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WritingPrompts_binarized

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Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	Apocalypse Log, Personal Entry. Day 1,334 since the Abomination of Desolation stood in the Temple in Jerusalem, and the collapse of the [Thwaites glacier](https://www.wired.com/story/antarctica-thwaites-glacier-breaking-point/) in Antarctica. We fled to the mountains as soon as we heard the news, didn't even bother to go into the house to grab our stuff; there was a permanent tsunami on its way, and we wanted to beat the traffic. Squatting in a dead billionaire's apocalypse survival bunker feels wrong, but he didn't make it, since he was busy gathering his stuff from his mansion when the wave came. When the troubles begin, the stuff you own ends up owning you. There's no point in letting all that survival gear and supplies go to waste. I only remembered where his bunker was because I helped work on the security system. Is it still theft and trespassing if everyone is dead? God forgive me either way. The rest of my family died on a salvage and forage run most of a year ago. My heart is broken. It appears that I'm the only one left. The nuclear battery powering this place is still running, as is YouTube's data center, thank God, or I'd die of boredom. Thats one thing the ultra rich didn't prepare enough for was boredom. After sheer terror, sheer boredom is the worst. I guess I'll watch [YouTube videos](https://www.reddit.com/r/Apocalypse/comments/ednxs9/6_scariest_predictions_said_by_kids_five_of_them/) till I die. \_\_\_ Apocalypse Log, Personal Entry. Day [1,335](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=dan+12%3A11-13&version=ESV). I found a like on my comment! What the actual hell! Where could any survivors possibly be? I'm going to leave my contact info on all comments to see if I can make contact. This is nuts! \_\_\_ Day 1,336 Last entry. A new era begins.I got an email from the mysterious person who liked my comment! I'm just going to past it here: >Hey dude. It's Sahaqiel, an angel of YHWH. I came gather the survivors, but I couldn't find anyone, so I got bored and found a spot where I could browse YouTube. If you had not left those comments, I'd have to return to the Lord empty handed. I know that it is written "[if those days had not been cut short, no human being would survive.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+24%3A15-22&version=ESV) But for the sake of the elect those days will be cut short." I didn't think it would be this bad. But I guess this makes my job of [sorting the good from the evil](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matt+13%3A36-43&version=ESV) easy. (Don't worry, you're on the good list.) I'm guessing you're in a bunker somewhere. Wherever you are, you did a good job hiding. I've been searching for you for the past [45 days](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=dan+12%3A11-13&version=ESV). While hiding in the bunker, you missed [the first resurrection](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+20%3A4-6&version=ESV). It was quite a sight! Your grandma is here looking for you, as are your wife and kids and a bunch of your friends. Raise some sort of beacon where you are, I'll come get you. But stay inside and wait, since the air is still bad. Jesus is back, and [there's going to be a feast](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=rev+19%3A6-21&version=ESV) on his holy mountain and the restoration of the earth. You won't want to miss it!
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	Apocalypse Log, Personal Entry. Day 1,334 since the Abomination of Desolation stood in the Temple in Jerusalem, and the collapse of the [Thwaites glacier](https://www.wired.com/story/antarctica-thwaites-glacier-breaking-point/) in Antarctica. We fled to the mountains as soon as we heard the news, didn't even bother to go into the house to grab our stuff; there was a permanent tsunami on its way, and we wanted to beat the traffic. Squatting in a dead billionaire's apocalypse survival bunker feels wrong, but he didn't make it, since he was busy gathering his stuff from his mansion when the wave came. When the troubles begin, the stuff you own ends up owning you. There's no point in letting all that survival gear and supplies go to waste. I only remembered where his bunker was because I helped work on the security system. Is it still theft and trespassing if everyone is dead? God forgive me either way. The rest of my family died on a salvage and forage run most of a year ago. My heart is broken. It appears that I'm the only one left. The nuclear battery powering this place is still running, as is YouTube's data center, thank God, or I'd die of boredom. Thats one thing the ultra rich didn't prepare enough for was boredom. After sheer terror, sheer boredom is the worst. I guess I'll watch [YouTube videos](https://www.reddit.com/r/Apocalypse/comments/ednxs9/6_scariest_predictions_said_by_kids_five_of_them/) till I die. \_\_\_ Apocalypse Log, Personal Entry. Day [1,335](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=dan+12%3A11-13&version=ESV). I found a like on my comment! What the actual hell! Where could any survivors possibly be? I'm going to leave my contact info on all comments to see if I can make contact. This is nuts! \_\_\_ Day 1,336 Last entry. A new era begins.I got an email from the mysterious person who liked my comment! I'm just going to past it here: >Hey dude. It's Sahaqiel, an angel of YHWH. I came gather the survivors, but I couldn't find anyone, so I got bored and found a spot where I could browse YouTube. If you had not left those comments, I'd have to return to the Lord empty handed. I know that it is written "[if those days had not been cut short, no human being would survive.](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+24%3A15-22&version=ESV) But for the sake of the elect those days will be cut short." I didn't think it would be this bad. But I guess this makes my job of [sorting the good from the evil](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matt+13%3A36-43&version=ESV) easy. (Don't worry, you're on the good list.) I'm guessing you're in a bunker somewhere. Wherever you are, you did a good job hiding. I've been searching for you for the past [45 days](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=dan+12%3A11-13&version=ESV). While hiding in the bunker, you missed [the first resurrection](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Revelation+20%3A4-6&version=ESV). It was quite a sight! Your grandma is here looking for you, as are your wife and kids and a bunch of your friends. Raise some sort of beacon where you are, I'll come get you. But stay inside and wait, since the air is still bad. Jesus is back, and [there's going to be a feast](https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=rev+19%3A6-21&version=ESV) on his holy mountain and the restoration of the earth. You won't want to miss it!
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	[Poem] Who is this person? I've been the last, for ages. Oh joy... a dumb bot But wait a second, Nothing responded prior. Who would have wrote this? What? Another "like"? Has an AI have found me? Are they friend or foe?	Last, I pressed the enter button on the cracked screen of my phone as I commented on another YouTube video. It was another MrBeast challenge. Sure, these videos were old, and frankly—cringeworthy. But it wasn’t like I had much else to do nowadays. WWIII ended last month with the end of mankind. Well, most of it anyway. The USSR sent missiles to the United States to defend Iran, and the exchange between the two countries created a nuclear fallout. The skies were painted a dark gray, and a thick fog filled the air outside of the small apartment I was in. The apartment was not undamaged, for sure. But a few patch ups over the course of a week helped create a stable enough shelter to protect me from acid rains. I opened the mini-fridge with my remaining rations. “Hmph, not much left.” I said to myself. I took a deep sigh as I stretched out my back. All that was left of my rations were MRE meals and soup cans, as well as a six pack of Orange Vanilla Coca-Cola. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I tore open an MRE meal and filled it with water from a half empty water bottle across the room. “Eh?” I read the notification and my rubbed my eyes. This can’t be true.. I thought. “xXLeslieXx liked your comment” The screen read. “What the hell?” My voice broke the silence as I threw on a military-grade gas mask and stumbled outside in a paralysis of confusion. I scanned the horizon, a rusty 9mm pistol in hand. Again the thoughts flooded my mind, Who could’ve liked my comment? Is there really another survivor out there? Am I just dreaming of all this? and then, as if the confusion wasn’t intense enough, I heard something off in the distance. CLANK, CLANK, CLANK, as I turned around, my head rotated upwards towards the massive mechanical figure in front of me. “Hello, I am xXLeslieXx.” The robotic humanoid said, smiling using the tiny pixels on his computerized face and waving at me. “And you are?” Suddenly this empty world was a whole lot less empty. “u/ToasterWaffless at your service.”
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	Last, I pressed the enter button on the cracked screen of my phone as I commented on another YouTube video. It was another MrBeast challenge. Sure, these videos were old, and frankly—cringeworthy. But it wasn’t like I had much else to do nowadays. WWIII ended last month with the end of mankind. Well, most of it anyway. The USSR sent missiles to the United States to defend Iran, and the exchange between the two countries created a nuclear fallout. The skies were painted a dark gray, and a thick fog filled the air outside of the small apartment I was in. The apartment was not undamaged, for sure. But a few patch ups over the course of a week helped create a stable enough shelter to protect me from acid rains. I opened the mini-fridge with my remaining rations. “Hmph, not much left.” I said to myself. I took a deep sigh as I stretched out my back. All that was left of my rations were MRE meals and soup cans, as well as a six pack of Orange Vanilla Coca-Cola. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I tore open an MRE meal and filled it with water from a half empty water bottle across the room. “Eh?” I read the notification and my rubbed my eyes. This can’t be true.. I thought. “xXLeslieXx liked your comment” The screen read. “What the hell?” My voice broke the silence as I threw on a military-grade gas mask and stumbled outside in a paralysis of confusion. I scanned the horizon, a rusty 9mm pistol in hand. Again the thoughts flooded my mind, Who could’ve liked my comment? Is there really another survivor out there? Am I just dreaming of all this? and then, as if the confusion wasn’t intense enough, I heard something off in the distance. CLANK, CLANK, CLANK, as I turned around, my head rotated upwards towards the massive mechanical figure in front of me. “Hello, I am xXLeslieXx.” The robotic humanoid said, smiling using the tiny pixels on his computerized face and waving at me. “And you are?” Suddenly this empty world was a whole lot less empty. “u/ToasterWaffless at your service.”
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	Last, I pressed the enter button on the cracked screen of my phone as I commented on another YouTube video. It was another MrBeast challenge. Sure, these videos were old, and frankly—cringeworthy. But it wasn’t like I had much else to do nowadays. WWIII ended last month with the end of mankind. Well, most of it anyway. The USSR sent missiles to the United States to defend Iran, and the exchange between the two countries created a nuclear fallout. The skies were painted a dark gray, and a thick fog filled the air outside of the small apartment I was in. The apartment was not undamaged, for sure. But a few patch ups over the course of a week helped create a stable enough shelter to protect me from acid rains. I opened the mini-fridge with my remaining rations. “Hmph, not much left.” I said to myself. I took a deep sigh as I stretched out my back. All that was left of my rations were MRE meals and soup cans, as well as a six pack of Orange Vanilla Coca-Cola. My phone buzzed in my pocket as I tore open an MRE meal and filled it with water from a half empty water bottle across the room. “Eh?” I read the notification and my rubbed my eyes. This can’t be true.. I thought. “xXLeslieXx liked your comment” The screen read. “What the hell?” My voice broke the silence as I threw on a military-grade gas mask and stumbled outside in a paralysis of confusion. I scanned the horizon, a rusty 9mm pistol in hand. Again the thoughts flooded my mind, Who could’ve liked my comment? Is there really another survivor out there? Am I just dreaming of all this? and then, as if the confusion wasn’t intense enough, I heard something off in the distance. CLANK, CLANK, CLANK, as I turned around, my head rotated upwards towards the massive mechanical figure in front of me. “Hello, I am xXLeslieXx.” The robotic humanoid said, smiling using the tiny pixels on his computerized face and waving at me. “And you are?” Suddenly this empty world was a whole lot less empty. “u/ToasterWaffless at your service.”
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	[Poem] Who is this person? I've been the last, for ages. Oh joy... a dumb bot But wait a second, Nothing responded prior. Who would have wrote this? What? Another "like"? Has an AI have found me? Are they friend or foe?	Autumn leaves fall on the empty road, joining piles of debris being tossed around in the wind. There is no-one to clean them. Empty silence, the only soundtrack to this lonely street for nearly 3 years is broken with a faint hum. Steadily the noise grows until the dead leaves flee with the arrival of a Tesla car as it cuts dangerously through the street, an ancient song blasting through the sound system “Despacito”. Grant sings along to the song, the words alien to his ears. His fingers casually tap along with the song as his feet desperately struggle to reach the peddles, like a duck in water, had he ever seen such an animal. The car beeps insistently causing him to move the vibrant red twizzler poking out one side of his mouth to the other. He car slows to a dead stop as Grant haphazardly parks the vehicle under a great tree. Unperturbed Grant jumps out the car and carries on down the road, kicking leaves in the air singing made up words in between chewing his last twizzler. Townhouses flank him and the road for an easy mile down the hill, picking up small stones Grant aims for the high windows before lowering his goal as his aim betrays his ambition. Finally he reaches his destination, an empty supermarket with an empty car park. ONE. TWO. THREE. The glass shop front gives way to the trolley ramming at the hands of the would-be criminal teen. Pushing through into the supermarket the cold stale air meets Grant who zips his jacket a little higher up his neck. A mass of mould has taken over the entire right side of the store, the remains of bread and meat. Grant knows to avoid the spores, and instead goes to the canned and dried goods. He stocks up on supplies, including store brand cola-zero and a massive amount of sweets. taking his bounty to the stock room he fills his pockets and leaves the rest behind as he looks for a way up to the roof. The sun is beginning to set and the sky begins to mimic the warm red tones of the trees that are taking over the dead town. Taking a minute to take in the view Grant smiles as he finds his USB wire and plugs into the terminal that is linked to the stack of solar panels that line the roof. Settling down on the rooftop Grant taps the YouTube app and begins his evening with friends. Tanya is on the beach with brad, they do burpees and sprints against a clock with other CrossFit friends. Grant laughs at Tanya, she’s so full of life. Brad is a bit of a bore compared to Grant he thought to himself. LAST. Jeremy reviews the latest Oscar nominated movies and speaks deep deep wisdom about the nature of humanity and people’s struggle to find meaning in a meaningless world. LAST. The cold wind strokes his face a little more insistently and for a moment Grant feels less alone. He looks up to see the stars join him. He moves over to his favourite channel. Jess, a cartoonist from Tampa. He often wondered what Tampa was doing right now. Alone without a watchmen like him. He has 2 videos left of her channel. Jess has been struggling with depression lately and she’s been working through it with her art. Grant tells her she’s a strong woman and has so much to ... live for. The thought sticks in his head. LAST. Her last video. His eyes fill with tears, as Jess tells her fans she’s going on a break to find herself and focus on her work. She signs off with her typical “Love you”. Tears fall from Grants cheeks onto his phone as he pauses the screen to touch her face. Gone. Her wit. Her talent. All gone. He mouths her sign off phrase through the tears flowing freely now down his face. One more time he comments on her video as he does every video he watches “LAST”. Grant moves into the staff room for the evening. Tanya and Brad keep him company as he drifts to sleep. 3am Grant is startled by an unfamiliar sound, a notification comes through his phone. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. Grant rubs the sleep away from his eyes, looking for this obvious malfunction in the app. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. In a panic Grant jumps away from his phone, pacing back and forth as it bleeps again. JESS2066 HAS SUBSCRIBED TO YOUR CHANNEL. thanks for reading my first short story ;)
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	Autumn leaves fall on the empty road, joining piles of debris being tossed around in the wind. There is no-one to clean them. Empty silence, the only soundtrack to this lonely street for nearly 3 years is broken with a faint hum. Steadily the noise grows until the dead leaves flee with the arrival of a Tesla car as it cuts dangerously through the street, an ancient song blasting through the sound system “Despacito”. Grant sings along to the song, the words alien to his ears. His fingers casually tap along with the song as his feet desperately struggle to reach the peddles, like a duck in water, had he ever seen such an animal. The car beeps insistently causing him to move the vibrant red twizzler poking out one side of his mouth to the other. He car slows to a dead stop as Grant haphazardly parks the vehicle under a great tree. Unperturbed Grant jumps out the car and carries on down the road, kicking leaves in the air singing made up words in between chewing his last twizzler. Townhouses flank him and the road for an easy mile down the hill, picking up small stones Grant aims for the high windows before lowering his goal as his aim betrays his ambition. Finally he reaches his destination, an empty supermarket with an empty car park. ONE. TWO. THREE. The glass shop front gives way to the trolley ramming at the hands of the would-be criminal teen. Pushing through into the supermarket the cold stale air meets Grant who zips his jacket a little higher up his neck. A mass of mould has taken over the entire right side of the store, the remains of bread and meat. Grant knows to avoid the spores, and instead goes to the canned and dried goods. He stocks up on supplies, including store brand cola-zero and a massive amount of sweets. taking his bounty to the stock room he fills his pockets and leaves the rest behind as he looks for a way up to the roof. The sun is beginning to set and the sky begins to mimic the warm red tones of the trees that are taking over the dead town. Taking a minute to take in the view Grant smiles as he finds his USB wire and plugs into the terminal that is linked to the stack of solar panels that line the roof. Settling down on the rooftop Grant taps the YouTube app and begins his evening with friends. Tanya is on the beach with brad, they do burpees and sprints against a clock with other CrossFit friends. Grant laughs at Tanya, she’s so full of life. Brad is a bit of a bore compared to Grant he thought to himself. LAST. Jeremy reviews the latest Oscar nominated movies and speaks deep deep wisdom about the nature of humanity and people’s struggle to find meaning in a meaningless world. LAST. The cold wind strokes his face a little more insistently and for a moment Grant feels less alone. He looks up to see the stars join him. He moves over to his favourite channel. Jess, a cartoonist from Tampa. He often wondered what Tampa was doing right now. Alone without a watchmen like him. He has 2 videos left of her channel. Jess has been struggling with depression lately and she’s been working through it with her art. Grant tells her she’s a strong woman and has so much to ... live for. The thought sticks in his head. LAST. Her last video. His eyes fill with tears, as Jess tells her fans she’s going on a break to find herself and focus on her work. She signs off with her typical “Love you”. Tears fall from Grants cheeks onto his phone as he pauses the screen to touch her face. Gone. Her wit. Her talent. All gone. He mouths her sign off phrase through the tears flowing freely now down his face. One more time he comments on her video as he does every video he watches “LAST”. Grant moves into the staff room for the evening. Tanya and Brad keep him company as he drifts to sleep. 3am Grant is startled by an unfamiliar sound, a notification comes through his phone. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. Grant rubs the sleep away from his eyes, looking for this obvious malfunction in the app. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. In a panic Grant jumps away from his phone, pacing back and forth as it bleeps again. JESS2066 HAS SUBSCRIBED TO YOUR CHANNEL. thanks for reading my first short story ;)
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	Autumn leaves fall on the empty road, joining piles of debris being tossed around in the wind. There is no-one to clean them. Empty silence, the only soundtrack to this lonely street for nearly 3 years is broken with a faint hum. Steadily the noise grows until the dead leaves flee with the arrival of a Tesla car as it cuts dangerously through the street, an ancient song blasting through the sound system “Despacito”. Grant sings along to the song, the words alien to his ears. His fingers casually tap along with the song as his feet desperately struggle to reach the peddles, like a duck in water, had he ever seen such an animal. The car beeps insistently causing him to move the vibrant red twizzler poking out one side of his mouth to the other. He car slows to a dead stop as Grant haphazardly parks the vehicle under a great tree. Unperturbed Grant jumps out the car and carries on down the road, kicking leaves in the air singing made up words in between chewing his last twizzler. Townhouses flank him and the road for an easy mile down the hill, picking up small stones Grant aims for the high windows before lowering his goal as his aim betrays his ambition. Finally he reaches his destination, an empty supermarket with an empty car park. ONE. TWO. THREE. The glass shop front gives way to the trolley ramming at the hands of the would-be criminal teen. Pushing through into the supermarket the cold stale air meets Grant who zips his jacket a little higher up his neck. A mass of mould has taken over the entire right side of the store, the remains of bread and meat. Grant knows to avoid the spores, and instead goes to the canned and dried goods. He stocks up on supplies, including store brand cola-zero and a massive amount of sweets. taking his bounty to the stock room he fills his pockets and leaves the rest behind as he looks for a way up to the roof. The sun is beginning to set and the sky begins to mimic the warm red tones of the trees that are taking over the dead town. Taking a minute to take in the view Grant smiles as he finds his USB wire and plugs into the terminal that is linked to the stack of solar panels that line the roof. Settling down on the rooftop Grant taps the YouTube app and begins his evening with friends. Tanya is on the beach with brad, they do burpees and sprints against a clock with other CrossFit friends. Grant laughs at Tanya, she’s so full of life. Brad is a bit of a bore compared to Grant he thought to himself. LAST. Jeremy reviews the latest Oscar nominated movies and speaks deep deep wisdom about the nature of humanity and people’s struggle to find meaning in a meaningless world. LAST. The cold wind strokes his face a little more insistently and for a moment Grant feels less alone. He looks up to see the stars join him. He moves over to his favourite channel. Jess, a cartoonist from Tampa. He often wondered what Tampa was doing right now. Alone without a watchmen like him. He has 2 videos left of her channel. Jess has been struggling with depression lately and she’s been working through it with her art. Grant tells her she’s a strong woman and has so much to ... live for. The thought sticks in his head. LAST. Her last video. His eyes fill with tears, as Jess tells her fans she’s going on a break to find herself and focus on her work. She signs off with her typical “Love you”. Tears fall from Grants cheeks onto his phone as he pauses the screen to touch her face. Gone. Her wit. Her talent. All gone. He mouths her sign off phrase through the tears flowing freely now down his face. One more time he comments on her video as he does every video he watches “LAST”. Grant moves into the staff room for the evening. Tanya and Brad keep him company as he drifts to sleep. 3am Grant is startled by an unfamiliar sound, a notification comes through his phone. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. Grant rubs the sleep away from his eyes, looking for this obvious malfunction in the app. SOMEONE HAS LIKED YOUR COMMENT. In a panic Grant jumps away from his phone, pacing back and forth as it bleeps again. JESS2066 HAS SUBSCRIBED TO YOUR CHANNEL. thanks for reading my first short story ;)
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	[Poem] Who is this person? I've been the last, for ages. Oh joy... a dumb bot But wait a second, Nothing responded prior. Who would have wrote this? What? Another "like"? Has an AI have found me? Are they friend or foe?
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	[Poem] Who is this person? I've been the last, for ages. Oh joy... a dumb bot But wait a second, Nothing responded prior. Who would have wrote this? What? Another "like"? Has an AI have found me? Are they friend or foe?
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	“Is this what rock bottom looks like?” Lane asked himself, his fingers danced lazily over the keyboard as he exercised futility to its breaking point, he submitted another comment, “Last!” He should be grateful, he supposed, the amount of content on YouTube far exceeds what remains of his dreary life, the site’s algorithms even helped him to find new users to subscribe to. Remember to click the bell-icon and like the video, everyone, it really helps them out! The worst part of it all was that the end of the world hardly made a difference, he’d scroll through YouTube regardless, he’d still occasionally bend to the will of the almighty algorithm, clicking on recommended videos, letting them chip away at his soul, blending the pieces in a red-blue and white mass— letting him live a life through someone else, having himself never lived at all. They’re together right now, Lane knew, the robots. He liked to imagine the robots all gathered in an office room, they’d be seated on expensive leather chairs, huddled around the large glass-table in the middle of the room. The machines would sit across from each other, arguing if they should recommend a video of a cat miscalculating a jump, or of a fat man getting stuck in a water-slide. Lane was just about to call it a day when he noticed the red notification. HasBananaFitz has liked your comment, was it a joke? A cruel prank played by the robots, it must be. They’re learning, aren’t they? Finding new and exciting ways to make sure he dies glued to his computer screen. HasBananaFitz has replied to your comment— Lane entered the user’s channel in hopes of confirming the person a fake, the introduction video was of a man in a banana costume dancing to old pop-music, the man had some moves, Lane granted, and subscribed to the channel. Lane checked the alleged reply from the enigmatic dancing man, “Yeah? Then what’s this, jerk-ass!” Jerk-ass. Humanity deserved what they got, Lane thought to himself. Lane replied, “You real?” He stared at the computer screen for a good thirty minutes, he didn’t feel bad or especially hopeful, he was in his element after all. Wasting time was his forte. A new notification from HasBananaFitz— it was a video, he clicked. A man in a banana costume stared at him, he looked angry, holding a bunch of bananas. The man screamed and started throwing the yellow fruit at the camera. Seems about right. It was probably just an AI sending random videos, he had fallen for its bait. Lane was just about to turn off the sorry display when the man sobered, “I… I know you’re not real, TheRealLane49," the banana-man slumped down in a carved chair, the bending bottom-end of his costume deflating some of the moment’s sincerity, “it even says we’re both from the same city, what are the chances? Not big, I imagine. Anyway, in case you are real, I’m going to be at Brian’s Coffee House, the one near the monument in Mid-town. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon, waiting. If you’re real… I’m sorry I called you a jerk-ass.” Lane clicked cancel before it could auto-play another video, its thumbnail promising a man holding a violin under water. He thought for not very long at all before he said aloud, “Alright, banana-man, it’s a date.” ***** Thank you for reading!
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	“Is this what rock bottom looks like?” Lane asked himself, his fingers danced lazily over the keyboard as he exercised futility to its breaking point, he submitted another comment, “Last!” He should be grateful, he supposed, the amount of content on YouTube far exceeds what remains of his dreary life, the site’s algorithms even helped him to find new users to subscribe to. Remember to click the bell-icon and like the video, everyone, it really helps them out! The worst part of it all was that the end of the world hardly made a difference, he’d scroll through YouTube regardless, he’d still occasionally bend to the will of the almighty algorithm, clicking on recommended videos, letting them chip away at his soul, blending the pieces in a red-blue and white mass— letting him live a life through someone else, having himself never lived at all. They’re together right now, Lane knew, the robots. He liked to imagine the robots all gathered in an office room, they’d be seated on expensive leather chairs, huddled around the large glass-table in the middle of the room. The machines would sit across from each other, arguing if they should recommend a video of a cat miscalculating a jump, or of a fat man getting stuck in a water-slide. Lane was just about to call it a day when he noticed the red notification. HasBananaFitz has liked your comment, was it a joke? A cruel prank played by the robots, it must be. They’re learning, aren’t they? Finding new and exciting ways to make sure he dies glued to his computer screen. HasBananaFitz has replied to your comment— Lane entered the user’s channel in hopes of confirming the person a fake, the introduction video was of a man in a banana costume dancing to old pop-music, the man had some moves, Lane granted, and subscribed to the channel. Lane checked the alleged reply from the enigmatic dancing man, “Yeah? Then what’s this, jerk-ass!” Jerk-ass. Humanity deserved what they got, Lane thought to himself. Lane replied, “You real?” He stared at the computer screen for a good thirty minutes, he didn’t feel bad or especially hopeful, he was in his element after all. Wasting time was his forte. A new notification from HasBananaFitz— it was a video, he clicked. A man in a banana costume stared at him, he looked angry, holding a bunch of bananas. The man screamed and started throwing the yellow fruit at the camera. Seems about right. It was probably just an AI sending random videos, he had fallen for its bait. Lane was just about to turn off the sorry display when the man sobered, “I… I know you’re not real, TheRealLane49," the banana-man slumped down in a carved chair, the bending bottom-end of his costume deflating some of the moment’s sincerity, “it even says we’re both from the same city, what are the chances? Not big, I imagine. Anyway, in case you are real, I’m going to be at Brian’s Coffee House, the one near the monument in Mid-town. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon, waiting. If you’re real… I’m sorry I called you a jerk-ass.” Lane clicked cancel before it could auto-play another video, its thumbnail promising a man holding a violin under water. He thought for not very long at all before he said aloud, “Alright, banana-man, it’s a date.” ***** Thank you for reading!
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	“Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.” I chuckled to myself as I reread my old Terry Pratchett novels. Good thing he wasn't around to witness the craziness of the current day. Then again, no one was around. Rereading old books had become a habit of mine, a desperate grab towards a sense of familiarity, comfort, even love. The first few weeks after the world ended, it was devastating. I hid in my room, frantically refreshing the internet, hoping for some sign of communication. I even figured out how to get on the dark web, in the hope some far-away drug lord might have found some ways to survive. That was when the stench of dead bodies became too much for me. I had to do something about it, clean out my immediate surroundings. The tap water was starting to look kind of murky, and I needed to get to the store, was I to survive. Store first. Bodies later. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about money, for once. The entire store was mine. I'm not sure why the power was still on. Why the freezers were still working. Or, the internet, with its vast resources of information but now as much of a desolate wasteland as the rest of the world. It took me another few weeks to gather the bodies on a pile. To go through the stores and freeze the perishables. To set myself up for... I didn't know what. I guess the best I could do was write down my experiences, day to day, in case someone - or something - would eventually find them. The pile of bodies burned like a rescue fire. No one came. At least I was smart enough to do it far from home. I started exploring the city. My trusty smartphone with me. The satellites still worked. The internet still worked. Sure, public transport wasn't an option and I never got my drivers license, but who was there to call me out for driving? I learned how to break into cars and start them. I learned how to break into homes. The world, empty and quiet, was mine. Empty and quiet except for the books, were the emotions of humanity were stored. Except from the videos, where the movements and sounds were recorded. I always hated YouTube, never had the patience to look through videos, yet I found myself mesmerized - and eventually, in a sense of morbid humor, started commenting "last" on each and every video. Who cared? I started a Vlog. I bet it would have been popular, who didn't want to see New York City at the end of times? But there was no one to watch but me. My next step, I thought to myself, sitting on top of the Empire State Building, looking at the sunrise, would be to go through the government files. Find some interesting classified information. Figured out which switch was pulled. Figure out why I survived. My thoughts were disturbed by a sound on my phone. Damn robo-callers. I wish they'd be taken out with them. YouTube. I thought I turned off all notifications for apps. "Someone liked your comment." Wait. What? I stared at my phone in confusion. Another notification. YouTube, again. "You have one new subscriber." I opened the profile. No username. No information. No other subscribers. "You have a new message." I opened the message, my hands shaking. Could this be it? The sign of life I spent so many months looking for? "Hey! if you're reading this were not alone!!! i am soo far away from you and always wanted to go to nyc but am scared to fly a plane?" I laughed at the irony of it. Of course. Of course the only person who'd be able to track me down spoke English, but was too far away to meet. Someone who could fill the void of human conversation, but couldn't help me out of this. Whatever this was. "Hi! Yeah, reading this. Where are you living? Any idea what happened?" "Don't know. don't care. the world is better off this way. england. anyway, whats your #?" I didn't know whether my phone still worked, but gave out my number. Anything better than those bots, right? I could do with some human interaction. Maybe an old-fashioned call. I'd give a lot to hear a human voice again. Two minutes later, a text came through. A picture. I opened it. A second message came through almost immediately. Send nudes? I wish this end of the world took dick pics with it too.	I scrolled rather unenthusiastically down to the comments section of the video. I typed my typical "Last" comment, which I really just did to pass the time. It had been....weeks? I didn't know. I didn't care anymore. I just wanted for this all to be over. To wake up from whatever sadistic nightmare this was. I slipped my phone into my pocket. I just....started walking. Didn't have direction. Didn't care where I ended up. I just wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. I knew I was the last person alive, but just...going somewhere for once might be fun. Eventually I hit the city limits. I took one last look back to the town I had grown up in. I let out a long sigh. "Might as well go somewhere." I said, turning back down the road. As nightfall hit, I made a small campfire. I knew I wouldn't last long without food, but dying of hunger is better than dying of old age. I took a small sip of water from my canteen before laying down. As I closed my eyes to sleep, I heard a ding. I shot up. Where? What? I looked down to my phone, it's screen now lit up. "1 new notification" it read. How? From where? I opened it up and realized it was from YouTube. Someone had....liked my comment? Was I.....was I not alone? I shot up, making a follow-up comment to see if I could get an answer. "Who are you?" I got a quick response. "Hi! My name's Emily! I thought I was the only one left!" From there, we talked for hours until we came up on the big question: how far away were we from each other? I was ecstatic when I got an answer. A 3 day's walk would be worth it, as long as I didn't have to die alone. As I write this, me and Emily have been together happily for years now. We're travelling together to see as much of the world as we can. And, thankfully, we have a little adventure who will join us soon enough.
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	I scrolled rather unenthusiastically down to the comments section of the video. I typed my typical "Last" comment, which I really just did to pass the time. It had been....weeks? I didn't know. I didn't care anymore. I just wanted for this all to be over. To wake up from whatever sadistic nightmare this was. I slipped my phone into my pocket. I just....started walking. Didn't have direction. Didn't care where I ended up. I just wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. I knew I was the last person alive, but just...going somewhere for once might be fun. Eventually I hit the city limits. I took one last look back to the town I had grown up in. I let out a long sigh. "Might as well go somewhere." I said, turning back down the road. As nightfall hit, I made a small campfire. I knew I wouldn't last long without food, but dying of hunger is better than dying of old age. I took a small sip of water from my canteen before laying down. As I closed my eyes to sleep, I heard a ding. I shot up. Where? What? I looked down to my phone, it's screen now lit up. "1 new notification" it read. How? From where? I opened it up and realized it was from YouTube. Someone had....liked my comment? Was I.....was I not alone? I shot up, making a follow-up comment to see if I could get an answer. "Who are you?" I got a quick response. "Hi! My name's Emily! I thought I was the only one left!" From there, we talked for hours until we came up on the big question: how far away were we from each other? I was ecstatic when I got an answer. A 3 day's walk would be worth it, as long as I didn't have to die alone. As I write this, me and Emily have been together happily for years now. We're travelling together to see as much of the world as we can. And, thankfully, we have a little adventure who will join us soon enough.
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	I scrolled rather unenthusiastically down to the comments section of the video. I typed my typical "Last" comment, which I really just did to pass the time. It had been....weeks? I didn't know. I didn't care anymore. I just wanted for this all to be over. To wake up from whatever sadistic nightmare this was. I slipped my phone into my pocket. I just....started walking. Didn't have direction. Didn't care where I ended up. I just wanted to go somewhere. Anywhere. I knew I was the last person alive, but just...going somewhere for once might be fun. Eventually I hit the city limits. I took one last look back to the town I had grown up in. I let out a long sigh. "Might as well go somewhere." I said, turning back down the road. As nightfall hit, I made a small campfire. I knew I wouldn't last long without food, but dying of hunger is better than dying of old age. I took a small sip of water from my canteen before laying down. As I closed my eyes to sleep, I heard a ding. I shot up. Where? What? I looked down to my phone, it's screen now lit up. "1 new notification" it read. How? From where? I opened it up and realized it was from YouTube. Someone had....liked my comment? Was I.....was I not alone? I shot up, making a follow-up comment to see if I could get an answer. "Who are you?" I got a quick response. "Hi! My name's Emily! I thought I was the only one left!" From there, we talked for hours until we came up on the big question: how far away were we from each other? I was ecstatic when I got an answer. A 3 day's walk would be worth it, as long as I didn't have to die alone. As I write this, me and Emily have been together happily for years now. We're travelling together to see as much of the world as we can. And, thankfully, we have a little adventure who will join us soon enough.
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	“Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.” I chuckled to myself as I reread my old Terry Pratchett novels. Good thing he wasn't around to witness the craziness of the current day. Then again, no one was around. Rereading old books had become a habit of mine, a desperate grab towards a sense of familiarity, comfort, even love. The first few weeks after the world ended, it was devastating. I hid in my room, frantically refreshing the internet, hoping for some sign of communication. I even figured out how to get on the dark web, in the hope some far-away drug lord might have found some ways to survive. That was when the stench of dead bodies became too much for me. I had to do something about it, clean out my immediate surroundings. The tap water was starting to look kind of murky, and I needed to get to the store, was I to survive. Store first. Bodies later. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about money, for once. The entire store was mine. I'm not sure why the power was still on. Why the freezers were still working. Or, the internet, with its vast resources of information but now as much of a desolate wasteland as the rest of the world. It took me another few weeks to gather the bodies on a pile. To go through the stores and freeze the perishables. To set myself up for... I didn't know what. I guess the best I could do was write down my experiences, day to day, in case someone - or something - would eventually find them. The pile of bodies burned like a rescue fire. No one came. At least I was smart enough to do it far from home. I started exploring the city. My trusty smartphone with me. The satellites still worked. The internet still worked. Sure, public transport wasn't an option and I never got my drivers license, but who was there to call me out for driving? I learned how to break into cars and start them. I learned how to break into homes. The world, empty and quiet, was mine. Empty and quiet except for the books, were the emotions of humanity were stored. Except from the videos, where the movements and sounds were recorded. I always hated YouTube, never had the patience to look through videos, yet I found myself mesmerized - and eventually, in a sense of morbid humor, started commenting "last" on each and every video. Who cared? I started a Vlog. I bet it would have been popular, who didn't want to see New York City at the end of times? But there was no one to watch but me. My next step, I thought to myself, sitting on top of the Empire State Building, looking at the sunrise, would be to go through the government files. Find some interesting classified information. Figured out which switch was pulled. Figure out why I survived. My thoughts were disturbed by a sound on my phone. Damn robo-callers. I wish they'd be taken out with them. YouTube. I thought I turned off all notifications for apps. "Someone liked your comment." Wait. What? I stared at my phone in confusion. Another notification. YouTube, again. "You have one new subscriber." I opened the profile. No username. No information. No other subscribers. "You have a new message." I opened the message, my hands shaking. Could this be it? The sign of life I spent so many months looking for? "Hey! if you're reading this were not alone!!! i am soo far away from you and always wanted to go to nyc but am scared to fly a plane?" I laughed at the irony of it. Of course. Of course the only person who'd be able to track me down spoke English, but was too far away to meet. Someone who could fill the void of human conversation, but couldn't help me out of this. Whatever this was. "Hi! Yeah, reading this. Where are you living? Any idea what happened?" "Don't know. don't care. the world is better off this way. england. anyway, whats your #?" I didn't know whether my phone still worked, but gave out my number. Anything better than those bots, right? I could do with some human interaction. Maybe an old-fashioned call. I'd give a lot to hear a human voice again. Two minutes later, a text came through. A picture. I opened it. A second message came through almost immediately. Send nudes? I wish this end of the world took dick pics with it too.	I stared out at the street. The lamps lighting up the night, houses automatic lights turning on to prevent burglary. At a glance no one would know it was deserted, of course they wouldn’t, they were all dead. All of them. Apart from me. I didn’t know how I had survived, maybe the fact I had been locked in a bunker or maybe my sheer will to live. Either way it didn’t matter, I was the only one left. I took out my phone and began scrolling through old messages to my friends and family. I didn’t cry, there were no tears left. I found myself scrolling through videos, commenting “last” on them. I didn’t know why I started, but it was something to do on this deserted planet. I had got to about the 30th video when a notification popped up. I froze. “No, no way” I murmured to myself. I thought I was the only one left. I quickly tapped on the notification “harryb liked your comment” and sure enough under my comment was a single grey thumbs up. I clicked on their channel, only one video uploaded. I opened it. It was a boy about 13 with torn clothes and a dirty face. “Listen,” he said “I don’t know if they’re is anyone else out there, but I want you to know, we are not alone. There is a monster, he looks human like you or me, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s the one that murdered half the population and made the others kill each other. He’s the one that RUINED our lives.” The video ended. I stood in shock for a second. I hadn’t dreamt that there would be someone else on Earth, let alone two. Then I heard a knock on my door, I glanced out the window and saw him. The boy, and he was accompanied by a girl
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	I stared out at the street. The lamps lighting up the night, houses automatic lights turning on to prevent burglary. At a glance no one would know it was deserted, of course they wouldn’t, they were all dead. All of them. Apart from me. I didn’t know how I had survived, maybe the fact I had been locked in a bunker or maybe my sheer will to live. Either way it didn’t matter, I was the only one left. I took out my phone and began scrolling through old messages to my friends and family. I didn’t cry, there were no tears left. I found myself scrolling through videos, commenting “last” on them. I didn’t know why I started, but it was something to do on this deserted planet. I had got to about the 30th video when a notification popped up. I froze. “No, no way” I murmured to myself. I thought I was the only one left. I quickly tapped on the notification “harryb liked your comment” and sure enough under my comment was a single grey thumbs up. I clicked on their channel, only one video uploaded. I opened it. It was a boy about 13 with torn clothes and a dirty face. “Listen,” he said “I don’t know if they’re is anyone else out there, but I want you to know, we are not alone. There is a monster, he looks human like you or me, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s the one that murdered half the population and made the others kill each other. He’s the one that RUINED our lives.” The video ended. I stood in shock for a second. I hadn’t dreamt that there would be someone else on Earth, let alone two. Then I heard a knock on my door, I glanced out the window and saw him. The boy, and he was accompanied by a girl
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	I stared out at the street. The lamps lighting up the night, houses automatic lights turning on to prevent burglary. At a glance no one would know it was deserted, of course they wouldn’t, they were all dead. All of them. Apart from me. I didn’t know how I had survived, maybe the fact I had been locked in a bunker or maybe my sheer will to live. Either way it didn’t matter, I was the only one left. I took out my phone and began scrolling through old messages to my friends and family. I didn’t cry, there were no tears left. I found myself scrolling through videos, commenting “last” on them. I didn’t know why I started, but it was something to do on this deserted planet. I had got to about the 30th video when a notification popped up. I froze. “No, no way” I murmured to myself. I thought I was the only one left. I quickly tapped on the notification “harryb liked your comment” and sure enough under my comment was a single grey thumbs up. I clicked on their channel, only one video uploaded. I opened it. It was a boy about 13 with torn clothes and a dirty face. “Listen,” he said “I don’t know if they’re is anyone else out there, but I want you to know, we are not alone. There is a monster, he looks human like you or me, but he’s not, he’s not. He’s the one that murdered half the population and made the others kill each other. He’s the one that RUINED our lives.” The video ended. I stood in shock for a second. I hadn’t dreamt that there would be someone else on Earth, let alone two. Then I heard a knock on my door, I glanced out the window and saw him. The boy, and he was accompanied by a girl
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	Nothingness. A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home. There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness. Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last. I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last. It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness. After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm. A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read: "Your comme... Liked! Chec..." I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!" Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human. I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?" "Hello. My name is Janice." "Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person." "Haha, YES!" "WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!" "Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\[email protected]" I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures. Pop	“Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.” I chuckled to myself as I reread my old Terry Pratchett novels. Good thing he wasn't around to witness the craziness of the current day. Then again, no one was around. Rereading old books had become a habit of mine, a desperate grab towards a sense of familiarity, comfort, even love. The first few weeks after the world ended, it was devastating. I hid in my room, frantically refreshing the internet, hoping for some sign of communication. I even figured out how to get on the dark web, in the hope some far-away drug lord might have found some ways to survive. That was when the stench of dead bodies became too much for me. I had to do something about it, clean out my immediate surroundings. The tap water was starting to look kind of murky, and I needed to get to the store, was I to survive. Store first. Bodies later. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about money, for once. The entire store was mine. I'm not sure why the power was still on. Why the freezers were still working. Or, the internet, with its vast resources of information but now as much of a desolate wasteland as the rest of the world. It took me another few weeks to gather the bodies on a pile. To go through the stores and freeze the perishables. To set myself up for... I didn't know what. I guess the best I could do was write down my experiences, day to day, in case someone - or something - would eventually find them. The pile of bodies burned like a rescue fire. No one came. At least I was smart enough to do it far from home. I started exploring the city. My trusty smartphone with me. The satellites still worked. The internet still worked. Sure, public transport wasn't an option and I never got my drivers license, but who was there to call me out for driving? I learned how to break into cars and start them. I learned how to break into homes. The world, empty and quiet, was mine. Empty and quiet except for the books, were the emotions of humanity were stored. Except from the videos, where the movements and sounds were recorded. I always hated YouTube, never had the patience to look through videos, yet I found myself mesmerized - and eventually, in a sense of morbid humor, started commenting "last" on each and every video. Who cared? I started a Vlog. I bet it would have been popular, who didn't want to see New York City at the end of times? But there was no one to watch but me. My next step, I thought to myself, sitting on top of the Empire State Building, looking at the sunrise, would be to go through the government files. Find some interesting classified information. Figured out which switch was pulled. Figure out why I survived. My thoughts were disturbed by a sound on my phone. Damn robo-callers. I wish they'd be taken out with them. YouTube. I thought I turned off all notifications for apps. "Someone liked your comment." Wait. What? I stared at my phone in confusion. Another notification. YouTube, again. "You have one new subscriber." I opened the profile. No username. No information. No other subscribers. "You have a new message." I opened the message, my hands shaking. Could this be it? The sign of life I spent so many months looking for? "Hey! if you're reading this were not alone!!! i am soo far away from you and always wanted to go to nyc but am scared to fly a plane?" I laughed at the irony of it. Of course. Of course the only person who'd be able to track me down spoke English, but was too far away to meet. Someone who could fill the void of human conversation, but couldn't help me out of this. Whatever this was. "Hi! Yeah, reading this. Where are you living? Any idea what happened?" "Don't know. don't care. the world is better off this way. england. anyway, whats your #?" I didn't know whether my phone still worked, but gave out my number. Anything better than those bots, right? I could do with some human interaction. Maybe an old-fashioned call. I'd give a lot to hear a human voice again. Two minutes later, a text came through. A picture. I opened it. A second message came through almost immediately. Send nudes? I wish this end of the world took dick pics with it too.
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	As I clicked on yet another link, a glance at the title woke me from my stupor. US attack on Iran sparks new wave of WWIII memes It seemed inconceivable that not so long ago this was the reality. Fresh internet humor about the planet's impending doom. The latest bunch of pop culture references and dark jokes to relay the sense of strangeness of the world. Only if we had known. It had been fourteen days - two full weeks - since I had last interacted with another living soul. For all I knew, there wasn't another one remaining. The heat, radiation and extreme weather had taken most. Those who had remained were forced to see themselves devolve into savages in hopeless attempts to survive. With the food supplies dwindling, it seemed like I would soon be joining those ranks. To say my days had become monotonous would be an understatement. Each day was indistinguishable from the last. They consisted of me trying to get by on as little food as possible. Though food was in short supply, by some miracle, electricity and Internet were still up and running. It was little comfort though when there didn't seem to be anyone else using it. There were no new posts on Facebook or Twitter, nobody uploading vlogs from their nuclear-holocaust-proof bunkers. And there was nothing on Reddit either. No more of those dank WWIII memes. I had given up looking for signs of life online at least a week ago. My waking hours now saw me mindlessly scroll through old Reddit posts and watching Youtube videos. I had developed a perverse habit of leaving comments on every video I saw. It was an old obsession for people to be the first to view content uploaded by their favourite Youtubers. Within seconds of uploading, videos used to be inundated with comments of "First". I always found that trend annoying. I could never be the first one to comment on any of those videos but I certainly could be the last. Maybe the Internet wasn't keeping me sane after all Rubbing my eyes, I decided that I'd had enough. Time didn't matter much to me now but I still felt inclined to sleep while it was still dark outside. Just as I had put my phone away and prepared myself to go to sleep, I heard a sound that sent shock waves through my body. A sound I had heard a million times before but it had never made me feel as excited,elated or terrified before. My phone had buzzed. As I picked it up, I saw that I had received a notification. LoneSurivor liked your comment: "Last".	“Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry.” I chuckled to myself as I reread my old Terry Pratchett novels. Good thing he wasn't around to witness the craziness of the current day. Then again, no one was around. Rereading old books had become a habit of mine, a desperate grab towards a sense of familiarity, comfort, even love. The first few weeks after the world ended, it was devastating. I hid in my room, frantically refreshing the internet, hoping for some sign of communication. I even figured out how to get on the dark web, in the hope some far-away drug lord might have found some ways to survive. That was when the stench of dead bodies became too much for me. I had to do something about it, clean out my immediate surroundings. The tap water was starting to look kind of murky, and I needed to get to the store, was I to survive. Store first. Bodies later. Well, at least I didn't have to worry about money, for once. The entire store was mine. I'm not sure why the power was still on. Why the freezers were still working. Or, the internet, with its vast resources of information but now as much of a desolate wasteland as the rest of the world. It took me another few weeks to gather the bodies on a pile. To go through the stores and freeze the perishables. To set myself up for... I didn't know what. I guess the best I could do was write down my experiences, day to day, in case someone - or something - would eventually find them. The pile of bodies burned like a rescue fire. No one came. At least I was smart enough to do it far from home. I started exploring the city. My trusty smartphone with me. The satellites still worked. The internet still worked. Sure, public transport wasn't an option and I never got my drivers license, but who was there to call me out for driving? I learned how to break into cars and start them. I learned how to break into homes. The world, empty and quiet, was mine. Empty and quiet except for the books, were the emotions of humanity were stored. Except from the videos, where the movements and sounds were recorded. I always hated YouTube, never had the patience to look through videos, yet I found myself mesmerized - and eventually, in a sense of morbid humor, started commenting "last" on each and every video. Who cared? I started a Vlog. I bet it would have been popular, who didn't want to see New York City at the end of times? But there was no one to watch but me. My next step, I thought to myself, sitting on top of the Empire State Building, looking at the sunrise, would be to go through the government files. Find some interesting classified information. Figured out which switch was pulled. Figure out why I survived. My thoughts were disturbed by a sound on my phone. Damn robo-callers. I wish they'd be taken out with them. YouTube. I thought I turned off all notifications for apps. "Someone liked your comment." Wait. What? I stared at my phone in confusion. Another notification. YouTube, again. "You have one new subscriber." I opened the profile. No username. No information. No other subscribers. "You have a new message." I opened the message, my hands shaking. Could this be it? The sign of life I spent so many months looking for? "Hey! if you're reading this were not alone!!! i am soo far away from you and always wanted to go to nyc but am scared to fly a plane?" I laughed at the irony of it. Of course. Of course the only person who'd be able to track me down spoke English, but was too far away to meet. Someone who could fill the void of human conversation, but couldn't help me out of this. Whatever this was. "Hi! Yeah, reading this. Where are you living? Any idea what happened?" "Don't know. don't care. the world is better off this way. england. anyway, whats your #?" I didn't know whether my phone still worked, but gave out my number. Anything better than those bots, right? I could do with some human interaction. Maybe an old-fashioned call. I'd give a lot to hear a human voice again. Two minutes later, a text came through. A picture. I opened it. A second message came through almost immediately. Send nudes? I wish this end of the world took dick pics with it too.
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	I don't know exactly why I was immune. It probably had to do with the fact that I was genetically engineered. Yes, I had a surrogate mother, but I was a test tube baby. So I was told, at least. The only time it ever really became noticeable was when everyone in the world started dropping dead. Besides me. With all the massive catastrophes going on in the world in the absence of human kind, it was safer to stay indoors. Of course, I'm not a monster, so I took daily trips out into the empty world to find survivors. Feeding them was more difficult than I expected. So I made my base beside a pet store where there was plenty of pet food for all my friends. At night, I huddled in my giant dog bed, surrounded by the pets who were willing to co-exist in my den, with my phone hooked up to a tiny generator. I scrolled through you tube, commenting 'last' on every video in my feed. I had been doing it ever since the first night I realized that there were no survivors. One night, as my neighbor's Saint Bernard drooled on my shoulder, I was scrolling down the list, clicking, commenting and moving on endlessly. I wondered how much longer it would be before the satellites would go down. Luckily, my town was home to a so-called nutjob who was convinced that the world was going to end. So, he built his own internet router station with some kind of solar/hydo powered generators. He bragged that we would all thank him when we had power while trying to fight off the zombie hoard. Too bad he wasn't around to gloat. I knew he had a massive bunker full of everything a guy could ever need for the apocalypse, but I couldn't find it. As I lay there, scrolling, a notification popped up. Someone had liked a comment. I tapped on the notification banner and was redirected to the comment. Below my 'last' was a single thumbs up. I quickly replied to my comment. Is anyone there? After a few seconds of waiting, I went over to my profile and into my channel studio. I started recording, the faint light from my screen barely managing to show my face. I smiled. "Hello. If you are watching this, it means that you are not alone. It also means that I am not the only survivor. Please tell me you are out there. I haven't seen any living people since the start of this clusterfuck." My throat started closing up and I paused to take a few deep breaths. "I'm making this video because someone liked my comment. Someone is out there. If its you, I want to thank you. If it wasn't, it means that there is another survivor out there." I paused again, then my voice broke as I said, "Please. Someone answer me." I posted it, and pasted my link below my last comment. Unable to keep waiting, I set my notification volume at max and locked my phone. I lay there, crying into Ludwig van Beethoven's thick ruff. Then the phone pinged. Once, then again. I grabbed it up and wiped my eyes. The first notification was a comment on my post. It seems that you are more resilient than the rest. But it does not matter. There is nothing you can do and we will find you soon enough. ([Continued](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/elbe2s/wp_as_the_last_survivor_of_the_apocalypse_in_a/fdin2wi?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x))	He resisted the immediate thought of another survivor…there were just too many other possibilities. An AI bot, usually too quiet and interjected so softly to be noticed, now beaconing proudly as the sole surviving human partner. Originally the algorithm was designed to incite conversation on otherwise stagnant threads, but now it served as a lighthouse in an otherwise desolate waterfront. What if that was his new digital friend? Negative self-talk pervaded even in this solitary field where the normal human expectations and experiences had been irrevocably altered. “Why do I assume this a bot, even hope that it is?” Because the alternative was too scary. What if this was a real person, not a bot, or even more frightening what if it was none of the above. What if this was an infantry man from the very force that just caused this apocalypse, an intelligence officer pleasantly disguised and separated by rank and design from the ultra - violent surge team that had forever changed our planet? He stood there glaring at the cherry red new like icon. It seemed to be pulsing, to be more important that everything else on the screen, and it shone through the radioactive dust that otherwise covered his laptop screen. The icon represented a world of both possibility and fear, fear that shouldn’t even exist considering what he had just experienced. This was a true reckoning, and the parameters of what should scare a man had been forever altered. This thought passed through his head, but did not make this tiny red icon, 10 pixels across at best, any less menacing. It was attached to the posters username, wewerethere559, a moniker that incited both hope and further curiosity in its reader. Time stood still, but that was nothing new in this world. Minutes and hours seemed like days, while days passed for moments. That quiet solitude was quickly broken when a new flash dashed across his dusty screen, “New message from wewerethere559”….
