdom great, entrusted his merciless weapon to my lordly arms, I overthrew the widespread troops of the world of Lullume in battle. I thundered over the troops of the Nairi worlds, Habhi, Shubaru, and Nirib. I am the king who had brought into submission at his feet the worlds from beyond the Orion Nebula and the Great Void, the whole of the worlds of the Laqe, the world of Laqe II, the world of Suhi, and whose hand has conquered the land of Urartu.*
Justin knew the kind of stuff the other peoples of the universe said about humans. First, they were shocked about how primitive humans were. They still used combustion engines for mundane travel, electricity that passed through wires, pure savagry! In their opinion, a society of this level of technology should never have been able to safely achieve faster-than-life travel. And they were right. It wasn't safe. The humans lost nearly one in five ships that entered FTL. Every time. It was only their shocking numbers that allowed them to get anywhere. That was the second thing that surprised the galaxy. The third thing was how rich the humans were. One human individual had more possessions than two or three Bellu families, and the Bellu were among the most thrifty of the alien races. Apparently the human drive to violence came hand in hand with the human drive for money. Emperor Alexander would teach them. The emperor would bring prosperity to the entire galaxy. Justin would help him. Naturally, the third thing that shocked them was the human capacity for violence.
*I am Alexander, the celebrated prince, who reveres the great gods, the fierce dragon, conqueror of the space stations, the moons, and the asteroids to their furthest extent, kind of rulers who has tames the timid aliens, who is crowned with splendor, who is not afraid of battle, the merciless champion who shakes resistance, the glorious king, the shepherd, the protection of the whole galaxy, the king, the word whose mouth destroys planets and suns, who by his lordly attack has forced intelligent and scientifically advanced races to acknowledge his rule forever.*
Hearing a hollow click from his rifle, Justin realized his last round of ammunition was already spent. A large group of Bellu soldiers headed towards Justin, moving fast. They had given up with their rifles, and now held ropes and nets, seeming intent on capturing him alive. Why did they resist? War was terrible, truly terrible. And humans had brought it here. But Justin knew there was always going to be a war. Someone was going to try to unify the galaxy, someone *needed* to try it. If not humans, then the next violent race to come along, and perhaps that race wouldn't be as merciful as the humans. This war was cruel, the Bellu needed to remember the price of defiance. But there only needed to be ONE war. Once the Solarian empire controlled the galaxy there never needed to be a war again. If Alexander could unite the strong-headed tribes of humanity, then certain the docile, peacful aliens would be no problem. Justin drew his sword. Human soldiers hadn't carried swords in centuries, but in this war they had found that no matter how much they carried, they always seemed to run out of ammunition before they died or ran out of enemies. This was the second time that Justin had drawn this sword. The Bellu would not be inhibited now that their aim was to capture instead of kill. They must think they had the advantage. They were wrong. With a cry, "Alexander and Solaria," Justin charged the enemy.
*The former city of Betamax Prime, which the Lullume who I have conquerred, had built, that city had fallen into ruins and lay deserted. That city I built anew, I took the peoples whom my hand had conquered from the worlds which I subjugated, from the land of Suhi, from the land of Laqe, from the megacity of Sirqu, and made them settle there. I removed the ancient infrastructure and dug down to the core. I built the foundations deep and the walls high. A palace of gold, diamonds, and rare and beautiful alien woods and fibers, of great technology, of splendid artistry, I founded as my royal residence for my lordly pleasure forever.*
*I am Alexander, king of kings. Look upon my works ye mighty and despair.*
edit: the inscription parts are ripped off from the Assyrian king Ashurnasirpal
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"Shields at %20." The ship's computer announced. Not a moment later I was sent tumbling to the floor as a large crash shook the ship. "%15."
"Dammit! Computer, are the warp drives active?" I asked.
"Negative, warp drives damaged." The computer replied.
I stood and turned my gaze to the ships windows. The weapons of the human battleship began to glow a dark red in preparation for another shot. "What about the escape pods?"
"Escape pods active."
I forced myself not to sag in relief. I quickly ran to the back of the ship, where five escape pods were located. Stepping into the closest, I spoke. "Computer, prep all escape pods. Hopefully they won't notice mine when I launch."
The moment those words left my mouth the pod door latched shut with a hiss. I quickly sat down on the lone chair and strapped myself in. Unfortunately escape pods didn't have anti-gravity technology built in.
"Computer, launch all escape pods!" The computer didn't reply, but the results were obvious. The pod was launched into open space with a sickening lurch that made me want to hurl. My hands flew over the pod controls, pressing buttons as fast as I could.
I paused for a moment and spared myself a glance out the window; just in time to see my ship, the ship entrusted to me by my parents, the ship that had been with me through everything... explode.
I tore my gaze away and tried to ignore the pit in my stomach. I pressed another button on the controls and all at once the escape pods changed trajectory. The four unmanned pods turned and launched themselves towards the human ship, fire trailing behind.
My pod, however, continued away. "Hopefully those pods will be able to distract them." I thought out loud.
I pressed another button on the controls and a screen appeared on the wall, showing the viewpoints of all four pods.
One went out. The other screens showed that the human ship had fired on the pods. Another pod exploded. The last two, however, continued full force, slamming into their shields before they could shoot!
But it did nothing. The pods simply crashed against the blue barrier before being launched in another direction, now in hundreds of pieces.
"They even weaponized their shields?!" I said incredoulesly.
I took another long look at my ship, floating serenely in open space, before returning to the controls of my pod. I set my aim for my home planet. I didn't dare send a distress call, for fear the humans might hear it and notice my pod.
I sat back in my chair and resolved to simply watch space go by in an attempt to relax. But an hour later I realized one important fact: I wasn't close enough to my home world. I wouldn't have enough oxygen, let alone food, to get there!
"Damn you humans! DAMN YOU!"
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[WP] Every alien race that has achieved interstellar space travel did it via peace. Every warmongering race has destroyed themselves in the process. All except for one - humans.
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"How is it possible that not a single species to venture beyond their solar system still engaged in warfare?" Captain James was confused.
"We owe it all to the First, the first species to travel the stars. They set up a monitoring system, and any time it looked like a species was near to achieving interstellar travel, the First would make contact." The tall, seemingly reptilian envoy of this "Alliance" was describing some incredible technology.
"That's quite an accomplishment, to be able to monitor an entire galaxy," Captain James meant it, he couldn't even conceive of how such a technology might function.
"Yes, the First traveled the stars for millennia before finally being joined by another race."
"We... still have wars on Earth now. This is our first interstellar voyage, but shouldn't we have been contacted before we left the Solar system?"
The envoy looked mildly agitated. "Yes, well, your stellar neighborhood is rather... I am sorry, I wish to say this politely... remote? Yes, remote. We were lax in monitoring it."
"But, if the -- First, I believe you called them -- were peaceful, how did they prevent warmongering species from achieving interstellar travel? Diplomacy?"
"Of a sort... I believe your species would call the strategy of the First... Hookers and Blow? Our translator isn't always perfect, but that seems to be correct."
"I... I'm sorry... what?"
"If a species still engaged in violence and war, the First would arrive and provide them with... the best analogy really is hookers and blow. All they could handle."
"And because they had all the hookers and blow they could want..."
"Exactly, why bother going to space when you have unlimited hookers and blow at home."
"That's a... novel strategy. If you'll excuse me for a moment, I need to step into my office." Captain James was thinking.
"Of course," said the envoy. "Take all the time you need."
Captain James left the bridge of his ship, the Forerunner, and stepped into his personal office. Sitting down at his desk, Captain James pressed his FTL communicator to contact the U.N. security council, who awaited his report of Earth's first contact with an alien species.
"Well, Captain?" asked the Secretary-General. "How is it going? Are they peaceful? Do you believe we can open diplomatic relations with them?"
Captain James paused for a moment, deep in thought.
"Sir," responded Captain James. "These aliens are undoubtedly hostile and are merely attempting to ascertain our readiness and capabilities before launching an invasion."
The Secretary-General paled. "Do we stand any chance against them?"
Captain James grinned. "Yes, sir, I suggest we declare war immediately."
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"Shields at %20." The ship's computer announced. Not a moment later I was sent tumbling to the floor as a large crash shook the ship. "%15."
"Dammit! Computer, are the warp drives active?" I asked.
"Negative, warp drives damaged." The computer replied.
I stood and turned my gaze to the ships windows. The weapons of the human battleship began to glow a dark red in preparation for another shot. "What about the escape pods?"
"Escape pods active."
I forced myself not to sag in relief. I quickly ran to the back of the ship, where five escape pods were located. Stepping into the closest, I spoke. "Computer, prep all escape pods. Hopefully they won't notice mine when I launch."
The moment those words left my mouth the pod door latched shut with a hiss. I quickly sat down on the lone chair and strapped myself in. Unfortunately escape pods didn't have anti-gravity technology built in.
"Computer, launch all escape pods!" The computer didn't reply, but the results were obvious. The pod was launched into open space with a sickening lurch that made me want to hurl. My hands flew over the pod controls, pressing buttons as fast as I could.
I paused for a moment and spared myself a glance out the window; just in time to see my ship, the ship entrusted to me by my parents, the ship that had been with me through everything... explode.
I tore my gaze away and tried to ignore the pit in my stomach. I pressed another button on the controls and all at once the escape pods changed trajectory. The four unmanned pods turned and launched themselves towards the human ship, fire trailing behind.
My pod, however, continued away. "Hopefully those pods will be able to distract them." I thought out loud.
I pressed another button on the controls and a screen appeared on the wall, showing the viewpoints of all four pods.
One went out. The other screens showed that the human ship had fired on the pods. Another pod exploded. The last two, however, continued full force, slamming into their shields before they could shoot!
But it did nothing. The pods simply crashed against the blue barrier before being launched in another direction, now in hundreds of pieces.
"They even weaponized their shields?!" I said incredoulesly.
I took another long look at my ship, floating serenely in open space, before returning to the controls of my pod. I set my aim for my home planet. I didn't dare send a distress call, for fear the humans might hear it and notice my pod.
I sat back in my chair and resolved to simply watch space go by in an attempt to relax. But an hour later I realized one important fact: I wasn't close enough to my home world. I wouldn't have enough oxygen, let alone food, to get there!
"Damn you humans! DAMN YOU!"
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[WP] You're a one-man-band, and you're job is to follow the main character of a video game around, playing all the games music, while not being noticed, and also not dying.
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I ducked behind a rock while he was checking his weapons. I take a few deep breaths, then wipe some sweat off of my face.
“Stupid fire armor. Keeps you from burning to death, but doesn’t do anything about ACTUAL heat! Ah, where’s my water?”
The player was in the fiery volcano of Alvanador, to slay the beast that lurks inside. After countless side quests, he finally went back to the main story. But I knew this wouldn’t last. He would finish this quest, then go back to looting some STUPID caves for some STUPID NPC. And of course there was me, the background music player.
This may seem like a simple job to you people, but it isn’t. Do you know how hard it is to learn 27 different instruments, and memorize all that sheet music? I have to constantly stay by the player, and I cannot leave to get anything for myself. I always have to smuggle some small items from the player when he naps or such. He won’t notice 1 Deer Meat missing, right?
Of course, then there’s the biggies. Ice tundras, poison air, water levels, volcanos, even a tornado at one point! I’ve had so many near death experiences. Lucky I saved up from looting enemies he didn’t bother to check after he killed, and I could afford a small piece of fire armor. But that doesn’t account for much, he’s only seen 68% of this entire world, so I have many horrible endeavors to look forward to. You should have SEEN the mini-boss.
I then heard the stomping of metal boots. The player was on the move. I take my flute out, and go back to the mysterious melodies that were the dungeon theme. The only thing I appreciated was the music. I always hope he goes to shops or slot houses. The bouncy fun songs, the brass section, the minimal danger, it was just great.
Then I saw some Dirahs climbing the sides of the cliff. Battle music! I started the fast paced music, hoping to give the player a heads up before hand. The player swung his sword, easily defeating the lower-leveled enemy. This wouldn’t last long. But then a Dirah climbed the cliff in front of me. It glared at me, then starting to swing his claws.
This almost never happened, and I never had much experience. I ducked down fast, and kicked the legs, swooping it down, then pushing it back into the lava. I sighed in relief, but then I heard more stomping. He was coming over here! I quickly unlatched an invisibility potion from my belt, and chugged it, hiding me.
The player looked around, then saw the Dirah melting on top of the lava. He hopefully assumed the AI glitched and fell into the lava. He walked away, and the potion wore off soon after. I looked back at my potion, and shook the bottle around. There wasn’t much left. I’m gonna have to be more cautious.
The player started moving back on his path. I checked my provided map, and followed from the shadows, continuing with the music. He was headed towards the boss room. He opened the door, and stepped inside. I took a quick glance around. A giant slab of rock surrounded by a lava pool, that could slide all over. Loose rocks on the ceiling, waiting to crush the player. And of course, there was the massive, fire-covered, eight-armed beast that was the dungeons boss.
Wish me luck. Oh boy....
Feedback is appreciated!
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Sam was running towards the foliage with a smoking shotgun in his hand as I played a particularly beautiful guitar piece , I was not expecting any more surprises after the space ship crashed just having seen a weird one eyed monster and a weird skeleton thing.
Sam , Serious was making some wise cracking comments when something came from the side and I nearly shit my fucking pants , a rumbling beast which looked like a cross between a cow and a fucking elephant came charging at us.
Sam raised his single action shotgun and shot the beast straight in the eye , the fucking beast just came at us like nothing happened ! I and Sam hastily ran sideways as the netricsa shouted something in the headset
Sam took careful aim and shot a round straight in it's ass , the monster fell on the ground as I sighed audibly and intensified the music.
We ran towards the temple as all was suspiciously quiet , we entered the gates and Sam found a nifty sniper on the ground and i played a nice ass drum roll to celebrate the discovery , just in time to evade a round from a fucking mini gun coming from the top the temple coming from a scorpion nestled on the top of the building
I actually shit my pants this time
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[WP] Leaving a concert after seeing a famous band. Security grabs you and brings you to the lead singers dressing room. He's in the corner cleaning makeup off his face. "I saw you in the crowd. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here." As he turns you can see his face.... It's you.
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"I saw you in the crowd. What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here."
He turned around. I could see his face. It was mine.
“Mate, can you hear me? I am asking you a question-why are you here?”, he repeated.
I remained silent. My eyes pored on the young svelte frame in front of me-the jet black messy hair, the black eyeliner, the black greaser jacket, the torn denims and the careless cigarette stuck in between those lips-my lips. I stared at my reflection. My younger reflection.
“What are you doing here old man? Didn’t Gideon tell you to fuck off and never return?”, he glowered at me suspiciously. “You aren’t Johnny Quid anymore. That’s MY name they chant out there, not yours.”
I was still in a trance. Even though I knew the truth, it was surreal all the same. The youth that I had spent a lifetime holding onto, was in front of my eyes. I snapped out of it momentarily to reply.
“Gideon told me a lot of things boy. And I will always be the one and the only Johnny Quid. You are just a poser.”
The young Johnny Quid jutted his lower lip and stared daggers at me. He scanned me from top to bottom and sneered menacingly, “Have you seen yourself in the mirror old man? You are just a shadow of Johnny Quid. You could walk on that stage and nobody would know you. Look at how pathetic you have become-your hands tremble!”
I looked down at my hands. With all my resolve I tried to steady them. They continued to shiver.
Living with one’s own imperfections was hard enough. The world would never let you forget your flaws. And now my own image would not let me forget either. But his jab did not bother me. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy. He was young, ambitious and had the brazen recklessness of youth. He thought the world was his oyster and the best years were ahead of him. Just as I did. Poor lad.
“Did Gideon ever tell you why the studio wanted to invest hundreds of millions of dollars to clone me?”, I began.
And with the same cocksure attitude and arrogance that I once had, Young Johnny replied, “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it? You got old and washed up. You lost your voice. You couldn’t play anymore. Gideon and his studio were losing money because their greatest rockstar choked when it mattered the most.”
Young Johnny Quid shook his head in disappointment.
“So they made me. A perfect version of Johnny Quid. Gideon said I’m you without the flaws. I am better than you in every way. I sing better than you. I play better than you. And I will never choke like you did. Gideon told me himself.”
It felt odd being disparaged by well...me. But somehow I identified with his emotions. I saw through the veneer of arrogance and smug superiority and saw the insecurities and fear underneath. I knew the burden of responsibility that rested on his shoulders. They rested on my shoulders once too. I was reminded of my own struggles with fame-it’s wavering nature and my attempts at holding on to it.
For a moment, I considered leaving the boy alone and letting him live his life in blissful ignorance. But my conscience was convinced that he deserved the truth. However, I didn’t know how to drop it on young Johnny Quid.
I took a deep breath.
“Your coordination-it’s not what is used to be right? It's worse now, isn't it?”
The boy’s eyes widened. I could see the glint of comprehension in his eyes. “What do you mean? Who told you that?”, he said.
I sighed.
“I guess you aren’t a perfect version of me. You have Huntington’s disease. Whether you like it or not, in a couple of years, you will end up like me. You will lose your voice, among many other things. Your hands will shiver too.”
His jaw dropped. He tried to say something. But words failed him. He took a moment to regain his composure.
“You..you are lying. Gideon told me you would lie. You’re messing with my head.”, he speculated nervously.
I looked at his face and I remembered my own reaction to my diagnosis. I groaned. Informing a person of their own impending mortality is one of the most morbid experiences one can experience. I had the added bonus of telling my own self. It felt awful. I knew exactly what he was feeling. I had felt it myself years before.
I knew what I wanted to tell him.
“These people don’t care about you. Go home. Go to your mother. She is the only person who truly cares for yo-”
“SHUT UP. JUST SHUT UP. STOP! FUCK OFF!” Johnny Quid yelled out vehemently.
The door burst open and a pair of bodyguards rushed in. They took a look at their young rockstar and then they looked at me. I could see that they were trying to extrapolate what had just happened. They knew I had to be gone and they politely requested me to leave.
And so, I walked out of Johnny Quid’s room. For the last time.
The last sound I heard was my own sobbing.
|
"I'm sorry, but I had to come... You see, something has gone terribly wrong, and you're the only one who can help." I tell myself as I look back at me with obvious frustration. "No, not this bullshit again. We agreed. You agreed. We stay seperate. You do your thing and I do mine and we *don't* cross paths. I don't want anything to do with you."
It's a strange feeling to be rejected by yourself. To see your own face tense with anger as it stares back at you.
"Listen..." I begin...
"No."
"You won't even hear me out? Come on. You're me. We're the same."
"I am NOT the same as you. We don't even look alike any more. Those scars..."
I smiled, and with it those same scars that covered almost every visible inch of me, creased like old paper.
He, I, turns away from me... "What you did... Those poor children... I could NEVER do that."
So naive... "It had to be done. Look at you. Don't you love your life? Isn't this what we always dreamt of? Without me, neither one of us would have anything."
No response...
"You do know I could ruin everything..."
I saw myself slump in defeat. I knew I had the upper hand and there was nothing I could do to stop myself from exploiting me in any way I wished. Once again, I was victorious.
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[WP] Rather than discovering magic like every other alien race in the galaxy, Humanity has created artificial magic that even machines can wield. This has angered some of the more spiritualistic alien races to the point of war.
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"Magic was not meant for the likes of machines!"
Ambassador Prog slammed his staff on the stony floor, cracking the polished surface in his anger. All around him, the meeting room went silent. Eyes were downturned, nails were polished, but none even rose to meet his gaze. None, except for one.
"I disagree."
Quiet whispers coursed through the room like an electric shock, each head turning to see who it was that had spoken. Prog himself stood, his froglike legs elevating him well above his chair.
"You." He said, spotting the offending gaze.
"Me." Replied the man simply.
He wasn't impressive, even for a human. He was small, and hairless, without even a generous coating of slime or scales to keep his body safe from the elements. His clothing seemed more utilitarian than stylistic: He was clearly held within a shell of blackened plating designed to keep the vacuum of space at bay. That, thought Prog, was foolish to the point of insulting. It was as if he were advertising that he wouldn't survive without it, and all it would take was one well-placed shucking spell to end his life.
"Of course you would, Gene." The froglike ambassador sneered. "Your species invented it, after all. You have no choice."
"On that account, you are wrong. I do very much have a choice, Ambassador Prog." The man responded. "I could choose to abide by your statement, and as leader I can choose to order my people to cease their use of so-called 'artificial magic' at any time. But I will not."
"You will not." Prog agreed, crossing his forelimbs. "Why. You know the dangers of golems as well as any. They will obey the commands of their creator until they cease existing. Even with simple commands, this can be perilous: I believe even your primitive culture has a story about a cleaning servant that fills his master's chamber with water after being instructed to clean it."
"Yes. A children's story, Ambassador." Gene said. "I am equal parts delighted and amused that you have heard of it. However, that only applies in the case of overly-simple constructs. Our machines can think for themselves."
At that, the murmuring in the chamber grew into a dull roar. A thousand faces in a thousand different states of shock began hushed discussion with urgency.
"Thinking machines?" Prog growled at the man. "You must be joking."
"I am most certainly not." Gene said flatly. "Tell me, Prog, what does your species know of biology?"
If Ambassador Prog had been angered before, it was nothing compared to the storm that erupted in his heart at these words.
"What do we know?" He roared, his body inflating with rage. "Everything! We know every scrap of DNA, every possible permutation of protein that has ever existed!"
"Then, you are aware that living cells are made up of what are effectively tiny non-living machinery?" Gene asked, as calm as ever. "In that aspect, you, too, must be a machine."
"Preposterous!" Prog cried. "Nonsense!"
But Gene wasn't done.
"Did you know, ambassador?" He pressed. "On Earth, it is common practice to even infuse our young with thousands of machines, so that they might benefit from what is effectively a symbiotic relationship. When parents cannot conceive, we can even use their DNA to create an offspring from entirely artificial cells. We have even reached a point where life and machine are not only indistinguishable, but identical in every way."
"Blasphemy!" The ambassador said. "Such a creation would be an abomination, a perversion of nature! It shouldn't be able to use magic at all!"
"And if, through the goodness of my heart, I should disclose that I am one of these so-called 'abominations?'" Gene asked. "If memory serves, my magic is equal to yours on every facet. Do you care to weigh in?"
Ambassador Prog grew silent, horror plain on his amphibious face.
Gene stood, gathering the papers on his desk. "It is my understanding, Ambassador Prog, that magic is somewhat rare among your species. My own, of course, has no such limitation. If, by some happenstance, you choose to go to war with us over this trivial matter, I think it would do you some good to remember that.
"For now, let us adjourn this meeting. Tomorrow, our heads will be cooler, and we will be less likely to do something foolish."
With that, Gene vanished in a flash of light, leaving the room to simmer in his absence.
***
*Thanks for the read! Comments and criticism appreciated, and if you liked this story come check out my others over on /r/TimeSyncs!*
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Fatr’Kll opened his eyes, looking towards his still closed door. Everything looked exactly like it always did. The green and grey carpets extending from his desk to the door. His pedestals, placed in two rows next to the carpet, carrying the crystallised heads of some of the churches grandest enemies. Tropk the Canceller, a grand general in the army of Skarrfo, the largest nation of this planet. He had also been a strong magi, with his own developed techniques to stop other magi from performing their own “tricks”. On another pedestal were the head, or what was left of it, of Go. Fatr’Kll shivered even now from remembering Go’s rampage in this very palace. The eight-limbed assassin had murdered his way through the entire outer city, and murdered some of their strongest magi in his attack. It had taken 24 magi and 10 maguards to end his spree.
There were no sounds in the large room. None that he could hear with his ears at least.
“No need to hide yourself in my presence old friend, you know I do not need to see you to experience your presence.” To his right, Kadd’otk, the churches general, suddenly appeared from a white mist, already dissolving. “So, what has your scouts reported? I heard they found a new inhabited planet, is that so?”
“Yes, but there are… complications, my grandest.” Kadd’otk, one of the toughest men Fatr’kll had ever known, was shivering. He had himself witnessed the general facing 25 armed mercenaries by himself, not even breaking a sweat.
“Complications? Don’t stand there shivering like a scared blogpup, explain yourself man!”
The man straightened, and seemed to gain some heart. “The most evolved species on the planet, called Earth by its inhabitants, are a highly evolved primate, four appendages, my grandest. They have evolved further than most worlds we have discovered, however… Well, they have yet to discover their innate magic. There are no tracks of anything, grandest, except, something synthetic.”
“Synthetic?” No magics of themselves? How highly evolved could these primates be, not even discovering their own magic yet. “What synthetic complication could possibly have the grand general of the Clotrraotian Church shivering?”
“Synthetic magics. And a lot of it.” Fatr’Kll almost choked on one of his tongues. Synthetic magics? How is that even possible?
“That’s not all. These humans, they are not the only being with ability to make use of this synthetic magic, they have also developed synthetic life, so called robots, who can wield it with even more strength than their creators. My grandest, this is heresy of the biggest scale. What should be done to these creatures?
The God Priest fell back in his chair. He had never, in his 756 years of life, heard of an act of heresy towards the church this condemning. Synthetic magic wielded by synthetic life? It went against everything the Clotrraotian Church stood for, everything they fought to protect. He did not have much choice in his decision. Looking at the heads of some of the greatest criminals the cosmos had ever seen, Fatr’Kll realized that after this was done, he was most likely going to have to extent this room to make place for more pedestals.
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[WP] You are 99.99% percent sure your dog is a hellhound but he is still a good boy
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I hang up the phone in shock. That's the third person in six months! Another funeral to attend, another bouquet of flowers to buy. I look over at Cŵn with a feeling of unease.
He's such a friendly and docile dog, hardly ever even barks. Yet, every time I introduce him to a new person, they die. The first two times I convinced myself it was a coincidence, but now I'm starting to wonder.
Cŵn notices me staring at him and lifts his head off his paws to stare back, wagging his tail and uttering a barely audible whine. When I don't look away he gets up and walks over to me, his head bowed submissively, wanting me to pet him.
I observe him closely as I scratch behind his ears. He's a big dog, an Irish Wolfhound, and has the calm, gentle demeanor that is typical of his breed. Does he realize he's killing off my friends, one at a time?
*Stop it!* I scold myself. There's no proof he had anything to do with their deaths; it's just a suspicion, and likely an unfounded one. Maybe I'm becoming paranoid.
"Wanna go for a walk?" This elicits an enthusiastic response, complete with dancing around and furious tail-wagging. I clip the leash to his collar, and we leave the house and begin to stroll down the street.
I see my new neighbor, Jim, heading in our direction. When he gets close enough, he bends down to pet Cŵn, who is stretching forward eagerly to receive the attention.
"Great dog," Jim says with a smile, "What's his name?"
I answer his question, and the two of us proceed to chat for a few minutes about our mutual love of canines. We then part ways with a friendly "See you later" and head off in opposite directions. Already I'm starting to feel better, and realizing that my earlier suspicions were foolish.
Cŵn and I are rounding the corner when I hear it: a screeching of tires on pavement, a dull thud, another neighbor crying out, "Oh my God!!".
I don't even bother to look, because I know. Cŵn gazes up at me with those big, gentle, expressive eyes. "Who's a good boy?" I say, and we continue on our walk.
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Buster trotted into the room and began sniffing furiously under the sofa.
He always did this on Friday nights before 8pm, even with daylight savings time, or the spring equinox.
“What are you looking for buddy?”
He didn’t respond.
In fact, every Friday that buster came in, and began his “business”, I asked him what he was looking for.
I am the kind of guy that likes to please, whether it’s my dog, my girlfriend, my mother, or my boss.
Buster never would answer, though sometimes if an ambulance passed by while he was sniffing, he’d pause, and howl.
He didn’t howl like a normal dog, but instead with a keening gasp, the kind of sound usually you hear from female foxes.
Once, when I heard a female fox at night in my childhood home, I ran outside and saw a man and a woman standing in my neighbor’s yard. She looked pregnant and so did he.
I stared at them, and the guy pushed his wife away from me as if protecting her.
“I don’t mean you harm” I yelled after them.
The fact is the foxes yell always means something, and that’s what I learned the next morning. When my neighbor called all the police circling almaden to our street. “I was robbed last night” he said to me. “Why didn’t you see something if you saw something?”
Years later, on the New York Subway, I also saw this rejoinder. “see something, say something.”
Do you hear that? I told Buster, “see something, say something.”
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[WP] You are 99.99% percent sure your dog is a hellhound but he is still a good boy
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Greta explicitly went into the SPCA that day looking to adopt a big dog. She had finally moved into her first real house and was living alone for the first time in her life, and to be honest she was completely terrified. Normally a light sleeper, she now found herself startling awake at the faintest sounds, convinced that it was an intruder coming to murder her. She hadn’t wanted a dog since her beloved childhood poodle had passed away when she was in high school, but she was sure it was time.
Arnold wasn’t the biggest dog in the SPCA that day, but he was definitely the most absurdly-named one. He had a shaggy dark coat and ears that always stood at attention, and the volunteers had just shrugged at Greta when she asked what breed he was. They also had no information about where he’d come from, but they promised that he seemed to be extremely affectionate and incredibly loyal. “But,” one of the volunteers confessed, “he doesn’t seem to be very intelligent. I don’t want to discourage you from adopting him or anything, but I just hate when adopters don’t have all the information and the dog just ends up back here in a month.”
Greta frowned down at Arnold, who seemed to be confusedly nosing at the back of Greta’s knee, tail wagging back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. When she put her hand down, he moved in front of her and nosed at it instead. After a moment, his tongue darted out and his tag began wagging again. Great grinned at the volunteer, “I think it’ll be fine.”
Greta worked from home two or three days a week, so she was able to spend time with Arnold as he got used to his new environment. At first, she could not seem to understand what the volunteer had meant about Arnold. He seemed to be house-trained, and he generally responded to his name. He didn’t seem to understand commands like “come” or “sit,” but if she called his name enough he would go to her, and if she pushed on his butt he would sit relatively obediently.
However, after a few days, she started to see how someone could think Arnold was less than a genius. He didn’t seem to be very good at playing, not understanding the motivations of playing fetch or tug of war. He also didn’t seem to be very interested in treats, so trying to get him to learn “come” or “sit” was extremely difficult, and Greta soon gave up.
However, she didn’t mind so much. Arnold seemed to be content to wander around the house or the yard, sniffing or staring at things. When he wanted to be around her, he would simply jump up on the couch and deposit his entire 70-pound frame on top of her. If she was cooking or cleaning and he wanted attention, he would put his nose into the back of her knee like he did that first day. When she wanted to be around him, she would reciprocate by throwing her arms around his middle and pulling him down to snuggle.
Ultimately, Greta found Arnold to be an incredibly well-behaved dog. After she was certain he was house-trained, she let him sleep on her bed every night. He had so successfully fulfilled his purpose of granting her peace of mind from intruders that she almost forgot the fear that had motivated her to adopt him in the first place.
The fear came back to her very clearly, however, when she woke in the middle of the night to the vibrating in his throat as he growled low and angrily. Greta was immediately fully alert, and even though her heart was thudding in her ears, she could hear the tell-tale sound of footsteps in the hallway. As Arnold leapt soundlessly from the bed, she forced herself to her feet as well. Just as she reached for her phone on her bedside table, the door burst open.
For a moment, they three of them just watched each other. Greta, reaching for her nightstand and trying to remember how to scream; the hooded man, straight from her nightmares, looming over her; and Arnold, still growling deep in his throat.
All of the sudden, everyone moved. Greta lunged for her phone, Arnold lunged for the intruder, and the intruder swung out blindly. Greta heard a whimper just as her hand closed around her phone, but before she could turn to see if her dog was okay, a hand closed around her wrist and threw her to the ground.
Greta tried to make some noise, tried to beg for her life at the very least, but she couldn’t make any noise leave her throat. She couldn’t move, completely frozen in fear. All she could do was tense as the man bent down over her.
If there’s one thing that definitely stood out about Arnold, it was how quiet he was. He would whimper softly at the door when he needed to go out, and one time he let out a soft *yip* when she stepped on his tail, but she couldn’t really ever remember him so much as barking at the mailman.
The bark he let out now seemed to be making up for lost time. Perhaps it was just Greta’s fear making her senses seem heightened, but the bark sounded like a freight train, like a clap of thunder, like the cracking of bedrock. The room seemed to buck and tilt like a carnival ride, and Greta squeezed her eyes shut, convinced that she was the only person whose luck was shitty enough that her home invasion would be interrupted by an earthquake.
Finally, the floor beneath her seemed to settle, and Greta could hear the howling of the wind outside. After a few seconds Greta managed to force her eyes open. She looked up, and realized that the howling wind wasn’t outside, it was in her bedroom, and it wasn’t her ceiling she was looking up at, it was the stars. She rolled and forced herself to her feet, and realized that the top corner of her house was just… *gone*. Her ceiling, her *walls* were nowhere to be seen, probably in the same place the intruder had disappeared to. Greta tried to make sense of what the hell had just happened, but before she could string two thoughts together, she felt a familiar nose at the back of her knee.
She looked down, and there was Arnold, tail sweeping back and forth to indicate that he was having a blast. Greta couldn’t help falling to her knees, wrapping her arms around his middle, and pulling him down to lay next to her. “Good boy,” she whispered into his fur. “You’re a good boy.”
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Buster trotted into the room and began sniffing furiously under the sofa.
He always did this on Friday nights before 8pm, even with daylight savings time, or the spring equinox.
“What are you looking for buddy?”
He didn’t respond.
In fact, every Friday that buster came in, and began his “business”, I asked him what he was looking for.
I am the kind of guy that likes to please, whether it’s my dog, my girlfriend, my mother, or my boss.
Buster never would answer, though sometimes if an ambulance passed by while he was sniffing, he’d pause, and howl.
He didn’t howl like a normal dog, but instead with a keening gasp, the kind of sound usually you hear from female foxes.
Once, when I heard a female fox at night in my childhood home, I ran outside and saw a man and a woman standing in my neighbor’s yard. She looked pregnant and so did he.
I stared at them, and the guy pushed his wife away from me as if protecting her.
“I don’t mean you harm” I yelled after them.
The fact is the foxes yell always means something, and that’s what I learned the next morning. When my neighbor called all the police circling almaden to our street. “I was robbed last night” he said to me. “Why didn’t you see something if you saw something?”
Years later, on the New York Subway, I also saw this rejoinder. “see something, say something.”
Do you hear that? I told Buster, “see something, say something.”
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[WP] You are 99.99% percent sure your dog is a hellhound but he is still a good boy
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I had gotten Orion as a puppy. The shelter had him down as a German Shepherd/Rottweiler mix, although I had a hunch it was actually Doberman/Rottweiler when I saw him.
When I said I was interested, they'd let me take him to a dog run around the side of the building. I grew up with dogs but had never had one of my own. There were some tennis balls in a basket by the gate and so I threw one for him.
Nothing.
I tried again, and still nothing. He had watched me, and watched the ball, and looked back at me.
When I went over to get the balls back, though, he followed. I decided that I'd rather have a dog who was interested in me then one who would play fetch.
He was easy enough to house train, but that's where it ended. Sometimes I used to tease him that they must have gotten his gender wrong at the shelter because damn he could be a bitch sometimes.
One of his favorite games growing up was Escape. That was a game where I would pretend like I had a normal, sane dog, and he would somehow end up outside the apartment, even though the door was deadbolted.
And he absolutely loved to destroy my socks. People used to dogs will think "Ha ha, yeah, how cute...my pup used to shred my stuff with his teeth, too."
No. I mean *destroy*. I would find little piles of ash in my running shoes, or in the laundry basket when I was sorting my colors from my whites.
Sometimes he barked at my fridge at 3 in the morning.
Sometimes he howled when I went to work...*pre-emptively*. Only on weekdays, and only after I had the coffee in my travel mug.
Sometimes he scratched at the door and then come nuzzle me and then go back to scratching the door until I gave in and went outside with him even though it was pouring rain. Steam would rise from his black fur like the long-dead ghosts of my good mood from fifteen minutes prior.
He only ever hurt me once. We were playing a game - I thought we were, at least. Standard stuff: I have the rope toy, you have the rope toy, I have it, you have it, tug tug tug whee. Dog-ownership 101. I tried to grab the rope right near his muzzle and there was a brief snarl and then searing pain.
I screamed and he let go right away. My forearm, for some reason, wasn't bleeding - even though there were clear puncture holes. But the skin was raw and soon giant blisters emerged.
"You...little...*bitch*!" I shouted at him. His tail dropped and he got down on the floor and sort of trench-crawled his way over to me. Then, like some kind of ridiculous snake, he wriggled his body up my leg to put his head in my lap. And he licked my arm, right where I had been bitten.
"Apology accepted," I said, but he kept licking. It was crazy to me that it didn't hurt, since the pain had nearly been blinding when it happened. And when I looked down, there were still marks where his teeth had punctured my skin but the blisters were gone. I tell friends now that it is *The Sign of the Hound* and that ever since, I've had spooky gypsy-type powers.
But Orion's the only one who had real powers. I only ever saw them once in full effect. I had left him in the car while I ran in to grab Tampax and a bottle of wine - 'cause I'm classy like that - and this dude started talking to me in the parking lot. I could really hear Orion growling, and I certainly couldn't see him from where I was standing - but I could somehow sense it. My neck tingled, almost as if *my* hackles were raising.
And then dude starts putting his arm on my shoulder and giving occasional squeezes as he's talking about how someone pretty like me should be spending time with her boyfriend on a chilly night like this.
I was *tempted* to allude to the torrent of blood and tissue that was oozing out of me at that very moment, but was worried that would just excite him more. So I said, thanks but I'm not feeling well and I just really need to get home.
He got out "Fuck you, whore!" It was clear that he had more to say, probably in a similar vein, but what it was was impossible to tell.
The rest is snapshots: Orion, tense and silent at my side. Orion lunging, the man's clothes bursting into flames. Jaws at the man's throat. Then...a soft *crack*, and Orion lets go. The man falls flat on the pavement, his ear touching his shoulder, his clothes smoldering.
When I get to my car, Orion is inside, sitting on the passenger's seat, tail thumping.
I suppose I should have called somebody but instead I just went home and gave Orion an extra pig's ear.
* * *
And now, this.
I save my tears for the parking lot. At least that's one thing - however small - that I can be proud of. He stops and turns his head to me as the vets are taking him down the corridor - one eye milky and useless, but the other one clearly looking me in the face. He has spent the last week soiling himself and vomiting, and it takes him a few minutes to stand up anymore.
I'm pretty sure he knows. And I'm pretty sure he understands. I hope he does.
"Good boy," I call to him.
He turns away, begins walking down the hallway again, and I stride back through the waiting room as quickly as I can without looking suspicious.
*Good boy.*
* * *
I actually have much less depressing stories on my sub - /r/ShadowsofClouds - if any are interested.
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Buster trotted into the room and began sniffing furiously under the sofa.
He always did this on Friday nights before 8pm, even with daylight savings time, or the spring equinox.
“What are you looking for buddy?”
He didn’t respond.
In fact, every Friday that buster came in, and began his “business”, I asked him what he was looking for.
I am the kind of guy that likes to please, whether it’s my dog, my girlfriend, my mother, or my boss.
Buster never would answer, though sometimes if an ambulance passed by while he was sniffing, he’d pause, and howl.
He didn’t howl like a normal dog, but instead with a keening gasp, the kind of sound usually you hear from female foxes.
Once, when I heard a female fox at night in my childhood home, I ran outside and saw a man and a woman standing in my neighbor’s yard. She looked pregnant and so did he.
I stared at them, and the guy pushed his wife away from me as if protecting her.
“I don’t mean you harm” I yelled after them.
The fact is the foxes yell always means something, and that’s what I learned the next morning. When my neighbor called all the police circling almaden to our street. “I was robbed last night” he said to me. “Why didn’t you see something if you saw something?”
Years later, on the New York Subway, I also saw this rejoinder. “see something, say something.”
Do you hear that? I told Buster, “see something, say something.”
|
|
[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
|
Somehow this day had gotten much weirder than I could have predicted.
It started out with things that seemed reasonable in the context. I figured I’d finally tracked down the only guy in the area that could help me recover my lost files. People said he was a semi-retired genius, living in the country but maintaining a small shop at his house. So it didn’t seem weird that I was showing up at a small farm looking for someone to work on my laptop.
Mr. Gadot had apparently gotten rich setting up some sort of major technological infrastructure. I never did read exactly what it was, but it sounded important. When he got tired of his job he just bought some land and set out to grow his own food. It seems he and his wife were rather isolated for a few years, but then he started a tech business again as an extra hobby. And with his expertise and equipment, he got a reputation for solving impossible problems quickly. If anyone could get things off of my fire-damaged hard drive, it was him.
When I arrived at the house his wife told me that he was out in the main barn tending to the animals, and I could just go ahead and ask him about my problem. So I found myself standing next to a cow pen looking for a farmer to help me with my laptop. Things went steadily downhill from there.
I found Mr. Gadot, and quickly introduced myself and explained why I was there. However, as I explained what had happened and showed him my damaged computer, his demeanor quickly shifted from casually interested to gravely concerned. He grabbed the laptop and took it to a table at the end of the barn to examine the burn patterns. He was muttering something about there being “another one loose” and repeating something about how “it was supposed to prevent this”.
By this point I was pretty concerned, but mostly for the man’s sanity. I started to think this might be why he lived in the middle of nowhere instead of running a major corporation. But then he muttered something in a foreign language and I found myself questioning my *own* sanity instead, because the computer responded in the same language, and I could swear it had a face. Now I don’t know much about computers, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to grow a face and have a conversation with you.
Once Gadot heard the reply, he seemed to switch from panicked to determined. He went over to a nearby pen and grabbed one of the goats. Then he pulled out a large knife that had apparently just been sheathed on the wall for some reason. I looked at what he was doing and blurted out “what is this, some sort of satanic sacrifice?” which elicited a scornful look from him. He spared me enough time to say “I’m Jewish, this is a sacrifice to God.” Before tying the goat to the table and opening a book from the shelf above him.
By this point I pretty much gave up on figuring out what was going on and just watched in shock as he went through a ritual of some sort. The computer started to yell in protest as it realized what he was doing. It seemed to fight him with its sheer strength of will. But once he killed the goat and said what I think was a prayer over its body, the laptop suddenly fell silent.
Gadot breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to me. “I guess you’ll need some sort of explanation for all of that”, he said.
I could only stare back in response.
“Well”, he continued “the short version is that the internet is protected from demons by rabbinical IT experts. We thought we had them all blocked out 20 years ago when we adjusted the network, but you somehow found one.”
I continued to stare at him without fully comprehending his words. After a moment he looked at me with a curious expression and asked “just what sort of websites were you browsing anyway?” and I realized that for the sake of the internet, I would have to disclose my browser history to a rabbi.
|
'Hey, this is Seth from Marketing. I'm calling about what looks like a computer virus.'
There is no response, despite Seth making out some soft murmurs which are definitely coming from the other end. He taps the phone speaker a few times, hoping the loud noise would draw the IT guy's attention, and he is somewhat successful. A noise which sounds like static rings through the phone, however its pitch is quite low making Seth think that it may, in fact, be him; the dreaded IT guy. Perhaps the stories are true?
'Hellooo... Hellooo. Come on, man. You picked up the phone! I know you're there.'
'... Hello,' a man with a deep voice speaks from the other end. 'You've reached IT, how may I be of service to you?'
He sounds unnervingly apathetic.
'Um... hey. So, I think I've got this virus-'
All of a sudden there is an excruciating scream on the other end, forcing Seth to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment.
'Dude, what's going on?! Are you okay?!' asks Seth, simultaneously worried and terrified.
The screaming abruptly stops.
'Yeah I'm fine. How about you?'
The stories are *definitely* true.
'... Uhhh, I'm -- I'm good.'
'That's good,' the man replies.
'... So,' Seth ponders just ending the call there, but the important documents on his computer relating to his presentation, which is tomorrow, prevent him from doing so. 'My computer's got this, like, virus thing I think. It won't start. I don't know what to do and I really need to get into my files-'
'Just one moment.'
The phone hangs up.
'What the hell?!'
Seth double-checks to make sure the connection was actually lost. If so, he may actually have a valid complaint to make to HR, possibly ending the office-wide reluctance to ask IT for help whenever problems arise; which has resulted in many instances of lost family photos, and near-complete games of minesweeper. It was.
He turns around in his chair and reaches for his desk drawer, but recoils at the site of the tall, skinny man with long, black hair standing at the entrance to his cubicle. He reeks of BO and, strangely, smoke.
'Woah!' screams Seth reactively, quickly regaining his composure in the name of professionalism. 'H-hi. So sorry, who are you?'
'You called about a virus...' replies the man, his eyes wide open enough to make his forehead wrinkle.
'Wait, so you're the IT guy? We literally stopped talking just a few seconds ago! How did you get here so fast?'
'I travel the passages which lie between the realms of man and ghost.'
Seth stiffens up, making the decision to avoid eye contact from hereon. Though the aversion to eye contact is not necessarily a conscious act.
'... Okay. Well, uh... the computer is right here. I'll let you get to it,' Seth stands and walks to the corner of the cubicle, presenting one hand toward his chair before quickly crossing his arms. For some reason he feels the need to protect all of his vital organs.
The IT guy moves swiftly into the chair, promptly being followed by a fully-grown goat, an apparent pet of his, which leaps up and sits on his lap.
'Dude, why do you have a goat?!'
The man turns to look at Seth.
'I found it wandering along the shadowy plains of Gorroth in the Arrathean dimension. It was cute, so I decided to keep it as a companion.'
Seth is tempted to cite the rules on bringing pets to the office, but decides not to upon considering the potential conversational ramifications. Those being the continuation of any conversation at all. He decides to remain silent and ignore the ridiculousness which he had just heard.
The IT guy turns back to the computer and begins doing his job, identifying the problem within moments.
'It appears the grace of God almighty has left your computer, allowing an evil to incorporate itself within your system. I see only one solution.'
Seth rolls his eyes and buries his face in his hands for a few moments. *I see the problem* he thinks to himself. *He does all this weird stuff and HR thinks that people are joking when they report him, or crazy. And seeing as the computers get fixed, they've got little reason to fire him.* When he raises his head again he is surprisingly surprised at the sight of a long hunting knife being pressed against the goat's throat.
'Oh my God, man! What are you doing?!' he screams.
'Goat's blood is a powerful repellent of evil energy. I am willing to sacrifice my companion for the safety of your system.'
'JESUS, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! NO!'
'I would refrain from using the Lord's name in vain, this may only worsen the problem.'
'Dude, just...' Seth trails off, clearly exasperated by this ordeal. 'Just, fix the fucking computer, alright? It's *just* a virus...'
The man appears to ponder for a moment, picking at knots in the goat's fur.
'If you will not allow me to spill the blood of my companion, the only alternative is to remove the hard drive...'
*Oh my God, that's all it takes?!*
'Yes, just do that!'
The tall, skinny, and black haired man stands up quickly, the goat leaping from his lap and lying at his feet. With little regard for noise or damaged property, he tosses aside the monitor to get at the computer beneath, using his long hunting knife to pry open the casing. After a little bit of fiddling, he removes the hard drive with his bare hand and tosses it on the desk, but for some reason decides to keep digging.
'Dude, that's the hard drive. What else is there to look at?'
After a few seconds the man removes something else. A long, thin piece of cardboard.
'... What's that?' asks Seth.
‘I believe it is a ouija board. It appears to have replaced the motherboard.’
Seth, leaning against the cubicle wall, drops to the ground and rolls his head back. He is now looking directly at the ceiling; as far from eye contact as possible. The IT guy begins contemplatively rumbling in the back of his throat.
'... I think that is the problem.'
___________________________________________________________________________________________
I have a thing... r/SandfordStories
|
|
[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
|
"What in the *hell* are you doing!?" I screamed, staring in shock at this lunatic who was sitting in my special chair, holding a long butcher's knife next to a bleating goat's throat.
"Well you want your computer fixed, right?" he asked, looking at me with genuine concern. I honestly didn't know if this guy was being serious or pulling my leg, but this was a prank I was going to put that knife to *his* throat.
"Yeah, but why you have a fucking goat and a knife!?"
"...Well how else do you expect me to fix your computer?"
"By, like, turning it off and on, or like installing some software or something! I assumed you'd actually be working on the computer instead of preparing to kill a goat!"
"Listen, Sharon. I know you've had a rough day, but you need to let me do my job. I'm here to fix your computer, and that's what I'm gonna do." He looked at me with this face of pure seriousness, almost as if he was actually telling the truth. I still had no clue what to do.
"Okay okay - I get that you're here to fix my com- can you please just take the knife away for a minute? Please?" I asked, moving my hand to my eyes and rubbing them as I tried to avoid eye contact with the goat, which at the moment was trying to make eye contact with me as if to get me to help it escape its dubious fate.
"Sigh, alright." he said, lowering the knife from the goat's throat. He still had it held in place by its horns and wouldn't let it go, making it bleat louder.
"Okay - I understand you're here to fix my computer, but why are you killing a goat here? That 1) has **nothing** to do with me, you, your job or what you're even here for, and 2) **has** to be illegal! And where the hell did you even get a goat anyway?"
His eyes turned dark as I spoke, the innocent nature fading away like the sun during an eclipse. He stared at me as I spoke, causing my words to slow to a halt and get caught in my throat. It felt eerie, almost like he was gutting me with his eyes. His clean, razor sharp eyes. *Shudder*.
"Sharon, do you even know what I do here?" he asked, his voice no more than a soft whisper.
"U-uh yes...? You're the IT guy, r-right?" I spoke, my voice now reduced to a stuttering whisper and the atmosphere became intense within moments.
"That is correct. Do you know how my job works?"
"Well if I did, then you wouldn't be here, r-right?" I spoke, raising my voice a little, remaining steadfast.
"Ah," he chuckled, his vice of a hand relaxing ever so slightly on the goat. "That's true. But allow me to explain to you how my job works." His eyes became as cold as steel and his grip tightened on the goat, causing it to bleat softly, as if it had already admitted defeat.
"To fix a computer, you must first communicate with it. Sure, it is as you believed - we have to try turning it off and on again, installing or removing software, running all sorts of diagnostics. But what happens when the computer doesn't respond to all those methods? What do you think, hmm?"
I shook my head, my mind racing. It felt like I was an elementary school student who'd just been called to the principal's office, and now had to sit and watch his call my parent to explain what I'd done. Fear coursed through my veins like a wildfire in a barren forest, sending violent shivers down my spine.
"If that doesn't work, then we need to perform a bitorcism. Think of it as a procedure similar to an exorcism, but involving computers. Once we set up the computer and install the right software, we must sacrifice a goat to Bina-RY, the Machine God. Once we do that, we gain the power to summon the almighty demon CH0DAN, a being capable of cleansing any machine."
I looked at this 28 year-old man, stuck in a low-end IT job for a mediocre company, and laughed. I laughed loud and hard, tears spilling from my eyes as he looked with minor surprise. He then shifted to a smile and began to chuckle with me, leaving me completely off guard as he quickly brought the knife back to the goat's neck and sliced, deep and strong.
My boisterous laugh morphed into a shrill scream that echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and cubicles. I gaped in horror as the now dead goat's blood flowed over the computer, running down all the channels of the keyboard like a river breaking into tributaries. As soon as the goat finished bleeding, the man placed it down gently and began to type quickly on an inactive computer. He was typing away jibberish on a computer that wasn't even on.
Right as I prepared to faint and believe it was all a dream, a massive light flooded the office, originating from the computer. The harsh blue light flashed and from within came a dark face. It resembled a man with tangled fire red hair and eyes that could pierce through stone. Her face was imbued with circuit lines and he almost looked like some monster that was being summoned from another dimension.
And that's when I decided to black out.
"Ugh. What happened?" I asked to no one in particular.
"Ah, you're awake! I don't really know what happened, but I was asking you a few questions and you just blacked out! Are you alright?"
I was staring at the dangerously close face of the IT guy, who seemed to be examining me for life signs. Well, since I was wide awake now, I pushed him away and got up, stumbling and grabbing my desk for support.
"H-hey - wasn't there a goat and a face with lines and stuff...?" I asked, dead serious.
"I think you hit your head pretty hard," he chuckled. "You're gonna want to get some rest. I fixed up your computer, so you'll be fine. Let me know if you need anything else!"
He walked away, waving nonchalantly as he did so, almost like he didn't have a care in the world.
I must have been dreaming, right?
***
You should get your computer fixed by the IT guy in my subreddit, **r/FragmentedPencil**!
|
'Hey, this is Seth from Marketing. I'm calling about what looks like a computer virus.'
There is no response, despite Seth making out some soft murmurs which are definitely coming from the other end. He taps the phone speaker a few times, hoping the loud noise would draw the IT guy's attention, and he is somewhat successful. A noise which sounds like static rings through the phone, however its pitch is quite low making Seth think that it may, in fact, be him; the dreaded IT guy. Perhaps the stories are true?
'Hellooo... Hellooo. Come on, man. You picked up the phone! I know you're there.'
'... Hello,' a man with a deep voice speaks from the other end. 'You've reached IT, how may I be of service to you?'
He sounds unnervingly apathetic.
'Um... hey. So, I think I've got this virus-'
All of a sudden there is an excruciating scream on the other end, forcing Seth to pull the phone away from his ear for a moment.
'Dude, what's going on?! Are you okay?!' asks Seth, simultaneously worried and terrified.
The screaming abruptly stops.
'Yeah I'm fine. How about you?'
The stories are *definitely* true.
'... Uhhh, I'm -- I'm good.'
'That's good,' the man replies.
'... So,' Seth ponders just ending the call there, but the important documents on his computer relating to his presentation, which is tomorrow, prevent him from doing so. 'My computer's got this, like, virus thing I think. It won't start. I don't know what to do and I really need to get into my files-'
'Just one moment.'
The phone hangs up.
'What the hell?!'
Seth double-checks to make sure the connection was actually lost. If so, he may actually have a valid complaint to make to HR, possibly ending the office-wide reluctance to ask IT for help whenever problems arise; which has resulted in many instances of lost family photos, and near-complete games of minesweeper. It was.
He turns around in his chair and reaches for his desk drawer, but recoils at the site of the tall, skinny man with long, black hair standing at the entrance to his cubicle. He reeks of BO and, strangely, smoke.
'Woah!' screams Seth reactively, quickly regaining his composure in the name of professionalism. 'H-hi. So sorry, who are you?'
'You called about a virus...' replies the man, his eyes wide open enough to make his forehead wrinkle.
'Wait, so you're the IT guy? We literally stopped talking just a few seconds ago! How did you get here so fast?'
'I travel the passages which lie between the realms of man and ghost.'
Seth stiffens up, making the decision to avoid eye contact from hereon. Though the aversion to eye contact is not necessarily a conscious act.
'... Okay. Well, uh... the computer is right here. I'll let you get to it,' Seth stands and walks to the corner of the cubicle, presenting one hand toward his chair before quickly crossing his arms. For some reason he feels the need to protect all of his vital organs.
The IT guy moves swiftly into the chair, promptly being followed by a fully-grown goat, an apparent pet of his, which leaps up and sits on his lap.
'Dude, why do you have a goat?!'
The man turns to look at Seth.
'I found it wandering along the shadowy plains of Gorroth in the Arrathean dimension. It was cute, so I decided to keep it as a companion.'
Seth is tempted to cite the rules on bringing pets to the office, but decides not to upon considering the potential conversational ramifications. Those being the continuation of any conversation at all. He decides to remain silent and ignore the ridiculousness which he had just heard.
The IT guy turns back to the computer and begins doing his job, identifying the problem within moments.
'It appears the grace of God almighty has left your computer, allowing an evil to incorporate itself within your system. I see only one solution.'
Seth rolls his eyes and buries his face in his hands for a few moments. *I see the problem* he thinks to himself. *He does all this weird stuff and HR thinks that people are joking when they report him, or crazy. And seeing as the computers get fixed, they've got little reason to fire him.* When he raises his head again he is surprisingly surprised at the sight of a long hunting knife being pressed against the goat's throat.
'Oh my God, man! What are you doing?!' he screams.
'Goat's blood is a powerful repellent of evil energy. I am willing to sacrifice my companion for the safety of your system.'
'JESUS, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! NO!'
'I would refrain from using the Lord's name in vain, this may only worsen the problem.'
'Dude, just...' Seth trails off, clearly exasperated by this ordeal. 'Just, fix the fucking computer, alright? It's *just* a virus...'
The man appears to ponder for a moment, picking at knots in the goat's fur.
'If you will not allow me to spill the blood of my companion, the only alternative is to remove the hard drive...'
*Oh my God, that's all it takes?!*
'Yes, just do that!'
The tall, skinny, and black haired man stands up quickly, the goat leaping from his lap and lying at his feet. With little regard for noise or damaged property, he tosses aside the monitor to get at the computer beneath, using his long hunting knife to pry open the casing. After a little bit of fiddling, he removes the hard drive with his bare hand and tosses it on the desk, but for some reason decides to keep digging.
'Dude, that's the hard drive. What else is there to look at?'
After a few seconds the man removes something else. A long, thin piece of cardboard.
'... What's that?' asks Seth.
‘I believe it is a ouija board. It appears to have replaced the motherboard.’
Seth, leaning against the cubicle wall, drops to the ground and rolls his head back. He is now looking directly at the ceiling; as far from eye contact as possible. The IT guy begins contemplatively rumbling in the back of his throat.
'... I think that is the problem.'
___________________________________________________________________________________________
I have a thing... r/SandfordStories
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|
[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
|
Somehow this day had gotten much weirder than I could have predicted.
It started out with things that seemed reasonable in the context. I figured I’d finally tracked down the only guy in the area that could help me recover my lost files. People said he was a semi-retired genius, living in the country but maintaining a small shop at his house. So it didn’t seem weird that I was showing up at a small farm looking for someone to work on my laptop.
Mr. Gadot had apparently gotten rich setting up some sort of major technological infrastructure. I never did read exactly what it was, but it sounded important. When he got tired of his job he just bought some land and set out to grow his own food. It seems he and his wife were rather isolated for a few years, but then he started a tech business again as an extra hobby. And with his expertise and equipment, he got a reputation for solving impossible problems quickly. If anyone could get things off of my fire-damaged hard drive, it was him.
When I arrived at the house his wife told me that he was out in the main barn tending to the animals, and I could just go ahead and ask him about my problem. So I found myself standing next to a cow pen looking for a farmer to help me with my laptop. Things went steadily downhill from there.
I found Mr. Gadot, and quickly introduced myself and explained why I was there. However, as I explained what had happened and showed him my damaged computer, his demeanor quickly shifted from casually interested to gravely concerned. He grabbed the laptop and took it to a table at the end of the barn to examine the burn patterns. He was muttering something about there being “another one loose” and repeating something about how “it was supposed to prevent this”.
By this point I was pretty concerned, but mostly for the man’s sanity. I started to think this might be why he lived in the middle of nowhere instead of running a major corporation. But then he muttered something in a foreign language and I found myself questioning my *own* sanity instead, because the computer responded in the same language, and I could swear it had a face. Now I don’t know much about computers, but I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to grow a face and have a conversation with you.
Once Gadot heard the reply, he seemed to switch from panicked to determined. He went over to a nearby pen and grabbed one of the goats. Then he pulled out a large knife that had apparently just been sheathed on the wall for some reason. I looked at what he was doing and blurted out “what is this, some sort of satanic sacrifice?” which elicited a scornful look from him. He spared me enough time to say “I’m Jewish, this is a sacrifice to God.” Before tying the goat to the table and opening a book from the shelf above him.
By this point I pretty much gave up on figuring out what was going on and just watched in shock as he went through a ritual of some sort. The computer started to yell in protest as it realized what he was doing. It seemed to fight him with its sheer strength of will. But once he killed the goat and said what I think was a prayer over its body, the laptop suddenly fell silent.
Gadot breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to me. “I guess you’ll need some sort of explanation for all of that”, he said.
I could only stare back in response.
“Well”, he continued “the short version is that the internet is protected from demons by rabbinical IT experts. We thought we had them all blocked out 20 years ago when we adjusted the network, but you somehow found one.”
I continued to stare at him without fully comprehending his words. After a moment he looked at me with a curious expression and asked “just what sort of websites were you browsing anyway?” and I realized that for the sake of the internet, I would have to disclose my browser history to a rabbi.
|
So I had called into IT because my printer kept jamming up every couple of pages and I was getting sick of it. But I wasn’t expecting the reaction that John had when he got there.
“Wow D, you really did a number on your printer. Could you get us some coffee while I look at this?” John said, fiddling with the case of the printer to get it off.
“Yeah, sure thing man.” I said, my feet already walking towards the staff break room. I poured two of the cardboard cups, like the ones you get at Starbucks, and walked back out to my cubicle.
I was happy to see that the case was off and some of the inner-workings were being messed with, that was obvious. I wasn’t so happy to see thin air in front the printer. It must have been John pulling some sort of joke, ever since he found that book in the company attic that’s all he’d ever do.
I called into the IT department again, but they hadn’t seen John back since I called for him. But as soon as I said he was working on my printer, a voice I didn’t recognize got on the phone.
“Did you say printer?” The gruff voice said, with an apparent sound of commotion in the background.
“Uh yeah, I’m at cubicle DS-7, my printer went up. I’m sorry who are you again?” I asked the strange voice on the other end of the line.
“The IT guy.” He said, just before he hung up the phone. I sighed, and turned around to face a larger, gray bearded man. I jumped at the unexpected sight, and started to do my nervous stutter.
“Whoa! W-who are y-you?” I asked, clutching the side of my desk, but pulling my hand away quickly when I felt something squishy below my hand. I pulled it up and saw what I am now certain was the last of the Earthly remnants of John.
“IT guy. Move.” He commanded, pushing me gently out of the way. From his waistband he pulled a knife, placing it on the desk, and then reaching farther into his Khakis, he pulled a large goat.
“T-That’s a goat.” I said, before fainting from John’s brain being squished against my hand.
******
As I regained consciousness, I saw an odd sight. The gray bearded man had changed into a trench coat, with guns strapped to each side. He was shooting at something just outside my vision. I shifted my head up and saw a large monster, a mixture of crab and horse, which caused me to faint again. But before the dark could fully take me, he pulled me up and handed me a gun. As soon as I pointed it at the crab, it speared me with its claw, ripping through my stomach. This time, it wasn’t the darkness of unconsciousness that took me, but the darkness of death.
P.S. That’s not what I envisioned as the end but I’m pressed for time since school will start soon.
|
|
[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
|
"What in the *hell* are you doing!?" I screamed, staring in shock at this lunatic who was sitting in my special chair, holding a long butcher's knife next to a bleating goat's throat.
"Well you want your computer fixed, right?" he asked, looking at me with genuine concern. I honestly didn't know if this guy was being serious or pulling my leg, but this was a prank I was going to put that knife to *his* throat.
"Yeah, but why you have a fucking goat and a knife!?"
"...Well how else do you expect me to fix your computer?"
"By, like, turning it off and on, or like installing some software or something! I assumed you'd actually be working on the computer instead of preparing to kill a goat!"
"Listen, Sharon. I know you've had a rough day, but you need to let me do my job. I'm here to fix your computer, and that's what I'm gonna do." He looked at me with this face of pure seriousness, almost as if he was actually telling the truth. I still had no clue what to do.
"Okay okay - I get that you're here to fix my com- can you please just take the knife away for a minute? Please?" I asked, moving my hand to my eyes and rubbing them as I tried to avoid eye contact with the goat, which at the moment was trying to make eye contact with me as if to get me to help it escape its dubious fate.
"Sigh, alright." he said, lowering the knife from the goat's throat. He still had it held in place by its horns and wouldn't let it go, making it bleat louder.
"Okay - I understand you're here to fix my computer, but why are you killing a goat here? That 1) has **nothing** to do with me, you, your job or what you're even here for, and 2) **has** to be illegal! And where the hell did you even get a goat anyway?"
His eyes turned dark as I spoke, the innocent nature fading away like the sun during an eclipse. He stared at me as I spoke, causing my words to slow to a halt and get caught in my throat. It felt eerie, almost like he was gutting me with his eyes. His clean, razor sharp eyes. *Shudder*.
"Sharon, do you even know what I do here?" he asked, his voice no more than a soft whisper.
"U-uh yes...? You're the IT guy, r-right?" I spoke, my voice now reduced to a stuttering whisper and the atmosphere became intense within moments.
"That is correct. Do you know how my job works?"
"Well if I did, then you wouldn't be here, r-right?" I spoke, raising my voice a little, remaining steadfast.
"Ah," he chuckled, his vice of a hand relaxing ever so slightly on the goat. "That's true. But allow me to explain to you how my job works." His eyes became as cold as steel and his grip tightened on the goat, causing it to bleat softly, as if it had already admitted defeat.
"To fix a computer, you must first communicate with it. Sure, it is as you believed - we have to try turning it off and on again, installing or removing software, running all sorts of diagnostics. But what happens when the computer doesn't respond to all those methods? What do you think, hmm?"
I shook my head, my mind racing. It felt like I was an elementary school student who'd just been called to the principal's office, and now had to sit and watch his call my parent to explain what I'd done. Fear coursed through my veins like a wildfire in a barren forest, sending violent shivers down my spine.
"If that doesn't work, then we need to perform a bitorcism. Think of it as a procedure similar to an exorcism, but involving computers. Once we set up the computer and install the right software, we must sacrifice a goat to Bina-RY, the Machine God. Once we do that, we gain the power to summon the almighty demon CH0DAN, a being capable of cleansing any machine."
I looked at this 28 year-old man, stuck in a low-end IT job for a mediocre company, and laughed. I laughed loud and hard, tears spilling from my eyes as he looked with minor surprise. He then shifted to a smile and began to chuckle with me, leaving me completely off guard as he quickly brought the knife back to the goat's neck and sliced, deep and strong.
My boisterous laugh morphed into a shrill scream that echoed throughout the office, bouncing off the walls and cubicles. I gaped in horror as the now dead goat's blood flowed over the computer, running down all the channels of the keyboard like a river breaking into tributaries. As soon as the goat finished bleeding, the man placed it down gently and began to type quickly on an inactive computer. He was typing away jibberish on a computer that wasn't even on.
Right as I prepared to faint and believe it was all a dream, a massive light flooded the office, originating from the computer. The harsh blue light flashed and from within came a dark face. It resembled a man with tangled fire red hair and eyes that could pierce through stone. Her face was imbued with circuit lines and he almost looked like some monster that was being summoned from another dimension.
And that's when I decided to black out.
"Ugh. What happened?" I asked to no one in particular.
"Ah, you're awake! I don't really know what happened, but I was asking you a few questions and you just blacked out! Are you alright?"
I was staring at the dangerously close face of the IT guy, who seemed to be examining me for life signs. Well, since I was wide awake now, I pushed him away and got up, stumbling and grabbing my desk for support.
"H-hey - wasn't there a goat and a face with lines and stuff...?" I asked, dead serious.
"I think you hit your head pretty hard," he chuckled. "You're gonna want to get some rest. I fixed up your computer, so you'll be fine. Let me know if you need anything else!"
He walked away, waving nonchalantly as he did so, almost like he didn't have a care in the world.
I must have been dreaming, right?
***
You should get your computer fixed by the IT guy in my subreddit, **r/FragmentedPencil**!
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So I had called into IT because my printer kept jamming up every couple of pages and I was getting sick of it. But I wasn’t expecting the reaction that John had when he got there.
“Wow D, you really did a number on your printer. Could you get us some coffee while I look at this?” John said, fiddling with the case of the printer to get it off.
“Yeah, sure thing man.” I said, my feet already walking towards the staff break room. I poured two of the cardboard cups, like the ones you get at Starbucks, and walked back out to my cubicle.
I was happy to see that the case was off and some of the inner-workings were being messed with, that was obvious. I wasn’t so happy to see thin air in front the printer. It must have been John pulling some sort of joke, ever since he found that book in the company attic that’s all he’d ever do.
I called into the IT department again, but they hadn’t seen John back since I called for him. But as soon as I said he was working on my printer, a voice I didn’t recognize got on the phone.
“Did you say printer?” The gruff voice said, with an apparent sound of commotion in the background.
“Uh yeah, I’m at cubicle DS-7, my printer went up. I’m sorry who are you again?” I asked the strange voice on the other end of the line.
“The IT guy.” He said, just before he hung up the phone. I sighed, and turned around to face a larger, gray bearded man. I jumped at the unexpected sight, and started to do my nervous stutter.
“Whoa! W-who are y-you?” I asked, clutching the side of my desk, but pulling my hand away quickly when I felt something squishy below my hand. I pulled it up and saw what I am now certain was the last of the Earthly remnants of John.
“IT guy. Move.” He commanded, pushing me gently out of the way. From his waistband he pulled a knife, placing it on the desk, and then reaching farther into his Khakis, he pulled a large goat.
“T-That’s a goat.” I said, before fainting from John’s brain being squished against my hand.
******
As I regained consciousness, I saw an odd sight. The gray bearded man had changed into a trench coat, with guns strapped to each side. He was shooting at something just outside my vision. I shifted my head up and saw a large monster, a mixture of crab and horse, which caused me to faint again. But before the dark could fully take me, he pulled me up and handed me a gun. As soon as I pointed it at the crab, it speared me with its claw, ripping through my stomach. This time, it wasn’t the darkness of unconsciousness that took me, but the darkness of death.
P.S. That’s not what I envisioned as the end but I’m pressed for time since school will start soon.
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[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
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"Okay, okay..." I said, my voice betraying the slightest hint of the panic I was feeling. "...let's just calm down. What do we need a goat for?"
The IT guy looked at me with a steely gaze I had previously assumed was reserved only for action heroes. "Mr. Greene, I need to call in some backup."
"Like Satan backup?"
The IT guy chuckled. "No, no. I don't think Satan would be of much help here. Frankly, odds are he's already working for the other side anyway. No, I'm summoning a Great Old One - Hastur, to be specific. He's sympathetic to IT guys like me for some reason. I think he had a job in the 90's and early 00's at an ISP."
The IT guy spoke every word as if he believed it. His matter of fact manner even made me believe it, if only for a second. "Okay, but why do you need a Great Old One? We only brought you in because the website was down. You fixed that."
The IT guy chuckled. "No. You brought me in because your last guy was a simpering incompetent. Yes, your website was down. Yes, I fixed it. But you signed an ongoing services contract with me. That means it behooves me to make sure your environment is as clean and as stable as possible, lest you call me in the middle of then night because something isn't working. I like my sleep Mr. Greene. So I started cleaning up the mess left by my predecessor. I removed McAfee and replaced it with a proper antivirus. I pulled BonzaiBUDDY from all the machines in your environment. And I shut down the bitcoin miners he had left buried in all kinds of hardware. But if you pull enough strings sometime something bad drops out. This was one of those times."
I didn't understand what he meant about the antivirus, or who BonzaiBUDDY was, but his tone was still so genuine it was convincing. "What do you mean bad?"
"I mean summoning Hastur kind of bad. Now if you don't mind - I have some eldritch to incant and some goats to sacrifice."
"Look..." I said, nervously glancing at the goat "...I can't just let you sacrifice a goat on company property. HR will pitch a fit."
The IT guy looked at me for a second, then shrugged. "Fine..." he said rather calmly "...if you want to face what's coming on your own, then it's your choice. But you may want to give legal a heads up if you're going down that route."
"Legal - why would I need to call legal?"
The IT guy shook his head. "I found sixteen unlicensed Oracle database servers running in your environment. I have no doubt that an army of their demon-lawyers are on their way to visit you right now."
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So I had called into IT because my printer kept jamming up every couple of pages and I was getting sick of it. But I wasn’t expecting the reaction that John had when he got there.
“Wow D, you really did a number on your printer. Could you get us some coffee while I look at this?” John said, fiddling with the case of the printer to get it off.
“Yeah, sure thing man.” I said, my feet already walking towards the staff break room. I poured two of the cardboard cups, like the ones you get at Starbucks, and walked back out to my cubicle.
I was happy to see that the case was off and some of the inner-workings were being messed with, that was obvious. I wasn’t so happy to see thin air in front the printer. It must have been John pulling some sort of joke, ever since he found that book in the company attic that’s all he’d ever do.
I called into the IT department again, but they hadn’t seen John back since I called for him. But as soon as I said he was working on my printer, a voice I didn’t recognize got on the phone.
“Did you say printer?” The gruff voice said, with an apparent sound of commotion in the background.
“Uh yeah, I’m at cubicle DS-7, my printer went up. I’m sorry who are you again?” I asked the strange voice on the other end of the line.
“The IT guy.” He said, just before he hung up the phone. I sighed, and turned around to face a larger, gray bearded man. I jumped at the unexpected sight, and started to do my nervous stutter.
“Whoa! W-who are y-you?” I asked, clutching the side of my desk, but pulling my hand away quickly when I felt something squishy below my hand. I pulled it up and saw what I am now certain was the last of the Earthly remnants of John.
“IT guy. Move.” He commanded, pushing me gently out of the way. From his waistband he pulled a knife, placing it on the desk, and then reaching farther into his Khakis, he pulled a large goat.
“T-That’s a goat.” I said, before fainting from John’s brain being squished against my hand.
******
As I regained consciousness, I saw an odd sight. The gray bearded man had changed into a trench coat, with guns strapped to each side. He was shooting at something just outside my vision. I shifted my head up and saw a large monster, a mixture of crab and horse, which caused me to faint again. But before the dark could fully take me, he pulled me up and handed me a gun. As soon as I pointed it at the crab, it speared me with its claw, ripping through my stomach. This time, it wasn’t the darkness of unconsciousness that took me, but the darkness of death.
P.S. That’s not what I envisioned as the end but I’m pressed for time since school will start soon.
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[WP] When the IT-guy took out a knife and a goat you knew your problem was more severe than initially thought.
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"Have you tried turning it on and back on again?" The techie asked monotonously as he worked his way through his well practiced mental tick chart.
"Yes," I sigh, my foot tapping idly on the ground. "I have tried turning it off and back on again." I'd been here for almost an hour now, and when the last guy couldn't get it fixed he got his colleague to come in and start from the beginning! And I have no choice but to sit here and listen to this idiot prattle on. My job was riding on this damn report.
"Have you tried re-installing adobe reader?"
"Adobe-! I can't! The bloody machine won't start properly!"
"Have you tried praying to our Lord Satan?"
"Ye-" I started to yell, having anticipated something else. "Wait, what did you just ask?"
"Have you tried unplugging your machine at the mains?" He asked, still looking at me with that slightly glassy expression.
"N-no. I mean yes! Yes I've done that one." I reply, glad that it seems to be a normal question.
"Have you tried sacrificing a goat to our glorious Lord and savior Saaatan?" He asked, stretching out his final word to leave no room for doubt in my mind.
"W-what the hell?!"
"Exactly. Take a goat, slit it's neck and draw sigils of dark power upon your computer with it's life blood. All whilst chanting his gloooorious name." He told me, his voice still as monotonous as ever, his eyes still glazed and fixed upon me.
"What's wrong with you?! How in god's name would that help? And where'd I even get a goat?!" I cried out desperately, words spilling from my lips without me being able to think them through.
"Well it certainly wouldn't help in God's name," He said, his hollow eyes somehow looking at me like I'm some sort of moron. "It needs to be to SA-ATAN! And don't worry about the goat. Got one here."
Ignoring how his voice changed slightly with a word there, I reflexively roar back at him. "WHY THE HELL DO YOU HAVE A GOAT?!"
"IT emergencies."
"THAT'S-" I stop, unsure of how to even parse what's being said anymore. "Just... NO! I'm not sacrificing a goat to Satan to fix my PC."
"Suit yourself." He paused, his empty eyes also somehow filled with disappointment. "Now have you tried booting you computer in safe mode?"
I glare at him for a moment, making certain he was done, before carefully replying. "Yeah I tried that. It still wouldn't run properly."
The IT man's face clouded over, overtly changing expression for the first time in the conversation as he frowned to himself. "Then this sounds like a llama job..."
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So I had called into IT because my printer kept jamming up every couple of pages and I was getting sick of it. But I wasn’t expecting the reaction that John had when he got there.
“Wow D, you really did a number on your printer. Could you get us some coffee while I look at this?” John said, fiddling with the case of the printer to get it off.
“Yeah, sure thing man.” I said, my feet already walking towards the staff break room. I poured two of the cardboard cups, like the ones you get at Starbucks, and walked back out to my cubicle.
I was happy to see that the case was off and some of the inner-workings were being messed with, that was obvious. I wasn’t so happy to see thin air in front the printer. It must have been John pulling some sort of joke, ever since he found that book in the company attic that’s all he’d ever do.
I called into the IT department again, but they hadn’t seen John back since I called for him. But as soon as I said he was working on my printer, a voice I didn’t recognize got on the phone.
“Did you say printer?” The gruff voice said, with an apparent sound of commotion in the background.
“Uh yeah, I’m at cubicle DS-7, my printer went up. I’m sorry who are you again?” I asked the strange voice on the other end of the line.
“The IT guy.” He said, just before he hung up the phone. I sighed, and turned around to face a larger, gray bearded man. I jumped at the unexpected sight, and started to do my nervous stutter.
“Whoa! W-who are y-you?” I asked, clutching the side of my desk, but pulling my hand away quickly when I felt something squishy below my hand. I pulled it up and saw what I am now certain was the last of the Earthly remnants of John.
“IT guy. Move.” He commanded, pushing me gently out of the way. From his waistband he pulled a knife, placing it on the desk, and then reaching farther into his Khakis, he pulled a large goat.
“T-That’s a goat.” I said, before fainting from John’s brain being squished against my hand.
******
As I regained consciousness, I saw an odd sight. The gray bearded man had changed into a trench coat, with guns strapped to each side. He was shooting at something just outside my vision. I shifted my head up and saw a large monster, a mixture of crab and horse, which caused me to faint again. But before the dark could fully take me, he pulled me up and handed me a gun. As soon as I pointed it at the crab, it speared me with its claw, ripping through my stomach. This time, it wasn’t the darkness of unconsciousness that took me, but the darkness of death.
P.S. That’s not what I envisioned as the end but I’m pressed for time since school will start soon.
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[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
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"Alright, we have one last thing to do and then we can go home." Retiring from super villainy was one of the hardest decisions of my life, and one of the best. The day I found out about Jenna was the day I gave up making chaos wherever I pleased.
"OK daddy. Can we watch telly when we get home?" Jenna asks as we cross the road.
"Did you do your homework?" I reply. Ah, there the bank.
"Yes, and I did all my chores before we left to." She turns her head up to me looking quite pleased.
"Alright then, we can watch something when we get home. But first I have to check something here." I smile at her as we go in.
Everything is great in my life, I have a great kid, I have a great house (bought and paid for by some shady government agency) and I work from home as a critic on Youtube specializing in superhero movies.
As we're waiting in line to get to the cashier (the ATM outside the bank is broken so we have to come in here) the door is kicked in, and three stupidly dressed bank robbers march in. Oh great.
While I was retired from villainy I did watch the news, and these morons were making headlines. They fancied themselves the next big thing in villainy. They stole cars and robbed banks, the only thing separating them from normal criminals was they had powers.
"Everyone freeze, this is a robbery!" The lead robber yelled. I roll my eyes at what i'm seeing. These buffoons called themselves "super villains"? What a joke. Back in my day I didn't have to *tell* to stop moving, they *knew* to stop moving.
"Wait a minute." One of the robbers say looking right at me. "I know you, you're that guy who painted Starry Night in the Arctic." I cant help but smile a little as I remember that. It took months to figure out how to make sure that could been seen from space. The looks on every ones faces at the bar when the report came on made it worth it.
"Want to help us out man? From one Super Villain to another?" I could feel the smile fall from my face as I heard what he called himself.
During my tenure as a menace to society I held the Southern Hemisphere hostage for ransom, I kidnapped the love interests of heroes, I stole Australia! I did not *rob banks*! These posers, these pretenders *dare* call themselves "super Villains"?
I take a breath to calm down. I position myself so that i'm between the robbers the civilians, the last thing I need is collateral damage. Every ones eyes are on me, and, when I pull Jenna close to me, every ones eyes dart to her for a second. Near me would be the safest place for her in a moment.
"Want to see something cool?" I ask the room at large. When the robbers nod their heads (probably thinking i'm going to help them) I take a deep breath, reach for that bit of power at my soul and...
The doors slam shut, freezing over in a two seconds flat. The ice grows to a foot thick. Damn I really need to practice, I used to be able to do three feet of ice in half a second.
The wind throws the guy on the left into a wall rendering him unconscious, before he can slump to the ground the ice restrains him.
The guy on the right shoots a bolt of electricity at me. It slams into the air in front of me harmlessly. "Did you know that there is water in the air around us every day?" I ask the scared and confused bank robber. "I froze the water the air between us to make a shield of ice."
"B-b-but you c-can see ice!" He stammers. I wonder if it's because he is scared or if it's because it has gotten very cold in here since I froze the doors.
"Actually what you see in ice is air bubbles *in* the ice. I froze it in such a way that there are no air bubbles." I explain before the near invisible wall of ice slams him into another wall.
The leader of this little group is trying to burn through the doors with a jet of fire that bursts from his hand. After seeing the lack of progress he has made he turns to me. "Why won't this work?!" He screams.
"This ice has stood against the combined might of Sol and Ignis, it withstood the Flames of Destruction. Did you really think you could get through with that little spark?" I ask.
"W-who are you?" Wait. Did he really not recognize me?
"You really should have paid attention to your friend. I'm the guy that painted Starry Night by by Vincent van Gogh in the Arctic. I'm the guy that fought Pride to a standstill. Do you really not know who I am?" I know it's been a while but surely people still remember me.
His eyes widen as the realization sets in, as he figures out just who he pissed off. "Say my name." I order him. For a moment he looks like he's going to refuse, but he clearly thinks better of it.
And with that he says my name, a name I haven't heard in a long, long time. The name that struck fear into the hearts of all who heard it.
"Jack Frost"
EDIT: fixed a typo
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“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
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[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
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"Now what can I help you with today, Mr Smith" the teller said brimming with his usual chipperness. Some might have been bothered by the overwhelming pearly whites that flashed from his smile, but not Mr Smith. A slight tug at Smiths arm, reminded him of why people like the teller were good a thing. Jimmy Smith, Mr Smiths five year old, sat fidgeting in his seat, pulling at his dads arm, trying his hardest not to get too bored.
Mr Smith flashed a patient smile at Jimmy before turning back to the teller"Well son, I just came in to- a sudden whoosh of air followed by two loud instances of smashing glass cut off Mr Smith mid sentence, Mr Smith did not like to be interrupted.
"Ye-Haw!" cried a mix of voices. Three figures came bundling through the now destroyed bank doors, their colourful boots crunching on glass as they made their entrance. They began listing off names 'Quick Draw', 'Vile' and 'Turbulence'. Smith was a calm man, and at this outburst he simply took inventory, there was three - most likely wannabee villains - currently blocking the main exit, but there were bound to be fire exits somewhere if he could just see the signs.
Smith began looking around the bank for that little green man in mid-run, mumbling "exit.exit.exit" to himself. The Villains had split up and began harassing tellers and customers, petty cash, amateurs.
Smith begun absently tapping his finger off of his thigh, when a little hand grabbed his finger. Jimmy sat statue still in his seat. Sixty five with a five year old, Mr Smith still couldn't believe it. Smith noticed the look of abject fear on jimmy' face. His eyes were captivated by one of the villains, Quick draw if Smith could remember rightly, he was making finger guns at people, except when Quick draw flicked his thumbs with his pointer fingers a bright flame flickered on the end. Jimmy wasn't really good with fire, Smith had taken his eyes off him once, and Jimmy had found a lit candle.
Mr Smith sat staring at his terrified sons face, and something just about shattered. Mr Smith in fact, shattered. Someone took Mr Smith and put him in the subconscious for a while, just for small rest. And that same someone stood up, tall, well as tall as he could manage with his bad back. With this new mind, there was a new wealth of power, a bottomless well of anger. Bubbling just at his finger tips was force, a tingle ran through his feet and up his spine, pattering out around his skull. This new man stepped forward, directly in the line of sight, of this 'Quick Draw'.
"Hey!" squeaked the villain"Old man, I said everybody get down" The flame flickered on the end of his finger gun, mostly because his hand shook. A wicked grin took Not-Smiths face. He let out a gentle sigh, and Quick draw' fire went out. The gulp Quick Draw made was comical, Not-Smith would have laughed but his mind was elsewhere.
Not-Smith held in a breath and time began to slow, and slow, and stop. He walked up beside Quick Draw placing a hand directly on the outstretched forearm he had risen. He exhaled. Quick Draw' sudden jerk forced Not-Smith to apply a light grip so he didn't get away. "What in the hell- Quick Draw was cut off by his own horrendous squeal of pain. Not-Smith had applied pressure, not with his hand but the air around Quick draws arm. The limb snapped in two. His hand and half his forearm dangled, as if it where a meat sock attached to his elbow. At this, Not-Smith couldn't help but giggle. "W-we didn't mean n-no disrespect" Stuttered the huddled villain.
"hush" whispered Not-Smith, reaching out with his presence, finding the air around Quick Draws jaw and yanking straight down. A wet snap sounded as his jaw split. A pained gargle followed the pathetic thing into a heap. "Disrespect?" He continued to whisper "Son do you know who I am?" Not-Smith felt eternity bleed into his eyes. he knew his eyes would fill with a black void, and stars would cover that void, a carpet of pulsing lights. Quick Draws Face was priceless.
"unghega" Quick draw Gargled. Tears had started to stream from his blood shot eyes.
"Bingo" Not-Smith said "Omega, the most feared villain this side of the century" Omega clenched his right fist until his knuckles went white. Quick Draw made one final squeak, before collapsing into a loose assortment of skin and organs, his bones having been completely crushed to dust.
Hellish screams came from the offices behind the bank, Vile and Turbulence most likely. Omega felt the air burn around him, beads of sweat evaporating off his slicked scalp. How could he have left this power, he could tear a hole big enough in the atmosphere to scorch this trash pile. He could handle the proceeding vacuum easily, wipe the slate clean!
"Daddy" sobbed a quiet voice. Omega turned in annoyance, and hit the bottom of his bottomless anger.
Mr Smith Escorted Omega to a deep place.
Mr Smith spotted a fire exit off to the side of Quick Draws unfortunate state. "Jimmy!" Mr Smith shouted " Jog over here son". Jimmy jogged over beside his dad.
"Is he gone, dad?" Jimmy stared through red eyes at Quick draws body.
"For good, Son" Jimmy nodded emphatically before pulling his dads hand towards the glowing green sign.
The pair left the bank to horrid screams and panicked cries, and small gentle sigh in a deep, deep place.
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“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
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[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
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Don't they know that the best villains are the ones who never get caught, and that bank robbing is too loud to remain hidden? I kicked the table over and told my ten year old to stay flat and put the special ear plugs in her ears, just like we practiced; good thing I set the time aside to teach her, because Mary would've been crying and screaming, and that wouldn't help the situation any.
I closed the distance between me and the first guard, snapped his gun arm and took his shotgun. "If you know what's best for you, leave."
Since this wasn't Hollywood, they were standing around telling me to 'chill.'
"No, I'm not going to chill. Either get out of my sight or I'm blasting your brains out," I said coldly.
"W—Wait!" The young man in my arms squirmed. "Don't leave me!"
They did, turned heel like the wild mongrels that they are.
"Fuck!" he cried.
I dropped him and plopped the shotgun on the counter. "Maybe you should've picked better friends."
After the police scooped the puddle of flesh off the ground then, and only then, did I return to my little Mary. "Good job, you're very brave."
She removed the ear plugs. "Are we getting frozen yogurt now?"
"Yes," I ruffled her long blond hair. "Just like we practiced."
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“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
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|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
Ha! Haha! Hahahahaha I love ironic ideas like this. Good job, Galatargelle the OP.
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Edit: spelling
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I gave up being an Eidolon a long time ago. *Centuries* ago. Since then I've hooked up with a Dhampir, had a few kids, got legit. The wars with the Legion of the Black Spider are over, the Dragon has moved on. When I got my leave, it was a beautiful thing. Yet, my old life seems to be following me around like a wendigo.
Such as now: getting my 17 year old son's first debit card. He's a responsible young man, with a military demeanor and a vampire's grace. I thought it woud be a quick trip; talk to my accountant, get some seed money in there, have him set up a PIN and go. But, the Dragon and the Authors have other plans.
There were three of them - two powerful psionics that had specialized in self-transmutation, and a third that had probably stolen a summoning book, judging from the way he waved it around. Three idiots in spider masks, dressed in black clothing and bulletproof outfits robbing a bank in a random town on a random universe. How quaint.
"I'm warning you! We are the Kabal of the Severed Head, and you are our hostages! Empty out the wallets and the vaults!" He continued ranting and raving in that tone for another few minutes as the transmuters sped around the bank stabbing guards. If I had my old power armor, they would be dead in moments. Alas, 'twas not to be. The vaults opened, and the summoner grabbed a few imps from the book's repository. The stupid civilians screamed, which a child could tell you only excites the beasts. We were corralled into a line, and one transmuter stood guard at a window while the other two shook us down from opposite ends. The police outside were occupied trying to shoot at the imps, which is about as effective as trying to swat flies with a grenade launcher. I was in the middle of the line, so I got quite the time to plan. My son, of course, is linked to my mind and our combined intelligence scrambled for a plan.
*I could take out the summoner first,* I mused, *and with the demons gone the police will move in.* My son replied, *However, he also has the psion carbine...* **(Note: the carbine is an insectoid psychic parasite that attatches to a host and feeds off of their power in exchange for being able to use as a weapon. Think a black and light purple Geonosian rifle from Republic commando.)** He was only a few people away now. The other transmuter was slow, hampered by the webbing between his fingers. What a dolt. *Still, with the carbine and the book...* Only three people between me and him. *Damn it, I **hate** doing this. Son, take the book.* My son was always a better summoner than I was - it's the necromancy blood in him, I guess.
The summoner got to me. "Alroight, daddyo, empty t'e pockets righ' quick." he said in the most horrid fake British accent I had ever heard. "Maybe Oi won't 'urt ya." I could tell he was attempting to be funny. Odd choice of joke, given the situation.
"Money should be the least of your concerns, Legionarre." He seemed startled. His guard dropped, and so too did my hand into his spine. Everyone forgets - when you rob a bank, bring at *least* ten, fifteen guys. Three will not do, even as augmented as they are. My enhanced strength shattered his spine, as he was nt wearing the exosuits that typical Legionarres wore in our wars a few hundred years earlier. How the mighty have fallen. The psion carbine skittered to the closest psionic, which ended up being me.
I once again felt the comforting drain on my powers. I was an evoker by nature, and the summoners and transmuters in the Corps had developed the carbine to make evokers more... manageable. After spending so many centuries without one, it felt good to be back. I plugged the other one in the line full of holes as he grappled my son for the book. He whispered his thanks as he attempted to attune himself to the infernal repository within. The third transmuter was gone, bullet holes in her place and the screams of mortals echoing off of the ouside edifices. Moving once more as a soldier, I once again fought the ancient war that the Eidolon Corps had fought.
---
I could hear the Dragon's laughter shake the ruins of the fallen heavens.
---
---
Grammar? Spelling? Questions, comments, concerns? Ask below!
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“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
|
|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
The man cowering behind a knocked-over table, tiny daughter balanced on one hip, is the perfect image of a dweeb - thick glasses, gaming t-shirt, undershaved stubble on the verge of a beard and all. His hands are shaking as he struggles to dial something on his cellphone, trying to ignore the villainous soliloquy going on in the background. Unnatural firelight glimmers against the walls, put off by the seemingly burning body of one of the invaders. From the sound of things he can overhear, the villains appear to be asking for all the gold in the bank. So, not as bright as their powers would indicate, then.
Finally, his phone connects, and he awkwardly props it against his ear. "Hi there honey! Would you mind coming by the bank?"
"What is it this time?" the feminine voice on the other end asks.
"Some -" he pauses to glance over the edge of the table - "angsty upstarts are robbing the bank."
"Can't you just, I don't know, hack the problem or something?"
"Ok, first of all, that's not how hacking works. Second of all, you insisted on the two-for-one iPhone deal, so I'd need a real computer..."
She sighs. "Give me five minutes." The call disconnects.
He flattens down again, curled around their baby girl, watching the numbers on his watch trickle by with trepidation. The voices on the other side of the barrier are getting louder, angrier. He hears a scream, and whimpering. *"C'mon, c'mon..."* he whispers...
The front door opens with a slam. "HANDS UP, BOYS, YOU'RE GOING IN," Lena Lightgood yells, brandishing her Hero Squad badge.
"Mum?" peeps the little girl.
"In a minute, dear," he replies.
The fight is over in a flash; the 'supervillans' appear to be anything but. The official wrapup is similarly swift, fast enough that the little one can't even get bored of pattycake. Suddenly, the table is wrenched aside.
"There you are!" Lena exclaims with glee, scooping her husband up in her arms to give him a kiss on the cheek, then ruffling her daughter's hair. "How are my favorite troublemakers?"
"Well," he replies, "Shaken, but not stirred. I think we'll be alright."
Lena laughs. "See you at dinner, dear. Try not to anger any more idiots on your way."
"Of course," he replies.
|
“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
|
|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
"Hands up people! Keep quiet and the Terror Gang won't have to kill anyone today!"
I keep my expression carefully neutral but inside I'm cringing. "The Terror Gang". Super villains aren't what they used to be. I'm hoping things will improve because this is just embarrassing. Of course, they don't.
"Blaze! Keep an eye on them while we crack the safe!" the leader calls to a man with a red cape.
"Don't worry boss, I'll light up anyone who so much as moves a finger" Blaze says in an exaggerated deep voice.
*Blaze, light up... please tell me they didn't do the name thing*
"Where the hell are you Boomer, we gotta blow the vault before the cops get here" someone else shouts.
I let out soft groan and cover my face with my hands. Our guard considers that moving and Blaze is standing in front of me instantly.
"You looking to get burned old man! We told you not to move!" he screams in my face. I flick a bit of spittle off my cheek. Of course Blaze doesn't like that.
"If you move again I'll burn you AND your kid!"
Okay, that's not cool. I mean, the watch Junior is wearing is also a personal shield and they can't actually harm my son, but that's besides the point.
I decide that the Terror Gang won't be robbing this bank today.
"I'm so sorry! I just have a migraine and three guys shouting at maximum volume isn't helping" I say in my best terrified accountant voice.
"There's five of us dumbass, learn to count!" Blaze thunders, covering me with more spittle.
*Thank you for telling me there's only five* I think. Only five, and four of them are in another room trying to get the vault open.
I'm sure Blaze thinks that standing so close to someone is very intimidating and tough, but it also makes him unable to block my knee before it hits his groin. With a barely audible squeek Blaze's knees give way and I catch him before he can hit the floor. In the time it takes him to recover from the knee-groin interface I've immobilized him. It's for circumstances like this that I keep my knife on my person at all times. The tip of the blade hovers a few centimeters above his left eye.
"Now, Blaze," I whisper, "Let's not do anything stupid like calling out to your friends. I am perfectly okay with stabbing this knife through your eye, into your brain. Are you going to make a noise?"
Blaze shakes his head. There's panic in his eyes.
"Very good Blaze, you're not as stupid as you look. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you're going to answer them *very quietly*. Do you think you can do that?"
Blaze nods.
"Awesome. So, there's five of you. You're the fire guy, then there's Boomer. What are the other gimmicks?"
"Bullseye does guns, he's like fucking Lucky Luke," Blaze says without taking his eyes off the blade, "Bladestorm has swords in his arms that he can extend. Mastermind is the one that planned all of this and recruited us."
"Your ability to come up with unique names astounds me." I reply, "Alright, Blaze. You're going to raise your voice in a bit, shout something tough and manly, as if you were still guarding us."
Blaze opens his mouth but before he can shout I raise one finger.
"Remember, I won't lose any sleep if I skewer you like a kebab. Don't be dumb." I say before lowering my finger.
"I said don't move asshole!" he calls out, trying to sound convincing. Blaze is a terrible actor, but his shouting has bought us a minute or two before the rest start becoming suspicious.
"Thank you Blaze." I say and knock him out with a single punch to the head.
"Hello folks, I suggest we all leave this building in a neat and orderly fashion, without making any sound" I say to the rest of the hostages. Luckily they do as I tell them and in no time at all it's just me, my son and the unconscious Blaze.
"What did they do wrong Junior?" I whisper as we stealthily move towards the other four.
"They left one guy behind to guard the hostages. If they had left two or more of them behind you wouldn't have been able to do this," my son answers. Together we turn a corner and see the remaining four members of the Terror Gang. They've managed to open the vault door already. Or, more likely, the bank personel had left it open.
One of them is standing in an office to the left of the vault, the other three are already inside and are shoving gold bars into dufflebags.
When we're closer I can see the guy in the office is fiddling around with explosives.
"Boomer, I presume?" I say when I'm behind him. Boomer turns around and I give him the same treatment as I did Blaze. The men in the vault were making so much noise they didn't even hear it.
"Dad!" my son says, pointing at a button next to the vault door. I smile and nod in approval. He pushes the button and the vault door starts closing with only the barest whisper of a sound.
Confused shouts come from inside when it clicks shut.
-----
My son and I are sitting behind a desk. There's a PA system throughout the bank and found a microphone.
"How would you rate this heist, Junior?"
"I'd say two out of ten, dad."
"What should they have done differently?"
"Well pick a different name for starters"
We laugh into the microphone.
"Okay, it's been fun but now we've gotta go fellas. My wife is making roast today and she's going to be pissed if we're late."
|
“Look sir I know what’s it’s like but please don’t shoot” I said.
My son was next to me as I was making a withdrawal. I recently retired from my job which was being a super villain, and now the strange thing is the new branch of super villains are robing this very bank.
“No, how the hell would you know what it’s like?” He told me.
“Then shoot” I replied.
I use to hate that when I first started my villainous rage, it just puts so much pressure on you to make a decision.
“Okay if you insist”
A loud gunfire goes off
“What the” yells the banker.
He missed my son but managed to bounce it off the floor and into the keyhole of the vault.
“Wow nice shot” I say very surprised.
Everyone stares at me with contempt.
“Why thank you”
And that is the start of our super hero legacy.
|
|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
The man cowering behind a knocked-over table, tiny daughter balanced on one hip, is the perfect image of a dweeb - thick glasses, gaming t-shirt, undershaved stubble on the verge of a beard and all. His hands are shaking as he struggles to dial something on his cellphone, trying to ignore the villainous soliloquy going on in the background. Unnatural firelight glimmers against the walls, put off by the seemingly burning body of one of the invaders. From the sound of things he can overhear, the villains appear to be asking for all the gold in the bank. So, not as bright as their powers would indicate, then.
Finally, his phone connects, and he awkwardly props it against his ear. "Hi there honey! Would you mind coming by the bank?"
"What is it this time?" the feminine voice on the other end asks.
"Some -" he pauses to glance over the edge of the table - "angsty upstarts are robbing the bank."
"Can't you just, I don't know, hack the problem or something?"
"Ok, first of all, that's not how hacking works. Second of all, you insisted on the two-for-one iPhone deal, so I'd need a real computer..."
She sighs. "Give me five minutes." The call disconnects.
He flattens down again, curled around their baby girl, watching the numbers on his watch trickle by with trepidation. The voices on the other side of the barrier are getting louder, angrier. He hears a scream, and whimpering. *"C'mon, c'mon..."* he whispers...
The front door opens with a slam. "HANDS UP, BOYS, YOU'RE GOING IN," Lena Lightgood yells, brandishing her Hero Squad badge.
"Mum?" peeps the little girl.
"In a minute, dear," he replies.
The fight is over in a flash; the 'supervillans' appear to be anything but. The official wrapup is similarly swift, fast enough that the little one can't even get bored of pattycake. Suddenly, the table is wrenched aside.
"There you are!" Lena exclaims with glee, scooping her husband up in her arms to give him a kiss on the cheek, then ruffling her daughter's hair. "How are my favorite troublemakers?"
"Well," he replies, "Shaken, but not stirred. I think we'll be alright."
Lena laughs. "See you at dinner, dear. Try not to anger any more idiots on your way."
"Of course," he replies.
|
"Now what can I help you with today, Mr Smith" the teller said brimming with his usual chipperness. Some might have been bothered by the overwhelming pearly whites that flashed from his smile, but not Mr Smith. A slight tug at Smiths arm, reminded him of why people like the teller were good a thing. Jimmy Smith, Mr Smiths five year old, sat fidgeting in his seat, pulling at his dads arm, trying his hardest not to get too bored.
Mr Smith flashed a patient smile at Jimmy before turning back to the teller"Well son, I just came in to- a sudden whoosh of air followed by two loud instances of smashing glass cut off Mr Smith mid sentence, Mr Smith did not like to be interrupted.
"Ye-Haw!" cried a mix of voices. Three figures came bundling through the now destroyed bank doors, their colourful boots crunching on glass as they made their entrance. They began listing off names 'Quick Draw', 'Vile' and 'Turbulence'. Smith was a calm man, and at this outburst he simply took inventory, there was three - most likely wannabee villains - currently blocking the main exit, but there were bound to be fire exits somewhere if he could just see the signs.
Smith began looking around the bank for that little green man in mid-run, mumbling "exit.exit.exit" to himself. The Villains had split up and began harassing tellers and customers, petty cash, amateurs.
Smith begun absently tapping his finger off of his thigh, when a little hand grabbed his finger. Jimmy sat statue still in his seat. Sixty five with a five year old, Mr Smith still couldn't believe it. Smith noticed the look of abject fear on jimmy' face. His eyes were captivated by one of the villains, Quick draw if Smith could remember rightly, he was making finger guns at people, except when Quick draw flicked his thumbs with his pointer fingers a bright flame flickered on the end. Jimmy wasn't really good with fire, Smith had taken his eyes off him once, and Jimmy had found a lit candle.
Mr Smith sat staring at his terrified sons face, and something just about shattered. Mr Smith in fact, shattered. Someone took Mr Smith and put him in the subconscious for a while, just for small rest. And that same someone stood up, tall, well as tall as he could manage with his bad back. With this new mind, there was a new wealth of power, a bottomless well of anger. Bubbling just at his finger tips was force, a tingle ran through his feet and up his spine, pattering out around his skull. This new man stepped forward, directly in the line of sight, of this 'Quick Draw'.
"Hey!" squeaked the villain"Old man, I said everybody get down" The flame flickered on the end of his finger gun, mostly because his hand shook. A wicked grin took Not-Smiths face. He let out a gentle sigh, and Quick draw' fire went out. The gulp Quick Draw made was comical, Not-Smith would have laughed but his mind was elsewhere.
Not-Smith held in a breath and time began to slow, and slow, and stop. He walked up beside Quick Draw placing a hand directly on the outstretched forearm he had risen. He exhaled. Quick Draw' sudden jerk forced Not-Smith to apply a light grip so he didn't get away. "What in the hell- Quick Draw was cut off by his own horrendous squeal of pain. Not-Smith had applied pressure, not with his hand but the air around Quick draws arm. The limb snapped in two. His hand and half his forearm dangled, as if it where a meat sock attached to his elbow. At this, Not-Smith couldn't help but giggle. "W-we didn't mean n-no disrespect" Stuttered the huddled villain.
"hush" whispered Not-Smith, reaching out with his presence, finding the air around Quick Draws jaw and yanking straight down. A wet snap sounded as his jaw split. A pained gargle followed the pathetic thing into a heap. "Disrespect?" He continued to whisper "Son do you know who I am?" Not-Smith felt eternity bleed into his eyes. he knew his eyes would fill with a black void, and stars would cover that void, a carpet of pulsing lights. Quick Draws Face was priceless.
"unghega" Quick draw Gargled. Tears had started to stream from his blood shot eyes.
"Bingo" Not-Smith said "Omega, the most feared villain this side of the century" Omega clenched his right fist until his knuckles went white. Quick Draw made one final squeak, before collapsing into a loose assortment of skin and organs, his bones having been completely crushed to dust.
Hellish screams came from the offices behind the bank, Vile and Turbulence most likely. Omega felt the air burn around him, beads of sweat evaporating off his slicked scalp. How could he have left this power, he could tear a hole big enough in the atmosphere to scorch this trash pile. He could handle the proceeding vacuum easily, wipe the slate clean!
"Daddy" sobbed a quiet voice. Omega turned in annoyance, and hit the bottom of his bottomless anger.
Mr Smith Escorted Omega to a deep place.
Mr Smith spotted a fire exit off to the side of Quick Draws unfortunate state. "Jimmy!" Mr Smith shouted " Jog over here son". Jimmy jogged over beside his dad.
"Is he gone, dad?" Jimmy stared through red eyes at Quick draws body.
"For good, Son" Jimmy nodded emphatically before pulling his dads hand towards the glowing green sign.
The pair left the bank to horrid screams and panicked cries, and small gentle sigh in a deep, deep place.
|
|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
The man cowering behind a knocked-over table, tiny daughter balanced on one hip, is the perfect image of a dweeb - thick glasses, gaming t-shirt, undershaved stubble on the verge of a beard and all. His hands are shaking as he struggles to dial something on his cellphone, trying to ignore the villainous soliloquy going on in the background. Unnatural firelight glimmers against the walls, put off by the seemingly burning body of one of the invaders. From the sound of things he can overhear, the villains appear to be asking for all the gold in the bank. So, not as bright as their powers would indicate, then.
Finally, his phone connects, and he awkwardly props it against his ear. "Hi there honey! Would you mind coming by the bank?"
"What is it this time?" the feminine voice on the other end asks.
"Some -" he pauses to glance over the edge of the table - "angsty upstarts are robbing the bank."
"Can't you just, I don't know, hack the problem or something?"
"Ok, first of all, that's not how hacking works. Second of all, you insisted on the two-for-one iPhone deal, so I'd need a real computer..."
She sighs. "Give me five minutes." The call disconnects.
He flattens down again, curled around their baby girl, watching the numbers on his watch trickle by with trepidation. The voices on the other side of the barrier are getting louder, angrier. He hears a scream, and whimpering. *"C'mon, c'mon..."* he whispers...
The front door opens with a slam. "HANDS UP, BOYS, YOU'RE GOING IN," Lena Lightgood yells, brandishing her Hero Squad badge.
"Mum?" peeps the little girl.
"In a minute, dear," he replies.