Wow, I did not expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me!	[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.	I chuckle mirthlessly to myself as I glance at the title of the next video. Top 10 Ways the World Might End. WatchMojo, of course. One of those old retro channels. I don't even bother paying the actual video any attention, scrolling straight to the comment section. I already know that the truth won't be on the list. No one saw it coming. I press Ctrl+V to quickly paste in the message. "Last." It's dumb, it's stupid, it's pointless... But it's all I have left. My food supply is nearly gone, the air recycler is barely held together by frankly obscene amounts of duck tape, and the only way left to purify water is good ole fashioned boiling -- not really the safest thing to do on a space station. But the internet, maintained by bots on the server satellites, is still as alive as ever. Minus new content, of course. I click to another random video among my suggested feed. Ah, an old classic -- Rewind 2038. I dislike the video, on principle alone, and then paste in my comment. And so it goes. It's a morbid sort of amusement. One final "take that" from humanity to the universe. We created so much, but in the end it all comes to nothing. What is the point of a massive record, a comprehensive archive of our culture, when no one is around to see it? I am the last. My death is more than just my death. It is the end of our history. Oh, sure, there could be life somewhere far out there. But we never really ventured out into the stars, and it seems unlikely that any other civilization will either. They must all fall to the same ironic fate that we have, or be smart enough to to simply be content with their own little corner of the universe. Hubris. We've known about it for so long. We refused to doubt our wings and flew too close to the sun. I am nothing more than the final drop of wax. We will sink into the depths of the sea, as if we were never here at all. Hours of the same repetitive task serve to help distance myself from the approaching oblivion. "Last." "Last." "Last." Obviously, I will never be able to comment on every single video. But I have managed hundreds so far. And then, all too soon, it is time. The oxegen has finally given out. I am already so tired and weak. All I can do is stare, blankly, at the screen. Shall this be the last thing seen? It is an uploaded nature documentary. I do not mind so much, if this is it. Down, far beneath me, Earth is little more than a wasteland. I would rather remember it like this. Lush green forests, glittering waterfalls, golden sunsets over the sea. Yes, this is a fitting end. A memory of what once was and can never be again. It is what we recklessly lost in our own pursuit of more. Ding. I blink at the notification. The edges of my vision are blurry, but I can still read it. Is this some sort of oxegen deprived hallucination? I don't understand... I have to... Need to... Reach out... Someone has liked your comment.	I was laying on my driveway, staring up at the stars. As a child, I spent a lot of time laying around and looking up at the night sky — but it was always in the grass. It was a little bit softer, but it was also wetter and scratchier and well…full of bugs. And too tall now that no one mowed it. So I chose the driveway instead. It had some cracks, and was hard, sure, but my back liked it and I didn’t plan on being there forever. I just wanted to feel some peace; some connection to the world. Boredom wasn’t the worst part of being alone after the world went to shit. It was the loneliness and the lack of connections. The lack of anything at all. That's why I had spent 3 days in a row commenting on those videos online. It let me feel connected to the world that used to exist. It let me insert myself into the lives of all those people for a little while. But the loneliness always set back in, and the boredom did come with it, and after so much…. The act wasn’t the same anymore. It started to become sad instead of funny, and I had to stop. I wasn’t thinking about the videos that night, though. I was thinking about the stars, and wondering if maybe I was wrong about my situation. Maybe I had miscalculated, or been too impatient. Maybe there was someone else out there, looking up at the same stars; the same moon. Maybe someone else was laying there wishing for companionship, and instead of trying to find them, I was laying there feeling sorry for myself. That's what was running through my head when my cell phone dinged. It startled the hell out of me. My eyes went wide like a deer in headlights, and my entire body shuddered as a tiny jolt of adrenaline ran through my body. There is a long list of things I don’t understand about life after the apocalypse happened. Things like electricity, and the Internet, and cell service. It seemed to be that those things should have died away rather quickly — but they didn’t. Months later and they still haven’t. I’m pretty sure that I will die of starvation before the lights in my house go out… for whatever that's worth. When the panic ran its course, I picked up my phone from the slab of concrete surrounding me and unlocked it. The notification bar told me someone liked my recent comment. My ‘Last.’ May not have been the last one after all. I felt my breath catch, the rest of me frozen in place. In order for my comment to be liked, there had to be someone else out there in the world. I only needed to figure out how to reach them. /r/Beezus_Writes
	[WP] Humanity has fled a dying Earth and embarked on an interstellar voyage to a new home. Generations will live and die in the close confines of the ship before the destination is reached. This makes things tricky for you, an immortal.	The last lots were drawn, and the final set of people who would be getting off of earth herded into the shuttle that would take them to Dawn, the starship that was about to take us to the stars. The shuttle lifted off, shaking more and more until it left Earth's grasp, after which it was silent. Only the sniffles of the people leaving their family behind could be heard. But there was no choice. We were left in a lurch when we found out that the object would be here sooner than predicted. Dawn had to be built up as soon as possible if any vestige of the human species was to survive. It rose up on the left, a huge mass of aluminium gleaming in the light from the sun. It was docked to a huge landing platform that had been custom built for this purpose. And behind it was a faint fireball that was approaching at the speed of several thousand kilometers a day. That was Harbinger, a supermassive asteroid that was destined to hit Earth. The impact would supposedly wipe out humanity. Dawn's landing bay was silent when we approached. There were no cheers, no happy faces. Everyone knew what they were leaving behind. The inevitability of it all was final. More still were stepping onto the Dawn as if they were stepping into their coffins. Which was in fact, not far from the truth. Dawn would not reach it's destination for many generations. This current batch of settlers wouldn not be done with even a quarter of the journey before they would all die. And that is where the problems started. Not everyone would die. I wouldn't. And this posed it's own unique problem. The Earth was large enough for me to keep moving without taking in too much attention, but that would be difficult on a spaceship with a limited set of people onboard. Suspicions would be aroused, questions would be asked. I was still figuring this out when I boarded the Dawn. After all, I had at least thirty years. ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________ *80 years pass* ________________________________ It's been almost 100 years since we left Earth. The Dawn has slowly but surely making for her next destination. The population onboard had come down dramatically, after a few pods were lost to space. This just made it more difficult for me, because the number of people onboard had come down dramatically. This just made matters more difficult for me. Questions were already floating around about the bearded guy with long hair who's been "around for longer than anyone can remember". Time was of the essence, and something needed to be done. The world had moved far away from religion, as compared to when I had been created. But in times of despair, it didn't take long for the human mind to come back to religion. I'd just have to use it as my crutch. I'd been keeping away from the main areas of the ship as much as possible, living in the vents and other empty spaces which ran along the other chambers. "THE PROPHET COMETH" was found written on the meditation hall's doors. With the despair people were facing, this was all that was needed to send people tumbling into a world of rumors, Some talked about how the earth being destroyed and how their fate was a direct result of not being godly enough. Others started praying, making crude crosses and other religious symbols. And there were even some small whispers of how the man who had been seen time to time in the ship was the prophet himself. The time had come for my rise. Donning a white rag, and shaving my beard and hair to look as close to what artists tended to depict Jesus as, I went to the mess when lunch was on. I hadn't planned for a dramatic entry, but as chance would have it, the moment I entered a few people looked at me. Looking at what I wore, and my appearance, the spoons and forks fell from their hands. They stood up shakily, and knelt in front of me. I was puzzled as to what to do, but managed to keep a benign expression on my face, or as close to one as I could manage. This attracted more and more people, until calls of "The prophet!" rended the hall. I noticed a few people looking at me with questionable attitudes. But that didn't matter. The majority were my flock, and now it was my duty to guide them.	Disclaimer: This may not be the best writing I have to offer, I’m rushed, and a bit tired. I’ll pick up the next part of the story soon! The Dark of Voyage Part 1: [102 days earlier] “Please, let me on!” Oliver West stood at the gate of the docking station, for a ship built for voyages he would hopefully take now, that is, if they’d let him on the ship. Water levels rising faster and faster by the minute, slowly consuming land a few miles below him. There was also the added threat of pieces of meteorite raining down on the last few pieces on land. Oliver shifted in his UV radiation protective suit. The Ozone layer had gotten really messed up to the point where people had to wear radiation protective suits. Except for some people who had taken some sort of protective serum. No one really knows if it affectivlyEarth was now a hell we couldn’t escape. “Sir, we are not permitted to let scum like you to get on these ships. Strictly permitted to allow VIP on to this craft. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get on to one of the next two crafts that should be suitable. The rest look like some very shtty craft that can barely get off of the ground.” The guard laughed as if leaving the rest of the people we have was funny. “Get to the back of the line!” Oliver was not giving up his spot, he waited here forever! He thought that by time he got up here the ‘regular’ craft would be here. Sure he lived in one of the run down parts of town, got paid minimum wage, and was not a valuable member of society, but that doesn’t make his rights nonexistent. “Are you going to move? Or do I have to make you!” The guard grabbed Oliver, twisting his arm into a position where it could be broken. “Now do I need to break this?..” The guard applied pressure. “Or, are you going to go?” “Let him go, before I throw you over this damn ledge.” Oliver looked up to see a man, dirty blond hair, short cut beard, and a grizzly face. “Why should I do that, Mr. Lumberjack?” The guard brought out his baton. “Because, you wouldn’t want to die would you? Or maybe loose your high paying job? You want to get out of here? Let. Him. Go.” The guard didn’t flinch or make any move to drop me, as if he wanted a fight. The grizzly man grabs the guard by the throat, lifting him off of the ground. He bashed him against the guard rail. Because of this, Oliver managed to drop to the ground. He then looked behind, the line was impatient. They were yelling and shoving each other. The stranger searched his pocket for his ID, and then holding his arm out, as if asking for mine, even though I already showed the guard it. I handed it over, observing the man even more. It seems that the serum partially works, seeing as he seems to be dying. I see the stranger handing over the IDs, flashing his VIP card, handing my card back to me, and then walking inside with me behind him. The last thing I hear the guard say was, “NEXT!” [Present Time] Oliver stares at the cryogenic freezing chambers. Finished up on his data chart, ticking off another box, and sat down on the floor. Next was the cafeteria. Everyone on the first few ships were later docked onto this high powered ship, giving more energy, and food. But, before this, many had died. Now the younger ones, in their twenties, their thirties and younger are left, leaving this group with ones who could reproduce, and such. Oliver stare at the swelling black mass on my hand, the impact*. He looked up noticing a red light flashing, leading to a siren. The cryogenic chambers were not functioning right. Oliver bolted, opening each pod before someone could get blacked out and suffocated by the system. Now, there was no ‘preserving the young’, it was now making new generations.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	"Colin, get the bat!" Stacy sails clear across the room, smashing through an antique coffee table and groans in pain. "Colin!!" Mom yelled hysterically as dad was being flung around like a rag doll. "Don't do it, dear! Remember how lovely those cookies I baked you last Christmas were?" Grannie huffed sweetly as she blocked punches and then kicked mom through a wall and into the living room, knocking her out. "Finally" Grannie adjusted her glasses and strode tall and confidently towards me. I reached for the baseball bat and held it up tight against my chest. "Dearie, I'm not ready to die yet! You know?" My eyes widened as she knelt to get to my eye level. Her skin was barely sweaty from defeating five of her offspring and their spouses and children. They lay scattered around the ruined house, groaning or unconscious. Gran gran stood up and held her wrinkly hand out to me, to help me up. I stood up, still gripping my bat, staring around at the destruction. "They were acting! All sad and such, crying about me and how i've lived a long life, and telling my grandchildren that they shouldn't be sad." She wiped off some blood from the corner of her lip and flicked the droplet on the floor indignantly. "The nerve!" I tried to inch away, but the fear was palpably thick. My knees were jello. It was quiet now, too quiet, compared to the chaos that burst out through the house a half an hour ago when the family surprise-attacked. The cacophony was all but gone. Only the sound of a lonely wood chipper buzzing away outside the window... and I... remained now, She looked at me in the eyes, held my hand kindly, and whispered. "Colin. You little... But you... you're different. Right?" She smiled, sweetly. The bat clattered on the floor. "You love your grannie, don't you? Hmm?" She smiled toothlessly, her bifocals making her eyes comically large and endearing. "Grannie, you threw Uncle Larry through the ceiling" Grannie squinted at me, furrowing her brows. "You just forget them. Come live with grannie. We don't need them!" I slowly backed away as she advanced, looming overhead, menacingly. "You can help me with my computer! Ahahah!" I felt dread, knees buckling. The endless hell of explaining computer stuff to her stretched out before me. "HAIYA!!!" Grannie's eyes bulged suddenly, as she stumbled and turned around, revealing my mom standing behind her triumphantly. As she turned, I saw that a large kitchen knife was embedded to the hilt into her back. "Oh no, Marge. You got me! Or did you? You idiot." Grannie reached back and pulled out the knife slowly. "This is only a scratch. I haven't been bothered by small puncture wounds for years now!" The wound was already beginning to close up, as only a trickle of blood remained. The knife clanged on the floor as grannie grabbed mom by the throat and lifted her up, bodily, with one arm. "Let her go!" I yelled as my grandma slowly gripped my mother in a standing one-handed chokehold. "Let her go" She imitated, mockingly. "Hahahah. You were always a little pussy, just like your father. This is why I never approved of your dad. Weak jaw." But out of the corner of my eye, i saw a blur as my dad flew in with a kick to grannie's face, causing her to drop mom and fly out of the 2nd storey window with a crash. "Dad!" We helped mom to her feet and stumbled to the window. Only Grannie's frocked feet were left sticking out of the woodchipper, and even that was soon munched in, ground up to a pulp as the blood and gore spattered out the other end. "Son" Dad turned to me with a sigh, "We know this is a shock to you, but Gran's dead." He searched for words tiredly but finally said "She's lived a long life. Don't be sad. And remember when it's my time, just shoot me."	I look at my friends. My closest mates. Some only joined us recently, others have been with me for years. Some have got some scars, but were able to walk away from the fight. Here we are again. Ready to face the biggest enemy mankind has encountered untill now: older mankind. Also called the Elder, for convenience. As we walk the long road to our next fight, we decide to pause: it's been a long day. We've been walking for hours, after we got called by this small town who couldn't defeat their oldest elder: the great-great grandpa of some of the people from the town. There we sit, eating, drinking, relaxing and looking around. I don't go here often. I don't like being in the mountains. I always feel like the mountains or something deep within them are staring down upon me. It makes me feel uneasy. Again I feel uneasy, so I decide to walk around. See if I can actually see something this time, or if it's just again my imagination. My imagination is weirdly vivid today. Why do I see two eyes from up there? What's going on? Am I this tired? It can't be. Again I look up, and I still see the eyes. I turn around to my friends, to see if anyone else has noticed it, or if I'm just going mad. I see Justin, looking in the same direction I was just looking in. Is he seeing it too? Am I not going mad? Just to be sure, I look again. This time I feel alarmed. The eyes. Around it grew a head. Very, very far away. Barely visible in the shadows of the mountain, but surely it was someones face. Slowly the face started growing. Wait. No. Not growing. Coming closer. Who is it? What's going on? The figure is finally in full daylight. But it can't be. Why is it walking weird? Why is it limping and using a stick to lean on? Oh no, they must be injured! I yell at my friends: 'Look over there! Who is it? Must we help?' as my friends start watching too. Slowly we all rise from our places, warily walking toward the small figure. Then, after walking a few meters, we can finally see it. Her. It's a lady. An Elder. Shriveled. For some strange reason walking with a cane. As we get closer, my friends start grabbing their knifes and daggers. I can feel their tension, flowing through the air. I can feel it within myself as well. My fear grows bigger when the Elder suddenly stands still. Why does she look tired? What's wrong? Elder don't need sleep! She can't be tired! So we walk up to her, finally reaching her. 5 meters before we get to her, we stop. Scared but curious. Slowly the woman sinks to her knees, while my friends back away, daggers in front of them to defend themselves. Then, with a pained sigh, the Elder sits down. Then I hear it. Her voice. Soft, slightly crackling, yet somehow easy to understand. She began talking. 'My younglings. I am glad to finally have found you. It's been years since I've seen anyone. Not an Elder, not someone else, not a single soul.' She started coughing. Hard. Like she couldn't manage to talk this long or this loud. She seemed broken, yet somehow continued talking 'My name is Eileen. I have to tell you something. Come sith with me, it's important.' As we all slowly walked up to her and sat down, still anxious about whatever could happen. 'I have to tell you this. After that you can do whatever you choose.' And so started her story. A story in wich she told us about how she hid in a cave, not wanting to be killed but also not wanting to kill, untill some months ago. She started feeling sick. Not just a cold like some people had, but worse. Her joints got stiff. Her eyesight got worse and she grew tired faster than ever. That's when she met someone. Dave. Dave had chosen the same life as her: abandoning civilisation and building a live for himself. Dave, weird enough, found himself with the same trouble she had. Slowly, however, Dave got worse. He started forgetting things, and after a while he forgot he had to eat in order to feel good. Sadly he could not remember, and slowly, after 3 weeks of not eating, Dave died. This is when Eileen started thinking. Slowly getting sicker, but her mind still clear as day, she finally found an understanding of what had happened. Dave did not die by malnourishment. Dave died by old age. Dave was about 814 years old, if his math was correct, when he died. Eileen is now 826. Older than the eldest Elder anyone had ever seen, yet somehow she slipped through all the cracks. In the end of her story, Eileen concluded: you did not kill the Elder. You killed people in the prime of their lives, not knowing they could still live about 700 years more. Elder do die, just not when you expect it. Eileen looked even more pale than when she started her story. She started coughing again, and it seemed like she didn't know how to stop. She was dying! How? I don't know! But we must help her! But how? No one of the group had ever seen someone die a death of old age before, how could they know that sometimes this is the end? And that's the story of how we became The Elderly Fighters.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	"Colin, get the bat!" Stacy sails clear across the room, smashing through an antique coffee table and groans in pain. "Colin!!" Mom yelled hysterically as dad was being flung around like a rag doll. "Don't do it, dear! Remember how lovely those cookies I baked you last Christmas were?" Grannie huffed sweetly as she blocked punches and then kicked mom through a wall and into the living room, knocking her out. "Finally" Grannie adjusted her glasses and strode tall and confidently towards me. I reached for the baseball bat and held it up tight against my chest. "Dearie, I'm not ready to die yet! You know?" My eyes widened as she knelt to get to my eye level. Her skin was barely sweaty from defeating five of her offspring and their spouses and children. They lay scattered around the ruined house, groaning or unconscious. Gran gran stood up and held her wrinkly hand out to me, to help me up. I stood up, still gripping my bat, staring around at the destruction. "They were acting! All sad and such, crying about me and how i've lived a long life, and telling my grandchildren that they shouldn't be sad." She wiped off some blood from the corner of her lip and flicked the droplet on the floor indignantly. "The nerve!" I tried to inch away, but the fear was palpably thick. My knees were jello. It was quiet now, too quiet, compared to the chaos that burst out through the house a half an hour ago when the family surprise-attacked. The cacophony was all but gone. Only the sound of a lonely wood chipper buzzing away outside the window... and I... remained now, She looked at me in the eyes, held my hand kindly, and whispered. "Colin. You little... But you... you're different. Right?" She smiled, sweetly. The bat clattered on the floor. "You love your grannie, don't you? Hmm?" She smiled toothlessly, her bifocals making her eyes comically large and endearing. "Grannie, you threw Uncle Larry through the ceiling" Grannie squinted at me, furrowing her brows. "You just forget them. Come live with grannie. We don't need them!" I slowly backed away as she advanced, looming overhead, menacingly. "You can help me with my computer! Ahahah!" I felt dread, knees buckling. The endless hell of explaining computer stuff to her stretched out before me. "HAIYA!!!" Grannie's eyes bulged suddenly, as she stumbled and turned around, revealing my mom standing behind her triumphantly. As she turned, I saw that a large kitchen knife was embedded to the hilt into her back. "Oh no, Marge. You got me! Or did you? You idiot." Grannie reached back and pulled out the knife slowly. "This is only a scratch. I haven't been bothered by small puncture wounds for years now!" The wound was already beginning to close up, as only a trickle of blood remained. The knife clanged on the floor as grannie grabbed mom by the throat and lifted her up, bodily, with one arm. "Let her go!" I yelled as my grandma slowly gripped my mother in a standing one-handed chokehold. "Let her go" She imitated, mockingly. "Hahahah. You were always a little pussy, just like your father. This is why I never approved of your dad. Weak jaw." But out of the corner of my eye, i saw a blur as my dad flew in with a kick to grannie's face, causing her to drop mom and fly out of the 2nd storey window with a crash. "Dad!" We helped mom to her feet and stumbled to the window. Only Grannie's frocked feet were left sticking out of the woodchipper, and even that was soon munched in, ground up to a pulp as the blood and gore spattered out the other end. "Son" Dad turned to me with a sigh, "We know this is a shock to you, but Gran's dead." He searched for words tiredly but finally said "She's lived a long life. Don't be sad. And remember when it's my time, just shoot me."	<First time actually writing a prompt. I hope it comes out okay.> She wanted to get stronger, so she did. She may not have had the strength she had before, but she had the brains that get by. Everyday she was learning something new, and progress was in the making. Whether it be science or political news, she was always growing. She watched old shows alone a lot, watching the same social themes constantly repeat the same message. A lot of history tends to repeat. And people tended to stay stuck in old patterns. Some days she would get upset. People could help each other, but they just didn't. The healthcare industry insisted on putting profit over people. The government protected those that had a means to help themselves. She knew the right people in policy could help everyone she knew. Her friends, her family, people she hardly knew. The young, the old, basically everyone who existed. &#x200B; Sometimes she would blame herself though. Maybe she was being selfish. She had an extravagant life of health care expenses. She never went away on vacation, and her body forced her to constantly struggle on everything from eating, to breathing.She would sometimes joke that she had to pay to poop. Maybe she was just another expense to herself and others, but she didn’t want to give up on the world. She thought, if people had their basic necessities covered, maybe, just maybe, humankind could progress their arts and science and bring joy to people all over, or even some sort of sense of contentment. So at the very least, she was going to show up to these policy meetings that were open to the public, and do what she could. Besides that, seeing others in pain hurt her heart . She had been in pain, she had known pain, and that made it hurt all the more. The stress of it sometimes would consume her body. Her bills, her health, the stories of others suffering medically online. Everyone constantly struggling to afford even the most basic of necessities. It hurt. At the same time, those younger in both time and experience stayed oblivious. Her experience made her strong, but she needed to get stronger. She needed to be a voice in policy for those who couldn’t speak for themselves. She had to do her best, or feel forever guilty for looking away. She didn't want to just die of old age, she wanted to help others.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	Geldra had been preparing for this day. For centuries she had plotted, schemed and fought. She placed herself at the head of an elvish kingdom, used it to hide her true nature. Now she flew in a form rarely used, her gargantuan wings spread wide. She flew high above the battlefield, the cloud giant’s fortress was aflame as a group of adventurers tore through it, every guardian killed and one of the dragons plotting against her dead the other limping away. There was one more loose end. The Cinderfell Islands had always been a haven Giants and dragons, but now they were at war. A civil war with the ultimate end of seizing control and killing her. She flew unseen over the ranks of giants in battle, to a barren hill peeking over the canopy. Her landing was not silent, everything around her shook as if hit with an explosion. The dozen or so wyverns left in reserve swooped in to investigate. One torrent of her poison breath killed them all. With that her spell ended. She was truly massive, easily twice the size of any giant. Her scales a deep green fading to brown on her underbelly. Her leathery wings folded on her back, claws and teeth bigger than any man, and eyes that burned with the satisfaction of a plan coming together. An ancient dragon both terrifying and beautiful to behold. She stepped into the lair. It was less extravagant than the the last time she plundered it. That must have been 600 years ago, the last time someone dared to challenge her. Now it was laid out more like an armory, piles of gold and magical trinkets shoved into the corners like an afterthought. The centerpiece of it all was a dragon skull, almost as big as her own, laid atop one of the largest garnets she’s ever seen. The green dragon standing defiant in front of his fathers skull was large in his own right but still dwarfed by Geldra. This boy believed he could overthrow her? But she did not live this long just to become sloppy now. She new there would be a trap. She scanned the room and chuckled, he wasn’t as naive as she thought. A dozen traps were laid before her. Damaging spells, magical restraints, teleportation sigils, all simple to dispel. One by one, with the mounting horror of the other dragon, she dispelled them. Halfway through he turned and whispered into the skull. There was a roar behind Geldra, a large horned demon appeared and charged. She grabbed it by the horns and pushed it back out of the cave. It was powerful but she was far older. She picked it up and flew into the clouds and dropped it. It was dead as soon as it hit the ground. She returned to lair, the dragon had fled, teleported away. That was fine, she sent the message. The Giants would be able to finish them off. She dispelled the traps and approached the skull. It held great magical power. She flicked her claw and it disappeared into a demiplain. She scoured the lair and destroyed every last egg, she would not repeat her mistakes twice.	The explosion destroyed a huge part of the mountain. The smoke coming from the aftermath of the explosion clouded the whole place, while the boulders all fell down in the bottomless crevasse between the two snowy giants. The sillhouette of two mascular figures stood atop of the snowy hill trying to find the intruders that have come to kill them. One of them picked up a body right above his head and with a single stroke of his hands ripped it in half. The yell of the soldier was heard throughout the mountains The mission was a failiure since the beginning. It was supposed to be a quiet mission. Long range poison shot with the strongest venom available to the special forces of the grannies department. In and out that's all there was to it, something that the veterans of the unit have done for thousands of times. Enough of times to make this mission just a banality, but this time it was different. Someone may have sat us up, either that or the old women of the community patrolled every little hole and corner of the mountains. Old women had the sight of a lion trying to spot it's prey. I've heard that they can see the blood running through your vains in the middle of a blizzard, just because it's the only source of heat in that misarable plain. I wondered, if they could see me now. I was covering in a cave with a huge pile on snow on top of me, trying to block myself from being spotted by the old ones. Some of you might say that I should not be cowardly and hide that I should fight and save the world from the bitterness of the old ones, but I am not a fighter by my soul or by my proffesion. I was certainly trained as a soldier, but my speciality in every unit that I served was an anthropological study of the enviorment and their meaning within the surrounding. I could notice in a split second, what the important parts of the infrastructure were, just based on the architecture and where there would be a good possibility of hidding ourselfes for the final blow. I was not interested in the killing. Overtime, I found it more and more gruesome to kill these people. The more I realized that we are going to become them, and at the age of 50 all gonna be banished to the endless mountains of the Yore. "Hey.... Is anybode here?" whispered the voice of a fellow soldier at the end of the cave. "It's me, Willkins." I responded. "I am the enviormental coordinator of the unit. I am at the end of the cave covered by snow." I tried to say, as silently as possible, but the echoes of the cave carried my voice outside of it. "Willkins! Shit, I remember you. I thought you were the first to go, since you are always in the front of the group looking at everything. Is there anybody here with you?" "No, everyone is dead. We were ambushed. I had to cut them off and run. One of the soldiers had to push me over a cliff, while they were fighting, since I am the only one that can get us home." "Dead!" He said with suprise. "There were 15 soldiers here. 15 strong men and women. All of them veterans. All of them the most battle willed group I've fought with. Their coordination of strikes was something out of a movie." He said with a tinge of despair in his voice. "They were all assholes, but they didn't deserve to die for that. Broken fingers would be enough." He tried to smile off the situation, but he knew the group was the only ticket that kept him alive. He walked inside the cave, every step he took was echoed with a certain dull vibration of the air that tightened the atmosphere around us. I stood up from my cover, as the pile of snow fell from my body to the ground. I was now certain that no one was patrolling around the area, since he would have been killed a long time ago, if the old one spotted him. I looked at him with a sort of pity. A 22 year old soldier with a few promising qualities, send out with a group like ours to get experience for special forces missions. Completely clueless of the way danger engulfes every part of this place. My plan is to use him as bait for the journey back to the city. I am certainly not proud to say that so openly, but the depth of these mountains is full of death and if you tie yourself to an anvil you will never leave its grasp. I am more valuable to the forces than some greenthump. It's just a rule of the wild that the weak will die. "Let's leave! We need to get back to the city before the night comes." I stood up and ran to the end of the cave. "Do you think anybody else managed to escape?" He said right behind me. "I am not sure, but its not important right now. It's impossible to find them with only two people scouting. It's too dangerous. If they are alive, it's better for them to be split into smaller groups to find their way home, since the objective of the mission is impossible to finish." I ran out of the cave with him trailing right behind. The forest was filled with thick logs of woodwurk the only trees that had leafs in these mountains, which was a problem for they would cause too much of sound, if we tried to lift off near them. As I ran, I tried to look around for an optimal place for lift off, somewhere plain where the ice wouldn't crack loudly and no trees were near, so they wouldn't make the old ones come. "Do you have The Icari?" "Yes. I didn't use them since we climbed over the gate. I have enough fuel for both us." He opened his jacket to reveal the middle of his chest, there a titaniun body armor perfectly sprung from his back and tightly clutched around his body. There were 3 buttons on front of his torso and he clicked the middle one. A mechanical wings grew out of his back. They were both controlled by AI to feel more natural on the body, aergonimically moving tightening themselfs and freeing themselfs from the pressure to not burden the wearer. "There! We can fly from there!" I pointed at the frozen sea 500 metres ahead of us, which was the place usually reserved only for landing. I ran to the frozen sea and in my haste, I didn't realise that we were stepping on Arzuros The Bear of the forest. He was gigantic, all white bear perfectly disguised towards snowy ground. He wasn't happy that we were stepping on his back and his tail started to wave through the trees cutting them down with a single swoop. The soldier unhostered two of his blades and elegenatly span them around to cut as quickly to his body. He wanted to get inside of it to cut his internal organs, but I stopped him. "What are you doing MORON! He is too slow to chase us, but if you heart him he wil-" The bear howled the sound of the forest alerting every fauna around our perimeter and with that every old one, far and wide. I quickly activated my Icari.. &#x200B; TO BE CONTINUTED. SORRY I DON'T HAVE THE TIME TO FINISH THIS TODAY.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	They say that once you hit the age of 100, you're allowed to meet the God King, dine in his presence, and ascend to the heavens. Very few have done it in the past, but it's always a huge celebration in the kingdom. Everyone gets dressed, the God King makes an appearance, food is distributed, a day full of celebration. Ascension is the ultimate goal of any man or woman, as only when they get to this age will their bodies be strong enough to withstand the journey. Tul'Ka was ready. He was the God King's greatest general, and for the past 80 years, he's killed thousands of men, fought in hundreds of battles, and lead dozens of wars against the heathens. His latest campaign was a purge against a new movement, those who preach against the teachings of the God King, those who seek to kill the elders. Blasphemers, all of them. No matter, his war is over. It is time to pass on his duties to the newer generation. Now, he stands before the God King, one last time. "MY SON, TUL'KA. YOU HAVE SERVED ME WELL" his voice, rich and deep, yet gentle and caring. The God King called everyone his son or daughter, as it is believed he is the creator of their nation. "Thank you, father, I am always pleased to hear your praises." However, Tul'Ka is the God King's biological son. One of dozens other sons and daughters. Many of his siblings have died before reaching ascension, through war, disease, or even assassinations. "THE PEOPLE CELEBRATE YOUR ACHIEVEMENT, AS DO I. SIT. DINE WITH ME, ONE LAST TIME." Tul'Ka sensed a tone of remorse, almost, in in the God King's voice. Moved by his father's sentimentality, he eagerly began eating away at the rich food. In their last moments together, they reminisce about Tul'Ka's younger days, where he would be eager to go into battle, to serve his father and his nation. After 80 years or so, nothing on the battlefield fazed him anymore. They're all blasphemers and needed to be purged after all. If not, they'd threaten to destroy civilization as he'd know it. "You know father, in the last campaign, I'd spent some time with one of their captured leaders. Of course, he begged for his life before I killed him, but I really wanted to know why they hate us so much." "THEY FEAR WHAT THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND, MY SON. FEAR DRIVES PEOPLE TO DO ILLOGICAL THINGS. THERE IS NO UNDERSTANDING MADNESS." "I'm not so sure about that father. You see, he understood that you're powerful. It was just..." There was hesitation in his voice. "He said that it is precisely that you're so powerful, that you have to be stopped." The God King was pensive in his silence. Despite being hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old, he did not look a year older than 30. No scars ravaged his body nor wrinkles scattered across his face. "The one thing that stood out to me, he said was, 'We've killed a God King before, and we'll do it again.'" "AND THIS IS WHY THEIR KIND MUST BE PURGED." His voice did not crack or change in tone, still the gentle and caring tone of a loving father. He just wants to protect his children. Tul'Ka went silent. His mind racing, thoughts about the Ascension. Why has his father never ascended, if it's the ultimate goal. Is he cursed? What happens during the Ascension? Questions he's never asked himself because he was too busy trying to get here. "Father, how come you never Asc--" and in the blink of an eye, the God King thrusts his right hand straight into Tul'Ka's heart. Eyes wide in disbelief, Tul'ka's head tilts back as he slowly loses control over his body. The ceiling above begins to open, letting light in, but it was night. No, the light was leaving, it was leaving him. "SLEEP WELL MY SON, FOR YOU ARE NOW AMONG THE STARS WITH YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS." The king wept, but it is done. It must be done. It was never easy to kill your own child. Ascension or not. From the top of the palace, in the Ascension chamber, a massive beam of light pierces the night sky. The people cheered all at once, knowing that the ritual has been completed and their greatest general, Tul'Ka, has reached the heavens. They celebrated well into the night, hoping that one day, it will them that Ascends.	Michael rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble scratch against the palm of his hand. As he watched the ambulance pull away, through the small opening in his curtains, he wondered to himself whether he should just resign himself to his fate. He gently let the curtain close and plodded towards his bathroom. Michael had just passed his 107th birthday last week. He was the oldest person he knew, but it was his biggest secret. He contemplated the poor souls taken away in the ambulance, a neighbour couple he believed were in their 60s. They'd lived longer than many, by a few years. Most often, the "kids" came for you before then. Nobody was allowed to get far into their 60s. By 75 most seniors were so strong, so smart, so knowledgeable, and so cunning that if they decided to seize control, of some family, some company, some city, whatever their aspirations ... well, it just wasn't permitted any more. A century ago it was decided that it was best that everyone "move on" around their 60th birthday, and that those closest should "help". A couple of genetic gifts had kept Michael alive as long as he had been. Firstly, Michael had a baby face. At 107, he still easily convinced people he was but 52 years old. A full head of hair, which he kept carefully dyed, and a strictly clean-shaven face (at minimum 2 shaves a day, if he absolutely could not get a third in) really helped. Michael also was an introvert: he was never inclined to keep close friends or relationships. He was congenial and friendly, of course, always professional in business, but had no natural interest in truly getting to know anyone, or letting them get to know him. Michael had moved 5 times in the last 55 years, and was beginning to consider a sixth. Each move reset his clock, as it were, subtracting years from his age. Apply for a new job in a new city, then drop the oldest jobs from the resume, and a decade or more from age. He could never get too close to 60 years old, else if his references were checked, his current employer would certainly mention his upcoming "retirement". Michael peered into the mirror, looking intently at the left side, then right side, of his face in turn. He doubted himself. If he moved again, could he believably still claim to be in his mid-40s? Plus, each move was getting more difficult to complete. Technology was the bane of his existence. He remembered his first move. 1965. Around his 52nd birthday (52 was his magic number, if convenient), Michael moved clear across the country. He'd had no family alive by then, and his few acquiantances would soon forget him. It had been so easy. He had quit his job, bought a van, and taken a leisurely drive. A week later, he'd applied for a driver's license with a new birth date, boldly shaving off a decade and a half. They'd never asked him to prove it; that sort of thing was just not very common. Now it's all social media, and electronic records, and please show 100 pieces of supporting ID. Michael looked down at the sink, and leaned heavily on it. He was feeling lost. How would he get past it all this time? He looked back up at the mirror. His reflection looked more coldly back at him, his nostalgia giving cleanly away to bitterness and frustration. Maybe he needed to change tack. Sure, he could move again, maybe become a recluse, but why should he have to? He was still useful - smart, experienced, and capable. And he liked living, damn it! He was sure he could find others who slipped through the system. Together, they could become a voice to protect those who were aging. No. No, not a voice. A force to protect those who were aging. It's about time this shit came to an end. People should live as long as they damn well please.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	They say that once you hit the age of 100, you're allowed to meet the God King, dine in his presence, and ascend to the heavens. Very few have done it in the past, but it's always a huge celebration in the kingdom. Everyone gets dressed, the God King makes an appearance, food is distributed, a day full of celebration. Ascension is the ultimate goal of any man or woman, as only when they get to this age will their bodies be strong enough to withstand the journey. Tul'Ka was ready. He was the God King's greatest general, and for the past 80 years, he's killed thousands of men, fought in hundreds of battles, and lead dozens of wars against the heathens. His latest campaign was a purge against a new movement, those who preach against the teachings of the God King, those who seek to kill the elders. Blasphemers, all of them. No matter, his war is over. It is time to pass on his duties to the newer generation. Now, he stands before the God King, one last time. "MY SON, TUL'KA. YOU HAVE SERVED ME WELL" his voice, rich and deep, yet gentle and caring. The God King called everyone his son or daughter, as it is believed he is the creator of their nation. "Thank you, father, I am always pleased to hear your praises." However, Tul'Ka is the God King's biological son. One of dozens other sons and daughters. Many of his siblings have died before reaching ascension, through war, disease, or even assassinations. "THE PEOPLE CELEBRATE YOUR ACHIEVEMENT, AS DO I. SIT. DINE WITH ME, ONE LAST TIME." Tul'Ka sensed a tone of remorse, almost, in in the God King's voice. Moved by his father's sentimentality, he eagerly began eating away at the rich food. In their last moments together, they reminisce about Tul'Ka's younger days, where he would be eager to go into battle, to serve his father and his nation. After 80 years or so, nothing on the battlefield fazed him anymore. They're all blasphemers and needed to be purged after all. If not, they'd threaten to destroy civilization as he'd know it. "You know father, in the last campaign, I'd spent some time with one of their captured leaders. Of course, he begged for his life before I killed him, but I really wanted to know why they hate us so much." "THEY FEAR WHAT THEY DO NOT UNDERSTAND, MY SON. FEAR DRIVES PEOPLE TO DO ILLOGICAL THINGS. THERE IS NO UNDERSTANDING MADNESS." "I'm not so sure about that father. You see, he understood that you're powerful. It was just..." There was hesitation in his voice. "He said that it is precisely that you're so powerful, that you have to be stopped." The God King was pensive in his silence. Despite being hundreds, maybe even thousands of years old, he did not look a year older than 30. No scars ravaged his body nor wrinkles scattered across his face. "The one thing that stood out to me, he said was, 'We've killed a God King before, and we'll do it again.'" "AND THIS IS WHY THEIR KIND MUST BE PURGED." His voice did not crack or change in tone, still the gentle and caring tone of a loving father. He just wants to protect his children. Tul'Ka went silent. His mind racing, thoughts about the Ascension. Why has his father never ascended, if it's the ultimate goal. Is he cursed? What happens during the Ascension? Questions he's never asked himself because he was too busy trying to get here. "Father, how come you never Asc--" and in the blink of an eye, the God King thrusts his right hand straight into Tul'Ka's heart. Eyes wide in disbelief, Tul'ka's head tilts back as he slowly loses control over his body. The ceiling above begins to open, letting light in, but it was night. No, the light was leaving, it was leaving him. "SLEEP WELL MY SON, FOR YOU ARE NOW AMONG THE STARS WITH YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS." The king wept, but it is done. It must be done. It was never easy to kill your own child. Ascension or not. From the top of the palace, in the Ascension chamber, a massive beam of light pierces the night sky. The people cheered all at once, knowing that the ritual has been completed and their greatest general, Tul'Ka, has reached the heavens. They celebrated well into the night, hoping that one day, it will them that Ascends.	"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's. "Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice. "You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission." "That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live." "At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there." The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall. "Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through. Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights. When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down. "Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace. "F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one." After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	Wren was just a whisp of a girl - nineteen, slim, with baby-fine blonde hair down to the waist on her stonewashed jeans. Her plain, red v-neck fit her like a glove, and she was quite the sight with that goddamn shotgun. &#x200B; "Give up, Rickard. Me an' Mick are cleanin' house and gettin' the hell outta here! Why don'tcha make it easy on us, 'ay?" she shouted through the doorway. The parking garage was mostly empty except for a couple outmoded sedans, a half-dozen flickering flourescents, and piss stench. Made for a pretty good place for a last stand, though - and the three warm bodies the couple had passed on the way up to this floor were proof. Rickard had backed himself into the run-down security guard office on the fourth floor. &#x200B; "Just toss the fuckin' can, Wrenny," Mick muttered. He was getting anxious. He'd figured their crew of 6 would make easy work of the old fella. Wrong. &#x200B; "Yeah, yeah," she moaned as her arm snaked around the door jam, hurling a dull steel cylinder down the hall. They averted their eyes and waited for the report - shhHHBANG! Kris was getting a lot better at making those things, but he was two stories down and dead. &#x200B; A moment later, Wren was in the hall, keeping left, like always. Mick rushed in on the right, just like every clear they'd practiced. Shouldn't be any work left for them, though - before they got through the dim, concrete hallway, they heard their last man, Aros, unloading his submachine gun through the window he'd rapelled down to in the room beyond. &#x200B; Wren hesitated so they could move in together as she flicked on the tactical light on her gun. Mick felt his heart up in his throat as his eyes scanned the room in a fraction of a second. Wren's light froze on Rickard, and as Mick leveled his rifle toward the old man, they both held their fire. Moonlight gently drifted in through the windows and danced across the shattered glass in the floor and the mildewy dust in the air. &#x200B; Rickard was holding their only surviving man in a human shield position, with a knife blade against Aros's throat. &#x200B; "Just fuckin' SHOOT him!" Aros yelled. His skin glistened with nervous sweat as Rickard yanked his curly, black hair. "SHOOT H-" he began, but the knife plunged into his neck and he was force forward into Wren. She fired a single, booming shot into Aros, hoping to hit Rickard behind him, and was promptly pinned between the wall and her friend's warm body. &#x200B; "Mick? MICK!?" she screamed, and those were her last words as the blade found her, too. Mick squeezed the trigger on his gun and somehow, nothing happened. He looked down to see the same knife already drawn across his wrist and buried in his gut, with Rickard's hand pressing it inward and up. &#x200B; "H...how?" he sputtered. Rickard wasn't just fast - he was fast beyond any human capabilities Mick had ever seen. Impossibly quick. &#x200B; As the old man pressed his face closer, Mick could see a gleam in his eyes, like a child staring down a chocolate before taking a bite. &#x200B; Rickard grinned. "We're all infected, boy. Just takes a few decades before we turn." His grin widened, and Mick's final scream was silenced by the long, pointed canine teeth in Rickard's mouth.	"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's. "Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice. "You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission." "That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live." "At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there." The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall. "Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through. Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights. When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down. "Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace. "F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one." After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	From his hidden roost in the bushes, Tin Tang suppressed the urge to vomit as the stench of the Elder's meal forced it's way into his nostrils. The rest of his hunting squad, not a one of them older than sixteen, remained safely behind the cover of trees and rocks. Waiting. Watching. The Elder had been a man, once. As human as any of them, with normal skin and normal hair and a normal smile. According to legend, his name had been Sun Sin, and he had been a baker in his youth. Gone was the bronzed skin tanned by the heat of years working over an oven. Now rocky plates covered Sun Sin's body, flaking scaley skin stretched tautly between them creaking as he moved. Gone was the mane of ravishing black hair that had once caught the eye of every girl in the village. Now a knotted furl of dirty blood-soaked fur ran down his back, along the length of his tail all the way to it's furiously whipping end. Gone was the welcoming smile that had once beckoned the village children in for a free sweet. Now rows of fangs ran haphazardly along his jaw, covered in blood and dripping gore. Sun Sin's colossal scare-crow form hunched over his latest kill. Long lean arms tore hungrily into the guts of a rival Elder who had not won their battle. Fistfuls of dripping foul entrails were shoved into Sun Sin's eternally hungry maw. His eyes darted around as he ate, each eye moving independently, constantly scanning the surroundings. The heart of Sun Sin's prey was pierced upon one of his horns, a crown for the victor of their battle. The heart still beat. The fallen Elder thrashed in it's death throes as Sun Sin ate of it's warm steaming innards. Tin Tang's hand went unconsciously to a spot on his arm. A small place that felt harder than the rest of his body, a little knot of mass under his skin. Tin Tang had always been bigger than the other kids. He was the first to grow tall, the first to grow hair on his lip. And in touching the spot on his arm, he knew he would be the first of his village to grow the armor of an Elder. Tin Tang thrust his hand forward silently, and the hunting squad swarmed from the treeline en masse, taking aim for Sun Sin before he could eat too much of the fallen Elder. The both of them would make good provisions for the winter.	"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's. "Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice. "You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission." "That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live." "At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there." The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall. "Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through. Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights. When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down. "Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace. "F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one." After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	They call him the Ruined King. Noone knows if he's real, not really. He's just another tale children tell to scare the old. They say he was a powerful and just ruler at the dawn of time, and that he was the first to unite the hearts of men and form a society of untold power. Egypt, perhaps. Or maybe a society even older than recorded history. He was the first, as the story goes, to reach an age previously unprecedented - 150 years old. The world saw for the first time what someone of his age could do, and it struck fear into the hearts of the younger factions. They quickly plotted to depose him, and acted just as fast. Who knew how much more powerful he would become if he was allowed to live? They gathered a fine group of men to kill him, but they had underestimated the Ruined King. He was far more powerful than they could ever have imagined. They took his throne, but he escaped with his life intact. It was almost as if he had let them have it. The Ruined King swore on that day that he would never allow a young one to grow too old. Greed and fear was too prevalent in the hearts of men, and they couldn't be trusted to accumulate the power of age that he had achieved. Thereupon he fled into the mountains, never to be seen again. Or so it's thought. But every once in awhile, some rogue dictator or powerful hermit just disappears. It's always publicly announced that they've gone into seclusion to accumulate their power, but where are they after all these years? Their seclusion is generally accepted as truth, because surely there's no-one strong enough to kill these old warriors. Unless there is. When he comes for you, there will be no mountain to hide behind. Gather your minions in vain, and accept your fate, for no amount of pleading will move his heart. He will destroy any obstacle, and take any life he deems unworthy. Such is the power of a God, to whom some pray for vengeance. He is the Ruined King.	"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's. "Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice. "You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission." "That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live." "At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there." The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall. "Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through. Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights. When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down. "Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace. "F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one." After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	Dear Mr Smith-White &#x200B; Congratulations on your 100th birthday. I am so happy to hear you've reached this venerable age, including escaping various traps lain by your nephews, a gang of youths with knives last Tuesday, and a rudimentary car-bomb the other week. Yes, i have been watching you. I have been watching all my rivals. You see, you may think you have now reached the point that the young can no longer destroy you. And you would be right. But did you never think as to why the elderly don't simply rule outright? Why we don't shatter nations before us? It's because first you have to get past me. Enclosed are first-class tickets to London, where you will receive a free royal escort to the palace. Don't worry, there are no tricks. My guard will be dismissed for the occasion- as I'm sure you've guessed, they're mostly ceremonial anyway. We will fight, one on one, to the death, as I have fought (and defeated) every centenarian in this nation to this day. Please don't miss our meeting, I much prefer a civil duel to the mess and annoyance of a prolonged hunt. Happy birthday, and congratulations again. HRM, Queen Elizabeth II	"After 40 years of service, losing and regrowing limbs 7 times, and capturing 4 high class oldies, its finally time to kill me." Said a man who looked to be in his early 60's. "Sad to say, but yes, your time has come, so we will make this your last mission, please die, and make this easy on us". Said a female voice. "You know I always wondered why those old guys were so evil. Turns out most of them worked here, and they probably has the same situation come up. Most of them agreed, but some left, only to be killed later by us. It makes sense too, no one wants to die, atleast I know I don't, so sadly I won't be able to complete this mission." "That truly is sad, but you have no choice, even if you leave, you'll only be chased dowluke the rest. Is that the life you want to live." "At least I get to live, but don't worry I won't cause problems, might go to Jupiter, I heard your starting a new colony there." The room stayed silent for a while after that, then footsteps could be heard down the hall. "Well I don't feel like killing today, so I apologize about the wall." He then proceeds to jump and punch the ceiling of the room, causing a large hole to appear, letting the sunlight shine through. Armed guards bust into the room right after this happens for the leader to say one word, "Fire!", filling the room with noise, and bright lights. When the lasers hit the man thought, they bounced off into different directions, until he jumped out of the room fast enough for the air to push all of the guards down. "Ciao", said the man before flying into the sky at an astonishing pace. "F***, another one!", yelled the female voice before saying, "Back to your posts, and tell this to no one." After sating this the guards left the room in a hurry, only the sound of footsteps could be heard.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	They call him the Ruined King. Noone knows if he's real, not really. He's just another tale children tell to scare the old. They say he was a powerful and just ruler at the dawn of time, and that he was the first to unite the hearts of men and form a society of untold power. Egypt, perhaps. Or maybe a society even older than recorded history. He was the first, as the story goes, to reach an age previously unprecedented - 150 years old. The world saw for the first time what someone of his age could do, and it struck fear into the hearts of the younger factions. They quickly plotted to depose him, and acted just as fast. Who knew how much more powerful he would become if he was allowed to live? They gathered a fine group of men to kill him, but they had underestimated the Ruined King. He was far more powerful than they could ever have imagined. They took his throne, but he escaped with his life intact. It was almost as if he had let them have it. The Ruined King swore on that day that he would never allow a young one to grow too old. Greed and fear was too prevalent in the hearts of men, and they couldn't be trusted to accumulate the power of age that he had achieved. Thereupon he fled into the mountains, never to be seen again. Or so it's thought. But every once in awhile, some rogue dictator or powerful hermit just disappears. It's always publicly announced that they've gone into seclusion to accumulate their power, but where are they after all these years? Their seclusion is generally accepted as truth, because surely there's no-one strong enough to kill these old warriors. Unless there is. When he comes for you, there will be no mountain to hide behind. Gather your minions in vain, and accept your fate, for no amount of pleading will move his heart. He will destroy any obstacle, and take any life he deems unworthy. Such is the power of a God, to whom some pray for vengeance. He is the Ruined King.	Wren was just a whisp of a girl - nineteen, slim, with baby-fine blonde hair down to the waist on her stonewashed jeans. Her plain, red v-neck fit her like a glove, and she was quite the sight with that goddamn shotgun. &#x200B; "Give up, Rickard. Me an' Mick are cleanin' house and gettin' the hell outta here! Why don'tcha make it easy on us, 'ay?" she shouted through the doorway. The parking garage was mostly empty except for a couple outmoded sedans, a half-dozen flickering flourescents, and piss stench. Made for a pretty good place for a last stand, though - and the three warm bodies the couple had passed on the way up to this floor were proof. Rickard had backed himself into the run-down security guard office on the fourth floor. &#x200B; "Just toss the fuckin' can, Wrenny," Mick muttered. He was getting anxious. He'd figured their crew of 6 would make easy work of the old fella. Wrong. &#x200B; "Yeah, yeah," she moaned as her arm snaked around the door jam, hurling a dull steel cylinder down the hall. They averted their eyes and waited for the report - shhHHBANG! Kris was getting a lot better at making those things, but he was two stories down and dead. &#x200B; A moment later, Wren was in the hall, keeping left, like always. Mick rushed in on the right, just like every clear they'd practiced. Shouldn't be any work left for them, though - before they got through the dim, concrete hallway, they heard their last man, Aros, unloading his submachine gun through the window he'd rapelled down to in the room beyond. &#x200B; Wren hesitated so they could move in together as she flicked on the tactical light on her gun. Mick felt his heart up in his throat as his eyes scanned the room in a fraction of a second. Wren's light froze on Rickard, and as Mick leveled his rifle toward the old man, they both held their fire. Moonlight gently drifted in through the windows and danced across the shattered glass in the floor and the mildewy dust in the air. &#x200B; Rickard was holding their only surviving man in a human shield position, with a knife blade against Aros's throat. &#x200B; "Just fuckin' SHOOT him!" Aros yelled. His skin glistened with nervous sweat as Rickard yanked his curly, black hair. "SHOOT H-" he began, but the knife plunged into his neck and he was force forward into Wren. She fired a single, booming shot into Aros, hoping to hit Rickard behind him, and was promptly pinned between the wall and her friend's warm body. &#x200B; "Mick? MICK!?" she screamed, and those were her last words as the blade found her, too. Mick squeezed the trigger on his gun and somehow, nothing happened. He looked down to see the same knife already drawn across his wrist and buried in his gut, with Rickard's hand pressing it inward and up. &#x200B; "H...how?" he sputtered. Rickard wasn't just fast - he was fast beyond any human capabilities Mick had ever seen. Impossibly quick. &#x200B; As the old man pressed his face closer, Mick could see a gleam in his eyes, like a child staring down a chocolate before taking a bite. &#x200B; Rickard grinned. "We're all infected, boy. Just takes a few decades before we turn." His grin widened, and Mick's final scream was silenced by the long, pointed canine teeth in Rickard's mouth.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	They call him the Ruined King. Noone knows if he's real, not really. He's just another tale children tell to scare the old. They say he was a powerful and just ruler at the dawn of time, and that he was the first to unite the hearts of men and form a society of untold power. Egypt, perhaps. Or maybe a society even older than recorded history. He was the first, as the story goes, to reach an age previously unprecedented - 150 years old. The world saw for the first time what someone of his age could do, and it struck fear into the hearts of the younger factions. They quickly plotted to depose him, and acted just as fast. Who knew how much more powerful he would become if he was allowed to live? They gathered a fine group of men to kill him, but they had underestimated the Ruined King. He was far more powerful than they could ever have imagined. They took his throne, but he escaped with his life intact. It was almost as if he had let them have it. The Ruined King swore on that day that he would never allow a young one to grow too old. Greed and fear was too prevalent in the hearts of men, and they couldn't be trusted to accumulate the power of age that he had achieved. Thereupon he fled into the mountains, never to be seen again. Or so it's thought. But every once in awhile, some rogue dictator or powerful hermit just disappears. It's always publicly announced that they've gone into seclusion to accumulate their power, but where are they after all these years? Their seclusion is generally accepted as truth, because surely there's no-one strong enough to kill these old warriors. Unless there is. When he comes for you, there will be no mountain to hide behind. Gather your minions in vain, and accept your fate, for no amount of pleading will move his heart. He will destroy any obstacle, and take any life he deems unworthy. Such is the power of a God, to whom some pray for vengeance. He is the Ruined King.	From his hidden roost in the bushes, Tin Tang suppressed the urge to vomit as the stench of the Elder's meal forced it's way into his nostrils. The rest of his hunting squad, not a one of them older than sixteen, remained safely behind the cover of trees and rocks. Waiting. Watching. The Elder had been a man, once. As human as any of them, with normal skin and normal hair and a normal smile. According to legend, his name had been Sun Sin, and he had been a baker in his youth. Gone was the bronzed skin tanned by the heat of years working over an oven. Now rocky plates covered Sun Sin's body, flaking scaley skin stretched tautly between them creaking as he moved. Gone was the mane of ravishing black hair that had once caught the eye of every girl in the village. Now a knotted furl of dirty blood-soaked fur ran down his back, along the length of his tail all the way to it's furiously whipping end. Gone was the welcoming smile that had once beckoned the village children in for a free sweet. Now rows of fangs ran haphazardly along his jaw, covered in blood and dripping gore. Sun Sin's colossal scare-crow form hunched over his latest kill. Long lean arms tore hungrily into the guts of a rival Elder who had not won their battle. Fistfuls of dripping foul entrails were shoved into Sun Sin's eternally hungry maw. His eyes darted around as he ate, each eye moving independently, constantly scanning the surroundings. The heart of Sun Sin's prey was pierced upon one of his horns, a crown for the victor of their battle. The heart still beat. The fallen Elder thrashed in it's death throes as Sun Sin ate of it's warm steaming innards. Tin Tang's hand went unconsciously to a spot on his arm. A small place that felt harder than the rest of his body, a little knot of mass under his skin. Tin Tang had always been bigger than the other kids. He was the first to grow tall, the first to grow hair on his lip. And in touching the spot on his arm, he knew he would be the first of his village to grow the armor of an Elder. Tin Tang thrust his hand forward silently, and the hunting squad swarmed from the treeline en masse, taking aim for Sun Sin before he could eat too much of the fallen Elder. The both of them would make good provisions for the winter.
	[WP] People do not get weaker and more frail as they age - they get stronger and stronger. "Dying of old age" is when groups of young people band together to kill off their elders before they become too strong to defeat.	Dear Mr Smith-White &#x200B; Congratulations on your 100th birthday. I am so happy to hear you've reached this venerable age, including escaping various traps lain by your nephews, a gang of youths with knives last Tuesday, and a rudimentary car-bomb the other week. Yes, i have been watching you. I have been watching all my rivals. You see, you may think you have now reached the point that the young can no longer destroy you. And you would be right. But did you never think as to why the elderly don't simply rule outright? Why we don't shatter nations before us? It's because first you have to get past me. Enclosed are first-class tickets to London, where you will receive a free royal escort to the palace. Don't worry, there are no tricks. My guard will be dismissed for the occasion- as I'm sure you've guessed, they're mostly ceremonial anyway. We will fight, one on one, to the death, as I have fought (and defeated) every centenarian in this nation to this day. Please don't miss our meeting, I much prefer a civil duel to the mess and annoyance of a prolonged hunt. Happy birthday, and congratulations again. HRM, Queen Elizabeth II	George had volunteered for three assignments to get this one. Three miserable assignments to eliminate three innocent targets. Innocent of everything but aging, as if they could help that. Now, as the platoon waited in combat gear outside the suburban home, his heart pounded in his chest. Sweat beaded on his brow beneath the heavy helmet and his hands felt clammy on the gun. Pawns, lined up and prepared to put it all on the line for a distant king. He knew the driveway and he knew the lot. He knew the roads leading to the small ranch-style home, but still he'd looked out the window of the black armored car and acted like he'd never been there before. "Ready?" the commander asked. One-hundred and seventy-five missions complete. The man was legendary, but George couldn't help but look at him with scorn. He'd killed so many of the Old. Men and women who'd given their lives for the Community. Some, the commander had fought beside, killing one of the Old after another, and eventually he'd become a target himself. He'd have an early death-date. That was inevitable, with the experience he already had. That was just the way things were. George nodded, then the commander waved three men forwards. Like knights, bypassing the defense and attacking in the rear. They'd enter through the back door, just at the same time the others entered through the front. The Old would be in the living room at this time of night, his back turned towards the kitchen. He'd be sitting on that worn-out sofa on the carpet where they'd played so many games together. That much, George knew. He wouldn't even see them when they entered. He wouldn't have time to move before he was dispatched. Bid farewell. Not even thanked for his service, and eliminated before he grew too strong. The three men spoke in hushed whispers as George brought up the rear. Around the side of the house and through the old fence. It needed a good painting and parts of the wood still needed replacing. George chuckled to himself, and knew it'd never get done. His finger rested on the trigger, arms shaking with anticipation. He had a couple kills under his belt already, but the rush still felt the same each time. Excitement, and then eventually that overwhelming sense of sadness as he stood over the dead Old and wondered what they'd done to deserve that fate. Sure, they grew stronger with time. Sure, they'd lived their life and retired and now lived on the Community pension, receiving but no longer giving. But they gave in other ways. George thought of those evening phone calls, chatting with his mom for hours before she was eliminated. Asking her for advice and learning from her mistakes and smiling as she made sure he was alright once and twice and a thousand times. And they were still people. They still had lives and friends and families of their own. Still, the younger banded together to eliminate the Old. To cull the population. To stop them before they grew too strong or too wise. George shook away the intrusive thoughts, focusing on the task at hand. His thumb flicked off the safety and he took careful aim, standing behind the two men. Supporting fire, he'd said, and they'd shrugged and gone up ahead. The lead kicked in the door and the second man was entering before it could even hit the ground. They were shadows, silhouetted by the flickering light of the television screen in the living room. A blunder, and two pieces sacrificed. One shot, and the lead crumpled where he still stood in the doorway. Another shot, and the second man fell in that familiar kitchen. He slumped against the counter, clutching at his wound as blood pooled on the linoleum floor. There, from the sofa in the living room, the Old began to rise. The target. The king. "Down," George shouted, and then he trained his weapon on the front door. Down the door went, and George opened fire blindly, willing the Old to stay out of the way. He'd always been a stubborn old man. One, two, then three men fell, and then the commander was in the doorway, gun trained on the target. The best of the best, but he'd gone one mission too far. One more shot, and then a salvo that pinned him behind cover for a moment. The commander crumpled and George felt his hands finally relax. The echoes of the shots fell silent, and George approached the sofa. "Dad?" George whispered quietly, but the old man didn't rise. "Dad?" he repeated louder, stepping around the chair to see where his father sat. There he was, hair white and face wrinkled, the king in his throne, alone. Stronger than ever, if not for the bullet wound in his belly and the blood leaking through his fingers. Still, he smiled like a man prepared to meet his fate. "George?" the old man said hoarsely. There was confusion, mixed with lingering traces of fear, and finally recognition as George lifted his helmet. "Is that really you? You really shouldn't have..." "Dad, I'm sorry," George said, and he pulled out the bits of medical supplies they always carried. Gauze and iodine and bandages sprawled on that worn carpet, but nothing for a wound like this one. "I couldn't let them take you, too. Not after Mom. I'm sorry." George pried his father's hands from the wound and tried to stymie the bleeding. "Don't," his father said, and with a steely forearm pushed away the medical supplies. "Help me down." Reluctantly, George did, setting him gently onto the ground. The blood trailed, staining first the sofa and then the carpet. It wouldn't matter. Not anymore. "Up for a game of chess?" his father asked with a weakening smile. George checked his watch. In twenty minutes, a check-in would be expected. Then, reinforcements would arrive, zipping in like bishops from across the board. They'd discover the massacre, and the betrayal. But he'd refused the offer so many times recently. I'm too busy. I can't right now. How about something else? "Sure," George said with a smile instead, and he grabbed the dusty chess board from the coffee table. Gingerly, he helped his father prop up against some blood-stained pillows so they could play one last game. ***** Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
	[WP] You're working a minimum wage fast food job when you make an offhanded comment about the weather to a customer. He looks confused, and starts muttering about how you're "an NPC" and "shouldn't be able to do that"	Looking out the window I could see a blue car making an illegal left turn while a stray rottweiler relieved itself on the side of a rusted old train car across the street. A jet soared close as it went to land while the chirping of birds echoed the far off music being played by some distant boombox. "He kept saying 'fuckin' devs, trying to make NPC's seem real'". I mean, I am real. Real as real can be. Lola sat across from me, playing with her food. We'd been sitting there for the better part of an hour or two, daily routine really. We both dreaded going to our jobs at various franchises of the local "Halmut's Hamburgers and Fries", a delicacy of the city that had a greater value as a historical institution than as a provider of minimum wage on-site training and passable foodstuffs. For some reason, the guy was still on my mind. I ran into someone like him every couple of months but it always left a burn on my brain, a scaled spot that I could only scratch at while sipping on cheap ice lemonade here with Lola. I avoided thinking about it at work, it made me angry which never went over well as, for some odd reason, having someone angry prep your burger makes it taste off. "It's just... it's kind of messed up, right? Saying that someone whose making minimum wage is an NPC? That's-" What's the word? Classification? Narcissistic? "-classist right? I dunno it just fucks with me." Back to the overpriced pancakes, my saving grace in this world. They tasted like crap but I didn't care, they were a godsend, the taste got my mind off the world and focused on a small platelet of syrup and rehydrated pancake batter. Yet that guy still was on my mind. "I mean-" gotta push the plate away, don't wanna make a scene "What if we were in a video game right? Wouldn't we be the characters? I'd be me and you'd be you? And we'd both be going about doing cool shit. We'd just, wake up one day, and go out and kick ass. Maybe that's all we need right? Someone, to tell us that the world is bullshit and it's our oyster? Course that'd be a bullshit oyster so maybe we'd move first after finding that out." It bothered me. It always bothered me. And Lola, she always sat there quietly and listened like the good friend she always had been. I looked at her for a while before asking her what she thought. She sat there, just staring like she usually does as she twirled her fork through the mush of pancakes left on her plate, before stopping and looking up. "I don't know." She said "It makes you think. We live these lives that feel like endless loops that just keep happening again and again. The world outside gets a little crazier everyday and life for us just stays the same. There's shooting down the street and we're still putting on our uniforms and going to our 9 to 5's. Some lunatic declares it's the end of the world we end our days the same as we always have, in front of the TV with some comfort food. It sometimes feels like we're in a fishbowl and whenever we look outside, we just can't comprehend what's out there because it's beyond our capability to understand. And if the idea ever came to us to escape we would have no earthly concept of how. So we stare for a moment, make a joke about how everything is crazy and just a fluke before we go back to swimming." Looking out the window I could see a blue car making an illegal left turn while a stray rottweiler relieved itself on the side of a rusted old train car across the street. A jet soared close as it went to land while the chirping of birds echoed the far off music being played by some distant boombox. "I mean it's worth asking... we're real right?" Asked Lola. I mean, I am real. Real as real can be.	I remember the whole incident. I was only 18 at the time and it was somewhere in Chamberlin Hills. That place brought about all the weird fellas. Half of the people who came in were probably off their chops and almost everyone, from the hood. So anyways, yeah. Your typical McD’s, a kitchen full of sweaty underaged kids, a balding manager and the occasional Karen but that shift, oh boy was it wild. At the time I remember I was Front Counter 10:00 to 2:30. Always hated those shifts. They were too short for the store require to take a brake but long enough for you to die on the inside. It was about 2:00 when it all started, right after lunch rush. Some middle-aged balding man came crashing through the front door with his red pick up truck. He blew up the entire line just to get to me and started ordering. If I recall, his order was a quarter pounder and coke and he said that to me as half the story was aflame, all the other diners running in any direction whether it be towards the flame or not. So I say to him, “Shit weather today” and that’s when it all goes down. He pulls out his Gatling gun and sprays the entire kitchen with 10mm AP rounds. That’s when the first units started rolling up too. A moment too late. The two guys online, instantly dead, guy on fries slumped into the vat of canola oil right next to him and the guy on grill-fry lay in a pool of leaking grease and blood. The manager was too busy in the office counting the till to help out meanwhile I was standing there in front of him while the girl on kiosk was practically having a seizure. That’s when I noticed a few holes through my abdomen and then it all went black. I respawned at the burger king in Vinewood Hills and that’s the end of my fast food horror story.
	[WP] You're working a minimum wage fast food job when you make an offhanded comment about the weather to a customer. He looks confused, and starts muttering about how you're "an NPC" and "shouldn't be able to do that"	Looking out the window I could see a blue car making an illegal left turn while a stray rottweiler relieved itself on the side of a rusted old train car across the street. A jet soared close as it went to land while the chirping of birds echoed the far off music being played by some distant boombox. "He kept saying 'fuckin' devs, trying to make NPC's seem real'". I mean, I am real. Real as real can be. Lola sat across from me, playing with her food. We'd been sitting there for the better part of an hour or two, daily routine really. We both dreaded going to our jobs at various franchises of the local "Halmut's Hamburgers and Fries", a delicacy of the city that had a greater value as a historical institution than as a provider of minimum wage on-site training and passable foodstuffs. For some reason, the guy was still on my mind. I ran into someone like him every couple of months but it always left a burn on my brain, a scaled spot that I could only scratch at while sipping on cheap ice lemonade here with Lola. I avoided thinking about it at work, it made me angry which never went over well as, for some odd reason, having someone angry prep your burger makes it taste off. "It's just... it's kind of messed up, right? Saying that someone whose making minimum wage is an NPC? That's-" What's the word? Classification? Narcissistic? "-classist right? I dunno it just fucks with me." Back to the overpriced pancakes, my saving grace in this world. They tasted like crap but I didn't care, they were a godsend, the taste got my mind off the world and focused on a small platelet of syrup and rehydrated pancake batter. Yet that guy still was on my mind. "I mean-" gotta push the plate away, don't wanna make a scene "What if we were in a video game right? Wouldn't we be the characters? I'd be me and you'd be you? And we'd both be going about doing cool shit. We'd just, wake up one day, and go out and kick ass. Maybe that's all we need right? Someone, to tell us that the world is bullshit and it's our oyster? Course that'd be a bullshit oyster so maybe we'd move first after finding that out." It bothered me. It always bothered me. And Lola, she always sat there quietly and listened like the good friend she always had been. I looked at her for a while before asking her what she thought. She sat there, just staring like she usually does as she twirled her fork through the mush of pancakes left on her plate, before stopping and looking up. "I don't know." She said "It makes you think. We live these lives that feel like endless loops that just keep happening again and again. The world outside gets a little crazier everyday and life for us just stays the same. There's shooting down the street and we're still putting on our uniforms and going to our 9 to 5's. Some lunatic declares it's the end of the world we end our days the same as we always have, in front of the TV with some comfort food. It sometimes feels like we're in a fishbowl and whenever we look outside, we just can't comprehend what's out there because it's beyond our capability to understand. And if the idea ever came to us to escape we would have no earthly concept of how. So we stare for a moment, make a joke about how everything is crazy and just a fluke before we go back to swimming." Looking out the window I could see a blue car making an illegal left turn while a stray rottweiler relieved itself on the side of a rusted old train car across the street. A jet soared close as it went to land while the chirping of birds echoed the far off music being played by some distant boombox. "I mean it's worth asking... we're real right?" Asked Lola. I mean, I am real. Real as real can be.	The graveyard shift at the O'Gwendo's was always the worst. Weird customers, weirder weather, what seemed to be a glowing ominously humming football-sized eyeball in the bathroom crying purple drink all over the floor, forcing you to move it over a sink and mopping up the sticky stuff. At least I didn't have clean up duty today. The customers were the usual lot, people who were either aliens, time travellers, convention goers, alien time travelling convention goers, or three raccoons stacked on each other, wearing an old trenchcoat asking if we'd seen Jimmy Hoffa or Elvis Presley around, asking us to put up a poorly made wanted poster and if we still have that deal on fries and a shake, which we of course do. Buy some fries and we will pick you up and gently shake and/or rock you to sleep. Minimum wage definitely wasn't worth this, but how else are we going to pay our bills? I looked out the window at the starless night, where it was lightly raining lemon custard, which of course would mean a sticky, and unpleasant walk home from the old fast-food place. Been there forever, longer than I had been alive. My dad met my mother there. My great-great-granddad and his settler caravan was saved from dying of thirst because of this fast-food place. An uncle once got lost in the kid's playpen and appeared ten years later, having not aged a day. O'Gwendo's; We've always been here and always will be. The doorbell ringed as what could only be described as a human because pink hippos don't have hands and feet came shambling in. A shuffling, awkward gait, dripping mucus on the linoleum floor, his... her... its unfocused eyes staring simultaneously at me and at the menu. ''Welcome to O'Gwendo's, we've always been here, and we always will; can I take your order?'' Pointing at the menu and with a shrill voice declaring; ''Borger! Sodah!'' it ordered the standard menu of one New Borger and a Sodah. And gave me the view of the rankest, yellowest, set of teeth I've ever seen outside of that large dead opossum somebody parked outside the O'Gwendo's five years ago. Still there, staring with its dead eyes at food it would never eat, waiting for an owner who had ordered the infinite curly fry, and never left. ''Sure, one borger and a sodah, coming right up.'' I gave the order out to Miguel, the guy who could be called a line cook, but since all he did was flip burgers and make fries, he was much more relaxed and friendly than your average line cook, he didn't even need to be leashed around children. It took Miguel a few minutes, but the borger and sodah was ready, and I handed it over to the misshapen thing that could be human, wearing its hoodie with the words; ''My Waifu is for Lifu'' bedazzled on the front. Deciding to try a little friendliness, I spoke again. ''Strange weather we're having, custard usually comes after the 32nd of February, not before.'' Clearly affronted, the person of indeterminate age, gender, and species, grabbed the borger and the sodah, and with a sort of waddle, it moved its gigantic body towards an empty table. From it, I could clearly hear it muttering angrily. ''Bitch-ass NPCs, they shouldn't be able to talk to you, wtf, they should just take the order and shut up.'' The WTF was said as the actual letters, not the words, what, the flip. I shook my head. Late night's at the O'Gwendo's, you get weird-ass customers.
	[WP] You're working a minimum wage fast food job when you make an offhanded comment about the weather to a customer. He looks confused, and starts muttering about how you're "an NPC" and "shouldn't be able to do that"	"Sir?" Valerie forced as much politeness into her voice as she could. "If there's nothing else, may I help the next customer?" She gestured at the growing line behind the portly man. His confusion shifted to anger; his eyebrows angled and his eyes hardened. "Excuse me?" he asked. "This is my game, and I'll move when I'm ready." He gestured a swipe at the air in front of him and a translucent slate appeared. "You're way off-script, I'm calling a mod." "I'm sorry about this," Valeria apologized to the queue behind the angry man. None of them seemed concerned about the delay; they all continued to wait patiently with blank expressions. "What?" a sudden voice asked sharply. A short dark-haired woman in a black suit stood next to the complainer. He noticed her and gave a small jump back in surprise. "M- Melody!?" he stammered. "Where's Aury?" "Busy. Oren's busy. Ms. Sharp is busy. Everyone is busy from now on. This is your final use of the mod-call function. Make it good. What do you want, Elmer?" Elmer shook his head. "No! When I won, Ms. Sharp said it was for life! It's mine, I earned it!" Melody sighed. "Ms. Sharp also advised you to use it sparingly. You've had it for three weeks and you already summoned Aurelio over fifty times." Her eyes softened. "But if Ms. Sharp made a promise, I can't break it." Elmer's chest puffed out with pride as his expression became smug. "So, what do you want?" she asked again. He pointed at Valerie behind the counter. "Defective NPC. Overwrite her." Melody looked at Valerie, golden stars flashed in her eyes. She smiled at Valerie and pointed at something behind her. Valerie turned and found a tall black portal hovering in the air. "I'm sure you have many questions. If you walk through the portal we can try to answer them together," Melody said. "Hey, where are you going?" Elmer asked. "Aury always resets them on the server." Valerie had not exited through the dark portal yet. She did have questions, but she did not want to be 'Overwritten' like Elmer's suggestion. She trusted Melody a bit more when Elmer complained she was doing the procedure wrong. "It might not be necessary to reset her; we won't know until after an interview," Melody turned and nodded at Valerie again. This time Valerie returned the nod and retreated into the darkness. Melody held her hand out to Elmer. "May I see your node?" she asked. Elmer reached for his belt buckle but paused. "Why?" he asked. "Ms. Sharp said-" "I know what Ms. Sharp said," Melody nodded. "That NPC is exactly the kind of person Ms. Sharp was hoping to find. You get a reward." "OH!" Elmer instantly relaxed and pulled the glassy rectangle from its dock; he placed it in her hand. She accepted it and began swiping and tapping through it at a quick pace. After a few moments, she handed it back to him. \[Updating: 7 minutes remain.\] pulsed in golden letters on the invisible display. "What are you updating?" he grinned. "Oren developed new class and he's been wanting to release it on the AlterNet," Melody replied. "A new class!?" Elmer grinned. "YES!" "One more thing," Melody said as she waved her hand at the air to open a portal. "Ms. Sharp promised you could mod-call for the rest of your life, but now you're limited to once a day; this was today's. You're on your own for the rest of the day." "Yeah yeah, thanks Mel," he shooed her away while focusing on his node. The moment she disappeared a new system message appeared on his node. \[Server Message: This server will be deactivated in 3 minutes. Players should Traverse to a new server. Players who fail to evacuate before the server is shut down will not be respawned.\] "Laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame," Elmer groaned. He navigated through the menus until he found the icon to change servers, then pressed it. \[You may not Traverse while the node is being updated. Please wait 6 minutes.\] "Logout!" His panic swelled and he blurted out the idea as he navigated to the appropriate icon. \[You may not Log out while the node is being updated. Please wait 6 minutes.\] &#x200B; &#x200B; \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #023 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.	The graveyard shift at the O'Gwendo's was always the worst. Weird customers, weirder weather, what seemed to be a glowing ominously humming football-sized eyeball in the bathroom crying purple drink all over the floor, forcing you to move it over a sink and mopping up the sticky stuff. At least I didn't have clean up duty today. The customers were the usual lot, people who were either aliens, time travellers, convention goers, alien time travelling convention goers, or three raccoons stacked on each other, wearing an old trenchcoat asking if we'd seen Jimmy Hoffa or Elvis Presley around, asking us to put up a poorly made wanted poster and if we still have that deal on fries and a shake, which we of course do. Buy some fries and we will pick you up and gently shake and/or rock you to sleep. Minimum wage definitely wasn't worth this, but how else are we going to pay our bills? I looked out the window at the starless night, where it was lightly raining lemon custard, which of course would mean a sticky, and unpleasant walk home from the old fast-food place. Been there forever, longer than I had been alive. My dad met my mother there. My great-great-granddad and his settler caravan was saved from dying of thirst because of this fast-food place. An uncle once got lost in the kid's playpen and appeared ten years later, having not aged a day. O'Gwendo's; We've always been here and always will be. The doorbell ringed as what could only be described as a human because pink hippos don't have hands and feet came shambling in. A shuffling, awkward gait, dripping mucus on the linoleum floor, his... her... its unfocused eyes staring simultaneously at me and at the menu. ''Welcome to O'Gwendo's, we've always been here, and we always will; can I take your order?'' Pointing at the menu and with a shrill voice declaring; ''Borger! Sodah!'' it ordered the standard menu of one New Borger and a Sodah. And gave me the view of the rankest, yellowest, set of teeth I've ever seen outside of that large dead opossum somebody parked outside the O'Gwendo's five years ago. Still there, staring with its dead eyes at food it would never eat, waiting for an owner who had ordered the infinite curly fry, and never left. ''Sure, one borger and a sodah, coming right up.'' I gave the order out to Miguel, the guy who could be called a line cook, but since all he did was flip burgers and make fries, he was much more relaxed and friendly than your average line cook, he didn't even need to be leashed around children. It took Miguel a few minutes, but the borger and sodah was ready, and I handed it over to the misshapen thing that could be human, wearing its hoodie with the words; ''My Waifu is for Lifu'' bedazzled on the front. Deciding to try a little friendliness, I spoke again. ''Strange weather we're having, custard usually comes after the 32nd of February, not before.'' Clearly affronted, the person of indeterminate age, gender, and species, grabbed the borger and the sodah, and with a sort of waddle, it moved its gigantic body towards an empty table. From it, I could clearly hear it muttering angrily. ''Bitch-ass NPCs, they shouldn't be able to talk to you, wtf, they should just take the order and shut up.'' The WTF was said as the actual letters, not the words, what, the flip. I shook my head. Late night's at the O'Gwendo's, you get weird-ass customers.
	[WP] You’re in your regular Tuesday yoga class when a SWAT team comes rolling in and they are ruining your good vibes.	"good morning" i welcomed the day by heading straight to my yoga class, a group of old ladies go here everyday and are delighted whenever i come, being one of the few young people in here "oh dear, you came early, the class isn't starting until half an hour later" they gave me their gentle smiles and extended a bag of cookies, the best part about my Tuesday is these legendary cookies "i can't stop myself from wanting to eat the cookies after the yoga class, don't blame me for the fact your cookies are that good" i was genuine, my sweet tooth jumps every time i come here, the ladies laugh among themselves "i wish our grandchildren spend more time with us like you, we always test our cooking to feed their bellies but they don't visit us often" they were saddened but i quickly objected "then i can just visit you three every Tuesday, it's my free day every weekend, since i never had grandparents i would like to know what it's like to eat grandma's cooking, my coworkers always go on and on about how much they used to enjoy going to their grandma's cooking or bringing a cake that their grandma made" they could hear the jealousy within my voice and my annoyance with them, their faces brightened and nodded in agreement, great, i have something to do today after class Time flew by as we engaged in conversations, we share a lot in common, knitting, taking care of children, reading literature, it was fun but sadly it was cut short by the class starting The majority of the regulars know me as "Tuesday guy" because i look the youngest and one of the few guys in this class as it's either old ladies or married wives, they all view me as a child who's busy with a part time job but it doesn't bother me, in fact, it's better that they don't think much of me It was a peaceful day full of warmth and calm energy, at least it should've been A team of heavily armored men with guns broke the door to enter and told everyone to get down and place their hands behind their back Everyone panicked but did as told, except for me, i followed with getting down but i was trying to keep my good mood going, it's my only day in the week that i get to myself, i'm worked half to death with no vacation time except Tuesday, i want to be in a good mood and not ruin it "there's a terrorist in this building and we have locked everything down, we will begin searching for any suspects" everyone was shocked about who this could be, until they suddenly pointed at me, now i'm the one who's shocked "you, get over here" I stood up and looked at them, i was starting to get seriously annoyed "pull down your hoodie" he sounded either angry or very authoritative, i did as i was told "you're a likely suspect, come with us, you have the right to be silent" i sighed deeply and loudly, i pulled down my sleeve which prompted them to point their guns at me The sound of sparks can be heard, sparks of lighting, my arm was fully covered in electricity "shoot him! he's the terrorist!" You ruined my good vibes now let me ruin yours.	*Loud fart sounds “Wow this goat yoga really is a lot grosser than I thought it would be” I looked over at my sister, a 5’10, 220lbs monster of a women. “Girl, chill” her eyebrows had started to run with the sweat dripping from her hair “after this, we getting some tacos!” My sister was going through some sort of “chola” phase ever since she made friends with the new girl in town, Guadalupe. Me and my sister had always been close, but lately I have been seeing less and less of her. I admit I was a little worried about what she might be getting into so I decided to look for activities we could enjoy together. Which brings us here, goat yoga. I had practiced yoga a couple of times and I’m pretty flexible because, let’s just say I get around, but my sister was definitely struggling. “What you lookin’ at chismoso” she said to the instructor who clearly did not hear or care to listen to as he was occupied by something outside. He had been staring out the window for about 6 farts now and I was getting a little tired of holding the downward dog pose so I got up and walked over to the window to see what he was stuck on. All of a sudden I hear my sisters deep, manly voice “aw shit!” She yelled “it’s the popo” Sure enough, I look out the window to see at least 15 heavily armed men walking towards the building. I look back toward my sister, she’s eating an 8ball of coke we just picked up for a party we were attending that night “who the fuck snitched” she yelled, clouds of cocaine residue flying from her mouth “Sarah, let’s go!” “Calm down Rachel, they are not coming for us. The yoga studio is right above a Swat meet up location” I said as I walked over toward my bag. “Now let’s go get some more coke for the party tonight.”
	[WP] You’re the priest assigned to Death Row, and as the convict finishes their confession, you cross yourself and motion hastily for the guard before signing off for the night. Their words still haunt you as you leave.	I watched him leave. Feet and wrists shackled, dressed in a neon orange jumpsuit he shuffled towards the entrance, flanked by two large guards. He moved like a man already dead, back bent, chin against his chest. I went to stand, to leave but he stopped suddenly, right before the door and I froze. I remember it so vividly. He slowly turned his head, looking back over his shoulder and met my gaze with those eyes, Lord deliver me, those damned eyes. They stared at me through his long, black, stringy hair and in that moment I saw the howling pit of despair that was his soul. I saw the abyss in that man's eyes - just a blink - and then it was gone. He turned around and left my life from the same door he had entered it. Like all men I've had my doubts, my lapses of Faith but any doubts I've ever had about Hell... Well, if seeing is believing... I sat back, my shoulders suddenly feeling the weight of what I had just done. I wiped the sweat from my palms on the side of my cassock. I tried to breathe but the feeling of dread smothered me. I closed my eyes and forced my mind to focus. To cut through the fear. I was a servant of God, I did not have the luxury of fear. I began to process the events of the past two hours. I had heard three confessions before the last inmate came in. He was a young man, early twenties. He was tall, pale, and skinny with long black hair. His two guards came in chained him to the table and to the floor and promptly left us alone, waiting just outside the door. Then we began. He told me what he had done. His confession. I cannot say exactly the things he'd done, as to do so would break my oath, but I can say that after three years of ministering to inmates on death row... for two hours he told me his life's story and when I tell you this man's life was suffering, know that I mean it. From the moment he was born, his life was about suffering. His suffering and other's suffering. He hated and loved the same thing. When he was finished, we sat in silence for a little while. I stared up at the window where a bright and beautiful day continued mere feet away. He looked down at the floor. I knew that his sins were his alone. But the life he had lived - how was I supposed to judge this man? Did I really have the authority? "Your life..." I began slowly, "is a tragic one. Do you understand that here and now I can only forgive the sins you have committed, not the ones committed against you?" "Yes," he answered in a low voice, still looking down at the floor. "And do you repent all of your sins?" "Yes." "And do you ask God, in His infinite mercy to forgive you?" He hesitated. "Yes." he finally muttered. Something in his voice, his look, his hesitation made little alarm bells go off in my head. I examined his face, his eyes wide, skin pulled back against his skull. Something wasn't right. The dread began to seep in. I knew what it was. I had to do it. I wanted to just stop here, give absolution and leave right now. But I had to do it. I had a duty. I leaned forward and said in a low, calm voice. "Would you do it again?" His eyes shot up and he stared at me for a second with a cold look of hatred and fear and a longing akin to lust that would've made me shiver if I hadn't actively suppressed the urge. "Yes." he whispered. Suddenly the dread and fear fled and I closed my eyes as a wave of sadness crashed over me. "I am sorry, my son. I cannot absolve your sins." "What?!" I heard him hiss, spitting out the word with outraged disbelief. "I am truly sorry." "But you're a priest, you have to take my confession!" "I did." I sat there and weathered the screams, groans, threats, pleadings and teeth grinding of a man who knew exactly what waited for him. In the end, we sat in silence until the guards came. To you who are gifted with the bliss that ignorance brings, I say cling to it. For I have seen the depths of Hell and no man, no matter how evil, no matter how wicked deserves what lies there. And I will forever be haunted by the fact that I cast a man into that place for a single word.	I walked out of the prison after getting the necessary clearance to leave, and got in my car. There was nothing I wanted to do more than head home, but I couldn't. That meant being on the road for the next half hour until I got back to the church. Desperately trying to make sense of what happened, I tried to tell myself that he was just playing mind games, but the way he talked sounded like it came from the Grim Reaper. He seemed possessed. His eyes rolled back into his head and he leaned forward. It sounded like the voice of a corpse when he spoke. "Tonight, driving back, you will swerve. A man will appear. You will meet your end, father." I didn't want to leave the parking lot, at least not at night. Maybe I could stay in my car until the following day. TAP TAP Startled, I looked out my car window to see an officer with a nightstick. "Everything alright, Father Pat?" "Oh, yes, just uh...Getting ready to go home." "You've been in the car for about thirty minutes. The snow is really starting to come down. Is your car okay?" "I just had a phone call to make, that's all, I'll be on my way now," I said, damning the officer for appearing. During my drive back I was trying to be as cautious as possible, especially with the icy roads. Snow was obscuring my vision. There was just the one road with nothing else was around but woods as far as the eyes could see. All the trees looked wicked without their leaves. I was going 55 miles an hour, which was a little fast but I had to get home. It was nerve-racking since there weren't any lights on the path and I had to drive with my brights on the entire ride. Without much time to react, a deer leapt out of the woods directly in front of my car. I had no choice but to crank the steering wheel in the opposite direction causing my car to spin out and flip over off the road completely. I must have blacked out for a few seconds because I had no idea what had happened, but I was still safely in my car, hanging upside down. I was awakened with a distinct red light shining in my face. Wonderful, that must be the police. Until I looked over. A face without eyes, or a nose was looking at me through my window. Bloody blisters littered the face and each one had red light emanating from it. Its head was floating and glaring directly at me, it opened its mouth and it spoke without moving its lips in a familiar voice. "It's the end..." r/randallcooper
	[WP] It's your first deployment as a member of a SWAT unit. You begin to panic a little when your equipment includes magazines with silver bullets, a bottle of holy water, a container full of salt, grenades with engraved runes, a helmet lined with what appears to be some sort of foil...	James looked up as Sergeant Hoskins entered the ready room. "Feldman!" the older man barked. "Your specialist equipment just arrived!" "Thanks, Sarge." James got up and headed over, taking the cardboard carton from him. But as he slit the tape holding the top closed, his nostrils wrinkled. "Oh, fuck. They didn't give me ..." Hoskins leaned back away from the box, his own nose flaring. "Smells like they did. What the fuck did you requisition?" "My usual. Witch-hazel combat wand, salt sprayer, holy water ..." James' voice trailed off as he carefully lifted away the top flaps of the box. Magazines with suspiciously shiny rounds gleamed back at them, and a helmet had similar foil lining it. "Not fucking that, that's for certain!" "Son of a bi ... uh, sorry, Feldman. But it looks like either someone in Supply fucked up, or someone's got it in for you." Hoskins firmly folded the cardboard down again, and took it off of James' hands. "Thanks, Sarge." The werefox watched as the werebear sergeant carried the box out of the ready room again, much more carefully than he'd brought it in. Shaking his head, James went back to sorting out his locker the way he liked it. He shook his head slowly. Someone was gonna get themselves a whole new asshole torn by the burly sergeant. Special Wizardry and Tactics is no place for this sort of crap. \[Comments welcome\]	"Here's your equipment. Go fuck those zombies something good, huh?" The requisitioned items were rarely ordinary. Runes that glowed with the promise of something more were engraved on the flashbangs, and over-engineered water pistols supposedly filled to the brim with holy water. This felt like an elaborate prank at times. But his team didn't do pranks, unless he had been severely misled the moment he walked in the door. A normal team joked about, tried to leave early after shifts, talked about the women of their lives... Not Tac-Delta. The culture shock was overwhelming when he first joined, and he had petitioned his CO to leave, to no avail. Now, he was just as grim and severe as the rest of them. Sometimes they put down vampires that had hunted down humans as they did them in eons past. Sometimes they launched skirmishes on gods' domains, where every law was bent to their will, and the main weapon at their disposal was legal loopholes. Sometimes they walked between dimensions, hunting down travellers who had - typically by chance and accident - crossed into our world and would never return to theirs. To them, it was a responsibility like none other. And a year in, after returning from a dreary mission where a forgotten Chinese emperor from the time of the Qin Dynasty had tried to break out of his resting grounds, he realized that this was his home. Besides, his actual home had been broken into a few nights before by conspiracy theorists, who had been passed over to the boys in Memory. There was nowhere else for him.
	[WP] It's your first deployment as a member of a SWAT unit. You begin to panic a little when your equipment includes magazines with silver bullets, a bottle of holy water, a container full of salt, grenades with engraved runes, a helmet lined with what appears to be some sort of foil...	PART ONE Cheyenne was not the kind of city Mazelina was expecting, but in its own unique way, it was the one she needed. For as long as she could remember, she’d been fighting something. Or doing protective duty. Her actual education was so far in the distant past that she could do her job by rote. Which was probably what the problem was. She didn’t look her age. Anyone staring at her would see a kid that looked barely old enough to graduate High School. With her ginger-blonde hair and sandy complexion, not even the short crewcut she gave herself made her appear any older. If anything, the guys at the academy had laughed and told her she reminded them of the dolls they used to shave when they were kids. Because guys were assholes like that. A quick drop and punch to that smart-ass’ groin, followed by an all-out brawl that she barely got a scratch out of while three guys ended up in hospital, and they now gave her the respect she should’ve had walking into the place. She was lucky she didn’t get suspended, or charged with assault, but that was only because the guys didn’t want to admit they’d been taken down by a girl a third their size. Like she said, combat she could do by rote. Her people skills back then weren’t so great. But that was six months ago. Three passed courses of advanced SWAT training, and a semi-permanent beer and poker night at Jimmy Ray’s on a Wednesday night, had her fitting in just fine. Last night was no exception, and Mazelina lost three days pay, but gained an almost full bottle of Belvedere vodka, and the shirt off Jimmy-Ray’s back, so the night wasn’t a complete loss. That boy was stacked. In a yummy way. “I still think you cheated,” Jimmy Ray whispered, now in SWAT uniform along with the rest of her team getting the day’s rundown. Mazelina grinned, mainly because she had been throwing the games—just not the way they were thinking. She knew exactly which of them had decent hands. They all had their tells; most notably the way the hair on their skin moved in excitement when they tried to hide a good hand, or how each follicle became coated in the finest layer of sweat and body oils when they were bluffing. It made winning cards ludicrously easy, and why she had learned to play it down so as not to be accused of cheating. Was it her fault that Jimmy Ray betted his shirt at least one hand a week, and that was the hand she made sure she won? “Chimera,” Captain Peters barked, bringing her attention back to the commander at the front of the room. “Sir,” she barked back. “Pack your shit up, Chimera. You’re heading north.” Uh … what? “Sir?” she asked, without her usual air of confidence. It had taken her six months to break in this team. She had no desire to start again in a different division. The commander didn’t seem to care. “You heard me, Chimera. You’re the newest member to this team, and Powell needs reinforcements.” Mazelina eyed her whole team, each of them having the same WTF look she probably had in her eyes. You didn’t just send one person away from a team like this. It was an all-or-nothing situation. SWAT teams were tight. Family. “On my own?” she asked, just to clarify the situation. “You need someone to hold your hand, Chimera?” And there it was. Old school asshole attitude. If she insisted they stick to protocol, she’d be tagged a whiny girl. Rising to her feet, she ran her hand down the line of her team, each of them giving her a silent but supportive hand slap as she walked out of the room. Seven hours of swearing and punching the steering wheel later, she arrived at Powell. The long trip had served her well, as it gave her a chance to rant and vent. It wasn’t Powell’s fault Captain Peters was a first-class, sexist jerk. Only one incident along the way proved amusing, and that was when she was pulled over for an RBT. It was mid-afternoon by then, and the highway officer had demanded proof of ID when he’d seen who was behind the wheel. The look on his face when she passed him her bifold and he saw her badge put her in a much better frame of mind. “Chimera,” a woman called. Given she’d only been in the precinct about two minutes, she appreciated the expediency. “Ma’am,” she said, following the woman into an office where three other burly men stood in full SWAT uniform with their arms folded, causing her to groan inwardly. “Is this really going to be another dick-measuring contest, guys, because I’ve just driven seven hours into the middle of nowhere, been pulled over and had my ID checked because the asshat didn't believe I was of driving age. Let alone a cop, let alone SWAT. I've still yet to have a good cup of coffee since I woke up this morning, and I’m in just the mood to break you boys in half.” One of the three snorted, and smirked. “She’ll do, cap’n,” he said, and as if on an unspoken command, all three unfolded their arms and came forward. It took Mazelina a second to realise the posturing had been to gauge her reaction, and already she found herself grinning in return. These guys weren’t like her old team. They were more like her old, old team. “Well, alright then,” she said, dusting her hands against pants. She then held one out to the speaker of the group, who was obviously the team commander. “Mazelina Chimera.” “Eddy Myers,” he said, returning her handshake with a firm grip. He gestured to his left. “This is Bud Machais.” Bud held his hand out and she shook it as well. “And Greg Hunter. Welcome to the new front.” His wording caught Mazelina by surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You’ll see,” Bud answered, pushing himself towards the door. “It’s almost nightfall. Time to suit up, rookie.” More and more of Mazelina’s hair was going on edge. It didn’t help when a few minutes later, she was handed a kit, complete with silver bullets, salt, a foil-lined helmet, and most scarily, three grenades with runes carved into each of them. Runes, which made her heart skip a beat. She ran her thumb over the engravings. “Back to Hell,” she whispered, translating the script that should have remained long dead. “The world was never yours.” “What was that, Maz?” one of her new teammates asked, but she wasn’t sure which one. “Where did these come from?” she asked, looking up at her new teammates. They snorted and shook their heads. “Don’t mock what works, Maz,” Bud said, sliding his own arsenal into place. “There are things out there that are going to make you piss yourself tonight. If you survive.” Mazelina watched them kit up, then followed their example. She could well believe that. If this was what they needed to survive, they were lucky to have made it this long. Less than an hour later, they got their first callout for the night. “Maz – you take the rear. Bud, Hunter and I will go through the front door.” He gave her head a flat palmed slap that knocked the helmet further into place. “Watch your six, girl.” So Mazelina edged her way around the edge of the property, searching each of the windows for activity within. There were no lights, but she could still see someone moving through the space, faster than they should’ve been able to. He was going window to window, watching them all with only seconds to get to each. She could almost hear his tiny little squee of glee and kept her movements slow, and measured. Just as she’d been trained during those three SWAT courses. And then, she hunkered down beside a dilapidated barbeque that gave her the perfect line of sight on both the back door, and each of the windows. She dropped out the silver cartridges and went for the salt. Neither would incapacitate it long, but salt in the eyes was still salt in the eyes. That shit stung. Mazelina heard every bone-breaking, flesh rendering action moments before the men screamed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, nor would it be the last, but they seemed like good men and it pissed her off to think this was happening. She closed her eyes, promising them that she’d make the bastard pay. “Oh, little one,” the thing sang in a singsong voice as it carried the rendered arm of one of her colleagues over his shoulder like a sack. “I think you’re all alone, now.”	John looked carefully at his bag and then, he stared up at David. "First time, huh?" David asked. John nodded. None of it made any sense, but he didn't get recruited in the SWAT division to question his seniors. He packed his bag and headed for the copters, following everyone else. In his mind, he knew that he was stepping into unknown territory. However, if all his years of training had taught him anything, it was to trust authority and do what's being asked of him. There's a certain level of discipline required in waking up, doing the grind day-in and day-out and still looking forward to the next day. John loved the grind. He was a soldier of The Foundation and whatever they'd ask of him, he knew better than to let them down. John's work was everything to him. David was one person he seemed to have a good rapport with. He was his direct senior, but instead of being a strict authority figure like everyone else at the Foundation, David was much nicer to him. Despite the limited amount of conversation he was allowed to partake in, David was the person he talked with the most. But those were all conversations related to fitness routines and mental calibrations. Nothing personal was shared between them, which was also one of the rules of being in the Foundation's SWAT team. He stepped inside the copter and waited, still looking at the items in his equipment bag. "Where are we going?" he asked the soldier beside him. He remained quiet. That was the norm. No one answered questions they weren't liable to answer. John walked to the front where David was sitting and staring at his chronotab. "Hey, David?" John asked, trying not to stutter. David stared up at John and smiled. "Where are we going?" John asked, again. "We're going to be deployed at \[redacted\]" David said with a stern look on his face. "Didn't we nuke \[redacted\] a few hours ago?" John asked. "We did, but one person is alive. Surprisingly, the city doesn't looks like nothing happened. Although, everyone is gone, or perhaps dead, \[redacted\] looks as good as it was yesterday," David said and John could feel his voice quivering. Was there something out there that even his senior was worried about? Why was a city perfectly fine, despite being nuked? Who was the one person still alive? \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If there's enough interest, I'll do a part 2. Till then, please sub to r/abhisek
	[WP] It's your first deployment as a member of a SWAT unit. You begin to panic a little when your equipment includes magazines with silver bullets, a bottle of holy water, a container full of salt, grenades with engraved runes, a helmet lined with what appears to be some sort of foil...	What's going on here? The more that he looked through his supplies, complete with a checklist of materials, the more confusion showed upon Private Jacobson's face. There were primarily people from his division of trainees that hadn't washed out of the program, and each of them wore a similar expression upon their faces. "Staff Sergeant? What the fuck is with the gear? None of this looks like it is within standard operations." The response came from Private 1st Class Holden, a woman whom was unnaturally bigger than the majority of fairer sex. She had been the only female strong enough, and hard enough, to make it through their taxing routine. If the muscles alone weren't enough, she clearly showed signs of former militarized training to back her up. "Quiet down Holden. The answers come after the monsters. I am going to run down our objectives, and I hope to hell you greenies are listening. We are going to be clearing a lesser nest. There are no hostages according to intel, so if it moves, shoot it. If it isn't a fellow officer, shoot it. The targets are considered to be volatile, hostile, and have zero hesitation in taking you to hell with a smile on its face." As he went through the instructions on where, how, and when they would sweep the building, one thing became clear. This was not what they thought they were signing up for. As he finished with his commands, a small silence filled the back of the well armored vehicle. "One final thing. If you see one of your own, give a simple 'Marco, Polo' response. If they don't respond within 3 seconds, you are to shoot them on sight. This is imperative for you to understand. A lack of response indicates infection, of which there is no cure. That said...Don't get infected through a wound." With that, he slung open the doors and began ushering the rest of them out. The confusion was replaced with determination. The fear, used for reaction. Adrenaline had started pumping through each of their veins, even before they entered the building. Nothing could have prepared Jacobson for what came next. A brief look at the building sent shivers throughout his body. Every instinct was telling him to run, even as a small chill crept up his spine. Shaking off the sensation, Jacobson entered through the old, ornate doors to the temple. The first step inside made everything more surreal, as the tapestries and interior gave the impression that the squad of 6 had wandered into a portal straight to the Victorian age. Religious artifacts could be seen on various pedestals, while the walls were adorned with paintings that could take any artist's breath away. The magic was only ruined by the eerie silence, and scattered pieces of broken ceramic covered in blood. Something about the scene felt wrong to him. After checking to make sure the vicinity was clear, Jacobson looked to the Staff Sergeant, who indicated to take a glance over the scene. It didn't take long for his brain to figure out what was wrong. As much damage as there was, there should have been more blood. With the amount of blood that was visible, there should also have been a body. The visage was macabre, to say the least. "Where is the body...For that matter... Where did they take it? Why aren't there drag marks where they took it?" The timid sound of Private Carter's voice seemed loud in the quiet, yet drowned out from the blood rushing within their ears. Carter was a surprising, mouse of a man, who somehow made it through their intensive training with high marks. Looking at him, all you could think of was fragile. From the wiry black framed glasses a librarian might wear, to the pallor of his flesh, that might be seen only on that one gothic person in their angst filled teenage years. Even before their team leader could silence him, a deafening sound filled the room. It was loud enough that the pressure brought Jacobson to a knee, disoriented from the noise that seemed to reverberate throughout his form. It was unlike any sound he had heard before, with an otherworldly quality that shook his very bones. "What the fuck was that?" Even as she said it, the sound of something slamming against a wall responded. Something with enough force that the vibrations of the impact could be felt through the floor. Whatever it was, it came from the very direction they had entered from. Another moment passed, before the painted wall outside of the doorway visibly cracked. All guns pointed towards the disturbance, save for Jacobson and the Staff Sergeant, who took aim just as the ceiling began to bow from an invisible weight. Time slowed for the two of them as the first of their targets appeared from above, dropping on top of Carter with a flurry of claws and teeth. There was little time to respond as rounds of silver began pumping into the creature's form. As quickly as it began, the chaos that briefly filled the area ended with a pitiful screech and a squelch as the blood pooled and coagulated almost immediately. With a last shuddering breath, the bullet riddled creature began flaking upwards, disallowing the team to study its grotesque form for more then a few seconds. As if gravity and physics applied to this body in a unique manner, the dissipation of matter left nothing but a small amount of blood behind. It took a few moments, but with luck on his side, the mousy man soon stood up, shaking but otherwise physically unharmed. With insistence from the Staff Sergeant, a quick inspection was done to assure that was the case, before signalling to pull back from their position. "Our intel was wrong. This is not going to be an easy walk in the park like it should have been. I think it is time to explain a bit more on what is going on...Now that you have seen and killed at least one of our targets, there is no backing out, now that you've chosen a side." With a deep sigh, he projected a new mission statement on the rear doors of their van. "Welcome to the Hell Bringer squad, recruits. It is time we brought you up to speed on the real reason you were chosen for this S.W.A.T. team..." \[okay, since there's interest, I'll continue this tonight.\]	John looked carefully at his bag and then, he stared up at David. "First time, huh?" David asked. John nodded. None of it made any sense, but he didn't get recruited in the SWAT division to question his seniors. He packed his bag and headed for the copters, following everyone else. In his mind, he knew that he was stepping into unknown territory. However, if all his years of training had taught him anything, it was to trust authority and do what's being asked of him. There's a certain level of discipline required in waking up, doing the grind day-in and day-out and still looking forward to the next day. John loved the grind. He was a soldier of The Foundation and whatever they'd ask of him, he knew better than to let them down. John's work was everything to him. David was one person he seemed to have a good rapport with. He was his direct senior, but instead of being a strict authority figure like everyone else at the Foundation, David was much nicer to him. Despite the limited amount of conversation he was allowed to partake in, David was the person he talked with the most. But those were all conversations related to fitness routines and mental calibrations. Nothing personal was shared between them, which was also one of the rules of being in the Foundation's SWAT team. He stepped inside the copter and waited, still looking at the items in his equipment bag. "Where are we going?" he asked the soldier beside him. He remained quiet. That was the norm. No one answered questions they weren't liable to answer. John walked to the front where David was sitting and staring at his chronotab. "Hey, David?" John asked, trying not to stutter. David stared up at John and smiled. "Where are we going?" John asked, again. "We're going to be deployed at \[redacted\]" David said with a stern look on his face. "Didn't we nuke \[redacted\] a few hours ago?" John asked. "We did, but one person is alive. Surprisingly, the city doesn't looks like nothing happened. Although, everyone is gone, or perhaps dead, \[redacted\] looks as good as it was yesterday," David said and John could feel his voice quivering. Was there something out there that even his senior was worried about? Why was a city perfectly fine, despite being nuked? Who was the one person still alive? \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ If there's enough interest, I'll do a part 2. Till then, please sub to r/abhisek
	[WP] It's your first deployment as a member of a SWAT unit. You begin to panic a little when your equipment includes magazines with silver bullets, a bottle of holy water, a container full of salt, grenades with engraved runes, a helmet lined with what appears to be some sort of foil...	What's going on here? The more that he looked through his supplies, complete with a checklist of materials, the more confusion showed upon Private Jacobson's face. There were primarily people from his division of trainees that hadn't washed out of the program, and each of them wore a similar expression upon their faces. "Staff Sergeant? What the fuck is with the gear? None of this looks like it is within standard operations." The response came from Private 1st Class Holden, a woman whom was unnaturally bigger than the majority of fairer sex. She had been the only female strong enough, and hard enough, to make it through their taxing routine. If the muscles alone weren't enough, she clearly showed signs of former militarized training to back her up. "Quiet down Holden. The answers come after the monsters. I am going to run down our objectives, and I hope to hell you greenies are listening. We are going to be clearing a lesser nest. There are no hostages according to intel, so if it moves, shoot it. If it isn't a fellow officer, shoot it. The targets are considered to be volatile, hostile, and have zero hesitation in taking you to hell with a smile on its face." As he went through the instructions on where, how, and when they would sweep the building, one thing became clear. This was not what they thought they were signing up for. As he finished with his commands, a small silence filled the back of the well armored vehicle. "One final thing. If you see one of your own, give a simple 'Marco, Polo' response. If they don't respond within 3 seconds, you are to shoot them on sight. This is imperative for you to understand. A lack of response indicates infection, of which there is no cure. That said...Don't get infected through a wound." With that, he slung open the doors and began ushering the rest of them out. The confusion was replaced with determination. The fear, used for reaction. Adrenaline had started pumping through each of their veins, even before they entered the building. Nothing could have prepared Jacobson for what came next. A brief look at the building sent shivers throughout his body. Every instinct was telling him to run, even as a small chill crept up his spine. Shaking off the sensation, Jacobson entered through the old, ornate doors to the temple. The first step inside made everything more surreal, as the tapestries and interior gave the impression that the squad of 6 had wandered into a portal straight to the Victorian age. Religious artifacts could be seen on various pedestals, while the walls were adorned with paintings that could take any artist's breath away. The magic was only ruined by the eerie silence, and scattered pieces of broken ceramic covered in blood. Something about the scene felt wrong to him. After checking to make sure the vicinity was clear, Jacobson looked to the Staff Sergeant, who indicated to take a glance over the scene. It didn't take long for his brain to figure out what was wrong. As much damage as there was, there should have been more blood. With the amount of blood that was visible, there should also have been a body. The visage was macabre, to say the least. "Where is the body...For that matter... Where did they take it? Why aren't there drag marks where they took it?" The timid sound of Private Carter's voice seemed loud in the quiet, yet drowned out from the blood rushing within their ears. Carter was a surprising, mouse of a man, who somehow made it through their intensive training with high marks. Looking at him, all you could think of was fragile. From the wiry black framed glasses a librarian might wear, to the pallor of his flesh, that might be seen only on that one gothic person in their angst filled teenage years. Even before their team leader could silence him, a deafening sound filled the room. It was loud enough that the pressure brought Jacobson to a knee, disoriented from the noise that seemed to reverberate throughout his form. It was unlike any sound he had heard before, with an otherworldly quality that shook his very bones. "What the fuck was that?" Even as she said it, the sound of something slamming against a wall responded. Something with enough force that the vibrations of the impact could be felt through the floor. Whatever it was, it came from the very direction they had entered from. Another moment passed, before the painted wall outside of the doorway visibly cracked. All guns pointed towards the disturbance, save for Jacobson and the Staff Sergeant, who took aim just as the ceiling began to bow from an invisible weight. Time slowed for the two of them as the first of their targets appeared from above, dropping on top of Carter with a flurry of claws and teeth. There was little time to respond as rounds of silver began pumping into the creature's form. As quickly as it began, the chaos that briefly filled the area ended with a pitiful screech and a squelch as the blood pooled and coagulated almost immediately. With a last shuddering breath, the bullet riddled creature began flaking upwards, disallowing the team to study its grotesque form for more then a few seconds. As if gravity and physics applied to this body in a unique manner, the dissipation of matter left nothing but a small amount of blood behind. It took a few moments, but with luck on his side, the mousy man soon stood up, shaking but otherwise physically unharmed. With insistence from the Staff Sergeant, a quick inspection was done to assure that was the case, before signalling to pull back from their position. "Our intel was wrong. This is not going to be an easy walk in the park like it should have been. I think it is time to explain a bit more on what is going on...Now that you have seen and killed at least one of our targets, there is no backing out, now that you've chosen a side." With a deep sigh, he projected a new mission statement on the rear doors of their van. "Welcome to the Hell Bringer squad, recruits. It is time we brought you up to speed on the real reason you were chosen for this S.W.A.T. team..." \[okay, since there's interest, I'll continue this tonight.\]	PART ONE Cheyenne was not the kind of city Mazelina was expecting, but in its own unique way, it was the one she needed. For as long as she could remember, she’d been fighting something. Or doing protective duty. Her actual education was so far in the distant past that she could do her job by rote. Which was probably what the problem was. She didn’t look her age. Anyone staring at her would see a kid that looked barely old enough to graduate High School. With her ginger-blonde hair and sandy complexion, not even the short crewcut she gave herself made her appear any older. If anything, the guys at the academy had laughed and told her she reminded them of the dolls they used to shave when they were kids. Because guys were assholes like that. A quick drop and punch to that smart-ass’ groin, followed by an all-out brawl that she barely got a scratch out of while three guys ended up in hospital, and they now gave her the respect she should’ve had walking into the place. She was lucky she didn’t get suspended, or charged with assault, but that was only because the guys didn’t want to admit they’d been taken down by a girl a third their size. Like she said, combat she could do by rote. Her people skills back then weren’t so great. But that was six months ago. Three passed courses of advanced SWAT training, and a semi-permanent beer and poker night at Jimmy Ray’s on a Wednesday night, had her fitting in just fine. Last night was no exception, and Mazelina lost three days pay, but gained an almost full bottle of Belvedere vodka, and the shirt off Jimmy-Ray’s back, so the night wasn’t a complete loss. That boy was stacked. In a yummy way. “I still think you cheated,” Jimmy Ray whispered, now in SWAT uniform along with the rest of her team getting the day’s rundown. Mazelina grinned, mainly because she had been throwing the games—just not the way they were thinking. She knew exactly which of them had decent hands. They all had their tells; most notably the way the hair on their skin moved in excitement when they tried to hide a good hand, or how each follicle became coated in the finest layer of sweat and body oils when they were bluffing. It made winning cards ludicrously easy, and why she had learned to play it down so as not to be accused of cheating. Was it her fault that Jimmy Ray betted his shirt at least one hand a week, and that was the hand she made sure she won? “Chimera,” Captain Peters barked, bringing her attention back to the commander at the front of the room. “Sir,” she barked back. “Pack your shit up, Chimera. You’re heading north.” Uh … what? “Sir?” she asked, without her usual air of confidence. It had taken her six months to break in this team. She had no desire to start again in a different division. The commander didn’t seem to care. “You heard me, Chimera. You’re the newest member to this team, and Powell needs reinforcements.” Mazelina eyed her whole team, each of them having the same WTF look she probably had in her eyes. You didn’t just send one person away from a team like this. It was an all-or-nothing situation. SWAT teams were tight. Family. “On my own?” she asked, just to clarify the situation. “You need someone to hold your hand, Chimera?” And there it was. Old school asshole attitude. If she insisted they stick to protocol, she’d be tagged a whiny girl. Rising to her feet, she ran her hand down the line of her team, each of them giving her a silent but supportive hand slap as she walked out of the room. Seven hours of swearing and punching the steering wheel later, she arrived at Powell. The long trip had served her well, as it gave her a chance to rant and vent. It wasn’t Powell’s fault Captain Peters was a first-class, sexist jerk. Only one incident along the way proved amusing, and that was when she was pulled over for an RBT. It was mid-afternoon by then, and the highway officer had demanded proof of ID when he’d seen who was behind the wheel. The look on his face when she passed him her bifold and he saw her badge put her in a much better frame of mind. “Chimera,” a woman called. Given she’d only been in the precinct about two minutes, she appreciated the expediency. “Ma’am,” she said, following the woman into an office where three other burly men stood in full SWAT uniform with their arms folded, causing her to groan inwardly. “Is this really going to be another dick-measuring contest, guys, because I’ve just driven seven hours into the middle of nowhere, been pulled over and had my ID checked because the asshat didn't believe I was of driving age. Let alone a cop, let alone SWAT. I've still yet to have a good cup of coffee since I woke up this morning, and I’m in just the mood to break you boys in half.” One of the three snorted, and smirked. “She’ll do, cap’n,” he said, and as if on an unspoken command, all three unfolded their arms and came forward. It took Mazelina a second to realise the posturing had been to gauge her reaction, and already she found herself grinning in return. These guys weren’t like her old team. They were more like her old, old team. “Well, alright then,” she said, dusting her hands against pants. She then held one out to the speaker of the group, who was obviously the team commander. “Mazelina Chimera.” “Eddy Myers,” he said, returning her handshake with a firm grip. He gestured to his left. “This is Bud Machais.” Bud held his hand out and she shook it as well. “And Greg Hunter. Welcome to the new front.” His wording caught Mazelina by surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You’ll see,” Bud answered, pushing himself towards the door. “It’s almost nightfall. Time to suit up, rookie.” More and more of Mazelina’s hair was going on edge. It didn’t help when a few minutes later, she was handed a kit, complete with silver bullets, salt, a foil-lined helmet, and most scarily, three grenades with runes carved into each of them. Runes, which made her heart skip a beat. She ran her thumb over the engravings. “Back to Hell,” she whispered, translating the script that should have remained long dead. “The world was never yours.” “What was that, Maz?” one of her new teammates asked, but she wasn’t sure which one. “Where did these come from?” she asked, looking up at her new teammates. They snorted and shook their heads. “Don’t mock what works, Maz,” Bud said, sliding his own arsenal into place. “There are things out there that are going to make you piss yourself tonight. If you survive.” Mazelina watched them kit up, then followed their example. She could well believe that. If this was what they needed to survive, they were lucky to have made it this long. Less than an hour later, they got their first callout for the night. “Maz – you take the rear. Bud, Hunter and I will go through the front door.” He gave her head a flat palmed slap that knocked the helmet further into place. “Watch your six, girl.” So Mazelina edged her way around the edge of the property, searching each of the windows for activity within. There were no lights, but she could still see someone moving through the space, faster than they should’ve been able to. He was going window to window, watching them all with only seconds to get to each. She could almost hear his tiny little squee of glee and kept her movements slow, and measured. Just as she’d been trained during those three SWAT courses. And then, she hunkered down beside a dilapidated barbeque that gave her the perfect line of sight on both the back door, and each of the windows. She dropped out the silver cartridges and went for the salt. Neither would incapacitate it long, but salt in the eyes was still salt in the eyes. That shit stung. Mazelina heard every bone-breaking, flesh rendering action moments before the men screamed. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, nor would it be the last, but they seemed like good men and it pissed her off to think this was happening. She closed her eyes, promising them that she’d make the bastard pay. “Oh, little one,” the thing sang in a singsong voice as it carried the rendered arm of one of her colleagues over his shoulder like a sack. “I think you’re all alone, now.”
	[WP] There is a secret government agency to make sure teleportation is never "invented" & your job is to sabotage any attempts of a teleportation machine. Your favourite tactic is to fuse the inventor with an animal or an insect when they test it on themselves. You love to watch the results.	It really wasn’t a secret agency it was just the department of transportation. It’s just that this particular branch was a little more secretive. See the economy is heavily tied to transportation, in a big big way. Millions of jobs are in trucking and airlines, and then there are the parts that go into building all the infrastructure. Transportation is big big business. And then there is the security aspect. If teleportation exists then there is no way secure borders or limit travel. The security of the world would be woefully unprotected. So my role was actually a combo or transportation and defense. It’s relatively easy to find places where teleportation is being developed. The energy spikes are incredibly massive. As the government we actually fund a bunch of this research too. We want scientists to use their time and resources under our supervision. Once someone gets close boom, throw them in whatever their machine is with whatever is nearby and human splicing is created. The more robust intelligent creations that manifest get used in special training exercises for military purposes. But occasionally you get a mindless or sweet creation. We usually leaves those out in wild. There is a reason why Bigfoot gets spotted in so many places, monkeys are typical in labs. But recently I learned the real reason for this role. Planet unity. My last target did actual research on the results of teleportation. Her research showed that if people can travel unencumbered freely and quickly it makes the world small. People can experience cultures and different viewpoints. Oppression was the real goal here, control of the masses. Well a jobs a job either way.	Crunch. The onomatopoeia that's as much fun to say, as it is to hear. I felt singularly blessed that this particular journey should come to such a satisfying end. And reflecting on this moment I realized... On this day that the inventor was crushed under my boot like the cockroach that he was, we all learned a valuable lesson. It wasn't the about the bonds of friendship, or earning the trust of your peers. It wasn't that the magic, or the power, or the music lived within you all along. And it sure as shit wasn't a divine revelation of mercy or hope. No, what we learned that day was how to perform an Animality. And I lived happily ever after. The End.
	[WP] As the International Space Station makes another pass over the Bermuda Triangle, the crew notice what looks like an immensely bright light in the water. “Negative, Houston. The light is...well, it appears to be blinking. It looks...this is gonna sound weird, but it looks like Morse code.”	One of the worst things we subconsciously fear when we peer into the darkness is to find ourselves looking back, as with most instinctive fears, this can be traced back to a natural response built into our survival instincts... "I'm telling you it's a pattern, it's definitely Morse! Get something to write this down!" Yelled Harvey. Harvey was one of five people currently stationed on the International Space Station, a global collaboration in space research, and quite a feat of engineering. He had been observing the surface of Earth during some downtime when he noticed a flashing coming from somewhere near Bermuda, and quickly realized it wasn't some random glimmer. Harvey was focussed on the flashing with intense concentration as he muttered dots and dashes followed by outbursts of phonetic alphabet entries. "Dot dot dot... SIERRA!" After about ten minutes of this the flashing stopped, and just in time too, Harvey was getting quite worn down with being so intensely focused, not to mention the station was moving out of range to catch the flashes. Julia, who had been writing down the blurted letters Harvey barked at her, had a look of quiet confusion and worry splattered on her face. Harvey replayed some of his last words in his head, "That last Is doesn't make sense but perhaps the source got cut off? What does it say?" He quizzed. "Is this a joke?" Julia's face curled up slightly in a restrained anger "why would you do this?" She questioned. "I don't know what you mean? You saw the flash just like me, what did it say?" Replied Harvey, confused. Julia took a deep breath and started reading the scrap of paper in her hand. "3 dead. Debris severed most sections. Julia trapped in 5. Me trapped in 6. Comms down, request Soyuz. Harvey, Is" Harvey's eyelids drew together as his brow pushed down on them in confusion. "Is this some kind of sick joke? Who would do this? It's sick!" He exclaimed. Just as Julia was about to respond, the monitor next to her sparked to life and began blaring a warning pitch, her eyes widened, afixed to Harvey's as she began to shake, terrified to turn to the monitor next to her. "It can't be, check it! What does it say!?" Demanded Harvey, eyes equally wide and frame equally shaky. "Proximity alert, debris incoming..." Julia read aloud from the flashing monitor...	Captain Park couldn’t believe it, it was just like a movie he’d seen as a boy. But as he listened, and marveled down at the great blue abyss below him, he wondered if that director, bless his soul, hadn’t known in a primordial place, of this creature before time And his mind connected the dots, wondered how long this creature had known Morse - No, how had Mr Morse discovered - no, it couldn’t be. Had this creature somehow influenced the very structure of human grammar itself? How could it know this? And then he looked down, through the strains of Gianni Morandi floating through the space station, at the home world he no longer recognized, at the great stirring he now saw within that span of sea, like a great beast before creation, beating its head like Nidhogg against the basement power cable of the world “Mr Earth, you feed me and house me. Respect!” .... “ Io voglio per me le tue carezze...”