The fight is over in a flash; the 'supervillans' appear to be anything but. The official wrapup is similarly swift, fast enough that the little one can't even get bored of pattycake. Suddenly, the table is wrenched aside.
"There you are!" Lena exclaims with glee, scooping her husband up in her arms to give him a kiss on the cheek, then ruffling her daughter's hair. "How are my favorite troublemakers?"
"Well," he replies, "Shaken, but not stirred. I think we'll be alright."
Lena laughs. "See you at dinner, dear. Try not to anger any more idiots on your way."
"Of course," he replies.
|
Don't they know that the best villains are the ones who never get caught, and that bank robbing is too loud to remain hidden? I kicked the table over and told my ten year old to stay flat and put the special ear plugs in her ears, just like we practiced; good thing I set the time aside to teach her, because Mary would've been crying and screaming, and that wouldn't help the situation any.
I closed the distance between me and the first guard, snapped his gun arm and took his shotgun. "If you know what's best for you, leave."
Since this wasn't Hollywood, they were standing around telling me to 'chill.'
"No, I'm not going to chill. Either get out of my sight or I'm blasting your brains out," I said coldly.
"W—Wait!" The young man in my arms squirmed. "Don't leave me!"
They did, turned heel like the wild mongrels that they are.
"Fuck!" he cried.
I dropped him and plopped the shotgun on the counter. "Maybe you should've picked better friends."
After the police scooped the puddle of flesh off the ground then, and only then, did I return to my little Mary. "Good job, you're very brave."
She removed the ear plugs. "Are we getting frozen yogurt now?"
"Yes," I ruffled her long blond hair. "Just like we practiced."
|
|
[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
|
"Hands up people! Keep quiet and the Terror Gang won't have to kill anyone today!"
I keep my expression carefully neutral but inside I'm cringing. "The Terror Gang". Super villains aren't what they used to be. I'm hoping things will improve because this is just embarrassing. Of course, they don't.
"Blaze! Keep an eye on them while we crack the safe!" the leader calls to a man with a red cape.
"Don't worry boss, I'll light up anyone who so much as moves a finger" Blaze says in an exaggerated deep voice.
*Blaze, light up... please tell me they didn't do the name thing*
"Where the hell are you Boomer, we gotta blow the vault before the cops get here" someone else shouts.
I let out soft groan and cover my face with my hands. Our guard considers that moving and Blaze is standing in front of me instantly.
"You looking to get burned old man! We told you not to move!" he screams in my face. I flick a bit of spittle off my cheek. Of course Blaze doesn't like that.
"If you move again I'll burn you AND your kid!"
Okay, that's not cool. I mean, the watch Junior is wearing is also a personal shield and they can't actually harm my son, but that's besides the point.
I decide that the Terror Gang won't be robbing this bank today.
"I'm so sorry! I just have a migraine and three guys shouting at maximum volume isn't helping" I say in my best terrified accountant voice.
"There's five of us dumbass, learn to count!" Blaze thunders, covering me with more spittle.
*Thank you for telling me there's only five* I think. Only five, and four of them are in another room trying to get the vault open.
I'm sure Blaze thinks that standing so close to someone is very intimidating and tough, but it also makes him unable to block my knee before it hits his groin. With a barely audible squeek Blaze's knees give way and I catch him before he can hit the floor. In the time it takes him to recover from the knee-groin interface I've immobilized him. It's for circumstances like this that I keep my knife on my person at all times. The tip of the blade hovers a few centimeters above his left eye.
"Now, Blaze," I whisper, "Let's not do anything stupid like calling out to your friends. I am perfectly okay with stabbing this knife through your eye, into your brain. Are you going to make a noise?"
Blaze shakes his head. There's panic in his eyes.
"Very good Blaze, you're not as stupid as you look. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you're going to answer them *very quietly*. Do you think you can do that?"
Blaze nods.
"Awesome. So, there's five of you. You're the fire guy, then there's Boomer. What are the other gimmicks?"
"Bullseye does guns, he's like fucking Lucky Luke," Blaze says without taking his eyes off the blade, "Bladestorm has swords in his arms that he can extend. Mastermind is the one that planned all of this and recruited us."
"Your ability to come up with unique names astounds me." I reply, "Alright, Blaze. You're going to raise your voice in a bit, shout something tough and manly, as if you were still guarding us."
Blaze opens his mouth but before he can shout I raise one finger.
"Remember, I won't lose any sleep if I skewer you like a kebab. Don't be dumb." I say before lowering my finger.
"I said don't move asshole!" he calls out, trying to sound convincing. Blaze is a terrible actor, but his shouting has bought us a minute or two before the rest start becoming suspicious.
"Thank you Blaze." I say and knock him out with a single punch to the head.
"Hello folks, I suggest we all leave this building in a neat and orderly fashion, without making any sound" I say to the rest of the hostages. Luckily they do as I tell them and in no time at all it's just me, my son and the unconscious Blaze.
"What did they do wrong Junior?" I whisper as we stealthily move towards the other four.
"They left one guy behind to guard the hostages. If they had left two or more of them behind you wouldn't have been able to do this," my son answers. Together we turn a corner and see the remaining four members of the Terror Gang. They've managed to open the vault door already. Or, more likely, the bank personel had left it open.
One of them is standing in an office to the left of the vault, the other three are already inside and are shoving gold bars into dufflebags.
When we're closer I can see the guy in the office is fiddling around with explosives.
"Boomer, I presume?" I say when I'm behind him. Boomer turns around and I give him the same treatment as I did Blaze. The men in the vault were making so much noise they didn't even hear it.
"Dad!" my son says, pointing at a button next to the vault door. I smile and nod in approval. He pushes the button and the vault door starts closing with only the barest whisper of a sound.
Confused shouts come from inside when it clicks shut.
-----
My son and I are sitting behind a desk. There's a PA system throughout the bank and found a microphone.
"How would you rate this heist, Junior?"
"I'd say two out of ten, dad."
"What should they have done differently?"
"Well pick a different name for starters"
We laugh into the microphone.
"Okay, it's been fun but now we've gotta go fellas. My wife is making roast today and she's going to be pissed if we're late."
|
Don't they know that the best villains are the ones who never get caught, and that bank robbing is too loud to remain hidden? I kicked the table over and told my ten year old to stay flat and put the special ear plugs in her ears, just like we practiced; good thing I set the time aside to teach her, because Mary would've been crying and screaming, and that wouldn't help the situation any.
I closed the distance between me and the first guard, snapped his gun arm and took his shotgun. "If you know what's best for you, leave."
Since this wasn't Hollywood, they were standing around telling me to 'chill.'
"No, I'm not going to chill. Either get out of my sight or I'm blasting your brains out," I said coldly.
"W—Wait!" The young man in my arms squirmed. "Don't leave me!"
They did, turned heel like the wild mongrels that they are.
"Fuck!" he cried.
I dropped him and plopped the shotgun on the counter. "Maybe you should've picked better friends."
After the police scooped the puddle of flesh off the ground then, and only then, did I return to my little Mary. "Good job, you're very brave."
She removed the ear plugs. "Are we getting frozen yogurt now?"
"Yes," I ruffled her long blond hair. "Just like we practiced."
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[WP] A retired super villain is in the bank with their child when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place.
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"Hands up people! Keep quiet and the Terror Gang won't have to kill anyone today!"
I keep my expression carefully neutral but inside I'm cringing. "The Terror Gang". Super villains aren't what they used to be. I'm hoping things will improve because this is just embarrassing. Of course, they don't.
"Blaze! Keep an eye on them while we crack the safe!" the leader calls to a man with a red cape.
"Don't worry boss, I'll light up anyone who so much as moves a finger" Blaze says in an exaggerated deep voice.
*Blaze, light up... please tell me they didn't do the name thing*
"Where the hell are you Boomer, we gotta blow the vault before the cops get here" someone else shouts.
I let out soft groan and cover my face with my hands. Our guard considers that moving and Blaze is standing in front of me instantly.
"You looking to get burned old man! We told you not to move!" he screams in my face. I flick a bit of spittle off my cheek. Of course Blaze doesn't like that.
"If you move again I'll burn you AND your kid!"
Okay, that's not cool. I mean, the watch Junior is wearing is also a personal shield and they can't actually harm my son, but that's besides the point.
I decide that the Terror Gang won't be robbing this bank today.
"I'm so sorry! I just have a migraine and three guys shouting at maximum volume isn't helping" I say in my best terrified accountant voice.
"There's five of us dumbass, learn to count!" Blaze thunders, covering me with more spittle.
*Thank you for telling me there's only five* I think. Only five, and four of them are in another room trying to get the vault open.
I'm sure Blaze thinks that standing so close to someone is very intimidating and tough, but it also makes him unable to block my knee before it hits his groin. With a barely audible squeek Blaze's knees give way and I catch him before he can hit the floor. In the time it takes him to recover from the knee-groin interface I've immobilized him. It's for circumstances like this that I keep my knife on my person at all times. The tip of the blade hovers a few centimeters above his left eye.
"Now, Blaze," I whisper, "Let's not do anything stupid like calling out to your friends. I am perfectly okay with stabbing this knife through your eye, into your brain. Are you going to make a noise?"
Blaze shakes his head. There's panic in his eyes.
"Very good Blaze, you're not as stupid as you look. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you're going to answer them *very quietly*. Do you think you can do that?"
Blaze nods.
"Awesome. So, there's five of you. You're the fire guy, then there's Boomer. What are the other gimmicks?"
"Bullseye does guns, he's like fucking Lucky Luke," Blaze says without taking his eyes off the blade, "Bladestorm has swords in his arms that he can extend. Mastermind is the one that planned all of this and recruited us."
"Your ability to come up with unique names astounds me." I reply, "Alright, Blaze. You're going to raise your voice in a bit, shout something tough and manly, as if you were still guarding us."
Blaze opens his mouth but before he can shout I raise one finger.
"Remember, I won't lose any sleep if I skewer you like a kebab. Don't be dumb." I say before lowering my finger.
"I said don't move asshole!" he calls out, trying to sound convincing. Blaze is a terrible actor, but his shouting has bought us a minute or two before the rest start becoming suspicious.
"Thank you Blaze." I say and knock him out with a single punch to the head.
"Hello folks, I suggest we all leave this building in a neat and orderly fashion, without making any sound" I say to the rest of the hostages. Luckily they do as I tell them and in no time at all it's just me, my son and the unconscious Blaze.
"What did they do wrong Junior?" I whisper as we stealthily move towards the other four.
"They left one guy behind to guard the hostages. If they had left two or more of them behind you wouldn't have been able to do this," my son answers. Together we turn a corner and see the remaining four members of the Terror Gang. They've managed to open the vault door already. Or, more likely, the bank personel had left it open.
One of them is standing in an office to the left of the vault, the other three are already inside and are shoving gold bars into dufflebags.
When we're closer I can see the guy in the office is fiddling around with explosives.
"Boomer, I presume?" I say when I'm behind him. Boomer turns around and I give him the same treatment as I did Blaze. The men in the vault were making so much noise they didn't even hear it.
"Dad!" my son says, pointing at a button next to the vault door. I smile and nod in approval. He pushes the button and the vault door starts closing with only the barest whisper of a sound.
Confused shouts come from inside when it clicks shut.
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My son and I are sitting behind a desk. There's a PA system throughout the bank and found a microphone.
"How would you rate this heist, Junior?"
"I'd say two out of ten, dad."
"What should they have done differently?"
"Well pick a different name for starters"
We laugh into the microphone.
"Okay, it's been fun but now we've gotta go fellas. My wife is making roast today and she's going to be pissed if we're late."
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Ha! Haha! Hahahahaha I love ironic ideas like this. Good job, Galatargelle the OP.
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Edit: spelling
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I gave up being an Eidolon a long time ago. *Centuries* ago. Since then I've hooked up with a Dhampir, had a few kids, got legit. The wars with the Legion of the Black Spider are over, the Dragon has moved on. When I got my leave, it was a beautiful thing. Yet, my old life seems to be following me around like a wendigo.
Such as now: getting my 17 year old son's first debit card. He's a responsible young man, with a military demeanor and a vampire's grace. I thought it woud be a quick trip; talk to my accountant, get some seed money in there, have him set up a PIN and go. But, the Dragon and the Authors have other plans.
There were three of them - two powerful psionics that had specialized in self-transmutation, and a third that had probably stolen a summoning book, judging from the way he waved it around. Three idiots in spider masks, dressed in black clothing and bulletproof outfits robbing a bank in a random town on a random universe. How quaint.
"I'm warning you! We are the Kabal of the Severed Head, and you are our hostages! Empty out the wallets and the vaults!" He continued ranting and raving in that tone for another few minutes as the transmuters sped around the bank stabbing guards. If I had my old power armor, they would be dead in moments. Alas, 'twas not to be. The vaults opened, and the summoner grabbed a few imps from the book's repository. The stupid civilians screamed, which a child could tell you only excites the beasts. We were corralled into a line, and one transmuter stood guard at a window while the other two shook us down from opposite ends. The police outside were occupied trying to shoot at the imps, which is about as effective as trying to swat flies with a grenade launcher. I was in the middle of the line, so I got quite the time to plan. My son, of course, is linked to my mind and our combined intelligence scrambled for a plan.
*I could take out the summoner first,* I mused, *and with the demons gone the police will move in.* My son replied, *However, he also has the psion carbine...* **(Note: the carbine is an insectoid psychic parasite that attatches to a host and feeds off of their power in exchange for being able to use as a weapon. Think a black and light purple Geonosian rifle from Republic commando.)** He was only a few people away now. The other transmuter was slow, hampered by the webbing between his fingers. What a dolt. *Still, with the carbine and the book...* Only three people between me and him. *Damn it, I **hate** doing this. Son, take the book.* My son was always a better summoner than I was - it's the necromancy blood in him, I guess.
The summoner got to me. "Alroight, daddyo, empty t'e pockets righ' quick." he said in the most horrid fake British accent I had ever heard. "Maybe Oi won't 'urt ya." I could tell he was attempting to be funny. Odd choice of joke, given the situation.
"Money should be the least of your concerns, Legionarre." He seemed startled. His guard dropped, and so too did my hand into his spine. Everyone forgets - when you rob a bank, bring at *least* ten, fifteen guys. Three will not do, even as augmented as they are. My enhanced strength shattered his spine, as he was nt wearing the exosuits that typical Legionarres wore in our wars a few hundred years earlier. How the mighty have fallen. The psion carbine skittered to the closest psionic, which ended up being me.
I once again felt the comforting drain on my powers. I was an evoker by nature, and the summoners and transmuters in the Corps had developed the carbine to make evokers more... manageable. After spending so many centuries without one, it felt good to be back. I plugged the other one in the line full of holes as he grappled my son for the book. He whispered his thanks as he attempted to attune himself to the infernal repository within. The third transmuter was gone, bullet holes in her place and the screams of mortals echoing off of the ouside edifices. Moving once more as a soldier, I once again fought the ancient war that the Eidolon Corps had fought.
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I could hear the Dragon's laughter shake the ruins of the fallen heavens.
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Grammar? Spelling? Questions, comments, concerns? Ask below!
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[WP] Every night the old man is out in the street, trying to collect moonlight in a plastic bucket. Tonight, you decide to try to help him.
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I've seen the old man before. He's always out here at night on the full moons. He isn't homeless or crazy. He's the village lighthouse keeper and he often talks to the moon. Some call him mad for that. I never will.
The old man struggles to hold his plastic bucket up in the air. It intrigues me to see someone who actually believes the old wives tale. Supposedly one day a woman was out trying to catch moon beams, but no matter how hard she tried they always jumped from her grasp. She cried out in despair for help but none would answer. None besides a small boy. He had appeared almost out of nowhere and asked why the woman had been crying. She explained that she wished to catch a moonlight. The boy laughed and easily snatched moonlight from the air. The woman cried out with joy and tried to grasp the moonlight from him but the boy had a condition. He explained to her that for the moonlight she must give him something. A mother.
I sigh and walk down the street towards my father. The old man doesn't remember me. Old age has taken that from him. I stand next to him and look towards the moon. She is the same as she was all those years ago. When I first touched the moonlight.
"What are you doing lightkeeper?"
The old man turns towards me without recognition. He shows me the bucket and sighs.
"I've come to collect moonlight... my wife.... she loved moonlight."
I stare at my father when he says this. Rarely does he remember the moonlight. It faded so many years ago, just as my mother had. I watch as a tear slowly drops down my fathers face. I stand and do what I did with my mother years before. I called to the moon and asked her for her help once more. Again the moon granted me permission. I grasped the moonlight out of the air to my fathers astonishment. It feels cool in my hand when I grab it.
I motion to my father and he rushes towards me with the bucket. I gently lay the moonlight into the bucket of water where it shines bright white. My father's tears are illuminated by it.
"Who are you?"
I smile at my father, then back up at the moon.
"Just the boy from the moon."
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Old Man Driscoll was out there again.
Patrick had turned off the lights in the living room, so he could watch from the windows without being spotted. If the old fellow in the street had noticed the onlooker, he hadn't changed his routine because of it. Mr. Driscoll stood in the light of the Moon with a bucket in hands and a lid tucked under his arm. The opening was aimed at the sky and he rotated it ever so slightly like a kid at the DQ making a swirl of ice cream on top of a sugar cone.
After two minutes, he quickly pulled the pail back to his body and attempted to apply the lid. There was a brief struggle with the seal. Then the bucket popped from of his old hands, falling to the ground. Old Man Driscoll stood still in the moonlight staring at the ground at the pool of spilled ... moonlight?
It was an illusion, imagination run away. Probably just a quick reflection off ... something. Whatever Patrick thought he saw on the ground disappeared -- evaporated? -- in an instant, like the flash of a firefly.
Patrick could see the old man was upset, holding his hands, possibly hurt. Thinking maybe it wouldn't hurt to humor the old guy, he grabbed his jacket and went outside.
There was no traffic on the roads in this part of town and this time of night. The street was empty except for the man with the four buckets at his feet.
"Mr. Driscoll, would you like some help?"
The old man's face softened as he realized that the offer was sincere, and that had did actually need help. "Can you hand me that bucket, young man. And hold onto the lid. Be ready to seal it when say so."
"Sure thing." Patrick scooped up the pail and held onto the lid. A moment later, Old Man Driscoll had aimed the container at the moon. It was full tonight. "So this is that Blue Blood Full Moon that they'd talked about on TV?"
"Feh!' The man dismissed the thought. "'Blue' is an artificial construct. They don't even use it properly. Each Moon has it's own properties. The fullness is important, of course, but the being a blood moon makes this special. That's why I have an extra container tonight."
Patrick looked at the other three lying in the street. He'd never counted before, so he hadn't noticed the extras.
"Moonlight is important to hold onto. It was the only light at night for many of our ancestors who lived and slept out under the stars. It became important to their rituals. And their spells."
Spells? "You cast 'spells'?"
"Not as much as in the old days. Now I mostly use it for potions. They keep me going."
The old man shook the bucket. "Ready the lid.... Now!" He turned to the boy and between the two sealed the container, locking in five-gallons of moonlight. "Set that down carefully and give me the next one."
Patrick smiled. He actually felt a little better about himself just shooting the breeze with Mr. Driscoll. What harm did it do to indulge the old guy. He set the "full" pail down and grabbed the next one. He paused briefly when he noticed that the "empty" one was noticeably lighter.
-- I started collecting my prompts at r/xwhy
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[WP] Every night the old man is out in the street, trying to collect moonlight in a plastic bucket. Tonight, you decide to try to help him.
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I've seen the old man before. He's always out here at night on the full moons. He isn't homeless or crazy. He's the village lighthouse keeper and he often talks to the moon. Some call him mad for that. I never will.
The old man struggles to hold his plastic bucket up in the air. It intrigues me to see someone who actually believes the old wives tale. Supposedly one day a woman was out trying to catch moon beams, but no matter how hard she tried they always jumped from her grasp. She cried out in despair for help but none would answer. None besides a small boy. He had appeared almost out of nowhere and asked why the woman had been crying. She explained that she wished to catch a moonlight. The boy laughed and easily snatched moonlight from the air. The woman cried out with joy and tried to grasp the moonlight from him but the boy had a condition. He explained to her that for the moonlight she must give him something. A mother.
I sigh and walk down the street towards my father. The old man doesn't remember me. Old age has taken that from him. I stand next to him and look towards the moon. She is the same as she was all those years ago. When I first touched the moonlight.
"What are you doing lightkeeper?"
The old man turns towards me without recognition. He shows me the bucket and sighs.
"I've come to collect moonlight... my wife.... she loved moonlight."
I stare at my father when he says this. Rarely does he remember the moonlight. It faded so many years ago, just as my mother had. I watch as a tear slowly drops down my fathers face. I stand and do what I did with my mother years before. I called to the moon and asked her for her help once more. Again the moon granted me permission. I grasped the moonlight out of the air to my fathers astonishment. It feels cool in my hand when I grab it.
I motion to my father and he rushes towards me with the bucket. I gently lay the moonlight into the bucket of water where it shines bright white. My father's tears are illuminated by it.
"Who are you?"
I smile at my father, then back up at the moon.
"Just the boy from the moon."
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"It's really a terrible idea," she said, the moonlight shimmering through her fiery hair as she shook her head back and forth.
"Don't you think it's just a little sad, though?" I replied, shaking my own head. "He's out there every night with the same bucket and the same determination," a small smile crept over my lips, "trying to collect moonlight."
She huffed, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. "Well if you want to be a moron, I won't stop you. But remember-"
She shoved her finger at my nose, "be careful. There are some real crazies out there."
"Yes, ma'am," I mockingly returned, drawing a snort and a shooing motion from her. Lithely I hopped the little stone wall that separated us from the street. The cobbles clicked and clacked beneath my feet, and I paused to marvel at the full moon. If there was any night for collecting moonlight, this would be it. To my left, I heard muttering and shuffling, signalling the arrival of the old man.
"Darn moonlight never staying wheres I want it. 'S not respectful, not like in my day." He puttered about. "How'm I s'posed to make the-"
"Do you need a hand, old man?" I asked, casually strolling up the street. The old man jumped, clearly startled, his hand flying to each pocket in turn.
"Who are you?" The old man demanded, much louder than necessary.
I chuckled, hardly taken aback by the rude behavior. "Just a passer-by," I replied, "who happens to know a trick or two."
The old man looked him up and down, blatantly sizing him up. "A trick, you say?" His arms shifted as the bucket switched to his left hand. "What kind of trick?"
I smiled, teeth shining bright with reflected moonlight. I raised my right hand and brought it down in a twisting, sinuous motion. "This one, friend."
Moonlight condensed and flowed like heavy mist in the air. Following the motion of my fingers, it snaked about before settling into the old man's bucket.
The old man blinked once, twice, and sloshed the bucket back and forth to hear the splashing of the liquid moonlight. Smiling broadly, the old man revealed a surprisingly well-kept set of teeth. "That's a very nice trick. Thank you, sonny-"
"You're most welcome," I interjected.
Ignoring the interruption, the man straightened up to his full height and continued, "-but 'you shall not accept a witch to live.'"
A clap of thunder split the quiet night.
No, not thunder, I realized.
A gunshot.
I collapsed to the ground, pain lancing up my side. Blood stained my fingers black in the moonlight as the deep stain spread. The shock of falling called me to my senses, and I twisted my hand, again calling to the moonlight. A small stream trickled out of the bucket and began coating the wound, instantly relieving the pain.
I looked up when a shadow blocked out the moon. The old man spat at the ground and glared at me. "Heretic," he condemned, raising his arms. Moonbeams glinted off the steel barrel, though the darkness inside was absolute.
As was the silence that followed the thunder.
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"Those are how his last moments go." The seer said, taking her hands from the corpse. Genuine sorrow filled her expression. "I think he loved you, you know."
Silence met the supposedly comforting words.
"You're sure it was the old man?" She asked, her voice low and soft.
The seer nodded. "He got a very good look." A shudder passed down the seer's spine. This sort of thing was never comfortable. But it was a comfort for others.
"I'll kill him," she whispered.
The seer stared at her awkwardly.
"I'll kill him," she repeated louder, the fire from her hair now spreading to her eyes.
"I'll kill him."
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[WP] Humans are the only species on the Galactic Council that feel pain. Many races consider them delicate and weak for that, until a race of telepaths join the Council.
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"They're a lower race, too obsessed with this thing called 'pleasure', and too concerned with this imagined thing called 'pain'. Clearly, you've let your empathy get the better of you, Councillor Teles."
Teles simply looked at the other members. The Vej delegates mind was quite clear: they were only driven by survival and breeding. Being that they were similar to what these humans called ants, they couldn't feel when their own bodies were destroyed.
The Kert was somewhat harder to read. This creature could feel its own body be damaged, and it could interpret pleasure, however the feeling of its own injury was what humans would call "numbness". Other than this, despite the obvious differences that made it look what the human called a "furry", it was the most like the human in the room. Besides the inability to truly feel pain, the Kert couldn't properly perform the feat that humans called "empathy".
The last entity called itself the "lifeform", and was the only truly artificial sentience Teles had ever encountered. This creature only interpreted data, and acted on that data. Pain was completely foreign to it, however it did not agree with the Vej or Kert on humans needing to be enslaved for its own good. It had already extrapolated that the human feeling of injury, based on their physiology and some of the more dangerous elements of their home world, would have evolved to be potentially debilitating. It had also come to the conclusion that Teles would read its mind, and actually posed him a question. "Do you think its solely evolutionary, or is there something more to it? I'm not offended that you're looking in, I would too if I had this ability."
Teles looked into the human again. The human's mind was the hardest to enter: its whole existence was predicated on pain. If it hadn't eaten enough, there would be pain. If it had failed in a task, there was pain. If injured, or decrepit in old age, it would feel pain. Teles could only describe it as a white hot burning, coupled with the darkest sadness, but the human didn't interpret these as anything more than an inconvenience. This was the stubbed toe it had gotten last night. He dare not pry deeper into the worst things this human had experienced. The human, this time verbally, interrupted him.
"Like what you see? I can show you some really interesting things if you like." With that, the human, brought before the galactic council to again convince them that her people could be more than pets or slaves, thought of the most sickening and depraved things she had ever seen and experienced. The sheer shock and horror nearly caused Teles to black out. Even the "Lifeform" representative had felt this, and recoiled slightly. It now understood as well.
"I've seen worse, I figured I'd show you how bad it gets. Please stay out of my head." Councillor node 1337 evaluated this statement, along with the anomalous readings it had just received, albeit unintentionally, from Councillor "Teles". Quantum communication had enabled it to instantaneously communicate with Core, which was still interpreting the data. Core chose to, at this point, take direct control.
"Anomalous reading, Councillor Teles telepathic link Councillor node 1337, valuable human 'pain' data. Feeling extremely unpleasant. Akin to Vej feeling queen failure, akin to Kert feeling possession loss. Magnitude human pain orders magnitude greater. Recommend promoting Humans to 'Higher Race' status effective immediately. Moving motion, casting vote yes. Forgive please speech, data processing programming damage."
Teles' eyes started to come back into focus. His aide was about to get the medical team, but he waived him off. He was alright, but he didn't want to experience whatever that human had shown him again. He had to tell the others on the council the mistake they had been making. The humans were beyond fed up with their treatment at the hands of the rest of the galaxy, and it was boiling over.
"That was putting it lightly. Imagine having the will to make your own choices, and the desire to make your life happen according to your desires. Now, imagine being deprived of that choice. Imagine that you had the capacity to resist, to fight back despite your vulnerability, to make your will be recognized. Now, imagine that the only reason you didn't was because you care both about how the other species would feel, if they would have your pain, and about what you would become if you did retaliate. I second the Lifeform's vote, and move the humans be promoted to Higher Race status. I also move that reparations for their slavery be made immediately." Teles could sense the hope of the human at his words. The Vej dashed it.
"The queen demands your servitude. You will continue your slavery. You will do this or we will employ the nerve staples. You know them quite well, don't you?" Teles heard of Vej Nerve Staples: devices that could seize control of another sentient entity's body, yet leave the creature conscious, fully aware that its actions were being made by something else, yet powerless to do anything about it. The Councillor had activated them in the human representative, but what happened next shocked all present, including Teles.
She doubled over in pain, just for a moment. Then she started to stand up.
"Sit Down," the Vej said, calmly repeating the command. It hadn't realized yet what Teles had: Nerve staples only caused humans two sensations: Pain and Rage. Teles could feel this new sensation emanating from the human, and it was so strong that it was beginning to cause his own skin to blister. This human was overpowering the implant.
"I said SIT DOWN!" Screamed the Vej, sending the signal to the entire human delegation's Nerve Staples to activate at full power. They all doubled over for a moment, then got up. Teles ran from the room at that moment. The rage from every human, kept well in check before this affront, was now causing him extreme bodily harm. He ran from the room, the burns visible and getting worse as he fled. In this, he taught the Vej two things. First, the humans weren't faking the concept of pain. Next, he taught the Vej that humans fought their own emotions and desires, keeping them in check for a greater good.
The council would record this as the day the humans officially declared war on the Vej, overthrew them in an uprising that, by law, granted them their higher race status without need for a vote, and the day that the Vej too learned what pain was.
Explicitly for the purpose, humans had developed a biological weapon that altered the Vej with the ability to feel pain. This was before the humans executed their full and complete genocide, showing the galaxy at large that the humans could also feel hate.
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"So councilor Paine of Low Order, you're reintroducing your proposal to legalize euthanasia?"
"Yes, I do councilor Kyne of High Order. It is considered cruel for humans to be subjected to their current treatment on Mother Solaris."
"You overstep you bounds yet again, Low Order. Leave at once and return in 3 cycles. We have yet to introduce our newest member, councilor Tyr of High Order formally."
Sighing, Tomas Paine let the chair lower to the floor before the manservants guided him through the corridor to his room, the plush sleep chamber the first room next to the sleek chambers of the other 15 councilors. The androids then left him in his bed as he groaned, his mental link to the Galactic Wide Net activating as his aged mind began to call Mother Solaris.
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"Why is that pained old man serving here, surely he'd be better of in an android body."
"Pained?" He is just like us, serving our 300 cycle term as Galactic Councilors of Law?"
"He is clearly in pain even now! I can feel his pain even as he lies in his pillowy bed."
"Pain does not exist young High Order, you shall yearn this in due cycles as soon as councilor Paine of Low Order will restate his ridiculous proposal."
With that, the telepath stared at the ancient beings surrounding him, discontentment rising.
----
And cut, I'm never doing names like that again. Yes, the council are complete cunts and this is fully intended.
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[WP] Humans are the only species on the Galactic Council that feel pain. Many races consider them delicate and weak for that, until a race of telepaths join the Council.
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Mantise entered the Galactic Council chambers with some trepidation. Mantise felt much dumber than usual, both because it was deprived of processing power this far from home, and because all of the strange new minds had obvious solutions for problems that had stumped it for millennia.
The little green alien watched with the eyes of other species in the chamber, and felt other things from stranger senses. Mantise was three feet tall, and weighed about sixty pounds. At least half of that was its helmet-like head, metallic and blank of any features. It had two arms and two legs, like most of the delegates, and a tail that it could rest on for balance.
Mantise was third in line to speak. The two before it had specific requests. As it was Mantise’s first visit, Mantise would probably not be expected to do more than offer greetings and sign a nonaggression contract with the other species. This it knew from the thoughts of those around it.
The Humans were up first. Their platform rose into the center of the room. The Grand Council Chambers had dozens of floating, circular platforms with railings that each species watched the others from. Mantise’s platform was near the bottom, like the Humans.
“This delegate would request that the Gob species grant independence to the Human colony they have fostered in their system. A colony originated by the crime of kidnapping is an abomination to all. Given the atrocities visited upon that colony, they must be freed, for the cause of galactic justice.”
The room was silent for a moment, before filling with a variety of chaotic sounds - buzzing, chirping, and noises outside Mantise’s audible spectrum that it was nevertheless aware of minds generating. Mantise scanned a few sample minds to gain context, and understood that the room was laughing.
A few days ago, Mantise had discovered the concept of humor. Now it found out that humor could be used for cruelty, another new concept. Fascinating.
The Human platform returned to its place, over the protests of their delegate.
The Gob platform rose. The Gob platform was heavily reinforced. They were the biggest species Mantise had seen yet. A human was twice as tall as Mantise, and probably weighed three times as much. A Gob was ten times the size of a human.
The Gob resembled a ball of spines, each individual spine connected from end to end. Mantise observed the Gob attaching and detaching different sections of spines at will, using them to operate its platform.
“Hey fuckers! It’s ya boy Logan Gob.” The room erupted into sizzling, rattling, and a slow clap from the expressionless human.
“Now, as you all MIGHT be familiar with, the Gob have a human colony. But we stole those fuckers centuries ago, and we didn’t get enough the first time. Humans reproduce by combining their genetics - weird- and we’ve apparently used all of theirs up. We’d like to request that the Humans send us more of their species so we don’t run out.”
The human exploded. “You’re eating us! How dare you ask that we help you keep your precious delicacy colony alive!”
“Whoa there! Temper, temper, Snack.” The spines spread open, and the Gob showed its core, a single, lipless opening with teeth always bared. “I want you to look at it from their perspective. If you don’t send any, they’ll all become gross mutants and probably suffer horrible “genetic” diseases. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
The room erupted into sounds the Mantise understood as disapproving.
“Humans are so cruel.” said someone on a platform above.
The Human platform rose back to the center, close enough to touch the Gob platform. The Human and the Gob stood face to core as the crowd yelled comments too fast for Mantise to translate. Mantise kept its mind on the human. It was thinking, dreaming of weapons. Another new concept.
In the end, the human wilted. “The human delegate acknowledges the need of the Gob people. We have the capability to send genetic material that will solve our colony’s problem, but will not send any live humans, as their safety is in question.”
“Would you get a load of this guy? Sending me his “genetic” material without even a date first. So pushy.” The spines rustled back into place, hiding the teeth for now. “Nah, I’m just joshin you. That’s a good Human.” The Gob’s voice was syrupy sweet.
Mantise continued delving into the Human mind, intrigued by the other thoughts guns had prompted. Then it found something, that as far as it could tell, was totally unique among the species gathered. A Human’s damage signal was overpowering. Nearly every species either had redundant units (spines, or the bodies that Mantise used), or could turn off their damage signal so it wouldn’t disable them.
Mantise thrummed in horror. According to the Human’s memory, this defect was universal to their species. Some of them had even worse variants, chronic pain, which was a damage signal when they weren’t even hurt.
Fascinating. Fascinating.
Mantise realized with alarm that their platform was in the center of the room, and that people were waiting for it to speak.
Every species stared down at the little green alien. Mantise rested on its tail.
Anxiety. That was new too. On a planet that was all Mantise, it had never experienced judgment before.
It sent thought waves into the translator, which broadcast its speech to the room.
“Hello.
“Mantise is pleased to meet you. Mantise is the only intelligent being on its home planet, and everything you think is beautiful and new. Mantise would like to visit you all as soon as it can.”
Murmurs in various sounds spread around the room, and Mantise realized too late that it had committed taboo. It spoke from the heart about meeting new friends, but any request for visiting the home planet of a species could only be interpreted as spying, or a prelude to invasion. There was no trust among the members of the Galactic Council.
“Pardon. Mantise only meant-”
Its platform was whisked back down to the bottom, outside of Mantise’s control.
First impressions, and bad first impressions. So many new things. Mantise felt crushed that it had failed to adapt in time.
Mantise noticed that their platform was next to the Human now. Mantise spoke directly, in its native language filtered through the visual sense the Human preferred.
Mantise sent an image of the Human it addressed, then an image of the hallway, with the future-possible modifier.
Mantise saw the Human stumble, look around, and eventually nod at the faceless alien. Oh, that was Mantise! Very good.
The two of them adjoined to the hallway. Each platform rested near an exit when a delegate was not speaking, in case they wanted to duck out early. The other species would probably assume they had given up in frustration.
Mantise attempted to speak in Human. It had an entire lifetime of memories, images matched to words, to use for translation.
“Hello! Think-” Mantise expressed this in picture form as waves coming from the human’s head, and entering Mantise. “And I will hear.”
“Hello. This is Ambassador Jinping. You wish to speak with me?” Mantise felt the human moving his lips slightly by reflex, but it soon stopped.
“I see-” Mantise sent an image of a gun, then a mushroom cloud. “weapon in you. Mantise has never been not-free. Humans should be yes-free.”
The ambassador wished that he could look the alien in the eye. Mantise felt a brief sadness that they were different, quickly replaced by the wonder of discovering suspicion. Lying was something a hive mind had never dreamed of.
“Humans want to be free?”
The Ambassador hesitated, considering multiple options. Mantise read all of them. In the end, the Ambassador took a chance on the other new kid on the block.
“Yes, we want to free them. What is this weapon you see?”
Mantise dredged up every memory of pain the human had experienced, from a broken arm as a child to a long struggle with constipation happening on multiple occasions, to the spank the human’s doctor had given him after birth. Mantise sent that pain directly into the Human, feeding it back and multiplying it with the other bodies Mantise had in their ship.
The Human screamed, collapsing and twitching on the floor.
There was a brief lull in the sounds coming from the G.C. Chambers, then more of the sounds that Mantise recognized as laughter.
Red octagons flashed across Mantise’s mind. After a few seconds, it caught the intention, and the pain stopped.
Mantise sent an image of the Gob, and a half-second flash of pain, on a much lower level this time.
“If you can do that to the Gob, then you are a weapon indeed. What stops you from doing this alone?”
Mantise struggled with the words for a moment. “We are a relay. Mantise could use your memory, but it would degrade. Less effective.”
The human nodded decisively. “I am authorized to make decisions on behalf of my species. We accept your alliance.”
“Then Mantise and Human will go to rescue the Human colony.” Mantise vibrated with happiness.
The Human shook his head. “Not rescue. If you are willing, we will assist the colony in rebellion, and force the Gobs out of their own sector.”
His conscious words were different from his deep thoughts. Self-deception. That, Mantise thought it might know, though it only recognized the possibility from the outside.
The Human’s deep thoughts were not of making Gobs leave. His thoughts were of killing. Extermination. That too was new to Mantise.
Fascinating.
______________________________________________________
35/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated.
|
"So councilor Paine of Low Order, you're reintroducing your proposal to legalize euthanasia?"
"Yes, I do councilor Kyne of High Order. It is considered cruel for humans to be subjected to their current treatment on Mother Solaris."
"You overstep you bounds yet again, Low Order. Leave at once and return in 3 cycles. We have yet to introduce our newest member, councilor Tyr of High Order formally."
Sighing, Tomas Paine let the chair lower to the floor before the manservants guided him through the corridor to his room, the plush sleep chamber the first room next to the sleek chambers of the other 15 councilors. The androids then left him in his bed as he groaned, his mental link to the Galactic Wide Net activating as his aged mind began to call Mother Solaris.
---
"Why is that pained old man serving here, surely he'd be better of in an android body."
"Pained?" He is just like us, serving our 300 cycle term as Galactic Councilors of Law?"
"He is clearly in pain even now! I can feel his pain even as he lies in his pillowy bed."
"Pain does not exist young High Order, you shall yearn this in due cycles as soon as councilor Paine of Low Order will restate his ridiculous proposal."
With that, the telepath stared at the ancient beings surrounding him, discontentment rising.
----
And cut, I'm never doing names like that again. Yes, the council are complete cunts and this is fully intended.
|
|
[WP] Humans are the only species on the Galactic Council that feel pain. Many races consider them delicate and weak for that, until a race of telepaths join the Council.
|
"Strange."
"What is strange, fellow councilman?"
"These humans."
"Ah, yes. They can feel this so-called pain, as they put it. Why any race would ever allow themselves to experience a sensation of hurting is far beyond me."
"Is what you say, but I have felt different."
"Ah! I remember that your species are able to read minds. Tell me, what does this pain feel?"
"I'm not sure."
"How so?"
"I've read the minds of all the humans I have come across. It's a tradition of our species to scan the minds of those who are new to us, I am still having trouble throwing away the habit.
And these humans, all of them feel pain, but their reactions to it are different."
"That's certainly not much different from pleasure! Tell me, how do they feel pain?"
"Keep this a secret, but our fellow councilman is not a jolly as he seems. His wife left him some time ago, and he is still nursing the wounds."
"How tragic."
"Indeed. He buries himself in his work to forget about her."
"So his pain is not physical? Is that even possible?"
"Pleasure is not just physical."
"Point."
"His aide has only recovered from a broken hip. It was so painful for him that he passed out. I think that's the pain that is physical."
"The more I hear it, the more I wonder why the humans allow themselves to feel pain."
"They see it as a sign of survival. Their guard was once trapped in a forest, and he intentionally pinched himself to keep from passing out."
"Fascinating. What about the others, how do they feel about pain."
"Joy."
"Joy?"
"The other councilman has just given birth to her child. It's not the cleanest process of life-giving that I have ever seen, but after all the pain that she went through, I was surprised at how happy she felt when she held her newborn child in her arms."
"I say, this is the most interesting thing I've had all week!"
"The councilwoman's aide feels pain as pleasure."
"How is that possible?"
"I don't know. When I scanned her mind, I saw her tied up naked in that soft object that the humans rest upon, while another human whips her with something sinister.
Despite all that, she was moaning in pleasure. It all felt so surreal."
"Hmm, tied up in bed and being whipped? I think I met *my* wife that way."
|
"So councilor Paine of Low Order, you're reintroducing your proposal to legalize euthanasia?"
"Yes, I do councilor Kyne of High Order. It is considered cruel for humans to be subjected to their current treatment on Mother Solaris."
"You overstep you bounds yet again, Low Order. Leave at once and return in 3 cycles. We have yet to introduce our newest member, councilor Tyr of High Order formally."
Sighing, Tomas Paine let the chair lower to the floor before the manservants guided him through the corridor to his room, the plush sleep chamber the first room next to the sleek chambers of the other 15 councilors. The androids then left him in his bed as he groaned, his mental link to the Galactic Wide Net activating as his aged mind began to call Mother Solaris.
---
"Why is that pained old man serving here, surely he'd be better of in an android body."
"Pained?" He is just like us, serving our 300 cycle term as Galactic Councilors of Law?"
"He is clearly in pain even now! I can feel his pain even as he lies in his pillowy bed."
"Pain does not exist young High Order, you shall yearn this in due cycles as soon as councilor Paine of Low Order will restate his ridiculous proposal."
With that, the telepath stared at the ancient beings surrounding him, discontentment rising.
----
And cut, I'm never doing names like that again. Yes, the council are complete cunts and this is fully intended.
|
|
[WP] Humans are the only species on the Galactic Council that feel pain. Many races consider them delicate and weak for that, until a race of telepaths join the Council.
|
The Galactic Council was an important milestone to all nascent space-faring races. For us, it meant a through acknowledgement of our efforts to reach out to the galactic community, and a level of prestige and pride. In our cosmic neighbourhood, we would take the helm for a long period of time, especially since no other race in our stellar vicinity had attained membership yet.
Which is really impressive.
As a result, we were all collectively surprised when we found out that the Humans were too on the Council, as a Elder Member too. Our first contact with them was 2 epochs ago, before we could reach out to other races telepathically.
Our records showed that they were susceptible to something known as "Pain". It was pretty amusing to us, especially when they lost to us in terms of physical sports, where after they lost one game, they started bending over and wheezing.
At any rate, our first contact turned out to be just a cultural exchange, and they left our system scarcely one cycle later. Further communications turned up nothing, but it wasn't long after that when the Council's representative visited us in a show of goodwill, and laid down the conditions of admittance into the Council.
Our race considering Humans as weak was not an isolated sentiment. Numerous other representatives, who were not on the Elder Council, had thought the same thing when we first arrived for our ceremony.
"What's such a useless race doing up there anyway?"
"They sure know how to act, bringing in extravagant stuff in a conclave of austerity. Why do the other Elders tolerate them?"
"Pain? Never heard of it."
When I made landfall on the planet, these were the thoughts that I heard immediately, which was natural given that the Elder Council was on holo at that time. It also didn't help that the Elder Council had access to a lot of resources too, and every race on it was a galactic hegemon.
Ignoring the curious glances - by virtue of the fact we could hear their inner thoughts - my delegation and I made our way into the Sanctum to pay our respects. The Human on the Council - did he still remember us? His wizened face had drawn matches with our database, as the man who engaged in the sports exchange.
Of course, he was much younger at that time.
The door opened, and we entered the room. Out of courtesy(and as a cautionary measure), we had refrained from sending in our telepathic senses. But in this room, with such a frightening atmosphere, the younger members of the delegation had immediately succumbed to the temptation of employing telepathy.
Huge mistake.
A shrill scream broke out, shattering the peace and quiet that permeated the Inner Sanctum, which was then immediately followed by a short, heavy impact on the glistening metallic floor. I felt the other telepathic senses pause briefly before withdrawing. All eyes were drawn to the downed person.
I recognised the youngling - he was an incredibly gifted telepath, and was especially skillful in hiding his presence, to the point that even people like me were barely able to detect whether he was reading our minds or not.
But right now...
Surprisingly, it was the Human who went to our aid immediately. A bunch of androids - his personal aides - laid him up, before putting a metallic helmet on his head.
The Human sighed, and sized us up. "Members of the honoured Delegation who do not wish to suffer the same, take a helmet from my attendants. It would hinder your abilities, but I rather that you all not collapse from experiencing my mind."
A wry smile emerged, briefly. "And it would be rather rude to probe the minds of the Elders. I beseech you all not to do the same to the Patriarch when you visit him later. There's a reason why Humanity is on the Council."
I glanced around my nonplussed delegation, before apologising.
"Excellent. We'll get down to official business first. If you would pass us your census for the races in your locality?"
For a while, silence reigned as the Elder Council perused the datacubes. My secretary gripped my hand, and telepathically spoke. "These helmets are tuned to our abilities - to prepare them in such short order..." Her voice trailed off.
I squeezed her hand back. "We had first contact with them 2 epochs ago, right before the Transcendent gave up his immortality and passed into sleep. It's quite possible that the Humans were the ones that sent the Council rep."
Her stunned silence could be felt, long after we relinquished physical contact.
A dry cough could be heard in the chamber, and we looked up. An Elder representative smiled - which wasn't that aesthetically pleasing, but whatever - and congratulated us.
"Everything's in order. You are all free to leave, but don't forget the paperwork to claim support and funding. The meeting with the Patriarch will commence 2 planetary days later. " He - or she - paused briefly, before he continued. "Lord Belton, the Human representative, would like a word with the delegation leader. If you please."
I gulped, and followed the white-haired human into his private office. I watched as he moved around his pantry, and soon a fragrant smell was wafting from the cups he laid out.
"Have a drink first, you might find this familiar."
I brought the cup to my lips, and sipped. This was... tea from my home planet.
"It's quite the distance from Ecludia to the Council Capital. Given the tea's properties, it was quite likely that you might not have tasted it for one Ecludian year or 2. I hope this puts you more at ease."
My gleaming eyes might have shocked him, as he hastily followed up. "I'll give you a box of packets later, so stop with the puppy eyes. Ok, back to the main point. How's Sir Andoras now?"
My eyes widened briefly in surprise, before I composed myself. "Our records showed that he passed into sleep half a cycle after our first contact with Humanity."
His eyes flickered. "Tch, that old geezer. Making all these promises about meeting us, then he had to run off. Wasn't he immortal anyway? Bleh."
That sounded more like a child ranting about his grandfather than anything else... At any rate, I kept silent, awaiting his next words.
"That's quite the pity, at any rate. He was quite the fine mind. Anyway, Humanity was the sponsor for your admission into the Council, which will clear quite a few doubts as to why we have those helmets. But if you want to know why we made those helmets, you could try removing them, and slowly send your telepathic senses out."
I gingerly did as he instructed.
And found myself gasping, prone on the floor.
"Does this explain why we refrained from contact with you, especially after your race developed interracial telepathy? What you felt was probably a tenth of what the poor guy earlier did. After all, his mind touched on my bad hip."
He mused on that point briefly, before taking another sip from his cup. The door swung open as I picked myself up, helmet firmly on this time.
|
"So councilor Paine of Low Order, you're reintroducing your proposal to legalize euthanasia?"
"Yes, I do councilor Kyne of High Order. It is considered cruel for humans to be subjected to their current treatment on Mother Solaris."
"You overstep you bounds yet again, Low Order. Leave at once and return in 3 cycles. We have yet to introduce our newest member, councilor Tyr of High Order formally."
Sighing, Tomas Paine let the chair lower to the floor before the manservants guided him through the corridor to his room, the plush sleep chamber the first room next to the sleek chambers of the other 15 councilors. The androids then left him in his bed as he groaned, his mental link to the Galactic Wide Net activating as his aged mind began to call Mother Solaris.
---
"Why is that pained old man serving here, surely he'd be better of in an android body."
"Pained?" He is just like us, serving our 300 cycle term as Galactic Councilors of Law?"
"He is clearly in pain even now! I can feel his pain even as he lies in his pillowy bed."
"Pain does not exist young High Order, you shall yearn this in due cycles as soon as councilor Paine of Low Order will restate his ridiculous proposal."
With that, the telepath stared at the ancient beings surrounding him, discontentment rising.
----
And cut, I'm never doing names like that again. Yes, the council are complete cunts and this is fully intended.
|
|
[WP] Humans are the only species on the Galactic Council that feel pain. Many races consider them delicate and weak for that, until a race of telepaths join the Council.
|
The Galactic Council was an important milestone to all nascent space-faring races. For us, it meant a through acknowledgement of our efforts to reach out to the galactic community, and a level of prestige and pride. In our cosmic neighbourhood, we would take the helm for a long period of time, especially since no other race in our stellar vicinity had attained membership yet.
Which is really impressive.
As a result, we were all collectively surprised when we found out that the Humans were too on the Council, as a Elder Member too. Our first contact with them was 2 epochs ago, before we could reach out to other races telepathically.
Our records showed that they were susceptible to something known as "Pain". It was pretty amusing to us, especially when they lost to us in terms of physical sports, where after they lost one game, they started bending over and wheezing.
At any rate, our first contact turned out to be just a cultural exchange, and they left our system scarcely one cycle later. Further communications turned up nothing, but it wasn't long after that when the Council's representative visited us in a show of goodwill, and laid down the conditions of admittance into the Council.
Our race considering Humans as weak was not an isolated sentiment. Numerous other representatives, who were not on the Elder Council, had thought the same thing when we first arrived for our ceremony.
"What's such a useless race doing up there anyway?"
"They sure know how to act, bringing in extravagant stuff in a conclave of austerity. Why do the other Elders tolerate them?"
"Pain? Never heard of it."
When I made landfall on the planet, these were the thoughts that I heard immediately, which was natural given that the Elder Council was on holo at that time. It also didn't help that the Elder Council had access to a lot of resources too, and every race on it was a galactic hegemon.
Ignoring the curious glances - by virtue of the fact we could hear their inner thoughts - my delegation and I made our way into the Sanctum to pay our respects. The Human on the Council - did he still remember us? His wizened face had drawn matches with our database, as the man who engaged in the sports exchange.
Of course, he was much younger at that time.
The door opened, and we entered the room. Out of courtesy(and as a cautionary measure), we had refrained from sending in our telepathic senses. But in this room, with such a frightening atmosphere, the younger members of the delegation had immediately succumbed to the temptation of employing telepathy.
Huge mistake.
A shrill scream broke out, shattering the peace and quiet that permeated the Inner Sanctum, which was then immediately followed by a short, heavy impact on the glistening metallic floor. I felt the other telepathic senses pause briefly before withdrawing. All eyes were drawn to the downed person.
I recognised the youngling - he was an incredibly gifted telepath, and was especially skillful in hiding his presence, to the point that even people like me were barely able to detect whether he was reading our minds or not.
But right now...
Surprisingly, it was the Human who went to our aid immediately. A bunch of androids - his personal aides - laid him up, before putting a metallic helmet on his head.
The Human sighed, and sized us up. "Members of the honoured Delegation who do not wish to suffer the same, take a helmet from my attendants. It would hinder your abilities, but I rather that you all not collapse from experiencing my mind."
A wry smile emerged, briefly. "And it would be rather rude to probe the minds of the Elders. I beseech you all not to do the same to the Patriarch when you visit him later. There's a reason why Humanity is on the Council."
I glanced around my nonplussed delegation, before apologising.
"Excellent. We'll get down to official business first. If you would pass us your census for the races in your locality?"
For a while, silence reigned as the Elder Council perused the datacubes. My secretary gripped my hand, and telepathically spoke. "These helmets are tuned to our abilities - to prepare them in such short order..." Her voice trailed off.
I squeezed her hand back. "We had first contact with them 2 epochs ago, right before the Transcendent gave up his immortality and passed into sleep. It's quite possible that the Humans were the ones that sent the Council rep."
Her stunned silence could be felt, long after we relinquished physical contact.
A dry cough could be heard in the chamber, and we looked up. An Elder representative smiled - which wasn't that aesthetically pleasing, but whatever - and congratulated us.
"Everything's in order. You are all free to leave, but don't forget the paperwork to claim support and funding. The meeting with the Patriarch will commence 2 planetary days later. " He - or she - paused briefly, before he continued. "Lord Belton, the Human representative, would like a word with the delegation leader. If you please."
I gulped, and followed the white-haired human into his private office. I watched as he moved around his pantry, and soon a fragrant smell was wafting from the cups he laid out.
"Have a drink first, you might find this familiar."
I brought the cup to my lips, and sipped. This was... tea from my home planet.
"It's quite the distance from Ecludia to the Council Capital. Given the tea's properties, it was quite likely that you might not have tasted it for one Ecludian year or 2. I hope this puts you more at ease."
My gleaming eyes might have shocked him, as he hastily followed up. "I'll give you a box of packets later, so stop with the puppy eyes. Ok, back to the main point. How's Sir Andoras now?"
My eyes widened briefly in surprise, before I composed myself. "Our records showed that he passed into sleep half a cycle after our first contact with Humanity."
His eyes flickered. "Tch, that old geezer. Making all these promises about meeting us, then he had to run off. Wasn't he immortal anyway? Bleh."
That sounded more like a child ranting about his grandfather than anything else... At any rate, I kept silent, awaiting his next words.
"That's quite the pity, at any rate. He was quite the fine mind. Anyway, Humanity was the sponsor for your admission into the Council, which will clear quite a few doubts as to why we have those helmets. But if you want to know why we made those helmets, you could try removing them, and slowly send your telepathic senses out."
I gingerly did as he instructed.
And found myself gasping, prone on the floor.
"Does this explain why we refrained from contact with you, especially after your race developed interracial telepathy? What you felt was probably a tenth of what the poor guy earlier did. After all, his mind touched on my bad hip."
He mused on that point briefly, before taking another sip from his cup. The door swung open as I picked myself up, helmet firmly on this time.
|
"Strange."
"What is strange, fellow councilman?"
"These humans."
"Ah, yes. They can feel this so-called pain, as they put it. Why any race would ever allow themselves to experience a sensation of hurting is far beyond me."
"Is what you say, but I have felt different."
"Ah! I remember that your species are able to read minds. Tell me, what does this pain feel?"
"I'm not sure."
"How so?"
"I've read the minds of all the humans I have come across. It's a tradition of our species to scan the minds of those who are new to us, I am still having trouble throwing away the habit.
And these humans, all of them feel pain, but their reactions to it are different."
"That's certainly not much different from pleasure! Tell me, how do they feel pain?"
"Keep this a secret, but our fellow councilman is not a jolly as he seems. His wife left him some time ago, and he is still nursing the wounds."
"How tragic."
"Indeed. He buries himself in his work to forget about her."
"So his pain is not physical? Is that even possible?"
"Pleasure is not just physical."
"Point."
"His aide has only recovered from a broken hip. It was so painful for him that he passed out. I think that's the pain that is physical."
"The more I hear it, the more I wonder why the humans allow themselves to feel pain."
"They see it as a sign of survival. Their guard was once trapped in a forest, and he intentionally pinched himself to keep from passing out."
"Fascinating. What about the others, how do they feel about pain."
"Joy."
"Joy?"
"The other councilman has just given birth to her child. It's not the cleanest process of life-giving that I have ever seen, but after all the pain that she went through, I was surprised at how happy she felt when she held her newborn child in her arms."
"I say, this is the most interesting thing I've had all week!"
"The councilwoman's aide feels pain as pleasure."
"How is that possible?"
"I don't know. When I scanned her mind, I saw her tied up naked in that soft object that the humans rest upon, while another human whips her with something sinister.
Despite all that, she was moaning in pleasure. It all felt so surreal."
"Hmm, tied up in bed and being whipped? I think I met *my* wife that way."
|
|
[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
|
In a nameless trailer park, a man in a old dusty recliner sits up and heads to the door. His time has come for years he'd been telling those at the park of his tittle. They had mocked him, now they will pay as the new world order is established. The time of Carl King of Ducks has come.
|
When the first one went, muttering those words we brushed it off. Maybe he was out of it and didn’t mean anything by it. Then another said it to a sad family crowded around the bed. Suddenly all around the world people were uttering this hesitant phrase, but what did it mean? All continents across the globe, every country and region, the dying whispered these four confusing words. What is happening?
Then it happened. TV channels began switching to emergency broadcasts. Phones began chiming out of control, one warning after the next. “Stay inside, seek shelter”, “if outside head to the following underground shelter”, “NASA reporting large objects on collision course with earth”. The major news networks began airing live addresses from the Whitehouse along with other respective national capitols, “space observation sites around the globe are witnessing a field of interstellar objects nearing earth’s orbit at blinding speeds, brace for sudden impact across both hemispheres”. Emergency broadcast screens took the place of all other stations. The next statements sent a shiver down our spines, “this just in- the objects are slowing down, they are decreasing in speed upon entering low orbit”.
Above the clouds we saw dozens of black dots, in small formations they descended. More followed and others still, the skies were filled with the dots. As they defended faster we caught our first glimpse. Vehicles, black with yellow sigils on the sides. Retro thrusters firing they came through the clouds, black craft with black smoke trails above them. First it was the live streamers, YouTube channels abound with live footage of the skies around the globe. News networks did their best to film what they could but there were just more individuals broadcasting live on phones, they saw the first ones. Some of the footage became shaky and unwatchable as they began to run and dive for cover, we quickly found other more vigilant broadcasts. The skies erupted with the bursts of flak and anti-aircraft fire, explosions filled the air. Some of them were destroyed and rained down fire and debris littering the ground beneath, but they were too fast. Huge concussions rang out as the swarms of craft slammed into the earth, some landing on hills or in ravines even in towns and cities. When they hit, everything around them collapsed, buildings shaken to the foundations toppled to the ground. Dozens at a time impacted the ground despite the bursts of flack or the tracers that arced across the skies. The sky now awash with fire and smoke.
The ships were the size of houses, the emblems on the sides finally visible- yellow art in the shape of a two dimensional rubber duckies with crossbones beneath them. Many of those filming fled for their lives while others stood fast. Then, one at a time they began with the horns, steam spewed out above the ramps. Giant doors, a metallic grinding echoing out, rode open crashing into the earth beneath them. Large clouds of smoke and dust were sent up as the doors dug in. Out they came. Regular-sized ducks wearing small power armor suits and wielding bright green rifles. We didn’t know what we were seeing, lines of them, eyes glowing red in the silver suits of armor. Before we had time to think, the duck legions opened fire. Hundreds upon hundreds of green beams streaked through the streets, up inn-across the fields and into the towns, so many lasers you couldn’t see anything else. Onward they marched.
|
|
[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
|
“You always had a good heart.” She held my hand and her rheumy eyes searched mine. “I’m sorry I chose to live so long..” she smiled thinly and laughed in her sympathetic way. It was about the only time I had seen her laugh during this entire moon. After this clear season, the rains will come and we won’t be able too see Kuiper’s children anymore. I guess it doesn’t matter. They have been visiting us since before I was birthed. They will continue their passage.
She gripped my hand firmly, she was making peace now. She turned away and looked off into the direction of the shield disc, looming in the distance. She was smiling at some memory. “Oh the ducks are coming.” “They’re finally coming.” She smiled and the tears came freely. She closed her eyes and passed.
The birds were in fact coming, much too soon in the season. That night I felt the first concussion. A deep rolling of the earth. Like an animal deep below stirring in its sleep. Soon after, another was felt. It was dark outside and between the rocks it was cold and still. The settlement was no doubt in the mines. That wouldn’t work this time. The creatures always seem to know before us.
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No one could remember when the virus started but the dead started to mutate into duck hybrids a week after death. All the mutated dead and the naturally born ducks started migrating around the world as a giant plague storm called The Quacken. As of a week ago it has vanished from all radar, tracking, and military sites started failing on their own if they had a bead on The Quacken; as soon as they could be repaired The Quacken was lost.
The dying for the past 24 hours have all gave the warning "The ducks are coming." The reports started coming in to the military for defense purposes. The general in charge had a report come in from the advanced command center sargeant: "We have regained tracking capability and we found where the quackening is coming from the moon. The Quackening is on an inbound course and they will have the ability to block all sun light across the surface of the earth." The governments of the world all brought out a system of giant duck call sonic cannons to destroy the Quackening.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Millions said the same thing... so we could only assume clouds of these insane ducks that somehow developed a brain and said enough is enough with these fucking humans. We were all ready for a massive duck hunt session with these rabid ducks and were expecting them any day now. Then all of a sudden there’s a loud thunderous sound coming from all around us, like earthquakes created by lighting storms from Jupiter. It came from the east then the west... then people started to scream and run with fear and amusement? We could finally see the ducks, not millions... but two giant ducks running towards each other one was white and one was black. The white one wore an outfit that included a blue shirt, hat and a red bow. The black one only wore a white band around its neck. This was going to be a hell of a battle...
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No one could remember when the virus started but the dead started to mutate into duck hybrids a week after death. All the mutated dead and the naturally born ducks started migrating around the world as a giant plague storm called The Quacken. As of a week ago it has vanished from all radar, tracking, and military sites started failing on their own if they had a bead on The Quacken; as soon as they could be repaired The Quacken was lost.
The dying for the past 24 hours have all gave the warning "The ducks are coming." The reports started coming in to the military for defense purposes. The general in charge had a report come in from the advanced command center sargeant: "We have regained tracking capability and we found where the quackening is coming from the moon. The Quackening is on an inbound course and they will have the ability to block all sun light across the surface of the earth." The governments of the world all brought out a system of giant duck call sonic cannons to destroy the Quackening.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Police and military around the world, satisfied that they have the population of ducks sufficiently monitored are set to begin their broadcast announcing "all safe".
Just as the broadcast is set to begin the undetected planet-killing asteroid streaks, flaming, into view of half of the world's population.
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No one could remember when the virus started but the dead started to mutate into duck hybrids a week after death. All the mutated dead and the naturally born ducks started migrating around the world as a giant plague storm called The Quacken. As of a week ago it has vanished from all radar, tracking, and military sites started failing on their own if they had a bead on The Quacken; as soon as they could be repaired The Quacken was lost.
The dying for the past 24 hours have all gave the warning "The ducks are coming." The reports started coming in to the military for defense purposes. The general in charge had a report come in from the advanced command center sargeant: "We have regained tracking capability and we found where the quackening is coming from the moon. The Quackening is on an inbound course and they will have the ability to block all sun light across the surface of the earth." The governments of the world all brought out a system of giant duck call sonic cannons to destroy the Quackening.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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"the ducks are coming" what utter nonsense. It was a bit like all that crap about the Mayan apocalypse, we never thought anything about it until it was too late.
The portal from a nightmare realm was first ripped open in New York, Manhattan to be precise.
There were no survivors.
The only clue to their demise was some audio recordings of a phrase that was also scrawled in blood on the walls
"Let's get dangerous"
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No one could remember when the virus started but the dead started to mutate into duck hybrids a week after death. All the mutated dead and the naturally born ducks started migrating around the world as a giant plague storm called The Quacken. As of a week ago it has vanished from all radar, tracking, and military sites started failing on their own if they had a bead on The Quacken; as soon as they could be repaired The Quacken was lost.
The dying for the past 24 hours have all gave the warning "The ducks are coming." The reports started coming in to the military for defense purposes. The general in charge had a report come in from the advanced command center sargeant: "We have regained tracking capability and we found where the quackening is coming from the moon. The Quackening is on an inbound course and they will have the ability to block all sun light across the surface of the earth." The governments of the world all brought out a system of giant duck call sonic cannons to destroy the Quackening.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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I found the prophecy! Not that any of that mattered now. In a matter of hours the ducks would have conquered the metropolitan area and begun to manifest their destiny westward.
My grandmother died a year ago yesterday. After my pop pop died she couldn’t have lasted long. I was fortunate enough to spend their final days with them, an opportunity for which I am very grateful. My mother’s parents were very goofy, as is my mother and as was I before the ducks attacked.
Because of their goofiness, I thought their coordinated final words were one last, posthumous joke- something my family could look back on and laugh. Now the foretold coming of the ducks is nothing to laugh about.
As I read and re-read what can only be described as a forgotten transcript from the days of old, the script became alarmingly clear to me. The years of duck hunting had taken their toll and the ducks were fed up. Of course, no animal with any form of conscience can just genocide another creature, except for humans of course.
But these ducks acted with tact. They warned the human race of their attack alright, but how could they warn them so that they wouldn’t fight back? What’s something no human would ever bring up in conversation?
When the ducks figured out how to hijack the cellular towers to instill images and phrases into the minds of those who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s, they knew their work was complete. Nobody would ever tell anyone else about the final words of their afflicted loved ones.
As I flashed back to reality, I would have just as soon stayed in my reminiscence. I could hear the squabbles of the ducks, the cacophony muddled with screams of the innocent. There was nothing left to be done. There was nothing that could be done. Nothing.
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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"the ducks are coming" what utter nonsense. It was a bit like all that crap about the Mayan apocalypse, we never thought anything about it until it was too late.
The portal from a nightmare realm was first ripped open in New York, Manhattan to be precise.
There were no survivors.
The only clue to their demise was some audio recordings of a phrase that was also scrawled in blood on the walls
"Let's get dangerous"
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Grandma had been sick for awhile.
Not to say it wasn't tragic, it was, but it had been tragic for years.
Even when she was first diagnosed, we had already known for 10 years. It was strange. Knowing exactly how long my grandma had left. We had enough time to wonder what her last words would be. What she'd predict.
I don't think there's any kind of science to it though. Seems like it might be just something to do with whoever the person is. Maybe it's just random, but Grandpa was spot on with grandma's lung cancer. Down to the month.
That's why Grandma's words were so confusing.
Sitting in that room in hospice. All huddled around. The nurse walked in with a fake smile plastered across her face. She looked at Grandma, lying there silently, and then back to us. Her eyebrows
"How are you guys holding up? Anybody want some coffee?"
I sat still for a second- well pretty still. I was still a little jittery from the cup I had indulged in about a half hour ago. In a second I made my decision, and raised my hand.
"I'll take one."
"Alrighty, one, anybody else?"
My mom sat with her hands in between her crossed legs. She wasn't a real talker, especially right now. She looked up for a second and shook her head before immediately snapping back to the cold hardwood floor.
My dad sat with his hands in his tissue stuffed jacket pockets. He had cried twice since we had arrived and looked like a wreck. This had all been very hard on him because he hadn't really come to terms with her death. All he wanted at this point was for her to be able to pass peacefully and get through this pain. She had been in hospice for about a week now, and we had all witnessed her decline.
I looked up from my dad and the nurse had already left. I had been so lost in how broken my father appeared to be that I hadn't even noticed. Grandma coughed.
Everybody turned at once. It was like she had just sprung back to life for a second. Within seconds, my dad had pulled a small pocket recorder out of his pocket and pressed record. We all stopped breathing for a good ten seconds, hoping to hear something else. Anything. But no. She went quiet once again.
My dad stood up, his face began to swell up just like it had earlier. I could tell he was trying to hold it back but he was about to explode. My mom tapped on his shoulder.
He pulled out the tissues, sniffled, and softly said: "I'm gonna go outside for a second."
She patted his back. "Leave the door open, just in case."
He nodded and stood up.
As he walked out I felt compelled to stand up with him. I don't know what it was, maybe some instinct. Seeing a family member crumble, especially one who normally had such a firm shell keeping him protected, is a sight that makes you sore yourself.
He propped the door open and I stood up and walked out behind him.
Walking into the hallway his tissues were already in hand and halfway out of the little plastic container. He started sobbing into a handful of tissues and I walked up behind him. Seeing him cry started to make me cry, but I held most of it back for a few seconds. I reached out and tapped his shoulder and scared him a little bit. I put my arms out for a hug and he looked at me for a few seconds before breaking down and reaching back. He sobbed into my shoulder and I couldn't keep myself from crying.
The nurse walked up and her smile seemed genuine. She reached out her hands, holding a coffee cup with steam coming out the top. I tapped my dad on the back and we ended the hug. I reached over for my coffee and grabbed it with both hands. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome-"
The nurse was interrupted by a cough. Barely audible from where we were, but it echoed through the room and everybody snapped again. My mom began recording and we started walking back towards the room. Then another cough.
Then she said something. It was so quiet, but she mumbled it out. Then all of a sudden it was quieter than it had ever been in that room. The beeping of the heart monitor that had blended so perfectly into my heads background noise had stopped and everybody froze. My dad snapped back.
"What did she say?"
My mom had a confused look on her face.
"Darla. What were her last words?"
My mom looked down at her phone and ended the recording. She pulled up the recording and hit play. At first it was just dead air.
"Turn it up."
She did.
The crumbling sound of the recording suddenly spiked and we could hear grandma saying something.
"The ducks are coming"
Silence.
"The ducks are what? Did she say ducks?"
My mom just stared in disbelief. It's like she wanted to say something but had no idea what could possibly make sense of this.
The nurse had followed us in.
"There have been about five people today who have all said that same phrase."
"What?"
"The last five people who died in this hospice all said "The ducks are coming"
I stood up and cleared my throat.
"What does that even mean?"
"We're not sure. There have also been reports coming out about people all over the world saying that same phrase."
"'The ducks are coming?'"
"The ducks are coming."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"Has what happened?"
"Where everybody says the same thing."
"Oh... not that I can remember. Normally it pertains to the family, or somebody else that the deceased knew."
My dad started to sob again, but this time it was like he was both confused and relieved.
We all sort of chuckled. It was the first time in a long while that we had laughed. My dad broke the tears for a second as a smile fought to grow across his face.
The nurse didn't laugh though. She had a nervous look on her face. Everybody continued laughing but I locked eyes with the nurse. She knew something we didn't, and it wasn't something good.
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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I wrote this a while back. I'm at work so I don't have time to tailor it to the prompt. But it might amuse someone:
In China in 1973, the Chinese government under Mao Zedong were trying to handle environmental and hunger problems on a massive scale following the upheavals and brain drain of the cultural revolution.
In one case, the central government had several hundred villages in the south east send ten ducks each to the northern provinces where they had a severe locust problem.
By the time the ducks arrived, it was too late. The villages were in ruins. The fields had been destroyed. The government had already tried spraying new and exotic poisons, and locusts only appeared to become somehow stronger. There were rumors of American involvement - but there was no proof.
Thousands of unattended ducks in an unfamiliar place began eating the modified locusts.
The ducks became nearly indestructible. And they developed a taste for human flesh.
It has been forty years. Masada Flock has ravaged Mongolia and Changchun.
The Elder Ducks are becoming smarter still. Satellite surveillance has shown some of the inner circles involved in elaborate experiments, and what can best be described as three dimensional marching formations. And they've been seen experimenting with technology - learning how to operate long abandoned naval vessels left over from the hasty evacuation of Chongjin.
They're coming to America. We can't stop them.
Duck Tales: The Movie.
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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The door to the Oval Office opened slowly, Chief of Staff Mickles turned and announced "Mr. President, the ducks are here."
Escorted by a phalanx of soldiers and Sec. of Defense Chadwick, two slightly wobbly mallards waddled into the room. The Sec. spoke.
"Mr. President, may I introduce His Royal Highness, Phillip The First, King of the Ducks."
The President rose from his desk but did not extend a hand. He simply glared.
"King Phillip, if I may be so bold, you and your flock have wrought havoc upon our cities. You have destroyed our economy, ruined our water supplies, and decimated out food stores."
King Phillip looked down, avoiding eye contact.
"You disrupted traffic for weeks, clogged our sewers... you pecked little children fingers and made them cry. How, in God's name, do you intend to pay for all this damage you've done?"
King Phillip stopped fidgeting and looked the President straight in the eye before replying.
"Mr President, with all due respect, put it on my bill."
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Collected on the fourth day of the second week of month February of the year 2018, 42 seconds pre-death, by the Silent Gatherers. Subject was a prostitute of unknown background. Note similarity to samples 2018-02-08.
Sample is of particular note and considered vital. Further investigation advised.
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It began quietly, at first passing almost without notice. Around the globe, the voices began to speak as one. Whether said aloud, written as texts and emails, or even in pre-recorded messages, a clear pattern began to emerge. The last words conveyed by every person who died that spring were simply "the ducks are coming".
As awareness of this strange phenomenon grew, so too did the public's fascination with it. What was the meaning of the phrase? Was it really happening with everyone who died? The elderly, the sick, the unexpected victims - as time passed, the evidence was irrefutable. Scientists presented widely varying theories, people of faith pondered ramifications for the afterlife, the Internet was rife with speculation about what this meant for the planet.
In the face of rising public fears, governments encouraged their people to try to go on with life as normal, and so they did. Schools remained open, people went to work, and decisions were made. Slowly, the strange coincidence became almost an afterthought. In an office in New York city, a group of 31 owners gathered to approve a transfer from Anaheim to Seattle. The aftermath of the sports headlines was devastating.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Grandma had been sick for awhile.
Not to say it wasn't tragic, it was, but it had been tragic for years.
Even when she was first diagnosed, we had already known for 10 years. It was strange. Knowing exactly how long my grandma had left. We had enough time to wonder what her last words would be. What she'd predict.
I don't think there's any kind of science to it though. Seems like it might be just something to do with whoever the person is. Maybe it's just random, but Grandpa was spot on with grandma's lung cancer. Down to the month.
That's why Grandma's words were so confusing.
Sitting in that room in hospice. All huddled around. The nurse walked in with a fake smile plastered across her face. She looked at Grandma, lying there silently, and then back to us. Her eyebrows
"How are you guys holding up? Anybody want some coffee?"
I sat still for a second- well pretty still. I was still a little jittery from the cup I had indulged in about a half hour ago. In a second I made my decision, and raised my hand.
"I'll take one."
"Alrighty, one, anybody else?"
My mom sat with her hands in between her crossed legs. She wasn't a real talker, especially right now. She looked up for a second and shook her head before immediately snapping back to the cold hardwood floor.
My dad sat with his hands in his tissue stuffed jacket pockets. He had cried twice since we had arrived and looked like a wreck. This had all been very hard on him because he hadn't really come to terms with her death. All he wanted at this point was for her to be able to pass peacefully and get through this pain. She had been in hospice for about a week now, and we had all witnessed her decline.
I looked up from my dad and the nurse had already left. I had been so lost in how broken my father appeared to be that I hadn't even noticed. Grandma coughed.
Everybody turned at once. It was like she had just sprung back to life for a second. Within seconds, my dad had pulled a small pocket recorder out of his pocket and pressed record. We all stopped breathing for a good ten seconds, hoping to hear something else. Anything. But no. She went quiet once again.
My dad stood up, his face began to swell up just like it had earlier. I could tell he was trying to hold it back but he was about to explode. My mom tapped on his shoulder.
He pulled out the tissues, sniffled, and softly said: "I'm gonna go outside for a second."
She patted his back. "Leave the door open, just in case."
He nodded and stood up.
As he walked out I felt compelled to stand up with him. I don't know what it was, maybe some instinct. Seeing a family member crumble, especially one who normally had such a firm shell keeping him protected, is a sight that makes you sore yourself.
He propped the door open and I stood up and walked out behind him.
Walking into the hallway his tissues were already in hand and halfway out of the little plastic container. He started sobbing into a handful of tissues and I walked up behind him. Seeing him cry started to make me cry, but I held most of it back for a few seconds. I reached out and tapped his shoulder and scared him a little bit. I put my arms out for a hug and he looked at me for a few seconds before breaking down and reaching back. He sobbed into my shoulder and I couldn't keep myself from crying.
The nurse walked up and her smile seemed genuine. She reached out her hands, holding a coffee cup with steam coming out the top. I tapped my dad on the back and we ended the hug. I reached over for my coffee and grabbed it with both hands. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome-"
The nurse was interrupted by a cough. Barely audible from where we were, but it echoed through the room and everybody snapped again. My mom began recording and we started walking back towards the room. Then another cough.
Then she said something. It was so quiet, but she mumbled it out. Then all of a sudden it was quieter than it had ever been in that room. The beeping of the heart monitor that had blended so perfectly into my heads background noise had stopped and everybody froze. My dad snapped back.
"What did she say?"
My mom had a confused look on her face.
"Darla. What were her last words?"
My mom looked down at her phone and ended the recording. She pulled up the recording and hit play. At first it was just dead air.
"Turn it up."
She did.
The crumbling sound of the recording suddenly spiked and we could hear grandma saying something.
"The ducks are coming"
Silence.
"The ducks are what? Did she say ducks?"
My mom just stared in disbelief. It's like she wanted to say something but had no idea what could possibly make sense of this.
The nurse had followed us in.
"There have been about five people today who have all said that same phrase."
"What?"
"The last five people who died in this hospice all said "The ducks are coming"
I stood up and cleared my throat.
"What does that even mean?"
"We're not sure. There have also been reports coming out about people all over the world saying that same phrase."
"'The ducks are coming?'"
"The ducks are coming."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"Has what happened?"
"Where everybody says the same thing."
"Oh... not that I can remember. Normally it pertains to the family, or somebody else that the deceased knew."
My dad started to sob again, but this time it was like he was both confused and relieved.
We all sort of chuckled. It was the first time in a long while that we had laughed. My dad broke the tears for a second as a smile fought to grow across his face.
The nurse didn't laugh though. She had a nervous look on her face. Everybody continued laughing but I locked eyes with the nurse. She knew something we didn't, and it wasn't something good.
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I found the prophecy! Not that any of that mattered now. In a matter of hours the ducks would have conquered the metropolitan area and begun to manifest their destiny westward.
My grandmother died a year ago yesterday. After my pop pop died she couldn’t have lasted long. I was fortunate enough to spend their final days with them, an opportunity for which I am very grateful. My mother’s parents were very goofy, as is my mother and as was I before the ducks attacked.
Because of their goofiness, I thought their coordinated final words were one last, posthumous joke- something my family could look back on and laugh. Now the foretold coming of the ducks is nothing to laugh about.
As I read and re-read what can only be described as a forgotten transcript from the days of old, the script became alarmingly clear to me. The years of duck hunting had taken their toll and the ducks were fed up. Of course, no animal with any form of conscience can just genocide another creature, except for humans of course.
But these ducks acted with tact. They warned the human race of their attack alright, but how could they warn them so that they wouldn’t fight back? What’s something no human would ever bring up in conversation?
When the ducks figured out how to hijack the cellular towers to instill images and phrases into the minds of those who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s, they knew their work was complete. Nobody would ever tell anyone else about the final words of their afflicted loved ones.
As I flashed back to reality, I would have just as soon stayed in my reminiscence. I could hear the squabbles of the ducks, the cacophony muddled with screams of the innocent. There was nothing left to be done. There was nothing that could be done. Nothing.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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I wrote this a while back. I'm at work so I don't have time to tailor it to the prompt. But it might amuse someone:
In China in 1973, the Chinese government under Mao Zedong were trying to handle environmental and hunger problems on a massive scale following the upheavals and brain drain of the cultural revolution.
In one case, the central government had several hundred villages in the south east send ten ducks each to the northern provinces where they had a severe locust problem.
By the time the ducks arrived, it was too late. The villages were in ruins. The fields had been destroyed. The government had already tried spraying new and exotic poisons, and locusts only appeared to become somehow stronger. There were rumors of American involvement - but there was no proof.
Thousands of unattended ducks in an unfamiliar place began eating the modified locusts.
The ducks became nearly indestructible. And they developed a taste for human flesh.
It has been forty years. Masada Flock has ravaged Mongolia and Changchun.
The Elder Ducks are becoming smarter still. Satellite surveillance has shown some of the inner circles involved in elaborate experiments, and what can best be described as three dimensional marching formations. And they've been seen experimenting with technology - learning how to operate long abandoned naval vessels left over from the hasty evacuation of Chongjin.
They're coming to America. We can't stop them.
Duck Tales: The Movie.
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I found the prophecy! Not that any of that mattered now. In a matter of hours the ducks would have conquered the metropolitan area and begun to manifest their destiny westward.
My grandmother died a year ago yesterday. After my pop pop died she couldn’t have lasted long. I was fortunate enough to spend their final days with them, an opportunity for which I am very grateful. My mother’s parents were very goofy, as is my mother and as was I before the ducks attacked.
Because of their goofiness, I thought their coordinated final words were one last, posthumous joke- something my family could look back on and laugh. Now the foretold coming of the ducks is nothing to laugh about.
As I read and re-read what can only be described as a forgotten transcript from the days of old, the script became alarmingly clear to me. The years of duck hunting had taken their toll and the ducks were fed up. Of course, no animal with any form of conscience can just genocide another creature, except for humans of course.
But these ducks acted with tact. They warned the human race of their attack alright, but how could they warn them so that they wouldn’t fight back? What’s something no human would ever bring up in conversation?
When the ducks figured out how to hijack the cellular towers to instill images and phrases into the minds of those who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s, they knew their work was complete. Nobody would ever tell anyone else about the final words of their afflicted loved ones.
As I flashed back to reality, I would have just as soon stayed in my reminiscence. I could hear the squabbles of the ducks, the cacophony muddled with screams of the innocent. There was nothing left to be done. There was nothing that could be done. Nothing.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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The door to the Oval Office opened slowly, Chief of Staff Mickles turned and announced "Mr. President, the ducks are here."
Escorted by a phalanx of soldiers and Sec. of Defense Chadwick, two slightly wobbly mallards waddled into the room. The Sec. spoke.
"Mr. President, may I introduce His Royal Highness, Phillip The First, King of the Ducks."
The President rose from his desk but did not extend a hand. He simply glared.
"King Phillip, if I may be so bold, you and your flock have wrought havoc upon our cities. You have destroyed our economy, ruined our water supplies, and decimated out food stores."
King Phillip looked down, avoiding eye contact.
"You disrupted traffic for weeks, clogged our sewers... you pecked little children fingers and made them cry. How, in God's name, do you intend to pay for all this damage you've done?"
King Phillip stopped fidgeting and looked the President straight in the eye before replying.
"Mr President, with all due respect, put it on my bill."
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I found the prophecy! Not that any of that mattered now. In a matter of hours the ducks would have conquered the metropolitan area and begun to manifest their destiny westward.
My grandmother died a year ago yesterday. After my pop pop died she couldn’t have lasted long. I was fortunate enough to spend their final days with them, an opportunity for which I am very grateful. My mother’s parents were very goofy, as is my mother and as was I before the ducks attacked.
Because of their goofiness, I thought their coordinated final words were one last, posthumous joke- something my family could look back on and laugh. Now the foretold coming of the ducks is nothing to laugh about.
As I read and re-read what can only be described as a forgotten transcript from the days of old, the script became alarmingly clear to me. The years of duck hunting had taken their toll and the ducks were fed up. Of course, no animal with any form of conscience can just genocide another creature, except for humans of course.
But these ducks acted with tact. They warned the human race of their attack alright, but how could they warn them so that they wouldn’t fight back? What’s something no human would ever bring up in conversation?
When the ducks figured out how to hijack the cellular towers to instill images and phrases into the minds of those who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s, they knew their work was complete. Nobody would ever tell anyone else about the final words of their afflicted loved ones.
As I flashed back to reality, I would have just as soon stayed in my reminiscence. I could hear the squabbles of the ducks, the cacophony muddled with screams of the innocent. There was nothing left to be done. There was nothing that could be done. Nothing.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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Collected on the fourth day of the second week of month February of the year 2018, 42 seconds pre-death, by the Silent Gatherers. Subject was a prostitute of unknown background. Note similarity to samples 2018-02-08.
Sample is of particular note and considered vital. Further investigation advised.
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I found the prophecy! Not that any of that mattered now. In a matter of hours the ducks would have conquered the metropolitan area and begun to manifest their destiny westward.
My grandmother died a year ago yesterday. After my pop pop died she couldn’t have lasted long. I was fortunate enough to spend their final days with them, an opportunity for which I am very grateful. My mother’s parents were very goofy, as is my mother and as was I before the ducks attacked.
Because of their goofiness, I thought their coordinated final words were one last, posthumous joke- something my family could look back on and laugh. Now the foretold coming of the ducks is nothing to laugh about.
As I read and re-read what can only be described as a forgotten transcript from the days of old, the script became alarmingly clear to me. The years of duck hunting had taken their toll and the ducks were fed up. Of course, no animal with any form of conscience can just genocide another creature, except for humans of course.
But these ducks acted with tact. They warned the human race of their attack alright, but how could they warn them so that they wouldn’t fight back? What’s something no human would ever bring up in conversation?
When the ducks figured out how to hijack the cellular towers to instill images and phrases into the minds of those who suffered from dementia and Alzheimer’s, they knew their work was complete. Nobody would ever tell anyone else about the final words of their afflicted loved ones.
As I flashed back to reality, I would have just as soon stayed in my reminiscence. I could hear the squabbles of the ducks, the cacophony muddled with screams of the innocent. There was nothing left to be done. There was nothing that could be done. Nothing.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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I wrote this a while back. I'm at work so I don't have time to tailor it to the prompt. But it might amuse someone:
In China in 1973, the Chinese government under Mao Zedong were trying to handle environmental and hunger problems on a massive scale following the upheavals and brain drain of the cultural revolution.
In one case, the central government had several hundred villages in the south east send ten ducks each to the northern provinces where they had a severe locust problem.
By the time the ducks arrived, it was too late. The villages were in ruins. The fields had been destroyed. The government had already tried spraying new and exotic poisons, and locusts only appeared to become somehow stronger. There were rumors of American involvement - but there was no proof.
Thousands of unattended ducks in an unfamiliar place began eating the modified locusts.
The ducks became nearly indestructible. And they developed a taste for human flesh.
It has been forty years. Masada Flock has ravaged Mongolia and Changchun.
The Elder Ducks are becoming smarter still. Satellite surveillance has shown some of the inner circles involved in elaborate experiments, and what can best be described as three dimensional marching formations. And they've been seen experimenting with technology - learning how to operate long abandoned naval vessels left over from the hasty evacuation of Chongjin.
They're coming to America. We can't stop them.
Duck Tales: The Movie.
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Grandma had been sick for awhile.
Not to say it wasn't tragic, it was, but it had been tragic for years.
Even when she was first diagnosed, we had already known for 10 years. It was strange. Knowing exactly how long my grandma had left. We had enough time to wonder what her last words would be. What she'd predict.
I don't think there's any kind of science to it though. Seems like it might be just something to do with whoever the person is. Maybe it's just random, but Grandpa was spot on with grandma's lung cancer. Down to the month.
That's why Grandma's words were so confusing.
Sitting in that room in hospice. All huddled around. The nurse walked in with a fake smile plastered across her face. She looked at Grandma, lying there silently, and then back to us. Her eyebrows
"How are you guys holding up? Anybody want some coffee?"
I sat still for a second- well pretty still. I was still a little jittery from the cup I had indulged in about a half hour ago. In a second I made my decision, and raised my hand.
"I'll take one."
"Alrighty, one, anybody else?"
My mom sat with her hands in between her crossed legs. She wasn't a real talker, especially right now. She looked up for a second and shook her head before immediately snapping back to the cold hardwood floor.
My dad sat with his hands in his tissue stuffed jacket pockets. He had cried twice since we had arrived and looked like a wreck. This had all been very hard on him because he hadn't really come to terms with her death. All he wanted at this point was for her to be able to pass peacefully and get through this pain. She had been in hospice for about a week now, and we had all witnessed her decline.
I looked up from my dad and the nurse had already left. I had been so lost in how broken my father appeared to be that I hadn't even noticed. Grandma coughed.
Everybody turned at once. It was like she had just sprung back to life for a second. Within seconds, my dad had pulled a small pocket recorder out of his pocket and pressed record. We all stopped breathing for a good ten seconds, hoping to hear something else. Anything. But no. She went quiet once again.
My dad stood up, his face began to swell up just like it had earlier. I could tell he was trying to hold it back but he was about to explode. My mom tapped on his shoulder.
He pulled out the tissues, sniffled, and softly said: "I'm gonna go outside for a second."
She patted his back. "Leave the door open, just in case."
He nodded and stood up.
As he walked out I felt compelled to stand up with him. I don't know what it was, maybe some instinct. Seeing a family member crumble, especially one who normally had such a firm shell keeping him protected, is a sight that makes you sore yourself.
He propped the door open and I stood up and walked out behind him.
Walking into the hallway his tissues were already in hand and halfway out of the little plastic container. He started sobbing into a handful of tissues and I walked up behind him. Seeing him cry started to make me cry, but I held most of it back for a few seconds. I reached out and tapped his shoulder and scared him a little bit. I put my arms out for a hug and he looked at me for a few seconds before breaking down and reaching back. He sobbed into my shoulder and I couldn't keep myself from crying.
The nurse walked up and her smile seemed genuine. She reached out her hands, holding a coffee cup with steam coming out the top. I tapped my dad on the back and we ended the hug. I reached over for my coffee and grabbed it with both hands. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome-"
The nurse was interrupted by a cough. Barely audible from where we were, but it echoed through the room and everybody snapped again. My mom began recording and we started walking back towards the room. Then another cough.
Then she said something. It was so quiet, but she mumbled it out. Then all of a sudden it was quieter than it had ever been in that room. The beeping of the heart monitor that had blended so perfectly into my heads background noise had stopped and everybody froze. My dad snapped back.
"What did she say?"
My mom had a confused look on her face.
"Darla. What were her last words?"
My mom looked down at her phone and ended the recording. She pulled up the recording and hit play. At first it was just dead air.
"Turn it up."
She did.
The crumbling sound of the recording suddenly spiked and we could hear grandma saying something.
"The ducks are coming"
Silence.
"The ducks are what? Did she say ducks?"
My mom just stared in disbelief. It's like she wanted to say something but had no idea what could possibly make sense of this.
The nurse had followed us in.
"There have been about five people today who have all said that same phrase."
"What?"
"The last five people who died in this hospice all said "The ducks are coming"
I stood up and cleared my throat.
"What does that even mean?"
"We're not sure. There have also been reports coming out about people all over the world saying that same phrase."
"'The ducks are coming?'"
"The ducks are coming."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"Has what happened?"
"Where everybody says the same thing."
"Oh... not that I can remember. Normally it pertains to the family, or somebody else that the deceased knew."
My dad started to sob again, but this time it was like he was both confused and relieved.
We all sort of chuckled. It was the first time in a long while that we had laughed. My dad broke the tears for a second as a smile fought to grow across his face.
The nurse didn't laugh though. She had a nervous look on her face. Everybody continued laughing but I locked eyes with the nurse. She knew something we didn't, and it wasn't something good.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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The door to the Oval Office opened slowly, Chief of Staff Mickles turned and announced "Mr. President, the ducks are here."
Escorted by a phalanx of soldiers and Sec. of Defense Chadwick, two slightly wobbly mallards waddled into the room. The Sec. spoke.
"Mr. President, may I introduce His Royal Highness, Phillip The First, King of the Ducks."
The President rose from his desk but did not extend a hand. He simply glared.
"King Phillip, if I may be so bold, you and your flock have wrought havoc upon our cities. You have destroyed our economy, ruined our water supplies, and decimated out food stores."
King Phillip looked down, avoiding eye contact.
"You disrupted traffic for weeks, clogged our sewers... you pecked little children fingers and made them cry. How, in God's name, do you intend to pay for all this damage you've done?"
King Phillip stopped fidgeting and looked the President straight in the eye before replying.
"Mr President, with all due respect, put it on my bill."
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Grandma had been sick for awhile.
Not to say it wasn't tragic, it was, but it had been tragic for years.
Even when she was first diagnosed, we had already known for 10 years. It was strange. Knowing exactly how long my grandma had left. We had enough time to wonder what her last words would be. What she'd predict.
I don't think there's any kind of science to it though. Seems like it might be just something to do with whoever the person is. Maybe it's just random, but Grandpa was spot on with grandma's lung cancer. Down to the month.
That's why Grandma's words were so confusing.
Sitting in that room in hospice. All huddled around. The nurse walked in with a fake smile plastered across her face. She looked at Grandma, lying there silently, and then back to us. Her eyebrows
"How are you guys holding up? Anybody want some coffee?"
I sat still for a second- well pretty still. I was still a little jittery from the cup I had indulged in about a half hour ago. In a second I made my decision, and raised my hand.
"I'll take one."
"Alrighty, one, anybody else?"
My mom sat with her hands in between her crossed legs. She wasn't a real talker, especially right now. She looked up for a second and shook her head before immediately snapping back to the cold hardwood floor.
My dad sat with his hands in his tissue stuffed jacket pockets. He had cried twice since we had arrived and looked like a wreck. This had all been very hard on him because he hadn't really come to terms with her death. All he wanted at this point was for her to be able to pass peacefully and get through this pain. She had been in hospice for about a week now, and we had all witnessed her decline.
I looked up from my dad and the nurse had already left. I had been so lost in how broken my father appeared to be that I hadn't even noticed. Grandma coughed.
Everybody turned at once. It was like she had just sprung back to life for a second. Within seconds, my dad had pulled a small pocket recorder out of his pocket and pressed record. We all stopped breathing for a good ten seconds, hoping to hear something else. Anything. But no. She went quiet once again.
My dad stood up, his face began to swell up just like it had earlier. I could tell he was trying to hold it back but he was about to explode. My mom tapped on his shoulder.
He pulled out the tissues, sniffled, and softly said: "I'm gonna go outside for a second."
She patted his back. "Leave the door open, just in case."
He nodded and stood up.
As he walked out I felt compelled to stand up with him. I don't know what it was, maybe some instinct. Seeing a family member crumble, especially one who normally had such a firm shell keeping him protected, is a sight that makes you sore yourself.
He propped the door open and I stood up and walked out behind him.
Walking into the hallway his tissues were already in hand and halfway out of the little plastic container. He started sobbing into a handful of tissues and I walked up behind him. Seeing him cry started to make me cry, but I held most of it back for a few seconds. I reached out and tapped his shoulder and scared him a little bit. I put my arms out for a hug and he looked at me for a few seconds before breaking down and reaching back. He sobbed into my shoulder and I couldn't keep myself from crying.
The nurse walked up and her smile seemed genuine. She reached out her hands, holding a coffee cup with steam coming out the top. I tapped my dad on the back and we ended the hug. I reached over for my coffee and grabbed it with both hands. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome-"
The nurse was interrupted by a cough. Barely audible from where we were, but it echoed through the room and everybody snapped again. My mom began recording and we started walking back towards the room. Then another cough.
Then she said something. It was so quiet, but she mumbled it out. Then all of a sudden it was quieter than it had ever been in that room. The beeping of the heart monitor that had blended so perfectly into my heads background noise had stopped and everybody froze. My dad snapped back.
"What did she say?"
My mom had a confused look on her face.
"Darla. What were her last words?"
My mom looked down at her phone and ended the recording. She pulled up the recording and hit play. At first it was just dead air.
"Turn it up."
She did.
The crumbling sound of the recording suddenly spiked and we could hear grandma saying something.
"The ducks are coming"
Silence.
"The ducks are what? Did she say ducks?"
My mom just stared in disbelief. It's like she wanted to say something but had no idea what could possibly make sense of this.
The nurse had followed us in.
"There have been about five people today who have all said that same phrase."
"What?"
"The last five people who died in this hospice all said "The ducks are coming"
I stood up and cleared my throat.
"What does that even mean?"
"We're not sure. There have also been reports coming out about people all over the world saying that same phrase."
"'The ducks are coming?'"
"The ducks are coming."
"Has that ever happened before?"
"Has what happened?"
"Where everybody says the same thing."
"Oh... not that I can remember. Normally it pertains to the family, or somebody else that the deceased knew."
My dad started to sob again, but this time it was like he was both confused and relieved.
We all sort of chuckled. It was the first time in a long while that we had laughed. My dad broke the tears for a second as a smile fought to grow across his face.
The nurse didn't laugh though. She had a nervous look on her face. Everybody continued laughing but I locked eyes with the nurse. She knew something we didn't, and it wasn't something good.
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[WP] Moments before a person dies, they say a single phrase that predicts a future event. For a whole 24 hours, all the dying people of the world have been saying the same phrase; "The ducks are coming."
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"The ducks are coming."
"The ducks are coming"
"The ducks are coming"
It was everywhere. All over the news. There were thousands of videos all over the world of people on their deathbed proclaiming that the ducks were coming.
But what on Earth did it mean? Ducks, small, stupid little poultry - coming for what? Some people feared it was the rapture; others took action and went hunting for the bird. Still, the dying, with their last breath, spoke out that the ducks were coming.
World wide panic began. Here in the United States, MREs were distributed and everyone was told to fill their bathtub with water. Preppers smuggly gloated. Guns and bullets could not be kept in stock. Guides on how to make your own DIY small bomb circled the internet.
The stores all closed. That's when the riots began. Looting and vandalism all over the USA and the world. Some people were so upset, they took their own lives. There was no where to go, no where to hide; the dead everywhere all spoke of the ducks.
We did not know what it meant. Surely, it was impending doom?
After a week of the premonitions, it changed. No one spoke of the ducks anymore. Was it over? What the hell had just happened? Everyone was still shook up, not to mention all the damage that occurred when people thought it was the end of the world.
Then it happened. After a brief moment of a day of silence, the dying spoke again.
"The ducks are here"
And they were. Outside 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. There were so many ducks, thousands of them in every color. They attacked secret service viciously. And then they spoke... The ducks actually spoke.
"We ducks demand an audience with the president".
A brave secret service agent, covered in blood asked why.
"This Donald, this President Donald, he has taken our namesake. The name Donald was ours before him. It was with honor that Donald Duck made children laugh. Donald is our name and we have come to take it back for he has sullied our namesake".
"But what will we do without our President?" Asked the same, brave secret service agent.
"Well", said the duck, "that is a predicament. You have Vice President Pence to replace Trump, but rumor is it that the copper pennies will come after him soon."
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Dr. Rovella leaned in cuffing her ear towards the patient who whispered,
“The ducks are coming.”
Dr. Rovella strained trying to understand the patient’s last words. She focused her eyes before being called into the room across the hall. Another patient’s vitals were dancing all over the monitor. The patient sat up trying to speak. Dr. Rovella’s eyes widened when she heard it again.
“The ducks are coming.”
The patient fell back over the pillow while the monitor displayed a flat line in alarm. Dr. Rovella stepped from the room trying not to hyperventilate. She placed her hand on the wall while closing her eyes to focus.
*All day,* she thought to herself. *All day, people have been saying the same exact phrase.*
A commotion started in the room down the hall. Dr. Rovella became confused, the commotion sounded as if it were someone being excited or celebrating. She quickly moved towards the room only to find a man sitting up in his bed cheering at the television.
“Look!” He pointed. “I can’t believe it!”
Dr. Rovella glanced over towards the television and noticed a hockey team celebrating on the rink.
“Look out! That Stanley Cup will be ours!” The patient threw his hands in the air smiling. “The ducks are coming!”
In that very moment when the last word excited the patient’s mouth, he fell over unconscious. Dr. Rovella instantly lifted his head back onto the pillow while trying to watch the monitor. The monitor began alarming his vitals while nurses began to flood the room. Dr. Rovella’s stomach twisted in a knot forcing her from the room and into the break room next door.
“What is happening?!” Dr. Rovella shouted towards an empty wall.
A contractor painting the back end of the room removed his hat with a smile. “Apparently, the ducks are coming” he laughed. The ladder shifted its weight before finally tipping over knocking the contractor onto his back. It had somehow pulled a wire from the ceiling above while the entire portion of the room came down onto him in force.
“Oh my god!” Dr. Rovella covered her mouth; her eyes wet with tears. She paused for a moment before scanning her eyes to find the contactor smashed beneath all the debris.
“Dr. Rovella, we need you!” A nurse called from the hallway. “Dr. Rovella!”
Dr. Rovella heard the request but every muscle had frozen in place. She tilted her head while trying to comprehend what was happening. Sadly, her science could only take her so far. She was unable to come up with an explanation for it all.
“Dr. Rovella!”
Dr. Rovella whipped away the tears from her cheek when she finally turned around to exit the break room. A few nurses pushed past her in order to respond to the contractor under the debris while nurses signaled for Dr. Rovella’s assistance.
A nurse grabbed hold of a patient while another stood over them. Dr. Rovella walked in to notice that the patient was trying to say something.
“What?” the nurse holding him replied. “The ‘fucks’ are coming? What does that mean?”
The other nurse laughed. “No, I think he meant to say –”
“No!” Dr. Rovella shouted while raising her left hand. “Don’t repeat it!”
“The ducks are coming.”
Dr. Rovella bit her lip while closing her eyes. Her spine tensed up ready to watch another horrifying accident occur. After a few moments, nothing happened. The nurses in the room scrunched their brow in confusion before the one holding the patient asked, “are you okay, Dr. Rovella?”
A nurse walked into the room slipping on a fluid that dripped from the IV bag she was holding. Trying to recover, she flailed her hand trying to grab onto the counter but instead flipped a pan of sharp instruments into the nurse who uttered the phrase ‘The ducks are coming.’
Blood fell onto the tile while the nurse’s body became pale. “Oh my god!” The nurse holding the patient let go in order to help. The other nurse picked herself off from the floor only to assist with the accident that just occurred. Dr. Rovella couldn’t handle it anymore. She fled the room down into the stairwell. Her breathing was heavy as she ignored the madness of everyone and everything around her. She took refuge in her office, slamming the door shut behind her. When she finally locked the door, she fell onto her knees to weep alone.
It was a few minutes of silence before the phone on Dr. Rovella’s desk rang. Her bright red face was soaking wet from the tears. She was shaking before picking up the slick black office phone.
“Doctor?” She recognized the voice. “Dr. Rovella, are you okay?” It was her only boss. Though at this point, the gentleman was more of a mentor to her than a boss.
Dr. Rovella couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even make a single sound.
“Dr. Rovella, it is okay. Sometimes we have those kind of days in the hospital. Just like winter, a bad day will come to an end and there will be spring. Either knowing we may be going through winter, we do not want our patients to go through it as well. We want to give them spring time.” His words of wisdom picked Dr. Rovella up off from her knees and onto her feet. “Spring is almost here, look out your window. You can see them. The ducks are coming.”
Dr. Rovella’s eyes widened. The hair on the back of her neck straightened. She let out a gasp while holding onto the phone waiting.
“Are you still there?” She finally responded. She took a moment before repeating, “Are you there?”
Dr. Rovella’s knuckles turned white as she squeezed the phone. Silence was the only thing on the other end of the line.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/)
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[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
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*Beneath the Upper Meuse on the western border of the Holy Roman Empire and the Kingdom of the Franks, the bloated stench of Glasya-Labolas, Commander of thirty-six, legions of Hell, was beginning to fade. Master Leonard completed recitation of the Lorica of Laidcenn. Repenting his previous invocations - those that had summoned these ancient evils - and, now, seeking a compassionate release from the perpetual incitement to manslaughter from Glasya-Labolas, Master Leonard sat and mumbled incantations in Irish as despair dissolved him.*
Twenty Generations later, most traces of Master Leonard had vanished from the World. In the British Library in London, a Manuscript - Harley 585 - contained the *Lorica of Laidcenn* which, were it to be sincerely recited, would contain Glasya-Labolas for another twenty generations. Father Paul Bovenizer had been entrusted with the task by the College of the Inquisition and the Moderator of the Curia to recite the *Lorica of Laidcenn* and imprison Glasya-Labolas again. The repentance of Master Leonard had not been entirely ignored.
In a cave beneath the river Meuse, the leathery, mummified corpse of a man, dressed in linen shirt and breeches, seemed to meditate over a huge fossil. The fossil, a mososaur, had a skull larger than that of that found in the ground owned by canon Theodorus Joannes Godding, and shown to Father Bovenizer when he took holy orders. The Moderator of the Curia had explained the mososaur was a minature of Glasya-Labolas to Novice Bovenizer and that it was important for him to meditate upon it and fix all his efforts, with sincerity and regularity, upon the recitation of the *Lorica of Liadcenn*.
The Moderator of the Curia had impressed upon the Novice that utter devotion to sincere recitation of the *Lorica* would be essential to prevent the rising of a Commander of Hell whose sole purpose was to wallow in the stench of manslaughter. As the appointed year approached, Father Bovenizer never revealed the thought that constantly plagued him: "it is no demon, just a dinosaur."
By 1916, Father Bovenizer discharged his Holy Offices with impeccable precision. A laquer of religious theatre concealing utter apostasy. Demons were dinosaurs and the ritual was merely a comfort in an absurd universe. Being despatched to the Western Front was simply another absurdity. With an entire generation dying around him, Father Paul Bovenizer could taste his own disgust: entering a cave to recite a thousand year old invocation, that may not even be a Christian Prayer, to a fossil.
In the subterranean twilight, exhausted, repeating by rote, Father Bovenizer spoke softly, almost despairing:
>And this very petition I make unto the high
>powers of the heavenly warfare,
>that they leave me not to be harried by enemies,
>but defend me with their strong armour;
>that, before me in the battle, go
>those armies of the heavenly warfare
As the words skipped across the cave walls, he recalled the hours poring over the unexpurgated **Pseudomonarchia Daemonum** in order to be familiar with Glasya-Labola's powers: of appearing as a winged hound, of teaching the Arts and Sciences instantly, of bloodshed and manslaughter, of all things past and to come. The attributes of the demon all fell away from his mind and left him with one single thing: rendering a man invisible.
After decades of faithless, rote, repetition, there was the glimmer of a single desire: to be invisible. To be spared the utter futility of the religious cant and hypocrisy of reciting in a cave to prevent a nonexistent demon from rising from Pandemonium and into the World. To avoid the idiocies of pretending that fossils were supernatural beings. To be utterly invisible and walk away from the Church, the Priesthood and the whole, repugnant, lie of the Church in sustaining industrialised, total, war.