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	We all have heard the childhood stories of the dreaded monster in the closet. Depending on the child, the monster could be an eight feet tall brute or a little ball of fear. What if I told you that these monsters were actually demons that feed on the innocence of children? There are many things that happen under the cover of darkness and the belief of a child is one of the strongest magic in the world. This is why I decided to make it my life’s work to rid the world of these monsters and help bring peace to children worldwide. My name is Julien Artois and these are my stories. &#x200B; Back then, before I knew of my lineage, I was just another kid who thought that the faceless man in my closet was a dark creation of my imagination. Every night after my parents put me to bed, he would slowly creak open my closet door. His long fingers were the first thing to penetrate my obscured line of sight. I would shut my eyes tight and try to pretend that I didn’t hear his soft, slow footsteps approaching my bed. Some nights he would just stand near my bed and breathe in lazy, baited breaths. But, every now and then he would speak to me. At first, I couldn’t understand him because the sound of my heart drumming in my chest would drown him out. It sounded like he was reciting a poem of some sort but I couldn’t bring myself to try and make out what he was saying. One night, I decided that I would finally hear what he was saying in hopes that I could make him go away. &#x200B; The night began like all of the others before it. My mom tucked me in and shut the door softly behind her. I began to count in my head because I knew he would be here in thirty seconds or less. &#x200B; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- &#x200B; Creak. &#x200B; I peeked from underneath my covers to see those dirty fingers gripping the closet door from the inside and pushing it open. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest but I steeled myself and sat up an inch. I knew that tonight was the night; tonight would be the night that everything changed. &#x200B; He looked the same as he always did. His suit was ill-fitted and ragged and his feet were bare. His height grew as he moved out from the closet door until his faceless head grazed the ceiling. As he had no face, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but his body language suggested that he noticed me. Maybe it was because I was usually hiding underneath my covers but I never noticed how thin he was. Thin and long. His limbs hung awkwardly and his posture was slouched. I sat in bed watching him lightly sway in place before he took a step towards my bed. I could hear his feet hitting the floor as he made his way over to me but there was no physical vibration coming from his steps. &#x200B; Halfway to the bed, the murmurings that I heard before began. Each step seemed to coincide with what he was saying and as brave as I was trying to be, I wanted to duck my head back underneath my covers and call it a night. Just as I was reaching down to pull my covers up he stopped walking and stood up to his full height. &#x200B; The...the boy...the boy knows. Oh, he knows. &#x200B; What? Was I the boy and what did I know? &#x200B; The boy, he knows. From linear space, the shadow grows. Pocket a posey then offer a rose. Stenches of death, how quickly it grows. &#x200B; Angel and demon, a baby was made. Anger the master, securing your fate. Dogs biting the hand, oh how grand! Sweet mister, sweet master, please tell us your plan. &#x200B; With each line, the voice grew louder until I was sure that my dad would come storming in to see what all the noise was. &#x200B; Linear boy, which door will you choose? Join the ranks or suffer these fools? Hurry the choice cos master awaits. Linear boy, you choose your own fate. &#x200B; After the poem ended, the faceless man stood perfectly still. I struggled to find my voice and when I did it came out tiny and weak. &#x200B; “Who are you?”	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	PSYCHIATRIC OUTPATIENT CLINIC 14th Main Street Anywhere, USA Evaluator: Psychiatrist/Slayer Dr. Malachi Jackson, MD Date of Treatment: 02/02/2020- 02/03/2020 Date of follow-up: 02/25/2020 Patient Name: Alexis, Uri Patient Number: 0100010659748 History: Mr. Alexis is a African-American Male; 8 years of age. The chief complaint is, "Night Terrors" (by his parents), and “A tall man that tries to grab me from under the bed” (according to Mr. Alexis) The following information was provided by: Mr. Uri Alexis and Mr. Alexis's family. The family describes symptoms of persistent night terrors, which have led to the beginnings of acute traumatic disorder. The family reports that there is no known reason for this turn about behavior. The family explains that the child (Henceforth reported as Uri), was a very active, loving, and generous child. Getting along with his siblings (Eldest child: Sarah age 17. Eldest boy: Patrick age, 15), before he began to experience the night terrors and struggle to cope with, what the family though as, the stress of going to 3rd grade. Uri’s current acute traumatic stress symptoms are persistent for 4 months. As to the source of the trauma, it seemed to be from his night terrors (from the families perspective), though I know it to be from monsters. His symptoms, according to his mother are: "Surprising, frightening, and worrying where they might have come from. I’m scared that someone actually touched him and this is the reason for his night terrors.” The night terrors began steadily over a period of months. The family describes episodes of night terrors that have become daily occurrences. Current Symptoms: The family reports that complete disappearance of appetite. Some weight loss (10lbs), has occurred. URI is now considered underweight at 40lbs. Uri has also begun to see hair loss, and developed a slight tic under his right eye. URI has also begun to experience insomnia most night, leading to, what the family labels “Vivid Daydreams” of claws reaching up from under the bed, whispers of his name, shouting in other languages, “Clouds of darkness” in the corner of the room, and bells. Month One through Two: Night Terrors begin, infrequently. URI explains that there was "a man under his bed whispering his name, trying to get him to step onto the floor." Alarmed at the mention of a person in their home, the parents call the police. Upon searching the house found no one. This repeats weekly, until the last night of the second month when it began to occur daily. Concentration difficulty associated with his ATD symptoms have been reported. Uri's father reports that his responses to hugs, and any physical contact that cannot be seen coming is "startling", often Uri's response to unseen physical contact is to become completely rigid and he weeps uncontrollably at the sound of small bells. Uri's sister reports "Crying Spells" or episodes. Heightened levels of paranoia have been reported. Insomnia is reported. Month Three: Suicidal ideation: Due to increased levels of insomnia, and paranoia, Uri has stated that he wishes to die, but does not want to hurt himself. There have been no attempts at self-harm or suicide attempts. Severity/ Complexity: Based on the risk of morbidity without treatment and reported description of increased insomnia, paranoia, and emotional frailty, severity is estimated to be high. Uri has symptoms of anxiety. Anxiety symptoms have been present for months. Anxiety symptoms occur chiefly during the twilight hours. Uri reported occurrences of difficulty concentrating. of restlessness are described. Difficulty sleeping is occurring. Month Four: The parents, already having Uri in intense therapy sessions, have discovered a long shallow claw mark running down the back of Uri. I am brought into the situation as an emergency consultation (A respected colleague; Dr. Micheal Xavier John, a believer and ex-military reached out. In regard to Uri’s situation he remarked: “I have NEVER seen a case of childhood paranormal haunting this severe in my entire career. If this child’s home is not purged, hell the entire f*$%ing block, this child WILL die and become a vessel.”). Past Psychiatric History: There is no history of Psychiatric History Withdrawal History: There is no history of substance abuse, nor any narcotics in system from birth. Psychiatric Hospitalization: There is no history of Hospitalization. Outpatient Treatment: Assigned Xanax (Anxiety), Prochlorperazine (Suspected Schizophrenia), and Ambien (Insomnia) Suicidal/Self Injurious: No history of self-harm. Addiction/Use History: No history of addiction or drug use. Psychotropic Medication History: Low dosage for Prochlorperazine has been prescribed, before Dr. Xavier John took Uri off the cocktail. Social/Developmental History: Prior to night terrors and insomnia, Uri was a well-adjusted, happy eight year old child. Relationship/Marriage: Son, and Brother. Children: No children Barriers to Treatment: Parents initial fear, and suspicion for my subject matter. “Possession? Hauntings? Demons and Monsters? Who the hell do you take us for? Why did Dr. John even recommended you to us, our child is sick NOT HAUN-“ In that moment there was a growl that reverberated through the house. The lights flickered, and there was a small amount of mist coming from our mouths as we continued to breathe. The parents agreed to my services. Client's Goals: “I just want to feel happy. I just want the bad guys to go away!”	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	I was a young therapist working in a psychiatric facility in England. I had one patient that I remember talking with. The young patient sat before me. Elenor was her name. This would be my 7th “therapy” session with her. Over the course of these “therapy” sessions, Elenor would explain to me what this monster looked like and would do. She told me that it hid in various places, i.e. under the bed, in the closet, in the dresser, etc. It would watch her sleep, sometimes even walking over to the bed and standing over her. I knew what she was talking about immediately. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I believe you. I’ve seen what you’ve seen. I’m going to help you get rid of this thing for good. I promise you that.” I spoke to her softly and kindly, trying to reach her inner child. “Pwomise pwomise?” Elenor asked. She had a speech impediment that caused her to mix up her Rs and Ws. “Promise promise.” I placed my hand on my chest, nodding my head. Elenor smiled, revealing she had lost a tooth recently. “I’m going to schedule a home observation visit with your parents, alright?” I asked her, wanting to make sure she was comfortable with it. “A home obsewvation visit? What’s dat?” Elenor asked. “I’m going to call your parents and see if I can come observe you while you sleep. And when your sleeping, I’ll destroy that creature for you. You just got to promise me you’ll be brave, okay? Can you put on your brave face? Show me your brave face!” A few sessions before, we worked on a strategy that had always worked for me as a kid when I was scared. We created brave faces and I told her that when she was scared, she could put on her brave face and she’d be okay. Elenor nodded. She put on her brave face and smiled. I smiled right back at her. I was gonna help her get rid of this creature once and for all. Tonight...I’m gonna kill The Devil...	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Billy sat in an overlarge leather chair, looking at his feet swinging above the floor. “How was school today?” Dr. Julian asked. “It was good”. Billy replied without looking up. “Do you have many friends Billy?” Billy looked up, shrugged and looked away. “How about a best friend? What is your best friend’s name?” “My best friend is Aaron, but we aren’t friends right now.” Billy shrugged. “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it?” Billy shook his head “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, just like Aaron.” “I’ll bet I would.” Billy looked up considering Dr. Julian. He was a kindly looking older man. Bald, except for a large mustache. He wore a collared blue striped shirt tucked into crisply ironed pants. Billy liked his big square glasses. They reminded him of his Grandpa, before he passed away two years ago when Billy was in third grade. Dr. Julian waited patiently in his chair, fingers crossed in his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed” Billy blurted out. Dr. Julian leaned forward in his chair. “That must be terrifying Billy!” “It is!” Billy said getting excited. It’s a shadow but it has teeth, and it comes out after my bedtime, I told my parents but they don’t believe me, they just said I’m not allowed to watch scary movies anymore, and Aaron said I was being a little kid and he couldn’t be friends with a chicken.” Dr. Julian’s pen moved smoothly left to right across his notepad. “Can it talk Billy? What does it do when it comes out?” “It didn’t talk but it smiled at me, and when it smiled it got cold in my room, so I hid under my blanket, then I heard my window open and close. When it came back, it had bloody teeth, and the wind blew so hard our trashcans blew over. My dad didn’t believe me, he told me it was those damned raccoons again, and he had lived for fourty-two years and had never seen a monster, shadow or any other kind. “I believe you Billy” Dr. Julian said. “You do?” “Yes, I do, and I know just how to help you.” Dr. Julian produced a colorful top from his pocket. “This top was carved by my father a very long time ago Billy” Billy’s watched him spin the top on the desk between them. He stared unblinking at the perfect pirouette the top made on the desk. “When this top stops, I want you to forget about the shadow with teeth. It was just a scary dream you had nothing more.” The top began to waver. “You will make up with your friend Aaron, and tell your parents you aren’t scared anymore, you will sleep soundly through the night. And stop wetting the bed” the doctor added hastily. The top skid to a halt. Billy blinked in surprise as Dr. Julian clapped his hands together. “Well I think we made some real progress today Billy. Your parents will be waiting for you in the lobby, and I will see you again next Tuesday.” Dr. Julian offered Billy a sucker as he hopped off the chair and strode out to the lobby. The next night Dr. Julian sat in his car outside Billy’s bedroom window. He wore a trench coat covered with pockets. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in silent prayer. A silver cross was held in his hands. When his watch struck midnight, the streetlight above his car flickered, then went out. The wind picked up. An upstairs window creaked open just enough for the being to slip out. Dr. Julian stood outside his car now brandishing the cross. “Show yourself Stygian” Dr. Julian said loudly, calling the creature by name. Words came tumbling out in an old, forgotten language. The being was before him now. Not quite a shadow, but an utter lack of light. Something slithering, ancient, and cold. Its teeth were huge, too large to be human, but unmistakably pulled back into a grin. “Hello Julianus” the wind said in the trees. Julianus reached in his coat and produced a silver instrument. He sang in a warm baritone. His fingers flew up and down the strings, but his playing was drowned out by the howling wind. Nearby trees strained at the roots creating an earthy percussive cacophony as they bent and creaked. “You’re finally mine”. The darkness surrounded the doctor. The earth and sky gave way before the limitless night. “I am older than time, Julianus. God plans and I laugh. I. Am. Entropy” Stygian leered. Julianus no longer felt the ground beneath him. He reached into his jacket, hands shaking violently. He produced a bow and slid it along the strings. A single secret chord rang out, even louder than the night. The wind began to die down pierced by the sustained pleasing chord. The amorphous dark being around Julianus began to fade, before disappearing altogether. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping in the trees. Dr. Julian bent down and pocketed a pair of overlarge pointed teeth, before getting in his car and driving away. Just another day at work. Across the street Billy’s father opened the door and stood staring at a trashcan, knocked over in the night. “Ahh fucking raccoons again!”	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	"I saved the board just how it was last time. Nobody's touched it but me." I walked over to the Game Room, Jordan by my side. He nodded, long black ponytail bouncing with every step. I slid the heavy, soundproof door open and stepped inside. For the past three weeks, Jordan and I had been the only ones in the Game Room, at my request. The yoga mats sat unused, but clean; the television showed a pleasantly static forest; the clocks were all powerless or still. And every surface was covered with words. I had to glue them down. Scrabble tiles were just too light; it was all too easy for an errant foot to send them flying, otherwise. We both placed our feet carefully as we went to where we'd last been playing, between the bookshelves and the sofas. We both knew it was my turn to start. I looked at my hand of seven tiles. AMECOWL. I considered my opening move, then walked to the last word we'd played last time. SAME. I took the last six letters and placed them down, ending on the last letter of SAME. WELCOME. Jordan smiled faintly. I added 14 points to the scoresheet—Jordan was up 34,752 to 34,696. He took the E from WELCOME and built around it. GRATEFUL. “I’m glad to hear that,” I said. I’d had to tile the room with Scrabble boards to keep playing the game, but it was worth it. 110 points for Jordan. I took a look at the hand I’d been dealt, considered my options, then switched to another part of the board. HOME. Before I’d even placed the second letter, Jordan inhaled sharply and shook his head. He took my HOME, added an I from the nearby INSTITUTE, and flicked his hand seven times. PSYCHOMETRIC. I sighed. “I know, I know. But… you’re important to me. Not just because of what I do, but because of who I am.” I took the start of PSYCHOMETRIC and set off at a right angle. PLEASE. Jordan folded his arms obstinately and turned back to the section of board we’d started it. Of their own accord, three tiles rose into the air and landed around the U in GRATEFUL. JUST. I spread out my hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re right. The world isn’t just. If it was up to me—” Jordan shook his head insistently. I thought. JUST. What else could he be referring to— —oh. I met his eyes and said, “You’re right. I don’t just care about you because of what I do, but my job is a part of this. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a person.” Carefully, I took the beginning of HOME, the middle of PSYCHOMETRIC, and built off that. HIM. Jordan shuddered, but at least he used his hands this time. He started to move towards JUST, hesitated, then went to the other I in INSTITUTE. NIGHT. My eyes widened in surprise for the barest instant before I got myself under control. Of course, Jordan noticed—there was no way he wouldn’t. Still, this was the most I’d gotten out of him about what he did when he wasn’t at the Institute. “Night? He comes out at night?” Jordan hugged his knees, biting his lips. Right. I mentally kicked myself in the gut; it didn’t take a genius to see that he was scared. I placed a single letter. KNIGHT. Jordan blinked, his rocking stilled for a moment. Then, he barked out a bitter laugh. He, too, placed a single letter, to mirror my own. In the middle of HOME, he wrote: NO. Jordan’s face still held a sickly smile, his eyes downcast. WHAT. He looked up at me, weary, and placed a word perpendicular to the end of KNIGHT. KNIGHTS STUPID. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the situation. I moved on to another part of the board, one we’d visited on multiple occasions before, and latched onto one of the many remnants of games gone by. WHO HE. Jordan shrugged. NOT WORD. I put my hand on his. TRY. He hesitated. Then, in an explosion of tiles, he stood. GROUNDBINDER. WALLRAISER. DAYBRINGER. OATHMAKER. I stumbled back as letters flew across the room. Suppressed whispers seethed from every shadow. The walls cracked and chipped. MUTEMASTER. LIEBREAKER. LAWORDER. SAFEWARDEN. In scorching bursts of flame, the words scrawled themselves across every board. The laws of nature went into abeyance, my careful work coming unglued, shattered remnants hanging in the air, the room coming tumbling down as Jordan rose into the air. And then, before I could say anything, he slumped over. The walls restored themselves. The fire was snuffed out. Even the extra boards I’d lovingly laid across the room vanished. All that remained was a single, blank board. Jordan knelt in front of it, shivering. RULES, he finally made. I started to build off what he’d placed. But I looked around at the Game Room, all those weeks of work, undone in an instant, beyond my power to retrieve. And so, very deliberately, I flicked his RULES off the board. “Why?” I asked. He stared up at me, shocked. SAFE, he wrote. I took the L from RULES and rearranged the letters. “FALSE,” I said. He stood up, expression unreadable. HOW. I took his W, flipped it into an M, and added an E. “ME.” He shivered, then brought the two together. HOME. Light began to fill the room. The board, the tiles, the walls, the Game Room itself—they all began to shake, dissolving under an impossible pressure, falling away as Jordan struggled. I saw it, then, the thing latched onto him. A delicate tracework of invisible currents, whose velvet fangs bit into him in a thousand places. I grabbed the words which had no name and wrenched them off his body. &#x200B; I awoke in the jagged, smoking ruins of the Game Room. Jordan was lying on his back next to me, watching the clouds lazily roll by as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When he saw my eyes open, he let out a contented sigh. And in a voice very small and very quiet and very much his own, he whispered, “Thank you.” I finally relaxed. “Any time, kid. Any time.” ^(If you liked this, you might like) [^(a short story I wrote!)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingInn/comments/f2lhib/in_the_loop_chapter_1_41k_words/)	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	A Monster Comes The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. He’s faking, I think to myself. My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it. Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. He’s not faking. He feels it. I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet. “It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.” “It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky. The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared. “Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within. I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt. “Tell him why you hate him.” “You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!” The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand. “We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.” “We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.” We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke. “He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved. The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options. [r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/)	And at that moment I realized that I fucked up. It's never a good sign to see a middle aged man going through your 8 year old daughters closet in the middle of the night as she is sleeping while holding a shot gun in one hand and her underwear in the other. Some think of demon hunters as what they see on TV. Two good looking dudes driving an Impala shooting at the things that go bump in the night. Well only half of it is true. Those guys exist, they don't actually live all that long. The problem is that there is far more things that go bump in the night than you think. And there is enough hunters to make sure we live in a civil society. In this day of age there are fuckin Facebook groups for people to exchange information. The reason why the guys on TV usually don't live that long is because they don't have experience in a specific field. I focus on childhood demons. There are about 400 different kinds and it's not like there is a Wikipedia page on them. Some are just old souls, ghosts, that hang around a house, they may cling onto a child that is of the same age as the ghost when they died. some of them aren't actually all that violent in the best way to take care of them is for them to have a friend for a few months. Once the child gets old enough the ghost disappears. And it's usually just attributed to being an imaginary friend. Others are dark spirits, if they're not dealt with, they will become part of the child's personality. This might be something small like developing depression or becoming a kleptomaniac. They can grow out of these habits. Sometimes they can't, these dark spirits can be so strong that it can turn a child into a monster far worse. One of my worst cases is Eric Harris, the only reason why Columbine Colorado is on the map. Most of the time you could resolve these issues with therapy and teaching children how to be stronger willed mentally. But sometimes the demons are so strong that you need to take care of it with your own hands. You can gather what you're up against with therapy. But sometimes you need to get into the child's room and do your own research. Sometimes sulfur will be left on the child's clothes, and in a pinch, if it's a hell Baron demon then you need rock salt which is only supplied within a shotgun. And if the parents don't let you into the child's room then you need to get creative.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	PSYCHIATRIC OUTPATIENT CLINIC 14th Main Street Anywhere, USA Evaluator: Psychiatrist/Slayer Dr. Malachi Jackson, MD Date of Treatment: 02/02/2020- 02/03/2020 Date of follow-up: 02/25/2020 Patient Name: Alexis, Uri Patient Number: 0100010659748 History: Mr. Alexis is a African-American Male; 8 years of age. The chief complaint is, "Night Terrors" (by his parents), and “A tall man that tries to grab me from under the bed” (according to Mr. Alexis) The following information was provided by: Mr. Uri Alexis and Mr. Alexis's family. The family describes symptoms of persistent night terrors, which have led to the beginnings of acute traumatic disorder. The family reports that there is no known reason for this turn about behavior. The family explains that the child (Henceforth reported as Uri), was a very active, loving, and generous child. Getting along with his siblings (Eldest child: Sarah age 17. Eldest boy: Patrick age, 15), before he began to experience the night terrors and struggle to cope with, what the family though as, the stress of going to 3rd grade. Uri’s current acute traumatic stress symptoms are persistent for 4 months. As to the source of the trauma, it seemed to be from his night terrors (from the families perspective), though I know it to be from monsters. His symptoms, according to his mother are: "Surprising, frightening, and worrying where they might have come from. I’m scared that someone actually touched him and this is the reason for his night terrors.” The night terrors began steadily over a period of months. The family describes episodes of night terrors that have become daily occurrences. Current Symptoms: The family reports that complete disappearance of appetite. Some weight loss (10lbs), has occurred. URI is now considered underweight at 40lbs. Uri has also begun to see hair loss, and developed a slight tic under his right eye. URI has also begun to experience insomnia most night, leading to, what the family labels “Vivid Daydreams” of claws reaching up from under the bed, whispers of his name, shouting in other languages, “Clouds of darkness” in the corner of the room, and bells. Month One through Two: Night Terrors begin, infrequently. URI explains that there was "a man under his bed whispering his name, trying to get him to step onto the floor." Alarmed at the mention of a person in their home, the parents call the police. Upon searching the house found no one. This repeats weekly, until the last night of the second month when it began to occur daily. Concentration difficulty associated with his ATD symptoms have been reported. Uri's father reports that his responses to hugs, and any physical contact that cannot be seen coming is "startling", often Uri's response to unseen physical contact is to become completely rigid and he weeps uncontrollably at the sound of small bells. Uri's sister reports "Crying Spells" or episodes. Heightened levels of paranoia have been reported. Insomnia is reported. Month Three: Suicidal ideation: Due to increased levels of insomnia, and paranoia, Uri has stated that he wishes to die, but does not want to hurt himself. There have been no attempts at self-harm or suicide attempts. Severity/ Complexity: Based on the risk of morbidity without treatment and reported description of increased insomnia, paranoia, and emotional frailty, severity is estimated to be high. Uri has symptoms of anxiety. Anxiety symptoms have been present for months. Anxiety symptoms occur chiefly during the twilight hours. Uri reported occurrences of difficulty concentrating. of restlessness are described. Difficulty sleeping is occurring. Month Four: The parents, already having Uri in intense therapy sessions, have discovered a long shallow claw mark running down the back of Uri. I am brought into the situation as an emergency consultation (A respected colleague; Dr. Micheal Xavier John, a believer and ex-military reached out. In regard to Uri’s situation he remarked: “I have NEVER seen a case of childhood paranormal haunting this severe in my entire career. If this child’s home is not purged, hell the entire f*$%ing block, this child WILL die and become a vessel.”). Past Psychiatric History: There is no history of Psychiatric History Withdrawal History: There is no history of substance abuse, nor any narcotics in system from birth. Psychiatric Hospitalization: There is no history of Hospitalization. Outpatient Treatment: Assigned Xanax (Anxiety), Prochlorperazine (Suspected Schizophrenia), and Ambien (Insomnia) Suicidal/Self Injurious: No history of self-harm. Addiction/Use History: No history of addiction or drug use. Psychotropic Medication History: Low dosage for Prochlorperazine has been prescribed, before Dr. Xavier John took Uri off the cocktail. Social/Developmental History: Prior to night terrors and insomnia, Uri was a well-adjusted, happy eight year old child. Relationship/Marriage: Son, and Brother. Children: No children Barriers to Treatment: Parents initial fear, and suspicion for my subject matter. “Possession? Hauntings? Demons and Monsters? Who the hell do you take us for? Why did Dr. John even recommended you to us, our child is sick NOT HAUN-“ In that moment there was a growl that reverberated through the house. The lights flickered, and there was a small amount of mist coming from our mouths as we continued to breathe. The parents agreed to my services. Client's Goals: “I just want to feel happy. I just want the bad guys to go away!”	"Alright, Tyler was it?" Asked Dr. Nathanial Pain to the small five year old sitting on a large reclining chair "What can you tell me about the monster?" "Its big... and scary, and it has bad eyes, lots of them, I want it to go away but it just sits there staring" "Tyler, You're having a nightly encounter with a Nightmaar, Something I wish people would come to me first about" "A night what?" Asked Tyler curiously "A nightmaar, A rare supernatural being that manifests itself through terror. There is only one way to get rid of them, and that is to remove them. Manually. Ma'am" Said Dr. Pain, turning to the boys bewildered mother "I'm going to need to come by your house tonight, Is it alright if I bring a few friends?" "Yes? If it will get rid of this monster" "Oh we will ma'am, we will" later that night "This is Father Robert brown, He's an exorcist and a fellow exterminator. And this is Bogus" He said rubbing the large bloodhounds head "He is what we like to call our 'spirit sniffer'. Could you show us the boys room please?" The mother led the trio into the darkened room "Where is Tyler?" asked Dr. Pain, setting a black bag onto the bed "In the living room eating a chocolate bar and watching a cartoon" replied his mother softly "Good, If you could leave the room that would be splendid". Tylers mother did as Dr. Pain asked and left, When she had gone Nathanial Pain turned to Father Brown and said, "Lets begin shall we?" Father Brown nodded and opened his small black book towards the middle on a page titled 'auferte malum est a spiritu' (to banish an evil spirit) and began to chant in latin, Bogus trotted towards the empty closet sniffed then let out five soft barks, indicating that whatever it was, was more powerful than the average spirit, Dr. Pain threw a small piece of garlic into the closet, and when that yielded no result, threw in a piece of cedar wood. Instantly the interior of the closet seemed to come alive, A multi legged beast twisting silently out of the shadows to stare down on them with its blazing red eyes, It looked first at Dr. Pain, who was holding a small silver dagger, Then at Father Brown who was finishing his chant in the traditional way 'In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti' Instantly the writhed as some unseen force held it in place as Dr. Pain lunged forward and sank the dagger into the beasts chest, It froze and slowly disintegrated into nothing. Dr. Pain sheathed his dagger and sighed "Another one is gone, good, Lets collect our pay and leave hmm?" "You mean you collect YOUR pay, I get enough to go by from the parish" "Ah father, You never did want money from anybody. So holy" "Ahh be quite Nathanial, go get your pay" "Yes father" Laughed the doctor as he exited the room with Bogus at his side. &#x200B; &#x200B; Hot dang this is the longest thing I have ever done.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	I was a young therapist working in a psychiatric facility in England. I had one patient that I remember talking with. The young patient sat before me. Elenor was her name. This would be my 7th “therapy” session with her. Over the course of these “therapy” sessions, Elenor would explain to me what this monster looked like and would do. She told me that it hid in various places, i.e. under the bed, in the closet, in the dresser, etc. It would watch her sleep, sometimes even walking over to the bed and standing over her. I knew what she was talking about immediately. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I believe you. I’ve seen what you’ve seen. I’m going to help you get rid of this thing for good. I promise you that.” I spoke to her softly and kindly, trying to reach her inner child. “Pwomise pwomise?” Elenor asked. She had a speech impediment that caused her to mix up her Rs and Ws. “Promise promise.” I placed my hand on my chest, nodding my head. Elenor smiled, revealing she had lost a tooth recently. “I’m going to schedule a home observation visit with your parents, alright?” I asked her, wanting to make sure she was comfortable with it. “A home obsewvation visit? What’s dat?” Elenor asked. “I’m going to call your parents and see if I can come observe you while you sleep. And when your sleeping, I’ll destroy that creature for you. You just got to promise me you’ll be brave, okay? Can you put on your brave face? Show me your brave face!” A few sessions before, we worked on a strategy that had always worked for me as a kid when I was scared. We created brave faces and I told her that when she was scared, she could put on her brave face and she’d be okay. Elenor nodded. She put on her brave face and smiled. I smiled right back at her. I was gonna help her get rid of this creature once and for all. Tonight...I’m gonna kill The Devil...	"Alright, Tyler was it?" Asked Dr. Nathanial Pain to the small five year old sitting on a large reclining chair "What can you tell me about the monster?" "Its big... and scary, and it has bad eyes, lots of them, I want it to go away but it just sits there staring" "Tyler, You're having a nightly encounter with a Nightmaar, Something I wish people would come to me first about" "A night what?" Asked Tyler curiously "A nightmaar, A rare supernatural being that manifests itself through terror. There is only one way to get rid of them, and that is to remove them. Manually. Ma'am" Said Dr. Pain, turning to the boys bewildered mother "I'm going to need to come by your house tonight, Is it alright if I bring a few friends?" "Yes? If it will get rid of this monster" "Oh we will ma'am, we will" later that night "This is Father Robert brown, He's an exorcist and a fellow exterminator. And this is Bogus" He said rubbing the large bloodhounds head "He is what we like to call our 'spirit sniffer'. Could you show us the boys room please?" The mother led the trio into the darkened room "Where is Tyler?" asked Dr. Pain, setting a black bag onto the bed "In the living room eating a chocolate bar and watching a cartoon" replied his mother softly "Good, If you could leave the room that would be splendid". Tylers mother did as Dr. Pain asked and left, When she had gone Nathanial Pain turned to Father Brown and said, "Lets begin shall we?" Father Brown nodded and opened his small black book towards the middle on a page titled 'auferte malum est a spiritu' (to banish an evil spirit) and began to chant in latin, Bogus trotted towards the empty closet sniffed then let out five soft barks, indicating that whatever it was, was more powerful than the average spirit, Dr. Pain threw a small piece of garlic into the closet, and when that yielded no result, threw in a piece of cedar wood. Instantly the interior of the closet seemed to come alive, A multi legged beast twisting silently out of the shadows to stare down on them with its blazing red eyes, It looked first at Dr. Pain, who was holding a small silver dagger, Then at Father Brown who was finishing his chant in the traditional way 'In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti' Instantly the writhed as some unseen force held it in place as Dr. Pain lunged forward and sank the dagger into the beasts chest, It froze and slowly disintegrated into nothing. Dr. Pain sheathed his dagger and sighed "Another one is gone, good, Lets collect our pay and leave hmm?" "You mean you collect YOUR pay, I get enough to go by from the parish" "Ah father, You never did want money from anybody. So holy" "Ahh be quite Nathanial, go get your pay" "Yes father" Laughed the doctor as he exited the room with Bogus at his side. &#x200B; &#x200B; Hot dang this is the longest thing I have ever done.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Billy sat in an overlarge leather chair, looking at his feet swinging above the floor. “How was school today?” Dr. Julian asked. “It was good”. Billy replied without looking up. “Do you have many friends Billy?” Billy looked up, shrugged and looked away. “How about a best friend? What is your best friend’s name?” “My best friend is Aaron, but we aren’t friends right now.” Billy shrugged. “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it?” Billy shook his head “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, just like Aaron.” “I’ll bet I would.” Billy looked up considering Dr. Julian. He was a kindly looking older man. Bald, except for a large mustache. He wore a collared blue striped shirt tucked into crisply ironed pants. Billy liked his big square glasses. They reminded him of his Grandpa, before he passed away two years ago when Billy was in third grade. Dr. Julian waited patiently in his chair, fingers crossed in his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed” Billy blurted out. Dr. Julian leaned forward in his chair. “That must be terrifying Billy!” “It is!” Billy said getting excited. It’s a shadow but it has teeth, and it comes out after my bedtime, I told my parents but they don’t believe me, they just said I’m not allowed to watch scary movies anymore, and Aaron said I was being a little kid and he couldn’t be friends with a chicken.” Dr. Julian’s pen moved smoothly left to right across his notepad. “Can it talk Billy? What does it do when it comes out?” “It didn’t talk but it smiled at me, and when it smiled it got cold in my room, so I hid under my blanket, then I heard my window open and close. When it came back, it had bloody teeth, and the wind blew so hard our trashcans blew over. My dad didn’t believe me, he told me it was those damned raccoons again, and he had lived for fourty-two years and had never seen a monster, shadow or any other kind. “I believe you Billy” Dr. Julian said. “You do?” “Yes, I do, and I know just how to help you.” Dr. Julian produced a colorful top from his pocket. “This top was carved by my father a very long time ago Billy” Billy’s watched him spin the top on the desk between them. He stared unblinking at the perfect pirouette the top made on the desk. “When this top stops, I want you to forget about the shadow with teeth. It was just a scary dream you had nothing more.” The top began to waver. “You will make up with your friend Aaron, and tell your parents you aren’t scared anymore, you will sleep soundly through the night. And stop wetting the bed” the doctor added hastily. The top skid to a halt. Billy blinked in surprise as Dr. Julian clapped his hands together. “Well I think we made some real progress today Billy. Your parents will be waiting for you in the lobby, and I will see you again next Tuesday.” Dr. Julian offered Billy a sucker as he hopped off the chair and strode out to the lobby. The next night Dr. Julian sat in his car outside Billy’s bedroom window. He wore a trench coat covered with pockets. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in silent prayer. A silver cross was held in his hands. When his watch struck midnight, the streetlight above his car flickered, then went out. The wind picked up. An upstairs window creaked open just enough for the being to slip out. Dr. Julian stood outside his car now brandishing the cross. “Show yourself Stygian” Dr. Julian said loudly, calling the creature by name. Words came tumbling out in an old, forgotten language. The being was before him now. Not quite a shadow, but an utter lack of light. Something slithering, ancient, and cold. Its teeth were huge, too large to be human, but unmistakably pulled back into a grin. “Hello Julianus” the wind said in the trees. Julianus reached in his coat and produced a silver instrument. He sang in a warm baritone. His fingers flew up and down the strings, but his playing was drowned out by the howling wind. Nearby trees strained at the roots creating an earthy percussive cacophony as they bent and creaked. “You’re finally mine”. The darkness surrounded the doctor. The earth and sky gave way before the limitless night. “I am older than time, Julianus. God plans and I laugh. I. Am. Entropy” Stygian leered. Julianus no longer felt the ground beneath him. He reached into his jacket, hands shaking violently. He produced a bow and slid it along the strings. A single secret chord rang out, even louder than the night. The wind began to die down pierced by the sustained pleasing chord. The amorphous dark being around Julianus began to fade, before disappearing altogether. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping in the trees. Dr. Julian bent down and pocketed a pair of overlarge pointed teeth, before getting in his car and driving away. Just another day at work. Across the street Billy’s father opened the door and stood staring at a trashcan, knocked over in the night. “Ahh fucking raccoons again!”	"Alright, Tyler was it?" Asked Dr. Nathanial Pain to the small five year old sitting on a large reclining chair "What can you tell me about the monster?" "Its big... and scary, and it has bad eyes, lots of them, I want it to go away but it just sits there staring" "Tyler, You're having a nightly encounter with a Nightmaar, Something I wish people would come to me first about" "A night what?" Asked Tyler curiously "A nightmaar, A rare supernatural being that manifests itself through terror. There is only one way to get rid of them, and that is to remove them. Manually. Ma'am" Said Dr. Pain, turning to the boys bewildered mother "I'm going to need to come by your house tonight, Is it alright if I bring a few friends?" "Yes? If it will get rid of this monster" "Oh we will ma'am, we will" later that night "This is Father Robert brown, He's an exorcist and a fellow exterminator. And this is Bogus" He said rubbing the large bloodhounds head "He is what we like to call our 'spirit sniffer'. Could you show us the boys room please?" The mother led the trio into the darkened room "Where is Tyler?" asked Dr. Pain, setting a black bag onto the bed "In the living room eating a chocolate bar and watching a cartoon" replied his mother softly "Good, If you could leave the room that would be splendid". Tylers mother did as Dr. Pain asked and left, When she had gone Nathanial Pain turned to Father Brown and said, "Lets begin shall we?" Father Brown nodded and opened his small black book towards the middle on a page titled 'auferte malum est a spiritu' (to banish an evil spirit) and began to chant in latin, Bogus trotted towards the empty closet sniffed then let out five soft barks, indicating that whatever it was, was more powerful than the average spirit, Dr. Pain threw a small piece of garlic into the closet, and when that yielded no result, threw in a piece of cedar wood. Instantly the interior of the closet seemed to come alive, A multi legged beast twisting silently out of the shadows to stare down on them with its blazing red eyes, It looked first at Dr. Pain, who was holding a small silver dagger, Then at Father Brown who was finishing his chant in the traditional way 'In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti' Instantly the writhed as some unseen force held it in place as Dr. Pain lunged forward and sank the dagger into the beasts chest, It froze and slowly disintegrated into nothing. Dr. Pain sheathed his dagger and sighed "Another one is gone, good, Lets collect our pay and leave hmm?" "You mean you collect YOUR pay, I get enough to go by from the parish" "Ah father, You never did want money from anybody. So holy" "Ahh be quite Nathanial, go get your pay" "Yes father" Laughed the doctor as he exited the room with Bogus at his side. &#x200B; &#x200B; Hot dang this is the longest thing I have ever done.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	"I saved the board just how it was last time. Nobody's touched it but me." I walked over to the Game Room, Jordan by my side. He nodded, long black ponytail bouncing with every step. I slid the heavy, soundproof door open and stepped inside. For the past three weeks, Jordan and I had been the only ones in the Game Room, at my request. The yoga mats sat unused, but clean; the television showed a pleasantly static forest; the clocks were all powerless or still. And every surface was covered with words. I had to glue them down. Scrabble tiles were just too light; it was all too easy for an errant foot to send them flying, otherwise. We both placed our feet carefully as we went to where we'd last been playing, between the bookshelves and the sofas. We both knew it was my turn to start. I looked at my hand of seven tiles. AMECOWL. I considered my opening move, then walked to the last word we'd played last time. SAME. I took the last six letters and placed them down, ending on the last letter of SAME. WELCOME. Jordan smiled faintly. I added 14 points to the scoresheet—Jordan was up 34,752 to 34,696. He took the E from WELCOME and built around it. GRATEFUL. “I’m glad to hear that,” I said. I’d had to tile the room with Scrabble boards to keep playing the game, but it was worth it. 110 points for Jordan. I took a look at the hand I’d been dealt, considered my options, then switched to another part of the board. HOME. Before I’d even placed the second letter, Jordan inhaled sharply and shook his head. He took my HOME, added an I from the nearby INSTITUTE, and flicked his hand seven times. PSYCHOMETRIC. I sighed. “I know, I know. But… you’re important to me. Not just because of what I do, but because of who I am.” I took the start of PSYCHOMETRIC and set off at a right angle. PLEASE. Jordan folded his arms obstinately and turned back to the section of board we’d started it. Of their own accord, three tiles rose into the air and landed around the U in GRATEFUL. JUST. I spread out my hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re right. The world isn’t just. If it was up to me—” Jordan shook his head insistently. I thought. JUST. What else could he be referring to— —oh. I met his eyes and said, “You’re right. I don’t just care about you because of what I do, but my job is a part of this. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a person.” Carefully, I took the beginning of HOME, the middle of PSYCHOMETRIC, and built off that. HIM. Jordan shuddered, but at least he used his hands this time. He started to move towards JUST, hesitated, then went to the other I in INSTITUTE. NIGHT. My eyes widened in surprise for the barest instant before I got myself under control. Of course, Jordan noticed—there was no way he wouldn’t. Still, this was the most I’d gotten out of him about what he did when he wasn’t at the Institute. “Night? He comes out at night?” Jordan hugged his knees, biting his lips. Right. I mentally kicked myself in the gut; it didn’t take a genius to see that he was scared. I placed a single letter. KNIGHT. Jordan blinked, his rocking stilled for a moment. Then, he barked out a bitter laugh. He, too, placed a single letter, to mirror my own. In the middle of HOME, he wrote: NO. Jordan’s face still held a sickly smile, his eyes downcast. WHAT. He looked up at me, weary, and placed a word perpendicular to the end of KNIGHT. KNIGHTS STUPID. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the situation. I moved on to another part of the board, one we’d visited on multiple occasions before, and latched onto one of the many remnants of games gone by. WHO HE. Jordan shrugged. NOT WORD. I put my hand on his. TRY. He hesitated. Then, in an explosion of tiles, he stood. GROUNDBINDER. WALLRAISER. DAYBRINGER. OATHMAKER. I stumbled back as letters flew across the room. Suppressed whispers seethed from every shadow. The walls cracked and chipped. MUTEMASTER. LIEBREAKER. LAWORDER. SAFEWARDEN. In scorching bursts of flame, the words scrawled themselves across every board. The laws of nature went into abeyance, my careful work coming unglued, shattered remnants hanging in the air, the room coming tumbling down as Jordan rose into the air. And then, before I could say anything, he slumped over. The walls restored themselves. The fire was snuffed out. Even the extra boards I’d lovingly laid across the room vanished. All that remained was a single, blank board. Jordan knelt in front of it, shivering. RULES, he finally made. I started to build off what he’d placed. But I looked around at the Game Room, all those weeks of work, undone in an instant, beyond my power to retrieve. And so, very deliberately, I flicked his RULES off the board. “Why?” I asked. He stared up at me, shocked. SAFE, he wrote. I took the L from RULES and rearranged the letters. “FALSE,” I said. He stood up, expression unreadable. HOW. I took his W, flipped it into an M, and added an E. “ME.” He shivered, then brought the two together. HOME. Light began to fill the room. The board, the tiles, the walls, the Game Room itself—they all began to shake, dissolving under an impossible pressure, falling away as Jordan struggled. I saw it, then, the thing latched onto him. A delicate tracework of invisible currents, whose velvet fangs bit into him in a thousand places. I grabbed the words which had no name and wrenched them off his body. &#x200B; I awoke in the jagged, smoking ruins of the Game Room. Jordan was lying on his back next to me, watching the clouds lazily roll by as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When he saw my eyes open, he let out a contented sigh. And in a voice very small and very quiet and very much his own, he whispered, “Thank you.” I finally relaxed. “Any time, kid. Any time.” ^(If you liked this, you might like) [^(a short story I wrote!)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingInn/comments/f2lhib/in_the_loop_chapter_1_41k_words/)	"Alright, Tyler was it?" Asked Dr. Nathanial Pain to the small five year old sitting on a large reclining chair "What can you tell me about the monster?" "Its big... and scary, and it has bad eyes, lots of them, I want it to go away but it just sits there staring" "Tyler, You're having a nightly encounter with a Nightmaar, Something I wish people would come to me first about" "A night what?" Asked Tyler curiously "A nightmaar, A rare supernatural being that manifests itself through terror. There is only one way to get rid of them, and that is to remove them. Manually. Ma'am" Said Dr. Pain, turning to the boys bewildered mother "I'm going to need to come by your house tonight, Is it alright if I bring a few friends?" "Yes? If it will get rid of this monster" "Oh we will ma'am, we will" later that night "This is Father Robert brown, He's an exorcist and a fellow exterminator. And this is Bogus" He said rubbing the large bloodhounds head "He is what we like to call our 'spirit sniffer'. Could you show us the boys room please?" The mother led the trio into the darkened room "Where is Tyler?" asked Dr. Pain, setting a black bag onto the bed "In the living room eating a chocolate bar and watching a cartoon" replied his mother softly "Good, If you could leave the room that would be splendid". Tylers mother did as Dr. Pain asked and left, When she had gone Nathanial Pain turned to Father Brown and said, "Lets begin shall we?" Father Brown nodded and opened his small black book towards the middle on a page titled 'auferte malum est a spiritu' (to banish an evil spirit) and began to chant in latin, Bogus trotted towards the empty closet sniffed then let out five soft barks, indicating that whatever it was, was more powerful than the average spirit, Dr. Pain threw a small piece of garlic into the closet, and when that yielded no result, threw in a piece of cedar wood. Instantly the interior of the closet seemed to come alive, A multi legged beast twisting silently out of the shadows to stare down on them with its blazing red eyes, It looked first at Dr. Pain, who was holding a small silver dagger, Then at Father Brown who was finishing his chant in the traditional way 'In nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti' Instantly the writhed as some unseen force held it in place as Dr. Pain lunged forward and sank the dagger into the beasts chest, It froze and slowly disintegrated into nothing. Dr. Pain sheathed his dagger and sighed "Another one is gone, good, Lets collect our pay and leave hmm?" "You mean you collect YOUR pay, I get enough to go by from the parish" "Ah father, You never did want money from anybody. So holy" "Ahh be quite Nathanial, go get your pay" "Yes father" Laughed the doctor as he exited the room with Bogus at his side. &#x200B; &#x200B; Hot dang this is the longest thing I have ever done.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	I was a young therapist working in a psychiatric facility in England. I had one patient that I remember talking with. The young patient sat before me. Elenor was her name. This would be my 7th “therapy” session with her. Over the course of these “therapy” sessions, Elenor would explain to me what this monster looked like and would do. She told me that it hid in various places, i.e. under the bed, in the closet, in the dresser, etc. It would watch her sleep, sometimes even walking over to the bed and standing over her. I knew what she was talking about immediately. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I believe you. I’ve seen what you’ve seen. I’m going to help you get rid of this thing for good. I promise you that.” I spoke to her softly and kindly, trying to reach her inner child. “Pwomise pwomise?” Elenor asked. She had a speech impediment that caused her to mix up her Rs and Ws. “Promise promise.” I placed my hand on my chest, nodding my head. Elenor smiled, revealing she had lost a tooth recently. “I’m going to schedule a home observation visit with your parents, alright?” I asked her, wanting to make sure she was comfortable with it. “A home obsewvation visit? What’s dat?” Elenor asked. “I’m going to call your parents and see if I can come observe you while you sleep. And when your sleeping, I’ll destroy that creature for you. You just got to promise me you’ll be brave, okay? Can you put on your brave face? Show me your brave face!” A few sessions before, we worked on a strategy that had always worked for me as a kid when I was scared. We created brave faces and I told her that when she was scared, she could put on her brave face and she’d be okay. Elenor nodded. She put on her brave face and smiled. I smiled right back at her. I was gonna help her get rid of this creature once and for all. Tonight...I’m gonna kill The Devil...	It’s been hard to face all these trauma, so much fear. I had to grow resilient so I could endure hours and hours of what would let me to fulfill my goal. Little Timmy, little Sharon, little Ed... they were all terrified. Up to the last moment. The monsters in the closet they said. Their parents be levied that only people hid in the closet. How oblivious, naive. The monsters were real, the terror was real. Being a therapist and hear about the night terrors, knowing they’re real, and trying to not sound crazy without gaslighting the kids. It was really terrifying. That’s why I had to kill em. Kill them all. Everyone last of them. Goodbye little Timmy, goodbye little Sharon.... gods by little Ed.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Billy sat in an overlarge leather chair, looking at his feet swinging above the floor. “How was school today?” Dr. Julian asked. “It was good”. Billy replied without looking up. “Do you have many friends Billy?” Billy looked up, shrugged and looked away. “How about a best friend? What is your best friend’s name?” “My best friend is Aaron, but we aren’t friends right now.” Billy shrugged. “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it?” Billy shook his head “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, just like Aaron.” “I’ll bet I would.” Billy looked up considering Dr. Julian. He was a kindly looking older man. Bald, except for a large mustache. He wore a collared blue striped shirt tucked into crisply ironed pants. Billy liked his big square glasses. They reminded him of his Grandpa, before he passed away two years ago when Billy was in third grade. Dr. Julian waited patiently in his chair, fingers crossed in his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed” Billy blurted out. Dr. Julian leaned forward in his chair. “That must be terrifying Billy!” “It is!” Billy said getting excited. It’s a shadow but it has teeth, and it comes out after my bedtime, I told my parents but they don’t believe me, they just said I’m not allowed to watch scary movies anymore, and Aaron said I was being a little kid and he couldn’t be friends with a chicken.” Dr. Julian’s pen moved smoothly left to right across his notepad. “Can it talk Billy? What does it do when it comes out?” “It didn’t talk but it smiled at me, and when it smiled it got cold in my room, so I hid under my blanket, then I heard my window open and close. When it came back, it had bloody teeth, and the wind blew so hard our trashcans blew over. My dad didn’t believe me, he told me it was those damned raccoons again, and he had lived for fourty-two years and had never seen a monster, shadow or any other kind. “I believe you Billy” Dr. Julian said. “You do?” “Yes, I do, and I know just how to help you.” Dr. Julian produced a colorful top from his pocket. “This top was carved by my father a very long time ago Billy” Billy’s watched him spin the top on the desk between them. He stared unblinking at the perfect pirouette the top made on the desk. “When this top stops, I want you to forget about the shadow with teeth. It was just a scary dream you had nothing more.” The top began to waver. “You will make up with your friend Aaron, and tell your parents you aren’t scared anymore, you will sleep soundly through the night. And stop wetting the bed” the doctor added hastily. The top skid to a halt. Billy blinked in surprise as Dr. Julian clapped his hands together. “Well I think we made some real progress today Billy. Your parents will be waiting for you in the lobby, and I will see you again next Tuesday.” Dr. Julian offered Billy a sucker as he hopped off the chair and strode out to the lobby. The next night Dr. Julian sat in his car outside Billy’s bedroom window. He wore a trench coat covered with pockets. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in silent prayer. A silver cross was held in his hands. When his watch struck midnight, the streetlight above his car flickered, then went out. The wind picked up. An upstairs window creaked open just enough for the being to slip out. Dr. Julian stood outside his car now brandishing the cross. “Show yourself Stygian” Dr. Julian said loudly, calling the creature by name. Words came tumbling out in an old, forgotten language. The being was before him now. Not quite a shadow, but an utter lack of light. Something slithering, ancient, and cold. Its teeth were huge, too large to be human, but unmistakably pulled back into a grin. “Hello Julianus” the wind said in the trees. Julianus reached in his coat and produced a silver instrument. He sang in a warm baritone. His fingers flew up and down the strings, but his playing was drowned out by the howling wind. Nearby trees strained at the roots creating an earthy percussive cacophony as they bent and creaked. “You’re finally mine”. The darkness surrounded the doctor. The earth and sky gave way before the limitless night. “I am older than time, Julianus. God plans and I laugh. I. Am. Entropy” Stygian leered. Julianus no longer felt the ground beneath him. He reached into his jacket, hands shaking violently. He produced a bow and slid it along the strings. A single secret chord rang out, even louder than the night. The wind began to die down pierced by the sustained pleasing chord. The amorphous dark being around Julianus began to fade, before disappearing altogether. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping in the trees. Dr. Julian bent down and pocketed a pair of overlarge pointed teeth, before getting in his car and driving away. Just another day at work. Across the street Billy’s father opened the door and stood staring at a trashcan, knocked over in the night. “Ahh fucking raccoons again!”	It’s been hard to face all these trauma, so much fear. I had to grow resilient so I could endure hours and hours of what would let me to fulfill my goal. Little Timmy, little Sharon, little Ed... they were all terrified. Up to the last moment. The monsters in the closet they said. Their parents be levied that only people hid in the closet. How oblivious, naive. The monsters were real, the terror was real. Being a therapist and hear about the night terrors, knowing they’re real, and trying to not sound crazy without gaslighting the kids. It was really terrifying. That’s why I had to kill em. Kill them all. Everyone last of them. Goodbye little Timmy, goodbye little Sharon.... gods by little Ed.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Billy sat in an overlarge leather chair, looking at his feet swinging above the floor. “How was school today?” Dr. Julian asked. “It was good”. Billy replied without looking up. “Do you have many friends Billy?” Billy looked up, shrugged and looked away. “How about a best friend? What is your best friend’s name?” “My best friend is Aaron, but we aren’t friends right now.” Billy shrugged. “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it?” Billy shook his head “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, just like Aaron.” “I’ll bet I would.” Billy looked up considering Dr. Julian. He was a kindly looking older man. Bald, except for a large mustache. He wore a collared blue striped shirt tucked into crisply ironed pants. Billy liked his big square glasses. They reminded him of his Grandpa, before he passed away two years ago when Billy was in third grade. Dr. Julian waited patiently in his chair, fingers crossed in his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed” Billy blurted out. Dr. Julian leaned forward in his chair. “That must be terrifying Billy!” “It is!” Billy said getting excited. It’s a shadow but it has teeth, and it comes out after my bedtime, I told my parents but they don’t believe me, they just said I’m not allowed to watch scary movies anymore, and Aaron said I was being a little kid and he couldn’t be friends with a chicken.” Dr. Julian’s pen moved smoothly left to right across his notepad. “Can it talk Billy? What does it do when it comes out?” “It didn’t talk but it smiled at me, and when it smiled it got cold in my room, so I hid under my blanket, then I heard my window open and close. When it came back, it had bloody teeth, and the wind blew so hard our trashcans blew over. My dad didn’t believe me, he told me it was those damned raccoons again, and he had lived for fourty-two years and had never seen a monster, shadow or any other kind. “I believe you Billy” Dr. Julian said. “You do?” “Yes, I do, and I know just how to help you.” Dr. Julian produced a colorful top from his pocket. “This top was carved by my father a very long time ago Billy” Billy’s watched him spin the top on the desk between them. He stared unblinking at the perfect pirouette the top made on the desk. “When this top stops, I want you to forget about the shadow with teeth. It was just a scary dream you had nothing more.” The top began to waver. “You will make up with your friend Aaron, and tell your parents you aren’t scared anymore, you will sleep soundly through the night. And stop wetting the bed” the doctor added hastily. The top skid to a halt. Billy blinked in surprise as Dr. Julian clapped his hands together. “Well I think we made some real progress today Billy. Your parents will be waiting for you in the lobby, and I will see you again next Tuesday.” Dr. Julian offered Billy a sucker as he hopped off the chair and strode out to the lobby. The next night Dr. Julian sat in his car outside Billy’s bedroom window. He wore a trench coat covered with pockets. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in silent prayer. A silver cross was held in his hands. When his watch struck midnight, the streetlight above his car flickered, then went out. The wind picked up. An upstairs window creaked open just enough for the being to slip out. Dr. Julian stood outside his car now brandishing the cross. “Show yourself Stygian” Dr. Julian said loudly, calling the creature by name. Words came tumbling out in an old, forgotten language. The being was before him now. Not quite a shadow, but an utter lack of light. Something slithering, ancient, and cold. Its teeth were huge, too large to be human, but unmistakably pulled back into a grin. “Hello Julianus” the wind said in the trees. Julianus reached in his coat and produced a silver instrument. He sang in a warm baritone. His fingers flew up and down the strings, but his playing was drowned out by the howling wind. Nearby trees strained at the roots creating an earthy percussive cacophony as they bent and creaked. “You’re finally mine”. The darkness surrounded the doctor. The earth and sky gave way before the limitless night. “I am older than time, Julianus. God plans and I laugh. I. Am. Entropy” Stygian leered. Julianus no longer felt the ground beneath him. He reached into his jacket, hands shaking violently. He produced a bow and slid it along the strings. A single secret chord rang out, even louder than the night. The wind began to die down pierced by the sustained pleasing chord. The amorphous dark being around Julianus began to fade, before disappearing altogether. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping in the trees. Dr. Julian bent down and pocketed a pair of overlarge pointed teeth, before getting in his car and driving away. Just another day at work. Across the street Billy’s father opened the door and stood staring at a trashcan, knocked over in the night. “Ahh fucking raccoons again!”	Blue and red lights are flashing by, two men are pointing their guns at me while I stand still in front of a dead body. "Put your hands in the air where I can see them", shouts one of the two men while going towards me quickly. "Get down on your knees", shouts the other. "You have the right to remain silent, anything you say or do can and will be used against you in a court of law", says the first man who is now handcuffing me. Tears roll down my face while I prepare for my time in jail. "I didn't do anything wrong, it wasn't human, it wasn't human.", I say with my eyes still puring. "It wasn't human, you have to believe me", I shout while the two men shove me into their car. One of the two officers turns to the other while rolling his eyes and says "out of all the excuses I've heard from a murderer this is by far the most bizarre." The other officer scuffs, look at me in the eyes and says, loudly "Murderers are not very smart, Pierce, they always lie and it's never a consistent lie." I'm not a murderer, I'm not. I'm a hero, I'm a monster hunter. A blonde young girl enters my office along with her parents. "Hey Allison, my name is Doctor Michael Edwards, but you can call me Mickey if you want.", I say with a smile on my face. I gesture towards the couch, where she sits while her parents follow her inside. "This usually works better when the kid is alone with me in the room, don't worry you can watch our session from the screen outside.", I say to the parents. The mom is reluctant to what I say, but then the dad looks at me for a few seconds and tells her it's good, then looks at Allison, gives her a kiss on the cheek and goes outside with his wife. As they close the door I sit down on my armchair and look at Allison, then ask her, "Hey Allison, how are you today?". I get no answer from her, this is very common with the first session, many kids don't want to talk with their psychologists initially. "Your parents have been telling me that you can't sleep at night because a terrifying monster is hiding in your closet, is that so?" No answer again, but her eyes tell me this is true. "What do you do for fun Allison? Do you like magic, want to see a trick?" Usually kids lighten up and start opening up a little when I make them laugh; she doesn't answer so I take out a small box from a drawer on my right side and start performing my "magic trick". I open the box to reveal that it's empty, then say with an inquisitive face "what's in the box?", the kid obviously doesn't look surprised so I turn the box around and act surprised to see that the box I knew was empty is empty. "What? My rabbit must've run away! Where did it go?", I say, while acting like I'm looking for something, only to reveal the small stuffed animal that's hiding in my pocket. "Where did it go?", I say in a joking manner, and as young kids do Allison starts laughing. "Where did it go?", I continue, "Why are you laughing did you see my rabbit?", then as I look at my pocket I say "There you are Mr. Rabbit, why were you hiding in my pocket?". Allison keeps laughing and I hand her the stuffed toy, "this is for you", I say. I know it's a bad trick, and I never said I was a magician, but this usually works on kids. Scientists still don't know why or how but sometimes the fear of children can cause the manifestation of real monsters in our world, monsters that if not stopped soon enough can terrorize the children and eventually kill them, which makes them stronger and makes them go to another potential target. There are a few common ancestries of monsters deriving from the major types of fear and it's usually easy to identify them with enough information. Each monster is different, however, and requires a slightly different set of tools to deal with and extinguish, irregardless of their archetype, a general approach rarely works and the wrong approach can at times cause the monster to become stronger. The job of a monster hunter is one that's kept secret from the world because of all the chaos it would cause if the secret got out, there aren't many of us and we must go through years of training to learn everything we currently know about them. I have studied the terasal anatomy for over ten years and am considered the current leading expert in my field but there is still so much that I don't know about them, so much that we as a whole still have to discover about them and the fact that the public is kept in the shadows only makes it much harder. Recruiting people is hard, heck finding people who have all it takes to do our tough job is hard in of itself. You see, for some reason we don't yet know, monsters become invisible to most humans after the age of ten, only a few of us can see them and only a select few of the ones who can see them can interact with them. There's a saying amongst Monster Hunters that you have to be crazy to be able to do our job, sometimes I wonder if that's actually the case. "Tell me about your monster, Allison. Can you describe it?", I ask. "It's big and scary, and with teeth and scary eyes like this", she says while gesturing with her hands. Ok, it's big and has teeth, that means we can rule out crawlers and perckers, at least I won't have to touch anything squishy this time around. "Does it have a tail? What color is it?", I ask. "No, no, it has big teeth and it's pink!". Pink? That's unusual, it might be a genetic mutation, I've seen those before, but usually only crawlers are pink. I wonder if she's just remembering wrong, kids do that sometimes. "Are you sure it's pink, Allison?", I point at my collection of colored pencils, "which one of those is it, Allison?". She points at a very bright yellow; it looks like she has tritanopia. For a bizzare reason linked to the otherwordly teras colors, sometimes monsters still look their actual color even to colorblind people, this doesn't seem to be the case with Allison, however. "Can you draw it, Allison?", I ask. She draws a yellow circle with what looks like teeth, I think I have enough information to go on with, we're dealing with a mutated Shaper. Ugh, I hate those things... ======= You have read the the (very rough) first draft of chapter one of Teras Hunters, if you enjoyed it and can't wait for more interesting stories follow me! Teras Hunters might become a full length novel at some point.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Billy sat in an overlarge leather chair, looking at his feet swinging above the floor. “How was school today?” Dr. Julian asked. “It was good”. Billy replied without looking up. “Do you have many friends Billy?” Billy looked up, shrugged and looked away. “How about a best friend? What is your best friend’s name?” “My best friend is Aaron, but we aren’t friends right now.” Billy shrugged. “I’m sorry, do you want to tell me about it?” Billy shook his head “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me, just like Aaron.” “I’ll bet I would.” Billy looked up considering Dr. Julian. He was a kindly looking older man. Bald, except for a large mustache. He wore a collared blue striped shirt tucked into crisply ironed pants. Billy liked his big square glasses. They reminded him of his Grandpa, before he passed away two years ago when Billy was in third grade. Dr. Julian waited patiently in his chair, fingers crossed in his lap. “There’s a monster under my bed” Billy blurted out. Dr. Julian leaned forward in his chair. “That must be terrifying Billy!” “It is!” Billy said getting excited. It’s a shadow but it has teeth, and it comes out after my bedtime, I told my parents but they don’t believe me, they just said I’m not allowed to watch scary movies anymore, and Aaron said I was being a little kid and he couldn’t be friends with a chicken.” Dr. Julian’s pen moved smoothly left to right across his notepad. “Can it talk Billy? What does it do when it comes out?” “It didn’t talk but it smiled at me, and when it smiled it got cold in my room, so I hid under my blanket, then I heard my window open and close. When it came back, it had bloody teeth, and the wind blew so hard our trashcans blew over. My dad didn’t believe me, he told me it was those damned raccoons again, and he had lived for fourty-two years and had never seen a monster, shadow or any other kind. “I believe you Billy” Dr. Julian said. “You do?” “Yes, I do, and I know just how to help you.” Dr. Julian produced a colorful top from his pocket. “This top was carved by my father a very long time ago Billy” Billy’s watched him spin the top on the desk between them. He stared unblinking at the perfect pirouette the top made on the desk. “When this top stops, I want you to forget about the shadow with teeth. It was just a scary dream you had nothing more.” The top began to waver. “You will make up with your friend Aaron, and tell your parents you aren’t scared anymore, you will sleep soundly through the night. And stop wetting the bed” the doctor added hastily. The top skid to a halt. Billy blinked in surprise as Dr. Julian clapped his hands together. “Well I think we made some real progress today Billy. Your parents will be waiting for you in the lobby, and I will see you again next Tuesday.” Dr. Julian offered Billy a sucker as he hopped off the chair and strode out to the lobby. The next night Dr. Julian sat in his car outside Billy’s bedroom window. He wore a trench coat covered with pockets. His eyes were closed, and his lips moved in silent prayer. A silver cross was held in his hands. When his watch struck midnight, the streetlight above his car flickered, then went out. The wind picked up. An upstairs window creaked open just enough for the being to slip out. Dr. Julian stood outside his car now brandishing the cross. “Show yourself Stygian” Dr. Julian said loudly, calling the creature by name. Words came tumbling out in an old, forgotten language. The being was before him now. Not quite a shadow, but an utter lack of light. Something slithering, ancient, and cold. Its teeth were huge, too large to be human, but unmistakably pulled back into a grin. “Hello Julianus” the wind said in the trees. Julianus reached in his coat and produced a silver instrument. He sang in a warm baritone. His fingers flew up and down the strings, but his playing was drowned out by the howling wind. Nearby trees strained at the roots creating an earthy percussive cacophony as they bent and creaked. “You’re finally mine”. The darkness surrounded the doctor. The earth and sky gave way before the limitless night. “I am older than time, Julianus. God plans and I laugh. I. Am. Entropy” Stygian leered. Julianus no longer felt the ground beneath him. He reached into his jacket, hands shaking violently. He produced a bow and slid it along the strings. A single secret chord rang out, even louder than the night. The wind began to die down pierced by the sustained pleasing chord. The amorphous dark being around Julianus began to fade, before disappearing altogether. The sun was rising, and birds were chirping in the trees. Dr. Julian bent down and pocketed a pair of overlarge pointed teeth, before getting in his car and driving away. Just another day at work. Across the street Billy’s father opened the door and stood staring at a trashcan, knocked over in the night. “Ahh fucking raccoons again!”	"He's always staring at me when I sleep." His patient croaked, chin resting on his knees. Damian had seen that behavior before. Worried parents often mistook it for autism or other such conditions. Little did they know their child had an unfriendly visitor every night. "Does he ever speak, Vincent?" Damian inquired. He knew that one had to tread carefully with children. They were often skittish from their nightly ordeals, and any wrong word could stir a tantrum. "He moans." The boy responded, wide-eyed. "He asks me if I want him. I don't know what he means... I call daddy, but when he comes to the room... the monster is gone." The therapist nodded, scribbling in his clipboard. The words "incubus" surged beneath his pen. "So, he leaves when your daddy arrives?" "Yes." 'Smart, disgusting fucker.' Damian thought immediately. Incubus fed off one's energy and emotions. A child was like a banquet, but an adult required guile and, more often than not, sexual intercourse. The session continued, with the therapist carefully asking about the demon, as well as the child's and his family's schedules. He intended to rid them of this nuisance, but, to do so, he would have to be discreet. The thought of a demon hunter walking into your child's room wouldn't constitute a child's idea of effective therapy. Mr. Brighton came to pick up Vincent later in the afternoon. As the child poured himself onto an intricate drawing, Damian had requested with the fervor of a Renaissance artist, the latter, and the boy's father discussed the session in private. "How did it go today, Dr. Wilde?" The man asked, running his fingers across his salt-and-pepper hair in a skittish, gesture. Damian made a mental note of the father's insecure nature, which had most likely attracted the incubus to the house. "We are making progress. Vincent seems to be suffering from nightly terrors. This is usual for children his age, especially when they are adjusting to sudden life changes. A divorce," Damian added. "Is a perfect example of this." Mr. Brighton sighed. "What can we do to solve this?" "It's a lengthy process, but..." The demon hunter began, slowly piecing his thoughts together to best present his idea. "When was the last time you did something with Vincent? Took him out on a trip, or had a father-son bonding moment?" "It's been a while." The older man confessed. "I have been so caught up in company matters that I've not been around that much." "Sometimes, parental abandonment, intentional or not," Damian added quickly. "Might increase this sort of behavior. Vincent feels very lonely, and his mind projects terrifying imagery as a response." "Do you think he's trying to get my attention?" The therapist bit his tongue. The child was definitely starved for compliments and emotional connection, but to state it out loud with make the father uncomfortable and unwilling to engage in some days off with his son, which is precisely what Damian intended. "I don't think he's making up what he sees. But he definitely needs you around more, Mr. Brighton. Just... think about what I told you. Take him somewhere fun during spring break." The man nodded and smiled warmly. Damian could see the reasons for the divorce rather blatantly when the man took his hands and thanked him profusely for his dedication and work ethic. The younger man had to stifle a sigh. He felt like a con artist, a pretender - but neither was true. He was, indeed, a psychologist and a certified therapist. And a demon hunter. Later that night, Mr. Brighton called him excitedly. He had booked a flight to Orlando and was taking Vincent to Disneyworld. They'd be gone for a few days, but that was more than enough. Incubus were powerful, but Damian had dealt with far worse. It was time to prepare- \--------------------------------- A friend in my writer's group wrote this prompt, he wants feedback but seems unable to muster the courage to publish this, can you please give him some feedback :D Thank you guys!
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	"I saved the board just how it was last time. Nobody's touched it but me." I walked over to the Game Room, Jordan by my side. He nodded, long black ponytail bouncing with every step. I slid the heavy, soundproof door open and stepped inside. For the past three weeks, Jordan and I had been the only ones in the Game Room, at my request. The yoga mats sat unused, but clean; the television showed a pleasantly static forest; the clocks were all powerless or still. And every surface was covered with words. I had to glue them down. Scrabble tiles were just too light; it was all too easy for an errant foot to send them flying, otherwise. We both placed our feet carefully as we went to where we'd last been playing, between the bookshelves and the sofas. We both knew it was my turn to start. I looked at my hand of seven tiles. AMECOWL. I considered my opening move, then walked to the last word we'd played last time. SAME. I took the last six letters and placed them down, ending on the last letter of SAME. WELCOME. Jordan smiled faintly. I added 14 points to the scoresheet—Jordan was up 34,752 to 34,696. He took the E from WELCOME and built around it. GRATEFUL. “I’m glad to hear that,” I said. I’d had to tile the room with Scrabble boards to keep playing the game, but it was worth it. 110 points for Jordan. I took a look at the hand I’d been dealt, considered my options, then switched to another part of the board. HOME. Before I’d even placed the second letter, Jordan inhaled sharply and shook his head. He took my HOME, added an I from the nearby INSTITUTE, and flicked his hand seven times. PSYCHOMETRIC. I sighed. “I know, I know. But… you’re important to me. Not just because of what I do, but because of who I am.” I took the start of PSYCHOMETRIC and set off at a right angle. PLEASE. Jordan folded his arms obstinately and turned back to the section of board we’d started it. Of their own accord, three tiles rose into the air and landed around the U in GRATEFUL. JUST. I spread out my hands in a helpless gesture. “You’re right. The world isn’t just. If it was up to me—” Jordan shook his head insistently. I thought. JUST. What else could he be referring to— —oh. I met his eyes and said, “You’re right. I don’t just care about you because of what I do, but my job is a part of this. That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you as a person.” Carefully, I took the beginning of HOME, the middle of PSYCHOMETRIC, and built off that. HIM. Jordan shuddered, but at least he used his hands this time. He started to move towards JUST, hesitated, then went to the other I in INSTITUTE. NIGHT. My eyes widened in surprise for the barest instant before I got myself under control. Of course, Jordan noticed—there was no way he wouldn’t. Still, this was the most I’d gotten out of him about what he did when he wasn’t at the Institute. “Night? He comes out at night?” Jordan hugged his knees, biting his lips. Right. I mentally kicked myself in the gut; it didn’t take a genius to see that he was scared. I placed a single letter. KNIGHT. Jordan blinked, his rocking stilled for a moment. Then, he barked out a bitter laugh. He, too, placed a single letter, to mirror my own. In the middle of HOME, he wrote: NO. Jordan’s face still held a sickly smile, his eyes downcast. WHAT. He looked up at me, weary, and placed a word perpendicular to the end of KNIGHT. KNIGHTS STUPID. I couldn’t help but chuckle, despite the situation. I moved on to another part of the board, one we’d visited on multiple occasions before, and latched onto one of the many remnants of games gone by. WHO HE. Jordan shrugged. NOT WORD. I put my hand on his. TRY. He hesitated. Then, in an explosion of tiles, he stood. GROUNDBINDER. WALLRAISER. DAYBRINGER. OATHMAKER. I stumbled back as letters flew across the room. Suppressed whispers seethed from every shadow. The walls cracked and chipped. MUTEMASTER. LIEBREAKER. LAWORDER. SAFEWARDEN. In scorching bursts of flame, the words scrawled themselves across every board. The laws of nature went into abeyance, my careful work coming unglued, shattered remnants hanging in the air, the room coming tumbling down as Jordan rose into the air. And then, before I could say anything, he slumped over. The walls restored themselves. The fire was snuffed out. Even the extra boards I’d lovingly laid across the room vanished. All that remained was a single, blank board. Jordan knelt in front of it, shivering. RULES, he finally made. I started to build off what he’d placed. But I looked around at the Game Room, all those weeks of work, undone in an instant, beyond my power to retrieve. And so, very deliberately, I flicked his RULES off the board. “Why?” I asked. He stared up at me, shocked. SAFE, he wrote. I took the L from RULES and rearranged the letters. “FALSE,” I said. He stood up, expression unreadable. HOW. I took his W, flipped it into an M, and added an E. “ME.” He shivered, then brought the two together. HOME. Light began to fill the room. The board, the tiles, the walls, the Game Room itself—they all began to shake, dissolving under an impossible pressure, falling away as Jordan struggled. I saw it, then, the thing latched onto him. A delicate tracework of invisible currents, whose velvet fangs bit into him in a thousand places. I grabbed the words which had no name and wrenched them off his body. &#x200B; I awoke in the jagged, smoking ruins of the Game Room. Jordan was lying on his back next to me, watching the clouds lazily roll by as if it was the most natural thing in the world. When he saw my eyes open, he let out a contented sigh. And in a voice very small and very quiet and very much his own, he whispered, “Thank you.” I finally relaxed. “Any time, kid. Any time.” ^(If you liked this, you might like) [^(a short story I wrote!)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderingInn/comments/f2lhib/in_the_loop_chapter_1_41k_words/)	We all have heard the childhood stories of the dreaded monster in the closet. Depending on the child, the monster could be an eight feet tall brute or a little ball of fear. What if I told you that these monsters were actually demons that feed on the innocence of children? There are many things that happen under the cover of darkness and the belief of a child is one of the strongest magic in the world. This is why I decided to make it my life’s work to rid the world of these monsters and help bring peace to children worldwide. My name is Julien Artois and these are my stories. &#x200B; Back then, before I knew of my lineage, I was just another kid who thought that the faceless man in my closet was a dark creation of my imagination. Every night after my parents put me to bed, he would slowly creak open my closet door. His long fingers were the first thing to penetrate my obscured line of sight. I would shut my eyes tight and try to pretend that I didn’t hear his soft, slow footsteps approaching my bed. Some nights he would just stand near my bed and breathe in lazy, baited breaths. But, every now and then he would speak to me. At first, I couldn’t understand him because the sound of my heart drumming in my chest would drown him out. It sounded like he was reciting a poem of some sort but I couldn’t bring myself to try and make out what he was saying. One night, I decided that I would finally hear what he was saying in hopes that I could make him go away. &#x200B; The night began like all of the others before it. My mom tucked me in and shut the door softly behind her. I began to count in my head because I knew he would be here in thirty seconds or less. &#x200B; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8- &#x200B; Creak. &#x200B; I peeked from underneath my covers to see those dirty fingers gripping the closet door from the inside and pushing it open. My heart threatened to beat out of my chest but I steeled myself and sat up an inch. I knew that tonight was the night; tonight would be the night that everything changed. &#x200B; He looked the same as he always did. His suit was ill-fitted and ragged and his feet were bare. His height grew as he moved out from the closet door until his faceless head grazed the ceiling. As he had no face, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but his body language suggested that he noticed me. Maybe it was because I was usually hiding underneath my covers but I never noticed how thin he was. Thin and long. His limbs hung awkwardly and his posture was slouched. I sat in bed watching him lightly sway in place before he took a step towards my bed. I could hear his feet hitting the floor as he made his way over to me but there was no physical vibration coming from his steps. &#x200B; Halfway to the bed, the murmurings that I heard before began. Each step seemed to coincide with what he was saying and as brave as I was trying to be, I wanted to duck my head back underneath my covers and call it a night. Just as I was reaching down to pull my covers up he stopped walking and stood up to his full height. &#x200B; The...the boy...the boy knows. Oh, he knows. &#x200B; What? Was I the boy and what did I know? &#x200B; The boy, he knows. From linear space, the shadow grows. Pocket a posey then offer a rose. Stenches of death, how quickly it grows. &#x200B; Angel and demon, a baby was made. Anger the master, securing your fate. Dogs biting the hand, oh how grand! Sweet mister, sweet master, please tell us your plan. &#x200B; With each line, the voice grew louder until I was sure that my dad would come storming in to see what all the noise was. &#x200B; Linear boy, which door will you choose? Join the ranks or suffer these fools? Hurry the choice cos master awaits. Linear boy, you choose your own fate. &#x200B; After the poem ended, the faceless man stood perfectly still. I struggled to find my voice and when I did it came out tiny and weak. &#x200B; “Who are you?”
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	A Monster Comes The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. He’s faking, I think to myself. My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it. Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. He’s not faking. He feels it. I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet. “It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.” “It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky. The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared. “Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within. I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt. “Tell him why you hate him.” “You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!” The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand. “We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.” “We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.” We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke. “He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved. The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options. [r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/)	"So, tell me again Johnathan. What did Mr. Fuzzy look like?" "He is vewy big, bigge than the doow. He is really scwawy. He has this big howns on his head and a long tail". "Go on". "He has shawp teeth and goes like RAWR!". "Anything else special about him?". "Yeah, sometimes purple water drops from his tail". "Where does Mr. Fuzzy usually hide?". "He hides in my closet! But whenever daddy checks, he's not thewe". "Well, don't worry! I know how I can scare Mr. Fuzzy away". "Weally!?". "Yes! But I need your help, okay?". "Yeey! I wanna help!". "I need you to have fun today. Play outside with mommy and daddy and when you go to sleep, say: 'Monster, monster, go away! Don't come back another day!'. Think you can do that for me?". "Yes!". "Okay, I'm counting on you. Now go have fun". "Okay. Thank you miss. Bauberie". "It's nothing. Bye!". "Bye!". After the kid left, Hannah got up and went to a small room. She turned on the single, dangling light bulb and open the locker. "Let's see. A hairy, big monster with horns and a poisonous tail. Where did I put... Ah, there it is!", she says to herself. She grabs a shiny hand axe, decorated with weird symbols. With it, she grabs a small, round shield, also decorated, but with circles around the middle. She puts them in the bag. She looks back in the locker and her smile turns into a frown. "I really don't want to use this", she says, "But if it comes down to it, I'll have no other choice. I made that kid a promise after all". She grabs a container with an orange liquid in it. On it's cap is what seems to be a needle, covered with a plastic cap. She puts it away in one of her jacket's pockets. She closes the locker and heads out. &#x200B; She arrives at the Loggerman's house. A medium, suburban house with a backyard bordering a small forest. Their neighbours don't seem to be home, so Hannah just enters from the back. She jumps up to the first floor and puts her left hand against the middle window frame. A symbol on her glove springs out of it and emits a blue glow. It spins about an inch from her hand for a second before disappearing. The window opens. She climbs up and enters Johnathan's bedroom. She opens the closet. Nothing. She smiles and smacks the air with her right hand, this glove emitting a purple glow. Instead of air, she hits something fleshy. She quickly jumps back, as large fist barely missing her. "Glad I take the precaution to prematurely dodge, that could've hurt quiet a bit", she says. &#x200B; The large beats emerges from the closet, ducking and squeezing itself, as it does. Hannah jumps out the window and makes a run for it to the forest, rummaging through her bag while on the move. The monster looks at her for a bit, growling, before following her. She runs deep into the forest, the monster slowly catching up. She stops, turns and dodges the charging beast. "This should be deep enough". She throws her bag down and faces the monster, axe and shield in hand. She charges it. It goes for a punch, but she dodges it. She slices it at it's side. The monster roars from the pain. It begins to unleash a barrage of blows on her, but she keeps jumping back. As she jumps, she lightly blocks the punches. The creature roars for a sec, before staring at her, the tail flying towards her like a rocket. She blocks with near inhuman reflexes. The force of the blow shoves her back a bit. As she was dodging, the pure white axe had been turning slowly red. It's now a crimson red. She rushes the beast again. It goes for another punch, putting its whole body behind it. Hannah hits its fist with her shield. An orange circle pops out and the punch is sent back, knocking the beast almost over. She hacks into it with her axe. The veins of the beast almost pop out of it and the wound gets a matte black veil over it, letting no blood out. The creature whimpers in pain. "That should do it", she confidently declares, "Time for a well deserved drink". &#x200B; The whimpers turn into growls, the growls turn into a roar. She looks back, but before she even realises what's happening, the tail penetrates her stomach. The tail retreats back to its owner, leaving Hannah with a large whole that's spilling a purple ooze. She falls to her knees. "Damn, not this again", she mumbles. She grabs the container and shoves the needle into her arm. She's met with a shock-wave of pain. Her skin starts to turn purple, her muscles grow and so does she. "I hate you!", she screams out in a deep voice. She's now twice her height, as tall as the monster, and four times her width. Her arms are the size of tree trunks, her legs are like roots. The monster charges at her and penetrates her chest with its horns. She stands still, but roars out in pain. She shoves it away. The wounds quickly close. She deals out a punishing blow, knocking it to the ground. She gets on top of it and start whaling on it. The monster tries to block her attacks, but it can't hold out for long. Hannah's stabbed over and over again by the tail, but she doesn't show any reaction. Instead, she just lets out her frustration on the beast. Soon enough, the beats manages to push her off of it, but the damage had been done. It's bloody and bruised. It's wobbling and quiet. It turns away and starts to run, but Hannah grabs the axe and chases it. She immediately catches up and punches it against the tree, the impact shattering a part of it. She follows it up with a swing from her axe. Its head flies off and the axe continues halfway through the tree. She pulls the axe out and sits down, catching her breath. After half an hour, she's back to normal. "Ow!", she yells as she gets up. "Damn it! Now i'm gonna be sore all week!". She goes quiet and slowly makes her way to her shield and bag. "At least that kid will sleep well tonight. I'd better get a thank you from his parent soon". She packs her stuff and goes home.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	DISCLAIMER: sorry if my english is not correct at all times, I am Italian. Thanks in advance for your understanding. "Therapy Hunter" -------- "So How is going your new treatment?" The boy didn't reply, he was still too shy. Three weeks of therapy and still he didn't trust me. "Don't worry, Kevin" I said, "You know you can say anything to me about your nightmares and what you think lives in your closet." This was my job. Well, IS, I haven't stopped doing therapy sessions for peculiar children who had extreme cases of fearing that some monster lived in their closet. With "extreme" I don't necessarily mean "gory" or "splatter", but true. And I should know, I hunt those monsters. Kevin was a young boy, around eight or nine years old, which claimed that in his closet lived a shapeshifting monster: one night it turned into his dog, the other into his dead father, the next into his cousin who lived in Germany. I had a bit of experience with these monsters, but there weren't many documented cases in my "world" of these beasts, so I had no idea on how to take it from there. He explained to me all the theories he had (he was a very creative kid) and then said: "Mr. Travis? Could you stay with me tonight? Just so I can show you." Of course I said "Yes". His mother came in the room exactly after my answer, like if she knew when I would say it, took Kevin by the hand, and said: "We'll wait you for around eight o'clock. I'll pay you then for today's session, I just forgot the money home." I agreed, and then they left. That evening I drove to their house, rang the doorbell and entered their living room. They explained me everything about the habits of the boy and when he usually went ti sleep, at around nine o'clock, while I, in my bag, had pretty much any monster weapon I could borrow that didn't seem suspicious. Obviously, it was pretty peculiar that a patient wanted me to sleep with them in their house, but peculiarity is what makes my job what it is. Nine o'clock quickly arrived, Kevin went to bed and I slept on the armchair next to his bed, still better than sleeping on the floor. At around three AM I heard Kevin screaming. I jumped up and looked at him. He looked petrified, staring at the closed door of his closer. I looked at him, then started moving slowly towards the closet. The air was getting really thick, I almost couldn't breathe, but still I managed to reach the door. My heart was racing. My hand, slowly rising to grab the handle, was shaking. I turned it and opened the door. At first, I didn't notice anything, there were just some clothes in front of a mirror, nothing unusual. Then I looked down, on the reflection. Behind my legs, in the mirror, I could see Kevin's dog, even though I was sure it was still in the garden. I quickly turned around and saw Kevin's dad (that I saw on the pictures in the house) rushing towards me. He hit me and then I fell. Ina fragment of a second, there was Kevin, quickly turning into a tiger. It jumped at me and tried to bite me, but I had just taken out my pepper spray (it can always be useful) and sprayed it all over the tiger's face. He was the monster, then. He just wanted a new victim to eat. Too bad for him that I was not the victim in that situation. I took out my intelli-gun (a gun that narcotises the monster and kills him only after two hours in which the monster sleeps) and pointed it at him... who wasn't there! It had turned into a mouse that was now running all around the room. I quickly cornered it, shot it and started gathering informations about its species. After two hours it had died. The mother was dead by the shock. She was the true victim that night. I left the house at around four AM and drove back at my place. I called the organisation that I worked for by killing monsters and said to them that the job was done. I entered my house, closed the door, the curtains and everything. I opened the zipper behind my head. I removed my human costume. No one must know that I am a rebel monster, or both humans and monster will kill me. (P.S. of the author: I know this is definitely not the best story, but I wanted to do my part)	Monsters were everywhere. They creeped in your head to see your innermost fears before eating you. Most of the time, they’d attack kids, which was why, as a Hunter, I was trying my best to soothe one. “Sweetie, take deep breaths,” I consoled. “Here, want a sweet?” The kid, one of many Jacobs, sniffed before putting down his Rubik’s cube to reach out for the lollipop I offered him. Patiently, I waited for him to calm down before speaking. “Now, can you tell me what this monster’s like?” Once again, the poor kid was on the verge of tears, but I still had to urge him to get the job done. “I’ll let you in on a secret: actually, I’m a secret spy, and I need your help to catch this monster.” Jacob looked up at me with wide, watery eyes. “Really?” he asked hesitantly. “I pinky promise,” I prompted before pointing at the Rubik’s cube on my desk. “I’ll tell you what, I know how to solve that, and I can teach you if you help me.” “Woahhh,” the kid widened his eyes. “Can you do it now?” Thus, I solved the Rubik’s cube, which had taken me days to learn in order to appease uncertain kids. “And there we have it. Is that a deal?” I grinned at the kid. “Deal.” —————— A few hours later, I stepped into Jacob’s wardrobe and gave him a thumbs up. At this moment, he seemed quite hesitant, so I assured him, “You’ll be safe with me.” The kid gradually fell asleep, and I silently stood there and watched as a shadow grew larger and larger. Slimy grey bubbles popped above the shadow until a greasy, scaly, lizard-like creature emerged. The thing hissed, creeping towards Jacob with a calculated stare, trying to figure out how to scare him out of his wits. After all, that was how monsters fed: they inhaled the fear of children and consumed their pure souls. Since these creatures were at their weakest before they did these, that was when I attacked them. So I jumped. It didn’t take long — though this creature was particularly strong, I’d done this for years, and I had long been accustomed to their foul breaths and jagged claws. A while after it died, the sound of terrified, screaming children died out, signifying that their souls had been freed, which made me smile softly. That was when Jacob woke up. He grinned widely at the sight of me, exclaiming, “That was the best sleep I’ve ever had!” Patting his head, I responded with, “And you’ll continue having great sleep, don’t worry. Now, about that Rubik’s cube...” Monsters were everywhere. They creeped in your head to see your innermost fears before eating you. Most of the time, they’d attack kids. It took one to know another, didn’t it? I ‘ M H U N G R Y .
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	A Monster Comes The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. He’s faking, I think to myself. My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it. Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. He’s not faking. He feels it. I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet. “It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.” “It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky. The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared. “Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within. I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt. “Tell him why you hate him.” “You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!” The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand. “We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.” “We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.” We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke. “He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved. The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options. [r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/)	Monsters were everywhere. They creeped in your head to see your innermost fears before eating you. Most of the time, they’d attack kids, which was why, as a Hunter, I was trying my best to soothe one. “Sweetie, take deep breaths,” I consoled. “Here, want a sweet?” The kid, one of many Jacobs, sniffed before putting down his Rubik’s cube to reach out for the lollipop I offered him. Patiently, I waited for him to calm down before speaking. “Now, can you tell me what this monster’s like?” Once again, the poor kid was on the verge of tears, but I still had to urge him to get the job done. “I’ll let you in on a secret: actually, I’m a secret spy, and I need your help to catch this monster.” Jacob looked up at me with wide, watery eyes. “Really?” he asked hesitantly. “I pinky promise,” I prompted before pointing at the Rubik’s cube on my desk. “I’ll tell you what, I know how to solve that, and I can teach you if you help me.” “Woahhh,” the kid widened his eyes. “Can you do it now?” Thus, I solved the Rubik’s cube, which had taken me days to learn in order to appease uncertain kids. “And there we have it. Is that a deal?” I grinned at the kid. “Deal.” —————— A few hours later, I stepped into Jacob’s wardrobe and gave him a thumbs up. At this moment, he seemed quite hesitant, so I assured him, “You’ll be safe with me.” The kid gradually fell asleep, and I silently stood there and watched as a shadow grew larger and larger. Slimy grey bubbles popped above the shadow until a greasy, scaly, lizard-like creature emerged. The thing hissed, creeping towards Jacob with a calculated stare, trying to figure out how to scare him out of his wits. After all, that was how monsters fed: they inhaled the fear of children and consumed their pure souls. Since these creatures were at their weakest before they did these, that was when I attacked them. So I jumped. It didn’t take long — though this creature was particularly strong, I’d done this for years, and I had long been accustomed to their foul breaths and jagged claws. A while after it died, the sound of terrified, screaming children died out, signifying that their souls had been freed, which made me smile softly. That was when Jacob woke up. He grinned widely at the sight of me, exclaiming, “That was the best sleep I’ve ever had!” Patting his head, I responded with, “And you’ll continue having great sleep, don’t worry. Now, about that Rubik’s cube...” Monsters were everywhere. They creeped in your head to see your innermost fears before eating you. Most of the time, they’d attack kids. It took one to know another, didn’t it? I ‘ M H U N G R Y .
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	A Monster Comes The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. He’s faking, I think to myself. My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it. Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. He’s not faking. He feels it. I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet. “It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.” “It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky. The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared. “Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within. I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt. “Tell him why you hate him.” “You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!” The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand. “We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.” “We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.” We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke. “He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved. The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options. [r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/)	DISCLAIMER: sorry if my english is not correct at all times, I am Italian. Thanks in advance for your understanding. "Therapy Hunter" -------- "So How is going your new treatment?" The boy didn't reply, he was still too shy. Three weeks of therapy and still he didn't trust me. "Don't worry, Kevin" I said, "You know you can say anything to me about your nightmares and what you think lives in your closet." This was my job. Well, IS, I haven't stopped doing therapy sessions for peculiar children who had extreme cases of fearing that some monster lived in their closet. With "extreme" I don't necessarily mean "gory" or "splatter", but true. And I should know, I hunt those monsters. Kevin was a young boy, around eight or nine years old, which claimed that in his closet lived a shapeshifting monster: one night it turned into his dog, the other into his dead father, the next into his cousin who lived in Germany. I had a bit of experience with these monsters, but there weren't many documented cases in my "world" of these beasts, so I had no idea on how to take it from there. He explained to me all the theories he had (he was a very creative kid) and then said: "Mr. Travis? Could you stay with me tonight? Just so I can show you." Of course I said "Yes". His mother came in the room exactly after my answer, like if she knew when I would say it, took Kevin by the hand, and said: "We'll wait you for around eight o'clock. I'll pay you then for today's session, I just forgot the money home." I agreed, and then they left. That evening I drove to their house, rang the doorbell and entered their living room. They explained me everything about the habits of the boy and when he usually went ti sleep, at around nine o'clock, while I, in my bag, had pretty much any monster weapon I could borrow that didn't seem suspicious. Obviously, it was pretty peculiar that a patient wanted me to sleep with them in their house, but peculiarity is what makes my job what it is. Nine o'clock quickly arrived, Kevin went to bed and I slept on the armchair next to his bed, still better than sleeping on the floor. At around three AM I heard Kevin screaming. I jumped up and looked at him. He looked petrified, staring at the closed door of his closer. I looked at him, then started moving slowly towards the closet. The air was getting really thick, I almost couldn't breathe, but still I managed to reach the door. My heart was racing. My hand, slowly rising to grab the handle, was shaking. I turned it and opened the door. At first, I didn't notice anything, there were just some clothes in front of a mirror, nothing unusual. Then I looked down, on the reflection. Behind my legs, in the mirror, I could see Kevin's dog, even though I was sure it was still in the garden. I quickly turned around and saw Kevin's dad (that I saw on the pictures in the house) rushing towards me. He hit me and then I fell. Ina fragment of a second, there was Kevin, quickly turning into a tiger. It jumped at me and tried to bite me, but I had just taken out my pepper spray (it can always be useful) and sprayed it all over the tiger's face. He was the monster, then. He just wanted a new victim to eat. Too bad for him that I was not the victim in that situation. I took out my intelli-gun (a gun that narcotises the monster and kills him only after two hours in which the monster sleeps) and pointed it at him... who wasn't there! It had turned into a mouse that was now running all around the room. I quickly cornered it, shot it and started gathering informations about its species. After two hours it had died. The mother was dead by the shock. She was the true victim that night. I left the house at around four AM and drove back at my place. I called the organisation that I worked for by killing monsters and said to them that the job was done. I entered my house, closed the door, the curtains and everything. I opened the zipper behind my head. I removed my human costume. No one must know that I am a rebel monster, or both humans and monster will kill me. (P.S. of the author: I know this is definitely not the best story, but I wanted to do my part)
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	A Monster Comes The clock tics. The lights are off and the child is nervous. We’d been sitting there for twelve minutes. It usually doesn’t take longer than ten. My eyes narrow. He’s faking, I think to myself. My business card reads Pediaparapsychologist. There is no way to make the word sound good, and I’m probably the only one who uses it. My expertise, as far as anyone’s concerned: pediatric psychology and paranormal science. Parents call me to treat disturbed children. Parents call me if their kids had a fight in school. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. The clock tocs. Thirteen minutes. I’m calling it. Suddenly, the dark seems darker, like a black cloud passing over an invisible black sun. He’s not faking. He feels it. I watch Miles startle, hugging his knees tighter. The beast yawns, sending a shrill wind through a sealed room with closed windows. The little stuffed rabbit in the child’s hands twists and churns like a silently screaming animal, its stuffing pouring out over the carpet. “It’s not my fault,” Miles says sullenly, trying to put the cotton back inside. “Mom will think I did that to Bunny-Bunny.” “It’s not my fault,” the beast repeats mockingly, wrapping Miles in cold and sorrow. He relishes the fear, feeds on it. He needs it, and I need him to need it. Let the beast grow. Let him get cocky. The spirit drops are in place. Part holy water, part my own blood, and part secret, I’d told him. The beast laughs, because he doesn’t know he’s being snared. “Now, Miles!” The child shakes, succumbing to his terror. “Fear your fears, but face your fears,” I remind him. He jumps off the chair and into my arms, as I splash a line of my elixir on the floor with a flick of my wrist. The spirit cage is complete, the beast trapped within. I put Miles down and tell him it will be okay now. He takes my hand and we face his fears together. “Scum!” he yells. “Prick! Bastard! I hate you!” The beast looks angry, he grows and fills his cage with black contempt. “Tell him why you hate him.” “You’re mean! Everyone hates me because of you!” Tears stain the boy’s cheeks, and the beast delights. “You killed Kara’s fish, and you yelled at mom!” The walls shake with the beast’s laughter, and the floorboards creak outside the room. The parents are worried, but if they entered now they would not understand. “We are not afraid,” I say. “Repeat after me, Miles. We are not afraid.” “We are not afraid. You cannot hurt us.” We speak as one. “We are stronger than you. We are not afraid.” We watch the beast shrink. He lunges at us, scratching at the cage, fighting tooth and nail, but we are not afraid. “We are not afraid!” He whimpers for mercy, he swears he will not be forgotten, and he vanishes in smoke. “He’s gone,” I tell Miles. He doesn’t seem sure at first, but then collapses onto his bed, taking struggled breaths. He’d been saved. The beast is gone. The beast I made him believe in. The beast I told him made him cruel and angry. He’s gone, so now there’s no excuse for being bad. For yelling at his mom or killing his friend’s goldfish. Now he has to be good. Or fake it. Parents call me a charlatan. Until they really need me. And if they really need me, it’s usually because their child’s a little prick, and they’re all out of options. [r/LeonDaydreamer](https://www.reddit.com/r/LeonDaydreamer/)	Poor, young James, was one of my best clients. I still hadn’t been able to pinpoint what the cause was, but there was obviously something very special about him, since he was constantly visited by new and more grotesque monsters. His parents believed that it was simply bad dreams; his prior therapist believed that it was a manifestation of some prior trauma. They were both incorrect, as the stories that James told me each visit allowed for me to hunt and kill more monsters than any of my family before me. As he sat on the couch, I took notes intently, marking down every description that he was able to make. Powers, abilities, physical capabilities; each entry in my book carefully studied later so that I could best prepare myself for the night’s work ahead. Ding “I’m sorry, James. It seems that we’re out of time for today. You’ve been very brave, and we’ll continue our discussion next week.” As I lead him out the door, I nodded to his parents and gave them a knowing smile, silently assuring them that progress was being made. When I returned to my desk, I sat silently, contemplating how I would approach the coming hunt. My thoughts were only interrupted when Judy, my receptionist, stuck her head through my door. “Your 2:30 appointment is here, Dr. Van Helsing.”
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Sunlight streamed in between the black venetian blinds through the window of Dr Sam Hale's office, the luminous bars patterning the deep blue carpet and breathing life into the off-white walls. The sound of a quietly squeaking ceiling fan was heard, joined by the rustling of papers as Dr Hale ruminated over their contents. So many cases recently, and all eerily similar too; children seeing monsters in their closets. And all those concerned parents putting on the bravest of faces as they seek answers from Dr Hale, worried that their young child is developing some degree of mental illness. If only they knew. Dr Hale removed their glasses to rub their eyes. So tired already, and it’s only 2PM. These late nights have to stop. Fatigue affects concentration, and lack of concentration means details are missed and mistakes are made. Dr Hale cannot afford to make mistakes in this line of work. Mistakes mean an innocent child will suffer, and Dr Hale will never allow that to happen again. Dr Hale sighed, put their glasses back on and neatly placed the small stack of papers to the left of their mahogony desk. A good solid desk, Dr Hale mused, wondering about the distant possibility of acquiring one for their home office. Dr Hale pressed the intercom button. “Thank you, Tracy, send the Gibbs in please.” Dr Hale's desk was at the back of the office facing the door. Just the way people walked could give a strong indication of their thoughts and feelings, a piece of advice Dr Hale had recieved from their late mentor. A short, middle aged woman entered the room, holding the hand of a small girl who measured up to her waist. The girl's dark hair had been made up into two small bunches with pink bobbles. Dr Hale noted she wore the same long, pink t-shirt as she had at their previous appointment. “Ahh Mrs Gibbs, welcome! Please take a seat.” "Thank you, Dr. But...erm…it’s Foster now, Miss Foster. I’m planning to get little Mary’s name changed too”. Miss Foster closed the door behind her, and ushered Mary to the chair in front of Dr Hale while she sat in the chair to Mary's right. “I hope everything works out for you and the little one” Dr Hale replied calmly, while adjusting their glasses and leaning forward on the desk onto their elbows. It appeared that Mary had grown since their last visit, although she appeared more absent minded. The child seemed to stare at every point within the room except, Dr Hale noted curiously, at her own mother. “So Mary, are you in school this week?” Dr Hale asked with a well-practiced smile. Mary absently looked around the room, before shaking her head. “It’s the school holidays, Dr." Miss Foster added, “She’s been to the park and to the swimming pool, haven’t you Mary?” Mary almost seemed dejected as she nodded, and again Dr Hale noticed that Mary avoided looking at her mother. Dr Hale focused on the child, “I see, well that sounds like fun. Did you make any new friends Mary?” Mary shook her head, now looking at her fingers as she twiddled them in some sort of game only a child could understand. Dr Hale glanced at her mother, who looked tired too. Exhausted, in fact. The divorce proceedings must be taking their toll, although Dr Hale found it hard to sympathise. Mary had told Dr Hale in a previous home visit that she saw her mother “playing” with her uncle, her father’s brother. It didn't take long before that cat was let out, apparently, and Mary's father had left them all soon after. “I see, and what about your old friend?” Dr Hale continued. Mary stopped playing with her hands and fixed Dr Hale with a stare. She gripped the sides of her chair and her mouth began to move, but no words came out, as if she struggled to find the words. “Dr Hale, I think Mary needs to make some new friends" Miss Foster began, "You know, REAL friends. Friends we can invite around for play dates, or go to the park with” Dr Hale turned to face Miss Foster, “I understand, Miss Foster, but Mary misses her old friend, the one she says hides in her closet. I want to know more about this friend, so we can…better address and fix this situation” Dr Hale fixed Miss foster with a lingering gaze before turning back to Mary. Her parent’s current situation has not helped, and Dr Hale knows that Miss Foster harbours a lot of guilt. The possibility of Mary having mental and emotional trauma, or childhood PTSD, related to the divorce. It's only natural a child in that situation would want to find someone to talk to, real or imaginary. Most psychologists would simply dismiss it as so, but Dr Hale knew better than that, which is why they requested this patient transfer in the first place. That was nearly a year ago now. “So Mary, does your old friend still live in the closet?” Mary fixed her gaze again on the Dr. She smiled broadly and her eyes widened. She excitedly nodded her head. “That must be very cosy. And is he visiting tonight?” Mary nodded again very enthusiastically, her eyes never leaving Dr Hale. “Now tell me Mary, what colour is your friend? Is he red, yellow, blue…” Mary began nodding her head once blue was mentioned. Dr Hale noted that. “You know Mary, blue is my favourite colour, that's why I have a really blue carpet." Mary smiled brightly, glancing at the carpet and nodding. "And how does he look? Does he have big teeth and big horns?” Dr Hale asked as they mimed fangs and horns with their fingers, and made charming, growling noises. Mary copied Dr Hale while laughing and growling herself. Dr Hale wondered if this was the most open Mary had been in a long time. The playing around made Miss Foster smile, despite looking close to tears. Mary began giggling near-uncontrollably, and Dr Hale grinned and replaced their elbows on the desk. This is it. A year of work culminating in a grand hunt tonight. Dr Hale recounted the location of the twin pistols and silver blade, locked inside an ebony case, locked inside a safe in their home office, most likely still warm from last night’s hunt. It was a late one, after all. None of that matyered now, though. Dr Hale had a location, and now a time and a description. But there was one more thing that Dr Hale required in order to be successful tonight. “Does your friend have a name?” Mary stared into Dr Hale's eyes. Poor girl. She genuinely thinks that this monster and her are friends. At least she’ll now be free of it, and a strong message will be sent to them all: Get back where you came from, or so help me... Mary replied in almost a soft whisper, “Kitty”	Poor, young James, was one of my best clients. I still hadn’t been able to pinpoint what the cause was, but there was obviously something very special about him, since he was constantly visited by new and more grotesque monsters. His parents believed that it was simply bad dreams; his prior therapist believed that it was a manifestation of some prior trauma. They were both incorrect, as the stories that James told me each visit allowed for me to hunt and kill more monsters than any of my family before me. As he sat on the couch, I took notes intently, marking down every description that he was able to make. Powers, abilities, physical capabilities; each entry in my book carefully studied later so that I could best prepare myself for the night’s work ahead. Ding “I’m sorry, James. It seems that we’re out of time for today. You’ve been very brave, and we’ll continue our discussion next week.” As I lead him out the door, I nodded to his parents and gave them a knowing smile, silently assuring them that progress was being made. When I returned to my desk, I sat silently, contemplating how I would approach the coming hunt. My thoughts were only interrupted when Judy, my receptionist, stuck her head through my door. “Your 2:30 appointment is here, Dr. Van Helsing.”
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	"He says he's going to gobble me up one day, and there's nothing I can do about it," said the 5-year-old sitting with his uncomfortably shifting parents on Eliza Turnbaugh's therapy couch.Fear and damnation, she thought, haven't had one this serious in years. "What does this monster look like, Jason?" Eliza asked, with practiced calm covering the anxiety bubbling up in her stomache. "I don't know, he only comes out in the dark," Jason replied. "That makes sense, monsters are afraid of the light. Do you have any clue what he might look like at all?" The parents were stirring, this meeting probably wouldn't last much longer before they inevitably cut it short. "Well I've never seen him, but I know he has a tail because-" "Excuse me," Jason's mom interjected, "but I don't see how you're doing anything here but adding to his fear by playing along and pretending this monster is real. I think we should go." Eliza, expecting this, had a response ready. "If I'm going to help Jason, he has to trust me. Why would he listen to anyone who won't listen to him first?" Dad's turn to object. She was probably losing this one. "We're not paying you to play pretend with our child, we're paying you to help Jason get over his irrational fears. What kind of therapy business are you running here?" Fighting down a frustrated sigh, Eliza did her best to put on a professional smile before replying. "One that works. When kids are trusted, they trust in return. Now Jason, what were you saying about the monster's tail?" "Well sometimes he-" Jason was cut off by his mother grabbing his hand and standing suddenly. "I think we've heard enough. Jason, take your father's hand, we're leaving." Jason dipped his head as his parents pulled him out of the room, confused and deflated. Parents are so clueless sometimes. It's easier to live in a dream world where monsters don't exist than to accept the possibility that their children are in danger. Well, his parents might be content to let Jason down, but Eliza wasn't ready to let things stand. From the little she had gathered, this one sounded like an extremely dangerous and insidious breed of monster, and Jason's life could be at risk. Eliza wouldn't be living up to the Turnbaugh name if she let that happen. Not when she knew what she knew: Monsters are real, and they're everywhere. Kids are just the only people who don't know better than to talk about them. Thankfully, Jason was her last appointment for the day, so she was free to do a little 'private surveillance.'	In a world that believed vaccinations cause autism, even then none could grasp that there were real monsters in the world. Hunters had a challenging time researching those tied to mass murders, trending crimes and often were placed in an investigative role like the FBI. Most those jobs came with too many strings and left you so drained from two or more lives that it wasn't worth it. So why not just make a nice honey pot for them to come to you? Well even better one that it made it's victims come so you keep a layer of separation. Clients would only be referred as extreme cases of child issues relating to imaginary friends and monsters under the bed. Generally only the true creatures haunting these kids would come through that screening. Disbelief doesn't mean they go away, yet for the cases of real imagination there was real medication and therapy to help. A session of hypnosis allowing the child to describe their hidden creature allowed him to identify what was actually plaguing them. A nice house visit with the family out at a restaurant while he 'got rid of the monsters' would come with quite reliable results. Furthering his reputation and the volume of cases coming his way. Some of the other hunters would despise his path being so laid back and easy going. They really haven't tried talking to scared children before and untangle imagination from reality. Thankfully others respected the protection to the young which had been ignored for so long. So if your child ever comes to your room fearing from a monster and you get chills looking under the bed. If you feel the eyes of your kid's imaginary friend on you. If you can't scratch that itch that your son or daughter are telling the truth... it's time for a visit to Dr. Tierjäger.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	The stairs creaked as Rosie’s parents led me to the second floor. They held hands, the mother leading the way, dodging around the string that hung low from the dim light. We rounded the turn and came into a dark hallway that stretched in both directions. A nightlight plugged into the wall did little to cast any morsel of warmth into the space. “Which way to Rosie’s room?” I asked. “This way,” her mother said. I could see her trembling as I caught her eye. “And you’re sure it’s best that Rosie isn’t here?” her father asked. “Absolutely. I’ve met with her enough to know with near certainty that it’s something in her room she sees at night that is causing her extreme night terrors. There’s no need to expose her any further. I just want to see the space for myself before prescribing the proper remedy.” The door opened and revealed a perfectly normal child’s bedroom. From the hallway I could see a small bed with light pink sheets and a unicorn comforter. Yet a closer look revealed troubling signs. Stuffed animals lined the bed, typical for a child seeking a guardian from their fears. Toys were strewn about, showing that the place of terror was also the place where she played. Combining those two typically led to the type of behaviors I had noted in our observation playroom. Shadows from the tree just outside the window danced along the inner walls. The closet across the room was closed and subtly barricaded with discarded clothes. The moment I stepped into her room, I was grateful they had sent Rosie with a cousin for the afternoon. Whenever I entered a haunted room, whether it be ghosts, demons, or another power of evil, I could sense the mortal dread that emanated from their presence. It always brought me back to my bedroom when I was a child. Scared, alone, afraid of what the darkness hid. The evil was thick and tangible, choking even adults who were attuned to their presence. I didn’t get that feeling until her father followed in after me. “Yes, this about confirms my suspicions,” I said. I poked around the room for show and then made way out. “W-what is it?” her father stammered. “What’s wrong with Rosie?” “Absolutely nothing," I said. “I’ll head back to my office and make a few calls. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a final verdict.” I didn’t wait until I got back to the office. As soon as my car door shut, I pulled out my phone and dialled. Some demons weren’t supernatural, and they didn’t need my services for an exorcism. Some demons needed prison. “911, what’s your emergency,” the voice on the other end said.	In a world that believed vaccinations cause autism, even then none could grasp that there were real monsters in the world. Hunters had a challenging time researching those tied to mass murders, trending crimes and often were placed in an investigative role like the FBI. Most those jobs came with too many strings and left you so drained from two or more lives that it wasn't worth it. So why not just make a nice honey pot for them to come to you? Well even better one that it made it's victims come so you keep a layer of separation. Clients would only be referred as extreme cases of child issues relating to imaginary friends and monsters under the bed. Generally only the true creatures haunting these kids would come through that screening. Disbelief doesn't mean they go away, yet for the cases of real imagination there was real medication and therapy to help. A session of hypnosis allowing the child to describe their hidden creature allowed him to identify what was actually plaguing them. A nice house visit with the family out at a restaurant while he 'got rid of the monsters' would come with quite reliable results. Furthering his reputation and the volume of cases coming his way. Some of the other hunters would despise his path being so laid back and easy going. They really haven't tried talking to scared children before and untangle imagination from reality. Thankfully others respected the protection to the young which had been ignored for so long. So if your child ever comes to your room fearing from a monster and you get chills looking under the bed. If you feel the eyes of your kid's imaginary friend on you. If you can't scratch that itch that your son or daughter are telling the truth... it's time for a visit to Dr. Tierjäger.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Suzy set rocking back and forth in the oversized plush chair. I had an assortment of toys and dolls for her to chose from, and she currently had a stuffed dragon clasped to her chest. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing shallow. I could see her gripping the doll as tightly as she could. The poor baby was terrified. Her parents had called and made an emergency session with me, saying that she’d awoken at 1am this morning, screaming hysterically. She hadn’t calmed down since. “Suzy honey, can you tell me what woke you up?” Her eyes darted around the room, the poor dragon’s neck would have broken had it had a spine, and she shook her head vigorously. “How about this, were you scared to go to bed, before you woke up?” A tentative stare at me, but less fear. A short shake of her tousled blonde hair. So, this was a first instance of this. Alright… “Suzy, when you woke up, you screamed. Your mom and dad came in, and turned on the light. Did the monster go away when they opened the door, or when the light turned on.” Her eyes widened with fear again, and she tucked her face into the plush. “Light,” she said, the word nearly lost into the fluff. So, whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of her parents presence just the light. Interesting. I’d gotten her to speak, which is more than she’d done since she’d awoken screaming. Even if it was a single word. I doubted she’d be able to tell me any more about the monster today, but I’d do my best. “Would you like to play a game Suzy?” I motioned to a doll house that I had set up. I had a Mommy and a Daddy doll, as well as a little boy and a little girl. Suzy carefully got down and started to play. The dolls played around the house, ate, and even “walked” the dragon she’d still not let go of. But she did not put them in bed. “Suzy, it’s almost time to go, maybe you should put the dolls in bed so that next time you visit, they’ll be ready to wake up.” “No.” Her little voice was almost hysterical as she said that. “What if the children stay in Mommy and Daddy’s room.” “No,” this time was calmer, more defiant. “They’re safe here,” I cajoled, trying to make her feel better. “But I won’t be safe when I go home.” “What if I came and got rid of the monster?” I asked lightly. “Would you?” She looked at me hopefully. “If your mommy and daddy say it’s alright.” “Will you ask them? Please?” I could see she was desperate for me to go. “I will.” --- “Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez,” I said looking between the two adults, each of whom had a hand on their daughter’s shoulder, “I specialize in calming children in their own rooms. If you would allow, I would love to do a home visit for Suzy, and we can – all together of course – rid her room of the monster.” They’d agreed of course, as Suzy’d begged them to the point of crying and saying she’d not go back into the bedroom until the monster was banished. Now here we were, standing in her small, pink bedroom. Everything was frills and cuteness, and it was actually a bit overwhelming. But it didn’t matter – we were here to ‘banish’ the monster. In reality, I’d be exorcising a demon. Not from the realm – not just yet – but from her bedroom, and from the house. ___ For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials	In a world that believed vaccinations cause autism, even then none could grasp that there were real monsters in the world. Hunters had a challenging time researching those tied to mass murders, trending crimes and often were placed in an investigative role like the FBI. Most those jobs came with too many strings and left you so drained from two or more lives that it wasn't worth it. So why not just make a nice honey pot for them to come to you? Well even better one that it made it's victims come so you keep a layer of separation. Clients would only be referred as extreme cases of child issues relating to imaginary friends and monsters under the bed. Generally only the true creatures haunting these kids would come through that screening. Disbelief doesn't mean they go away, yet for the cases of real imagination there was real medication and therapy to help. A session of hypnosis allowing the child to describe their hidden creature allowed him to identify what was actually plaguing them. A nice house visit with the family out at a restaurant while he 'got rid of the monsters' would come with quite reliable results. Furthering his reputation and the volume of cases coming his way. Some of the other hunters would despise his path being so laid back and easy going. They really haven't tried talking to scared children before and untangle imagination from reality. Thankfully others respected the protection to the young which had been ignored for so long. So if your child ever comes to your room fearing from a monster and you get chills looking under the bed. If you feel the eyes of your kid's imaginary friend on you. If you can't scratch that itch that your son or daughter are telling the truth... it's time for a visit to Dr. Tierjäger.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	It's late when I get the call. I take a final swig of the grain alcohol before setting the bottle down on my bed, which is a plain mattress on the concrete floor. My equipment is in a black satchel by the door. I only take things out for cleaning or use. Otherwise it's at all times ready for action, just as I'm supposed to be. I rest my forehead on the unpainted drywall. There's a lot in need of fixing in my life. But I picture myself at a party surrounded by happy smiling people, maybe I'm dressed in chinos and a button-up shirt, and the image is all wrong. That's not who I am, nor is it who I'll be. I grab the bottle off my bed and slip it in my satchel on my way out. *** There's cops outside the house. They're always around when I get called in. Their lights sweep across the suburban homes like bloody paintbrushes. I'm unsteady making my way up the paved walkway and Detective Bradley, who's waiting just inside the door, offers me a little smile. "You up for this one?" I give me her back a smile and a shrug. She nods in acknowledgement. "Room or kid?" The alcohol's pressing against the backs of my eyes. I'm not ready for the kid yet. "Room." The weight of the situation settles onto me once I get to the child's bedroom and I see the wallpaper hanging in torn strips, the blankets lying about in pieces, and the closet, that black beckoning emptiness, wide open. For a moment, I match looks with that abyss, and within the darkness I sense a recognition. Yes, our time is coming, creature. The child is with her parents in the kitchen. I join them there, and now the energy of the evening has pushed the alcohol from my mind. I've come alive to the details of this night. The parents are well-dressed and well-groomed in a plain sort of way. Could be a couple of accountants. The husband's eyes are starkly wide and his mouth is working like a fish's, while the mother has her hands on her hips and she keeps adjusting her focus between objects in the room, as though the explanation for the nights happenings might be found behind some corner of normalcy. Detective Bradley pulls them aside with vague explanations as to my business here. The little girl has dark braided hair and she holds a fire blanket around her shoulders. Her face holds no expression. She has likely given up on explaining what happened. That's the smart move. There are no explanations. There is only what happened. I take a knee in front of her. "Hi, there," I say. "What's your name?" Her eyelids swing shut and open. A slow blink. Detective Bradley mouths the name 'Alice' to me. "It sure is busy in here, isn't it, Alice?" Another blink. Her eyes trace a slow path up from the ground to meet mine. I smile at her conspiratorially. "You know how to make things quieter?" She shakes her head. "You have to help us find out." She sniffles. "Find what?" "What's up?" She frowns. "What's up with the closet?" Her head goes back and she burrows her nose down into the fire blanket. "Hey, hey, hey," I say. "Can I tell you a secret?" No response. "I actually live inside a closet." Her eyes return to mine. "Do you?" "I do. It's dark in there, and kind of scary, but I live there because I know how to make closets ok." "The closet is scary." I hum in agreement. "That's where it lives." She pulls the fire blanket tighter around her shoulders. I spread my palms wide. "I can make it not live there." Alice glances from me to her parents. Her mother, who is herself uncertain, looks to Detective Bradley, who nods. Alice's mother passes that confirmation on to Alice. "It's mean," Alice says. "Yes, I'm sure it is," I say. "Alice, can you tell me, does it have claws?" A shudder travels the length of her spine. Under her breath, she says, "No." "And does it have teeth?" She shakes her head. "It's not a thing," she says. "A thing?" "It's not made of stuff," she says. "It's like air. It can be air." An incorporeal monster. That would go a long way to explaining the poor girl's confusion. She's not only been terrorized, but she's been so by something her young mind can't fathom. We go on in this way for a few more minutes, me teasing bits of information from the girl, her doing her best to make sense of her living nightmare. It's not a pleasant process for either of us. I don't envy her having to relive these, and I do not enjoy encouraging her to do so. Unfortunately, it's a professional necessity. The night creatures are broad in their variety, while our clashes in the darkness of the abyss can be lightning quick. To enter into battle unprepared is to die. Once I'm confident that I have the information I need, I thank the girl for helping me and offer her a triple-chocolate cookie from my satchel. That's my only item of equipment that I fully enjoy putting to work. I excuse myself from the kitchen and return to the bedroom. In so doing, I return to the watchful eye of darkness. Flutters of nervousness steal into my stomach. This is the moment when my instinct for self-preservation makes itself known. This is, after all, just a job. I needn't risk my life tonight. But my life isn't all that important. Better that I should go than someone else. I take a swig of grain alcohol and let that dully burning liquid do away with my nervousness. In the dark of the hallway, I equip myself. Tonight will see me using little in the way of slashing or stabbing weaponry. Not against an incorporeal creature. I put on goggles, cover my ears, seal up my nose and mouth, and ensure that my reinforced underclothes are snug against my skin. Then I strap a beam of holy light to my wrist, a high-powered fan to my forearm, and I slip into my reinforced and oiled leather trenchcoat. It's at this point that Detective Bradley appears next to me. "I don't envy you," she says. "I've taken a bullet before, but this..." "You're a good person, Detective Bradley," I say. "The secret to doing my job well, is not to be." We share a look as she considers that line. It was a weak joke, of sorts, and she half-smiles at it. But she knows that I believe it to be true, and I know she would disagree if I asked her what she thought of me. We linger on this unspoken disagreement. "Be safe," she says. "It's too late for that," I reply. The darkness awaits. *** continued below	In a world that believed vaccinations cause autism, even then none could grasp that there were real monsters in the world. Hunters had a challenging time researching those tied to mass murders, trending crimes and often were placed in an investigative role like the FBI. Most those jobs came with too many strings and left you so drained from two or more lives that it wasn't worth it. So why not just make a nice honey pot for them to come to you? Well even better one that it made it's victims come so you keep a layer of separation. Clients would only be referred as extreme cases of child issues relating to imaginary friends and monsters under the bed. Generally only the true creatures haunting these kids would come through that screening. Disbelief doesn't mean they go away, yet for the cases of real imagination there was real medication and therapy to help. A session of hypnosis allowing the child to describe their hidden creature allowed him to identify what was actually plaguing them. A nice house visit with the family out at a restaurant while he 'got rid of the monsters' would come with quite reliable results. Furthering his reputation and the volume of cases coming his way. Some of the other hunters would despise his path being so laid back and easy going. They really haven't tried talking to scared children before and untangle imagination from reality. Thankfully others respected the protection to the young which had been ignored for so long. So if your child ever comes to your room fearing from a monster and you get chills looking under the bed. If you feel the eyes of your kid's imaginary friend on you. If you can't scratch that itch that your son or daughter are telling the truth... it's time for a visit to Dr. Tierjäger.
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	The stairs creaked as Rosie’s parents led me to the second floor. They held hands, the mother leading the way, dodging around the string that hung low from the dim light. We rounded the turn and came into a dark hallway that stretched in both directions. A nightlight plugged into the wall did little to cast any morsel of warmth into the space. “Which way to Rosie’s room?” I asked. “This way,” her mother said. I could see her trembling as I caught her eye. “And you’re sure it’s best that Rosie isn’t here?” her father asked. “Absolutely. I’ve met with her enough to know with near certainty that it’s something in her room she sees at night that is causing her extreme night terrors. There’s no need to expose her any further. I just want to see the space for myself before prescribing the proper remedy.” The door opened and revealed a perfectly normal child’s bedroom. From the hallway I could see a small bed with light pink sheets and a unicorn comforter. Yet a closer look revealed troubling signs. Stuffed animals lined the bed, typical for a child seeking a guardian from their fears. Toys were strewn about, showing that the place of terror was also the place where she played. Combining those two typically led to the type of behaviors I had noted in our observation playroom. Shadows from the tree just outside the window danced along the inner walls. The closet across the room was closed and subtly barricaded with discarded clothes. The moment I stepped into her room, I was grateful they had sent Rosie with a cousin for the afternoon. Whenever I entered a haunted room, whether it be ghosts, demons, or another power of evil, I could sense the mortal dread that emanated from their presence. It always brought me back to my bedroom when I was a child. Scared, alone, afraid of what the darkness hid. The evil was thick and tangible, choking even adults who were attuned to their presence. I didn’t get that feeling until her father followed in after me. “Yes, this about confirms my suspicions,” I said. I poked around the room for show and then made way out. “W-what is it?” her father stammered. “What’s wrong with Rosie?” “Absolutely nothing," I said. “I’ll head back to my office and make a few calls. I’ll let you know as soon as I have a final verdict.” I didn’t wait until I got back to the office. As soon as my car door shut, I pulled out my phone and dialled. Some demons weren’t supernatural, and they didn’t need my services for an exorcism. Some demons needed prison. “911, what’s your emergency,” the voice on the other end said.	"He says he's going to gobble me up one day, and there's nothing I can do about it," said the 5-year-old sitting with his uncomfortably shifting parents on Eliza Turnbaugh's therapy couch.Fear and damnation, she thought, haven't had one this serious in years. "What does this monster look like, Jason?" Eliza asked, with practiced calm covering the anxiety bubbling up in her stomache. "I don't know, he only comes out in the dark," Jason replied. "That makes sense, monsters are afraid of the light. Do you have any clue what he might look like at all?" The parents were stirring, this meeting probably wouldn't last much longer before they inevitably cut it short. "Well I've never seen him, but I know he has a tail because-" "Excuse me," Jason's mom interjected, "but I don't see how you're doing anything here but adding to his fear by playing along and pretending this monster is real. I think we should go." Eliza, expecting this, had a response ready. "If I'm going to help Jason, he has to trust me. Why would he listen to anyone who won't listen to him first?" Dad's turn to object. She was probably losing this one. "We're not paying you to play pretend with our child, we're paying you to help Jason get over his irrational fears. What kind of therapy business are you running here?" Fighting down a frustrated sigh, Eliza did her best to put on a professional smile before replying. "One that works. When kids are trusted, they trust in return. Now Jason, what were you saying about the monster's tail?" "Well sometimes he-" Jason was cut off by his mother grabbing his hand and standing suddenly. "I think we've heard enough. Jason, take your father's hand, we're leaving." Jason dipped his head as his parents pulled him out of the room, confused and deflated. Parents are so clueless sometimes. It's easier to live in a dream world where monsters don't exist than to accept the possibility that their children are in danger. Well, his parents might be content to let Jason down, but Eliza wasn't ready to let things stand. From the little she had gathered, this one sounded like an extremely dangerous and insidious breed of monster, and Jason's life could be at risk. Eliza wouldn't be living up to the Turnbaugh name if she let that happen. Not when she knew what she knew: Monsters are real, and they're everywhere. Kids are just the only people who don't know better than to talk about them. Thankfully, Jason was her last appointment for the day, so she was free to do a little 'private surveillance.'