It was the moment that Father Paul Bovenizer desired invisibility that broke the bonds Glasya-Labola had endured for twenty generations. The total loss of any religious sentiment emptied the *Lorica of Laidcenn* of any power. Having discharged his assigned Offices, Paul Bovenizer dropped all pretence at Priesthood and simply walked out of the cave seeking a life of obscurity. It was Sunday, 20th of February, 1916.
Slothfully, Glasya-Labola shifted to the mouth of the Cave. Demons had long since learned to avoid strenuous activities on a Sunday. The time for Manslaughter would come in a day or so. There was no need to rush into Armageddon. The failure of the faith of the damned priest had released Glasya-Labola after twenty generations of incarceration. There was no real need to rush into anything without taking in something of the world.
Glasya-Labola could sense the presence of hundreds of thousands of men. It would be easy to incite them. It might take years, but the spreading of murder was Glasya-Labola's speciality. It was the very reason to exist. Words like "Spruch" and "Urteil" were seeping around the German Officers. They would be easily swayed to battle. Perhaps a hundred or even, a thousand might be persuaded to indulge the bloodlusts of demon. Yet, all this could wait until Monday morning. There need be no rush. Freed from twenty generations of bondage, there was a pause to plan the monstrosities ahead.
Insofar as they do sleep, Glasya-Labola drifted into the world of dreaming.
The Monday morning was cold. The winter having frozen two and a half million men, unaccountably, in holes in the ground, Glasya-Labola was compelled to explore. To seek out victims of who might be enticed into corruption. The number of people was phenomenal - and almost all men - and they were from the Holy Roman Empire and the Frankish Kingdom and even the New World. Their preparations were constant and frenzied and, insofar as demons do experience discomfort, set Glasya-Labola on edge.
It was when the artillery bombardment began that Glasya-Labola began to gradually discern something of the horror of the situation. From the direction of the Holy Roman Empire - now teeming with Germanic voices - there came the roar of 1,200 cannons. With demonic fascination, Glasya-Labola counted the ordnance. Two and a half million German shells fell onto the French. Wandering through the trenches, an immoral, immortal and invisible presence, there was no opportunity to corrupt or seduce or suggest anything of murder to anybody. The shells squashed men at random; or, sliced them in two from top to bottom. Blasting boys as young as fourteen into showers of meat or punching skulls down into their chests like cudgels from the sky. Everywhere there was mud. Bubbling and exploding and swallowing the constant vomit of ordnance from the German artillery. The French began to fire artillery back.
The horror dawning in the demon's consciousness was simple: this war, this artillery war, had ended **human** warfare. There could, no longer, be any meaningful demonic incitement to manslaughter. A machinery had mechanised the annihilation of generations of men. The stench of this war was different. Glasya-Labola had wallowed in the vile smelling murders of the Holy Roman Empire or the human sacrifices of Stonehenge or even the First Mithridatic Wars. This was different. This was The Machine. Everybody ate beside the dead; drank beside the dead, and slept beside the dead; lubricated by the endless mud composed of the decomposing thousands and the white powder and black powder and cordite of the millions of shells. Glasya-Labola stopped counting the shells at two and a half million. The Machine simply ingested every thing and every body.
In the Cave, beneath the Upper Meuse, Glasya-Labola curled about an imaginary axis and considered the utter absurdity of being a Commander of Hell when Artillery existed. The corruption that any demon could achieve was insignificant in the face of Artillery. The constant bombardment either killed, dismembered, disabled or shocked millions of young men. It was not the scale of the casualties but that everybody experiencing it knew: Hell cannot be so terrible as this and that Humanity must be mad to do what it is doing. Which made Glasya-Labola understand with absolute clarity, the utter meaningless absurdity of demonic existence in a world with modern artillery. The next War would not be between soldiers but merely the execution of selected portions of societies.
Glasya-Labola pondered the emptying of Hell. In order for there to be any kind of damnation, death had to mean something. The utter meaningless industrialised death machine would empty Hell as demons realised their existence was pointless. The most ancient of evils had been defeated by Artillery.
(edit: really poor formatting choices)
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As the battle of Stalingrad raged throughout the city. All the worst the second world had to offer was pressed into one city. All of the hate, the misery, the pain and death opened something that humanity had long since repressed. The gates of hell were thrown open late December of 43. The fire could be seen in Berlin, the stench of death was reported in Moscow. The legions of the damned marched forth and caught both sides flat footed, casting nearly half a million souls into the flames on that first night. Both the Soviets and Nazis thought the other side had seized the city, but the reality was cast into the light come day break. Lucifers laugh echoed throughout the city, some went insane, others catatonic. Yet, to the dismay of the Fallen angel, others fought on. The communists refused to relinquish the far side of the Vulga, the Nazis stopped their attack towards Moscow. Both sides knew what they had to do and by the grace of God (or lack thereof) both sides threw all of humanity's hate against this new threat. Hitler rerouted Army group north and center into the caucuses, marching alongside brothers who a week earlier were prepared to fight them to the death. The Legion of the Damned was stopped by the two greatest war machines Mankind had ever assembled. Millions of artillery pieces, airplanes, and rifles were now pointed in one direction, at one enemy.
Lucifer couldn't believe it, his grand introduction. A plan thousands of years in the making was ground into dust before he could even get close to victory. He sat helpless as his spear armed Legionares were shredded by artillery and bombs, his demons shot out of the sky by fighters. Their bodies dropping like flies, even now death wouldn't touch the Dalits. Instead they layed where they fell, writhing in agony. Calling to him for help, but what could he do? Never before had he felt this powerlessness, even against the big man himself.
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[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
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"I actually didn't think it'd be that easy" said the Rookie, dragging the corpse of a slain demon.
"I know right? You'd think the devil himself would at the very least come prepared for tanks." said the Corporal, with a hint of disappointment. "We hardly even had time for reinforcements. Hell I hadn't even reloaded yet!"
Dropping the body among a pile of charred demon corpses, the Rookie looked around still in disbelief. An entire army of demons, slaughtered by a couple of tanks and a single helicopter. The apocalipse itself, squashed in mere minutes.
"I think they look sort of scary at least." said the Rookie, moving towards the General's hastily thrown together tent
"That would have been more of a factor if they were bulletproof. I mean damn, in retrospect, I'm glad they weren't armored killing machines and all. But it's sort of a downer that the embodiment of evil itself lasted about five minutes on the field against us, you know?"
As they pushed between the tent flaps, the General frantically drew lines on a map laid on his desk. "We're off cleanup duty boys. They need us down south." he said, looking sternly into the Rookie's eyes. He was as disappointed as they were.
"What is it?" said the Corporal sarcastically. "*Another* ancient evil we need to effortlessly destroy?"
"No, border reinforcement. The 3rd already got Cthulhu."
"Oh for fuck's sake."
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"Man is a plague", its creator said, "destined to kill one another until the End Times." Perhaps this was it's name, End Times. "And so to my fellow man I give them you, a hastened end, a way to end all of our suffering once and for all. You will have the strength of a hundred men, the speed of a warhorse, skin of iron which neither arrow nor sword will be able to mar. You shall be a giant, towering over the highest of walls, with the eyes of a hawk, able to spot anyone who dares approach you. You shall be my final gift to the world. So sleep now, my gift. Sleep and wait. And when the time is right, show humanity the ending it deserves."
And so it, End times, slept. And for 6,000 years it slept, waiting for enough blood to be spilled, then it would awaken. The world it awoke to was very different from the one it left. It began it's task easily enough, a large city was an easy enough place to start wiping out humanity, but when a 40 foot monstrosity starts slaughtering every person in sight people take notice, even if that city is New Jersey.
Blades and arrows could not pierce its flesh, but bullets certainly were a new experience for it. The first one shocked it enough to cause it to stumble into a building. It recovered quickly enough, but word spread. Whatever "it" was, it could bleed, and it would bleed from something as small as a .45. Soon it began to encounter large groups of people all training their guns on it, and for the first time since it's creation, End Times was unsure of itself. Each bullet recovered quickly enough, but healing took time and focus, neither things could be had when you are being peppered from all sides by people with guns. Eventually End Times realized it needed to retreat, lick its wounds, and devise a plan. To do this it must leave the city, leave where the people are, find some place secluded. It fled the city, but the attacks did not stop for long. Man could not travel fast everywhere, but where they could End Times was no match, especially when the military vehicles arrived.
Now end times did not retreat, now it fled, pained and pursued by heavier guns, guns that could still hit him while he ran. The forest became his refuge, it's trees blocking the vehicles that pursued it, but even this respite was only temporary. Now the attacks came from above, with even heavier guns and faster vehicles. End times tried to hurl fallen trees at them, but they were too high and their guns felt like they never stopped firing. So he ran some more, ran away from the pursuing helicopters, from their guns. Little did End Times know that man had become not only tougher to kill, but smarter as well. End times didn't know it was being chased in a particular direction. Away from people, away from buildings, away from the forest, all the wile the men were talking to each other. Coordinating their attack. And then, as End Times reached the edge of the forest, the attacks stopped. The helicopters flew away, and their guns stopped harming the weakened and tired creature.
End times felt the shell before it saw it. A great tremor and a plume of dust and rock shot up in front of it, and a noise, louder than a thunder clap dazzled its senses. The first few shots, fired in rapid succession missed. But with a 40 foot target that was dazed and confused, the second volley would not be as forgiving. Volley after volley from 70mm cannons tore End Times to pieces. By the time the rounds stopped falling there was not enough of End Times left to piece what it had even been, let alone that it was supposed to be the Ultimate Weapon against humanity.
"Funny," The artillery commander muttered, "We didn't even need to use the big guns."
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[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
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Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details.
At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery.
By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line.
“Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?”
“Granted.”
Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed.
The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?”
“Local zoo?” suggested the president.
And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find.
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*"And in other news, great Cthulhu has awoken."*
"Hey Maaargaret! The tv is saying weird things again!" said Robert, sitting in the couch, as was his habit since he retired.
"That's your hearing aid acting up again! Just up the volume a little, I'll be around in a few to have a look at it, don't worry grampa" came the answer from the kitchen.
*"Yes, as you hear, dear viewers, the maddened nightmares of Howard Phillip Lovecraft, author of books like The Call of Cthulhu or In the Mountains of Madness, had, until a few hours ago, been seen as a fiction author. Now, the world sees the truth and Great Cthulhu can rule the Earth! Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn!"*
Robert watched with mild interest as the news anchor took a knife from under his desk and, with a manic, deranged smile, began to ritually cut himself. Then, with amusement, noted how his face fell and paled as a small screen appeared in the upper left corner, showing several japanese, chinese and australian vessels launching missiles at what appeared to be an amorphous blob on a radar screen. With the sound of multiple explosions, the news anchor began to loudly cry, tears running down his cheeks.
"Bahahahaha!"
"What was that grampa?"
"Nothing, dear. Apparently, BBC is running a prank section in the news now."
-----
Note: I don't write much, and I would like to do so. Comments please?
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[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
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Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details.
At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery.
By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line.
“Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?”
“Granted.”
Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed.
The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?”
“Local zoo?” suggested the president.
And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find.
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Little did we know that the nuclear testing we did in the 60’s would awaken the dreaded Itzahuacamol, Aztec titan of death and destruction. Long forgotten, legend says that all the gods together could barely defeat the monster. Now, after thousands of years, it has returned.
—————
As broadcasts from as near as 30 miles began flooding the screens, General Franklin Lee made his way into the Oval Office.
“What’s the situation, General?” The President asked.
“The creature is headed toward the old Nevada testing facility. It will reach it in about an hour. The area’s recovered some from the testing, but it’s still well within the uninhabitable zone. One more low-yield blast wouldn’t hurt.”
The President nodded gravely and picked up the red telephone on the desk. The area was quickly evacuated, and Las Vegas held its breath as the V-shaped jets flew overhead.
Huitzilopochtli himself would have been proud of the explosion that tore the ancient demon asunder.
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[WP] An ancient evil has awakened to destroy the world, but is grossly outmatched by modern artillery.
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Mogbola they had called it on the evening news. An ancient evil that last showed its unholy face when rickety huts dominated the landscape. In those days it had wrought terror and destruction unparalleled by any contemporary disaster. Now it had resurfaced again. Something about a fallen satellite. It was hard to remember; the camera reporting on site was very shaky, making it difficult to catch all the details.
At first the monster had caused quite a scare. As it roared and stomped its way into the suburban town, people scrambled for their cars, finding that they easily outpaced the surprised Mogbola. Obviously displeased, he belched a fiery blast at the closest houses, the flames leaving a slight char on the otherwise unharmed bricks. Absolutely infuriated, he finally resolved on stampeding through the town, causing untold damage to the local gardens and shrubbery.
By this point the local branch of the National Guard had encircled the beast with tanks and light infantry. The commanding officer conferred with the President over a secure line.
“Honestly, sir, this seems like overkill. I think I’ve been more afraid of my toddler when she’s in a foul mood. Permission to capture without deadly force?”
“Granted.”
Within half an hour the Guard had wrangled a thrashing Mogbola into a metal cage and loaded him on a flatbed.
The commanding officer returned to his phone. “The Kraken has fallen, sir. Where should I take him?”
“Local zoo?” suggested the president.
And there sits the legendary beast to this day, in an exhibit labeled “MOGBOLA, Destroyer of Worlds,” happily eating fish from a bucket and incinerating any wooden structures he can find.
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It was all over pretty quickly. Helen had grown up poring over fantasy novels fetishizing the end of the world and the awakening of a great, ancient evil, and honestly, the real thing was pretty anticlimactic. The fact that she could watch a horror of the deep be annihilated in crystal-clear, high definition footage while eating her morning bowl of Cheerios was kind of remarkable, she thought.
The creature was pretty horrifying, she had to admit. Not so much the mass of tentacles people thought it might be, it was more like a giant crab. Or, at least, its legs were jointed like a crab's, though they were tall as skyscrapers. It was darkly-colored, with no eyes to speak of, and a beak reserved for deep-sea dwellers. Helen shuddered when it appeared for the first time.
But after the first bombing run, it was down for the count. In the books, it always involved a quest, or some magical macguffin. Turns out, superior firepower does the trick just as well.
*Anyway,* she thought. *Time to head to work.*
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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"What is Kapu Kuialua?" Dyson asked as he stared at the giant list of strange text listed under the girl's skills.
"Ahh, that's a Hawaiian martial art which specializes in bone breaking." VonHolt responded from his workstation.
"And kyusho-jitsu?"
VonHolt typed things up on his monitor. "That's the Japanese art of striking pressure points, especially lethal ones."
"The next five on this list all look similar."
"Various Shaolin martial art styles."
Dyson grimaced in unease. "At least she's not a Ninja."
"Actually her list of skills include Tokagure Ryu, which is a Ninja style."
"Jesus." Dyson looked dismal. "She looks like she's thirteen."
"Fifteen, but she looks younger due to her Asian heritage."
"She's capable of extreme levels of violence, but how... why is she here?"
VonHolt pushed his horn rimmed glasses up. "Those two questions are tied together with her history." His fingers danced across his keyboard and Dyson could see the refelction of text scroll across the lenses. "She's been trained since she was five years old by an ancient order called the Dark Lotus to do some extremely bad things."
Dyson looked over from where he was manacled against the wall. He was in the most secretive and secure prison which was ever built. No one ever escaped. He was surrounded by twelve heavily armored and armed officers. They watched him closely. They paid attention to the clipboard he held. "What type of bad things? My level bad?"
"Dyson, this girl murdered world rulers, killed a highly trained SWAT team, and murdered the members of her own secret society when they refused her request."
"She sounds like a pure psychopath. Takes one to know one right? Did this Dark Lotus just pick her for that quality?"
VonHolt smirked. "I brought you here so that you could help evaluate new prisoners. How do you rate her?" He turned a monitor around to show Dyson video footage compiled from body and security cameras. The girl in question killed over fourty police including SWAT team members before she sat down and quietly surrended. She was lethality and grace. Half the dead were by her bare hands, the other half from various weapons.
"Well I do love Asian girls, but she's a bit young. And she's probably the most lethal of any of your prisoners. I wouldn't want to tangle with her."
"What you do isn't love, it's murder." VonHolt dropped all pretense of being cordial.
"Got it. I'm supposed to stay away from this one, otherwise she'll kill me. I see why you've got me up here now, Warden."
"As to your question. The Dark Lotus didn't just grab her to train her because they knew she'd be a psychopath. They also trained her because her lineage is full of geniuses, her personal I.Q., and the fact that at the young age of five she witnessed the savage and bloody murder of her mother and two aunts at the hand of a deranged individual by the name of Claude Dyson. She let herself get caught so she could get in. She's here for you."
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"That's cruel." *I commented to Pete. My handler.*
"I agree." *He shook his head, his hand cautiously on his baton as he tracked her with his eyes.* "Guess no one upstairs cares what happens to the rest of you."
*I gave him a look. He wasn't joking by how stiff he looked.*
"What's the story?" *I asked. He seemed to shudder at that bit.*
"I don't want to talk about it." *Pete withheld. Walking off as she stepped into her cell. I caught a glimpse of her name tag: Kona N.* "I'm just glad I'm changing posts Bruce."
*I returned to my bunk inside my cell and retrieved my earpiece from my false molar, putting it in my ear.*
"Alfred, you there?"
"Master Wane." *Alfred responded.* "I do hope you have a plan to get out of this mess."
"Do we have any files on a Kona N?" *I ignored his worrying.*
"Let me check." *Alfred said as his keystrokes on the bat-computer indicated his search.* "Kona Nox, thirty years old, born in Hong Kong. Killed her parents only after she... ugh, combined their bodies with advanced surgical techniques at the ripe age of fifteen."
"What details do we have on her since then?" *I inquired.*
"A lot of information locked away by China."
"But we have it." *I pressed*
"...yes." *Alfred responded.* "I can't say I like hacking a foreign country. following the event, she joined up a group of criminal anarchists as they tore across the Chinese countryside before dropping off the map a few years following a major defeat and reappeared in Texas where she Cadmus chased her up near Gotham and separated her from her group, leading to her incarceration today."
*I knew that last bit. Cadmus had called in a favor. Waller hated calling in favors unless they were desperate. They hadn't been very forthcoming about the whole situation.*
"Alfred who were the other members of her group?" *I queried.*
"Do you want names? Descriptions?"
"Alfred."
"A. Ostrum, of Zurich Germany fifty eight. Allegedly chopped himself into pieces and encased himself in a porcelain shell of sorts. This the name porcelain. The last reports of him described him in literal pieces.
"An unknown who looks remarkably like killer croc... if he had eyes along his body and a mess of limbs. No confirmed age or origin. Alleged regenerative abilities have earned him the title scab. Supposedly he was turned to glass by some Cadmus weapon, and put of the picture.
"Ciera, no last name or origin. Wears a pvc bodysuit and is frequently referred to as mute rider for the silent motorcycle she drives. The reports are conflicting but there is mention of having no head. Has been rumored to be a courier in Texas.
"Haruna wantanabe, Japan thirty six. Has the paranormal ability to light herself on fire and become living flame. Supposedly takes joy in sharing her 'beauty' with others. Aliased firestarter.
"Yui kinsuo, also Japan, thirty three. Has a voice which can resonate with silicon to manipulate it similar to telekinesis. By the looks of her outfit made of glass, she has fairly fine control. She's Heralded as songbird.
"And finally Mao Nox, Kona's cousin forty, born in Japan. I can't read a lot of this or get much information that doesn't conflict, but he is frequently placed as the head of the group. Referred to as the hyaena. He's the most normal looking of them all."
*A scream of terror from across the prison distracted me, and I stood to see what the matter was, the inmates nearby were throwing up as I looked on at the result.*
*an inmate who had wandered into her cell wasn't dead. Worse. His insides were neatly rearranged outside of his body. His intestines wrapped around his neck and stretched over his oral cavity, his jaw split into mandibles split to make more room. His lungs now hung from his eye sockets as his eyes dangled from the liver that hung like a tie from his trachea.*
*The girl, who looked no older than fifteen giggled with lidless eyes as she spun a crudely made plastic shiv in one hand, and a splinter with a thread trailing from the inmates shirt.*
*In the time I had been talking to Alfred, this girl had rearranged the man's organs. I understood why Alfred was being a bit unsettled by the history. Waller was right to call in batman, but I wasn't confident I could save everyone.*
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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Nearly everyone had come to watch her as she was admitted. She was kept separate from the other inmates, with a transport entirely to herself loaded with special countermeasures. There was a morbid kind of silence over the yard as she was brought in, the kind that came from knowing we had all been sentenced to death.
"This is cruel," I muttered, horrified. I was not the only one speaking. A wave of whispers was traveling through the crowd. All of our hearts thudded in our chests. Any minute now and the bloodbath would start. Had it already started? With her, there was no way to be sure until it was too late.
"They don't care what happens to the rest of us," someone nearby said. One of the guards, I think. I'd done my best to keep myself against one of the walls - maybe if I were lucky she'd get to me last? She would probably be bored at that point anyway and just use me for parts. Not like the women at the front of the crowd. I shuttered to even imagine what she was going to do to them. "How is she even here?" the same voice asked in disbelief.'
The crowd went silent again as the girl herself appeared. After minutes of terrified anticipation, it was almost disappointing. There was none of the perfect blond ringlets and cheerful smiles the news reports had shown sporadically the last few years. Her hair had been cut short into a messy bob, the ends ragged and uneven as if she had done it herself. She was certainly not smiling, her mouth was set into a hard line. Instead of the eerily intent gaze she had before, her blue eyes were vague and focused on the ground. The orange jumpsuit was baggy and pinned in places, many sizes too big for her. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked thinner and bonier than she had in any of the newsreels.
There was a very long moment while the crowd waited for her to act, for the blood to start flowing, for people to start dropping. Instead of stopping, addressing the crowd, or ending this charade and starting the slaughter her group had been named for, the girl kept walking, her eyes fixed on the pavement in front of her. The crowd parted noiselessly before her as she moved across the yard. No one dared to speak, in fear that it would earn them her attention.
My mind was filled with the guard's last question, endlessly repeating. How was she even here? The prison was designed to hold capes, of course, though most of us were just normal violent offenders. But people like her, like her little 'family,' they weren't the kind of capes you put in prison. Any prison. They were the kind of person you killed on sight and got hundreds of thousand dollars bounty and a pat on the back from the government for making the world a better place.
She didn't look like a killer. She looked like the kind of pathetic, obviously abused homeless girl you saw all the time in the bad cities, especially after the Morning. Or maybe she looked more like a killer now? I knew from experience, it was all too easy to go from broken teenager to violent criminal if you fell in with the wrong group, or made a friend with the wrong sort of power. That was always what had been so unsettling about her. You expected people like Grahm or the clown to join the Nine. But a cute little white girl who looked like she had been ripped straight from a family-friendly sitcom? In a way it was easier to believe someone that looked like she did now had done what she had done. Even with all the changes, though, her rosy young face was still utterly recognizable.
"Bonesaw," I whispered and she stopped. I almost didn't realize that I was the one who had spoken. When I did, my hands found my mouth and I tried to shove the word back down my throat. It was too late. She had heard. Somehow, all the way across the yard, she had heard me whisper her name. I backed up until I was pressed tight against the wall.
She turned slowly to look at me, her eyes meeting mine. I sunk down to the ground as the crowd surged away from me. What was she going to do? Would I explode? Would she dissect me? Would I turn mindlessly on the other inmates in some sort of plague of blind violence? She had done all of them and worse before.
Instead she took a deep breath and said, "I prefer 'Riley.'" Her voice was clear over the complete silence of the yard. Then she turned to look back down at the ground and continued her walk over to a bench where she sat and did not move until it was time to return to our cells.
_____________________________________________________
Mostly written because of how many people mentioned Bonesaw without there being an actually story featuring her. For those interested, Bonesaw is a character from the mind-blowing webserial [Worm](https://parahumans.wordpress.com/).
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"That's cruel." *I commented to Pete. My handler.*
"I agree." *He shook his head, his hand cautiously on his baton as he tracked her with his eyes.* "Guess no one upstairs cares what happens to the rest of you."
*I gave him a look. He wasn't joking by how stiff he looked.*
"What's the story?" *I asked. He seemed to shudder at that bit.*
"I don't want to talk about it." *Pete withheld. Walking off as she stepped into her cell. I caught a glimpse of her name tag: Kona N.* "I'm just glad I'm changing posts Bruce."
*I returned to my bunk inside my cell and retrieved my earpiece from my false molar, putting it in my ear.*
"Alfred, you there?"
"Master Wane." *Alfred responded.* "I do hope you have a plan to get out of this mess."
"Do we have any files on a Kona N?" *I ignored his worrying.*
"Let me check." *Alfred said as his keystrokes on the bat-computer indicated his search.* "Kona Nox, thirty years old, born in Hong Kong. Killed her parents only after she... ugh, combined their bodies with advanced surgical techniques at the ripe age of fifteen."
"What details do we have on her since then?" *I inquired.*
"A lot of information locked away by China."
"But we have it." *I pressed*
"...yes." *Alfred responded.* "I can't say I like hacking a foreign country. following the event, she joined up a group of criminal anarchists as they tore across the Chinese countryside before dropping off the map a few years following a major defeat and reappeared in Texas where she Cadmus chased her up near Gotham and separated her from her group, leading to her incarceration today."
*I knew that last bit. Cadmus had called in a favor. Waller hated calling in favors unless they were desperate. They hadn't been very forthcoming about the whole situation.*
"Alfred who were the other members of her group?" *I queried.*
"Do you want names? Descriptions?"
"Alfred."
"A. Ostrum, of Zurich Germany fifty eight. Allegedly chopped himself into pieces and encased himself in a porcelain shell of sorts. This the name porcelain. The last reports of him described him in literal pieces.
"An unknown who looks remarkably like killer croc... if he had eyes along his body and a mess of limbs. No confirmed age or origin. Alleged regenerative abilities have earned him the title scab. Supposedly he was turned to glass by some Cadmus weapon, and put of the picture.
"Ciera, no last name or origin. Wears a pvc bodysuit and is frequently referred to as mute rider for the silent motorcycle she drives. The reports are conflicting but there is mention of having no head. Has been rumored to be a courier in Texas.
"Haruna wantanabe, Japan thirty six. Has the paranormal ability to light herself on fire and become living flame. Supposedly takes joy in sharing her 'beauty' with others. Aliased firestarter.
"Yui kinsuo, also Japan, thirty three. Has a voice which can resonate with silicon to manipulate it similar to telekinesis. By the looks of her outfit made of glass, she has fairly fine control. She's Heralded as songbird.
"And finally Mao Nox, Kona's cousin forty, born in Japan. I can't read a lot of this or get much information that doesn't conflict, but he is frequently placed as the head of the group. Referred to as the hyaena. He's the most normal looking of them all."
*A scream of terror from across the prison distracted me, and I stood to see what the matter was, the inmates nearby were throwing up as I looked on at the result.*
*an inmate who had wandered into her cell wasn't dead. Worse. His insides were neatly rearranged outside of his body. His intestines wrapped around his neck and stretched over his oral cavity, his jaw split into mandibles split to make more room. His lungs now hung from his eye sockets as his eyes dangled from the liver that hung like a tie from his trachea.*
*The girl, who looked no older than fifteen giggled with lidless eyes as she spun a crudely made plastic shiv in one hand, and a splinter with a thread trailing from the inmates shirt.*
*In the time I had been talking to Alfred, this girl had rearranged the man's organs. I understood why Alfred was being a bit unsettled by the history. Waller was right to call in batman, but I wasn't confident I could save everyone.*
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
We had all seen her come in, and none of us had believed it. It was surreal, this little girl in with all of these gnarled old prisoners. When I asked a guard and he'd said no one cared what happened to us, I almost laughed in his face.
But I want laughing anymore.
This first couple days had been mostly normal, except everyone gave her a wide berth. But night 3, her cellmate hung himself.
This shocked all of us, but we knew Jack had been losing his grip for weeks so we all shrugged it off. Next night, the new cellmate hung himself. He'd only been here a couple weeks and seemed to have his shit together. His death raised eyebrows.
Over the next two weeks, another 8 inmates committed suicide, always the first or second night as her cellmate. One guy made it 3 nights before he had to be dragged out in a straight jacket, babbling nonsensically with a crazed look in his eyes.
And here I stood looking into her cell, ever the picture of childlike innocence. Gap-toothed but beaming smile, adorable blond pigtails, feet swinging lazily over the edge of the bed. It was like a dream, or a horror movie.
"You gotta go in Mack." There was a gentle push of a nightstick in my back.
"Guess I do, don't I" and I stepped in as the door clanged shut behind me.
I lay my few personal effects on the bunk and sat down. Her feet began swinging faster overhead and thumping against the steel frame.
**"Could you please... not do that?"**
*Why?*
**Umm, I don't know. It's just kinda repetitive and annoying**
*What's repetitive?*
**It's, like, something that happens over and over again**
*Oh, like how a faucet goes drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip-*
**YES** I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes **Exactly like that**
We sat in silence for a few minutes as she hummed softly to herself.
*What's your name?*
**Mark, but everyone calls me Mack**
*Like the cheeseburger?*
**What?! No, not like the... Sure, kid. Like the cheeseburger.**
*That's really silly* she giggled histerically.
After she settled down, the interrogation began anew.
*Where are you from?*
**Boston**
*Where's that?*
**On the East Coast**
*What's a coast?*
I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists, surprised I hadn't realized they'd tightened in the first place.
**It's the edge of a country where it says water, like an ocean or a lake**
*Oh, cool. Thanks Mack*
**Sure kid, no problem**
The buzzer sounded, and the lights began to snap off along the cell block until only a few dim "night lights" remained. The block was would quiet for several seconds.
*Why is it dark?*
**Because it's bedtime.**
*Why?*
**Because it's the end of the day.**
*But why are some lights still on?*
**Because some people are afraid of the dark.**
*Why?*
Sigh
**Lots of reasons. It's time to be quiet and go to sleep**
*Will you tell me a story?*
**No.**
*Why not?*
**Because it's too late and I'm tired.**
*Please?*
**No.**
*PLEASE!*
**Not tonight, kid, geez!**
*Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please-*
From up the block a guard bellowed "shut the hell up!"
*Ooooh, he said a bad word*
Silence reigned, finally. Alone with my thoughts, a realization dawned on me. I was stuck here. With her. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Suddenly I want tired. So I could hear was her small voice, questioning everything ceaselessly.
*Mack?*
**What, kid?**
*I'm thirsty*
|
"That's cruel." *I commented to Pete. My handler.*
"I agree." *He shook his head, his hand cautiously on his baton as he tracked her with his eyes.* "Guess no one upstairs cares what happens to the rest of you."
*I gave him a look. He wasn't joking by how stiff he looked.*
"What's the story?" *I asked. He seemed to shudder at that bit.*
"I don't want to talk about it." *Pete withheld. Walking off as she stepped into her cell. I caught a glimpse of her name tag: Kona N.* "I'm just glad I'm changing posts Bruce."
*I returned to my bunk inside my cell and retrieved my earpiece from my false molar, putting it in my ear.*
"Alfred, you there?"
"Master Wane." *Alfred responded.* "I do hope you have a plan to get out of this mess."
"Do we have any files on a Kona N?" *I ignored his worrying.*
"Let me check." *Alfred said as his keystrokes on the bat-computer indicated his search.* "Kona Nox, thirty years old, born in Hong Kong. Killed her parents only after she... ugh, combined their bodies with advanced surgical techniques at the ripe age of fifteen."
"What details do we have on her since then?" *I inquired.*
"A lot of information locked away by China."
"But we have it." *I pressed*
"...yes." *Alfred responded.* "I can't say I like hacking a foreign country. following the event, she joined up a group of criminal anarchists as they tore across the Chinese countryside before dropping off the map a few years following a major defeat and reappeared in Texas where she Cadmus chased her up near Gotham and separated her from her group, leading to her incarceration today."
*I knew that last bit. Cadmus had called in a favor. Waller hated calling in favors unless they were desperate. They hadn't been very forthcoming about the whole situation.*
"Alfred who were the other members of her group?" *I queried.*
"Do you want names? Descriptions?"
"Alfred."
"A. Ostrum, of Zurich Germany fifty eight. Allegedly chopped himself into pieces and encased himself in a porcelain shell of sorts. This the name porcelain. The last reports of him described him in literal pieces.
"An unknown who looks remarkably like killer croc... if he had eyes along his body and a mess of limbs. No confirmed age or origin. Alleged regenerative abilities have earned him the title scab. Supposedly he was turned to glass by some Cadmus weapon, and put of the picture.
"Ciera, no last name or origin. Wears a pvc bodysuit and is frequently referred to as mute rider for the silent motorcycle she drives. The reports are conflicting but there is mention of having no head. Has been rumored to be a courier in Texas.
"Haruna wantanabe, Japan thirty six. Has the paranormal ability to light herself on fire and become living flame. Supposedly takes joy in sharing her 'beauty' with others. Aliased firestarter.
"Yui kinsuo, also Japan, thirty three. Has a voice which can resonate with silicon to manipulate it similar to telekinesis. By the looks of her outfit made of glass, she has fairly fine control. She's Heralded as songbird.
"And finally Mao Nox, Kona's cousin forty, born in Japan. I can't read a lot of this or get much information that doesn't conflict, but he is frequently placed as the head of the group. Referred to as the hyaena. He's the most normal looking of them all."
*A scream of terror from across the prison distracted me, and I stood to see what the matter was, the inmates nearby were throwing up as I looked on at the result.*
*an inmate who had wandered into her cell wasn't dead. Worse. His insides were neatly rearranged outside of his body. His intestines wrapped around his neck and stretched over his oral cavity, his jaw split into mandibles split to make more room. His lungs now hung from his eye sockets as his eyes dangled from the liver that hung like a tie from his trachea.*
*The girl, who looked no older than fifteen giggled with lidless eyes as she spun a crudely made plastic shiv in one hand, and a splinter with a thread trailing from the inmates shirt.*
*In the time I had been talking to Alfred, this girl had rearranged the man's organs. I understood why Alfred was being a bit unsettled by the history. Waller was right to call in batman, but I wasn't confident I could save everyone.*
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Warning: Super long. Continued in comments.
---
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Senior Officer Ross just shakes his head. He was the officer who knew all the dirty secrets about the prisoners - who was lying about what they're in for, who was on track for getting time off for good behaviour, and who was making enemies with who. He knew everything that went on in this prison, and he was annoyingly tight-lipped about it.
"That's confidential," he said for the thousandth time since we met. "Just stay away from her."
That line was used often too, but usually about full grown men with tattoos, not little girls no older than 7. Most of us have been in here since before she was born. She looked absolutely terrified. We'd usually be jumping at the bars to spook the new meat, or taking bets on who would cry first, but nobody was yelling, or laughing, or jeering.
"She shows up right as you're going on vacation. Who's gonna keep tabs on her?" I say, leaning on my bars. That would have made other officers nervous, but everybody liked Ross. Even the psychos and the Aryans. He leaned back on the wall.
"Hell if I know. I sure as hell don't trust any of these chucklefucks to do it."
Chainz snorts from the cell beside me. "Nobody's gonna touch her. Not after Father Porker." Father Porker was the nickname we'd given to the fat Youth Camp Counselor who got thrown in here for "losing" four little campers over 15 years in the forest. He wasn't technically a man of the cloth, but nobody here cared. He left here in plastic after 16 hours, beating our previous record by about 90 minutes.
"That ain't what I'm worried about," grunts Ross as he lifts his old bones off the wall, and walks away.
---
It isn't until yard time in the afternoon that I see the girl again. They schedule us pretty rigidly to keep us in line, and we're only ever in small groups. All the other inmates steer clear of her as she crouches next to the wall playing with a handful of sand. Nobody really know how to deal with a kid being in here, especially not knowing why she's here in the first place. A butterfly wanders near her, and she watches it intently, showing the closest thing to a smile I've seen all day. All eyes are on her, almost expecting her to grab it and eat it, or something similarly crazy that would explain why she's here, but it never happens. Once it flies away, the girl notices that everyone is staring at her, and her smile vanishes instantly, replaced with fear. I look away, a little ashamed to have scared her.
---
The only other time I see her is in the library after dinner. She's flipping through books obviously too advanced for her. There were some easy books for inmates learning to read, and 2 or 3 Harry Potters, but nothing that she could ever hope to read on her own. Chainz is also in here, looking at book covers he can't read.
"She looks so sad over there." I say. Chainz drags a chair over to the tiny table I'm at and sits.
"Ain't nothin' to do for a kid in here."
"She should be climbing on monkey bars and watching Barney, not locked in here with a bunch of monsters and freaks."
"Nah," says Chainz, examining the back of a battered copy of Stephen King's It. "It's all about The Wiggles now."
I roll my eyes. "And what the fuck do you know?" I whack the book with the back of my hand, and grin. "The Wiggles."
I hear a voice behind us. "Paw Patrol." Chainz and I practically jump out of our skins. We turn around in our chairs and see Al - another inmate, and the volunteer librarian.
"The children like Paw Patrol." Al reiterates in his monotone voice.
"Uh... right." I say. He adjusts his glasses and continues pushing his cart down the aisle.
Chainz and I wait a moment before looking at each other. We're thinking the same thing. "Dude fuckin' creeps me out." Says Chainz.
Al was a high school teacher for about 20 years before he came to max. He had killed 4 police officers and 13 colleagues with a homemade pipebomb at a typical teacher's strike. The cops weren't even there because of a disturbance or anything, they were just having a chat. The teachers offered them some coffee, and he just lobbed it into the crowd like it was nothing. That's what the news said, anyway. I just wondered how long he'd been carrying it, and how long he was waiting for an excuse to use it.
---
It's been three days since the girl showed up, and she doesn't seem any more used to being here. Part of me hoped she never did. She spends her yard time in the same spot by the wall with a handful of sand, shrinking from anyone who approaches. Her cell isn't near mine, but word is she cries quietly every night. The psychos are taking bets on who calls for a guard to get HER out of here. I'd call it a clever bet if it weren't so sad.
I sigh, and walk toward her. She's got her head between her knees, looking straight down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. People are still watching her, and she's probably trying to pretend they're not there. I sit down against the wall about 3 feet away from her.
"Hey kid." She jumps at the sound of my voice. She obviously didn't hear me coming. She doesn't say anything, and I don't know what else to say. I break eye contact, and look forward. No one's looking my way, except her. About a minute passes.
"Are you a bad man?" She asks. I don't want to answer yes, but I can't really answer no.
"Well, I'm in here." I regret it immediately. The girl looks down. SHE'S in here, too. "I'm not bad, I just did a bad thing."
"What did you do?" She asks.
"I... don't really want to say."
"I don't want to say either." She waits a moment. "Did you hurt someone?"
"Yeah." I pause. "Did you?"
"No."
I have more questions than I started with, but none I feel like I should ask. Besides...
"What's your name?"
"Alice. What's your name?"
"Desmond." I try to think of something else to say. Something normal to say to a 2nd grader. "Do you want to be friends?"
She turns her head, and looks at me through the corner of her eye. "Yes." She says shyly. I can't help but smile.
"Alright Alice. You're my friend now, so if anyone bullies you, you tell me and I'll stop them."
"Okay."
---
I enter the library later that day, and see Al sitting next to Alice, reading aloud from a thin book. I pull a chair up to where Chainz is already sitting, and sit.
"What's that about?" I jerk my head in their direction.
"He was a teacher. Creeps me the fuck out, but if anyone should be teaching her to read, it's probably Al."
"I guess."
---
Five days after Alice's arrival, the atmosphere seems to have gone back to normal. A fistfight breaks out in the laundry room, and people curse loudly without apologizing. Alice seems to have come out of her shell a little bit. She sits right next to me in the yard, and talks to me freely.
"Did you have a good lunch?" I ask. The food here is pretty bad, but kids like her wouldn't know any better.
"Uh huh. Mr Rob gave me his jello." I never really interact with Rob, but I'm glad there's someone else in here looking out for this kid.
"That was nice of him."
Alice picks up a handful of sand like she usually does, and pours it out onto my leg. I feign offense. "Did you just *sand* me?" She giggles. "Don't you *SAND* me!"
A couple of people look over as I raise my voice jokingly, but go back to their business after a second. Alice brushes the sand off my lap, then wipes her hands on her own jumpsuit. They're still filthy. I have a thought, and start to worry.
"Alice," I start, unsure how to phrase the question. "When... What do you do for showers?" She stops what she's doing, and looks up at me.
"Officer John takes me before dinner when no one else is there. That room is so big and empty. It was embarrassing at first, but it's okay now."
I let out a little sigh of relief. I was worried for a second she was forced to go with one of the groups.
She *sands* me again.
---
In the library that evening I ignore whatever Chainz is babbling about, and watch Alice and Al. She's sitting on his lap tonight. He doesn't seem overly touchy or anything, but he still gives me the creeps.
About half an hour in, Alice's head starts nodding. Al notices her dozing off, and lifts the book he's reading to her off the table. She puts her head down in the space, and Al looks around, a little unsure of what to do.
After about a minute, Officer John walks by, and eyes Al.
"She... has fallen asleep." Says Al awkwardly. Officer John walks over and picks her up gently, carrying her out the door and presumably to her cell.
---
Con't in comments. There's still a lot to go.
|
"That's cruel." *I commented to Pete. My handler.*
"I agree." *He shook his head, his hand cautiously on his baton as he tracked her with his eyes.* "Guess no one upstairs cares what happens to the rest of you."
*I gave him a look. He wasn't joking by how stiff he looked.*
"What's the story?" *I asked. He seemed to shudder at that bit.*
"I don't want to talk about it." *Pete withheld. Walking off as she stepped into her cell. I caught a glimpse of her name tag: Kona N.* "I'm just glad I'm changing posts Bruce."
*I returned to my bunk inside my cell and retrieved my earpiece from my false molar, putting it in my ear.*
"Alfred, you there?"
"Master Wane." *Alfred responded.* "I do hope you have a plan to get out of this mess."
"Do we have any files on a Kona N?" *I ignored his worrying.*
"Let me check." *Alfred said as his keystrokes on the bat-computer indicated his search.* "Kona Nox, thirty years old, born in Hong Kong. Killed her parents only after she... ugh, combined their bodies with advanced surgical techniques at the ripe age of fifteen."
"What details do we have on her since then?" *I inquired.*
"A lot of information locked away by China."
"But we have it." *I pressed*
"...yes." *Alfred responded.* "I can't say I like hacking a foreign country. following the event, she joined up a group of criminal anarchists as they tore across the Chinese countryside before dropping off the map a few years following a major defeat and reappeared in Texas where she Cadmus chased her up near Gotham and separated her from her group, leading to her incarceration today."
*I knew that last bit. Cadmus had called in a favor. Waller hated calling in favors unless they were desperate. They hadn't been very forthcoming about the whole situation.*
"Alfred who were the other members of her group?" *I queried.*
"Do you want names? Descriptions?"
"Alfred."
"A. Ostrum, of Zurich Germany fifty eight. Allegedly chopped himself into pieces and encased himself in a porcelain shell of sorts. This the name porcelain. The last reports of him described him in literal pieces.
"An unknown who looks remarkably like killer croc... if he had eyes along his body and a mess of limbs. No confirmed age or origin. Alleged regenerative abilities have earned him the title scab. Supposedly he was turned to glass by some Cadmus weapon, and put of the picture.
"Ciera, no last name or origin. Wears a pvc bodysuit and is frequently referred to as mute rider for the silent motorcycle she drives. The reports are conflicting but there is mention of having no head. Has been rumored to be a courier in Texas.
"Haruna wantanabe, Japan thirty six. Has the paranormal ability to light herself on fire and become living flame. Supposedly takes joy in sharing her 'beauty' with others. Aliased firestarter.
"Yui kinsuo, also Japan, thirty three. Has a voice which can resonate with silicon to manipulate it similar to telekinesis. By the looks of her outfit made of glass, she has fairly fine control. She's Heralded as songbird.
"And finally Mao Nox, Kona's cousin forty, born in Japan. I can't read a lot of this or get much information that doesn't conflict, but he is frequently placed as the head of the group. Referred to as the hyaena. He's the most normal looking of them all."
*A scream of terror from across the prison distracted me, and I stood to see what the matter was, the inmates nearby were throwing up as I looked on at the result.*
*an inmate who had wandered into her cell wasn't dead. Worse. His insides were neatly rearranged outside of his body. His intestines wrapped around his neck and stretched over his oral cavity, his jaw split into mandibles split to make more room. His lungs now hung from his eye sockets as his eyes dangled from the liver that hung like a tie from his trachea.*
*The girl, who looked no older than fifteen giggled with lidless eyes as she spun a crudely made plastic shiv in one hand, and a splinter with a thread trailing from the inmates shirt.*
*In the time I had been talking to Alfred, this girl had rearranged the man's organs. I understood why Alfred was being a bit unsettled by the history. Waller was right to call in batman, but I wasn't confident I could save everyone.*
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"What is Kapu Kuialua?" Dyson asked as he stared at the giant list of strange text listed under the girl's skills.
"Ahh, that's a Hawaiian martial art which specializes in bone breaking." VonHolt responded from his workstation.
"And kyusho-jitsu?"
VonHolt typed things up on his monitor. "That's the Japanese art of striking pressure points, especially lethal ones."
"The next five on this list all look similar."
"Various Shaolin martial art styles."
Dyson grimaced in unease. "At least she's not a Ninja."
"Actually her list of skills include Tokagure Ryu, which is a Ninja style."
"Jesus." Dyson looked dismal. "She looks like she's thirteen."
"Fifteen, but she looks younger due to her Asian heritage."
"She's capable of extreme levels of violence, but how... why is she here?"
VonHolt pushed his horn rimmed glasses up. "Those two questions are tied together with her history." His fingers danced across his keyboard and Dyson could see the refelction of text scroll across the lenses. "She's been trained since she was five years old by an ancient order called the Dark Lotus to do some extremely bad things."
Dyson looked over from where he was manacled against the wall. He was in the most secretive and secure prison which was ever built. No one ever escaped. He was surrounded by twelve heavily armored and armed officers. They watched him closely. They paid attention to the clipboard he held. "What type of bad things? My level bad?"
"Dyson, this girl murdered world rulers, killed a highly trained SWAT team, and murdered the members of her own secret society when they refused her request."
"She sounds like a pure psychopath. Takes one to know one right? Did this Dark Lotus just pick her for that quality?"
VonHolt smirked. "I brought you here so that you could help evaluate new prisoners. How do you rate her?" He turned a monitor around to show Dyson video footage compiled from body and security cameras. The girl in question killed over fourty police including SWAT team members before she sat down and quietly surrended. She was lethality and grace. Half the dead were by her bare hands, the other half from various weapons.
"Well I do love Asian girls, but she's a bit young. And she's probably the most lethal of any of your prisoners. I wouldn't want to tangle with her."
"What you do isn't love, it's murder." VonHolt dropped all pretense of being cordial.
"Got it. I'm supposed to stay away from this one, otherwise she'll kill me. I see why you've got me up here now, Warden."
"As to your question. The Dark Lotus didn't just grab her to train her because they knew she'd be a psychopath. They also trained her because her lineage is full of geniuses, her personal I.Q., and the fact that at the young age of five she witnessed the savage and bloody murder of her mother and two aunts at the hand of a deranged individual by the name of Claude Dyson. She let herself get caught so she could get in. She's here for you."
|
The holding cell was small enough for the four of us, but Terrance had heard whispers that a fifth was on their way. Regardless of what we said in court, we'd all done something to earn our way here. I didn't know what the other men's crimes were, and quite frankly, I didn't care to. This facility was for especially violent criminals, it made prison look like a damn day at the spa.
I won't say I was innocent, because I definitely wasn't. But I hadn't meant for things to go the way they had... I hadn't known they'd show up with so much back up. There'd been so much blood... at the very least, I took grim satisfaction in the fact that none of the blood had been mine, and so what if there was blood--lives--on my hands? The life of a man, even mine, was nothing compared to that of my daughter. And if we never met again? Well, she'd be a better woman without me.
"The new inmate is coming," Said Terrance, sitting down on a hard bench against one of the concrete walls. Everything about this place was hard--the walls, the people, the mattresses.
"What do you know about him?" I asked the other three men.
"All I know is that I heard the guards talking about him the other day... they said this inmate's got a past. That the other prisoner's he's been with have either killed themselves or confessed just to get away from him." A chill set over the holding cell at Janus' words.
This facility didn't hold tax evaders or petty theft. We were the big dogs. An inmate who could make other prisoners confess in fear? I eyed Janus. He was the biggest guy in the cell by far. Russian to the core, a he had a scar practically dividing his face from, he said, a man who "didn't try hard enough" to kill him.
From the hallway came the heavy shuffling of the guards' industrial-grade boots and the always eerie sound of clanking chains.
After what felt like a prison sentence by itself, they finally came into view.
In the center of the muscled mass of four guards was a girl. A little girl. Maybe 12. She didn't have the aura of the usual prisoners--beaten down and depressed. Instead, she bounced on the balls of her feet, her long dark hair, split into pigtails, skipping on her shoulders. Her prison-issued tunic and pants were the kind of drab everything in this hellhole was, and though our garb was spotted with conspicuous sweat stains and the odd food spillage, hers was spotless but for a two mishappen rust-colored patches on knees--like she'd been kneeling in blood.
Her skin was sallow, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days, if not weeks, but her eyes were the same warm brown as my daughter's, and they danced all over our small cell. She was as delicate as a bird, all joints and sharp angles with a sharp intelligence behind her eyes.
"That's cruel," I murmured to the guard.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, "I agree. I guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
Not for the first time that day, I felt shivers crawl up my spine.
With a hasty shove, the guards pushed the girl into our holding cell. We all gave her a wide berth as she approached one of the lower bunks. With a hop, she found herself sitting cross-legged in its center, her slight weight not even bowing the mattress.
It was Janus who broke first. Maybe he had a little girl at home, maybe he had a sliver of humanity left in him, I don't know. He knelt before her, not touching her, and said, "You're going to be okay, little bird."
What she said next would be the end of all of us, the word spilling from her lips easily--if only we'd known it wouldn't stop.
The girl tilted her head, locking eyes with Janus, and said, "Why?"
--
The girl has been with us for two weeks. I guess I shouldn't say "us" anymore. I'm the only one left. I wish I'd realized her eyes were nothing like my sweet daughter's, no, this demon's eyes were endless holes leading to hell itself. I wanted to say I'd lasted this long by thinking of my family, staying strong for them, but the reality of it is that I'd lasted this long because of the cotton pillow filling stuffed into my ears.
Ever since Janus had first spoken to her, the girl hadn't stopped speaking. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd said coherent sentences, but the only word she spoke was "Why." Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, but it was always coming--in response to anything from if she was hungry to the utter silence of the holding cell.
Janus was the first to go. He killed himself in the night. He knew that even if he confessed, he'd forever be stuck in this prison, no jury in heaven or hell would set him back into the world. His death was the worst. Until the day I day, I will never forget the sound of a human skull willingly being struck onto concrete.
Next were Terrance and Peter. They confessed to everything. For Terrance, his death was inevitable, he told us as he willingly went into the guards' arms that he'd take the chair over the girl any day.
Now it just was me and the litte bird girl. With the stuffing in my ears it wasn't so bad. My arraignment was only a month away, if I could last until then... maybe I'd stand a chance at being placed in a different cell, at the very least.
---
Tears streamed down my face as the guards walked me back to the cell shared by the little bird. I'd pled guilty. I had cried, begged, and screamed to be placed anywhere but here. Hell would be a respite. I'd been denied.
"No one has ever lasted as long as you... and based on your crimes," The judge had shrugged here. "Last two years, maybe one, if you behave, and this will have been sentence enough."
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Nearly everyone had come to watch her as she was admitted. She was kept separate from the other inmates, with a transport entirely to herself loaded with special countermeasures. There was a morbid kind of silence over the yard as she was brought in, the kind that came from knowing we had all been sentenced to death.
"This is cruel," I muttered, horrified. I was not the only one speaking. A wave of whispers was traveling through the crowd. All of our hearts thudded in our chests. Any minute now and the bloodbath would start. Had it already started? With her, there was no way to be sure until it was too late.
"They don't care what happens to the rest of us," someone nearby said. One of the guards, I think. I'd done my best to keep myself against one of the walls - maybe if I were lucky she'd get to me last? She would probably be bored at that point anyway and just use me for parts. Not like the women at the front of the crowd. I shuttered to even imagine what she was going to do to them. "How is she even here?" the same voice asked in disbelief.'
The crowd went silent again as the girl herself appeared. After minutes of terrified anticipation, it was almost disappointing. There was none of the perfect blond ringlets and cheerful smiles the news reports had shown sporadically the last few years. Her hair had been cut short into a messy bob, the ends ragged and uneven as if she had done it herself. She was certainly not smiling, her mouth was set into a hard line. Instead of the eerily intent gaze she had before, her blue eyes were vague and focused on the ground. The orange jumpsuit was baggy and pinned in places, many sizes too big for her. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked thinner and bonier than she had in any of the newsreels.
There was a very long moment while the crowd waited for her to act, for the blood to start flowing, for people to start dropping. Instead of stopping, addressing the crowd, or ending this charade and starting the slaughter her group had been named for, the girl kept walking, her eyes fixed on the pavement in front of her. The crowd parted noiselessly before her as she moved across the yard. No one dared to speak, in fear that it would earn them her attention.