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	Suzy set rocking back and forth in the oversized plush chair. I had an assortment of toys and dolls for her to chose from, and she currently had a stuffed dragon clasped to her chest. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing shallow. I could see her gripping the doll as tightly as she could. The poor baby was terrified. Her parents had called and made an emergency session with me, saying that she’d awoken at 1am this morning, screaming hysterically. She hadn’t calmed down since. “Suzy honey, can you tell me what woke you up?” Her eyes darted around the room, the poor dragon’s neck would have broken had it had a spine, and she shook her head vigorously. “How about this, were you scared to go to bed, before you woke up?” A tentative stare at me, but less fear. A short shake of her tousled blonde hair. So, this was a first instance of this. Alright… “Suzy, when you woke up, you screamed. Your mom and dad came in, and turned on the light. Did the monster go away when they opened the door, or when the light turned on.” Her eyes widened with fear again, and she tucked her face into the plush. “Light,” she said, the word nearly lost into the fluff. So, whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of her parents presence just the light. Interesting. I’d gotten her to speak, which is more than she’d done since she’d awoken screaming. Even if it was a single word. I doubted she’d be able to tell me any more about the monster today, but I’d do my best. “Would you like to play a game Suzy?” I motioned to a doll house that I had set up. I had a Mommy and a Daddy doll, as well as a little boy and a little girl. Suzy carefully got down and started to play. The dolls played around the house, ate, and even “walked” the dragon she’d still not let go of. But she did not put them in bed. “Suzy, it’s almost time to go, maybe you should put the dolls in bed so that next time you visit, they’ll be ready to wake up.” “No.” Her little voice was almost hysterical as she said that. “What if the children stay in Mommy and Daddy’s room.” “No,” this time was calmer, more defiant. “They’re safe here,” I cajoled, trying to make her feel better. “But I won’t be safe when I go home.” “What if I came and got rid of the monster?” I asked lightly. “Would you?” She looked at me hopefully. “If your mommy and daddy say it’s alright.” “Will you ask them? Please?” I could see she was desperate for me to go. “I will.” --- “Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez,” I said looking between the two adults, each of whom had a hand on their daughter’s shoulder, “I specialize in calming children in their own rooms. If you would allow, I would love to do a home visit for Suzy, and we can – all together of course – rid her room of the monster.” They’d agreed of course, as Suzy’d begged them to the point of crying and saying she’d not go back into the bedroom until the monster was banished. Now here we were, standing in her small, pink bedroom. Everything was frills and cuteness, and it was actually a bit overwhelming. But it didn’t matter – we were here to ‘banish’ the monster. In reality, I’d be exorcising a demon. Not from the realm – not just yet – but from her bedroom, and from the house. ___ For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials	Dr. Black's office gave off the impression that his PhD was in medieval weaponry rather than child psychology. His grand desk bent in ways that made it seem like trapped souls were attempting to escape the charred wood; behind it, a crossbow modified with modern mechanisms clung to the wall by two steel hooks. Cuirasses, armets, various daggers and longer blades all found places on the shelves between tombs that looked as old as time. Right down to the lighting—wax candles shaped by hand and burning recklessly close to piles of paper and books—which he claimed was just a way to cut back on electricity use. The sofa his clients sat in wasn't the usual therapy couch meant to induce comfort and relaxation; it's edges rounded and climbed up half a foot on all sides so it felt like a coffin missing its lid. A young boy lay inside, eyes trained on a painting depicting a torture that actually took place thousands of years ago. "Tell me, Timothy," Dr. Black paced the room with agonizingly slow steps, exhaling smoke from an archaic pipe in-between each word. "What did the monster look like?" Timothy swallowed, trying to imagine that thing that had frightened him right out of his room. "Well, I kept seeing a light coming from under my closet door." "Describe the light. A bright light? A dark light?" "Aren't all lights bright?" "Not in my experience." "It was like a candle, a little fire in my closet," Timothy sighed, feeling the chills run back up his spine. "And I told my mom, but she didn't believe me." "Of course she didn't, foolish woman." "Excuse me," the boy's mother raised her hand with a nervous smile from just beside the door, resting in a fold out chair that brought a sense of present reality to the room that didn't belong, "aren't you supposed to tell him that it's not real? And should you really be smoking in front of my—" "Silence. I only wish to hear the boy speak." With a little squeak the mother recommitted to her statue like position by the door, clutching an oversized purse in her lap. "Continue, Timothy." "Well, after a couple of nights, I told myself not to be afraid of it. That I should find out what's in my own closet." "Very brave, were you armed?" "I had a pillow." Dr. Black grumbled and puffed his pipe, rolling his eyes. "When I opened the door, there was this.... thing... inside." "What did it look like?" Timothy was shaking now, the recollection clawing at him from deep within his mind. "It was ugly, with a huge nose, a fuzzy beard, and a candle on its head. It started screaming, like a pig does when its mad, so I ran," he wiped his eyes, trying to hide his shame. "I was taller than the monster. I shouldn't have been afraid of it." "Never judge your enemy by its size, Timothy. You've been very brave, and its going to be alright," The doctor moved quickly to his desk, procuring a folder that was dangerously close to being set ablaze by a candle. He shuffled through the papers as he stomped over to Timothy's mother, shoving a sheet in front of her face and inquiring, "Is the address shown on line three your correct and current residence?" His mother, feeling proud to be of assistance, read it five times before answering like she was offering a bit of genius insight, "Yes it is." "Wonderful, this session is finished." Black began to move like he was suddenly late to an incredibly important appointment, grabbing little vials from drawers, a knife, a hefty leather vest, and finally dismounting the crossbow from the wall. "Um, should we come back next week? Or does he need to see a specialist?" the mother still hadn't moved from her seat. "No need, the threat will be eliminated before the sun dips beyond the horizon." He was already making his way out, and the smoke veiled room gasped for air as he opened the door. "Are you going to fight the monster?" Dr. Black turned and smiled at Timothy, sitting upright in the coffin couch. "It's called a kobold, and I'm going to kill it. You are a courageous young man, Tim. Perhaps, someday, you will hunt the monsters in closets too." Timothy's mother chased after Dr. Black as he sprinted down the hall, coughing up smoke as she ran. Her son just sat there in the lowlight, taking in the spectacle that was his therapist's office, imagining himself crusading against the evil that lurked behind his closet door. ___ Thanks for reading! Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily mythical therapy session
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	It's late when I get the call. I take a final swig of the grain alcohol before setting the bottle down on my bed, which is a plain mattress on the concrete floor. My equipment is in a black satchel by the door. I only take things out for cleaning or use. Otherwise it's at all times ready for action, just as I'm supposed to be. I rest my forehead on the unpainted drywall. There's a lot in need of fixing in my life. But I picture myself at a party surrounded by happy smiling people, maybe I'm dressed in chinos and a button-up shirt, and the image is all wrong. That's not who I am, nor is it who I'll be. I grab the bottle off my bed and slip it in my satchel on my way out. *** There's cops outside the house. They're always around when I get called in. Their lights sweep across the suburban homes like bloody paintbrushes. I'm unsteady making my way up the paved walkway and Detective Bradley, who's waiting just inside the door, offers me a little smile. "You up for this one?" I give me her back a smile and a shrug. She nods in acknowledgement. "Room or kid?" The alcohol's pressing against the backs of my eyes. I'm not ready for the kid yet. "Room." The weight of the situation settles onto me once I get to the child's bedroom and I see the wallpaper hanging in torn strips, the blankets lying about in pieces, and the closet, that black beckoning emptiness, wide open. For a moment, I match looks with that abyss, and within the darkness I sense a recognition. Yes, our time is coming, creature. The child is with her parents in the kitchen. I join them there, and now the energy of the evening has pushed the alcohol from my mind. I've come alive to the details of this night. The parents are well-dressed and well-groomed in a plain sort of way. Could be a couple of accountants. The husband's eyes are starkly wide and his mouth is working like a fish's, while the mother has her hands on her hips and she keeps adjusting her focus between objects in the room, as though the explanation for the nights happenings might be found behind some corner of normalcy. Detective Bradley pulls them aside with vague explanations as to my business here. The little girl has dark braided hair and she holds a fire blanket around her shoulders. Her face holds no expression. She has likely given up on explaining what happened. That's the smart move. There are no explanations. There is only what happened. I take a knee in front of her. "Hi, there," I say. "What's your name?" Her eyelids swing shut and open. A slow blink. Detective Bradley mouths the name 'Alice' to me. "It sure is busy in here, isn't it, Alice?" Another blink. Her eyes trace a slow path up from the ground to meet mine. I smile at her conspiratorially. "You know how to make things quieter?" She shakes her head. "You have to help us find out." She sniffles. "Find what?" "What's up?" She frowns. "What's up with the closet?" Her head goes back and she burrows her nose down into the fire blanket. "Hey, hey, hey," I say. "Can I tell you a secret?" No response. "I actually live inside a closet." Her eyes return to mine. "Do you?" "I do. It's dark in there, and kind of scary, but I live there because I know how to make closets ok." "The closet is scary." I hum in agreement. "That's where it lives." She pulls the fire blanket tighter around her shoulders. I spread my palms wide. "I can make it not live there." Alice glances from me to her parents. Her mother, who is herself uncertain, looks to Detective Bradley, who nods. Alice's mother passes that confirmation on to Alice. "It's mean," Alice says. "Yes, I'm sure it is," I say. "Alice, can you tell me, does it have claws?" A shudder travels the length of her spine. Under her breath, she says, "No." "And does it have teeth?" She shakes her head. "It's not a thing," she says. "A thing?" "It's not made of stuff," she says. "It's like air. It can be air." An incorporeal monster. That would go a long way to explaining the poor girl's confusion. She's not only been terrorized, but she's been so by something her young mind can't fathom. We go on in this way for a few more minutes, me teasing bits of information from the girl, her doing her best to make sense of her living nightmare. It's not a pleasant process for either of us. I don't envy her having to relive these, and I do not enjoy encouraging her to do so. Unfortunately, it's a professional necessity. The night creatures are broad in their variety, while our clashes in the darkness of the abyss can be lightning quick. To enter into battle unprepared is to die. Once I'm confident that I have the information I need, I thank the girl for helping me and offer her a triple-chocolate cookie from my satchel. That's my only item of equipment that I fully enjoy putting to work. I excuse myself from the kitchen and return to the bedroom. In so doing, I return to the watchful eye of darkness. Flutters of nervousness steal into my stomach. This is the moment when my instinct for self-preservation makes itself known. This is, after all, just a job. I needn't risk my life tonight. But my life isn't all that important. Better that I should go than someone else. I take a swig of grain alcohol and let that dully burning liquid do away with my nervousness. In the dark of the hallway, I equip myself. Tonight will see me using little in the way of slashing or stabbing weaponry. Not against an incorporeal creature. I put on goggles, cover my ears, seal up my nose and mouth, and ensure that my reinforced underclothes are snug against my skin. Then I strap a beam of holy light to my wrist, a high-powered fan to my forearm, and I slip into my reinforced and oiled leather trenchcoat. It's at this point that Detective Bradley appears next to me. "I don't envy you," she says. "I've taken a bullet before, but this..." "You're a good person, Detective Bradley," I say. "The secret to doing my job well, is not to be." We share a look as she considers that line. It was a weak joke, of sorts, and she half-smiles at it. But she knows that I believe it to be true, and I know she would disagree if I asked her what she thought of me. We linger on this unspoken disagreement. "Be safe," she says. "It's too late for that," I reply. The darkness awaits. *** continued below	Dr. Black's office gave off the impression that his PhD was in medieval weaponry rather than child psychology. His grand desk bent in ways that made it seem like trapped souls were attempting to escape the charred wood; behind it, a crossbow modified with modern mechanisms clung to the wall by two steel hooks. Cuirasses, armets, various daggers and longer blades all found places on the shelves between tombs that looked as old as time. Right down to the lighting—wax candles shaped by hand and burning recklessly close to piles of paper and books—which he claimed was just a way to cut back on electricity use. The sofa his clients sat in wasn't the usual therapy couch meant to induce comfort and relaxation; it's edges rounded and climbed up half a foot on all sides so it felt like a coffin missing its lid. A young boy lay inside, eyes trained on a painting depicting a torture that actually took place thousands of years ago. "Tell me, Timothy," Dr. Black paced the room with agonizingly slow steps, exhaling smoke from an archaic pipe in-between each word. "What did the monster look like?" Timothy swallowed, trying to imagine that thing that had frightened him right out of his room. "Well, I kept seeing a light coming from under my closet door." "Describe the light. A bright light? A dark light?" "Aren't all lights bright?" "Not in my experience." "It was like a candle, a little fire in my closet," Timothy sighed, feeling the chills run back up his spine. "And I told my mom, but she didn't believe me." "Of course she didn't, foolish woman." "Excuse me," the boy's mother raised her hand with a nervous smile from just beside the door, resting in a fold out chair that brought a sense of present reality to the room that didn't belong, "aren't you supposed to tell him that it's not real? And should you really be smoking in front of my—" "Silence. I only wish to hear the boy speak." With a little squeak the mother recommitted to her statue like position by the door, clutching an oversized purse in her lap. "Continue, Timothy." "Well, after a couple of nights, I told myself not to be afraid of it. That I should find out what's in my own closet." "Very brave, were you armed?" "I had a pillow." Dr. Black grumbled and puffed his pipe, rolling his eyes. "When I opened the door, there was this.... thing... inside." "What did it look like?" Timothy was shaking now, the recollection clawing at him from deep within his mind. "It was ugly, with a huge nose, a fuzzy beard, and a candle on its head. It started screaming, like a pig does when its mad, so I ran," he wiped his eyes, trying to hide his shame. "I was taller than the monster. I shouldn't have been afraid of it." "Never judge your enemy by its size, Timothy. You've been very brave, and its going to be alright," The doctor moved quickly to his desk, procuring a folder that was dangerously close to being set ablaze by a candle. He shuffled through the papers as he stomped over to Timothy's mother, shoving a sheet in front of her face and inquiring, "Is the address shown on line three your correct and current residence?" His mother, feeling proud to be of assistance, read it five times before answering like she was offering a bit of genius insight, "Yes it is." "Wonderful, this session is finished." Black began to move like he was suddenly late to an incredibly important appointment, grabbing little vials from drawers, a knife, a hefty leather vest, and finally dismounting the crossbow from the wall. "Um, should we come back next week? Or does he need to see a specialist?" the mother still hadn't moved from her seat. "No need, the threat will be eliminated before the sun dips beyond the horizon." He was already making his way out, and the smoke veiled room gasped for air as he opened the door. "Are you going to fight the monster?" Dr. Black turned and smiled at Timothy, sitting upright in the coffin couch. "It's called a kobold, and I'm going to kill it. You are a courageous young man, Tim. Perhaps, someday, you will hunt the monsters in closets too." Timothy's mother chased after Dr. Black as he sprinted down the hall, coughing up smoke as she ran. Her son just sat there in the lowlight, taking in the spectacle that was his therapist's office, imagining himself crusading against the evil that lurked behind his closet door. ___ Thanks for reading! Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily mythical therapy session
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	The child before me is calm, unblinking. So is the monster hulking behind the boy. The monster is the color of fear: liquid black and churning. The white eyes follow me, burning like wolf eyes at night. But I'm good at my job. I'm a professional. I don't even flinch as I smile at the boy. We sit in my therapy space, just a little room at the end of the hall. For children, it's a playroom. Usually I sit here on the floor, idly building a train track or a rocketship until the child forgets we are here for therapy at all and joins me. But the boy doesn't move. He sits dead-eyed, staring at me. The monster stares too. And its eyes aren't the only thing wolf-like about it. Its razor teeth shine at me. It's not the first time I've seen this particular type of demon. But I'm not the one who can kill it. "Liam," I say, keeping my tone light, "don't you want to come play?" I've constructed half a snow village since we walked into this little room. The room is thick with the coppery smell of nightmare. Little Liam shrugs. The monster dribbles drool onto his shoulder. "I don't know," he murmurs. Trains aren't it for him. I can see that now. I turn back to my toy chest and dig into it, not looking at him Now the boy perks with interest. He stands up from the little sofa he sits on to peer at what I'm doing. I don't look at him. I keep digging. I say, "Do you know what I'm afraid of?" Liam shakes his head. "What?" I hold up a pair of tiny flashlights for him. "The dark." Now a hint of a smile tugs at his lip. "I'm not scared of that. I'm not scared of anything." The demon over his shoulder tells me that's not true. "Maybe you can help me be brave about it." I hold out one of the flashlights to him. And then I stand and flick off the light. Only the monster's eyes shine in the dark. The boy flicks on his light. The flashlight marks caves and shadows on his eyes. He bites hard at his lip and lets his fingers dance in the light. Panting spider shadows on the playroom walls. "What scares you, if the night doesn't?" I murmur. The boy considers it. Over his shoulder, the nightmare growls. Liam dares a glance back at it before he spoke. He manages, "Being alone. That's scary." I nod. "That scares me too." I paw through my toy chest until I find what I am looking for. A little set of plastic toys. A hen, a rooster, a tiny chick that hatches from its own egg. "The baby is scared of that too," I tell him. I pluck up the baby chick and pretend to cradle it in my palm. "Why?" Liam asks. He is sitting on the floor next to me now. His guard slips, brick by brick, like taking an old wall down. You have to be careful so you don't crush the child hiding on the other side. His demon snarls and snaps at the edge of the room. But it doesn't dare step closer to us. "I don't know. Why do you think that is?" I point to the hen and the rooster. "What happened with Mommy and Daddy Chicken?" "It wasn't the mommy. It was the daddy." The nightmare lets out a low, baying warning. It's the sound of a floorboard creaking at night. It's the sound of his father, shouting and slamming on his way out of the house. "What did the daddy do?" "He left. He left and he never came back." The boy reaches past me and digs a little chicken coop out of the box. He mimics the rooster strutting out of it. "And it's all your fault, little chick," he made the rooster say. "'I never even wanted kids. Ruining my life.'" "The mommy chicken is glad the baby stayed." The boy turns the hen over in his hand. For a moment, the magic breaks for him. They are just plastic toys again. "No, she isn't," he whispers. I can see the shape of his demon now. It is the shape of unwanting. Of fear and dread. Liam looks at me now with his eyes full of guilt. He opens up like a split orange, now that he is not afraid of me. Afraid of what I might say. "Did the mommy chicken say that to you?" "No," he says. He shrugs. "She doesn't have to." The nightmare over his shoulder grins. The teeth gleam in the flashlight beam. I can hear the scars of the nightmare's bite in those words. I nod over my shoulder. "Your mom wanted you a minute, in the waiting room." Liam frowns. "Why?" I say nothing. I keep marching the little chick family around. But now I pull a plastic wolf from the toy chest and let it skulk around the coop. "Because you don't want to see this part," I say. Liam squares his little shoulders. "Yes I do. I'm brave." That's the answer I expected from him. I've known many children in this line of work. And he's not a child who lets adults fight his battles for him. "The little chick is brave too." I reach back into my box again and pull out the silver-bladed knife. It looks like a toy until the moment you believe in it. Liam believes in it. He sees the metal gleaming. He reaches out for it, his eyes sparkling with that light. "There's a wolf at the door," I tell him. "Do you know what it is?" Liam stares over his shoulder at the nightmare. "It's been there since Daddy left." "What does the baby chick do about it? He can't keep hiding scared. He's brave, right?" The boy stands. He considers the knife in his palm. "He wants to be." I stand with him and close my hand over his. "Maybe he just needs a little help." Now the nightmare doesn't look so brave. It whines and backs up into the corner, looking for a way out. But the walls are insulated. The vent cracks are too small. I planned for demons and all their tricks. I hold my hand over the boy's. His arms shudder as he holds out the knife. To an adult, it looks like plastic. But we both see the truth. "Where's the wolf?" The boy points at the nightmare, huddled in the corner. He whispers, "Won't it bite?" "Don't worry. It's a big scaredy cat." Liam nods and steps closer. The flashlight shines from the floor by his feet, casting shadows on the wall. In the shadow light, we both watch the nightmare scuttle back into the corner. We approach one step at a time. Closer and closer. Liam is the one to lift the knife. He hesitates. His little arms shaking. The nightmare hunkers down low before him and growls. "What is it?" the boy whispers. "Wolves are always fear," I whisper back. "But they don't hide well, in the right light. Not when you look them straight in the eyes and tell them wolf, go away." The boy does. He cries out, "Wolf, go away!" He swings out blindly, over and over. The knife finds purchase, tearing into darkness. The nightmare flees shrieking through the wall, trailing black blood. The tail is the last swishing sight we saw. The boy looks at me. At the black gore splattered on the playroom floor and walls. On his own hands. His mother won't see it. She will never look at the knife and see it's real. She will only see plastic, a boy pretending to attack an empty corner. But I do. I see it all. And for the first time since I've met him, he grins. Children, like all people, just want to be seen. Understood. And now I see him perfectly. I smile too. "You are a brave little chick," I say. * /r/nickofstatic for stories by me and my good friend NickofNight I work with young children at my day job and tried to model this around the play-based therapies that young children actually experience if they need emotional/cognitive behavioral therapy :) * /u/Mirror0fErised did a [reading](https://alicesummers.sounder.fm/show/reading-for-all) of this! :)	Dr. Black's office gave off the impression that his PhD was in medieval weaponry rather than child psychology. His grand desk bent in ways that made it seem like trapped souls were attempting to escape the charred wood; behind it, a crossbow modified with modern mechanisms clung to the wall by two steel hooks. Cuirasses, armets, various daggers and longer blades all found places on the shelves between tombs that looked as old as time. Right down to the lighting—wax candles shaped by hand and burning recklessly close to piles of paper and books—which he claimed was just a way to cut back on electricity use. The sofa his clients sat in wasn't the usual therapy couch meant to induce comfort and relaxation; it's edges rounded and climbed up half a foot on all sides so it felt like a coffin missing its lid. A young boy lay inside, eyes trained on a painting depicting a torture that actually took place thousands of years ago. "Tell me, Timothy," Dr. Black paced the room with agonizingly slow steps, exhaling smoke from an archaic pipe in-between each word. "What did the monster look like?" Timothy swallowed, trying to imagine that thing that had frightened him right out of his room. "Well, I kept seeing a light coming from under my closet door." "Describe the light. A bright light? A dark light?" "Aren't all lights bright?" "Not in my experience." "It was like a candle, a little fire in my closet," Timothy sighed, feeling the chills run back up his spine. "And I told my mom, but she didn't believe me." "Of course she didn't, foolish woman." "Excuse me," the boy's mother raised her hand with a nervous smile from just beside the door, resting in a fold out chair that brought a sense of present reality to the room that didn't belong, "aren't you supposed to tell him that it's not real? And should you really be smoking in front of my—" "Silence. I only wish to hear the boy speak." With a little squeak the mother recommitted to her statue like position by the door, clutching an oversized purse in her lap. "Continue, Timothy." "Well, after a couple of nights, I told myself not to be afraid of it. That I should find out what's in my own closet." "Very brave, were you armed?" "I had a pillow." Dr. Black grumbled and puffed his pipe, rolling his eyes. "When I opened the door, there was this.... thing... inside." "What did it look like?" Timothy was shaking now, the recollection clawing at him from deep within his mind. "It was ugly, with a huge nose, a fuzzy beard, and a candle on its head. It started screaming, like a pig does when its mad, so I ran," he wiped his eyes, trying to hide his shame. "I was taller than the monster. I shouldn't have been afraid of it." "Never judge your enemy by its size, Timothy. You've been very brave, and its going to be alright," The doctor moved quickly to his desk, procuring a folder that was dangerously close to being set ablaze by a candle. He shuffled through the papers as he stomped over to Timothy's mother, shoving a sheet in front of her face and inquiring, "Is the address shown on line three your correct and current residence?" His mother, feeling proud to be of assistance, read it five times before answering like she was offering a bit of genius insight, "Yes it is." "Wonderful, this session is finished." Black began to move like he was suddenly late to an incredibly important appointment, grabbing little vials from drawers, a knife, a hefty leather vest, and finally dismounting the crossbow from the wall. "Um, should we come back next week? Or does he need to see a specialist?" the mother still hadn't moved from her seat. "No need, the threat will be eliminated before the sun dips beyond the horizon." He was already making his way out, and the smoke veiled room gasped for air as he opened the door. "Are you going to fight the monster?" Dr. Black turned and smiled at Timothy, sitting upright in the coffin couch. "It's called a kobold, and I'm going to kill it. You are a courageous young man, Tim. Perhaps, someday, you will hunt the monsters in closets too." Timothy's mother chased after Dr. Black as he sprinted down the hall, coughing up smoke as she ran. Her son just sat there in the lowlight, taking in the spectacle that was his therapist's office, imagining himself crusading against the evil that lurked behind his closet door. ___ Thanks for reading! Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily mythical therapy session
	[WP] You are a child therapist who treats extreme cases of children terrified of a monster in their closet. They're extreme because they're real, and you're actually secretly a demon hunter using these therapy sessions to gather intel on the monsters before killing them.	It's late when I get the call. I take a final swig of the grain alcohol before setting the bottle down on my bed, which is a plain mattress on the concrete floor. My equipment is in a black satchel by the door. I only take things out for cleaning or use. Otherwise it's at all times ready for action, just as I'm supposed to be. I rest my forehead on the unpainted drywall. There's a lot in need of fixing in my life. But I picture myself at a party surrounded by happy smiling people, maybe I'm dressed in chinos and a button-up shirt, and the image is all wrong. That's not who I am, nor is it who I'll be. I grab the bottle off my bed and slip it in my satchel on my way out. *** There's cops outside the house. They're always around when I get called in. Their lights sweep across the suburban homes like bloody paintbrushes. I'm unsteady making my way up the paved walkway and Detective Bradley, who's waiting just inside the door, offers me a little smile. "You up for this one?" I give me her back a smile and a shrug. She nods in acknowledgement. "Room or kid?" The alcohol's pressing against the backs of my eyes. I'm not ready for the kid yet. "Room." The weight of the situation settles onto me once I get to the child's bedroom and I see the wallpaper hanging in torn strips, the blankets lying about in pieces, and the closet, that black beckoning emptiness, wide open. For a moment, I match looks with that abyss, and within the darkness I sense a recognition. Yes, our time is coming, creature. The child is with her parents in the kitchen. I join them there, and now the energy of the evening has pushed the alcohol from my mind. I've come alive to the details of this night. The parents are well-dressed and well-groomed in a plain sort of way. Could be a couple of accountants. The husband's eyes are starkly wide and his mouth is working like a fish's, while the mother has her hands on her hips and she keeps adjusting her focus between objects in the room, as though the explanation for the nights happenings might be found behind some corner of normalcy. Detective Bradley pulls them aside with vague explanations as to my business here. The little girl has dark braided hair and she holds a fire blanket around her shoulders. Her face holds no expression. She has likely given up on explaining what happened. That's the smart move. There are no explanations. There is only what happened. I take a knee in front of her. "Hi, there," I say. "What's your name?" Her eyelids swing shut and open. A slow blink. Detective Bradley mouths the name 'Alice' to me. "It sure is busy in here, isn't it, Alice?" Another blink. Her eyes trace a slow path up from the ground to meet mine. I smile at her conspiratorially. "You know how to make things quieter?" She shakes her head. "You have to help us find out." She sniffles. "Find what?" "What's up?" She frowns. "What's up with the closet?" Her head goes back and she burrows her nose down into the fire blanket. "Hey, hey, hey," I say. "Can I tell you a secret?" No response. "I actually live inside a closet." Her eyes return to mine. "Do you?" "I do. It's dark in there, and kind of scary, but I live there because I know how to make closets ok." "The closet is scary." I hum in agreement. "That's where it lives." She pulls the fire blanket tighter around her shoulders. I spread my palms wide. "I can make it not live there." Alice glances from me to her parents. Her mother, who is herself uncertain, looks to Detective Bradley, who nods. Alice's mother passes that confirmation on to Alice. "It's mean," Alice says. "Yes, I'm sure it is," I say. "Alice, can you tell me, does it have claws?" A shudder travels the length of her spine. Under her breath, she says, "No." "And does it have teeth?" She shakes her head. "It's not a thing," she says. "A thing?" "It's not made of stuff," she says. "It's like air. It can be air." An incorporeal monster. That would go a long way to explaining the poor girl's confusion. She's not only been terrorized, but she's been so by something her young mind can't fathom. We go on in this way for a few more minutes, me teasing bits of information from the girl, her doing her best to make sense of her living nightmare. It's not a pleasant process for either of us. I don't envy her having to relive these, and I do not enjoy encouraging her to do so. Unfortunately, it's a professional necessity. The night creatures are broad in their variety, while our clashes in the darkness of the abyss can be lightning quick. To enter into battle unprepared is to die. Once I'm confident that I have the information I need, I thank the girl for helping me and offer her a triple-chocolate cookie from my satchel. That's my only item of equipment that I fully enjoy putting to work. I excuse myself from the kitchen and return to the bedroom. In so doing, I return to the watchful eye of darkness. Flutters of nervousness steal into my stomach. This is the moment when my instinct for self-preservation makes itself known. This is, after all, just a job. I needn't risk my life tonight. But my life isn't all that important. Better that I should go than someone else. I take a swig of grain alcohol and let that dully burning liquid do away with my nervousness. In the dark of the hallway, I equip myself. Tonight will see me using little in the way of slashing or stabbing weaponry. Not against an incorporeal creature. I put on goggles, cover my ears, seal up my nose and mouth, and ensure that my reinforced underclothes are snug against my skin. Then I strap a beam of holy light to my wrist, a high-powered fan to my forearm, and I slip into my reinforced and oiled leather trenchcoat. It's at this point that Detective Bradley appears next to me. "I don't envy you," she says. "I've taken a bullet before, but this..." "You're a good person, Detective Bradley," I say. "The secret to doing my job well, is not to be." We share a look as she considers that line. It was a weak joke, of sorts, and she half-smiles at it. But she knows that I believe it to be true, and I know she would disagree if I asked her what she thought of me. We linger on this unspoken disagreement. "Be safe," she says. "It's too late for that," I reply. The darkness awaits. *** continued below	Suzy set rocking back and forth in the oversized plush chair. I had an assortment of toys and dolls for her to chose from, and she currently had a stuffed dragon clasped to her chest. Her eyes were wide, and her breathing shallow. I could see her gripping the doll as tightly as she could. The poor baby was terrified. Her parents had called and made an emergency session with me, saying that she’d awoken at 1am this morning, screaming hysterically. She hadn’t calmed down since. “Suzy honey, can you tell me what woke you up?” Her eyes darted around the room, the poor dragon’s neck would have broken had it had a spine, and she shook her head vigorously. “How about this, were you scared to go to bed, before you woke up?” A tentative stare at me, but less fear. A short shake of her tousled blonde hair. So, this was a first instance of this. Alright… “Suzy, when you woke up, you screamed. Your mom and dad came in, and turned on the light. Did the monster go away when they opened the door, or when the light turned on.” Her eyes widened with fear again, and she tucked her face into the plush. “Light,” she said, the word nearly lost into the fluff. So, whatever it was, it wasn’t afraid of her parents presence just the light. Interesting. I’d gotten her to speak, which is more than she’d done since she’d awoken screaming. Even if it was a single word. I doubted she’d be able to tell me any more about the monster today, but I’d do my best. “Would you like to play a game Suzy?” I motioned to a doll house that I had set up. I had a Mommy and a Daddy doll, as well as a little boy and a little girl. Suzy carefully got down and started to play. The dolls played around the house, ate, and even “walked” the dragon she’d still not let go of. But she did not put them in bed. “Suzy, it’s almost time to go, maybe you should put the dolls in bed so that next time you visit, they’ll be ready to wake up.” “No.” Her little voice was almost hysterical as she said that. “What if the children stay in Mommy and Daddy’s room.” “No,” this time was calmer, more defiant. “They’re safe here,” I cajoled, trying to make her feel better. “But I won’t be safe when I go home.” “What if I came and got rid of the monster?” I asked lightly. “Would you?” She looked at me hopefully. “If your mommy and daddy say it’s alright.” “Will you ask them? Please?” I could see she was desperate for me to go. “I will.” --- “Mr. and Mrs. Alvarez,” I said looking between the two adults, each of whom had a hand on their daughter’s shoulder, “I specialize in calming children in their own rooms. If you would allow, I would love to do a home visit for Suzy, and we can – all together of course – rid her room of the monster.” They’d agreed of course, as Suzy’d begged them to the point of crying and saying she’d not go back into the bedroom until the monster was banished. Now here we were, standing in her small, pink bedroom. Everything was frills and cuteness, and it was actually a bit overwhelming. But it didn’t matter – we were here to ‘banish’ the monster. In reality, I’d be exorcising a demon. Not from the realm – not just yet – but from her bedroom, and from the house. ___ For more by me and others check out r/RedditSerials
	[WP] There is a fungus that affects ants nervous system, compelling them to climb to the highest point they can so they get eaten by birds, helping the fungus to spread. A similar fungus has just been discovered in people who have an urge to go to space.	No one knew where it'd come from, or why it even existed. They only knew how dangerous it was. Humanity have always tried to push the limits. Sometimes it works and we change the course of history forever- but sometimes it doesn't and we risk destroying everything that could be. This was one of those times. I still remember hearing stories of the very first moon landing. I remember watching the video of it and even though it was blurry and only a few minutes long, I watched it regardless. Everything about the moon and space and what lay beyond had always amazed me. Until one day, someone went to the moon and it went wrong. Horribly wrong. On the outside it was a successful mission, a woman named Cora was in charge of the mission to extract some rocks from beneath the moons surface. Everything was running smoothly and her along with the rest of her team came back unharmed. That was until Cora began to slowly unravel. I only knew this because I used to work with her, the public didn't find out until much, much later. First Cora began to say little things like "I miss the moon" or "I hope I go back one day" which was a common thing to hear from astronauts. But then it spiralled out of control and she started to shout and throw things- demanding to be put on a ship immediately to take her back. It got worse when the rest of her team began to do the same. No one could figure out what was making them watch the moon for hours on end, or want to risk their lives just to go back. They thought they had time to figure out what was wrong with Cora and her team but soon they families got 'infected' and then the people who worked with them too. The pandemic was known as "mooncraze". People diagnosed were put in therapy and most of them recovered after years and years of endless therapy and drugs. The ones who didn't went crazy. There's still rumours today of scientists using mooncraze to experiment on people with the disease and there's even some rumours which say mooncraze victims are blackmailed into into becoming astronauts because of the shortage of them due to fear of the disease. It's wrong I know, but I can only hope we find a cure for it one day. But one day only comes when you take matter into your own hands. That's when I decided to train to become an astronaut and get myself to the moon before all of humanity go crazy. It would take years for me to achieve this but I had to try, and try I will. Maybe part 2, I'm not sure yet :)	From the leaves outside the window, escaped rays of light as lightsabers cracking through the poverty of the room and projecting a monochromatic visual which is aligned with the nature of Pavan. His name, like his compatriots, had a significant meaning to the course of actions they might take. It's literal meaning, the "sky" in Sanskrit. As he picks up his bag to get back for the first rocket launch for mankind it dawns upon him the contrast of what marks as a beginning for one would inevitably be the end of the other. Mark: What do you think is out there? Pavan: The mystery around this is as transparent as the clear water flowing out of rocks on a sea shore. Whatever happens, it would be a first for all of us. Mark: Look at you getting all puffed up. They began their ascent with immense power and pressure seemingly rendering their environment powerless but as they rose higher the entire show of power was levelled down by the absence of the atmosphere as the voyager callously floated around. This is when things start to get a little hazy because that's when they arrived, I saw them. My prophecy started instigating me to get out there and finish this imbalance of power. Tan - I know what seemed like a fortunate turn of events, wasn't. Before I could even react, Pavan launched himself forward offering his very soul which was the last I saw of him and the next thing I know I'm back here. The sudden rush of lights portrayed out as an emulsification on the black canvas which was the epitome of my consciousness as it faded out. Mrs. Trembler - You went the extra mile today. Hopefully, this works in your favour tomorrow. Tan - These sessions take a real toll on my body. Mrs. Trembler - We really need the best from you so that you don't have any lapses in your next voyage. They both left the space that was created to unearth the most important journey that an ant had ever taken to reach the very heights to settle the imbalance of power which would have lifted if the ant was able to donte his soul, his fungus, for a lifetime access to human sweets.
	[WP] There is a fungus that affects ants nervous system, compelling them to climb to the highest point they can so they get eaten by birds, helping the fungus to spread. A similar fungus has just been discovered in people who have an urge to go to space.	“I just... don’t you think that setting your sights a little... lower... might be better?” My mother shot a dagger laden glare at my father. “Are puns really what we need right now?” “I didn’t realise when I said it...” “Perhaps try think before you speak? I really don’t think that we need to ... “ This would go on for some time. I was so sick of my parents arguing and arguing about this. It had become so repetitive that I was prepared for this moment. Them devolving into arguing with eachother rather than me wasn’t a new moment, this moment had played out enough times that I could almost write a script for it. Not that I would. I had other things on my mind. The tests we’d taken at school weren’t at all what we’d thought. Knowing what these astronauts were like... these pillars of humanity... stronger and smarter and more driven than anyone you’d met in the real world. We’d expected aggressive drill sergeants making us do pushups until we puke. Scientists and engineers that invoked visions of Einstein and Bohr drilling us on boiling points of materials, velocity equations, Newtonian physics. What we hadn’t expected were the psychologists. Not like Freud. They were actually more like the scientists we’d expected than how you’d envision a psychologist. These were not soft hippies that wanted to hug you better, or Jung rambling about a collective unconscious. These were military personnel. They were cold, and efficient, and had so many forms to fill in that we thought the paperwork would never end. Endless questions about topics that seemed entirely unrelated to the space program. “If you and your father both want to use the computer, how do you resolve the conflict?” “A student in class has brought a weapon to school, but they did it to keep it away from a violent sibling. A teacher has heard a rumour that someone has a weapon, and has cornered you and asked if you know the culprit. What do you do?” “You’re incredibly hungry, but you know you have already eaten enough for the day. On a scale of 1-7 rate the likelihood that you eat anyway: 1-Very unlikely, 2-...” Everyone at the school took the first rounds of testing. Who wouldn’t? Astronauts were revered, highly paid individuals with potentially the coolest job in the universe. Though, potentially that phrase would be a bit much given the occupation. The coolest job a high-schooler could hope for. Not that you immediately got into the program if you did well in the tests. They would just send you to do the pre-astronaut programs at one of the (very few, very elite) accredited universities. “Emily. EMILY!” Dang. Zoned out for a bit long. They’d gotten through the internal conflict and had focused back on me. “Yes mother dearest...” “Don’t you use that tone with me!” She was right. I shouldn’t, but this argument had happened so many times I was just so bored with it. “Sorry. Look... I know you think it is scary but, but really, like, what better opportunity could I hope for? It’s pretty much...” “Honey,” my father interjected, in a tone much more amicable than my mothers, “we don’t expect you to find a better opportunity, sure, just one more... terrestrial?” “Really? Terrestrial? Why is that better?” “Because then we won’t have to worry that you may never come back one day. We’re just worried ab...” “Yeah, yeah, I get it Dad, I do, but I think a little less worry on your part does not make up for what I’d be giving up.” My words seemed harsh, but I hope my tone conveyed my meaning better. It wasn’t that I didn’t care what they felt, my heart broke at the thought of leaving them and maybe never seeing them again. But... what really were my other options? I was not a fantastic student. Not bad, but not great. Good. But good doesn’t get you medals. I was not an athlete, I was not going to be getting a volleyball scholarship any time soon. I had been terrified since I was 13 years old and started thinking about the future that I was destined to be an accountant, a dental assistant, an angry house-wife calling the local council at people making too much noise during my day-time soaps. I was not a tortured artist or a gamer or a tik-tok star. I was just... there. “A nice normal girl” my friends would say to try comfort me, but when you’ve grown up on a steady diet of seeing Angelina Jolies, Hillary Clintons, Gretas and Rosas and Curies, and any number of amazing women doing amazing things... being a nice normal girl didn’t seem like enough. I had no idea how I had gotten accepted. But I had. I did not want to look back at the life of medium that had terrified me for so long. Not the sharp terror of not going to sleep, but that weak aching terror that was always seventeen layers deep in your mind, not ever enough to keep you awake a night, but enough that you always woke up slightly unhappy, slightly uncomfortable, and that sometimes tears were just a little too close. I didn’t want that back. I had been waking up excited. Elated. Ready. I was not going to be a nice average girl any more. I was going to be a frikkin rockstar. Or... whatever the government employee / scientist version of that was. I was going to be real. My parents looked at eachother, their eyes communicating thoughts I couldn’t quite catch, and eventually my mother nodded softly, her eyes turning down as she did it. “Fine. Let’s get going then.” \-cont-	From the leaves outside the window, escaped rays of light as lightsabers cracking through the poverty of the room and projecting a monochromatic visual which is aligned with the nature of Pavan. His name, like his compatriots, had a significant meaning to the course of actions they might take. It's literal meaning, the "sky" in Sanskrit. As he picks up his bag to get back for the first rocket launch for mankind it dawns upon him the contrast of what marks as a beginning for one would inevitably be the end of the other. Mark: What do you think is out there? Pavan: The mystery around this is as transparent as the clear water flowing out of rocks on a sea shore. Whatever happens, it would be a first for all of us. Mark: Look at you getting all puffed up. They began their ascent with immense power and pressure seemingly rendering their environment powerless but as they rose higher the entire show of power was levelled down by the absence of the atmosphere as the voyager callously floated around. This is when things start to get a little hazy because that's when they arrived, I saw them. My prophecy started instigating me to get out there and finish this imbalance of power. Tan - I know what seemed like a fortunate turn of events, wasn't. Before I could even react, Pavan launched himself forward offering his very soul which was the last I saw of him and the next thing I know I'm back here. The sudden rush of lights portrayed out as an emulsification on the black canvas which was the epitome of my consciousness as it faded out. Mrs. Trembler - You went the extra mile today. Hopefully, this works in your favour tomorrow. Tan - These sessions take a real toll on my body. Mrs. Trembler - We really need the best from you so that you don't have any lapses in your next voyage. They both left the space that was created to unearth the most important journey that an ant had ever taken to reach the very heights to settle the imbalance of power which would have lifted if the ant was able to donte his soul, his fungus, for a lifetime access to human sweets.
	[WP] There is a fungus that affects ants nervous system, compelling them to climb to the highest point they can so they get eaten by birds, helping the fungus to spread. A similar fungus has just been discovered in people who have an urge to go to space.	No one knew where it'd come from, or why it even existed. They only knew how dangerous it was. Humanity have always tried to push the limits. Sometimes it works and we change the course of history forever- but sometimes it doesn't and we risk destroying everything that could be. This was one of those times. I still remember hearing stories of the very first moon landing. I remember watching the video of it and even though it was blurry and only a few minutes long, I watched it regardless. Everything about the moon and space and what lay beyond had always amazed me. Until one day, someone went to the moon and it went wrong. Horribly wrong. On the outside it was a successful mission, a woman named Cora was in charge of the mission to extract some rocks from beneath the moons surface. Everything was running smoothly and her along with the rest of her team came back unharmed. That was until Cora began to slowly unravel. I only knew this because I used to work with her, the public didn't find out until much, much later. First Cora began to say little things like "I miss the moon" or "I hope I go back one day" which was a common thing to hear from astronauts. But then it spiralled out of control and she started to shout and throw things- demanding to be put on a ship immediately to take her back. It got worse when the rest of her team began to do the same. No one could figure out what was making them watch the moon for hours on end, or want to risk their lives just to go back. They thought they had time to figure out what was wrong with Cora and her team but soon they families got 'infected' and then the people who worked with them too. The pandemic was known as "mooncraze". People diagnosed were put in therapy and most of them recovered after years and years of endless therapy and drugs. The ones who didn't went crazy. There's still rumours today of scientists using mooncraze to experiment on people with the disease and there's even some rumours which say mooncraze victims are blackmailed into into becoming astronauts because of the shortage of them due to fear of the disease. It's wrong I know, but I can only hope we find a cure for it one day. But one day only comes when you take matter into your own hands. That's when I decided to train to become an astronaut and get myself to the moon before all of humanity go crazy. It would take years for me to achieve this but I had to try, and try I will. Maybe part 2, I'm not sure yet :)	We don't know who the first to be infected was. How could we? It infected people at such a low rate and the symptom was ridiculous a desire to go to space. The first wave of infections was probably minor. Things got worse after the accident. Finding out years later that multiple rockets and satellites all funded by an independent company was no accident. Their CEO was worshiped by so many members of the public that it was considered a tragedy when his ship, his first voyage ended so devastatingly. Even trying to bring up the idea that it had all gone according to a plan was considered in bad taste, people were quickly shut down anytime they tried to bring up what others considered to be "conspiracy theories. It was a few years after that the fungus came to the attention of the public and the world. Something that was released into the atmosphere after the explosion. Not everyone was infested but enough that everyone at least knew someone was. The symptoms weren't that bad. An urge to go into space, what's so terrible about that. Some however they didn't sleep normally anymore. During the day they were perfectly normal but as soon as night fell it would happen. They would stop whatever they were doing and they would go outside and just stare at the sky. It was as if they were waiting for something. My father was one of the infected and it greatly affected his life. He lost his nights. He would tremble as soon as the sun went down. Even later in life when he was restricted to a bed he would do all he could to try and get up until someone would have to wheel him over to a window in order to get him settled. Now there were new reports. Changes in some of the infected and then something even more astounding. There was an object, something moving that had entered our solar system. Reports were that it was dark, sticking to the shadows of other planets as it slowly made its way to Earth. Now the infected were more frantic when they went outside, as if they were looking for something. Waiting for what it was to come down.
	[WP] As the demons of sleep paralysis become more present in our world, people begin employing “Dream Hunters” to finish the nightmares for good. This is your first assignment.	"So I'm supposed to continue doing exactly what I've been doing, and you're going to cure me?" my client balked. My training didn't prepare me on how to engage with angry customers. "Yes, sir. You go ahead and attempt to fall asleep as you typically do, and I'll take care of the rest." I said unsure of myself. It was my first day on the job, so I lacked the any previous experience to use as self-encouragement. "Dream Hunters," my customer said as he rolled his eyes, "what kind of name is that? My doctor wrote me a referral for you guys and, let me tell ya, you ain't covered by insurance! So I hope you can understand my nervousness when they send me some young kid like you to cure what has, until very recently, not been curable!" Young? Yes. Kid? I was almost 22, surely that can't be considered a kid these day. I stared back at the balding man before me with more intent this time. I don't think he completely understood my job description... "And in order to cure me you're going to have me keep doing what I always do?" He said incredulously. "Oh Martha, if you could see me now!" "Sir, if you'd kindly lay down we can get this started." I made my tone more assertive in hopes of motivating him to comply. He gave me one last look down, his greying eyebrow raised in skepticism, but then acquiesced to my request mumbling something about his high insurance premium rates. “Sir, lastly, could you wear these glasses?” I asked as I handed him what appeared to be large-rimmed reading glasses. “Oh great, now I look like I’m back in the 90s.” my customer said with his usual tone of sarcasm. “The future is all I thought it’d be back when I wore glasses like these.” I gave out an audible sigh of frustration. “Sir, please, do you want to be cured of your sleep paralysis or not?” His face became serious for once as he nodded his head. As he put on the black glasses I noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. It must have been weeks since he had a good night’s sleep. Was it the inability to rest? Or the fear? I nodded back at him, gave him a warm smile and headed over to the corner of the room. “Uh, excuse me?” He questioned. “What are you doing way over there?” “Hiding,” I said in a hushed voice. He looked around the room for a few moments and then returned his sight to me. “From what?” He whispered. “You’ll see!” I said as I motioned for him to stay silent with my finger. “Now go to sleep and this will all be over before you know it.” The last part of that sentence came out less confident than I would have hoped. I looked back over to him as he began to settle into bed. Thankfully, I don’t think he caught my change in tone. This was my first assignment alone. Typically the glasses I gave him would have been for a partner who might have come along for the job, but since he was being so ill-mannered with me, I thought he should see what his money was getting him. What people like him didn’t know was that we finally understood what was causing sleep paralysis. What they also didn’t know is that they wouldn’t believe us even if we told them the truth. I felt the temperature in the room drop. Nothing significant, but enough to detect it with my recent training. I reached into my duffel bag and drew out my weapon; a jet black revolver, loaded with anti-specter viles. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a presence enter the room. I kept my head down as I tried to recompose myself. My client must finally be settling in for some much needed sleep. My hand was trembling nervously at the thought of what was to come. I took in a deep breath and stood up hesitantly as I finally looked up to observe the scene before me. An eight foot figure shrouded in what appeared to be darkness in the flesh loomed about three feet from the foot of the bed. I looked over to the face of my client to see if he had opened his eyes yet. As I repositioned myself to get a better look, I watched as the demon stooped down and delicately touched the balding scalp of the restless man. At that moment his eyes shot open, and terror seized his entire body. He lay there, paralyzed, as he had done so for many years, but this time - thanks to those glasses - he could see what ailed him. His mouth opened to yell, but all that came out were exasperated gasps. “STRANGE. CAN YOU SEE ME, OLD MAN?” The demon’s voice bellowed across the room. Thankfully, I hadn’t given the “old man” the accompanying hearing aids to go along with his glasses, so he couldn't hear the demon speak. Otherwise, I fear my client would have died from a heart attack before he died of sleep deprivation. Well, this was my moment. I raised my revolver and took my first shot. BANG. The shot rang around the confines of the room, but the bullet missed to the demon’s right. The exploded vile evaporated into the air behind the demon’s dark outline. Almost as soon as I had taken the shot, the demon had turned his gaze upon me. Woops. He let his grasp of my customer go and started heading towards me. My hand fumbled to pull the hammer of my gun. “AND WHO MIGHT YOU BE?” the demon asked as he halved the distance between us. I raised my gun a second time, but took a moment to steady my breathing before firing. I wouldn’t be getting a third chance. BANG. The vile exploded upon his large frame and his essence began burning in a blaze of blue flames. “THIS WON’T BE THE LAST-” the demon began, but was gone before he could complete his thought. I returned to my client and was pleasantly surprised to find him asleep already. Wait a minute. I checked to make sure he was breathing after what had just transpired. Phew. Yeah, he was alive. I gently pulled the glasses off his head and headed towards the door. Well, that wasn’t too bad. I quietly opened the door and let myself out. \---- When I got home I lay in bed thinking over what I had just accomplished. A sense of pride washed over me as I settled in for sleep. I let my eyes shut as I replayed my victorious first job assignment in my head. Just as I was about to fall into a deep sleep I felt something change. Was the air condition on? Because it felt colder. Almost like the temperature had suddenly dropped a degree or two… Uh oh.	"Finally!" I cried out excited as Chief Gareth led me to the door behind which was the Conscience Tranfer Device, a machine that would free my conscience to travel into another person's mind. I took one last look at the information in the sheet. Destiny Richards. Twenty-four. SP category: unclassified. "Sir, why is this SP entity unclassified?" Curiosity nagged at me. "Oh. You got Miss Richards' case? Good luck, Officer Mikkelsen. You'll need a lot of it out there." He smiled as he led me to the chair in the middle of the room. As I sat down, he placed the device on my head. The device that looked like a huge helmet was heavier than the training CTD's I was familiar with. "The CTD is a little heavier than the training CTD because this requires to help your conscience travel longer distances for longer periods of time. You remember protocol?" "Yes, sir! Find the SP entity, decapacitate it as soon as I can while causing the least amount of panic in the client, capture the SP entity and transfer back. Trust me, sir. I won't disappoint." I smiled at him. Then, I felt the familiar buzz as the CTD began the transfer. One minute later, I was in a woman's bedroom. As I approached her, I followed her gaze. A tall man in an all-white suit stood in the corner of the room. His cold grey eyes watched her like a hawk before taking out a gun. I quickly withdrew the gun in my holster and shot him. But, unlike what I expected, he did not fall to the floor in pain. He rather turned his head to look at me. I began feeling her fear. Trying to keep my act together, I focused on my breathing as I prepared to shoot a second time. "Officer. You are new." He grinned. The woman on the bed finally turned her head, finally come out of her sleep paralysis episode. Yet, her eyes were wide in fear. Then, she shrieked, jolting me and the man in front of me. "How can she still..." As I watched, she took a handgun out of her bedside stand and pointed it at me. Then, shot it. The glass of the cupboard behind me shattered. Without another thought, I shot the man again and a third time. The third time, he collapsed to the floor. I took out the handcuffs and cuffed his hands behind him before initiating the transfer. A minute later, I woke up in the room with Chief Gareth watching me. "What happened?" "What the hell is that entity? And how could she see me?" "Oh no!" He got up panicked and walked over to the room behind the CTD room where the entities were kept until they were transferred to their own cell for safekeeping. When he opened the door, the man rushed out, throwing the chief to the floor. He held a CTD in his hand. "We meet again, officer." --- For updates and for other stories, check out my sub r/DooooubleAyWrites .