My mind was filled with the guard's last question, endlessly repeating. How was she even here? The prison was designed to hold capes, of course, though most of us were just normal violent offenders. But people like her, like her little 'family,' they weren't the kind of capes you put in prison. Any prison. They were the kind of person you killed on sight and got hundreds of thousand dollars bounty and a pat on the back from the government for making the world a better place.
She didn't look like a killer. She looked like the kind of pathetic, obviously abused homeless girl you saw all the time in the bad cities, especially after the Morning. Or maybe she looked more like a killer now? I knew from experience, it was all too easy to go from broken teenager to violent criminal if you fell in with the wrong group, or made a friend with the wrong sort of power. That was always what had been so unsettling about her. You expected people like Grahm or the clown to join the Nine. But a cute little white girl who looked like she had been ripped straight from a family-friendly sitcom? In a way it was easier to believe someone that looked like she did now had done what she had done. Even with all the changes, though, her rosy young face was still utterly recognizable.
"Bonesaw," I whispered and she stopped. I almost didn't realize that I was the one who had spoken. When I did, my hands found my mouth and I tried to shove the word back down my throat. It was too late. She had heard. Somehow, all the way across the yard, she had heard me whisper her name. I backed up until I was pressed tight against the wall.
She turned slowly to look at me, her eyes meeting mine. I sunk down to the ground as the crowd surged away from me. What was she going to do? Would I explode? Would she dissect me? Would I turn mindlessly on the other inmates in some sort of plague of blind violence? She had done all of them and worse before.
Instead she took a deep breath and said, "I prefer 'Riley.'" Her voice was clear over the complete silence of the yard. Then she turned to look back down at the ground and continued her walk over to a bench where she sat and did not move until it was time to return to our cells.
_____________________________________________________
Mostly written because of how many people mentioned Bonesaw without there being an actually story featuring her. For those interested, Bonesaw is a character from the mind-blowing webserial [Worm](https://parahumans.wordpress.com/).
|
The holding cell was small enough for the four of us, but Terrance had heard whispers that a fifth was on their way. Regardless of what we said in court, we'd all done something to earn our way here. I didn't know what the other men's crimes were, and quite frankly, I didn't care to. This facility was for especially violent criminals, it made prison look like a damn day at the spa.
I won't say I was innocent, because I definitely wasn't. But I hadn't meant for things to go the way they had... I hadn't known they'd show up with so much back up. There'd been so much blood... at the very least, I took grim satisfaction in the fact that none of the blood had been mine, and so what if there was blood--lives--on my hands? The life of a man, even mine, was nothing compared to that of my daughter. And if we never met again? Well, she'd be a better woman without me.
"The new inmate is coming," Said Terrance, sitting down on a hard bench against one of the concrete walls. Everything about this place was hard--the walls, the people, the mattresses.
"What do you know about him?" I asked the other three men.
"All I know is that I heard the guards talking about him the other day... they said this inmate's got a past. That the other prisoner's he's been with have either killed themselves or confessed just to get away from him." A chill set over the holding cell at Janus' words.
This facility didn't hold tax evaders or petty theft. We were the big dogs. An inmate who could make other prisoners confess in fear? I eyed Janus. He was the biggest guy in the cell by far. Russian to the core, a he had a scar practically dividing his face from, he said, a man who "didn't try hard enough" to kill him.
From the hallway came the heavy shuffling of the guards' industrial-grade boots and the always eerie sound of clanking chains.
After what felt like a prison sentence by itself, they finally came into view.
In the center of the muscled mass of four guards was a girl. A little girl. Maybe 12. She didn't have the aura of the usual prisoners--beaten down and depressed. Instead, she bounced on the balls of her feet, her long dark hair, split into pigtails, skipping on her shoulders. Her prison-issued tunic and pants were the kind of drab everything in this hellhole was, and though our garb was spotted with conspicuous sweat stains and the odd food spillage, hers was spotless but for a two mishappen rust-colored patches on knees--like she'd been kneeling in blood.
Her skin was sallow, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days, if not weeks, but her eyes were the same warm brown as my daughter's, and they danced all over our small cell. She was as delicate as a bird, all joints and sharp angles with a sharp intelligence behind her eyes.
"That's cruel," I murmured to the guard.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, "I agree. I guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
Not for the first time that day, I felt shivers crawl up my spine.
With a hasty shove, the guards pushed the girl into our holding cell. We all gave her a wide berth as she approached one of the lower bunks. With a hop, she found herself sitting cross-legged in its center, her slight weight not even bowing the mattress.
It was Janus who broke first. Maybe he had a little girl at home, maybe he had a sliver of humanity left in him, I don't know. He knelt before her, not touching her, and said, "You're going to be okay, little bird."
What she said next would be the end of all of us, the word spilling from her lips easily--if only we'd known it wouldn't stop.
The girl tilted her head, locking eyes with Janus, and said, "Why?"
--
The girl has been with us for two weeks. I guess I shouldn't say "us" anymore. I'm the only one left. I wish I'd realized her eyes were nothing like my sweet daughter's, no, this demon's eyes were endless holes leading to hell itself. I wanted to say I'd lasted this long by thinking of my family, staying strong for them, but the reality of it is that I'd lasted this long because of the cotton pillow filling stuffed into my ears.
Ever since Janus had first spoken to her, the girl hadn't stopped speaking. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd said coherent sentences, but the only word she spoke was "Why." Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, but it was always coming--in response to anything from if she was hungry to the utter silence of the holding cell.
Janus was the first to go. He killed himself in the night. He knew that even if he confessed, he'd forever be stuck in this prison, no jury in heaven or hell would set him back into the world. His death was the worst. Until the day I day, I will never forget the sound of a human skull willingly being struck onto concrete.
Next were Terrance and Peter. They confessed to everything. For Terrance, his death was inevitable, he told us as he willingly went into the guards' arms that he'd take the chair over the girl any day.
Now it just was me and the litte bird girl. With the stuffing in my ears it wasn't so bad. My arraignment was only a month away, if I could last until then... maybe I'd stand a chance at being placed in a different cell, at the very least.
---
Tears streamed down my face as the guards walked me back to the cell shared by the little bird. I'd pled guilty. I had cried, begged, and screamed to be placed anywhere but here. Hell would be a respite. I'd been denied.
"No one has ever lasted as long as you... and based on your crimes," The judge had shrugged here. "Last two years, maybe one, if you behave, and this will have been sentence enough."
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
We had all seen her come in, and none of us had believed it. It was surreal, this little girl in with all of these gnarled old prisoners. When I asked a guard and he'd said no one cared what happened to us, I almost laughed in his face.
But I want laughing anymore.
This first couple days had been mostly normal, except everyone gave her a wide berth. But night 3, her cellmate hung himself.
This shocked all of us, but we knew Jack had been losing his grip for weeks so we all shrugged it off. Next night, the new cellmate hung himself. He'd only been here a couple weeks and seemed to have his shit together. His death raised eyebrows.
Over the next two weeks, another 8 inmates committed suicide, always the first or second night as her cellmate. One guy made it 3 nights before he had to be dragged out in a straight jacket, babbling nonsensically with a crazed look in his eyes.
And here I stood looking into her cell, ever the picture of childlike innocence. Gap-toothed but beaming smile, adorable blond pigtails, feet swinging lazily over the edge of the bed. It was like a dream, or a horror movie.
"You gotta go in Mack." There was a gentle push of a nightstick in my back.
"Guess I do, don't I" and I stepped in as the door clanged shut behind me.
I lay my few personal effects on the bunk and sat down. Her feet began swinging faster overhead and thumping against the steel frame.
**"Could you please... not do that?"**
*Why?*
**Umm, I don't know. It's just kinda repetitive and annoying**
*What's repetitive?*
**It's, like, something that happens over and over again**
*Oh, like how a faucet goes drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip-*
**YES** I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes **Exactly like that**
We sat in silence for a few minutes as she hummed softly to herself.
*What's your name?*
**Mark, but everyone calls me Mack**
*Like the cheeseburger?*
**What?! No, not like the... Sure, kid. Like the cheeseburger.**
*That's really silly* she giggled histerically.
After she settled down, the interrogation began anew.
*Where are you from?*
**Boston**
*Where's that?*
**On the East Coast**
*What's a coast?*
I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists, surprised I hadn't realized they'd tightened in the first place.
**It's the edge of a country where it says water, like an ocean or a lake**
*Oh, cool. Thanks Mack*
**Sure kid, no problem**
The buzzer sounded, and the lights began to snap off along the cell block until only a few dim "night lights" remained. The block was would quiet for several seconds.
*Why is it dark?*
**Because it's bedtime.**
*Why?*
**Because it's the end of the day.**
*But why are some lights still on?*
**Because some people are afraid of the dark.**
*Why?*
Sigh
**Lots of reasons. It's time to be quiet and go to sleep**
*Will you tell me a story?*
**No.**
*Why not?*
**Because it's too late and I'm tired.**
*Please?*
**No.**
*PLEASE!*
**Not tonight, kid, geez!**
*Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please-*
From up the block a guard bellowed "shut the hell up!"
*Ooooh, he said a bad word*
Silence reigned, finally. Alone with my thoughts, a realization dawned on me. I was stuck here. With her. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Suddenly I want tired. So I could hear was her small voice, questioning everything ceaselessly.
*Mack?*
**What, kid?**
*I'm thirsty*
|
The holding cell was small enough for the four of us, but Terrance had heard whispers that a fifth was on their way. Regardless of what we said in court, we'd all done something to earn our way here. I didn't know what the other men's crimes were, and quite frankly, I didn't care to. This facility was for especially violent criminals, it made prison look like a damn day at the spa.
I won't say I was innocent, because I definitely wasn't. But I hadn't meant for things to go the way they had... I hadn't known they'd show up with so much back up. There'd been so much blood... at the very least, I took grim satisfaction in the fact that none of the blood had been mine, and so what if there was blood--lives--on my hands? The life of a man, even mine, was nothing compared to that of my daughter. And if we never met again? Well, she'd be a better woman without me.
"The new inmate is coming," Said Terrance, sitting down on a hard bench against one of the concrete walls. Everything about this place was hard--the walls, the people, the mattresses.
"What do you know about him?" I asked the other three men.
"All I know is that I heard the guards talking about him the other day... they said this inmate's got a past. That the other prisoner's he's been with have either killed themselves or confessed just to get away from him." A chill set over the holding cell at Janus' words.
This facility didn't hold tax evaders or petty theft. We were the big dogs. An inmate who could make other prisoners confess in fear? I eyed Janus. He was the biggest guy in the cell by far. Russian to the core, a he had a scar practically dividing his face from, he said, a man who "didn't try hard enough" to kill him.
From the hallway came the heavy shuffling of the guards' industrial-grade boots and the always eerie sound of clanking chains.
After what felt like a prison sentence by itself, they finally came into view.
In the center of the muscled mass of four guards was a girl. A little girl. Maybe 12. She didn't have the aura of the usual prisoners--beaten down and depressed. Instead, she bounced on the balls of her feet, her long dark hair, split into pigtails, skipping on her shoulders. Her prison-issued tunic and pants were the kind of drab everything in this hellhole was, and though our garb was spotted with conspicuous sweat stains and the odd food spillage, hers was spotless but for a two mishappen rust-colored patches on knees--like she'd been kneeling in blood.
Her skin was sallow, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days, if not weeks, but her eyes were the same warm brown as my daughter's, and they danced all over our small cell. She was as delicate as a bird, all joints and sharp angles with a sharp intelligence behind her eyes.
"That's cruel," I murmured to the guard.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, "I agree. I guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
Not for the first time that day, I felt shivers crawl up my spine.
With a hasty shove, the guards pushed the girl into our holding cell. We all gave her a wide berth as she approached one of the lower bunks. With a hop, she found herself sitting cross-legged in its center, her slight weight not even bowing the mattress.
It was Janus who broke first. Maybe he had a little girl at home, maybe he had a sliver of humanity left in him, I don't know. He knelt before her, not touching her, and said, "You're going to be okay, little bird."
What she said next would be the end of all of us, the word spilling from her lips easily--if only we'd known it wouldn't stop.
The girl tilted her head, locking eyes with Janus, and said, "Why?"
--
The girl has been with us for two weeks. I guess I shouldn't say "us" anymore. I'm the only one left. I wish I'd realized her eyes were nothing like my sweet daughter's, no, this demon's eyes were endless holes leading to hell itself. I wanted to say I'd lasted this long by thinking of my family, staying strong for them, but the reality of it is that I'd lasted this long because of the cotton pillow filling stuffed into my ears.
Ever since Janus had first spoken to her, the girl hadn't stopped speaking. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd said coherent sentences, but the only word she spoke was "Why." Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, but it was always coming--in response to anything from if she was hungry to the utter silence of the holding cell.
Janus was the first to go. He killed himself in the night. He knew that even if he confessed, he'd forever be stuck in this prison, no jury in heaven or hell would set him back into the world. His death was the worst. Until the day I day, I will never forget the sound of a human skull willingly being struck onto concrete.
Next were Terrance and Peter. They confessed to everything. For Terrance, his death was inevitable, he told us as he willingly went into the guards' arms that he'd take the chair over the girl any day.
Now it just was me and the litte bird girl. With the stuffing in my ears it wasn't so bad. My arraignment was only a month away, if I could last until then... maybe I'd stand a chance at being placed in a different cell, at the very least.
---
Tears streamed down my face as the guards walked me back to the cell shared by the little bird. I'd pled guilty. I had cried, begged, and screamed to be placed anywhere but here. Hell would be a respite. I'd been denied.
"No one has ever lasted as long as you... and based on your crimes," The judge had shrugged here. "Last two years, maybe one, if you behave, and this will have been sentence enough."
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Warning: Super long. Continued in comments.
---
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Senior Officer Ross just shakes his head. He was the officer who knew all the dirty secrets about the prisoners - who was lying about what they're in for, who was on track for getting time off for good behaviour, and who was making enemies with who. He knew everything that went on in this prison, and he was annoyingly tight-lipped about it.
"That's confidential," he said for the thousandth time since we met. "Just stay away from her."
That line was used often too, but usually about full grown men with tattoos, not little girls no older than 7. Most of us have been in here since before she was born. She looked absolutely terrified. We'd usually be jumping at the bars to spook the new meat, or taking bets on who would cry first, but nobody was yelling, or laughing, or jeering.
"She shows up right as you're going on vacation. Who's gonna keep tabs on her?" I say, leaning on my bars. That would have made other officers nervous, but everybody liked Ross. Even the psychos and the Aryans. He leaned back on the wall.
"Hell if I know. I sure as hell don't trust any of these chucklefucks to do it."
Chainz snorts from the cell beside me. "Nobody's gonna touch her. Not after Father Porker." Father Porker was the nickname we'd given to the fat Youth Camp Counselor who got thrown in here for "losing" four little campers over 15 years in the forest. He wasn't technically a man of the cloth, but nobody here cared. He left here in plastic after 16 hours, beating our previous record by about 90 minutes.
"That ain't what I'm worried about," grunts Ross as he lifts his old bones off the wall, and walks away.
---
It isn't until yard time in the afternoon that I see the girl again. They schedule us pretty rigidly to keep us in line, and we're only ever in small groups. All the other inmates steer clear of her as she crouches next to the wall playing with a handful of sand. Nobody really know how to deal with a kid being in here, especially not knowing why she's here in the first place. A butterfly wanders near her, and she watches it intently, showing the closest thing to a smile I've seen all day. All eyes are on her, almost expecting her to grab it and eat it, or something similarly crazy that would explain why she's here, but it never happens. Once it flies away, the girl notices that everyone is staring at her, and her smile vanishes instantly, replaced with fear. I look away, a little ashamed to have scared her.
---
The only other time I see her is in the library after dinner. She's flipping through books obviously too advanced for her. There were some easy books for inmates learning to read, and 2 or 3 Harry Potters, but nothing that she could ever hope to read on her own. Chainz is also in here, looking at book covers he can't read.
"She looks so sad over there." I say. Chainz drags a chair over to the tiny table I'm at and sits.
"Ain't nothin' to do for a kid in here."
"She should be climbing on monkey bars and watching Barney, not locked in here with a bunch of monsters and freaks."
"Nah," says Chainz, examining the back of a battered copy of Stephen King's It. "It's all about The Wiggles now."
I roll my eyes. "And what the fuck do you know?" I whack the book with the back of my hand, and grin. "The Wiggles."
I hear a voice behind us. "Paw Patrol." Chainz and I practically jump out of our skins. We turn around in our chairs and see Al - another inmate, and the volunteer librarian.
"The children like Paw Patrol." Al reiterates in his monotone voice.
"Uh... right." I say. He adjusts his glasses and continues pushing his cart down the aisle.
Chainz and I wait a moment before looking at each other. We're thinking the same thing. "Dude fuckin' creeps me out." Says Chainz.
Al was a high school teacher for about 20 years before he came to max. He had killed 4 police officers and 13 colleagues with a homemade pipebomb at a typical teacher's strike. The cops weren't even there because of a disturbance or anything, they were just having a chat. The teachers offered them some coffee, and he just lobbed it into the crowd like it was nothing. That's what the news said, anyway. I just wondered how long he'd been carrying it, and how long he was waiting for an excuse to use it.
---
It's been three days since the girl showed up, and she doesn't seem any more used to being here. Part of me hoped she never did. She spends her yard time in the same spot by the wall with a handful of sand, shrinking from anyone who approaches. Her cell isn't near mine, but word is she cries quietly every night. The psychos are taking bets on who calls for a guard to get HER out of here. I'd call it a clever bet if it weren't so sad.
I sigh, and walk toward her. She's got her head between her knees, looking straight down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. People are still watching her, and she's probably trying to pretend they're not there. I sit down against the wall about 3 feet away from her.
"Hey kid." She jumps at the sound of my voice. She obviously didn't hear me coming. She doesn't say anything, and I don't know what else to say. I break eye contact, and look forward. No one's looking my way, except her. About a minute passes.
"Are you a bad man?" She asks. I don't want to answer yes, but I can't really answer no.
"Well, I'm in here." I regret it immediately. The girl looks down. SHE'S in here, too. "I'm not bad, I just did a bad thing."
"What did you do?" She asks.
"I... don't really want to say."
"I don't want to say either." She waits a moment. "Did you hurt someone?"
"Yeah." I pause. "Did you?"
"No."
I have more questions than I started with, but none I feel like I should ask. Besides...
"What's your name?"
"Alice. What's your name?"
"Desmond." I try to think of something else to say. Something normal to say to a 2nd grader. "Do you want to be friends?"
She turns her head, and looks at me through the corner of her eye. "Yes." She says shyly. I can't help but smile.
"Alright Alice. You're my friend now, so if anyone bullies you, you tell me and I'll stop them."
"Okay."
---
I enter the library later that day, and see Al sitting next to Alice, reading aloud from a thin book. I pull a chair up to where Chainz is already sitting, and sit.
"What's that about?" I jerk my head in their direction.
"He was a teacher. Creeps me the fuck out, but if anyone should be teaching her to read, it's probably Al."
"I guess."
---
Five days after Alice's arrival, the atmosphere seems to have gone back to normal. A fistfight breaks out in the laundry room, and people curse loudly without apologizing. Alice seems to have come out of her shell a little bit. She sits right next to me in the yard, and talks to me freely.
"Did you have a good lunch?" I ask. The food here is pretty bad, but kids like her wouldn't know any better.
"Uh huh. Mr Rob gave me his jello." I never really interact with Rob, but I'm glad there's someone else in here looking out for this kid.
"That was nice of him."
Alice picks up a handful of sand like she usually does, and pours it out onto my leg. I feign offense. "Did you just *sand* me?" She giggles. "Don't you *SAND* me!"
A couple of people look over as I raise my voice jokingly, but go back to their business after a second. Alice brushes the sand off my lap, then wipes her hands on her own jumpsuit. They're still filthy. I have a thought, and start to worry.
"Alice," I start, unsure how to phrase the question. "When... What do you do for showers?" She stops what she's doing, and looks up at me.
"Officer John takes me before dinner when no one else is there. That room is so big and empty. It was embarrassing at first, but it's okay now."
I let out a little sigh of relief. I was worried for a second she was forced to go with one of the groups.
She *sands* me again.
---
In the library that evening I ignore whatever Chainz is babbling about, and watch Alice and Al. She's sitting on his lap tonight. He doesn't seem overly touchy or anything, but he still gives me the creeps.
About half an hour in, Alice's head starts nodding. Al notices her dozing off, and lifts the book he's reading to her off the table. She puts her head down in the space, and Al looks around, a little unsure of what to do.
After about a minute, Officer John walks by, and eyes Al.
"She... has fallen asleep." Says Al awkwardly. Officer John walks over and picks her up gently, carrying her out the door and presumably to her cell.
---
Con't in comments. There's still a lot to go.
|
The holding cell was small enough for the four of us, but Terrance had heard whispers that a fifth was on their way. Regardless of what we said in court, we'd all done something to earn our way here. I didn't know what the other men's crimes were, and quite frankly, I didn't care to. This facility was for especially violent criminals, it made prison look like a damn day at the spa.
I won't say I was innocent, because I definitely wasn't. But I hadn't meant for things to go the way they had... I hadn't known they'd show up with so much back up. There'd been so much blood... at the very least, I took grim satisfaction in the fact that none of the blood had been mine, and so what if there was blood--lives--on my hands? The life of a man, even mine, was nothing compared to that of my daughter. And if we never met again? Well, she'd be a better woman without me.
"The new inmate is coming," Said Terrance, sitting down on a hard bench against one of the concrete walls. Everything about this place was hard--the walls, the people, the mattresses.
"What do you know about him?" I asked the other three men.
"All I know is that I heard the guards talking about him the other day... they said this inmate's got a past. That the other prisoner's he's been with have either killed themselves or confessed just to get away from him." A chill set over the holding cell at Janus' words.
This facility didn't hold tax evaders or petty theft. We were the big dogs. An inmate who could make other prisoners confess in fear? I eyed Janus. He was the biggest guy in the cell by far. Russian to the core, a he had a scar practically dividing his face from, he said, a man who "didn't try hard enough" to kill him.
From the hallway came the heavy shuffling of the guards' industrial-grade boots and the always eerie sound of clanking chains.
After what felt like a prison sentence by itself, they finally came into view.
In the center of the muscled mass of four guards was a girl. A little girl. Maybe 12. She didn't have the aura of the usual prisoners--beaten down and depressed. Instead, she bounced on the balls of her feet, her long dark hair, split into pigtails, skipping on her shoulders. Her prison-issued tunic and pants were the kind of drab everything in this hellhole was, and though our garb was spotted with conspicuous sweat stains and the odd food spillage, hers was spotless but for a two mishappen rust-colored patches on knees--like she'd been kneeling in blood.
Her skin was sallow, like she hadn't seen sunlight in days, if not weeks, but her eyes were the same warm brown as my daughter's, and they danced all over our small cell. She was as delicate as a bird, all joints and sharp angles with a sharp intelligence behind her eyes.
"That's cruel," I murmured to the guard.
His eyes flicked up to meet mine, "I agree. I guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
Not for the first time that day, I felt shivers crawl up my spine.
With a hasty shove, the guards pushed the girl into our holding cell. We all gave her a wide berth as she approached one of the lower bunks. With a hop, she found herself sitting cross-legged in its center, her slight weight not even bowing the mattress.
It was Janus who broke first. Maybe he had a little girl at home, maybe he had a sliver of humanity left in him, I don't know. He knelt before her, not touching her, and said, "You're going to be okay, little bird."
What she said next would be the end of all of us, the word spilling from her lips easily--if only we'd known it wouldn't stop.
The girl tilted her head, locking eyes with Janus, and said, "Why?"
--
The girl has been with us for two weeks. I guess I shouldn't say "us" anymore. I'm the only one left. I wish I'd realized her eyes were nothing like my sweet daughter's, no, this demon's eyes were endless holes leading to hell itself. I wanted to say I'd lasted this long by thinking of my family, staying strong for them, but the reality of it is that I'd lasted this long because of the cotton pillow filling stuffed into my ears.
Ever since Janus had first spoken to her, the girl hadn't stopped speaking. Maybe it wouldn't have been so bad if she'd said coherent sentences, but the only word she spoke was "Why." Sometimes whispered, sometimes screamed, but it was always coming--in response to anything from if she was hungry to the utter silence of the holding cell.
Janus was the first to go. He killed himself in the night. He knew that even if he confessed, he'd forever be stuck in this prison, no jury in heaven or hell would set him back into the world. His death was the worst. Until the day I day, I will never forget the sound of a human skull willingly being struck onto concrete.
Next were Terrance and Peter. They confessed to everything. For Terrance, his death was inevitable, he told us as he willingly went into the guards' arms that he'd take the chair over the girl any day.
Now it just was me and the litte bird girl. With the stuffing in my ears it wasn't so bad. My arraignment was only a month away, if I could last until then... maybe I'd stand a chance at being placed in a different cell, at the very least.
---
Tears streamed down my face as the guards walked me back to the cell shared by the little bird. I'd pled guilty. I had cried, begged, and screamed to be placed anywhere but here. Hell would be a respite. I'd been denied.
"No one has ever lasted as long as you... and based on your crimes," The judge had shrugged here. "Last two years, maybe one, if you behave, and this will have been sentence enough."
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Nearly everyone had come to watch her as she was admitted. She was kept separate from the other inmates, with a transport entirely to herself loaded with special countermeasures. There was a morbid kind of silence over the yard as she was brought in, the kind that came from knowing we had all been sentenced to death.
"This is cruel," I muttered, horrified. I was not the only one speaking. A wave of whispers was traveling through the crowd. All of our hearts thudded in our chests. Any minute now and the bloodbath would start. Had it already started? With her, there was no way to be sure until it was too late.
"They don't care what happens to the rest of us," someone nearby said. One of the guards, I think. I'd done my best to keep myself against one of the walls - maybe if I were lucky she'd get to me last? She would probably be bored at that point anyway and just use me for parts. Not like the women at the front of the crowd. I shuttered to even imagine what she was going to do to them. "How is she even here?" the same voice asked in disbelief.'
The crowd went silent again as the girl herself appeared. After minutes of terrified anticipation, it was almost disappointing. There was none of the perfect blond ringlets and cheerful smiles the news reports had shown sporadically the last few years. Her hair had been cut short into a messy bob, the ends ragged and uneven as if she had done it herself. She was certainly not smiling, her mouth was set into a hard line. Instead of the eerily intent gaze she had before, her blue eyes were vague and focused on the ground. The orange jumpsuit was baggy and pinned in places, many sizes too big for her. She had dark circles under her eyes and looked thinner and bonier than she had in any of the newsreels.
There was a very long moment while the crowd waited for her to act, for the blood to start flowing, for people to start dropping. Instead of stopping, addressing the crowd, or ending this charade and starting the slaughter her group had been named for, the girl kept walking, her eyes fixed on the pavement in front of her. The crowd parted noiselessly before her as she moved across the yard. No one dared to speak, in fear that it would earn them her attention.
My mind was filled with the guard's last question, endlessly repeating. How was she even here? The prison was designed to hold capes, of course, though most of us were just normal violent offenders. But people like her, like her little 'family,' they weren't the kind of capes you put in prison. Any prison. They were the kind of person you killed on sight and got hundreds of thousand dollars bounty and a pat on the back from the government for making the world a better place.
She didn't look like a killer. She looked like the kind of pathetic, obviously abused homeless girl you saw all the time in the bad cities, especially after the Morning. Or maybe she looked more like a killer now? I knew from experience, it was all too easy to go from broken teenager to violent criminal if you fell in with the wrong group, or made a friend with the wrong sort of power. That was always what had been so unsettling about her. You expected people like Grahm or the clown to join the Nine. But a cute little white girl who looked like she had been ripped straight from a family-friendly sitcom? In a way it was easier to believe someone that looked like she did now had done what she had done. Even with all the changes, though, her rosy young face was still utterly recognizable.
"Bonesaw," I whispered and she stopped. I almost didn't realize that I was the one who had spoken. When I did, my hands found my mouth and I tried to shove the word back down my throat. It was too late. She had heard. Somehow, all the way across the yard, she had heard me whisper her name. I backed up until I was pressed tight against the wall.
She turned slowly to look at me, her eyes meeting mine. I sunk down to the ground as the crowd surged away from me. What was she going to do? Would I explode? Would she dissect me? Would I turn mindlessly on the other inmates in some sort of plague of blind violence? She had done all of them and worse before.
Instead she took a deep breath and said, "I prefer 'Riley.'" Her voice was clear over the complete silence of the yard. Then she turned to look back down at the ground and continued her walk over to a bench where she sat and did not move until it was time to return to our cells.
_____________________________________________________
Mostly written because of how many people mentioned Bonesaw without there being an actually story featuring her. For those interested, Bonesaw is a character from the mind-blowing webserial [Worm](https://parahumans.wordpress.com/).
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ACCESSING DATABASE...
DATA BASE ACCESSED INPUT SECURITY CREDENTIALS...
OMEGA EPSILON SECURITY CLEARANCE RECOGNIZED PULLING EVENT LOG: INCIDENT A39 HALCYON...
[ *The following is the interview log of prisoner D2758, one of the survivors of incident A39 Halcyon. Accessing, transferring, or disseminating this information without proper clearance is punishable by immediate termination* ]
Interviewer: Please state your prisoner number and reason for incarceration.
D2758: Prisoner number D2578, incarcerated at [REDACTED] enhanced containment center on 7 counts of espionage, 4 counts of assassination of a political figure, 1 count of being an unshackled AMP.
Interviewer: Please state your AMP designation for the record.
D2758: B29 Vitriol.
Interviewer: Please state the events of 1/X/XXXX as clearly as you can remember them beging with that morning if you can.
D2758: It started off as a normal day in the AMP wing, guards seemed a little on edge but that's what happens when you watch over a bunch of atrocities for a living. Then they brought "her" in.
Interviewer: You mean A39 Halcyon?
D2758: Yes. She was small, no more that 4 1/2 feet tall, short hair, small frame, hunched posture, like she was trying to hide her face. At first I thought it was a joke or maybe another mind fuck to try and get us to snap. After all why the hell would anyone put a kid in a place like this. I looked over at one of the guards and he had this....look on his face like he felt sorry.
Interviewer: For A39?
D2578: For us, didn't take long to figure out why.
Interviewer: What happened next.
D2578: ( *four second delay in response followed by a one second spike in local [REDACTED] levels. After spike subsides D2578 begins to speak* ) Sorry, it...it's been touchy lately. They didn't even get that thing to its cell before it went berserk. I remember the guard that was closest to her, the whole right side of his body was just gone, not ripped off, not crushed, just like it was never even there. The way she took down those guards, at least 3 she didn't even touch. And it wasn't just guards, R35, L22, G106, all of them, dead. And R35 wasn't a pushover.
Interviewer: What were you doing the incident?
D2578:I hid. Or at least I tried to, I was built to kill sure but not in a stand up fight. Last thing I remember was screaming followed by a flash of purple-ish light and the next thing I knew my [REDACTED] kicked back on and revived me. I tired to [REDACTED] but fortunately I was gone. I surrendered to your recovery team and they brought me here.
Interviewer: Thank you D2578 that will be all.
[END LOG]
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
We had all seen her come in, and none of us had believed it. It was surreal, this little girl in with all of these gnarled old prisoners. When I asked a guard and he'd said no one cared what happened to us, I almost laughed in his face.
But I want laughing anymore.
This first couple days had been mostly normal, except everyone gave her a wide berth. But night 3, her cellmate hung himself.
This shocked all of us, but we knew Jack had been losing his grip for weeks so we all shrugged it off. Next night, the new cellmate hung himself. He'd only been here a couple weeks and seemed to have his shit together. His death raised eyebrows.
Over the next two weeks, another 8 inmates committed suicide, always the first or second night as her cellmate. One guy made it 3 nights before he had to be dragged out in a straight jacket, babbling nonsensically with a crazed look in his eyes.
And here I stood looking into her cell, ever the picture of childlike innocence. Gap-toothed but beaming smile, adorable blond pigtails, feet swinging lazily over the edge of the bed. It was like a dream, or a horror movie.
"You gotta go in Mack." There was a gentle push of a nightstick in my back.
"Guess I do, don't I" and I stepped in as the door clanged shut behind me.
I lay my few personal effects on the bunk and sat down. Her feet began swinging faster overhead and thumping against the steel frame.
**"Could you please... not do that?"**
*Why?*
**Umm, I don't know. It's just kinda repetitive and annoying**
*What's repetitive?*
**It's, like, something that happens over and over again**
*Oh, like how a faucet goes drip drip drip drip drip drip drip drip-*
**YES** I took a deep breath and rubbed my eyes **Exactly like that**
We sat in silence for a few minutes as she hummed softly to herself.
*What's your name?*
**Mark, but everyone calls me Mack**
*Like the cheeseburger?*
**What?! No, not like the... Sure, kid. Like the cheeseburger.**
*That's really silly* she giggled histerically.
After she settled down, the interrogation began anew.
*Where are you from?*
**Boston**
*Where's that?*
**On the East Coast**
*What's a coast?*
I took a deep breath and unclenched my fists, surprised I hadn't realized they'd tightened in the first place.
**It's the edge of a country where it says water, like an ocean or a lake**
*Oh, cool. Thanks Mack*
**Sure kid, no problem**
The buzzer sounded, and the lights began to snap off along the cell block until only a few dim "night lights" remained. The block was would quiet for several seconds.
*Why is it dark?*
**Because it's bedtime.**
*Why?*
**Because it's the end of the day.**
*But why are some lights still on?*
**Because some people are afraid of the dark.**
*Why?*
Sigh
**Lots of reasons. It's time to be quiet and go to sleep**
*Will you tell me a story?*
**No.**
*Why not?*
**Because it's too late and I'm tired.**
*Please?*
**No.**
*PLEASE!*
**Not tonight, kid, geez!**
*Please please please please please please please please please please please please please please-*
From up the block a guard bellowed "shut the hell up!"
*Ooooh, he said a bad word*
Silence reigned, finally. Alone with my thoughts, a realization dawned on me. I was stuck here. With her. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. Suddenly I want tired. So I could hear was her small voice, questioning everything ceaselessly.
*Mack?*
**What, kid?**
*I'm thirsty*
|
ACCESSING DATABASE...
DATA BASE ACCESSED INPUT SECURITY CREDENTIALS...
OMEGA EPSILON SECURITY CLEARANCE RECOGNIZED PULLING EVENT LOG: INCIDENT A39 HALCYON...
[ *The following is the interview log of prisoner D2758, one of the survivors of incident A39 Halcyon. Accessing, transferring, or disseminating this information without proper clearance is punishable by immediate termination* ]
Interviewer: Please state your prisoner number and reason for incarceration.
D2758: Prisoner number D2578, incarcerated at [REDACTED] enhanced containment center on 7 counts of espionage, 4 counts of assassination of a political figure, 1 count of being an unshackled AMP.
Interviewer: Please state your AMP designation for the record.
D2758: B29 Vitriol.
Interviewer: Please state the events of 1/X/XXXX as clearly as you can remember them beging with that morning if you can.
D2758: It started off as a normal day in the AMP wing, guards seemed a little on edge but that's what happens when you watch over a bunch of atrocities for a living. Then they brought "her" in.
Interviewer: You mean A39 Halcyon?
D2758: Yes. She was small, no more that 4 1/2 feet tall, short hair, small frame, hunched posture, like she was trying to hide her face. At first I thought it was a joke or maybe another mind fuck to try and get us to snap. After all why the hell would anyone put a kid in a place like this. I looked over at one of the guards and he had this....look on his face like he felt sorry.
Interviewer: For A39?
D2578: For us, didn't take long to figure out why.
Interviewer: What happened next.
D2578: ( *four second delay in response followed by a one second spike in local [REDACTED] levels. After spike subsides D2578 begins to speak* ) Sorry, it...it's been touchy lately. They didn't even get that thing to its cell before it went berserk. I remember the guard that was closest to her, the whole right side of his body was just gone, not ripped off, not crushed, just like it was never even there. The way she took down those guards, at least 3 she didn't even touch. And it wasn't just guards, R35, L22, G106, all of them, dead. And R35 wasn't a pushover.
Interviewer: What were you doing the incident?
D2578:I hid. Or at least I tried to, I was built to kill sure but not in a stand up fight. Last thing I remember was screaming followed by a flash of purple-ish light and the next thing I knew my [REDACTED] kicked back on and revived me. I tired to [REDACTED] but fortunately I was gone. I surrendered to your recovery team and they brought me here.
Interviewer: Thank you D2578 that will be all.
[END LOG]
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Warning: Super long. Continued in comments.
---
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Senior Officer Ross just shakes his head. He was the officer who knew all the dirty secrets about the prisoners - who was lying about what they're in for, who was on track for getting time off for good behaviour, and who was making enemies with who. He knew everything that went on in this prison, and he was annoyingly tight-lipped about it.
"That's confidential," he said for the thousandth time since we met. "Just stay away from her."
That line was used often too, but usually about full grown men with tattoos, not little girls no older than 7. Most of us have been in here since before she was born. She looked absolutely terrified. We'd usually be jumping at the bars to spook the new meat, or taking bets on who would cry first, but nobody was yelling, or laughing, or jeering.
"She shows up right as you're going on vacation. Who's gonna keep tabs on her?" I say, leaning on my bars. That would have made other officers nervous, but everybody liked Ross. Even the psychos and the Aryans. He leaned back on the wall.
"Hell if I know. I sure as hell don't trust any of these chucklefucks to do it."
Chainz snorts from the cell beside me. "Nobody's gonna touch her. Not after Father Porker." Father Porker was the nickname we'd given to the fat Youth Camp Counselor who got thrown in here for "losing" four little campers over 15 years in the forest. He wasn't technically a man of the cloth, but nobody here cared. He left here in plastic after 16 hours, beating our previous record by about 90 minutes.
"That ain't what I'm worried about," grunts Ross as he lifts his old bones off the wall, and walks away.
---
It isn't until yard time in the afternoon that I see the girl again. They schedule us pretty rigidly to keep us in line, and we're only ever in small groups. All the other inmates steer clear of her as she crouches next to the wall playing with a handful of sand. Nobody really know how to deal with a kid being in here, especially not knowing why she's here in the first place. A butterfly wanders near her, and she watches it intently, showing the closest thing to a smile I've seen all day. All eyes are on her, almost expecting her to grab it and eat it, or something similarly crazy that would explain why she's here, but it never happens. Once it flies away, the girl notices that everyone is staring at her, and her smile vanishes instantly, replaced with fear. I look away, a little ashamed to have scared her.
---
The only other time I see her is in the library after dinner. She's flipping through books obviously too advanced for her. There were some easy books for inmates learning to read, and 2 or 3 Harry Potters, but nothing that she could ever hope to read on her own. Chainz is also in here, looking at book covers he can't read.
"She looks so sad over there." I say. Chainz drags a chair over to the tiny table I'm at and sits.
"Ain't nothin' to do for a kid in here."
"She should be climbing on monkey bars and watching Barney, not locked in here with a bunch of monsters and freaks."
"Nah," says Chainz, examining the back of a battered copy of Stephen King's It. "It's all about The Wiggles now."
I roll my eyes. "And what the fuck do you know?" I whack the book with the back of my hand, and grin. "The Wiggles."
I hear a voice behind us. "Paw Patrol." Chainz and I practically jump out of our skins. We turn around in our chairs and see Al - another inmate, and the volunteer librarian.
"The children like Paw Patrol." Al reiterates in his monotone voice.
"Uh... right." I say. He adjusts his glasses and continues pushing his cart down the aisle.
Chainz and I wait a moment before looking at each other. We're thinking the same thing. "Dude fuckin' creeps me out." Says Chainz.
Al was a high school teacher for about 20 years before he came to max. He had killed 4 police officers and 13 colleagues with a homemade pipebomb at a typical teacher's strike. The cops weren't even there because of a disturbance or anything, they were just having a chat. The teachers offered them some coffee, and he just lobbed it into the crowd like it was nothing. That's what the news said, anyway. I just wondered how long he'd been carrying it, and how long he was waiting for an excuse to use it.
---
It's been three days since the girl showed up, and she doesn't seem any more used to being here. Part of me hoped she never did. She spends her yard time in the same spot by the wall with a handful of sand, shrinking from anyone who approaches. Her cell isn't near mine, but word is she cries quietly every night. The psychos are taking bets on who calls for a guard to get HER out of here. I'd call it a clever bet if it weren't so sad.
I sigh, and walk toward her. She's got her head between her knees, looking straight down to avoid making eye contact with anyone. People are still watching her, and she's probably trying to pretend they're not there. I sit down against the wall about 3 feet away from her.
"Hey kid." She jumps at the sound of my voice. She obviously didn't hear me coming. She doesn't say anything, and I don't know what else to say. I break eye contact, and look forward. No one's looking my way, except her. About a minute passes.
"Are you a bad man?" She asks. I don't want to answer yes, but I can't really answer no.
"Well, I'm in here." I regret it immediately. The girl looks down. SHE'S in here, too. "I'm not bad, I just did a bad thing."
"What did you do?" She asks.
"I... don't really want to say."
"I don't want to say either." She waits a moment. "Did you hurt someone?"
"Yeah." I pause. "Did you?"
"No."
I have more questions than I started with, but none I feel like I should ask. Besides...
"What's your name?"
"Alice. What's your name?"
"Desmond." I try to think of something else to say. Something normal to say to a 2nd grader. "Do you want to be friends?"
She turns her head, and looks at me through the corner of her eye. "Yes." She says shyly. I can't help but smile.
"Alright Alice. You're my friend now, so if anyone bullies you, you tell me and I'll stop them."
"Okay."
---
I enter the library later that day, and see Al sitting next to Alice, reading aloud from a thin book. I pull a chair up to where Chainz is already sitting, and sit.
"What's that about?" I jerk my head in their direction.
"He was a teacher. Creeps me the fuck out, but if anyone should be teaching her to read, it's probably Al."
"I guess."
---
Five days after Alice's arrival, the atmosphere seems to have gone back to normal. A fistfight breaks out in the laundry room, and people curse loudly without apologizing. Alice seems to have come out of her shell a little bit. She sits right next to me in the yard, and talks to me freely.
"Did you have a good lunch?" I ask. The food here is pretty bad, but kids like her wouldn't know any better.
"Uh huh. Mr Rob gave me his jello." I never really interact with Rob, but I'm glad there's someone else in here looking out for this kid.
"That was nice of him."
Alice picks up a handful of sand like she usually does, and pours it out onto my leg. I feign offense. "Did you just *sand* me?" She giggles. "Don't you *SAND* me!"
A couple of people look over as I raise my voice jokingly, but go back to their business after a second. Alice brushes the sand off my lap, then wipes her hands on her own jumpsuit. They're still filthy. I have a thought, and start to worry.
"Alice," I start, unsure how to phrase the question. "When... What do you do for showers?" She stops what she's doing, and looks up at me.
"Officer John takes me before dinner when no one else is there. That room is so big and empty. It was embarrassing at first, but it's okay now."
I let out a little sigh of relief. I was worried for a second she was forced to go with one of the groups.
She *sands* me again.
---
In the library that evening I ignore whatever Chainz is babbling about, and watch Alice and Al. She's sitting on his lap tonight. He doesn't seem overly touchy or anything, but he still gives me the creeps.
About half an hour in, Alice's head starts nodding. Al notices her dozing off, and lifts the book he's reading to her off the table. She puts her head down in the space, and Al looks around, a little unsure of what to do.
After about a minute, Officer John walks by, and eyes Al.
"She... has fallen asleep." Says Al awkwardly. Officer John walks over and picks her up gently, carrying her out the door and presumably to her cell.
---
Con't in comments. There's still a lot to go.
|
ACCESSING DATABASE...
DATA BASE ACCESSED INPUT SECURITY CREDENTIALS...
OMEGA EPSILON SECURITY CLEARANCE RECOGNIZED PULLING EVENT LOG: INCIDENT A39 HALCYON...
[ *The following is the interview log of prisoner D2758, one of the survivors of incident A39 Halcyon. Accessing, transferring, or disseminating this information without proper clearance is punishable by immediate termination* ]
Interviewer: Please state your prisoner number and reason for incarceration.
D2758: Prisoner number D2578, incarcerated at [REDACTED] enhanced containment center on 7 counts of espionage, 4 counts of assassination of a political figure, 1 count of being an unshackled AMP.
Interviewer: Please state your AMP designation for the record.
D2758: B29 Vitriol.
Interviewer: Please state the events of 1/X/XXXX as clearly as you can remember them beging with that morning if you can.
D2758: It started off as a normal day in the AMP wing, guards seemed a little on edge but that's what happens when you watch over a bunch of atrocities for a living. Then they brought "her" in.
Interviewer: You mean A39 Halcyon?
D2758: Yes. She was small, no more that 4 1/2 feet tall, short hair, small frame, hunched posture, like she was trying to hide her face. At first I thought it was a joke or maybe another mind fuck to try and get us to snap. After all why the hell would anyone put a kid in a place like this. I looked over at one of the guards and he had this....look on his face like he felt sorry.
Interviewer: For A39?
D2578: For us, didn't take long to figure out why.
Interviewer: What happened next.
D2578: ( *four second delay in response followed by a one second spike in local [REDACTED] levels. After spike subsides D2578 begins to speak* ) Sorry, it...it's been touchy lately. They didn't even get that thing to its cell before it went berserk. I remember the guard that was closest to her, the whole right side of his body was just gone, not ripped off, not crushed, just like it was never even there. The way she took down those guards, at least 3 she didn't even touch. And it wasn't just guards, R35, L22, G106, all of them, dead. And R35 wasn't a pushover.
Interviewer: What were you doing the incident?
D2578:I hid. Or at least I tried to, I was built to kill sure but not in a stand up fight. Last thing I remember was screaming followed by a flash of purple-ish light and the next thing I knew my [REDACTED] kicked back on and revived me. I tired to [REDACTED] but fortunately I was gone. I surrendered to your recovery team and they brought me here.
Interviewer: Thank you D2578 that will be all.
[END LOG]
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Double taking, I glanced at the guard. Wondering when he was gonna drop the punch line.
"Is it April? It's April 1st isn't it!" I muttered quietly, knowing It wasn't, but asking anyways.
My mind just couldn't get a lock on this. It scrabbled for an explanation, but couldn't find one. This was something that just shouldn't be, an impossibility.
But there she was. A real live, pony tail wearing fragment of the impossible. Defying reason and being lead across the mess hall in a rediculously over sized jump suit and shackles, surrounded by no less than 8 guards in full riot gear.
*Jesus, What the hell did they think she was capable off!?*
I realised then just how quiet the place had gotten, how id forgotten to breath myself at some point.
Correctional officer Paterson seemed just as shaken, perhaps more so.
"We just had Christmas...." he whispered. "I... I thought they were joking!... This is...." He trailed off, shooting me a couple of quick glances, shaking his head in disbelief.
The insane procession below had made its way across the hall to the east security door by now and had just disapeared through it. The loud click and boom of the giant door sealing shut. echoeing in their wake, fracturing the silence, but not yet breaking it.
After a while, From across the room, senior officer Jenson wrapped his baton hard on one of the tables and called out
" let's go, you bunch of animals! Nothing else to see... Lunch is over in 15 and Danniel's wants those plates licked clean! Quit your day dreaming and get to it"
And like the bursting of a bubble, The room exploded. Cries ofAnger and disbelief mixing together with the clangs and crashes of plates and cups being banged or thrown. A few tables were flipped over and fights broke out.
That's the funny thing about prisons, i thought. There was still a delicate order at play. A silent understanding amongst the demons trapped here that defied all else.
As violent and evil as these souls were, however tough or what ever greivances they had. There were a few things that touched a nerve in even the coldest of hearts.
That little girl just shouldn't be here! This was wrong, there was a huge mistake here, someone needed to fix this!
So many of the inmates here had children on the outside. This little girl could be one of their daughters. I myself had a little girl somewhere, nodoubt sitting in class right now, learning her numbers.
"What just happened?" I asked Paterson, my mind finally recovering some traction.
"And what did you mean before? With the comment about them not caring about what happens to the rest of us?"
Paterson just stared mutely at the pandemonium below as though I'd not spoken at all.
"Paterson, what the hell! What the hell just happened! Who was that little girl!?"
He turned his eyes upon me and I could see the horror in them.
Holy mother of God, but he looked frightened!
This man dealt with the most dangerous people on the planet on a daily basis. Hell, i'd seen him stare down serial killers without flinching. Tackle the biggest and meanest bullies in this place as though they were nothing special. You needed nerves of steel to even consider working in a place like this. What could possibly be bad enough to warrant that haunted look in his eyes?
When at last he spoke, his tone was flat.
"I thought they were messing with me, they said they'd seen it on the news... But... It can't be..." Paterson, shook himself and seemed to regain his composure some.
"Look... I should get down there, its getting ugly..." He said, turning to leave.
"Paterson! Wait! Who was that girl?!" I demanded, the man's fear infecting me.
He stopped and said over his shoulder.
" They say she... She killed everyone at her school... 107 people!.. With her... with her bare hands...!" He trailed off for a moment as though stunned by his own words. How rediculous they sounded. He resumed again, his voice shaking
"They found her family, Torn apart...blood and parts everywhere... The family pets..."
He trailed off. Just standing their with his back to me.
"Bullshit!" I said, thinking that clearly he was pulling my leg. Wondering again when the punch line would fall.
"Ain't no way a little girl of what... 9 years old? Ain't no way a 9 year old little girl did any of that stuff... Stop messing with me and tell me what's going on!"
Paterson turned back to me but couldn't look me in the eyes.
"Didn't you recognise her?" He whispered.
I felt my blood freeze.
"What do you mean.... Recognise..."
Patterson's eyes met mine.
"She's your daughter, Mitchel. That little girl is your daughter!"
|
As it always happens the lights are all switched on all at once blinding everyone for a minute or so. There is no sunlight here and more often then not we can't even tell what time it is without the room clocks. We haven't had a new prisoner here in months considering the limited amount of criminals that are a violent as those contained here. We know we aren't getting released unless we are dead so new prisoners are always a treat.
After being rolled called and lined up the Boss Warden strolls in. Trailing him is a child. A child that already looks half dead, lumbering like someone who's been forced into a room for stretches of time. "that's cruel" I whisper to a guard. "I agree" and then he mumbles "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."Confused, I simply stare at the child rather unsure if it really beings here with us serial offenders.
When we turn to roll back into our hellhole pits line up in front of our doors waiting for them to slide open when we here a struggle happening between the guards and the child.
Eyes flashing all of the prisoners in the room tense up sensing the child's intent. Swiftly she sweeps the guard holding her slamming him into the ground. To the side of him now she grapples for his handcuff key and effortlessly unlocks her chains on her hands and ankles. Now she pops up quickly surmising an escape route in her mind but before she can dash off one of the other prisoners grabs onto her. I blink stunned to startled to move condition by this prison to not act unless given the order to do so. To stop it would only heighten the violence because her the usually don't hold you, they kill you. Right on time, we hear shots nail holes into space around the child's feet. It's holding a knife painted with blood, a knife I assumed she stole from the officer who was now also lying dead. Eyes glinting like marbles it stands up and runs straight at me.
Oh shit, are my final thoughts as I feel the blade slice through my abdomen.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
I couldn't believe that a little girl was put in with adult prisoners, even if she committed a serious crime. I mean, I'm no innocent, but I've still got standards. I watched as Adrianne Williams was escorted past my cell.
"What did she do?" I asked the guard.
"Hacked an old lady to death," he said. My eyes widened, and I searched my brain looking for a reason someone who wasn't even in their double digits would do that.
"Why?"
"Dunno. But she scared everybody at her trial. When she got the sentence, she threatened to dismember everyone in the courtroom."
"Wow."
"Yeah." I heard a cell door close. *How bad can she be?* I wondered.
During breakfast, I couldn't help but look at Adrianne. She was clad in a small orange jumpsuit, and ate the slop like she didn't have a care in the world. It was bizarre seeing a little girl act like this in a prison, even if she had been a homicidal maniac. What also struck me was how her entire table was empty besides her. I got up, but before I could walk anywhere, John Livingston grabbed my arm.
"What are you doing?"
"I was gonna go see Adrianne Williams."
"*Are you crazy*?" he whispered. "I talked to Morse, the guy who's cellmates with her, and he freaked out."
"He did? I didn't see it."
"It was quiet, but he was scared."
"Morse? Didn't he beat a guy to death with his bare hands?"
"That's why I remembered it. He didn't say what she told him, but if a guy like him could freak out over a 9-year-old, then I figured it's best not to talk about it." I looked at her once more, and she looked back. Her stare drilled into me, and I could see that if she had the chance, she would kill me. I sat back down, and I tried not to look, but curiosity got the better of me. When I looked up again, she pulled her finger across her neck, and mouthed, "You."
|
As it always happens the lights are all switched on all at once blinding everyone for a minute or so. There is no sunlight here and more often then not we can't even tell what time it is without the room clocks. We haven't had a new prisoner here in months considering the limited amount of criminals that are a violent as those contained here. We know we aren't getting released unless we are dead so new prisoners are always a treat.
After being rolled called and lined up the Boss Warden strolls in. Trailing him is a child. A child that already looks half dead, lumbering like someone who's been forced into a room for stretches of time. "that's cruel" I whisper to a guard. "I agree" and then he mumbles "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."Confused, I simply stare at the child rather unsure if it really beings here with us serial offenders.
When we turn to roll back into our hellhole pits line up in front of our doors waiting for them to slide open when we here a struggle happening between the guards and the child.
Eyes flashing all of the prisoners in the room tense up sensing the child's intent. Swiftly she sweeps the guard holding her slamming him into the ground. To the side of him now she grapples for his handcuff key and effortlessly unlocks her chains on her hands and ankles. Now she pops up quickly surmising an escape route in her mind but before she can dash off one of the other prisoners grabs onto her. I blink stunned to startled to move condition by this prison to not act unless given the order to do so. To stop it would only heighten the violence because her the usually don't hold you, they kill you. Right on time, we hear shots nail holes into space around the child's feet. It's holding a knife painted with blood, a knife I assumed she stole from the officer who was now also lying dead. Eyes glinting like marbles it stands up and runs straight at me.
Oh shit, are my final thoughts as I feel the blade slice through my abdomen.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
"Yeah, no kidding."
I took my usual seat in the prison cafeteria. Donny on my right, Marge on my left. Big Rhino, Tomfoolery, and Sampson in front of me. Six to a table. Prison life isn't so bad, we all get along pretty well here. Those of us who act tough do, at least. After all, no one wants to talk to those rude bastards who don't.
Looking at her made me want to vomit. Now, I've seen some terrifying shit but this took the cake. She had a frilly pink dress on, a sparkly princess lunch-box, and these big, adorable, sad eyes. What kind of disgusting freak dresses like that? The guards escorting her in were pale-faced and nervous as hell. Their tattooed faces were caked with tears, their bulky arms were shaking, and their green mohawks seemed to droop. Honestly, I felt bad for them. It's been a long time since our prison has seen someone this evil.
Don't get me wrong, I'm no average convict. None of us are. I'm in for mass-murder. I keep with my ilk, we call ourselves the Altruists. We kill with kindness; it's a heinous crime. Still though, I do my best to fit in. When I first got here, I was the nicest guy around. It got lonely, being on top. So I grew my hair out, tore off my sleeves, and filled my skin with ink. No one's afraid of me, but at least I have friends.
When that little girl approached our table, I had no idea what to do. She's just on a whole other level from me. Sure, I was a pretty nice guy once, but everything about her was just too much. I turned to Donny for advice, but he was gone. I realized then that my buddies had run away. All of them. It was just me, and this little girl.
"E-excuse me, mister? I'm really s-scared, can you, um, help me, pwease?"
That was the last thing I heard before I passed out.
|
As it always happens the lights are all switched on all at once blinding everyone for a minute or so. There is no sunlight here and more often then not we can't even tell what time it is without the room clocks. We haven't had a new prisoner here in months considering the limited amount of criminals that are a violent as those contained here. We know we aren't getting released unless we are dead so new prisoners are always a treat.
After being rolled called and lined up the Boss Warden strolls in. Trailing him is a child. A child that already looks half dead, lumbering like someone who's been forced into a room for stretches of time. "that's cruel" I whisper to a guard. "I agree" and then he mumbles "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."Confused, I simply stare at the child rather unsure if it really beings here with us serial offenders.
When we turn to roll back into our hellhole pits line up in front of our doors waiting for them to slide open when we here a struggle happening between the guards and the child.
Eyes flashing all of the prisoners in the room tense up sensing the child's intent. Swiftly she sweeps the guard holding her slamming him into the ground. To the side of him now she grapples for his handcuff key and effortlessly unlocks her chains on her hands and ankles. Now she pops up quickly surmising an escape route in her mind but before she can dash off one of the other prisoners grabs onto her. I blink stunned to startled to move condition by this prison to not act unless given the order to do so. To stop it would only heighten the violence because her the usually don't hold you, they kill you. Right on time, we hear shots nail holes into space around the child's feet. It's holding a knife painted with blood, a knife I assumed she stole from the officer who was now also lying dead. Eyes glinting like marbles it stands up and runs straight at me.
Oh shit, are my final thoughts as I feel the blade slice through my abdomen.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
The doors opened, and a little girl walked in.
They shut, the guards at the doors looked in, but didn't say anything, there was nothing to say. They knew what was coming, heard it from other guards, at other prisons. They couldn't stop it, no one could, but the judge said her sentence was to be carried out, so it would be, as much as it could be.
When the doors shut, the cafeteria went silent, even more silent than it usually was, dead silent. The men and women with their scars and missing limbs stared at the girl as she walked towards the food counter. She was short, barely came up to the knees of the shortest human. Three inches above the knee, as her people would say. Her ears were a bit pointy, and she definitely wasn't a child, her body proportions were that of an adult; a very short adult.
She hopped towards the food counter, humming as she wen, "hmm hmm hmm hm hm hm hm, la la la la de do da da", piled a heap of greasy meat onto a paper disk, and went to find a seat. She didn't notice the stares, didn't hear the silence, didn't care, she was too cute to care.
Killer, that wasn't his name, but it may as well have been. He was huge, over eight feet tall, and all muscle, he saw the little shit, heard her too, couldn't stand the humming. He crunched his hands into a fist, everybody else knew that wasn't good, they knew he'd pop her head off if she didn't stop. Knew, because he'd done it before, several times.
She stopped, on the other side of his table, hopped up onto the bench, slammed her food onto the table, and started chowing into it, loudly, while talking, with her mouth open, full of food, gravy dripping out of her mouth.
"Hi, I'm Zewwy, wh aw you?" Sluuuhuurp, his face deepens into a frown, turns red "wut happened to yo face, dat scaw wooks punny." He straitens up, tightens his muscles. Munch munch "Aw you oK?"
"La leee la leee la, whooOOOooo."
Wham, his fist shoots across the table, right into her gut, and sends her flying across the room into a wall. She didn't flinch from the hit, got stuck to the wall for a bit, then slides down, like she's used to it, she's angry, mad, furious, you can tell, because she's silent.
She walks to the food counter, climbs up onto it with practiced ease, picks up a food bin and sticks it upside down on her head, like a helmet, the food spills out all over her, makes a mess on the floor, she picks up a plastic rubberized serving spatula, it looks giant in her tiny hands, and starts to rant at the top of her lungs, aimed at the giant in the corner.
"WHY YOU WITTL FWEAK, WUT DA 'ELL WUZ DAT FOW." Flecks of spittle fly out of her mouth, her voice cascades across the room like a shockwave, the whole room jumped, nobody was expecting this. She pumps her arms up and down like a psycho, screaming now, no words, growling, then noise. "AAAHHGRGAGGHHAGAHGR!!!!"
She stops, sucks in a breathe of air, lets it out, she's calm now, deceptively so, she reaches down and grabs a chunk of supposedly edible foodstuff "take dis you giant fweak" and hurls it across the room.
It lands on the giant, right in his face, he isn't happy, he never was, but now he's angry too. He stands up and shoves a dozen people out of the way. He rushes towards the girl, howling, reaches out to grab her, but she's gone.
She's standing at his feet, kicks him in the leg as he steps in, he's knocked over and sent plowing straight into the food, it explodes into the air, lands on other inmates nearby. They don't like it, not one bit, there's almost complete silence, "Wow, you made da pood aspolddie good, I wike spwodies" she ran around in circles and let loose the kind of high pitched squeal that only a little girl could.
The room exploded, fists exploded into faces, someone tore a bench off and sent it flying through the air, it tore through a neck and pinned a body to the wall, blood sloshed across the floor like a tsunami.
Hands and arms and feet and fist tore at bodies and faces and limbs, and at the center danced the girl. Kind of like the potty dance, except that this was like a spring suddenly let loose. She hopped back and forth, side to side, ran through the crowd, throwing kicks and punches into knees and calves, shins and ankles. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she picked up forks and knives and spoons, whatever she could a hold of, even dismembered limbs, and wielded them like weapons as only an expert could.
Inmates lucky enough to be near the doors found themselves not so lucky, there were dozens of guards there, holding the door shut, they knew better than to let the little girl out. They tried to fight back, but the girl bounced back and forth to fast to catch, they had their balls torn off and held up like trophies, died screaming.
When the last body hit the floor, only the little girl remained. Splattered in blood, covered in organs and food, her now dented helmet lay trashed in a corner, makeshift weapons strewn across the floor, the little girl stood. She stood their, completely naked, dropped the broken bit of bench she was holding as a shield onto the floor, put a plastic knife into someones hand, pointed at him and said "he stawted it" stepped to the side "I didn't do nuffin, I sweawsies!" crossed her heart "honest!, cwoss my poow wittle heawt, hope to die, I didn't do nuffin."
After a few seconds, the guards opened the door, they marched her, carefully, silently, didn't dare to touch her, down to solitary.
It was a tiny gray cell, full of nothing but a piss hole, she sat on the floor, looked left, looked right, didn't have anything to do, whistled for a bit, sat their waiting, nothing happened, the silence clawed at her mind.
She was screaming, clawing at the walls and the door, banging her head into the concrete, screaming and screaming and screaming, she couldn't take it, hadn't even been a minute.
Outside the prison, a few days later, a chunk of concrete fell free, the little girl was chewing on the wall, eating the concrete, as a member of the only known species to be able to digest anything, she thought it tasted pretty good, for concrete. After nom-nomming on the last bit in her way, she jumped out, but never hit the ground.
A hand gloved in black, belonging to a nine foot tall elf, who was dressed completely in black, complete with black lenses, grabbed the little girl by the face, and lifted her up, to eye level. She had long pointy ears and a sword strapped to her back, guns of every sort hanging on the inside of her long black trench coat.
"Hi Vwana, it's nice to see you again" she tittered, "I swear I didn't just bweak out ob a high max secuwity pwison, dis idn't wat it wooks wike, pinky pwomise" she squeaked, offering her pinky to the woman holding her head in a death grip.
"Zelly, what the fuck is wrong with you?" she growled in a low voice. "Don't answer that, I've been looking all over the bloody universe for you, and here you are in the middle of nowhere getting tossed from prison to prison, and carving inmates up like an uncontrollable little shit."
"Weeeeeww ---" her head crushed into the wall "Urk" felt her body crunch under Vrana's fist.
"I don't wanna fucking hear it, Zelly, I almost want to throw you out an airlock and leave you to die, but--"
"Dat won't kiw me, you know daaaat" In a sing songy voice.
"Whatever, we've got a job I need you for" she dragged the girl across the ground, towards her ship, black of course, strapped her into a seat more tightly than was strictly necessary with crash webbing, stuffed a sock into her mouth to stifle the unbearably discordant humming, and lifted off the barren wasteland of a planet that only barely deserved the title.
|
As it always happens the lights are all switched on all at once blinding everyone for a minute or so. There is no sunlight here and more often then not we can't even tell what time it is without the room clocks. We haven't had a new prisoner here in months considering the limited amount of criminals that are a violent as those contained here. We know we aren't getting released unless we are dead so new prisoners are always a treat.
After being rolled called and lined up the Boss Warden strolls in. Trailing him is a child. A child that already looks half dead, lumbering like someone who's been forced into a room for stretches of time. "that's cruel" I whisper to a guard. "I agree" and then he mumbles "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."Confused, I simply stare at the child rather unsure if it really beings here with us serial offenders.
When we turn to roll back into our hellhole pits line up in front of our doors waiting for them to slide open when we here a struggle happening between the guards and the child.
Eyes flashing all of the prisoners in the room tense up sensing the child's intent. Swiftly she sweeps the guard holding her slamming him into the ground. To the side of him now she grapples for his handcuff key and effortlessly unlocks her chains on her hands and ankles. Now she pops up quickly surmising an escape route in her mind but before she can dash off one of the other prisoners grabs onto her. I blink stunned to startled to move condition by this prison to not act unless given the order to do so. To stop it would only heighten the violence because her the usually don't hold you, they kill you. Right on time, we hear shots nail holes into space around the child's feet. It's holding a knife painted with blood, a knife I assumed she stole from the officer who was now also lying dead. Eyes glinting like marbles it stands up and runs straight at me.
Oh shit, are my final thoughts as I feel the blade slice through my abdomen.
|
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"It's tea time when I say it's tea time, Mr Apples."
The strange little girl Samantha sat with Jake Applebaum, me, and her disgusting stuffed bear Lick-licks in the deserted prison kitchen. Of course it was deserted at this time of night. There were strict rules on when inmates had to be in their cells, after all. The bigger question was why the guards seemed to see this little nine year old girl as the exception to every rule. Why the girl was here at all had baffled me at first. Not anymore.
Jake Applebaum was a pretty good guy, despite the fact that he was covered in white supremacy tattoos. You couldn't exactly be picky with your allies in the supermax prison for the worst violent criminals in the nation. Jake was a good block leader. He never gave his cellmates trouble, even the black ones, and only used his authority to settle disputes and grunges, never to start them. You could do a lot worse than lining up with Jake, as long as you could stand to listen to his long tirades about the inferiority of the negro race.
I didn't belong here with scum like him. I was a normal guy. A good guy, even. But when you hear the words "white man kills three black teenagers" that's the part of the story that you tend to latch onto. You sit with your morning coffee and say, "Did you hear about the evil racist murderer?" And you're proud of yourself for correctly identifying that racism is wrong. It didn't matter to nobody what they had done to my family not two months earlier. That's the kind of story that you just don't bring up over breakfast.
"Would you be so kind as to pour Lick-licks some tea, Mr. Apples?"
Jake hated being reminded of his last name, Applebaum. He thought it might be Jewish. It wasn't. Dumbass.
"I'm afraid I can't do that ma'am," said Jake.
"Oh, and why-ever not?" asked the girl is a sweet, sing-song voice.
"I was raised to serve the lady at the table first," said Jake. Clever. He had probably just bought himself a few more moments of life.
"Oh, very well then," said Samantha, and thanked him graciously when he filled her cup with fruit punch from a pink plastic tea kettle.
"Now Lick-licks," she ordered.
Jake hesitated for a long moment, then moved to poor a cup for Lick-licks. And then there was a table leg sticking out of his forehead. I had been watching them both, and Samantha had almost moved faster than my eyes could follow, stabbing Jake through the skull, and sitting back down in her chair, all without spilling her juice.
It was a clean hit. Somehow the table leg was stuck in tight enough that only a small trickle of blood escaped the wound. Jake stood for several seconds before finally collapsing on the ground, where he lay gasping and twitching.
"How...?"
Samantha leaned forward and cupped one hand over her mouth, "The secret is to keep it blunt."
Her big brown eyes sparkled with delight. I just grunted. What else was there to say?
She giggled, and it went on quite a while, turning into a throaty laugh. She banged the table with her fists, causing her fork to fall to the ground. She bent to pick it up, and I slapped her hand.
Her eyes went wide in shock.
"Oh no you don't," I said, "We don't eat with forks that fall on the floor. Not this floor. Let me get you a new one."
I quickly fetched another fork from a drawer.
"I like you. You're not like the others."
"I like you, too," I said.
"Ah ah ah, no lies!" she sang.
"It's true," I said, "You remind me of my daughter. She had that same wicked little smile. Sometimes I think she might have grown up to be just like you. It makes me feel like it's for the best that she's dead."
Samantha laughed with pure delight, and I smiled along. I had been joking. Mostly. She did remind me of my daughter a little. They both had the same little sparkle in their eyes when they were playing a trick. I was definitely not going to poor that tea.
"Ok. Now *you* pour Lick-licks some tea," she said.
"No." I said.
"And why not?" she asked.
"Because Lick-licks doesn't like tea," I said. I'm not exactly a genius, but seeing three men other men die the exact same way had given me some clue.
"Then fetch something that he will like," she said.
I glanced at Jake's body. Once again, I'm not overly intelligent, but what else could it be? The secret would be utilizing gravity. I managed to lay him over his chair, so that his head was hanging down. I needn't have bothered. Pulling up on the table led caused the blood to squirt out as if from a hose. I filled the tea cup and placed it in front of Lick-licks.
"Well done," said Samantha, helping Lick-licks drink his tea, "You can go."
"You go on ahead little lady. It's past your bedtime and I need to fix the table you took that leg from."
Samantha glared, and that was all the warning I needed. I caught her hand, stopping the shank inches away from my face. She might be fast, but she always struck in exactly the same place, so I managed to get my hand in place in time. Still, I was surprised at the force behind her blow. It was much more than should be possible for a girl that looked to be not more than 9 years old.
I pulled her over my knee and gave her a spanking. Ten times. I was firm, but careful not to let any of my anger into my blows.
After standing back up, Samantha gave me a look of pure hatred. I was certain I was dead. Then her expression broke and she convulsed in great heaving sobs.
I gave her a hug, and let her cry into my shoulder.
"There there, I'm not mad. You need to understand that it's not OK to stab me. Do you understand? Good. That's all. It's over. There, there," I murmured. Eventually she calmed down, and her breathing changed to let me know she had fallen asleep. I carried her, curled up in my arms with her bloody bear, back to her cell.
|
As it always happens the lights are all switched on all at once blinding everyone for a minute or so. There is no sunlight here and more often then not we can't even tell what time it is without the room clocks. We haven't had a new prisoner here in months considering the limited amount of criminals that are a violent as those contained here. We know we aren't getting released unless we are dead so new prisoners are always a treat.
After being rolled called and lined up the Boss Warden strolls in. Trailing him is a child. A child that already looks half dead, lumbering like someone who's been forced into a room for stretches of time. "that's cruel" I whisper to a guard. "I agree" and then he mumbles "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."Confused, I simply stare at the child rather unsure if it really beings here with us serial offenders.
When we turn to roll back into our hellhole pits line up in front of our doors waiting for them to slide open when we here a struggle happening between the guards and the child.
Eyes flashing all of the prisoners in the room tense up sensing the child's intent. Swiftly she sweeps the guard holding her slamming him into the ground. To the side of him now she grapples for his handcuff key and effortlessly unlocks her chains on her hands and ankles. Now she pops up quickly surmising an escape route in her mind but before she can dash off one of the other prisoners grabs onto her. I blink stunned to startled to move condition by this prison to not act unless given the order to do so. To stop it would only heighten the violence because her the usually don't hold you, they kill you. Right on time, we hear shots nail holes into space around the child's feet. It's holding a knife painted with blood, a knife I assumed she stole from the officer who was now also lying dead. Eyes glinting like marbles it stands up and runs straight at me.
Oh shit, are my final thoughts as I feel the blade slice through my abdomen.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Double taking, I glanced at the guard. Wondering when he was gonna drop the punch line.
"Is it April? It's April 1st isn't it!" I muttered quietly, knowing It wasn't, but asking anyways.
My mind just couldn't get a lock on this. It scrabbled for an explanation, but couldn't find one. This was something that just shouldn't be, an impossibility.
But there she was. A real live, pony tail wearing fragment of the impossible. Defying reason and being lead across the mess hall in a rediculously over sized jump suit and shackles, surrounded by no less than 8 guards in full riot gear.
*Jesus, What the hell did they think she was capable off!?*
I realised then just how quiet the place had gotten, how id forgotten to breath myself at some point.
Correctional officer Paterson seemed just as shaken, perhaps more so.
"We just had Christmas...." he whispered. "I... I thought they were joking!... This is...." He trailed off, shooting me a couple of quick glances, shaking his head in disbelief.
The insane procession below had made its way across the hall to the east security door by now and had just disapeared through it. The loud click and boom of the giant door sealing shut. echoeing in their wake, fracturing the silence, but not yet breaking it.
After a while, From across the room, senior officer Jenson wrapped his baton hard on one of the tables and called out
" let's go, you bunch of animals! Nothing else to see... Lunch is over in 15 and Danniel's wants those plates licked clean! Quit your day dreaming and get to it"
And like the bursting of a bubble, The room exploded. Cries ofAnger and disbelief mixing together with the clangs and crashes of plates and cups being banged or thrown. A few tables were flipped over and fights broke out.
That's the funny thing about prisons, i thought. There was still a delicate order at play. A silent understanding amongst the demons trapped here that defied all else.
As violent and evil as these souls were, however tough or what ever greivances they had. There were a few things that touched a nerve in even the coldest of hearts.
That little girl just shouldn't be here! This was wrong, there was a huge mistake here, someone needed to fix this!
So many of the inmates here had children on the outside. This little girl could be one of their daughters. I myself had a little girl somewhere, nodoubt sitting in class right now, learning her numbers.
"What just happened?" I asked Paterson, my mind finally recovering some traction.
"And what did you mean before? With the comment about them not caring about what happens to the rest of us?"
Paterson just stared mutely at the pandemonium below as though I'd not spoken at all.
"Paterson, what the hell! What the hell just happened! Who was that little girl!?"
He turned his eyes upon me and I could see the horror in them.
Holy mother of God, but he looked frightened!
This man dealt with the most dangerous people on the planet on a daily basis. Hell, i'd seen him stare down serial killers without flinching. Tackle the biggest and meanest bullies in this place as though they were nothing special. You needed nerves of steel to even consider working in a place like this. What could possibly be bad enough to warrant that haunted look in his eyes?
When at last he spoke, his tone was flat.
"I thought they were messing with me, they said they'd seen it on the news... But... It can't be..." Paterson, shook himself and seemed to regain his composure some.
"Look... I should get down there, its getting ugly..." He said, turning to leave.
"Paterson! Wait! Who was that girl?!" I demanded, the man's fear infecting me.
He stopped and said over his shoulder.
" They say she... She killed everyone at her school... 107 people!.. With her... with her bare hands...!" He trailed off for a moment as though stunned by his own words. How rediculous they sounded. He resumed again, his voice shaking
"They found her family, Torn apart...blood and parts everywhere... The family pets..."
He trailed off. Just standing their with his back to me.
"Bullshit!" I said, thinking that clearly he was pulling my leg. Wondering again when the punch line would fall.
"Ain't no way a little girl of what... 9 years old? Ain't no way a 9 year old little girl did any of that stuff... Stop messing with me and tell me what's going on!"
Paterson turned back to me but couldn't look me in the eyes.
"Didn't you recognise her?" He whispered.
I felt my blood freeze.
"What do you mean.... Recognise..."
Patterson's eyes met mine.
"She's your daughter, Mitchel. That little girl is your daughter!"
|
Imprisoned, against our will, just waiting to be summoned and forced to fight to the death for the entertainment of those above. This is our existence.
The funniest part? We could die, up there in their world, but it never stuck. We were seemingly trapped in this cycle for eternity.
They call us champions, but in reality, we are slaves. Sometimes they forced us to fight in a costume, if the one summoning us could afford it.
There's a lot of us prisoners down here, and the number constantly grows.. What started as a few has turned into well over a hundred.
Every few months or so, a new face is thrown down here. Hailing from some unknown land, supposedly possessing some unique ability to be exploited for the entertainment of those above.
I had never seen those who we are compelled to fight for, and entertain. But I've heard unpleasant whispers.
Life down here between summons was dull, I spent most of my time sharpening my blades.
Death could not enter the prison that held us, so fights were usually a rarity.
Except last week there was an incident, a pretty interesting one in fact.
Yeah, the other day I was woken up by the loud sound of the prison door slamming shut. This only meant one thing, a new "champion" was joining us.
I got up and looked towards the door, as my eyes cleared, I couldn't believe my eyes..
A young human girl stood in the corner. She couldn't of been more than 8 years old. Had they gone mad? This was egregious, even for them. What place could a young human girl have amongst our violent bunch?
But there she stood, clutching a teddy bear in fear. Eyes glued at the ground.
It wasn't long before another prisoner approached her, probably sensing her vulnerability.
I stood and observed.
It was prisoner 556, some "soldier" from Bandle City, or so he called himself. I had not faced him in battle yet, but he was an annoying little twat.
"Hi!" He greeted her in what appeared to be a friendly manner, but from the rumors I've heard about this prisoner, his appearance was not to be taken lightly.
"Where are you from!?" He continued, circling the young human, who despite her young age was slightly taller than he was.
"Why so quiet?" He poked her, her expression did not change, but she slowly backed further into the corner.
"Whatcha got there!?" He pointed toward the one eyed teddy bear, she was clutching for dear life.
"Can I see it?" Still she offered no response. His frustration grew.
"Fine, if that's how you're going to be." He reached for the bear, grabbing it by it's hand.
"No!!!" She looked up, with a tear in her eye.
"I just want to see your toy!" He yanked the bear.
"No!" She commanded back.
They quickly devolved into a tug of war. The rat's strength began to overpower the young girls. I unsheathed my dagger, I'm no hero, but she was helpless.
"Let go of tibbers." She yanked with all her might, but it wasn't enough, she was losing her grip.
"What was that?" The little rodent soldier laughed and pulled harder on the bear. The young girl was losing her grip.
"LET! GO! OF! TIBBERS!"
The scream was piercing, I couldn't believe my eyes. IN A BALL OF FIRE THE BEAR GREW 10 TIMES IN SIZE. IT PICKED UP THE RODENT SOLDIER. THE YOUNG GIRL, NOW WITH A BALL OF FIRE IN HER HAND, BLASTED THE RODENT ACROSS THE ROOM.
His helmet made a *clank* as it hit the wall, he scurried to his feet and retreated back towards his cell.
As quickly as the bear grew, it shrank and flew back into her hand. She gave the bear a kiss and she skipped down the hall...
I made a mental note, never touch her bear...
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"It's tea time when I say it's tea time, Mr Apples."
The strange little girl Samantha sat with Jake Applebaum, me, and her disgusting stuffed bear Lick-licks in the deserted prison kitchen. Of course it was deserted at this time of night. There were strict rules on when inmates had to be in their cells, after all. The bigger question was why the guards seemed to see this little nine year old girl as the exception to every rule. Why the girl was here at all had baffled me at first. Not anymore.
Jake Applebaum was a pretty good guy, despite the fact that he was covered in white supremacy tattoos. You couldn't exactly be picky with your allies in the supermax prison for the worst violent criminals in the nation. Jake was a good block leader. He never gave his cellmates trouble, even the black ones, and only used his authority to settle disputes and grunges, never to start them. You could do a lot worse than lining up with Jake, as long as you could stand to listen to his long tirades about the inferiority of the negro race.
I didn't belong here with scum like him. I was a normal guy. A good guy, even. But when you hear the words "white man kills three black teenagers" that's the part of the story that you tend to latch onto. You sit with your morning coffee and say, "Did you hear about the evil racist murderer?" And you're proud of yourself for correctly identifying that racism is wrong. It didn't matter to nobody what they had done to my family not two months earlier. That's the kind of story that you just don't bring up over breakfast.
"Would you be so kind as to pour Lick-licks some tea, Mr. Apples?"
Jake hated being reminded of his last name, Applebaum. He thought it might be Jewish. It wasn't. Dumbass.
"I'm afraid I can't do that ma'am," said Jake.
"Oh, and why-ever not?" asked the girl is a sweet, sing-song voice.
"I was raised to serve the lady at the table first," said Jake. Clever. He had probably just bought himself a few more moments of life.
"Oh, very well then," said Samantha, and thanked him graciously when he filled her cup with fruit punch from a pink plastic tea kettle.
"Now Lick-licks," she ordered.
Jake hesitated for a long moment, then moved to poor a cup for Lick-licks. And then there was a table leg sticking out of his forehead. I had been watching them both, and Samantha had almost moved faster than my eyes could follow, stabbing Jake through the skull, and sitting back down in her chair, all without spilling her juice.
It was a clean hit. Somehow the table leg was stuck in tight enough that only a small trickle of blood escaped the wound. Jake stood for several seconds before finally collapsing on the ground, where he lay gasping and twitching.
"How...?"
Samantha leaned forward and cupped one hand over her mouth, "The secret is to keep it blunt."
Her big brown eyes sparkled with delight. I just grunted. What else was there to say?
She giggled, and it went on quite a while, turning into a throaty laugh. She banged the table with her fists, causing her fork to fall to the ground. She bent to pick it up, and I slapped her hand.
Her eyes went wide in shock.
"Oh no you don't," I said, "We don't eat with forks that fall on the floor. Not this floor. Let me get you a new one."
I quickly fetched another fork from a drawer.
"I like you. You're not like the others."
"I like you, too," I said.
"Ah ah ah, no lies!" she sang.
"It's true," I said, "You remind me of my daughter. She had that same wicked little smile. Sometimes I think she might have grown up to be just like you. It makes me feel like it's for the best that she's dead."
Samantha laughed with pure delight, and I smiled along. I had been joking. Mostly. She did remind me of my daughter a little. They both had the same little sparkle in their eyes when they were playing a trick. I was definitely not going to poor that tea.
"Ok. Now *you* pour Lick-licks some tea," she said.
"No." I said.
"And why not?" she asked.
"Because Lick-licks doesn't like tea," I said. I'm not exactly a genius, but seeing three men other men die the exact same way had given me some clue.
"Then fetch something that he will like," she said.
I glanced at Jake's body. Once again, I'm not overly intelligent, but what else could it be? The secret would be utilizing gravity. I managed to lay him over his chair, so that his head was hanging down. I needn't have bothered. Pulling up on the table led caused the blood to squirt out as if from a hose. I filled the tea cup and placed it in front of Lick-licks.
"Well done," said Samantha, helping Lick-licks drink his tea, "You can go."
"You go on ahead little lady. It's past your bedtime and I need to fix the table you took that leg from."
Samantha glared, and that was all the warning I needed. I caught her hand, stopping the shank inches away from my face. She might be fast, but she always struck in exactly the same place, so I managed to get my hand in place in time. Still, I was surprised at the force behind her blow. It was much more than should be possible for a girl that looked to be not more than 9 years old.
I pulled her over my knee and gave her a spanking. Ten times. I was firm, but careful not to let any of my anger into my blows.
After standing back up, Samantha gave me a look of pure hatred. I was certain I was dead. Then her expression broke and she convulsed in great heaving sobs.
I gave her a hug, and let her cry into my shoulder.
"There there, I'm not mad. You need to understand that it's not OK to stab me. Do you understand? Good. That's all. It's over. There, there," I murmured. Eventually she calmed down, and her breathing changed to let me know she had fallen asleep. I carried her, curled up in my arms with her bloody bear, back to her cell.
|
"Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
"Yeah, no kidding."
I took my usual seat in the prison cafeteria. Donny on my right, Marge on my left. Big Rhino, Tomfoolery, and Sampson in front of me. Six to a table. Prison life isn't so bad, we all get along pretty well here. Those of us who act tough do, at least. After all, no one wants to talk to those rude bastards who don't.
Looking at her made me want to vomit. Now, I've seen some terrifying shit but this took the cake. She had a frilly pink dress on, a sparkly princess lunch-box, and these big, adorable, sad eyes. What kind of disgusting freak dresses like that? The guards escorting her in were pale-faced and nervous as hell. Their tattooed faces were caked with tears, their bulky arms were shaking, and their green mohawks seemed to droop. Honestly, I felt bad for them. It's been a long time since our prison has seen someone this evil.
Don't get me wrong, I'm no average convict. None of us are. I'm in for mass-murder. I keep with my ilk, we call ourselves the Altruists. We kill with kindness; it's a heinous crime. Still though, I do my best to fit in. When I first got here, I was the nicest guy around. It got lonely, being on top. So I grew my hair out, tore off my sleeves, and filled my skin with ink. No one's afraid of me, but at least I have friends.
When that little girl approached our table, I had no idea what to do. She's just on a whole other level from me. Sure, I was a pretty nice guy once, but everything about her was just too much. I turned to Donny for advice, but he was gone. I realized then that my buddies had run away. All of them. It was just me, and this little girl.
"E-excuse me, mister? I'm really s-scared, can you, um, help me, pwease?"
That was the last thing I heard before I passed out.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"It's tea time when I say it's tea time, Mr Apples."
The strange little girl Samantha sat with Jake Applebaum, me, and her disgusting stuffed bear Lick-licks in the deserted prison kitchen. Of course it was deserted at this time of night. There were strict rules on when inmates had to be in their cells, after all. The bigger question was why the guards seemed to see this little nine year old girl as the exception to every rule. Why the girl was here at all had baffled me at first. Not anymore.
Jake Applebaum was a pretty good guy, despite the fact that he was covered in white supremacy tattoos. You couldn't exactly be picky with your allies in the supermax prison for the worst violent criminals in the nation. Jake was a good block leader. He never gave his cellmates trouble, even the black ones, and only used his authority to settle disputes and grunges, never to start them. You could do a lot worse than lining up with Jake, as long as you could stand to listen to his long tirades about the inferiority of the negro race.
I didn't belong here with scum like him. I was a normal guy. A good guy, even. But when you hear the words "white man kills three black teenagers" that's the part of the story that you tend to latch onto. You sit with your morning coffee and say, "Did you hear about the evil racist murderer?" And you're proud of yourself for correctly identifying that racism is wrong. It didn't matter to nobody what they had done to my family not two months earlier. That's the kind of story that you just don't bring up over breakfast.
"Would you be so kind as to pour Lick-licks some tea, Mr. Apples?"
Jake hated being reminded of his last name, Applebaum. He thought it might be Jewish. It wasn't. Dumbass.
"I'm afraid I can't do that ma'am," said Jake.
"Oh, and why-ever not?" asked the girl is a sweet, sing-song voice.
"I was raised to serve the lady at the table first," said Jake. Clever. He had probably just bought himself a few more moments of life.
"Oh, very well then," said Samantha, and thanked him graciously when he filled her cup with fruit punch from a pink plastic tea kettle.
"Now Lick-licks," she ordered.
Jake hesitated for a long moment, then moved to poor a cup for Lick-licks. And then there was a table leg sticking out of his forehead. I had been watching them both, and Samantha had almost moved faster than my eyes could follow, stabbing Jake through the skull, and sitting back down in her chair, all without spilling her juice.
It was a clean hit. Somehow the table leg was stuck in tight enough that only a small trickle of blood escaped the wound. Jake stood for several seconds before finally collapsing on the ground, where he lay gasping and twitching.
"How...?"
Samantha leaned forward and cupped one hand over her mouth, "The secret is to keep it blunt."
Her big brown eyes sparkled with delight. I just grunted. What else was there to say?
She giggled, and it went on quite a while, turning into a throaty laugh. She banged the table with her fists, causing her fork to fall to the ground. She bent to pick it up, and I slapped her hand.
Her eyes went wide in shock.
"Oh no you don't," I said, "We don't eat with forks that fall on the floor. Not this floor. Let me get you a new one."
I quickly fetched another fork from a drawer.
"I like you. You're not like the others."
"I like you, too," I said.
"Ah ah ah, no lies!" she sang.
"It's true," I said, "You remind me of my daughter. She had that same wicked little smile. Sometimes I think she might have grown up to be just like you. It makes me feel like it's for the best that she's dead."
Samantha laughed with pure delight, and I smiled along. I had been joking. Mostly. She did remind me of my daughter a little. They both had the same little sparkle in their eyes when they were playing a trick. I was definitely not going to poor that tea.
"Ok. Now *you* pour Lick-licks some tea," she said.
"No." I said.
"And why not?" she asked.
"Because Lick-licks doesn't like tea," I said. I'm not exactly a genius, but seeing three men other men die the exact same way had given me some clue.
"Then fetch something that he will like," she said.
I glanced at Jake's body. Once again, I'm not overly intelligent, but what else could it be? The secret would be utilizing gravity. I managed to lay him over his chair, so that his head was hanging down. I needn't have bothered. Pulling up on the table led caused the blood to squirt out as if from a hose. I filled the tea cup and placed it in front of Lick-licks.
"Well done," said Samantha, helping Lick-licks drink his tea, "You can go."
"You go on ahead little lady. It's past your bedtime and I need to fix the table you took that leg from."
Samantha glared, and that was all the warning I needed. I caught her hand, stopping the shank inches away from my face. She might be fast, but she always struck in exactly the same place, so I managed to get my hand in place in time. Still, I was surprised at the force behind her blow. It was much more than should be possible for a girl that looked to be not more than 9 years old.
I pulled her over my knee and gave her a spanking. Ten times. I was firm, but careful not to let any of my anger into my blows.
After standing back up, Samantha gave me a look of pure hatred. I was certain I was dead. Then her expression broke and she convulsed in great heaving sobs.
I gave her a hug, and let her cry into my shoulder.
"There there, I'm not mad. You need to understand that it's not OK to stab me. Do you understand? Good. That's all. It's over. There, there," I murmured. Eventually she calmed down, and her breathing changed to let me know she had fallen asleep. I carried her, curled up in my arms with her bloody bear, back to her cell.
|
The doors opened, and a little girl walked in.
They shut, the guards at the doors looked in, but didn't say anything, there was nothing to say. They knew what was coming, heard it from other guards, at other prisons. They couldn't stop it, no one could, but the judge said her sentence was to be carried out, so it would be, as much as it could be.
When the doors shut, the cafeteria went silent, even more silent than it usually was, dead silent. The men and women with their scars and missing limbs stared at the girl as she walked towards the food counter. She was short, barely came up to the knees of the shortest human. Three inches above the knee, as her people would say. Her ears were a bit pointy, and she definitely wasn't a child, her body proportions were that of an adult; a very short adult.
She hopped towards the food counter, humming as she wen, "hmm hmm hmm hm hm hm hm, la la la la de do da da", piled a heap of greasy meat onto a paper disk, and went to find a seat. She didn't notice the stares, didn't hear the silence, didn't care, she was too cute to care.
Killer, that wasn't his name, but it may as well have been. He was huge, over eight feet tall, and all muscle, he saw the little shit, heard her too, couldn't stand the humming. He crunched his hands into a fist, everybody else knew that wasn't good, they knew he'd pop her head off if she didn't stop. Knew, because he'd done it before, several times.
She stopped, on the other side of his table, hopped up onto the bench, slammed her food onto the table, and started chowing into it, loudly, while talking, with her mouth open, full of food, gravy dripping out of her mouth.
"Hi, I'm Zewwy, wh aw you?" Sluuuhuurp, his face deepens into a frown, turns red "wut happened to yo face, dat scaw wooks punny." He straitens up, tightens his muscles. Munch munch "Aw you oK?"
"La leee la leee la, whooOOOooo."
Wham, his fist shoots across the table, right into her gut, and sends her flying across the room into a wall. She didn't flinch from the hit, got stuck to the wall for a bit, then slides down, like she's used to it, she's angry, mad, furious, you can tell, because she's silent.
She walks to the food counter, climbs up onto it with practiced ease, picks up a food bin and sticks it upside down on her head, like a helmet, the food spills out all over her, makes a mess on the floor, she picks up a plastic rubberized serving spatula, it looks giant in her tiny hands, and starts to rant at the top of her lungs, aimed at the giant in the corner.
"WHY YOU WITTL FWEAK, WUT DA 'ELL WUZ DAT FOW." Flecks of spittle fly out of her mouth, her voice cascades across the room like a shockwave, the whole room jumped, nobody was expecting this. She pumps her arms up and down like a psycho, screaming now, no words, growling, then noise. "AAAHHGRGAGGHHAGAHGR!!!!"
She stops, sucks in a breathe of air, lets it out, she's calm now, deceptively so, she reaches down and grabs a chunk of supposedly edible foodstuff "take dis you giant fweak" and hurls it across the room.
It lands on the giant, right in his face, he isn't happy, he never was, but now he's angry too. He stands up and shoves a dozen people out of the way. He rushes towards the girl, howling, reaches out to grab her, but she's gone.
She's standing at his feet, kicks him in the leg as he steps in, he's knocked over and sent plowing straight into the food, it explodes into the air, lands on other inmates nearby. They don't like it, not one bit, there's almost complete silence, "Wow, you made da pood aspolddie good, I wike spwodies" she ran around in circles and let loose the kind of high pitched squeal that only a little girl could.
The room exploded, fists exploded into faces, someone tore a bench off and sent it flying through the air, it tore through a neck and pinned a body to the wall, blood sloshed across the floor like a tsunami.
Hands and arms and feet and fist tore at bodies and faces and limbs, and at the center danced the girl. Kind of like the potty dance, except that this was like a spring suddenly let loose. She hopped back and forth, side to side, ran through the crowd, throwing kicks and punches into knees and calves, shins and ankles. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she picked up forks and knives and spoons, whatever she could a hold of, even dismembered limbs, and wielded them like weapons as only an expert could.
Inmates lucky enough to be near the doors found themselves not so lucky, there were dozens of guards there, holding the door shut, they knew better than to let the little girl out. They tried to fight back, but the girl bounced back and forth to fast to catch, they had their balls torn off and held up like trophies, died screaming.
When the last body hit the floor, only the little girl remained. Splattered in blood, covered in organs and food, her now dented helmet lay trashed in a corner, makeshift weapons strewn across the floor, the little girl stood. She stood their, completely naked, dropped the broken bit of bench she was holding as a shield onto the floor, put a plastic knife into someones hand, pointed at him and said "he stawted it" stepped to the side "I didn't do nuffin, I sweawsies!" crossed her heart "honest!, cwoss my poow wittle heawt, hope to die, I didn't do nuffin."
After a few seconds, the guards opened the door, they marched her, carefully, silently, didn't dare to touch her, down to solitary.
It was a tiny gray cell, full of nothing but a piss hole, she sat on the floor, looked left, looked right, didn't have anything to do, whistled for a bit, sat their waiting, nothing happened, the silence clawed at her mind.
She was screaming, clawing at the walls and the door, banging her head into the concrete, screaming and screaming and screaming, she couldn't take it, hadn't even been a minute.
Outside the prison, a few days later, a chunk of concrete fell free, the little girl was chewing on the wall, eating the concrete, as a member of the only known species to be able to digest anything, she thought it tasted pretty good, for concrete. After nom-nomming on the last bit in her way, she jumped out, but never hit the ground.
A hand gloved in black, belonging to a nine foot tall elf, who was dressed completely in black, complete with black lenses, grabbed the little girl by the face, and lifted her up, to eye level. She had long pointy ears and a sword strapped to her back, guns of every sort hanging on the inside of her long black trench coat.
"Hi Vwana, it's nice to see you again" she tittered, "I swear I didn't just bweak out ob a high max secuwity pwison, dis idn't wat it wooks wike, pinky pwomise" she squeaked, offering her pinky to the woman holding her head in a death grip.
"Zelly, what the fuck is wrong with you?" she growled in a low voice. "Don't answer that, I've been looking all over the bloody universe for you, and here you are in the middle of nowhere getting tossed from prison to prison, and carving inmates up like an uncontrollable little shit."
"Weeeeeww ---" her head crushed into the wall "Urk" felt her body crunch under Vrana's fist.
"I don't wanna fucking hear it, Zelly, I almost want to throw you out an airlock and leave you to die, but--"
"Dat won't kiw me, you know daaaat" In a sing songy voice.
"Whatever, we've got a job I need you for" she dragged the girl across the ground, towards her ship, black of course, strapped her into a seat more tightly than was strictly necessary with crash webbing, stuffed a sock into her mouth to stifle the unbearably discordant humming, and lifted off the barren wasteland of a planet that only barely deserved the title.
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
"It's tea time when I say it's tea time, Mr Apples."
The strange little girl Samantha sat with Jake Applebaum, me, and her disgusting stuffed bear Lick-licks in the deserted prison kitchen. Of course it was deserted at this time of night. There were strict rules on when inmates had to be in their cells, after all. The bigger question was why the guards seemed to see this little nine year old girl as the exception to every rule. Why the girl was here at all had baffled me at first. Not anymore.
Jake Applebaum was a pretty good guy, despite the fact that he was covered in white supremacy tattoos. You couldn't exactly be picky with your allies in the supermax prison for the worst violent criminals in the nation. Jake was a good block leader. He never gave his cellmates trouble, even the black ones, and only used his authority to settle disputes and grunges, never to start them. You could do a lot worse than lining up with Jake, as long as you could stand to listen to his long tirades about the inferiority of the negro race.
I didn't belong here with scum like him. I was a normal guy. A good guy, even. But when you hear the words "white man kills three black teenagers" that's the part of the story that you tend to latch onto. You sit with your morning coffee and say, "Did you hear about the evil racist murderer?" And you're proud of yourself for correctly identifying that racism is wrong. It didn't matter to nobody what they had done to my family not two months earlier. That's the kind of story that you just don't bring up over breakfast.
"Would you be so kind as to pour Lick-licks some tea, Mr. Apples?"
Jake hated being reminded of his last name, Applebaum. He thought it might be Jewish. It wasn't. Dumbass.
"I'm afraid I can't do that ma'am," said Jake.
"Oh, and why-ever not?" asked the girl is a sweet, sing-song voice.
"I was raised to serve the lady at the table first," said Jake. Clever. He had probably just bought himself a few more moments of life.
"Oh, very well then," said Samantha, and thanked him graciously when he filled her cup with fruit punch from a pink plastic tea kettle.
"Now Lick-licks," she ordered.
Jake hesitated for a long moment, then moved to poor a cup for Lick-licks. And then there was a table leg sticking out of his forehead. I had been watching them both, and Samantha had almost moved faster than my eyes could follow, stabbing Jake through the skull, and sitting back down in her chair, all without spilling her juice.
It was a clean hit. Somehow the table leg was stuck in tight enough that only a small trickle of blood escaped the wound. Jake stood for several seconds before finally collapsing on the ground, where he lay gasping and twitching.
"How...?"
Samantha leaned forward and cupped one hand over her mouth, "The secret is to keep it blunt."
Her big brown eyes sparkled with delight. I just grunted. What else was there to say?
She giggled, and it went on quite a while, turning into a throaty laugh. She banged the table with her fists, causing her fork to fall to the ground. She bent to pick it up, and I slapped her hand.
Her eyes went wide in shock.
"Oh no you don't," I said, "We don't eat with forks that fall on the floor. Not this floor. Let me get you a new one."
I quickly fetched another fork from a drawer.
"I like you. You're not like the others."
"I like you, too," I said.
"Ah ah ah, no lies!" she sang.
"It's true," I said, "You remind me of my daughter. She had that same wicked little smile. Sometimes I think she might have grown up to be just like you. It makes me feel like it's for the best that she's dead."
Samantha laughed with pure delight, and I smiled along. I had been joking. Mostly. She did remind me of my daughter a little. They both had the same little sparkle in their eyes when they were playing a trick. I was definitely not going to poor that tea.
"Ok. Now *you* pour Lick-licks some tea," she said.
"No." I said.
"And why not?" she asked.
"Because Lick-licks doesn't like tea," I said. I'm not exactly a genius, but seeing three men other men die the exact same way had given me some clue.
"Then fetch something that he will like," she said.
I glanced at Jake's body. Once again, I'm not overly intelligent, but what else could it be? The secret would be utilizing gravity. I managed to lay him over his chair, so that his head was hanging down. I needn't have bothered. Pulling up on the table led caused the blood to squirt out as if from a hose. I filled the tea cup and placed it in front of Lick-licks.
"Well done," said Samantha, helping Lick-licks drink his tea, "You can go."
"You go on ahead little lady. It's past your bedtime and I need to fix the table you took that leg from."
Samantha glared, and that was all the warning I needed. I caught her hand, stopping the shank inches away from my face. She might be fast, but she always struck in exactly the same place, so I managed to get my hand in place in time. Still, I was surprised at the force behind her blow. It was much more than should be possible for a girl that looked to be not more than 9 years old.
I pulled her over my knee and gave her a spanking. Ten times. I was firm, but careful not to let any of my anger into my blows.
After standing back up, Samantha gave me a look of pure hatred. I was certain I was dead. Then her expression broke and she convulsed in great heaving sobs.
I gave her a hug, and let her cry into my shoulder.
"There there, I'm not mad. You need to understand that it's not OK to stab me. Do you understand? Good. That's all. It's over. There, there," I murmured. Eventually she calmed down, and her breathing changed to let me know she had fallen asleep. I carried her, curled up in my arms with her bloody bear, back to her cell.
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I was in the School Yard among the other kids who were playing as usual, but today I wasn’t in the mood. It was a nice day, really––the sun was out and it was warm with a nice breeze. Because it was the rainy season, we had been mostly kept inside for what seemed like an eternity and worse, there had been no n00bs for some weeks. I had been bored for a while now and I was still feeling some leftover affects from my “SADness” (some sort of disorder with moods and weather it was explained to me).
I was staring up at the clouds overhead, looking for different animal forms when the ugly yellow cheese bus grumbled to a halt at the gate on the far side of The Playground. “n00bs!” I thought to myself as I ran to the gate for a better look. The other kids had also noticed and most swarmed the gate like flies to a carcass, the others were indifferent to anything but their own thoughts. I squeezed my way through the crowd to the front, wincing at their deafening cheers in anticipation. I had to admit, I was also excited to see who would be joining us. We stood around for a few minutes as our enthusiasm began to dwindle. The doors of the bus had opened but only the driver had exited. He walked to the rear of the bus, accompanied by the Guardians which had arrived to meet him. I counted the unusual number of them present––at least two dozen which was unusual but I thought nothing more of it. The driver opened the back door of the bus, allowing the three Guardians that stepped in to lower what looked like a metal case. I shuddered; something about it was reminiscent of a coffin. A child’s coffin. By now, most of the crowd of kids had dispersed, disappointed to see nothing but a box. But along with a few others, I stayed, curious at the sight. The driver seemed to be saying something, making large exaggerated gestures but I couldn’t make anything of it. The Guardians all gathered around looking at it for a few moments before wheeling it into the facility. “that was it? a stupid metal box?” I thought as the disappointment began to make me feel even worse than before as I walked away.
Later that day in the cafeteria when dinner time came around, there was more buzz than usual. Some of the kids that stayed to watch the cheese bus delivery were circulating rumors about what was in the mysterious metal box, claiming that it contained new toys for The Playground. I was beginning to grow annoyed when Guardian Jenny walked in; my face lit up and I skipped my way over to her. “Mommy!” She hated that I called her that but was flattered by the term of endearment, though she tried to conceal it. She scolded me lightly as she did every time. “I told you not to refer to me as your mom, especially in front of anyone…” I ignored her and began walking with her as she did the usual laps around the cafeteria, keeping an eye on everyone. We had developed a bond over the years. How many years has it been? I couldn’t remember, but I’ve been here for a while.
“How are you doing?” she asked as I had been silent for a while. “meh,” I replied. “well I was excited earlier when I saw the n00b bus show up, but no one came out.” She stopped suddenly, staring into nothingness for a few moments. I tugged her sleeve, snapping her out of the trance. “what was in box anyway?” I asked. She didn’t reply and she didn’t look at me. We continued doing laps in silence until the cafeteria bell dinged signaling that dinner time was over. The sound visibly started her for some reason but I pretended not to notice. “ok, I guess I’ll see you later mom…” I said, turning to exit the cafeteria behind the crowd of kids. “Wait…” she said in a soft tone, grasping my shoulder a bit strongly. I expected her to scold me as usual. “It was a girl,” she whispered. “what was a girl?” I replied, puzzled. “In the box… It was a girl.” “what!? that’s cruel!” She shushed me as my voice caught the attention of a few kids still lingering in the cafeteria. “I know, I guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you…” she said, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. “Listen to me, avoid her. Do not look at her, do not speak to her. Treat her like she has cooties.” She shoved me towards the exit before I could reply and I couldn’t turn back; I had less than two minutes to make it to my Happy Place, No. 107.
I sat on my cot angry and confused. “does she think I’m stupid? a girl?? cooties???” Unlike the other kids who were delusional about this entire facade, I wasn’t. I knew “The Playground” was the name of this prison. I knew the “School Yard” wasn’t actually a school yard. I knew the “Guardians” were the prison guards, my “Happy Place” a reinforced ballistic glass prison cell, and us, the kids, prisoners. I know its not their fault that they don’t know and that they can’t remember any of the internecine events that happened here, or even their lives before coming here. But I remember it all. I remember Cultist “Suicide Suziii” who was known for starting cults among her classmates and would have them commit ritualistic suicides as she watched in entertainment. It took until 6th grade for her to be discovered mid plot, after she escaped suspicion of her involvement in the 4th and 5th grade incidents prior. Or Macho Mike who, in the 5th grade, had already grown to the size of a pro-wrestler. He was notorious for having a really short temper, making him a danger to his classmates, and was finally sent here after shattering the skull of the school principal with his bare fists because “he got on his nerves.” And I’ll never forget Charles Chemist, the incredibly skinny kid with glasses who was known for mixing chemical explosives. Who knows where he found the supplies to do it but he had detonated one in the cafeteria during lunch one day here at The Playground; eight kids died and a dozen more injured, including myself. He was never seen again, sent off to “Special Ed.” Oddly, I can’t remember what landed *me* here but the other kids avoid me, out of some instinct.
I couldn’t sleep that night, worried at the imagined horrors of what the new girl could be, while Jenny’s warnings repeated in my head. It must’ve been the middle of the night when I heard multiple footsteps and shuffling, and got up to see who it was. On the lower level, eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, I could see a dozen or so Guardians surrounding a small girl. “that’s her!” I whispered to myself. Her head immediately snapped in my direction, as if she heard me. I ducked, heart pounding in my chest, hoping she didn’t notice me, but I could sense her eyes still on me. I gathered myself after a few moments and dared to take another peek. To my horror, the Guardians, their body parts and innards, had been strewn around the lower level like a Jackson Pollock painting. Mutilated in silence. The girl was gone. I scrambled into the corner of my room, trembling, crying, terrified. “Was Jenny one of them down there?!” I frantically thought wishing she were by my side. My mind raced, wondering the girl’s whereabouts when suddenly she appeared, slowly walking in front my cell, carrying a dismembered head. Jenny’s head. She stopped and turned to me. “Will you play with me?” she said with a wry smile. Half of her face looked limp, the nerves and feeling in it dead, while the other half smiled emotively. I could only scream “no! this is my Happy Place!”
note: pardon any grammatical errors and feedback is appreciated!