	[WP] As the demons of sleep paralysis become more present in our world, people begin employing “Dream Hunters” to finish the nightmares for good. This is your first assignment.	"So I'm supposed to continue doing exactly what I've been doing, and you're going to cure me?" my client balked. My training didn't prepare me on how to engage with angry customers. "Yes, sir. You go ahead and attempt to fall asleep as you typically do, and I'll take care of the rest." I said unsure of myself. It was my first day on the job, so I lacked the any previous experience to use as self-encouragement. "Dream Hunters," my customer said as he rolled his eyes, "what kind of name is that? My doctor wrote me a referral for you guys and, let me tell ya, you ain't covered by insurance! So I hope you can understand my nervousness when they send me some young kid like you to cure what has, until very recently, not been curable!" Young? Yes. Kid? I was almost 22, surely that can't be considered a kid these day. I stared back at the balding man before me with more intent this time. I don't think he completely understood my job description... "And in order to cure me you're going to have me keep doing what I always do?" He said incredulously. "Oh Martha, if you could see me now!" "Sir, if you'd kindly lay down we can get this started." I made my tone more assertive in hopes of motivating him to comply. He gave me one last look down, his greying eyebrow raised in skepticism, but then acquiesced to my request mumbling something about his high insurance premium rates. “Sir, lastly, could you wear these glasses?” I asked as I handed him what appeared to be large-rimmed reading glasses. “Oh great, now I look like I’m back in the 90s.” my customer said with his usual tone of sarcasm. “The future is all I thought it’d be back when I wore glasses like these.” I gave out an audible sigh of frustration. “Sir, please, do you want to be cured of your sleep paralysis or not?” His face became serious for once as he nodded his head. As he put on the black glasses I noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. It must have been weeks since he had a good night’s sleep. Was it the inability to rest? Or the fear? I nodded back at him, gave him a warm smile and headed over to the corner of the room. “Uh, excuse me?” He questioned. “What are you doing way over there?” “Hiding,” I said in a hushed voice. He looked around the room for a few moments and then returned his sight to me. “From what?” He whispered. “You’ll see!” I said as I motioned for him to stay silent with my finger. “Now go to sleep and this will all be over before you know it.” The last part of that sentence came out less confident than I would have hoped. I looked back over to him as he began to settle into bed. Thankfully, I don’t think he caught my change in tone. This was my first assignment alone. Typically the glasses I gave him would have been for a partner who might have come along for the job, but since he was being so ill-mannered with me, I thought he should see what his money was getting him. What people like him didn’t know was that we finally understood what was causing sleep paralysis. What they also didn’t know is that they wouldn’t believe us even if we told them the truth. I felt the temperature in the room drop. Nothing significant, but enough to detect it with my recent training. I reached into my duffel bag and drew out my weapon; a jet black revolver, loaded with anti-specter viles. My heart skipped a beat as I felt a presence enter the room. I kept my head down as I tried to recompose myself. My client must finally be settling in for some much needed sleep. My hand was trembling nervously at the thought of what was to come. I took in a deep breath and stood up hesitantly as I finally looked up to observe the scene before me. An eight foot figure shrouded in what appeared to be darkness in the flesh loomed about three feet from the foot of the bed. I looked over to the face of my client to see if he had opened his eyes yet. As I repositioned myself to get a better look, I watched as the demon stooped down and delicately touched the balding scalp of the restless man. At that moment his eyes shot open, and terror seized his entire body. He lay there, paralyzed, as he had done so for many years, but this time - thanks to those glasses - he could see what ailed him. His mouth opened to yell, but all that came out were exasperated gasps. “STRANGE. CAN YOU SEE ME, OLD MAN?” The demon’s voice bellowed across the room. Thankfully, I hadn’t given the “old man” the accompanying hearing aids to go along with his glasses, so he couldn't hear the demon speak. Otherwise, I fear my client would have died from a heart attack before he died of sleep deprivation. Well, this was my moment. I raised my revolver and took my first shot. BANG. The shot rang around the confines of the room, but the bullet missed to the demon’s right. The exploded vile evaporated into the air behind the demon’s dark outline. Almost as soon as I had taken the shot, the demon had turned his gaze upon me. Woops. He let his grasp of my customer go and started heading towards me. My hand fumbled to pull the hammer of my gun. “AND WHO MIGHT YOU BE?” the demon asked as he halved the distance between us. I raised my gun a second time, but took a moment to steady my breathing before firing. I wouldn’t be getting a third chance. BANG. The vile exploded upon his large frame and his essence began burning in a blaze of blue flames. “THIS WON’T BE THE LAST-” the demon began, but was gone before he could complete his thought. I returned to my client and was pleasantly surprised to find him asleep already. Wait a minute. I checked to make sure he was breathing after what had just transpired. Phew. Yeah, he was alive. I gently pulled the glasses off his head and headed towards the door. Well, that wasn’t too bad. I quietly opened the door and let myself out. \---- When I got home I lay in bed thinking over what I had just accomplished. A sense of pride washed over me as I settled in for sleep. I let my eyes shut as I replayed my victorious first job assignment in my head. Just as I was about to fall into a deep sleep I felt something change. Was the air condition on? Because it felt colder. Almost like the temperature had suddenly dropped a degree or two… Uh oh.	I look down at the sleeping form of my client, leaning against the wall of their room. Dream Hunters, I think, what a name. I tap my fingers against the wall and wait for my client to enter her sleep paralysis. That’s when she’s most vulnerable, so that’s when I need to be the most active. It’s boring work, though. ‘Dream Hunting.’ It’s a lot of waiting around for just about five minutes of excitement, but it’s what I’m stuck doing. It’s the only way for my kind of people to survive these days. Or these nights, I suppose. I tap the wall in frustration. At this rate, I’m beginning to think she might not actually have sleep paralysis. I snarl at her silently. Come on, lady, I don’t have all night. But she doesn’t react, so I’m forced to spend more time just tapping at the wall. I can’t watch TV or read a book or do anything, I’m stuck in this dream state until she decides to get to the point where I need her to be. As much as I regret taking this assignment, I just have to deal with it. I check the clock, and see that it’s two minutes to three. Right before she says it happens. I grin and start to stretch, getting ready for what’s about to happen. I crack my knuckles and roll my neck, slowly walking to the bed and trailing a finger along the dresser nearby without any feeling. I feel like a fog is lifted, and the dresser solidifies underneath my finger. A purple haze fades and now the entire room is an eerie blackness. I don’t mind, though, I’m surrounded by darkness often enough. I look down at my client whose eyes are wide and frozen in terror as she stares in my direction. I gaze down at her with my yellow eyes, running my clawed nail across her throat. I can’t help but chuckle as she lies frozen before me. My voice is gravelly and unnatural, my fangs making normal speech difficult. “You’re not very clever, did you know that? You’re hunted by a demon who appears when you’re at your most vulnerable, and who do you turn to?” I squat down so she can look into my reptilian eyes. “Dream Hunters. If there was one thing I wouldn’t trust if I was being hunted in my dreams…” I run my pointed nail across her throat, making a small scratch across her skin. “It would be a Dream Hunter.” I chuckle once more, standing up and looming over her. “Don’t worry, though, the business is quite legitimate… Your nightmares will end for good.” I rear back and open my mouth, baring my fangs and completing my first assignment. (Criticism is both welcome and appreciated, I hope you enjoyed reading)
	[WP] you are the prophesied evil, the reincarnated demon, destined to conquer the world until you are slain by the hero. The problem? You're already content living on your small farm.	The parasite known as Destiny was becoming annoyed. It had been a small thing once, barely more than a whisper on the wind, but it had been carefully spreading its influence for millennia. It spent its limited power to set up narratives and fed on their completion. For most of its existence it had to hide from the gods, which would have ended it if they found it. However, the gods were dependent on the prayers of mortals and Destiny was not. Once it had enough strength to oppose them directly, the outcome was inevitable. Their war was cataclysmic, and the mortals died in droves. With every battle the gods grew weaker and Destiny grew stronger. The masterstroke had been the demon lord Krath, the godslayer. The gods raised their own champion to stop him, but Destiny merely incorporated this into its narrative. The hero struck down Krath in the demon's moment of triumph, leaving the mortals to rebuild on a godless world where Destiny was unopposed. Recently, Destiny had invested a large portion of its power to reincarnate Krath and the hero to replay that epic struggle. The only problem was that Krath's new mortal form was not attempting to conquer the world. The demon should have acclimated to its host and burned the village it was reborn in to ashes within three years, and yet twelve years passed without incident. Impossibly, it seemed that the host's personality was dominant. Destiny used a sliver of power to cause a blight to strike the farm. Tragedy as the start of a hero or villain was a form it had used many times before, and it would be simple to guide an orphaned child down the correct path even if the demon remained quiescent. Things did not go as planned, as the host managed to use the power of hell to bolster not just his family's crops but the entire village's against the blight. Frustrated, Destiny seized a pack of wolves and sent them to attack the host's father when the man went to the village market. The host should not have had time to react, but he sensed the threat and tore open a portal to arrive in time to rescue the father. The child didn't even hurt the wolves, he just dumped them back in their territory. If Destiny had teeth, it would be grinding them. The child appeared to be in control, but he wielded Krath's power almost as skillfully as the demon lord himself. This would be a good thing, except that the child showed no motivation to do anything more than protect the farm. It was clear that any small scale attack would be countered, but Destiny could manipulate nations with nothing more than a few words whispered in the right ears. It would not be outmaneuvered by an ignorant child. Destiny spent two years setting up a brutal civil war that would spark off larger and larger conflicts and engulf one seemingly insignificant farming village. No matter what he did, the child would be drawn into the war. The first signs to reach the village were 'tax collectors' who would have stripped the farms to the bone. As expected, the child easily removed them by dropping them through portals, providing the first hint to the larger world that something strange was going on in that village. Two similar groups were repelled in the same way before anyone really took the village seriously. With Destiny's guidance, one of the king's more ambitious generals sent a troop of twenty elite battle mages to capture the 'dangerous rebel warlock.' Of course, this group posed no actual threat to the child, but when he predictably dropped them through a portal they simply teleported back. Destiny expected that this would finally force the child to kill. Instead, the child burned out the attackers' magical ability and then pushed them away through another portal. This was a slight setback, but it would be easy to spin this to make the child look like a large threat and he was still being pushed to use the demon lord's power more and more. Following the incident with the battle mages, the child finally showed some initiative and began to construct an incredibly complex defensive ward that encompassed the entire village and all of the outlying farms in preparation for another magical attack. As he did this, Destiny prepared a two pronged push. It barely took any effort to convince the king to send a massive force to besiege the village and try to end the threat posed by the child. At the same time, Destiny nudged the rebel faction to try to recruit the child. The envoy arrived first and was politely refused. Minutes later, the first barrage of artillery spells struck, only to be blocked by the wards. Not ones to give up easily, the royal mages continued to bombard the wards with the most impressive concentration of magical power since the death of the gods. The child was unable to use his previous trick of depowering the hostile mages, as it required him to get close to them and the wards would collapse almost instantly under the punishment they were taking if he stopped powering them directly. It was only a matter of time until the rebel envoy managed to convince him to return fire. The siege went on for days, punctuated by occasional efforts to attack the child directly. Dozens of royal mages were stripped of magic for making the attempt, but the losses barely made a dent in the kingdom's forces. As the siege entered its second week, the child began to modify the wards while they were in use. This was an incredible display of skill, but it was still merely delaying the inevitable. The child was monstrously powerful, but the siege was slowly wearing him down. Either he would counterattack or the entire village would be destroyed, and either option was acceptable for Destiny. Destiny was completely blindsided when, at the end of the second week, the entire village just disappeared. Destiny's awareness covered the entire world, in addition to the elemental planes, hell, and innumerable other such places, and both the village and the child were not in any of them. Many of the royal forces were celebrating while some of the more cautious mages examined the massive crater where the village used to be. Destiny did much the same thing with its vastly superior senses, and discovered a trace to an entirely new reality. Destiny tried to reach into the new space, but it was blocked by the distressingly familiar power of the child. The lingering spell was the only link, and if Destiny tried to force more of its essence along that feeble connection it was liable to collapse entirely. Destiny screamed in frustration, vibrating the atmosphere across the entire world. With the villain of the picture unreachable, it would not be able to recover most of the power it spent setting up the situation. It wasn't just the reincarnated demon, either. The hero was nearly useless to it without an enemy of comparable power to fight. It could still get some scraps out of him, but nowhere near enough to recover the cost of the investment.	I grabbed a fistful of dirt and poured it into the wind. “It was supposed to rain this week.” “You can’t trust the weatherman, Honey. We’ll just get Bob to come by with his hydro trailer if it doesn’t come by tomorrow.” I shook a tiny corn stalk with my foot and the light cracking sound hurt. “Be hard to pay for silage then. I’ll try to negotiate a halfer with him.” Beth blew a kiss at me. I pretended to watch it fly 60 feet and reached to grab it out of the air, but an explosion knocked me off my feet. I landed on my back. Beth was hunched down and scanning for answers. I let a weak “my corn...” Three young men approached from Peterson’s farm. They wore mismatched fatigues and oversized helmets that made them look like American kids playing Cold War after spending $20 on Eastern Bloc surplus. The leader in the middle pointed a canteen at me with a crucifix drawn on the cap, and said “Reveal yourself, demon.” I struggled to make sense of it all. They wouldn’t have been playing paintball without face masks... Then I remembered my corn. “You Peterson’s boys? You’re going to fix every plant you just burned!” A cloud passed overhead, casting a shadow over them. “Transformation is at hand. The prophecy is true. Get ready!” The side boys opened the actions of their rifles, and the leader poured canteen water in. This definitely wasn’t paintball. I got to my feet and thought of Beth, who had disappeared. Good, get away from here. The back of my neck was burning, and I felt a sprinkle land and evaporate. I was in the open, and wouldn’t make it 10 feet charging at them or away. More than anything, I didn’t want to accidentally draw them to Beth. BLAM BLAM I flinched, and Right boy was on the ground, dead. I saw Beth had the double from the truck. Leader boy was stooped, either from some stray buckshot or to get Right boy’s rifle. Beth had broke the double open, and Left boy was shifting his aim to her. I sprung at him. The sky darkened on every step. CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK Left boy’s rifle lit the field and Beth went down. I had Left boy’s neck and arm in a death grip. His skin was unzipping and he tried to scream. I wanted him to burn, and lightning struck straight in his open mouth. I could see through the intense light, through his flesh, as the electricity ripped through his body. He dropped. The sprinkles had become rain, and sizzled off his corpse. Leader boy was struggling to point Right boy’s rifle, still technically in Right boy’s possession. CRACK My right shin burned, and the burn spread to every nerve. I gnashed my teeth and sprang on him, stomping the rifle into his hand. He groaned and babbled a prayer, waiting for me to end him. Not after what he’s just done. I waited for him to look at me, and when he finally did, he said “There… will. Be.. others. To replace.. us.” “I hope so.” I looked at the molotov in his belt and lightning struck it, engulfing us in flames. “I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
	[WP] you are the prophesied evil, the reincarnated demon, destined to conquer the world until you are slain by the hero. The problem? You're already content living on your small farm.	"So you see, my lord. You are the anti-messiah. You are become death, destroyer of worlds." I did not look at his prostrated form. My eyes unfocused as I glanced out of the tiny cottage overseeing my cornfields. I was not sure what to say next, so I said nothing. In truth, what he had said had not really registered with me yet. Oh I see what Tze Lao was talking about, there is a small patch over on the fence that looks to have stunted growths. The prostrated man was still there. "I'm not sure what you want me to do...". I started, still not entirely finished with corny thoughts. If we start harvesting in 2 weeks maybe I can get away with 6 hired hands rather than 7. "I do not presume to dictate your actions, O Unholy One.". The shaman sunk his face further into the ground. "The dark prophecies tells of your triumphant return riding Chaos and with Death, War, Famine and Pestilence at your heel. You will experience only victory in your battles and revel in the skulls of your enemies and blood of your captives." "Ok... And where do you. All, I guess, I assume you represent a cult or something, some sort of shamanic brotherhood of darkness? Where do you all fit into all of this?" The wanker two roads down wants to raise the price of rope this season! And I had loaned him sugar last year! "We are heralds of your arrival!" He exclaimed, the effect partly lost to the dirt that was beginning to choke him. I was impressed, for a well-nourished man, he was able to contort his somebody to bend even lower. "We will sing the songs of doom and mock the houses of worship. We defecate upon their relics and tear down their idols!" If they defecate on my field I could save a bunch on fertilizer I take my mind off interesting questions of agriculture for a second as I inevitably picture my visitor in an uncompromising position. "Ok. Let's say I agree to your proposal." He somehow finds more dirt to grovel into. I am impressed, maybe he could plow the fields for me with his face. "What exactly do you want me to do right now? Like literally right now?" He starts to wobble. It takes me a few seconds to realize he is actually answering me. I grab him by the hair and hoist him up. "... your steed, perhaps." He looks at me confusingly. "So summon my steed? How do I do that?" He eyes around nervously. "Surely.. ah surely the Unholy One knows how to summon his steed?" "Nope. Wasn't taught in farmer's school. Could have been taught in Anti Messiah school, never found the time to attend that though." "What.. The circle, they never.." "Ah you are from the CIRCLE! You will be glad to meet Benedict and Tze Lao here." "They are alive!? The circle told me that they were sacrificed as tribute to your hunger!" "I guess in a way? Benedict is my cook, Tze Lao is one of my farmhands." "What, I don't understand.." "Ok look here, wossname..." "I'm High Priest Kingsley..." "Sure Leslie. Here's the deal. Every so often, one of the Circle, or the Hand or the Foundation or the Eye, sends one of you dumbasses here to convince me to ride forth to war and conquest and yadadada." "I'm not interested in that crap. I want to grow corps and tend to them. I want to raise livestock and eat them. I don't care for your arcane mumbo jumbo and dark prophecies. I'm not going to ride forth so that you can defecate on songs and tear down relics" High Priest Kingsley shakingly gets to his feet. He adjusts his hat and gently brushes off the dirt from his robes. "Well this must have all been a mistake. I will be taking my leave now." He bowed low and started to back himself out of my room. No I am in need of an additional farmhand Whatever other lies or misunderstanding the Circle has fed you, there is one grain of truth in all of it I am the anti-messiah	I grabbed a fistful of dirt and poured it into the wind. “It was supposed to rain this week.” “You can’t trust the weatherman, Honey. We’ll just get Bob to come by with his hydro trailer if it doesn’t come by tomorrow.” I shook a tiny corn stalk with my foot and the light cracking sound hurt. “Be hard to pay for silage then. I’ll try to negotiate a halfer with him.” Beth blew a kiss at me. I pretended to watch it fly 60 feet and reached to grab it out of the air, but an explosion knocked me off my feet. I landed on my back. Beth was hunched down and scanning for answers. I let a weak “my corn...” Three young men approached from Peterson’s farm. They wore mismatched fatigues and oversized helmets that made them look like American kids playing Cold War after spending $20 on Eastern Bloc surplus. The leader in the middle pointed a canteen at me with a crucifix drawn on the cap, and said “Reveal yourself, demon.” I struggled to make sense of it all. They wouldn’t have been playing paintball without face masks... Then I remembered my corn. “You Peterson’s boys? You’re going to fix every plant you just burned!” A cloud passed overhead, casting a shadow over them. “Transformation is at hand. The prophecy is true. Get ready!” The side boys opened the actions of their rifles, and the leader poured canteen water in. This definitely wasn’t paintball. I got to my feet and thought of Beth, who had disappeared. Good, get away from here. The back of my neck was burning, and I felt a sprinkle land and evaporate. I was in the open, and wouldn’t make it 10 feet charging at them or away. More than anything, I didn’t want to accidentally draw them to Beth. BLAM BLAM I flinched, and Right boy was on the ground, dead. I saw Beth had the double from the truck. Leader boy was stooped, either from some stray buckshot or to get Right boy’s rifle. Beth had broke the double open, and Left boy was shifting his aim to her. I sprung at him. The sky darkened on every step. CRACK CRACK CRACK CRACK Left boy’s rifle lit the field and Beth went down. I had Left boy’s neck and arm in a death grip. His skin was unzipping and he tried to scream. I wanted him to burn, and lightning struck straight in his open mouth. I could see through the intense light, through his flesh, as the electricity ripped through his body. He dropped. The sprinkles had become rain, and sizzled off his corpse. Leader boy was struggling to point Right boy’s rifle, still technically in Right boy’s possession. CRACK My right shin burned, and the burn spread to every nerve. I gnashed my teeth and sprang on him, stomping the rifle into his hand. He groaned and babbled a prayer, waiting for me to end him. Not after what he’s just done. I waited for him to look at me, and when he finally did, he said “There… will. Be.. others. To replace.. us.” “I hope so.” I looked at the molotov in his belt and lightning struck it, engulfing us in flames. “I’m starting to get the hang of this.”
	[WP] "Lucid dreaming is fun, sure, but don't become too obsessed..." The man across from you stares aimlessly ahead, barely blinking. "If you go in too deep, you may learn something you wish you hadn't. I would wake up now if I were you. You're getting too close."	Dreams never begin, nor do they ever end. They simply are. Streams of unconscious that flow through the mindscapes of individuals, groups, nations, galaxies. Collections of impression and memory that tie us together yet somehow set us apart. Sometimes they're steady. Sometimes they're a blur. Sometimes they're vibrant. Sometimes they're noise. They're all dreams, but never just. They're yours and mine and ours but never owned. They flow through us all—we're just along for the ride. \----------- "Come on, Chuck! Burrito's gonna get cold." Julia says, speech slurred as it passes through a bolus of pancakes and syrup. As she spoke, a piece of said pancake flies true and hits me square on the forehead. There's a pause as both of us look at the new saliva-coated bindi I had just sprouted. Laughter ensues. "Omggg!" She exclaims between chortles, bits of food positively spewing out of her mouth now, "Brown looks good on you, ya know." She laughs some more and I do too, my burrito trembling in my hands. It's nice to see her again. The hazel eyes, the dimple on her right cheek, the way she hiccoughs a tiny bit with every laugh. It's been so long. I haven't seen her since⁠— Since⁠— I frown. As I do the diner-scape flickers for the barest of a second, and then nothing. My eyes flick to Julia. She's rummaging through her handbag, looking for what I presume are some tissues and alcohol, still giggling under her breath. I swivel my head and look around the diner. It's a quaint place, tiny roadside establishment run by an elderly couple. The place is relatively empty, red chairs and barstools vacant save for a couple of patrons. Manning the bar is my best friend, Sam. He cleans up a spill before grinning my way and shooting his patented Spiderman finger guns, clicking his tongue as he does. "Dreaming is fun, sure, but don't become too obsessed." My head pivots back and Julia is gone. In her place sits a pale man clad in dark robes. He stares at me with deep-set eyes, yet his gaze feels longer. He's not staring at me; he's staring in me, through me. His pinprick of a mouth lays motionless as he speaks. "If you go in too deep, you may learn something you wish you hadn't. I would wake up now if I were you. You're getting too close." All of a sudden memories flash through my mind, dreams within a dream. They're fragments, sharp and painful. They sear through my mind, renting it white and red as impressions surface among them. A dark apartment. A fight with two others. A blue text and a white room. A flaring fever and the scent of sickness. A bright hazel going grey. A desire to hiccough, just once. Once more. When I open my eyes, I'm on my knees, head cupped between my hands. The diner is gone, red chairs, Sam, burrito and all. Only the robed man remains, sitting on nothing, staring far ahead. I drop my head down. "You've been here too many times. Each time you've overstayed and each time you stay longer than the last." One more memory comes. It's gentler this time, fading into view rather than searing its way through. It's recent, more accessible, but that doesn't make it any less cold. I see myself in the third person, passed out at a bar. It's nothing like the quaint family diner I just came from. It's a grimy place, slick with sweat and pungent puke, sticky with splotches of beer on the countertop. I groan a bit and shift in my stupor, almost knocking over a pile of bottles to my right. Hazel beer. The old bartender just grunts and sneers my way, wringing out a moldy rag. The memory fades away as slowly as it came, leaving wisps of itself as it disappears. The wisps then merge into tears, dripping down my chin and unto the obsidian floor beneath me. "Please let me stay," I say between sniffs. My voice comes out ragged, dehydrated. "I have nothing left." "I know," booms the voice. The tone is different, though. Before it was distant, unfeeling, a boulder blocking a narrow path. Now chinks of that boulder are gone, revealing an almost mellow core. I look up and sure enough, through the tears, I see those midnight eyes contorted in a familiar expression: pity. "You've lost everything Charlie Grant, but you gain nothing from dwelling in the past. What you desire lies in the future, and the path to it in the present." I heave a deep breath to compose myself, but my line still comes out a whisper. "But shit's so hard." "Indeed, rebuilding a city is never easy. It takes diligence, resources, and time. Yet people have done it before, building a city after it has been burnt to ashes." More chinks of the boulder flake away as his voice reaches levels of warmth it had never reached before. "You share similarities with these people. You're young, you have the time it takes. You have the friends, the manpower, and the resources." I can almost see his mouth move as his voice crescendos. "You just need to start. So I suggest laying down a brick, and another one after that. Maybe then, you'll get to see your city of blue once again." I blink, stunned at what had just transpired. "Julia's were hazel." At this, the man smiles. It's a grotesque smile, twisted at odd angles, yet still strangely heartwarming. "I know." ---------- I wake up in my musty apartment groan. My head pulsates with a sense of urgency, a gift from the night before. I shift a bit and hear a crinkle. Sam stuck a post-it note onto my belly. Took a little money from the stash as thanks. Ur welcome, btw. :P P.S. Chickie, I know ur in it bad, but we still got D&D Wed's ey? Mates wud love to see u there. We got a new Campaign going on rn. 'Bout Romans and legionnaires and stuff. Know u like that shit fam, c'mon lezgooo. Despite the throbbing, I can't help but smile a little bit. It's been so hard to go, though. Julia loved the game and going always— A flash pops into my head, memories of a dream I once had. Julia and Sam. A dark room and a darker man. A city of blue. I shake my head. There's something written at the back of the post-it as well. Who writes at the back of a post-it? P.P.S. You won't believe who just joined too. Frikin Carol! Das right my boii! Carol from HS? The 1 with the killer baby blues? She asked to join one day and the mates were kinda bananas fam. And real talk bro, she asked me about u too. You guys talk or smthn? I stare at the post-it incredulously. As a matter of fact, no, we don't really talk, never have. But something tells me I might be playing some D&D in the coming weeks then. \_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_ This was kinda rushed so sorry if there are some typos! Either way though, I hope you guys enjoy the story as much as I had fun writing it. :D	"Too close to what?" I asked, shifting my gaze from the cloudless night sky to him. The moon's light reflected across his face, giving him an unnatural glow. He shook his head and sighed. "It's better if you don't know." "How do you know that?" He stroked his beard in silence, his expression remaining unchanged as if he was purposely ignoring me. I asked again but to no avail. I turned around, my mind in denial of what's happening. Lucid dreaming is not something I do regularly, but when I do, it's to escape my despair-driven reality. But this was the first time I had ever interacted with someone. A human. Yet he's advising me to wake up? "Because, Malcolm, you're only here because you're looking for a purpose. A journey. But the treasure you're seeking here in this fantasy world is the same thing you're running from in the real world." I jolted up and slowly began to back away. I tried slapping myself, my go-to protocol for forcing awakening, but it was useless. Slowly, my control over this world was fading away. I was no longer in control of my own mind. "What the hell is happening? Who are you?" "You're conscience." "My what?" He snorted. "I guide you on what's right and what's wrong. At least I used too. We don't talk very much anymore." "There's probably a reason for that then." He shook his head. "The longer you shift the blame from yourself, the more you to spiral out of control." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means you need to stop blaming other people as the cause of everything that is wrong with your life. School isn't the reason your feeling so depressed all the time; drugs are. Your town isn't the reason why you lack friends; your refusal to open up to anyone who attempts to get near you is. Instead you push them away, even your own mother. Until you face these problems head-on, you're never going to stop coming here. And no amount of denial is going to change that fact." I couldn't respond. I lowered myself to the ground, a single tear reaching the corner of my mouth, waiting for me to wipe it away. Dangling my legs over the cliff, temptations revolved in my mind telling me to jump. Surely I would wake up, but maybe there's a reason I met Conscience tonight. He walked over to me and sat down, patting his hand onto my shoulder. "I don't mean to be mean Malcolm, but it's the truth you must hear. You're only 15, and if you don't change your ways now then you never will." I nodded, now understanding why he said tried to keep this from me. Not only did it build a layer of suspension, but I needed to hear it from him. Myself, technically. If anybody else told me this, whether it was my mom or someone else who cared about me, I wouldn't have believed them. In fact, I probably would have responded harshly. But only because deep down, I knew that they were right. It was the resolution I was looking for, but not the issue I wanted. He stood up, then stretched his arm out towards me. I grabbed it and rose to my feet. He hugged me, and even though I wasn't truly awake to experience it, it was somehow the best hug I've ever received in my life. "Thank you," I said, tears blurring my vision. Before he could respond, I jolted awake.
	[WP] "Lucid dreaming is fun, sure, but don't become too obsessed..." The man across from you stares aimlessly ahead, barely blinking. "If you go in too deep, you may learn something you wish you hadn't. I would wake up now if I were you. You're getting too close."	Lucille had a weird dream last night. In her dream, she woke from her single bed as on any day. But while stretching off the night's taughtness, she knocked over the bedside lamp from its grey stand. The lamp tumbled to the floor in a thousand shards of glass and rainbow light scattered across the ceiling like stars. Lucille peered closer. The stars spun and danced around the room leaving black streaks in their wake, ragged cracks of void that seemed to pull at the fabric of space. And the cracks were getting wider. Oddly entranced, Lucille reached a cautious finger towards the largest one, an infinitesimal trench that was black as deep as it was dark. Suddenly, the once grey lamp stand was a wailing flash of red and whining beeps. Lucille hopped around the strewn glass pieces to look for a way to shut off the noise. But the lamp stand was featureless except for thin lettering on its underside. NeuroNet. The alarm grew louder in Lucille's hand and she dropped it and ran. Lucille shut her frontdoor against the blare, hoping her neighbours wouldn't notice the red beams streaking through her bedroom curtains. An icy wind bit her legs and she hugged her nightgown closer to her body. Lucille's eyes darted back and forth, pleading for help. The morning was young and the city was still heavy-eyed with hush. On the other side, Old Poe sat on his bench, one hand clutching the shoppping trolley that held all his belongings. On other mornings, Lucille would walk briskly past; head held to prevent eye contact and breath held to protect her nose from rancid sweat and urine. Today she ran to his bench. "Poe! What is going? I broke this lamp and..." Old Poe stared aimlessly ahead, barely blinking. Lucille waved her hands in front of his face. "Hello? Poe?" Old Poe slowly turned to look at her and raised a finger towards the sky. Over the horizon, Lucille eyed a swarm of black bees. As Lucille watched, they grew bigger until she could see their glinting lights and swirling propeller blades. And then Lucille woke up. Lucille wiped the haze from her eyes and stretched. She turned on her lamp and her brows furrowed. Was her lamp stand always white?	"Too close to what?" I asked, shifting my gaze from the cloudless night sky to him. The moon's light reflected across his face, giving him an unnatural glow. He shook his head and sighed. "It's better if you don't know." "How do you know that?" He stroked his beard in silence, his expression remaining unchanged as if he was purposely ignoring me. I asked again but to no avail. I turned around, my mind in denial of what's happening. Lucid dreaming is not something I do regularly, but when I do, it's to escape my despair-driven reality. But this was the first time I had ever interacted with someone. A human. Yet he's advising me to wake up? "Because, Malcolm, you're only here because you're looking for a purpose. A journey. But the treasure you're seeking here in this fantasy world is the same thing you're running from in the real world." I jolted up and slowly began to back away. I tried slapping myself, my go-to protocol for forcing awakening, but it was useless. Slowly, my control over this world was fading away. I was no longer in control of my own mind. "What the hell is happening? Who are you?" "You're conscience." "My what?" He snorted. "I guide you on what's right and what's wrong. At least I used too. We don't talk very much anymore." "There's probably a reason for that then." He shook his head. "The longer you shift the blame from yourself, the more you to spiral out of control." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means you need to stop blaming other people as the cause of everything that is wrong with your life. School isn't the reason your feeling so depressed all the time; drugs are. Your town isn't the reason why you lack friends; your refusal to open up to anyone who attempts to get near you is. Instead you push them away, even your own mother. Until you face these problems head-on, you're never going to stop coming here. And no amount of denial is going to change that fact." I couldn't respond. I lowered myself to the ground, a single tear reaching the corner of my mouth, waiting for me to wipe it away. Dangling my legs over the cliff, temptations revolved in my mind telling me to jump. Surely I would wake up, but maybe there's a reason I met Conscience tonight. He walked over to me and sat down, patting his hand onto my shoulder. "I don't mean to be mean Malcolm, but it's the truth you must hear. You're only 15, and if you don't change your ways now then you never will." I nodded, now understanding why he said tried to keep this from me. Not only did it build a layer of suspension, but I needed to hear it from him. Myself, technically. If anybody else told me this, whether it was my mom or someone else who cared about me, I wouldn't have believed them. In fact, I probably would have responded harshly. But only because deep down, I knew that they were right. It was the resolution I was looking for, but not the issue I wanted. He stood up, then stretched his arm out towards me. I grabbed it and rose to my feet. He hugged me, and even though I wasn't truly awake to experience it, it was somehow the best hug I've ever received in my life. "Thank you," I said, tears blurring my vision. Before he could respond, I jolted awake.
	[WP] "Lucid dreaming is fun, sure, but don't become too obsessed..." The man across from you stares aimlessly ahead, barely blinking. "If you go in too deep, you may learn something you wish you hadn't. I would wake up now if I were you. You're getting too close."	Lucille had a weird dream last night. In her dream, she woke from her single bed as on any day. But while stretching off the night's taughtness, she knocked over the bedside lamp from its grey stand. The lamp tumbled to the floor in a thousand shards of glass and rainbow light scattered across the ceiling like stars. Lucille peered closer. The stars spun and danced around the room leaving black streaks in their wake, ragged cracks of void that seemed to pull at the fabric of space. And the cracks were getting wider. Oddly entranced, Lucille reached a cautious finger towards the largest one, an infinitesimal trench that was black as deep as it was dark. Suddenly, the once grey lamp stand was a wailing flash of red and whining beeps. Lucille hopped around the strewn glass pieces to look for a way to shut off the noise. But the lamp stand was featureless except for thin lettering on its underside. NeuroNet. The alarm grew louder in Lucille's hand and she dropped it and ran. Lucille shut her frontdoor against the blare, hoping her neighbours wouldn't notice the red beams streaking through her bedroom curtains. An icy wind bit her legs and she hugged her nightgown closer to her body. Lucille's eyes darted back and forth, pleading for help. The morning was young and the city was still heavy-eyed with hush. On the other side, Old Poe sat on his bench, one hand clutching the shoppping trolley that held all his belongings. On other mornings, Lucille would walk briskly past; head held to prevent eye contact and breath held to protect her nose from rancid sweat and urine. Today she ran to his bench. "Poe! What is going? I broke this lamp and..." Old Poe stared aimlessly ahead, barely blinking. Lucille waved her hands in front of his face. "Hello? Poe?" Old Poe slowly turned to look at her and raised a finger towards the sky. Over the horizon, Lucille eyed a swarm of black bees. As Lucille watched, they grew bigger until she could see their glinting lights and swirling propeller blades. And then Lucille woke up. Lucille wiped the haze from her eyes and stretched. She turned on her lamp and her brows furrowed. Was her lamp stand always white?	Entry One I've never had much control. The first time I fell into a lucid dream it was awful. The edges of everything were blurred grey and black, and anything that moved did so with little definition. The world felt thick, and there was an intense pressure holding my every muscle in place. I was aware that He was there. Just outside the scope of my dreaming eyes. I panicked, that first time. I was paralyzed, stuck with Him in a world I didn't understand. As soon as I realized I was dreaming I tried desperately to wake myself. I felt my muscles strain. My jaw opened into a scream that couldn't escape my lungs. Clamping my eyes shut, fear penetrating, I finally moved. I shook my head furiously at the base of the skull and willed my shoulders to lift me from my imprisonment. I awoke, but again could not move. This time, because I was too afraid. I still felt Him with me, just behind my head and trapped in the wall. My blanket was my only protection from Him, and it no longer seemed enough. These dreams plagued me for years. I was terrified. Sometimes, the dream would come and I would manage to fight myself free and awake. I'd feel the fear coursing through me, and my blood pulsed heavily. My breathing coming out in gasps, but I couldn't keep my eyes open. My brain was still engaged in putting me to sleep and keeping me that way. A betrayal by my own body. And I'd slip back to sleep, and back to Him. To a world where heavy brush strokes painted black and grey upon a canvas I had no control over. Simple awareness of its existence is all that I had. A world were He always stood above my head, close and unmoving. No matter where I slept, He could find me. Eventually, I was exhausted. My will broke. I accepted the dream when it came, and I gave in. What was there left to fear? He never moves. I have always woken up, eventually. I was too tired to freak out and panic every time He visited me. I already knew that I could shake myself awake. What else could I do? So, over those years I worked on moving every muscle. He watched close by, His image becomes a little sharper with each success. Soon I was manipulating the dream world around me, moving it and not myself. I am what is stationary in the dream world. One day I realized that I hadn't seen or felt Him in a long time. He left and I hadn't even noticed. I've been experimenting with flying. Mostly I just float with little control. I try to determine a destination, and sometimes it's successful. I fly above the city of my birth. It's always night time. The edges aren't crisp, but they are clearer. However, lately I have been floating towards the moon and have not been able to stop myself. I wake before I reach any sort of destination. I wonder what will happen tonight? Entry Two I was floating again, passively and impassionately trying to bend the world around me and change the dream. I got bored and stopped trying. I started to think about the feeling of spinning and twirling, dancing, and then I realized that I was doing just that. I let my consciousness drift and I became a part of the dream, not just an observer or manipulator of it. "You should wake up now." I was standing beside Him. He was no longer a smudge behind me, but a man beside me. "I know you're having fun, but I would wake up if I were you. I wish I would have when I was you." When you were me? I thought. I've never been good at speaking in the dream world. I knew He would hear me all the same. "Oh." He sighed then chuckled. His image blurred, like He was made of oil and I was looking too closely. But, this time He wasn't simply grey and black, but I saw an orangish hue within the grey. The orange seems brighter when remembering it. "We have all been you, all of us who find ourselves here." I don't understand. "If you go in to deep, you may learn something you wish you hadn't." I couldn't quite read Him. All the humor He had a moment ago faded, and He stared somberly ahead. "You're going to keep going aren't you?" I didn't have time to respond before He was gone. I could still perceive a splash of orange at the corner of my left eye, but only when I was trying to not focus on it. Sometimes I still see it, even when I'm awake, like He's following me between the waking and dreaming worlds. I doesn't exactly comfort me. Entry Three I floated again and bent the dream world around me. Stars spun and danced with me til I found myself on a brightly painted shore. I couldn't hear the waves, but I knew the water was moving. The world in front of my shaded itself from top to bottom: yellows, oranges, a thin line of green, to indigo and purple, then light blue and white. It felt like a beach. Behind me felt dark and motionless. There was nothing behind me. I was on the edge and about to move forward. I know I traveled, but I don't remember the traveling. The world walked by me, moving me to make its own way. The night came again and I stood in the middle of a gentle ocean. The stars brought light, but there was no moon. And I felt it. The feeling of being nothing. The world ripped itself away from me, and I was in the dark. I couldn't sense anything but myself. I was alone. I viewed myself from the outside, and at first I was afraid of what I would see. But, what I saw was nothing to be afraid of. I was a child with dark hair and wearing bright colors. Light emitted from me into the darkness of nothingness, and I was joyful. I felt comforted seeing myself. I, the observer, shifted my perspective and behind my childself I saw another light, another child. As I pulled further away from my childself, more and more children appeared, and I could see that they were all connected by strands of light. I woke in the morning remembering every detail, but now it starts to fade and blur. I know I need to go further, and so far, I am not afraid of what I might find.
	[WP] After accepting a steaming cup of coffee from their large green skinned co-worker and dodging past two dwarves discussing last night's game, they sat at their station right when the crystal lit up. "Magical Dispatch, what is your emergency?"	Kevin took the sweet brown liquid in it's nearly bottomless mug graciously from his coworker Gnearbash, a rather portly orc, and began his trek back to his station. Behind him ran his partner, an elf suffering from the elvish version of dwarfism, where one grew to a grand height measurable in inches, as opposed to feet. It was a rare genetic condition and K'laria was an office favorite, doted on for her elaborate clothing and sense of humor. In her hands she held a single coffee bean, which seemed large to her 6 inch 5 centimeter frame. Had she been normal elf size, she would tower over him. Two actual dwarves were bellowing at each other in the hall over the Tournament of Royals. "No, Yrickle, I am telling you, Pergia is going to be the greatest dragon rider this season. Did you see his defensive manuever in the third quarter?" "Yet he did not manage to get the ball properly returned to his team. I don't care how slick of a flip he performed, the ball went out of bounds Florbet." Kevin rolled his eyes and bent down to offer a hand to K'laria, who jingled noisily into it. Why she had chosen to dress like the Mascot of the Shelf Elf Furniture Company today was beyond him. As a drop out of the prestigious School of Magical Healing, famous in the office for being a failed nurse, most things were beyond him. He was lucky to have been accepted as a EMMTD. It stood for Emergency Magical Medic Transportation Director, but the title of Director was a half hearted attempt on the board to make the Dispatchers sound less menacing. This was a response to several Grim Reapers opening up a Dispatch and Morgue locally. More than locally. Next door. With a huge ad depicting smiling reapers and the phrase: "Ready to leave your mortal coil? Call the Dispatchers." It was a very pointed poke at the hospitals life saving services. If only Dignity in Death was still illegal. K'laria beamed at him, munching on her coffee bean. "Ready for the day Kv'in?" She asked, nesting in his free hand. "Oh, kind of. I just hope for an easy one." He replied. It was heartfelt. Kevin only cared about easy days. She beamed at him. "Not me. I'm hoping to saddle Team Alpha with a bad one." This was also heartfelt. Team Alpha's leader had turned down her attempt to date him on the basis of her height. It was still a sore subject, especially since he was a leprechaun. Apparently he only liked big girls, five foot and above. Something about her not being "thicc enough" for him. Little prick. "We can always hope someone's pet Kappa bit them again." He said smiling as they approached their desk. He set her and his mug down and they grabbed their headsets. Kevins job was to talk to the callers, while K'laria used her insane speed to GPS their location and send a team. They had barely turned the system on when a call came in. "Magical Dispatch, what is your emergency?" He asked. The caller groaned. "My wife has gone into labor." "How wonderful sir, how long has she been having contractions." "The children won't stop coming out. It's like the hoardes of hell have been unleashed. They are all covered in flames, my house is on fire, I am on fire, and she is screaming about a curse. I did not know she was cursed. What is happening right now?" "When you say "they" what do you mean?" "I mean there are hundreds of them." "What species are you and your wife sir?" "I'm a werewolf and she's uh...she's a demon." K'laria started grinning, huffed in a giant breath and let loose a sonicboom. "Team Apha, Hybrid, Multiple Birth in progress during House Fire. Will need a cursebreaker." In the back a very small curse came out of a very small man. I stayed on the phone, trying not to laugh. "Sir, I will need an exact count. Are the flames hurting you?" "She's trying to keep them from reaching my skin...Holy shit, they sprouted wings. I can't count this high. Oh, god, the neighbours! Run Thrimmet, my Gods, run! I HAVE TO SAVE HIM!" "I need you to stay on the phone with me, and with your wife." An explosion was heard through the line. "Sir?" "Sir?" The call ended.	It was yet another young alchemical wizard call. You know the ones. A young wizard or alchemist thinks they have solved the anti life spell or whatever and trys it out, only to find they had made yet another recipe for barkskin or fireball. My first day on the job I had to explain to a very worried mother that no, her son had not been attacked by ninja druids, he had just made a powerful barkskin potion. That was significantly easier than my second day on the job, when I was running from an aisamar who had somehow convinced their guardian angel that her contract with a demon was a good thing and that of course her conquering the world was amazing. The local church had to be called in and it was a whole mess. I demanded and got a bonus for that, and have carried both holy water and unholy oil ever since, just in case Anyway, back to the alchemical wizard call I was on. This call had been a bit odd, hard to describe from the dispatchers description. The house was fairly normal, for hobgoblin standards anyway. Huge grass as the front lawn that had never been cut, evidence of hunting in said grass, a stand of corn, all fairly standard stuff for the lazy but typically self sufficient race. Where it deviates was the huge tentacle sprouting from the chimney and the eldritch whispers I could hear. This was going to require much more than a simple priest...
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	I yawn as I scroll through reddit. It’s three in the morning, and I have work tomorrow. I glance at the clock and sigh, I’m going to be falling asleep at work again. Just as I’m about to put my phone away, I get a pop-up ad. As I go to close it, something catches my eye. “How many people could it kill??” In bold text. Chuckling a bit at the absurdity of the ad, I decide to click on it. Honestly, who needs sleep? I’m met with a very bland website, only the words “Type an action.” and a small text box. I type “Killing myself.” and the number one is displayed. I exhale slightly at my own unoriginal joke, and begin typing another action. Just then my neighbour starts making all that noise again. It seems every night she’s working on something in her workshop, and it’s been getting on my nerves. I type into the box “Killing my neighbour.” and laugh as I await an answer. Just then, a number popped up, “-235”. I stared at my screen in awe. I typed a few more actions to test how accurate this is. To my amazement they were all correct. Then it hit me, my neighbour is going to kill hundreds of people. The next morning I call in sick for work, waiting for my neighbour outside her house. Just then she walks outside, a briefcase in hand. “Good morning Stacey.” I say politely. “Good morning, what do you want.” “I want to know what’s in that suitcase.” I say gesturing toward the suitcase. “Got work today?” “No it’s just, never mind it’s none of your business.” She said rudely, trying to push past me. I stare at her angrily, walking away. I decide to call the police, I know whatever’s in that suitcase is going to cause a lot of harm. I dial the number frantically as she drives away, not knowing how much time I have left. After the call is made, I return to my house to enjoy my day off work. Later in the afternoon I decide to turn on the news. “A local woman has been arrested for nearly bombing a crowded pop concert.” Grinning widely, I look down at the website again as I think to myself. I’m going to stop a lot of crimes with you.	There is a website called www.ContingentMortalityInference.com which is just a login page and a single clue, after seeing this I just couldn’t help myself. I solved the clue, which was bloody difficult, but all I got was another clue on another site, which lead to another, and that lead to another, and after a month of following the clues I found myself on a forgotten server only accessible via an intermittently dead link on a difficult to find webpage on the dark web which probably put me on a watchlist, but on that server was a single .txt file with login details and a password which could be measured in MBs. I greedily entered these details into the website expecting some prize, or maybe nothing at all, but instead I found a website which claimed to predict the Mortality rate of any decision I made. I was naturally thrown by this but tried it out anyway. = Shoot a dog. = [OUTCOME]: 0 So dogs aren’t considered a mortality statistic huh? = Eat a cake. = [OUTCOME]: 0 = Hijack a plane. = [INFORMATION MISSING]: Which plane? I considered googling flights and choosing one, but then I remembered the watchlist I was probably already on from the clue hunt and reconsidered, it was then that I thought of my diabetic uncle Chris. = Feed cake to Uncle Pete = [OUTCOME]: 0 = Feed cake to Uncle Chris = [OUTCOME]: 1 This got my attention. I started feeding it more and more strange scenarios to see just how much information it had, I referred to specific places by our family’s nicknames for them, to friends by their first names only, to games I had made up years ago, and each time I planned the activity in a way that would result in very specific number of deaths that only someone who got the references and in-jokes could calculate, it guessed the right number every time. I didn’t visit the site for the next week. Eventually sheer morbid curiosity got the best of me, and I went back. I tested it more and more, using nicknames for places I made up on the spot, “Mr Jolly’s hideout”, “The activity that is sort of wierd”, anything, as long as I clearly knew what I meant in my head, and every time, as long as there was a clear answer, it got it right. Finally, I picked a plane. = Hijack a plane. = [INFORMATION MISSING]: Which plane? I fixed my mind on a specific flight, one I had looked up on a strangers phone when claiming my phone had no charge. = Hijack that plane. = [OUTCOME]: 1 Odd… not the number I was expecting, then it hit me, and I tried again. = Successfully hijack and crash that plane. = [OUTCOME]: 134 I was definitely on a watchlist now, and this website was definitely not just a prank! I became obsessed. I entered every noteworthy decision into this website, just to make sure the number came out as 0, and it was pants-wittingly scary how often mundane decisions gave a non-zero response, probably the butterfly effect at work, but that didn’t make it any less scary, if anything it made it more so, I could cause deaths without even realising it. I bookmarked the website on my phone and PC, and even checked decisions on the fly whilst out, my friends would get awkward when I checked it before answering questions about plans, mainly because I never let them see what I was looking at. This became my routine, occasionally I would get a negative number and when I did I would always go with that choice no matter what, and it made me feel better about this rabbit hole I had jumped down, about how I had lost so much control over my life because of it. About a year after I got onto the website, long after it had taken over my life, a new neighbour moved in, and I hated him. His garden was a mess, he was rude, but none of that mattered compared to the main problem, the noise. Late at night, I would hear banging coming through the wall of out semi-detached. Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang bang… on and on all night. I considered making an noise complaint, but… = Make a noise complaint. = [OUTCOME]: 2 Damn those butterflies. Every time I tried a scenario to resolve the noise issue, I got non-zero results, so I put up with it, day after day until my most terrifying non-zero result ever. It was almost 1am, and he was banging away through the wall, and I hadn’t slept in almost 60 hours. I had last woken up at 1pm on Saturday, with the noise my neighbour always made I slept when I could, and it was now 12:59am on Tuesday, as I watched the time change to 1:00am the moment was punctuated, almost as if by design, with a loud bang from next door. I flinched as a fresh burst of adrenaline and stress flooded my aching and fatigued brain, urged me to deploy many forms of death upon the miserable bastard living next door. I picked up my phone and went to the site. = Kill my neighbour. = [OUTCOME]: -391 Fuck. My eyes itched and my head hurt, but I was wide awake now. I tried it again. = Kill my neighbour. = [OUTCOME]: -391 I got out of bed and walked to the dividing wall between our two houses, staring at it like it was a masterpiece of art or a television displaying the match, anything but a blank, empty wall. What the hell is my neighbour going to do that killing him saves 391 lives? Could it be those ever-annoying butterflies? Could he at some point cause a chain reaction that inadvertently leads to 391 deaths? Or could the number be random, I know several decisions I would have made had non-zero responses from the site, did they count? I went to my phone. = Kill my other neighbour. = [OUTCOME]: 1 No, it wasn’t showing all those possible deaths, otherwise every decision I entered into the site would have wild numbers in the positive or negative, this was direct result of immediate action, he was going to cause nearly 400 deaths, and they wouldn’t be some hypothetical or some far off death in china because he didn’t buy a Chinese brand waffle-iron or something, no this was… Right then there was a particularly harsh thud next door, and something about it felt all wrong. I looked at my phone and typed my question. = Kill my neighbour. = [OUTCOME]: -390 … No… … I was frozen, the possibilities all eliminating themselves one by one in my head until I realised the obvious. The noises I heard next door, night after night, the noise I just heard; he was killing people, and I had just listened to someone die. The funny thing about adrenaline, whenever you think you are full of adrenaline, you are wrong. New heights of adrenal overload burst into my body, I was shaking from head to toe, tears were flowing without any matching emotion. I was too numb for emotion. I looked down at my phone. = Call the police. = [OUTCOME]: 3 = Confront my neighbour. = [OUTCOME]: 1 Ok.. maybe that wasn’t the most illuminating… = Confront my neighbour and live. = [OUTCOME]: 0 So I was the 1 in “Confront my neighbour”. But this was good, I could figure things out like this. = Confront my neighbour, armed. = [OUTCOME PARADOXICAL] I had tested this website for a year, and I knew this one, it was what it says when whatever answer it gives would change the answer. Maybe it means that if it says 0 I will be brave and get myself killed, and if it says 1 I will piss myself and run and end up escaping, or it could be more complicated, all I knew for sure was, it means the outcome is up to fate. = Confront my neighbour, VERY armed. = [OUTCOME PARADOXICAL] Damn. I didn’t want to die, but I also couldn’t do nothing. I had to assume that the reason I could never call the police on him was because he would kill the police, so calling them was as good as killing some innocent policemen myself, minus the jail-time. No, I was doing this myself, it was the only non-positive answer. Now to choose a weapon. = Confront my neighbour, with a knife. = [OUTCOME]: 1 I see, so even my weapon choice could be affected my a 1 or 0 response, if I saw a 1, to “Confront my neighbour” I might have taken my time to pick the right weapon, whilst a 0 would make me overconfident and just pick whichever. A surge of optimism flowed through me as I thought “Maybe he dies if I choose the knife”. = Confront my neighbour, with a knife and win. = [OUTCOME]: 0 Nope. I die. I spend the next few minutes pumping item after item into the website as my chosen weapon, each one resulting in my death until finally… = Confront my neighbour, with a crowbar. = [OUTCOME PARADOXICAL] Good enough. I went into my back garden and grabbed the crowbar from the toolbox in my shed, then I saw it, an open back window on the ground floor, if I didn’t grab the crowbar in the garden, I never would have seen it. I pulled out my phone. = Enter through the front. = [OUTCOME]: 1 = Enter through the window. = [OUTCOME PARADOXICAL] I carefully climbed over the fence and snuck up to his back window, I wondered briefly if my heartbeat was loud enough to be heard, but I shook the thought away. I tightened my grip on the crowbar and peeked in. The lights were off, and there was no more banging, no sound at all. Blind and deaf and going to my death. I chuckled despite the terror inside me, and then scolded myself for being an idiot, then, still shaking, I entered my neighbours house.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	I yawn as I scroll through reddit. It’s three in the morning, and I have work tomorrow. I glance at the clock and sigh, I’m going to be falling asleep at work again. Just as I’m about to put my phone away, I get a pop-up ad. As I go to close it, something catches my eye. “How many people could it kill??” In bold text. Chuckling a bit at the absurdity of the ad, I decide to click on it. Honestly, who needs sleep? I’m met with a very bland website, only the words “Type an action.” and a small text box. I type “Killing myself.” and the number one is displayed. I exhale slightly at my own unoriginal joke, and begin typing another action. Just then my neighbour starts making all that noise again. It seems every night she’s working on something in her workshop, and it’s been getting on my nerves. I type into the box “Killing my neighbour.” and laugh as I await an answer. Just then, a number popped up, “-235”. I stared at my screen in awe. I typed a few more actions to test how accurate this is. To my amazement they were all correct. Then it hit me, my neighbour is going to kill hundreds of people. The next morning I call in sick for work, waiting for my neighbour outside her house. Just then she walks outside, a briefcase in hand. “Good morning Stacey.” I say politely. “Good morning, what do you want.” “I want to know what’s in that suitcase.” I say gesturing toward the suitcase. “Got work today?” “No it’s just, never mind it’s none of your business.” She said rudely, trying to push past me. I stare at her angrily, walking away. I decide to call the police, I know whatever’s in that suitcase is going to cause a lot of harm. I dial the number frantically as she drives away, not knowing how much time I have left. After the call is made, I return to my house to enjoy my day off work. Later in the afternoon I decide to turn on the news. “A local woman has been arrested for nearly bombing a crowded pop concert.” Grinning widely, I look down at the website again as I think to myself. I’m going to stop a lot of crimes with you.	''I know that you’ll find me one day...'' This is not an ordinary day... at least not for me. I’m graduating from college, today. All the sacrifices I made for years all the tough times will payback starting now. It’s 12:00 AM and I can’t sleep. It's not because I’m too excited it’s because I’m confused about what I’m seeing on the screen. I’m on a website that gives you a result of your actions without any restrictions. I’ve typed many things, including wild ones. When was there is nothing else to type, I had some doubts about the website and I wanted to test it by typing something that I’ll never do. ‘Kill my neighbour.’ The result was zero. I’ve been looking at the screen for hours thinking and arguing with myself should I trust this website or not. I did crazy things sometimes, but I’ll never guess that one day I’d believe to a website that can predict every outcome and it seems like failed, or did it? There is the only way to know for sure. I go outside and I silent yell to Mia who will also graduate with me. There is no response. Her room is dark. In fact, there is not a single light in the house that I can see so far. Mia is living with her parents. She has also one little brother. I use the garden door to enter the house and there is no sound or any indication that they are at the home. I want to go back but sudden noise changes my mind. I go upstairs cautiously, without making any noise. I whisper Mia’s name but there is no response. I see a dim red light coming from under the door which might be Mia’s room. I push the door open and I see someone laying on the ground. The red light is coming from a computer screen and I get closer, it’s Mia. I nudge her and I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond. I check her breath with my hand and I can barely feel her breath. I get distracted by the sudden noise from the computer. I stand up and I approach the computer and try to figure what is going on the screen. A sudden flash blinds me for a second and when I regain my vision I see the room from a different angle, the same angle as the screen. I try to touch my face, I try to move around and I get a bizarre feeling of emptiness and I see someone walking into the room. I hear the exact words that I heard from Mia when we first met... ''I know that you’ll find me one day.'' ---------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	Son, I know this will be hard for you to understand. Maybe one day, when you're older, you'll read this letter and know why I did what I did. I acted without caution, without thought. But sometimes, it is the things we do in the spur of the moment- without caution or thought- that can make the most difference in another's life. Let me start from the beginning. Back in my day, we had this website.... I stared at the computer screen in shock, my face illuminated by my too-bright screen in the dark room. I felt my hands begin to imperceptibly shake. It was impossible. How could the number have been negative? I pinched myself. I must have been dreaming. But no- the computer screen still stared back at me, just as innocuous and innocent as always. It was true. In all of my years of consulting the website, not once had it been mistaken in its prediction. If I killed my neighbour, I would save someone's life. Shaking myself out of my daze, I stood up and glanced out the window into my neighbour's moon-lit garden. I don't know what I expected to find- a blood-stained pathway, maybe, or a wilted flower. But, sure enough, the garden looked just the same as it always did: a line of crimson red roses, pruned to perfection, surrounding a patch of strawberry and pea plants, glistening with water droplets that reflected the bright moon above. How could that woman be- but yes, there was no other explanation for the website's prediction. My neighbour, the sweetest lady I had ever met, was going to become a serial killer. Numb with shock, I half-walked, half-stumbled over to the door. Was I really going to do this? Could I even bring myself to do it? I shake my head resolutely. I must. The website has never been wrong. I repeat this line to myself over and over- the website has never been wrong. The website has never been wrong. It took every ounce of willpower I had to pry open my garage door and step inside. The air was stiff and dry. I hadn't dared turn on the light, so I had to use my phone's flashlight to see. But thankfully, I knew exactly where it was- my automatic rifle. An illegal weapon where I live, but I had never been able to bring myself to get rid of it. As I lifted my dusty rifle out of the locked vault I kept it secured in, and dusted it off, a small voice at the back of my head whispered words of reason. "Call the police. Get help. You know what your neighbour is capable of. If you do what you plan on doing, then your life will be forfeit." But I was not in a reasonable mood. I ignored the voice. It is for this reason that I have come to suspect that... well, I'll speak on that in a moment. It will come as quite a shock to you, as it did to me. After another moment of careful thought, I stepped back into my house, my rifle in hand. I must have stood there for an hour, breathing heavily, my heart pounding out of my chest. It was a terrible idea, to do what I decided to do. I think I knew that it was all along. But, as I have already said, I did not think rationally. I have never been good at thought. And so, I stepped out into the icy cold night. The wind beat against my face relentlessly as I stormed through the darkness, nothing but the moon to see me, hoisting my rifle over my shoulder. I must have looked like a soldier, marching through the dense landscape, waiting for the first shot to fire and war to break out. It was what I felt like, too. I will admit I got a rush from it- my heart pounding with horrible dread and excitement combined. The wind pushing against me, trying desperately to get me to turn back- and I would not listen. I would not have listened if God Himself came down and told me to go back to my house and use the rational part of my brain, which they now tell me is missing. One knock on my neighbour's door. When she, inevitably, did not answer, I knocked again. And again. Again. Soon, I was pounding on her door so hard, it was sending pain shooting through my entire body. And it was only then that she opened the door. I will never forget the look on her face: the look of gentle confusion, of warmth, of puzzled delight at seeing me at her doorstep at such a strange hour. I will never forget the glistening white wood that made up the floor of her house. I will never forget the moonlight- feeling it course through my veins, filling me with violent energy and sheer delight as I did the deed. My automatic gun let out a shout, and the woman did the same thing. And the white wood floor was stained crimson red. I will never forget the last look of horror frozen on the kindly old woman's face as she stared up at me, blood pouring out of her skull in a river. I will never forget the gentle wrinkles on her face, the frail expression in her eyes, the way her body cracked against the wooden floor. And, most of all, I will never forget the rush- the knowledge that I had saved someone's life. That I was a hero of two people. That I, single-handedly, had brought down a murderer. The next few hours I don't recall very well- I remember people screaming, desperate shouts, cries of grief. I remember police sirens. I remember being taken away in handcuffs. They tell me I was grinning manically as they did it, my entire body covered in the woman's blood. They tell me I had drunken her blood. I don't remember that. The only thing I remember after that is the drive there- how long and annoying it was and how much the police officer kept his distance from me. So, son, as I sit here in my jail cell writing this, I hope you can at least understand why I did what I did. Did I act brashly, without caution? Of course. But do I regret it? Not for a minute. The doctors now tell me that there is no such website as I have mentioned. I hear words thrown around like "lunatic" and "psychopath." They are trying to tell me that I have gone mad. But I have not gone mad. I know what I saw. I know what I did. Yes, I killed a woman. My neighbour. But I did it to save a life, not to destroy ours. The doctors lie. I have shown them the website myself, and they refused to believe it. I know it is true. I know you probably won't see this, son. They have brainwashed you into believing that I'm a madman, a murderer, someone who is not to be trusted. But I swear, in front of you, in front of the judge, in front of God Himself, that I was justified in what I did. And, even though my life is now in shambles, I have no regrets. I am a hero. [Check out the website for yourself.](https://willsomeonedie.com) \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- /r/OneMoreWord	''I know that you’ll find me one day...'' This is not an ordinary day... at least not for me. I’m graduating from college, today. All the sacrifices I made for years all the tough times will payback starting now. It’s 12:00 AM and I can’t sleep. It's not because I’m too excited it’s because I’m confused about what I’m seeing on the screen. I’m on a website that gives you a result of your actions without any restrictions. I’ve typed many things, including wild ones. When was there is nothing else to type, I had some doubts about the website and I wanted to test it by typing something that I’ll never do. ‘Kill my neighbour.’ The result was zero. I’ve been looking at the screen for hours thinking and arguing with myself should I trust this website or not. I did crazy things sometimes, but I’ll never guess that one day I’d believe to a website that can predict every outcome and it seems like failed, or did it? There is the only way to know for sure. I go outside and I silent yell to Mia who will also graduate with me. There is no response. Her room is dark. In fact, there is not a single light in the house that I can see so far. Mia is living with her parents. She has also one little brother. I use the garden door to enter the house and there is no sound or any indication that they are at the home. I want to go back but sudden noise changes my mind. I go upstairs cautiously, without making any noise. I whisper Mia’s name but there is no response. I see a dim red light coming from under the door which might be Mia’s room. I push the door open and I see someone laying on the ground. The red light is coming from a computer screen and I get closer, it’s Mia. I nudge her and I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond. I check her breath with my hand and I can barely feel her breath. I get distracted by the sudden noise from the computer. I stand up and I approach the computer and try to figure what is going on the screen. A sudden flash blinds me for a second and when I regain my vision I see the room from a different angle, the same angle as the screen. I try to touch my face, I try to move around and I get a bizarre feeling of emptiness and I see someone walking into the room. I hear the exact words that I heard from Mia when we first met... ''I know that you’ll find me one day.'' ---------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	I can’t believe it... sweet old miss Jenkins, a killer. I stare at the negative 17 on the screen. That means she would kill 18 people in her remaining short life. Miss Jenkins the 85 year old neighbor who greets me every morning. At first I felt discussed by even typing in her name as a joke. But now, I had to know. I peered our my window and stared at her, for her age she got around quite well. She was pulling weeds from her garden, which always seemed to be fresh soil. I slap myself and laugh. I couldn’t possibly believe she will kill 18 people. Before I could even think about it I was texting my boss “ate something that didn’t agree with me I’ll be in tomorrow” A full day of watching her and nothing, that night as I saw her turn off her light, and I decided that was enough. I laid down for a restless night of sleep. I woke up and texted my boss again “must be a stomach bug, so sorry” again I followed her the entire day. ... It’s been 10 days, my boss is getting upset I haven’t been in I could be fired but I don’t care anymore, I could be saving a life. I could be saving many lives. Her routine remains constant 7:05: wake up 7:10: makes a cup of tea and 2 eggs, overeats 7:30: heads outside sits on her porch and greets each of the neighbors. She even looks over at my door and frowns when she doesn’t see me come out at my normal time. 8:00: walks down the street to the kids bus stop, she watches as they all get on the bus, she even ran off a man who was walking around suspiciously. 8:30: get in her car and drives to town, picks up the fresh ingredients apple pie. 10:30: eats lunch at the local dinner, a chicken sandwich cut in half. She eats one Half of the sandwich and takes the rest in a to go container. 11:45: went to the park and fed the bread of her sandwich to the birds and left the chicken for a stray dog. 2:30: arrives home and begins baking the pie. 3:30: sets the pie on the window to cool and starting making her dinner. 4:30: eats her dinner alone. 5:00: carries her pie to a random neighbors house and sets it on the front step with a note. 5:15: heads back to her front porch and sits 5:20: every neighbor almost like there was a neighborhood meeting on it, take the pie and heads to ms Jenkins house, they sit on the front and share the cake with her and talk for over an hour. 6:30: heads into her house and watches Letterman. 8:00: she heads to bead I have waiting up all night and nothing. She doesn’t move till 7:05 Today was the same as normal except at 5:00 she brought the pie to my house. I opened the door after she walked away and read the note “I have noticed you haven’t been going to work lately and wanted to make sure you were all right, feel free to come over anytime and chat” I felt crushed, tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the pie. After staring at it for 30 minutes I willed myself to head over there. She greeted me with excitement and cut the pie. After seeing it made so many times it didn’t disappoint. She talked my ear off about everything. My life, my goals. All my answers were vague or short but it didn’t stop her. She shared old stories of her late husband, the bakery they use to run together. She gave life lessons and little bits of wisdom. Even cracked a joke here and there. After 2 hours I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I wished her well and went off to bed. It was Friday night and I had the weekend to get myself together and go apologize to my boss. I slept in after all the long nights and early mornings, spying on my neighbor, feeling like a creep now. It’s 11:45, I think of her feeding the birds. I laugh at myself. I walk down and turn on the TV. It’s a live feed of a helicopter on a traffic accident. I read the banner across the bottom. “Breaking 19 reported dead after elderly woman suffers a stroke and drives into oncoming traffic”	''I know that you’ll find me one day...'' This is not an ordinary day... at least not for me. I’m graduating from college, today. All the sacrifices I made for years all the tough times will payback starting now. It’s 12:00 AM and I can’t sleep. It's not because I’m too excited it’s because I’m confused about what I’m seeing on the screen. I’m on a website that gives you a result of your actions without any restrictions. I’ve typed many things, including wild ones. When was there is nothing else to type, I had some doubts about the website and I wanted to test it by typing something that I’ll never do. ‘Kill my neighbour.’ The result was zero. I’ve been looking at the screen for hours thinking and arguing with myself should I trust this website or not. I did crazy things sometimes, but I’ll never guess that one day I’d believe to a website that can predict every outcome and it seems like failed, or did it? There is the only way to know for sure. I go outside and I silent yell to Mia who will also graduate with me. There is no response. Her room is dark. In fact, there is not a single light in the house that I can see so far. Mia is living with her parents. She has also one little brother. I use the garden door to enter the house and there is no sound or any indication that they are at the home. I want to go back but sudden noise changes my mind. I go upstairs cautiously, without making any noise. I whisper Mia’s name but there is no response. I see a dim red light coming from under the door which might be Mia’s room. I push the door open and I see someone laying on the ground. The red light is coming from a computer screen and I get closer, it’s Mia. I nudge her and I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond. I check her breath with my hand and I can barely feel her breath. I get distracted by the sudden noise from the computer. I stand up and I approach the computer and try to figure what is going on the screen. A sudden flash blinds me for a second and when I regain my vision I see the room from a different angle, the same angle as the screen. I try to touch my face, I try to move around and I get a bizarre feeling of emptiness and I see someone walking into the room. I hear the exact words that I heard from Mia when we first met... ''I know that you’ll find me one day.'' ---------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	\[ -7 billion\] "Huh?" Murphy sat up straighter in his seat. It was the first time he'd seen negative numbers on the website. It was a lazy Monday morning that didn't need him at work; he was awake early anyway. He found himself browsing the web and ended up at the relatively new Timeline site. The site was old enough that the novelty wore off for the public, but it was new enough that Murphy only visited a few times. He'd never heard of anyone talking about negative numbers. "Maybe it's a glitch," Murphy deleted his decision and typed a new one. "I have decided to have pizza for lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" he typed. The question didn't need to be that formal; 'pizza for lunch?' would have been enough. However, he wanted to be extra careful to avoid the glitch. \[7 billion\] appeared in the answer box. "What the hell?" The answer confused Murphy, but he realized he did not use a timeframe when he asked the site about his neighbor. "I have decided to kill my neighbor, Mr. Lopez today during lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" Murphy elaborated on the question that gave him a negative answer the first time. \[ -7 billion\] it replied again. Murphy stared at his question for a moment, then changed it. "I have decided to kill my neighbor, Mr Lopez, tomorrow during lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" he typed. \[7 billion\] appeared in the answer box again. "Is the timing that important?" he wondered then typed different variations into the site. "I have decided to kill Mr. Lopez today at dinner time. What are the casualties of this decision?" \[7 billion\] it answered. "I have decided to kill Mr. Lopez today at 1 p.m. Casualties?" he typed. Now that Murphy was confident the site was not glitching, he did not feel the need to continue being formal. \[7 billion\]. "I'm killing Mr. Lopez today at noon. Casualties?" \[ -7 billion\]. "Alright," Murphy sighed, shrugged, then glanced at the clock. "I have a few hours to kill before I...," he interrupted his own thoughts by asking the site another question. "I'm killing Mr. Lopez in ten minutes. Casualties?" \[7 billion\]. "Yep, I've got time for breakfast first." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #076 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.	''I know that you’ll find me one day...'' This is not an ordinary day... at least not for me. I’m graduating from college, today. All the sacrifices I made for years all the tough times will payback starting now. It’s 12:00 AM and I can’t sleep. It's not because I’m too excited it’s because I’m confused about what I’m seeing on the screen. I’m on a website that gives you a result of your actions without any restrictions. I’ve typed many things, including wild ones. When was there is nothing else to type, I had some doubts about the website and I wanted to test it by typing something that I’ll never do. ‘Kill my neighbour.’ The result was zero. I’ve been looking at the screen for hours thinking and arguing with myself should I trust this website or not. I did crazy things sometimes, but I’ll never guess that one day I’d believe to a website that can predict every outcome and it seems like failed, or did it? There is the only way to know for sure. I go outside and I silent yell to Mia who will also graduate with me. There is no response. Her room is dark. In fact, there is not a single light in the house that I can see so far. Mia is living with her parents. She has also one little brother. I use the garden door to enter the house and there is no sound or any indication that they are at the home. I want to go back but sudden noise changes my mind. I go upstairs cautiously, without making any noise. I whisper Mia’s name but there is no response. I see a dim red light coming from under the door which might be Mia’s room. I push the door open and I see someone laying on the ground. The red light is coming from a computer screen and I get closer, it’s Mia. I nudge her and I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond. I check her breath with my hand and I can barely feel her breath. I get distracted by the sudden noise from the computer. I stand up and I approach the computer and try to figure what is going on the screen. A sudden flash blinds me for a second and when I regain my vision I see the room from a different angle, the same angle as the screen. I try to touch my face, I try to move around and I get a bizarre feeling of emptiness and I see someone walking into the room. I hear the exact words that I heard from Mia when we first met... ''I know that you’ll find me one day.'' ---------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	The first thing that ran through my mind was that I couldn't kill my neighbor. Not shouldn't, not wouldn't. Couldn't. Sarah Wylan was currently under arrest, suspected for arson when my house burnt down. Even if I knew where she was right now, there was no way I could fight through an army of cops and off her. And yet the website still answered me. I drummed my fingers on the keyboard for a second, idly, then typed, Use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. Okay. So it doesn't care whether or not it's actually physically possible to take an action. I thought a little more, then typed, If my name is Jonathan Elswick, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. If my name is Dmitri Mendeleev, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: Zero deaths. Ooh. So it knows things about me. Makes sense, if it can correctly extrapolate the total sum deaths created by any action—it had to have access to a monstrous amount of information. Hmm. I use voodoo magic to kill a number of people equal to the decimal representation of my ex-wife's phone number. Result: 2,133,886,111 deaths. Hands trembling, I dialed (213) 388-6111. After two rings, the call connected. I heard my ex-wife briefly whisper, "Hello? Who is th—" I hung up, eyes wide. Holy crap. An oracle. I bent over the keyboard, fingers blurring. I kill all people who know about this website's existence. Result: 3 deaths. Okay. That was good. I'd only found out this website existed when the Department of Paranormal Phenomena called me up; there had been someone who'd reported it and someone who'd forwarded it to me. That should account for all— Result: 4 deaths. I blinked. Huh. So... someone had become aware of the website's existence in the last few seconds. I typed in, Using a system where 01 is A, 02 is B, so on and so forth, until 26 is Z and 27 is a space, I kill a number of people equal to the name of the last person to discover this website's existence. The site paused for a second, then spat out a number. I translated it. Sarah Wylan. My ex-neighbor. I kill Sarah Wylan if she knows I'm on this website too. Result: 1 death. Oh, crap. Using the same encryption scheme as before, I kill a number of people equal to Sarah Wylan's last query to this website. Hurriedly, I translated the numbers back into letters and read: "Using an alphanumeric encryption system, I kill a number of people which corresponds to a sequence of actions I can take which will let me be released from jail." God. Oh, God. I panicked. I started to type, I kill a number of people which corresponds to— My phone began to ring. It was my ex-wife. Tears filled my eyes. She was calling me. She hadn't called in years and now she called? I took in a deep, shaky breath and picked up the phone. "Hello? Allie?" I whispered. "Jonathan?" Allie said back. I could hear the tremors of worry in her voice. "God, Jonathan, some crazy woman's got me tied up. She says—" There was a burst of static as her phone dropped, and then a voice I'd hoped I would never hear again. "Jonathan Elswick," my ex-neighbor Sarah Wylan purred, "How have you been? Browse the internet lately? Find anything good?" "Yeah. Yeah, listen, Wylan, I don't know what your beef with me is, but please. I know what you asked the oracle site. Just... leave us alone, okay?" Frantically, I continued typing, I kill a number of people which corresponds to what I can do to make Wylan release Allie. As fast as I could, I started translating the answer. "Mm. We find that entirely possible—if you capitulate to a few requests. We know you work for the Department of Paranormal Phenomena. We would like you to release all the files for all the cases you've worked with them on to the Internet." "I—I can't. They'll kill me. And they'll know who made me do it, too. They'll come after you as well." "They'll never know who talked to you last if you, oh, say, kill yourself immediately after you release the files." I could almost hear Wylan grinning. "A life for a life. The most ancient of compacts." "And—" "I'll know if you've done the deed or not. I know just about everything there is to know, now." The translation was complete. The answer to my question. I blinked twice, then smiled. Dared to hope. "Yeah? Okay. Then you should know this. Fact 1: The chemical energy stored in the phone you're holding could, if released all at once, explode with roughly the force of a hand grenade. Fact 2: There are many, many layers of security programs in place to stop this from happening. And Fact 3?" I finished copying and pasting the code the website had written. "This oracle just wrote me a program which overrides them all." I could almost imagine the shock on Wylan's face, moments before my ex-wife's phone exploded in a pulse of plastic and steel, less than half an inch from her ear. She'd be dead before she hit the ground. If you liked this story and want to read more like it, you might want to check out r/rileywrites!	''I know that you’ll find me one day...'' This is not an ordinary day... at least not for me. I’m graduating from college, today. All the sacrifices I made for years all the tough times will payback starting now. It’s 12:00 AM and I can’t sleep. It's not because I’m too excited it’s because I’m confused about what I’m seeing on the screen. I’m on a website that gives you a result of your actions without any restrictions. I’ve typed many things, including wild ones. When was there is nothing else to type, I had some doubts about the website and I wanted to test it by typing something that I’ll never do. ‘Kill my neighbour.’ The result was zero. I’ve been looking at the screen for hours thinking and arguing with myself should I trust this website or not. I did crazy things sometimes, but I’ll never guess that one day I’d believe to a website that can predict every outcome and it seems like failed, or did it? There is the only way to know for sure. I go outside and I silent yell to Mia who will also graduate with me. There is no response. Her room is dark. In fact, there is not a single light in the house that I can see so far. Mia is living with her parents. She has also one little brother. I use the garden door to enter the house and there is no sound or any indication that they are at the home. I want to go back but sudden noise changes my mind. I go upstairs cautiously, without making any noise. I whisper Mia’s name but there is no response. I see a dim red light coming from under the door which might be Mia’s room. I push the door open and I see someone laying on the ground. The red light is coming from a computer screen and I get closer, it’s Mia. I nudge her and I whisper her name, she doesn’t respond. I check her breath with my hand and I can barely feel her breath. I get distracted by the sudden noise from the computer. I stand up and I approach the computer and try to figure what is going on the screen. A sudden flash blinds me for a second and when I regain my vision I see the room from a different angle, the same angle as the screen. I try to touch my face, I try to move around and I get a bizarre feeling of emptiness and I see someone walking into the room. I hear the exact words that I heard from Mia when we first met... ''I know that you’ll find me one day.'' ---------------------- -Thank you for reading the story- Just FYI, I'm not a native speaker so, if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes please don't mind it.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	I can’t believe it... sweet old miss Jenkins, a killer. I stare at the negative 17 on the screen. That means she would kill 18 people in her remaining short life. Miss Jenkins the 85 year old neighbor who greets me every morning. At first I felt discussed by even typing in her name as a joke. But now, I had to know. I peered our my window and stared at her, for her age she got around quite well. She was pulling weeds from her garden, which always seemed to be fresh soil. I slap myself and laugh. I couldn’t possibly believe she will kill 18 people. Before I could even think about it I was texting my boss “ate something that didn’t agree with me I’ll be in tomorrow” A full day of watching her and nothing, that night as I saw her turn off her light, and I decided that was enough. I laid down for a restless night of sleep. I woke up and texted my boss again “must be a stomach bug, so sorry” again I followed her the entire day. ... It’s been 10 days, my boss is getting upset I haven’t been in I could be fired but I don’t care anymore, I could be saving a life. I could be saving many lives. Her routine remains constant 7:05: wake up 7:10: makes a cup of tea and 2 eggs, overeats 7:30: heads outside sits on her porch and greets each of the neighbors. She even looks over at my door and frowns when she doesn’t see me come out at my normal time. 8:00: walks down the street to the kids bus stop, she watches as they all get on the bus, she even ran off a man who was walking around suspiciously. 8:30: get in her car and drives to town, picks up the fresh ingredients apple pie. 10:30: eats lunch at the local dinner, a chicken sandwich cut in half. She eats one Half of the sandwich and takes the rest in a to go container. 11:45: went to the park and fed the bread of her sandwich to the birds and left the chicken for a stray dog. 2:30: arrives home and begins baking the pie. 3:30: sets the pie on the window to cool and starting making her dinner. 4:30: eats her dinner alone. 5:00: carries her pie to a random neighbors house and sets it on the front step with a note. 5:15: heads back to her front porch and sits 5:20: every neighbor almost like there was a neighborhood meeting on it, take the pie and heads to ms Jenkins house, they sit on the front and share the cake with her and talk for over an hour. 6:30: heads into her house and watches Letterman. 8:00: she heads to bead I have waiting up all night and nothing. She doesn’t move till 7:05 Today was the same as normal except at 5:00 she brought the pie to my house. I opened the door after she walked away and read the note “I have noticed you haven’t been going to work lately and wanted to make sure you were all right, feel free to come over anytime and chat” I felt crushed, tears welled up in my eyes as I stared at the pie. After staring at it for 30 minutes I willed myself to head over there. She greeted me with excitement and cut the pie. After seeing it made so many times it didn’t disappoint. She talked my ear off about everything. My life, my goals. All my answers were vague or short but it didn’t stop her. She shared old stories of her late husband, the bakery they use to run together. She gave life lessons and little bits of wisdom. Even cracked a joke here and there. After 2 hours I felt a weight lifted off my shoulders. I wished her well and went off to bed. It was Friday night and I had the weekend to get myself together and go apologize to my boss. I slept in after all the long nights and early mornings, spying on my neighbor, feeling like a creep now. It’s 11:45, I think of her feeding the birds. I laugh at myself. I walk down and turn on the TV. It’s a live feed of a helicopter on a traffic accident. I read the banner across the bottom. “Breaking 19 reported dead after elderly woman suffers a stroke and drives into oncoming traffic”	Son, I know this will be hard for you to understand. Maybe one day, when you're older, you'll read this letter and know why I did what I did. I acted without caution, without thought. But sometimes, it is the things we do in the spur of the moment- without caution or thought- that can make the most difference in another's life. Let me start from the beginning. Back in my day, we had this website.... I stared at the computer screen in shock, my face illuminated by my too-bright screen in the dark room. I felt my hands begin to imperceptibly shake. It was impossible. How could the number have been negative? I pinched myself. I must have been dreaming. But no- the computer screen still stared back at me, just as innocuous and innocent as always. It was true. In all of my years of consulting the website, not once had it been mistaken in its prediction. If I killed my neighbour, I would save someone's life. Shaking myself out of my daze, I stood up and glanced out the window into my neighbour's moon-lit garden. I don't know what I expected to find- a blood-stained pathway, maybe, or a wilted flower. But, sure enough, the garden looked just the same as it always did: a line of crimson red roses, pruned to perfection, surrounding a patch of strawberry and pea plants, glistening with water droplets that reflected the bright moon above. How could that woman be- but yes, there was no other explanation for the website's prediction. My neighbour, the sweetest lady I had ever met, was going to become a serial killer. Numb with shock, I half-walked, half-stumbled over to the door. Was I really going to do this? Could I even bring myself to do it? I shake my head resolutely. I must. The website has never been wrong. I repeat this line to myself over and over- the website has never been wrong. The website has never been wrong. It took every ounce of willpower I had to pry open my garage door and step inside. The air was stiff and dry. I hadn't dared turn on the light, so I had to use my phone's flashlight to see. But thankfully, I knew exactly where it was- my automatic rifle. An illegal weapon where I live, but I had never been able to bring myself to get rid of it. As I lifted my dusty rifle out of the locked vault I kept it secured in, and dusted it off, a small voice at the back of my head whispered words of reason. "Call the police. Get help. You know what your neighbour is capable of. If you do what you plan on doing, then your life will be forfeit." But I was not in a reasonable mood. I ignored the voice. It is for this reason that I have come to suspect that... well, I'll speak on that in a moment. It will come as quite a shock to you, as it did to me. After another moment of careful thought, I stepped back into my house, my rifle in hand. I must have stood there for an hour, breathing heavily, my heart pounding out of my chest. It was a terrible idea, to do what I decided to do. I think I knew that it was all along. But, as I have already said, I did not think rationally. I have never been good at thought. And so, I stepped out into the icy cold night. The wind beat against my face relentlessly as I stormed through the darkness, nothing but the moon to see me, hoisting my rifle over my shoulder. I must have looked like a soldier, marching through the dense landscape, waiting for the first shot to fire and war to break out. It was what I felt like, too. I will admit I got a rush from it- my heart pounding with horrible dread and excitement combined. The wind pushing against me, trying desperately to get me to turn back- and I would not listen. I would not have listened if God Himself came down and told me to go back to my house and use the rational part of my brain, which they now tell me is missing. One knock on my neighbour's door. When she, inevitably, did not answer, I knocked again. And again. Again. Soon, I was pounding on her door so hard, it was sending pain shooting through my entire body. And it was only then that she opened the door. I will never forget the look on her face: the look of gentle confusion, of warmth, of puzzled delight at seeing me at her doorstep at such a strange hour. I will never forget the glistening white wood that made up the floor of her house. I will never forget the moonlight- feeling it course through my veins, filling me with violent energy and sheer delight as I did the deed. My automatic gun let out a shout, and the woman did the same thing. And the white wood floor was stained crimson red. I will never forget the last look of horror frozen on the kindly old woman's face as she stared up at me, blood pouring out of her skull in a river. I will never forget the gentle wrinkles on her face, the frail expression in her eyes, the way her body cracked against the wooden floor. And, most of all, I will never forget the rush- the knowledge that I had saved someone's life. That I was a hero of two people. That I, single-handedly, had brought down a murderer. The next few hours I don't recall very well- I remember people screaming, desperate shouts, cries of grief. I remember police sirens. I remember being taken away in handcuffs. They tell me I was grinning manically as they did it, my entire body covered in the woman's blood. They tell me I had drunken her blood. I don't remember that. The only thing I remember after that is the drive there- how long and annoying it was and how much the police officer kept his distance from me. So, son, as I sit here in my jail cell writing this, I hope you can at least understand why I did what I did. Did I act brashly, without caution? Of course. But do I regret it? Not for a minute. The doctors now tell me that there is no such website as I have mentioned. I hear words thrown around like "lunatic" and "psychopath." They are trying to tell me that I have gone mad. But I have not gone mad. I know what I saw. I know what I did. Yes, I killed a woman. My neighbour. But I did it to save a life, not to destroy ours. The doctors lie. I have shown them the website myself, and they refused to believe it. I know it is true. I know you probably won't see this, son. They have brainwashed you into believing that I'm a madman, a murderer, someone who is not to be trusted. But I swear, in front of you, in front of the judge, in front of God Himself, that I was justified in what I did. And, even though my life is now in shambles, I have no regrets. I am a hero. [Check out the website for yourself.](https://willsomeonedie.com) \----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- /r/OneMoreWord
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	The first thing that ran through my mind was that I couldn't kill my neighbor. Not shouldn't, not wouldn't. Couldn't. Sarah Wylan was currently under arrest, suspected for arson when my house burnt down. Even if I knew where she was right now, there was no way I could fight through an army of cops and off her. And yet the website still answered me. I drummed my fingers on the keyboard for a second, idly, then typed, Use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. Okay. So it doesn't care whether or not it's actually physically possible to take an action. I thought a little more, then typed, If my name is Jonathan Elswick, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. If my name is Dmitri Mendeleev, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: Zero deaths. Ooh. So it knows things about me. Makes sense, if it can correctly extrapolate the total sum deaths created by any action—it had to have access to a monstrous amount of information. Hmm. I use voodoo magic to kill a number of people equal to the decimal representation of my ex-wife's phone number. Result: 2,133,886,111 deaths. Hands trembling, I dialed (213) 388-6111. After two rings, the call connected. I heard my ex-wife briefly whisper, "Hello? Who is th—" I hung up, eyes wide. Holy crap. An oracle. I bent over the keyboard, fingers blurring. I kill all people who know about this website's existence. Result: 3 deaths. Okay. That was good. I'd only found out this website existed when the Department of Paranormal Phenomena called me up; there had been someone who'd reported it and someone who'd forwarded it to me. That should account for all— Result: 4 deaths. I blinked. Huh. So... someone had become aware of the website's existence in the last few seconds. I typed in, Using a system where 01 is A, 02 is B, so on and so forth, until 26 is Z and 27 is a space, I kill a number of people equal to the name of the last person to discover this website's existence. The site paused for a second, then spat out a number. I translated it. Sarah Wylan. My ex-neighbor. I kill Sarah Wylan if she knows I'm on this website too. Result: 1 death. Oh, crap. Using the same encryption scheme as before, I kill a number of people equal to Sarah Wylan's last query to this website. Hurriedly, I translated the numbers back into letters and read: "Using an alphanumeric encryption system, I kill a number of people which corresponds to a sequence of actions I can take which will let me be released from jail." God. Oh, God. I panicked. I started to type, I kill a number of people which corresponds to— My phone began to ring. It was my ex-wife. Tears filled my eyes. She was calling me. She hadn't called in years and now she called? I took in a deep, shaky breath and picked up the phone. "Hello? Allie?" I whispered. "Jonathan?" Allie said back. I could hear the tremors of worry in her voice. "God, Jonathan, some crazy woman's got me tied up. She says—" There was a burst of static as her phone dropped, and then a voice I'd hoped I would never hear again. "Jonathan Elswick," my ex-neighbor Sarah Wylan purred, "How have you been? Browse the internet lately? Find anything good?" "Yeah. Yeah, listen, Wylan, I don't know what your beef with me is, but please. I know what you asked the oracle site. Just... leave us alone, okay?" Frantically, I continued typing, I kill a number of people which corresponds to what I can do to make Wylan release Allie. As fast as I could, I started translating the answer. "Mm. We find that entirely possible—if you capitulate to a few requests. We know you work for the Department of Paranormal Phenomena. We would like you to release all the files for all the cases you've worked with them on to the Internet." "I—I can't. They'll kill me. And they'll know who made me do it, too. They'll come after you as well." "They'll never know who talked to you last if you, oh, say, kill yourself immediately after you release the files." I could almost hear Wylan grinning. "A life for a life. The most ancient of compacts." "And—" "I'll know if you've done the deed or not. I know just about everything there is to know, now." The translation was complete. The answer to my question. I blinked twice, then smiled. Dared to hope. "Yeah? Okay. Then you should know this. Fact 1: The chemical energy stored in the phone you're holding could, if released all at once, explode with roughly the force of a hand grenade. Fact 2: There are many, many layers of security programs in place to stop this from happening. And Fact 3?" I finished copying and pasting the code the website had written. "This oracle just wrote me a program which overrides them all." I could almost imagine the shock on Wylan's face, moments before my ex-wife's phone exploded in a pulse of plastic and steel, less than half an inch from her ear. She'd be dead before she hit the ground. If you liked this story and want to read more like it, you might want to check out r/rileywrites!	\[ -7 billion\] "Huh?" Murphy sat up straighter in his seat. It was the first time he'd seen negative numbers on the website. It was a lazy Monday morning that didn't need him at work; he was awake early anyway. He found himself browsing the web and ended up at the relatively new Timeline site. The site was old enough that the novelty wore off for the public, but it was new enough that Murphy only visited a few times. He'd never heard of anyone talking about negative numbers. "Maybe it's a glitch," Murphy deleted his decision and typed a new one. "I have decided to have pizza for lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" he typed. The question didn't need to be that formal; 'pizza for lunch?' would have been enough. However, he wanted to be extra careful to avoid the glitch. \[7 billion\] appeared in the answer box. "What the hell?" The answer confused Murphy, but he realized he did not use a timeframe when he asked the site about his neighbor. "I have decided to kill my neighbor, Mr. Lopez today during lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" Murphy elaborated on the question that gave him a negative answer the first time. \[ -7 billion\] it replied again. Murphy stared at his question for a moment, then changed it. "I have decided to kill my neighbor, Mr Lopez, tomorrow during lunch. What are the casualties of this decision?" he typed. \[7 billion\] appeared in the answer box again. "Is the timing that important?" he wondered then typed different variations into the site. "I have decided to kill Mr. Lopez today at dinner time. What are the casualties of this decision?" \[7 billion\] it answered. "I have decided to kill Mr. Lopez today at 1 p.m. Casualties?" he typed. Now that Murphy was confident the site was not glitching, he did not feel the need to continue being formal. \[7 billion\]. "I'm killing Mr. Lopez today at noon. Casualties?" \[ -7 billion\]. "Alright," Murphy sighed, shrugged, then glanced at the clock. "I have a few hours to kill before I...," he interrupted his own thoughts by asking the site another question. "I'm killing Mr. Lopez in ten minutes. Casualties?" \[7 billion\]. "Yep, I've got time for breakfast first." \\\* Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year three, story #076 You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the Guidebook to see what's what and who's who, or the Timeline to find the stories in order.
	[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative.	The first thing that ran through my mind was that I couldn't kill my neighbor. Not shouldn't, not wouldn't. Couldn't. Sarah Wylan was currently under arrest, suspected for arson when my house burnt down. Even if I knew where she was right now, there was no way I could fight through an army of cops and off her. And yet the website still answered me. I drummed my fingers on the keyboard for a second, idly, then typed, Use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. Okay. So it doesn't care whether or not it's actually physically possible to take an action. I thought a little more, then typed, If my name is Jonathan Elswick, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: One person dies. If my name is Dmitri Mendeleev, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person. Result: Zero deaths. Ooh. So it knows things about me. Makes sense, if it can correctly extrapolate the total sum deaths created by any action—it had to have access to a monstrous amount of information. Hmm. I use voodoo magic to kill a number of people equal to the decimal representation of my ex-wife's phone number. Result: 2,133,886,111 deaths. Hands trembling, I dialed (213) 388-6111. After two rings, the call connected. I heard my ex-wife briefly whisper, "Hello? Who is th—" I hung up, eyes wide. Holy crap. An oracle. I bent over the keyboard, fingers blurring. I kill all people who know about this website's existence. Result: 3 deaths. Okay. That was good. I'd only found out this website existed when the Department of Paranormal Phenomena called me up; there had been someone who'd reported it and someone who'd forwarded it to me. That should account for all— Result: 4 deaths. I blinked. Huh. So... someone had become aware of the website's existence in the last few seconds. I typed in, Using a system where 01 is A, 02 is B, so on and so forth, until 26 is Z and 27 is a space, I kill a number of people equal to the name of the last person to discover this website's existence. The site paused for a second, then spat out a number. I translated it. Sarah Wylan. My ex-neighbor. I kill Sarah Wylan if she knows I'm on this website too. Result: 1 death. Oh, crap. Using the same encryption scheme as before, I kill a number of people equal to Sarah Wylan's last query to this website. Hurriedly, I translated the numbers back into letters and read: "Using an alphanumeric encryption system, I kill a number of people which corresponds to a sequence of actions I can take which will let me be released from jail." God. Oh, God. I panicked. I started to type, I kill a number of people which corresponds to— My phone began to ring. It was my ex-wife. Tears filled my eyes. She was calling me. She hadn't called in years and now she called? I took in a deep, shaky breath and picked up the phone. "Hello? Allie?" I whispered. "Jonathan?" Allie said back. I could hear the tremors of worry in her voice. "God, Jonathan, some crazy woman's got me tied up. She says—" There was a burst of static as her phone dropped, and then a voice I'd hoped I would never hear again. "Jonathan Elswick," my ex-neighbor Sarah Wylan purred, "How have you been? Browse the internet lately? Find anything good?" "Yeah. Yeah, listen, Wylan, I don't know what your beef with me is, but please. I know what you asked the oracle site. Just... leave us alone, okay?" Frantically, I continued typing, I kill a number of people which corresponds to what I can do to make Wylan release Allie. As fast as I could, I started translating the answer. "Mm. We find that entirely possible—if you capitulate to a few requests. We know you work for the Department of Paranormal Phenomena. We would like you to release all the files for all the cases you've worked with them on to the Internet." "I—I can't. They'll kill me. And they'll know who made me do it, too. They'll come after you as well." "They'll never know who talked to you last if you, oh, say, kill yourself immediately after you release the files." I could almost hear Wylan grinning. "A life for a life. The most ancient of compacts." "And—" "I'll know if you've done the deed or not. I know just about everything there is to know, now." The translation was complete. The answer to my question. I blinked twice, then smiled. Dared to hope. "Yeah? Okay. Then you should know this. Fact 1: The chemical energy stored in the phone you're holding could, if released all at once, explode with roughly the force of a hand grenade. Fact 2: There are many, many layers of security programs in place to stop this from happening. And Fact 3?" I finished copying and pasting the code the website had written. "This oracle just wrote me a program which overrides them all." I could almost imagine the shock on Wylan's face, moments before my ex-wife's phone exploded in a pulse of plastic and steel, less than half an inch from her ear. She'd be dead before she hit the ground. If you liked this story and want to read more like it, you might want to check out r/rileywrites!	The grass is always greener. It seems like everyone has a neighbor that magically has everything go well for them. New cars, a new addition to the house, a new pool - whatever you dream for yourself ends up becoming their reality. It all feels so unfair and unjust. And what's worse, it's always the neighborhood ass. Paul was a very blunt individual. He enjoyed the thrill of a verbal beat down, and reminding those around him of his own superiority. He was the high school bully who fell upwards in life. But I never thought much else about him. He was brash but harmless. Or so I thought. It wasn't until the strange search result popped up on my screen that I began to wonder. And even then it took several weeks of getting the same result before I really started to wonder. Living on the last house on the street with only Paul to my left made the implications fairly easy. But part of me didn't want to believe it. Sure, Paul was an ass, but didn't make him abjectly evil. I've known lots of assholes, most of which weren't monsters. But slowly, the thought took over with certainty. Maybe he enjoys more than just a verbal beat down... Still, a search result wasn't proof. I had to find a way to know for certain. I was willing to go the distance required to save the lives of those who would apparently die as a result of Paul's existence, but I needed to know. Thankfully, Paul's hubris made confirmation a relatively easy process. Surely nobody from his neighborhood would be smart enough to follow him, he thought. Nobody owns a nice set of binoculars these days, he must have surmised. And evidence of a freshly dug grave definitely isn't easy to find, especially if someone has watched you dig it. Paul was brutal, but also an idiot. So, now I knew. The path was now clear, but now I battled with whether or not I wanted to walk it. Wouldn't killing Paul bring me down to his level? Would it be any less evil, even if it meant indirect salvation for others? To be honest I never really answered those questions. But I knew calling the authorities would do little to help. His intended targets might change, but he would find others to kill. Freedom nor prison could hold this man's wrath - only the grave would prove strong enough for such a task. And so I waited. I knew every Saturday Paul liked to grill in his back yard. Living alone provided him few witnesses to the justice I would wreak, so I just needed to be swift and not draw outside attention. I had never planned a murder before so I wasn't sure quite what to use, so the choice of a sledgehammer seemed good as any. As dusk turned into night I went to my computer to perform one last search. I typed in my query, just to make sure I was doing the right thing. And to my disappointment, the number had only gone up. Yes, this was the right thing to do, but that didn't stop my stomach from turning upside down. And with the meaty smoke wafting off the grill, I slowly made my way around Paul's house. As I got closer I could hear him quietly humming and singing to himself. "Stayin' alive, stayin' alive!" Whatever gods were in control of fate were certainly not making this easy. But I made my way forward. Standing right behind the man, I fought one last bout with doubt. Just let the man eat his chicken... my heart said, but my mind took over. Images of the crude burial I had seen this man perform flashed in my mind. This is justice, I convinced myself. Soon, almost without conscious intent, the hammer was in the air. And in one swift motion, half of Paul's head was against his brand new pool, and the rest on the ground below. Paul had had everything he ever wanted. He had the looks, he had the life, and he had the arrogance to shove it in the hearts and minds of everyone he met. But that still wasn't enough for him. He had to, in whatever way he could, take the very life of another. It was only then that he could find satisfaction, but even then, it was fleeting. The grass truly is greener, sometimes, as the saying goes. But this time, it's also a little redder. &nbsp; ____________________ r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested.
	[WP] You meet the goddess of love and beauty, but she's not exactly what you expected. Instead of abundant beauty, she just seems normal and kind of boring. But as you get to know her, she starts to grow on you...	I’m not sure what had made her approach me, sitting all alone in the food court of the movie theater. The movie I had watched just ended not to long ago, though I should say we as it turns out we both had came from watching the same thing. Thinking back to just before the movie started she was in line right in front of me. Both of us looking at our own phones as we waited and ignoring one another, but I could not ignore the faint aroma of lavender that seemed to waft off her, and I found myself without much thinking taking in deep breathes of air trying to take as much of it in as my lungs could hold, and smiling just barely in every intake. After she had grabbed her ticket, for some reason unbeknownst to me, she had turned around, and smiled at me. It had caught me off guard. I had put my phone away in preparation to pay, and looking forward at her smile, at me off all people, caused my face to feel warm. Startled in my surprise I gave her a weak smile back, before she continued on into the theater. I gave a quick shake of my head and a sigh of relief that she had gone, but inside I was already missing that faint scent of lavender that was carried of with her. I thought little more of it, or at least tried too, until the movie finally started. Time and time again during the show though, the subtle and relaxing smell of lavender would tickle my nose, but I figured it my mind only playing tricks on me. Until the movie was over however, and the lights came on, and sitting in the row right in front of me, in the seat right in front of mine, there she was sitting, and standing to go. Once more, she looked at me and gave another charming smile directed right at me. I returned to her a smile of my own, though this time a bit more eager of one. A smile shared my strangers who had just shared the same exciting experience. She left before me again and this time I couldn’t help but notice how lovely she was, or how icy blue her eyes had been. I’m not sure I had ever seen such a stunningly vibrant color of blue. I had almost wanted to talk to her, say something to her as I watched her leave, but the words eluded my tongue, and I shrugged off the desire. That was twice now, and a third time fast approaching. I should have seen it coming, but shyness fogged my reasoning. That is however, until she approached me in the food court. The scent of lavender brushed my nose before I ever bothered looking up to see her standing not three steps away from me. She sat down uninvited across the table from me, and laid her chin perched atop interlocked fingers as her piercing stare seemed to read me i side and out, again with a smile on her lips. Neither of us spoke, and I couldn’t help feeling a mouse being stared down by a hawk. Finally, with my heart beating in my ears, I spoke the first and shaky, “H-hello?” She had left me waiting in silence, her only response for a time, was the slightest jerk at the corners of her lips, so fast I wasn’t even sure I really saw it. Long brown hair held behind her ears in waves fell out of sight under the table. I felt my cheeks grow warmer under her scrutinizing gaze, and as I was feeling ready to get up and leave, without the Fatburger I payed and was waiting for, she said, “Don’t be afraid Alex. I’ve come to help you.” Hearing her say my name caused my heart to skip a beat, “How... how do you know my name?” I was sure I have never met this women before. Pretty as she was I think I’d remember. Terrible at names as I am, I rarely forget a face, and her face, her eyes, would be hard to forget. The brief moment of shock subsided and that last thing she said finally registered in my mind, and as she opened her mouth to speak I cut in with a flurry of questions, “Who are you?” “Help with what?” “What are you talking abou-“ She raised a hand and my mouth closed, and the unasked questions exhaled out my nose in a lengthy wind of barely suppressed panic. She looked at me, still with that smile, but with a very serious look in her eyes, “I am Mariana... and I’ve come to heal your heart.” Well that had... taken me aback some. “I had passed by you one day, and as confident as you stroke, though all was normal and well, I could see the darkness around you.” My fear began dissipating a bit as I came to realize this chick was batshit crazy. I was going to say as such, but my mouth... my mouth refused to open! Not only that, my gaze had been solely on her since she sat, but as I looked around no one was moving. No sound was coming from anywhere. The world was frozen in motion. “Seeing you brought to me such a terrible sadness. The pain in your heart. The heart you cast aside. Locked in stone and the key lost.” She placed one of her hand over mine, so much smaller than my own but so soft, and the most dreadful look of sadness washed over Mariana’s face. Just seeing her like that almost made me want to cry. It almost made me forget that it seemed like we were the only two in the world to still be moving. “For you see, Alex, I am a goddess. The Goddess of Love, and of Beauty,” she firmed a grip upon my hand, far, far stronger and more painful than her small, soft hands should physically be able to. That also made me want to cry, but for different if just as painful reasons. Mariana did relax her grip after moment, if just, and said, “I cannot simply watch you go around and desecrate my domain, all I stand for, with your presence! I shall free your heart from the clutched of despair!” I had looked down at our hands, then my vision began to lose focus as the weight of her words crashed down on my skull like a hammer. My shoulders sagged wearily, but when I spoke, there was no fear or hesitance in my voice, “I stopped loving long ago. You cannot bring a dead heart back to life. Goddess or not, you cannot cure me. If I offend you, then destroy me.” My half lidded eyes lifted from the top of the table to meet her gaze. In where I expected to find anger and rage in offending the supposed goddess, I only saw compassion and sympathy, and for some reason that hurt a whole lot worse. “Don’t look at me like that!” I snapped, looking away a lips twisting into a fierce snarl, “Don’t... don’t look at me!” Part 1/2	What else was I going to do? I had just been temporarily deployed to a duty station. While they ripped the flight line up from my base, but work can never stop. Grease stained my hands, my knuckles bloodied from breaking lug nuts off tires and replacing them. Now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the only place to drink being a run down bar full of people under the impression that drinks can solve their problems. But who was I to judge. wasn’t I doing the same? drinking to cure my social seclusion. I didn’t even notice when she walked in. a friend in each arm one she wasn’t the prettiest her long wavy brown hair layered on her shoulders. a long white t with some irrelevant label and jeans. her friends much better dressed for a night out. they sat across the room from me separated by what seemed to be an obstacle course of tables and guys trying to get their chance with her friends. I filled my stomach with liquid courage and made my move on her friends. making small talk about college, drinks, and jobs. I can’t say I was the best flirt, but she kept staring at me. as if trying to figure me out. her friends were escorted away by two strangers, and I was perfectly fine with that. we talked about the fact she was leaving soon. She was going overseas for her schooling, and she just wanted to have some fun before she went. Her eyes sparkled green almost glowing, and a seductive smile grinned perfect white teeth. was it the bottle of whiskey that was turning this plain girl into a goddess? it must have been. we seemed to talk for hours ignoring everything around us. I escorted her out to her car. asking her if she wanted to get out of here? she smiled and touched my face, as she slid her number into my hands. that night I laid in bed and thought more about her. Her eyes as they stared into my soul. how her words formed a sympathy that would make a sinner repent. how she scared me... I called her the next day we decided we should go on a date a simple game of laser tag and dinner. a few garlic sticks later, and we shared our first kiss. her perfume drawing me into her as she tangled her fingers into my hair. we tempted the line of decently more than once and we rarely paused to breathe. My heart raced as fast as it did when I was young and inexperienced in this particular thing, but she was consuming my world, and holding my heart in her hand. than she stopped and asked me to take her home. I sat in the car that night the butterflies in my stomach kicking my ribs. it was painful to be without her.. we had many dates each one more wonderful than the last. we spoke of politics, and kids. we talked of marriage and friends. then the day came. we were hiking in Yellowstone I was walking behind her living in the ambience of love. she stopped suddenly and turned to me and touched my chest. the shock of her touch made my hair stand up on ends. she told me “it’s time”. that she would leave tonight to go abroad. I tried to grasp at straws. saying that “we can make the distance work” that I can “wait for her”. She doesn’t have to go. she just smiled as she held my hand and said “we always knew what this was just a place holder for time”. her hair shined gold in the light as her lips pursed. her words whispered “your a sweet guy you were nice while we lasted but a goddess can never love a mortal”. then she was gone as if she had never existed. tears welled in my eyes. I was alone again... it’s been years since then. I finished my term in the Military and now just work in a shop. I’m still alone I haven’t dated since her. sometimes I think I see her, but I know she’s happy without me. sometimes I wish what we had been real, but I should have known she would never love me. Please excuse grammar and punctuation I am vary horrible at this.
	[WP] You meet the goddess of love and beauty, but she's not exactly what you expected. Instead of abundant beauty, she just seems normal and kind of boring. But as you get to know her, she starts to grow on you...	Twelve thirty-three was what his watch mocked as Colwyn stared in agitation at its face. Of course it could be smug, behind that glass cover and all, its hands unabated by its master's need to be somewhere in twelve minutes that would probably take close to twenty. The watch had no care in the world that he'd been sitting in his car for twenty-two minutes already, waiting for the necessary second member of this carpool to decide if she would wear the green bow or the purple beret today and load up so that they could take the HOV lane to work to get the day started already. But then again, that wasn't the watch's fault. It just reported the bad news, it didn't make it. Honk! Honk! the old sedan sounded, Colwyn letting out an equally loud "Come on, Ven! We're going to get written up... again!" however inaudible through the glass in the car window and the wood in the small house's door frame about 30 feet away it was. But it made him feel better, a bit. Finally, he heard the door shut and glared at the short woman sporting a green bow who was trotting to the passenger side of the car. The woman gently opened the door and bounced right into the seat next to him seeming quite pleased with herself. He couldn't be more displeased. Without saying a word, he put the car into gear and began the drive to an already late job for the both of them. They had been riding in silence for about five minutes, Colwyn noticeably agitated, and the woman looking at a crocheting magazine she pulled out of her purse shortly after she'd sat down. "Well," she said in a monotone. "Well what?""Do you think I should've gone with the beret instead?"Colwyn looked quickly and put his attentions back to the road. "It's fine," he remarked dismissively."It's fine", she mocked, putting a little more sass into the impersonation than he felt was warranted considering the circumstances."You asked me what I thought, and I told you.""Yeah, like I was some commoner." She looked up from her the amigurumi panda she wanted to make later on that day, "I think I deserve a little more than "it's fine".""Well maybe if you were the goddess of punctuality, I'd have more time to make an opinion, but right now, we're looking at being a full fifteen minutes late, and I'm speeding." "Oh," she moued, "you're upset. I'll just bat my eyes at James and make it all better when we get there.""Well, if you'd get up on time, you wouldn't have to do that..." He kept his eyes on the road. She wasn't going to pull those shenanigans on him, not again... for the hundredth time."You didn't have a problem with it last year.""I didn't know you were a pain in the ass last year." She looked out the window, dropping her magazine and losing the page with that cute panda doll project. "I bet you'd be fine if it was Athena sitting here and not me..." That one stung a little. He remembered back to when he first met Venus in her "office" at the time. He'd prayed to the gods to help him get a girlfriend and was shortly delivered a letter via Mercury Mail: a detailed map to the offices of Aphrodesia LLC, a Guaranteed Love company. On the front of that map - which was really more a brochure with a small map on it than a full-size map - was a beautiful, buxom woman with flowing blonde hair, a gorgeous and alluring smile, and a twinkle in her eyes promising fantasies and desires to be met for a small consultation fee. Excited at the prospect of loneliness abated, he hurried over to the address, walked in the front door, and saw only a small woman with a pink ribbon in her hair, large glasses, and a casual blouse and pants. His first words to her were, "Oh, you must be Venus's receptionist," and she'd never let him forget it. "Come on, Ven, that's not fair.""Yeah," she was suddenly animated and turned back to Colwyn who was sure he could shave another few minutes by taking this side-street. "Well neither is being some supposed "love Goddess" and looking like Daria Morgendorffer, but here we are!""Hey, it's not my fault your dad has a cruel sense of irony," he snickered to himself on that one. "And daddy issues aside, anyways, why do you want this job?""What do you mean?" She was genuinely intrigued."I mean, you could have anything you wanted. Ever. You just bat your eyes and people do what you say. I wouldn't be stuck behind a desk." She thought for a minute, which Colwyn appreciated because it meant she was quiet and he could concentrate on making up time - with the shortcuts and speeding he'd done, they'd only be about eight minutes late, which wasn't so bad. He looked over at her briefly and could tell she was really considering this question. Had he finally gotten to her? &#x200B; In the beginning, when he realized that the very common-looking girl in the offices of Aphrodesia LLC was actually Venus, the Goddess of Love and Beauty herself, he couldn't believe it. The woman on the brochure, he learned, was actually Athena, Venus's younger and obviously more attractive sister. She'd been posing as her for years, since all the pantheon knew that no one would ever believe Venus was the goddess of beauty. Zeus thought it was quite a funny joke to give that mantle to her, since she was very plain and rather small. So, yeah, she had "daddy issues" "Because it's something I know how to do, and people like me there. And they appreciate the job I do," Venus answered plainly and firmly.It was an endearing answer. And a simple one. She could have anything she wanted, save to be appreciated for what she was. Made him feel a little dickish for making a big deal about being late, after all. He put the car into park and unbuckled his belt. They'd only be seven and a half minutes late. He'd let her bat her eyes, but this was the last time! He looked over at Venus, who was gathering her magazine, remembering to turn to the page with that panda again and mark it with a little fold. "The bow looks great." She sneered, unbuckled her belt and got out of the car with him, and they skipped into the office building. "So see you at lunch?" she asked, excited to share the tuna salad she'd hand-made last night from a Pinterest recipe. He waved, called back "Yeah yeah" and boarded the elevator to the third floor where his office was. Satisfied with herself, she sat down at her desk, quickly clocked in and wrote a sticky note to "See James" later on that day. The phone rang."Gilderemeyer and Associates, this is Venus in reception. How may I help you?"	What else was I going to do? I had just been temporarily deployed to a duty station. While they ripped the flight line up from my base, but work can never stop. Grease stained my hands, my knuckles bloodied from breaking lug nuts off tires and replacing them. Now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the only place to drink being a run down bar full of people under the impression that drinks can solve their problems. But who was I to judge. wasn’t I doing the same? drinking to cure my social seclusion. I didn’t even notice when she walked in. a friend in each arm one she wasn’t the prettiest her long wavy brown hair layered on her shoulders. a long white t with some irrelevant label and jeans. her friends much better dressed for a night out. they sat across the room from me separated by what seemed to be an obstacle course of tables and guys trying to get their chance with her friends. I filled my stomach with liquid courage and made my move on her friends. making small talk about college, drinks, and jobs. I can’t say I was the best flirt, but she kept staring at me. as if trying to figure me out. her friends were escorted away by two strangers, and I was perfectly fine with that. we talked about the fact she was leaving soon. She was going overseas for her schooling, and she just wanted to have some fun before she went. Her eyes sparkled green almost glowing, and a seductive smile grinned perfect white teeth. was it the bottle of whiskey that was turning this plain girl into a goddess? it must have been. we seemed to talk for hours ignoring everything around us. I escorted her out to her car. asking her if she wanted to get out of here? she smiled and touched my face, as she slid her number into my hands. that night I laid in bed and thought more about her. Her eyes as they stared into my soul. how her words formed a sympathy that would make a sinner repent. how she scared me... I called her the next day we decided we should go on a date a simple game of laser tag and dinner. a few garlic sticks later, and we shared our first kiss. her perfume drawing me into her as she tangled her fingers into my hair. we tempted the line of decently more than once and we rarely paused to breathe. My heart raced as fast as it did when I was young and inexperienced in this particular thing, but she was consuming my world, and holding my heart in her hand. than she stopped and asked me to take her home. I sat in the car that night the butterflies in my stomach kicking my ribs. it was painful to be without her.. we had many dates each one more wonderful than the last. we spoke of politics, and kids. we talked of marriage and friends. then the day came. we were hiking in Yellowstone I was walking behind her living in the ambience of love. she stopped suddenly and turned to me and touched my chest. the shock of her touch made my hair stand up on ends. she told me “it’s time”. that she would leave tonight to go abroad. I tried to grasp at straws. saying that “we can make the distance work” that I can “wait for her”. She doesn’t have to go. she just smiled as she held my hand and said “we always knew what this was just a place holder for time”. her hair shined gold in the light as her lips pursed. her words whispered “your a sweet guy you were nice while we lasted but a goddess can never love a mortal”. then she was gone as if she had never existed. tears welled in my eyes. I was alone again... it’s been years since then. I finished my term in the Military and now just work in a shop. I’m still alone I haven’t dated since her. sometimes I think I see her, but I know she’s happy without me. sometimes I wish what we had been real, but I should have known she would never love me. Please excuse grammar and punctuation I am vary horrible at this.
	[WP] You meet the goddess of love and beauty, but she's not exactly what you expected. Instead of abundant beauty, she just seems normal and kind of boring. But as you get to know her, she starts to grow on you...	Rachel was a rather plain-looking woman. The kind you'd see on the street, or in a bar, and dismiss without a second thought. But she made herself distinct to me by making the first move. It was the early evening, and I was sitting at the bar, looking into a Bloody Mary. Zing-Zang's mix, my favorite brand; that crap Campbell's calls "V8 Bloody Mary mix" isn't worthy of the name. About halfway through, and I hear "Penny for your thoughts?" as she sat down next to me. "Way too cheap. Five bucks," I reply. "Dollar fifty, final offer." "Deal. Name's John." "I'm Rachel," she replied. "What's drinking you?" "Just trying to get out of my headspace for a while. Been a while since a leisure activity of mine didn't involve my computer desk." "Tell me about it. While everyone was on lockdown due to coronavirus, I put more time into Apex Legends than is physically possible." Hoo boy, was I glad I wasn't sipping my drink when she said that. Absolutely would've inhaled some of it on that line. Instead I gave a laugh and said, "Gamer? We might have something in common! I mostly do singleplayer or co-op, though." That was the beginning of a VERY long conversation. We both eventually had to go home, but before that we swapped phone numbers and added each other on Facebook. We talked, and talked, and talked. And the oddest thing...her looks never changed, but she constantly seemed to be getting more attractive. I am absolutely no expert in romance. I dated twice when I was young, and both relationships crashed and burned so badly, and solely due to me, that I swore off dating so I couldn't hurt someone again. But Rachel... I think I'm in love.	What else was I going to do? I had just been temporarily deployed to a duty station. While they ripped the flight line up from my base, but work can never stop. Grease stained my hands, my knuckles bloodied from breaking lug nuts off tires and replacing them. Now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the only place to drink being a run down bar full of people under the impression that drinks can solve their problems. But who was I to judge. wasn’t I doing the same? drinking to cure my social seclusion. I didn’t even notice when she walked in. a friend in each arm one she wasn’t the prettiest her long wavy brown hair layered on her shoulders. a long white t with some irrelevant label and jeans. her friends much better dressed for a night out. they sat across the room from me separated by what seemed to be an obstacle course of tables and guys trying to get their chance with her friends. I filled my stomach with liquid courage and made my move on her friends. making small talk about college, drinks, and jobs. I can’t say I was the best flirt, but she kept staring at me. as if trying to figure me out. her friends were escorted away by two strangers, and I was perfectly fine with that. we talked about the fact she was leaving soon. She was going overseas for her schooling, and she just wanted to have some fun before she went. Her eyes sparkled green almost glowing, and a seductive smile grinned perfect white teeth. was it the bottle of whiskey that was turning this plain girl into a goddess? it must have been. we seemed to talk for hours ignoring everything around us. I escorted her out to her car. asking her if she wanted to get out of here? she smiled and touched my face, as she slid her number into my hands. that night I laid in bed and thought more about her. Her eyes as they stared into my soul. how her words formed a sympathy that would make a sinner repent. how she scared me... I called her the next day we decided we should go on a date a simple game of laser tag and dinner. a few garlic sticks later, and we shared our first kiss. her perfume drawing me into her as she tangled her fingers into my hair. we tempted the line of decently more than once and we rarely paused to breathe. My heart raced as fast as it did when I was young and inexperienced in this particular thing, but she was consuming my world, and holding my heart in her hand. than she stopped and asked me to take her home. I sat in the car that night the butterflies in my stomach kicking my ribs. it was painful to be without her.. we had many dates each one more wonderful than the last. we spoke of politics, and kids. we talked of marriage and friends. then the day came. we were hiking in Yellowstone I was walking behind her living in the ambience of love. she stopped suddenly and turned to me and touched my chest. the shock of her touch made my hair stand up on ends. she told me “it’s time”. that she would leave tonight to go abroad. I tried to grasp at straws. saying that “we can make the distance work” that I can “wait for her”. She doesn’t have to go. she just smiled as she held my hand and said “we always knew what this was just a place holder for time”. her hair shined gold in the light as her lips pursed. her words whispered “your a sweet guy you were nice while we lasted but a goddess can never love a mortal”. then she was gone as if she had never existed. tears welled in my eyes. I was alone again... it’s been years since then. I finished my term in the Military and now just work in a shop. I’m still alone I haven’t dated since her. sometimes I think I see her, but I know she’s happy without me. sometimes I wish what we had been real, but I should have known she would never love me. Please excuse grammar and punctuation I am vary horrible at this.
	[WP] You meet the goddess of love and beauty, but she's not exactly what you expected. Instead of abundant beauty, she just seems normal and kind of boring. But as you get to know her, she starts to grow on you...	The Goddess of Beauty, surprisingly humble in her charms Looks up at you with bundles of roses on her arms Face of no note, flower-adorned hair of plain coloration Yet in no time at all you feel adoration Every week you meet in a garden, surrounded by flowers Eating, laughing, wasting the day's hours Each morning you wake, heart filled with bliss Until one day you notice something amiss A small rash, intense in its itch Not something a bit of ointment can't fix You meet your goddess with usual ardor Has she become more beautiful than before? Time passes and you wait eagerly for you next meeting But your joy is suspended, excitement fleeting For upon the rash that once was red Grows a small bulb in its stead You show the Goddess, offering her your arm And she smiles, saying it means you no harm For this is a symbol of our love blooming So won't you give its roots a kind welcoming? This of you she asks, rosecheeks blushing gently Bewitched, you agree and leave it be Time continues and with each passing day The bulb grows and blooms and blossoms away A beautiful rose, like those of the Goddess' garden Stands curled around you arm, a miracle beholden Giddy and glowing, the Goddess' joy knows no bounds Even as the second, third, fifth flower comes 'round As you rush to the Goddess, body burdened by roses growing free You panic as your hands paw at the thorned stems futilely Yet when you arrive you cannot see her there Nothing but the garden where She once stood The roses tremble You dare to look down And there is the Goddess' perfect face And her flower crown And her golden hair And her full lips drawn Into a smile And she says As the flowers spread My dear, my love, Now we can be together, Forever	What else was I going to do? I had just been temporarily deployed to a duty station. While they ripped the flight line up from my base, but work can never stop. Grease stained my hands, my knuckles bloodied from breaking lug nuts off tires and replacing them. Now I was stuck in the middle of nowhere, with the only place to drink being a run down bar full of people under the impression that drinks can solve their problems. But who was I to judge. wasn’t I doing the same? drinking to cure my social seclusion. I didn’t even notice when she walked in. a friend in each arm one she wasn’t the prettiest her long wavy brown hair layered on her shoulders. a long white t with some irrelevant label and jeans. her friends much better dressed for a night out. they sat across the room from me separated by what seemed to be an obstacle course of tables and guys trying to get their chance with her friends. I filled my stomach with liquid courage and made my move on her friends. making small talk about college, drinks, and jobs. I can’t say I was the best flirt, but she kept staring at me. as if trying to figure me out. her friends were escorted away by two strangers, and I was perfectly fine with that. we talked about the fact she was leaving soon. She was going overseas for her schooling, and she just wanted to have some fun before she went. Her eyes sparkled green almost glowing, and a seductive smile grinned perfect white teeth. was it the bottle of whiskey that was turning this plain girl into a goddess? it must have been. we seemed to talk for hours ignoring everything around us. I escorted her out to her car. asking her if she wanted to get out of here? she smiled and touched my face, as she slid her number into my hands. that night I laid in bed and thought more about her. Her eyes as they stared into my soul. how her words formed a sympathy that would make a sinner repent. how she scared me... I called her the next day we decided we should go on a date a simple game of laser tag and dinner. a few garlic sticks later, and we shared our first kiss. her perfume drawing me into her as she tangled her fingers into my hair. we tempted the line of decently more than once and we rarely paused to breathe. My heart raced as fast as it did when I was young and inexperienced in this particular thing, but she was consuming my world, and holding my heart in her hand. than she stopped and asked me to take her home. I sat in the car that night the butterflies in my stomach kicking my ribs. it was painful to be without her.. we had many dates each one more wonderful than the last. we spoke of politics, and kids. we talked of marriage and friends. then the day came. we were hiking in Yellowstone I was walking behind her living in the ambience of love. she stopped suddenly and turned to me and touched my chest. the shock of her touch made my hair stand up on ends. she told me “it’s time”. that she would leave tonight to go abroad. I tried to grasp at straws. saying that “we can make the distance work” that I can “wait for her”. She doesn’t have to go. she just smiled as she held my hand and said “we always knew what this was just a place holder for time”. her hair shined gold in the light as her lips pursed. her words whispered “your a sweet guy you were nice while we lasted but a goddess can never love a mortal”. then she was gone as if she had never existed. tears welled in my eyes. I was alone again... it’s been years since then. I finished my term in the Military and now just work in a shop. I’m still alone I haven’t dated since her. sometimes I think I see her, but I know she’s happy without me. sometimes I wish what we had been real, but I should have known she would never love me. Please excuse grammar and punctuation I am vary horrible at this.

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