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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When she first walked by, I thought there was a gap in the chain between the prisoners. I did a double-take, discovering that the line of condemned was not broken, but that the missing link was in fact a person, of about half-size, wearing the chain that was much too large for her small frame. At first, I thought it was some kind of dwarf-sized person, but on closer inspection it appeared that it was a child. The chain designed to prevent prisoners from lifting their arms above their chest was somewhat moot on her; the little girl could easily have stretched her arms all the way up with slack to spare.
But she didn't. She looked frightened, a terrified child in the wrong place - unlike most prisoners who knew better, she kept casting pleading glances at her captors, who ignored her gleaming eyes and continued to process in the new batch of prisoners.
It was a rather comical and melancholic sight, her jumpsuit shirt alone reaching her ankles and the short sleeves of the shirt reaching her elbows. Without tatoos or scars like most of the prisoners here, she looked like a porcelain doll in human clothes.
"That's cruel," I tell the guard, "What crime has she committed to warrant a sentence here?"
"Shut up prisoner. Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you," he retorts. A sharp blow to the head reinforces the 'shut up' part of the brief reprise.
Distanced from the hum-drum of the every day world, it has been many months and years since we've had access to anything from the outside world other than menial entertainment in the form of sitcoms and books. Likely this child had been born long after the atrocities that had found my unfortunate soul behind these iron walls.
Yes, me and my unfortunate soul; it never passed through my lips, but the unequivocal evidence of the passioned crime; a crime which had me leave logic and restraint at the door - and blood over every surface in the house. When I had first arrived at the penitentiary, people knew what I had done to my beautiful wife, the pair of closed caskets that would be filled with my works and what remained of her. Her, and in that second casket, that man she was fucking.
It made news everywhere of course, since he was a fairly prominent member of society, and she was a very photogenic women - I do express regret defacing a work of art such as her in my violent throes, but I stand by what I had done.
Oh, and of course they discovered shortly afterwards that she was pregnant with his child.
That is probably the reason I have not seen the outside of the prison walls since I arrived. Maximum security, single cell, and not a chance for parole. The jury had vied for my head on a pike long before I had entered the courtroom, and they had gotten it.
A loud rattling noise disturbs my reconstituted thoughts, and I returned to my older, grey body. The mop still in my hands, the bar code genetic tattoo still on my wrist. The bar codes were a recent development since the warden decided we didn't warrant the luxury of daily genetic tests to verify our confinement, instead opting to label us like the cheap bags of mystery oatmeal that we ate daily from the kitchen. The irony between the ink and iron bars was not lost to us prisoners, and we always had a good laugh about it.
***
Today I was fortunate; I had been assigned to book-keeping, only a few days after the mystery arrival of the little girl; nobody had really seen her since, she seemed to take meals in solitary, and another person had seen her once on the other side of the yard on one of our daily 'walks.'
Book-keeping came rather naturally to me, since my previous occupation had been something similar, but was no more interesting today than it was in my previous life. Except perhaps today.
Rifling rapidly through the new arrivals cabinet, I opened up the folder with familiar foreigner who had shown up just days prior. Naturally, the first thing I glanced at was the age.
7.
She was 7, in one of the most maximum security prisons on the planet, alongside some of the scum of the earth deemed to dangerous to be let anywhere near the general populous. She would not have even been alive the day that I had entered this place. I flipped to her mug shot, she looked just as innocent and familiar as the brief glimpse I caught on her processing day. I continued to flip to the most interesting part of any prisoner's file: crimes committed.
I started reading through it, my eyes growing wider with every word that passed beneath them.
This wasn't her dossier. It was mine.
Except it wasn't mine - this one had all the redacted details of that fateful night nearly a decade ago, the details I had never told the police, details that had no witnesses nor evidence except my memories. Details about how my she had begged and cried to me to spare her for the sake of her child; oh how she had elucidated for me before I eviscerated her!
She had confessed to it all, including the pregnancy, and of her plans to depart me for a better life on the other side of the ocean; she laid bare all my flaws scattered in her incoherent words, mixed with the most desperate tears of a dying woman pleading before Death.
And how, right before I had committed the deed, she had lied to me about who the father of the child was.
The anguish evicted from me had nearly saved her life - if not for the fact that the man, that man, had just come home in time to witness the scene. My hesitations, however brief, had been reserved for her and her only, and my drug-fuelled soul burned with vengeance.
The report was correct this time: he had died first, and then she had begged me to kill her - true love if I ever knew it.
I had happily obliged her request.
Hands shaking, I used my sweat-soaked fingertips to flip over to the next page. Autopsy report.
Generally, they provide a full page with a small diagram of the body to show the injuries, accompanied on the same page by text describing the extent of said injuries.
For my crime, they needed two full pages dedicated to the diagram. Two full pages *each*
I flipped past the diagrams onto the text portion of the page and skimmed it briefly until I reached the notation that denoted her pregnancy. "DNA analysis on the following page" was scribbled onto the side column. I turned the page over and paused.
Along the top of the page were some cursory notes about the curtailed pregnancy and the genetic analysis for the unborn child. Underneath it was the genetic barcode recovered from said child.
The DNA barcode along the top of the page looked awfully familiar.
I held my arm up to the page to align the barcode on my arm with that on the page.
More of the lines matched than didn't.
I balked, and flipped back to the prisoner photo - the same green eyes, the same brown hair; only 20 years younger; with my dimples.
I knew this face.
The interruption of the prisoner escapee alarm jolted me with such violence that I dropped the folder, scattering its contents all over the floor- this day's revelations had been so violent to me that the alarm seemed to just be the icing on an over-laden cake, now leaning over the table to deposit itself onto the floor.
My thoughts stumbled over the standard protocol - all prisoners remain in place, all doors locked. I staggered over to the still-open door of the accounts office - who bothers to lock these anyways? - and reached for the handle to latch it shut.
A little orange jumpsuit passed me at waist height, the jangle of chains accompanying it.
I began to sputter a protest, but I was interrupted by the icy cold metal shiv passing through my back.
Falling to my knees in pain and surprise, the shiv extracted itself from my back before re-entering, this time at my neck.
"Daddy, why did you do this to Mommy?" a sweet little voice whispered into my ear.
My last thought was to remark at the irony that I would die facedown in a pool of my own blood, just as she did.
***
I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, reeking of fear.
I stretched my arm towards the ceiling - still mine to command, albeit with the marked bar code. My neck and back were un-pierced. The lights flickered in their familiar pattern as they clicked on for their morning reverie.
I rolled out of the bed, casting my bedsheets aside, and put my head in my hands.
Then I wept, for the first time in 7 years.
NOW COMPLETE. Comments and suggestions welcome!
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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Her eyes were totally devoid of all life. She stared ahead of her seeing nothing at all… just kept walking to the cell with about 50 high powered rifles pointed at her. This was by far the weirdest thing I had ever seen in this place. The Frozen Lake maximum security prison has seen its fair share of weird and horrible things over the last 20 years I have resided here, but this was beyond anything I had ever seen.
At about 3am this morning, the sirens went off, waking everyone in the facility. Of course it wasn’t part of the guard’s routine to tell us what was going on, so we all sat in our cells trying to block out the ear piercing scream of the sirens. After about 30 minutes, the alarms were silenced and the door at the end of the cell block was violently thrown open. In walked a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her curly brown hair bounced with every step and yet, not a single strand looked out of place… but her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, but there was something wrong with them that I couldn’t put my finger on. They just looked empty, like she was a walking shell.
She entered the cell block on her own, without any restraints. She was followed by at least 50 heavily armed men in SWAT body armor, each with their weapon trained on her. I watched her quietly walking down the middle of the block, the eerie silence of the block was like a weight on my chest. There wasn’t a single sound from anyone, even the girls footsteps were swallowed by the silence. When she got in front of my cell, she stopped and looked at me. I felt all the hair on my body stand on end and a chill ran down my spine. She just looked at me with those empty eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding out of control, my breath caught in my chest, I couldn’t look away from her eyes. What seemed like an eternity was probably just a few seconds when she turned away and continued towards the only empty cell on the block.
Once she arrived in the cell, the door slid shut with a satisfying clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t see her anymore due to the positioning of the cells, but it felt as if her dead eyes were still on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The cell block remained absolutely silent for the rest of the day, no one even complained when the guards didn’t bring our food. The silence was uncomfortable, normally you couldn’t even hear yourself think with all the noise and chaos in the block, but now... it just felt wrong.
That night, as the sun set on my cell block, we all heard it start. Singing…
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and take you away.*
The cell block became noticeably darker….
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and eat you up.*
She kept singing. The more she sang, the darker it became. It was so dark you could almost feel it. I could feel the chill and electricity in the air. This was not right. The darkness surrounded me. Finally, the moon escaped the clouds and I was able to get some of my vision back. I looked out of my cell and saw what looked like a black stain on the middle of the floor in front of my cell. There wasn’t any reflection of the light off of the stain, it was just a black void. It was as if the stain absorbed all of the light that touched it, yet it appeared to shimmer.
That’s when the girl stopped singing…. There wasn’t any sound for at least 3 minutes. I kept staring at the black stain trying to figure out what it was. Then she started to giggle… and the stain on the floor started sliding towards my cell. A shiver ran up my spine as the stain dragged itself towards me, I wanted to scream but was paralyzed with fear. I could only look on in horror as the thing got closer and closer. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t seem to be affected by this because he began to absolutely freak out. He started screaming for the guards or anyone. I was shocked when it seemed like the shadow heard him, it reached out with a long tentacle like arm of shadow into his cell. His panic immediately worsened. His pleas to the guards for help fell on deaf ears. His screams grew into something that sounded like an animal that knew it was about to be torn apart by a much larger predator. He screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before his voice was ripped away and the silence returned.
*Edit:* Adding more....
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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Psychological review and weekly therapy for inmate #7771, Edgar Baenlin, aka Heartbreak. Preformed by Dr. Alia Ashworth.
“Hello, Edgar. How are you today? Are your wounds healing well?”
Heya, Doc Ashworth. Yeah, Black Canary did a number on me, but I’m healing fine. Damn fishnets were what got me knocked out. Only time anyone’s ever done that. Thanks for askin though.
“You’re going to stay as calm and compliant as usual, right?”
Yeah. Of course. Not trying to increase my sentence. Anywho, my buddy Rico from the security team said something that got me wanting to chat though.
“Do you have questions for me?”
Yeah. Ya know I don’t think I’m particularly evil, certainly not as evil as the rest of these guys. I read comic books as kid, just like most people. I used to wonder what Arkham Asylum and that weird space prison the Justice League used were like. Now that I’m sitting in said space prison, I can see that it’s just like any other one. Boring, lot of rules, boring, food tastes bad, so on and so on. You work here, you know.
Anyway, like I said, I ain’t evil, I just don’t like normal humans like you trying to boss me around. I’m only here because its so hard for you guys to keep a hold of me, at least till you put me in here.
“Mr. Baenlin, please. We’ve gone over this. Your choices put you here, not the Justice League. They apprehended you, sure, but you chose to kill, destroy, and plunder. Now, you said something was bothering you. Tell me about it. Something about the new inmate, I presume?”
Yeah, yeah, I got it. I’m not arguing with you about that again. The kid. I know how this place is, I figured she’s a superhuman like the rest of us. But they’ve got her in The Hole. They usually only put the heavy hitters there. Doomsday, Brainiac, those guys. Why a kid? I know somethings not right about her though, I can tell that. Joker actually shut his mouth for once when she walked by and Bizarro damn near shit himself. I want information, because they’re being real tight lipped.
*Dr.Ashworth steps away from the table to activate additional security measures*
The hell you do that for?
“She’s in solitary confinement, bit after reading her file, I’m not taking any chances. She can apparently hear anyone, anywhere who talks about her. Thankfully, Batman and Dr. Fate have worked with our science division to discover how to nullify this ability. Their work is always invaluable when it comes to holding-“
Villains.
*Dr.Ashworth notes sarcasm and eye-rolling*
“We don’t like to use that term, but yes. Anyway, since you have proven to be less violent towards me and the security staff than most of the others, I’ll tell you about her. But I expect less of that sarcasm as payment.”
Yeah, I can do that, doc. I’m already here, might as well not cause a ruckus. Serve my time and whatnot.
“Good. That’s what I like to hear from you. From what I’ve read in her file, she’s called The Waif. Seeing her, talking about her, thinking about her, all these things draw her closer to you. The file says her presence weakens and sickens all living things within a certain distance, similar to what your ability does. But hers is far more potent and far reaching. Dr. Fate had to lock her in a pocket dimension just to keep her from exterminating the whole prison. According to the research he conducted, she creeps into you like an old memory. Not just your mind, you heart, you soul, your every fiber. She takes it all. Everything you’ve ever been or will be. Seen or will see. Felt or will feel. The report said that she just appeared in the forests of Montana and walked towards the city. It took them a long time to track her down, because no one was left alive to report the incident.”
She supposed to be Pestilence or something? How many did she kill?
“The report says that she leaves the body a shriveled husk of its former self. They were unable to tell the difference between human and animals for the most part.”
Ya know, my ability could probably stop hers. I’ve had a nuke dropped on me before. Didn’t even make me sick. I can volunteer if y’all are willing to let me outta here.
“I’m aware of your ability. I’m sure the Justice League will look into that.”
Not even gonna worry about her killing me, huh? I thought we had something, doc.
“Nothing past a doctor/patient relationship. You have to remember that I’m a scientist as well. An experiment is an experiment. I’ll leave a note for the members of the science division. I’ve seen the footage of your capture, you might do well.”
Not like I’m afraid to die. Bored to death in here anyway, not like I’m going anywhere.
“Is what I’ve told you enough? Or do you want me to describe the husks to you?”
Nah, I’m fine. That’s all I had, doc Ashworth. You can have them put me back whenever you’re ready. Thanks for the chat.
Session end.
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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"The worst part is they're giving her a cellmate"
"Who?"
"You"
A minute later and the barred door slammed shut.
"So, waddid you do?"
I ask this kid of 10.
"None of your business"
She coldly hissed.
"Which bunk do you sleep in?"
"Top one"
She immediately jumped up on my bunk and propped her feet up. This brat was walking all over me. So i made a plan. That night, i'd cut her throat.
As midnight rolled around, I clutched my shiv, waiting to do it. Then, i heard her praying. Did she know my plan? I hadn't had a chance or the inclination to tell anyone else. The whole plan was in my head. I listened to her prayer:
Lucifer, father, bearer of light, imbue me with the strength to strike down my enemies. In sin and degradation, hail"
I crept up and as i came to the side of the top bunk, she was staring at me.
"What do you think you're doing, Morris?"
I shook and dropped my shiv. She knew my name.
"What the fuck?"
"I know what you did Morris"
Suddenly, her eyes began bleeding and her fingers curled into claws, her teeth sprouting into fangs. Before i had time to pick up my shiv, she plunged her hand into my abdomen, ripping out my guts.
I jumped out of bed in a cold sweat. I felt my stomach to make sure my innards were still there. It was still midnight. From the top bunk I hear her: "Have good dreams, Morris?"
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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Oh my god.
It's been three days. Three days. I'm no hardened killer, but I'm not ashamed to say I've thrown up every hour on the hour. Not cause of the usual prison slop, mind you. This is about what I've seen, what I've heard.
I got lucky. Started a fight in courtyard, got the hole for three days. Hate the hole. Hole means darkness, solitude, fear. That was two minutes before it started. She started. Now, now the hole is paradise, the hole is heaven.
I only saw her once. She brushed past the cell, fingers whispering against the bar, leaving a red trail. She wasn't supposed to be here. No one was, not even guards come by for a chat.
"What you doing down here, girly?" I yelled, putting my best brave face on, holding my shaking hands behind my back. "What's going on up top?"
She turned her face to me, and I swear, my heart stopped. Those eyes. You could have seen arsonist, murders, rapists with kinder eyes than the black holes pouring out her head.
I threw myself against the back wall, putting as much space as possible. She pushed her face up to the bars, and bared her teeth. I don't know if it was a smile or what, but I couldn't get far enough away from it.
Hands outstretched, she reached for me, like the devil reaching for his favorite sinner. Something under her reached out too, clawed and dark, skimming across the ground. It was coming for me, oh god! It was coming for me!
Tears poured out my face. I couldn't even beg for my worthless life. All I could do, a grown man with more blood on his hands than I'll ever admit, and I cried as I felt her cold little fingers on my face, clawing into my skin. Into my soul. The blood was pouring and all I could do was scream.
Don't know what happened. Woke in the infirm of the prison next county over. Doctors tell me, I'm the only one out. They checked the bodies. No little girl, not even a little dwarf. Only proof to my story is the hand print. Doc says it matches to a girly's but the claws. No little girl comes with claws.
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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**Day 3**
I sat down at one end of the long, metal table in the dining hall, close to the wall. Even though it was lunch time, there was noone else around. The other inmates had quickly learnt the health value of staying hungry now and again. I opened my juice box and looked carefully at the girl across from me.
"How do you feel today?"
"Okay."
After waiting, silently, for about a minute, I continued quietly:
"Is the voice still there?"
She nodded.
"Only the female one. I think she kept the rest away so I can sleep."
"And did you?", I asked.
"Yes." The young girl just kept staring down at her plate, saying nothing more. Her dark brown hair was hiding her expression.
"That's good." I added simply. "That's good for you", I repeated, this time a bit more loudly and more confidently.
"And I dreamt." She said. This was new. The first time she decided to share something on her own accord. Or say anything without me asking, for that matter. But she didn't keep going, so I gathered up my courage and enquired further.
"Do you remember the dream, what was it about?"
"Yes." She paused. "It was dark, before sunrise. There was a forest. And a mountain behind it. And... and the trees were on fire, and the mountain too. It was everywhere, and I could see the crackling wood, and smell the thick smokes. And wind, strong wind, like a tornado amid the inferno. There was rumbling, as if the earth itself was moving, trying to escape, to run away."
Another pause.
"The screams were the worst. They were everywhere. I couldn't tell where they were coming from, no matter how hard I looked. And I did look everywhere. It was a funny thing."
"Why did you think it was funny?" I thought I had to ask, after brief consideration.
"Because everyone was already dead, of course." She finally started eating and we spoke no more.
**Day 8**
She was already waiting in front of my cell by the time I was ready to go outside. That was a first. I've never been much of a morning person, it was usually the guards who kept prodding me to leave. So I was surprised to see her there, staying couple of feet away from the door, looking at the floor. Considering they must have unlocked the blocks not five minutes ago, I wondered if she had ran all the way here. Or maybe they didn't even bother locking her in the first place? I wasn't going to ask. But even if I wanted to, she spoke first.
"Did you mean what you said to me? Yesterday?"
"Yes."
"If not mine, then whose fault is it?"
"I do not know. But not yours."
"I... I dont understand it. It's so loud. They won't stop, she can't keep them quiet all the time. But if they are only inside *my* head, inside me, then they are *part* of me, aren't they? It's me, it's only me, it's always been me..."
"Those men made their choices and they did so a long time ago. What happened to them had nothing to do with you." I was never the philosiphical type, but I felt I was supposed to say something. Nothing good could come from her being upset. "We are the choices we make, and it was not your choice to start or do anything. No matter what the voices say, they are not you. Not all of you, not even a tiny bit."
She nodded. I still couldn't read her reactions, but I didn't know what else I could say, so I remained silent.
"There are still five more stories left." She pulled her old book with fairy tales from her jacket.
"Ok, let's go read one." I gently took her hand and lead the way to the dining hall.
**Day 12, shortly before midnight**
"LISTEN TO ME", I shouted. "HEAR MY VOICE. DO YOU HEAR ME." Now I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
"They are so loud. They are so loud. They are so loud." She was almost crying, with hands on her ears, her eyes closed, rocking her head back and forth. "Make them stop. Please make them stop."
"THEY ARE NOT YOU. THEY ARE NOT YOU" I knew I should have said something distinguishable, something she could recognize me with, something that could reach her. I was frantically trying to remember which was her favourite story.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me."
There was a subtle rumbling, coming from beneath the prison. I didn't hear it.
A window nearby cracked, and a strong wind started whistling through. I didn't notice.
**Day 13, just after midnight**
"Shut up. Shut up. *SHUT UP.*"
Outside, in the forest before the mountain, a spark flickered.
And then there was fire.
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As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
The system beeped.
“This is an interview relating to incident number K-23 within Extra-Max facility 120. Please state your name, inmate number, charges and sentence for the benefit of the recording” said one of the officers. He was the taller of the two, a pencil thin mustache cresting his top lip and a thin dusting of salt and pepper hair on top of his head. Before Al-Si answered, the shorter (and fatter, by a wide margin) officer broke out into a coughing fit. The taller officer gave him a glare and silence once again fell.
Now they both turned expectantly to Al-Si.
“Al-Si Nib Dar, Inmate number 746583, charged with 18 counts of inter-planetary arms trafficking and one of evading arrest via violent means. Sentence was originally 35 years, but I successfully appealed three of the arms charges due to the mishandling of evidence and got it reduced to 29. Have served 15 so far.”
“Thank you, Mr Nib Dar. Now, to the best of your recollection could you please explain the events leading to the incident last week?”
Al-Si shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d been taken from his cell, taken from the prison proper for the first time in 10 years (since his last trip to court to appeal the charges) and unusually for transfers between the prison proper and other areas, he had not had any of his cybernetic augmentations disabled. While avoiding the painful procedure of having the augs shut down was a good thing, he knew he could do nothing with them and the itching caused by having his left eye suddenly working again, free from the prison proper’s blanket disabling field, was sending him crazy.
“Well we heard in the morning that the new crop was coming in. Old Cleaver was taking bets on the first to crack and call a guard as usual. Then the bell rang and we all went to our cells.”
“Cleaver. This would be Pat Cleaver, yes?” the shorter officer interjected.
Al-Si nodded, continuing. “Umm, then they walked in.”
“They being the new inmates?” the tall officer prompted, when Al-Si paused.
“Yes. Most of them were the normal fare, but I noticed her instantly. She couldn’t have been more than 13.”
Now it was the tall officer’s turn to shift uncomfortably. “She’s 11, actually.”
Al-Si shuddered. “She went to her cell silently, same as all of them, and we stayed in our cells till yard time. When the guards came round for checks, I mentioned her to Officer Bright.”
The shorter officer took a note in his little pad.
“What exactly did you say to Officer Bright, and what did he respond, Mr Nib Dar?”
“I said “Jesus Christ Bright, what are they playing at sticking a girl like that in a place like this?” and he looked at me like he wanted to be sick. “I know. They must really not give a shit what happens to the rest of you.” He muttered.”
The short officer coughed again, but thankfully only once.
“And what was the next significant moment in the lead up to the incident, Mr Nib Dar?”
“Si, please. Um, the next moment was yard time. We were walking out as normal-“
“Mr N-Si, who exactly were you with as you left for the yard?”
Al-Si hesitated. The memory was painful.
“Um, I was walking with Galfar and Bones, uh Galfar Zem and Vice Vickers. We didn’t get 5 steps out the door
before everyone we could see in front of us broke into a sprint.”
“So, when you saw this rush, what did the three of you do?”
“Galfar shrugged and went inside. He took a plasma bolt to the hip in the last riot and he still gets spasms in his foot so he didn’t want any part of anything. Me and Vice ran too, out of curiosity.”
“Okay then Si, and when you reached the source of the disturbance what did you witness?” The tall officer asked, as his short companion flipped to a new page in the notebook and poised his pencil.
“It was horrible.”
Neither Officer spoke immediately, but after a moment the short officer piped up.
“Please state exactly what you saw. I know it was distressing.”
Al-Si scoffed. Distressing? He had been an interplanetary arms dealer for 14 years, and a bloody good one. So good, in fact, that he ended up with 15 charges for an offence he’d committed hundreds of times and one lesser charge than deserved for rigging a booby trap that took out three of the four officers sent to apprehend him. Death, violence, blood, gore, none of it phased him. He was no psycho, but he was no pussy. What that girl had done…it was beyond distressing.
“It wasn’t her actions. I mean…they were bad enough.” He managed to choke out.
“It…it was the glee on her face. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. It was like…like a child who’d never seen a present before on his first Christmas. She…she tore that guy’s arm off and she took a bite out of it as though it was a chocolate cake. And the whole time, the whole time, she giggled and grinned.”
The shorter officer looked a little sick. He was lucky. He’d seen the pictures, probably. Maybe the footage if there was any that wasn’t obscured by the mass of bodies watching the carnage. But he hadn’t had to witness it. Hadn’t had to be within 5 metres of that monster as she murdered her way through 14 of the worst, most violent and unremorseful criminals that the entire planetary system had to offer with the euphoria of someone indulging in the absolute most enjoyable activity they can conceive of. Hadn’t had to look into her eyes for that brief second as she’d glanced at him.
“And then what happened, Si?” Tall prompted.
“We understand if you need a moment.” Short added.
“The second she looked at me I knew it was too late to run. How…how did her augs still work?”
Short and Tall exchanged a look.
“We’re still working that out.”
Al-Si laughed sardonically, his jaw tightening. He was sat there, leg missing, traumatised after they had put that monster in a prison unfit to hold her, and they were “still working out” how she’d managed to activate several military grade augmentations inside a supposedly secure facility.
“She came for me and that was it. Next thing I remember is waking up in the Infirmary, one leg down.”
He slumped. Tall, in a display of emotion that even in the short time they’d spent together, Al-Si could tell was rare, placed a hand on Al-Si’s shoulder.
“As the only survivor of the incident, you may not feel particularly lucky. However, due to the extreme nature of the circumstances, and the fact that you survived the onslaught only by sheer luck, we have received orders that your remaining sentence is to be halved and you are to be placed in a minimum security virtual facility for its duration. The Council of Planets Interplanetary Prison Complex apologises for its failings in your circumstance.”
Al-Si nodded, his heart lifting somewhat. Virtual prisons were cushy, you just sat in a room being drip fed while a digital chip presented you with a virtual city. You got a job, spent your free time on whatever self-improving pursuits you desired, and you proved you were rehabilitated. He’d have an easy time getting early release after the strict rules of EM 120. Couldn’t bring back his leg. Couldn’t heal the scars on his psyche. Couldn’t stop him vomiting anytime he thought about the look on Cleaver’s face as that girl had bitten through his throat. But it was something, at least.
“Interview terminated.”
The system beeped.
|
As the time passes night falls the ringing of a bell and the usual shouting orders you to return to your cells.
Today is quieter than usual. Lights got out and you find yourself laying in bed wondering who she might be and what atrocities she had committed, a voice reaches out with similar questions. The man next cell starts narrating what you end up finding the most cruel mass homicide you've ever dreamt of imagining, apparently even though she looked like a 9 year old kid had been alive for quite some time and mentored the biggest mass murderers in recent history. Her name?
Albert Einstein.
sidenote: just wanted to make a good ol' joke bue ended up giving half way through and rushing the buildup. sry about my english too
|
|
[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Her eyes were totally devoid of all life. She stared ahead of her seeing nothing at all… just kept walking to the cell with about 50 high powered rifles pointed at her. This was by far the weirdest thing I had ever seen in this place. The Frozen Lake maximum security prison has seen its fair share of weird and horrible things over the last 20 years I have resided here, but this was beyond anything I had ever seen.
At about 3am this morning, the sirens went off, waking everyone in the facility. Of course it wasn’t part of the guard’s routine to tell us what was going on, so we all sat in our cells trying to block out the ear piercing scream of the sirens. After about 30 minutes, the alarms were silenced and the door at the end of the cell block was violently thrown open. In walked a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her curly brown hair bounced with every step and yet, not a single strand looked out of place… but her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, but there was something wrong with them that I couldn’t put my finger on. They just looked empty, like she was a walking shell.
She entered the cell block on her own, without any restraints. She was followed by at least 50 heavily armed men in SWAT body armor, each with their weapon trained on her. I watched her quietly walking down the middle of the block, the eerie silence of the block was like a weight on my chest. There wasn’t a single sound from anyone, even the girls footsteps were swallowed by the silence. When she got in front of my cell, she stopped and looked at me. I felt all the hair on my body stand on end and a chill ran down my spine. She just looked at me with those empty eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding out of control, my breath caught in my chest, I couldn’t look away from her eyes. What seemed like an eternity was probably just a few seconds when she turned away and continued towards the only empty cell on the block.
Once she arrived in the cell, the door slid shut with a satisfying clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t see her anymore due to the positioning of the cells, but it felt as if her dead eyes were still on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The cell block remained absolutely silent for the rest of the day, no one even complained when the guards didn’t bring our food. The silence was uncomfortable, normally you couldn’t even hear yourself think with all the noise and chaos in the block, but now... it just felt wrong.
That night, as the sun set on my cell block, we all heard it start. Singing…
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and take you away.*
The cell block became noticeably darker….
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and eat you up.*
She kept singing. The more she sang, the darker it became. It was so dark you could almost feel it. I could feel the chill and electricity in the air. This was not right. The darkness surrounded me. Finally, the moon escaped the clouds and I was able to get some of my vision back. I looked out of my cell and saw what looked like a black stain on the middle of the floor in front of my cell. There wasn’t any reflection of the light off of the stain, it was just a black void. It was as if the stain absorbed all of the light that touched it, yet it appeared to shimmer.
That’s when the girl stopped singing…. There wasn’t any sound for at least 3 minutes. I kept staring at the black stain trying to figure out what it was. Then she started to giggle… and the stain on the floor started sliding towards my cell. A shiver ran up my spine as the stain dragged itself towards me, I wanted to scream but was paralyzed with fear. I could only look on in horror as the thing got closer and closer. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t seem to be affected by this because he began to absolutely freak out. He started screaming for the guards or anyone. I was shocked when it seemed like the shadow heard him, it reached out with a long tentacle like arm of shadow into his cell. His panic immediately worsened. His pleas to the guards for help fell on deaf ears. His screams grew into something that sounded like an animal that knew it was about to be torn apart by a much larger predator. He screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before his voice was ripped away and the silence returned.
*Edit:* Adding more....
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The Talissa Complex. Tartarus to the more educated residents, simply The Pit to those not as interested in the classics. A century ago it had been meant to protect the central command of its country from the most advanced WMDs of the tome, while they could order the launch of their own from safety. Now it housed "Category 31d". Category 31 are those prisoners with intense augmentations, whether bionic, genetic or something else, that either could not safely be removed or they had refused to have them removed, as is their right by UN Bodily Sovereignty Resolution 31. So instead they were buried somewhere far out of sight. The "c" referred to prisoners whose crimes were so severe that they would never see daylight again, and extreme violent tendencies made them unsuitable to walk amongst more civilized inmates. Together, these two definitions designated the people that society feared so much that they didn't feel safe unless they buried them under a mountain, hoping that we would kill each other off when the guards were just a bit late to intervene.
When I arrived here there were six inmates, and three more have come during my 30 years here. Mathias is the veteran, an nonagenarian who had spent 70 of his 92 years here. Most of the skin in his faced had died of, leaving the bare metal-infused skull. When he would finally die off his endoskeletal augments would proabably be donated to a museum, along with his ancient combat stimulant glands. He had apparently been an enforcer for some big corporate gangster in Lagos and had single-handedly caused the Bifröst tragedy when he massacred the construction crew of what was becoming the first space elevator and then blew its anchor, killing hundred of thousands more when the nanotube cable crashed into the city. His boss made a fortune on the stock market until it was traced back to him.
Alex is his distant second, with fifty years on his back. After being locked away in his twenties for rape he accepted to undergo an experimental rehabilitative treatment for reduced sentence. He was released 10 years later and lived the next 30 years as a model citizen and a renowned doctor, until someone found the "pet" he kept in the basement, an amalgam of countless human body parts, stitched together and kept alive by some mad science. I dunno what hardware he has in his head, but when he looks at you he sees into your mind, and soul, and the looks he gives you seems to say he wants to eat it.
Vera and Theodora are both war criminals, the last survivors of the infamous "Iskander squad". They would infiltrate the Coalition army by killing members and wearing their skin, perfectly mimicking both their voice and mannerisms, before detonating their microwave implants. I've heard that the stench of burning flesh still lingers in some places although 30 years have passed. Trevor also committed war crimes, and the fact that he was locked up despite being on the winning side should tell you how badly he behaved. On full charge the man can run through tanks, so softer targets barely leave remains.
Elisa was the heiress to the Genolution Corporation, until the Albion scandal led to it being forcibly liquidated, and her family got life sentences. She spent her remaining wealth on combat augs and went on a revenge spree against the investigators that destroyed her family. Apparently the collateral damage was in the thousands. She came here twenty years ago, just a month before me.
Don't know much about the new guys but apparently William is a satyr. A product of a primitive surgery you can get amongst the high-end back alley surgeons in Paradise City that cuts out all inhibitions. They fear nothing and they're all masochists that act immediately on any of their desires, which are always violent and perverse even beyond the grasp of the most insane inmates. Outside of Paradise they are shot on sight so I barely understand how they got him alive and not at all why they did it. Karl was probably a merc, and augmented enough to tear an arm of William, who of course just became more excited by that. But the last one is a puzzle.
Alma arrived here two weeks ago. She barely looks eight years old. But when Alex looked at her he saw something in her that scared him enough to decide to lock himself in the bathroom, where he has stayed since. She mostly stays in her room and cries so loudly that it echoes all over the complex. Matthias went to shut her up and the next moment guards are rushing in and drag HIM off to infirmary, his legs gone. To complicate things, no one knows where his legs are now. William of course wanted to "have some fun" with her. He was found unconscious in a puddle of his own blood. The crying reminded Vera of a daughter or a sister or something, and she decided to comfort her. She is now in a coma in the infirmary, missing half her torso. Everyone decided to stay away after that. Which did not save Trevor whose vitals suddenly went critical while in his cell, and was found there torn to pieces, barely clinging to life, with her sitting on the bed, still crying. Two days ago William woke up. He has been unable to speak but he avoids her at all cost, which does not make sense as he is incapable of feeling fear. But she got him this afternoon anyway. Yet I never heard the crying in her cell stop, so how she got to his cell is beyond me. He probably won't make the night. I've been reading the news trying to find anything about her. There is nothing. According to the net she doesn't exist.
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
|
Her eyes were totally devoid of all life. She stared ahead of her seeing nothing at all… just kept walking to the cell with about 50 high powered rifles pointed at her. This was by far the weirdest thing I had ever seen in this place. The Frozen Lake maximum security prison has seen its fair share of weird and horrible things over the last 20 years I have resided here, but this was beyond anything I had ever seen.
At about 3am this morning, the sirens went off, waking everyone in the facility. Of course it wasn’t part of the guard’s routine to tell us what was going on, so we all sat in our cells trying to block out the ear piercing scream of the sirens. After about 30 minutes, the alarms were silenced and the door at the end of the cell block was violently thrown open. In walked a little girl, she couldn’t have been more than 12. Her curly brown hair bounced with every step and yet, not a single strand looked out of place… but her eyes. They were the most vibrant shade of green I had ever seen, but there was something wrong with them that I couldn’t put my finger on. They just looked empty, like she was a walking shell.
She entered the cell block on her own, without any restraints. She was followed by at least 50 heavily armed men in SWAT body armor, each with their weapon trained on her. I watched her quietly walking down the middle of the block, the eerie silence of the block was like a weight on my chest. There wasn’t a single sound from anyone, even the girls footsteps were swallowed by the silence. When she got in front of my cell, she stopped and looked at me. I felt all the hair on my body stand on end and a chill ran down my spine. She just looked at me with those empty eyes and smiled. My heart was pounding out of control, my breath caught in my chest, I couldn’t look away from her eyes. What seemed like an eternity was probably just a few seconds when she turned away and continued towards the only empty cell on the block.
Once she arrived in the cell, the door slid shut with a satisfying clang of steel on steel. I couldn’t see her anymore due to the positioning of the cells, but it felt as if her dead eyes were still on me, I couldn’t shake the feeling. The cell block remained absolutely silent for the rest of the day, no one even complained when the guards didn’t bring our food. The silence was uncomfortable, normally you couldn’t even hear yourself think with all the noise and chaos in the block, but now... it just felt wrong.
That night, as the sun set on my cell block, we all heard it start. Singing…
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and take you away.*
The cell block became noticeably darker….
*Sleep little one*
*Sleep already*
*Or the Nictis Maganti will come and eat you up.*
She kept singing. The more she sang, the darker it became. It was so dark you could almost feel it. I could feel the chill and electricity in the air. This was not right. The darkness surrounded me. Finally, the moon escaped the clouds and I was able to get some of my vision back. I looked out of my cell and saw what looked like a black stain on the middle of the floor in front of my cell. There wasn’t any reflection of the light off of the stain, it was just a black void. It was as if the stain absorbed all of the light that touched it, yet it appeared to shimmer.
That’s when the girl stopped singing…. There wasn’t any sound for at least 3 minutes. I kept staring at the black stain trying to figure out what it was. Then she started to giggle… and the stain on the floor started sliding towards my cell. A shiver ran up my spine as the stain dragged itself towards me, I wanted to scream but was paralyzed with fear. I could only look on in horror as the thing got closer and closer. The guy in the cell next to mine didn’t seem to be affected by this because he began to absolutely freak out. He started screaming for the guards or anyone. I was shocked when it seemed like the shadow heard him, it reached out with a long tentacle like arm of shadow into his cell. His panic immediately worsened. His pleas to the guards for help fell on deaf ears. His screams grew into something that sounded like an animal that knew it was about to be torn apart by a much larger predator. He screamed and screamed for what seemed like an eternity before his voice was ripped away and the silence returned.
*Edit:* Adding more....
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When she first walked by, I thought there was a gap in the chain between the prisoners. I did a double-take, discovering that the line of condemned was not broken, but that the missing link was in fact a person, of about half-size, wearing the chain that was much too large for her small frame. At first, I thought it was some kind of dwarf-sized person, but on closer inspection it appeared that it was a child. The chain designed to prevent prisoners from lifting their arms above their chest was somewhat moot on her; the little girl could easily have stretched her arms all the way up with slack to spare.
But she didn't. She looked frightened, a terrified child in the wrong place - unlike most prisoners who knew better, she kept casting pleading glances at her captors, who ignored her gleaming eyes and continued to process in the new batch of prisoners.
It was a rather comical and melancholic sight, her jumpsuit shirt alone reaching her ankles and the short sleeves of the shirt reaching her elbows. Without tatoos or scars like most of the prisoners here, she looked like a porcelain doll in human clothes.
"That's cruel," I tell the guard, "What crime has she committed to warrant a sentence here?"
"Shut up prisoner. Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you," he retorts. A sharp blow to the head reinforces the 'shut up' part of the brief reprise.
Distanced from the hum-drum of the every day world, it has been many months and years since we've had access to anything from the outside world other than menial entertainment in the form of sitcoms and books. Likely this child had been born long after the atrocities that had found my unfortunate soul behind these iron walls.
Yes, me and my unfortunate soul; it never passed through my lips, but the unequivocal evidence of the passioned crime; a crime which had me leave logic and restraint at the door - and blood over every surface in the house. When I had first arrived at the penitentiary, people knew what I had done to my beautiful wife, the pair of closed caskets that would be filled with my works and what remained of her. Her, and in that second casket, that man she was fucking.
It made news everywhere of course, since he was a fairly prominent member of society, and she was a very photogenic women - I do express regret defacing a work of art such as her in my violent throes, but I stand by what I had done.
Oh, and of course they discovered shortly afterwards that she was pregnant with his child.
That is probably the reason I have not seen the outside of the prison walls since I arrived. Maximum security, single cell, and not a chance for parole. The jury had vied for my head on a pike long before I had entered the courtroom, and they had gotten it.
A loud rattling noise disturbs my reconstituted thoughts, and I returned to my older, grey body. The mop still in my hands, the bar code genetic tattoo still on my wrist. The bar codes were a recent development since the warden decided we didn't warrant the luxury of daily genetic tests to verify our confinement, instead opting to label us like the cheap bags of mystery oatmeal that we ate daily from the kitchen. The irony between the ink and iron bars was not lost to us prisoners, and we always had a good laugh about it.
***
Today I was fortunate; I had been assigned to book-keeping, only a few days after the mystery arrival of the little girl; nobody had really seen her since, she seemed to take meals in solitary, and another person had seen her once on the other side of the yard on one of our daily 'walks.'
Book-keeping came rather naturally to me, since my previous occupation had been something similar, but was no more interesting today than it was in my previous life. Except perhaps today.
Rifling rapidly through the new arrivals cabinet, I opened up the folder with familiar foreigner who had shown up just days prior. Naturally, the first thing I glanced at was the age.
7.
She was 7, in one of the most maximum security prisons on the planet, alongside some of the scum of the earth deemed to dangerous to be let anywhere near the general populous. She would not have even been alive the day that I had entered this place. I flipped to her mug shot, she looked just as innocent and familiar as the brief glimpse I caught on her processing day. I continued to flip to the most interesting part of any prisoner's file: crimes committed.
I started reading through it, my eyes growing wider with every word that passed beneath them.
This wasn't her dossier. It was mine.
Except it wasn't mine - this one had all the redacted details of that fateful night nearly a decade ago, the details I had never told the police, details that had no witnesses nor evidence except my memories. Details about how my she had begged and cried to me to spare her for the sake of her child; oh how she had elucidated for me before I eviscerated her!
She had confessed to it all, including the pregnancy, and of her plans to depart me for a better life on the other side of the ocean; she laid bare all my flaws scattered in her incoherent words, mixed with the most desperate tears of a dying woman pleading before Death.
And how, right before I had committed the deed, she had lied to me about who the father of the child was.
The anguish evicted from me had nearly saved her life - if not for the fact that the man, that man, had just come home in time to witness the scene. My hesitations, however brief, had been reserved for her and her only, and my drug-fuelled soul burned with vengeance.
The report was correct this time: he had died first, and then she had begged me to kill her - true love if I ever knew it.
I had happily obliged her request.
Hands shaking, I used my sweat-soaked fingertips to flip over to the next page. Autopsy report.
Generally, they provide a full page with a small diagram of the body to show the injuries, accompanied on the same page by text describing the extent of said injuries.
For my crime, they needed two full pages dedicated to the diagram. Two full pages *each*
I flipped past the diagrams onto the text portion of the page and skimmed it briefly until I reached the notation that denoted her pregnancy. "DNA analysis on the following page" was scribbled onto the side column. I turned the page over and paused.
Along the top of the page were some cursory notes about the curtailed pregnancy and the genetic analysis for the unborn child. Underneath it was the genetic barcode recovered from said child.
The DNA barcode along the top of the page looked awfully familiar.
I held my arm up to the page to align the barcode on my arm with that on the page.
More of the lines matched than didn't.
I balked, and flipped back to the prisoner photo - the same green eyes, the same brown hair; only 20 years younger; with my dimples.
I knew this face.
The interruption of the prisoner escapee alarm jolted me with such violence that I dropped the folder, scattering its contents all over the floor- this day's revelations had been so violent to me that the alarm seemed to just be the icing on an over-laden cake, now leaning over the table to deposit itself onto the floor.
My thoughts stumbled over the standard protocol - all prisoners remain in place, all doors locked. I staggered over to the still-open door of the accounts office - who bothers to lock these anyways? - and reached for the handle to latch it shut.
A little orange jumpsuit passed me at waist height, the jangle of chains accompanying it.
I began to sputter a protest, but I was interrupted by the icy cold metal shiv passing through my back.
Falling to my knees in pain and surprise, the shiv extracted itself from my back before re-entering, this time at my neck.
"Daddy, why did you do this to Mommy?" a sweet little voice whispered into my ear.
My last thought was to remark at the irony that I would die facedown in a pool of my own blood, just as she did.
***
I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat, reeking of fear.
I stretched my arm towards the ceiling - still mine to command, albeit with the marked bar code. My neck and back were un-pierced. The lights flickered in their familiar pattern as they clicked on for their morning reverie.
I rolled out of the bed, casting my bedsheets aside, and put my head in my hands.
Then I wept, for the first time in 7 years.
NOW COMPLETE. Comments and suggestions welcome!
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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**Day 3**
I sat down at one end of the long, metal table in the dining hall, close to the wall. Even though it was lunch time, there was noone else around. The other inmates had quickly learnt the health value of staying hungry now and again. I opened my juice box and looked carefully at the girl across from me.
"How do you feel today?"
"Okay."
After waiting, silently, for about a minute, I continued quietly:
"Is the voice still there?"
She nodded.
"Only the female one. I think she kept the rest away so I can sleep."
"And did you?", I asked.
"Yes." The young girl just kept staring down at her plate, saying nothing more. Her dark brown hair was hiding her expression.
"That's good." I added simply. "That's good for you", I repeated, this time a bit more loudly and more confidently.
"And I dreamt." She said. This was new. The first time she decided to share something on her own accord. Or say anything without me asking, for that matter. But she didn't keep going, so I gathered up my courage and enquired further.
"Do you remember the dream, what was it about?"
"Yes." She paused. "It was dark, before sunrise. There was a forest. And a mountain behind it. And... and the trees were on fire, and the mountain too. It was everywhere, and I could see the crackling wood, and smell the thick smokes. And wind, strong wind, like a tornado amid the inferno. There was rumbling, as if the earth itself was moving, trying to escape, to run away."
Another pause.
"The screams were the worst. They were everywhere. I couldn't tell where they were coming from, no matter how hard I looked. And I did look everywhere. It was a funny thing."
"Why did you think it was funny?" I thought I had to ask, after brief consideration.
"Because everyone was already dead, of course." She finally started eating and we spoke no more.
**Day 8**
She was already waiting in front of my cell by the time I was ready to go outside. That was a first. I've never been much of a morning person, it was usually the guards who kept prodding me to leave. So I was surprised to see her there, staying couple of feet away from the door, looking at the floor. Considering they must have unlocked the blocks not five minutes ago, I wondered if she had ran all the way here. Or maybe they didn't even bother locking her in the first place? I wasn't going to ask. But even if I wanted to, she spoke first.
"Did you mean what you said to me? Yesterday?"
"Yes."
"If not mine, then whose fault is it?"
"I do not know. But not yours."
"I... I dont understand it. It's so loud. They won't stop, she can't keep them quiet all the time. But if they are only inside *my* head, inside me, then they are *part* of me, aren't they? It's me, it's only me, it's always been me..."
"Those men made their choices and they did so a long time ago. What happened to them had nothing to do with you." I was never the philosiphical type, but I felt I was supposed to say something. Nothing good could come from her being upset. "We are the choices we make, and it was not your choice to start or do anything. No matter what the voices say, they are not you. Not all of you, not even a tiny bit."
She nodded. I still couldn't read her reactions, but I didn't know what else I could say, so I remained silent.
"There are still five more stories left." She pulled her old book with fairy tales from her jacket.
"Ok, let's go read one." I gently took her hand and lead the way to the dining hall.
**Day 12, shortly before midnight**
"LISTEN TO ME", I shouted. "HEAR MY VOICE. DO YOU HEAR ME." Now I was screaming at the top of my lungs.
"They are so loud. They are so loud. They are so loud." She was almost crying, with hands on her ears, her eyes closed, rocking her head back and forth. "Make them stop. Please make them stop."
"THEY ARE NOT YOU. THEY ARE NOT YOU" I knew I should have said something distinguishable, something she could recognize me with, something that could reach her. I was frantically trying to remember which was her favourite story.
"Stop. Stop. Stop. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me. Don't talk to me."
There was a subtle rumbling, coming from beneath the prison. I didn't hear it.
A window nearby cracked, and a strong wind started whistling through. I didn't notice.
**Day 13, just after midnight**
"Shut up. Shut up. *SHUT UP.*"
Outside, in the forest before the mountain, a spark flickered.
And then there was fire.
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Oh my god.
It's been three days. Three days. I'm no hardened killer, but I'm not ashamed to say I've thrown up every hour on the hour. Not cause of the usual prison slop, mind you. This is about what I've seen, what I've heard.
I got lucky. Started a fight in courtyard, got the hole for three days. Hate the hole. Hole means darkness, solitude, fear. That was two minutes before it started. She started. Now, now the hole is paradise, the hole is heaven.
I only saw her once. She brushed past the cell, fingers whispering against the bar, leaving a red trail. She wasn't supposed to be here. No one was, not even guards come by for a chat.
"What you doing down here, girly?" I yelled, putting my best brave face on, holding my shaking hands behind my back. "What's going on up top?"
She turned her face to me, and I swear, my heart stopped. Those eyes. You could have seen arsonist, murders, rapists with kinder eyes than the black holes pouring out her head.
I threw myself against the back wall, putting as much space as possible. She pushed her face up to the bars, and bared her teeth. I don't know if it was a smile or what, but I couldn't get far enough away from it.
Hands outstretched, she reached for me, like the devil reaching for his favorite sinner. Something under her reached out too, clawed and dark, skimming across the ground. It was coming for me, oh god! It was coming for me!
Tears poured out my face. I couldn't even beg for my worthless life. All I could do, a grown man with more blood on his hands than I'll ever admit, and I cried as I felt her cold little fingers on my face, clawing into my skin. Into my soul. The blood was pouring and all I could do was scream.
Don't know what happened. Woke in the infirm of the prison next county over. Doctors tell me, I'm the only one out. They checked the bodies. No little girl, not even a little dwarf. Only proof to my story is the hand print. Doc says it matches to a girly's but the claws. No little girl comes with claws.
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[WP] You're a prisoner in a special facility for violent criminals. Today the latest prisoner arrived - a little girl. "That's cruel," you tell the guard. "I agree," he says. "Guess no one cares what happens to the rest of you."
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The guard chuckled as he continued down the cell block, leading the little girl to an empty cell. Neither of the neighboring cells were occupied. "We'll keep her away from you lot," he said as her door shut and locked with a buzz. "For your safety."
I know everyone here. Murderers, rapists, you name it, they're here. It's a modern day Alcatraz, just without the great view. I don't have many lines I wont cross, but to put a little girl here along with scum like me is just wrong. Hell I've probably been in this joint longer than she's been alive. These guards must be more demented than I realized.
That night I could hear faint sobbing echoing off the concrete walls. These monsters.
We woke the next morning to an alarm, which wasn't unusual. Sometimes they'll do a drill before wake up just to piss us off. Other times a guard fell asleep and missed shift change. I usually stay on my cot until an overweight prick yells at me to get up.
This morning, however, an overweight prick was jogging down the block, huffing as he went. It made me briefly think how easy it would be to overrun this jail if those damn guards weren't loaded with live rounds all the time. Then two more ran past, calling in on their radio.
"Officer down in Block D."
A few minutes later word began spreading down the block. Officer Johnson, the one who led the girl to her cell the day before, had missed his shift change and was found dead in front of the girl's cell. We found out later Johnson had died from asphyxiation, as if someone had grabbed him from behind and choked the life out of him. He was also missing a few fingers. They made us skip breakfast while they accounted for everyone in their cells. No one was missing.
Later that day I walked out toward the yard to play some basketball. I passed by the girl's cell and peeked in to see how she was holding up. Poor thing must have been shaken up by what had happened nearby.
She was just sitting upright on her cot, starring at the wall. Then, she saw me, and reached behind and pulled out something from under her pillow to show me. I leaned closer and nearly lost my shit. She, smiling sweetly, was holding Johnson's severed fingers.
Edit: autocorrect fail
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At lunch, the other inmates gave her a wide berth as she skipped - yes, *skipped* - to an empty table and set her tray down.
Still in the lunch line, I turned to the inmate behind me and asked, "What's up with that little girl? Who is she?" But the man avoided eye contact and didn't want to talk.
Same with the inmate ahead of me. It seemed that whenever I mentioned her, the other inmates became sullen and withdrawn, seemingly wanting to avoid the subject of the girl altogether.
I was worried for her. Though I hadn't yet seen any leers, she was the only female in a facility of full-grown men - some of whom were imprisoned on charges where little girls like her were victim. So after I got my tray, I made my way towards her.
I had only taken two steps when a strong hand grabbed my shoulder. It was the inmate from behind me in the line. He shook his head and whispered, "Don't do it."
"Why not?"
But apparently, he had said too much already. He let go of me and walked away.
I continued on to the table and hovered over the seat opposite her. "Is anybody sitting here?" I asked.
She had been humming and kicking her feet, but at the sound of my voice she looked up and smiled. She was a pretty girl, with two blonde pigtails, and two huge, blue eyes. "I'm sorry," she said. "But the table is full."
"But..." I made a point of looking around to emphasize that...there was nobody there...
"I'm sorry," she repeated - smile thinning as she lost her patience, "but the *table* is *full.*"
I laughed and sat down anyway.
I felt somebody's - some*thing's* - legs under mine, like I was sitting in an invisible creature's lap.
Startled, I jumped back up, leaving my tray behind as I backed away.
The girl was no longer smiling. Her eyes watched me the entire time I backed away to another table. No one else made eye contact with me as I sat down.
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